dynasty of Scottish kings, after Malcolm Caenmore, that gave a more diffusive course to the peopling of proper Scotland, by Saxon, by AngloNorman, and by Flemish colonists. In the successive charters of Edgar, Alexander, and David I. we scarcely see any other witnesses than Saxons, who enjoyed under those monarchs all power, and acquired vast possessions in every district of Scotland, settling with their followers in entire hamlets.

If this English origin of Scotch be correct, it sufficiently accounts for the Scottish poets, in the fifteenth century, speaking of Chaucer, Gower, and Lydgate, as their masters and models of style, and extolling them as the improvers of a language to which they prefix the word "our," as if it belonged in common to Scots and English, and even sometimes denominating their own language English.

Yet, in whatever light we are to regard Lowland Scotch, whether merely as northern English, or as having a mingled Gothic origin from the Pictish and Anglo-Saxon, its claims to poetical antiquity are respectable. The extreme antiquity of the elegy on Alexander III. on which Mr. Ellis rests so much importance, is indeed disputed; but Sir Tristrem exhibits an original romance, composed on the north of the Tweed, at a time when there is no proof that southern English contained any work of that species of fiction, that was not translated from the French. In the fourteenth century, Barbour celebrated the greatest royal hero of his country, (Bruce), in a versified romance that is not uninteresting. The next age is prolific in the names of distinguished Scottish "Makers." Henry the Minstrel, said to have been blind from his birth, rehearsed the exploits of Wallace in strains of fierce though vulgar fire. James I. of Scotland; Henrysone, the author of Robene and Makyne, the first known pastoral, and one of the best, in a dialect rich with the favours of the pastoral muse; Douglas, the translator of Virgil; Dunbar, Mersar, and others, gave a poetical lustre to Scotland, in the fifteenth century, and fill up a space in the annals of British poetry, after the date of Chaucer and Lydgate, that is otherwise nearly barren. James I. had an elegant and tender vein, and the ludicrous pieces ascribed to him possess considerable comic humour. Douglas's descriptions of natural scenery are extolled by T. Warton, who has given ample and interpreted specimens of them, in his History of English Poetry. He was certainly a fond painter of nature: but his imagery is redundant and tediously profuse. His chief original work is the elaborate and quaint allegory of King Hart.* It is full of alliteration, a trick which the Scottish poets might have learnt to avoid from the "rose of rhetours" (as they call him) Chaucer; but in which they rival the anapastics of Langland.

Dunbar is a poet of a higher order. His tale

In which the human heart is personified as a Sovereign in his castle, guarded by the five Senses, made captive by Dame Pleasaunce, a neighbouring potentate, but finally brought back from thraldom by Age and Experience.

of the Friars of Berwick is quite in the spirit of Chaucer. His Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins through Hell, though it would be absurd to compare it with the beauty and refinement of the celebrated Ode on the Passions, has yet an animated picturesqueness not unlike that of Collins. The effect of both pieces shows how much more potent allegorical figures become by being made to fleet suddenly before the imagination, than by being detained in its view by prolonged description. Dunbar conjures up the personified Sins, as Collins does the Passions, to rise, to strike, and disappear. They "come like shadows, so depart."

In the works of those northern makers of the fifteenth century,† there is a gay spirit, and an indication of jovial manners, which forms a contrast to the covenanting national character of subsequent times. The frequent coarseness of this poetical gayety, it would indeed be more easy than agreeable to prove by quotations; and if we could forget how very gross the humour of Chaucer sometimes is, we might, on a general comparison of the Scotch with the English poets, extol the comparative delicacy of English taste; for Skelton himself, though more burlesque than Sir David Lyndsay in style, is less outrageously indecorous in matter. At a period when James IV. was breaking lances in the lists of chivalry, and when the court and court poets of Scotland might be supposed to have possessed ideas of decency, if not of refinement, Dunbar at that period addresses the queen, on the occasion of having danced in her majesty's chamber, with jokes which a beggar wench of the present day would probably consider as an offence to her delicacy.

Sir David Lyndsay was a courtier, a foreign ambassador, and the intimate companion of a prince; for he attended James V. from the first to the last day of that monarch's life. From his rank in society, we might suppose, that he had purposely laid aside the style of a gentleman, and clothed the satirical moralties, which he levelled against popery, in language suited to the taste of the vulgar; if it were easy to conceive the taste of the vulgar to have been, at that period, grosser than that of their superiors. Yet while Lyndsay's satire, in tearing up the depravities of a corrupted church, seems to be polluted with the scandal on which it preys, it is impossible to peruse his writings without confessing the importance of his character to the country in which he lived, and to the cause which he was born to serve. In his tale of Squyre Meldrum we lose sight of the reformer. It is a little romance, very amusing as a draught of Scottish chivalrous manners, apparently drawn from the life, and blending a sportive and familiar with an heroic and amatory interest. Nor is its broad, careless diction, perhaps, an unfavourable relief to the romantic spirit of the adventures which it portrays.

The writings of some of those Scottish poets belong to the sixteenth century: but from the date of their births they are placed under the fifteenth.

JAMES I. of Scotland was born in the year 1394, and became heir-apparent to the Scottish crown by the death of his brother, Prince David. Taken prisoner at sea by the English, at ten years of age, he received some compensation for his cruel detention by an excellent education. It appears that he accompanied Henry V. into France, and there distinguished himself by his skill and bravery. On his return to his native country he endeavoured, during too short a reign, to strengthen the rights of the crown and people against a tyrannical aristocracy. He was the first who convoked commissioners from the shires, in place of the numerous lesser barons, and he endeavoured to create a house of commons in Scotland, by separating the representatives of the people from the peers; but his nobility foresaw the effects of his scheme, and too successfully resisted it. After clearing the lowlands of Scotland from feudal oppression, he visited the highlands, and crushed several refractory chieftains. Some instances of his justice are recorded, which rather resemble the cruelty of the times in which he lived, than his own personal character; but in such times justice herself wears a horrible aspect. One Macdonald, a petty chieftain of the

north, displeased with a widow on his estate for threatening to appeal to the king, had ordered her feet to be shod with iron plates nailed to the soles; and then insultingly told her that she was thus armed against the rough roads. The widow, however, found means to send her story to James, who seized the savage, with twelve of his associates, whom he shod with iron, in a similar manner, and having exposed them for several days in Edinburgh, gave them over to the executioner.

While a prisoner in Windsor Castle, James had seen and admired the beautiful Lady Jane Beaufort, daughter of the Duke of Somerset. Few royal attachments have been so romantic and so happy. His poem entitled the Quair,* in which he pathetically laments his captivity, was devoted to the celebration of this lady; whom he obtained at last in marriage, together with his liberty, as Henry conceived that his union with the granddaughter of the Duke of Lancaster might bind the Scottish monarch to the interests of England.

James perished by assassination, in the fortysecond year of his age, leaving behind him the example of a patriot king, and of a man of genius. universally accomplished.

X.

THE longè dayès and the nightès eke,
I would bewail my fortune in this wise,
For which, again" distress comfort to seek,
My custom was, on mornès, for to rise
Early as day: O happy exercise!
By thee came I to joy out of torment;
But now to purpose of my first intent.

XI.

Bewailing in my chamber, thus alone,
Despaired of all joy and remedy,
For-tired of my thought, and woe begone;
And to the window gan I walk in hye,
To see the world and folk that went forby;
As for the time (though I of mirthis food
Might have no more) to look it did me good.

XII.

Now was there made fast by the touris wall
A garden fair; and in the corners set
Ane herbere green; with wandis long and small
Railed about and so with treeìs set

Was all the place, and hawthorn hedges knet,
That life was none [a] walking there forby
That might within scarce any wight espy.

* Quair is the old Scotch word for a book.

In George Chalmers' reprint of the Quair (8vo, 1824),

there is no division into cantos.-C.

a Against. Haste. Herbary, or garden of simples.

XIV.

And on the smallè greenè twistis sat
The little sweetè nightingale, and sung,
So loud and clear the hymnis consecrate
Of lovis use, now soft, now loud among,"
That all the gardens and the wallis rung
Right of their song; and on the couple next
Of their sweet harmony, and lo the text.

XV.

Worshippe, O ye that lovers bene, this May!
For of your bliss the calends are begun;
And sing with us, "Away! winter away!
Come summer come, the sweet season and sun;
Awake for shame that have your heavens won;
And amorously lift up your headès all
Thank love that list you to his mercy call."

XXI.

And therewith cast I down mine eye again,
Where as I saw walking under the tower,
Ful secretly new comyn to her pleyne,
The fairest and the frest youngè flower
That ever I saw (methought) before that hour:
For which sudden abatef anon asterts

The blood of all my body to my heart. . . .

d Promiscuously. Sport. In Chalmers it is:-new cumyn her to pleyne, which he explains "coming forth to petition." (C.)-f An unexpected accident. Chalmers says "depression of mind." (C.)- Started back.

I. Robene sat on a good green hill. Keeping a flock of cattle. Merry Makyne said to him.-u Robene, take pity on me. I have loved thee openly and secretly.These years two or three. My sorrow, in secret, unless thou share.-y Undoubtedly I shall die.

II. z Robene answered, by the rood.- Nothing of love I know. But keep my sheep under yon wood.- Lo where they range in a row.-d What has marred thee in thy mood. Makyne, show thou to me.-f Or what is love or to be loved.- Fain would I learn that law (of love).

III. At the lore of love if thou wilt learn.- Take there an A. B. C.—j Be kind, courteous, and fair of aspect

Se that no danger do the deir,' Quhat dule in dern thow drie,m Preiss the with pane at all poweir," Be patient, and previe."

IV.

He. Robene answerit her agane,"
I wait not quhat is luve,
But I half marvell, in certaine,"
Quhat makis the this wanrufe."
The weddir is fair, and I am fane,'
My scheip gois haill aboif,"
An we wald play us in this plane"
They wald us baith reproif."

V.

She. Robene take tent unto my tale,*

And wirk all as I reid,y

And thow sall haif my hart all haile

Eik and my maidenheid.

Sen God sendis bute for baill,"

And for murning remeid,

I dern with the, but gif I daill,c
Doubtless I am bot dead.d

or feature. Wise, hardy, and free. See that no danger daunt thee.-m Whatever sorrow in secret thou sufferest. -n Exert thyself with pains to thy utmost power.- Be patient and privy.

IV. P Robene answered her again.- I wot not what is love. But I (have) wonder, certainly. What makes thee thus melancholy. The weather is fair, and I am glad. My sheep go healthful above (or in the uplands). If we should play in this plain.-w They would reprove us both.

V. Robene, take heed unto my tale.-y And do all as I advise. And thou shalt have my heart entirely.

VI.

He. Makyne, to morne this ilka tyde,

And ye will meit me heir;f
Peradventure my scheip may gang besyde,s
Quhill we half liggit full neir,^
Both maugre haif I, an I byde,
Fra they begin to steir,

Quhat lyis on hairt I will nocht hyd,
Makyne then mak gud cheir.

VII.

She. Robene thou reivis me roif* and rest,i
I luve but the alone,j

He. Makyne adew! the sone gois west,*
The day is neirhand gone.'

She. Robene, in dule I am so drest,m

That luve will be my bone."

He. Ga luve, Makyne, quhair evir thou list, For leman I lue none."

VIII.

She. Robene, I stand in sic a style,?

I sicht, and that full sair."

He. Makyne, I haif bene heir this quhile,'
At hame God gif I wair.t
She. My hinny Robene, talk ane quhyle:"
Gif thou wilt do na mair."
He. Makyne, sum other man begyle;w
or hamewart I will fair.

IX.

Robene, on his wayis went,"
As licht as leif of tre :=
Makyne murnit in her intent,"
And trow'd him nevir to sè,
Robene brayd attour the bent,
Than Makyne cryit on hie,d

Now ma thow sing, for I am schent,
Quhat alis lufe with me.f

X.

Makyne went hame withouttin faill, Full werry after couth weip,^

a Since God sends good for evil. And for mourning consolation. I am now in secret with thee, but if I separate. d Doubtless I shall die (broken-hearted).

VI. Makyne, to-morrow this very time.-f If ye will meet here. Perhaps my sheep may go aside. Until we have lain near.

VII. Robene, thou robbest my quiet and rest.—j I but thee alone. Makyne, adieu, the sun goes west. The day is nearly gone.-m Robene, in sorrow I am so beset.n That love will be my bane. Go love, Makyne, where thou wilt. For sweetheart I love none.

VIII. Robene, I am in such a state. I sigh, and that full sore. Makyne, I have been here some time.At home God grant I were.-u My sweet Robene, talk a while. If thou wilt do no more.-w Makyne, some other man beguile. For homeward I will fare.

IX. y Robene on his way went. As light as leaf of tree.-a Makyne mourned in her thoughts. And thought him never to see.- Robene went over the hill.-d Then Makyne cried on high. Now you may sing, I am destroyed.-f What ails, love, with me?

X. g Makyne went home without fail. Full after

* Pinkerton absurdly makes this word roiss; it is roif in the Bannatyne MS.

The line "Than Robene in a full fair daill," may either mean that he assembled his sheep in a fair full number, or in a fair piece of low ground; the former is the more probable meaning.

Spend, if it be not a corruption of the text, is apparently the imperfect of a verb; but I cannot find in any

she would weep.-i By that (time) some of Makyne's sorrow. Crept through his heart. He followed fast to lay hold of her. And held good watch of her.

XI. m Abide. abide, thou fair Makyne.-n A word for any thing's (sake). For all my love shall be thine.P Without departing.- To have thy heart all mine. Is all that I covet.- My sheep to-morrow, till nine.- Will need no keeping.

XII. u For you made game of my pain.- I shall say like you.-w Mourn on, I think to do better (than be in love).

XV. Makyne, the hope of all my health.-y My heart is on thee set. And (I) shall ever more be true to thee. -a While I may live, without ceasing. Never to fail as others fail. Whatever favour I obtain.-d Robene, with thee I will not deal.- Adieu! for thus we met.

XVI. ƒ Makyne went home blythe enough. Over the hoary woodlands. Robene mourn'd, and Makyne laughed. She sang, he sighed sore.-j And so left him woful and overcome. In dolour and care. Keeping his herd under a cliff.-m Among the hoary hillocks.

glossary, or even in Dr. Jamieson's Scottish Dictionary, the verb to which it may be traced so as to make sense. I suppose the meaning is "there was a time when I vainly made love to thee."

The word werry I am unable to explain.
Vide Jamieson's Dictionary, voc. HAIR.

The words holtis hair have been differently explained

THE little that is known of Dunbar has been gleaned from the complaints in his own poetry, and from the abuse of his contemporary Kennedy, which is chiefly directed against his poverty. From the colophon of one of his poems, dated at Oxford, it has been suggested, as a conjecture, that he studied at that university. By his own account, he travelled through France and England as a novice of the Franciscan order; and, in that capacity, confesses that he was guilty of sins, probably professional frauds, from the stain

of which the holy water could not cleanse him. On his return to Scotland he commemorated the nuptials of James IV. with Margaret Tudor, in his poem of the Thistle and Rose; but we find that James turned a deaf ear to his remonstrances for a benefice, and that the queen exerted her influence in his behalf ineffectually. Yet, from the verses on his dancing in the queen's chamber, it appears that he was received at court on familiar terms.

I.

OF Februar the fiftene nycht,"
Full lang befoir the dayis licht,

I lay intille a trance;

And then I saw baithd Hevin and Hell;
Methocht amang the fiendis fell,

Mahoun gart cry ane Dance,
Of shrewis that were never shrevin,5
Against the feast of Fasternis evin,"

To mak their observance :i
He bad gallands ga graith a gyis,j
And cast up gamountis in the skies,
As varlotis dois in France.

II.

Heillie harlottis on hawtane wyis,'
Come in with mony sindrie gyis,m

Bot yet leuch never Mahoun,"

Quhill priestis come in with bair schevin nekks, Then all the feynds lewche and made gekksp Black-Belly and Bawsy-Broun...

III.

Let's see, quoth he, now quha begins :" With that the fowll Sevin Deidly Sins,' Begowth to leip at anis.'

And first of all in dance was Pryd,

I. a The fifteenth night. Before the day-light. I lay in a trance. And then I saw both heaven and hell.Methought among the fell fiends.- The devil made proclaim a dance. Of sinners that were never shriven.A The evening preceding Lent. i To make their observance. He bade (his) gallants to prepare a masque.*And cast up dances in the skies.

II. Holy harlots in haughty guise.-m Came in with many sundry masks.-n But yet Satan never laughed. • While priests came with their bare shaven necks.Then all the fiends laughed and made signs of derision. - Names of spirits.

III. Let's see, quoth he, now who begins. With that the foul seven deadly sins.-t Began to leap at once.u With hair combed back (and) bonnet to one side.

*Dunbar in 1477 was entered among the Determinantes, or Bachelors of Arts, at Salvator's College, St. Andrew's, and in 1479 he took his degree there of Master of Arts. (See Laing's Dunbar, vol. i. p. 9. That he studied at Oxford at any time is highly improbable.-C. In 1500 he received a yearly pension of ten pounds

With hair wyld bak, and bonet on side,"
Like to mak vaistie wainis;"

And round about him, as a quheill,w
Hang all in rumpilis to the heill,

His kethat for the nanis."
Mony proud trompour with him trippit,
Throw skaldan fyre ay as they skippit,a
They girnd with hyddous granis.

IV.

Then Ire cam in with sturt and strife,
His hand was ay upon his knyfe,
He brandeist lyk a beir;
Bostaris, braggaris, and barganeris,d
After him passit into pairis,

All bodin in feir of weir.f

In jakkis scryppis and bonnettis of steil,
Thair legges were chenyiet to the heill,"
Frawart was thair affeir,i

Sum upon uder with brands beft,¿
Some jaggit uthers to the heft

With knyves that scherp coud scheir.'

V.

Next in the dance followit Invy,m Fild full of feid and fellony,"

Hid malice and dispyte,

Likely to make wasteful wants.-w Like a wheel.Hung all the rumples to the heel. His cassock for the nonce. Many a proud impostor with him tripped.a Through scalding fire as they skipt. They grinned with hideous groans.

IV. Then Ire came with trouble and strife.-d Boasters, braggarts, and bullies.- After him passed in pairs.- All arrayed in feature of war.- In coats of armour and bonnets of steel. Their legs were chained to the heel. (Probably it means covered with iron net-work).—i Froward was their aspect.- Some struck upon others with brands. Some stuck others to the hilt. With knives that sharply could mangle.

V. m Followed Envy.-n Filled full of quarrel and felony.

from king James, "to be pait to him for al the dais of his life, or quhil he be promovit be our Souerane Lord to a benefice of xl li. or aboue." The pension was raised to xx li. in 1507, and to lxxx li. in 1510, the latter to be paid till such time as he should receive a benefice of one hundred pounds or upwards.-C.