which lasted till the world 'thought that Science was too long a jape,' and got rid of Sci. Nothing was left now but ens, worldly substance, 'riches and gear that gart all grace go hence.' The Church in Scotland did not retain even ens long after the age of Douglas. Grace, on the other hand, waxed abundant.

The work by which Douglas lives, and deserves to live, is his translation of the Aeneid. It is a singular fruit of a barren and unlearned time, and, as a romantic rendering of the Aeneid, may still be read with pleasure. The two poets whom Douglas most admired of all the motley crowd who pass through The Palice of Honour were Virgil and Chaucer. Each of these masters he calls an a per se. He imitated the latter in the manner of his allegorical verse, and he translated the former with complete success. We must not ask the impossible from Douglas,-we must not expect exquisite philological accuracy; but he had the 'root of the matter,' an intense delight in Virgil's music and in Virgil's narrative, a perfect sympathy with 'sweet Dido,' and that keen sense of the human life of Greek, Trojan, and Latin, which enabled him in turn to make them live in Scottish rhyme. If he talks of 'the nuns of Bacchus,' and if his Sibyl admonishes Aeneas to 'tell his beads,' Douglas is merely using what he thinks the legitimate freedom of the translator. He justifies his method, too, by quotations from Horace and St. Gregory. He is giving a modern face to the ancient manners, a face which his readers would recognise. In his prologues, his sympathy carries him beyond orthodox limits, and he defends the behaviour of Aeneas to Dido against the attacks of Chaucer. He is so earnest a 'humanist' that he places himself in the mental attitude of Virgil, and avers that Aeneas only deserted Dido at the bidding of the gods:

'Certes, Virgill schawis Enee did na thing,
Frome Dido of Cartaige at his departing,

Bot quhilk the goddes commandit him to forne;
And gif that thair command maid him mansworne,
That war repreif to thair divinitee

And na reproche unto the said Enee.'

But though Douglas is a humanist in verse, all the Bishop asserts himself in prose. In his prose note he observes that 'Enee falit then gretly to the sueit Dido, quhilk falt reprefit nocht the goddessis divinite, for they had na divinite, as said

is before.' Though he adores the Olympians in verse, Douglas adopts the Euhemeristic theory in prose: 'Juno was bot ane woman, dochter to Saturn, sistir and spows to Jupiter king of Crete.' In spite of these edifying notes, Douglas's conscience pricked him, 'for he to Gentiles' bukis gaif sik keip.' Even if he knew Greek, he probably would not have translated Homer, as a friend asked him to do. The prologue to the Thirteenth Book of the Aeneid (i.e. of the book 'ekit' to Virgil by Mapheus Vegius,) proves that there were moments when he thought even Virgil a perilous and unprofitable heathen.

The language of Douglas, as he observes (Prologue to the First Book), is 'braid and plane,' that is to say, it is good broad Scotch, and still 'plain' enough to a Scotch reader. He does not, however, 'clere all sudroun refuse,' when no Scotch word served his turn, and he frankly admits that

'the ryme

Causis me to mak digressioun sum tyme.'

Douglas's rank is that of an accomplished versifier, who deserted poetry with no great regret for the dangerous game of politics.

A. LANG.

A DESERT TERRIBLE.

[From The Palice of Honour.]

My rauist spreit1 in that desert terribill,
Approchit neir that vglie flude horribill,
Like till 2 Cochyte the riuer infernall,

With vile water quhilk maid a hiddious trubil,
Rinnand ouirheid, blude reid, and impossibill
That it had been a riuer naturall;

3

With brayis bair, raif1 rochis like to fall,
Quhairon na gers 5 nor herbis were visibill,
Bot swappis brint with blastis boriall.

This laithlie flude rumland as thonder routit,
In quhome the fisch 3elland' as eluis schoutit,
Thair 3elpis wilde my heiring all fordeifit,

Thay grym monstures my spreits abhorrit and doutit.
Not throw the soyl bot muskane treis sproutit,

Combust, barrant, vnblomit and vnleifit,
Auld rottin runtis quhairin na sap was leifit,
Moch, all waist, widderit with granis moutit,
A ganand9 den, quhair murtherars men reifit 1o.

Quhairfoir my seluin was richt sair agast,
This wildernes abhominabill and waist,
(In quhome nathing was nature comfortand)
Was dark as rock, the quhilk the sey vpcast.
The quhissilling wind blew mony bitter blast,
Runtis rattillit and vneith 11 micht I stand.
Out throw the wod I crap on fute and hand,
The riuer stank, the treis clatterit fast.

The soyl was nocht bot marres 12, slike 13, and sand.

A SCOTTISH WINTER LANDSCAPE.

[From the Prologue to the Aeneid, Bk. vii.]

The frosty regioun ringis of the 3eir,
The tyme and sessoune bitter cald and paill,
Thai schort days that clerkis clepe brumaill;
Quhen brym1 blastis of the northyne art2
Ourquhelmit had Neptunus in his cart,
And all to schaik the levis of the treis,
The rageand storm ourwalterand wally seis3;
Reveris ran reid on spait with watteir broune,
And burnis hurlis all thair bankis downe,
And landbrist rumland rudely wyth sic beir3,
So loud ne rummist wyld lioun or beir.
Fludis monstreis, sic as meirswyne or quhailis,
For the tempest law in the deip devallyisR.
Mars occident, retrograide in his speir,
Provocand stryff, regnit as lord that 3eir;
Rany Orioune wyth his stormy face
Bewalit of the schipman by his rays;
Frawart Saturne, chill of complexioune,
Throw quhais aspect derth and infectioune
Bene causit oft, and mortale pestilens,
Went progressiue the greis of his ascens;
And lusty Hebe, Junois douchtir gay,
Stud spulzeit 10 of hir office and array.
The soill ysowpit into wattir wak11,
The firmament ourkest with rokis 12 blak,

The ground fadyt, and fauch wolx 13 all the feildis,
Montayne toppis sleikit wyth snaw ourheildis,
On raggit rolkis of hard harsk quhyne stane 11,
With frosyne frontis cauld clynty clewis 15 schane;
Bewtie wes lost, and barrand schew the landis,
With frostis haire 16 ourfret the feildis standis.

1 violent. 2 quarter of the heaven.
the flood roaring. 5 cry, noise.
9 degrees.
13 became reddish. 14 rough whin-stones.

8 descends.

3 overwhelming the wavy seas. porpoises or whales.

10 spoiled.

11 wet.
15 stony cliffs.

7 low. 12 mists.

16 hoar.

Soure bittir bubbis1, and the schowris snell
Semyt on the sward ane similitude of hell,
Reducyng to our mynd, in every steid,
Goustly schaddois of eild and grisly deid,
Thik drumly scuggis2 dirknit so the hevyne.
Dym skyis oft furth warpit feirfull levyne3,
Flaggis of fyir, and mony felloun flawe,

Scharp soppis of sleit, and of the snypand* snawe.
The dowy dichis war all donk and wait,

5

6

The law vaille flodderit all wyth spait,
The plane stretis and every hie way
Full of fluschis, doubbis, myre and clay.

8

10

Our craggis, and the front of rochis seyre,
Hang gret isch schoklis lang as ony spere ;
The grund stude barrand, widderit, dosk and gray,
Herbis, flouris, and gersis wallowit away;
Woddis, forestis, wyth nakyt bewis blout",
Stud strypyt of thair weyd in every hout 1o.
So bustuysly Boreas his bugill blew,
The deyr full dern" dovne in the dalis drew;
Smal byrdis, flokand throw thik ronnis 12 thrang,
In chyrmyng and with cheping changit thair sang,
Sekand hidlis and hirnys 13 thaim to hyde
Fra feirfull thudis of the tempestuus tyde.
The wattir lynnis 14 routtis, and every lynde
Quhyslyt and brayt of the swouchand wynde.
Puire laboraris and byssy husband men
Went wayt and wery draglyt in the fen;
The silly scheip and thair lytill hyrd gromis
Lurkis vndir le of bankis, wodys, and bromys;
And wthir 15 dantit gretar bestial 16,
Within thair stabillis sesyt into stall,

Sic as mulis, horsis, oxin and ky,

17

Fed tuskit baris 1, and fat swyne in sty,