SIR WILLIAM MURE.

111

The same measure is continued throughout the whole three books into which this poem, consisting of 407 stanzas, is divided. This principal effort of the author's, the MS. of which is in the most beautiful preservation, and probably is unique, would form an advantageous separate publication; and, should encouragement offer, may yet be attempted.

The Psalms, of which several copies exist, appear to have been completed in the year 1639; about which time, the subject of an improved Psalmody seems to have occupied very general attention. Many superior passages of sacred poetry occur in this attempt of Sir William's; and it is said, the Committee of the General Assembly appointed to revise Mr. Rous', the version finally adopted, were instructed nevertheless to avail themselves of the help of Rowallan's." Mr. Muir has given some specimens of our author's Psalter, in the appendix to the family history, before alluded to.

From the poetical remains of Sir William Mure, we have selected the following varieties. They are all transcribed with the utmost fidelity and care, from his own original manuscripts, the orthography of part only, being altered to modern rule, whilst any thing emendatory attempted, is always separately noted. The following rubric appears in the author's own hand :

"Amorouse Essayes, passionatly exprest, contryved in a Poetical Rapsodie, Sigh'd forth by Ane Lower. In Elegies, Sonets, Songs, The comitragical history of Dido and Æneas, tracing ye steps of ye best of Latin Poets, wt. wthers smal works, being all ye Infant Labours and very furstlings of ye Authors Muse. By Sr. W. Muire, Yo. of Rowalen."

BEAUTY'S TRIUMPH.

WHILE Beauty by a pleasant spring reposes,
With fairest ranks of trees o'ershadow'd under,
The cooling air with calmest blasts rejoices,

Το sport
her with her locks, o'ercome with wonder;
So then, admiring her most heavenly feature,
I marvell'd much if she was form'd by nature.

The smiling blinks sent from her wanton eyes,
Had force to rob proud Cupid of his darts;
Her shamefaced blushing smiles who ever sees,
Must part perforce, leaving behind their hearts:
I stood astonish'd, greedy to behold,
So rare perfection as cannot be told.

She then perceiving me in thought perplex'd,
With voice angelical did thus begin:
"Thy gesture doth bewray thy mind is vex'd,
With crosses compass'd, and environ'd in:
Show, then, if love, or what misfortune else,
Such signs of sorrow in thy soul compels."

"No cross at all, fair dame; no force in love Can ought disquiet or perturb my mind; The wonders now are present me doth move

To see heaven's excellence in human kind." "No! Cupid thee molests, cease to deny him." "Fie! treacherous love, fond Cupid I defy him."

ROWALLAN'S POEMS.

113

Even at this time the blinded god arriv'd,

His bow bent in his hand ready to knock; But while he aim'd, of power quite depriv'd,

Himself he bound in his own flattering yoke: Feeding his eyes on beauty's tempting looks, His pain he thought to ease with baited hooks.

So boil'd with flames, vex'd both with fear and tears,
Out of the anguish of his heart did 'plain:
"Ah! matchless dame, whom all the world admires,
Pity, I pray, my never ceasing pain;

Do not thy rigour unto me extend,

Whom once no mortal durst presume t' offend.

"But now at last o'ercome, I humbly yield,

Save then, or slay a captive begging grace;
Receive in sign that thou hast won the field,

The bow, the shafts, the quiver, and the brace;
Once which I brook'd, but now without envy,
I yield to thee, more worthy them than I.”

The homage ended, and the goddess arm'd,
With proud, presuming Cupid's conquer'd spoil;
He then remitted, fled away unharm❜d,

But, woes me! left behind his torturing toil.
She spying me, yet unacquaint in love,

Her new got darts, through my poor heart did rove.

"Sport now," she says, "with Cupid! boldly try him; In love, if any force, now prove, I pray;

Too late, I fear, thou rue thou did espy him,
Thine insolence 'gainst him or he repay."

Disdainfully delivering thus her words,
No small displeasure to my soul affords.

I yet a novice in my new learn'd art,

Admir'd so quick a change from joy to woe; Doubted myself even if it was my heart,

My tears which trickling from mine eyes did But, ah! in vain, for yet my wound did bleed; No spates of tears could quench the boiling lead.

I flamed, I froze, in love, in cold disdain;

Died in despair, in hope again I lived:

All pleasures past aggrieved my present pain,

Her frown did kill, her smile again revived.

go;

While death I wish'd, life then refused to leave me; Live while I would, death they propon'd to reave me.

While in this weak estate, all means I sought

To be avenged on him, whose shafts did grieve me; Alas! a faint pursuit-I further'd nought,

For he, now Cupid, now a sprite, did leave me;— Thus metamorphos'd, fled away for aid

In beauty's lips, where I durst naught invade.

Then favour begg'd; pity moved her consent,—
Render the fortress and his surest shield;
Great search I made to make the wretch repent

His bold attempts, entreating him to yield:
But neither prayers could prevail, nor wishes,
Then I resolved to kill him-even with kisses.

ROWALLAN'S POEMS.

Afraid, he fled then in her eyes to hide him;
Out of her eyes into her lips again.

Stay, fond wretch, stay; thus I begun to chide him;
Or choose her heart-thou changest oft in vain:

So, as by thee our lips else are united,

Our hearts, also, to join may be invited.

But nothing could the cruel spider move,

To leave his hold, delighting in my woe;
She likewise, whom I served, but scorn'd my love,
Laughing to see my trickling tears down go:
The more she did perceive increase my pain,
The more she match'd my love with cold disdain.

What then, shall I leave off my hope to speed,

And live no more cross'd with consuming care?
No! let her frown and flyte, there's no remead,—
I live resolved never to despair:

Content I am, and so my faith deservest,
My spring be toilsome, with a pleasant harvest.

115

W. MUIRE-1611.

TO THE MOST HOPEFUL AND HIGH-BORN PRINCE, CHARLES, PRINCE OF WALES. [CHARLES I.]

MATCHLESS Montgomery in his native tongue,
In former times to thy great SIRE hath sung;
And often ravish'd his harmonious ear,

With strains fit only for a prince to hear.