2 The cushats on the branches green, 34 The gloamin comes, the day is spent, And painted is the occident 35 The scarlet nor the golden thread, * 36 What pleasure then to walk and see, The perfect form of every tree 37 The salmon out of cruives and creels,7 The bells and circles on the weills,9 38 O sure it were a seemly thing, The praise of God to play and sing 1 'The mavis and the philomeen:' thrush and nightingale.—2 'Cushats:' 3Crood:' coo.wood-pigeons.-3 -4 Gloamin:' evening.-5 Endlong:' along. 6 Cruives:' cages for catching fish.-7 'Creels:' baskets.-8 Scouts:' small boats or yawls.-9 Weills:' eddies. 39 Through all the land great is the gild1 Of bleating sheep, from they be fill'd, 40 All labourers draw home at even, Thanks to the gracious God of heaven, OTHER SCOTTISH POETS. ABOUT the same time with Hume flourished two or three poets in Scotland of considerable merit, such as Alexander Scott, author of satires and amatory poems, and called sometimes the Scottish Anacreon;' Sir Richard Maitland of Lethington, father of the famous Secretary Lethington, who, in his advanced years, composed and dictated to his daughter a few moral and conversational pieces, and who collected, besides, into a MS. which bears his name, the productions of some of his contemporaries; and Alexander Montgomery, author of an allegorical poem, entitled 'The Cherry and the Slae.' The allegory is not well managed, but some of the natural descriptions are sweet and striking. Take the two following stanzas as a specimen : 'The cushat croods, the corbie cries, To geck there they begin ; The jargon of the jangling jays, The turtle wails, on wither'd trees, 1 'Gild:' throng. Repeating, with greeting, His shadow in the well. 'The air was sober, saft, and sweet, Had trinkled mony a tear; Wherewith their heavy heads declined, Some knopping, some dropping Of balmy liquor sweet, Excelling and smelling Through Phoebus' wholesome heat.' The Cherry and the Slae' was familiar to Burns, who often, our readers will observe, copied its form of verse. SAMUEL DANIEL. THIS ingenious person was born in 1562, near Taunton, in Somersetshire. His father was a music-master. He was patronised by the noble family of Pembroke, who probably also maintained him at college. He went to Magdalene Hall, Oxford, in 1579; and after studying there, chiefly history and poetry, for seven years, he left without a degree. When twentythree years of age, he translated Paulus Jovius' 'Discourse of Rare Inventions.' He became tutor to Lady Anne Clifford, the elegant and accomplished daughter of the Earl of Cumberland. She, at his death, raised a monument to his memory, and recorded on it, with pride, that she had been his pupil. After Spenser died, Daniel became a 'voluntary laureat' to the Court, producing masques and pageants, but was soon supplanted by ( rare Ben Jonson.' In 1603 he was appointed Master of the Queen's Revels and Inspector of the Plays to be enacted by juvenile performers. He was also promoted to be Gentleman Extraordinary and Groom of the Chambers to the Queen. He was a varied and voluminous writer, composing plays, miscellaneous poems, and prose compositions, including a 'Defence of Rhyme' and a ' History of England,'—an honest, but somewhat dry and dull production. While composing his works he resided in Old Street, St Luke's, which was then thought a suburban residence; but he was often in town, and mingled on intimate terms with Selden and Shakspeare. When approaching sixty, he took a farm at Beckington, in Somersetshire—his native shire and died there in 1619. Daniel's Plays and History are now, as wholes, forgotten, although the former contained some vigorous passages, such as Richard II.'s soliloquy on the morning of his murder in Pomfret Castle. His smaller pieces and his Sonnets shew no ordinary poetic powers. RICHARD II., THE MORNING BEFORE HIS MURDER IN POMFRET Whether the soul receives intelligence, However, so it is, the now sad king, Toss'd here and there his quiet to confound, The morning of that day which was his last, Out at a little grate his eyes he cast 'O happy man,' saith he, 'that lo I see, Nor change his state with him that sceptre wields. 'Thou sitt'st at home safe by thy quiet fire, For pity must have part-envy not all. 'Thrice happy you that look as from the shore, And have no venture in the wreck you see; No interest, no occasion to deplore Other men's travails, while yourselves sit free. How much doth your sweet rest make us the more To see our misery and what we be: Whose blinded greatness, ever in turmoil, |