It is richt facill and eith1 gate, I thee tell
For to descend, and pass on doun to hell.
The black zettis of Pluto, and that dirk way,
Stand evir open and patent nicht and day.
But therefra to return againe on hicht,
And heire above recovir this airis licht,
That is difficil werk, thair labour lyis.
Full few thair bene quhom hiech above the skyis,
Thare ardent vertue has rasit and upheit",

Or zit quhame equale Jupiter deifyit,

Thay quhilkis bene gendrit of goddes may thydder
attane,

All the mydway is wildernes unplane,
Or wilsum forest; and the laithlie* flude,
Cocytus, with his drery bosom unrude,
Flows environ round about that place.

Perhaps a happier specimen of this remarkable work of Douglas is to be found in the translation of that exquisite passage in the sixth book, in which Æneas and the Sibyl arrive at the Elysian Fields:

His demum exactis, perfecto munere divæ,
Devenere locos lætos et amana vireta,
Fortunatorum nemorum sedesque beatas.
Largior hic campos æther, et lumine vestit
Purpureo, solemque suum sua sidera norunt.
Pars in gramineis exercent membra palæstris,
Contendunt ludo, et fulva luctantur arena;
Pars pedibus plaudunt choreas, et carmina dicunt,
Nec non Threicius longa cum veste sacerdos
Oblectat numeris septem discrimina vocum,
Jamque eadem digitis, jam pectine pulsat eburno.'
The golden branche he sticks up fair and wele,
This beand done at last; and every dele
Prefurnist", langing the goddyss gift gay,
Unto ane plesand grund cumin ar thay

6

1 easy. 2 dark. all things or rites fulfilled.

3

upheld.

4 loathsome.

6

⚫ belonging.

1

7 ground.

With battel1gers, fresche herbis, and grene swardis,
The lusty orcharlis, and the halesome2 yardis
Of happy saulis 3 and wele fortunate
To blissit wichtis the places preparate,
Thir fieldis bene largeare, and hevinis brycht
Revestis thaim with purpour schyning lycht;
The sternes for this place convenient
Knawis wele their sun, and observis his went 6.
Sum thare amid the gersy 7 planis grene,
In to palestral playis thame betwene:

8

9

Thare membris gan exerce, and hand for hand
They fall to wersling on the golden sand,
Assayand honest gammis 10 thaym to schorte11,
Sum uthir hanting12 gane, ane uther sporte
Als for to dansing, and to bede the ring
To sing ballettis 13 and go in karolling.
Thare wes also the priest and menstrale sle 14,
Orpheus of Thrace, in syde robe harpand 15 he,
Playing proporcions and springs 16 divine
Apoun his harp, sevin divers soundis fyne,
Now with gymp7 fyngeris doing stringis smyte,
And now with subtell evorie poyntals lyte 18.

Douglas commences each book with a prologue or original introduction, generally descriptive of the season and circumstances under which it was written. Thus, in the prologue to the seventh book, we have as noble a description of winter as is to be found in the whole range of ancient Scottish poetry. The poet tells us that the sun had just entered the cloudy sign of Capricorn, and approached so near his winter stage that his heat perceptibly declined

Altho he be the lamp and heart of hevin1
Forfeblit wox his lemand gilded levin,
Thro the declining of his large round sphere,
The frosty regioun ringis of the zere3.

Everything is melancholy and dreary; the trees leafless and bare; the rivers running red in spate *; the burns or smaller streams, so sweet and quiet in summer tide, tearing down their banks; the surges dashing on the shore with a noise louder than the roar of a chafed lion; the heavens dark and louring, or, if the sky clears for a moment, only opening to show the wintry constellations, rainy Orion, and the chill, pestilential Saturn,

'Shedding infection from his tresses hoar.'

The earth, says the poet, pursuing his fine winter picture, is now barren, hard, and unlovely; the meadows have put on their brown and withered coats; Hebe, the beautiful daughter of Juno, hath not even a single flower with which she may adorn herself; and through a cold and leaden atmosphere, the mountain tops are seen capt with snow. As these melancholy images present themselves, shadowy dreams of age and death steal into the mind

Gousty schadowis of eild and grisly dede.

All living creatures seem to sympathise with the decay of the year. The deer are seen retreating from their high summer pastures, into the more heltered valley; the small birds, congregating in flocks, change their pleasant songs into a melan

1 heaven.

2 flashes of light. 8 year. * A stream overflowing its banks from heavy rains, is said in Scotland to be in spate.

And to proceed, my nymphe and I furth went
Straight to the hall, throwout the palice gent,

And ten stages of topaz did ascend;
Schute was the door, in at a boir I blent1,
Quhair I beheld the gladdest represent

That ever on earth a wretched caitiff kend.
Brieffly this process to conclud and end ;
Methocht the flure was all of amethyst,
Bot quhairof war the wallis I not wist.
The multitud of precious stainis seir2,
Thairon sa schone, my febell sicht but weir3

Micht not behald their verteous gudeliness.
For all the ruif4 as did to me appear
Hung full of plesand, lowped sapphires cleir:
Of diamontis and rubeis as I ges,
War all the burdis 5 maid of maist riches:
Of sardanis, of jasp, and smaragd ane,
Traists, formes, and benkes, war polist plane.
Baith to and fro amid the hall thai went:
Royal princes in plait and armouris quent,

Of bernist gold couchit with precious stanis;
Enthronit I sawe ane king gret and potent,
Upon quhais maist bricht visage, as I blent?

In wonderment, be his brichtnes at anis,

He smote me doune, and brissit all my banis Thair lay I still in swoun with colour blaucht, Quhile at the last my nymphe up hes me caught. Sine with grit paine with womenting 10 and cair, In her armis scho bare me doun the stair,

And in the clois full softlie laid me down; Upheld my heid to tak the hailsome11 air; For of my life scho stude in greit dispair,

13

Me till awak wes still that lady boun 12,
Quhilk finallie out of that deidlie soun.
Iswyith overcome, and up mine ene did cast,
Be merry, man, quoth scho, the worst is past.

2 various.

6 burnished.

1 looked in at a window.
4 roof.
5 boards.
8 bruised,
bones.
12 that lady was busied or intent to wake me.

9

fomenting.

10

3 without injury,
7 looked.

11 wholesome.

13 deadly.

It will be perceived that the description, although beautiful, is, to the general reader, more thickly sown with obscure words than the poetry of Dunbar or Henrysoun. This must plead our excuse for attempting to present it in a modern garb.

In high relief of rich and massive gold,

The borders round the doors and windows shone; Each tower and turret, beauteous to behold,

Of polish'd ivory form'd-ne was there one That did not show inlaid its walls upon

Bright shapes of birds, midst sweet enamell'd flowers, And curious knots, carv'd in the snow-white bone,

With matchless cunning by the artist's powers.So perfect and so pure were Honor's lordly bowers.

But pass we on-the nymph and I did wend

Straight to the hall-and climb'd a radiant stair, Form'd all of topaz clear-from end to end.

The gate was shut-but through a lattice there Of beryl, gazing, a transcendant glare

Broke dazzlingly on mine astonished sight.A room I saw-but oh, what tongue shall dare

To paint that chamber, so surpassing bright! Sure never such a view was given to mortal wight. From every part combin'd, roof, wall, and floor,

A flood of light most gloriously was cast;
And as the stream upon mine eyes gan pour,

Blinded I stood awhile: that sight surpast
Aught that in Eastern story read thou hast
Of richest palace, or of gorgeous stall;
On diamond pillars, tall as any mast,
Clustering, and bound with ropes of rubies all,
The sapphire arches leant of that celestial hall.

The very benches, forms, and footstools mean,

Were shap'd of smaragdine and precious stone, And on the carpet brilliant groups were seen

Of heroes old, whose steely corslets shone Embost with jewels ;-near them, on a throne Sat Honor, mighty prince, with look severe,