The following lines were written by the Marquis of Montrose, upon the execution of Charles the First. He shut himself up for three days; and when Dr. Wishart, his chaplain, and the elegant historian of his wars, was admitted to him, he found these verses, which probably were intended as a sort of vow, on his table. We all know how that vow was redeemed. Great, good, and just! could I but rate My grief to thy too rigid fate, I'd weep the world to such a strain As it should deluge once again; But since thy loud-tongued blood demands supplies I'll sing thy obsequies with trumpet sounds, LOVE VERSES, BY THE MARQUIS OF MONTROSE. Sometimes the jargon of the different governments of the day, and sometimes the technical phrases of warfare, are made strange use of in these verses; yet some of the lines are so noble, and many so original, that we forgive this soldierly mode of wooing in favour of its frankness. It is to be presumed the lady did the same. My dear and only love, I pray Which virtuous souls abhor, Like Alexander I will reign, My thoughts shall evermore disdain He either fears his fate too much, That puts it not unto the touch To win or lose it all. But I must rule and govern still, Or in the empire of thy heart, And dares to vie with me; But if thou wilt be constant then, I'll make thee glorious by my pen, I'll serve thee in such noble ways I'll crown and deck thee all with bays, And love thee evermore. Could it be in woman to resist such promises from such a man? PART SECOND. My dear and only love, take heed And let all longing lovers feed A marble wall, then, build about, But, if thou let thy heart fly out, Let not their oaths, like volleys shot, Nor smoothness of their language plot Nor balls of wildfire love consume I think thy virtues be too strong The siege at length must rise, But if by fraud or by consent But hold my arms like ensigns up, I'll do with thee as Nero did But to a hill retire; And scorn to shed a tear to see Yet for the love I bare thee once, May pity and deplore My case, and read the reason why The golden laws of love shall be A simple heart, a single eye, A true and constant tongue. Verses written by the Marquis of Montrose with the point of a diamond upon the glass window of his prison, after receiving his sentence:— Let them bestow on every airth a limb; Lord! since Thou know'st where all those atoms are, I'm hopeful Thou'lt recover once my dust, And confident Thou 'lt raise me with the Just. They who would follow the great Marquis to the last should read the fine ballad called "The Execution of Montrose," in Professor Aytoun's charming volume, "The Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers." XXIV. POETRY THAT POETS LOVE. WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR-LEIGH HUNT-PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY JOHN KEATS. Mr. Landor. No To no one can the words that I have placed at the head of this paper apply more perfectly than to poetry was ever dearer to poets than his. ago, we find Southey writing of and to the author of "Gebir," with a respectful admiration seldom felt by one young man for another; and, from that hour to the present, all whom he would himself most wish to please have showered upon him praises that cannot die. The difficulty in selecting from his works is the abundance; but I prefer the Hellenics, that charming volume, because few, very few, have given such present life to classical subjects. I begin with the Preface, so full of grace and modesty. "It is hardly to be expected that ladies and gentlemen will leave, on a sudden, their daily promenade, skirted by Turks, and shepherds, and knights, and plumes, and palfreys, of the finest Tunbridge manufacture, to look at these rude frescoes, delineated on an old wall, high up, and sadly weak in colouring. As in duty bound, we can wait. The reader (if there should be one) will remember that Sculpture and Painting have never ceased to be occupied with the scenes and figures which we venture once more to introduce in poetry; it being our belief that what is becoming in two of the fine arts, is not quite unbecoming in a third, the one which, indeed, gave birth to them." And now comes the very first story; with its conclusion that goes straight to the heart. THRASYMEDES AND EUNÖE. Who will away to Athens with me? Who Loves choral songs and maidens crowned with flowers I promise ye, as many as are here, Ye shall not, while ye tarry with me, taste To overtake them. Are they menaces We hear? And shall the strong repulse the weak, Art thou the man? 'T was Hippias. He had found By Thrasy medes. And reluctantly? In sight of all the city, dare to kiss "Ay, before all the gods, Ay, before Pallas, before Artemis, I dared; and dare again. Arise, my spouse! From thy fair open brow." The sword was up, And yet he kissed her twice. Some god withheld The arm of Hippias; his proud blood seethed slower And smote his breast less angrily; he laid His hand on the white shoulder and spoke thus : "Ye must return with me. A second time Offended, will our sire Peisistratos Pardon the affront? Thou shouldst have asked thyself Put up thy sword," said the sad youth, his eyes |