In terraced pomp before the Cyprian And Benytas of ane mussil made an ape, With many other subtle mow and jaip.

Three wondrous trees with leaves of hopeless to inquire. The poet now

themselves by many subtle points of With matchless cunning, by the artist's

Of beryl, gazing, a transcendent glare Broke dazzlingly on mine astonished

sight.

And soft she bore me to inhale the tide Of the fresh air-she deem'd I would have died,

A room I saw-but oh, what tongue So sudden and so deadly pale I grew; shall dare But fondly each reviving art she tried,

To paint that chamber, so surpassing And bathed my brow with Heliconian dew, bright! Till, faint and slow, mine eyes unclosed to meet her view.

Sure never such a view was given to mortal wight.

From every part combined, roof, wall, sion.

and floor,

A flood of light most gloriously was cast;
And as the stream upon mine eyes gan

pour,

Blinded I stood awhile: that sight

surpast

Aught that in Eastern story read thou hast

Of richest palace, or of gorgeous stall;

On diamond pillars, tall as any mast, Clustering, and bound with ropes of rubies all,

The vision now hastens to a concluOn his recovery, the poet, under the protection of her who has so faithfully conducted him, proposes to visit a delightful garden, where the Muses are employed in gathering the choicest flowers of poesy, which spring beneath trees bearing precious stones instead of fruit. In the description of this retreat there is a strange admixture of the beautiful and the ridiculous.. The scenery is sweetly painted; but what shall we say of the trees on which

The sapphire arches leant of that celestial geese or chickens are seen growing-to hall.

The very benches, forms, and footstools

mean,

Were shaped of smaragdine and precious

stone,

And on the carpet brilliant groups were

seen

Of heroes old, whose steely corslets shone Embost with jewels;-near them, on a throne

the transplanting of the extraordinary
ables of Boece into the gardens of the
Palace of Honour? Into this garden,
however, in whatever fashion it may be
furnished, the bard himself is not des-
tined to enter. The only access to it
lies beyond a moat, across which a tree
Over this slender and pre-
is thrown.
carious rural bridge, the Nymph passes
with ease; but the poet, whose head

Sat Honour; mighty prince, with look has not yet recovered the effects of his

severe,

swoon, in making the attempt, slips a

And deep-set awful eye, whose glance foot, and is immersed in the stream. alone

So full of might, and glorious did appear, That all my senses reel'd, and down I dropt with fear.

Within her snowy arms that Lady sweet
Me caught, and swiftly to the portal hied,
For wing'd with love and pity were her feet,

This effectually awakens him from the trance into which he had fallen, and restores his senses to the sober realities of a lower sphere. He then, according to poetic use and wont, describes his wondrous vision, and lays it at the feet of his sovereign, James IV.

THE TRANSLATION OF

VIRGIL'S ÆNEID.

In his interview with Venus in the Palace of Honour, Douglas informs us that the goddess presented him, as the richest gift she could bestow, with a copy of Virgil's Æneid, commanding him to translate it into his native language -a task, says Dr Irving, which he has performed with much felicity. "To pronounce it," continues this learned critic, "the best version of this wonderful poem which ever was or ever will be executed, would be ridiculous; but it is certainly the production of a bold and energetic writer, whose knowledge of the language of his original, and command of a rich and variegated phraseology, peculiarly qualified him for the performance of so arduous a task. Indeed, whether we consider the state of British literature at that era, or the rapidity with which he completed the work (it was the labour of but sixteen months), he will be found entitled to a high degree of admiration."

Douglas translated The Eneid at the request of his cousin Henry, Lord Sinclair, to whom he addresses a dedicatory epistle at the end, in which he records his motive for undertaking the work as follows:

But touching this our work now in hand, Whilk oft is said was made at your command,

Nane are compelled to drink, but they
have thirst;

And whoso likes may tasting of the tun
Onforlatyt, new from the berry run,
Read Virgil boldly, but meikle offence,
Except our vulgar tongues difference,
Keepand nae facund rhetoric castis fair,
But hamely plain termis familiar
Nothing altered in substance the sentence,
Though scant perfect observèd been elo-
quence.

In a short Epilogue, he makes it plain
that he considers it his most important
poetical achievement, and predicts that
When that unknown day shall him address,
Whilk not but on this body power has,
And ends the date of mine uncertain eild,
The better part of me shall be upheld,
Above the starns perpetually to ring;
And hear my name remain but enparing.
Throughout the isle yclepit Albione
Shall I be read and sung by many one.

He also adds full particulars as to the time it took him to compose, and the exact date on which it was finished; and in the Prologue to the thirteenth book, after recording his misgivings about having thereby too long neglected more serious studies, he anticipates the conclusion of his work

That I may syne but on grave matters look.

Some of his Prologues, one of which prefaces each book of The Æneid, contain his best descriptive poetry, particularly those introducing the seventh, twelfth, and thirteenth books. That of the twelfth, which is a description of May, is best known; but we have selected the descriptive portions of that of the And other gentle companions who sae list: thirteenth, which is shorter and simpler,

To what effect gif any would inquire,
Ye may answer, though I need not you lear,
That Virgil might intill our language be
Read loud and plain by your lordship and

me,

Be quhais mychtys the Goddis ar ful An airy crowd came rushing where he laith,

And dredis sare to swere, syne fals thare Which filled the margin of the fatal flood: Husbands and wives, boys and unmarried

Wavrand and wandrand by this bankis And wing their hasty flight to happier