In 1772, by the liberality of John, third Earl of Hyndford, deposited in the Advocates' Library at Edinburgh, where it still remains.
We have already alluded to George Bannatyne as a poet; and it remains to be shown in what degree he was entitled to that designation. To tell the truth, his verses display little, in thought or imagery, that could be expected to interest the present generation; neither was he perhaps a versifier of great repute, even in his own time. He seems to have belonged to a class very numerous in private life, who are eminently capable of enjoying poetry, and possess, to appearance, all the sensibilities which are necessary to its production; but, wanting the active or creative power, rarely yield to the temptation of writing verse, without a signal defeat. Such persons, of whom George Bannatyne was certainly one, may be said to have negative, but not positive poetry. As it seems but fair, however, that he who has done so much to bring the poetry of others before the world, should not have his own altogether confined to the solitude of manuscript, or the unobvious print of his own bibliographical society, we subjoin a specimen from one of the very few pieces which have come down to our own time. The verses which follow are the quaint, but characteristic conclusion of a sonnet to his mistress' eyebrow. It is ludicrous to observe theology pressed by the venerable rhymester into the service of love.
"Na thing of rycht I ask, my Lady fair,
Bot of fre will and mercy me to saif;
Your will is your awin, as ressoun wald it ware,
Thairfoir of grace, and nocht of rycht I craif
Of you mercy, as ye wald mercy haif
Off God our Lord, quhois mercyis infeneit
Gois befoire all his workis, we may persaif,
To thame quhois handis with mercy ar repleit.
Now to conclude with wordis compendious;
Wald God my tong wald to my will respond,
And eik my speich was so facundious,
That I was full of rethore termys jocond!
Than suld my lufe at moir length be exponed,
Than my cunnying can to you heir declair;
For this my style inornetly compond,
Eschangs my pen your eiris to truble mair.
Go to my deir with hummill reverence,
Thou bony bill, both rude and imperfeyte;
Go, nocht will forgit flattery to her presence,
As is of falset the custome use and ryte;
Causs me nocht Ban that evir I the indyte.
Na tyne my travell, turning all in vane;
Bot with ane faithfull hairt, in word and wryte,
Declair my mind and bring me joy agane.
My name quha list to knaw, let him tak tent
Vnto this littill verse nixt presedent."
It only remains to be mentioned that the name of George Bannatyne has been appropriately adopted by a company of Scottish literary antiquaries, interested, like him, in the preservation of such curious memorials of the taste of past ages, as well as such monuments of history, as might otherwise run the hazard of total perdition.
BARBOUR, John, a name of which Scotland has just occasion to be proud, was Archdeacon of Aberdeen in the later part of the fourteenth century. There
