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To the Nightingale.

Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours,
Of winters past or coming void of care,

Well pleased with delights which present are,
Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers;
To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers
Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare,
And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare,
A stain to human sense in sin that lowers.
What soul can be so sick which by thy songs,
Attir'd in sweetness, sweetly is not driven
Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites, and wrongs,
And lift a reverent eye and thought to heaven?

Sweet artless songster, thou my mind dost raise
To airs of spheres, yes, and to angels' lays.


This world a hunting is,

The prey poor man, the Nimrod fierce is Death;
His speedy greyhounds are

Lust, sickness, envy, care,

Strife that ne'er falls amiss,

With all those ills which haunt us while we breathe.

Now, if by chance we fly

Of these the eager chase,

Old age with stealing pace

Casts up his nets, and there we panting die.


[Appended to The Cypresse Grove.]

Though I have twice been at the doors of death,
And twice found shut those gates which ever mourn,
This but a light'ning is, truce ta'en to breath,
For late-born sorrows augur fleet return.
Amidst thy sacred cares and courtly toils,
Alexis, when thou shalt hear wand'ring Fame
Tell Death hath triumph'd o'er my mortal spoils,
And that on earth I am but a sad name;

If thou e'er held me dear, by all our love,

By all that bliss, those joys Heaven here us gave,
I conjure thee, and by the maids of Jove,
To grave this short remembrance on my grave:

Here Damon lies, whose songs did sometime grace
The murmuring Esk; may roses shade the place!



[Born about 1580, of a family which had for some time owned Menstrie in Clackmannan. In early life he travelled, and on his return, or during his absence, wrote Aurora, First Fancies of the Author's Youth, a small volume of sonnets and songs to a real or imaginary lady called Aurora. He became a courtier in 1603, and followed James to London. In 1603 he published at Edinburgh The Tragedie of Darius; in 1604 he reprinted it, adding The Tragedie of Cræsus and The Parænesis to Prince Henry; in 1607 he reprinted the two tragedies and added The Alexandrean Tragedy and Julius Cæsar, under the joint title of Four Monarchicke Tragedies.' He helped King James in his version of the Psalms. Knighted in 1621, and made Secretary of State for Scotland in 1626, he was raised to the peerage as Viscount Canada in 1630, and created Earl of Stirling 1633. He printed a folio edition of his tragedies and of the religious poem of Domesday in 1637, and died 1640.]

Mr. Masson in his life of Drummond pronounces a severe judgment over the grave of Drummond's friend, Sir William Alexander, Earl of Stirling. 'There he lies, I suppose, to this day, vaguely remembered as the second-rate Scottish sycophant of an inglorious despotism, and the author of a large quantity of fluent and stately English verse which no one reads.' He certainly played no very glorious part in the attempts of James and Charles to impose episcopacy on Scotland; unconscious all the while that he was one of those who were preparing the way for a 'Monarchicke Tragedie' as terrible as any of the four that he had put into verse. That the bulk of his poetry deserves that neglect which, as Mr. Masson truly says, has befallen it, is not likely to be disputed by those who have tried to read it. The precocious solemnity of his tragedies, all written before his thirtieth year, is too much for the modern reader, however successfully it may have commended the poet to the literary confidences of his pedantic master. With all the sonorousness and wave-like beat of their stanzas, they are

mere rhetoric; they miss the genuine philosophic note of the somewhat similar plays of Alexander's older contemporary, the Mustapha and Alaham of Lord Brooke. Still, Lord Stirling was an interesting man both in his life and in his writings, and he deserves to be not quite excluded from a collection of English poems. His time admired his work; his books sold; Habington, Daniel, Drayton, and many other poets praised him; above all, he was the close friend of Drummond-the Alexis to the Damon of Hawthornden. His 'century of sonnets' lack indeed the reality and the music of the best of Drummond's, and his Aurora is a vague and shadowy goddess. But the two sonnets that we quote will show that Drayton had reason for calling him 'that most ingenious knight'; and the ode that follows, though defaced by one or two blemishes, deals with the commonplaces of the tragic chorus in a way that is not altogether commonplace.



[From Aurora.]

I envy not Endymion now no more,

Nor all the happiness his sleep did yield,
While as Diana, straying through the field,
Suck'd from his sleep-seal'd lips balm for her sore:
Whilst I embraced the shadow of my death,
I dreaming did far greater pleasure prove,
And quaff'd with Cupid sugar'd draughts of love
Then, Jove-like, feeding on a nectar'd breath.
Now judge which of us two might be most proud;
He got a kiss yet not enjoy'd it right,
And I got none, yet tasted that delight
Which Venus on Adonis once bestow'd:

He only got the body of a kiss,

And I the soul of it, which he did miss.

Love swore by Styx, while all the depths did tremble,
That he would be avenged of my proud heart,
Who to his deity durst base styles impart,
And would in that Latona's imp resemble:
Then straight denounced his rebel, in a rage
He laboured by all means for to betray me,
And gave full leave to any for to slay me,
That he might by my wrack his wrath assuage.
A nymph, that longed to finish Cupid's toils,
Chanced once to spy me come in beauty's bounds,
And straight o'erthrew me with a world of wounds,
Then unto Paphos did transport my spoils.

Thus, thus I see that all must fall in end,
That with a greater than themselves contend.

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