neighbourhood and tenants: how conscientiously all were animated with the purest feelings of good-will to both prince and people, happily time has long so clearly developed, as entirely to supersede all future comment. The following short letter of Lord Eglintoun on this occasion, however, whilst creditable to our author, may perhaps be deemed otherwise curious. "To my Richt wourschipfoull and most louing frind, Sir Wll. Mour of Rouallan, knicht, younger. "Richt wourschipfoull and most louing freind-I long to heir from you, therfoir I will intret you to let me heir from you with all occasiounis; for I expek my best intelligence from you; for quhat ever passes let me knau, and pray you have a cair of your sogeris, be I pleding for them, for it will gar yourself be moir respekit. I pray God to derck you all, and so preserve you from all danger. I rest, Your most louing freind to serue you, Eglintoun the 20. of May, 1639. EGLINTOUN. [P.S.] Ze sall resaue a nanser of the Gentlemen ['s] letter heirin inclosit-I expek thair ansour." The result of this step is well known. Whether Rowallan personally engaged in any of the intermediate proceedings of those lamentable times, appears not. He was a member of the Scots Parliament, for Ayrshire, 1643. In the beginning of 1644, he accompanied the Scots army in their last expedition into England; and after a variety of services, part of which he narrates in a letter to his son, SIR WILLIAM MURE. 107 March 12, he was present, and wounded, in the memorable conflict of Marston-moor, July 2. Again, in August following, he was engaged at the storming of Newcastle, where, for some time, the command of the regiment devolved upon him; Colonel Hobert and some other of the officers being absent of wounds received at the late battle. This was probably our author's ultimate campaign; although the events which immediately followed, in rapid succession, would have afforded an ample and pregnant field for the mere soldier "to bustle in." But for more than the last ten years of his life, we have not been fortunate enough to meet with any material notice of him. He died some time in the year 1657. Though no very high rank can certainly be assigned Sir William Mure as a poet, yet it is sufficiently evident, by his performances that way, he enjoyed no inconsiderable reputation in his own day; nor at the present time, when the few unperished blossoms of a vigorous and less adulterated age are being more justly appreciated, would any considerable portion of his writings at all seem wholly unworthy of preservation: whilst, for a peculiar purity of thought and smoothness of diction, without any thing ininvidious, many of Rowallan's compilations may stand a comparison with others, the productions of far more pretending names, and than mere rarity, may justly lay claim to preservation on a far different and surer foundation. The earliest of his printed labours occurs in the Muses Welcome, 1618, a collection of poetical panegyrics on the visit of King James to Scotland the preceding year-Sir William's is addressed to the King, at Hamilton. In 1628, he published a translation of Trochrig's beautiful Latin poem-Hecatombe Christiana,-" Invected in English Sapphicks, from the Latine of that Reverend, Religious, and Learned Divine, Mr. Robert Boyd of Trochorege." Copies of both these rare compilations, it is believed, are preserved in the library of the Faculty of Advocates. But the most considerable, best known, and latest of Rowallan's published poesies, remains in the Trve Crucifixe for Trve Catholickes-Edin. 1629, 12mo. This is a work now of considerable curiosity, as relating to a subject and period not only instructive but deeply interesting; though as a mere literary composition, doubtless out of sight the most arid of any thing of the author's preserved: and in truth, is at most little other than a mere versified and laborious exposé of that prime symbol of Romish "idolatry," the obnoxious Crucifix. He has not, however, in the attack, always foregone the weapons of humour and ridicule; and it must be confessed, passages of considerable ingenuity and caustic point more frequently occur, than a hasty glance at the volume will generally seem to suggest. The following brief but comprehensive picture of ancient priestcraft, furnishes a pretty equal specimen of what is meant: Thus do those Glow-wormes, which but shine by night, By shows of holynesse, by secret stealth, Trowps of Church-orders, swarms of Shavelings flie; SIR WILLIAM MURE. 109 Of which none idle, all on work are set: By cous'ning miracles, some doe credite get; To cristen bels, tosse beads, they some appoint; Some crosse, some creepe, some sprinkle, some anoynt; Some penitents admitt to kisse the Pax! And of a different order, the following, at the opening of the poem, seems strikingly expressed: But muse I could not, how from time to time, A cloud of dust, tos'd by vncertaine breath; A wormeling weake, soone to stoupe downe to death! It has been observed, this was the latest of our author's publications: his writings which remain in MS. seem fully as considerable, and certainly not inferior in merit. The most important of these are, an entire version of the Psalms, and a metrical translation of Virgil's Dido and Eneas. The latter, as formerly alluded to, he essayed at an unusually early time of life for such an undertaking. The following are his opening stanzas of this celebrated poem: I sing Æneas' fortunes, while on fyr, Of dying Troy he takes his last farewell; Queen Dido's love, and cruell Juno's ire, With equal fervor which he both doth [did] feel. But pardon, Maro, if myn infant muse (To twyse two lustres scarce of yeirs attained), L And in grave numbers of bewitching verse, But, ravisht with a vehement desyre, Those paths to trace, which yeilds ane endles name! By thee to climb Parnassus I aspyre, And by thy feathers to impen my fame, Nothing asham'd, thir colours to display, Vnder thy conduct, as my first assay. Sacred Apollo! lend thy Cynthia light, Which, by thy gloriows rayes, reflexe doth shyne, That I, partaking of thy purest spright, May grave, anew, on tyme's immortall shryne, In homely stile, those sweit delicious ayers, In which thy muse so admirable appears. And ye, Pierian maids, ye sacred nyne! Which haunt Parnassus and the Pegas spring, Infuse your furie in my weak ingyne, That (mask'd with Maro) sweetly I may sing; And warble foorth this hero's changing state, Eliza's love, and last her tragick fate. Now bloody warre (the mistres of debait, Attendit still with discorde, death, dispair; The child of wrath, nurst by despightfull hait, With visage pale, stern lookes, and snaiky hair), By Grecian armes, old Troy had beatne downe, And rais'd the ten-yeirs siege from Priam's towne: Whose brasen teeth her walls did shake asunder, |