light in a complete form, although several of them had been
included by the well-known printer Etienne, or Stephanus as he is more
generally called, in a collection of similar translations by several
learned hands, among which he gives in a flattering preface by far the
highest place to Buchanan. The terms of laudation in which he speaks,
and which it was the fashion of the time to employ, may be judged from
the following extracts quoted by Irving. After commenting upon the
general excellence of his friend's work, superior to all others, he
adds,--

"There is nothing more honourable, nothing more splendid, than after
excelling all others, at length to excel one's self; so in my
judgment you have most happily attained to this praise in your
version of these psalms. For in translating the other odes of this
sacred poet, you have been Buchanan, that is, you have been as
conspicuous among the other paraphrasists as the moon among the
smaller luminaries; but when you come to the hundred and fourth
psalm you surpass Buchanan; so that you do not now shine like the
moon among the lesser luminaries but like the sun you seem to
obscure all the stars by your brilliant rays."

The community of letters in these days was in the habit of expressing
the intensest mutual admiration, except when a contrary feeling not less
strong animated their minds and pens. Buchanan dedicated his psalms to
his beautiful pupil and patron in terms as highflown but more elegant,
and with a justifiable wealth of hyperbolical adulation. It would be an
undue demand upon humanity to require nothing more than plain fact in a
poetical address to a young Sovereign so gracious, so accomplished, and
so fair. And yet in the extraordinary circumstances, so soon to be
swallowed up in the abyss of a catastrophe still more extraordinary,
there is little extravagance in Buchanan's address, of which we shall
attempt a translation though most unworthy.

"Lady, who bears the sceptre of this land
By endless forefathers transmitted down,
Whose worth exceeds thy fortune far, as stand
Thy virtues o'er thy years, and the renown
Of noble gifts over thy noble line,
And spirit o'er thy sex:--without a frown
Accept in this poor Latin garb of mine
The noble songs of Israel's prophet king.
Far from Parnassus and the classic shore,
From under northern stars my gift I bring