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-- 'The grace of forest charms decayed And pastoral melancholy.' 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? Where gat ye that winsome marrow? A. I gat her where I darena weil be seen, Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. 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, And lang maun I nae mair weil be seen Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. 6 For she has tint her lover lover dear, Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow, And I hae slain the comeliest swain 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, His wounds in tears with dule and sorrow, And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds, And lay him on the Braes of Yarrow. 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.