Thus, Scottish poetry generally shows a passionate love of Nature; its picturesque descriptions and vivid colourings reaching or bordering upon exaggeration. Its humour is broad, and of coarsish fibre. And then the sentiment of patriotism has ever been more pronounced in Scotland than in England. As a rule, English Nationalism was, after the Norman Conquest, even in the most disastrous times, safe and self-assertive. On the other hand, Scottish Nationalism was at one period, for a time, entirely lost; it was often in extreme danger, and was saved only by extreme efforts,—as we might say, “by the skin of the teeth.” Can we wonder then that fervid patriotism pervades,—becomes obtrusive even, in Scottish literature; and that this literature almost deifies the National heroes? Thus, amongst the earlier efforts in Scottish poetry replete with this glowing patriotism, we have Archbishop Barbour’s poem, _The Bruce_; Blind Harry’s _History of Sir William Wallace_; and Andrew of Wyntoun’s _Chronykil of Scotland_. We mentioned as a poet James I., he wrote _The Kings Quhair_ (_i.e._, book); it is in Chaucer’s seven-line stanza, and contains the best poetry published in Great Britain, between that of Chaucer and the Elizabethan period. From a full heart he tells the story of his love; a love which brightened his life, and shone true at his death, when his queen did her best to save him from the daggers of the conspirators. The King,—whilst a prisoner in Windsor Castle,—saw from his window his future queen, walking in an adjacent garden. “Cast I down mine eyes again, Where as I saw, walking under the tower, Full secretly, now comen here to plain. The fairest, or the freshest younge flower That ever I saw, methought, before that hour, For which, sudden abate—anon astart— The blood of all my body to my heart. “And in my head I drew right hastily And eftesoons I leant it out again, And saw her walk that very womanly, With no wight mo’, but only women twain, Then gan I study to myself, and sayn,— ‘Ah, sweet! are ye a worldly creature, Or heavenly thing in likeness of nature? “‘Or, are ye god Cupidis own princess And comin are to loose me out of hand? Or, are ye very Nature the goddess, That have depainted with your heavenly hand This garden full of flowers as they stand? What shall I think, alas! what reverence Shall I outpour unto your excellence?’” Another king, James Fifth of the name, was also a poet; he may be called the originator of that satirical humour in verse which afterwards characterized so many Scottish poets, including Robert Burns, the greatest of them all. [Illustration: WILLIAM DRUMMOND.]