Besides this precious little poem, King James is believed by some to have written several poems on Scottish subjects, such as 'Christis Kirk on the Green,' 'Peblis to the Play,' &c., but his claim to these is uncertain. The first describes the mingled merrymaking and contest common in the old rude marriages of Scotland, and, whether by James or not, is full of burly, picturesque force. Take the Miller-- 'The Miller was of manly make, To meet him was no mowes.[1] There durst not tensome there him take, So cowed he their powes.[2] The bushment whole about him brake, And bicker'd him with bows. Then traitorously behind his back They hack'd him on the boughs Behind that day.' Or look at the following ill-paired pair-- 'Of all these maidens mild as mead, Was none so jimp as Gillie. As any rose her rude[3] was red-- Her lire[4] like any lillie. But yellow, yellow was her head, And she of love so silly; Though all her kin had sworn her dead, She would have none but Willie, Alone that day. 'She scorn'd Jock, and scripped at him, And murgeon'd him with mocks-- He would have loved her--she would not let him, For all his yellow locks. He cherisht her--she bade go chat him-- She counted him not two clocks. So shamefully his short jack[5] set him, His legs were like two rocks, Or rungs that day.' [1] 'Mowes:' joke. [2] 'Powes:' heads. [3] 'Rude:' complexion. [4] 'Lire:' flesh, skill. [5] 'Jack:' jacket. Our readers will perceive the resemblance, both in spirit and in form of verse, between this old poem and the 'Holy Fair,' and other productions of Burns. James, cut off in the prime of life, may almost be called the abortive Alfred of Scotland. Had he lived, he might have made important contributions to her literature as well as laws, and given her a standing among the nations of Europe, which it took long ages, and even an incorporation with England, to secure. As it is, he stands high on the list of royal authors, and of those kings who, whether authors or not, have felt that nations cannot live on bread alone, and who have sought their intellectual culture as an object not inferior to their physical comfort. It is not, perhaps, too much to say, that no man or woman of genius has sate either on the Scotch or English throne since, except Cromwell, to whom, however, the term 'genius,' in its common sense, seems ludicrously inadequate. James V. had some of the erratic qualities of the poetic tribe, but his claim to the songs--such as the 'Gaberlunzie Man'--which go under his name, is exceedingly doubtful. James VI. was a pedant, without being a scholar--a rhymester, not a poet. Of the rest we need not speak. Seldom has the sceptre become an Aaron's rod, and flourished with the buds and blossoms of song. In our annals there has been one, and but one 'Royal Poet.'