(William), a polite writer, born in Scotland in 1585, was the son of Sir John Drummond, who for ten or twelve years was usher and afterwards knight of the black rod to James VI. His family became first distinguished by the marriage of Robert III., whose queen was sister to William Drummond of Carnock their ancestor; as appears by the patents of that king and James I., the one calling him "our brother," the other "our uncle."

Drummond was educated at Edinburgh, where he took the degree of A.M. In 1606 he was sent by his father to study civil law at Bourges in France: but having no taste for the profession of a lawyer, he returned to Scotland, and retired to his agreeable seat at Hawthornden; where he applied himself with great assiduity to classical learning and poetry, and obliged the world with several fine productions. Here he wrote his Cypress Grove, a piece of excellent prose, after a dangerous fit of sickness; and about the same time, his Flowers of Sion, in verse. But an accident befell him, which obliged him to quit his retirement; and that was the death of an amiable lady to whom he was just going to be married. This affected him so deeply, that he went to Paris and Rome, between which two places he resided eight years. He travelled also thro' Germany, France, and Italy: where he visited universities; conversed with learned men; and made a choice collection of the ancient Greek, and of the modern Spanish, French, and Italian books. He then returned to his native country; and some time thereafter married married Margaret Logan, a grand-daughter of Sir Robert Logan. Upon the appearance of a civil war, he retired again; and in this retirement is supposed to have written his history of the Five James's, successive kings of Scotland, which was not published till after his death. Having been grafted as it were on the royal family of Scotland, and upheld by them, he was steadily attached to Charles I.; but does not appear ever to have armed for him. As he had always been a laborious student, and had applied himself equally to history and politics as to classical learning, his services were better rendered by occasional publications, in which he several times distinguished himself. In a piece called Irene, he harangues the king, nobility, and clergy, about their mutual mistakes, fears, and jealousies; and lays before them the consequences of a civil war, from indubitable arguments and the histories of past times. The great Marquis of Montrose wrote a letter to him, desiring him to print this Irene, as the best means to quiet the minds of a distracted people: he likewise sent him a protection dated August 1645, immediately after the battle of Kilsyth, with a letter, in which he commends Mr Drummond's learning and loyalty. Mr Drummond wrote other things also with the same view of promoting peace and union, of calming the disturbed minds of the people, of reasoning the better fort into moderation, and checking the growing evils which would be the consequence of their obstinacy. But his efforts were fruitless; and his attachment to the king and his cause were so strong, that when he heard of the sentence being executed on him, he was overwhelmed with grief, and lifted his head no more. He died in the year 1649, leaving behind him several children: the eldest of whom, William, was knighted by Charles II. He had a great intimacy and correspondence with the two famous English poets, Michael Drayton and Ben Johnson; the latter of whom, at the age of 45, travelled from London on foot, to visit him at Hawthornden. An edition of his works, with his life prefixed, was printed in folio at Edinburgh, 1711.

Among all the writers, at the beginning of the last century, who flourished after the death of Shakespeare, an ingenious critic observes, there is not one whom a general reader of the English poetry of that age will regard with so much and so deserved attention as William Drummond. In a survey of his poetry, two considerations must be had, viz. the nation of which he was, and the time when he wrote. Yet will these be found not offered to extenuate faults, but to increase admiration. His thoughts are often, nay generally, bold and highly poetical: he follows nature, and his verses are delicately harmonious. As his poems are not easily met with, and have perhaps by many readers never been heard of, a few extracts may be excused.

On the death of Henry prince of Wales in 1612, Drummond wrote an elegy intitled Tears on the Death of Moelias; a name which that prince had used in all his challenges of martial sport, as the anagram of Miles a Deo. In this poem are lines, according to Denham's terms, as strong, as deep, as gentle, and as full, as any of his or Waller's. The poet laments the fate of the prince, that he died not in some glorious cause of war: "against the Turk (he says) thou hadst ended thy life and the Christian war together?"

No 104.

Or, as brave Bourbon, thou hadst made old Rome, Queen of the world, thy triumph and thy tombe.

Of the lamentation of the river Forth: And as she ruth'd her Cyclades among, She seem'd to plaint that Heaven had done her wrong.

Further: Tagus did court his love with golden streams, Rhine with her towns, fair Seine with all the claims: But ah, poor lovers! death did them betray; And, uninfected, made their hopes his prey.

And concludes: The virgins to thy tomb will garlands bear Of flow'rs, and with each flow'r let fall a tear. Moelias sweet courtely nymphs deplore, From Thule to Hydaspes' pearly shore.

Perhaps there are no lines of Pope of which the easy flow may be more justly admired than of those in his third pastoral: Not bubbling fountains to the thirsty swain, Nor balmy sleep to lab'ring faint with pain, Nor show'rs to larks, or sun-shine to the bee, Are half so charming as thy flight to me.

When King James I., after his accession to the English throne, returned to Scotland in 1617, his arrival was celebrated by every effort of poetical congratulation. Upon this occasion Drummond composed a panegyric intitled The Wandering Muses, or the River Forth feasting; in which are found four lines apparently imitated by Pope in the above passage, and which do not in point of harmony fall much short of that imitation. He says,

To virgins, flow'rs; to sun-burnt earth, the rain; To mariners, fair winds amidst the main; Cool shades, to pilgrims whom hot glances burn; Are not so pleasing as thy blest return.

Of these two poems of Drummond, it is observable, that the first was written in 1612, the last in 1617. The earliest piece of Waller is that to the king on his navy in 1625. The piece in which Sir John Denham's greatest force lies, Cooper's Hill, was not written till 1640. The harmony of Drummond, therefore, at a time when those who are usually called the first introducers of a smooth and polished versification had not yet begun to write, is an honour to him that should never be forgotten. Nor is his excellence half enough praised or acknowledged.

Drummond and Petrarch had this in common, that each lamented, first the cruelty, and then the loss of his mistress; so that their sonnets are alike naturally divided into two parts, those before and those after their several mistresses deaths. It may justly be doubted, that among all the sonneteers in the English language any one is to be preferred to Drummond. He has shown in some of these compositions nearly the spirit of Petrarch himself. Of each period one is here inferred; the first, before the death of his mistress:

Ah me, and am I now the man, whose muse In happier times was wont to laugh at love, In those who suffered that blind boy abuse. The noble gifts were given them from above! What metamorphose strange is this I prove? Myself I scarce now find myself to be; And think no fable Circe's tyranny, And all the tales are told of changed Jove. Virtue hath taught, with her philosophy, My mind unto a better course to move; Repose may chide her soul, and oft reprove Affliction's pow'r; but what is that to me, Who ever think, and never think on ought But that bright cherubim which thralls my thought!

From Part II. after her death, (Sonnet I.)

Of mortal glory, O soon dark'ned ray! O winged joys of man, more swift than wind! O fond desires which in our fancies stray! O traitorous hopes which do our judgments blind!

Lo, in a flash that light is gone away, Which dazzle did each eye, delight each mind; And with that fun from whence it came combin'd, Now makes more radiant heav'n's eternal day.

Let Beauty now bedew her cheeks with tears; Let widow'd Music only roar and groan; Poor Virtue, get thee wings and mount the spheres, For dwelling-place on earth for thee is none: Death hath thy temple raz'd, Love's empire fold'd, The world of honour, worth, and sweetest spoil'd.

The seventh sonnet of the first part has much resemblance to Sir Henry Wotton's elegant little poem on the Queen of Bohemia, "Ye meaner beauties," &c. Among Drummond's Flowers of Sion, the poem which begins "Amidst the azure clear—of Jordan's sacred streams," eminently distinguishes him, whether he be considered as a philosopher or a poet.