AMBROSE PHILIPS. THIS gentleman-remembered now chiefly as Pope's temporary rival was born in 1671, in Leicestershire; studied at Cambridge; and, being a great Whig, was appointed by the government of George I. to be Commissioner of the Collieries, and afterwards to some lucrative appointments in Ireland. He was also made one of the Commissioners of the Lottery. He was elected member for Armagh in the Irish House of Commons. He returned home in 1748, and died the next year in his lodgings at Vauxhall. His works are 'The Distressed Mother,' a tragedy translated from Racine, and greatly praised in the Spectator; two deservedly forgotten plays, 'The Briton,' and 'Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester;' some miscellaneous pieces, of which an epistle to the Earl of Dorset, dated Copenhagen, has some very vivid lines; his Pastorals, which were commended by Tickell at the expense of those of Pope, who took his revenge by damning them, not with 'faint' but with fulsome and ironical praise, in the Guardian; and the subjoined fragment from Sappho, which is, particularly in the first stanza, melody itself. Some conjecture that it was touched up by Addison. A FRAGMENT OF SAPPHO. 1 Blessed as the immortal gods is he, 2 'Twas this deprived my soul of rest, 3 My bosom glowed: the subtle flame O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung, 4 In dewy damps my limbs were chilled, WILLIAM HAMILTON. WILLIAM HAMILTON, of Bangour, was born in Ayrshire in 1704. He was of an ancient family, and mingled from the first in the most fashionable circles. Ere he was twenty he wrote verses in Ramsay's 'Tea-Table Miscellany.' In 1745, to the surprise of many, he joined the standard of Prince Charles, and wrote a poem on the battle of Gladsmuir, or Prestonpans. When the reverse of his party came, after many wanderings and hair'sbreadth escapes in the Highlands, he found refuge in France. As he was a general favourite, and as much allowance was made for his poetical temperament, a pardon was soon procured for him by his friends, and he returned to his native country. His health, however, originally delicate, had suffered by his Highland privations, and he was compelled to seek the milder clime of Lyons, where he died in 1754. Hamilton was what is called a ladies'-man, but his attachments were not deep, and he rather flirted than loved. A Scotch lady, who was annoyed at his addresses, asked John Home how she could get rid of them. He, knowing Hamilton well, advised her to appear to favour him. She acted on the advice, and he immediately withdrew his suit. And yet his best poem is a tale of love, and a tale, too, told with great simplicity and pathos. We refer to his 'Braes of Yarrow,' the beauty of which we never felt fully till we saw some time ago that lovely region, with its 'dowie dens,'-its clear living stream,-Newark Castle, with its woods and memories,—and the green wildernesses of silent hills which stretch on all sides around; saw it, too, in that aspect of which Wordsworth sung in the words It is the highest praise we can bestow upon Hamilton's ballad that it ranks in merit near Wordsworth's fine trinity of poems, 'Yarrow Unvisited,' 'Yarrow Visited,' and 'Yarrow Revisited.' THE BRAES OF YARROW. 1 A. Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow! Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow. 2 B. Where gat ye that bonny bonny bride? 3 Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny bride, Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow! Nor let thy heart lament to leave Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. 4 B. Why does she weep, thy bonny bonny bride? Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow? And why dare ye nae mair weil be seen, Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow? 5 A. Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, maun she weep, Lang maun she weep with dule and sorrow, 6 For she has tint her lover lover dear, Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow, That e'er poued birks on the Braes of Yarrow. 7 Why runs thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, red? Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow? And why yon melancholious weeds Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow? 8 What's yonder floats on the rueful rueful flude? What's yonder floats? O dule and sorrow! 'Tis he, the comely swain I slew Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow. 9 Wash, oh wash his wounds his wounds in tears, 10 Then build, then build, ye sisters sisters sad, Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow, And weep around in waeful wise, His helpless fate on the Braes of Yarrow. 11 Curse ye, curse ye, his useless useless shield, My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow, The fatal spear that pierced his breast, His comely breast, on the Braes of Yarrow. 12 Did I not warn thee not to lue, And warn from fight, but to my sorrow; Thou met'st, and fell on the Braes of Yarrow. 13 Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green grows the grass, Yellow on Yarrow bank the gowan, Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan. 14 Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet flows Tweed, 15 Fair was thy love, fair fair indeed thy love 16 Busk ye then, busk, my bonny bonny bride, Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow, Busk ye, and lue me on the banks of Tweed, And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow. 17 C. How can I busk a bonny bonny bride, How can I busk a winsome marrow, How lue him on the banks of Tweed, That slew my love on the Braes of Yarrow? 18 O Yarrow fields! may never never rain For there was basely slain my love, green, 19 The boy put on his robes, his robes of |