The sages—for authority, pray, look
Seneca's morals, or the copy-book-
The sages, to disparage woman's power,
Say, beauty is a fair, but fading flower ;-
I cannot tell—I've small philosophy,
Yet, if it fades, it does not surely die,
But, like the violet, when decay'd in bloom,
Survives through many a year in rich perfume.
Witness our theme to-night, two ages gone,
A third wanes fast, since Mary fillid the throne.
Brief was her bloom, with scarce one sunny day,
'Twixt Pinkie's field and fatal Fotheringay: -
But when, while Scottish hearts and blood you boast,
Shall sympathy with Mary's woes be lost?
O’er Mary's memory the learned quarrel,
By Mary's grave the poet plants his laurel,
Time's echo, old tradition, makes her name
The constant burden of his faltring theme;
In each old hall his grey-hair'd heralds tell
Of Mary's picture, and of Mary's cell,
And show-my fingers tingle at the thought-
The loads of tapestry which that poor Queen wrought.

? [" I recovered the above with some difficulty. I believe it was never spoken, but written for some play, afterwards withdrawn, in which Mrs. H. Siddons was to have spoken it in the character of Queen Mary.”—Extract from a Letter of Sir Walter Scott to Mr. Constable, 222 October, 1824.]. .

In vain did fate bestow a double dower
Of ev'ry ill that waits on rank and pow'r,
Of ev'ry ill on beauty that attends -
False ministers, false lovers, and false friends.
Spite of three wedlocks so completely curst,
They rose in ill from bad to worse, and worst,
In spite of errors—I dare not say more,
For Duncan Targe lays hand on his claymore.
In spite of all, however humours vary,
There is a talisman in that word Mary,
That unto Scottish bosoms all and some
Is found the genuine open sesamum !
In history, ballad, poetry, or novel,
It charms alike the castle and the hovel,
Even you— forgive me-- who, demure and shy,
Gorge not each bait, nor stir at every fly,
Must rise to this, else in her ancient reign
The Rose of Scotland has survived in vain.


To youth, to age, alike, this tablet pale .
Tells the brief moral of its tragic tale.
Art thou a parent ? Reverence this bier,
The parents' fondest hopes lie buried here.

[This young gentleman, a son of the Author's friend and relation, Hugh Scott of Harden, Esq., became Rector of Kentis beare, in Devonshire, in 1828, and died there the 9th June, 1830. This epitaph appears on his tomb in the chancel there.]

Art' thou a youth, prepared on life to start,
With opening talents and a generous heart,
Fair hopes and flattering prospects all thine own!
Lo! here their end-a monumental stone.
But let submission tame each sorrowing thought,
Heaven crown'd its champion ere the fight was fought.


Assist me, ye friends of Old Books and Old Wine,
To sing in the praises of sage Bannatyne,
Who left such a treasure of old Scottish lore
As enables each age to print one volume more.

One volume more, my friends, one volume more,
We'll ransack old Banny for one volume more.

And first, Allan Ramsay, was eager to glean
From Bannatyne's Hortus his bright Evergreen ;
Two light little volumes (intended for four)
Still leave us the task to print one volume more.

One volume more, &c.

His ways were not ours, for he cared not a pin
How much he left out, or how much he put in;

*[Sir Walter Scott was the first President of the Club, and wrote these verses for the anniversary dinner of March, 1823.]

The truth of the reading he thought was a bore,
So this accurate age calls for one volume more.

One volume more, &c.

Correct and sagacious, then came my Lord Hailes,
And weigh'd every letter in critical scales,
But left out some brief words, which the prudish abhor,
And castrated Banny in one volume more.

One volume more, my friends, one volume more;
We'll restore Banny's manhood in one volume


John Pinkerton next, and I'm truly concern'd
I can't call that worthy so candid as learn'd;
He rail'd at the plaid and blasphemed the claymore,
And set Scots by the ears in his one volume more.

One volume more, my friends, one volume more,
Celt and Goth shall be pleased with one volume

. VI.
As bitter as gall, and as sharp as a razor,
And feeding on herbs as a Nebuchadnezzar;'
His diet too acid, his temper too sour,
Little Ritson came out with his two volumes more.

But one volume, my friends, one volume more, - We'll dine on roast-beef and print one volume


? [In accordance with his own regimen, Mr. Ritson published a volume entitled, “ An Essay on Abstinence from Animal Food as a Moral Duty. 1802."] "? [See an account of the Metrical Antiquarian Researches of Pinkerton, Ritson, and Herd, &c. in the introductory Remarks

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VII. The stout Gothic yeditur, next on the roll,' With his beard like a brush and as black as a coal; And honest Greysteel that was true to the core, Lent their hearts and their hands each to one volume. more.

One volume more, &c.

VIII. Since by these single champions what wonders were

done, What may not be achieved by our Thirty and One! Law, Gospel, and Commerce, we count in our corps, And the Trade and the Press join for one volume more.

One volume more, &c.

Ancient libels and contraband books, I assure ye,
We'll print as secure from Exchequer or Jury;
Then hear your Committee, and let them count o'er
The Chiels they intend in their three volumes more.

Three volumes more, &c.

X. They'll produce you King Jamie, the sapient and Sext, And the Rob of Dumblane and her Bishops come next;

on Popular Poetry prefixed to the first volume of the Border Minstrelsy.]

? [James Sibbald, editor of Scottish Poetry, &c., “ The Yeditur," was the name given him by the late Lord Eldin, then Mr. John Clerk, advocate. The description of him here is very accurate.]

? [David Herd, editor of Songs and Historical Ballads. 2 vols. He was called Greysteel by his intimates, from having been long in unsuccessful quest of the romance of that name.)

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