The poems of Sir Robert Ayton, for the first time published together in the Miscellany of the Bannatyne Club, (from which we derive these particulars of the poet's life,) are few in number, but of great merit. He composed no Scottish poems, at least none that have come down to our times. He wrote in English, and was, indeed, one of the first of our countrymen who composed in that language with any degree of elegance or purity. It is unfortunate that the most of his poems are complimentary verses to the illustrious individuals with whom he was acquainted, and of course characterised only by a strain of conceited and extravagant flattery. Those, however, upon general topics, are conceived in a refined and tender strain of fancy, that reminds us more of the fairy strains of Herrick than any thing else. John Aubrey remarks, "that Sir Robert was one of the best poets of his time," and adds the more important testimony that "Mr John Dryden has seen verses of his, some of the best of that age, printed with some other verses." According to Dempster, Ayton was also a writer of verses in Greek and French, as well as in English and Latin. Several of his Latin poems are preserved in the work called, "Delitiae Poetarum Scotorum," which was printed in his lifetime (1637) at Amsterdam.
One poem by Ayton, entitled, "Inconstancy Reproved," and commencing with the words, "I do confess thou'rt smooth and fair," was esteemed by Burns worthy of being paraphrased into the native dialect of the author; a process certainly of a very curious nature, as it might have rather been expected that the poet of the eighteenth should have refined upon the poet of the seventeenth century. It may be safely avowed that the modern poet has not improved upon his predecessor. Perhaps the reader will be less familiar with the following equally beautiful poems by Sir Robert Ayton, than with "Inconstancy Reproved,"—which, after all, is not ascertained to be his.
SONG.
What means this strangeness now of late,
Since time must truth approve?
This distance may consist with state—
It cannot stand with love.
'Tis either cunning or distrust,
That may such ways allow;
The first is base, the last unjust;
Let neither blemish you.
For if you mean to draw me on,
There needs not half this art;
And if you mean to have me gone,
You overact your part.
If kindness cross your wished content,
Dismiss me with a frown,
I'll give you all the love that's spent,
The rest shall be my own.
ON WOMAN'S INCONSTANCY.
I loved thee once, I'll love no more,
Thine be the grief as is the blame;
Thou art not what thou wast before,
What reason I should be the same?
He that can love unloved again,
Hath better store of love than brain:
God send me love my debts to pay,
While unthrifts fool their love away.
