works; or else he might have said something civil about his genius.

Dr. Johnson says of Pope, " he has a few double rhymes, but always I think unsuccessfully, except once in the Rape of the Lock.'

The meeting points, the fatal lock dissever
From the fair head for ever and for ever. *
Drummond has one equally good:

Whose falling streams the quiet caverns wound,
And make the echoes shrill resound that sound:

Again:

Such airs and nothing else did wound mine ear,
No soul but would become all ear to hear.

Phillips, the nephew of Milton, published an edition of Drummond's Poems in 1656, with praises lavished both in prose and verse. I insert the former here-it is not without merit.

66

66
"TO THE READER.

'Ingenious Reader,

"To say that these Poems are the effects of a genius the most polite and verdant that ever the Scottish nation produced, although it be a commendation not to be rejected, (for it is well known that that country hath afforded many rare and admirable wits,) yet it is not the highest that may be given him; for should I affirm that

*This is the couplet Johnson intended, says Mrs. Piozzi, for I asked him. (Piozziana.)

neither Tasso nor Guarini, nor any of the most neat and refined spirits of Italy, nor even the choicest of our English poets, can challenge to themselves any advantages above him, it could not be judged any attribute superiour to what he deserves; nor shall I think it any arrogance to maintain, that among all the severall fancies, that in these times have exercised the most nice and curious judgements, there hath not come forth any thing that deserves to be welcomed into the world with greater estimation and applause. And though he had not had the fortune to be so generally famed abroad as many others, perhaps of lesse esteeme, yet this is a consideration that cannot at all diminish, but rather advance his credit; for by breaking forth of obscurity he will attract the higher admiration, and, like the sun emerging from a cloud, appeare at length with so much the more forcible rayes. Had there been nothing extant of him but his History of Scotland, consider but the language, how florid and ornate it is, consider the order, and the prudent conduct of his story, and you will ranke him in the number of the best writers, and compare him even with Thuanus himselfe. Neither is he less happy in his verse than prose: for here are all those graces met together that conduce anything toward the making-up of a compleat and perfect poet-a decent and becoming majesty, a brave and admirable height, and a wit so flowing, that Jove himselfe never drank nectar that sparkled with a more sprightly lustre. Should I dwell any longer (ingenious reader) upon the commendation of this incomparable author, I should injure thee by forestalling the freedome of thy owne judgement and him, by attempting a vain de

sign, since there is nothing can so well set him forth as his own works; besides the losse of time which is but trifled away as long as thou art detained from perusing the poems themselves.

"E. P."

In an early part of this narrative I inserted passages from several popular Scottish Poets who preceded Drummond. I shall now transcribe some lines from the poems of English Poets who succeeded him.

DENHAM ON THE DEATH OF COWLEY.

OLD Chaucer, like the morning star,
To us discovers day from far;

Plight those mists and clouds dissolved,
Which our dark nation long involved:
But he descending to the shades,
Darkness again the age invades.
Next (like Aurora) Spenser rose,
Whose purple blush the day foreshows;
The other three with his own fires
Phoebus, the poet's god, inspires.

But cursed be the fatal hour

That pluck'd the fairest, sweetest flower
That in the Muses' garden grew,

And amongst wither'd laurels threw !

Time, which made them their fame outlive,
To Cowley scarce did ripeness give.
Old Mother Wit and Nature gave

Shakspeare and Fletcher all they have.

In Spenser and in Jonson, Art

Of slower Nature got the start;

But both in him so equal are,

None knows which bears the happier share.

*

Of this Johnson says, the numbers are musical, and the thoughts are just.

O could I flow like thee, and make thy stream
My great example, as it is my theme!

Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull;
Strong without rage; without o'erflowing, full.*

WALLER TO VANDYKE.

Rare Artisan, whose pencil moves
Not our delights alone, but loves:

From thy shop of beauty, we
Slaves return, that enter'd free.

The heedless lover does not know,

Whose eyes they are that wound him so;

But, confounded with thy art,

Inquires her name that has his heart.

Another, who did long refrain,

Feels his old wound bleed fresh again.

With dear remembrance of that face,

Where now he reads new hopes of grace.

* Cooper's Hill.

Nor scorn, nor cruelty does find,

But gladly suffers a false wind

To blow the ashes of despair

From the reviving brand of care.

*

*

*

In Waller's verses to Cromwell, the line

Neither the oppressed shall henceforth resort, is lame; after some of his flowing others. Again:

What may be thought impossible to do,

By us embraced by the sea and you:

the last line wants harmony.

The reader will now be able to judge for himself; these lines on Prince Henry are the outpourings of Drummond's heart.

DRUMMOND.

TEARS ON THE DEATH OF MOLIADES.

O Heavens! then is it true that thou art gone,
And left this woful isle her loss to moan;

Forc'd by hard fates, do heavens neglect our cries?
Are stars set only to act tragedies?

Then let them do their worst, since thou art gone,
Raise whom thou list to thrones, enthron'd dethrone.

Ah! thou hast left to live; and in the time

When scarce thou blossom'dst in thy pleasant prime;
So falls by northern blast a virgin rose,

At half that doth her bashful bosom close;