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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/9667-8.txt b/9667-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..330a823 --- /dev/null +++ b/9667-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,14701 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known +British Poets, Vol. 1, by George Gilfillan + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets, Vol. 1 + +Author: George Gilfillan + +Posting Date: November 25, 2011 [EBook #9667] +Release Date: January, 2006 +First Posted: October 14, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LESS-KNOWN BRITISH POETS, VOL 1 *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Marc D'Hooghe and the PG +Online Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + + + + + +SPECIMENS WITH MEMOIRS OF THE LESS-KNOWN BRITISH POETS. + + * * * * * + +With an Introductory Essay, + +BY THE REV. GEORGE GILFILLAN. + + * * * * * + +IN THREE VOLS. + +VOL. I. + +M.DCCC.LX. + + + + +INTRODUCTORY ESSAY + + +We propose to introduce our 'Specimens' by a short Essay on the Origin +and Progress of English Poetry on to the days of Chaucer and of Gower. +Having called, in conjunction with many other critics, Chaucer 'the +Father of English Poetry,' to seek to go back further may seem like +pursuing antenatal researches. But while Chaucer was the sun, a certain +glimmering dawn had gone before him, and to reflect that, is the object +of the following pages. + + +Britain, when the Romans invaded it, was a barbarous country; and although +subjugated and long held by that people, they seem to have left it nearly +as uncultivated and illiterate as they found it. 'No magnificent remains,' +says Macaulay, 'of Latian porches and aqueducts are to be found in Britain. +No writer of British birth is to be reckoned among the masters of Latin +poetry and eloquence. It is not probable that the islanders were, at any +time, generally familiar with the tongue of their Italian rulers. From +the Atlantic to the vicinity of the Rhine the Latin has, during many +centuries, been predominant. It drove out the Celtic--it was not driven +out by the Teutonic--and it is at this day the basis of the French, +Spanish, and Portuguese languages. In our island the Latin appears never +to have superseded the old Gaelic speech, and could not stand its ground +before the German.' It was in the fifth century that that modification +of the German or Teutonic speech called the Anglo-Saxon was introduced +into this country. It soon asserted its superiority over the British +tongue, which seemed to retreat before it, reluctantly and proudly, like +a lion, into the mountain-fastnesses of Wales or to the rocky sea-beach +of Cornwall. The triumph was not completed all at once, but from the +beginning it was secure. The bards of Wales continued to sing, but their +strains resembled the mutterings of thunder among their own hills, only +half heard in the distant valleys, and exciting neither curiosity nor awe. +For five centuries, with the exception of some Latin words added by the +preachers of Christianity, the Anglo-Saxon language continued much as it +was when first introduced. Barbarous as the manners of the people were, +literature was by no means left without a witness. Its chief cultivators +were the monks and other religious persons, who spent their leisure in +multiplying books, either by original composition or by transcription, +including treatises on theology, historical chronicles, and a great +abundance and variety of poetical productions. These were written at first +exclusively in Latin, but occasionally, in process of time, in the Anglo- +Saxon tongue. The theology taught in them was, no doubt, crude and +corrupted, the history was stuffed with fables, and the poetry was rough +and bald in the extreme; but still they furnished a food fitted for the +awakening mind of the age. When the Christian religion reached Great +Britain, it brought necessarily with it an impulse to intellect as well +as to morality. So startling are the facts it relates, so broad and deep +the principles it lays down, so humane the spirit it inculcates, and so +ravishing the hopes it awakens, that, however disguised in superstition +and clouded by imperfect representation, it never fails to produce, in all +countries to which it comes, a resurrection of the nation's virtue, and a +revival, for a time at least, of the nation's political and intellectual +energy and genius. Hence we find the very earliest literary names in our +early annals are those of Christian missionaries. Such is said to have +been Gildas, a Briton, who lived in the first part of the sixth century, +and is the reputed author of a short history of Britain in Latin. Such was +the still more apocryphal Nennius, also called, till of late, the writer +of a small Latin historical work. Such was St Columbanus, who was born +in Ireland in 560; became a monk in the Irish monastery of Benchor; and +afterwards, at the head of twelve disciples, preached Christianity, in its +most ascetic form, in England and in France; founded in the latter country +various monasteries; and, when banished by Queen Brunehaut on account of +his stern inflexibility of character, went to Switzerland, and then to +Lombardy, proselytising the heathen, and defending, by his letters and +other writings, the peculiar tenets of the Irish Church in reference to +the time of the celebration of Easter and to the popular heresies of the +day. He died October 2, 615, in the monastery of Bobbio; and his religious +treatises and Latin poetry gave an undoubted impulse to the age's progress +in letters. + +About this period the better sort of Saxons, both clergy and laity, got +into the habit of visiting Rome; while Rome, in her turn, sent emissaries +to England. Thus, while the one insensibly imbibed new knowledge as well +as devotion from the great centre, the other brought with them to our +shores importations of books, including copies of such religious classics +as Josephus and Chrysostom, and of such literary classics as Homer. About +680, died Caedmon, a monk of Whitby, one of the first who composed in +Anglo-Saxon, and some of whose compositions are preserved. Strange and +myth-like stories are told by Bede about this remarkable natural genius. +He was originally a cow-herd. Partly from want of training, and partly +from bashfulness, when the harp was given him in the hall, and he was +asked, as all others were, to raise the voice of song, Caedmon had often +to abscond in confusion. On one occasion he had retired to the stable, +where he fell into a sound sleep. He dreamed that a stranger appeared to +him, and said, 'Caedmon, sing me something.' Caedmon replied that it was +his incapacity to sing which had brought him to take refuge in the stable. +'Nay,' said the stranger, 'but thou hast something to sing.' 'What shall I +sing?' rejoined Caedmon. 'Sing the Creation,' and thereupon he began to +pour out verses, which, when he awoke, he remembered, repeated, and to +which he added others as good. The first lines are, as translated into +English, the following:-- + + Now let us praise + The Guardian of heaven, + The might of the Creator + And his counsel-- + The Glory!--Father of men! + He first created, + For the children of men, + Heaven as a roof-- + The holy Creator! + Then the world-- + The Guardian of mankind! + The Eternal Lord! + Produced afterwards + The Earth for men-- + The Almighty Master!' + +Our readers all remember the well-known story of Coleridge falling asleep +over Purchas's 'Pilgrims'; how the poem of 'Kubla Khan' came rushing +from dreamland upon his soul; and how, when awakened, he wrote it down, +and found it to be, if not sense, something better--a glorious piece +of fantastic imagination. We knew a gentleman who, slumbering while in +a state of bad health, produced, in the course of a few hours, one or +two thousand rhymed lines, some of which he repeated in our hearing +afterwards, and which were full of point and poetry. We cannot see that +Caedmon's lines betray any weird inspiration; but when rehearsed the next +day to the Abbess Hilda, to whom the town-bailiff of Whitby conducted him, +she and a circle of learned men pronounced that he had received the gift +of song direct from heaven! They, after one or two other trials of his +powers, persuaded him to become a monk in the house of the Abbess, who +commanded him to transfer to verse the whole of the Scripture history. It +is said that he was constantly employed in repeating to himself what he +had heard; or, as one of his old biographers has it, 'like a clean animal +ruminating it, he turned it into most sweet verse.' In this way he wrote +or rather improvised a vast quantity of poetry, chiefly on religious +subjects. Thorpe, in his edition of this author, has preserved a speech +of Satan, bearing a striking resemblance to some parts of Milton:-- + + 'Boiled within him + His thought about his heart, + Hot was without him, + His due punishment. + "This narrow place is most unlike + That other that we formerly knew + High in heaven's kingdom, + Which my master bestowed on me, + Though we it, for the All-Powerful, + May not possess. + + * * * * * + + That is to me of sorrows the greatest, + That Adam, + Who was wrought of earth, + Shall possess + My strong seat; + That it shall be to him in delight, + And we endure this torment, + Misery in this hell. + + * * * * * + + Here is a vast fire, + Above and underneath. + Never did I see + A loathlier landscape. + The flame abateth not + Hot over hell. + Me hath the clasping of these rings, + This hard-polished band, + Impeded in my course, + Debarred me from my way. + My feet are bound, + My hands manacled; + Of these hell-doors are + The ways obstructed, + So that with aught I cannot + From these limb-bonds escape. + About me lie + Huge gratings + Of hard iron, + Forged with heat, + With which me God + Hath fastened by the neck. + Thus perceive I that he knoweth my mind, + And that he knew also, + The Lord of hosts, + That should us through Adam + Evil befall, + About the realm of heaven, + Where I had power of my hands."' + +Through these rude lines there flashes forth, like fire through a thick +dull grating, a powerful conception--one which Milton has borrowed and +developed--that of the Evil One feeling in his dark bosom jealousy at +young Man, almost overpowering his hatred to God; and another conception +still more striking, that of the devil's thorough conviction that all +his plans and thoughts are entirely known by his great Adversary, and +are counteracted before they are formed-- + + 'Thus perceive I that he knoweth my mind.' + +Compare this with Milton's lines-- + + 'So should I purchase dear + Short intermission, bought with double smart. + _This knows_ my Punisher; therefore as far + From granting he, as I from begging peace.' + +Caedmon saw, without being able fully to express, the complex idea of +Satan, as distracted between a thousand thoughts, all miserable--tossed +between a thousand winds, all hot as hell--'pale ire, envy, and despair' +struggling within him--fury at man overlapping anger at God--remorse and +reckless desperation wringing each other's miserable hands--a sense of +guilt which will not confess, a fear that will not quake, a sorrow that +will not weep, a respect for God which will not worship; and yet, +springing out of all these elements, a strange, proud joy, as though +the torrid soil of Pandemonium should flower, which makes 'the hell he +suffers seem a heaven,' compared to what his destiny might be were he +either plunged into a deeper abyss, or taken up unchanged to his former +abode of glory. This, in part at least, the monk of Whitby discerned; +but it was reserved for Milton to embody it in that tremendous figure +which has since continued to dwindle all the efforts of art, and to +haunt, like a reality, the human imagination. + +Passing over some interesting but subordinate Saxon writers, such as +Ceolfrid, Abbot of Wearmouth; Aldhelm, Abbot of Malmesbury; Felix of +Croyland; and Alcuine, King Egbert's librarian at York, we come to one +who himself formed an era in the history of our early literature--the +venerable Bede. This famous man was educated in the monastery of +Wearmouth, and there appears to have spent the whole of his quiet, +innocent, and studious life. He was the very sublimation of a book-worm. +One might fancy him becoming at last, as in the 'Metamorphoses' of Ovid, +one of the books, or rolls of vellum and parchment over which he con- +stantly pored. That he did not marry, or was given in marriage, we are +certain; but there is little evidence that he even ate or drank, walked +or slept. To read and to write seemed the 'be all and the end all' of +his existence. Important as well as numerous were his contributions +to literature. He translated from the Scriptures. He wrote religious +treatises, biographies, and commentaries upon portions of Holy Writ. +Besides his very valuable Ecclesiastical History, he composed various +pieces of Latin poetry. His works in all were forty-four in number: and +it is said that on the very day of his death (it took place in 735) he +was dictating to his amanuensis, and had just completed a book. His works +are wonderful for his time, and not the less interesting for a fine +cobweb of fable which is woven over parts of them, and which seems in +keeping with their venerable character. Thus, in speaking of the Magi who +visited the infant Redeemer, he is very particular in describing their +age, appearance, and offerings. Melchior, the first, was old, had gray +hair, and a long beard; and offered 'gold' to Christ, in, acknowledgment +of His sovereignty. Gaspar, the second, was young, and had no beard; +and he offered 'frankincense,' in recognition of our Lord's divinity. +Balthasar, the third, was of a dark complexion, had a large beard, and +offered 'myrrh' to our Saviour's humanity. We should, we confess, miss +such pleasant little myths in other old books besides Bede's Histories. +They seem appropriate to ancient works, as the beard is to the goat +or the hermit; and the truth that lies in them is not difficult to +eliminate. The next name of note in our literary annals is that of the +great Alfred. Surely if ever man was not only before his age, but before +'all ages,' it was he. A palm of the tropics growing on a naked Highland +mountain-side, or an English oak bending over one of the hot springs of +Hecla, were not a stranger or more preternatural sight than a man like +Alfred appearing in a century like the ninth. A thousand theories about +men being the creatures of their age, the products of circumstances, &c., +sink into abeyance beside the facts of his life; and we are driven to the +good old belief that to some men the 'inspiration of the Almighty giveth +understanding;' and that their wisdom, their genius, and their excellency +do not proceed from them-selves. On his deeds of valour and patriotism it +is not necessary to dwell. These form the popular and bepraised side of +his character, but they give a very inadequate idea of the whole. On one +occasion he visited the Danish camp--a king disguised as a harper; but +he was, all his life long, a harper disguised as a king. He was at once +a warrior, a legislator, an architect, a shipbuilder, a philosopher, +a scholar, and a poet. His great object, as avowed in his last will, +was to leave his people 'free as their own thoughts.' Hence he bent the +whole force of his mind, first, to defend them from foreign foes, by +encouraging the new naval strength he had himself established; and then +to cultivate their intellects, and make them, as well as their country, +worth defending. Let us quote the glowing words of Burke:--'He was +indefatigable in his endeavours to bring into England men of learning in +all branches from every part of Europe, and unbounded in his liberality +to them. He enacted by a law that every person possessed of two hides of +land should send their children to school until sixteen. He enterprised +even a greater design than that of forming the growing generation--to +instruct even the grown, enjoining all his sheriffs and other officers +immediately to apply themselves to learning, or to quit their offices. +Whatever trouble he took to extend the benefits of learning among his +subjects, he shewed the example himself, and applied to the cultivation +of his mind with unparalleled diligence and success. He could neither +read nor write at twelve years old, but he improved his time in such +a manner, that he became one of the most knowing men of his age, in +geometry, in philosophy, in architecture, and in music. He applied +himself to the improvement of his native language; he translated several +valuable works from Latin, and wrote a vast number of poems in the Saxon +tongue with a wonderful facility and happiness. He not only excelled in +the theory of the arts and sciences, but possessed a great mechanical +genius for the executive part. He improved the manner of shipbuilding, +introduced a more beautiful and commodious architecture, and even taught +his countrymen the art of making bricks; most of the buildings having +been of wood before his time--in a word, he comprehended in the greatness +of his mind the whole of government, and all its parts at once; and what +is most difficult to human frailty was at the same time sublime and +minute.' + +Some exaggeration must be allowed for in all this account of Alfred the +Great. But the fact that he left a stamp in his age so deep,--that +nothing except what was good and great has been ascribed to him,--that +the very fictions told of him are of such _vraisemblance_ and magnitude +as to FIT IN to nothing less than an extraordinary man,--and that, as +Burke says, 'whatever dark spots of human frailty may have adhered to +such a character, are entirely hid in the splendour of many shining +qualities and grand virtues, that throw a glory over the obscure period +in which he lived, and which is for no other reason worthy of our +knowledge,'--all proclaim his supremacy. Like many great men,--like +Julius Caesar, with his epilepsy--or Sir Walter Scott and Byron, with +their lameness--or Schleiermacher, with his deformed appearance,--a +physical infirmity beset Alfred most of his life, and at last carried +him off at a comparatively early age. This was a disease in his bowels, +which had long afflicted him, 'without interrupting his designs, or +souring his temper.' Nay, who can say that the constant presence of such +a memento of weakness and mortality did not operate as a strong, quiet +stimulus to do with his might what his hand found to do--to lower pride, +and to prompt to labour? If Saladin had had for his companion some such +faithful hound of sorrow, it would have saved him the ostentatious flag +stretched over his head, in the hour of wassail, with the inscription, +'Saladin, Saladin, king of kings! Saladin must die!' + +Alfred wrote little that was original, but he was a copious translator. +He rendered into the Anglo-Saxon tongue--which he sought to enrich with +the fatness of other soils--the historical works of Orosius and of Bede; +nay, it is said the Fables of Aesop, and the Psalms of David--desirous, +it would seem, to teach his people morality and religion, through the +fine medium, of fiction and poetry. + +Alfric, Archbishop of Canterbury, is the name of another important +contributor to Saxon literature. He wrote a grammar of his native +language, which procured him the name of the 'Grammarian,' besides a +collection of homilies, some theological treatises, and a translation +of the first seven books of the Old Testament. In imitation of Alfred, +he devoted all his energies to the instruction of the common people, +constantly writing in Anglo-Saxon, and avoiding as much as possible the +use of compound or obscure words. After him appeared Cynewulf, Bishop of +Winchester, Wulfstan, Archbishop of York, and others of some note. There +was also slowly piled up in the course of ages, and by a succession of +authors, that remarkable production, 'The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.' This +is thought to have commenced soon after the reign of Alfred, and +continued till the times of Henry II. Previous, however, to the Norman +invasion, there had been a decided falling off in the learning of the +Saxons. This arose from various causes. Incessant wars tended to +conserve and increase the barbarism of the people. Various libraries +of value were destroyed by the incursions of the Danes. And not a few +bishops, and other ecclesiastical dignitaries, began to consider +learning as prejudicial to piety-and grammar and ungodliness were +thought akin. The effect of this upon the subordinate clergy was most +pernicious. In the tenth century, Oswald, Archbishop of Canterbury, +found the monks of his province so grossly ignorant, not only of +letters, but even of the canonical rules of their respective orders, +that he required to send to France for competent masters to give them +instruction. + +At length came the Conqueror, William, and one battle gave England to +the Normans, which had cost the Romans, the Saxons, and the Danes so +much time and blood to acquire. The people were not only conquered, but +cowed and crushed. England was as easily and effectually subdued as was +Ireland, sometime after, by Henry II. But while the Conquest was for a +season fatal to liberty, it was from the first favourable to every +species of literature, art, and poetry. 'The influence,' says Campbell, +'of the Norman Conquest upon the language of England was like that of a +great inundation, which at first buries the face of the landscape under +its waters, but which, at last subsiding, leaves behind it the elements +of new beauty and fertility. Its first effect was to degrade the Anglo- +Saxon tongue to the exclusive use of the inferior orders, and by the +transference of estates ecclesiastical benefices, and civil dignities to +Norman possessors, to give the French language, which had begun to +prevail at court from the time of Edward the Confessor, a more complete +predominance among the higher classes of society. The native gentry of +England were either driven into exile, or depressed into a state of +dependence on their conqueror, which habituated them to speak his +language. On the other hand, we received from the Normans the first +germs of romantic poetry; and our language was ultimately indebted to +them for a wealth and compass of expression which it probably would not +have otherwise possessed.' + +The Anglo-Saxon, however, held its place long among the lower orders, +and specimens of it, both in prose and verse, are found a century after +the Conquest. Gradually the Norman tongue began to amalgamate with it, +and the result was, the English. At what precise year our language might +be said to begin, it is impossible to determine. Throughout the whole of +the twelfth century, great changes were taking place in the grammatical +construction, as well as in the substance of the Anglo-Saxon. Some new +words were imported from the Norman, but, as Dr Johnson remarks, 'the +language was still more materially altered by the change of its sounds, +the cutting short of its syllables, and the softening down of its +terminations, and inflections of words.' Somewhere between 1180 and +1216, the majestic speech in which Shakspeare was to write 'Macbeth' +and 'King Lear,' Lord Bacon his 'Advancement of Learning,' Milton his +'Paradise Lost' and 'Areopagitica,' Burke his 'Reflections,' and Sir +Walter Scott the Waverley Novels, and whose rough, but manly accents +were to be spoken by at least a hundred million tongues, commenced its +career, and not since Homer, + + "on the Chian strand, + Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssee + Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea," + +had a nobler era been marked in the history of literature. For here was +a tongue born which was destined to mate even with that of Greece in +richness and flexibility, to make the language of Cicero and Virgil seem +stiff and stilted in comparison, and, if not to vie with the French in +airy grace, or with the Italian in liquid music, to excel them far in +teeming resources and robust energy. Memorable and hallowed for ever be +the hour when the 'well of English undefiled' first sparkled to the day! + +Previous to this the chief of the poets, after the Conquest, were +Normans. The country whence that people came had for some time been +celebrated for poetry. France was, as to its poetic literature, divided +into two great sections--the Provenēal and the Northern. The first was +like the country where it flourished--gay, flowery, and exuberant; it +swam in romance, and its rhymers delighted, when addressing large +audiences under the open skies of their delightful climate, to indulge +in compliment and fanfaronade, to sing of war, wine, and love. + +The Normans produced a race of simpler poets. That some of them were men +as well as singers, is proved by the fact that it was a bard named +Taillefer who first broke the English ranks at the battle of Hastings. +After him came Philippe de Thaun, who tried to set to song the science +of his day; Thorold, the author of a romance entitled 'Roland;' Samson +de Nauteuil, the translator of Solomon's Proverbs into French verse; +Geoffrey Gaimar, who wrote a Chronicle of the Saxon kings; and one +David, a minstrel of no little note and power in his day. But a more +remarkable writer succeeded, and his work, like Aaron's rod, swallowed +up all the productions of these clever but petty poets. This was Wace, +commonly called Maistre Wace, a native of Jersey. In 1160, or as some +say 1155, Wace finished his 'Brut d'Angleterre' which is in reality a +translation into French of Geoffrey of Monmouth, who wrote a History +of Britain from the imaginary Brutus of Troy down to Cadwallader in +689. Literature owes not a little to Wace's poem. He collected into +a permanent shape a number of traditions and legends--many of them +interesting--which had been floating through Europe, just as Macpherson +preserved in Ossian not a few real fragments of the songs of Selma. And, +as we shall see immediately, Wace's production became the basis of the +earliest of English poems. + +Maistre Wace is the author also of a History of the Normans, which he +calls 'Roman de Rou;' or, 'The Romance of Rollo.' He was a great favourite +with Henry II., who bestowed on him a canonry in the Cathedral of Bayeux. +Besides Wace, there flourished about the same time Benoit, who wrote a +History of the Dukes of Normandy; and Guernes, a churchman of Pont St +Maxence in Picardy, who wrote in verse a Life of St Thomas ą Becket. + +At the beginning of the century following the Conquest, the chief authors, +such as Peter of Blois, John of Salisbury, Joseph of Exeter, and Geoffrey +of Monmouth, all wrote in Latin. Layamon, however, a priest of Ernesley- +upon-Severn, used the vernacular in a poem which, as we have already +hinted, was essentially a translation of Wace's 'Brut d'Angleterre.' The +most remarkable thing about Layamon's poem is the language in which it is +written-language in which you catch English in the very act of chipping +the Saxon shell, or, as Campbell happily remarks, 'the style of Layamon is +as nearly the intermediate state of the old and new languages as can be +found in any ancient specimen --something like the new insect stirring its +wings before it has shaken off the aurelia state.' + +Between Layamon and Robert of Gloucester a good many miscellaneous +strains--some of a satirical, others of an amatory, and others again of +a legendary and devout style--were produced. It was customary then for +minstrels, at the instance of the clergy, to sing on Sundays devotional +strains on the harp to the assembled multitudes. At public entertainments, +during week-days, gay ditties were common. One of these is extant, but +is too coarse for quotation. It is entitled 'The Land of Cokayne,' an +allegorical satire on the luxury and vice of the Church, given under the +description of an imaginary paradise, in which the nuns are represented +as houris, and the black and grey monks as their paramours. 'Richard of +Alemaine' is a ballad, composed by an adherent of Simon de Montfort, Earl +of Leicester, after the defeat of the Royal party at the battle of Lewes +in 1264. In the year after that battle the Royal cause rallied, and the +Earl of Warren and Sir Hugh Bigod returned from exile, and helped the King +in his victory. In the battle of Lewes, Richard, King of the Romans, his +brother Henry III., and Prince Edward, with many others of the Royal +party, were taken prisoners. +[Note: See 'Richard of Alemaine,' Percy's Reliques, vol. ii., p. 2.] + +The spirit and the allusions of this song shew that it was composed by +Leicester's party in the moment of their victory, and not after the +reaction which took place against their cause, and it must therefore +belong to the thirteenth century. To this period, too, probably belongs +a political satire, published by Ritson, and which Campbell thus charac- +terises:--'It is a ballad on the execution of the Scottish patriots, Sir +William Wallace and Sir Simon Frazer. The diction is as barbarous as we +should expect from a song of triumph on such a subject. It relates the +death and treatment of Wallace very minutely. The circumstance of his +being covered with a mock crown of laurel in Westminster Hall, which Stow +repeats, is there mentioned, and that of his legs being fastened with iron +fetters "_under his horse's wombe_" is told with savage exultation. The +piece was probably indited in the very year of the political murders which +it celebrates, certainly before 1314, as it mentions the skulking of +Robert Bruce, which, after the battle of Bannockburn, must have become +a jest out of season.' + +Campbell quotes a love-ditty of this period, which is not devoid of +merit:-- + + 'For her love I cark and cave, + For her love I droop and dare, + For her love my bliss is bare, + And all I wax wan. + + 'For her love in sleep I slake,[1] + For her love all night I wake, + For her love mourning I make + More than any man.' + +[1] 'In sleep I slake:' am deprived of sleep. + + +And another of a pastoral vein:-- + + 'When the nightingale singės the woods waxen green, + Leaf, grass, and blossom springs in Avril I ween, + And love is to my heart gone, with one spear so keen, + Night and day my blood it drinks, my heart doth me teen.' + +About a hundred years after Layamon (in 1280) appeared a poet not +dissimilar to him, named Robert of Gloucester. His surname is unknown, and +so are the particulars of his history. We know only that he was a monk of +Gloucester Abbey, that he lived in the reigns of Henry III. and Edward I., +and that he translated the Legends of Geoffrey of Monmouth, and continued +the History of England down to the time of Edward I. This work is wonder- +fully minute, and, generally speaking, accurate in its topography as well +as narrative, and was of service to Selden when he wrote his Notes to +Drayton's 'Polyolbion.' It is more valuable in this respect than as a +piece of imagination. + +He narrates the grandest events--such as the first crusaders bursting +into Asia, with a sword of fire hung in the firmament before them, and +beckoning them on their way--as coolly as he might the emigration of a +colony of ants. Yet, although there is little animation or poetry in his +general manner, he usually succeeds in riveting the reader's attention; +and the speeches he puts into the mouths of his heroes glow with at +least rhetorical fire. And as a critic truly remarks--'Injustice to the +ancient versifier, we should remember that he had still only a rude +language to employ, the speech of boors and burghers, which, though it +might possess a few songs and satires, could afford him no models of +heroic narration. In such an age the first occupant passes uninspired +over subjects which might kindle the highest enthusiasm in the poet of +a riper period, as the savage treads unconsciously in his deserts over +mines of incalculable value, without sagacity to discover or inplements +to explore them.' We give the following extracts from Robert of +Gloucester's poem:-- + + + THE SPOUTS AND SOLEMNITIES WHICH FOLLOWED KING ARTHUR'S CORONATION. + + The king was to his palace, tho the service was ydo,[1] + Yled with his meinie,[2] and the queen to her also. + For they held the old usages, that men with men were + By themselve, and women by themselve also there. + When they were each one yset, as it to their state become, + Kay, king of Anjou, a thousand knightės nome[3] + Of noble men, yclothed in ermine each one + Of one suit, and served at this noble feast anon. + Bedwer the botyler, king of Normandy, + Nome also in his half a fair company + Of one suit for to serve of the hotelery. + Before the queen it was also of all such courtesy, + For to tell all the nobley that there was ydo, + Though my tongue were of steel, me should nought dure thereto. + Women ne kept of no knight in druery,[4] + But he were in arms well yproved, and atte least thrye.[5] + That made, lo, the women the chaster life lead, + And the knights the stalwarder, and the better in their deed. + Soon after this noble meat, as right was of such tide, + The knights atyled them about in eachė side, + In fields and in meadows to prove their bachlery,[6] + Some with lance, some with sword, without villany, + With playing at tables, other attė chekere,[7] + With casting, other with setting,[8] other in some other mannere. + And which so of any game had the mastery, + The king them of his giftės did large courtesy. + Up the alurs[9] of the castle the ladies then stood, + And beheld this noble game, and which knights were good. + All the three extė dayės[10] ylastė this nobley, + In halle's and in fieldės, of meat and eke of play. + These men come the fourth day before the kingė there, + And he gave them large gifts, ever as they worthy were. + Bishoprics and churches' clerks he gave some, + And castles and townės knights that were ycome. + +[1] 'Tho the service was ydo:' when the service was done. +[2] 'Meinie:' attendants. +[3] 'Nome': brought. +[4] 'Druery.' modesty, decorum. +[5] 'Thrye:' thrice. +[6] 'Bachlery:' chivalry, courage, or youth. +[7] 'Chekere:' chess. +[8] 'With casting, other with setting:' different ways of playing at +chess. +[9] 'Alurs:' walks made within the battlements of the castle. +[10] 'Extė dayės:' high, or chief days. + + +AN OLD TRADITION. + +It was a tradition invented by the old fablers that giants brought the +stones of Stonehenge from the most sequestered deserts of Africa, and +placed them in Ireland; that every stone was washed with juices of +herbs, and contained a medical power; and that Merlin, the magician, at +the request of King Arthur, transported them from Ireland, and erected +them in circles on the plain of Amesbury, as a sepulchral monument for +the Britons treacherously slain by Hengist. This fable is thus +delivered, without decoration, by Robert of Glocester:-- + + 'Sir king,' quoth Merlin then, 'such thingė's ywis + Ne be for to shew nought, but when great need is, + For if I said in bismare, other but it need were, + Soon from me he would wend, the ghost that doth me lere.'[1] + The king, then none other n'as, bid him some quaintise + Bethink about thilk cors that so noble were and wise.[2] + 'Sir King,' quoth Merlin then, 'if thou wilt here cast + In the honour of men, a work that ever shall ylast, + To the hill of Kylar[3] send in to Ireland, + After the noble stonės that there habbet[4] long ystand; + That was the treche of giants,[5] for a quaintė work there is + Of stonės all with art ymade, in the world such none is. + Ne there n'is nothing that me should myd[6] strength adownė cast. + Stood they here, as they doth there, ever a woulde last.' + The king somdeal to-lygh[7], when he heardė this tale: + 'How might,' he said, 'such stonės, so great and so fale,[8] + Be ybrought of so far land? And yet mist of were, + Me would ween that in this landė no stone to wonke n'ere.' + Sir king,' quoth Merlin, 'ne make nought an idle such laughing; + For it n'is an idle nought that I tell this tiding. + For in the farrest stude of Afric giants whilė fet [9] + These stones for medicine and in Ireland them set, + While they wonenden in Ireland to make their bathė's there, + There under for to bathė when they sick were. + For they would the stonės wash and therein bathe ywis; + For is no stone there among that of great virtue n'is.' + The king and his counsel rode the stones for to fet, + And with great power of battle if any more them let. + Uther, the kingė's brother, that Ambrose hett[10] also, + In another namė ychosė was thereto, + And fifteen thousand men, this deedė for to do, + And Merlin for his quaintise thither went also. + +[1] If I should say any thing out of wantonness or vanity, the spirit + which teaches me would immediately leave me. +[2] Bade him use his cunning, for the sake of the bodies of those noble +and wise Britons. +[3] 'Kylar:' Kildare. +[4] 'Habbet:' have. +[5] 'The treche of giants:' 'The dance of giants.' The name of this +collection of immense stones. +[6] 'Myd:' with. +[7] 'Somdeal to-lygh:' somewhat laughed. +[8] 'Fale:' many. +[9] Giants once brought them from the furthest part of Africa. +[10] 'Hett:' was called. + + + ARTHUR'S INTRIGUE WITH YGERNE. + + At the feast of Easter the king sent his sond,[1] + That they comen all to London the high men of this lond, + And the ladies all so good, to his noble feast wide, + For he shouldė crown here, for the high tide. + All the noble men of this land to the noble feast come, + And their wivės and their daughtren with them many nome,[2] + This feast was noble enow, and nobliche ydo; + For many was the fair lady that ycome was thereto. + Ygerne, Gorloys' wife, was fairest of each one, + That was Countess of Cornėwall, for so fair n'as there none. + The king beheld her fast enow, and his heart on her cast, + And thoughtė, though he were wise, to do folly at last. + He made her semblant fair enow, to none other so great. + The earl n'as not therewith ypayed[3], when he it under get. + After meat he nome his wife myd[4] sturdy med enow, + And, without leave of the king, to his country drow. + The king sentė to him then, to byleve[5] all night, + For he must of great counsel havė some insight. + That was for nought. Would he not, the king sent yet his sond, + That he byleved at his parlement, for need of the lond. + The king was, when he n'oldė not, anguyssous and wroth. + For despite he would a-wreak be he sworė his oath, + But he come to amendėment. His power attė last + He garked, and went forth to Cornėwall fast. + Gorloys his castles a store all about. + In a strong castle he did his wife, for of her was all his doubt, + In another himself he was, for he n'oldė nought, + If cas[6] come, that they were both to death ybrought. + The castle, that the earl in was, the king besieged fast, + For he might not his gins for shame to the other cast. + Then he was there seen not, and he speddė nought, + Ygerne, the countessė, so much was in his thought, + That he nustė none other wit, ne he ne might for shame + Tell it but a privy knight, Ulfyn was his name, + That he trustė most to. And when the knight heard thia, + 'Sir,' he said, 'I ne can wit, what rede hereof is, + For the castle is so strong, that the lady is in, + For I ween all the land ne should it myd strengthė win. + For the sea goeth all about, but entry one there n'is, + And that is up on hardė rocks, and so narrow way it is, + That there may go but one and one, that three men within + Might slay all the laud, ere they come therein. + And nought for then, if Merlin at the counsel were, + If any might, he couthė the best rede thee lere.'[7] + Merlin was soon of sent, pled it was him soon, + That he should the best rede say, what were to don. + Merlin was sorry enow for the kingė's folly, + And natheless, 'Sir king,' he said, 'there may to mast'ry, + The earl hath two men him near, Brithoel and Jordan. + I will make thyself, if thou wilt, through art that I can, + Have all the formė of the earl, as thou were right he, + And Olfyn as Jordan, and as Brithoel me.' + This art was all clean ydo, that all changed they were, + They three in the others' form, the solve as it were. + Against even he went forth, nustė[8] no man that cas; + To the castle they come right as it even was. + The porter ysaw his lord come, and his most privy twei, + With good heart he let his lord in, and his men bey. + The countess was glad enow, when her lord to her come + And either other in their arms myd great joy nome. + When they to beddė come, that so long a-two were, + With them was so great delight, that between them there + Begot was the best body, that ever was in this land, + King Arthur the noble man, that ever worthy understand. + When the king's men nuste amorrow, where he was become, + They fared as wodėmen, and wend[9] he were ynome.[10] + They assaileden the castle, as it should adown anon, + They that within were, garked them each one, + And smote out in a full will, and fought myd there fone: + So that the earl was yslaw, and of his men many one, + And the castle was ynome, and the folk to-sprad there, + Yet, though they haddė all ydo, they ne found not the king there. + The tiding to the countess soon was ycome, + That her lord was yslaw, and the castle ynome. + And when the messenger him saw the earl, as him thought, + That he had so foul plow, full sore him of thought, + The countess made somedeal deol,[11] for no sothness they nustė. + The king, for to glad her, beclipt her and cust. + 'Dame,' he said,' no sixt thou well, that les it is all this: + Ne wo'st thou well I am alive. I will thee say how it is. + Out of the castle stillėlich I went all in privity, + That none of minė men it nustė, for to speak with thee. + And when they mist me to-day, and nuste where I was, + They fareden right as giddy men, myd whom no rede n'as, + And foughtė with the folk without, and have in this mannere + Ylore the castle and themselve, and well thou wo'st I am here. + And for my castle, that is ylore, sorry I am enow, + And for my men, that the king and his power slew. + And my power is to lute, therefore I dreadė sore, + Lestė the king us nyme[12] here, and sorrow that we were more. + Therefore I will, how so it be, wend against the king, + And make my peace with him, ere he us to shamė bring.' + Forth he went, and het[13] his men if the king come, + That they shouldė him the castle yield, ere he with strength it nome. + So he come toward his men, his own form he nome, + And leaved the earl's form, and the king Uther become. + Sore him of thought the earlė's death, and in other half he found + Joy in his heart, for the countess of spousehed was unbound, + When he had that he would, and paysed[14] with his son, + To the countess he went again, me let him in anon. + "What halt[15] it to tale longė? but they were set at one, + In great love long enow, when it n'oldė other gon; + And had together this noble son, that in the world his pere n'as, + The king Arthur, and a daughter, Anne her namė was. + +[1] 'Sond' message. +[2] 'Nome:' took. +[3] 'Ypayed:' satisfied. +[4] 'Myd:' with. +[5] 'Byleve:' stay. +[6] 'Cas:' chance. +[7] 'Lere:' teach. +[8] 'Nustė:' knew. +[9] 'Wend:' thought. +[10] 'Ynome:' taken. +[11] 'Deol:' grief. +[12] 'Nyme:' take. +[13] 'Het:' bade. +[14] 'Paysed:' made peace. +[15] 'Halt:' holdeth. + +The next name of note is Robert, commonly called De Brunne. His real name +was Robert Manning. He was born at Malton in Yorkshire; for some time +belonged to the house of Sixhill, a Gilbertine monastery in Yorkshire; +and afterwards became a member of Brunne or Browne, a priory of black +canons in the same county. When monastical writers became famous, they +were usually designated from the religious houses to which they belonged. +Thus it was with Matthew of Westminster, William of Malmesbury, and John +of Glastonbury--all received their appellations from their respective +monasteries. De Brunne's principal work is a Chronicle of the History of +England, in rhyme. It can in no way be considered an original production, +but is partly translated, and partly compiled from the writings of Maistre +Wace and Peter de Langtoft, which latter was a canon of Bridlington in +Yorkshire, of Norman origin, but born in England, and the author of an +entire History of his country in French verse, down to the end of the +reign of Edward I. Brunne's Chronicle seems to have been written about +the year 1303. We extract the Prologue, and two other passages:-- + + + THE PROLOGUE. + + 'Lordlingės that be now here, + If ye willė listen and lere, + All the story of England, + As Robert Mannyng written it fand, + And in English has it shewed, + Not for the leared but for the lewed;[1] + For those that on this land wonn + That the Latin ne Frankys conn,[2] + For to have solace and gamen + In fellowship when they sit samen, + And it is wisdom for to witten + The state of the land, and have it written, + "What manner of folk first it wan, + And of what kind it first began. + And good it is for many things, + For to hear the deeds of kings, + Whilk were fools, and whilk were wise, + And whilk of them couth[3] most quaintise; + And whilk did wrong, and whilk right, + And whilk maintained peace and fight. + Of their deedės shall be my saw, + In what time, and of what law, + I shall you from gre to gre,[4] + Since the time of Sir Noe: + From Noe unto Eneas, + And what betwixt them was, + And from Eneas till Brutus' time, + That kind he tells in this rhyme. + For Brutus to Cadwallader's, + The last Briton that this land lees. + All that kind and all the fruit + That come of Brutus that is the Brute; + And the right Brute is told no more + Than the Britons' timė wore. + After the Britons the English camen, + The lordship of this land they nameu; + South and north, west and east, + That call men now the English gest. + When they first among the Britons, + That now are English then were Saxons, + Saxons English hight all oliche. + They arrived up at Sandwiche, + In the kings since Vortogerne + That the land would them not werne, &c. + One Master Wace the Frankės tells + The Brute all that the Latin spells, + From Eneas to Cadwallader, &c. + And right as Master Wacė says, + I tell mine English the same ways,' &c. + +[1] 'Lowed:' ignorant. +[2] 'Conn:' know. +[3] 'Couth:' knew. +[4] 'Gre:' step. + + + KING VORTIGERN'S MEETING WITH PRINCESS KODWEN. + + Hengist that day did his might, + That all were glad, king and knight, + And as they were best in glading, + And wele cop schotin[1] knight and king, + Of chamber Rouewen so gent, + Before the king in hall she went. + A cup with wine she had in hand, + And her attire was well-farand.[2] + Before the king on knee set, + And in her language she him gret. + 'Lauerid[3] king, Wassail,' said she. + The king asked, what should be. + In that language the king ne couth.[4] + A knight the language lered[5] in youth. + Breg hight that knight, born Bretoun, + That lered the language of Sessoun.[6] + This Breg was the latimer,[7] + What she said told Vortager. + 'Sir,' Breg said, 'Rowen you greets, + And king calls and lord you leets.[8] + This is their custom and their gest, + When they are at the ale or feast. + Ilk man that louis quare him think, + Shall say Wosseil, and to him drink. + He that bidis shall say, Wassail, + The other shall say again, Drinkhail. + That says Wosseil drinks of the cup, + Kissing his fellow he gives it up. + Drinkheil, he says, and drinks thereof, + Kissing him in bourd and skof.'[9] + The king said, as the knight 'gan ken,[10] + Drinkheil, smiling on Rouewen. + Rouwen drank as her list, + And gave the king, sine[11] him kist. + There was the first wassail in deed, + And that first of fame gede.[12] + Of that wassail men told great tale, + And wassail when they were at ale, + And drinkheil to them that drank, + Thus was wassail tane[13] to thank. + Fele sithės[14] that maiden ying,[15] + Wassailed and kist the king. + Of body she was right avenant,[16] + Of fair colour, with sweet semblant.[17] + Her attire full well it seemed, + Mervelik[18] the king she quemid.[19] + Out of measure was he glad, + For of that maiden he were all mad. + Drunkenness the fiend wrought, + Of that paen[20] was all his thought. + A mischance that time him led, + He asked that paen for to wed. + Hengist wild not draw a lite,[21] + But granted him, allė so tite.[22] + And Hors his brother consented soon. + Her friendis said, it were to don. + They asked the king to give her Kent, + In douery to take of rent. + Upon that maiden his heart so cast, + That they asked the king made fast. + I ween the king took her that day, + And wedded her on paien's lay.[23] + Of priest was there no benison + No mass sungen, no orison. + In seisine he had her that night. + Of Kent he gave Hengist the right. + The earl that time, that Kent all held, + Sir Goragon, that had the sheld, + Of that gift no thing ne wist + To[24] he was cast out with[25] Hengist. + +[1] 'Schotin:' sending about the cups briskly. +[2] 'Well-farand:' very rich. +[3] 'Lauerid:' lord. +[4] 'Ne couth:' knew not. +[5] 'Lered:' learned. +[6] 'Sessoun:' Saxons. +[7] 'Latimer:' _for_ Latiner, or Latinier, an interpreter. +[8] 'Leets:' esteems. +[9] 'Skof:' sport, joke. +[10] 'Ken:' to signify. +[11] 'Sine:' then. +[12] 'Cede:' went. +[13] 'Tane:' taken. +[14] 'Sithės:' many times. +[15] 'Ying:' young. +[16] 'Avenant:' handsome. +[17] 'Semblant:' countenance. +[18] 'Mervelik:' marvellously. +[19] 'Quemid:' pleased. +[20] 'Paen:' pagan, heathen. +[21] 'Wild not draw a lite:' would not fly off a bit. +[22] 'Tite:' happeneth. +[23] 'On paien's lay:' in pagan's law; according to the heathenish +custom. +[24] 'To:' till. +[25] 'With:' by. + + + THE ATTACK OF RICHARD I. ON A CASTLE HELD BY THE SARACENS. + + The dikes were fullė wide that closed the castle about, + And deep on ilka side, with bankis high without. + Was there none entry that to the castle 'gan ligg,[1] + But a strait kaucė;[2] at the end a draw-brig, + With great double chainės drawen over the gate, + And fifty armed swainės porters at that gate. + With slingės and mangonels they cast to king Richard, + Our Christians by parcels casted againward. + Ten sergeants of the best his targe 'gan him bear + That eager were and prest[3] to cover him and to were.[4] + Himself as a giant the chainės in two hew, + The targe was his warant,[5] that none till him threw. + Eight unto the gate with the targe they yede, + Fighting on a gate, under him they slew his steed, + Therefore ne would he cease, alone into the castele + Through them all would press; on foot fought he full wele. + And when he was within, and fought as a wild lión, + He fondred the Sarazins otuynne,[6] and fought as a dragon, + Without the Christians 'gan cry, 'Alas! Richard is taken;' + Then Normans were sorry, of countenance 'gan blaken, + To slay down and to' stroy never would they stint, + They left fordied[7] no noye,[8] ne for no wound no dint, + That in went all their press, maugre the Sarazins all, + And found Richard on dais fighting, and won the hall. + +[1] 'Ligg:' lying. +[2] 'Kaucė:' causey. +[3] 'Prest:' ready. +[4] 'Were:' defend. +[5] 'Warant:' guard. +[6] 'He fondred the Sarazins otuynne:' he formed the Saracens into two +parties. +[7] 'Fordied:' undone. +[8] 'No noye:' annoy. + +Of De Brunne, Warton judiciously remarks--'Our author also translated +into English rhymes the treatise of Cardinal Bonaventura, his +contemporary, _De coena et passione Domini, et paenis S. Mariae +Virgins_. But I forbear to give more extracts from this writer, who +appears to have possessed much more industry than genius, and cannot at +present be read with much pleasure. Yet it should be remembered that +even such a writer as Robert de Brunne, uncouth and unpleasing as he +naturally seems, and chiefly employed in turning the theology of his age +into rhyme, contributed to form a style, to teach expression, and to +polish his native tongue. In the infancy of language and composition, +nothing is wanted but writers;--at that period even the most artless +have their use.' + +Here we may allude to the introduction of romantic fiction into English +poetry. This had, as we have seen, reigned in France. There troubadours +in Provence, and men more worthy of the name of poets in Normandy, had +long sung of Brutus, of Charlemagne, and of Rollo. And thence a class, +called sometimes Joculators, sometimes Jongleurs, and sometimes +Minstrels, issued, harp in hand, wandering to and fro, and singing tales +of chivalry and love, composed either by themselves, or by other poets +living or dead. (We refer our readers to our first volume of Percy's +'Reliques,' for a full account of this class, and of the poetry they +produced.) These wanderers reached England in due time and brought with +them compositions which found favour and excited emulation, or at least +imitation, in our vernacular genius. Hence came a great swarm of +romances, all more or less derived from the French, even when Saxon in +subject and style; such as 'Sir Tristrem,' (which Sir Walter Scott tried +in vain to prove to be written by the famous Thomas the Rhymer, of +Ercildoun, or Earlston, in Berwickshire, who died before 1299;) 'The +Life of Alexander the Great,' said to be written by Adam Davie, Marshall +of Stratford-le-Bow, who lived about 1312; 'King Horn,' which certainly +belongs to the latter part of the thirteenth century; 'The Squire of Low +Degree; 'Sir Guy;' 'Sir Degore;' 'The King of Tars;' 'King Robert of +Sicily;' 'La Mort d'Arthur;' 'Impodemon;' and, more lately, 'Sir Libius;' +'Sir Thopas;' 'Sir Isenbras;' 'Gawan and Gologras;' and 'Sir Bevis.' +Richard I. also formed the subject of a very popular romance. We give +extracts from it:-- + + +THE SOLDAN SALADIN SENDS KING RICHARD A HORSE. + + 'Thou sayst thy God is full of might: + Wilt thou grant with spear and shield, + To detryve the right in the field, + With helm, hauberk, and brandės bright, + On strongė steedės good and light, + Whether be of more power, + Thy God almight, or Jupiter? + And he sent rue to sayė this + If thou wilt have an horse of his, + In all the lands that thou hast gone + Such ne thou sawest never none: + Favel of Cyprus, ne Lyard of Prys,[1] + Be not at need as he is; + And if thou wilt, this samė day, + He shall be brought thee to assay.' + Richard answered, 'Thou sayest well + Such a horse, by Saint Michael, + I would have to ride upon.---- + Bid him send that horse to me, + And I shall assay what he be, + If he be trusty, withoutė fail, + I keep none other to me in battail.' + The messengers then homė went, + And told the Soldan in present, + That Richard in the field would come him unto: + The rich Soldan bade to come him unto + A noble clerk that couldė well conjure, + That was a master necromansour: + He commanded, as I you tell, + Thorough the fiendė's might of hell, + Two strong fiendė's of the air, + In likeness of two steedės fair, + Both like in hue and hair, + As men said that there were: + No man saw never none sich; + That one was a mare iliche, + That other a colt, a noble steed, + Where that he were in any mead, + (Were the knight never so bold.) + When the mare neigh wold, + (That him should hold against his will,) + But soon he wouldė go her till, + And kneel down and suck his dame, + Therewith the Soldan with shame + Shouldė king Richard quell, + All this an angel 'gan him tell, + That to him came about midnight. + 'Awake,' he said, 'Goddis knight: + My Lord doth thee to understand + That thee shalt come an horse to land, + Fair it is, of body ypight, + To betray thee if the Soldan might; + On him to ride have thou no drede + For he thee helpė shall at need.' + +The angel gives king Richard several directions about managing this +infernal horse, and a general engagement ensuing, between the Christian +and Saracen armies, + + He leapt on horse when it was light; + Ere he in his saddle did leap + Of many thingės he took keep.-- + His men brought them that he bade, + A square tree of forty feet, + Before his saddle anon he it set, + Fast that they should it brase, &c. + Himself was richėly begone, + From the crest right to the tone,[2] + He was covered wondrously wele + All with splentės of good steel, + And there above an hauberk. + A shaft he had of trusty werk, + Upon his shoulders a shield of steel, + With the libards[3] painted wele; + And helm he had of rich entaile, + Trusty and true was his ventaile: + Upon his crest a dovė white, + Significant of the Holy Sprite, + Upon a cross the dovė stood + Of gold ywrought rich and good, + God[4] himself, Mary and John, + As he was done the rood upon,[5] + In significance for whom he fought, + The spear-head forgat he nought, + Upon his shaft he would it have + Goddis name thereon was grave; + Now hearken what oath he sware, + Ere they to the battaile went there: + 'If it were so, that Richard might + Slay the Soldan in field with fight, + At our willė evereachone + He and his should gone + Into the city of Babylon; + And the king of Macedon + He should have under his hand; + And if the Soldan of that land + Might slay Richard in the field + With sword or spearė under shield, + That Christian men shouldė go + Out of that land for evermo, + And the Saracens their will in wold.' + Quoth king Richard, 'Thereto I hold, + Thereto my glove, as I am knight.' + They be armed and ready dight: + King Richard to his saddle did leap, + Certes, who that would takė keep + To see that sight it were sair; + Their steedės rannė with great ayre,[6] + All so hard as they might dyre,[7] + After their feetė sprang out fire: + Tabors and trumpettės 'gan blow: + There men might see in a throw + How king Richard, that noble man, + Encountered with the Soldan, + The chief was toldė of Damas, + His trust upon his marė was, + And therefor, as the book[8] us tells, + His crupper hungė full of bells, + And his peytrel[9] and his arsowne[10] + Three mile men might hear the soun. + His mare neighed, his bells did ring, + For greatė pride, without lesing, + A falcon brode[11] in hand he bare, + For he thought he wouldė there + Have slain Richard with treasoun + When his colt should kneelė down, + As a colt shouldė suck his dame, + And he was 'warė of that shame, + His ears with wax were stopped fast, + Therefore Richard was not aghast, + He struck the steed that under him went, + And gave the Soldan his death with a dent: + In his shieldė verament + Was painted a serpent, + With the spear that Richard held + He bare him thorough under his sheld, + None of his armour might him last, + Bridle and peytrel all to-brast, + His girthės and his stirrups also, + His ruare to groundė wentė tho; + Maugre her head, he made her seech + The ground, withoutė morė speech, + His feet toward the firmament, + Behinde him the spear outwent + There he fell dead on the green, + Richard smote the fiend with spurrės keen, + And in the name of the Holy Ghost + He driveth into the heathen host, + And as soon as he was come, + Asunder he brake the sheltron,[12] + And all that ever afore him stode, + Horse and man to the groundė yode, + Twenty foot on either side. + When the king of France and his men wist + That the mast'ry had the Christian, + They waxed bold, and good heart took, + Steedės bestrode, and shaftės shook. + +[1] 'Favel of Cyprus, ne Lyard of Prys:' Favel of Cyprus, and Lyard of +Paris, horses of Kichard's. +[2] 'Tone:' toes. +[3] 'Libards:' leopards. +[4] 'God:' our Saviour. +[5] 'As he was done the rood upon:' as he died upon the cross. +[6] 'Ayre:' ire. +[7] 'Dyre:' dare. +[8] 'The book:' the French romance. +[9] 'Peytrel:' the breast-plate or breast-band of a horse. +[10] 'Arsowne:' saddle-bow. +[11] 'falcon brode:' F. bird. +[12] 'Sheltrou:' 'schiltron:' soldiers drawn up in a circle. + +From 'Sir Degore' we quote the description of a dragon, which Warton +thinks drawn by a master:-- + + + DEGORE AND THE DRAGON. + + Degorė went forth his way, + Through a forest half a day: + He heard no man, nor sawė none, + Till it past the high none, + Then heard he great strokės fall, + That it made greatė noise withal, + Full soonė he thought that to see, + To weetė what the strokes might be: + There was an earl, both stout and gay, + He was come there that samė day, + For to hunt for a deer or a doe, + But his houndės were gone him fro. + Then was there a dragon great and grim, + Full of fire and also venim, + With a wide throat and tuskės great, + Upon that knight fast 'gan he beat. + And as a lion then was his feet, + His tail was long, and full unmeet: + Between his head and his tail + Was twenty-two foot withouten fail; + His body was like a wine tun, + He shone full bright against the sun: + His eyes were bright as any glass, + His scales were hard as any brass; + And thereto he was necked like a horse, + He bare his head up with great force: + The breath of his mouth that did out blow + As it had been a fire on lowe[1]. + He was to look on, as I you tell, + As it had been a fiend of hell. + Many a man he had shent, + And many a horsė he had rent. + +[1] 'On lowe:' in flame. + +From Davie's supposed 'Life of Alexander' we extract a description of a +battle, which shews some energy of genius:-- + + + A BATTLE + + Alisander before is ryde, + And many gentle a knight him myde;[1] + As for to gather his meinie free, + He abideth under a tree: + Forty thousand of chivalry + He taketh in his company, + He dasheth him then fast forthward, + And the other cometh afterward. + He seeth his knightės in mischief, + He taketh it greatly a grief, + He takes Bultyphal[2] by the side, + So as a swallow he 'ginneth forth glide. + A duke of Persia soon he met, + And with his lance he him grett. + He pķerceth his breny, cleaveth his shieldė, + The heartė tokeneth the yrnė; + The duke fell downė to the ground, + And starf[3] quickly in that stound: + Alisander aloud then said, + Other toll never I ne paid, + Yet ye shallen of mine pay, + Ere I go more assay. + Another lance in hand he hent, + Against the prince of Tyre he went + He ... him thorough the breast and thare + And out of saddle and crouthe him bare, + And I say for soothė thing + He brake his neck in the falling. + ... with muchel wonder, + Antiochus haddė him under, + And with sword would his heved[4] + From his body have yreaved: + He saw Alisander the goodė gome, + Towards him swithė come, + He lete[5] his prey, and flew on horse, + For to save his owen corse: + Antiochus on steed leap, + Of none woundės ne took he keep, + And eke he had fourė forde + All ymade with spearės' ord.[6] + Tholomeus and all his felawen[7] + Of this succour so weren welfawen, + Alysander made a cry hardy, + 'Ore tost aby aby.' + Then the knightės of Acha’ + Jousted with them of Araby, + They of Rome with them of Mede, + Many land.... + Egypt jousted with them of Tyre, + Simple knights with richė sire: + There n'as foregift ne forbearing + Betweenė vavasour[8] ne king; + Before men mighten and behind + Cunteck[9] seek and cunteck find. + With Persians foughten the Gregeys,[10] + There was cry and great honteys.[11] + They kidden[12] that they weren mice, + They broken spearės all to slice. + There might knight find his pere, + There lost many his distrere:[13] + There was quick in little thraw,[14] + Many gentle knight yslaw: + Many armė, many heved[15] + Some from the body reaved: + Many gentle lavedy[16] + There lost quick her amy.[17] + There was many maim yled,[18] + Many fair pensel bebled:[19] + There was swordės liklaking,[20] + There was spearės bathing, + Both kingės there sans doute + Be in dash'd with all their route, &c. + +[1] 'Myde:' with. +[2] 'Bultyphal:' Bucephalus. +[3] 'Starf:' died. +[4] 'Heved: head. +[5] 'Lete:' left. +[6] 'Ord:' point. +[7] 'Felawen;' fellows. +[7] 'Vavasour:' subject. +[8] 'Cunteck:' strife. +[9] 'Gregeys:' Greeks. +[10] 'Honteys:' shame. +[11] 'Kidden:' thought. +[12] 'Distrere:' horse. +[13] 'Little thraw:' short time. +[14] 'Heved:' head. +[15] 'Lavedy:' lady. +[16] 'Amy:' paramour. +[17] 'Yled:' led along, maimed. +[18] 'Many fair pensel bebled:' many a banner sprinkled with blood. +[19] 'Liklaking:' clashing. + +Davie was also the author of an original poem, entitled, 'Visions in +Verse,' and of the 'Battle of Jerusalem,' in which he versifies a French +romance. In this production Pilate is represented as challenging our +Lord to single combat! + +In 1349, died Richard Rollo, a hermit, and a verse-writer. He lived a +secluded life near the nunnery of Hampole in Yorkshire, and wrote a +number of devotional pieces, most of them very dull. In 1350, Lawrence +Minot produced some short narrative ballads on the victories of Edward +III., beginning with Halidon Hill, and ending with the siege of Guisnes +Castle. His works lay till the end of the last century obscure in a MS. +of the Cotton Collection, which was supposed to be a transcript of the +Works of Chaucer. On a spare leaf of the MS. there had been accidentally +written a name, probably that of its original possessor, 'Richard +Chawsir.' This the getter-up of the Cotton catalogue imagined to be the +name of Geoffrey Chaucer. Mr Tyrwhitt, while foraging for materials to +his edition of 'The Canterbury Tales,' accidentally found out who the +real writer was; and Ritson afterwards published Minot's ballads, which +are ten in number, written in the northern dialect, and in an alliterative +style, and with considerable spirit and liveliness. He has been called the +Tyrtaeus of his age. + +We come now to the immediate predecessor of Chaucer--Robert Langlande. +He was a secular priest, born at Mortimer's Cleobury, in Shropshire, +and educated at Oriel College, Oxford. He wrote, towards the end of the +fourteenth century, a very remarkable work, entitled, 'Visions of William +concerning Piers Plowman.' The general object of this poem is to denounce +the abuses of society, and to inculcate, upon both clergy and laity, their +respective duties. One William is represented as falling asleep among the +Malvern Hills, and sees in his dream a succession of visions, in which +great ingenuity, great boldness, and here and there a powerful vein of +poetry, are displayed. Truth is described as a magnificent tower, and +Falsehood as a deep dungeon. In one canto Religion descends, and gives +a long harangue about what should be the conduct of society and of +individuals. Bribery and Falsehood, in another part of the poem, seek a +marriage with each other, and make their way to the courts of justice, +where they find many friends. Some very whimsical passages are introduced. +The Power of Grace confers upon Piers Plowman, who stands for the +Christian Life, four stout oxen, to cultivate the field of Truth. These +are Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, the last of whom is described as the +gentlest of the team. She afterwards assigns him the like number of stots +or bullocks, to harrow what the evangelists had ploughed, and this new +horned team consists of Saint or Stot Ambrose, Stot Austin, Stot Gregory, +and Stot Jerome. + +Apart from its fantastic structure, 'Piers Plowman' was not only a sign +of the times, but did great service in its day. His voice rings like +that of Israel's minor prophets--like Nahum or Hosea--in a dark and +corrupt age. He proclaims liberal and independent sentiments, he attacks +slavery and superstition, and he predicts the doom of the Papacy as with +a thunder-knell. Chaucer must have felt roused to his share of the +reformatory work by the success of 'Piers Plowman;' Spenser is suspected +to have read and borrowed from him; and even Milton, in his description +of a lazar-house in 'Paradise Lost,' had him probably in his eye. (See +our last extract from 'Piers.') + +On account of the great merit and peculiarity of this work we proceed to +make rather copious extracts. + + + HUMAN LIFE. + + Then 'gan I to meten[1] a marvellous sweven,[2] + That I was in wilderness, I wist never where: + As I beheld into the east, on high to the sun, + I saw a tower on a loft, richly ymaked, + A deep dale beneath, a dungeon therein, + With deep ditches and dark, and dreadful of sight: + A fair field full of folk found I there between, + Of all manner men, the mean and the rich, + Working and wand'ring, as the world asketh; + Some put them to the plough, playeden full seld, + In setting and sowing swonken[3] full hard: + And some put them to pride, &c. + +[1] 'Meten:' dream. +[2] 'Sweven:' dream. +[3] 'Swonken:' toiled. + + + ALLEGORICAL PICTURES. + + Thus robed in russet, I roamed about + All a summer season, for to seek Dowell + And freyned[1] full oft, of folk that I met + If any wight wist where Dowell was at inn, + And what man he might be, of many man I asked; + Was never wight as I went, that me wysh[2] could + Where this lad lenged,[3] lessė or more, + Till it befell on a Friday, two friars I met + Masters of the Minors,[4] men of greatė wit. + I halsed them hendely,[5] as I had learned, + And prayed them for charity, ere they passed further, + If they knew any court or country as they went + Where that Dowell dwelleth, do me to wit,[6] + For they be men on this mould, that most widė walk + And know countries and courts, and many kinnes[7] places, + Both princes' palaces, and poor mennė's cotes, + And Dowell, and Doevil, where they dwell both. + 'Amongst us,' quoth the Minors, 'that man is dwelling + And ever hath as I hope, and ever shall hereafter.' + Contra, quod I, as a clerk, and cumsed to disputen, + And said them soothly, _Septies in die cadit justus_, + Seven sythes,[8] sayeth the book, sinneth the rightful, + And whoso sinneth, I say, doth evil as methinketh, + And Dowell and Doevil may not dwell together, + Ergo he is not alway among you friars; + He is other while elsewhere, to wyshen[9] the people. + 'I shall say thee, my son,' said the friar then, + 'How seven sithes the saddė[10] man on a day sinneth, + By a forvisne'[11] quod the friar, 'I shall thee fair shew; + Let bring a man in a boat, amid the broad water, + The wind and the water, and the boatė wagging, + Make a man many time, to fall and to stand, + For stand he never so stiff, he stumbleth if he move, + And yet is he safe and sound, and so him behoveth, + For if he ne arise the rather, and raght[12] to the steer, + The wind would with the water the boat overthrow, + And then were his life lost through latches[13] of himself. + And thus it falleth,' quod the friar, 'by folk here on earth, + The water is lik'ned to the world, that waneth and waxeth, + The goods of this world are likened to the great waves + That as winds and weathers, walken about, + The boat is liken'd to our body, that brittle is of kind, + That through the flesh, and the frailė world + Sinneth the saddė man, a day seven times, + And deadly sin doeth he not, for Dowell him keepeth, + And that is Charity the champion, chief help against sin, + For he strengtheth man to stand, and stirreth man's soul, + And though thy body bow, as boatė doth in water, + Aye is thy soulė safe, but if thou wilt thyself + Do a deadly sin, and drenchė[14] so thy soul, + God will suffer well thy sloth, if thyself liketh, + For he gave thee two years' gifts, to teme well thyself, + And that is wit and free-will, to every wight a portion, + To flying fowlės, to fishes, and to beasts, + And man hath most thereof, and most is to blame + But if he work well therewith, as Dowell him teacheth.' + 'I have no kind knowing,' quoth I, 'to conceive all your wordės + And if I may live and look, I shall go learnė better; + I beken[15] the Christ, that on the crossė died;' + And I said, 'The samė save you from mischance, + And give you grace on this ground good me to worth.' + And thus I went wide where, walking mine one + By a wide wilderness, and by a woodė's side, + Bliss of the birdės brought me on sleep, + And under a lind[16] on a land, leaned I a stound[17] + To lyth[18] the layės, those lovely fowlės made, + Mirth of their mouthės made me there to sleep. + The marvellousest metelles mettė[19] me then + That ever dreamed wight, in world as I went. + A much man as me thought, and like to myself, + Came and called me, by my kindė[20] namė. + 'What art thou,' quod I then, 'thou that my namė knowest?' + 'That thou wottest well,' quod he, 'and no wight better.' + 'Wot I what thou art?' Thought said he then, + 'I have sued[21] thee this seven years, see ye me no rather?' + 'Art thou Thought?' quoth I then, 'thou couldest me wyssh[22] + Where that Dowell dwelleth, and do me that to know.' + 'Dowell, and Dobetter, and Dobest the third,' quod he, + 'Are three fair virtues, and be not far to find, + Whoso is true of his tongue, and of his two handės, + And through his labour or his lod, his livelod winneth, + And is trusty of his tayling,[23] taketh but his own, + And is no drunkelow ne dedigious, Dowell him followeth; + Dobet doth right thus, and he doth much more, + He is as low as a lamb, and lovėly of speech, + And helpeth all men, after that them needeth; + The baggės and the bigirdles, he hath to-broke them all, + That the earl avarous heldė and his heirės, + And thus to mammons many he hath made him friends, + And is run to religion, and hath rend'red[24] the Bible + And preached to the people Saint Paulė's wordės, + _Libenter suffertis insipientes, cum sitis ipsi sapientes_. + + * * * * * + + And suffereth the unwise with you for to live, + And with glad will doth he good, for so God you hoteth.[25] + Dobest is above both, and beareth a bishop's cross + Is hooked on that one end to halye[26] men from hell; + A pike is on the potent[27] to pull down the wicked + That waiten any wickedness, Dowell to tene;[28] + And Dowell and Dobet amongst them have ordained + To crown one to be king, to rule them boeth, + That if Dowell and Dobet are against Dobest, + Then shall the king come, and cast them in irons, + And but if Dobest bid for them, they be there for ever. + Thus Dowell and Dobet, and Dobestė the third, + Crowned one to be king, to keepen them all, + And to rule the realmė by their three wittės, + And none otherwise but as they three assented.' + I thanked Thought then, that he me thus taught, + And yet favoureth me not thy suging, I covet to learn + How Dowell, Dobest, and Dobetter do among the people. + 'But Wit can wish[29] thee,' quoth Thought, 'where they three dwell, + Else wot I none that can tell that now is alive.' + Thought and I thus, three dayės we yeden[30] + Disputing upon Dowell, dayė after other. + And ere we were 'ware, with Wit 'gan we meet. + He was long and leanė, like to none other, + Was no pride on his apparel, nor poverty neither; + Sad of his semblance, and of soft cheer; + I durst not move no matter, to make him to laugh, + But as I bade Thought then be mean between, + And put forth some purpose to prevent his wits, + What was Dowell from Dobet, and Dobest from them both? + Then Thought in that timė said these wordės; + 'Whether Dowell, Dobet, and Dobest be in land, + Here is well would wit, if Wit could teach him, + And whether he be man or woman, this man fain would espy, + And work as they three would, this is his intent.' + 'Here Dowell dwelleth,' quod Wit, 'not a day hence, + In a castle that kind[31] made, of four kinds things; + Of earth and air is it made, mingled together + With wind and with water, witterly[32] enjoined; + Kindė hath closed therein, craftily withal, + A leman[33] that he loveth, like to himself, + Anima she hight, and Envy her hateth, + A proud pricker of France, _princeps hujus mundi_, + And would win her away with wiles and he might; + And Kind knoweth this well, and keepeth her the better. + And doth her with Sir Dowell is duke of these marches; + Dobet is her damosel, Sir Dowell's daughter, + To serve this lady lelly,[34] both late and rathe.[35] + Dobest is above both, a bishop's pere; + That he bids must be done; he ruleth them all. + Anima, that lady, is led by his learning, + And the constable of the castle, that keepeth all the watch, + Is a wise knight withal, Sir Inwit he hight, + And hath five fair sonnės by his first wife, + Sir Seewell and Saywell, and Hearwell-the-end, + Sir Workwell-with-thy-hand, a wight man of strength, + And Sir Godfray Gowell, great lordės forsooth. + These five be set to save this lady Anima, + Till Kind come or send, to save her for ever.' + 'What kind thing is Kind,' quod I, 'canst thou me tell?'-- + 'Kind,' quod Wit, 'is a creator of all kinds things, + Father and former of all that ever was maked, + And that is the great God that 'ginning had never, + Lord of life and of light, of bliss and of pain, + Angels and all thing are at his will, + And man is him most like, of mark and of shape, + For through the word that he spake, wexen forth beasts, + And made Adam, likest to himself one, + And Eve of his ribbė bone, without any mean, + For he was singular himself, and said _Faciamus_, + As who say more must hereto, than my wordė one, + My might must helpė now with my speech, + Even as a lord should make letters, and he lacked parchment, + Though he could write never so well, if he had no pen, + The letters, for all his lordship, I 'lieve were never ymarked; + And so it seemeth by him, as the Bible telleth, + There he saidė, _Dixit et facta sunt_. + He must work with his word, and his wit shew; + And in this manner was man made, by might of God Almighty, + With his word and his workmanship, and with life to last, + And thus God gave him a ghost[36] of the Godhead of heaven, + And of his great grace granted him bliss, + And that is life that aye shall last, to all our lineage after; + And that is the castle that Kindė made, Caro it hight, + And is as much to meanė as man with a soul, + And that he wrought with work and with word both; + Through might of the majesty, man was ymaked. + Inwit and Allwits closed been therein, + For love of the lady Anima, that life is nempned.[37] + Over all in man's body, she walketh and wand'reth, + And in the heart is her home, and her most rest, + And Inwit is in the head, and to the heartė looketh, + What Anima is lief or loth,[38] he leadeth her at his will + Then had Wit a wife, was hotė Dame Study, + That leve was of lere, and of liche boeth. + She was wonderly wrought, Wit me so teached, + And all staring, Dame Study sternėly said; + 'Well art thou wise,' quoth she to Wit, 'any wisdoms to tell + To flatterers or to foolės, that frantic be of wits;' + And blamed him and banned him, and bade him be still, + With such wisė wordės, to wysh any sots, + And said, '_Noli mittere_, man, _margaritae_, pearls, + Amongė hoggės, that havė hawes at will. + They do but drivel thereon, draff were them lever,[39] + Than all precious pearls that in paradise waxeth.[40] + I say it, by such,' quod she, 'that shew it by their works, + That them were lever[41] land and lordship on earth, + Or riches or rentės, and rest at their will, + Than all the sooth sawės that Solomon said ever. + Wisdom and wit now is not worth a kerse,[42] + But if it be carded with covetise, as clothers kemb their wool; + Whoso can contrive deceits, and conspire wrongs, + And lead forth a lovėday,[43] to let with truth, + He that such craftės can is oft cleped to counsel, + They lead lords with lesings, and belieth truth. + Job the gentle in his gests greatly witnesseth + That wicked men wielden the wealth of this world; + The Psalter sayeth the same, by such as do evil; + _Ecce ipsi peccatores abundantes in seculo obtinuerunt divitias_. + Lo, saith holy lecture, which lords be these shrewes? + Thilkė that God giveth most, least good they dealeth, + And most unkind be to that comen, that most chattel wieldeth.[44] + _Quae perfecisti destrutxerunt, justus autem, &c_. + Harlots for their harlotry may have of their goodės, + And japers and juggelers, and janglers of jestės, + And he that hath holy writ aye in his mouth, + And can tell of Tobie, and of the twelve apostles, + Or preach of the penance that Pilate falsely wrought + To Jesu the gentle, that Jewės to-draw: + Little is he loved that such a lesson sheweth; + Or daunten or draw forth, I do it on God himself, + But they that feign they foolės, and with fayting[45] liveth, + Against the lawė of our Lord, and lien on themself, + Spitten and spewen, and speak foulė wordės, + Drinken and drivellen, and do men for to gape, + Liken men, and lie on them, and lendeth them no giftės, + They can[46] no more minstrelsy nor music men to glad, + Than Mundie, the miller, of _multa fecit Deus_. + Ne were their vile harlotry, have God my truth, + Shouldė never king nor knight, nor canon of Paul's + Give them to their yearė's gift, nor gift of a groat, + And mirth and minstrelsy amongst men is nought; + Lechery, losenchery,[47] and losels' talės, + Gluttony and great oaths, this mirth they loveth, + And if they carpen[48] of Christ, these clerkės and these lewed, + And they meet in their mirth, when minstrels be still, + When telleth they of the Trinity a talė or twain, + And bringeth forth a blade reason, and take Bernard to witness, + And put forth a presumption to prove the sooth, + Thus they drivel at their dais[49] the Deity to scorn, + And gnawen God to their gorge[50] when their guts fallen; + And the careful[51] may cry, and carpen at the gate, + Both a-hunger'd and a-thirst, and for chill[52] quake, + Is none to nymen[53] them near, his noyel[54] to amend, + But hunten him as a hound, and hoten[55] him go hence. + Little loveth he that Lord that lent him all that bliss, + That thus parteth with the poor; a parcel when him needeth + Ne were mercy in mean men, more than in rich; + Mendynauntes meatless[56] might go to bed. + God is much in the gorge of these greatė masters, + And amongės mean men, his mercy and his workės, + And so sayeth the Psalter, I have seen it oft. + Clerks and other kinnes men carpen of God fast, + And have him much in the mouth, and meanė men in heart; + Friars and faitours[57] have founden such questions + To please with the proud men, sith the pestilence time, + And preachen at St Paulė's, for pure envy of clerks, + That folk is not firmed in the faith, nor free of their goods, + Nor sorry for their sinnės, so is pride waxen, + In religion, and in all the realm, amongst rich and poor; + That prayers have no power the pestilence to let, + And yet the wretches of this world are none 'ware by other, + Nor for dread of the death, withdraw not their pride, + Nor be plenteous to the poor, as pure charity would, + But in gains and in gluttony, forglote goods themself, + And breaketh not to the beggar, as the book teacheth. + And the more he winneth, and waxeth wealthy in riches, + And lordeth in landės, the less good he dealeth. + Tobie telleth ye not so, takė heed, ye rich, + How the bible book of him beareth witness; + Whoso hath much, spend manly, so meaneth Tobit, + And whoso little wieldeth, rule him thereafter; + For we have no letter of our life, how long it shall endure. + Suchė lessons lordės shouldė love to hear, + And how he might most meinie, manlich find; + Not to fare as a fiddeler, or a friar to seek feasts, + Homely at other men's houses, and haten their own. + Elenge[58] is the hall every day in the week; + There the lord nor the lady liketh not to sit, + Now hath each rich a rule[59] to eaten by themself + In a privy parlour, for poorė men's sake, + Or in a chamber with a chimney, and leave the chief hall + That was made for mealės men to eat in.'-- + And when that Wit was 'ware what Dame Study told, + He became so confuse he cunneth not look, + And as dumb as death, and drew him arear, + And for no carping I could after, nor kneeling to the earth + I might get no grain of his greatė wits, + But all laughing he louted, and looked upon Study, + In sign that I shouldė beseechen her of grace, + And when I was 'ware of his will, to his wife I louted + And said, 'Mercie, madam, your man shall I worth + As long as I live both late and early, + For to worken your will, the while my life endureth, + With this that ye ken me kindly, to know to what is Dowell.' + 'For thy meekness, man,' quoth she, 'and for thy mild speech, + I shall ken thee to my cousin, that Clergy is hoten.[60] + He hath wedded a wife within these six moneths, + Is syb[61] to the seven arts, Scripture is her name; + They two as I hope, after my teaching, + Shall wishen thee Dowell, I dare undertake.' + Then was I as fain as fowl of fair morrow, + And gladder than the gleeman that gold hath to gift, + And asked her the highway where that Clergy[62] dwelt. + 'And tell me some token,' quoth I, 'for time is that I wend.' + 'Ask the highway,' quoth she, 'hencė to suffer + Both well and woe, if that thou wilt learn; + And ride forth by riches, and rest thou not therein, + For if thou couplest ye therewith, to Clergy comest thou never, + And also the likorous land that Lechery hight, + Leave it on thy left half, a largė mile and more, + Till thou come to a court, keep well thy tongue + From leasings and lyther[63] speech, and likorous drinkės, + Then shalt thou see Sobriety, and Simplicity of speech, + That each might be in his will, his wit to shew, + And thus shall ye come to Clergy that can many things; + Say him this sign, I set him to school, + And that I greet well his wife, for I wrote her many books, + And set her to Sapience, and to the Psalter glose; + Logic I learned her, and many other laws, + And all the unisons to music I made her to know; + Plato the poet, I put them first to book, + Aristotle and other more, to argue I taught, + Grammer for girlės, I gard[64] first to write, + And beat them with a bales but if they would learn; + Of all kindės craftės I contrived toolės, + Of carpentry, of carvers, and compassed masons, + And learned them level and line, though I look dim; + And Theology hath tened[65] me seven score timės; + The more I muse therein, the mistier it seemeth, + And the deeper I divine, the darker me it thinketh. + +[1] 'Freyned:' inquired. +[2] 'Wysh:' inform. +[3] 'Lenged:' lived. +[4] 'Minors:' the friars minors. +[5] 'Halsed them hendely:' saluted them kindly. +[6] 'Do me to wit:' make me to know. +[7] 'Kinnes:' sorts of. +[8] 'Sythes:' times. +[9] 'Wyshen:' inform, teach. +[10] 'Saddė:' sober, good. +[11] 'Forvisne:' similitude. +[12] 'Raght:' reach. +[13] 'Latches:' laziness. +[14] 'Drenchė:' drown. +[15] 'Beken:' confess. +[16] 'Lind:' lime-tree. +[17] 'A stound:' a while. +[18] 'Lyth:' listen. +[19] 'Mettė:' dreamed. +[20] 'Kinde:' own. +[21] 'Sued:' sought. +[22] 'Wyssh:' inform. +[23] 'Tayling:' dealing. +[24] 'Rend'red:' translated. +[25] 'Hoteth:' biddeth. +[26] 'Halve:' draw. +[27] 'Potent:' staff. +[28] 'Tene:' grieve. +[29] 'Wish:' inform. +[30] 'Yeden:' went. +[31] 'Kind:' nature. +[32] 'Witterly:' cunningly. +[33] 'Leman:' paramour. +[34] 'Lelly:' fair. +[35] 'Rathe:' early. +[36] 'Ghost:' spirit. +[37] 'Nempned:' named. +[38] 'Loth:' willing. +[39] 'Lever:' rather. +[40] 'Waxeth: grow. +[41] 'Them were lever:' they had rather. +[42] 'Kerse:' curse. +[43] 'Lovėday:'lady. +[44] 'Wieldeth:' commands. +[45] 'Fayting:' deceiving. +[46] 'Can:' know. +[47] 'Losenchery:' lying. +[48] 'Carpen:' speak. +[49] 'Dais:' table. +[50] 'Gorge:' throat. +[51] 'Careful:' poor. +[52] 'Chill:' cold. +[53] 'Nymen:' take. +[54] 'Noye:' trouble. +[55] 'Hoten:' order. +[56] 'Mendynauntes meatless:' beggars supperless. +[57] 'Faitours:' idle fellows. +[58] 'Elenge:' strange, deserted. +[59] 'Rule:' custom. +[60] 'Hoten:' named. +[61] 'Syb:' mother. +[62] 'Clergy:' learning. +[63] 'Lyther:' wanton. +[64] 'Gard:' made. +[65] 'Tened:' grieved. + + + COVETOUSNESS. + + And then came Covetise; can I him no descrive, + So hungerly and hollow, so sternėly he looked, + He was bittle-browed and baberlipped also; + With two bleared eyen as a blindė hag, + And as a leathern pursė lolled his cheekės, + Well sider than his chin they shivered for cold: + And as a bondman of his bacon his beard was bidrauled, + With a hood on his head, and a lousy hat above. + And in a tawny tabard,[1] of twelve winter age, + Allė torn and baudy, and full of lice creeping; + But that if a louse could have leapen the better, + She had not walked on the welt, so was it threadbare. + 'I have been Covetise,' quoth this caitiff, + 'For sometime I served Symmė at style, + And was his prentice plight, his profit to wait. + First I learned to lie, a leef other twain + Wickedly to weigh, was my first lesson: + To Wye and to Winchester I went to the fair + With many manner merchandise, as my master me hight.-- + Then drave I me among drapers my donet[2] to learn. + To draw the lyfer along, the longer it seemed + Among the rich rays,' &c. + +[1] 'Tabard:' a coat. +[2] 'Donet:' lesson. + + + THE PRELATES. + + And now is religion a rider, a roamer by the street, + A leader of lovėdays,[1] and a loudė[2] beggar, + A pricker on a palfrey from manor to manor, + An heap of houndės at his arse as he a lord were. + And if but his knave kneel, that shall his cope bring, + He loured on him, and asked who taught him courtesy. + +[1] 'Lovėdays:' ladies. +[2] 'Loudė:' lewd. + + + MERCY AND TRUTH. + + Out of the west coast, a wench, as methought, + Came walking in the way, to heavenward she looked; + Mercy hight that maidė, a meek thing withal, + A full benign birdė, and buxom of speech; + Her sister, as it seemed, came worthily walking, + Even out of the east, and westward she looked, + A full comely creature, Truth she hight, + For the virtue that her followed afeared was she never. + When these maidens met, Mercy and Truth, + Either asked other of this great marvel, + Of the din and of the darkness, &c. + + + NATURE, OR KIND, SENDING FORTH HIS DISEASES FROM THE PLANETS, AT + THE COMMAND OF CONSCIENCE, AND OF HIS ATTENDANTS, AGE AND DEATH. + + Kind Conscience then heard, and came out of the planets, + And sent forth his forriours, Fevers and Fluxes, + Coughės and Cardiacles, Crampės and Toothaches, + Rheumės, and Radgondes, and raynous Scallės, + Boilės, and Botches, and burning Agues, + Phreneses and foul Evil, foragers of Kind! + There was 'Harow! and Help! here cometh Kind, + With Death that is dreadful, to undo us all!' + The lord that liveth after lust then aloud cried. + _Age the hoar, he was in the va-ward, + And bare the banner before Death: by right he it claimed._ + Kindė came after, with many keenė sorės, + As Pocks and Pestilences, and much people shent. + So Kind through corruptions, killed full many: + Death came driving after, and all to dust pashed + Kings and Kaisers, knightės and popės. + Many a lovely lady, and leman of knights, + Swooned and swelted for sorrow of Death's dints. + Conscience, of his courtesy, to Kind he besought + To cease and sufire, and see where they would + Leave Pride privily, and be perfect Christian, + And Kind ceased then, to see the people amend. + + +'Piers Plowman' found many imitators. One wrote 'Piers the Plowman's +Crede;' another, 'The Plowman's Tale;' another, a poem on 'Alexander the +Great; 'another, on the 'Wars of the Jews;' and another, 'A Vision of +Death and Life,' extracts from all which may be found in Warton's +'History of English Poetry.' + +We close this preliminary essay by giving a very ancient hymn to the +Virgin, as a specimen of the once universally-prevalent alliterative +poetry. + + + I. + + Hail be you, Mary, mother and may, + Mild, and meek, and merciable; + Hail, folliche fruit of soothfast fay, + Against each strife steadfast and stable; + Hail, soothfast soul in each, a say, + Under the sun is none so able; + Hail, lodge that our Lord in lay, + The foremost that never was founden in fable; + Hail, true, truthful, and tretable, + Hail, chief ychosen of chastity, + Hail, homely, hendy, and amiable: + _To pray for us to thy Sonė so free!_ AVE. + + + II. + + Hail, star that never stinteth light; + Hail, bush burning that never was brent; + Hail, rightful ruler of every right, + Shadow to shield that should be shent; + Hail, blessed be you blossom bright, + To truth and trust was thine intent; + Hail, maiden and mother, most of might, + Of all mischiefs an amendėment; + Hail, spice sprung that never was spent; + Hail, throne of the Trinity; + Hail, scion that God us soon to sent, + _You pray for us thy Sonė free!_ AVE. + + + III. + + Hail, heartily in holiness; + Hail, hope of help to high and low; + Hail, strength and stel of stableness; + Hail, window of heaven wowe; + Hail, reason of righteousness, + To each a caitiff comfort to know; + Hail, innocent of angerness, + Our takel, our tol, that we on trow; + Hail, friend to all that beoth forth flow; + Hail, light of love, and of beauty, + Hail, brighter than the blood on snow: + _You pray for us thy Sonė free!_ AVE. + + + IV. + + Hail, maiden; hail, mother; hail, martyr trew; + Hail, kindly yknow confessour; + Hail, evenere of old law and new; + Hail, builder bold of Christė's bower; + Hail, rose highest of hyde and hue; + Of all fruitė's fairest flower; + Hail, turtle trustiest and true, + Of all truth thou art treasour; + Hail, pured princess of paramour; + Hail, bloom of brere brightest of ble; + Hail, owner of earthly honour: + _You pray for us thy Sonė so free!_ AVE, &c. + + + V. + + Hail, hendy; hail, holy emperess; + Hail, queen courteous, comely, and kind; + Hail, destroyer of every strife; + Hail, mender of every man's mind; + Hail, body that we ought to bless, + So faithful friend may never man find; + Hail, lever and lover of largėness, + Sweet and sweetest that never may swynde; + Hail, botenere[1] of every body blind; + Hail, borgun brightest of all bounty, + Hail, trewore then the wode bynd: + _You pray for us thy Sonė so free!_ AVE. + + + VI. + + Hail, mother; hail, maiden; hail, heaven queen; + Hail, gatus of paradise; + Hail, star of the sea that ever is seen; + Hail, rich, royal, and righteous; + Hail, burde yblessed may you bene; + Hail, pearl of all perrie the pris; + Hail, shadow in each a shower shene; + Hail, fairer than that fleur-de-lis, + Hail, chere chosen that never n'as chis; + Hail, chief chamber of charity; + Hail, in woe that ever was wis: + _You pray for us thy Sonė so free!_ AVE, &c. &c. + +[1] 'Botenere:' helper. + + + + +ADVERTISEMENT. + +It will be observed that, in the specimens given of the earlier poets, the +spelling has been modernised on the principle which has been so generally +approved in its application to the text of Chaucer and of Spenser. + +On a further examination of the material for 'Specimens and Memoirs of the +less-known British Poets,' it has been deemed advisable to devote three +volumes to this _résumé_, and merely to give extracts from Cowley, instead +of following out the arrangement proposed when the issue for this year was +announced. In this space it has been found possible to present the reader +with specimens of almost all those authors whose writings were at any +period esteemed. The series will thus be rendered more perfect, and will +include the complete works of the authors whose entire writings are by +a general verdict regarded as worthy of preservation; together with +representations of the style, and brief notices of the poets who have, +during the progress of our literature, occupied a certain rank, but whose +popularity and importance have in a great measure passed. + +It is confidently hoped that the arrangements now made will give a +completeness to the First Division of the Library Edition of the British +Poets--from Chaucer to Cowper--which will be acceptable and satisfactory +to the general reader. + +Edinburgh, July 1860. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + * * * * * + +FIRST PERIOD. + +JOHN GOWER + The Chariot of the Sun + The Tale of the Coffers or Caskets, &c. + Of the Gratification which the Lover's Passion receives from + the Sense of Hearing + +JOHN BARBOUR + Apostrophe to Freedom + Death of Sir Henry de Bohun + +ANDREW WYNTOUN + +BLIND HARRY + Battle of Black-Earnside + The Death of Wallace + +JAMES I. OF SCOTLAND + Description of the King's Mistress + +JOHN THE CHAPLAIN--THOMAS OCCLEVE + +JOHN LYDGATE + Canace, condemned to Death by her Father Aeolus, sends to her guilty + Brother Macareus the last Testimony of her unhappy Passion + The London Lyckpenny + +HARDING, KAY, &c. + +ROBERT HENRYSON + Dinner given by the Town Mouse to the Country Mouse + The Garment of Good Ladies + +WILLIAM DUNBAR + The Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins through Hell + The Merle and Nightingale + +GAVIN DOUGLAS + Morning in May + +HAWES, BARCLAY, &c. + +SKELTON + To Miss Margaret Hussey + +SIR DAVID LYNDSAY + Meldrum's Duel with the English Champion Talbart + Supplication in Contemption of Side Tails + +THOMAS TUSSER + Directions for Cultivating a Hop-garden + Housewifely Physic + Moral Reflections on the Wind + +VAUX, EDWARDS, &c. + +GEORGE GASCOIGNE + Good-morrow + Good-night + +THOMAS SACKVILLE, LORD BUCKHURST AND EARL OF DORSET + Allegorical Characters from 'The Mirror of Magistrates' + Henry Duke of Buckingham in the Infernal Regions + +JOHN HARRINGTON + Sonnet on Isabella Markham + Verses on a most stony-hearted Maiden + +SIR PHILIP SIDNEY + To Sleep + Sonnets + +ROBERT SOUTHWELL + Look Home + The Image of Death + Love's Servile Lot + Times go by Turns + +THOMAS WATSON + The Nymphs to their May-Queen + Sonnet + +THOMAS TURBERVILLE + In praise of the renowned Lady Aime, Countess of Warwick + +UNKNOWN + Harpalus' Complaint of Phillida's Love bestowed on Corin, who loved + her not, and denied him that loved her + A Praise of his Lady + That all things sometime find Ease of their Pain, save only the Lover + From 'The Phoenix' Nest' + From the same + The Soul's Errand + + * * * * * + +SECOND PERIOD. + +FROM SPENSER TO DRYDEN. + +FRANCIS BEAUMONT + To Ben Jonson + On the Tombs in Westminster + An Epitaph + +SIR WALTER RALEIGH + The Country's Recreations + The Silent Lover + A Vision upon 'The Fairy Queen' + Love admits no Rival + +JOSHUA SYLVESTER + To Religion + On Man's Resemblance to God + The Chariot of the Sun + +RICHARD BARNFIELD + Address to the Nightingale + +ALEXANDER HUME + Thanks for a Summer's Day + +OTHER SCOTTISH POETS + +SAMUEL DANIEL + Richard II., the morning before his Murder in Pomfret Castle + Early Love + Selections from Sonnets + +SIR JOHN DAVIES + Introduction to the Poem on the Soul of Man + The Self-subsistence of the Soul + Spirituality of the Soul + +GILES FLETCHER + The Nativity + Song of Sorceress seeking to tempt Christ + Close of 'Christ's Victory and Triumph' + +JOHN DONNE + Holy Sonnets + The Progress of the Soul + +MICHAEL DRAYTON + Description of Morning + +EDWARD FAIRFAX + Rinaldo at Mount Olivet + +SIR HENRY WOTTON + Farewell to the Vanities of the World + A Meditation + +RICHARD CORBET + Dr Corbet's Journey into France + +BEN JONSON + Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke + The Picture of the Body + To Penshurst + To the Memory of my beloved Master, William Shakspeare, and what + he hath left us + On the Portrait of Shakspeare + +VERE, STORBER, &c + +THOMAS RANDOLPH + The Praise of Woman + To my Picture + To a Lady admiring herself in a Looking-glass + +ROBERT BURTON + On Melancholy + +THOMAS CAREW + Persuasions to Love + Song + To my Mistress sitting by a River's Side + Song + A Pastoral Dialogue + Song + +SIR JOHN SUCKLING + Song + A Ballad upon a Wedding + Song + +WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT + Love's Darts + On the Death of Sir Bevil Grenville + A Valediction + +WILLIAM BROWNE + Song + Song + Power of Genius over Envy + Evening + From 'Britannia's Pastorals' + A Descriptive Sketch + +WILLIAM ALEXANDER, EARL OF STIRLING + Sonnet + +WILLIAM DRUMMOND + The River of Forth Feasting + Sonnets + Spiritual Poems + +PHINEAS FLETCHER + Description of Parthenia + Instability of Human Greatness + Happiness of the Shepherd's Life + Marriage of Christ and the Church + + + * * * * * + + +SPECIMENS, WITH MEMOIRS, OF THE LESS-KNOWN BRITISH POETS. + + + + +JOHN GOWER + + +Very little is told us (as usual in the beginnings of a literature) of +the life and private history of Gower, and that little is not specially +authentic or clearly consistent with itself. His life consists mainly of +a series of suppositions, with one or two firm facts between--like a few +stepping-stones insulated in wide spaces of water. He is said to have +been born about the year 1325, and if so must have been a few years +older than Chaucer; whom he, however, outlived. He was a friend as well +as contemporary of that great poet, who, in the fifth book of his +'Troilus and Cresseide,' thus addresses him:-- + + 'O moral Gower, this bookė I direct, + To thee and the philosophical Strood, + To vouchsafe where need is to correct, + Of your benignities and zealės good.' + +Gower, on the other hand, in his 'Confessio Amantis,' through the mouth +of Venus, speaks as follows of Chaucer:-- + + 'And greet well Chaucer when ye meet, + As my disciple and my poėt; + For 'in the flower of his youth, + In sundry wise, as he well couth, + Of ditties and of songės glad, + The whichė for my sake he made, + The laud fulfill'd is over all,' &c. + +The place of Gower's birth has been the subject of much controversy. +Caxton asserts that he was a native of Wales. Leland, Bales, Pits, +Hollingshed, and Edmondson contend, on the other hand, that he belonged +to the Statenham family, in Yorkshire. In proof of this, a deed is +appealed to, which is preserved among the ancient records of the Marquis +of Stafford. To this deed, of which the local date is Statenham, and the +chronological 1346, one of the subscribing witnesses is _John Gower_ who +on the back of the deed is stated, in the handwriting of at least a +century later, to be '_Sr John Gower the Poet_'. Whatever may be thought +of this piece of evidence, 'the proud tradition,' adds Todd, who had +produced it, 'in the Marquis of Stafford's family has been, and still +is, that the poet was of Statenham; and who would not consider the +dignity of his genealogy augmented by enrolling among its worthies the +moral Gower?' + +From his will we know that he possessed the manor of Southwell, in the +county of Nottingham, and that of Multon, in the county of Suffolk. He +was thus a rich man, as well as probably a knight. The latter fact is +inferred from the circumstance of his effigies in the church of St Mary +Overies wearing a chaplet of roses, such as, says Francis Thynne, 'the +knyghtes in old time used, either of gold or other embroiderye, made +after the fashion of roses, one of the peculiar ornamentes of a knighte, +as well as his collar of S.S.S., his guilte sword and spurres. Which +chaplett or circle of roses was as well attributed to knyghtes, the +lowest degree of honor, as to the higher degrees of duke, erle, &c., +being knyghtes, for so I have seen John of Gaunte pictured in his +chaplett of roses; and King, Edwarde the Thirde gave his chaplett to +Eustace Rybamonte; only the difference was, that as they were of lower +degree, so had they fewer roses placed on their chaplett or cyrcle of +golde, one ornament deduced from the dukes crowne, which had the roses +upon the top of the cyrcle, when the knights had them only upon the +cyrcle or garlande itself.' + +It has been said that Gower as well as Chaucer studied in the Temple. +This, however, Thynne doubts, on the ground that 'it is most certeyn +to be gathered by cyrcumstances of recordes that the lawyers were not +in the Temple until towardes the latter parte of the reygne of Kinge +Edwarde the Thirde, at whiche tyme Chaucer was a grave manne, holden in +greate credyt and employed in embassye;' and when, of course, Gower, +being his senior, must have been 'graver' still. + +There is scarcely anything more to relate of the personal career of our +poet. In his elder days he became attached to the House of Lancaster, +under Thomas of Woodstock, as Chaucer did under John of Gaunt. It is +said that the two poets, who had been warm friends, at last quarrelled, +but obscurity rests on the cause, the circumstances, the duration, and +the consequences of the dispute. Gower, like some far greater bards, +--Milton for instance, and those whom Milton has commemorated, + + 'Blind Thamyris and blind Moeonides, + And Tiresiaa and Phineus, prophets old,'-- + +was sometime ere his death deprived of his sight, as we know on his own +authority. It appears from his will that he was still living in 1408, +having outlived Chaucer eight years. This will is a curious document. +It is that of a very rich and very superstitious Catholic, who leaves +bequests to churches, hospitals, to priors, sub-priors, and priests, +with the significant request '_ut orent pro me_'--a request which, for +the sake of the poor soul of the 'moral Gower,' was we trust devoutly +obeyed, although we are irresistibly reminded of the old rhyme, + + 'Pray for the soul of Gabriel John, + Who died in the year one thousand and one; + You may if you please, or let it alone, + For it's all one + To Gabriel John, + Who died in the year one thousand and one.' + +There is no mention of children in the will, and hence the assertion of +Edmondson, who, in his genealogical table of the Statenham family, says +that Thomas Gower, the governor of the castle of Mans in the times of +the Fifth and Sixth Henrys, was the only son of the poet, and that of +Glover, who, in his 'Visitation of Yorkshire,' describes Gower as +married to a lady named Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Edward Sadbowrughe, +Baron of the Exchequer, by whom he had five sons and three daughters, +must both fall to the ground. According to the will, Gower's wife's name +was Agnes, and he leaves to her £100 in legacy, besides his valuable +goods and the rents accruing from his aforesaid manors of Multon, in +Suffolk, and Southwell, in Nottinghamshire. His body was, according +to his own direction, buried in the monastery of St Mary Overies, in +Southwark, (afterwards the church of St Saviour,) where a monument, and +an effigies, too, were erected, with the roses of a knight girdling the +brow of one who was unquestionably a true, if not a great poet. + +In Warton's 'History of English Poetry,' and in the 'Illustrations of +the Lives and Writings of Gower and Chaucer' by Mr Todd, there will be +found ample and curious details about MS. poems by Gower, such as fifty +sonnets in French; a 'Panegyrick on Henry IV.,' half in Latin and half +in English, a short elegiac poem on the same subject, &c.; besides a +large work, entitled 'Speculum Meditantis,' a poem in French of a moral +cast; and 'Vox Clamantis,' consisting of seven books of Latin elegiacs, +and chiefly filled with a metrical account of the insurrections of the +Commons in the reign of Richard II. In the dedication of this latter +work to Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury, Gower speaks of his blindness +and his age. He says, 'Hanc epistolam subscriptam corde devoto misit +_senex et cecus_ Johannes Gower reverendissimo in Christo patri ac +domino suo precipuo domino Thome de Arundell, Cantuar. Archiepö.' &c. +Warton proves that the 'Vox Clamantis' was written in the year 1397, by +a line in the Bodleian manuscript of the poem, 'Hos ego _bis deno_ +Ricardo regis in anno.' Richard II. began, it is well known, to reign in +the year 1377, when ten years of age, and, of course, the year 1397 was +the twentieth of his reign. It follows from this, that for eleven years +at least before his death Gower had been _senex et cecus_, helpless +through old age and blindness. + +The 'Confessio Amantis' is the only work of Gower's which is printed and +in English. The rest are still slumbering in MS.; and even although the +'Vox Clamantis' should put in a sleepy plea for the resurrection of +print, on the whole we are disposed to say, better for all parties that +it and the rest should slumber on. But the 'Confessio Amantis' is +altogether a remarkable production. It is said to have been written at +the command of Richard II., who, meeting our poet rowing on the Thames, +near London, took him on board the royal barge, and requested him to +_book some new thing_. It is an English poem, in eight books, and was +first printed by Caxton in the year 1483. The 'Speculum Meditantis,' +'Vox Clamantis,' and 'Confessio Amantis,' are, properly speaking, parts +of one great work, and are represented by three volumes upon Gower's +curious tomb in the old conventual church of St Mary Overies already +alluded to--a church, by the way, which the poet himself assisted in +rebuilding in the elegant shape which it retains to this day. + +The 'Confessio' is a large unwieldy collection of poetry and prose, +superstition and science, love and religion, allegory and historical +facts. It is crammed with all varieties of learning, and a perverse but +infinite ingenuity is shewn in the arrangement of its heterogeneous +materials. In one book the whole mysteries of the Hermetic philosophy +are expounded, and the wonders of alchymy dazzle us in every page. +In another, the poet scales the heights and sounds the depths of +Aristotelianism. From this we have extracted in the 'Specimens' a +glowing account of 'The Chariot of the Sun.' Throughout the work, tales +and stories of every description and degree of merit are interspersed. +These are principally derived from an old book called 'Pantheon; or, +Memoriae Seculorum,'--a kind of universal history, more studious of +effect than accuracy, in which the author ranges over the whole history +of the world, from the creation down to the year 1186. This was a +specimen of a kind of writing in which the Middle Ages abounded--namely, +chronicles, which gradually superseded the monkish legends, and for +a time eclipsed the classics themselves; a kind of writing hovering +between history and fiction, embracing the widest sweep, written in a +barbarous style, and swarming with falsehoods; but exciting, interesting, +and often instructive, and tending to kindle curiosity, and +create in the minds of their readers a love for literature. + +Besides chronicles, Gower had read many romances, and alludes to them +in various parts of his works. His 'Confessio Amantis' was apparently +written after Chaucer's 'Troilus and Cresseide,' and after 'The Flower +and the Leaf,' inasmuch as he speaks of the one and imitates the other +in that poem. That Chaucer had not, however, yet composed his 'Testament +of Love,' appears from the epilogue to the 'Confessio,' where Gower is +ordered by Venus, who expresses admiration of Chaucer for the early +devotion of his muse to her service, to say to him at the close-- + + 'Forthy, now in his daies old, + Thou shalt him tell this message, + That he upon his later age + To set an end of all his work, + As he which is mine owen clerk, + Do make his Testament of Love, + As thou hast done thy shrift above, + So that my court it may record'-- + +the 'shrift' being of course the 'Confessio Amantis.' In 'The Canterbury +Tales' there are several indications that Chaucer was indebted to Gower +--'The Man of Law's Tale' being borrowed from Gower's 'Constantia,' and +'The Wife of Bath's Tale' being founded on Gower's 'Florent.' + +After all, Gower cannot be classed with the greater bards. He sparkles +brightly chiefly from the depth of the darkness through which he shines. +He is more remarkable for extent than for depth, for solidity than for +splendour, for fuel than for fire, for learning than for genius. + + +THE CHARIOT OF THE SUN. + +Of goldė glist'ring spoke and wheel +The Sun his cart hath fair and wele, +In which he sitteth, and is croned[1] +With bright stonės environed: +Of which if that I speakė shall, +There be before in special +Set in the front of his corone +Three stones, whichė no person +Hath upon earth; and the first is +By name cleped Leucachatis. +That other two cleped thus +Astroites and Ceraunus; +In his corone, and also behind, +By oldė bookės as I find, +There be of worthy stonės three, +Set each of them in his degree. +Whereof a crystal is that one, +Which that corone is set upon: +The second is an adamant: +The third is noble and evenant, +Which cleped is Idriades. +And over this yet natheless, +Upon the sidės of the werk, +After the writing of the clerk, +There sitten fivė stones mo.[2] +The Smaragdine is one of tho,[3] +Jaspis, and Eltropius, +And Vendides, and Jacinctus. +Lo thus the corone is beset, +Whereof it shineth well the bet.[4] +And in such wise his light to spread, +Sits with his diadem on head, +The Sunnė shining in his cart: +And for to lead him swith[5] and smart, +After the bright dayė's law, +There be ordained for to draw, +Four horse his chare, and him withal, +Whereof the namės tell I shall. +Eritheus the first is hote,[6] +The which is red, and shineth hot; +The second Acteos the bright; +Lampes the thirdė courser hight; +And Philogens is the ferth, +That bringen light unto this earth, +And go so swift upon the heaven, +In four and twenty hourės even, +The cartė with the brightė sun +They drawen, so that over run +They have under the circles high, +All middė earth in such an hie.[7] + +And thus the sun is over all +The chief planet imperial, +Above him and beneath him three. +And thus between them runneth he, +As he that hath the middle place +Among the seven: and of his face +Be glad all earthly creatures, +And taken after the natures +Their ease and recreation. +And in his constellation +Who that is born in special, +Of good-will and of liberal +He shall be found in allė place, +And also stand in muchel grace +Toward the lordės for to serve, +And great profit and thank deserve. + +And over that it causeth yet +A man to be subtil of wit, +To work in gold, and to be wise +In everything, which is of prise.[8] +But for to speaken in what coast +Of all this earth he reigneth most, +As for wisdom it is in Greece, +Where is appropred thilk spece.[9] + +[1] 'Croned:' crowned. +[2] 'Mo:' more. +[3] 'Tho:' those. +[4] 'Bet:' better. +[5] 'Swith:' swift. +[6] 'Hot:' named. +[7] 'Hie:' haste. +[8] 'Prise:' value. +[9] 'Thilk spece:' that kind. + + +THE TALE OF THE COFFERS OR CASKETS, &c. + +In a chroniquė thus I read: +About a kingė, as must need, +There was of knightės and squiers +Great rout, and ekė officers: +Some of long timė him had served, +And thoughten that they have deserved +Advancėment, and gone without: +And some also been of the rout, +That comen but a while agon, +And they advanced were anon. + +These oldė men upon this thing, +So as they durst, against the king +Among themselves complainen oft: +But there is nothing said so soft, +That it ne cometh out at last: +The king it wist, anon as fast, +As he which was of high prudence: +He shope[1] therefore an evidence +Of them that 'plainen in the case +To know in whose default it was: +And all within his own intent, +That none more wistė what it meant. +Anon he let two coffers make, +Of one sembląnce, and of one make, +So like, that no life thilkė throw,[2] +The one may from that other know: +They were into his chamber brought, +But no man wot why they be wrought, +And natheless the king hath bede +That they be set in privy stede,[3] +As he that was of wisdom sly; +When he thereto his timė sih,[4] +All privily that none it wist, +His ownė handės that one chest +Of fine gold, and of fine perrie,[5] +The which out of his treasury +Was take, anon he filled full; +That other coffer of straw and mull,[6] +With stonės meynd[7] he fill'd also: +Thus be they full bothė two. +So that erliche[8] upon a day +He bade within, where he lay, +There should be before his bed +A board up set and fairė spread: +And then he let the coffers fet[9] +Upon the board, and did them set, +He knew the namės well of tho,[10] +The which against him grutched[11] so, +Both of his chamber, and of his hall, +Anon and sent for them all; +And saidė to them in this wise: + +'There shall no man his hap despise: +I wot well ye have longė served, +And God wot what ye have deserved; +But if it is along[12] on me +Of that ye unadvanced be, +Or else if it be long on yow, +The soothė shall be proved now: +To stoppė with your evil word, +Lo! here two coffers on the board; +Choose which you list of bothė two; +And witteth well that one of tho +Is with treasure so full begon, +That if he happė thereupon +Ye shall be richė men for ever: +Now choose and take which you is lever,[13] +But be well 'ware ere that ye take, +For of that one I undertake +There is no manner good therein, +Whereof ye mighten profit win. +Now go together of one assent, +And taketh your advisėment; +For but I you this day advance, +It stands upon your ownė chance, +All only in default of grace; +So shall be shewed in this place +Upon you all well afine,[14] +That no defaultė shall be mine.' + +They kneelen all, and with one voice +The king they thanken of this choice: +And after that they up arise, +And go aside and them advise, +And at lastė they accord +(Whereof their talė to record +To what issue they be fall) +A knight shall speakė for them all: +He kneeleth down unto the king, +And saith that they upon this thing, +Or for to win, or for to lose, +Be all advised for to choose. + +Then took this knight a yard[15] in hand, +And go'th there as the coffers stand, +And with assent of every one +He lay'th his yardė upon one, +And saith the king[16] how thilkė same +They chose in reguerdon[17] by name, +And pray'th him that they might it have. + +The king, which would his honour save, +When he had heard the common voice, +Hath granted them their ownė choice, +And took them thereupon the key; +But for he wouldė it were see +What good they have as they suppose, +He bade anon the coffer unclose, +Which was fulfill'd with straw and stones: +Thus be they served all at ones. + +This king then in the samė stede, +Anon that other coffer undede, +Where as they sawen great richés, +Well morė than they couthen [18] guess. + +'Lo!' saith the king, 'now may ye see +That there is no default in me; +Forthy[19] myself I will acquite, +And beareth ye your ownė wite[20] +Of that fortune hath you refused.' + +Thus was this wisė king excused: +And they left off their evil speech. +And mercy of their king beseech. + +[1] 'Shope:' contrived. +[2] 'Thilkė throw:' at that time. +[3] 'Stede:' place. +[4] 'Sih:' saw. +[5] 'Perrie:' precious stones. +[6] 'Mull:' rubbish. +[7] 'Meynd:' mingled. +[8] 'Erlich:' early. +[9] 'Fet:' fetched. +[10] 'Tho:' those. +[11] 'Grutched:' murmured. +[12] 'Along:' because of. +[13] 'Lever:' preferable. +[14] 'Afine:' at last. +[15] 'Yard:' rod. +[16] 'Saith the king:' saith to the king. +[17] 'Reguerdon:' as their reward. +[18] 'Couthen:' could. +[19] 'Forthy:' therefore. +[20] 'Wite:' blame. + + +OF THE GRATIFICATION WHICH THE LOVERS PASSION RECEIVES +FROM THE SENSE OF HEARING. + +Right as mine eyė with his look +Is to mine heart a lusty cook +Of lovė's foodė delicate; +Right so mine ear in his estate, +Where as mine eyė may nought serve, +Can well mine heartė's thank deserve; +And feeden him, from day to day, +With such dainties as he may. + +For thus it is that, over all +Where as I come in special, +I may hear of my lady price:[1] +I hear one say that she is wise; +Another saith that she is good; +And some men say of worthy blood +That she is come; and is also +So fair that nowhere is none so: +And some men praise her goodly chere.[2] +Thus everything that I may hear, +Which soundeth to my lady good, +Is to mine ear a lusty food. +And eke mine ear hath, over this, +A dainty feastė when so is +That I may hear herselvė speak; +For then anon my fast I break +On suchė wordės as she saith, +That full of truth and full of faith +They be, and of so good disport, +That to mine earė great comfórt +They do, as they that be delices +For all the meats, and all the spices, +That any Lombard couthė[3] make, +Nor be so lusty for to take, +Nor so far forth restoratif, +(I say as for mine ownė life,) +As be the wordės of her mouth +For as the windės of the south +Be most of allė debonaire;[4] +So, when her list to speakė fair, +The virtue of her goodly speech +Is verily mine heartė's leech. + +And if it so befall among, +That she carol upon a song, +When I it hear, I am so fed, +That I am from myself so led +As though I were in Paradise; +For, certes, as to mine avģs,[5] +When I hear of her voice the steven,[6] +Methink'th it is a bliss of heaven. + +And eke in other wise also, +Full oftė time it falleth so, +Mine carė with a good pitąnce[7] +Is fed of reading of romance +Of Ydoine and of Amadas, +That whilom weren in my case; +And eke of other many a score, +That loveden long ere I was bore. +For when I of their lovės read, +Mine eare with the tale I feed, +And with the lust of their histoire +Sometime I draw into memoire, +How sorrow may not ever last; +And so hope cometh in at last. + +[1] 'Price:' praise. +[2] 'Chere:' mien. +[3] 'Couthė:' knows to. +[4] 'Debonaire:' gentle. +[5] 'Avis:' opinion. +[6] 'Steven:' sound. +[7] 'Pitance:' allowance. + + + + +JOHN BARBOUR. + + +The facts known about this Scottish poet are only the following. He +seems to have been born about the year 1316, in, probably, the city of +Aberdeen. This is stated by Hume of Godscroft, by Dr Mackenzie, and +others, but is not thoroughly authenticated. Some think he was the son +of one Andrew Barbour, who possessed a tenement in Castle Street, +Aberdeen; and others, that he was related to one Robert Barbour, who, in +1309, received a charter of the lands of Craigie, in Forfarshire, from +King Robert the Bruce. These, however, are mere conjectures, founded +upon a similarity of name. It is clear, from Barbour's after rank in +the Church, that he had received a learned education, but whether in +Arbroath or Aberdeen is uncertain. We know, however, that a school of +divinity and canon law had existed at Aberdeen since the reign of +Alexander II., and it is conjectured that Barbour first studied there, +and then at Oxford. In the year 1357, he was undoubtedly Archdeacon of +Aberdeen, since we find him, under this title, nominated by the Bishop +of that diocese, one of the Commissioners appointed to meet in Edinburgh +to take measures to liberate King David, who had been captured at the +battle of Nevil's Cross, and detained from that date in England. It +seems evident, from the customs of the Roman Catholic Church, that he +must have been at least forty when he was created Archdeacon, and this +is a good reason for fixing his birth in the year 1316. + +In the same year, Barbour obtained permission from Edward III., at the +request of the Scottish King, to travel through England with three +scholars who were to study at Oxford, probably at Balliol College, which +had, a hundred years nearly before, been founded and endowed by the wife +of the famous John Balliol of Scotland. Some years afterwards, in +November 1364, he got permission to pass, accompanied by four horsemen, +through England, to pursue his studies at the same renowned university. +In the year 1365, we find another casual notice of our Scottish bard. A +passport has been found giving him permission from the King of England +to travel, in company with six horsemen, through that country on their +way to St Denis', and other sacred places. It is evident that this was +a religious pilgrimage on the part of Barbour and his companions. + +A most peripatetic poet; verily, he must have been; for we find another +safe-conduct, dated November 1368, granted by Edward to Barbour, +permitting him, to pass through England, with two servants and their +horses, on his way to France, for the purpose of pursuing his studies +there. Dr Jamieson (see his 'Life of Barbour') discovers the poet's name +in the list of Auditors of the Exchequer. + +Barbour has himself told us that he commenced his poem in the 'yer of +grace, a thousand thre hundyr sevynty and five,' when, of course, he +was in his sixtieth year, or, as he says, 'off hys eld sexty.' It is +supposed that David II.--who died in 1370--had urged Barbour to engage +in the work, which was not, however, completed till the fifth year of +his successor, Robert II., who gave our poet a pension on account of it. +This consisted of a sum of ten pounds Scots from the revenues of the +city of Aberdeen, and twenty shillings from the burgh mails. Mr James +Bruce, to whose interesting Life of Barbour, in his 'Eminent Men of +Aberdeen,' we are indebted for many of the facts in this narrative, +says, 'The latter of these sums was granted to him, not merely during +his own life, but to his assignees; and the Archdeacon bequeathed it to +the dean, canons, the chapter, and other ministers of the Cathedral of +Aberdeen, on condition that they should for ever celebrate a yearly mass +for his soul. At the Reformation, when it came to be discovered that +masses did no good to souls in the other world, it is probable that this +endowment reverted to the Crown.' + +Barbour also wrote a poem under what seems now the strange title, 'The +Brute.' This was in reality a metrical history of Scotland, commencing +with the fables concerning Brutus, or 'Brute,' who, according to ancient +legends, was the great-grandson of Aeneas--came over from Italy, the +land of his birth--landed at Totness, in Devonshire--destroyed the +giants who then inhabited Albion--called the island 'Britain' from his +own name, and became its first monarch. From this original fable, +Barbour is supposed to have wandered on through a hundred succeeding +stories of similar value, till he came down to his own day. There can be +little regret felt, therefore, that the book is totally lost. Wynton, in +his 'Chronicle,' refers to it in commendatory terms; but it cannot be +ascertained from his notices whether it was composed in Scotch or in +Latin. + +Barbour died about the beginning of the year 1396, eighty years of age. +Lord Hailes ascertained the time of his death from the Chartulary of +Aberdeen, where, under the date of 10th August 1398, mention is made of +'quondam Joh. Barber, Archidiaconus, Aberd., and where it is said that +he had died two years and a half before, namely, in 1396.' + +His great work, 'The Bruce,' or more fully, 'The History of Robert +Bruce, King of the Scots,' does not appear to have been printed till +1616 in Edinburgh. Between that date and the year 1790, when Pinkerton's +edition appeared, no less than twenty impressions were published, (the +principal being those of Edinburgh in 1620 and 1648; Glasgow, 1665; and +Edinburgh, 1670--all in black letter,) so popular immediately became the +poem. Pinkerton's edition is in three volumes, and has a preface, notes, +and a glossary, all of considerable value. The MS. was copied from a +volume in the Advocates' Library, of the date of 1489, which was in the +handwriting of one John Ramsay, believed to have been the prior of a +Carthusian monastery near Perth. Pinkerton first divided 'The Bruce' +into books. It had previously, like the long works of Naerius and +Ennius, the earliest Roman poets, consisted of one entire piece, woven +'from the top to the bottom without seam,' like the ancient simple +garments in Jewry. The late respectable and very learned Dr Jamieson, of +Nicolson Street United Secession Church, Edinburgh, well known as the +author of the 'Scottish Dictionary,' 'Hermes Scythicus,' &c., published, +in 1820, a more accurate edition of 'The Bruce,' along with Blind +Harry's 'Wallace,' in two quarto volumes. + +In strict chronology Barbour belongs to an earlier date than Chaucer, +having been born and having died a few years before him. But as the +first Scotch poet who has written anything of length, with the exception +of the author of the 'Romance of Sir Tristrem,' he claims a conspicuous +place in our 'Specimens.' He was singularly fortunate in the choice of +a subject. With the exception of Wallace, there is no name in Scottish +history that even yet calls up prouder associations than that of Robert +Bruce. The incidents in his history,--the escape he made from English +bondage to rescue his country from the same yoke; his rise refulgent +from the stroke which, in the cloisters of the Gray Friars, Dumfries, +laid the Red Comyn low; his daring to be crowned at Scone; his frequent +defeats; his lion-like retreat to the Hebrides, accompanied by one or +two friends, his wife meanwhile having been carried captive, three of +his brothers hanged, and himself supposed to be dead; the romantic +perils he survived, and the victories he gained amidst the mountains +where the deep waters of the river Awe are still telling of his name, +and the echoes of Ben Cruachan repeating the immortal sound; his sudden +reappearance on the west coast of Scotland, where, as he 'shook his +Carrick spear,' his country rose, kindling around him like heather on +flame; the awful suspense of the hour when it was announced that Edward +I., the tyrant of the Ragman's Roll, the murderer of Wallace, was +approaching with a mighty army to crush the revolt; the electrifying +news that he had died at Sark, as if struck by the breath of the fatal +Border, which he had reached, but could not overpass; the bloody +summer's day of Bannockburn, in which Edward II. was repelled, and the +gallant army of his father annihilated; the energy and wisdom of the +Bruce's civil administration after the victory; the less famous, but +noble battle of Byland, nine years after Bannockburn, in which he again +smote the foes of his country; and the recognition which at last he +procured, on the accession of Edward III., of the independence of +Scotland in 1329, himself dying the same year, his work done and his +glory for ever secured,--not to speak of the beautiful legends which +have clustered round his history like ivy round an ancestral tower--of +the spider on the wall, teaching him the lesson of perseverance, as he +lay in the barn sad and desponding in heart--of the strange signal-light +upon the shore near his maternal castle of Turnberry, which led him to +land, while + + 'Dark red the heaven above it glow'd, + Dark red the sea beneath it flow'd, + Red rose the rocks on ocean's brim, + In blood-red light her islets swim, + Wild screams the dazzled sea-fowl gave, + Dropp'd from their crags a plashing wave, + The deer to distant covert drew, + The blackcock deem'd it day, and crew;' + +and last, not least, the adventures of his gallant, unquenchable heart, +when, in the hand of Douglas,--meet casket for such a gem!--it marched +onwards, as it was wont to do, in conquering power, toward the Holy +Land;--all this has woven a garland round the brow of Bruce which every +civilised nation has delighted to honour, and given him besides a share +in the affections and the pride of his own land, with the joy of which +'no stranger can intermeddle.' + +Bruce has been fortunate in his laureates, consisting of three of +Scotland's greatest poets,--Barbour, Scott, and Burns. The last of these +has given us a glimpse of the patriot-king, revealing him on the brow of +Bannockburn as by a single flash of lightning. The second has, in 'The +Lord of the Isles,' seized and sung a few of the more romantic passages +of his history. But Barbour has, with unwearied fidelity and no small +force, described the whole incidents of Bruce's career, and reared to +his memory, not an insulated column, but a broad and deep-set temple of +poetry. + +Barbour's poem has always been admired for its strict accuracy of +statement, to which Bower, Wynton, Hailes, Pinkerton, Jamieson, and Sir +Walter Scott all bear testimony; for the picturesque force of its +natural descriptions; for its insight into character, and the lifelike +spirit of its individual sketches; for the martial vigour of its battle- +pictures; for the enthusiasm which he feels, and makes his reader feel, +for the valiant and wise, the sagacious and persevering, the bold, +merciful, and religious character of its hero, and for the piety which +pervades it, and proves that the author was not merely a churchman in +profession, but a Christian at heart. Its defects of rude rhythm, +irregular constructions, and obsolete phraseology, are those of its age; +but its beauties, its unflagging interest, and its fine poetic spirit, +are characteristic of the writer's own genius. + + +APOSTROPHE TO FREEDOM. + +Ah! freedom is a noble thing! +Freedom makes man to have liking! +Freedom all solace to man gives: +He lives at ease that freely lives! +A noble heart may have none ease, +Nor nought else that may him please, +If freedom fail; for free liking +Is yearned o'er all other thing. +Nay, he that aye has lived free, +May not know well the property, +The anger, nor the wretched doom, +That is coupled to foul thirldom. +But if he had assayed it, +Then all perquier[1] he should it wit: +And should think freedom more to prize +Than all the gold in world that is. + +[1] 'Perquier:' perfectly. + + +DEATH OF SIR HENRY DE BOHUN. + +And when the king wist that they were +In hale[1] battle, coming so near, +His battle gart[2] he well array. +He rode upon a little palfrey, +Laughed and jolly, arrayand +His battle, with an axe in hand. +And on his bassinet he bare +A hat of tyre above aye where; +And, thereupon, into tok'ning, +An high crown, that he was king. +And when Gloster and Hereford were +With their battle approaching near, +Before them all there came ridand, +With helm on head and spear in hand, +Sir Henry the Bohun, the worthy, +That was a wight knight, and a hardy, +And to the Earl of Hereford cousin; +Armed in armis good and fine; +Came on a steed a bowshot near, +Before all other that there were: +And knew the king, for that he saw +Him so range his men on raw,[3] +And by the crown that was set +Also upon his bassinet. +And toward him he went in hy.[4] +And the king so apertly[5] +Saw him come, forouth[6] all his feres,[7] +In hy till him the horse he steers. +And when Sir Henry saw the king +Come on, forouten[8] abasing, +To him he rode in full great hy. +He thought that he should well lightly +Win him, and have him at his will, +Since he him horsed saw so ill. +Sprent they samen into a lyng;[9] +Sir Henry miss'd the noble king; +And he that in his stirrups stood, +With the axe, that was hard and good, +With so great main, raucht[10] him a dint, +That neither hat nor helm might stint +The heavy dush that he him gave, +The head near to the harns[11] he clave. +The hand-axe shaft frushit[12] in two; +And he down to the yird[13] 'gan go +All flatlings, for him failed might. +This was the first stroke of the fight, +That was performed doughtily. +And when the king's men so stoutly +Saw him, right at the first meeting, +Forouten doubt or abasing, +Have slain a knight so at a straik, +Such hardment thereat 'gan they take, +That they come on right hardily. +When Englishmen saw them so stoutly +Come on, they had great abasing; +And specially for that the king +So smartly that good knight has slain, +That they withdrew them everilk ane, +And durst not one abide to fight: +So dread they for the king his might. +When that the king repaired was, +That gart his men all leave the chase, +The lordis of his company +Blamed him, as they durst, greatumly, +That be him put in aventure, +To meet so stith[14] a knight, and stour, +In such point as he then was seen. +For they said, well it might have been +Cause of their tynsal[15] everilk ane. +The king answer has made them nane, +But mainit[16] his hand-axe shaft so +Was with the stroke broken in two. + +[1] 'Hale:' whole. +[2] 'Gart:' caused. +[3] 'Haw:' row +[4] 'Hy:' haste +[5] 'Apertly:' openly, clearly. +[6] 'Forouth:' beyond. +[7] 'Feres:' companions. +[8] 'Forouten:' without. +[9] 'Sprent they samen into a lyng:' they sprang forward at once, + against each other, in a line. +[10] 'Raucht:' reached. +[11] 'Harns:' brains. +[12] 'Frushit:' broke. +[13] 'Yird:' earth. +[14] 'Stith:' strong. +[15] 'Tynsal:' destruction. +[16] 'Mainit:' lamented. + + + + +ANDREW WYNTOUN. + + +This author, who was prior of St Serf's monastery in Loch Leven, is the +author of what he calls 'An Orygynale Cronykil of Scotland.' It appeared +about the year 1420. It is much inferior to the work of Barbour in +poetry, but is full of historical information, anecdote, and legend. The +language is often sufficiently prosaic. Thus the poet begins to describe +the return of King David II. from his captivity, referred to above. + + 'Yet in prison was king Davy, + And when a lang time was gane bye, + Frae prison and perplexitie + To Berwick castle brought was he, + With the Earl of Northamptoun, + For to treat there of his ransoun; + Some lords of Scotland come there, + And als prelates that wisest were,' &c. + +Contemporary, or nearly so, with Wyntoun were several other Scottish +writers, such as one Hutcheon, of whom we know only that he is +designated of the 'Awle Ryall,' or of the Royal Hall or Palace, and that +he wrote a metrical romance, of which two cantos remain, called 'The +Gest of Arthur;' and another, named Clerk of Tranent, the author of a +romance, entitled 'The Adventures of Sir Gawain.' Of this latter also +two cantos only are extant. Although not perhaps deserving to have even +portions of them extracted, they contain a good deal of poetry. A +person, too, of the name of Holland, about whose history we have no +information, produced a satirical poem, called 'The Howlate,' written in +the allegorical form, and bearing some resemblance to 'Pierce Plowman's +Vision.' + + + + +BLIND HARRY. + + +Although there are diversities of opinion as to the exact time when this +blind minstrel flourished, we prefer alluding to him at this point, +where he stands in close proximity to Barbour, the author of a poem on +a subject so cognate to 'Wallace' as 'Bruce.' Nothing is known of Harry +but that he was blind from infancy, that he composed this poem, and +gained a subsistence by reciting or singing portions of it through the +country. Another Wandering Willie, (see 'Redgauntlet,') he 'passed like +night from land to land,' led by his own instincts, and wherever he met +with a congenial audience, he proceeded to chant portions of the noble +knight's achievements, his eyes the while twinkling, through their sad +setting of darkness, with enthusiasm, and often suffused with tears. +In some minds the conception of this blind wandering bard may awaken +ludicrous emotions, but to us it suggests a certain sublimity. Blind +Harry has powerfully described Wallace standing in the light and +shrinking from the ghost of Fawdoun, (see the 'Battle of Black- +Earnside,' in the 'Specimens,') but Harry himself seems walking in the +light of the ghost of Wallace, and it ministers to him, not terror, but +inspiration. Entering a cot at night, and asked for a tale, he begins, +in low tones, to recite that frightful apparition at Gaskhall, and the +aged men and the crones vie with the children in drawing near the 'ingle +bleeze,' as if in fire alone lay the refuge from + + 'Fawdoun, that ugly sire, + That haill hall he had set into a fire, + As to his sight, his OWN HEAD IN HIS HAND.' + +Arriving in a village at the hour of morning rest and refreshment, he +charms the swains by such words as + + 'The merry day sprang from the orient + With beams bright illuminate the Occident, + After Titan Phoebus upriseth fair, + High in the sphere the signs he made declare. + Zephyrus then began his morning course, + The sweet vapour thus from the ground resourse,' &c.-- + +and the simple villagers wonder at hearing these images from one who is +blind, not seeing the sun. As the leaves are rustling down from the +ruddy trees of late autumn, he sings to a little circle of wayside +wanderers-- + + 'The dark region appearing wonder fast, + In November, when October was past, + + * * * * * + + Good Wallace saw the night's messenger, + Phoebus had lost his fiery beams so clear; + Out of that wood they durst not turn that side + For adversours that in their way would hide.' + +And while on the verge of the December sky, the wintry sun is trembling +and about to set as if for ever, then is the Minstrel's voice heard +sobbing amidst the sobs of his hearers, as he tells how his hero's sun +went down while it was yet day. + + 'On Wednesday the false Southron furth brocht + To martyr him as they before had wrocht, + Of men in arms led him a full great rout, + With a bauld sprite guid Wallace blent about.' + +There can be little doubt that Blind Harry, during his lifetime, became +a favourite, nay, a power in the realm. Wherever he circulated, there +circulated the fame of Wallace; there, his deeds were recounted; there, +hatred of a foreign foe, and love to their native land, were inculcated +as first principles; and long after the Homer of Scotland had breathed +his last, and been consigned perhaps to some little kirkyard among the +uplands, his lays continued to live; and we know that such a man as +Burns (who read them in the modern paraphrase of William Hamilton of +Gilbertfield, a book which was, till within a somewhat recent period, +a household god in the libraries of the Scotch) derived from the old +singer much of 'that national prejudice which boiled in his breast till +the floodgates of life shut in eternal rest.' If Barbour, as we said, +was fortunate in his subject, still more was Blind Harry in his. The +interest felt in Wallace is of a deeper and warmer kind than that which +we feel in Bruce. Bruce was of royal blood; Wallace was from an ancient +but not wealthy family. Bruce stained his career by one great crime +--great in itself, but greater from the peculiar notions of the age +--the murder of Comyn in the sanctuary of Dumfries; on the character of +Wallace no similar imputation rests. Wallace initiated that plan of +guerilla warfare,--that fighting now on foot and now on the wing, now +with beak and now with talons, now with horns and now with hoofs,--which +Bruce had only to perfect. Wallace was unsuccessful, and was besides +treated by the King of England with revolting barbarity; while Bruce +became victorious: and, as we saw in our remarks on Chaucer, it is the +unfortunate brave who stamp themselves most forcibly on a nation's +heart, and it is the red letters, which tell of suffering and death, +which are with most difficulty erased from a nation's tablets. On Bruce +we look somewhat as we regard Washington,--a great, serene man, who, +after long reverses, nobly sustained, gained a notable national triumph; +to Wallace we feel, as the Italians do to Garibaldi, as a demon of +warlike power,--blending courage and clemency, enthusiasm and skill, +daring and determination, in proportions almost superhuman,--and we cry +with the poet, + + 'The sword that seem'd fit for archangel to wield, + Was light in his terrible hand.' + +We have often regretted that Sir Walter Scott, who, after all, has not +done full justice to Bruce in that very unequal and incondite poem 'The +Lord of the Isles,' had not bent his strength upon the Ulysses bow of +Wallace, and filled up that splendid sketch of a part of his history to +be found near the beginning of 'The Fair Maid of Perth.' As it is, after +all that a number of respectable writers, such as Miss Porter, Mrs +Hemans, Findlay, the late Mr Macpherson of Glasgow, and others, have +done--in prose or verse, in the novel, the poem, or the drama--to +illustrate the character and career of the Scottish hero, Blind Harry +remains his poet. + +It is necessary to notice that Harry derived, by his own account, many +of the facts of his narrative from a work by John Blair, a Benedictine +monk from Dundee, who acted as Wallace's chaplain, and seems to have +composed a life of him in Latin, which is lost. Besides these, he +doubtless mingled in the story a number of traditions--some true, and +some false--which he found floating through the country. His authority +in reference to certain disputed matters, such as Wallace's journey to +France, and his capture of the Red Rover, Thomas de Longueville, who +became his fast friend and fellow-soldier, was not long ago entirely +established by certain important documents brought to light by the +Maitland Club. It is probable that some other of his supposed +misstatements--always excepting his ghost-stories--may yet receive from +future researches the confirmation they as yet want. Blind Harry, living +about a century and a half after the era of Wallace, and at a time when +tradition was the chief literature, was not likely to be able to test +the evidence of many of the circumstances which he narrated; but he +seems to speak in good faith: and, after all, what Paley says is +unquestionably true as a general principle--'Men tell lies about minute +circumstantials, but they rarely invent.' + + +BATTLE OF BLACK-EARNSIDE. + +Kerlie beheld unto the bold Heroun, +Upon Fawdoun as he was looking down, +A subtil stroke upward him took that tide, +Under the cheeks the grounden sword gart[1] glide, +By the mail good, both halse[2] and his craig-bane[3] +In sunder strake; thus ended that chieftain, +To ground he fell, feil[4] folk about him throng, +'Treason,' they cried, 'traitors are us among.' +Kerlie, with that, fled out soon at a side, +His fellow Steven then thought no time to bide. +The fray was great, and fast away they yeed,[5] +Both toward Earn; thus 'scaped they that dread. +Butler for woe of weeping might not stint. +Thus recklessly this good knight have they tint.[6] +They deemed all that it was Wallace' men, +Or else himself, though they could not him ken; +'He is right near, we shall him have but[7] fail, +This feeble wood may little him avail.' +Forty there pass'd again to Saint Johnstoun, +With this dead corpse, to burying made it boune.[8] +Parted their men, syne[9] divers ways they rode, +A great power at Dupplin still there 'bode. +To Dalwryeth the Butler pass'd but let,[10] +At sundry fords the gate[11] they unbeset,[12] +To keep the wood while it was day they thought. +As Wallace thus in the thick forest sought, +For his two men in mind he had great pain, +He wist not well if they were ta'en or slain, +Or 'scaped haill[13] by any jeopardy. +Thirteen were left with him, no more had he; +In the Gaskhall their lodging have they ta'en. +Fire got they soon, but meat then had they nane; +Two sheep they took beside them of a fold, +Ordain'd to sup into that seemly hold: +Graithed[14] in haste some food for them to dight:[15] +So heard they blow rude horns upon height. +Two sent he forth to look what it might be; +They 'bode right long, and no tidings heard he, +But bousteous[16] noise so bryvely blowing fast; +So other two into the wood forth pass'd. +None came again, but bousteously can blaw, +Into great ire he sent them forth on raw.[17] +When that alone Wallace was leaved there, +The awful blast abounded meikle mare;[18] +Then trow'd he well they had his lodging seen; +His sword he drew of noble metal keen, +Syne forth he went whereat he heard the horn. +Without the door Fawdoun was him beforn, +As to his sight, his own head in his hand; +A cross he made when he saw him so stand. +At Wallace in the head he swakked[19] there, +And he in haste soon hint[20] it by the hair, +Syne out again at him he could it cast, +Into his heart he greatly was aghast. +Right well he trow'd that was no sprite of man, +It was some devil, that sic[21] malice began. +He wist no wale[22] there longer for to bide. +Up through the hall thus wight Wallace can glide, +To a close stair, the boards they rave[23] in twin,[24] +Fifteen foot large he lap out of that inn. +Up the water he suddenly could fare, +Again he blink'd what 'pearance he saw there, +He thought he saw Fawdoun, that ugly sire, +That haill[25] hall he had set into a fire; +A great rafter he had into his hand. +Wallace as then no longer would he stand. +Of his good men full great marvel had he, +How they were tint through his feil[26] fantasy. +Trust right well that all this was sooth indeed, +Suppose that it no point be of the creed. +Power they had with Lucifer that fell, +The time when he parted from heaven to hell. +By sic mischief if his men might be lost, +Drowned or slain among the English host; +Or what it was in likeness of Fawdoun, +Which brought his men to sudden confusion; +Or if the man ended in ill intent, +Some wicked sprite again for him present. +I cannot speak of sic divinity, +To clerks I will let all sic matters be: +But of Wallace, now forth I will you tell. +When he was won out of that peril fell, +Right glad was he that he had 'scaped sa,[27] +But for his men great mourning can he ma.[28] +Flait[29] by himself to the Maker above +Why he suffer'd he should sic paining prove. +He wist not well if that it was God's will; +Right or wrong his fortune to fulfil, +Had he pleas'd God, he trow'd it might not bo +He should him thole[30] in sic perplexity. +But great courage in his mind ever drave, +Of Englishmen thinking amends to have. +As he was thus walking by him alone +Upon Earnside, making a piteous moan, +Sir John Butler, to watch the fords right, +Out from his men of Wallace had a sight; +The mist again to the mountains was gone, +To him he rode, where that he made his moan. +On loud he speir'd,[31] 'What art thou walks that gate?' +'A true man, Sir, though my voyage be late; +Errands I pass from Down unto my lord, +Sir John Stewart, the right for to record, +In Down is now, newly come from the King.' +Then Butler said, 'This is a selcouth[32] thing, +You lied all out, you have been with Wallace, +I shall thee know, ere you come off this place;' +To him he start the courser wonder wight, +Drew out a sword, so made him for to light. +Above the knee good Wallace has him ta'en, +Through thigh and brawn in sunder strake the bane.[33] +Derfly[34] to dead the knight fell on the land. +Wallace the horse soon seized in his hand, +An ackward stroke syne took him in that stead, +His craig in two; thus was the Butler dead. +An Englishman saw their chieftain was slain, +A spear in rest he cast with all his main, +On Wallace drave, from the horse him to bear; +Warily he wrought, as worthy man in weir.[35] +The spear ho wan withouten more abode, +On horse he lap,[36] and through a great rout rode; +To Dalwryeth he knew the ford full well: +Before him came feil[37] stuffed[38] in fine steel. +He strake the first, but bade,[39] on the blasoun,[40] +Till horse and man both fleet[41] the water down. +Another soon down from his horse he bare, +Stamped to ground, and drown'd withouten mair.[42] +The third he hit in his harness of steel, +Throughout the cost,[43] the spear it brake some deal. +The great power then after him can ride. +He saw no waill[44] there longer for to bide. +His burnish'd brand braithly[45] in hand he bare, +Whom he hit right they follow'd him na mair.[46] +To stuff the chase feil freiks[47] follow'd fast, +But Wallace made the gayest aye aghast. +The muir he took, and through their power yede, +The horse was good, but yet he had great dread +For failing ere he wan unto a strength, +The chase was great, skail'd[48] over breadth and length, +Through strong danger they had him aye in sight. +At the Blackford there Wallace down can light, +His horse stuffed,[49] for way was deep and lang, +A large great mile wightly on foot could gang.[50] +Ere he was hors'd riders about him cast, +He saw full well long so he might not last. +Sad[51] men indeed upon him can renew, +With returning that night twenty he slew, +The fiercest aye rudely rebutted he, +Keeped his horse, and right wisely can flee, +Till that he came the mirkest[52] muir amang. +His horse gave over, and would no further gang. + +[1] 'Gart:' caused. +[2] 'Halse:' throat. +[3] 'Craig-bane:' neck-lone. +[4] 'Feil:' many. +[5] 'Yeed:' went. +[6] 'Tint:' lost. +[7] 'But:' without. +[8] 'Boune:' ready. +[9] 'Sync:' then. +[10] 'But let:' without impediment. +[11] 'Gate:' way. +[12] 'Unbeset:' surround. +[13] 'Haill:' wholly. +[14] 'Graithed:' prepared. +[15] 'Dight:' Make ready. +[16] 'Bousteous:' boisterous. +[17] 'On raw:' one after another. +[18] 'Meikle mare:' much more. +[19] 'Swakked:' pitched. +[20] 'Hint:' took. +[21] 'Sic:' such. +[22] 'Wale:' advantage. +[23] 'Rave:' split. +[24] 'Twin:' twain. +[25] 'Haill:'whole. +[26] 'Feil:' great. +[27] 'Sa:' so. +[28] 'Ma:' make. +[29] 'Flait:' chided. +[30] 'Thole:' suffer. +[31] 'Speir'd:' asked. +[32] 'Selcouth:' strange. +[33] 'Bane:' bone. +[34] 'Derfly:' Quickly. +[35] 'Weir:' war. +[36] 'Lap:' leaped. +[37] 'Feil:' many. +[38] 'Stuffed:' armed. +[39] 'But bade:' without delay. +[40] 'Blasoun:' dress over armour. +[41] 'Fleet:' float. +[42] 'Mair:' more. +[43] 'Cost:' side. +[44] 'Waill:' advantage. +[45] 'Braithly:' violently. +[46] 'Na mair:' no more. +[47] 'Feil freiks:' many fierce fellows. +[48] 'Skail'd:' spread. +[49] 'Stuffed:' blown. +[50] 'Gang:' go. +[51] 'Sad:' steady. +[52] 'Mirkest:' darkest. + + +THE DEATH OF WALLACE. + +On Wednesday the false Southron forth him brought +To martyr him, as they before had wrought.[1] +Of men in arms led him a full great rout. +With a bold sprite good Wallace blink'd about: +A priest he ask'd, for God that died on tree. +King Edward then commanded his clergy, +And said, 'I charge you, upon loss of life, +None be so bold yon tyrant for to shrive. +He has reign'd long in contrare my highness.' +A blithe bishop soon, present in that place; +Of Canterbury he then was righteous lord; +Against the king he made this right record, +And said, 'Myself shall hear his confessioun, +If I have might, in contrare of thy crown. +An[2] thou through force will stop me of this thing, +I vow to God, who is my righteous king, +That all England I shall her interdict, +And make it known thou art a heretic. +The sacrament of kirk I shall him give: +Syne[3] take thy choice, to starve[4] or let him live. +It were more 'vail, in worship of thy crown, +To keep such one in life in thy bandoun,[5] +Than all the land and good that thou hast reft, +But cowardice thee aye from honour dreft.[6] +Thou hast thy life rougin[7] in wrongous deed; +That shall be seen on thee, or on thy seed.' +The king gart[8] charge they should the bishop tae,[9] +But sad[10] lords counselled to let him gae. +All Englishmen said that his desire was right. +To Wallace then he raiked[11] in their sight, +And sadly heard his confession till an end: +Humbly to God his sprite he there commend, +Lowly him served with hearty devotion +Upon his knees, and said an orison. +A psalter-book Wallace had on him ever, +From his childhood from it would not dissever; +Better he trow'd in voyage[12] for to speed. +But then he was despoiled of his weed.[13] +This grace he ask'd at Lord Clifford, that knight, +To let him have his psalter-book in sight. +He gart a priest it open before him hold, +While they till him had done all that they would. +Steadfast he read for ought they did him there; +Foil[14] Southrons said that Wallace felt no sair.[15] +Good devotion so was his beginning, +Continued therewith, and fair was his ending; +Till speech and spirit at once all can fare +To lasting bliss, we trow, for eveermair. + +[1] 'Wrought:' contrived. +[2] 'An:' if. +[3] 'Syne:' then. +[4] 'Starve:' perish. +[5] 'Bandoun:' disposal. +[6] 'Dreft:' drove. +[7] 'Rougin:' spent. +[8] 'Gart:' caused. +[9] 'Tae:' take. +[10] 'Sad:' grave. +[11] 'Raiked:' walked. +[12] 'Voyage:' journey to heaven. +[13] 'Weed:' clothes. +[14] 'Feil:' many. +[15] 'Sair:' sore. + + + + +JAMES I. OF SCOTLAND. + + +Here we have a great ascent from our former subject of biography--from +Blind Harry to James I.--from a beggar to a king. But in the Palace of +Poetry there are 'many mansions,' and men of all ranks, climes, +characters, professions, and we had almost added _talents_, have been +welcome to inhabit there. For, even as in the House Beautiful, the weak +Ready-to-halt and the timid Much-afraid were as cheerfully received as +the strong Honest and the bold Valiant-for-truth; so Poetry has inspired +children, and seeming fools, and maniacs, and mendicants with the finest +breath of her spirit. The 'Fable-tree' Fontaine is as immortal as +Corneille; Christopher Smart's 'David' shall live as long as Milton's +'Paradise Lost;' and the rude epic of a blind wanderer, whose birth, +parentage, and period of death are all alike unknown, shall continue to +rank in interest with the productions of one who inherited that kingdom +of Scotland, the independence of which was bought by the successive +efforts and the blended blood of Wallace and Bruce. + +Let us now look for a moment at the history and the writings of this +'Royal Poet.' The name will suggest to all intelligent readers the title +of one of the most pleasing papers in Washington Irving's 'Sketch-book.' +James I. was the son of Robert III. of Scotland,--a character familiar +to all from the admirable 'Fair Maid of Perth,'--and of Annabella +Stewart. He was created Earl of Carrick; and after the miserable death +of the Duke of Rothesay, his elder brother, his father, apprehensive of +the further designs of Albany, determined to send James to France, to +find an asylum and receive his education in that friendly Court. On his +way, the vessel was captured off Flamborough Head by an English cruiser, +(the 13th of March 1405,) and the young prince, with his attendants, was +conveyed to London, and committed to the Tower. As there was a truce +between the two nations at the time, this was a flagrant outrage on the +law of nations, and has indelibly disgraced the memory of Henry IV., +who, when some one remonstrated with him on the injustice of the +detention, replied, with cool brutality, 'Had the Scots been grateful, +they ought to have sent the youth to me, for I understand French well.' +Here for nineteen years,--during the remainder of the life of Henry IV., +and the whole of the reign of Henry V.,--James continued. He was +educated, however, highly, according to the fashion of these times, +--instructed in the languages, as well as in music, painting, +architecture, horticulture, dancing, fencing, poetry, and other +accomplishments. Still it must have fretted his high spirit to be +passing his young life in prison, while without horses were stamping, +plumes glistening, trumpets sounding, tournaments waging, and echoes +from the great victories of Henry V. in France ringing around. One +sweetener of his solitude, however, he at length enjoyed. Having been +transferred from the Tower to Windsor Castle, he beheld one day from its +windows that beautiful vision he has described in 'The King's Quhair,' +(see 'Specimens.') This was Lady Jane or Joanna Beaufort, daughter of +the Earl of Somerset, niece of Richard II., and grand-daughter of John +of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster. She was a lady of great beauty and +accomplishments as well as of high rank, and James, even before he knew +her name, became deeply enamoured. The passion was returned, and their +mutual attachment had by and by an important bearing upon his prospects. + +In 1423, the Duke of Bedford being now the English Regent, the friends +of James renewed negotiations--often attempted before in vain--for his +return to his native land, where his father had been long dead, and +which, torn by factions and steeped in blood, was sorely needing his +presence. Commissioners from the two kingdoms met at Pontefract on the +12th of May 1423, when, in presence of the young King, and with his +consent, matters were arranged. The English coolly demanded £40,000 to +defray the expense of James's nurture and education, (as though a _bill_ +were handed in to a man who had been unjustly detained in prison on +a false charge, ere he left its walls,) insisted on the immediate +departure of the Scots from France, where a portion of them were +fighting in the French army, and procured the assent of the Scottish +Privy Council to the marriage of James with his beloved Jane Beaufort. +A truce, too, with Scotland was concluded for seven years. All this was +settled; and soon after, in the Church of St Mary Overies, Southwark, +so often alluded to in the 'Life of Gower,' the happy pair were wed. +It seemed a most auspicious event for both countries, and to augur +the substitution of permanent peace for casual and temporary truces. +To Lady Jane Beaufort it gave a crown, and a noble, gallant, and gifted +prince to share it withal. On James it bestowed a lady of great beauty, +who was regarded, too, with gratitude as having lightened the load of +his captivity, and been a sunshine in his shady place, and--least +consideration--who brought him a dowry of £10,000, which was, in fact, +a remission of the fourth part of his ransom. + +Attended by a magnificent retinue, the royal pair set out for Scotland. +They were met at Durham by three hundred of the principal nobility and +gentry, twenty-eight of whom were retained by the English as hostages +for the national faith. Arrived on his native soil, James, at Melrose +Abbey, gave his solemn assent on the Holy Gospels to the treaty; and +seldom have the Eildon Hills returned a louder and more joyous shout +of acclamation than now welcomed back to the kingdom of his fathers +the 'Royal Poet.' He proceeded to Edinburgh, where he celebrated Easter +with great pomp, and a month later, he and his queen were solemnly +crowned inthe Abbey Church at Scone. This was in 1424. He lived after +this only thirteen years; but the period of his reign has always been +thought a glorious interlude in the dark early history of Scotland. +He set himself, with considerable success, to curb the exorbitant +power of the nobles, sacrificing some of them, such as Albany, to his +just indignation. He passed many useful regulations in reference to +the coinage, the constitution, and the commerce of the country. He +suppressed with a strong hand some of the gangs of robbers and 'sorners' +which abounded, founding instead the order of Bedesmen or King's +Beggars, immortalised since in the character of Edie Ochiltree. He +stretched a strong hand over the refractory Highland chieftains. While +keeping at first on good terms with the English Court, he turned with a +fonder eye to the French as the ancient allies of Scotland, and in 1436 +gave his daughter Margaret in marriage to the Dauphin. This step roused +the jealousy of his southern neighbours, who tried even to intercept the +fleet that was conveying the bride across the Channel, whereupon James, +stung to fury, proclaimed war against England, and in August commenced +the siege of Roxburgh Castle. The castle, after being environed for +fifteen days, was about to fall into his hands, when the Queen suddenly +arrived in the camp, and communicated some information, probably +referring to a threatened conspiracy of the nobles, which induced him +to throw up the siege, disband his army, and return northward in haste. +This unexpected step probably retarded, but could not prevent the +dreadful purpose of death which had already been formed against the +King. + +In October 1436, he held his last Parliament in Edinburgh, in which, +amidst many other enactments, we find, curiously enough, a prefiguration +of the Forbes Mackenzie Act, in a decree that all taverns should be shut +at nine o'clock. In the end of the year he determined on retiring to +Perth, where (in the language of Gibbon, applied to Timour) 'he was +expected by the Angel of Death.' It is said that, when about to cross +the Frith of Forth, then called the Scottish Sea, a Highland woman, who +claimed the character of a prophetess, like Meg Merrilees in fiction, +met the cavalcade, and cried out, with a loud voice, 'My Lord the King, +if you pass this water you shall never return again alive;' but as she +was concluded to be mad or drunk, her warning was scorned. He betook +himself to the convent of the Black Friars, where Christmas was being +celebrated with great pomp and splendour. Meanwhile Robert Grahame, and +Walter, Earl of Athole, the King's own uncle, actuated, the former by +revenge on account of the resumption of some lands improperly granted +to his family, and the latter by a desire to succeed to the Crown, had +formed a plot against James's life. Several warnings, besides that of +the Highland seeress, the King received, but he heeded them not, and, +like most of the doomed, was in unnaturally high spirits, as if the +winding-sheet far up his breast had been a wedding-robe. + +It is the evening of the 20th of February 1437. James and his nobles and +ladies are seated at table till deep into the night, engaged in chess, +music, and song. Athole, like another Judas, has supped with them, and +gone out at a late hour. A tremendous knocking is heard at the gate. It +is the Highland prophetess, who, having followed the monarch to Perth, +is seeking to force her way into the room. The King tells her, through +his usher, that he cannot receive her to-night, but will hear her +tidings to-morrow. She retires reluctantly, murmuring that they will for +ever rue their refusal to admit her into the royal presence. About an +hour after this, James calls for the _Voidee_, or parting-cup, and the +company disperse. Sir Robert Stewart, the chamberlain, who is in the +confidence of the conspirators, is the last to retire, having previously +destroyed the locks and removed the bars of the doors of the royal bed- +chamber and the outer room adjoining. The King is standing before the +fire, in his night-gown and slippers, and talking gaily with the Queen +and her ladies, when torches are seen flashing up from the garden, and +the clash of arms and the sound of angry voices is heard from below. A +sense of the dread reality bursts on them in an instant. The Queen and +the ladies run to secure the door of the chamber, while James, seizing +the tongs, wrenches up one of the boards of the floor and takes refuge +in a vault beneath. This was wont to have an opening to the outer court, +but it had unfortunately been built up of late by his own orders. There, +under the replaced boards, cowers the King, while the Queen and her +women seek to barricade the door. One brave young lady, Catherine +Douglas, thrusts her beautiful arm into the staple from which the bolt +had been removed. It is broken in a moment, and she sinks back, to bear, +with her descendants--a family well known in Scotland--the name of +_Barlass_ ever since. The murderers, who had previously killed in the +passage one Walter Straiton, a page, rush in, with naked swords, +wounding the ladies, striking, and well-nigh killing the Queen, and +crying, with frantic imprecations, 'This is but a woman! Where is +James?' Finding him not in the chamber, they leave it, and disperse +through the neighbouring apartments in search. + +James, who had become wearied of his immurement, and thought the +assassins were gone, calls now on one of the ladies to aid him in coming +out of his place of concealment. But while this is being effected, one +of the murderers returns. The cry, 'Found, found,' rings through the +halls; and after a violent but unarmed resistance, the King is, with +circumstances of horrible barbarity, first mangled, then run through the +body, and then despatched with daggers. In vain he offers half his +kingdom for his life; and when he seeks a confessor from Grahame, the +ruffian replies, 'Thou shalt have no confessor but this sword.' It is +satisfactory to know that the Queen made her escape, and that the +criminals were punished, although the tortures they endured are such +as human nature shrinks from conceiving, and history with a shudder +records. + + * * * * * + +We turn with pleasure from King James's life and death to his poetry, +although there is so little of it that a sentence or two will suffice. +'The King's Quhair' is a poem conceived very much in the spirit, and +written in the style of Chaucer, whose works were favourites with James. +There is the same sympathy with nature, and the same perception of _its_ +relation to and unconscious sympathy with human feelings, and the same +luscious richness in the description, alike of the early beauties of +spring and of youthful feminine loveliness, although this seems more +natural in the young poet James than in the sexagenarian author of 'The +Canterbury Tales.' There is nothing even in Chaucer we think finer than +the picture of Lady Jane Beaufort in the garden, particularly in the +lines-- + + 'Or are ye god Cupidis own princess, + And comen are ye to loose me out of band? + Or are ye very Nature the goddess, + That have depainted with your heavenly hand + This garden full of flowers as they stand?' + +Or where, picturing his mistress, he cries-- + + 'And above all this there was, well I wot, + Beauty enough to make a world to dote.' + +Or where, describing a ruby on her bosom, he says-- + + 'That as a spark of low[1] so wantonly + Seemed burning upon her white throat.' + +[1] 'Low:' fire. + +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.' + + +THE KING THUS DESCRIBES THE APPEARANCE OF HIS MISTRESS, +WHEN HE FIRST SAW HER FROM A WINDOW OF HIS PRISON +AT WINDSOR. + +X. + +The longė dayės and the nightės eke, +I would bewail my fortune in this wise, +For which, against distress comfórt to seek, +My custom was, on mornės, for to rise +Early as day: O happy exercise! +By thee came I to joy out of tormčnt; +But now to purpose of my first intent. + +XI. + +Bewailing in my chamber, thus alone, +Despaired of all joy and remedy, +For-tired of my thought, and woe begone; +And to the window 'gan I walk in hye,[1] +To see the world and folk that went forby; +As for the time (though I of mirthis food +Might have no more) to look it did me good. + +XII. + +Now was there made fast by the toweris wall +A garden fair; and in the corners set +An herbere[2] green; with wandis long and small +Railed about, and so with treės set +Was all the place, and hawthorn hedges knet, +That life was none [a] walking there forby +That might within scarce any wight espy. + + * * * * * + +XIV. + +And on the smallė greenė twistis [3] sat +The little sweetė nightingale, and sung, +So loud and clear the hymnis consecrate +Of lovė's use, now soft, now loud among,[4] +That all the gardens and the wallis rung +Right of their song; and on the couple next +Of their sweet harmony, and lo the text. + +XV. + +Worship, O ye that lovers be, this May! +For of your bliss the calends are begun; +And sing with us, 'Away! winter, away! +Come, summer, come, the sweet seasņn and sun; +Awake for shame that have your heavens won; +And amorously lift up your headės all, +Thank love that list you to his mercy call. + + * * * * * + +XXI. + +And therewith cast I down mine eye again, +Where as I saw walking under the tower, +Full secretly new comen to her pleyne,[5] +The fairest and the freshest youngė flower +That e'er I saw (methought) before that hour +For which sudden abate [6] anon astert [7] +The blood of all my body to my heart. + + * * * * * + +XXVII. + +Of her array the form if I shall write, +Toward her golden hair, and rich attire, +In fret-wise couched with pearlis white, +And greatė balas[8] lemyng[9] as the fire; +With many an emerald and fair sapphģre, +And on her head a chaplet fresh of hue, +Of plumės parted red, and white, and blue. + + * * * * * + +XXIX. + +About her neck, white as the fair amaille,[10] +A goodly chain of small orfeverie,[11] +Whereby there hang a ruby without fail +Like to a heart yshapen verily, +That as a spark of lowe[12] so wantonly +Seemed burning upon her whitė throat; +Now if there was good, perdie God it wrote. + +XXX. + +And for to walk that freshė Mayė's morrow, +A hook she had upon her tissue white, +That goodlier had not been seen toforrow,[13] +As I suppose, and girt she, was a lite[14] +Thus halfling[15] loose for haste; to such delight +It was to see her youth in goodlihead, +That for rudeness to speak thereof I dread. + +XXXI. + +In her was youth, beauty with humble port, +Bounty, richess, and womanly featśre: +(God better wot than my pen can report) +Wisdom, largčss, estate, and cunning[16] sure, + + * * * * * + +In word, in deed, in shape and countenance, +That nature might no more her child advance. + +[1] 'Hye:' haste. +[2] 'Herbere:' herbary, or garden of simples. +[3] 'Twistis:' twigs. +[4] 'Among:' promiscuously. +[5] 'Pleyne:' sport. +[6] 'Sudden abate:' unexpected accident. +[7] 'Astert:' started back. +[8] 'Balas:' rubies. +[9] 'Lemyng:' burning. +[10] 'Amaille:' enamel. +[11] 'Orfeverie:' goldsmith's work. +[12] 'Lowe:' fire. +[13] 'Toforrow:' heretofore. +[14] 'Lite:' a little. +[15] 'Halfling:' half. +[16] 'Cunning:' knowledge. + + + + +JOHN THE CHAPLAIN--THOMAS OCCLEVE. + + +The first of these is the only versifier that can be assigned to England +in the reign of Henry IV. His name was John Walton, though he was +generally known as _Johannes Capellanus_ or 'John the Chaplain.' He was +canon of Oseney, and died sub-dean of York. He, in the year 1410, +translated Boethius' famous treatise, 'De Consolatione Philosophiae,' +into English verse. He is not known to have written anything original. +--Thomas Occleve appeared in the reign of Henry V., about 1420. Like +Chaucer and Gower, he was a student of municipal law, having attended +Chester's Inn, which stood on the site of the present Somerset House; +but although he trod in the footsteps of his celebrated predecessors, it +was with far feebler powers. His original pieces are contemptible, both +in subject and in execution. His best production is a translation of +'Egidius De Regimine Principum.' Warton, alluding to the period at which +these writers appeared, has the following oft-quoted observations: +--'I consider Chaucer as a genial day in an English spring. A brilliant +sun enlivens the face of nature with an unusual lustre; the sudden +appearance of cloudless skies, and the unexpected warmth of a tepid +atmosphere, after the gloom and the inclemencies of a tedious winter, +fill our hearts with the visionary prospect of a speedy summer, and we +fondly anticipate a long continuance of gentle gales and vernal serenity. +But winter returns with redoubled horrors; the clouds condense more +formidably than before, and those tender buds and early blossoms which +were called forth by the transient gleam of a temporary sunshine, are +nipped by frosts and torn by tempests.' These sentences are, after all, +rather pompous, and express, in the most verbose style of the _Rambler_, +the simple fact, that after Chaucer's death the ground lay fallow, and +that for a while in England (in Scotland it was otherwise) there were +few poets, and little poetry. + + + + +JOHN LYDGATE. + + +This copious and versatile writer flourished in the reign of Henry VI. +Warton affirms that he reached his highest point of eminence in 1430, +although some of his poems had appeared before. He was a monk of the +Benedictine Abbey at Bury, in Suffolk. He received his education at +Oxford; and when it was finished, he travelled through France and Italy, +mastering the languages and literature of both countries, and studying +their poets, particularly Dante, Boccaccio, and Alain Chartier. When he +returned, he opened a school in his monastery for teaching the sons of +the nobility composition and the art of versification. His acquirements +were, for the age, universal. He was a poet, a rhetorician, an astronomer, +a mathematician, a public disputant, and a theologian. He was born in +1370, ordained sub-deacon in 1389, deacon in 1393, and priest in 1397. +The time of his death is uncertain. His great patron was Humphrey, Duke +of Gloucester, to whom he complains sometimes of necessitous circumstances, +which were, perhaps, produced by indulgence, since he confesses himself to +be 'a lover of wine.' + +The great merit of Lydgate is his versatility. This Warton has happily +expressed in a few sentences, which we shall quote:-- + +'He moves with equal ease in every form of composition. His hymns and +his ballads have the same degree of merit; and whether his subject be +the life of a hermit or a hero, of Saint Austin or Guy, Earl of Warwick, +ludicrous or legendary, religious or romantic, a history or an allegory, +he writes with facility. His transitions were rapid, from works of the +most serious and laborious kind, to sallies of levity and pieces of +popular entertainment. His muse was of universal access; and he was not +only the poet of his monastery, but of the world in general. If a +disguising was intended by the Company of Goldsmiths, a mask before His +Majesty at Eltham, a May game for the sheriffs and aldermen of London, +a mumming before the Lord Mayor, a procession of pageants, from the +"Creation," for the Festival of Corpus Christi, or a carol for the +coronation, Lydgate was consulted, and gave the poetry.' + +Lydgate is, so far as we know, the first British bard who wrote for +hire. At the request of Whethamstede, the Abbot of St Alban's, he +translated a 'Life of St Alban' from Latin into English rhymes, and +received for the whole work one hundred shillings. His principal poems, +all founded on the works of other authors, are the 'Fall of Princes,' +the 'Siege of Thebes,' and the 'Destruction of Troy.' They are written +in a diffuse and verbose style, but are generally clear in sense, and +often very luxuriant in description. 'The London Lyckpenny' is a +fugitive poem, in which the author describes himself coming up to town +in search of legal redress for a wrong, and gives some curious +particulars of the condition of that city in the early part of the +fifteenth century. + + +CANACE, CONDEMNED TO DEATH BY HER FATHER AEOLUS, SENDS +TO HER GUILTY BROTHER MACAREUS THE LAST TESTIMONY OF +HER UNHAPPY PASSION. + +Out of her swoonė when she did abraid,[1] +Knowing no mean but death in her distrčss, +To her brothčr full piteously she said, +'Cause of my sorrow, root of my heaviness, +That whilom were the source of my gladness, +When both our joys by will were so disposed, +Under one key our hearts to be enclosed.-- + + * * * * * + +This is mine end, I may it not astart;[2] +O brother mine, there is no more to say; +Lowly beseeching with mine wholė heart +For to remember specially, I pray, +If it befall my little son to dey[3] +That thou mayst after some mind on us have, +Suffer us both be buried in one grave. +I hold him strictly 'tween my armės twain, +Thou and Natłrė laid on me this charge; +He, guiltless, mustė with me suffer pain, +And, since thou art at freedom and at large, +Let kindness ourė love not so discharge, +But have a mind, wherever that thou be, +Once on a day upon my child and me. +On thee and me dependeth the trespące +Touching our guilt and our great offence, +But, welaway! most ąngelic of face +Our childė, young in his pure innocence, +Shall against right suffer death's violence, +Tender of limbs, God wot, full guiltėless +The goodly fair, that lieth here speechlčss. + +A mouth he has, but wordės hath he none; +Cannot complain, alas! for none outrąge: +Nor grutcheth[4] not, but lies here all alone +Still as a lamb, most meek of his visąge. +What heart of steel could do to him damąge, +Or suffer him die, beholding the mannčre +And look benign of his twain even clear.'-- + + * * * * * + +Writing her letter, awhapped[5] all in drede, +In her right hand her pen began to quake, +And a sharp sword to make her heartė bleed, +In her left hand her father hath her take, +And most her sorrow was for her childė's sake, +Upon whose facė in her barme[6] sleepķng +Full many a tear she wept in complainķng. +After all this so as she stood and quoke, +Her child beholding mid of her paines' smart, +Without abode the sharpė sword she took, +And rove herselfė even to the heart; +Her child fell down, which mightė not astart, +Having no help to succour him nor save, +But in her blood theself began to bathe. + +[1] 'Abraid:' awake. +[2] 'Astart:' escape. +[3] 'Dey:' die. +[4] 'Grutcheth:' murmureth. +[5] 'Awhapped:' confounded. +[6] 'Barme:' lap. + + +THE LONDON LYCKPENNY. + +Within the hall, neither rich nor yet poor + Would do for me ought, although I should die: +Which seeing, I gat me out of the door, + Where Flemings began on me for to cry, + 'Master, what will you copen[1] or buy? +Fine felt hats? or spectacles to read? +Lay down your silver, and here you may speed. + +Then to Westminster gate I presently went, + When the sun was at high prime: +Cooks to me they took good intent,[2] + And proffered me bread, with ale and wine, + Ribs of beef, both fat and full fine; +A fair cloth they 'gan for to spread, +But, wanting money, I might not be sped. + +Then unto London I did me hie, + Of all the land it beareth the price; +'Hot peascods!' one began to cry, + 'Strawberry ripe, and cherries in the rise!'[3] + One bade me come near and buy some spice; +Pepper, and saffron they 'gan me beed;[4] +But, for lack of money, I might not speed. + +Then to the Cheap I 'gan me drawn, + Where much people I saw for to stand; +One offered me velvet, silk, and lawn, + Another he taketh me by the hand, + 'Here is Paris thread, the finest in the land!' +I never was used to such things, indeed; +And, wanting money, I might not speed. + +Then went I forth by London Stone, + Throughout all Canwick Street: +Drapers much cloth me offered anon; + Then comes me one cried 'Hot sheep's feet;' + One cried mackerel, rushes green, another 'gan greet,[5] +One bade me buy a hood to cover my head; +But, for want of money, I might not be sped. + +Then I hied me unto East-Cheap, + One cries ribs of beef, and many a pie; +Pewter pots they clattered on a heap; + There was harp, pipe, and minstrelsy; + Yea by cock! nay by cock! some began cry; +Some sung of Jenkin and Julian for their meed; +But, for lack of money, I might not speed. + +Then into Cornhill anon I yode,[6] + Where was much stolen gear among; +I saw where hung mine ownė hood, + That I had lost among the throng; + To buy my own hood I thought it wrong: +I knew it well, as I did my creed; +But, for lack of money, I could not speed. + +The taverner took me by the sleeve, + 'Sir,' saith he, 'will you our wine assay?' +I answered, 'That can not much me grieve, + A penny can do no more than it may;' + I drank a pint, and for it did pay; +Yet, sore a-hungered from thence I yede,[7] +And, wanting money, I could not speed. + +[1] 'Copen:' _koopen_(Flem.) to buy. +[2] 'Took good intent:' took notice; paid attention. +[3] 'In the rise:' on the branch. +[4] 'Beed:' offer. +[5] 'Greet:' cry. +[6] 'Yode:' went. +[7] 'Yede:' went. + + + + +HARDING, KAY, &c. + + +John Harding flourished about the year 1403. He fought at the battle of +Shrewsbury on the Percy side. He is the author of a poem entitled 'The +Chronicle of England unto the Reign of King Edward the Fourth, in +Verse.' It has no poetic merit, and little interest, except to the +antiquary. In the reign of the above king we find the first mention of +a Poet Laureate. John Kay was appointed by Edward, when he returned from +Italy, Poet Laureate to the king, but has, perhaps fortunately for the +world, left behind him no poems. Would that the same had been the case +with some of his successors in the office! There is reason to believe, +that for nearly two centuries ere this date, there had existed in the +court a personage, entitled the King's Versifier, (versificator,) to +whom one hundred shillings a-year was the salary, and that the title +was, by and by, changed to that of Poet Laureate, _i.e._, Laurelled +Poet. It had long been customary in the universities to crown scholars +when they graduated with laurel, and Warton thinks that from these the +first poet laureates were selected, less for their general genius than +for their skill in Latin verse. Certainly the earliest of the Laureate +poems, such as those by Baston and Gulielmus, who acted as royal poets +to Richard I. and Edward II., and wrote, the one on Richard's Crusade, +and the other on Edward's Siege of Stirling Castle, are in Latin. So +too are the productions of Andrew Bernard, who was the Poet Laureate +successively to Henry VII. and Henry VIII. It was not till after the +Reformation had lessened the superstitious veneration for the Latin +tongue that the laureates began to write in English. It is almost a +pity, we are sometimes disposed to think, that, in reference to such +odes as those of Pye, Whitehead, Colley Cibber, and even some of +Southey's, the old practice had not continued; since thus, in the first +place, we might have had a chance of elegant Latinity, in the absence of +poetry and sense; and since, secondly, the deficiencies of the laureate +poems would have been disguised, from the general eye at least, under +the veil of an unknown tongue. It is curious to notice about this period +the uprise of two didactic poets, both writing on alchymy, the chemistry +of that day, and neither displaying a spark of genius. These are John +Norton and George Ripley, both renowned for learning and knowledge of +their beloved occult sciences. Their poems, that by Norton, entitled +'The Ordinal,' and that by Ripley, entitled 'The Compound of Alchemie,' +are dry and rugged treatises, done into indifferent verse. One rather +fine fancy occurs in the first of these. It is that of an alchymist who +projected a bridge of gold over the Thames, near London, crowned with +pinnacles of gold, which, being studded with carbuncles, should diffuse +a blaze of light in the dark! Alchymy has had other and nobler singers +than Ripley and Norton. It has, as Warton remarks, 'enriched the store- +house of Arabian romance with many magnificent imageries.' It is the +inspiration of two of the noblest romances in this or any language +--'St. Leon' and 'Zanoni.' And its idea, transfigured into a transcen- +dental form, gave light and life and fire, and the loftiest poetry, to +the eloquence of the lamented Samuel Brown, whose tongue, as he talked +on his favourite theme, seemed transmuted into gold; nay, whose lips, +like the touch of Midas, seemed to create the effects of alchymy upon +every subject they approached, and upon every heart over which they +wielded their sorcery. + +We pass now from this comparatively barren age in the history of English +poetry to a cluster of Scottish bards. The first of these is ROBERT +HENRYSON. He was schoolmaster at Dunfermline, and died some time before +1508. He is supposed by Lord Hailes to have been preceptor of youth in +the Benedictine convent in that place. He is the author of 'Robene and +Makyne,' a pastoral ballad of very considerable merit, and of which +Campbell says, somewhat too warmly, 'It is the first known pastoral,' +(he means in the Scottish language of course,) 'and one of the best, in +a dialect rich with the favours of the pastoral muse.' He wrote also a +sequel to Chaucer's 'Troilus and Cresseide' entitled 'The Testament of +Cresseide,' and thirteen Fables, of which copies, in MS., are preserved +in the Advocates' Library, Edinburgh. One of these, 'The Town and +Country Mouse,' tells that old story with considerable spirit and +humour. 'The Garment of Good Ladies' is an ingenious and beautiful +strain, written in that quaint style of allegorising which continued +popular as far down as the days of Cowley, and even later. + + +DINNER GIVEN BY THE TOWN MOUSE TO THE COUNTRY MOUSE. + +* * * Their harboury was ta'en +Into a spence,[1] where victual was plenty, +Both cheese and butter on long shelves right high, +With fish and flesh enough, both fresh and salt, +And pockis full of groats, both meal and malt. + +After, when they disposed were to dine, +Withouten grace they wuish[2] and went to meat, +On every dish that cookmen can divine, +Mutton and beef stricken out in telyies grit;[3] +A lordė's fare thus can they counterfeit, +Except one thing--they drank the water clear +Instead of wine, but yet they made good cheer. + +With blithe upcast and merry countenance, +The elder sister then spier'd[4] at her guest, +If that she thought by reason difference +Betwixt that chamber and her sairy[5] nest. +'Yea, dame,' quoth she, 'but how long will this last?' +'For evermore, I wait,[6] and longer too;' +'If that be true, ye are at ease,' quoth she. + +To eke the cheer, in plenty forth they brought +A plate of groatis and a dish of meal, +A threif[7] of cakes, I trow she spared them nought, +Abundantly about her for to deal. +Furmage full fine she brought instead of jeil, +A white candle out of a coffer staw,[8] +Instead of spice, to creish[9] their teeth witha'. + +Thus made they merry, till they might nae mair, +And, 'Hail, Yule, hail!' they cryit up on high; +But after joy oftentimes comes care, +And trouble after great prosperity. +Thus as they sat in all their jollity, +The spencer came with keyis in his hand, +Open'd the door, and them at dinner fand. + +They tarried not to wash, as I suppose, +But on to go, who might the foremost win: +The burgess had a hole, and in she goes, +Her sister had no place to hide her in; +To see that silly mouse it was great sin, +So desolate and wild of all good rede,[10] +For very fear she fell in swoon, near dead. + +Then as God would it fell in happy case, +The spencer had no leisure for to bide, +Neither to force, to seek, nor scare, nor chase, +But on he went and cast the door up-wide. +This burgess mouse his passage well has spied. +Out of her hole she came and cried on high, +'How, fair sister, cry peep, where'er thou be.' + +The rural mouse lay flatlings on the ground, +And for the death she was full dreadand, +For to her heart struck many woful stound, +As in a fever trembling foot and hand; +And when her sister in such plight her fand, +For very pity she began to greet, +Syne[11] comfort gave, with words as honey sweet. + +'Why lie ye thus? Rise up, my sister dear, +Come to your meat, this peril is o'erpast.' +The other answer'd with a heavy cheer, +'I may nought eat, so sore I am aghast. +Lever[12] I had this forty dayis fast, +With water kail, and green beans and peas, +Than all your feast with this dread and disease.' + +With fair 'treaty, yet gart she her arise; +To board they went, and on together sat, +But scantly had they drunken once or twice, +When in came Gib Huntér, our jolly cat, +And bade God speed. The burgess up then gat, +And to her hole she fled as fire of flint; +Bawdrons[13] the other by the back has hent.[14] + +From foot to foot he cast her to and frae, +Whiles up, whiles down, as cant[15] as any kid; +Whiles would he let her run under the strae[16] +Whiles would he wink and play with her buik-hid;[17] +Thus to the silly mouse great harm he did; +Till at the last, through fair fortune and hap, +Betwixt the dresser and the wall she crap.[18] + +Syne up in haste behind the panelling, +So high she clamb, that Gilbert might not get her, +And by the cluiks[19] craftily can hing, +Till he was gone, her cheer was all the better: +Syne down she lap, when there was none to let her; +Then on the burgess mouse loud could she cry, +'Farewell, sister, here I thy feast defy. + +Thy mangery is minget[20] all with care, +Thy guise is good, thy gane-full[21] sour as gall; +The fashion of thy feris is but fair, +So shall thou find hereafterward may fall. +I thank yon curtain, and yon parpane[22] wall, +Of my defence now from yon cruel beast; +Almighty God, keep me from such a feast! + +Were I into the place that I came frae, +For weal nor woe I should ne'er come again.' +With that she took her leave, and forth can gae, +Till through the corn, till through the plain. +When she was forth and free she was right fain, +And merrily linkit unto the muir, +I cannot tell how afterward she fure.[23] + +But I heard syne she passed to her den, +As warm as wool, suppose it was not grit, +Full beinly[24] stuffed was both butt and ben, +With peas and nuts, and beans, and rye and wheat; +Whene'er she liked, she had enough of meat, +In quiet and ease, withouten [any] dread, +But to her sister's feast no more she gaed. + + +[FROM THE MORAL.] + +Blessed be simple life, withouten dreid; +Blessed be sober feast in quieté; +Who has enough, of no more has he need, +Though it be little into quantity. +Great abundance, and blind prosperity, +Ofttimės make an evil conclusion; +The sweetest life, therefore, in this country, +Is of sickerness,[25] with small possession. + +[1] 'Spence:' pantry. +[2] 'Wuish:' washed. +[3] 'Telyies grit:' great pieces. +[4] 'Spier'd;' asked. +[5] 'Sairy:' sorry. +[6] 'Wait:' expect. +[7] 'Threif:' a set of twenty-four. +[8] 'Staw:' stole. +[9] 'Creish:' grease. +[10] 'rede:' counsel. +[11] 'Syne:' then. +[12] 'Lever:' rather. +[13] 'Bawdrons:' the cat. +[14] 'Hent:' seized. +[15] 'Cant:' lively. +[16] 'Strae:' straw. +[17] 'Buik-hid:' body. +[18] 'Crap:' crept. +[19] 'Cluiks:' claws. +[20] 'Minget:' mixed. +[21] 'Gane-full:' mouthful. +[22] 'Parpane:' partition. +[23] 'Fure:' went. +[24] 'Beinly:' snugly. +[25] 'Sickerness:' security. + + + +THE GARMENT OF GOOD LADIES. + +Would my good lady love me best, + And work after my will, +I should a garment goodliest + Gar[1] make her body till.[2] + +Of high honołr should be her hood, + Upon her head to wear, +Garnish'd with governance, so good + No deeming[3] should her deir,[4] + +Her sark[5] should be her body next, + Of chastity so white: +With shame and dread together mixt, + The same should be perfite.[6] + +Her kirtle should be of clean constance, + Laced with lesum[7] love; +The mailies[8] of continuance, + For never to remove. + +Her gown should be of goodliness, + Well ribbon'd with renown; +Purfill'd[9] with pleasure in ilk[10] place, + Furred with fine fashiołn. + +Her belt should be of benignity, + About her middle meet; +Her mantle of humility, + To thole[11] both wind and weet.[12] + +Her hat should be of fair havģng, + And her tippet of truth; +Her patelet of good pansģng,[13] + Her hals-ribbon of ruth.[14] + +Her sleeves should be of esperance, + To keep her from despair; +Her glovės of good governance, + To hide her fingers fair. + +Her shoes should be of sickerness,[15] + In sign that she not slide; +Her hose of honesty, I guess, + I should for her provide. + +Would she put on this garment gay, + I durst swear by my seill,[16] +That she wore never green nor gray +That set[17] her half so weel. + +[1] 'Gar:' cause. +[2] 'Till:' to. +[3] 'Deeming:' opinion. +[4] 'Deir:' injure. +[5] 'Sark:' shift. +[6] 'Perfite:' perfect. +[7] 'Lesum:' lawful. +[8] 'Mailies:' eyelet-holes. +[9] 'Purfill'd:' fringed. +[10] 'Ilk:' each. +[11] 'Thole:' endure. +[12] 'Weet:': wet. +[13] 'Pansing:' thinking. +[14] 'Her hals-ribbon of ruth:' her neck-ribbon of pity. +[15] 'Sickerness:' firmness. +[16] 'Seill:' salvation. +[17] 'Set:' became. + + + + +WILLIAM DUNBAR + + +This was a man of the true and sovereign seed of genius. Sir Walter +Scott calls Dunbar 'a poet unrivalled by any--that Scotland has ever +produced.' We venture to call him the Dante of Scotland; nay, we +question if any English poet has surpassed 'The Dance of the Seven +Deadly Sins through Hell' in its peculiarly Dantesque qualities of +severe and purged grandeur; of deep sincerity, and in that air of moral +disappointment and sorrow, approaching despair, which distinguished the +sad-hearted lover of Beatrice, who might almost have exclaimed, with one +yet mightier than he in his misery and more miserable in his might, + + 'Where'er I am is Hell--myself am Hell.' + +Foster, in an entry in his journal, (we quote from memory,) says, 'I +have just seen the moon rising, and wish the impression to be eternal. +What a look she casts upon earth, like that of a celestial being who +loves our planet still, but has given up all hope of ever doing her any +good or seeing her become any better--so serene she seems in her settled +and unutterable sadness.' Such, we have often fancied, was the feeling +of the great Florentine toward the world, and which--pained, pitying, +yearning enthusiast that he was!--escaped irresistibly from those deep- +set eyes, that adamantine jaw, and that brow, wearing the laurel, proudly +yet painfully, as if it were a crown of everlasting fire! Dunbar was not +altogether a Dante, either in melancholy or in power, but his 'Dance' +reveals kindred moods, operating at times on a kindred genius. + +In Dante humour existed too, but ere it could come up from his deep +nature to the surface, it must freeze and stiffen into monumental scorn +--a laughter that seemed, while mocking at all things else, to mock at +its own mockery most of all. Aird speaks in his 'Demoniac,' of a smile +upon his hero's brow, + + 'Like the lightning of a hope about to DIE + For ever from the furrow'd brows of Hell's Eternity.' + +Dante's smile may rather be compared to the RISING of a false and self- +detected hope upon the lost brows where it is never to come to dawn, and +where, nevertheless, it remains for ever, like a smile carved upon +a sepulchre. Dunbar has a more joyous disposition than his Italian +prototype and master, and he indulges himself to the top of his bent, +but in a style (particularly in his 'Twa Married Women and the Widow,' +and in 'The Friars of Berwick,' which is not, however, quite certainly +his) too coarse and prurient for the taste of this age. + +'The Merle and the Nightingale' is one of the finest of Moelibean poems. +Beautiful is the contest between the two sweet singers as to whether the +love of man or the love of God be the nobler, and more beautiful still +their reconciliation, when + + 'Then sang they both with voices loud and clear, + The Merle sang, "Man, love God that has thee wrought." + The Nightingale sang, "Man, love the Lord most dear, + That thee and all this world made of nought." + The Merle said, "Love him that thy love has sought + From heaven to earth, and here took flesh and bone." + The Nightingale sang. "And with his death thee bought: + All love is lost, but upon him alone." + + _'Then flew these birds over the boughis sheen, + Singing of love among the leaves small.'_ + +William Dunbar is said to have been born about the year 1465. He +received his education at St Andrews, and took there the degree of M.A. +in 1479. He became then a friar of the Franciscan order, (Grey Friars,) +and in the exercise of his profession seems to have rambled over all +Scotland, England, and France, preaching, begging, and, according to his +own confession, cheating, lying, and cajoling. Yet if this kind of life +was not propitious, in his case, to morality, it must have been to the +development of the poetic faculty. It enabled him to see all varieties +of life and of scenery, although here and there, in his verses, you find +symptoms of that bitterness which is apt to arise in the heart of a +wanderer. He was subsequently employed by James IV. in some official +work connected with various foreign embassies, which led him to Spain, +Italy, and Germany, as well as England and France. This proves that he +was no less a man of business-capacity and habits than a poet. For these +services he, in 1500, received from the King a pension of ten pounds, +afterwards increased to twenty, and, in fine, to eighty. He is said to +have been employed in the negotiations preparatory to the marriage of +James with Margaret Tudor, daughter of Henry VII., which took place in +1503, and which our poet celebrated in his verses, 'The Thistle and the +Rose.' He continued ever afterwards in the Court, hovering in position +between a laureate and a court-fool, charming James with his witty +conversation as well as his verses, but refused the benefices for which +he petitioned, and gradually devoured by chagrin and disappointment. +Seldom has genius so great been placed in a falser position, and this +has given a querulous tinge to many of his poems. He seems to have died +about 1520. Even after his death, misfortune pursued him. His works +were, with the exception of two or three pieces, locked up in an obscure +MS. till the middle of last century. Since then, however, their fame has +been still increasing. In 1834, Mr David Laing, so favourably known as +one of our first antiquarians, published a complete and elaborate edition +of Dunbar's works; and in a newspaper this very day (May 23) we see another +edition announced, in a popular and modernised shape, of the poetry of this +great old Scottish _Makkar_. + + +THE DANCE OF THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS THROUGH HELL. + +I. + +Of Februar' the fifteenth night, +Full long before the dayis light, + I lay into a trance; +And then I saw both Heaven and Hell; +Methought among the fiendis fell, + Mahoun[1] gart[2] cry a Dance, +Of shrewis[3] that were never shrevin,[4] +Against the feast of Fastern's even, +To make their observąnce: +He bade gallants go graith[5] a guise,[6] +And cast up gamounts[7] in the skies, + As varlets do in France. + + +II. + * * * * * +Holy harlottis in hautane[8] wise, +Came in with many sundry guise, + But yet laugh'd never Mahņun, +Till priests came in with bare shaven necks, +Then all the fiends laugh'd and made gecks,[9] +Black-Belly and Bawsy-Broun.[10] + * * * * * + + +III. + +'Let's see,' quoth he, 'now who begins:' +With that the foul Seven Deadly Sins + Began to leap at anis.[11] +And first of all in dance was Pride, +With hair wyld[12] back, and bonnet on side, + Like to make wasty weanis;[13] +And round about him, as a wheel, +Hang all in rumples to the heel, + His kethat[14] for the nanis.[15] +Many proud trompour[16] with him tripped, +Through scalding fire aye as they skipped, + They girn'd[17] with hideous granis.[18] + + +IV. + +Then Ire came in with sturt[19] and strife, +His hand was aye upon his knife, + He brandish'd like a beir; +Boasters, braggers, and barganeris,[20] +After him passed into pairis,[21] + All bodin in feir of weir.[22] +In jackis, scripis, and bonnets of steel, +Their legs were chenyiet[23] to the heel, + Froward was their affeir,[24] +Some upon other with brands beft,[25] +Some jaggit[26] others to the heft[27] + With knives that sharp could shear. + + +V. + +Next in the dance follow'd Envy, +Fill'd full of feud and felony, + Hid malice and despite, +For privy hatred that traitor trembled; +Him follow'd many freik[28] dissembled, +With feigned wordis white. + And flatterers into men's faces, +And backbiters in secret places +To lie that had delight, + And rowneris[29] of false lesģngs;[30] +Alas, that courts of noble kings + Of them can never be quite![31] + + +VI. + +Next him in dance came Covetice, +Root of all evil and ground of vice, + That never could be content, +Caitiffs, wretches, and ockerars,[32] +Hood-pikes,[33] hoarders, and gatherers, + All with that warlock went. +Out of their throats they shot on other +Hot molten gold, methought, a fother,[34] + As fire-flaucht[35] most fervčnt; +Aye as they tumit[36] them of shot, +Fiends fill'd them new up to the throat + With gold of all kind prent.[37] + + +VII. + +Syne[38] Sweirness[39] at the second bidding +Came like a sow out of a midding,[40] + Full sleepy was his grunyie.[41] +Many sweir bumbard[42] belly-huddroun,[43] +Many slute daw[44] and sleepy duddroun,[45] + Him served aye with sounyie.[46] +He drew them forth into a chenyie,[47] +And Belial with a bridle-rennyie,[48] + Ever lash'd them on the lunyie.[49] +In dance they were so slow of feet +They gave them in the fire a heat, + And made them quicker of counyie.[50] + + +VIII. + +Then Lechery, that loathly corse, +Came bearing like a bagged horse,[51] + And Idleness did him lead; +There was with him an ugly sort[52] +And many stinking foul tramort,[53] + That had in sin been dead. +When they were enter'd in the dance, +They were full strange of countenance, + Like torches burning reid. + * * * * * + +IX. + +Then the foul monster Gluttony, +Of wame[54] insatiable and greedy, + To dance he did him dress; +Him followed many a foul drunkąrt +With can and collep, cop and quart,[55] + In surfeit and excess. +Full many a waistless wally-drag[56] +With wames unwieldable did forth drag, + In creish[57] that did incress; +Drink, aye they cried, with many a gape, +The fiends gave them hot lead to laip,[58] +Their leveray[59] was no less. + + +X. + * * * * * +No minstrels play'd to them but[60] doubt, +For gleemen there were holden out, + By day and eke by night, +Except a minstrel that slew a man; +So till his heritage he wan,[61] + And enter'd by brief of right. + * * * * * + +XI. + +Then cried Mahoun for a Highland padyane,[62] +Syne ran a fiend to fetch Mac Fadyane,[63] + Far northward in a nook, +By he the Correnoch had done shout,[64] +Ersch-men[65] so gather'd him about + In hell great room they took: +These termagants, with tag and tatter, +Full loud in Ersch began to clatter, + And roup[66] like raven and rook. +The devil so deaved[67] was with their yell, +That in the deepest pot of hell + He smored[68] them with smoke. + +[1] 'Mahoun:' the devil. +[2] 'Gart:' caused. +[3] 'Shrewis:' sinners. +[4] 'Shrevin:' confessed. +[5] 'Graith:' prepare. +[6] 'Guise:' masque. +[7] 'Gamounts:' dances. +[8] 'Hautane:' haughty. +[9] 'Gecks:' mocks. +[10] 'Black-Belly and Bawsy-Broun:' names of spirits. +[11] 'Anis:' once. +[12] 'Wyld:' combed. +[13] 'Wasty weanis:' wasteful children. +[14] 'Kethat:' cassock. +[15] 'Nanis:' nonce. +[16] 'Trompour:' impostor. +[17] 'Girn'd:' grinned. +[18] 'Granis:' groans. +[19] 'Sturt:' violence. +[20] 'Barganeris:' bullies. +[21] 'Into pairis:' in pairs. +[22] 'Bodin in feir of weir:' arrayed in trappings of war. +[23] 'Chenyiet:' covered with chain-mail. +[24] 'Affeir:' aspect. +[25] 'Beft:' struck. +[26] 'Jaggit:' stabbed. +[27] 'Heft:' hilt. +[28] 'Freik:' fellows. +[29] 'Rowneris:' whisperers. +[30] 'Lesģngs:' lies. +[31] 'Quite:' quit. +[32] 'Ockerars:' usurers. +[33] 'Hood-pikes:' misers. +[34] 'Fother:' quantity. +[35] 'Flaucht:' flake. +[36] 'Tumit:' emptied. +[37] 'Prent:' stamp. +[38] 'Syne:' then. +[39] 'Sweirness:' laziness. +[40] 'Midding:' dunghill. +[41] 'Grunyie:' grunt. +[42] 'Bumbard:' indolent. +[43] 'Belly-huddroun:' gluttonous sloven. +[44] 'Slute daw:' slovenly drab. +[45] 'Duddroun:' sloven. +[46] 'Sounyie:' care. +[47] 'Chenyie:' chain. +[48] 'Rennyie:' rein. +[49] 'Lunyie:' back. +[50] 'Counyie:' apprehension. +[51] 'Bagged horse:' stallion. +[52] 'Sort:' number. +[53] 'Tramort:' corpse. +[54] 'Wame:' belly. +[55] 'Can and collep, cop and quart:' different names of + drinking-vessels. +[56] 'Wally-drag:' sot. +[57] 'Creish:' grease. +[58] 'Laip:' lap. +[59] 'Leveray:' desire to drink. +[60] 'But:' without. +[61] 'Wan:' got. +[62] 'Padyane:' pageant. +[63] 'Mac Fadyane:' name of some Highland laird. +[64] 'By he the Correnoch had done shout:' by the time that he had + raised the Correnoch, or cry of help. +[65] 'Ersch-men:' Highlanders. +[66] 'Roup:' croak. +[67] 'Deaved:' deafened. +[68] 'Smored:' smothered. + + +THE MERLE AND NIGHTINGALE. + +In May, as that Aurora did upspring, +With crystal een[1] chasing the cluddės sable, +I heard a Merle[2] with merry notės sing +A song of love, with voice right comfortįble, +Against the orient beamis, amiable, +Upon a blissful branch of laurel green; +This was her sentence, sweet and delectable, +'A lusty life in Lovė's service been.' + +Under this branch ran down a river bright, +Of balmy liquor, crystalline of hue, +Against the heavenly azure skyis light, +Where did upon the other side pursue +A Nightingale, with sugar'd notės new, +Whose angel feathers as the peacock shone; +This was her song, and of a sentence true, +'All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +With notės glad, and glorious harmony, +This joyful merle, so salust[3] she the day, +While rung the woodis of her melody, +Saying, 'Awake, ye lovers of this May; +Lo, fresh Flora has flourish'd every spray, +As nature, has her taught, the noble queen, +The fields be clothed in a new array; +A lusty life in Lovė's service been.' + +Ne'er sweeter noise was heard with living man, +Than made this merry gentle nightingale; +Her sound went with the river as it ran, +Out through the fresh and flourish'd lusty vale; +'O Merle!' quoth she, 'O fool! stint of thy tale, +For in thy song good sentence is there none, +For both is tint,[4] the time and the travail, +Of every love but upon God alone.' + +'Cease,' quoth the Merle, 'thy preaching, Nightingale: +Shall folk their youth spend into holiness? +Of young saintis, grow old fiendis, but[5] fable; +Fy, hypocrite, in yearis' tenderness, +Against the law of kind[6] thou goes express, +That crooked age makes one with youth serene, +Whom nature of conditions made diverse: +A lusty life in Lovė's service been.' + +The Nightingale said, 'Fool, remember thee, +That both in youth and eild,[7] and every hour, +The love of God most dear to man should be; +That him, of nought, wrought like his own figour, +And died himself, from death him to succour; +Oh, whether was kythit[8] there true love or none? +He is most true and steadfast paramour, +And love is lost but upon him alone.' + +The Merle said, 'Why put God so great beauty +In ladies, with such womanly havķng, +But if he would that they should loved be? +To love eke nature gave them inclinķng, +And He of nature that worker was and king, +Would nothing frustir[9] put, nor let be seen, +Into his creature of his own making; +A lusty life in Lovė's service been.' + +The Nightingale said, 'Not to that behoof +Put God such beauty in a lady's face, +That she should have the thank therefor or love, +But He, the worker, that put in her such grace; +Of beauty, bounty, riches, time, or space, +And every goodness that been to come or gone +The thank redounds to him in every place: +All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +'O Nightingale! it were a story nice, +That love should not depend on charity; +And, if that virtue contrar' be to vice, +Then love must be a virtue, as thinks me; +For, aye, to love envy must contrar' be: +God bade eke love thy neighbour from the spleen;[10] +And who than ladies sweeter neighbours be? +A lusty life in Lovė's service been.' + +The Nightingale said, 'Bird, why does thou rave? +Man may take in his lady such delight, +Him to forget that her such virtue gave, +And for his heaven receive her colour white: +Her golden tressed hairis redomite,[11] +Like to Apollo's beamis though they shone, +Should not him blind from love that is perfite; +All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +The Merle said, 'Love is cause of honour aye, +Love makis cowards manhood to purchase, +Love makis knightis hardy at essay, +Love makis wretches full of largėness, +Love makis sweir[12] folks full of business, +Love makis sluggards fresh and well beseen,[13] +Love changes vice in virtuous nobleness; +A lusty life in Lovė's service been.' + +The Nightingale said, 'True is the contrary; +Such frustis love it blindis men so far, +Into their minds it makis them to vary; +In false vain-glory they so drunken are, +Their wit is went, of woe they are not 'ware, +Till that all worship away be from them gone, +Fame, goods, and strength; wherefore well say I dare, +All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +Then said the Merle, 'Mine error I confess: +This frustis love is all but vanity: +Blind ignorance me gave such hardiness, +To argue so against the verity; +Wherefore I counsel every man that he +With love not in the fiendis net be tone,[14] +But love the love that did for his love die: +All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +Then sang they both with voices loud and clear, +The Merle sang, 'Man, love God that has thee wrought.' +The Nightingale sang, 'Man, love the Lord most dear, +That thee and all this world made of nought.' +The Merle said, 'Love him that thy love has sought +From heaven to earth, and here took flesh and bone.' +The Nightingale sang, 'And with his death thee bought: +All love is lost but upon him alone.' + +Then flew these birds over the boughis sheen, +Singing of love among the leavės small; +Whose eidant plead yet made my thoughtis grein,[15] +Both sleeping, waking, in rest and in travail; +Me to recomfort most it does avail, +Again for love, when love I can find none, +To think how sung this Merle and Nightingale; +'All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +[1] 'Een:' eyes. +[2] 'Merle:' blackbird. +[3] 'Salust:' saluted. +[4] 'Tint:' lost. +[5] 'But:' without. +[6] 'Kind:' nature. +[7] 'Eild:' age. +[8] 'Kythit:' shewn. +[9] 'Frustrir:' in vain. +[10] 'Spleen:' from the heart. +[11] 'Redomite:' bound, encircled. +[12] 'Sweir:' slothful. +[13] 'Well beseen:' of good appearance. +[14] 'Tone:' taken. +[15] 'Whose eidant plead yet made my thoughtis grein:' whose close + disputation made my thoughts yearn. + + + + +GAVIN DOUGLAS. + + +This eminent prelate was a younger son of Archibald, the fifth Earl of +Angus. He was born in Brechin about the year 1474. He studied at the +University of Paris. He became a churchman, and yet united with +attention to the duties of his calling great proficiency in polite +learning. In 1513 he finished a translation, into Scottish verse, of +Virgil's 'Aeneid,' which, considering the age, is an extraordinary +performance. It occupied him only sixteen months. The multitude of +obsolete terms, however, in which it abounds, renders it now, as a +whole, illegible. After passing through various subordinate offices, +such as the 'Provostship' of St Giles's, Edinburgh, and the 'Abbotship' +of Arbroath, he was at length appointed Bishop of Dunkeld. Dunkeld was +not then the paradise it has become, but Birnam hill and the other +mountains then, as now, stood round about it, the old Cathedral rose up +in mediaeval majesty, and the broad, smooth Tay flowed onward to the +ocean. And, doubtless, Douglas felt the poetic inspiration from it quite +as warmly as did Thomas Brown, when, three centuries afterwards, he set +up the staff of his summer rest at the beautiful Invar inn, and thence +delighted to diverge to the hundred scenes of enchantment which stretch +around. The good Bishop was an ardent politician as well as a poet, and +was driven, by his share in the troubles of the times, to flee from his +native land, and take refuge in the Court of Henry VIII. The King +received him kindly, and treated him with much liberality. In 1522 he +died at London of the plague, and was interred in the Savoy Church. +He was, according to Buchanan, about to proceed to Rome to vindicate +himself before the Pope against certain charges brought by his enemies. +Besides the translation of the 'Aeneid,' Douglas is the author of a long +poem entitled the 'Palace of Honour;' it is an allegory, describing +a large company making a pilgrimage to Honour's Palace. It bears +considerable resemblance to the 'Pilgrim's Progress,' and some suppose +that Bunyan had seen it before composing his allegory. 'King Hart' is +another production of our poet's, of considerable length and merit. It +gives, metaphorically, a view of human life. Perhaps his best pieces are +his 'Prologues,' affixed to each book of the 'Aeneid.' From them we have +selected 'Morning in May' as a specimen. The closing lines are fine. + + 'Welcome the lord of light, and lamp of day, + Welcome fosterer of tender herbis green, + Welcome quickener of flourish'd flowers sheen, + Welcome support of every root and vein, + Welcome comfort of all kind fruit and grain,' &c. + +Douglas must not be named with Dunbar in strength and grandeur of +genius. His power is more in expression than in conception, and hence +he has shone so much in translation. His version of the 'Aeneid' is the +first made of any classic into a British tongue, and is the worthy +progenitor of such minor miracles of poetical talent--all somewhat more +mechanical than inspired, and yet giving a real, though subordinate +glory to our literature-as Fairfax's 'Tasso,' Dryden's 'Virgil,' and +Pope's, Coper's, and Sotheby's 'Homer.' The fire in Douglas' original +verses is occasionally lost in smoke, and the meaning buried in flowery +verbiage. Still he was an honour alike to the Episcopal bench and the +Muse of Scotland. He was of amiable manners, gentle temperament, and a +noble and commanding appearance. + + +MORNING IN MAY. + +As fresh Aurore, to mighty Tithon spouse, +Ished of[1] her saffron bed and ivor' house, +In cram'sy clad and grained violate, +With sanguine cape, and selvage purpurate, +Unshet[2] the windows of her largė hall, +Spread all with roses, and full of balm royal, +And eke the heavenly portis crystalline +Unwarps broad, the world to illumine; +The twinkling streamers of the orient +Shed purpour spraings,[3] with gold and azure ment;[4] +Eous, the steed, with ruby harness red, +Above the seas liftis forth his head, +Of colour sore,[5] and somedeal brown as berry, +For to alighten and glad our hemispery; +The flame out-bursten at the neisthirls,[6] +So fast Phaeton with the whip him whirls. * * +While shortly, with the blazing torch of day, +Abulyit[7] in his lemand[8] fresh array, +Forth of his palace royal ished Phoebus, +With golden crown and visage glorious, +Crisp hairs, bright as chrysolite or topaz; +For whose hue might none behold his face. * * +The aureate vanes of his throne soverain +With glittering glance o'erspread the oceane; +The largė floodės, lemand all of light, +But with one blink of his supernal sight. +For to behold, it was a glore to see +The stabled windis, and the calmed sea, +The soft season, the firmament serene, +The loune[9] illuminate air and firth amene. * * +And lusty Flora did her bloomis spread +Under the feet of Phoebus' sulyart[10] steed; +The swarded soil embrode with selcouth[11] hues, +Wood and forest, obumbratė with bews.[12] * * +Towers, turrets, kirnals,[13] and pinnacles high, +Of kirks, castles, and ilk fair city, +Stood painted, every fane, phiol,[14] and stage,[15] +Upon the plain ground by their own umbrage. +Of Aeolus' north blasts having no dreid, +The soil spread her broad bosom on-breid; +The corn crops and the beir new-braird +With gladsome garment revesting the yerd.[16] * * +The prai[17] besprent with springing sprouts disperse +For caller humours[18] on the dewy night +Rendering some place the gersė-piles[19] their light; +As far as cattle the lang summer's day +Had in their pasture eat and nip away; +And blissful blossoms in the bloomed yerd, +Submit their heads to the young sun's safeguard. +Ivy-leaves rank o'erspread the barmkin wall; +The bloomed hawthorn clad his pikis all; +Forth of fresh bourgeons[20] the wine grapės ying[21] +Endlong the trellis did on twistis hing; +The loukit buttons on the gemmed trees +O'erspreading leaves of nature's tapestries; +Soft grassy verdure after balmy showers, +On curling stalkis smiling to their flowers. * * +The daisy did on-breid her crownal small, +And every flower unlapped in the dale. * * +Sere downis small on dentilion sprang. +The young green bloomed strawberry leaves amang; +Jimp jeryflowers thereon leaves unshet, +Fresh primrose and the purpour violet; * * +Heavenly lilies, with lockerand toppis white, +Open'd and shew their crestis redemite. * * +A paradise it seemed to draw near +These galyard gardens and each green herbere. +Most amiable wax the emerald meads; +Swarmis soughis throughout the respand reeds, +Over the lochis and the floodis gray, +Searching by kind a place where they should lay. +Phoebus' red fowl,[22] his cural crest can steer, +Oft stretching forth his heckle, crowing clear. +Amid the wortis and the rootis gent +Picking his meat in alleys where he went, +His wivės Toppa and Partolet him by-- +A bird all-time that hauntis bigamy. +The painted powne[23] pacing with plumės gym, +Cast up his tail a proud pleasand wheel-rim, +Yshrouded in his feathering bright and sheen, +Shaping the print of Argus' hundred een. +Among the bowis of the olive twists, +Sere[24] small fowls, working crafty nests, +Endlong the hedges thick, and on rank aiks[25] +Ilk bird rejoicing with their mirthful makes. +In corners and clear fenestres[26] of glass, +Full busily Arachne weaving was, +To knit her nettis and her webbis sly, +Therewith to catch the little midge or fly. +So dusty powder upstours[27] in every street, +While corby gasped for the fervent heat. +Under the boughis bene[28] in lovely vales, +Within fermance and parkis close of pales, +The busteous buckis rakis forth on raw, +Herdis of hartis through the thick wood-shaw. +The young fawns following the dun does, +Kids, skipping through, runnis after roes. +In leisurs and on leais, little lambs +Full tait and trig sought bleating to their dams. +On salt streams wolk[29] Dorida and Thetis, +By running strandis, Nymphis and Naiadis, +Such as we clepe wenches and damasels, +In gersy[30] groves wandering by spring wells; +Of bloomed branches and flowers white and red, +Platting their lusty chaplets for their head. +Some sang ring-songės, dances, leids,[31] and rounds. +With voices shrill, while all thel dale resounds. +Whereso they walk into their carolling, +For amorous lays does all the rockis ring. +One sang, 'The ship sails over the salt faem, +Will bring the merchants and my leman hame.' +Some other sings, 'I will be blithe and light, +My heart is lent upon so goodly wight.'[32] +And thoughtful lovers rounis[33] to and fro, +To leis[34] their pain, and plain their jolly woe; +After their guise, now singing, now in sorrow, +With heartis pensive the long summer's morrow. +Some ballads list indite of his lady; +Some lives in hope; and some all utterly +Despaired is, and so quite out of grace, +His purgatory he finds in every place. * * +Dame Nature's minstrels, on that other part, +Their blissful lay intoning every art, * * +And all small fowlis singis on the spray, +Welcome the lord of light, and lamp of day, +Welcome fosterer of tender herbis green, +Welcome quickener of flourish'd flowers sheen, +Welcome support of every root and vein, +Welcome comfort of all kind fruit and grain, +Welcome the birdis' bield[35] upon the brier, +Welcome master and ruler of the year, +Welcome welfare of husbands at the ploughs, +Welcome repairer of woods, trees, and boughs, +Welcome depainter of the bloomed meads, +Welcome the life of every thing that spreads, +Welcome storer of all kind bestial, +Welcome be thy bright beamis, gladding all. * * + +[1] 'Ished of:' issued from. +[2] 'Unshet:' opened. +[3] 'Spraings:' streaks. +[4] 'Ment:' mingled. +[5] 'Sore:' yellowish brown. +[6] 'Neisthirls:' nostrils. +[7] 'Abulyit:' attired. +[8] 'Lemand:' glittering. +[9] 'Loune:' calm. +[10] 'Sulyart:' sultry. +[11] 'Selcouth:' uncommon. +[12] 'Bews:' boughs. +[13] 'Kirnals:' battlements. +[14] 'Phiol:' cupola. +[15] 'Stage:' storey. +[16] 'Yerd:' earth. +[17] 'Prai:' meadow. +[18] 'Caller humours:' cool vapours. +[19] 'Gersė:' grass. +[20] 'Bourgeons:' sprouts. +[21] 'Ying:' young. +[22] 'Red fowl:' the cook. +[23] 'Powne:' the peacock. +[24] 'Sere:' many. +[25] 'Aiks:' oaks. +[26] 'Fenestres:' windows. +[27] 'Upstours:' rises in clouds. +[28] 'Bene:' snug. +[29] 'Wolk:' walked. +[30] 'Gersy:' grassy. +[31] 'Leids:' lays. +[32] Songs then popular. +[33] 'Rounis:' whisper. +[34] 'Leis:' relieve. +[35] 'Bield:' shelter. + + + + +HAWES, BARCLAY, &c. + + +Stephen Hawes, a native of Suffolk, wrote about the close of the +fifteenth century. He studied at Oxford, and travelled much in France, +where he became a master of French and Italian poetry. King Henry VII., +struck with his conversation and the readiness with which he repeated +old English poets, especially Lydgate, created him groom of the privy +chamber. Hawes has written a number of poems, such as 'The Temple of +Glasse,' 'The Conversion of Swearers,' 'The Consolation of Lovers,' 'The +Pastime of Pleasure,' &c. Those who wish to see specimens of the strange +allegories and curious devices of thought in which it abounds, may find +them in Warton's 'History of English Poetry.' + +In that same valuable work we find an account of Alexander Barclay, author +of 'The Ship of Fools.' He was educated at Oriel College in Oxford, and +after travelling abroad, was appointed one of the priests or prebendaries +of the College of St Mary Ottery, in Devonshire--a parish famous in later +days for the birth of Coleridge. Barclay became afterwards a Benedictine +monk of Ely monastery; and at length a brother of the Order of St Francis, +at Canterbury. He died, a very old man, at Croydon, in Surrey, in the year +1552. His principal work, 'The Ship of Fools,' is a satire upon the vices +and absurdities of his age, and shews considerable wit and power of +sarcasm. + + + + +SKELTON. + + +John Skelton is the name of the next poet. He flourished in the earlier +part of the reign of Henry VIII. Having studied both at Oxford and +Cambridge, and been laureated at the former university in 1489, he was +promoted to the rectory of Diss or Dysse, in Norfolk. Some say he had +acted previously as tutor to Henry VIII. At Dysse he attracted attention +by satirical ballads against the mendicants, as well as by licences of +buffoonery in the pulpit. For these he was censured, and even, it is +said, suspended, by Nykke, Bishop of Norwich. Undaunted by this, he flew +at higher game--ventured to ridicule Cardinal Wolsey, then in his power, +and had to take refuge from the myrmidons of the prelate in Westminster +Abbey. There Abbot Islip kindly entertained and protected him till his +dying day. He breathed his last in the year 1529, and was buried in the +adjacent church of St Margaret's. + +Skelton as well as Barclay enjoyed considerable popularity in his own +age. Erasmus calls him 'Britannicarum literarum lumen et decus!' How +dark must have been the night in which such a Will-o'-wisp was mistaken +for a star! He has wit, indeed, and satirical observation; but his wit +is wilder than it is strong, and his satire is dashed with personality +and obscenity. His style, Campbell observes, is 'almost a texture of +slang phrases, patched with shreds of French and Latin.' His verses on +Margaret Hussey, which we have quoted, are in his happiest vein. The +following lines, too, on Cardinal Wolsey, are as true as they are +terse:-- + + 'Then in the Chamber of Stars + All matter there he mars. + Clapping his rod on the board, + No man dare speak a word. + For he hath all the saying, + Without any renaying. + He rolleth in his recņrds; + He sayeth, How say ye, my Lords? + Is not my reason good? + Good even, good Robin Hood. + Some say, Yes; and some + Sit still, as they were dumb.' + +It is curious that Wolsey's enemies, in one of their charges against him +in the Parliament of 1529, have repeated, almost in the words of Skelton, +the same accusation. + + + TO MISTRESS MARGARET HUSSEY. + + Merry Margaret, + As midsummer flower, + Gentle as falcon, + Or hawk of the tower; + With solace and gladness, + Much mirth and no madness, + All good and no badness; + So joyously, + So maidenly, + So womanly, + Her demeaning, + In everything, + Far, far passing, + That I can indite, + Or suffice to write, + Of merry Margaret, + As midsummer flower, + Gentle as falcon, + Or hawk of the tower; + As patient and as still, + And as full of good-will, + As fair Isiphil, + Coliander, + Sweet Pomander, + Good Cassander; + Steadfast of thought, + Well made, well wrought. + Far may be sought, + Ere you can find + So courteous, so kind, + As merry Margaret, + This midsummer flower, + Gentle as falcon, + Or hawk of the tower. + + + + +SIR DAVID LYNDSAY. + + +Returning to Scotland, we find a Skelton of a higher order and a +brawnier make in Sir David Lyndsay, or, as our forefathers were wont +familiarly to denominate him, 'Davie Lyndsay.' Lyndsay was descended +from a noble family, a younger branch of Lyndsay of the Byres, and born +in 1490, probably at the Mount, the family-seat, near Cupar-Fife. He +entered the University of St Andrews in the year 1505, and four years +later left it to travel in Italy. He must, however, have returned to +Scotland before the 12th of October 1511, since we learn from the +records of the Lord Treasurer that he was presented with a quantity of +'blue and yellow taffety to be a playcoat for the play performed in the +King and Queen's presence in the Abbey of Holyrood.' On the 12th of +April 1512, Lyndsay, then twenty-two years of age, was appointed +gentleman-usher to James V., who had been born that very day. In his +poem called 'The Dream,' he reminds the King of his having borne him +in his arms ere he could walk; of having wrapped him up warmly in his +little bed; of having sung to him with his lute, danced before him to +make him laugh, and having carried him on his shoulders like a 'pedlar +his pack.' He continued to be page and companion to the King till 1524, +when, in consequence of the unprincipled machinations of the Queen- +mother--who was acting as Regent--he, as well as Bellenden, the learned +translator of Livy and Boece, was ejected from his office. When, however, +in 1528, the young King, by a noble effort, emancipated himself from the +thraldom of his mother and the Douglasses, Lyndsay wrote his 'Dream,' in +which, amidst much poetic or fantastic matter, he congratulates James on +his deliverance; reminds him, as aforesaid, of his early services; and +takes occasion to paint the evils the country had endured during his +minority, and to give him some bold and salutary advice as to his future +conduct. The next year (1529) he produced 'The Complaint,' a poem in +which he recurs to former themes, and remonstrates with great freedom +and severity against the treatment he had undergone. Here, too, the +religious reformer peeps out. He exhorts the King to compel the clergy +to attend to the duties of their office; to preach more earnestly; to +administer the sacraments according to the institution of Christ; and not +to deceive their people with superstitious pilgrimages, vain traditions, +and prayers to graven images, contrary to the written command of God. He +with quaint iron says, that if his Grace will lend him + + 'Of gold ane thousand pound or tway,' + +he will give him a sealed bond, obliging himself to repay the loan when +the Bass and the Isle of May are set upon Mount Sinai; or the Lomond +hills, near Falkland, are removed to Northumberland; or + + 'When kirkmen yairnis [desire] na dignity, + Nor wives na soveranitie.' + +Still finer the last lines of the poem. 'If not,' he says, 'my God + + 'Shall cause me stand content + With quiet life and sober rent, + And take me, in my latter age, + Unto my simple hermitage, + To spend the gear my elders won, + As did Diogenes in his tun.' + +This 'Complaint' proved successful, and in the next year (1530) Lyndsay +was appointed Lion King-at-Arms--an office of great dignity in these +days. The Lion was the chief judge of all matters connected with +heraldry in the realm; was also the official ambassador from his +sovereign to foreign countries; and was inaugurated in his office with +a pomp and circumstance little inferior to those of a royal coronation, +the King crowning him with his own hands, anointing him with wine +instead of oil, and putting on his head the Royal Crown of Scotland, +which he continued to wear till the close of the feast. It is of Lyndsay +in the full accoutrements of this office that Sir Walter Scott speaks in +his 'Marmion,' although he antedates by sixteen years the time when he +assumed it:-- + + 'He was a man of middle age, + In aspect manly, grave, and sage, + As on king's errand come; + But in the glances of his eye, + A penetrating, keen, and sly + Expression found its home-- + The flash of that satiric rage + Which, bursting on the early stage, + Branded the vices of the age, + And broke the keys of Rome. + On milk-white palfrey forth he paced; + His cap of maintenance was graced + With the proud heron-plume; + From his steed's shoulder, loin, and breast + Silk housings swept the ground, + With Scotland's arms, device, and crest + Embroider'd round and round. + The double treasure might you see, + First by Achaius borne, + The thistle and the fleur-de-lis, + And gallant unicorn. + So bright the king's armorial coat, + That scarce the dazzled eye could note; + In living colours, blazon'd brave, + The lion, which his title gave. + A train which well beseem'd his state, + But all unarm'd, around him wait; + Still is thy name in high account, + And still thy verse has charms, + Sir David Lyndsay of the Mount, + Lord Lion King-at-Arms.' + +Soon after this appointment, Lyndsay wrote 'The Complaint of the King's +Papingo,' in which, through the mouth of a dying parrot, he gives some +sharp counsel to the king, his courtiers and nobles, and administers +severe satirical chastisement to the corruptions of the clergy. It is an +exceedingly clever production, and has some beautiful poetry as well as +stinging sarcasm. Take the following address to Edinburgh, Stirling, +Linlithgow, and Falkland:-- + + Adieu, Edinburgh! thou high triumphant town, + Within whose bounds right blitheful have I been; + Of true merchandis, the rule of this region, + Most ready to receive court, king, and queen; + Thy policy and justice may be seen; + Were devotion, wisdom, and honesty, + And credence tint, they micht be found in thee. + + Adieu, fair Snawdoun! [Stirling] with thy towers hie, + Thy chapel-royal, park, and table round; + May, June, and July would I dwell in thee, + Were I a man to hear the birdis sound, + Which doth against the royal rock rebound. + Adieu, Lithgow! whose palace of pleasance + Meets not its peer in Portingale or France. + + Farewell, Falkland! the forteress of Fife, + Thy velvet park under the Lomond Law; + Sometime in thee I led a lusty life. + The fallow deer to see them raik on raw [walk in a row], + Caust men to come to thee, they have great awe, &c. + +In the year 1535, Lyndsay wrote his remarkable drama, 'The Satire of the +Three Estates'--Monarch, namely, Barons, and Clergy. It is made up in +nearly three equal parts of ingenuity, wit, and grossness. It is a drama, +and was acted several times--first, in 1535, at Cupar-Fife, on a large +green mound called Moot-hill; then, in 1539, in an open park near +Linlithgow, by the express desire of the king, who with all the ladies +of the Court attended the representation; then in the amphitheatre of +St Johnston in Perth; and in 1554, at Edinburgh, in the village of +Greenside, which skirted the northern base of the Calton Hill, in the +presence of the Queen Regent and an enormous concourse of spectators. +Its exhibition appears to have occupied nearly the whole day. In the +'Pictorial History of Scotland,' chapter xxiv., our readers will find a +full and able analysis with extracts of this extraordinary performance. +It is said to have done much good in opening the eyes of the people to +the evils of the Papacy, and in paving the way for the Reformation. + +In 1536 Sir David, in company with Sir John Campbell of Lundie, was sent +to the Court of France to demand in marriage for James V. a daughter of +the House of Vendome; but the King chose rather to take the matter in +his own hands, and, going over in person, wedded Magdalene, daughter of +Francis. She died two months after her arrival in Scotland, universally +regretted; and Lyndsay made the sad event the subject of a poem, +entitled 'Deploration of the Death of Queen Magdalene,' whom he +designates + + 'The flower of France, and comfort of Scotland.' + +When James subsequently married Mary of Guise, Sir David's ingenuity was +strained to the utmost in providing pageants, masques, and shows to +welcome her Majesty. For forty days in St Andrews, festivities continued; +and it was during this prolonged festival that the Lion King, as if sick +and satiated with vanities, wrote two poems, one entitled 'The Justing +between James Watson and John Barbour,' a dull satire on tournaments, &c., +and the other a somewhat cleverer piece, entitled 'Supplication directed +to the King's Grace in Contemptioun of Side Tails,' the long trains then +worn by the ladies. It met, we presume,with the fate of _Punch's_ sarcasms +against crinoline,--the 'phylacteries' would for a season, instead of +being lessened, be enlarged, till Fashion lifted up her omnipotent rod, +and told it to be otherwise. + +King James died prematurely on the 14th of December 1542, and Lyndsay +closed his eyes at Falkland, and mourned for him as a brother. From that +day forth he probably felt that there was 'less sunshine in the sky for +him.' In the troublous times which succeeded this, he had to retire for +a season from the Court, having become obnoxious to the rigid Papists on +account of his writings. After the death of Cardinal Beatoun he wrote +the tragedy of 'The Cardinal,' a poem in which the spectre of the +Cardinal is the spokesman, and which teems with good advice to all and +sundry. The execution, however, is not so felicitous as the plan. In +1548 Lyndsay went to Denmark to negotiate a free trade with Scotland. On +his return in 1550 he wrote his very pleasing and chivalric 'History of +Squire Meldrum,' founded on the actual adventures of William Meldrum, +the Laird of Cleish and Binns, a distinguished friend of the poet, who +had gained laurels as a warrior both in Scotland and in France. This +poem is, in a measure, an anticipation of the rhymed romances of Scott, +and is full of picturesque description and spirit-stirring adventure. In +1553 he completed his last and most elaborate work, which had occupied +him for years, entitled 'The Monarchic,' containing an account of the +most famous monarchies which have existed on earth, and carrying on the +history to the general judgment. From this date we almost entirely lose +sight of our poet. He seems to have retired into private life, and is +supposed to have died about the close of 1557. He was probably buried in +the family vault at Ceres, but no stone marks the spot. Dying without +issue, his estates passed to his brother Alexander, and were continued +in the possession of his descendants till the middle of last century. +They now belong to the Hopes of Rankeillour. The office of Lord Lion was +held by two of the poet's relatives successively--Sir David, his +nephew, who became Lion King in 1591, and his son-in-law, Sir Jerome +Lyndsay, who succeeded to it in 1621. + +Sir David Lyndsay, unlike most satirists, was a good, a blameless, and a +religious man. The occasional loftiness of his poetic vein, the breadth +of his humour, the purity of his purpose, and his strong reforming zeal +combined to make his poetry exceedingly popular in Scotland for a number +of ages, particularly among the lower orders. Scott introduces Andrew +Fairservice, in 'Rob Roy,' saying, in reference to Francis Osbaldistone's +poetical efforts, 'Gude help him! twa lines o' Davie Lyndsay wad ding a' +he ever clerkit,' and even still there are districts of the country where +his name is a household word. + + +MELDRUM'S DUEL WITH THE ENGLISH CHAMPION TALBART. + +Then clarions and trumpets blew, +And warriors many hither drew; +On every side came many man +To behold who the battle wan. +The field was in the meadow green, +Where every man might well be seen: +The heralds put them so in order, +That no man pass'd within the border, +Nor press'd to come within the green, +But heralds and the champions keen; +The order and the circumstance +Were long to put in remembrance. +When these two noble men of weir +Were well accoutred in their geir, +And in their handis strong burdouns,[1] +Then trumpets blew and clariouns, +And heralds cried high on height, +'Now let them go--God show the right.' + + * * * * * + +Then trumpets blew triumphantly, +And these two champions eagerly, +They spurr'd their horse with spear on breast, +Pertly[2] to prove their pith they press'd. +That round rink-room[3] was at utterance, +But Talbart's horse with a mischance +He outterit,[4] and to run was loth; +Whereof Talbart was wonder wroth. +The Squier forth his rink[5] he ran, +Commended well with every man, +And him discharged of his spear +Honestly, like a man of weir. + + * * * * * + +The trenchour[6] of the Squier's spear +Stuck still into Sir Talbart's geir; +Then every man into that stead[7] +Did all believe that he was dead. +The Squier leap'd right hastily +From his courser deliverly,[8] +And to Sir Talbart made support, +And humillie[9] did him comfort. +When Talbart saw into his shield +An otter in a silver field, +'This race,' said he, 'I sore may rue, +For I see well my dream was true; +Methought yon otter gart[10] me bleed, +And bore me backward from my steed; +But here I vow to God soverain, +That I shall never joust again.' +And sweetly to the Squier said, +'Thou know'st the cunning[11] that we made, +Which of us two should tyne[12] the field, +He should both horse and armour yield +To him that won, wherefore I will +My horse and harness give thee till.' +Then said the Squier, courteously, +'Brother, I thank you heartfully; +Of you, forsooth, nothing I crave, +For I have gotten that I would have.' + +[1] 'Burdouns:' spears. +[2] 'Pertly:' boldly. +[3] 'Rink-room:' course-room. +[4] 'Outterit:' swerved. +[5] 'Kink:' course. +[6] 'Trencliour:' head. +[7] 'Stead:' place. +[8] 'Deliverly:' actively. +[9] 'Humillie:' humbly. +[10] 'Gart:' made. +[11] 'Cunning:' agreement. +[12] 'Tyne:' lose. + + +SUPPLICATION IN CONTEMPTION OF SIDE TAILS,[1] (1538.) + +Sovereign, I mene[2] of these side tails, +Whilk through the dust and dubbės trails, +Three quarters lang behind their heels, +Express against all commonweals. +Though bishops, in their pontificals, +Have men for to bear up their tails, +For dignity of their office; +Right so a queen or an emprice; +Howbeit they use such gravity, +Conforming to their majesty, +Though their robe-royals be upborne, +I think it is a very scorn, +That every lady of the land +Should have her tail so side trailand; +Howbeit they be of high estate, +The queen they should not counterfeit. + +Wherever they go it may be seen +How kirk and causey they sweep clean. +The images into the kirk +May think of their side tailės irk;[3] +For when the weather be most fair, +The dust flies highest into the air, +And all their faces does begary, +If they could speak, they would them wary. * * +But I have most into despite +Poor claggocks[4] clad in raploch[5] white, +Whilk has scant two merks for their fees, +Will have two ells beneath their knees. +Kittock that cleckit[6] was yestreen, +The morn will counterfeit the queen. * * +In barn nor byre she will not bide, +Without her kirtle tail be side. +In burghs, wanton burgess wives +Who may have sidest tailės strives, +Well bordered with velvet fine, +But following them it is a pine: +In summer, when the streetės dries, +They raise the dust above the skies; +None may go near them at their ease, +Without they cover mouth and neese. * * +I think most pain after a rain, +To see them tucked up again; +Then when they step forth through the street, +Their faldings flaps about their feet; +They waste more cloth, within few years, +Nor would cleid[7] fifty score of freirs. * * +Of tails I will no more indite, +For dread some duddron[8] me despite: +Notwithstanding, I will conclude, +That of side tails can come no good, +Sider nor[9] may their ankles hide, +The remanent proceeds of pride, +And pride proceedis of the devil; +Thus alway they proceed of evil. + +Another fault, Sir, may be seen, +They hide their face all but the een; +When gentlemen bid them good-day, +Without reverence they slide away. * * +Without their faults be soon amended, +My flyting,[10] Sir, shall never be ended; +But would your grace my counsel take, +A proclamation ye should make, +Both through the land and burrowstowns, +To show their face and cut their gowns. +Women will say, This is no bourds,[11] +To write such vile and filthy words; +But would they cleanse their filthy tails, +Whilk over the mires and middings[12] trails, +Then should my writing cleansed be, +None other' mends they get of me. + +Quoth Lyndsay, in contempt of the side tails, +That duddrons[13] and duntibours[14] through the dubbės trails. + +[1] 'Side tails:' long skirts. +[2] 'Mene:' complain. +[3] 'Irk:' May feel annoyed. +[4] 'Claggocks:' draggle-tails. +[5] 'Raploch:' homespun. +[6] 'Cleckit:' born. +[7] 'Cleid:' clothe. +[8] 'Duddron:' slut. +[9] 'Nor:' than. +[10] 'Flyting:' scolding. +[11] 'Bourds:' jest. +[12] 'Middings:' dunghills. +[13] 'Duddrons:' sluts. +[14] 'Duntibours:' harlots. + + + + +THOMAS TUSSER. + + +Of Tusser we know only that he was horn in the year 1523, was well +educated, commenced life as a courtier under the patronage of Lord +Paget, but became a farmer, pursuing agriculture at Ratwood in Sussex, +Ipswich, Fairsted in Essex, Norwich, and other places; that he was not +successful, and had to betake himself to other occupations, such as +those of a chorister, fiddler, &c.; and that, finally, he died a poor +man in London in the year 1580. Tusser has left only one work, published +in 1557, entitled 'A Hundred Good Points of Husbandrie,' written in +simple but sometimes strong verse. It is our first, and not our worst +didactic poem. + + +DIRECTIONS FOR CULTIVATING A HOP-GARDEN. + +Whom fancy persuadeth, among other crops, +To have for his spending sufficient of hops, +Must willingly follow, of choices to choose, +Such lessons approved as skilful do use. + +Ground gravelly, sandy, and mixed with clay, +Is naughty for hops, any manner of way. +Or if it be mingled with rubbish and stone, +For dryness and barrenness let it alone. + +Choose soil for the hop of the rottenest mould, +Well dunged and wrought, as a garden-plot should; +Not far from the water, but not overflown, +This lesson, well noted, is meet to be known. + +The sun in the south, or else southly and west, +Is joy to the hop, as a welcomed guest; +But wind in the north, or else northerly east, +To the hop is as ill as a fray in a feast. + +Meet plot for a hop-yard once found as is told, +Make thereof account, as of jewel of gold; +Now dig it, and leave it, the sun for to burn, +And afterwards fence it, to serve for that turn. + +The hop for his profit I thus do exalt, +It strengtheneth drink, and it favoureth malt; +And being well brew'd, long kept it will last, +And drawing abide--if ye draw not too fast. + + +HOUSEWIFELY PHYSIC. + +Good housewife provides, ere a sickness do come, +Of sundry good things in her house to have some. +Good _aqua composita_, and vinegar tart, +Rose-water, and treacle, to comfort thine heart. +Cold herbs in her garden, for agues that burn, +That over-strong heat to good temper may turn. +White endive, and succory, with spinach enow; +All such with good pot-herbs, should follow the plough. +Get water of fumitory, liver to cool, +And others the like, or else lie like a fool. +Conserves of barbary, quinces, and such, +With sirops, that easeth the sickly so much. +Ask _Medicus'_ counsel, ere medicine ye take, +And honour that man for necessity's sake. +Though thousands hate physic, because of the cost, +Yet thousands it helpeth, that else should be lost. +Good broth, and good keeping, do much now and than: +Good diet, with wisdom, best comforteth man. +In health, to be stirring shall profit thee best; +In sickness, hate trouble; seek quiet and rest. +Remember thy soul; let no fancy prevail; +Make ready to God-ward; let faith never quail: +The sooner thyself thou submittest to God, +The sooner he ceaseth to scourge with his rod. + + +MORAL REFLECTIONS ON THE WIND. + +Though winds do rage, as winds were wood,[1] +And cause spring-tides to raise great flood; +And lofty ships leave anchor in mud, +Bereaving many of life and of blood: +Yet, true it is, as cow chews cud, +And trees, at spring, doth yield forth bud, +Except wind stands as never it stood, +It is an ill wind turns none to good. + +[1] 'Wood:' mad. + + + + +VAUX, EDWARDS, &c. + + +In Tottell's 'Miscellany,' the first of the sort in the English language, +published in 1557, although the names of many of the authors are not +given, the following writers are understood to have contributed:--Sir +Francis Bryan, a friend of Wyatt's, one of the principal ornaments of the +Court of Henry VIII., and who died, in 1548, Chief Justiciary of Ireland; +George Boleyn, Earl of Rochford, the amiable brother of the famous Anne +Boleyn, and who fell a victim to the insane jealousy of Henry, being +beheaded in 1536; and Lord Thomas Vaux, son of Nicholas Vaux, who died +in the latter end of Queen Mary's reign. In the same Miscellany is found +'Phillide and Harpalus,' the 'first true pastoral,' says Warton, 'in the +English language,' (see 'Specimens.') To it are annexed, too, a +collection of 'Songes, written by N. G.,' which means Nicholas Grimoald, +an Oxford man, renowned for his rhetorical lectures in Christ Church, +and for being, after Surrey, our first writer of blank verse, in the +modulation of which he excelled even Surrey. Henry himself, who was an +expert musician, is said also to have composed a book of sonnets and one +madrigal in praise of Anne Boleyn. In the same reign occur the names of +Borde, Bale, Bryan, Annesley, John Rastell, Wilfred Holme, and Charles +Bansley, all writers of minor and forgotten poems. John Heywood, called +the Epigrammatist, was of a somewhat higher order. He was the favourite +of Sir Thomas More and the pensioner of Henry VIII. He gained favour +partly through his conversational humour, and partly through his writings. +He is the author of various comedies; of six hundred epigrams, most of +them very poor; of a dialogue, in verse, containing all the proverbs then +afloat in the language; of an apologue, entitled 'The Spider and the Fly,' +&c. Heywood, who was a rigid Papist, left the kingdom after the decease +of Queen Mary, and died at Mechlin, in Brabant, in 1565. Warton has +preserved some specimens of Sir Thomas More's poetry, which do not add +much to our conception of his genius. In 1542, one Robert Vaughan wrote +an alliterative poem, entitled 'The Falcon and the Pie.' In 1521, 'The +Not-browne Maid,' (given by us in 'Percy's Reliques,') appeared in a +curious collection, called 'Arnolde's Chronicle, or Customs of London.' +In the same year Wynkyn de Worde printed a set of 'Christmas Carols,' and +in 1529 'A Treatise of Merlin, or his Prophecies in Verse.' In Henry's +days, too, there commences the long line of translators of the Psalms +into English metre, commencing with Thomas Sternhold, groom of the robes +to the King, who versified fifty-one psalms, which were published in 1549, +and with John Hopkins, a clergyman and schoolmaster in Suffolk, who added +fifty-eight more, and progressing with Whyttingham, Thomas Norton, (the +joint author, along with Lord Buckhurst, of the curious old tragedy of +'Gorboduc,') Robert Wisdome, William Hunnis, William Baldwyn, Parker, the +scholarly and celebrated Archbishop of Canterbury, &c. &c. Parker trans- +lated all the Psalms himself; and John Day published in 1562, and attached +to the Book of Common Prayer, the whole of Sternhold and Hopkins' 'Psalms, +with apt notes to sing them withall.' In Edward's reign appeared a very +different strain--the first drinking-song of merit in the language, 'Back +and sides go bare'--(see 'Specimens,' vol. 2.) This song occurs at the +opening of the second act of 'Gammer Gurton's Needle,' a comedy written +(by a 'Mr S.') and printed in 1551, and afterwards acted at Christ's +College in Cambridge. + +In the reign of Mary, flourished Richard Edwards, a man of no small +versatility of genius. He was a native of Somersetshire, was born about +1523, and died in 1566. He wrote two comedies, one entitled 'Damon and +Pythias,' and the other 'Palamon and Arcité,' both of which were acted +before Queen Elizabeth. He also contrived masques and wrote verses for +pageants, and is said to have been the first fiddler, the most elegant +sonnetteer, and the most amusing mimic of the Court. He is the author of +a pleasing poem, entitled 'Amantium irae,' and of some lines under the +title, 'He requesteth some friendly comfort, affirming his constancy.' +We quote a few of them:-- + + 'The mountains nigh, whose lofty tops do meet the haughty sky, + The craggy rock, that to the sea free passage doth deny, + The aged oak, that doth resist the force of blust'ring blast, + The pleasant herb, that everywhere a pleasant smell doth cast, + The lion's force, whose courage stout declares a prince-like might, + The eagle, that for worthiness is borne of kings in fight-- + Then these, I say, and thousands more, by tract of time decay, + And, like to time, do quite consume and fade from form to clay; + But my true heart and service vow'd shall last time out of mind, + And still remain, as thine by doom, as Cupid hath assign'd.' + +Edwards also contributed some beautiful things to the well-known old +collection, 'The Paradise of Dainty Devices.' + + + + +GEORGE GASCOIGNE. + + +Gascoigne was born in 1540, in Essex, of an ancient family. He was +educated at Cambridge, and entered at Gray's Inn, but was disinherited +by his father for extravagance, and betook himself to Holland, where +he obtained a commission from the Prince of Orange. After various +vicissitudes of fortune, being at one time taken prisoner by the +Spaniards, and at another receiving a reward from the Prince of three +hundred guilders above his pay for his brave conduct at the siege of +Middleburg, he returned to England. In 1575, he accompanied Queen +Elizabeth in one of her progresses, and wrote for her a mask, entitled +'The Princely Pleasures of Kenilworth.' He is said to have died at +Stamford in 1578. He is the author of two or three translated dramas, +such as 'The Supposes,' a comedy from Ariosto, and 'Jocasta,' a tragedy +from Euripides, besides some graceful and lively minor pieces, one or +two of which we append. + + +GOOD-MORROW. + +You that have spent the silent night + In sleep and quiet rest, +And joy to see the cheerful light + That riseth in the east; +Now clear your voice, now cheer your heart, + Come help me now to sing: +Each willing wight come, bear a part, + To praise the heavenly King. + +And you whom care in prison keeps, + Or sickness doth suppress, +Or secret sorrow breaks your sleeps, + Or dolours do distress; +Yet bear a part in doleful wise, + Yea, think it good accord, +And acceptable sacrifice, + Each sprite to praise the Lord. + +The dreadful night with darksomeness + Had overspread the light; +And sluggish sleep with drowsiness + Had overpress'd our might: +A glass wherein you may behold + Each storm that stops our breath, +Our bed the grave, our clothes like mould, + And sleep like dreadful death. + +Yet as this deadly night did last + But for a little space, +And heavenly day, now night is past, + Doth show his pleasant face: +So must we hope to see God's face, + At last in heaven on high, +When we have changed this mortal place + For immortality. + +And of such haps and heavenly joys + As then we hope to hold, +All earthly sights, and worldly toys, + Are tokens to behold. +The day is like the day of doom, + The sun, the Son of man; +The skies, the heavens; the earth, the tomb, + Wherein we rest till than. + +The rainbow bending in the sky, + Bedcck'd with sundry hues, +Is like the seat of God on high, + And seems to tell these news: +That as thereby He promised + To drown the world no more, +So by the blood which Christ hath shed, + He will our health restore. + +The misty clouds that fall sometime, + And overcast the skies, +Are like to troubles of our time, + Which do but dim our eyes. +But as such dews are dried up quite, + When Phoebus shows his face, +So are such fancies put to flight, + Where God doth guide by grace. + +The carrion crow, that loathsome beast, + Which cries against the rain, +Both for her hue, and for the rest, + The devil resembleth plain: +And as with guns we kill the crow, + For spoiling our relief, +The devil so must we o'erthrow, + With gunshot of belief. + +The little birds which sing so sweet, + Are like the angels' voice, +Which renders God His praises meet, + And teach[1] us to rejoice: +And as they more esteem that mirth, + Than dread the night's annoy, +So much we deem our days on earth + But hell to heavenly joy. + +Unto which joys for to attain, + God grant us all His grace, +And send us, after worldly pain, + In heaven to have a place, +When we may still enjoy that light, + Which never shall decay: +Lord, for thy mercy lend us might, + To see that joyful day. + +[1] 'Teach:' _for_ teacheth. + + +GOOD-NIGHT. + +When thou hast spent the ling'ring day + In pleasure and delight, +Or after toil and weary way, + Dost seek to rest at night; +Unto thy pains or pleasures past, + Add this one labour yet, +Ere sleep close up thine eyes too fast, + Do not thy God forget, + +But search within thy secret thoughts, + What deeds did thee befall, +And if thou find amiss in aught, + To God for mercy call. +Yea, though thou findest nought amiss + Which thou canst call to mind, +Yet evermore remember this, + There is the more behind: + +And think how well soe'er it be + That thou hast spent the day, +It came of God, and not of thee, + So to direct thy way. +Thus if thou try thy daily deeds, + And pleasure in this pain, +Thy life shall cleanse thy corn from weeds, + And thine shall be the gain: + +But if thy sinful, sluggish eye, + Will venture for to wink, +Before thy wading will may try + How far thy soul may sink, +Beware and wake,[1] for else thy bed, + Which soft and smooth is made, +May heap more harm upon thy head + Than blows of en'my's blade. + +Thus if this pain procure thine ease, + In bed as thou dost lie, +Perhaps it shall not God displease, + To sing thus soberly: +'I see that sleep is lent me here, + To ease my weary bones, +As death at last shall eke appear, + To ease my grievous groans. + +'My daily sports, my paunch full fed, + Have caused my drowsy eye, +As careless life, in quiet led, + Might cause my soul to die: +The stretching arms, the yawning breath, + Which I to bedward use, +Are patterns of the pangs of death, + When life will me refuse; + +'And of my bed each sundry part, + In shadows, doth resemble +The sundry shapes of death, whose dart + Shall make my flesh to tremble. +My bed it safe is, like the grave, + My sheets the winding-sheet, +My clothes the mould which I must have, + To cover me most meet. + +'The hungry fleas, which frisk so fresh, + To worms I can compare, +Which greedily shall gnaw my flesh, + And leave the bones full bare: +The waking cock that early crows, + To wear the night away, +Puts in my mind the trump that blows + Before the latter day. + +'And as I rise up lustily, + When sluggish sleep is past, +So hope I to rise joyfully, + To judgment at the last. +Thus will I wake, thus will I sleep, + Thus will I hope to rise, +Thus will I neither wail nor weep, + But sing in godly wise. + +'My bones shall in this bed remain + My soul in God shall trust, +By whom I hope to rise again + From, death and earthly dust.' + +[1] 'Wake:' watch. + + + + +THOMAS SACKVILLE, LORD BUCKHURST AND EARL OF DORSET. + + +This was a man of remarkable powers. He was the son of Sir Richard +Sackville, and born at Withyam, in Sussex, in 1527. He was educated and +became distinguished at both the universities. While a student of the +Inner Temple, he wrote, some say in conjunction with Thomas Norton, the +tragedy of 'Gorboduc,' which is probably the earliest original tragedy +in the English language. It was first played as part of a Christmas +entertainment by the young students, and subsequently before Queen +Elizabeth at Whitehall in 1561. Sackville was elected to Parliament when +thirty years of age. In the same year (1557) he formed the plan of a +magnificent poem, which, had he fully accomplished it, would have ranked +his name with Dante, Spenser, and Bunyan. This was his 'Mirrour for +Magistrates,' a poem intended to celebrate the chief of the illustrious +unfortunates in British history, such as King Richard II., Owen Glendower, +James I. of Scotland, Henry VI., Jack Cade, the Duke of Buckingham, &c., +in a series of legends, supposed to be spoken by the characters them- +selves, and with epilogues interspersed to connect the stories. The work +aspired to be the English 'Decameron' of doom, and the part of it extant +is truly called by Campbell 'a bold and gloomy landscape, on which the +sun never shines.' Sackville had coadjutors in the work, all men of +considerable mark, such as Skelton, Baldwyn, a learned ecclesiastic, and +Ferrers, a man of rank. The first edition of the 'Mirrour for Magistrates' +appeared in 1559, and was wholly composed by Baldwyn and Ferrers. In the +second, which was issued in 1563, appeared the 'Induction and Legend of +Henry Duke of Buckingham' from Sackville's own pen. He lays the scene in +hell, and descends there under the guidance of Sorrow. His pictures are +more condensed than those of Spenser, although less so than those of Dante, +and are often startling in their power, and deep, desolate grandeur. Take +this, for instance, of 'Old Age:'-- + + 'Crook-back'd he was, tooth-shaken, and blear-eyed, + Went on three feet, and sometime crept on four, + With old lame bones, that rattled by his side; + His scalp all piled, and he with eld forelore, + _His wither'd fist still knocking at Deaths door;_ + Fumbling and drivelling, as he draws his breath; + For brief--the shape and messenger of Death.' + +Politics diverted Sackville from poetry. This is deeply to be regretted, +as his poetic gift was of a very rare order. In 1566, on the death of his +father, he was promoted to the title of Lord Buckhurst. In the fourteenth +year of Elizabeth's reign he was employed by her in an embassy to Charles +IX. of France. In 1587 he went as an ambassador to the United Provinces. +He was subsequently made Knight of the Garter and Chancellor of Oxford. On +the death of Lord Burleigh he became Lord High Treasurer of England. In +March 1604 he was created Earl of Dorset by James I., but died suddenly +soon after, at the council table, of a disease of the brain. He was, as a +statesman, almost immaculate in reputation. Like Burke and Canning, in +later days, he carried taste and literary exactitude into his political +functions, and, on account of his eloquence, was called 'the Bell of the +Star-Chamber.' Even in that Augustan age of our history, and in that most +brilliantly intellectual Court, it may be doubted if, with the sole +exception of Lord Bacon, there was a man to be compared to Thomas +Sackville for genius. + + +ALLEGORICAL CHARACTERS FROM THE MIRROR FOR MAGISTRATES. + +And first, within the porch and jaws of hell, +Sat deep Remorse of Conscience, all besprent +With tears; and to herself oft would she tell +Her wretchedness, and, cursing, never stent +To sob and sigh, but ever thus lament +With thoughtful care; as she that, all in vain, +Would wear and waste continually in pain: + +Her eyes unsteadfast, rolling here and there, +Whirl'd on each place, as place that vengeance brought, +So was her mind continually in fear, +Toss'd and tormented with the tedious thought +Of those detested crimes which she had wrought; +With dreadful cheer, and looks thrown to the sky, +Wishing for death, and yet she could not die. + +Next saw we Dread, all trembling how he shook, +With foot uncertain, proffer'd here and there; +Benumb'd with speech; and, with a ghastly look, +Search'd every place, all pale and dead for fear, +His cap borne up with staring of his hair; +'Stoin'd and amaz'd at his own shade for dread, +And fearing greater dangers than was need. + +And next, within the entry of this lake, +Sat fell Revenge, gnashing her teeth for ire; +Devising means how she may vengeance take; +Never in rest, till she have her desire; +But frets within so far forth with the fire +Of wreaking flames, that now determines she +To die by death, or Veng'd by death to be. + +When fell Revenge, with bloody foul pretence, +Had show'd herself, as next in order set, +With trembling limbs we softly parted thence, +Till in our eyes another set we met; +When from my heart a sigh forthwith I fet, +Ruing, alas! upon the woeful plight +Of Misery, that next appear'd in sight: + +His face was lean, and some deal pined away +And eke his hands consumed to the bone; +But what his body was I cannot say, +For on his carcase raiment had he none, +Save clouts and patches pieced one by one; +With staff in hand, and scrip on shoulders cast, +His chief defence against the winter's blast: + +His food, for most, was wild fruits of the tree, +Unless sometime some crumbs fell to his share, +Which in his wallet long, God wot, kept he, +As on the which full daint'ly would he fare; +His drink, the running stream, his cup, the bare +Of his palm closed; his bed, the hard cold ground: +To this poor life was Misery ybound. + +Whose wretched state when we had well beheld, +With tender ruth on him, and on his feres, +In thoughtful cares forth then our pace we held; +And, by and by, another shape appears +Of greedy Care, still brushing up the briers; +His knuckles knob'd, his flesh deep dinted in +With tawed hands, and hard ytanned skin: + +The morrow gray no sooner hath begun +To spread his light e'en peeping in our eyes, +But he is up, and to his work yrun; +But let the night's black misty mantles rise, +And with foul dark never so much disguise +The fair bright day, yet ceaseth he no while, +But hath his candles to prolong his toil. + +By him lay heavy Sleep, the cousin of Death, +Flat on the ground, and still as any stone, +A very corpse, save yielding forth a breath; +Small keep took he, whom Fortune frowned on, +Or whom she lifted up into the throne +Of high renown, but, as a living death, +So dead alive, of life he drew the breath: + +The body's rest, the quiet of the heart, +The travel's ease, the still night's fere was he, +And of our life in earth the better part; +Riever of sight, and yet in whom we see +Things oft that [tyde] and oft that never be; +Without respect, esteeming equally +King Croesus' pomp and Irus' poverty. + +And next in order sad, Old Age we found: +His beard all hoar, his eyes hollow and blind; +With drooping cheer still poring on the ground, +As on the place where nature him assign'd +To rest, when that the sisters had untwined +His vital thread, and ended with their knife +The fleeting course of fast declining life: + +There heard we him with broke and hollow plaint. +Rue with himself his end approaching fast, +And all for nought his wretched mind torment +With sweet remembrance of his pleasures past. +And fresh delights of lusty youth forewaste; +Recounting which, how would he sob and shriek, +And to be young again of Jove beseek! + +But, an the cruel fates so fixed be +That time forepast cannot return again, +This one request of Jove yet prayed he +That in such wither'd plight, and wretched pain, +As eld, accompanied with her loathsome train, +Had brought on him, all were it woe and grief, +He might a while yet linger forth his life, + +And not so soon descend into the pit; +Where Death, when he the mortal corpse hath slain, +With reckless hand in grave doth cover it: +Thereafter never to enjoy again +The gladsome light, but, in the ground ylain, +In depth of darkness waste and wear to nought, +As he had ne'er into the world been brought: + +But who had seen him sobbing how he stood +Unto himself, and how he would bemoan +His youth forepast--as though it wrought him good +To talk of youth, all were his youth foregone-- +He would have mused, and marvell'd much whereon +This wretched Age should life desire so fain, +And knows full well life doth but length his pain: + +Crook-back'd he was, tooth-shaken, and blear-eyed; +Went on three feet, and sometime crept on four; +With old lame bones, that rattled by his side; +His scalp all piled,[1] and he with eld forelore, +His wither'd fist still knocking at death's door; +Fumbling, and drivelling, as he draws his breath; +For brief, the shape and messenger of Death. + +And fast by him pale Malady was placed: +Sore sick in bed, her colour all foregone; +Bereft of stomach, savour, and of taste, +Ne could she brook no meat but broths alone; +Her breath corrupt; her keepers every one +Abhorring her; her sickness past recure, +Detesting physic, and all physic's cure. + +But, oh, the doleful sight that then we see! +We turn'd our look, and on the other side +A grisly shape of Famine might we see: +With greedy looks, and gaping mouth, that cried +And roar'd for meat, as she should there have died; +Her body thin and bare as any bone, +Whereto was left nought but the case alone. + +And that, alas! was gnawen everywhere, +All full of holes; that I ne might refrain +From tears, to see how she her arms could tear, +And with her teeth gnash on the bones in vain, +When, all for nought, she fain would so sustain +Her starven corpse, that rather seem'd a shade +Than any substance of a creature made: + +Great was her force, whom stone-wall could not stay: +Her tearing nails snatching at all she saw; +With gaping jaws, that by no means ymay +Be satisfied from hunger of her maw, +But eats herself as she that hath no law; +Gnawing, alas! her carcase all in vain, +Where you may count each sinew, bone, and vein. + +On her while we thus firmly fix'd our eyes, +That bled for ruth of such a dreary sight, +Lo, suddenly she shriek'd in so huge wise +As made hell-gates to shiver with the might; +Wherewith, a dart we saw, how it did light +Right on her breast, and, therewithal, pale Death +Enthirling[2] it, to rieve her of her breath: + +And, by and by, a dumb dead corpse we saw, +Heavy and cold, the shape of Death aright, +That daunts all earthly creatures to his law, +Against whose force in vain it is to fight; +No peers, nor princes, nor no mortal wight, +No towns, nor realms, cities, nor strongest tower, +But all, perforce, must yield unto his power: + +His dart, anon, out of the corpse he took, +And in his hand (a dreadful sight to see) +With great triumph eftsoons the same he shook, +That most of all my fears affrayed me; +His body dight with nought but bones, pardy; +The naked shape of man there saw I plain, +All save the flesh, the sinew, and the vein. + +Lastly, stood War, in glittering arms yclad, +With visage grim, stern look, and blackly hued: +In his right hand a naked sword he had, +That to the hilts was all with blood imbrued; +And in his left (that kings and kingdoms rued) +Famine and fire he held, and therewithal +He razed towns, and threw down towers and all: + +Cities he sack'd, and realms (that whilom flower'd +In honour, glory, and rule, above the rest) +He overwhelm'd, and all their fame devour'd, +Consumed, destroy'd, wasted, and never ceased, +Till he their wealth, their name, and all oppress'd: +His face forhew'd with wounds; and by his side +There hung his targe, with gashes deep and wide. + +[1] 'Piled:' bare. +[2] 'Enthirling:' piercing. + + +HENRY DUKE OP BUCKINGHAM IN THE INFERNAL REGIONS. + +Then first came Henry Duke of Buckingham, +His cloak of black all piled,[1] and quite forlorn, +Wringing his hands, and Fortune oft doth blame, +Which of a duke had made him now her scorn; +With ghastly looks, as one in manner lorn, +Oft spread his arms, stretch'd hands he joins as fast +With rueful cheer, and vapour'd eyes upcast. + +His cloak he rent, his manly breast he beat; +His hair all torn, about the place it lain: +My heart so molt to see his grief so great, +As feelingly, methought, it dropp'd away: +His eyes they whirl'd about withouten stay: +With stormy sighs the place did so complain, +As if his heart at each had burst in twain. + +Thrice he began to tell his doleful tale, +And thrice the sighs did swallow up his voice; +At each of which he shrieked so withal, +As though the heavens rived with the noise; +Till at the last, recovering of his voice, +Supping the tears that all his breast berain'd, +On cruel Fortune weeping thus he plain'd. + +[1] 'Piled:' bare. + + + + +JOHN HARRINGTON. + + +Of Harrington we know only that he was born in 1534 and died in 1582; that +he was imprisoned in the Tower by Queen Mary for holding correspondence +with Elizabeth; and after the accession of the latter to the throne, was +favoured and promoted by her; and that he has written some pretty verses +of an amatory kind. + + +SONNET ON ISABELLA MARKHAM, + +WHEN I FIRST THOUGHT HER FAIR, AS SHE STOOD AT THE PRINCESS'S WINDOW, +IN GOODLY ATTIRE, AND TALKED TO DIVERS IN THE COURT-YARD. + +Whence comes my love? O heart, disclose; +It was from cheeks that shamed the rose, +From lips that spoil the ruby's praise, +From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze: +Whence comes my woe? as freely own; +Ah me! 'twas from a heart like stone. + +The blushing cheek speaks modest mind, +The lips befitting words most kind, +The eye does tempt to love's desire, +And seems to say, ''Tis Cupid's fire;' +Yet all so fair but speak my moan, +Since nought doth say the heart of stone. + +Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak +Sweet eye, sweet lip, sweet blushing cheek +Yet not a heart to save my pain; +O Venus, take thy gifts again; +Make not so fair to cause our moan, +Or make a heart that's like our own. + + +VERSES ON A MOST STONY-HEARTED MAIDEN WHO DID SORELY +BEGUILE THE NOBLE KNIGHT, MY TRUE FRIEND. + +I. + +Why didst thou raise such woeful wail, +And waste in briny tears thy days? +'Cause she that wont to flout and rail, +At last gave proof of woman's ways; +She did, in sooth, display the heart +That might have wrought thee greater smart. + +II. + +Why, thank her then, not weep or moan; +Let others guard their careless heart, +And praise the day that thus made known +The faithless hold on woman's art; +Their lips can gloze and gain such root, +That gentle youth hath hope of fruit. + +III. + +But, ere the blossom fair doth rise, +To shoot its sweetness o'er the taste, +Creepeth disdain in canker-wise, +And chilling scorn the fruit doth blast: +There is no hope of all our toil; +There is no fruit from such a soil. + +IV. + +Give o'er thy plaint, the danger's o'er; +She might have poison'd all thy life; +Such wayward mind had bred thee more +Of sorrow, had she proved thy wife: +Leave her to meet all hopeless meed, +And bless thyself that so art freed. + +V. + +No youth shall sue such one to win. +Unmark'd by all the shining fair, +Save for her pride and scorn, such sin +As heart of love can never bear; +Like leafless plant in blasted shade, +So liveth she--a barren maid. + + + + +SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. + + +All hail to Sidney!--the pink of chivalry--the hero of Zutphen--the author +of the 'Arcadia,'--the gifted, courteous, genial and noble-minded man! He +was born November 29, 1554, at Penshurst, Kent. His father's name was +Henry. He studied at Shrewsbury, at Trinity College, Cambridge, and at +Christ Church, Oxford. At the age of eighteen he set out on his travels, +and, in the course of three years, visited France, Flanders, Germany, +Hungary, and Italy. On his return he was introduced at Court, and became a +favourite with Queen Elizabeth, who sent him on an embassy to Germany. He +returned home, and shortly after had a quarrel at a tournament with Lord +Oxford. But for the interference of the Queen, a duel would have taken +place. Sidney was displeased at the issue of the affair, and retired, in +1580, to Wilton, in Wiltshire, where he wrote his famous 'Arcadia,'--that +true prose-poem, and a work which, with all its faults, no mere sulky and +spoiled child (as some have called him in the matter of this retreat) +could ever have produced. This production, written as an outflow of his +mind in its self-sought solitude, was never meant for publication, and did +not appear till after its author's death. As it was written partly for his +sister's amusement, he entitled it 'The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia.' +In 1581, Sidney reappeared in Court, and distinguished himself in the +jousts and tournaments celebrated in honour of the Duke of Anjou; and on +the return of that prince to the Continent, he accompanied him to Antwerp. +In 1583 he received the honour of knighthood. He published about this time +a tract entitled 'The Defence of Poesy,' which abounds in the element the +praise of which it celebrates, and which is, besides, distinguished by +acuteness of argument and felicity of expression. In 1585 he was named one +of the candidates for the crown of Poland; but Queen Elizabeth, afraid of +'losing the jewel of her times,' prevented him from accepting this honour, +and prevented him also from accompanying Sir Francis Drake on an +expedition against the Spanish settlements in America. In the same year, +however, she made him Governor of Flushing, and subsequently General of +the Cavalry, under his uncle, the Earl of Leicester, who commanded the +troops sent to assist the oppressed Dutch Protestants against the +Spaniards. Here our hero greatly distinguished himself, particularly when +capturing, in 1586, the town of Axel. His career, however, was destined +to be short. On the 22d of September of the same year he accidentally +encountered a convoy of the enemy marching toward Zutphen. In the +engagement which followed, his party triumphed; but their brave commander +received a shot in the thigh, which shattered the bone. As he was carried +from the field, overcome with thirst, he called for water, but while about +to apply it to his lips, he saw a wounded soldier carried by who was +eagerly eyeing the cup. Sidney, perceiving this, instantly delivered to +him the water, saying, in words which would have made an ordinary man +immortal, but which give Sir Philip a twofold immortality, 'Thy necessity +is greater than mine.' He was carried to Arnheim, and lingered on till +October 17, when he died. He was only thirty-two years of age. His death +was an earthquake at home. All England wore mourning for him. Queen +Elizabeth ordered his remains to be carried to London, and to receive a +public funeral in St Paul's. He was identified with the land's Poetry, +Politeness, and Protestantism; and all who admired any of the three, +sorrowed for Sidney. + +Sidney's 'Sonnets and other Poems' contain much that is quaint, but also +much that is beautiful and true; yet they are the least poetical of his +works. His 'Arcadia' is a glorious unfinished and unpolished wilderness +of fancy. It is a vineyard, the scattered clusters of which are so heavy, +that, like the grapes of Eshcol of old, they must be carried on a staff. +Here is one of those rich clusters:-- + + 'There were hills, which garnished their proud heights with stately + trees; humble valleys, whose base estate seemed comforted with the + refreshing of silver rivers; meadows, enamelled with all sorts of + eye-pleasing flowers; thickets, which, being lined with most pleasant + shade, were witnessed so, too, by the cheerful disposition of many + well-tuned birds; each pasture stored with sheep, feeding with sober + security; while the pretty lambs, with bleating oratory, craved the + dams' comfort; _here a shepherd's boy, piping as though he should + never be old;_ there a young shepherdess, knitting and withal singing, + and it seemed that her voice comforted her hands to work, and her + hands kept time to her voice-music.' + +From 'The Defence of Poesy' we could cull, did space permit, a hundred +passages even superior to the above, full of dexterous reasoning, splendid +rhetoric, and subtle fancy, and substantiating all that has been said in +favour of Sir Philip Sidney's accomplishments, chivalric earnestness, and +richly-endowed genius. + + +TO SLEEP. + +FROM THE 'ARCADIA.' + +Come, Sleep, O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, +The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe; +The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, +The indifferent judge between the high and low. + +With shield of proof shield me from out the prease[1] +Of those fierce darts despair doth at me throw: +Oh, make in me those civil wars to cease! +I will good tribute pay if thou do so. + +Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, +A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light, +A rosy garland and a weary head; +And if these things, as being thine by right, +Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me +Livelier than elsewhere Stella's image see. + +[1] 'Prease:' press, throng. + + +SONNETS. + +I. + +Because I oft in dark abstracted guise +Seem most alone in greatest company, +With dearth of words, or answers quite awry +To them that would make speech of speech arise, +They deem, and of their doom the rumour flies, +That poison foul of bubbling Pride doth lie +So in my swelling breast, that only I +Fawn on myself, and others do despise. +Yet Pride, I think, doth not my soul possess, +Which looks too oft in his unflattering glass; +But one worse fault, Ambition, I confess, +That makes me oft my best friends overpass, +Unseen, unheard, while thought to highest place +Bends all his powers, even unto Stella's grace. + + +II. + +With how sad steps, O Moon! thou climb'st the skies, +How silently, and with how wan a face! +What! may it be, that even in heavenly place +That busy archer his sharp arrows tries? +Sure, if that long with love acquainted eyes +Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case; +I read it in thy looks; thy languish'd grace, +To me that feel the like, thy state descries. +Then, even of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, +Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit? +Are beauties there as proud as here they be? +Do they above love to be loved, and yet +Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess? +Do they call virtue there ungratefulness? + + +III. + +Having this day my horse, my hand, my lance +Guided so well, that I obtain'd the prize, +Both by the judgment of the English eyes, +And of some sent from that sweet enemy France; +Horsemen my skill in horsemanship advance; +Townfolks my strength; a daintier judge applies +His praise to sleight which from good use doth rise; +Some lucky wits impute it but to chance; +Others, because of both sides I do take +My blood from them who did excel in this, +Think nature me a man of arms did make. +How far they shot awry! the true cause is, +Stella look'd on, and from her heavenly face +Sent forth the beams which made so fair my race. + + +IV. + +In martial sports I had my cunning tried, +And yet to break more staves did me address; +While with the people's shouts, I must confess, +Youth, luck, and praise, even fill'd my veins with pride. +When Cupid, having me (his slave) descried +In Mars's livery, prancing in the press, +'What now, Sir Fool,' said he, 'I would no less. +Look here, I say.' I look'd, and Stella spied, +Who hard by made a window send forth light. +My heart then quaked, then dazzled were mine eyes; +One hand forgot to rule, th' other to fight; +Nor trumpet's sound I heard, nor friendly cries; +My foe came on, and beat the air for me, +Till that her blush taught me my shame to see. + + +V. + +Of all the kings that ever here did reign, +Edward named Fourth as first in praise I name; +Not for his fair outside, nor well-lined brain, +Although less gifts imp feathers oft on Fame: +Nor that he could, young-wise, wise-valiant, frame +His sire's revenge, join'd with a kingdom's gain, +And, gain'd by Mars, could yet mad Mars so tame, +That Balance weigh'd what Sword did late obtain: +Nor that he made the Flower-de-luce so 'fraid, +Though strongly hedged of bloody Lion's paws, +That witty Lewis to him a tribute paid. +Nor this, nor that, nor any such small cause-- +But only for this worthy knight durst prove +To lose his crown, rather than fail his love. + + +VI. + +O happy Thames, that didst my Stella bear! +I saw thee with full many a smiling line +Upon thy cheerful face joy's livery wear, +While those fair planets on thy streams did shine. +The boat for joy could not to dance forbear; +While wanton winds, with beauties so divine +Ravish'd, stay'd not, till in her golden hair +They did themselves (O sweetest prison!) twine: +And fain those Oeol's youth there would their stay +Have made; but, forced by Nature still to fly, +First did with puffing kiss those locks display. +She, so dishevell'd, blush'd. From window I, +With sight thereof, cried out, 'O fair disgrace; +Let Honour's self to thee grant highest place.' + + + + +ROBERT SOUTHWELL. + + +Robert Southwell was born in 1560, at St. Faith's, Norfolk. His parents +were Roman Catholics, and sent him when very young to be educated at the +English College of Douay, in Flanders. Thence he went to Borne, and when +sixteen years of age he joined the Society of the Jesuits--a strange bed +for the rearing of a poet. In 1585, he was appointed Prefect of Studies, +and was soon after despatched as a missionary of his order to England. +There, notwithstanding a law condemning to death all members of his +profession found in this country, he laboured on for eight years, +residing chiefly with Anne, Countess of Arundel, who died afterwards in +the Tower. In July 1592, Southwell was arrested in a gentleman's house +at Uxendon in Middlesex. He was thrust into a dungeon so filthy that +when he was brought out to be examined his clothes were covered with +vermin. This made his father--a man of good family--petition Queen +Elizabeth that if his son was guilty of anything deserving death he +might suffer it, but that, meanwhile, being a gentleman, he should be +treated as a gentleman. In consequence of this he was somewhat better +lodged, but continued for nearly three years strictly confined to +prison; and as the Queen's agents imagined that he was in the secret of +some conspiracies against the Government, he was put to the torture ten +times. In despair, he entreated to be brought to trial, whereupon Cecil +coolly remarked, 'that if he was in such haste to be hanged, he should +quickly have his desire.' On the 20th of February 1595, he was brought +to trial at King's Bench, and having confessed himself a Papist and a +Jesuit, he was condemned to death, and executed at Tyburn next day, with +all the nameless barbarities enjoined by the treason laws of these +unhappy times. He is believed to have borne all his sufferings with +unalterable serenity of mind and sweetness of temper. 'It is fitting,' +says Burke, 'that those made to suffer should suffer well.' And suffer +well throughout all his short life of sorrow, Southwell did. + +He was, undoubtedly, although in a false position, a true man, and a +true poet. To hope all things and believe all things, in reference to +a Jesuit, is a difficult task for Protestant charity. Yet what system +so vile but it has sometimes been gloriously misrepresented by its +votaries? Who that ever read Edward Irving's 'Preface to Ben Ezra'--that +modern Areopagitica--combining the essence of a hundred theological +treatises with the spirit and grandeur of a Pindaric or Homeric ode--has +forgot the pictures of Ben Ezra, or Lacunza the Jesuit? His work, 'The +Coming of the Messiah in Glory and Majesty,' Irving translated from +Spanish into his own noble English prose, and he describes the author as +a man of primitive manners, ardent piety, and enormous erudition, and +expresses a hope, long since we trust fulfilled, of meeting with the +'good old Jesuit' in a better world. To this probably small class of +exceptions to a general rule (it surely is no uncharity to say this, +since the annals of Jesuitism have confessedly been so stained with +falsehood, treachery, every insidious art, and every detestable crime) +seems to have belonged our poet. No proof was produced that he had any +connexion with the treacherous and bloody designs of his party, although +he had plied his priestly labours with unwearied assiduity. He was too +sincere-minded a man to have ever been admitted to the darker secrets of +the Jesuits. + +His verses are ingenious, simpler in style than was common in his time +--distinguished here by homely picturesqueness, and there by solemn +moralising. A shade of deep but serene and unrepining sadness, connected +partly with his position and partly with his foreseen destiny, (his +larger works were written in prison,) rests on the most of his poems. + + +LOOK HOME. + +Retired thoughts enjoy their own delights, + As beauty doth in self-beholding eye: +Man's mind a mirror is of heavenly sights, + A brief wherein all miracles summ'd lie; +Of fairest forms, and sweetest shapes the store, +Most graceful all, yet thought may grace them more. + +The mind a creature is, yet can create, + To nature's patterns adding higher skill +Of finest works; wit better could the state, + If force of wit had equal power of will. +Device of man in working hath no end; +What thought can think, another thought can mend. + +Man's soul of endless beauties image is, + Drawn by the work of endless skill and might: +This skilful might gave many sparks of bliss, + And, to discern this bliss, a native light, +To frame God's image as his worth required; +His might, his skill, his word and will conspired. + +All that he had, his image should present; + All that it should present, he could afford; +To that he could afford his will was bent; + His will was follow'd with performing word. +Let this suffice, by this conceive the rest, +He should, he could, he would, he did the best. + + +THE IMAGE OF DEATH. + +Before my face the picture hangs, + That daily should put me in mind +Of those cold names and bitter pangs + That shortly I am like to find; +But yet, alas! full little I +Do think hereon, that I must die. + +I often look upon a face + Most ugly, grisly, bare, and thin; +I often view the hollow place + Where eyes and nose had sometime been; +I see the bones across that lie, +Yet little think that I must die. + +I read the label underneath, + That telleth me whereto I must; +I see the sentence too, that saith, + 'Remember, man, thou art but dust.' +But yet, alas! how seldom I +Do think, indeed, that I must die! + +Continually at my bed's head + A hearse doth hang, which doth me tell +That I ere morning may be dead, + Though now I feel myself full well; +But yet, alas! for all this, I +Have little mind that I must die! + +The gown which I am used to wear, + The knife wherewith I cut my meat; +And eke that old and ancient chair, + Which is my only usual seat; +All these do tell me I must die, +And yet my life amend not I. + +My ancestors are turn'd to clay, + And many of my mates are gone; +My youngers daily drop away, + And can I think to 'scape alone? +No, no; I know that I must die, +And yet my life amend not I. + + * * * * * + +If none can 'scape Death's dreadful dart; + If rich and poor his beck obey; +If strong, if wise, if all do smart, + Then I to 'scape shall have no way: +Then grant me grace, O God! that I +My life may mend, since I must die. + + +LOVE'S SERVILE LOT. + +Love mistress is of many minds, + Yet few know whom they serve; +They reckon least how little hope + Their service doth deserve. + +The will she robbeth from the wit, + The sense from reason's lore; +She is delightful in the rind, + Corrupted in the core. + + * * * * * + +May never was the month of love; + For May is full of flowers: +But rather April, wet by kind; + For love is full of showers. + +With soothing words, inthralled souls + She chains in servile bands! +Her eye in silence hath a speech + Which eye best understands. + +Her little sweet hath many sours, + Short hap, immortal harms +Her loving looks are murdering darts, + Her songs bewitching charms. + +Like winter rose, and summer ice, + Her joys are still untimely; +Before her hope, behind remorse, + Fair first, in fine[1] unseemly. + +Plough not the seas, sow not the sands, + Leave off your idle pain; +Seek other mistress for your minds, + Love's service is in vain. + +[1] 'Fine:' end. + + +TIMES GO BY TURNS. + +The lopped tree in time may grow again, + Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower; +The sorriest wight may find release of pain, + The driest soil suck in some moistening shower: +Time goes by turns, and chances change by course, +From foul to fair, from better hap to worse. + +The sea of Fortune doth not ever flow; + She draws her favours to the lowest ebb: +Her tides have equal times to come and go; + Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web: +No joy so great but runneth to an end, +No hap so hard but may in fine amend. + +Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring, + Not endless night, yet not eternal day: +The saddest birds a season find to sing, + The roughest storm a calm may soon allay. +Thus, with succeeding turns, God tempereth all, +That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall. + +A chance may win that by mischance was lost; + That net that holds no great, takes little fish; +In some things all, in all things none are cross'd; + Few all they need, but none have all they wish. +Unmingled joys here to no man befall; +Who least, hath some; who most, hath never all. + + + + +THOMAS WATSON. + + +He was born in 1560, and died about 1592. All besides known certainly of +him is, that he was a native of London, and studied the common law, but +seems to have spent much of his time in the practice of rhyme. His +sonnets--one or two of which we subjoin--have considerable merit; but we +agree with Campbell in thinking that Stevens has surely overrated them +when he prefers them to Shakspeare's. + + +THE NYMPHS TO THEIR MAY-QUEEN. + +With fragrant flowers we strew the way, +And make this our chief holiday: +For though this clime was blest of yore, +Yet was it never proud before. +O beauteous queen of second Troy, +Accept of our unfeigned joy. + +Now the air is sweeter than sweet balm, +And satyrs dance about the palm; +Now earth with verdure newly dight, +Gives perfect signs of her delight: +O beauteous queen! + +Now birds record new harmony, +And trees do whistle melody: +And everything that nature breeds +Doth clad itself in pleasant weeds. + + +SONNET. + +Actaeon lost, in middle of his sport, +Both shape and life for looking but awry: +Diana was afraid he would report +What secrets he had seen in passing by. +To tell the truth, the self-same hurt have I, +By viewing her for whom I daily die; +I lose my wonted shape, in that my mind +Doth suffer wreck upon the stony rock +Of her disdain, who, contrary to kind, +Does bear a breast more hard than any stock; +And former form of limbs is changed quite +By cares in love, and want of due delight. +I leave my life, in that each secret thought +Which I conceive through wanton fond regard, +Doth make me say that life availeth nought, +Where service cannot have a due reward. +I dare not name the nymph that works my smart, +Though love hath graven her name within my heart. + + + + +THOMAS TURBERVILLE. + + +Of this author--Thomas Turberville--once famous in the reign of Queen +Elizabeth, but now almost totally forgotten, and whose works are +altogether omitted in most selections, we have preserved a little. He +was a voluminous author, having produced, besides many original pieces, +a translation of Ovid's Heroical Epistles, from which Warton has +selected a short specimen. + + +IN PRAISE OP THE RENOWNED LADY ANNE, COUNTESS OF +WARWICK. + +When Nature first in hand did take + The clay to frame this Countess' corse, +The earth a while she did forsake, + And was compell'd of very force, +With mould in hand, to flee to skies, +To end the work she did devise. + +The gods that then in council sate, + Were half-amazed, against their kind,[1] +To see so near the stool of state + Dame Nature stand, that was assign'd +Among her worldly imps[2] to wonne,[3] +As she until that day had done. + +First Jove began: 'What, daughter dear, + Hath made thee scorn thy father's will? +Why do I see thee, Nature, here, + That ought'st of duty to fulfil +Thy undertaken charge at home? +What makes thee thus abroad to roam? + +'Disdainful dame, how didst thou dare, + So reckless to depart the ground +That is allotted to thy share?' + And therewithal his godhead frown'd. +'I will,' quoth Nature, 'out of hand, +Declare the cause I fled the land. + +'I undertook of late a piece + Of clay a featured face to frame, +To match the courtly dames of Greece, + That for their beauty bear the name; +But, O good father, now I see +This work of mine it will not be. + +'Vicegerent, since you me assign'd + Below in earth, and gave me laws +On mortal wights, and will'd that kind + Should make and mar, as she saw cause: +Of right, I think, I may appeal, +And crave your help in this to deal.' + +When Jove saw how the case did stand, + And that the work was well begun, +He pray'd to have the helping hand + Of other gods till he had done: +With willing minds they all agreed, +And set upon the clay with speed. + +First Jove each limb did well dispose, + And makes a creature of the clay; +Next, Lady Venus she bestows + Her gallant gifts as best she may; +From face to foot, from top to toe, +She let no whit untouch'd to go. + +When Venus had done what she could + In making of her carcase brave, +Then Pallas thought she might be bold + Among the rest a share to have; +A passing wit she did convey +Into this passing piece of clay. + +Of Bacchus she no member had, + Save fingers fine and feat[4] to see; +Her head with hair Apollo clad, + That gods had thought it gold to be: +So glist'ring was the tress in sight +Of this new form'd and featured wight. + +Diana held her peace a space, + Until those other gods had done; +'At last,' quoth she, 'in Dian's chase + With bow in hand this nymph shall run; +And chief of all my noble train +I will this virgin entertain.' + +Then joyful Juno came and said, + 'Since you to her so friendly are, +I do appoint this noble maid + To match with Mars his peer for war; +She shall the Countess Warwick be, +And yield Diana's bow to me.' + +When to so good effect it came, + And every member had his grace, +There wanted nothing but a name: + By hap was Mercury then in place, +That said, 'I pray you all agree, +Pandora grant her name to be. + +'For since your godheads forged have + With one assent this noble dame, +And each to her a virtue gave, + This term agreeth to the same.' +The gods that heard Mercurius tell +This tale, did like it passing well. + +Report was summon'd then in haste, + And will'd to bring his trump in hand, +To blow therewith a sounding blast, + That might be heard through Brutus' land. +Pandora straight the trumpet blew, +That each this Countess Warwick knew. + +O seely[5] Nature, born to pain, + O woful, wretched kind (I say), +That to forsake the soil were fain + To make this Countess out of clay: +But, O most friendly gods, that wold, +Vouchsafe to set your hands to mould. + +[1] 'Kind:' nature. +[2] 'Imps:' children. +[3] 'Wonne:' dwell. +[4] 'Feat:' neat. +[5] 'Seely:' simple. + + + * * * * * + + +In reference to the Miscellaneous Pieces which close this period, we +need only say that the best of them is 'The Soul's Errand,' and that its +authorship is uncertain. It has, with very little evidence in any of the +cases, been ascribed to Sir Walter Raleigh, to Francis Davison, (author +of a compilation entitled 'A Poetical Rhapsody,' published in 1593, and +where 'The Soul's Errand' first appeared,) and to Joshua Sylvester, who +prints it in his volume of verses, with vile interpolations of his own. +Its outspoken energy and pithy language render it worthy of any of our +poets. + + +HARPALUS' COMPLAINT OF PHILLIDA'S LOVE BESTOWED ON CORIN, +WHO LOVED HER NOT, AND DENIED HIM THAT LOVED HER. + +1 Phillida was a fair maid, + As fresh as any flower; + Whom Harpalus the herdman pray'd + To be his paramour. + +2 Harpalus, and eke Corin, + Were herdmen both yfere:[1] + And Phillida would twist and spin, + And thereto sing full clear. + +3 But Phillida was all too coy + For Harpalus to win; + For Corin was her only joy, + Who forced[2] her not a pin. + +4 How often would she flowers twine, + How often garlands make + Of cowslips and of columbine, + And all for Conn's sake! + +5 But Corin he had hawks to lure, + And forced more the field: + Of lovers' law he took no cure; + For once he was beguiled. + +6 Harpalus prevailed nought, + His labour all was lost; + For he was furthest from her thought, + And yet he loved her most. + +7 Therefore was he both pale and lean, + And dry as clod of clay: + His flesh it was consumed clean; + His colour gone away. + +8 His beard it not long be shave; + His hair hung all unkempt: + A man most fit even for the grave, + Whom spiteful love had shent.[3] + +9 His eyes were red, and all forwacht;[4] + It seem'd unhap had him long hatcht, + His face besprent with tears: + In midst of his despairs. + +10 His clothes were black, and also bare; + As one forlorn was he; + Upon his head always he ware + A wreath of willow tree. + +11 His beasts he kept upon the hill, + And he sat in the dale; + And thus with sighs and sorrows shrill + He 'gan to tell his tale. + +12 'O Harpalus!' thus would he say; + Unhappiest under sun! + The cause of thine unhappy day + By love was first begun. + +13 'For thou went'st first by suit to seek + A tiger to make tame, + That sets not by thy love a leek, + But makes thy grief a game. + +14 'As easy it were for to convert + The frost into the flame; + As for to turn a froward hert, + Whom thou so fain wouldst frame. + +15 'Cerin he liveth carėless: + He leaps among the leaves: + He eats the fruits of thy redress: + Thou reap'st, he takes the sheaves. + +16 'My beasts, a while your food refrain, + And hark your herdman's sound; + Whom spiteful love, alas! hath slain, + Through girt with many a wound, + +17 'O happy be ye, beastes wild, + That here your pasture takes: + I see that ye be not beguiled + Of these your faithful makes,[5] + +18 'The hart he feedeth by the hind: + The buck hard by the doe: + The turtle-dove is not unkind + To him that loves her so. + +19 'The ewe she hath by her the ram: + The young cow hath the bull: + The calf with many a lusty lamb + Do feed their hunger full. + +20 'But, well-a-way! that nature wrought + Thee, Phillida, so fair: + For I may say that I have bought + Thy beauty all too dear. + +21 'What reason is that cruelty + With, beauty should have part? + Or else that such great tyranny + Should dwell in woman's heart? + +22 'I see therefore to shape my death + She cruelly is prest,[6] + To the end that I may want my breath: + My days be at the best. + +23 'O Cupid, grant this my request, + And do not stop thine ears: + That she may feel within her breast + The pains of my despairs: + +24 'Of Corin that is careless, + That she may crave her fee: + As I have done in great distress, + That loved her faithfully. + +25 'But since that I shall die her slave, + Her slave, and eke her thrall, + Write you, my friends, upon my grave + This chance that is befall: + +26 '"Here lieth unhappy Harpalus, + By cruel love now slain: + Whom Phillida unjustly thus + Hath murder'd with disdain."' + +[1] 'Yfere' together. +[2] 'Forced' cared for. +[3] 'Shent:' spoiled. +[4] 'Forwacht:' from much watching. +[5] 'Makes:' mates. +[6] 'Prest:' ready. + + +A PRAISE OF HIS LADY. + +1 Give place, you ladies, and begone, + Boast not yourselves at all, + For here at hand approacheth one + Whose face will stain you all. + +2 The virtue of her lively looks + Excels the precious stone; + I wish to have none other books + To read or look upon. + +3 In each of her two crystal eyes + Smileth a naked boy; + It would you all in heart suffice + To see that lamp of joy. + +4 I think Nature hath lost the mould + Where she her shape did take; + Or else I doubt if Nature could + So fair a creature make. + +5 She may be well compared + Unto the phoenix kind, + Whose like was never seen nor heard, + That any man can find. + +6 In life she is Diana chaste, + In truth Penelope; + In word, and eke in deed, steadfast; + What will you more we say? + +7 If all the world were sought so far, + Who could find such a wight? + Her beauty twinkleth like a star + Within the frosty night. + +8 Her rosial colour comes and goes + "With such a comely grace, + More ruddier, too, than doth the rose, + Within her lively face." + +9 At Bacchus' feast none shall her meet, + Nor at no wanton play, + Nor gazing in an open street, + Nor gadding, as astray. + +10 The modest mirth that she doth use, + Is mix'd with shamefastness; + All vice she doth wholly refuse, + And hateth idleness. + +11 O Lord, it is a world to see + How virtue can repair, + And deck in her such honesty, + Whom Nature made so fair. + +12 Truly she doth as far exceed + Our women now-a-days, + As doth the gilliflower a wreed, + And more a thousand ways. + +13 How might I do to get a graff + Of this unspotted tree? + For all the rest are plain but chaff + Which seem good corn to be. + +14 This gift alone I shall her give, + When death doth what he can: + Her honest fame shall ever live + Within the mouth of man. + + +THAT ALL THINGS SOMETIME FIND EASE OF THEIR PAIN, +SAVE ONLY THE LOVER. + +1 I see there is no sort + Of things that live in grief, + Which at sometime may not resort + Where as they have relief. + +2 The stricken deer by kind + Of death that stands in awe, + For his recure an herb can find + The arrow to withdraw. + +3 The chased deer hath soil + To cool him in his heat; + The ass, after his weary toil. + In stable is up set. + +4 The coney hath its cave, + The little bird his nest, + From heat and cold themselves to save + At all times as they list. + +5 The owl, with feeble sight, + Lies lurking in the leaves, + The sparrow in the frosty night + May shroud her in the eaves. + +6 But woe to me, alas! + In sun nor yet in shade, + I cannot find a resting-place, + My burden to unlade. + +7 But day by day still bears + The burden on my back, + With weeping eyes and wat'ry tears, + To hold my hope aback. + +8 All things I see have place + Wherein they bow or bend, + Save this, alas! my woful case, + Which nowhere findeth end. + + +FROM 'THE PHOENIX' NEST.' + +O Night, O jealous Night, repugnant to my pleasure, +O Night so long desired, yet cross to my content, +There's none but only thou can guide me to my treasure, +Yet none but only thou that hindereth my intent. + +Sweet Night, withhold thy beams, withhold them till to-morrow, +Whose joy, in lack so long, a hell of torment breeds, +Sweet Night, sweet gentle Night, do not prolong my sorrow, +Desire is guide to me, and love no loadstar needs. + +Let sailors gaze on stars and moon so freshly shining, +Let them that miss the way be guided by the light, +I know my lady's bower, there needs no more divining, +Affection sees in dark, and love hath eyes by night. + +Dame Cynthia, couch a while; hold in thy horns for shining, +And glad not low'ring Night with thy too glorious rays; +But be she dim and dark, tempestuous and repining, +That in her spite my sport may work thy endless praise. + +And when my will is done, then, Cynthia, shine, good lady, +All other nights and days in honour of that night, +That happy, heavenly night, that night so dark and shady, +Wherein my love had eyes that lighted my delight. + + +FROM THE SAME. + +1 The gentle season of the year + Hath made my blooming branch appear, + And beautified the land with flowers; + The air doth savour with delight, + The heavens do smile to see the sight, + And yet mine eyes augment their showers. + +2 The meads are mantled all with green, + The trembling leaves have clothed the treen, + The birds with feathers new do sing; + But I, poor soul, whom wrong doth rack, + Attire myself in mourning black, + Whose leaf doth fall amidst his spring. + +3 And as you see the scarlet rose + In his sweet prime his buds disclose, + Whose hue is with the sun revived; + So, in the April of mine age, + My lively colours do assuage, + Because my sunshine is deprived. + +4 My heart, that wonted was of yore, + Light as the winds, abroad to soar + Amongst the buds, when beauty springs, + Now only hovers over you, + As doth the bird that's taken new, + And mourns when all her neighbours sings. + +5 When every man is bent to sport, + Then, pensive, I alone resort + Into some solitary walk, + As doth the doleful turtle-dove, + Who, having lost her faithful love, + Sits mourning on some wither'd stalk. + +6 There to myself I do recount + How far my woes my joys surmount, + How love requiteth me with hate, + How all my pleasures end in pain, + How hate doth say my hope is vain, + How fortune frowns upon my state. + +7 And in this mood, charged with despair, + With vapour'd sighs I dim the air, + And to the gods make this request, + That by the ending of my life, + I may have truce with this strange strife, + And bring my soul to better rest. + + +THE SOUL'S ERRAND. + +1 Go, Soul, the body's guest, + Upon a thankless errand, + Fear not to touch the best, + The truth shall be thy warrant; + Go, since I needs must die, + And give the world the lie. + +2 Go tell the Court it glows, + And shines like rotten wood; + Go, tell the Church it shows + What's good and doth no good; + If Church and Court reply, + Then give them both the lie. + +3 Tell potentates they live, + Acting by others' actions, + Not loved, unless they give, + Not strong, but by their factions; + If potentates reply, + Give potentates the lie. + +4 Tell men of high condition, + That rule affairs of state, + Their purpose is ambition, + Their practice only hate; + And if they once reply, + Then give them all the lie. + +5 Tell them that brave it most, + They beg for more by spending, + Who, in their greatest cost, + Seek nothing but commending; + And if they make reply, + Then give them all the lie. + +6 Tell Zeal it lacks devotion, + Tell Love it is but lust, + Tell Time it is but motion, + Tell Flesh it is but dust; + And wish them not reply, + For thou must give the lie. + +7 Tell Age it daily wasteth, + Tell Honour how it alters, + Tell Beauty how she blasteth, + Tell Favour how she falters; + And as they shall reply, + Give every one the lie. + +8 Tell Wit how much it wrangles + In treble points of niceness, + Tell Wisdom she entangles + Herself in overwiseness; + And when they do reply, + Straight give them both the lie. + +9 Tell Physic of her boldness, + Tell Skill it is pretension, + Tell Charity of coldness, + Tell Law it is contention; + And as they do reply, + So give them still the lie. + +10 Tell Fortune of her blindness, + Tell Nature of decay, + Tell Friendship of unkindness, + Tell Justice of delay; + And if they will reply, + Then give them all the lie. + +11 Tell Arts they have no soundness, + But vary by esteeming, + Tell Schools they want profoundness, + And stand too much on seeming; + If Arts and Schools reply, + Give Arts and Schools the lie. + +12 Tell Faith it's fled the city, + Tell how the country erreth, + Tell Manhood shakes off pity, + Tell Virtue least preferreth; + And if they do reply, + Spare not to give the lie. + +13 And when thou hast, as I + Commanded thee, done blabbing, + Although to give the lie + Deserves no less than stabbing; + Yet stab at thee who will, + No stab the Soul can kill. + + + * * * * * + + +SECOND PERIOD. + +FROM SPENSER TO DRYDEN. + + + + +FRANCIS BEAUMONT. + + +This remarkable man, from his intimate connexion with Fletcher, is better +known as a dramatist than as a poet. He was the son of Judge Beaumont, and +descended from an ancient family, which was settled at Grace Dieu in +Leicestershire. He was born in 1585-86, and educated at Cambridge. Thence +he passed to study in the Inner Temple, but seems to have preferred poetry +and the drama to law. He was married to the daughter of Sir Henry Isley of +Kent, who bore him two daughters. He died in his 30th year, and was buried +March 9, 1615-16, in St Benedict's Chapel, Westminster Abbey. More of his +connexion with Fletcher afterwards. + +After his death, his brother published a collection of his miscellaneous +pieces. We extract a few, of no little merit. His verses to Ben Jonson, +written before their author came to London, and first appended to a play +entitled 'Nice Valour,' are picturesque and interesting, as illustrating +the period. + + +TO BEN JONSON. + +The sun (which doth the greatest comfort bring +To absent friends, because the selfsame thing +They know, they see, however absent) is +Here, our best haymaker (forgive me this, +It is our country's style) in this warm shine +I lie, and dream of your full Mermaid wine. +Oh, we have water mix'd with claret lees, +Brink apt to bring in drier heresies +Than beer, good only for the sonnet's strain, +With fustian metaphors to stuff the brain, +So mix'd, that, given to the thirstiest one, +'Twill not prove alms, unless he have the stone. +I think, with one draught man's invention fades: +Two cups had quite spoil'd Homer's Iliades. +'Tis liquor that will find out Sutcliff's wit, +Lie where he will, and make him write worse yet; +Fill'd with such moisture in most grievous qualms, +Did Robert Wisdom write his singing psalms; +And so must I do this: And yet I think +It is a potion sent us down to drink, +By special Providence, keeps us from fights, +Makes us not laugh when we make legs to knights. +'Tis this that keeps our minds fit for our states, +A medicine to obey our magistrates: +For we do live more free than you; no hate, +No envy at one another's happy state, +Moves us; we are all equal: every whit +Of land that God gives men here is their wit, +If we consider fully, for our best +And gravest men will with his main house-jest +Scarce please you; we want subtilty to do +The city tricks, lie, hate, and flatter too: +Here are none that can bear a painted show, +Strike when you wink, and then lament the blow; +Who, like mills, set the right way for to grind, +Can make their gains alike with every wind; +Only some fellows with the subtlest pate, +Amongst us, may perchance equivocate +At selling of a horse, and that's the most. +Methinks the little wit I had is lost +Since I saw you; for wit is like a rest +Held up at tennis, which men do the best, +With the best gamesters: what things have we seen +Done at the Mermaid; heard words that have been +So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, +As if that every one from whence they came +Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, +And had resolved to live a fool the rest +Of his dull life: then when there had been thrown +Wit able enough to justify the town +For three days past; wit that might warrant be +For the whole city to talk foolishly +Till that were cancell'd; and when that was gone, +We left an air behind us, which alone +Was able to make the two next companies +Eight witty; though but downright fools were wise. +When I remember this, +* * * I needs must cry +I see my days of ballading grow nigh; +I can already riddle, and can sing +Catches, sell bargains, and I fear shall bring +Myself to speak the hardest words I find +Over as oft as any with one wind, +That takes no medicines, but thought of thee +Makes me remember all these things to be +The wit of our young men, fellows that show +No part of good, yet utter all they know, +Who, like trees of the garden, have growing souls. +Only strong Destiny, which all controls, +I hope hath left a better fate in store +For me, thy friend, than to live ever poor. +Banish'd unto this home: Fate once again +Bring me to thee, who canst make smooth and plain +The way of knowledge for me; and then I, +Who have no good but in thy company, +Protest it will my greatest comfort be, +To acknowledge all I have to flow from thee, +Ben; when these scenes are perfect, we'll taste wine; +I'll drink thy muse's health, thou shalt quaff mine. + + +ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER. + +Mortality, behold and fear, +What a charge of flesh is here! +Think how many royal bones +Sleep within these heap of stones: +Here they lie, had realms and lands, +Who now want strength to stir their hands; +Where, from their pulpits seal'd with dust, +They preach--in greatness is no trust. +Here's an acre sown indeed +With the richest, royal'st seed, +That the earth did e'er suck in +Since the first man died for sin: +Here the bones of birth have cried, +Though gods they were, as men they died: +Here are wands, ignoble things, +Dropp'd from the ruin'd sides of kings. +Here's a world of pomp and state +Buried in dust, once dead by fate. + + +AN EPITAPH. + +Here she lies, whose spotless fame +Invites a stone to learn her name: +The rigid Spartan that denied +An epitaph to all that died, +Unless for war, in charity +Would here vouchsafe an elegy. +She died a wife, but yet her mind, +Beyond virginity refined, +From lawless fire remain'd as free +As now from heat her ashes be: +Keep well this pawn, thou marble chest; +Till it be call'd for, let it rest; +For while this jewel here is set, +The grave is like a cabinet. + + + + +SIR WALTER RALEIGH. + + +The verses attributed to this illustrious man are few, and the +authenticity of some of them is doubtful. No one, however, who has +studied his career, or read his 'History of the World,' can deny him +the title of a great poet. + +We cannot be expected, in a work of the present kind, to enlarge on a +career so well known as that of Sir Walter Kaleigh. He was born in 1552, +at Hayes Farm, in Devonshire, and descended from an old family there. He +went early to Oxford, but finding its pursuits too tame for his active +and enterprising spirit, he left it, and became a soldier at seventeen. +For six years he fought on the Protestant side in France, besides serving +a campaign in the Netherlands. In 1579, he went a voyage, which proved +disastrous, to Newfoundland, in company with his half-brother, Sir +Humphrey Gilbert. There can be no doubt that this early apprenticeship +to war and navigation was of material service to the future explorer and +historian. In 1580, he fought in Ireland against the Earl of Desmond, +who had raised a rebellion there, and on one occasion is said to have +defended a ford of Shannon against a whole band of wild Irish rebels, +till the stream ran purple with their blood and his own. With the Lord- +Deputy, Lord Grey de Wilton, he got into a dispute, and to settle it came +over to England. Here high favour awaited him. His handsome appearance, +his graceful address, his ready wit and chivalric courtesy, dashed with +a fine poetic enthusiasm, (see them admirably pictured in 'Kenilworth,') +combined to exalt him in the estimation of Queen Elizabeth. On one +occasion he flung his rich plush cloak over a miry part of the way, that +she might pass on unsoiled. By this delicate piece of enacted flattery he +'spoiled a cloak and made a fortune.' The Queen sent him, along with some +other courtiers, to attend the Duke of Anjou, who had in vain solicited +her hand, back to the Netherlands. In 1584, he fitted two ships, and sent +them out for the discovery and settlement of those parts of North America +not already appropriated by Christian states, and the next year there +followed a fleet of seven ships under the command of Sir Richard +Grenville, Raleigh's kinsman. The attempt to colonise America at that +time failed, but two important things were transplanted through means of +the expedition from Virginia to Britain, namely, tobacco and the potato, +--the former of which has ever since been offered up in smoky sacrifice to +Raleigh's memory throughout the whole world, and the latter of which has +become the most valuable of all our vegetable esculents. Raleigh first +planted the potato in Ireland, a country of which it has long been the +principal food. A ludicrous story is told about this. It is said that he +had invited a number of his neighbours to an entertainment, in which the +new root was to form a prominent part, but when the feast began Raleigh +found, to his horror, that the servants had boiled the plums, a most +unsavoury mess, and immediately, we suppose, 'tabulae solvuntur risu.' +In 1584 the Queen had knighted him, and shortly after she granted him +certain lucrative monopolies, and an estate in Ireland, in addition to +one he had possessed for some years. In 1588, he was of material service +as one of Her Majesty's Council of War, formed to resist the Spanish +Armada, and as one of the volunteers who joined the English fleet with +ships of their own. Next year he accompanied a number of his countrymen +in an expedition, which had it in view to restore Don Antonio to the +throne of Portugal, of which the Spaniards had deprived him. On his +return he lost caste considerably, both with the Queen and country, by +taking bribes, and otherwise abusing the influence he had acquired at +Court. Yet, about this time, his active mind was projecting what he +called an 'Office of Address,'--a plan for facilitating the designs of +literary and scientific men, promoting intercourse between them, gaining, +in short, all those objects which are now secured by our literary +associations and philosophical societies. Raleigh was eminently a man +before his age, but, alas! his age was too far behind him. + +While visiting Ireland, after his expedition to Portugal, he contracted +an intimacy with Spenser. (See our 'Life of Spenser,' vol. ii.) In 1592, +he commanded a large naval expedition, destined to attack Panama and +intercept the Spanish Plate-fleet, but was recalled by the Queen, not, +however, till he had seized on an important prize, and, in common +parlance, had 'feathered his nest.' On his return he excited Her +Majesty's wrath, by an intrigue with Elizabeth Throgmorton, one of the +maids of honour, and, although Raleigh afterwards married her, the Queen +imprisoned both the offending parties for some months in the Tower. +Spenser is believed to allude to this in the 4th Book of his great poem. +(See vol. in. of our edition, p. 88.) Even after he was released from +the Tower, Raleigh had to leave the Court in disgrace; instead, however, +of wasting time in vain regrets, he undertook, at his own expense, an +expedition against Guiana, where he captured the city of San Joseph, and +which he occupied in the Queen's name. After his return he published an +account of his expedition, more distinguished by glowing eloquence than +by rigid regard to truth. In 1596, having in some measure regained the +Queen's favour, he was appointed to a command in the expedition against +Cadiz, under the Earl of Essex. In this, as well as in the expedition +against the Spanish Plate-fleet the next year, he won laurels, but was +unfortunate enough to excite the jealousy of his Commander-in-Chief. +When the favourite got into trouble, Raleigh eagerly joined in the hunt, +wrote a letter to Cecil urging him to the destruction of Essex, and +witnessed his execution from a window in the Armoury. This is +undoubtedly a deep blot on the escutcheon of our hero. + +Cecil had been glad of Raleigh's aid in ruining Essex, but he bore him +no good-will otherwise, and is said to have poisoned James, who now +succeeded to the English throne, against him. Assuredly the new King was +no friend of Raleigh's. Stimulated by Cecil, after first depriving him +of his office of Captain of the Guards, he brought him to trial for high +treason. He was accused of conspiring to establish Popery, to dethrone +the King, and to put the crown on the head of Arabella Stewart. Sir +Edward Coke, the Attorney-General, led the accusation, and disgraced +himself by heaping on Raleigh's head every foul epithet, calling him +'viper,' 'damnable atheist,' 'monster,' 'traitor,' 'spider of hell,' +&c., and by his violence, although to his own surprise, as he never +expected to gain his cause in full, he browbeat the jury to bring in a +verdict of high treason. + +Raleigh's defence was a masterpiece of temper, dignity, strength of +reasoning, and eloquence, and his enemies were ashamed of the decision +to which they had driven the jury. He was therefore reprieved, and +committed to the Tower, where his wife was allowed to bear him company, +and where his youngest son was born. His estates were, in general, +preserved to him, but Carr, the infamous minion of the King, under some +pretext of a flaw in the conveyance of it by Raleigh to his son, seized +upon his manor of Sherborne. In the Tower he continued for twelve years. +These years his industry and genius rendered the happiest probably of +his life. Immured in the + + 'towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, + By many a foul and midnight murder fed,' + +his winged soul soared away, like the dove of the Deluge, over the wild +ocean of the past. The Tower confined his body, but this great globe the +world seemed too little for the sweep of his spirit. To fill up the vast +void which a long imprisonment created around him, and to shew that his +powers retained all their elasticity, he projected a work on the largest +scale, and with the noblest purpose--'The History of the World.' In this +undertaking he found literary men ready to lend him their aid. A hundred +hands were generously stretched out to gather materials, and to bring +them to the captive in the Tower. Cart-loads of books were sent. One +Burrell, formerly his chaplain, assisted him in much of the critical and +chronological drudgery. Rugged Ben Jonson sent in a piece of rugged +writing on the Punic War, which Raleigh polished and set as a carved +stone in his magnificent temple. Some have, on this account, sought to +detract from the merit of the author. As if ever an architect could rear +a building without hodmen! But in Raleigh's case the hodmen were Titans. +'The best wits in England assisted him in his undertaking;' and what a +compliment was this to the strength and stature of the master-builder! + +This great work was never finished. The part completed comprehended only +the period from the Creation to the Downfall of the Macedonian Empire +--one hundred and seventy years before Christ. He tarries too long amidst +the misty and mythical ages which precede the dawn of history; his +speculations on the site of the original Paradise, on the Flood, &c., +are more ingenious than instructive; but his descriptions of the Greek +battles--his account of the rise of Rome--the extensive erudition, on +all subjects displayed in the book--the many acute, profound, and +eloquently-expressed observations which are sprinkled throughout--and +the style, massive, dignified, rich, and less involved in structure than +that of almost any of his contemporaries--shall always rank it amongst +the great literary treasures of the language. It was published in 1614. +Besides it, Raleigh was the author of various works, all full of +sagacious thought and brilliant imagery, such as 'The Advice to a Son on +the Choice of a Wife,' 'The Sceptic,' 'Maxims of State,' &c. At last he +was released by the advance of a large sum of money to Villiers, Duke of +Buckingham, James's favourite; and, to retrieve his fortunes, projected +another expedition to America. James granted him a patent, under the +Great Seal, for making a settlement in Guiana, but ungenerously did not +grant him a pardon for the sentence which had been passed on him for +treason. He set sail, 1617, in a ship built by himself, called the +_Destiny_, with eleven other vessels. Having reached the Orinoco, he +despatched a portion of his forces to attack the new Spanish settlement +of St Thomas. This was captured, with the loss of Raleigh's eldest son. +The expected plunder, however, proved of little value; and Sir Walter +having in vain attempted to induce his captains to attack other +settlements of the Spaniards, was compelled to return home--his golden +dreams dissolved, and his prophetic soul forewarning him of the doom +that awaited him on his native shores. In July 1618, he landed at +Plymouth; 'whence,' says Howell, in his 'Familiar Letters,' 'he thought +to make an escape, and some say he tampered with his body by physic to +make him look sickly, that he might be the more pitied, and permitted to +lie in his own house.' James was at this time seeking the hand of the +Infanta for his son Charles, and was naturally disposed to side with the +Spanish cause. He was, besides, stirred up by the Spanish ambassador, +Count Gondomar, who sent to desire an audience with His Majesty, and +said, that he had only one word to say to him. 'The King wondered what +could be delivered in one word, whereupon, when he came before him, he +said only, "Pirates! pirates! pirates!" and so departed.' + +Raleigh consequently was arrested and sent back to his old lodgings in +the Tower. He was not tried, as might have been expected, for the new +offence of waging war against a power then at amity with England, but +James, with consummate meanness and cruelty, determined to revive his +former sentence. He was brought before the King's Bench, where his old +enemy, Sir Edward Coke, now sat as Chief Justice, and officially +condemned him to death. His language, however, was considerably modified +to the prisoner. He said, 'I know you have been valiant and wise, and I +doubt not but you retain both these virtues, for now you shall have +occasion to use them. Your faith hath heretofore been questioned, but I +am resolved you are a good Christian; for your book, which is an +admirable work, doth testify as much. I would give you counsel, but I +know you can apply unto yourself far better than I can give you. Yet +will I (with the good neighbour in the Gospel, who, finding one in the +way wounded and distressed, poured oil into his wounds and refreshed +him) give unto you the oil of comfort, though, in respect that I am a +minister of the law, mixed with vinegar.' Such was Coke's comfort to the +brave and gifted man who stood untrembling before his bar. + +On the 26th of October 1618, the day after his condemnation, Raleigh was +beheaded. He met his fate with dignity and composure. Having addressed +the multitude in vindication of his conduct, he took up the axe, and +said to the sheriff, 'This is a sharp medicine, but a sound cure for all +diseases.' He told the executioner that he would give the signal by +lifting up his hand, and 'then,' he said, 'fear not, but strike home.' +He next laid himself down, but was asked by the executioner to alter the +position of the head. 'So the heart be right,' he replied, 'it is no +matter which way the head lies.' The headsman became uncertain and +tremulous when the signal was given, whereupon Ealeigh exclaimed, 'Why +dost thou not strike? Strike, man!' and by two blows that gallant, +witty, and richly-stored head was severed from the body. He was in his +sixty-fifth year. He had the night before composed the following verse:-- + + Even such is Time, that takes on trust + Our youth, our joys, our all we have, + And pays us but with age and dust; + Who in the dark and silent grave, + When we have wander'd all our ways, + Shuts up the story of our days.' + +Thus perished Sir Walter Raleigh. There has been ever one opinion as to +the breadth and brilliance of his genius. His powers were almost +universal in their range. He commented on Scripture with the ingenuity +of a Talmudist, and wrote love verses (see the lines in Campbell's +'Specimens,' entitled 'Dulcina') with the animus and graceful levity of +a Thomas Moore. He was deep at once in 'all the learning of the +Egyptians,' and in that of the Greeks and Romans. In his large mind lay +dreams of golden lands, which even Australia has not yet fully verified, +alongside of maxims of the most practical wisdom. He was learned in all +that had been; well-informed as to all that was; and speculative and +hopeful as to all that might be and was yet to be. Disgust at the +scholastic methods, blended with the adventurous character of his mind, +and perhaps also with some looseness of moral principle, led him at one +time to the brink of universal scepticism; but disappointment, sorrow, +and the solitude of the Tower, made him a sadder and wiser man, and he +returned to the verities of the Christian religion. The stains on his +character seem to have arisen chiefly from his position. He was, like +some greater and some smaller men of eminence, undoubtedly, to a certain +extent, a brilliant adventurer--a class to whom justice is seldom done, +and against whom every calumny is believed. He was a _novus homo_, in an +age of more than common aristocratic pretence; sprang, indeed, from an +ancient family, but possessing nothing himself, save his cloak, his +sword, his tact, and his genius. We all know how, in later times, such +spirits, kindred in many points to Raleigh, in some superior, and in +others inferior--as Burke, Sheridan, and Canning--were used, less for +their errors of temper or of life, than because they had gained immense +influence, not by birth or favour, but by the force of extraordinary +talent and no less remarkable address. Raleigh, however, was undoubtedly +imprudent in a high degree. He had once or twice outraged common +morality; his enemies were constantly accusing him of gasconading and of +'pride.' His success at first was too early and too easy, and hence a +reverse might have been anticipated as certain and as remarkable as his +rise had been. His fall ultimately is understood to have been +precipitated by the base complicity of James with the Spaniards, who +were informed by the King of Raleigh's motions in America, and prepared +to counteract them, as well as by the loud-sounding invectives and legal +lies of the unscrupulous instruments of his tyrannical power. With all +his faults and follies, (of 'crimes,' it has been justly said, Raleigh +can hardly be accused,) he stood high in that crowd of giants who +illustrated the reign of the Amazonian Queen. What an age it was! Bacon, +with still brighter powers, and far darker and meaner faults than +Raleigh, was sitting on the woolsack in body, while his spirit was +presiding over the half-born philosophies of the future, and beholding +the cold rod of Induction blossom in an after-day into the Aaronic +flowers and fruits of a magnificent science; Cecil was nodding out +wisdom or transcendental craft in the Cabinet; Sir Philip Sidney was +carrying the spirit of 'Arcadia' into the field of battle; Spenser was +dreaming his one beautiful lifelong Dream; and Shakspeare was holding up +his calm mirror to the heart of man and the universe of nature; while, +on the prow of the British vessel, carrying on those lofty spirits and +enterprises, there appeared a daring mariner, the Poet and 'Shepherd of +the Ocean,' with bright eye, sanguine countenance, step treading the +deck like a throne, and look contemplating the sunset, as if it were the +dawning, and the Evening, as if it were the Morning Star. It was the +hopeful and the brilliant Raleigh, who, while he 'opened up to Europe +the New World, was the historian of the Old.' Alas that this illustrious +'Marinere' was doomed to a life so troubled and a death so dreadful, and +that the glory of one of England's prodigies is for ever bound up with +the disgrace of one of England's and Scotland's princes! + + +THE COUNTRY'S RECREATIONS. + +1 Heart-tearing cares and quiv'ring fears, + Anxious sighs, untimely tears, + Fly, fly to courts, + Fly to fond worldling's sports; + Where strain'd sardonic smiles are glozing still, + And Grief is forced to laugh against her will; + Where mirth's but mummery, + And sorrows only real be. + +2 Fly from our country pastimes, fly, + Sad troop of human misery! + Come, serene looks, + Clear as the crystal brooks, + Or the pure azured heaven, that smiles to see + The rich attendance of our poverty. + Peace and a secure mind, + Which all men seek, we only find. + +3 Abused mortals, did you know + Where joy, heart's ease, and comforts grow, + You'd scorn proud towers, + And seek them in these bowers; + Where winds perhaps our woods may sometimes shake, + But blustering care could never tempest make, + Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us, + Saving of fountains that glide by us. + + * * * * * + +4 Blest silent groves! oh, may ye be + For ever mirth's best nursery! + May pure contents, + For ever pitch their tents + Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, these mountains, + And peace still slumber by these purling fountains, + Which we may every year + Find when we come a-fishing here. + + +THE SILENT LOVER. + +1 Passions are liken'd best to floods and streams, + The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb; + So when affection yields discourse, it seems + The bottom is but shallow whence they come; + They that are rich in words must needs discover + They are but poor in that which makes a lover. + +2 Wrong not, sweet mistress of my heart, + The merit of true passion, + With thinking that he feels no smart + That sues for no compassion. + +3 Since if my plaints were not t' approve + The conquest of thy beauty, + It comes not from defect of love, + But fear t' exceed my duty. + +4 For not knowing that I sue to serve + A saint of such perfection + As all desire, but none deserve + A place in her affection, + +5 I rather choose to want relief + Than venture the revealing; + Where glory recommends the grief, + Despair disdains the healing. + +6 Silence in love betrays more woe + Than words, though ne'er so witty; + A beggar that is dumb, you know, + May challenge double pity. + +7 Then wrong not, dearest to my heart, + My love for secret passion; + He smarteth most who hides his smart, + And sues for no compassion. + + +A VISION UPON 'THE FAIRY QUEEN.' + +Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay, +Within that temple where the vestal flame +Was wont to burn: and passing by that way +To see that buried dust of living fame, +Whose tomb fair Love and fairer Virtue kept, +All suddenly I saw the Fairy Queen, +At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept; +And from thenceforth those Graces were not seen, +For they this Queen attended; in whose stead +Oblivion laid him down on Laura's hearse. +Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed, +And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce, +Where Homer's sprite did tremble all for grief, +And cursed the access of that celestial thief. + + +LOVE ADMITS NO RIVAL. + +1 Shall I, like a hermit, dwell, + On a rock, or in a cell, + Calling home the smallest part + That is missing of my heart, + To bestow it where I may + Meet a rival every day? + If she undervalue me, + What care I how fair she be? + +2 Were her tresses angel gold, + If a stranger may be bold, + Unrebuked, unafraid, + To convert them to a braid, + And with little more ado + Work them into bracelets, too; + If the mine be grown so free, + What care I how rich it be? + +3 Were her hand as rich a prize + As her hairs, or precious eyes, + If she lay them out to take + Kisses, for good manners' sake, + And let every lover skip + From her hand unto her lip; + If she seem not chaste to me, + What care I how chaste she be? + +4 No; she must be perfect snow, + In effect as well as show; + Warming but as snow-balls do, + Not like fire, by burning too; + But when she by change hath got + To her heart a second lot, + Then if others share with me, + Farewell her, whate'er she be! + + + + +JOSHUA SYLVESTER. + + +Joshua Sylvester is the next in the list of our imperfectly-known, but +real poets. Very little is known of his history. He was a merchant- +adventurer, and died at Middleburg, aged fifty-five, in 1618. He is said +to have applied, in 1597, for the office of secretary to a trading +company in Stade, and to have been, on this occasion, patronised by +the Earl of Essex. He was at one time attached to the English Court as +a pensioner of Prince Henry. He is said to have been driven abroad by +the severity of his satires. He seems to have had a sweet flow of +conversational eloquence, and hence was called 'The Silver-tongued.' He +was an eminent linguist, and wrote his dedications in various languages. +He published a large volume of poems, very unequal in their value, and +inserted in it 'The Soul's Errand,' with interpolations, as we have seen, +which prove it not to be his own. His great work is the translation of +the 'Divine Weeks and Works' of the French poet, Du Bartas, which is a +marvellous medley of flatness and force--of childish weakness and soaring +genius--with more _seed poetry_ in it than any poem we remember, except +'Festus,' the chaos of a hundred poetic worlds. There can be little doubt +that Milton was familiar with this work in boyhood, and many remarkable +coincidences have been pointed out between it and 'Paradise Lost.' +Sylvester was a Puritan, and his publisher, Humphrey Lownes, who lived +in the same street with Milton's father, belonged to the same sect; and, +as Campbell remarks, 'it is easily to be conceived that Milton often +repaired to the shop of Lownes, and there met with the pious didactic +poem.' The work, therefore, some specimens of which we subjoin, is +interesting, both in itself, and as having been the _prima stamina_ of +the great masterpiece of English poetry. + + +TO RELIGION. + +1 Religion, O thou life of life, + How worldlings, that profane thee rife, + Can wrest thee to their appetites! + How princes, who thy power deny, + Pretend thee for their tyranny, + And people for their false delights! + +2 Under thy sacred name, all over, + The vicious all their vices cover; + The insolent their insolence, + The proud their pride, the false their fraud, + The thief his theft, her filth the bawd, + The impudent, their impudence. + +3 Ambition under thee aspires, + And Avarice under thee desires; + Sloth under thee her ease assumes, + Lux under thee all overflows, + Wrath under thee outrageous grows, + All evil under thee presumes. + +4 Religion, erst so venerable, + What art thou now but made a fable, + A holy mask on folly's brow, + Where under lies Dissimulation, + Lined with all abomination. + Sacred Religion, where art thou? + +5 Not in the church with Simony, + Not on the bench with Bribery, + Nor in the court with Machiavel, + Nor in the city with deceits, + Nor in the country with debates; + For what hath Heaven to do with Hell? + + +ON MAN'S RESEMBLANCE TO GOD. +(FROM DU BARTAS.) + +O complete creature! who the starry spheres +Canst make to move, who 'bove the heavenly bears +Extend'st thy power, who guidest with thy hand +The day's bright chariot, and the nightly brand: +This curious lust to imitate the best +And fairest works of the Almightiest, +By rare effects bears record of thy lineage +And high descent; and that his sacred image +Was in thy soul engraven, when first his Spirit, +The spring of life, did in thy limbs inspire it. +For, as his beauties are past all compare, +So is thy soul all beautiful and fair: +As he's immortal, and is never idle, +Thy soul's immortal, and can brook no bridle +Of sloth, to curb her busy intellect: +He ponders all; thou peizest[1] each effect: +And thy mature and settled sapience +Hath some alliance with his providence: +He works by reason, thou by rule: he's glory +Of the heavenly stages, thou of th' earthly story: +He's great High Priest, thou his great vicar here: +He's sovereign Prince, and thou his viceroy dear. + +For soon as ever he had framed thee, +Into thy hands he put this monarchy: +Made all the creatures know thee for their lord, +And come before thee of their own accord: +And gave thee power as master, to impose +Fit sense-full names unto the host that rows +In watery regions; and the wand'ring herds +Of forest people; and the painted birds: +Oh, too, too happy! had that fall of thine +Not cancell'd so the character divine. + +But, since our souls' now sin-obscured light +Shines through the lanthorn of our flesh so bright; +What sacred splendour will this star send forth, +When it shall shine without this vail of earth? +The Soul here lodged is like a man that dwells +In an ill air, annoy'd with noisome smells; +In an old house, open to wind and weather; +Never in health not half an hour together: +Or, almost, like a spider who, confined +In her web's centre, shakes with every wind; +Moves in an instant, if the buzzing fly +Stir but a string of her lawn canopy. + +[1] 'Peizest:' weighest. + + +THE CHARIOT OF THE SUN. + +Thou radiant coachman, running endless course, +Fountain of heat, of light the lively source, +Life of the world, lamp of this universe, +Heaven's richest gem: oh, teach me where my verse +May but begin thy praise: Alas! I fare +Much like to one that in the clouds doth stare +To count the quails, that with their shadow cover +The Italian sea, when soaring hither over, +Fain of a milder and more fruitful clime, +They come with us to pass the summer time: +No sooner he begins one shoal to sum, +But, more and more, still greater shoals do come, +Swarm upon swarm, that with their countless number +Break off his purpose, and his sense encumber. + +Day's glorious eye! even as a mighty king +About his country stately progressing, +Is compass'd round with dukes, earls, lords, and knights, +(Orderly marshall'd in their noble rites,) +Esquires and gentlemen, in courtly kind, +And then his guard before him and behind. +And there is nought in all his royal muster, +But to his greatness addeth grace and lustre: +So, while about the world thou ridest aye, +Which only lives through virtue of thy ray, +Six heavenly princes, mounted evermore, +Wait on thy coach, three behind, three before; +Besides the host of th' upper twinklers bright, +To whom, for pay, thou givest only light. +And, even as man (the little world of cares) +Within the middle of the body bears +His heart, the spring of life, which with proportion +Supplieth spirits to all, and every portion: +Even so, O Sun, thy golden chariot marches +Amid the six lamps of the six low arches +Which seele the world, that equally it might +Richly impart them beauty, force, and light. + +Praising thy heat, which subtilly doth pierce +The solid thickness of our universe: +Which in the earth's kidneys mercury doth burn, +And pallid sulphur to bright metal turn; +I do digress, to praise that light of thine, +Which if it should but one day cease to shine, +Th' unpurged air to water would resolve, +And water would the mountain tops involve. + +Scarce I begin to measure thy bright face +Whose greatness doth so oft earth's greatness pass, +And which still running the celestial ring, +Is seen and felt of every living thing; +But that fantastic'ly I change my theme +To sing the swiftness of thy tireless team, +To sing how, rising from the Indian wave, +Thou seem'st (O Titan) like a bridegroom brave, +Who, from his chamber early issuing out +In rich array, with rarest gems about, +With pleasant countenance and lovely face, +With golden tresses and attractive grace, +Cheers at his coming all the youthful throng +That for his presence earnestly did long, +Blessing the day, and with delightful glee, +Singing aloud his epithalamie. + + + + +RICHARD BARNFIELD. + + +Of him we only know that he published several poetical volumes between +1594 and 1598. We give one beautiful piece, 'To a Nightingale,' which +used to be attributed to Shakspeare. + + +ADDRESS TO THE NIGHTINGALE. + +As it fell upon a day, +In the merry month of May, +Sitting in a pleasant shade +Which a grove of myrtles made; +Beasts did leap, and birds did sing, +Trees did grow, and plants did spring; +Everything did banish moan, +Save the nightingale alone. +She, poor bird, as all forlorn, +Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn; +And there sung the dolefull'st ditty, +That to hear it was great pity. +'Fie, fie, fie,' now would she cry; +'Teru, teru,' by and by; +That, to hear her so complain, +Scarce I could from tears refrain; +For her griefs, so lively shown, +Made me think upon mine own. +Ah! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain; +None takes pity on thy pain: +Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee, +Ruthless bears they will not cheer thee: +King Pandion he is dead; +All thy friends are lapp'd in lead; +All thy fellow-birds do sing, +Careless of thy sorrowing! +Whilst as fickle Fortune smiled, +Thou and I were both beguiled. +Every one that flatters thee +Is no friend in misery. +Words are easy, like the wind; +Faithful friends are hard to find. +Every man will be thy friend +Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend: +But, if store of crowns be scant, +No man will supply thy want. +If that one be prodigal, +Bountiful they will him call; +And with such-like flattering, +'Pity but he were a king.' +If he be addict to vice, +Quickly him they will entice; +But if Fortune once do frown, +Then farewell his great renown: +They that fawn'd on him before +Use his company no more. +He that is thy friend indeed, +He will help thee in thy need; +If thou sorrow, he will weep, +If thou wake, he cannot sleep: +Thus, of every grief in heart +He with thee doth bear a part. +These are certain signs to know +Faithful friend from flattering foe. + + + + +ALEXANDER HUME. + + +This Scottish poet was the second son of Patrick, fifth Baron of +Polwarth. He was born about the middle of the sixteenth century, and +died in 1609. He resided for some years, in the early part of his life, +in France. Returning home, he studied law, and then tried his fortune at +Court. Here he was eclipsed by a rival, named Montgomery; and after +assailing his rival, who rejoined, in verse, he became a clergyman in +disgust, and was settled in the parish of Logie. Here he darkened into +a sour and savage Calvinist, and uttered an exhortation to the youth of +Scotland to forego the admiration of classical heroes, and to read no +love-poetry save the 'Song of Solomon.' In another poetic walk, however, +that of natural description, Hume excelled, and we print with pleasure +some parts of his 'Summer's Day,' which our readers may compare with Mr +Aird's fine poem under the same title, and be convinced that the sky of +Scotland was as blue, and the grass as green, and Scottish eyes as quick +to perceive their beauty, in the sixteenth century as now. + + +THANKS FOR A SUMMER'S DAY. + +1 O perfect light which shade[1] away + The darkness from the light, + And set a ruler o'er the day, + Another o'er the night. + +2 Thy glory, when the day forth flies, + More vively does appear, + Nor[2] at mid-day unto our eyes + The shining sun is clear. + +3 The shadow of the earth anon + Removes and drawis by, + Syne[3] in the east, when it is gone, + Appears a clearer sky. + +4 Which soon perceive the little larks, + The lapwing, and the snipe, + And tune their song like Nature's clerks, + O'er meadow, muir, and stripe. + +5 But every bold nocturnal beast + No longer may abide, + They hie away both maist and least,[4] + Themselves in house to hide. + + * * * * * + +6 The golden globe incontinent + Sets up his shining head, + And o'er the earth and firmament + Displays his beams abroad.[5] + +7 For joy the birds with boulden[6] throats, + Against his visage sheen,[7] + Take up their kindly music notes + In woods and gardens green. + +8 Upbraids[8] the careful husbandman, + His corn and vines to see, + And every timeous[9] artisan + In booths works busily. + +9 The pastor quits the slothful sleep, + And passes forth with speed, + His little camow-nosed[10] sheep, + And rowting kye[11] to feed. + +10 The passenger, from perils sure, + Goes gladly forth the way, + Brief, every living creäture + Takes comfort of the day. + + * * * * * + +11 The misty reek,[12] the clouds of rain + From tops of mountain skails,[13] + Clear are the highest hills and plain, + The vapours take the vales. + +12 Begaired[14] is the sapphire pend[15] + With spraings[16] of scarlet hue; + And preciously from end to end, + Damasked white and blue. + +13 The ample heaven, of fabric sure, + In clearness does surpass + The crystal and the silver, pure + As clearest polish'd glass. + +14 The time so tranquil is and clear, + That nowhere shall ye find, + Save on a high and barren hill, + The air of passing wind. + +15 All trees and simples, great and small, + That balmy leaf do bear, + Than they were painted on a wall, + No more they move or steir.[17] + +16 The rivers fresh, the caller[18] streams, + O'er rocks can swiftly rin,[19] + The water clear like crystal beams, + And makes a pleasant din. + + * * * * * + +17 Calm is the deep and purple sea, + Yea, smoother than the sand; + The waves, that woltering[20] wont to be, + Are stable like the land. + +18 So silent is the cessile air, + That every cry and call, + The hills and dales, and forest fair, + Again repeats them all. + +19 The clogged busy humming bees, + That never think to drown,[21] + On flowers and flourishes of trees, + Collect their liquor brown. + +20 The sun most like a speedy post + With ardent course ascends; + The beauty of our heavenly host + Up to our zenith tends. + + * * * * * + +21 The breathless flocks draw to the shade + And freshure[22] of their fauld;[23] + The startling nolt, as they were mad, + Run to the rivers cauld. + +22 The herds beneath some leafy trees, + Amidst the flowers they lie; + The stable ships upon the seas + Tend up their sails to dry. + +23 The hart, the hind, the fallow-deer, + Are tapish'd[24] at their rest; + The fowls and birds that made thee beare,[25] + Prepare their pretty nest. + +24 The rayons dure[26] descending down, + All kindle in a gleid;[27] + In city, nor in burrough town, + May none set forth their head. + +25 Back from the blue pavemented whun,[28] + And from ilk plaster wall, + The hot reflexing of the sun + Inflames the air and all. + +26 The labourers that timely rose, + All weary, faint, and weak, + For heat down to their houses goes, + Noon-meat and sleep to take. + +27 The caller[29] wine in cave is sought, + Men's brothing[30] breasts to cool; + The water cold and clear is brought, + And sallads steeped in ule.[31] + +28 With gilded eyes and open wings, + The cock his courage shows; + With claps of joy his breast he dings,[32] + And twenty times he crows. + +29 The dove with whistling wings so blue, + The winds can fast collect, + Her purple pens turn many a hue + Against the sun direct. + +30 Now noon is gone--gone is mid-day, + The heat does slake at last, + The sun descends down west away, + For three o'clock is past. + + * * * * * + +31 The rayons of the sun we see + Diminish in their strength, + The shade of every tower and tree + Extended is in length. + +32 Great is the calm, for everywhere + The wind is setting down, + The reek[33] throws up right in the air, + From every tower and town. + +33 The mavis and the philomeen,[34] + The starling whistles loud, + The cushats[35] on the branches green, + Full quietly they crood.[36] + +34 The gloamin[37] comes, the clay is spent, + The sun goes out of sight, + And painted is the occident + With purple sanguine bright. + + * * * * * + +35 The scarlet nor the golden thread, + Who would their beauty try, + Are nothing like the colour red + And beauty of the sky. + + * * * * * + +36 What pleasure then to walk and see, + Endlong[38] a river clear, + The perfect form of every tree + Within the deep appear. + +37 The salmon out of cruives[39] and creels[40] + Uphauled into scouts;[41] + The bells and circles on the weills,[42] + Through leaping of the trouts. + +38 O sure it were a seemly thing, + While all is still and calm, + The praise of God to play and sing + With trumpet and with shalm. + +39 Through all the land great is the gild[43] + Of rustic folks that cry; + Of bleating sheep, from they be fill'd, + Of calves and rowting kye. + +40 All labourers draw home at even, + And can to others say, + Thanks to the gracious God of heaven, + Who sent this summer day. + +[1] 'Shade:' for shaded. +[2] 'Nor:' than. +[3] 'Syne:' then. +[4] 'Maist and least:' largest and smallest. +[5] 'Abread:' abroad. +[6] 'Boulden:' emboldened. +[7] 'Sheen:' shining. +[8] 'Upbraids:' uprises. +[9] 'Timeous:' early. +[10]'Camow-nosed:' flat-nosed. +[11]'Rowting kye:' lowing kine. +[12]'Reek:' fog. +[13]'Skails:' dissipates. +[14]'Begaired:' dressed out. +[15]'Pend:' arch. +[16]'Spraings:' streaks. +[17] 'Steir:' stir. +[18] 'Caller:' cool. +[19] 'Rin:' run. +[20] 'Woltering:' tumbling. +[21] 'Drown:' drone, be idle. +[22] 'Freshure:' freshness. +[23] 'Fauld:' fold. +[24] 'Tapish'd:' stretched as on a carpet. +[25] 'Beare:' sound, music. +[26] 'Rayons dure:' hard or keen rays. +[27] 'Gleid:' fire. +[28] 'Whun:' whinstone. +[29] 'Caller:' cool. +[30] 'Brothing:' burning. +[31] 'Ule:' oil. +[32] 'Dings:' beats. +[33] 'Reek:' smoke. +[34] 'The mavis and the philomeen:' thrush and nightingale. +[35] 'Cushats:' wood-pigeons. +[36] 'Crood:' coo. +[37] 'Gloamin:' evening. +[38] 'Endlong:' along. +[39] 'Cruives:' cages for catching fish. +[40] 'Creels:' baskets. +[41] 'Scouts:' small boats or yawls. +[42] 'Weills:' eddies. +[43] 'Gild:' throng. + + + * * * * * + + +OTHER SCOTTISH POETS. + + +About the same time with Hume flourished two or three poets in Scotland +of considerable merit, such as Alexander Scott, author of satires and +amatory poems, and called sometimes the 'Scottish Anacreon;' Sir Richard +Maitland of Lethington, father of the famous Secretary Lethington, who, +in his advanced years, composed and dictated to his daughter a few moral +and conversational pieces, and who collected, besides, into a MS. which +bears his name, the productions of some of his contemporaries; and +Alexander Montgomery, author of an allegorical poem, entitled 'The +Cherry and the Slae.' + +The allegory is not well managed, but some of the natural descriptions +are sweet and striking. Take the two following stanzas as a specimen:-- + + 'The cushat croods, the corbie cries, + The cuckoo conks, the prattling pies + To geck there they begin; + The jargon of the jangling jays, + The cracking craws and keckling kays, + They deav'd me with their din; + The painted pawn, with Argus eyes, + Can on his May-cock call, + The turtle wails, on wither'd trees, + And Echo answers all. + Repeating, with greeting, + How fair Narcissus fell, + By lying, and spying + His shadow in the well. + + 'The air was sober, saft, and sweet, + Nae misty vapours, wind, nor weet, + But quiet, calm, and clear; + To foster Flora's fragrant flowers, + Whereon Apollo's paramours + Had trinkled mony a tear; + The which, like silver shakers, shined, + Embroidering Beauty's bed, + Wherewith their heavy heads declined, + In Mayė's colours clad; + Some knopping, some dropping + Of balmy liquor sweet, + Excelling and smelling + Through Phoebus' wholesome heat.' + +The 'Cherry and the Slae' was familiar to Burns, who often, our readers +will observe, copied its form of verse. + + + + +SAMUEL DANIEL. + + +This ingenious person was born in 1562, near Taunton, in Somersetshire. +His father was a music-master. He was patronised by the noble family +of Pembroke, who probably also maintained him at college. He went to +Magdalene Hall, Oxford, in 1579; and after studying there, chiefly +history and poetry, for seven years, he left without a degree. When +twenty-three years of age, he translated Paulus Jovius' 'Discourse of +Rare Inventions.' He became tutor to Lady Anne Clifford, the elegant +and accomplished daughter of the Earl of Cumberland. She, at his death, +raised a monument to his memory, and recorded on it, with pride, that +she had been his pupil. After Spenser died, Daniel became a 'voluntary +laureat' to the Court, producing masques and pageants, but was soon +supplanted by 'rare Ben Jonson.' In 1603 he was appointed Master of the +Queen's Revels and Inspector of the Plays to be enacted by juvenile +performers. He was also promoted to be Gentleman Extraordinary and Groom +of the Chambers to the Queen. He was a varied and voluminous writer, +composing plays, miscellaneous poems, and prose compositions, including +a 'Defence of Rhyme' and a 'History of England,'--an honest, but somewhat +dry and dull production. While composing his works he resided in Old +Street, St Luke's, which was then thought a suburban residence; but he +was often in town, and mingled on intimate terms with Selden and +Shakspeare. When approaching sixty, he took a farm at Beckington, in +Somersetshire--his native shire--and died there in 1619. + +Daniel's Plays and History are now, as wholes, forgotten, although the +former contained some vigorous passages, such as Richard II.'s soliloquy +on the morning of his murder in Pomfret Castle. His smaller pieces and +his Sonnets shew no ordinary poetic powers. + + +RICHARD II., THE MORNING BEFORE HIS MURDER IN POMFRET CASTLE. + +Whether the soul receives intelligence, +By her near genius, of the body's end, +And so imparts a sadness to the sense, +Foregoing ruin, whereto it doth tend; +Or whether nature else hath conference +With profound sleep, and so doth warning send, +By prophetising dreams, what hurt is near, +And gives the heavv careful heart to fear:-- + +However, so it is, the now sad king, +Toss'd here and there his quiet to confound, +Feels a strange weight of sorrows gathering +Upon his trembling heart, and sees no ground; +Feels sudden terror bring cold shivering; +Lists not to eat, still muses, sleeps unsound; +His senses droop, his steady eyes unquick, +And much he ails, and yet he is not sick. + +The morning of that day which was his last, +After a weary rest, rising to pain, +Out at a little grate his eyes he cast +Upon those bordering hills and open plain, +Where others' liberty makes him complain +The more his own, and grieves his soul the more, +Conferring captive crowns with freedom poor. + +'O happy man,' saith he, 'that lo I see, +Grazing his cattle in those pleasant fields, +If he but knew his good. How blessed he +That feels not what affliction greatness yields! +Other than what he is he would not be, +Nor change his state with him that sceptre wields. +Thine, thine is that true life: that is to live, +To rest secure, and not rise up to grieve. + +'Thou sitt'st at home safe by thy quiet fire, +And hear'st of others' harms, but fearest none: +And there thou tell'st of kings, and who aspire, +Who fall, who rise, who triumph, who do moan. +Perhaps thou talk'st of me, and dost inquire +Of my restraint, why here I live alone, +And pitiest this my miserable fall; +For pity must have part--envy not all. + +'Thrice happy you that look as from the shore, +And have no venture in the wreck you see; +No interest, no occasion to deplore +Other men's travails, while yourselves sit free. +How much doth your sweet rest make us the more +To see our misery and what we be: +Whose blinded greatness, ever in turmoil, +Still seeking happy life, makes life a toil.' + + +EARLY LOVE. + +Ah, I remember well (and how can I +But evermore remember well?) when first +Our flame began, when scarce we knew what was +The flame we felt; when as we sat and sigh'd +And look'd upon each other, and conceived +Not what we ail'd, yet something we did ail, +And yet were well, and yet we were not well, +And what was our disease we could not tell. +Then would we kiss, then sigh, then look: and thus +In that first garden of our simpleness +We spent our childhood. But when years began +To reap the fruit of knowledge; ah, how then +Would she with sterner looks, with graver brow, +Check my presumption and my forwardness! +Yet still would give me flowers, still would show +What she would have me, yet not have me know. + + +SELECTIONS FROM SONNETS. + +I must not grieve, my love, whose eyes would read +Lines of delight, whereon her youth might smile; +Flowers have time before they come to seed, +And she is young, and now must sport the while. +And sport, sweet maid, in season of these years, +And learn to gather flowers before they wither; +And where the sweetest blossom first appears, +Let love and youth conduct thy pleasures thither, +Lighten forth smiles to clear the clouded air, +And calm the tempest which my sighs do raise: +Pity and smiles do best become the fair; +Pity and smiles must only yield thee praise. +Make me to say, when all my griefs are gone, +Happy the heart that sigh'd for such a one. + +Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair; +Her brow shades frown, although her eyes are sunny; +Her smiles are lightning, though her pride despair; +And her disdains are gall, her favours honey. +A modest maid, deck'd with a blush of honour, +Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and love; +The wonder of all eyes that look upon her: +Sacred on earth; design'd a saint above; +Chastity and Beauty, which are deadly foes, +Live reconciled friends within her brow; +And had she Pity to conjoin with those, +Then who had heard the plaints I utter now? +For had she not been fair, and thus unkind, +My muse had slept, and none had known my mind. + +Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, +Brother to Death, in silent darkness born, +Relieve my anguish, and restore the light, +With dark forgetting of my care, return. +And let the day be time enough to mourn +The shipwreck of my ill-advised youth; +Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, +Without the torments of the night's untruth. +Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires, +To model forth the passions of to-morrow; +Never let the rising sun prove you liars, +To add more grief, to aggravate my sorrow. +Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain, +And never wake to feel the day's disdain. + + + + +SIR JOHN DAVIES. + + +This knight, says Campbell, 'wrote, at twenty-five years of age, a poem +on the "Immortality of the Soul," and at fifty-two, when he was a judge +and a statesman, another on the "_Art of Dancing_." Well might the +teacher of that noble accomplishment, in Moličre's comedy, exclaim, "_La +philosophie est quelque chose--mais la danse!_" This, however, is more +pointed than correct, since the first of these poems was written in +1592, when the author was only twenty-two years of age, and the latter +appeared in 1599, when he was only twenty-nine. + +Tisbury, in Wiltshire, was the birthplace of this poet, and 1570 the +date of his birth. His father was a practising lawyer. John was expelled +from the Temple for beating one Richard Martyn, afterwards Recorder, but +was restored, and subsequently elected for Parliament. In 1592, as +aforesaid, appeared his poem, 'Nosce Teipsum; or, The Immortality of the +Soul.' Its fame soon travelled to Scotland; and when Davies, along with +Lord Hunsdon, visited that country, James received him most graciously +as the author of 'Nosce Teipsum.' His history became, for some time, a +list of promotions. He was appointed, in 1603, first Solicitor and then +Attorney-General in Ireland, was next made Sergeant, was then knighted, +then appointed King's Sergeant, next elected representative of the +county of Fermanagh, and, in fine, after a violent contest between the +Roman Catholic and Protestant parties, was chosen Speaker of the House +of Commons in the Protestant interest. While in Ireland he married +Eleanor, a daughter of Lord Audley, who turned out a raving prophetess, +and was sent, in 1649, to the Tower, and then to Bethlehem Hospital, by +the Revolutionary Government. In 1616, Sir John returned to England, +continued to practise as a barrister, sat in Parliament for Newcastle- +under-Lyne, and received a promise of being made Chief-Justice of +England; but was suddenly cut off by apoplexy in 1626. + +His poem on dancing, which was written in fifteen days, and left a +fragment, is a piece of beautiful, though somewhat extravagant fancy. +His 'Nosce Teipsum,' if it casts little new light, and rears no +demonstrative argument on the grand and difficult problem of +immortality, is full of ingenuity, and has many apt and memorable +similes. Feeling he happily likens to the + + 'subtle spider, which doth sit + In middle of her web, which spreadeth wide; + If aught do touch the utmost thread of it, + She feels it instantly on every side.' + +In answering an objection, 'Why, if souls continue to exist, do they not +return and bring us news of that strange world?' he replies-- + + 'But as Noah's pigeon, which return'd no more, + Did show she footing found, for all the flood, + So when good souls, departed through death's door, + Come not again, it shows their dwelling good.' + +The poem is interesting from the musical use he makes of the quatrain, +a form of verse in which Dryden afterwards wrote his 'Annus Mirabilis,' +and as one of the earliest philosophical poems in the language. It is +proverbially difficult to reason in verse, but Davies reasons, if not +always with conclusive result, always with energy and skill. + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE POEM ON THE SOUL OF MAN. + +1 The lights of heaven, which are the world's fair eyes, + Look down into the world, the world to see; + And as they turn or wander in the skies, + Survey all things that on this centre be. + +2 And yet the lights which in my tower do shine, + Mine eyes, which view all objects nigh and far, + Look not into this little world of mine, + Nor see my face, wherein they fixed are. + +3 Since Nature fails us in no needful thing, + Why want I means my inward self to see? + Which sight the knowledge of myself might bring, + Which to true wisdom is the first degree. + +4 That Power, which gave me eyes the world to view, + To view myself, infused an inward light, + Whereby my soul, as by a mirror true, + Of her own form may take a perfect sight. + +5 But as the sharpest eye discerneth nought, + Except the sunbeams in the air do shine; + So the best soul, with her reflecting thought, + Sees not herself without some light divine. + +6 O light, which mak'st the light which makes the day! + Which sett'st the eye without, and mind within, + Lighten my spirit with one clear heavenly ray, + Which now to view itself doth first begin. + +7 For her true form how can my spark discern, + Which, dim by nature, art did never clear, + When the great wits, of whom all skill we learn, + Are ignorant both what she is, and where? + +8 One thinks the soul is air; another fire; + Another blood, diffused about the heart; + Another saith, the elements conspire, + And to her essence each doth give a part. + +9 Musicians think our souls are harmonies; + Physicians hold that they complexions be; + Epicures make them swarms of atomies, + Which do by chance into our bodies flee. + +10 Some think one general soul fills every brain, + As the bright sun sheds light in every star; + And others think the name of soul is vain, + And that we only well-mix'd bodies are. + +11 In judgment of her substance thus they vary; + And thus they vary in judgment of her seat; + For some her chair up to the brain do carry, + Some thrust it down into the stomach's heat. + +12 Some place it in the root of life, the heart; + Some in the liver, fountain of the veins; + Some say, she's all in all, and all in every part; + Some say, she's not contain'd, but all contains. + +13 Thus these great clerks their little wisdom show, + While with their doctrines they at hazard play; + Tossing their light opinions to and fro, + To mock the lewd, as learn'd in this as they. + +14 For no crazed brain could ever yet propound, + Touching the soul, so vain and fond a thought; + But some among these masters have been found, + Which in their schools the selfsame thing have taught. + +15 God only wise, to punish pride of wit, + Among men's wits hath this confusion wrought, + As the proud tower whose points the clouds did hit, + By tongues' confusion was to ruin brought. + +16 But thou which didst man's soul of nothing make, + And when to nothing it was fallen again, + 'To make it new, the form of man didst take; + And, God with God, becam'st a man with men.' + +17 Thou that hast fashion'd twice this soul of ours, + So that she is by double title thine, + Thou only know'st her nature and her powers, + Her subtle form thou only canst define. + +18 To judge herself, she must herself transcend, + As greater circles comprehend the less; + But she wants power her own powers to extend, + As fetter'd men cannot their strength express. + +19 But thou bright morning Star, thou rising Sun, + Which in these later times hast brought to light + Those mysteries that, since the world begun, + Lay hid in darkness and eternal night: + +20 Thou, like the sun, dost with an equal ray + Into the palace and the cottage shine, + And show'st the soul, both to the clerk and lay, + By the clear lamp of oracle divine. + +21 This lamp, through all the regions of my brain, + Where my soul sits, doth spread such beams of grace, + As now, methinks, I do distinguish plain + Each subtle line of her immortal face. + +22 The soul a substance and a spirit is, + Which God himself doth in the body make, + Which makes the man; for every man from this + The nature of a man and name doth take. + +23 And though this spirit be to the body knit, + As an apt means her powers to exercise, + Which are life, motion, sense, and will, and wit, + Yet she survives, although the body dies. + + +THE SELF-SUBSISTENCE OF THE SOUL. + +1 She is a substance, and a real thing, + Which hath itself an actual working might, + Which neither from the senses' power doth spring, + Nor from the body's humours temper'd right. + +2 She is a vine, which doth no propping need, + To make her spread herself, or spring upright; + She is a star, whose beams do not proceed + From any sun, but from a native light. + +3 For when she sorts things present with things past, + And thereby things to come doth oft foresee; + When she doth doubt at first, and choose at last, + These acts her own,[1] without her body be. + +4 When of the dew, which the eye and ear do take, + From flowers abroad, and bring into the brain, + She doth within both wax and honey make: + This work is hers, this is her proper pain. + +5 When she from sundry acts, one skill doth draw; + Gathering from divers fights one art of war; + From many cases like, one rule of law; + These her collections, not the senses' are. + +6 When in the effects she doth the causes know; + And seeing the stream, thinks where the spring doth rise; + And seeing the branch, conceives the root below: + These things she views without the body's eyes. + +7 When she, without a Pegasus, doth fly + Swifter than lightning's fire from east to west; + About the centre, and above the sky, + She travels then, although the body rest. + +8 When all her works she formeth first within, + Proportions them, and sees their perfect end; + Ere she in act doth any part begin, + What instruments doth then the body lend? + +9 When without hands she doth thus castles build, + Sees without eyes, and without feet doth run; + When she digests the world, yet is not fill'd: + By her own powers these miracles are done. + +10 When she defines, argues, divides, compounds, + Considers virtue, vice, and general things; + And marrying divers principles and grounds, + Out of their match a true conclusion brings. + +11 These actions in her closet, all alone, + Retired within herself, she doth fulfil; + Use of her body's organs she hath none, + When she doth use the powers of wit and will. + +12 Yet in the body's prison so she lies, + As through the body's windows she must look, + Her divers powers of sense to exercise, + By gathering notes out of the world's great book. + +13 Nor can herself discourse or judge of ought, + But what the sense collects, and home doth bring; + And yet the powers of her discoursing thought, + From these collections is a diverse thing. + +14 For though our eyes can nought but colours see, + Yet colours give them not their power of sight; + So, though these fruits of sense her objects be, + Yet she discerns them by her proper light. + +15 The workman on his stuff his skill doth show, + And yet the stuff gives not the man his skill; + Kings their affairs do by their servants know, + But order them by their own royal will. + +16 So, though this cunning mistress, and this queen, + Doth, as her instruments, the senses use, + To know all things that are felt, heard, or seen; + Yet she herself doth only judge and choose. + +17 Even as a prudent emperor, that reigns + By sovereign title over sundry lands, + Borrows, in mean affairs, his subjects' pains, + Sees by their eyes, and writeth by their hands: + +18 But things of weight and consequence indeed, + Himself doth in his chamber then debate; + Where all his counsellors he doth exceed, + As far in judgment, as he doth in state. + +19 Or as the man whom princes do advance, + Upon their gracious mercy-seat to sit, + Doth common things of course and circumstance, + To the reports of common men commit: + +20 But when the cause itself must be decreed, + Himself in person in his proper court, + To grave and solemn hearing doth proceed, + Of every proof, and every by-report. + +21 Then, like God's angel, he pronounceth right, + And milk and honey from his tongue doth flow: + Happy are they that still are in his sight, + To reap the wisdom which his lips doth sow. + +22 Right so the soul, which is a lady free, + And doth the justice of her state maintain: + Because the senses ready servants be, + Attending nigh about her court, the brain: + +23 By them the forms of outward things she learns, + For they return unto the fantasy, + Whatever each of them abroad discerns, + And there enrol it for the mind to see. + +24 But when she sits to judge the good and ill, + And to discern betwixt the false and true, + She is not guided by the senses' skill, + But doth each thing in her own mirror view. + +25 Then she the senses checks, which oft do err, + And even against their false reports decrees; + And oft she doth condemn what they prefer; + For with a power above the sense she sees. + +26 Therefore no sense the precious joys conceives, + Which in her private contemplations be; + For then the ravish'd spirit the senses leaves, + Hath her own powers, and proper actions free. + +27 Her harmonies are sweet, and full of skill, + When on the body's instruments she plays; + But the proportions of the wit and will, + Those sweet accords are even the angels' lays. + +28 These tunes of reason are Amphion's lyre, + Wherewith he did the Theban city found: + These are the notes wherewith the heavenly choir, + The praise of Him which made the heaven doth sound. + +29 Then her self-being nature shines in this, + That she performs her noblest works alone: + 'The work, the touchstone of the nature is; + And by their operations things are known.' + +[1] That the soul hath a proper operation without the body. + + +SPIRITUALITY OF THE SOUL. + +1 But though this substance be the root of sense, + Sense knows her not, which doth but bodies know: + She is a spirit, and heavenly influence, + Which from the fountain of God's Spirit doth flow. + +2 She is a spirit, yet not like air or wind; + Nor like the spirits about the heart or brain; + Nor like those spirits which alchymists do find, + When they in everything seek gold in vain. + +3 For she all natures under heaven doth pass, + Being like those spirits, which God's bright face do see, + Or like Himself, whose image once she was, + Though now, alas! she scarce his shadow be. + +4 For of all forms, she holds the first degree, + That are to gross, material bodies knit; + Yet she herself is bodiless and free; + And, though confined, is almost infinite. + +5 Were she a body,[1] how could she remain + Within this body, which is less than she? + Or how could she the world's great shape contain, + And in our narrow breasts contained be? + +6 All bodies are confined within some place, + But she all place within herself confines: + All bodies have their measure and their space; + But who can draw the soul's dimensive lines? + +7 No body can at once two forms admit, + Except the one the other do deface; + But in the soul ten thousand forms do fit, + And none intrudes into her neighbour's place. + +8 All bodies are with other bodies fill'd, + But she receives both heaven and earth together: + Nor are their forms by rash encounter spill'd, + For there they stand, and neither toucheth either. + +9 Nor can her wide embracements filled be; + For they that most and greatest things embrace, + Enlarge thereby their mind's capacity, + As streams enlarged, enlarge the channel's space. + +10 All things received, do such proportion take, + As those things have, wherein they are received: + So little glasses little faces make, + And narrow webs on narrow frames are weaved. + +11 Then what vast body must we make the mind, + Wherein are men, beasts, trees, towns, seas, and lands; + And yet each thing a proper place doth find, + And each thing in the true proportion stands? + +12 Doubtless, this could not be, but that she turns + Bodies to spirits, by sublimation strange; + As fire converts to fire the things it burns: + As we our meats into our nature change. + +13 From their gross matter she abstracts the forms, + And draws a kind of quintessence from things, + Which to her proper nature she transforms, + To bear them light on her celestial wings. + +14 This doth she, when, from things particular, + She doth abstract the universal kinds, + Which bodiless and immaterial are, + And can be only lodged within our minds. + +15 And thus from divers accidents and acts, + Which do within her observation fall, + She goddesses and powers divine abstracts; + As nature, fortune, and the virtues all. + +16 Again; how can she several bodies know, + If in herself a body's form she bear? + How can a mirror sundry faces show, + If from all shapes and forms it be not clear? + +17 Nor could we by our eyes all colours learn, + Except our eyes were of all colours void; + Nor sundry tastes can any tongue discern, + Which is with gross and bitter humours cloy'd. + +18 Nor can a man of passions judge aright, + Except his mind be from all passions free: + Nor can a judge his office well acquit, + If he possess'd of either party be. + +19 If, lastly, this quick power a body were, + Were it as swift as in the wind or fire, + Whose atoms do the one down sideways bear, + And the other make in pyramids aspire; + +20 Her nimble body yet in time must move, + And not in instants through all places slide: + But she is nigh and far, beneath, above, + In point of time, which thought cannot divide; + +21 She's sent as soon to China as to Spain; + And thence returns as soon as she is sent: + She measures with one time, and with one pain. + An ell of silk, and heaven's wide-spreading tent. + +22 As then the soul a substance hath alone, + Besides the body in which she's confined; + So hath she not a body of her own, + But is a spirit, and immaterial mind. + +23 Since body and soul have such diversities, + Well might we muse how first their match began; + But that we learn, that He that spread the skies, + And fix'd the earth, first form'd the soul in man. + +24 This true Prometheus first made man of earth, + And shed in him a beam of heavenly fire; + Now in their mothers' wombs, before their birth, + Doth in all sons of men their souls inspire. + +25 And as Minerva is in fables said, + From Jove, without a mother, to proceed; + So our true Jove, without a mother's aid, + Doth daily millions of Minervas breed. + +[1] That it cannot be a body. + + + + +GILES FLETCHER. + + +Giles Fletcher was the younger brother of Phineas, and died twenty-three +years before him. He was a cousin of Fletcher the dramatist, and the son +of Dr Giles Fletcher, who was employed in many important missions in the +reign of Queen Elizabeth, and, among others, negotiated a commercial +treaty with Russia greatly in the favour of his own country. Giles is +supposed to have been born in 1588. He studied at Cambridge; published his +noble poem, 'Christ's Victory and Triumph,' in 1610, when he was twenty- +three years of age; was appointed to the living of Alderston, in Suffolk, +where he died, in 1623, at the early age of thirty-five, 'equally loved,' +says old Wood, 'of the Muses and the Graces.' + +The poem, in four cantos, entitled 'Christ's Victory and Triumph,' is one +of almost Miltonic magnificence. With a wing as easy as it is strong, he +soars to heaven, and fills the austere mouth of Justice and the golden +lips of Mercy with language worthy of both. He then stoops down on the +Wilderness of the Temptation, and paints the Saviour and Satan in colours +admirably contrasted, and which in their brightness and blackness can +never decay. Nor does he fear, in fine, to pierce the gloom of Calvary, +and to mingle his note with the harps of angels, saluting the Redeemer, as +He sprang from the grave, with the song, 'He is risen, He is risen--and +shall die no more.' The style is steeped in Spenser--equally mellifluous, +figurative, and majestic. In allegory the author of the 'Fairy Queen' is +hardly superior, and in the enthusiasm of devotion Fletcher surpasses him +far. From the great light, thus early kindled and early quenched, Milton +did not disdain to draw with his 'golden urn.' 'Paradise Regained' owes +much more than the suggestion of its subject to 'Christ's Victory;' and is +it too much to say that, had Fletcher lived, he might have shone in the +same constellation with the bard of the 'Paradise Lost?' The plan of our +'Specimens' permits only a few extracts. Let those who wish more, along +with a lengthened and glowing tribute to the author's genius, consult +_Blackwood_ for November 1835. The reading of a single sentence will +convince them that the author of the paper was Christopher North. + + +THE NATIVITY. + +I. + +Who can forget, never to be forgot, +The time, that all the world in slumber lies: +When, like the stars, the singing angels shot +To earth, and heaven awaked all his eyes, +To see another sun at midnight rise + On earth? was never sight of pareil fame: + For God before, man like himself did frame, +But God himself now like a mortal man became. + +II. + +A child he was, and had not learned to speak, +That with his word the world before did make: +His mother's arms him bore, he was so weak, +That with one hand the vaults of heaven could shake. +See how small room my infant Lord doth take, + Whom all the world is not enough to hold. + Who of his years, or of his age hath told? +Never such age so young, never a child so old. + +III + +And yet but newly he was infanted, +And yet already he was sought to die; +Yet scarcely born, already banished; +Not able yet to go, and forced to fly: +But scarcely fled away, when by and by, + The tyrant's sword with blood is all denied, + And Rachel, for her sons with fury wild, +Cries, O thou cruel king, and O my sweetest child! + +IV. + +Egypt his nurse became, where Nilus springs, +Who straight, to entertain the rising sun, +The hasty harvest in his bosom brings; +But now for drought the fields were all undone, +And now with waters all is overrun: + So fast the Cynthian mountains poured their snow, + When once they felt the sun so near them glow, +That Nilus Egypt lost, and to a sea did grow. + +V. + +The angels carolled loud their song of peace, +The cursed oracles were stricken dumb, +To see their shepherd, the poor shepherds press, +To see their king, the kingly sophics come, +And them to guide unto his Master's home, + A star comes dancing up the orient, + That springs for joy over the strawy tent, +Where gold, to make their prince a crown, they all present. + +VI. + +Young John, glad child, before he could be born, +Leapt in the womb, his joy to prophesy: +Old Anna, though with age all spent and worn, +Proclaims her Saviour to posterity: +And Simeon fast his dying notes doth ply. + Oh, how the blessed souls about him trace! + It is the fire of heaven thou dost embrace: +Sing, Simeon, sing; sing, Simeon, sing apace. + +VII. + +With that the mighty thunder dropt away +From God's unwary arm, now milder grown, +And melted into tears; as if to pray +For pardon, and for pity, it had known, +That should have been for sacred vengeance thrown: + There too the armies angelic devowed + Their former rage, and all to mercy bowed, +Their broken weapons at her feet they gladly strowed. + +VIII. + +Bring, bring, ye Graces, all your silver flaskets, +Painted with every choicest flower that grows, +That I may soon unflower your fragrant baskets, +To strow the fields with odours where he goes, +Let whatsoe'er he treads on be a rose. + So down she let her eyelids fall, to shine + Upon the rivers of bright Palestine, +Whose woods drop honey, and her rivers skip with wine. + + +SONG OF SORCERESS SEEKING TO TEMPT CHRIST. + +Love is the blossom where there blows +Everything that lives or grows: +Love doth make the heavens to move, +And the sun doth burn in love: +Love the strong and weak doth yoke, +And makes the ivy climb the oak; +Under whose shadows lions wild, +Softened by love, grow tame and mild: +Love no medicine can appease, +He burns the fishes in the seas; +Not all the skill his wounds can stench, +Not all the sea his fire can quench: +Love did make the bloody spear +Once a leafy coat to wear, +While in his leaves there shrouded lay +Sweet birds, for love, that sing and play: +And of all love's joyful flame, +I the bud, and blossom am. + Only bend thy knee to me, + The wooing shall thy winning be. + +See, see the flowers that below, +Now as fresh as morning blow, +And of all, the virgin rose, +That as bright Aurora shows: +How they all unleaved die, +Losing their virginity; +Like unto a summer-shade, +But now born, and now they fade. +Everything doth pass away, +There is danger in delay: +Come, come gather then the rose, +Gather it, ere it you lose. +All the sand of Tagus' shore +Into my bosom casts his ore; +All the valley's swimming corn +To my house is yearly borne: +Every grape of every vine +Is gladly bruised to make me wine. +While ten thousand kings, as proud, +To carry up my train have bowed, +And a world of ladies send me +In my chambers to attend me. +All the stars in heaven that shine, +And ten thousand more, are mine: + Only bend thy knee to me, + Thy wooing shall thy winning be. + + +CLOSE OF 'CHRIST'S VICTORY AND TRIUMPH.' + +I + +Here let my Lord hang up his conquering lance, +And bloody armour with late slaughter warm, +And looking down on his weak militants, +Behold his saints, midst of their hot alarm, +Hang all their golden hopes upon his arm. + And in this lower field dispacing wide, + Through windy thoughts, that would their sails misguide, +Anchor their fleshly ships fast in his wounded side. + +II. + +Here may the band, that now in triumph shines, +And that (before they were invested thus) +In earthly bodies carried heavenly minds, +Pitched round about in order glorious, +Their sunny tents, and houses luminous, + All their eternal day in songs employing, + Joying their end, without end of their joying, +While their Almighty Prince destruction is destroying. + +III. + +Full, yet without satiety, of that +Which whets and quiets greedy appetite, +Where never sun did rise, nor ever sat, +But one eternal day, and endless light +Gives time to those, whose time is infinite, + Speaking without thought, obtaining without fee, + Beholding him, whom never eye could see, +Magnifying him, that cannot greater be. + +IV. + +How can such joy as this want words to speak? +And yet what words can speak such joy as this? +Far from the world, that might their quiet break, +Here the glad souls the face of beauty kiss, +Poured out in pleasure, on their beds of bliss, + And drunk with nectar torrents, ever hold + Their eyes on him, whose graces manifold +The more they do behold, the more they would behold. + +V. + +Their sight drinks lovely fires in at their eyes, +Their brain sweet incense with fine breath accloys, +That on God's sweating altar burning lies; +Their hungry ears feed on the heavenly noise +That angels sing, to tell their untold joys; + Their understanding naked truth, their wills + The all, and self-sufficient goodness fills, +That nothing here is wanting, but the want of ills. + +VI. + +No sorrow now hangs clouding on their brow, +No bloodless malady empales their face, +No age drops on their hairs his silver snow, +No nakedness their bodies doth embase, +No poverty themselves, and theirs disgrace, + No fear of death the joy of life devours, + No unchaste sleep their precious time deflowers, +No loss, no grief, no change wait on their winged hours. + +VII. + +But now their naked bodies scorn the cold, +And from their eyes joy looks, and laughs at pain; +The infant wonders how he came so old, +And old man how he came so young again; +Still resting, though from sleep they still restrain; + Where all are rich, and yet no gold they owe; + And all are kings, and yet no subjects know; +All full, and yet no time on food they do bestow. + +VIII. + +For things that pass are past, and in this field +The indeficient spring no winter fears; +The trees together fruit and blossom yield, +The unfading lily leaves of silver bears, +And crimson rose a scarlet garment wears: + And all of these on the saints' bodies grow, + Not, as they wont, on baser earth below; +Three rivers here of milk, and wine, and honey flow. + +IX. + +About the holy city rolls a flood +Of molten crystal, like a sea of glass, +On which weak stream a strong foundation stood, +Of living diamonds the building was +That all things else, besides itself, did pass: + Her streets, instead of stones, the stars did pave, + And little pearls, for dust, it seemed to have, +On which soft-streaming manna, like pure snow, did wave. + +X. + +In midst of this city celestial, +Where the eternal temple should have rose, +Lightened the idea beatifical: +End and beginning of each thing that grows, +Whose self no end, nor yet beginning knows, + That hath no eyes to see, nor ears to hear; + Yet sees, and hears, and is all eye, all ear; +That nowhere is contained, and yet is everywhere. + +XI. + +Changer of all things, yet immutable; +Before, and after all, the first, and last: +That moving all is yet immoveable; +Great without quantity, in whose forecast, +Things past are present, things to come are past; + Swift without motion, to whose open eye + The hearts of wicked men unbreasted lie; +At once absent, and present to them, far, and nigh. + +XII. + +It is no flaming lustre, made of light; +No sweet consent, or well-timed harmony; +Ambrosia, for to feast the appetite: +Or flowery odour, mixed with spicery; +No soft embrace, or pleasure bodily: + And yet it is a kind of inward feast; + A harmony that sounds within the breast; +An odour, light, embrace, in which the soul doth rest. + +XIII. + +A heavenly feast no hunger can consume; +A light unseen, yet shines in every place; +A sound no time can steal; a sweet perfume +No winds can scatter; an entire embrace, +That no satiety can e'er unlace: + Ingraced into so high a favour, there + The saints, with their beau-peers, whole worlds outwear; +And things unseen do see, and things unheard do hear. + +XIV. + +Ye blessed souls, grown richer by your spoil, +Whose loss, though great, is cause of greater gains; +Here may your weary spirits rest from toil, +Spending your endless evening that remains, +Amongst those white flocks, and celestial trains, + That feed upon their Shepherd's eyes; and frame + That heavenly music of so wondrous fame, +Psalming aloud the holy honours of his name! + +XV. + +Had I a voice of steel to tune my song; +Were every verse as smooth as smoothest glass; +And every member turned to a tongue; +And every tongue were made of sounding brass: +Yet all that skill, and all this strength, alas! + Should it presume to adorn (were misadvised) + The place, where David hath new songs devised, +As in his burning throne he sits emparadised. + +XVI. + +Most happy prince, whose eyes those stars behold, +Treading ours underfeet, now mayst thou pour +That overflowing skill, wherewith of old +Thou wont'st to smooth rough speech; now mayst thou shower +Fresh streams of praise upon that holy bower, + Which well we heaven call, not that it rolls, + But that it is the heaven of our souls: +Most happy prince, whose sight so heavenly sight beholds! + +XVII. + +Ah, foolish shepherds! who were wont to esteem +Your God all rough, and shaggy-haired to be; +And yet far wiser shepherds than ye deem, +For who so poor (though who so rich) as he, +When sojourning with us in low degree, + He washed his flocks in Jordan's spotless tide; + And that his dear remembrance might abide, +Did to us come, and with us lived, and for us died? + +XVIII. + +But now such lively colours did embeam +His sparkling forehead; and such shining rays +Kindled his flaming locks, that down did stream +In curls along his neck, where sweetly plays +(Singing his wounds of love in sacred lays) + His dearest Spouse, Spouse of the dearest Lover, + Knitting a thousand knots over and over, +And dying still for love, but they her still recover. + +XIX. + +Fairest of fairs, that at his eyes doth dress +Her glorious face; those eyes, from whence are shed +Attractions infinite; where to express +His love, high God all heaven as captive leads, +And all the banners of his grace dispreads, + And in those windows doth his arms englaze, + And on those eyes, the angels all do gaze, +And from those eyes, the lights of heaven obtain their blaze. + +XX. + +But let the Kentish lad,[1] that lately taught +His oaten reed the trumpet's silver sound, +Young Thyrsilis; and for his music brought +The willing spheres from heaven, to lead around +The dancing nymphs and swains, that sung, and crowned + Eclecta's Hymen with ten thousand flowers + Of choicest praise; and hung her heavenly bowers +With saffron garlands, dressed for nuptial paramours. + +XXI. + +Let his shrill trumpet, with her silver blast, +Of fair Eclecta, and her spousal bed, +Be the sweet pipe, and smooth encomiast: +But my green muse, hiding her younger head, +Under old Camus' flaggy banks, that spread + Their willow locks abroad, and all the day + With their own watery shadows wanton play; +Dares not those high amours, and love-sick songs assay. + +XXII. + +Impotent words, weak lines, that strive in vain; + In vain, alas, to tell so heavenly sight! +So heavenly sight, as none can greater feign, + Feign what he can, that seems of greatest might: + Could any yet compare with Infinite? + Infinite sure those joys; my words but light; +Light is the palace where she dwells; oh, then, how bright! + +[1] The author of 'The Purple Island.' + + + + +JOHN DONNE. + + +John Donne was born in London, in the year 1573. He sprung from a +Catholic family, and his mother was related to Sir Thomas More and to +Heywood the epigrammatist. He was very early distinguished as a prodigy +of boyish acquirement, and was entered, when only eleven, of Harthall, +now Hertford College. He was designed for the law, but relinquished the +study when he reached nineteen. About the same time, having studied the +controversies between the Papists and Protestants, he deliberately went +over to the latter. He next accompanied the Earl of Essex to Cadiz, and +looked wistfully over the gulf dividing him from Jerusalem, with all its +holy memories, to which his heart had been translated from very boyhood. +He even meditated a journey to the Holy Land, but was discouraged by +reports as to the dangers of the way. On his return he was received by +the Lord Chancellor Ellesmere into his own house as his secretary. Here +he fell in love with Miss More, the daughter of Sir George More, Lord- +Lieutenant of the Tower, and the niece of the Chancellor. His passion +was returned, and the pair were imprudent enough to marry privately. +When the matter became known, the father-in-law became infuriated. He +prevailed on Lord Ellesmere to drive Donne out of his service, and had +him even for a short time imprisoned. Even when released he continued in +a pitiable plight, and but for the kindness of Sir Francis Wooley, a son +of Lady Ellesmere by a former marriage, who received the young couple +into his family and entertained them for years, they would have +perished. + +When Donne reached the age of thirty-four, Dr Merton, afterwards Bishop +of Durham, urged him to take orders, and offered him a benefice, which +he was generously to relinquish in his favour. Donne declined, on +account, he said, of some past errors of life, which, 'though repented +of and pardoned by God, might not be forgotten by men, and might cast +dishonour on the sacred office.' + +When Sir F. Wooley died, Sir Robert Drury became his next protector. +Donne attended him on an embassy to France, and his wife formed the +romantic purpose of accompanying her husband in the disguise of a page. +Here was a wife fit for a poet! In order to restrain her from her +purpose, he had to address to her some verses, commencing, + + 'By our strange and fatal interview.' + +Isaak Walton relates how the poet, one evening, as he sat alone in +Paris, saw his wife appearing to him in vision, with a dead infant in +her arms--a proof at once of the strength of his love and of his +imagination. This beloved and admirable woman died in 1617, a few days +after giving birth to her twelfth child, and Donne's grief approached +distraction. + +When he had reached the forty-second year of his age, our poet, at the +instance of King James, became a clergyman, and was successively +appointed Chaplain to the King, Lecturer to Lincoln's Inn, Dean of St +Dunstan's in the West, and Dean of St Paul's. In the pulpit he attracted +great attention, particularly from the more thoughtful and intelligent +of his auditors. He continued Dean of St Paul's till his death, which +took place in 1631, when he was approaching sixty. He died of consumption, +a disease which seldom cuts down a man so near his grand climacteric. + +'He was buried,' says Campbell, 'in St Paul's, where his figure yet +remains in the vault of St Faith's, carved from a painting, for which he +sat a few days' (it should be weeks) 'before his death, dressed in his +winding-sheet.' He kept this portrait constantly by his bedside to +remind him of his mortality. + +Donne's Sermons fill a large folio, with which we were familiar in +boyhood, but have not seen since. De Quincey says, alluding partly +to them, and partly to his poetry,--'Few writers have shewn a more +extraordinary compass of powers than Donne, for he combined--what no +other man has ever done--the last sublimation of dialectical subtlety +and address with the most impassioned majesty. Massy diamonds compose +the very substance of his poem on the 'Metempsychosis,'--thoughts and +descriptions which have the fervent and gloomy sublimity of Ezekiel or +Aeschylus; while a diamond-dust of rhetorical brilliances is strewed +over the whole of his occasional verses and his prose.' We beg leave +to differ, in some degree, from De Quincey in his estimate of the +'Metempsychosis,' or 'The Progress of the Soul,' although we have given +it entire. It has too many far-fetched conceits and obscure allegories, +although redeemed, we admit, by some very precious thoughts, such as + + 'This soul, to whom Luther and Mahomet were Prisons of flesh.' + +Or the following quaint picture of the apple in Eden-- + + 'Prince of the orchard, fair as dawning morn, + Fenced with the law, and ripe as soon as born.' + +Or this-- + + 'Nature hath no jail, though she hath law.' + +If our readers, however, can admire the account the poet gives of Abel +and his bitch, or see any resemblance to the severe and simple grandeur +of Aeschylus and Ezekiel in the description of the soul informing a +body, made of a '_female fish's sandy roe' 'newly leavened with the +male's jelly_,' we shall say no more. + +Donne, altogether, gives us the impression of a great genius ruined by +a false system. He is a charioteer run away with by his own pampered +steeds. He begins generally well, but long ere the close, quibbles, +conceits, and the temptation of shewing off recondite learning, prove +too strong for him, and he who commenced following a serene star, ends +pursuing a will-o'-wisp into a bottomless morass. Compare, for instance, +the ingenious nonsense which abounds in the middle and the close of his +'Progress of the Soul' with the dark, but magnificent stanzas which are +the first in the poem. + +In no writings in the language is there more spilt treasure--a more lavish +loss of beautiful, original, and striking things than in the poems of +Donne. Every second line, indeed, is either bad, or unintelligible, or +twisted into unnatural distortion, but even the worst passages discover a +great, though trammelled and tasteless mind; and we question if Dr Johnson +himself, who has, in his 'Life of Cowley,' criticised the school of poets +to which Donne belonged so severely, and in some points so justly, +possessed a tithe of the rich fancy, the sublime intuition, and the lofty +spirituality of Donne. How characteristic of the difference between these +two great men, that, while the one shrank from the slightest footprint of +death, Donne deliberately placed the image of his dead self before his +eyes, and became familiar with the shadow ere the grim reality arrived! + +Donne's Satires shew, in addition to the high ideal qualities, the rugged +versification, the fantastic paradox, and the perverted taste of their +author, great strength and clearness of judgment, and a deep, although +somewhat jaundiced, view of human nature. That there must have been +something morbid in the structure of his mind is proved by the fact that +he wrote an elaborate treatise, which was not published till after his +death, entitled, 'Biathanatos,' to prove that suicide was not necessarily +sinful. + + +HOLY SONNETS. + +I. + +Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay? +Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste; +I run to death, and death meets me as fast, +And all my pleasures are like yesterday. +I dare not move my dim eyes any way; +Despair behind, and death before, doth cast +Such terror, and my feeble flesh doth waste +By sin in it, which it towards hell doth weigh, +Only thou art above, and when towards thee +By thy leave I can look, I rise again; +But our old subtle foe so tempteth me, +That not one hour myself I can sustain: +Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art, +And thou, like adamant, draw mine iron heart. + +II. + +As due by many titles, I resign +Myself to thee, O God! First I was made +By thee, and for thee; and when I was decayed +Thy blood bought that, the which before was thine. +I am thy son, made with thyself to shine, +Thy servant, whose pains thou hast still repaid, +Thy sheep, thine image; and, till I betrayed +Myself, a temple of thy Spirit divine. +Why doth the devil then usurp on me? +Why doth he steal, nay, ravish, that's thy right? +Except thou rise, and for thine own work fight, +Oh! I shall soon despair, when I shall see +That thou lov'st mankind well, yet wilt not choose me, +And Satan hates me, yet is loth to lose me. + +III. + +Oh! might these sighs and tears return again +Into my breast and eyes which I have spent, +That I might, in this holy discontent, +Mourn with some fruit, as I have mourned in vain! +In mine idolatry what showers of rain +Mine eyes did waste! what griefs my heart did rent! +That sufferance was my sin I now repent; +'Cause I did suffer, I must suffer pain. +The hydroptic drunkard, and night-scouting thief, +The itchy lecher, and self-tickling proud, +Have th' remembrance of past joys for relief +Of coming ills. To poor me is allow'd +No ease; for long yet vehement grief hath been +The effect and cause, the punishment and sin. + +IV. + +Oh! my black soul! now thou art summoned +By sickness, death's herald and champion, +Thou 'rt like a pilgrim which abroad hath done +Treason, and durst not turn to whence he is fled; +Or like a thief, which, till death's doom be read, +Wisheth himself delivered from prison; +But damn'd, and haul'd to execution, +Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned: +Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack; +But who shall give thee that grace to begin? +Oh! make thyself with holy mourning black, +And red with blushing, as thou art with sin; +Or wash thee in Christ's blood, which hath this might, +That, being red, it dyes red souls to white. + +V. + +I am a little world, made cunningly +Of elements and an angelic sprite; +But black sin hath betrayed to endless night +My world's both parts, and oh! both parts must die. +You, which beyond that heaven, which was most high, +Have found new spheres, and of new land can write, +Pour new seas in mine eyes, that so I might +Drown my world with my weeping earnestly, +Or wash it, if it must be drowned no more: +But oh! it must be burnt; alas! the fire +Of lust and envy burnt it heretofore, +And made it fouler; let their flames retire, +And burn me, O Lord! with a fiery zeal +Of thee and thy house, which doth in eating heal. + +VI. + +This is my play's last scene; here Heavens appoint +My pilgrimage's last mile; and my race, +Idly yet quickly run, hath this last pace, +My span's last inch, my minute's latest point, +And gluttonous Death will instantly unjoint +My body and soul, and I shall sleep a space: +But my ever-waking part shall see that face +Whose fear already shakes my every joint. +Then as my soul to heaven, her first seat, takes flight, +And earth-born body in the earth shall dwell, +So fall my sins, that all may have their right, +To where they're bred, and would press me to hell. +Impute me righteous; thus purged of evil, +For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil. + +VII. + +At the round earth's imagined corners blow +Your trumpets, angels! and arise, arise +From death, you numberless infinities +Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go, +All whom the flood did, and fire shall, overthrow; +All whom war, death, age, ague's tyrannies, +Despair, law, chance, hath slain; and you whose eyes +Shall behold God, and never taste death's woe. +But let them sleep, Lord! and me mourn a space; +For if above all these my sins abound, +'Tis late to ask abundance of thy grace +When we are there. Here on this holy ground +Teach me how to repent, for that's as good +As if thou hadst sealed my pardon with thy blood. + +VIII. + +If faithful souls be alike glorified +As angels, then my father's soul doth see, +And adds this even to full felicity, +That valiantly I hell's wide mouth o'erstride; +But if our minds to these souls be descried +By circumstances and by signs that be +Apparent in us not immediately, +How shall my mind's white truth by them be tried? +They see idolatrous lovers weep and mourn, +And style blasphemous conjurors to call +On Jesus' name, and pharisaical +Dissemblers feign devotion. Then turn, +O pensive soul! to God, for he knows best +Thy grief, for he put it into my breast. + +IX + +If poisonous minerals, and if that tree +Whose fruit threw death on (else immortal) us; +If lecherous goats, if serpents envious, +Cannot be damn'd, alas! why should I be? +Why should intent or reason, born in me, +Make sins, else equal, in me more heinous? +And mercy being easy and glorious +To God, in his stern wrath why threatens he? +But who am I that dare dispute with thee! +O God! oh, of thine only worthy blood, +And my tears, make a heavenly Lethean flood, +And drown in it my sins' black memory: +That thou remember them some claim as debt, +I think it mercy if thou wilt forget! + +X + +Death! be not proud, though some have called thee +Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; +For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow +Die not, poor Death! nor yet canst thou kill me. +From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be, +Much pleasure, then, from thee much more must flow; +And soonest our best men with thee do go, +Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. +Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, +And dost with poison, war, and sickness, dwell, +And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well, +And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou, then? +One short sleep past we wake eternally; +And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. + +XI. + +Spit in my face, you Jews, and pierce my side, +Buffet and scoff, scourge and crucify me, +For I have sinned, and sinned, and only he +Who could do no iniquity hath died, +But by my death cannot be satisfied +My sins, which pass the Jews' impiety: +They killed once an inglorious man, but I +Crucify him daily, being now glorified. +O let me then his strange love still admire. +Kings pardon, but he bore our punishment; +And Jacob came, clothed in vile harsh attire, +But to supplant, and with gainful intent: +God clothed himself in vile man's flesh, that so +He might be weak enough to surfer woe. + +XII. + +Why are we by all creatures waited on? +Why do the prodigal elements supply +Life and food to me, being more pure than I, +Simpler, and further from corruption? +Why brook'st thou, ignorant horse, subjection? +Why do you, bull and boar, so sillily +Dissemble weakness, and by one man's stroke die, +Whose whole kind you might swallow and feed upon? +Weaker I am, woe's me! and worse than you: +You have not sinned, nor need be timorous, +But wonder at a greater, for to us +Created nature doth these things subdue; +But their Creator, whom sin nor nature tied, +For us, his creatures and his foes, hath died. + +XIII. + +What if this present were the world's last night? +Mark in my heart, O Soul! where thou dost dwell, +The picture of Christ crucified, and tell +Whether his countenance can thee affright; +Tears in his eyes quench the amazing light; +Blood fills his frowns, which from his pierced head fell. +And can that tongue adjudge thee unto hell +Which prayed forgiveness for his foes' fierce spite? +No, no; but as in my idolatry +I said to all my profane mistresses, +Beauty of pity, foulness only is +A sign of rigour, so I say to thee: +To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assigned; +This beauteous form assumes a piteous mind. + +XIV. + +Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you +As yet but knock; breathe, shine, and seek to mend, +That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend +Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new. +I, like an usurped town, to another due, +Labour to admit you, but oh! to no end: +Reason, your viceroy in me, we should defend, +But is captived, and proves weak or untrue; +Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain, +But am betrothed unto your enemy. +Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again; +Take me to you, imprison me; for I, +Except you enthral me, never shall be free, +Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me. + +XV. + +Wilt thou love God as he thee? then digest, +My Soul! this wholesome meditation, +How God the Spirit, by angels waited on +In heaven, doth make his temple in thy breast. +The Father having begot a Son most blest, +And still begetting, (for he ne'er begun.) +Hath deigned to choose thee by adoption, +Co-heir to his glory, and Sabbath's endless rest: +And as a robbed man, which by search doth find +His stol'n stuff sold, must lose or buy 't again; +The Sun of glory came down and was slain, +Us, whom he had made, and Satan stole, to unbind. +'Twas much that man was made like God before, +But that God should be made like man much more. + +XVI. + +Father, part of his double interest +Unto thy kingdom thy Son gives to me; +His jointure in the knotty Trinity +He keeps, and gives to me his death's conquest. +This Lamb, whose death with life the world hath blest, +Was from the world's beginning slain, and he +Hath made two wills, which, with the legacy +Of his and thy kingdom, thy sons invest: +Yet such are these laws, that men argue yet +Whether a man those statutes can fulfil: +None doth; but thy all-healing grace and Spirit +Revive again what law and letter kill: +Thy law's abridgment and thy last command +Is all but love; oh, let this last will stand! + + +THE PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. + +I. + +I sing the progress of a deathless Soul, +Whom Fate, which God made, but doth not control, +Placed in most shapes. All times, before the law +Yoked us, and when, and since, in this I sing, +And the great World to his aged evening, +From infant morn through manly noon I draw: +What the gold Chaldee or silver Persian saw, +Greek brass, or Roman iron, 'tis in this one, +A work to outwear Seth's pillars, brick and stone, +And, Holy Writ excepted, made to yield to none. + +II + +Thee, Eye of Heaven, this great Soul envies not; +By thy male force is all we have begot. +In the first east thou now beginn'st to shine, +Suck'st early balm, and island spices there, +And wilt anon in thy loose-reined career +At Tagus, Po, Seine, Thames, and Danow, dine, +And see at night this western land of mine; +Yet hast thou not more nations seen than she +That before thee one day began to be, +And, thy frail light being quench'd, shall long, long outlive thee. + +III + +Nor holy Janus, in whose sovereign boat +The church and all the monarchies did float; +That swimming college and free hospital +Of all mankind, that cage and vivary +Of fowls and beasts, in whose womb Destiny +Us and our latest nephews did install, +(From thence are all derived that fill this all,) +Didst thou in that great stewardship embark +So diverse shapes into that floating park, +As have been moved and inform'd by this heavenly spark. + +IV. + +Great Destiny! the commissary of God! +Thou hast marked out a path and period +For everything; who, where we offspring took, +Our ways and ends seest at one instant: thou +Knot of all causes; thou whose changeless brow +Ne'er smiles nor frowns, oh! vouchsafe thou to look, +And shew my story in thy eternal book, +That (if my prayer be fit) I may understand +So much myself as to know with what hand, +How scant or liberal, this my life's race is spann'd. + +V. + +To my six lustres, almost now outwore, +Except thy book owe me so many more; +Except my legend be free from the lets +Of steep ambition, sleepy poverty, +Spirit-quenching sickness, dull captivity, +Distracting business, and from beauty's nets, +And all that calls from this and t'other's whets; +Oh! let me not launch out, but let me save +The expense of brain and spirit, that my grave +His right and due, a whole unwasted man, may have. + +VI. + +But if my days be long and good enough, +In vain this sea shall enlarge or enrough +Itself; for I will through the wave and foam, +And hold, in sad lone ways, a lively sprite, +Make my dark heavy poem light, and light: +For though through many straits and lands I roam, +I launch at Paradise, and sail towards home: +The course I there began shall here be stayed; +Sails hoisted there struck here, and anchors laid +In Thames which were at Tigris and Euphrates weighed. + +VII. + +For the great Soul which here amongst us now +Doth dwell, and moves that hand, and tongue, and brow, +Which, as the moon the sea, moves us, to hear +Whose story with long patience you will long, +(For 'tis the crown and last strain of my song;) +This Soul, to whom Luther and Mohammed were +Prisons of flesh; this Soul,--which oft did tear +And mend the wrecks of the empire, and late Rome, +And lived when every great change did come, +Had first in Paradise a low but fatal room. + +VIII. + +Yet no low room, nor then the greatest, less +If, as devout and sharp men fitly guess, +That cross, our joy and grief, (where nails did tie +That All, which always was all everywhere, +Which could not sin, and yet all sins did bear, +Which could not die, yet could not choose but die,) +Stood in the self-same room in Calvary +Where first grew the forbidden learned tree; +For on that tree hung in security +This Soul, made by the Maker's will from pulling free. + +IX. + +Prince of the orchard, fair as dawning morn, +Fenced with the law, and ripe as soon as born, +That apple grew which this soul did enlive, +Till the then climbing serpent, that now creeps +For that offence for which all mankind weeps, +Took it, and t' her, whom the first man did wive, +(Whom and her race only forbiddings drive,) +He gave it, she to her husband; both did eat: +So perished the eaters and the meat, +And we, for treason taints the blood, thence die and sweat. + +X. + +Man all at once was there by woman slain, +And one by one we're here slain o'er again +By them. The mother poison'd the well-head; +The daughters here corrupt us rivulets; +No smallness 'scapes, no greatness breaks, their nets: +She thrust us out, and by them we are led +Astray from turning to whence we are fled. +Were prisoners judges 't would seem rigorous; +She sinned, we bear: part of our pain is thus +To love them whose fault to this painful love yoked us. + +XI. + +So fast in us doth this corruption grow, +That now we dare ask why we should be so. +Would God (disputes the curious rebel) make +A law, and would not have it kept? or can +His creatures' will cross his? Of every man +For one will God (and be just) vengeance take? +Who sinned? 'twas not forbidden to the snake, +Nor her, who was not then made; nor is 't writ +That Adam cropt or knew the apple; yet +The worm, and she, and he, and we, endure for it. + +XII. + +But snatch me, heavenly Spirit! from this vain +Reck'ning their vanity; less is their gain +Than hazard still to meditate on ill, +Though with good mind; their reasons like those toys +Of glassy bubbles which the gamesome boys +Stretch to so nice a thinness through a quill, +That they themselves break, and do themselves spill. +Arguing is heretics' game, and exercise, +As wrestlers, perfects them. Not liberties +Of speech, but silence; hands, not tongues, and heresies. + +XIII. + +Just in that instant, when the serpent's gripe +Broke the slight veins and tender conduit-pipe +Through which this Soul from the tree's root did draw +Life and growth to this apple, fled away +This loose Soul, old, one and another day. +As lightning, which one scarce dare say he saw, +'Tis so soon gone (and better proof the law +Of sense than faith requires) swiftly she flew +To a dark and foggy plot; her her fates threw +There through the earth's pores, and in a plant housed her anew. + +XIV. + +The plant, thus abled, to itself did force +A place where no place was by Nature's course, +As air from water, water fleets away +From thicker bodies; by this root thronged so +His spungy confines gave him place to grow: +Just as in our streets, when the people stay +To see the prince, and so fill up the way +That weasels scarce could pass; when he comes near +They throng and cleave up, and a passage clear, +As if for that time their round bodies flatten'd were. + +XV. + +His right arm he thrust out towards the east, +Westward his left; the ends did themselves digest +Into ten lesser strings, these fingers were: +And, as a slumberer, stretching on his bed, +This way he this, and that way scattered +His other leg, which feet with toes upbear; +Grew on his middle part, the first day, hair. +To shew that in love's business he should still +A dealer be, and be used, well or ill: +His apples kindle, his leaves force of conception kill. + +XVI. + +A mouth, but dumb, he hath; blind eyes, deaf ears, +And to his shoulders dangle subtle hairs; +A young Colossus there he stands upright; +And, as that ground by him were conquered, +A lazy garland wears he on his head +Enchased with little fruits so red and bright, +That for them ye would call your love's lips white; +So of a lone unhaunted place possess'd, +Did this Soul's second inn, built by the guest, +This living buried man, this quiet mandrake, rest. + +XVII. + +No lustful woman came this plant to grieve, +But 'twas because there was none yet but Eve, +And she (with other purpose) killed it quite: +Her sin had now brought in infirmities, +And so her cradled child the moist-red eyes +Had never shut, nor slept, since it saw light: +Poppy she knew, she knew the mandrake's might, +And tore up both, and so cooled her child's blood. +Unvirtuous weeds might long unvexed have stood, +But he's short-lived that with his death can do most good. + +XVIII. + +To an unfettered Soul's quick nimble haste +Are falling stars and heart's thoughts but slow-paced, +Thinner than burnt air flies this Soul, and she, +Whom four new-coming and four parting suns +Had found, and left the mandrake's tenant, runs, +Thoughtless of change, when her firm destiny +Confined and enjailed her that seemed so free +Into a small blue shell, the which a poor +Warm bird o'erspread, and sat still evermore, +Till her enclosed child kicked, and picked itself a door. + +XIX. + +Out crept a sparrow, this Soul's moving inn, +On whose raw arms stiff feathers now begin, +As children's teeth through gums, to break with pain: +His flesh is jelly yet, and his bones threads; +All a new downy mantle overspreads: +A mouth he opes, which would as much contain +As his late house, and the first hour speaks plain, +And chirps aloud for meat: meat fit for men +His father steals for him, and so feeds then +One that within a month will beat him from his hen. + +XX. + +In this world's youth wise Nature did make haste, +Things ripened sooner, and did longer last: +Already this hot cock in bush and tree, +In field and tent, o'erflutters his next hen: +He asks her not who did so taste, nor when; +Nor if his sister or his niece she be, +Nor doth she pule for his inconstancy +If in her sight he change; nor doth refuse +The next that calls; both liberty do use. +Where store is of both kinds, both kinds may freely choose. + +XXI. + +Men, till they took laws, which made freedom less, +Their daughters and their sisters did ingress; +Till now unlawful, therefore ill, 'twas not; +So jolly, that it can move this Soul. Is +The body so free of his kindnesses, +That self-preserving it hath now forgot, +And slack'neth not the Soul's and body's knot, +Which temp'rance straitens? Freely on his she-friends +He blood and spirit, pith and marrow, spends; +Ill steward of himself, himself in three years ends. + +XXII. + +Else might he long have lived; man did not know +Of gummy blood which doth in holly grow, +How to make bird-lime, nor how to deceive, +With feigned calls, his nets, or enwrapping snare, +The free inhabitants of the pliant air. +Man to beget, and woman to conceive, +Asked not of roots, nor of cock-sparrows, leave; +Yet chooseth he, though none of these he fears, +Pleasantly three; then straitened twenty years +To live, and to increase his race himself outwears. + +XXIII. + +This coal with over-blowing quenched and dead, +The Soul from her too active organs fled +To a brook. A female fish's sandy roe +With the male's jelly newly leavened was; +For they had intertouched as they did pass, +And one of those small bodies, fitted so, +This Soul informed, and able it to row +Itself with finny oars, which she did fit, +Her scales seemed yet of parchment, and as yet +Perchance a fish, but by no name you could call it. + +XXIV. + +When goodly, like a ship in her full trim, +A swan so white, that you may unto him +Compare all whiteness, but himself to none, +Glided along, and as he glided watched, +And with his arched neck this poor fish catched: +It moved with state, as if to look upon +Low things it scorned; and yet before that one +Could think he sought it, he had swallowed clear +This and much such, and unblamed, devoured there +All but who too swift, too great, or well-armed, were. + +XXV. + +Now swam a prison in a prison put, +And now this Soul in double walls was shut, +Till melted with the swan's digestive fire +She left her house, the fish, and vapoured forth: +Fate not affording bodies of more worth +For her as yet, bids her again retire +To another fish, to any new desire +Made a new prey; for he that can to none +Resistance make, nor complaint, is sure gone; +Weakness invites, but silence feasts oppression. + +XXVI. + +Pace with the native stream this fish doth keep, +And journeys with her towards the glassy deep, +But oft retarded; once with a hidden net, +Though with great windows, (for when need first taught +These tricks to catch food, then they were not wrought +As now, with curious greediness, to let +None 'scape, but few and fit for use to get,) +As in this trap a ravenous pike was ta'en, +Who, though himself distress'd, would fain have slain +This wretch; so hardly are ill habits left again. + +XXVII. + +Here by her smallness she two deaths o'erpast, +Once innocence 'scaped, and left the oppressor fast; +The net through swam, she keeps the liquid path, +And whether she leap up sometimes to breathe +And suck in air, or find it underneath, +Or working parts like mills or limbecs hath, +To make the water thin, and air like faith, +Cares not, but safe the place she's come unto, +Where fresh with salt waves meet, and what to do +She knows not, but between both makes a board or two. + +XXVIII. + +So far from hiding her guests water is, +That she shews them in bigger quantities +Than they are. Thus her, doubtful of her way, +For game, and not for hunger, a sea-pie +Spied through his traitorous spectacle from high +The silly fish, where it disputing lay, +And to end her doubts and her, bears her away; +Exalted, she's but to the exalter's good, +(As are by great ones men which lowly stood;) +It's raised to be the raiser's instrument and food. + +XXIX. + +Is any kind subject to rape like fish? +Ill unto man they neither do nor wish; +Fishers they kill not, nor with noise awake; +They do not hunt, nor strive to make a prey +Of beasts, nor their young sons to bear away; +Fowls they pursue not, nor do undertake +To spoil the nests industrious birds do make; +Yet them all these unkind kinds feed upon; +To kill them is an occupation, +And laws make fasts and lents for their destruction. + +XXX. + +A sudden stiff land-wind in that self hour +To sea-ward forced this bird that did devour +The fish; he cares not, for with ease he flies, +Fat gluttony's best orator: at last, +So long he hath flown, and hath flown so fast, +That, leagues o'erpast at sea, now tired he lies, +And with his prey, that till then languished, dies: +The souls, no longer foes, two ways did err. +The fish I follow, and keep no calender +Of the other: he lives yet in some great officer. + +XXXI. + +Into an embryo fish our Soul is thrown, +And in due time thrown out again, and grown +To such vastness, as if unmanacled +From Greece Morea were, and that, by some +Earthquake unrooted, loose Morea swam; +Or seas from Afric's body had severed +And torn the Hopeful promontory's head: +This fish would seem these, and, when all hopes fail, +A great ship overset, or without sail, +Hulling, might (when this was a whelp) be like this whale. + +XXXII. + +At every stroke his brazen fins do take +More circles in the broken sea they make +Than cannons' voices when the air they tear: +His ribs are pillars, and his high-arched roof +Of bark, that blunts best steel, is thunder-proof: +Swim in him swallowed dolphins without fear, +And feel no sides, as if his vast womb were +Some inland sea; and ever, as he went, +He spouted rivers up, as if he meant +To join our seas with seas above the firmament. + +XXXIII. + +He hunts not fish, but, as an officer +Stays in his court, at his own net, and there +All suitors of all sorts themselves enthral; +So on his back lies this whale wantoning, +And in his gulf-like throat sucks every thing, +That passeth near. Fish chaseth fish, and all, +Flier and follower, in this whirlpool fall: +Oh! might not states of more equality +Consist? and is it of necessity +That thousand guiltless smalls to make one great must die? + +XXXIV. + +Now drinks he up seas, and he eats up flocks; +He jostles islands, and he shakes firm rocks: +Now in a roomful house this Soul doth float, +And, like a prince, she sends her faculties +To all her limbs, distant as provinces. +The sun hath twenty times both Crab and Goat +Parched, since first launched forth this living boat: +'Tis greatest now, and to destruction +Nearest; there's no pause at perfection; +Greatness a period hath, but hath no station. + +XXXV. + +Two little fishes, whom he never harmed, +Nor fed on their kind, two, not th'roughly armed +With hope that they could kill him, nor could do +Good to themselves by his death, (they did not eat +His flesh, nor suck those oils which thence outstreat,) +Conspired against him; and it might undo +The plot of all that the plotters were two, +But that they fishes were, and could not speak. +How shall a tyrant wise strong projects break, +If wretches can on them the common anger wreak? + +XXXVI. + +The flail-finned thresher and steel-beaked sword-fish +Only attempt to do what all do wish: +The thresher backs him, and to beat begins; +The sluggard whale leads to oppression, +And t' hide himself from shame and danger, down +Begins to sink: the sword-fish upwards spins, +And gores him with his beak; his staff-like fins +So well the one, his sword the other, plies, +That, now a scoff and prey, this tyrant dies, +And (his own dole) feeds with himself all companies. + +XXXVII. + +Who will revenge his death? or who will call +Those to account that thought and wrought his fall? +The heirs of slain kings we see are often so +Transported with the joy of what they get, +That they revenge and obsequies forget; +Nor will against such men the people go, +Because he's now dead to whom they should show +Love in that act. Some kings, by vice, being grown +So needy of subjects' love, that of their own +They think they lose if love be to the dead prince shown. + +XXXVIII. + +This soul, now free from prison and passion, +Hath yet a little indignation +That so small hammers should so soon down beat +So great a castle; and having for her house +Got the strait cloister of a wretched mouse, +(As basest men, that have not what to eat, +Nor enjoy ought, do far more hate the great +Than they who good reposed estates possess,) +This Soul, late taught that great things might by less +Be slain, to gallant mischief doth herself address. + +XXXIX. + +Nature's great masterpiece, an elephant, +(The only harmless great thing,) the giant +Of beasts, who thought none had to make him wise, +But to be just and thankful, both to offend, +(Yet Nature hath given him no knees to bend,) +Himself he up-props, on himself relies, +And, foe to none, suspects no enemies, +Still sleeping stood; vexed not his fantasy +Black dreams; like an unbent bow carelessly +His sinewy proboscis did remissly lie. + +XL. + +In which, as in a gallery, this mouse +Walked, and surveyed the rooms of this vast house, +And to the brain, the Soul's bed-chamber, went, +And gnawed the life-cords there: like a whole town +Clean undermined, the slain beast tumbled down: +With him the murderer dies, whom envy sent +To kill, not 'scape, (for only he that meant +To die did ever kill a man of better room,) +And thus he made his foe his prey and tomb: +Who cares not to turn back may any whither come. + +XLI. + +Next housed this Soul a wolf's yet unborn whelp, +Till the best midwife, Nature, gave it help +To issue: it could kill as soon as go. +Abel, as white and mild as his sheep were, +(Who, in that trade, of church and kingdoms there +Was the first type,) was still infested so +With this wolf, that it bred his loss and woe; +And yet his bitch, his sentinel, attends +The flock so near, so well warns and defends, +That the wolf, hopeless else, to corrupt her intends. + +XLII. + +He took a course, which since successfully +Great men have often taken, to espy +The counsels, or to break the plots, of foes; +To Abel's tent he stealeth in the dark, +On whose skirts the bitch slept: ere she could bark, +Attached her with strait gripes, yet he called those +Embracements of love: to love's work he goes, +Where deeds move more than words; nor doth she show, +Nor much resist, no needs he straiten so +His prey, for were she loose she would not bark nor go. + +XLIII. + +He hath engaged her; his she wholly bides; +Who not her own, none other's secrets hides. +If to the flock he come, and Abel there, +She feigns hoarse barkings, but she biteth not! +Her faith is quite, but not her love forgot. +At last a trap, of which some everywhere +Abel had placed, ends all his loss and fear +By the wolf's death; and now just time it was +That a quick Soul should give life to that mass +Of blood in Abel's bitch, and thither this did pass. + +XLIV. + +Some have their wives, their sisters some begot, +But in the lives of emperors you shall not +Read of a lust the which may equal this: +This wolf begot himself, and finished +What he began alive when he was dead. +Son to himself, and father too, he is +A riding lust, for which schoolmen would miss +A proper name. The whelp of both these lay +In Abel's tent, and with soft Moaba, +His sister, being young, it used to sport and play. + +XLV. + +He soon for her too harsh and churlish grew, +And Abel (the dam dead) would use this new +For the field; being of two kinds thus made, +He, as his dam, from sheep drove wolves away, +And, as his sire, he made them his own prey. +Five years he lived, and cozened with his trade, +Then, hopeless that his faults were hid, betrayed +Himself by flight, and by all followed, +From dogs a wolf, from wolves a dog, he fled, +And, like a spy, to both sides false, he perished. + +XLVI. + +It quickened next a toyful ape, and so +Gamesome it was, that it might freely go +From tent to tent, and with the children play: +His organs now so like theirs he doth find, +That why he cannot laugh and speak his mind +He wonders. Much with all, most he doth stay +With Adam's fifth daughter, Siphatecia; +Doth gaze on her, and where she passeth pass, +Gathers her fruits, and tumbles on the grass; +And, wisest of that kind, the first true lover was. + +XLVII. + +He was the first that more desired to have +One than another; first that e'er did crave +Love by mute signs, and had no power to speak; +First that could make love-faces, or could do +The vaulter's somersalts, or used to woo +With hoiting gambols, his own bones to break, +To make his mistress merry, or to wreak +Her anger on himself. Sins against kind +They easily do that can let feed their mind +With outward beauty; beauty they in boys and beasts do find. + +XLVIII. + +By this misled too low things men have proved, +And too high; beasts and angels have been loved: +This ape, though else th'rough vain, in this was wise; +He reached at things too high, but open way +There was, and he knew not she would say Nay. +His toys prevail not; likelier means he tries; +He gazeth on her face with tear-shot eyes, +And uplifts subtlely, with his russet paw, +Her kid-skin apron without fear or awe +Of Nature; Nature hath no jail, though she hath law. + +XLIX. + +First she was silly, and knew not what he meant: +That virtue, by his touches chafed and spent, +Succeeds an itchy warmth, that melts her quite; +She knew not first, nor cares not what he doth; +And willing half and more, more than half wrath, +She neither pulls nor pushes, but outright +Now cries, and now repents; when Thelemite, +Her brother, entered, and a great stone threw +After the ape, who thus prevented flew. +This house, thus battered down, the Soul possessed anew. + +L. + +And whether by this change she lose or win, +She comes out next where the ape would have gone in. +Adam and Eve had mingled bloods, and now, +Like chemic's equal fires, her temperate womb +Had stewed and formed it; and part did become +A spungy liver, that did richly allow, +Like a free conduit on a high hill's brow, +Life-keeping moisture unto every part; +Part hardened itself to a thicker heart, +Whose busy furnaces life's spirits do impart. + +LI. + +Another part became the well of sense, +The tender, well-armed feeling brain, from whence +Those sinew strings which do our bodies tie +Are ravelled out; and fast there by one end +Did this Soul limbs, these limbs a Soul attend; +And now they joined, keeping some quality +Of every past shape; she knew treachery, +Rapine, deceit, and lust, and ills enough +To be a woman: Themech she is now, +Sister and wife to Cain, Cain that first did plough. + +LII. + +Whoe'er thou beest that read'st this sullen writ, +Which just so much courts thee as thou dost it, +Let me arrest thy thoughts; wonder with me +Why ploughing, building, ruling, and the rest, +Or most of those arts whence our lives are blest, +By cursed Cain's race invented be, +And blest Seth vexed us with astronomy. +There's nothing simply good nor ill alone; +Of every quality Comparison +The only measure is, and judge Opinion. + + + + +MICHAEL DRAYTON, + + +The author of 'Polyolbion,' was born in the parish of Atherston, in +Warwickshire, about the year 1563. He was the son of a butcher, but +displayed such precocity that several persons of quality, such as Sir +Walter Aston and the Countess of Bedford, patronised him. In his +childhood he was eager to know what strange kind of beings poets were; +and on coming to Oxford, (if, indeed, he did study there,) is said to +have importuned his tutor to make him, if possible, a poet. He was +supported chiefly, through his life, by the Lady Bedford. He paid court, +without success, to King James. In 1593 (having long ere this become +that 'strange thing a poet') he published a collection of his Pastorals, +and afterwards his 'Barons' Wars' and 'England's Heroical Epistles,' +which are both rhymed histories. In 1612-13 he published the first part +of 'Polyolbion,' and in 1622 completed the work. In 1626 we hear of him +being styled Poet Laureate, but the title then implied neither royal +appointment, nor fee, nor, we presume, duty. In 1627 he published 'The +Battle of Agincourt,' 'The Court of Faerie,' and other poems; and, three +years later, a book called 'The Muses' Elysium.' He had at last found an +asylum in the family of the Earl of Dorset; whose noble lady, Lady Anne +Clifford, subsequently Countess of Pembroke, and who had been, we saw, +Daniel's pupil, after Drayton's death in 1631, erected him a monument, +with a gold-lettered inscription, in Westminster Abbey. + +The main pillar of Drayton's fame is 'Polyolbion,' which forms a poetical +description of England, in thirty songs or books, to which the learned +Camden appended notes. The learning and knowledge of this poem are exten- +sive, and many of the descriptions are true and spirited, but the space +of ground traversed is too large, and the form of versification is too +heavy, for so long a flight. Campbell justly remarks,--'On a general +survey, the mass of his poetry has no strength or sustaining spirit equal +to its bulk. There is a perpetual play of fancy on its surface; but the +impulses of passion, and the guidance of judgment, give it no strong +movements or consistent course.' + +Drayton eminently suits a 'Selection' such as ours, since his parts are +better than his whole. + + +DESCRIPTION OF MORNING. + +When Phoebus lifts his head out of the winter's wave, +No sooner doth the earth her flowery bosom brave, +At such time as the year brings on the pleasant spring, +But hunts-up to the morn the feather'd sylvans sing: +And in the lower grove, as on the rising knoll, +Upon the highest spray of every mounting pole, +Those choristers are perch'd with many a speckled breast. +Then from her burnish'd gate the goodly glitt'ring east +Gilds every lofty top, which late the humorous night +Bespangled had with pearl, to please the morning's sight: +On which the mirthful choirs, with their clear open throats, +Unto the joyful morn so strain their warbling notes, +That hills and valleys ring, and even the echoing air +Seems all composed of sounds, about them everywhere. +The throstle, with shrill sharps; as purposely he sung +T'awake the lustless sun, or chiding, that so long +He was in coming forth, that should the thickets thrill; +The woosel near at hand, that hath a golden bill; +As nature him had mark'd of purpose, t'let us see +That from all other birds his tunes should different be: +For, with their vocal sounds, they sing to pleasant May; +Upon his dulcet pipe the merle doth only play. +When in the lower brake, the nightingale hard by, +In such lamenting strains the joyful hours doth ply, +As though the other birds she to her tunes would draw, +And, but that nature (by her all-constraining law) +Each bird to her own kind this season doth invite, +They else, alone to hear that charmer of the night, +(The more to use their ears,) their voices sure would spare, +That moduleth her tunes so admirably rare, +As man to set in parts at first had learn'd of her. + +To Philomel the next, the linnet we prefer; +And by that warbling bird, the wood-lark place we then, +The red-sparrow, the nope, the redbreast, and the wren. +The yellow-pate; which though she hurt the blooming tree, +Yet scarce hath any bird a finer pipe than she. +And of these chanting fowls, the goldfinch not behind, +That hath so many sorts descending from her kind. +The tydy for her notes as delicate as they, +The laughing hecco, then the counterfeiting jay, +The softer with the shrill (some hid among the leaves, +Some in the taller trees, some in the lower greaves) +Thus sing away the morn, until the mounting sun +Through thick exhaled fogs his golden head hath run, +And through the twisted tops of our close covert creeps +To kiss the gentle shade, this while that sweetly sleeps. +And near to these our thicks, the wild and frightful herds, +Not hearing other noise but this of chattering birds, +Feed fairly on the lawns; both sorts of season'd deer: +Here walk the stately red, the freckled fallow there: +The bucks and lusty stags amongst the rascals strew'd, +As sometime gallant spirits amongst the multitude. + +Of all the beasts which we for our venerial name, +The hart among the rest, the hunter's noblest game: +Of which most princely chase since none did e'er report, +Or by description touch, to express that wondrous sport, +(Yet might have well beseem'd the ancients' nobler songs) +To our old Arden here, most fitly it belongs: +Yet shall she not invoke the muses to her aid; +But thee, Diana bright, a goddess and a maid: +In many a huge-grown wood, and many a shady grove, +Which oft hast borne thy bow (great huntress, used to rove) +At many a cruel beast, and with thy darts to pierce +The lion, panther, ounce, the bear, and tiger fierce; +And following thy fleet game, chaste mighty forest's queen, +With thy dishevell'd nymphs attired in youthful green, +About the lawns hast scour'd, and wastes both far and near, +Brave huntress; but no beast shall prove thy quarries here; +Save those the best of chase, the tall and lusty red, +The stag for goodly shape, and stateliness of head, +Is fitt'st to hunt at force. For whom, when with his hounds +The labouring hunter tufts the thick unbarbed grounds +Where harbour'd is the hart; there often from his feed +The dogs of him do find; or thorough skilful heed, +The huntsman by his slot, or breaking earth, perceives, +On entering of the thick by pressing of the greaves, +Where he had gone to lodge. Now when the hart doth hear +The often-bellowing hounds to vent his secret leir, +He rousing rusheth out, and through the brakes doth drive, +As though up by the roots the bushes he would rive. +And through the cumbrous thicks, as fearfully he makes, +He with his branched head the tender saplings shakes, +That sprinkling their moist pearl do seem for him to weep; +When after goes the cry, with yellings loud and deep, +That all the forest rings, and every neighbouring place: +And there is not a hound but falleth to the chase; +Rechating with his horn, which then the hunter cheers, +Whilst still the lusty stag his high-palm'd head upbears, +His body showing state, with unbent knees upright, +Expressing from all beasts, his courage in his flight. +But when the approaching foes still following he perceives, +That he his speed must trust, his usual walk he leaves: +And o'er the champain flies: which when the assembly find, +Each follows, as his horse were footed with the wind. +But being then imbost, the noble stately deer +When he hath gotten ground (the kennel cast arrear) +Doth beat the brooks and ponds for sweet refreshing soil: +That serving not, then proves if he his scent can foil, +And makes amongst the herds, and flocks of shag-wooled sheep, +Them frighting from the guard of those who had their keep. +But when as all his shifts his safety still denies, +Put quite out of his walk, the ways and fallows tries. +Whom when the ploughman meets, his team he letteth stand +To assail him with his goad: so with his hook in hand, +The shepherd him pursues, and to his dog doth hollo: +When, with tempestuous speed, the hounds and huntsmen follow; +Until the noble deer through toil bereaved of strength, +His long and sinewy legs then failing him at length, +The villages attempts, enraged, not giving way +To anything he meets now at his sad decay. +The cruel ravenous hounds and bloody hunters near, +This noblest beast of chase, that vainly doth but fear, +Some bank or quickset finds: to which his haunch opposed, +He turns upon his foes, that soon have him enclosed. +The churlish-throated hounds then holding him at bay, +And as their cruel fangs on his harsh skin they lay, +With his sharp-pointed head he dealeth deadly wounds. + +The hunter, coming in to help his wearied hounds, +He desperately assails; until oppress'd by force, +He who the mourner is to his own dying corse, +Upon the ruthless earth his precious tears lets fall. + + + + +EDWARD FAIRFAX. + + +Edward Fairfax was the second, some say the natural, son of Sir Thomas +Fairfax of Denton, in Yorkshire. The dates of his birth and of his death +are unknown, although he was living in 1631. While his brothers were +pursuing military glory in the field, Edward married early, and settled in +Fuystone, a place near Knaresborough Forest. Here he spent part of his +time in managing his elder brother, Lord Fairfax's property, and partly in +literary pursuits. He wrote a strange treatise on Demonology, a History of +Edward the Black Prince, which has never been printed, some poor Eclogues, +and a most beautiful translation of Tasso, which stamps him a true poet as +well as a benefactor to the English language, and on account of which +Collins calls him-- + +'Prevailing poet, whose undoubting mind + Believed the magic wonders which he sung.' + + +RINALDO AT MOUNT OLIVET. + +1 It was the time, when 'gainst the breaking day + Rebellious night yet strove, and still repined; + For in the east appear'd the morning gray, + And yet some lamps in Jove's high palace shined, + When to Mount Olivet he took his way, + And saw, as round about his eyes he twined, + Night's shadows hence, from thence the morning's shine; + This bright, that dark; that earthly, this divine: + +2 Thus to himself he thought: 'How many bright + And splendent lamps shine in heaven's temple high! + Day hath his golden sun, her moon the night, + Her fix'd and wandering stars the azure sky; + So framed all by their Creator's might, + That still they live and shine, and ne'er shall die, + Till, in a moment, with the last day's brand + They burn, and with them burn sea, air, and land.' + +3 Thus as he mused, to the top he went, + And there kneel'd down with reverence and fear; + His eyes upon heaven's eastern face he bent; + His thoughts above all heavens uplifted were-- + 'The sins and errors, which I now repent, + Of my unbridled youth, O Father dear, + Remember not, but let thy mercy fall, + And purge my faults and my offences all.' + +4 Thus prayed he; with purple wings up-flew + In golden weed the morning's lusty queen, + Begilding, with the radiant beams she threw, + His helm, his harness, and the mountain green: + Upon his breast and forehead gently blew + The air, that balm and nardus breathed unseen; + And o'er his head, let down from clearest skies, + A cloud of pure and precious dew there flies: + +5 The heavenly dew was on his garments spread, + To which compared, his clothes pale ashes seem, + And sprinkled so, that all that paleness fled, + And thence of purest white bright rays outstream: + So cheered are the flowers, late withered, + With the sweet comfort of the morning beam; + And so, return'd to youth, a serpent old + Adorns herself in new and native gold. + +6 The lovely whiteness of his changed weed + The prince perceived well and long admired; + Toward, the forest march'd he on with speed, + Resolved, as such adventures great required: + Thither he came, whence, shrinking back for dread + Of that strange desert's sight, the first retired; + But not to him fearful or loathsome made + That forest was, but sweet with pleasant shade. + +7 Forward he pass'd, and in the grove before + He heard a sound, that strange, sweet, pleasing was; + There roll'd a crystal brook with gentle roar, + There sigh'd the winds, as through the leaves they pass; + There did the nightingale her wrongs deplore, + There sung the swan, and singing died, alas! + There lute, harp, cittern, human voice, he heard, + And all these sounds one sound right well declared. + +8 A dreadful thunder-clap at last he heard, + The aged trees and plants well-nigh that rent, + Yet heard the nymphs and sirens afterward, + Birds, winds, and waters, sing with sweet consent; + Whereat amazed, he stay'd, and well prepared + For his defence, heedful and slow forth-went; + Nor in his way his passage ought withstood, + Except a quiet, still, transparent flood: + +9 On the green banks, which that fair stream inbound, + Flowers and odours sweetly smiled and smell'd, + Which reaching out his stretched arms around, + All the large desert in his bosom held, + And through the grove one channel passage found; + This in the wood, in that the forest dwell'd: + Trees clad the streams, streams green those trees aye made, + And so exchanged their moisture and their shade. + +10 The knight some way sought out the flood to pass, + And as he sought, a wondrous bridge appear'd; + A bridge of gold, a huge and mighty mass, + On arches great of that rich metal rear'd: + When through that golden way he enter'd was, + Down fell the bridge; swelled the stream, and wear'd + The work away, nor sign left, where it stood, + And of a river calm became a flood. + +11 He turn'd, amazed to see it troubled so, + Like sudden brooks, increased with molten snow; + The billows fierce, that tossed to and fro, + The whirlpools suck'd down to their bosoms low; + But on he went to search for wonders mo,[1] + Through the thick trees, there high and broad which grow; + And in that forest huge, and desert wide, + The more he sought, more wonders still he spied: + +12 Where'er he stepp'd, it seem'd the joyful ground + Renew'd the verdure of her flowery weed; + A fountain here, a well-spring there he found; + Here bud the roses, there the lilies spread: + The aged wood o'er and about him round + Flourish'd with blossoms new, new leaves, new seed; + And on the boughs and branches of those treen + The bark was soften'd, and renew'd the green. + +13 The manna on each leaf did pearled lie; + The honey stilled[2] from the tender rind: + Again he heard that wonderful harmony + Of songs and sweet complaints of lovers kind; + The human voices sung a treble high, + To which respond the birds, the streams, the wind; + But yet unseen those nymphs, those singers were, + Unseen the lutes, harps, viols which they bear. + +14 He look'd, he listen'd, yet his thoughts denied + To think that true which he did hear and see: + A myrtle in an ample plain he spied, + And thither by a beaten path went he; + The myrtle spread her mighty branches wide, + Higher than pine, or palm, or cypress tree, + And far above all other plants was seen + That forest's lady, and that desert's queen. + +15 Upon the tree his eyes Rinaldo bent, + And there a marvel great and strange began; + An aged oak beside him cleft and rent, + And from his fertile, hollow womb, forth ran, + Clad in rare weeds and strange habiliment, + A nymph, for age able to go to man; + An hundred plants beside, even in his sight, + Childed an hundred nymphs, so great, so dight.[3] + +16 Such as on stages play, such as we see + The dryads painted, whom wild satyrs love, + Whose arms half naked, locks untrussed be, + With buskins laced on their legs above, + And silken robes tuck'd short above their knee, + Such seem'd the sylvan daughters of this grove; + Save, that instead of shafts and bows of tree, + She bore a lute, a harp or cittern she; + +17 And wantonly they cast them in a ring, + And sung and danced to move his weaker sense, + Rinaldo round about environing, + As does its centre the circumference; + The tree they compass'd eke, and 'gan to sing, + That woods and streams admired their excellence-- + 'Welcome, dear Lord, welcome to this sweet grove, + Welcome, our lady's hope, welcome, her love! + +18 'Thou com'st to cure our princess, faint and sick + For love, for love of thee, faint, sick, distress'd; + Late black, late dreadful was this forest thick, + Fit dwelling for sad folk, with grief oppress'd; + See, with thy coming how the branches quick + Revived are, and in new blossoms dress'd!' + This was their song; and after from it went + First a sweet sound, and then the myrtle rent. + +19 If antique times admired Silenus old, + Who oft appear'd set on his lazy ass, + How would they wonder, if they had behold + Such sights, as from the myrtle high did pass! + Thence came a lady fair with locks of gold, + That like in shape, in face, and beauty was + To fair Armida; Rinald thinks he spies + Her gestures, smiles, and glances of her eyes: + +20 On him a sad and smiling look she cast, + Which twenty passions strange at once bewrays; + 'And art thou come,' quoth she, 'return'd at last' + To her, from whom but late thou ran'st thy ways? + Com'st thou to comfort me for sorrows past, + To ease my widow nights, and careful days? + Or comest thou to work me grief and harm? + Why nilt thou speak, why not thy face disarm? + +21 'Com'st thou a friend or foe? I did not frame + That golden bridge to entertain my foe; + Nor open'd flowers and fountains, as you came, + To welcome him with joy who brings me woe: + Put off thy helm: rejoice me with the flame + Of thy bright eyes, whence first my fires did grow; + Kiss me, embrace me; if you further venture, + Love keeps the gate, the fort is eath[4] to enter.' + +22 Thus as she woos, she rolls her rueful eyes + With piteous look, and changeth oft her chere,[5] + An hundred sighs from her false heart up-flies; + She sobs, she mourns, it is great ruth to hear: + The hardest breast sweet pity mollifies; + What stony heart resists a woman's tear? + But yet the knight, wise, wary, not unkind, + Drew forth his sword, and from her careless twined:[6] + +23 Towards the tree he march'd; she thither start, + Before him stepp'd, embraced the plant, and cried-- + 'Ah! never do me such a spiteful part, + To cut my tree, this forest's joy and pride; + Put up thy sword, else pierce therewith the heart + Of thy forsaken and despised Armide; + For through this breast, and through this heart, unkind, + To this fair tree thy sword shall passage find.' + +24 He lift his brand, nor cared, though oft she pray'd, + And she her form to other shape did change; + Such monsters huge, when men in dreams are laid, + Oft in their idle fancies roam and range: + Her body swell'd, her face obscure was made; + Vanish'd her garments rich, and vestures strange; + A giantess before him high she stands, + Arm'd, like Briareus, with an hundred hands. + +25 With fifty swords, and fifty targets bright, + She threaten'd death, she roar'd, she cried and fought; + Each other nymph, in armour likewise dight, + A Cyclops great became; he fear'd them nought, + But on the myrtle smote with all his might, + Which groan'd, like living souls, to death nigh brought; + The sky seem'd Pluto's court, the air seem'd hell, + Therein such monsters roar, such spirits yell: + +26 Lighten'd the heaven above, the earth below + Roared aloud; that thunder'd, and this shook: + Bluster'd the tempests strong; the whirlwinds blow; + The bitter storm drove hailstones in his look; + But yet his arm grew neither weak nor slow, + Nor of that fury heed or care he took, + Till low to earth the wounded tree down bended; + en fled the spirits all, the charms all ended. + +27 The heavens grew clear, the air wax'd calm and still, + The wood returned to its wonted state, + Of witchcrafts free, quite void of spirits ill, + Of horror full, but horror there innate: + He further tried, if ought withstood his will + To cut those trees, as did the charms of late, + And finding nought to stop him, smiled and said-- + 'O shadows vain! O fools, of shades afraid!' + +28 From thence home to the camp-ward turn'd the knight; + The hermit cried, upstarting from his seat, + 'Now of the wood the charms have lost their might; + The sprites are conquer'd, ended is the feat; + See where he comes!'--Array'd in glittering white + Appear'd the man, bold, stately, high, and great; + His eagle's silver wings to shine begun + With wondrous splendour 'gainst the golden sun. + +29 The camp received him with a joyful cry,-- + A cry, the hills and dales about that fill'd; + Then Godfrey welcomed him with honours high; + His glory quench'd all spite, all envy kill'd: + 'To yonder dreadful grove,' quoth he, 'went I, + And from the fearful wood, as me you will'd, + Have driven the sprites away; thither let be + Your people sent, the way is safe and free.' + +[1] 'Mo:' more. +[2] 'Stilled:' dropped. +[3] 'Dight:' aparelled. +[4] 'Eath:' easy. +[5] 'Chere:' expression. +[6] 'Twined:' separated. + + + + +SIR HENRY WOTTON + + +Was born in Kent, in 1568; educated at Winchester and Oxford; and, after +travelling on the Continent, became the Secretary of Essex, but had the +sagacity to foresee his downfall, and withdrew from the kingdom in time. +On his return he became a favourite of James I., who employed him to be +ambassador to Venice,--a post he held long, and occupied with great skill +and adroitness. Toward the end of his days, in order to gain the Provost- +ship of Eton, he took orders, and died in that situation, in 1639, in the +72d year of his age. His writings were published in 1651, under the title +of 'Reliquitae Wottonianae,' and Izaak Walton has written an entertaining +account of his life. His poetry has a few pleasing and smooth-flowing +passages; but perhaps the best thing recorded of him is his viva voce +account of an English ambassador, as 'an honest gentleman sent to LIE +abroad for the good of his country.' + + +FAREWELL TO THE VANITIES OF THE WORLD. + +1 Farewell, ye gilded follies! pleasing troubles; + Farewell, ye honour'd rags, ye glorious bubbles; + Fame's but a hollow echo, gold pure clay, + Honour the darling but of one short day, + Beauty, the eye's idol, but a damask'd skin, + State but a golden prison to live in + And torture free-born minds; embroider'd trains + Merely but pageants for proud swelling veins; + And blood, allied to greatness, is alone + Inherited, not purchased, nor our own. + Fame, honour, beauty, state, train, blood, and birth, + Are but the fading blossoms of the earth. + +2 I would be great, but that the sun doth still + Level his rays against the rising hill; + I would be high, but see the proudest oak + Most subject to the rending thunder-stroke; + I would be rich, but see men too unkind + Dig in the bowels of the richest mind; + I would be wise, but that I often see + The fox suspected while the ass goes free; + I would be fair, but see the fair and proud, + Like the bright sun, oft setting in a cloud; + I would be poor, but know the humble grass + Still trampled on by each unworthy ass; + Rich, hated; wise, suspected; scorn'd, if poor; + Great, fear'd; fair, tempted; high, still envied more. + I have wish'd all, but now I wish for neither + Great, high, rich, wise, nor fair--poor I'll be rather. + +3 Would the world now adopt me for her heir, + Would beauty's queen entitle me 'the fair,' + Fame speak me Fortune's minion, could I vie + Angels[1] with India; with a speaking eye + Command bare heads, bow'd knees, strike Justice dumb + As well as blind and lame, or give a tongue + To stones by epitaphs; be call'd great master + In the loose rhymes of every poetaster; + Could I be more than any man that lives, + Great, fair, rich, wise, all in superlatives: + Yet I more freely would these gifts resign, + Than ever fortune would have made them mine; + And hold one minute of this holy leisure + Beyond the riches of this empty pleasure. + +4 Welcome, pure thoughts! welcome, ye silent groves! + These guests, these courts, my soul most dearly loves. + Now the wing'd people of the sky shall sing + My cheerful anthems to the gladsome spring; + A prayer-book now shall be my looking-glass, + In which I will adore sweet Virtue's face; + Here dwell no hateful looks, no palace cares, + No broken vows dwell here, nor pale-faced fears: + Then here I'll sit, and sigh my hot love's folly, + And learn to affect a holy melancholy; + And if Contentment be a stranger then, + I'll ne'er look for it but in heaven again. + +[1] 'Angels:' a species of coin. + + +A MEDITATION. + +O thou great Power! in whom we move, + By whom we live, to whom we die, +Behold me through thy beams of love, + Whilst on this couch of tears I lie, +And cleanse my sordid soul within +By thy Christ's blood, the bath of sin. + +No hallow'd oils, no gums I need, + No new-born drams of purging fire; +One rosy drop from David's seed + Was worlds of seas to quench thine ire: +O precious ransom! which once paid, +That _Consummatum est_ was said. + +And said by him, that said no more, + But seal'd it with his sacred breath: +Thou then, that has dispurged our score, + And dying wert the death of death, +Be now, whilst on thy name we call, +Our life, our strength, our joy, our all! + + + + +RICHARD CORBET. + + +This witty and good-natured bishop was born in 1582. He was the son of +a gardener, who, however, had the honour to be known to and sung by Ben +Jonson. He was educated at Westminster and Oxford; and having received +orders, was made successively Bishop of Oxford and of Norwich. He was +a most facetious and rather too convivial person; and a collection of +anecdotes about him might be made, little inferior, in point of wit and +coarseness, to that famous one, once so popular in Scotland, relating to +the sayings and doings of George Buchanan. He is said, on one occasion, +to have aided an unfortunate ballad-singer in his professional duty by +arraying himself in his leathern jacket and vending the stock, being +possessed of a fine presence and a clear, full, ringing voice. +Occasionally doffing his clerical costume he adjourned with his chaplain, +Dr Lushington, to the wine-cellar, where care and ceremony were both +speedily drowned, the one of the pair exclaiming, 'Here's to thee, +Lushington,' and the other, 'Here's to thee, Corbet.' Men winked at +these irregularities, probably on the principle mentioned by Scott, in +reference to Prior Aymer, in 'Ivanhoe,'--'If Prior Aymer rode hard in +the chase, or remained late at the banquet, men only shrugged up their +shoulders by recollecting that the same irregularities were practised by +many of his brethren, who had no redeeming qualities whatsoever to atone +for them.' Corbet, on the other hand, was a kind as well as a convivial +--a warm-hearted as well as an eccentric man. He was tolerant to the +Puritans and sectaries; his attention to his duties was respectable; his +talents were of a high order, and he had in him a vein of genius of no +ordinary kind. He died in 1635, but his poems were not published till +1647. They are of various merit, and treat of various subjects. In his +'Journey to France,' you see the humorist, who, on one occasion, when the +country people were flocking to be confirmed, cried, 'Bear off there, or +I'll confirm ye with my staff.' In his lines to his son Vincent, we see, +notwithstanding all his foibles, the good man; and in his 'Farewell to +the Fairies' the fine and fanciful poet. + + +DR CORBET'S JOURNEY INTO FRANCE. + +1 I went from England into France, + Nor yet to learn to cringe nor dance, + Nor yet to ride nor fence; + Nor did I go like one of those + That do return with half a nose, + They carried from hence. + +2 But I to Paris rode along, + Much like John Dory in the song, + Upon a holy tide; + I on an ambling nag did jet, + (I trust he is not paid for yet,) + And spurr'd him on each side. + +3 And to St Denis fast we came, + To see the sights of Notre Dame, + (The man that shows them snuffles,) + Where who is apt for to believe, + May see our Lady's right-arm sleeve, + And eke her old pantofles; + +4 Her breast, her milk, her very gown + That she did wear in Bethlehem town, + When in the inn she lay; + Yet all the world knows that's a fable, + For so good clothes ne'er lay in stable, + Upon a lock of hay. + +5 No carpenter could by his trade + Gain so much coin as to have made + A gown of so rich stuff; + Yet they, poor souls, think, for their credit, + That they believe old Joseph did it, + 'Cause he deserved enough. + +6 There is one of the cross's nails, + Which whoso sees, his bonnet vails, + And, if he will, may kneel; + Some say 'twas false,'twas never so, + Yet, feeling it, thus much I know, + It is as true as steel. + +7 There is a Ianthorn which the Jews, + When Judas led them forth, did use, + It weighs my weight downright; + But to believe it, you must think + The Jews did put a candle in 't, + And then 'twas very light. + +8 There's one saint there hath lost his nose, + Another's head, but not his toes, + His elbow and his thumb; + But when that we had seen the rags, + We went to th' inn and took our nags, + And so away did come. + +9 We came to Paris, on the Seine, + 'Tis wondrous fair,'tis nothing clean, + 'Tis Europe's greatest town; + How strong it is I need not tell it, + For all the world may easily smell it, + That walk it up and down. + +10 There many strange things are to see, + The palace and great gallery, + The Place Royal doth excel, + The New Bridge, and the statutes there, + At Notre Dame St Q. Pater, + The steeple bears the bell. + +11 For learning the University, + And for old clothes the Frippery, + The house the queen did build. + St Innocence, whose earth devours + Dead corps in four-and-twenty hours, + And there the king was kill'd. + +12 The Bastille and St Denis Street, + The Shafflenist like London Fleet, + The Arsenal no toy; + But if you'll see the prettiest thing, + Go to the court and see the king-- + Oh, 'tis a hopeful boy! + +13 He is, of all his dukes and peers, + Reverenced for much wit at's years, + Nor must you think it much; + For he with little switch doth play, + And make fine dirty pies of clay, + Oh, never king made such! + +14 A bird that can but kill a fly, + Or prate, doth please his majesty, + Tis known to every one; + The Duke of Guise gave him a parrot, + And he had twenty cannons for it, + For his new galleon. + +15 Oh that I e'er might have the hap + To get the bird which in the map + Is call'd the Indian ruck! + I'd give it him, and hope to be + As rich as Guise or Liviné, + Or else I had ill-luck. + +16 Birds round about his chamber stand, + And he them feeds with his own hand, + 'Tis his humility; + And if they do want anything, + They need but whistle for their king, + And he comes presently. + +17 But now, then, for these parts he must + Be enstyled Lewis the Just, + Great Henry's lawful heir; + When to his style to add more words, + They'd better call him King of Birds, + Than of the great Navarre. + +18 He hath besides a pretty quirk, + Taught him by nature, how to work + In iron with much ease; + Sometimes to the forge he goes, + There he knocks and there he blows, + And makes both locks and keys; + +19 Which puts a doubt in every one, + Whether he be Mars' or Vulcan's son, + Some few believe his mother; + But let them all say what they will, + I came resolved, and so think still, + As much the one as th' other. + +20 The people too dislike the youth, + Alleging reasons, for, in truth, + Mothers should honour'd be; + Yet others say, he loves her rather + As well as ere she loved her father, + And that's notoriously. + +21 His queen,[1] a pretty little wench, + Was born in Spain, speaks little French, + She's ne'er like to be mother; + For her incestuous house could not + Have children which were not begot + By uncle or by brother. + +22 Nor why should Lewis, being so just, + Content himself to take his lust + With his Lucina's mate, + And suffer his little pretty queen, + From all her race that yet hath been, + So to degenerate? + +23 'Twere charity for to be known + To love others' children as his own, + And why? it is no shame, + Unless that he would greater be + Than was his father Henery, + Who, men thought, did the same. + +[1] Anne of Austria. + + +FAREWELL TO THE FAIRIES. + +1 Farewell, rewards and fairies, + Good housewives now may say, + For now foul sluts in dairies + Do fare as well as they. + And though they sweep their hearths no less + Than maids were wont to do, + Yet who of late, for cleanliness, + Finds sixpence in her shoe? + +2 Lament, lament, old Abbeys, + The fairies lost command; + They did but change priests' babies, + But some have changed your land; + And all your children sprung from thence + Are now grown Puritans; + Who live as changelings ever since, + For love of your domains. + +3 At morning and at evening both, + You merry were and glad, + So little care of sleep or sloth + These pretty ladies had; + When Tom came home from labour, + Or Cis to milking rose, + Then merrily went their tabor, + And nimbly went their toes. + +4 Witness those rings and roundelays + Of theirs, which yet remain, + Were footed in Queen Mary's days + On many a grassy plain; + But since of late Elizabeth, + And later, James came in, + They never danced on any heath + As when the time hath been. + +5 By which we note the fairies + Were of the old profession, + Their songs were Ave-Maries, + Their dances were procession: + But now, alas! they all are dead, + Or gone beyond the seas; + Or further for religion fled, + Or else they take their ease. + +6 A tell-tale in their company + They never could endure, + And whoso kept not secretly + Their mirth, was punish'd sure; + It was a just and Christian deed, + To pinch such black and blue: + Oh, how the commonwealth doth need + Such justices as you! + + + + +BEN JONSON. + + +As 'rare Ben' chiefly shone as a dramatist, we need not recount at +length the events of his life. He was born in 1574; his father, who had +been a clergyman in Westminster, and was sprung from a Scotch family +in Annandale, having died before his birth. His mother marrying a +bricklayer, Ben was brought up to the same employment. Disliking this, +he enlisted in the army, and served with credit in the Low Countries. +When he came home, he entered St John's College, Cambridge; but his stay +there must have been short, since he is found in London at the age of +twenty, married, and acting on the stage. He began at the same time to +write dramas. He was unlucky enough to quarrel with and kill another +performer, for which he was committed to prison, but released without +a trial. He resumed his labours as a writer for the stage; but having +failed in the acting department, he forsook it for ever. His first hit +was, 'Every Man in his Humour,' a play enacted in 1598, Shakspeare being +one of the actors. His course afterwards was chequered. He quarrelled +with Marston and Dekker,--he was imprisoned for some reflections on the +Scottish nation in one of his comedies,--he was appointed in 1619 poet- +laureate, with a pension of 100 marks,--he made the same year a journey +to Scotland on foot, where he visited Drummond at Hawthornden, and they +seem to have mutually loathed each other,'--he fell into habits of +intemperance, and acquired, as he said himself, + + 'A mountain belly and a rocky face.' + +His favourite haunts were the Mermaid, and the Falcon Tavern, Southwark. +He was engaged in constant squabbles with his contemporaries, and died +at last, in 1637, in miserably poor circumstances. He was buried in +Westminster Abbey, under a square tablet, where one of his admirers +afterwards inscribed the words, + + 'O rare Ben Jonson!' + +Of his powers as a dramatist we need not speak, but present our readers +with some rough and racy specimens of his poetry. + + +EPITAPH ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE. + +Underneath this sable hearse +Lies the subject of all verse, +Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother; +Death! ere thou hast slain another, +Learn'd and fair, and good as she, +Time shall throw a dart at thee! + + +THE PICTURE OF THE BODY. + +Sitting, and ready to be drawn, +What make these velvets, silks, and lawn, +Embroideries, feathers, fringes, lace, +Where every limb takes like a face? + +Send these suspected helps to aid +Some form defective, or decay'd; +This beauty, without falsehood fair, +Needs nought to clothe it but the air. + +Yet something to the painter's view, +Were fitly interposed; so new, +He shall, if he can understand, +Work by my fancy, with his hand. + +Draw first a cloud, all save her neck, +And, out of that, make day to break; +Till like her face it do appear, +And men may think all light rose there. + +Then let the beams of that disperse +The cloud, and show the universe; +But at such distance, as the eye +May rather yet adore, than spy. + + +TO PENSHURST. + +(FROM 'THE FOREST') + +Thou art not, Penshurst, built to envious show +Of touch or marble; nor canst boast a row +Of polish'd pillars, or a roof of gold: +Thou hast no lantern, whereof tales are told; +Or stair, or courts; but stand'st an ancient pile, +And these grudged at, are reverenced the while. +Thou joy'st in better marks of soil and air, +Of wood, of water; therein thou art fair. +Thou hast thy walks for health as well as sport; +Thy mount to which the dryads do resort, +Where Pan and Bacchus their high feasts have made +Beneath the broad beech, and the chestnut shade; +That taller tree which of a nut was set +At his great birth where all the Muses met. +There, in the writhed bark, are cut the names +Of many a Sylvan token with his flames. +And thence the ruddy Satyrs oft provoke +The lighter Fauns to reach thy Ladies' Oak. +Thy copse, too, named of Gamage, thou hast here +That never fails, to serve thee, season'd deer, +When thou would'st feast or exercise thy friends. +The lower land that to the river bends, +Thy sheep, thy bullocks, kine, and calves do feed: +The middle ground thy mares and horses breed. +Each bank doth yield thee conies, and the tops +Fertile of wood. Ashore, and Sidney's copse, +To crown thy open table doth provide +The purpled pheasant, with the speckled side: +The painted partridge lies in every field, +And, for thy mess, is willing to be kill'd. +And if the high-swollen Medway fail thy dish, +Thou hast thy ponds that pay thee tribute fish, +Fat, aged carps that run into thy net, +And pikes, now weary their own kind to eat, +As both the second draught or cast to stay, +Officiously, at first, themselves betray. +Bright eels that emulate them, and leap on land, +Before the fisher, or into his hand. +Thou hast thy orchard fruit, thy garden flowers, +Fresh as the air, and new as are the hours. +The early cherry with the later plum, +Fig, grape, and quince, each in his time doth come: +The blushing apricot and woolly peach +Hang on thy walls that every child may reach. +And though thy walls be of the country stone, +They're rear'd with no man's ruin, no man's groan; +There's none that dwell about them wish them down; +But all come in, the farmer and the clown, +And no one empty-handed, to salute +Thy lord and lady, though they have no suit. +Some bring a capon, some a rural cake, +Some nuts, some apples; some that think they make +The better cheeses, bring them, or else send +By their ripe daughters, whom they would commend +This way to husbands; and whose baskets bear +An emblem of themselves, in plum or pear. +But what can this (more than express their love) +Add to thy free provision, far above +The need of such? whose liberal board doth flow +With all that hospitality doth know! +Where comes no guest but is allow'd to eat +Without his fear, and of thy lord's own meat: +Where the same beer, and bread, and selfsame wine +That is his lordship's shall be also mine. +And I not fain to sit (as some this day +At great men's tables) and yet dine away. +Here no man tells my cups; nor, standing by, +A waiter doth my gluttony envy: +But gives me what I call, and lets me eat; +He knows below he shall find plenty of meat; +Thy tables hoard not up for the next day, +Nor, when I take my lodging, need I pray +For fire, or lights, or livery: all is there, +As if thou, then, wert mine, or I reign'd here. +There's nothing I can wish, for which I stay. +This found King James, when hunting late this way +With his brave son, the Prince; they saw thy fires +Shine bright on every hearth, as the desires +Of thy Penates had been set on flame +To entertain them; or the country came, +With all their zeal, to warm their welcome here. +What (great, I will not say, but) sudden cheer +Did'st thou then make them! and what praise was heap'd +On thy good lady then, who therein reap'd +The just reward of her high housewifery; +To have her linen, plate, and all things nigh, +When she was far; and not a room but drest +As if it had expected such a guest! +These, Penshurst, are thy praise, and yet not all; +Thy lady's noble, fruitful, chaste withal. +His children * * * + * * have been taught religion; thence +Their gentler spirits have suck'd innocence. +Each morn and even they are taught to pray, +With the whole household, and may, every day, +Head, in their virtuous parents' noble parts, +The mysteries of manners, arms, and arts. +Now, Penshurst, they that will proportion thee +With other edifices, when they see +Those proud ambitious heaps, and nothing else, +May say their lords have built, but thy lord dwells. + + +TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER, WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, +AND WHAT HE HATH LEFT US. + +To draw no envy, Shakspeare, on thy name, +Am I thus ample to thy book and fame; +While I confess thy writings to be such +As neither man nor Muse can praise too much, +'Tis true, and all men's suffrage. But these ways +Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise; +For silliest ignorance on these would light, +Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right; +Or blind affection, which doth ne'er advance +The truth, but gropes, and urges all by chance; +Or crafty malice might pretend this praise, +And think to ruin, where it seem'd to raise. +But thou art proof against them, and, indeed, +Above the ill fortune of them, or the need. +I therefore will begin: Soul of the age! +The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! +My Shakspeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by +Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie +A little further off, to make thee room: +Thou art a monument without a tomb, +And art alive still, while thy book doth live, +And we have wits to read, and praise to give. +That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses, +I mean with great but disproportion'd Muses: +For if I thought my judgment were of years, +I should commit thee surely with thy peers, +And tell how far thou didst our Lyly outshine, +Or sporting Kyd or Marlow's mighty line, +And though thou had small Latin and less Greek, +From thence to honour thee I will not seek +For names; but call forth thund'ring Aeschylus, +Euripides, and Sophocles to us, +Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead, +To live again, to hear thy buskin tread, +And shake a stage: or when thy socks were on +Leave thee alone for the comparison +Of all, that insolent Greece or haughty Rome +Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. +Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show, +To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. +He was not of an age, but for all time! +And all the Muses still were in their prime, +When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm +Our ears, or like a Mercury, to charm! +Nature herself was proud of his designs, +And joy'd to wear the dressing of his lines, +Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, +As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. +The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, +Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please; +But antiquated and deserted lie, +As they were not of nature's family, +Yet must I not give nature all; thy art, +My gentle Shakspeare, must enjoy a part, +For though the poet's matter nature be, +His art doth give the fashion; and, that he +Who casts to write a living line, must sweat +(Such as thine are) and strike the second heat +Upon the Muses' anvil; turn the same, +And himself with it, that he thinks to frame; +Or for the laurel, he may gain a scorn; +For a good poet's made as well as born, +And such wert thou! Look how the father's face +Lives in his issue, even so the race +Of Shakspeare's mind and manners brightly shines +In his well-turned and true-filed lines; +In each of which he seems to shake a lance, +As brandish'd at the eyes of ignorance. +Sweet Swan of Avon! what a sight it were +To see thee in our water yet appear, +And make those flights upon the banks of Thames +That so did take Eliza and our James! +But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere +Advanced, and made a constellation there! +Shine forth, thou Star of Poets, and with rage, +Or influence, chide, or cheer the drooping stage, +Which since thy flight from hence hath mourn'd like night, +And despairs day, but for thy volume's light! + + +ON THE PORTRAIT OF SHAKSPEARE. + +(UNDER THE FRONTISPIECE TO THE FIRST EDITION OF HIS WORKS: 1623.) + +This figure that thou here seest put, +It was for gentle Shakspeare cut, +Wherein the graver had a strife +With nature, to outdo the life: +Oh, could he but have drawn his wit, +As well in brass, as he hath hit +His face; the print would then surpass +All that was ever writ in 'brass: +But since he cannot, reader, look +Not on his picture but his book. + + + + +VERE, STORRER, &c. + + +In the same age of fertile, seething mind which produced Jonson and the +rest of the Elizabethan giants, there flourished some minor poets, whose +names we merely chronicle: such as Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford, born +1534, and dying 1604, who travelled in Italy in his youth, and returned +the 'most accomplished coxcomb in Europe,' who sat as Grand Chamberlain +of England upon the trial of Mary Queen of Scots, and who has left, in +the 'Paradise of Dainty Devices,' some rather beautiful verses, entitled, +'Fancy and Desire;'--as Thomas Storrer, a student of Christ Church, Oxford, +and the author of a versified 'History of Cardinal Wolsey,' in three parts, +who died in 1604;--as William Warner, a native of Oxfordshire, born in +1558, who became an attorney of the Common Pleas in London, and died +suddenly in 1609, having made himself famous for a time by a poem, entitled +'Albion's England,' called by Campbell 'an enormous ballad on the history, +or rather the fables appendant to the history of England,' with some fine +touches, but heavy and prolix as a whole;--as Sir John Harrington, who was +the son of a poet and the favourite of Essex, who was created a Knight of +the Bath by James I., and who wrote some pointed epigrams and a miserable +translation of Ariosto, in which heeffectually tamed that wild Pegasus; +--as Henry Perrot, who collected, in 1613, a book of epigrams, entitled, +'Springes for Woodcocks;'--as Sir Thomas Overbury, whose dreadful and +mysterious fate, well known to all who read English history, excited such +a sympathy for him, that his poems, 'A Wife,' and 'The Choice of a Wife,' +passed through sixteen editions before the year 1653, although his prose +'Characters,' such as the exquisite and well-known 'Fair and Happy +Milkmaid,' are far better than his poetry;--as Samuel Rowlandes, a prolific +pamphleteer in the reigns of Elizabeth, James I., and Charles I., author +also of several plays and of a book of epigrams;--as Thomas Picke, who +belonged to the Middle Temple, and published, in 1631, a number of songs, +sonnets, and elegies;--as Henry Constable, born in 1568, and a well-known +sonneteer of his day;--as Nicholas Breton, author of some pretty pastorals, +who, it is conjectured, was born in 1555, and died in 1624;--and as Dr +Thomas Lodge, born in 1556, and who died in 1625, after translating +Josephus into English, and writing some tolerable poetical pieces. + + + + +THOMAS RANDOLPH. + + +This was a true poet, although his power comes forth principally in the +drama. He was born at Newnham, near Daventry, Northamptonshire, in 1605, +being the you of Lord Zouch's steward. He became a King's Scholar at +Westminster, and subsequently a Fellow in Trinity College, Cambridge. +Ben Jonson loved him, and he reciprocated the attachment. Whether from +natural tendency or in imitation of Jonson, who called him, as well as +Cartwright, his adopted son, he learned intemperate habits, and died, in +1634, at the age of twenty-nine. His death took place at the house of W. +Stafford, Esq. of Blatherwyke, in his native county, and he was buried +in the church beside, where Sir Christopher, afterwards Lord Hatton, +signalised the spot of his rest by a monument. He wrote five dramas, +which are imperfect and formal in plan, but written with considerable +power. Some of his miscellaneous poems discover feeling and genius. + + +THE PRAISE OF WOMAN. + +He is a parricide to his mother's name, +And with an impious hand murders her fame, +That wrongs the praise of women; that dares write +Libels on saints, or with foul ink requite +The milk they lent us! Better sex! command +To your defence my more religious hand, +At sword or pen; yours was the nobler birth, +For you of man were made, man but of earth-- +The sun of dust; and though your sin did breed +His fall, again you raised him in your seed. +Adam, in's sleep again full loss sustain'd, +That for one rib a better half regain'd, +Who, had he not your blest creation seen +In Paradise, an anchorite had been. +Why in this work did the creation rest, +But that Eternal Providence thought you best +Of all his six days' labour? Beasts should do +Homage to man, but man shall wait on you; +You are of comelier sight, of daintier touch, +A tender flesh, and colour bright, and such +As Parians see in marble; skin more fair, +More glorious head, and far more glorious hair; +Eyes full of grace and quickness; purer roses +Blush in your cheeks; a milder white composes +Your stately fronts; your breath, more sweet than his, +Breathes spice, and nectar drops at every kiss. + +* * * * * + +If, then, in bodies where the souls do dwell, +You better us, do then our souls excel? + +No. * * * * +Boast we of knowledge, you are more than we, +You were the first ventured to pluck the tree; +And that more rhetoric in your tongues do lie, +Let him dispute against that dares deny +Your least commands; and not persuaded be, +With Samson's strength and David's piety, +To be your willing captives. + + * * * * * + +Thus, perfect creatures, if detraction rise +Against your sex, dispute but with your eyes, +Your hand, your lip, your brow, there will be sent +So subtle and so strong an argument, +Will teach the stoic his affections too, +And call the cynic from his tub to woo. + + +TO MY PICTURE. + +When age hath made me what I am not now, +And every wrinkle tells me where the plough +Of Time hath furrow'd, when an ice shall flow +Through every vein, and all my head be snow; +When Death displays his coldness in my cheek, +And I, myself, in my own picture seek, +Not finding what I am, but what I was, +In doubt which to believe, this or my glass; +Yet though I alter, this remains the same +As it was drawn, retains the primitive frame, +And first complexion; here will still be seen, +Blood on the cheek, and down upon the chin: +Here the smooth brow will stay, the lively eye, +The ruddy lip, and hair of youthful dye. +Behold what frailty we in man may see, +Whose shadow is less given to change than he. + + +TO A LADY ADMIRING HERSELF IN A LOOKING-GLASS. + +Fair lady, when you see the grace +Of beauty in your looking-glass; +A stately forehead, smooth and high, +And full of princely majesty; +A sparkling eye, no gem so fair, +Whose lustre dims the Cyprian star; +A glorious cheek, divinely sweet, +Wherein both roses kindly meet; +A cherry lip that would entice +Even gods to kiss at any price; +You think no beauty is so rare +That with your shadow might compare; +That your reflection is alone +The thing that men must dote upon. +Madam, alas! your glass doth lie, +And you are much deceived; for I +A beauty know of richer grace,-- +(Sweet, be not angry,) 'tis your face. +Hence, then, oh, learn more mild to be, +And leave to lay your blame on me: +If me your real substance move, +When you so much your shadow love, +Wise Nature would not let your eye +Look on her own bright majesty; +Which, had you once but gazed upon, +You could, except yourself, love none: +What then you cannot love, let me, +That face I can, you cannot see. + +'Now you have what to love,' you'll say, +'What then is left for me, I pray?' +My face, sweet heart, if it please thee; +That which you can, I cannot see: +So either love shall gain his due, +Yours, sweet, in me, and mine in you. + + + + +ROBERT BURTON. + + +The great, though whimsical author of the 'Anatomy of Melancholy' was +born at Lindley, in Leicestershire, 1576, and educated at Christ Church, +Oxford. He became Rector of Seagrave, in his native shire. He was a man +of vast erudition, of integrity and benevolence, but his happiness, +like that of Burns, although in a less measure, 'was blasted _ab +origine_ by an incurable taint of hypochondria;' and although at times a +most delightful companion, at other times he was so miserable, even when +a young student at Oxford, that he had no resource but to go down to the +river-side, where the coarse jests of the bargemen threw him into fits +of laughter. This surely was a violent remedy, and one that must have +reacted into deeper depression. In 1621, he wrote and published, as a +safety-valve to his morbid feelings, his famous 'Anatomie of Melancholy, +by Democritus Junior.' It became instantly popular, and sold so well, +that the publisher is said to have made a fortune by it. Nothing more of +consequence is recorded of the author, who died in 1640. Although + + 'Melancholy mark'd him for her own,' + +she failed to kill him till he had passed his grand climacteric. He was +buried in Christ Church, with the following epitaph, said to have been +composed by himself:-- + + 'Paucis notus, paucioribus ignotus. + Hic jacet Democritus Junior, + Cui vitam pariter et mortem + Dedit _Melancholia_! + + 'Known [by name] to few, unknown [as the author of the "Anatomy"] + to fewer, here lies D. J., who owes his death [as a man] and his + life [as an author] to Melancholy.' + +His work is certainly a most curious and bewitching medley of thought, +information, wit, learning, personal interest, and poetic fancy. We all +know it was the only book which ever drew the lazy Johnson from his bed +an hour sooner than he wished to rise. The subject, like the flesh of +that 'melancholy' creature the hare, may be dry, but, as with that, an +astute cookery prevails to make it exceedingly piquant; the sauce is +better than the substance. Burton's melancholy is not, like Johnson's, +a deep, hopeless, 'inspissated gloom,' thickened by memories of remorse, +and lighted up by the lurid fires of feared perdition; it is not, like +Byron's, dashed with the demoniac element, and fretted into universal +misanthropy; it is not, like Foster's, the sad, fixed fascination of +a pure intelligence contemplating the darker side of things, as by a +necessity of nature, and ignoring, without denying, the existence of the +bright; nor is it, like that of the 'melancholy Jacques,' in 'As you +Like it,' a wild, woodland, fantastical habit of thought, as of one +living collaterally and aside to the world, and which often explodes +into laughter at itself and at all things else;--Burton's is a wide- +spread but tender shade, like twilight, diffused over the whole horizon +of his thought, and is nourished at times into a luxury, and at times +paraded as a peculiar possession. In his form of melancholy there are +pleasures as well as pains. 'Most pleasant it is,' he says, 'to such +as are to melancholy given, to lie in bed whole days and keep their +chambers; to walk alone in some solitary grove, betwixt wood and water, +by a brook-side, to meditate upon some delightsome and pleasant subject; +and a most incomparable delight it is so to melancholise and build +castles in the air.' Religious considerations have little to do with +Burton's melancholy, and remorse or fear apparently nothing. Hence his +book, although its theme be sadness, never shadows the spirit, but, on +the contrary, from his dark, Lethean poppies, his readers are made to +extract an element of joyful excitement, and the anatomy, and the cure, +of the evil, are one and the same. + +As a writer, Burton ranks, in some points, with Montaigne, and in others +with Sir Thomas Browne. He resembles the first in simplicity, _bonhommie_, +and miscellaneous learning, and the other in rambling manner, quaint +phraseology, and fantastic imagination. Neither of the three could be said +to write books, but they accumulated vast storehouses, whence thousands of +volumes might be, and have been compiled. There is nothing in Burton so +low as in many of the 'Essays' of Montaigne, but there is nothing so lofty +as in passages of Browne's 'Religio Medici' and 'Urn-Burial.' Burton has +been a favourite quarry to literary thieves, among whom Sterne, in his +'Tristram Shandy,' stands pre-eminent. To his 'Anatomy' he prefixes a poem, +a few stanzas of which we extract. + + +ON MELANCHOLY. + +1 When I go musing all alone, + Thinking of divers things foreknown, + When I build castles in the air, + Void of sorrow, void of fear, + Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet + Methinks the time runs very fleet. + All my joys to this are folly; + Nought so sweet as melancholy. + +2 When I go walking all alone, + Recounting what I have ill-done, + My thoughts on me then tyrannise, + Fear and sorrow me surprise; + Whether I tarry still, or go, + Methinks the time moves very slow. + All my griefs to this are jolly; + Nought so sad as melancholy. + +3 When to myself I act and smile, + With pleasing thoughts the time beguile, + By a brook-side or wood so green, + Unheard, unsought for, or unseen, + A thousand pleasures do me bless, + And crown my soul with happiness. + All my joys besides are folly; + None so sweet as melancholy. + +4 When I lie, sit, or walk alone, + I sigh, I grieve, making great moan; + In a dark grove or irksome den, + With discontents and furies then, + A thousand miseries at once + Mine heavy heart and soul ensconce. + All my griefs to this are jolly; + None so sour as melancholy. + +5 Methinks I hear, methinks I see + Sweet music, wondrous melody, + Towns, palaces, and cities, fine; + Here now, then there, the world is mine, + Rare beauties, gallant ladies shine, + Whate'er is lovely is divine. + All other joys to this are folly; + None so sweet as melancholy, + +6 Methinks I hear, methinks I see + Ghosts, goblins, fiends: my fantasy + Presents a thousand ugly shapes; + Headless bears, black men, and apes; + Doleful outcries and fearful sights + My sad and dismal soul affrights. + All my griefs to this are jolly; + None so damn'd as melancholy. + + + + +THOMAS CAREW. + + +This delectable versifier was born in 1589, in Gloucestershire, from an +old family in which he sprung. He was educated at Corpus Christi College, +Oxford, but neither matriculated nor took a degree. After finishing his +travels, he returned to England, and became soon highly distinguished, in +the Court of Charles I., for his manners, accomplishments, and wit. He +was appointed Gentleman of the Privy Chamber and Sewer in Ordinary to the +King. He spent the rest of his life as a gay and gallant courtier; and in +the intervals of pleasure produced some light but exquisite poetry. He is +said, ere his death, which took place in 1639, to have become very +devout, and bitterly to have deplored the licentiousness of some of his +verses. + +Indelicate choice of subject is often, in Carew, combined with great +delicacy of execution. No one touches dangerous themes with so light and +glove-guarded a hand. His pieces are all fugitive, but they suggest great +possibilities, which his mode of life and his premature removal did not +permit to be realised. Had he, at an earlier period, renounced, like +George Herbert, 'the painted pleasures of a court,' and, like Prospero, +dedicated himself to 'closeness,' with his marvellous facility of verse, +his laboured levity of style, and his nice exuberance of fancy, he might +have produced some work of Horatian merit and classic permanence. + + + + +PERSUASIONS TO LOVE. + +Think not, 'cause men flattering say, +Y'are fresh as April, sweet as May, +Bright as is the morning-star, +That you are so;--or though you are, +Be not therefore proud, and deem +All men unworthy your esteem: + + * * * * * + +Starve not yourself, because you may +Thereby make me pine away; +Nor let brittle beauty make +You your wiser thoughts forsake: +For that lovely face will fail; +Beauty's sweet, but beauty's frail; +'Tis sooner past, 'tis sooner done, +Than summer's rain, or winter's sun: +Most fleeting, when it is most dear; +'Tis gone, while we but say 'tis here. +These curious locks so aptly twined, +Whose every hair a soul doth bind, +Will change their auburn hue, and grow +White and cold as winter's snow. +That eye which now is Cupid's nest +Will prove his grave, and all the rest +Will follow; in the cheek, chin, nose, +Nor lily shall be found, nor rose; +And what will then become of all +Those, whom now you servants call? +Like swallows, when your summer's done +They'll fly, and seek some warmer sun. + + * * * * * + +The snake each year fresh skin resumes, +And eagles change their aged plumes; +The faded rose each spring receives +A fresh red tincture on her leaves; +But if your beauties once decay, +You never know a second May. +Oh, then be wise, and whilst your season +Affords you days for sport, do reason; +Spend not in vain your life's short hour, +But crop in time your beauty's flower: +Which will away, and doth together +Both bud and fade, both blow and wither. + + +SONG. + +Give me more love, or more disdain, + The torrid, or the frozen zone +Bring equal ease unto my pain; + The temperate affords me none; +Either extreme, of love or hate, +Is sweeter than a calm estate. + +Give me a storm; if it be love, + Like Danaė in a golden shower, +I swim in pleasure; if it prove + Disdain, that torrent will devour +My vulture-hopes; and he's possess'd +Of heaven that's but from hell released: +Then crown my joys, or cure my pain; +Give me more love, or more disdain. + + +TO MY MISTRESS SITTING BY A RIVER'S SIDE. + +Mark how yon eddy steals away +From the rude stream into the bay; +There lock'd up safe, she doth divorce +Her waters from the channel's course, +And scorns the torrent that did bring +Her headlong from her native spring. +Now doth she with her new love play, +Whilst he runs murmuring away. +Mark how she courts the banks, whilst they +As amorously their arms display, +To embrace and clip her silver waves: +See how she strokes their sides, and craves +An entrance there, which they deny; +Whereat she frowns, threatening to fly +Home to her stream, and 'gins to swim +Backward, but from the channel's brim +Smiling returns into the creek, +With thousand dimples on her cheek. +Be thou this eddy, and I'll make +My breast thy shore, where thou shalt take +Secure repose, and never dream +Of the quite forsaken stream: +Let him to the wide ocean haste, +There lose his colour, name, and taste; +Thou shalt save all, and, safe from him, +Within these arms for ever swim. + + +SONG. + +If the quick spirits in your eye +Now languish, and anon must die; +If every sweet, and every grace, +Must fly from that forsaken face: + Then, Celia, let us reap our joys, + Ere time such goodly fruit destroys. + +Or, if that golden fleece must grow +For ever, free from aged snow; +If those bright suns must know no shade, +Nor your fresh beauties ever fade; +Then fear not, Celia, to bestow +What still being gather'd still must grow. + Thus, either Time his sickle brings + In vain, or else in vain his wings. + + +A PASTORAL DIALOGUE. + +SHEPHERD, NYMPH, CHORUS. + +_Shep._ This mossy bank they press'd. _Nym._That aged oak + Did canopy the happy pair + All night from the damp air. +_Cho._ Here let us sit, and sing the words they spoke, + Till the day-breaking their embraces broke. + +_Shep._ See, love, the blushes of the morn appear: + And now she hangs her pearly store + (Robb'd from the eastern shore) + I' th' cowslip's bell and rose's ear: + Sweet, I must stay no longer here. + +_Nym._ Those streaks of doubtful light usher not day, + But show my sun must set; no morn + Shall shine till thou return: + The yellow planets, and the gray + Dawn, shall attend thee on thy way. + +_Shep._ If thine eyes gild my paths, they may forbear + Their useless shine. _Nym._ My tears will quite + Extinguish their faint light. +_Shep._ Those drops will make their beams more clear, + Love's flames will shine in every tear. + +_Cho._ They kiss'd, and wept; and from their lips and eyes, + In a mix'd dew of briny sweet, + Their joys and sorrows meet; + But she cries out. _Nym._ Shepherd, arise, + The sun betrays us else to spies. + +_Shep._ The winged hours fly fast whilst we embrace; + But when we want their help to meet, + They move with leaden feet. +_Nym._ Then let us pinion time, and chase + The day for ever from this place. + +_Shep._ Hark! _Nym._ Ah me, stay! _Shep._ For ever _Nym._ No, arise; + We must be gone. _Shep._ My nest of spice + _Nym._ My soul. _Shep._ My paradise. +_Cho._ Neither could say farewell, but through their eyes +Grief interrupted speech with tears supplies. + + +SONG. + +Ask me no more where Jove bestows, +When June is past, the fading rose; +For in your beauties orient deep +These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. + +Ask me no more whither do stray +The golden atoms of the day; +For, in pure love, Heaven did prepare +Those powders to enrich your hair. + +Ask me no more whither doth haste +The nightingale, when May is past; +For in your sweet dividing throat +She winters, and keeps warm her note. + +Ask me no more, where those stars light, +That downwards fall in dead of night; +For in your eyes they sit, and there +Fixed become, as in their sphere. + +Ask me no more, if east or west +The phoenix builds her spicy nest; +For unto you at last she flies, +And in your fragrant bosom dies. + + + + +SIR JOHN SUCKLING. + + +This witty baronet was born in 1608. He was the son of the Comptroller +of the Household of Charles I. He was uncommonly precocious; at five is +said to have spoken Latin, and at sixteen had entered into the service +of Gustavus Adolphus, 'the lion of the North, and the bulwark of the +Protestant faith.' + +On his return to England, he was favoured by Charles, and became, in his +turn, a most enthusiastic supporter of the Royal cause; writing plays for +the amusement of the Court; and when the Civil War broke out, raising, at +his own expense of £1200, a regiment for the King, which is said to have +been distinguished only by its 'finery and cowardice.' When the Earl of +Strafford came into trouble, Suckling, along with some other cavaliers, +intrigued for his deliverance, was impeached by the House of Commons, +and had to flee to France. Here an early death awaited him. His servant +having robbed him, he drew on, in vehement haste, his boots, to pursue +the defaulter, when a rusty nail, or, some say, the blade of a knife, +which was concealed in one of them, pierced his heel. A mortification +ensued, and he died, in 1641, at thirty-three years of age. + +Suckling has written five plays, various poems, besides letters, +speeches, and tracts, which have all been collected into one thin volume. +They are of various merit; none, in fact, being worthy of print, or at +least of preservation, except one or two of his songs, and his 'Ballad +upon a Wedding'. This last is an admirable expression of what were his +principal qualities--_naiveté_, sly humour, gay badinage, and a delicious +vein of fancy, coming out occasionally by stealth, even as in his own +exquisite lines about the bride, + + 'Her feet, beneath her petticoat, + Like _little mice, stole in and out_, + As if they fear'd the light.' + + +SONG. + +Why so pale and wan, fond lover! + Prithee why so pale? +Will, when looking well can't move her, + Looking ill prevail? + Prithee why so pale? + +Why so dull and mute, young sinner? + Prithee why so mute? +Will, when speaking well can't win her, + Saying nothing do 't? + Prithee why so mute? + +Quit, quit for shame! this will not move, + This cannot take her; +If of herself she will not love, + Nothing can make her-- + The devil take her! + + +A BALLAD UPON A WEDDING. + +1 I tell thee, Dick, where I have been, + Where I the rarest things have seen: + Oh, things without compare! + Such sights again cannot be found + In any place on English ground, + Be it at wake or fair. + +2 At Charing-Cross, hard by the way + Where we (thou know'st) do sell our hay, + There is a house with stairs: + And there did I see coming down + Such folks as are not in our town, + Vorty at least, in pairs. + +3 Amongst the rest, one pest'lent fine, + (His beard no bigger though than thine,) + Walk'd on before the rest: + Our landlord looks like nothing to him: + The king (God bless him)'twould undo him, + Should he go still so dress'd. + +4 At Course-a-park, without all doubt, + He should have first been taken out + By all the maids i' the town: + Though lusty Roger there had been, + Or little George upon the Green, + Or Vincent of the Crown. + +5 But wot you what? the youth was going + To make an end of all his wooing; + The parson for him staid: + Yet by his leave, for all his haste, + He did not so much wish all past + (Perchance) as did the maid. + +6 The maid--and thereby hangs a tale-- + For such a maid no Whitsun-ale + Could ever yet produce: + No grape that's kindly ripe could be + So round, so plump, so soft as she, + Nor half so full of juice. + +7 Her finger was so small, the ring + Would not stay on which they did bring, + It was too wide a peck: + And to say truth (for out it must) + It look'd like the great collar (just) + About our young colt's neck. + +8 Her feet, beneath her petticoat, + Like little mice, stole in and out, + As if they fear'd the light: + But oh! she dances such a way! + No sun upon an Easter-day + Is half so fine a sight. + +9 He would have kiss'd her once or twice, + But she would not, she was so nice, + She would not do 't in sight; + And then she look'd as who should say. + I will do what I list to-day; + And you shall do 't at night. + +10 Her cheeks so rare a white was on, + No daisy makes comparison, + (Who sees them is undone,) + For streaks of red were mingled there, + Such as are on a Katherine pear, + The side that's next the sun. + +11 Her lips were red, and one was thin, + Compared to that was next her chin; + Some bee had stung it newly. + But (Dick) her eyes so guard her face, + I durst no more upon them gaze, + Than on the sun in July. + +12 Her mouth so small, when she does speak, + Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break, + That they might passage get; + But she so handled still the matter, + They came as good as ours, or better, + And are not spent a whit. + +13 If wishing should be any sin, + The parson himself had guilty been, + She look'd that day so purely: + And did the youth so oft the feat + At night, as some did in conceit, + It would have spoil'd him, surely. + +14 Passion o'me! how I run on! + There's that that would be thought upon, + I trow, beside the bride: + The business of the kitchen's great, + For it is fit that men should eat; + Nor was it there denied. + +15 Just in the nick the cook knock'd thrice, + And all the waiters in a trice + His summons did obey; + Each serving-man with dish in hand, + March'd boldly up, like our train'd band, + Presented and away. + +16 When all the meat was on the table, + What man of knife, or teeth, was able + To stay to be entreated? + And this the very reason was, + Before the parson could say grace, + The company were seated. + +17 Now hats fly off, and youths carouse; + Healths first go round, and then the house, + The bride's came thick and thick; + And when 'twas named another's health, + Perhaps he made it hers by stealth, + And who could help it, Dick? + +18 O' the sudden up they rise and dance; + Then sit again, and sigh and glance: + Then dance again and kiss. + Thus sev'ral ways the time did pass, + Whil'st every woman wish'd her place, + And every man wish'd his. + +19 By this time all were stol'n aside + To counsel and undress the bride; + But that he must not know; + But yet 'twas thought he guess'd her mind, + And did not mean to stay behind + Above an hour or so. + +20 When in he came (Dick), there she lay, + Like new-fall'n snow melting away, + 'Twas time, I trow, to part. + Kisses were now the only stay, + Which soon she gave, as who would say, + Good-bye, with all my heart. + +21 But just as heavens would have to cross it, + In came the bridemaids with the posset; + The bridegroom eat in spite; + For had he left the women to 't + It would have cost two hours to do 't, + Which were too much that night. + +22 At length the candle's out, and now + All that they had not done, they do! + What that is, who can tell? + But I believe it was no more + Than thou and I have done before + With Bridget and with Nell! + + +SONG. + +I pray thee send me back my heart, + Since I can not have thine, +For if from yours you will not part, + Why then shouldst thou have mine? + +Yet now I think on 't, let it lie, + To find it were in vain; +For thou'st a thief in either eye + Would steal it back again. + +Why should two hearts in one breast lie, + And yet not lodge together? +O love! where is thy sympathy, + If thus our breasts thou sever? + +But love is such a mystery, + I cannot find it out; +For when I think I'm best resolved, + I then am in most doubt. + +Then farewell care, and farewell woe, + I will no longer pine; +For I'll believe I have her heart + As much as she has mine. + + + + +WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT. + + +Cartwright was born in 1611, and was the son of an innkeeper--once a +gentleman--in Cirencester. He became a King's scholar at Westminster, +and afterwards took orders at Oxford, where he distinguished himself, +according to Wood, as a 'most florid and seraphic preacher.' One is +reminded of the description given of Jeremy Taylor, who, when he first +began to preach, by his 'young and florid beauty, and his sublime and +raised discourses, made men take him for an angel newly descended from +the climes of Paradise.' Cartwright was appointed, through his friend +Bishop Duppa, Succentor of the Church of Salisbury in 1642. He was one +of a council of war appointed by the University of Oxford, for providing +troops in the King's cause, to protect, or some said to overawe, the +Universities. He was imprisoned by the Parliamentary forces on account +of his zeal in the Royal cause, but soon liberated on bail. In 1643, +he was appointed Junior Proctor of his University, and also Reader in +Metaphysics. At this time he is said to have studied sixteen hours +a-day. This, however, seems to have weakened his constitution, and +rendered him an easy victim to what was called the camp-fever, then +prevalent in Oxford. He died December 23, 1643, aged thirty-two. The +King, then in Oxford, went into mourning for him. His works were +published in 1651, and to them were prefixed fifty copies of encomiastic +verses from the wits and poets of the time. They scarcely justify the +praises they have received, being somewhat crude and harsh, and all of +them occasional. His private character, his eloquence as a preacher, and +his zeal as a Royalist, seem to have supplemented his claims as a poet. +He enjoyed, too, in his earlier life, the friendship of Ben Jonson, who +used to say of him, 'My son Cartwright writes all like a man;' and such +a sentence from such an authority was at that time fame. + + +LOVE'S DARTS. + +1 Where is that learned wretch that knows + What are those darts the veil'd god throws? + Oh, let him tell me ere I die + When 'twas he saw or heard them fly; + Whether the sparrow's plumes, or dove's, + Wing them for various loves; + And whether gold or lead, + Quicken or dull the head: + I will anoint and keep them warm, + And make the weapons heal the harm. + +2 Fond that I am to ask! whoe'er + Did yet see thought? or silence hear? + Safe from the search of human eye + These arrows (as their ways are) fly: + The flights of angels part + Not air with so much art; + And snows on streams, we may + Say, louder fall than they. + So hopeless I must now endure, + And neither know the shaft nor cure. + +3 A sudden fire of blushes shed + To dye white paths with hasty red; + A glance's lightning swiftly thrown, + Or from a true or seeming frown; + A subtle taking smile + From passion, or from guile; + The spirit, life, and grace + Of motion, limbs, and face; + These misconceit entitles darts, + And tears the bleedings of our hearts. + +4 But as the feathers in the wing + Unblemish'd are, and no wounds bring, + And harmless twigs no bloodshed know, + Till art doth fit them for the bow; + So lights of flowing graces + Sparkling in several places, + Only adorn the parts, + Till that we make them darts; + Themselves are only twigs and quills: + We give them shape and force for ills. + +5 Beauty's our grief, but in the ore, + We mint, and stamp, and then adore: + Like heathen we the image crown, + And indiscreetly then fall down: + Those graces all were meant + Our joy, not discontent; + But with untaught desires + We turn those lights to fires, + Thus Nature's healing herbs we take, + And out of cures do poisons make. + + +ON THE DEATH OF SIR BEVIL GRENVILLE. + +Not to be wrought by malice, gain, or pride, +To a compliance with the thriving side; +Not to take arms for love of change, or spite, +But only to maintain afflicted right; +Not to die vainly in pursuit of fame, +Perversely seeking after voice and name; +Is to resolve, fight, die, as martyrs do, +And thus did he, soldier and martyr too. + + * * * * * + +When now the incensed legions proudly came +Down like a torrent without bank or dam: +When undeserved success urged on their force; +That thunder must come down to stop their course, +Or Grenville must step in; then Grenville stood, +And with himself opposed and check'd the flood. +Conquest or death was all his thought. So fire +Either o'ercomes, or doth itself expire: +His courage work'd like flames, cast heat about, +Here, there, on this, on that side, none gave out; +Not any pike on that renowned stand, +But took new force from his inspiring hand: +Soldier encouraged soldier, man urged man, +And he urged all; so much example can; +Hurt upon hurt, wound upon wound did call, +He was the butt, the mark, the aim of all: +His soul this while retired from cell to cell, +At last flew up from all, and then he fell. +But the devoted stand enraged more +From that his fate, plied hotter than before, +And proud to fall with him, sworn not to yield, +Each sought an honour'd grave, so gain'd the field. +Thus he being fallen, his action fought anew: +And the dead conquer'd, whiles the living slew. + +This was not nature's courage, not that thing +We valour call, which time and reason bring; +But a diviner fury, fierce and high, +Valour transported into ecstasy, +Which angels, looking on us from above, +Use to convey into the souls they love. +You now that boast the spirit, and its sway, +Shew us his second, and we'll give the day: +We know your politic axiom, lurk, or fly; +Ye cannot conquer, 'cause you dare not die: +And though you thank God that you lost none there, +'Cause they were such who lived not when they were; +Yet your great general (who doth rise and fall, +As his successes do, whom you dare call, +As fame unto you doth reports dispense, +Either a -------- or his excellence) +Howe'er he reigns now by unheard-of laws, +Could wish his fate together with his cause. + +And thou (blest soul) whose clear compacted fame, +As amber bodies keeps, preserves thy name, +Whose life affords what doth content both eyes, +Glory for people, substance for the wise, +Go laden up with spoils, possess that seat +To which the valiant, when they've done, retreat: +And when thou seest an happy period sent +To these distractions, and the storm quite spent, +Look down and say, I have my share in all, +Much good grew from my life, much from my fall. + + +A VALEDICTION. + +Bid me not go where neither suns nor showers +Do make or cherish flowers; +Where discontented things in sadness lie, +And Nature grieves as I. +When I am parted from those eyes, +From which my better day doth rise, +Though some propitious power +Should plant me in a bower, +Where amongst happy lovers I might see +How showers and sunbeams bring +One everlasting spring, +Nor would those fall, nor these shine forth to me; +Nature herself to him is lost, +Who loseth her he honours most. +Then, fairest, to my parting view display +Your graces all in one full day; +Whose blessed shapes I'll snatch and keep till when +I do return and view again: +So by this art fancy shall fortune cross, +And lovers live by thinking on their loss. + + + + +WILLIAM BROWNE. + + +This pastoral poet was born, in 1590, at Tavistock, in Devonshire, +a lovely part of a lovely county. He was educated at Oxford, and went +thence to the Inner Temple. He was at one time tutor to the Earl of +Carnarvon, and afterwards, when that nobleman perished in the battle of +Newbury, in 1643, he was patronised by the Earl of Pembroke, in whose +house he resided, and is even said to have become so rich that he +purchased an estate. In 1645 he died, at Ottery St Mary, the parish +where, in 1772, Coleridge was born. + +Browne began his poetical career early, and closed it soon. He published +the first part of 'Britannia's Pastorals' in 1613, the second in 1616; +shortly after, his 'Shepherd's Pipe;' and, in 1620, produced his 'Inner +Temple Masque' which was then enacted, but not printed till a hundred +and twenty years after the author's death, when Dr Farmer transcribed +it from a MS. of the Bodleian Library, and it appeared in Tom Davies' +edition of Browne's poems. Browne has no constructive power, and no +human interest in his pastorals, but he has an eye for nature, and we +quote from him some excellent specimens of descriptive poetry. + + +SONG. + +Gentle nymphs, be not refusing, +Love's neglect is Time's abusing, + They and beauty are but lent you; +Take the one, and keep the other: +Love keeps fresh what age doth smother, + Beauty gone, you will repent you. + +'Twill be said, when ye have proved, +Never swains more truly loved: + Oh, then, fly all nice behaviour! +Pity fain would (as her duty) +Be attending still on Beauty, + Let her not be out of favour. + + +SONG. + +1 Shall I tell you whom I love? + Hearken then a while to me, + And if such a woman move + As I now shall versify; + Be assured, 'tis she, or none, + That I love, and love alone. + +2 Nature did her so much right, + As she scorns the help of art. + In as many virtues dight + As e'er yet embraced a heart; + So much good so truly tried, + Some for less were deified. + +3 Wit she hath, without desire + To make known how much she hath; + And her anger flames no higher + Than may fitly sweeten wrath. + Full of pity as may be, + Though perhaps not so to me. + +4 Reason masters every sense, + And her virtues grace her birth: + Lovely as all excellence, + Modest in her most of mirth: + Likelihood enough to prove + Only worth could kindle love. + +5 Such she is: and if you know + Such a one as I have sung; + Be she brown, or fair, or so, + That she be but somewhile young; + Be assured, 'tis she, or none, + That I love, and love alone. + + +POWER OF GENIUS OVER ENVY. + +'Tis not the rancour of a canker'd heart +That can debase the excellence of art, +Nor great in titles makes our worth obey, +Since we have lines far more esteem'd than they. +For there is hidden in a poet's name +A spell that can command the wings of Fame, +And maugre all oblivion's hated birth +Begin their immortality on earth, +When he that 'gainst a muse with hate combines +May raise his tomb in vain to reach our lines. + + +EVENING. + +As in an evening when the gentle air +Breathes to the sullen night a soft repair, +I oft have sat on Thames' sweet bank to hear +My friend with his sweet touch to charm mine ear, +When he hath play'd (as well he can) some strain +That likes me, straight I ask the same again, +And he, as gladly granting, strikes it o'er +With some sweet relish was forgot before: +I would have been content, if he would play, +In that one strain to pass the night away; +But fearing much to do his patience wrong, +Unwillingly have ask'd some other song: +So in this differing key though I could well +A many hours but as few minutes tell, +Yet lest mine own delight might injure you +(Though both so soon) I take my song anew. + + +FROM 'BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS.' + +Between two rocks (immortal, without mother) +That stand as if outfacing one another, +There ran a creek up, intricate and blind, +As if the waters hid them from the wind, +Which never wash'd but at a higher tide +The frizzled cotes which do the mountains hide, +Where never gale was longer known to stay +Than from the smooth wave it had swept away +The new divorced leaves, that from each side +Left the thick boughs to dance out with the tide. +At further end the creek, a stately wood +Gave a kind shadow (to the brackish flood) +Made up of trees, not less kenn'd by each skiff +Than that sky-scaling peak of Teneriffe, +Upon whose tops the hernshew bred her young, +And hoary moss upon their branches hung; +Whose rugged rinds sufficient were to show, +Without their height, what time they 'gan to grow. +And if dry eld by wrinkled skin appears, +None could allot them less than Nestor's years. +As under their command the thronged creek +Ran lessen'd up. Here did the shepherd seek +Where he his little boat might safely hide, +Till it was fraught with what the world beside +Could not outvalue; nor give equal weight +Though in the time when Greece was at her height. + + * * * * * + +Yet that their happy voyage might not be +Without Time's shortener, heaven-taught melody, +(Music that lent feet to the stable woods, +And in their currents turn'd the mighty floods, +Sorrow's sweet nurse, yet keeping Joy alive, +Sad Discontent's most welcome corrosive, +The soul of art, best loved when love is by, +The kind inspirer of sweet poesy, +Least thou shouldst wanting be, when swans would fain +Have sung one song, and never sung again,) +The gentle shepherd, hasting to the shore, +Began this lay, and timed it with his oar: + +Nevermore let holy Dee + O'er other rivers brave, +Or boast how (in his jollity) + Kings row'd upon his wave. +But silent be, and ever know +That Neptune for my fare would row. + + * * * * * + +Swell then, gently swell, ye floods, + As proud of what ye bear, +And nymphs that in low coral woods + String pearls upon your hair, +Ascend; and tell if ere this day +A fairer prize was seen at sea. + +See the salmons leap and bound + To please us as we pass, +Each mermaid on the rocks around + Lets fall her brittle glass, +As they their beauties did despise +And loved no mirror but your eyes, + +Blow, but gently blow, fair wind, + From the forsaken shore, +And be as to the halcyon kind, + Till we have ferried o'er: +So mayst thou still have leave to blow, +And fan the way where she shall go. + + +A DESCRIPTIVE SKETCH. + +Oh, what a rapture have I gotten now! +That age of gold, this of the lovely brow, +Have drawn me from my song! I onward run, +(Clean from the end to which I first begun,) +But ye, the heavenly creatures of the West, +In whom the virtues and the graces rest, +Pardon! that I have run astray so long, +And grow so tedious in so rude a song. +If you yourselves should come to add one grace +Unto a pleasant grove or such like place, +Where, here, the curious cutting of a hedge, +There in a pond, the trimming of the sedge; +Here the fine setting of well-shaded trees, +The walks their mounting up by small degrees, +The gravel and the green so equal lie, +It, with the rest, draws on your lingering eye: +Here the sweet smells that do perfume the air, +Arising from the infinite repair +Of odoriferous buds, and herbs of price, +(As if it were another paradise,) +So please the smelling sense, that you are fain +Where last you walk'd to turn and walk again. +There the small birds with their harmonious notes +Sing to a spring that smileth as she floats: +For in her face a many dimples show, +And often skips as it did dancing go: +Here further down an over-arched alley +That from a hill goes winding in a valley, +You spy at end thereof a standing lake, +Where some ingenious artist strives to make +The water (brought in turning pipes of lead +Through birds of earth most lively fashioned) +To counterfeit and mock the sylvans all +In singing well their own set madrigal. +This with no small delight retains your ear, +And makes you think none blest but who live there. +Then in another place the fruits that be +In gallant clusters decking each good tree +Invite your hand to crop them from the stem, +And liking one, taste every sort of them: +Then to the arbours walk, then to the bowers, +Thence to the walks again, thence to the flowers, +Then to the birds, and to the clear spring thence, +Now pleasing one, and then another sense: +Here one walks oft, and yet anew begin'th, +As if it were some hidden labyrinth. + + + + +WILLIAM ALEXANDER, EARL OF STIRLING. + + +This eminent Scotchman was born in 1580. He travelled on the Continent +as tutor to the Duke of Argyle. After his return to Scotland, he fell in +love with a lady, whom he calls 'Aurora,' and to whom he addressed some +beautiful sonnets. She refused his hand, however, and he married the +daughter of Sir William Erskine. He repaired to the Court of James I., +and became a distinguished favourite, being appointed Gentleman Usher to +Charles I., and created a knight. He concocted a scheme for colonising +Nova Scotia, in which he was encouraged by both James and Charles; but +the difficulties seemed too formidable, and it was in consequence +dropped. Charles appointed him Lord-Lieutenant of Nova Scotia, and, in +1633, he created him Lord Stirling. Fifteen years (from 1626 to 1641) +our poet was Secretary of State for Scotland. These were the years +during which Laud was foolishly seeking to force his liturgy upon the +Presbyterians, but Stirling gained the praise of being moderate in his +share of the business. In the course of this time he contrived to amass +an ample fortune, and spent part of it in building a fine mansion in +Stirling, which is still, we believe, standing. He died in 1641. + +Besides his smaller pieces, Stirling wrote several tragedies, including +one on Julius Caesar; an heroic poem; a poem addressed to Prince Henry, +the son of James I.; another heroic poem, entitled 'Jonathan;' and a +poem, in twelve parts, on the 'Day of Judgment.' These are all +forgotten, and, notwithstanding vigorous parts, deserve to be forgotten; +but his little sonnets, which are, if not brilliant, true things, and +inspired by a true passion, may long survive. He was, on the whole, +rather a man of great talent than of genius. + + +SONNET. + +I swear, Aurora, by thy starry eyes, +And by those golden locks, whose lock none slips, +And by the coral of thy rosy lips, +And by the naked snows which beauty dyes; +I swear by all the jewels of thy mind, +Whose like yet never worldly treasure bought, +Thy solid judgment, and thy generous thought, + +Which in this darken'd age have clearly shined; +I swear by those, and by my spotless love, +And by my secret, yet most fervent fires, +That I have never nursed but chaste desires, +And such as modesty might well approve. +Then, since I love those virtuous parts in thee, +Shouldst thou not love this virtuous mind in me? + + + + +WILLIAM DRUMMOND. + + +A man of much finer gifts than Stirling, was the famous Drummond. He +was born, December 13, 1585, at Hawthornden, his father's estate, in +Mid- Lothian. It is one of the most beautiful spots, along the sides +of one of the fairest streams in all Scotland, and well fitted to be +the home of genius. He studied civil law for four years in France, but, +in 1611, the estate of Hawthornden became his own, and here he fixed his +residence, and applied himself to literature. At this time he courted, +and was upon the point of marrying, a lady named Cunningham, who died; +and the melancholy which preyed on his mind after this event, drove him +abroad in search of solace. He visited Italy, Germany, and France; and +during his eight years of residence on the Continent, used his time +well, conversing with the learned, admiring all that was admirable in +the scenery and the life of foreign lands, and collecting rare books and +manuscripts. He had, before his departure, published, first, a volume +of occasional poems; next, a moral treatise, in prose, entitled, 'The +Cypress Grove;' and then another work, in verse, 'The Flowers of Zion.' +Returned once more to Scotland, he retired to the seat of his brother- +in-law, Sir John Scott of Scotstarvet, and there wrote a 'History of +the Five James's of Scotland,' a book abounding in bombast and slavish +principles. When he returned to his own lovely Hawthornden, he met a +lady named Logan, of the house of Restalrig, whom he fancied to bear a +striking resemblance to his dead mistress. On that hint he spake, and +she became his wife. He proceeded to repair the house of Hawthornden, +and would have spent his days there in great peace, had it not been for +the distracted times. His politics were of the Royalist complexion; and +the party in power, belonging to the Presbyterians, used every method to +annoy him, compelling him, for instance, to furnish his quota of men and +arms to support the cause which he opposed. In 1619, Ben Jonson visited +him at Hawthornden. The pair were not well assorted. Brawny Ben and +dreaming Drummond seem, in the expressive coinage of De Quincey, to have +'interdespised;' and is not their feud, with all its circumstances, +recorded in the chronicles of the 'Quarrels of Authors' compiled by the +elder Disraeli? The death of a lady sent Drummond travelling over Europe +--the death of a King sent him away on a farther and a final journey. +His grief for the execution of Charles I. is said to have shortened his +days. At all events, in December of the year of the so-called +'Martyrdom,' (1649,) he breathed his last. + +He was a genuine poet as well as a brilliant humorist. His 'Polemo +Middinia,' a grotesque mixture of bad Latin and semi-Latinised Scotch, +has created, among many generations, inextinguishable laughter. His +'Wandering Muses; or, The River of Forth Feasting,' has some gorgeous +descriptions, particularly of Scotland's lakes and rivers, at a time +when + + 'She lay, like some unkenn'd of isle, + Ayont New Holland;' + +but his sonnets are unquestionably his finest productions. They breathe +a spirit of genuine poetry. Each one of them is a rose lightly wet +with the dew of tenderness, and one or two suggest irresistibly the +recollection of our Great Dramatist's sonnets, although we feel that +'a less than Shakspeare is here.' + + +THE RIVER OF FORTH FEASTING. + +A PANEGYRIC TO THE HIGH AND MIGHTY PRINCE JAMES, KING +Or GREAT BRITAIN, FRANCE, AND IRELAND. + +_To His Sacred Majesty._ + +If in this storm of joy and pompous throng, +This nymph (great king) doth come to thee so near +That thy harmonious ears her accents hear, +Give pardon to her hoarse and lowly song: +Fain would she trophies to thy virtues rear; +But for this stately task she is not strong, +And her defects her high attempts do wrong, +Yet as she could she makes thy worth appear. +So in a map is shown this flowery place; +So wrought in arras by a virgin's hand +With heaven and blazing stars doth Atlas stand, +So drawn by charcoal is Narcissus' face: + She like the morn may be to some bright sun, + The day to perfect that's by her begun. + + * * * * * + +What blustering noise now interrupts my sleep? +What echoing shouts thus cleave my crystal deep, +And seem to call me from my watery court? +What melody, what sounds of joy and sport, +Are convey'd hither from each neighbouring spring? +With what loud rumours do the mountains ring, +Which in unusual pomp on tiptoes stand, +And (full of wonder) overlook the land? +Whence come these glittering throngs, these meteors bright, +This golden people glancing in my sight? +Whence doth this praise, applause, and love arise, +What load-star eastward draweth thus all eyes? +Am I awake? or have some dreams conspired +To mock my sense with what I most desired? +View I that living face, see I those looks, +Which with delight were wont t'amaze my brooks? +Do I behold that worth, that man divine, +This age's glory, by these banks of mine? +Then find I true what long I wish'd in vain, +My much beloved prince is come again; +So unto them whose zenith is the pole, +When six black months are past, the sun doth roll: +So after tempest to sea-tossed wights +Fair Helen's brothers show their cheering lights: +So comes Arabia's wonder from her woods, +And far, far off is seen by Memphis' floods; +The feather'd Sylvans, cloud-like, by her fly, +And with triumphing plaudits beat the sky; +Nile marvels, Seraph's priests, entranced, rave, +And in Mydonian stone her shape engrave; +In lasting cedars they do mark the time +In which Apollo's bird came to their clime. +Let Mother Earth now deck'd with flowers be seen, +And sweet-breath'd zephyrs curl the meadows green, +Let heaven weep rubies in a crimson shower, +Such as on India's shores they use to pour: +Or with that golden storm the fields adorn, +Which Jove rain'd when his blue-eyed maid was born. +May never hours the web of day outweave, +May never night rise from her sable cave. +Swell proud, my billows, faint not to declare +Your joys as ample as their causes are: +For murmurs hoarse sound like Arion's harp, +Now delicately flat, now sweetly sharp; +And you, my nymphs, rise from your moist repair; +Strow all your springs and grots with lilies fair: +Some swiftest-footed, get them hence, and pray +Our floods and lakes come keep this holiday; +Whate'er beneath Albania's hills do run, +Which see the rising or the setting sun, +Which drink stern Grampius' mists, or Ochil's snows: +Stone-rolling Tay, Tyne tortoise-like that flows, +The pearly Don, the Dees, the fertile Spey, +Wild Neverne, which doth see our longest day; +Ness smoking sulphur, Leave with mountains crown'd, +Strange Lomond for his floating isles renown'd: +The Irish Rian, Ken, the silver Ayr, +The snaky Dun, the Ore with rushy hair, +The crystal-streaming Nid, loud-bellowing Clyde, +Tweed which no more our kingdoms shall divide; +Rank-swelling Annan, Lid with curled streams, +The Esks, the Solway, where they lose their names, +To every one proclaim our joys and feasts, +Our triumphs; bid all come and be our guests: +And as they meet in Neptune's azure hall, +Bid them bid sea-gods keep this festival; +This day shall by our currents be renown'd, +Our hills about shall still this day resound; +Nay, that our love more to this day appear, +Let us with it henceforth begin our year. +To virgins, flowers; to sunburnt earth, the rain; +To mariners, fair winds amidst the main; +Cool shades to pilgrims, which hot glances burn, +Are not so pleasing as thy blest return. +That day, dear prince, which robb'd us of thy sight, +(Day, no, but darkness and a dusky night,) +Did fill our breasts with sighs, our eyes with tears, +Turn'd minutes to sad months, sad months to years, +Trees left to flourish, meadows to bear flowers, +Brooks hid their heads within their sedgy bowers, +Fair Ceres cursed our fields with barren frost, +As if again she had her daughter lost: +The muses left our groves, and for sweet songs +Sat sadly silent, or did weep their wrongs. +You know it, meads; your murmuring woods it know, +Hill, dales, and caves, copartners of their woe; +And you it know, my streams, which from their een +Oft on your glass received their pearly brine; +O Naiads dear, (said they,) Napeas fair, +O nymphs of trees, nymphs which on hills repair! +Gone are those maiden glories, gone that state, +Which made all eyes admire our bliss of late. +As looks the heaven when never star appears, +But slow and weary shroud them in their spheres, +While Titon's wife embosom'd by him lies, +And world doth languish in a dreary guise: +As looks a garden of its beauty spoil'd, +As woods in winter by rough Boreas foil'd, +As portraits razed of colours used to be: +So look'd these abject bounds deprived of thee. + +While as my rills enjoy'd thy royal gleams, +They did not envy Tiber's haughty streams, +Nor wealthy Tagus with his golden ore, +Nor clear Hydaspes which on pearls doth roar, +Nor golden Gange that sees the sun new born, +Nor Achelous with his flowery horn, +Nor floods which near Elysian fields do fall: +For why? thy sight did serve to them for all. +No place there is so desert, so alone, +Even from the frozen to the torrid zone, +From flaming Hecla to great Quinsey's lake, +Which thy abode could not most happy make; +All those perfections which by bounteous Heaven +To divers worlds in divers times were given, +The starry senate pour'd at once on thee, +That thou exemplar mightst to others be. +Thy life was kept till the Three Sisters spun +Their threads of gold, and then it was begun. +With chequer'd clouds when skies do look most fair, +And no disordered blasts disturb the air, +When lilies do them deck in azure gowns; +And new-born roses blush with golden crowns, +To prove how calm we under thee should live, +What halcyonian days thy reign should give, +And to two flowery diadems thy right; +The heavens thee made a partner of the light. +Scarce wast thou born when, join'd in friendly bands, +Two mortal foes with other clasped hands; +With Virtue Fortune strove, which most should grace +Thy place for thee, thee for so high a place; +One vow'd thy sacred breast not to forsake, +The other on thee not to turn her back; +And that thou more her love's effects mightst feel, +For thee she left her globe, and broke her wheel. + +When years thee vigour gave, oh, then, how clear +Did smother'd sparkles in bright flames appear! +Amongst the woods to force the flying hart, +To pierce the mountain wolf with feather'd dart; +See falcons climb the clouds, the fox ensnare, +Outrun the wind-outrunning Doedale hare, +To breathe thy fiery steed on every plain, +And in meand'ring gyres him bring again, +The press thee making place, and vulgar things, +In Admiration's air, on Glory's wings; +Oh, thou far from the common pitch didst rise, +With thy designs to dazzle Envy's eyes: +Thou soughtst to know this All's eternal source, +Of ever-turning heaven the restless course, +Their fixed lamps, their lights which wandering run, +Whence moon her silver hath, his gold the sun; +If Fate there be or no, if planets can +By fierce aspects force the free will of man; +The light aspiring fire, the liquid air, +The flaming dragons, comets with red hair, +Heaven's tilting lances, artillery, and bow, +Loud-sounding trumpets, darts of hail and snow, +The roaring elements, with people dumb, +The earth with what conceived is in her womb. +What on her moves were set unto thy sight, +Till thou didst find their causes, essence, might. +But unto nought thou so thy mind didst strain, +As to be read in man, and learn to reign: +To know the weight and Atlas of a crown, +To spare the humble, proud ones tumble down. +When from those piercing cares which thrones invest, +As thorns the rose, thou wearied wouldst thee rest, +With lute in hand, full of celestial fire, +To the Pierian groves thou didst retire: +There garlanded with all Urania's flowers, +In sweeter lays than builded Thebes' towers, +Or them which charm'd the dolphins in the main, +Or which did call Eurydice again, +Thou sung'st away the hours, till from their sphere +Stars seem'd to shoot thy melody to hear. +The god with golden hair, the sister maids, +Did leave their Helicon, and Tempe's shades, +To see thine isle, here lost their native tongue, +And in thy world-divided language sung. + +Who of thine after age can count the deeds, +With all that Fame in Time's huge annals reads? +How, by example more than any law, +This people fierce thou didst to goodness draw; +How, while the neighbour world, toss'd by the Fates, +So many Phaėtons had in their states, +Which turn'd to heedless flames their burnish'd thrones, +Thou, as ensphered, kept'st temperate thy zones; +In Afric shores the sands that ebb and flow, +The shady leaves on Arden's trees that grow, +He sure may count, with all the waves that meet +To wash the Mauritanian Atlas' feet. +Though crown'd thou wert not, nor a king by birth, +Thy worth deserves the richest crown on earth. +Search this half sphere, and the Antarctic ground, +Where is such wit and bounty to be found? +As into silent night, when near the Bear, +The virgin huntress shines at full most clear, +And strives to match her brother's golden light, +The host of stars doth vanish in her sight, +Arcturus dies; cool'd is the Lion's ire, +Po burns no more with Phaėtontal fire: +Orion faints to see his arms grow black, +And that his flaming sword he now doth lack: +So Europe's lights, all bright in their degree, +Lose all their lustre parallel'd with thee; +By just descent thou from more kings dost shine, +Than many can name men in all their line: +What most they toil to find, and finding hold, +Thou scornest--orient gems, and flattering gold; +Esteeming treasure surer in men's breasts, +Than when immured with marble, closed in chests; +No stormy passions do disturb thy mind, +No mists of greatness ever could thee blind: +Who yet hath been so meek? thou life didst give +To them who did repine to see thee live; +What prince by goodness hath such kingdoms gain'd? +Who hath so long his people's peace maintain'd? +Their swords are turn'd to scythes, to coulters spears, +Some giant post their antique armour bears: +Now, where the wounded knight his life did bleed, +The wanton swain sits piping on a reed; +And where the cannon did Jove's thunder scorn, +The gaudy huntsman winds his shrill-tuned horn: +Her green locks Ceres doth to yellow dye, +The pilgrim safely in the shade doth lie, +Both Pan and Pales careless keep their flocks, +Seas have no dangers save the wind and rocks: +Thou art this isle's Palladium, neither can +(Whiles thou dost live) it be o'erthrown by man. + +Let others boast of blood and spoils of foes, +Fierce rapines, murders, Iliads of woes, +Of hated pomp, and trophies reared fair, +Gore-spangled ensigns streaming in the air, +Count how they make the Scythian them adore, +The Gaditan and soldier of Aurore. +Unhappy boasting! to enlarge their bounds, +That charge themselves with cares, their friends with wounds; +Who have no law to their ambitious will, +But, man-plagues, born are human blood to spill! +Thou a true victor art, sent from above +What others strain by force, to gain by love; +World-wandering Fame this praise to thee imparts, +To be the only monarch of all hearts. +They many fear who are of many fear'd, +And kingdoms got by wrongs, by wrongs are tear'd; +Such thrones as blood doth raise, blood throweth down, +No guard so sure as love unto a crown. + +Eye of our western world, Mars-daunting king, +With whose renown the earth's seven climates ring, +Thy deeds not only claim these diadems, +To which Thame, Liftey, Tay, subject their streams; +But to thy virtues rare, and gifts, is due +All that the planet of the year doth view; +Sure if the world above did want a prince, +The world above to it would take thee hence. + +That Murder, Rapine, Lust, are fled to hell, +And in their rooms with us the Graces dwell; +That honour more than riches men respect, +That worthiness than gold doth more effect, +That Piety unmasked shows her face, +That Innocency keeps with Power her place, +That long-exiled Astrea leaves the heaven, +And turneth right her sword, her weights holds even, +That the Saturnian world is come again, +Are wish'd effects of thy most happy reign. +That daily, Peace, Love, Truth, Delights increase, +And Discord, Hate, Fraud, with Incumbers, cease; +That men use strength not to shed others' blood, +But use their strength now to do others good; +That Fury is enchain'd, disarmed Wrath, +That (save by Nature's hand) there is no death; +That late grim foes like brothers other love, +That vultures prey not on the harmless dove, +That wolves with lambs do friendship entertain, +Are wish'd effects of thy most happy reign. +That towns increase, that ruin'd temples rise, +That their wind-moving vanes do kiss the skies; +That Ignorance and Sloth hence run away, +That buried Arts now rouse them to the day, +That Hyperion far beyond his bed +Doth see our lions ramp, our roses spread; +That Iber courts us, Tiber not us charms, +That Rhine with hence-brought beams his bosom warms; +That ill doth fear, and good doth us maintain, +Are wish'd effects of thy most happy reign. + +O Virtue's pattern, glory of our times, +Sent of past days to expiate the crimes, +Great king, but better far than thou art great, +Whom state not honours, but who honours state, +By wonder born, by wonder first install'd, +By wonder after to new kingdoms call'd; +Young, kept by wonder from home-bred alarms, +Old, saved by wonder from pale traitors' harms, +To be for this thy reign, which wonders brings, +A king of wonder, wonder unto kings. +If Pict, Dane, Norman, thy smooth yoke had seen, +Pict, Dane, and Norman had thy subjects been; +If Brutus knew the bliss thy rule doth give, +Even Brutus joy would under thee to live, +For thou thy people dost so dearly love, +That they a father, more than prince, thee prove. + +O days to be desired! Age happy thrice! +If you your heaven-sent good could duly prize; +But we (half palsy-sick) think never right +Of what we hold, till it be from our sight, +Prize only summer's sweet and musked breath, +When armed winters threaten us with death, +In pallid sickness do esteem of health, +And by sad poverty discern of wealth: +I see an age when, after some few years, +And revolutions of the slow-paced spheres, +These days shall be 'bove other far esteem'd, +And like Augustus' palmy reign be deem'd. +The names of Arthur, fabulous Paladines, +Graven in Time's surly brows, in wrinkled lines, +Of Henrys, Edwards, famous for their fights, +Their neighbour conquests, orders new of knights, +Shall by this prince's name be pass'd as far +As meteors are by the Idalian star. +If gray-hair'd Proteus' songs the truth not miss-- +And gray-hair'd Proteus oft a prophet is-- +There is a land hence distant many miles, +Outreaching fiction and Atlantic isles, +Which (homelings) from this little world we name, +That shall emblazon with strange rites his fame, +Shall rear him statues all of purest gold, +Such as men gave unto the gods of old, +Name by him temples, palaces, and towns, +With some great river, which their fields renowns: +This is that king who should make right each wrong, +Of whom the bards and mystic Sibyls sung, +The man long promised, by whose glorious reign +This isle should yet her ancient name regain, +And more of fortunate deserve the style, +Than those whose heavens with double summers smile. + +Run on, great prince, thy course in glory's way, +The end the life, the evening crowns the day; +Heap worth on worth, and strongly soar above +Those heights which made the world thee first to love; +Surmount thyself, and make thine actions past +Be but as gleams or lightnings of thy last, +Let them exceed those of thy younger time, +As far as autumn; doth the flowery prime. +Through this thy empire range, like world's bright eye, +That once each year surveys all earth and sky, +Now glances on the slow and resty Bears, +Then turns to dry the weeping Auster's tears, +Hurries to both the poles, and moveth even +In the figured circle of the heaven: +Oh, long, long haunt these bounds which by thy sight +Have now regain'd their former heat and light. +Here grow green woods, here silver brooks do glide, +Here meadows stretch them out with painted pride, +Embroidering all the banks, here hills aspire +To crown their heads with the ethereal fire, +Hills, bulwarks of our freedom, giant walls, +Which never friends did slight, nor sword made thralls: +Each circling flood to Thetis tribute pays, +Men here in health outlive old Nestor's days: +Grim Saturn yet amongst our rocks remains, +Bound in our caves, with many metall'd chains, +Bulls haunt our shade like Leda's lover white, +Which yet might breed Pesiphae delight, +Our flocks fair fleeces bear, with which for sport +Endymion of old the moon did court, +High-palmed harts amidst our forests run, +And, not impaled, the deep-mouth'd hounds do shun; +The rough-foot hare safe in our bushes shrouds, +And long-wing'd hawks do perch amidst our clouds. +The wanton wood-nymphs of the verdant spring, +Blue, golden, purple flowers shall to thee bring, +Pomona's fruits the Panisks, Thetis' girls, +The Thule's amber, with the ocean pearls; +The Tritons, herdsmen of the glassy field, +Shall give thee what far-distant shores can yield, +The Serean fleeces, Erythrean gems, +Vast Plata's silver, gold of Peru streams, +Antarctic parrots, Ethiopian plumes, +Sabasan odours, myrrh, and sweet perfumes: +And I myself, wrapt in a watchet gown +Of reeds and lilies, on mine head a crown, +Shall incense to thee burn, green altars raise, +And yearly sing due paeans to thy praise. + +Ah! why should Isis only see thee shine? +Is not thy Forth, as well as Isis, thine? +Though Isis vaunt she hath more wealth in store, +Let it suffice thy Forth doth love thee more: +Though she for beauty may compare with Seine, +For swans, and sea-nymphs with imperial Rhine, +Yet for the title may be claim'd in thee, +Nor she nor all the world can match with me. +Now when, by honour drawn, them shalt away +To her, already jealous of thy stay, +When in her amorous arms she doth thee fold, +And dries thy dewy hairs with hers of gold, +Much asking of thy fare, much of thy sport, +Much of thine absence, long, howe'er so short, +And chides, perhaps, thy coming to the north, +Loathe not to think on thy much-loving Forth: +Oh, love these bounds, where of thy royal stem +More than an hundred wore a diadem. +So ever gold and bays thy brows adorn, +So never time may see thy race outworn, +So of thine own still mayst thou be desired, +Of strangers fear'd, redoubted, and admired; +So Memory thee praise, so precious hours +May character thy name in starry flowers; +So may thy high exploits at last make even, +With earth thy empire, glory with the heaven. + + +SONNETS. + +I. + +I know that all beneath the moon decays, +And what by mortals in this world is brought, +In Time's great periods shall return to nought; +That fairest states have fatal nights and days; +I know that all the Muse's heavenly lays, +With toil of sp'rit, which are so dearly bought, +As idle sounds, of few, or none, are sought, +That there is nothing lighter than vain praise; +I know frail beauty like the purple flower, +To which one morn oft birth and death affords, +That love a jarring is of minds' accords, +Where sense and will envassal Reason's power; + Know what I list, all this can not me move, + But that, alas! I both must write and love. + +II. + +Ah me! and I am now the man whose muse +In happier times was wont to laugh at love, +And those who suffer'd that blind boy abuse +The noble gifts were given them from above. +What metamorphose strange is this I prove I +Myself now scarce I 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 into a better course to move: +Reason may chide her fill, and oft reprove +Affection's power, but what is that to me? + Who ever think, and never think on ought + But that bright cherubim which thralls my thought. + +III. + +How that vast heaven, entitled first, is roll'd, +If any glancing towers beyond it be, +And people living in eternity, +Or essence pure that doth this all uphold: +What motion have those fixed sparks of gold, +The wandering carbuncles which shine from high, +By sp'rits, or bodies crossways in the sky, +If they be turn'd, and mortal things behold; +How sun posts heaven about, how night's pale queen +With borrow'd beams looks on this hanging round, +What cause fair Iris hath, and monsters seen +In air's large field of light, and seas profound, + Did hold my wandering thoughts, when thy sweet eye + Bade me leave all, and only think on thee. + +IV. + +If cross'd with all mishaps be my poor life, +If one short day I never spent in mirth, +If my sp'rit with itself holds lasting strife, +If sorrow's death is but new sorrow's birth; +If this vain world be but a mournful stage, +Where slave-born man plays to the scoffing stars, +If youth be toss'd with love, with weakness age; +If knowledge serves to hold our thoughts in wars, +If Time can close the hundred mouths of Fame, +And make what's long since past, like that's to be; +If virtue only be an idle name, +If being born I was but born to die; + Why seek I to prolong these loathsome days? + The fairest rose in shortest time decays. + +V. + +Dear chorister, who from those shadows sends, +Ere that the blushing morn dare show her light, +Such sad, lamenting strains, that night attends, +Become all ear; stars stay to hear thy plight, +If one whose grief even reach of thought transcends, +Who ne'er, not in a dream, did taste delight, +May thee importune who like case pretends, +And seems to joy in woe, in woe's despite. +Tell me (so may thou fortune milder try, +And long, long sing) for what thou thus complains, +Since winter's gone, and sun in dappled sky, +Enamour'd, smiles on woods and flowery plains? + The bird, as if my questions did her move, + With trembling wings sigh'd forth, 'I love, I love.' + +VI. + +Sweet soul, which, in the April of thy years, +For to enrich the heaven mad'st poor this round, +And now, with flaming rays of glory crown'd, +Most blest abides above the sphere of spheres; +If heavenly laws, alas! have not thee bound +From looking to this globe that all upbears, +If ruth and pity there above be found, +Oh, deign to lend a look unto these tears, +Do not disdain, dear ghost, this sacrifice, +And though I raise not pillars to thy praise, +My offerings take, let this for me suffice, +My heart a living pyramid I raise: + And whilst kings' tombs with laurels flourish green, + Thine shall with myrtles and these flowers be seen. + + +SPIRITUAL POEMS. + +I. + +Look, how the flower which ling'ringly doth fade, +The morning's darling late, the summer's queen, +Spoil'd of that juice which kept it fresh and green, +As high as it did raise, bows low the head: +Right so the pleasures of my life being dead, +Or in their contraries but only seen, +With swifter speed declines than erst it spread, +And, blasted, scarce now shows what it hath been. +As doth the pilgrim, therefore, whom the night +By darkness would imprison on his way, +Think on thy home, my soul, and think aright, +Of what's yet left thee of life's wasting day; + Thy sun posts westward, passed is thy morn, + And twice it is not given thee to be born. + +II. + +The weary mariner so fast not flies +A howling tempest, harbour to attain; +Nor shepherd hastes, when frays of wolves arise, +So fast to fold, to save his bleating train, +As I, wing'd with contempt and just disdain, +Now fly the world, and what it most doth prize, +And sanctuary seek, free to remain +From wounds of abject times, and Envy's eyes. +To me this world did once seem sweet and fair, +While senses' light mind's prospective kept blind, +Now, like imagined landscape in the air, +And weeping rainbows, her best joys I find: + Or if aught here is had that praise should have, + It is a life obscure, and silent grave. + +III. + +The last and greatest herald of heaven's King, +Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild, +Among that savage brood the woods forth bring, +Which he more harmless found than man, and mild; +His food was locusts, and what there doth spring, +With honey that from virgin hives distill'd; +Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing +Made him appear, long since from earth exiled; +There burst he forth; 'All ye whose hopes rely +On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn; +Repent, repent, and from old errors turn!' +Who listen'd to his voice, obey'd his cry? + Only the echoes, which he made relent, + Rung from their flinty caves, 'Repent, repent!' + +IV. + +Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours +Of winters past or coming, void of care, +Well-pleased with delights which present are, +Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers: +To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers, +Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare, +And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare, +A stain to human sense in sin that lowers. +What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs, +Attired in sweetness, sweetly is not driven +Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites, and wrongs, +And lift a reverend eye and thought to heaven? + Sweet artless songster, thou my mind dost raise + To airs of spheres, yes, and to angels' lays. + +V. + +As when it happ'neth that some lovely town +Unto a barbarous besieger falls, +Who both by sword and flame himself installs, +And, shameless, it in tears and blood doth drown +Her beauty spoil'd, her citizens made thralls, +His spite yet cannot so her all throw down, +But that some statue, pillar of renown, +Yet lurks unmaim'd within her weeping walls: +So, after all the spoil, disgrace, and wreck, +That time, the world, and death, could bring combined, +Amidst that mass of ruins they did make, +Safe and all scarless yet remains my mind: + From this so high transcending rapture springs, + That I, all else defaced, not envy kings. + + + + +PHINEAS FLETCHER + +We have already spoken of Giles Fletcher, the brother of Phineas. Of +Phineas we know nothing except that he was born in 1584, educated at +Eton and Cambridge, became Rector at Hilgay, in Norfolk, where he +remained for twenty-nine years, surviving his brother; that he wrote +an account of the founders and learned men of his university; that in +1633, he published 'The Purple Island;' and that in 1650 he died. + +His 'Purple Island' (with which we first became acquainted in the +writings of James Hervey, author of the 'Meditations,' who was its +fervent admirer) is a curious, complex, and highly ingenious allegory, +forming an elaborate picture of _Man_, in his body and soul; and for +subtlety and infinite flexibility, both of fancy and verse, deserves +great praise, although it cannot, for a moment, be compared with his +brother's 'Christ's Victory and Triumph,' either in interest of subject +or in splendour of genius. + + +DESCRIPTION OF PARTHENIA. + + With her, her sister went, a warlike maid, + Parthenia, all in steel and gilded arms; + In needle's stead, a mighty spear she sway'd, + With which in bloody fields and fierce alarms, + The boldest champion she down would bear, + And like a thunderbolt wide passage tear, +Flinging all to the earth with her enchanted spear. + + Her goodly armour seem'd a garden green, + Where thousand spotless lilies freshly blew; + And on her shield the lone bird might be seen, + The Arabian bird, shining in colours new; + Itself unto itself was only mate; + Ever the same, but new in newer date: +And underneath was writ, 'Such is chaste single state.' + + Thus hid in arms she seem'd a goodly knight, + And fit for any warlike exercise: + But when she list lay down her armour bright, + And back resume her peaceful maiden's guise; + The fairest maid she was, that ever yet + Prison'd her locks within a golden net, +Or let them waving hang, with roses fair beset. + + Choice nymph! the crown of chaste Diana's train, + Thou beauty's lily, set in heavenly earth; + Thy fairs, unpattern'd, all perfection stain: + Sure heaven with curious pencil at thy birth + In thy rare face her own full picture drew: + It is a strong verse here to write, but true, +Hyperboles in others are but half thy due. + + Upon her forehead Love his trophies fits, + A thousand spoils in silver arch displaying: + And in the midst himself full proudly sits, + Himself in awful majesty arraying: + Upon her brows lies his bent ebon bow, + And ready shafts; deadly those weapons show; +Yet sweet the death appear'd, lovely that deadly blow. + + * * * * * + + A bed of lilies flower upon her cheek, + And in the midst was set a circling rose; + Whose sweet aspect would force Narcissus seek + New liveries, and fresher colours choose + To deck his beauteous head in snowy 'tire; + But all in vain: for who can hope t' aspire +To such a fair, which none attain, but all admire? + + Her ruby lips lock up from gazing sight + A troop of pearls, which march in goodly row: + But when she deigns those precious bones undight, + Soon heavenly notes from those divisions flow, + And with rare music charm the ravish'd ears, + Daunting bold thoughts, but cheering modest fears: +The spheres so only sing, so only charm the spheres. + + Yet all these stars which deck this beauteous sky + By force of th'inward sun both shine and move; + Throned in her heart sits love's high majesty; + In highest majesty the highest love. + As when a taper shines in glassy frame, + The sparkling crystal burns in glittering flame, +So does that brightest love brighten this lovely dame. + + +INSTABILITY OF HUMAN GREATNESS. + + Fond man, that looks on earth for happiness, + And here long seeks what here is never found! + For all our good we hold from Heaven by lease, + With many forfeits and conditions bound; + Nor can we pay the fine and rentage due: + Though now but writ and seal'd, and given anew, +Yet daily we it break, then daily must renew. + + Why shouldst thou here look for perpetual good, + At every loss against Heaven's face repining? + Do but behold where glorious cities stood, + With gilded tops, and silver turrets shining; + Where now the hart fearless of greyhound feeds, + And loving pelican in safety breeds; +Where screeching satyrs fill the people's empty steads. + + Where is the Assyrian lion's golden hide, + That all the East once grasp'd in lordly paw? + Where that great Persian bear, whose swelling pride + The lion's self tore out with ravenous jaw? + Or he which, 'twixt a lion and a pard, + Through all the world with nimble pinions fared, +And to his greedy whelps his conquer'd kingdoms shared? + + Hardly the place of such antiquity, + Or note of these great monarchies we find: + Only a fading verbal memory, + An empty name in writ is left behind: + But when this second life and glory fades, + And sinks at length in time's obscurer shades, +A second fall succeeds, and double death invades. + + That monstrous Beast, which nursed in Tiber's fen, + Did all the world with hideous shape affray; + That fill'd with costly spoil his gaping den, + And trod down all the rest to dust and clay: + His battering horns pull'd out by civil hands, + And iron teeth lie scatter'd on the sands; +Backed, bridled by a monk, with seven heads yoked stands. + + And that black Vulture,[1] which with deathful wing + O'ershadows half the earth, whose dismal sight + Frighten'd the Muses from their native spring, + Already stoops, and flags with weary flight: + Who then shall look for happiness beneath? + Where each new day proclaims chance, change, and death, +And life itself's as fleet as is the air we breathe. + +[1] 'Black Vulture:' the Turk. + + +HAPPINESS OF THE SHEPHERD'S LIFE. + + Thrice, oh, thrice happy, shepherd's life and state! + When courts are happiness, unhappy pawns! + His cottage low and safely humble gate + Shuts out proud Fortune, with her scorns and fawns + No feared treason breaks his quiet sleep: + Singing all day, his flocks he learns to keep; +Himself as innocent as are his simple sheep. + + No Serian worms he knows, that with their thread + Draw out their silken lives; nor silken pride: + His lambs' warm fleece well fits his little need, + Not in that proud Sidonian tineture dyed: + No empty hopes, no courtly fears him fright, + Nor begging wants his middle fortune bite; +But sweet content exiles both misery and spite. + + Instead of music, and base flattering tongues, + Which wait to first salute my lord's uprise, + The cheerful lark wakes him with early songs, + And birds' sweet whistling notes unlock his eyes: + In country plays is all the strife he uses, + Or sing, or dance unto the rural Muses, +And but in music's sports all difference refuses. + + His certain life, that never can deceive him, + Is full of thousand sweets, and rich content; + The smooth-leaved beeches in the field receive him + With coolest shades, till noontide rage is spent; + His life is neither toss'd in boisterous seas + Of troublous world, nor lost in slothful ease; +Pleased, and full blest he lives, when he his God can please. + + His bed of wool yields safe and quiet sleeps, + While by his side his faithful spouse hath place; + His little son into his bosom creeps, + The lively picture of his father's face: + Never his humble house nor state torment him; + Less he could like, if less his God had sent him; +And when he dies, green turfs, with grassy tomb, content him. + + +MARRIAGE OF CHRIST AND THE CHURCH. + + 'Ah, dearest Lord! does my rapt soul behold thee? + Am I awake, and sure I do not dream? + Do these thrice-blessed arms again enfold thee? + Too much delight makes true things feigned seem. + Thee, thee I see; thou, thou thus folded art: + For deep thy stamp is printed on my heart, +And thousand ne'er-felt joys stream in each melting part.' + + Thus with glad sorrow did she sweetly 'plain her, + Upon his neck a welcome load depending; + While he with equal joy did entertain her, + Herself, her champions, highly all commending: + So all in triumph to his palace went; + Whose work in narrow words may not be pent: +For boundless thought is less than is that glorious tent. + + There sweet delights, which know nor end nor measure; + No chance is there, nor eating times succeeding: + No wasteful spending can impair their treasure; + Pleasure full grown, yet ever freshly breeding: + Fulness of sweets excludes not more receiving; + The soul still big of joy, yet still conceiving; +Beyond slow tongue's report, beyond quick thought's perceiving. + + There are they gone; there will they ever bide; + Swimming in waves of joys and heavenly loves: + He still a bridegroom, she a gladsome bride; + Their hearts in love, like spheres still constant moving; + No change, no grief, no age can them befall; + Their bridal bed is in that heavenly hall, +Where all days are but one, and only one is all. + + And as in his state they thus in triumph ride, + The boys and damsels their just praises chant; + The boys the bridegroom sing, the maids the bride, + While all the hills glad hymens loudly vaunt: + Heaven's winged shoals, greeting this glorious spring, + Attune their higher notes, and hymens sing: +Each thought to pass, and each did pass thought's loftiest wing. + + Upon his lightning brow love proudly sitting + Flames out in power, shines out in majesty; + There all his lofty spoils and trophies fitting, + Displays the marks of highest Deity: + There full of strength in lordly arms he stands, + And every heart and every soul commands: +No heart, no soul, his strength and lordly force withstands. + + Upon her forehead thousand cheerful graces, + Seated on thrones of spotless ivory; + There gentle Love his armed hand unbraces; + His bow unbent disclaims all tyranny; + There by his play a thousand souls beguiles, + Persuading more by simple, modest smiles, +Than ever he could force by arms or crafty wiles. + + Upon her cheek doth Beauty's self implant + The freshest garden of her choicest flowers; + On which, if Envy might but glance askant, + Her eyes would swell, and burst, and melt in showers: + Thrice fairer both than ever fairest eyed; + Heaven never such a bridegroom yet descried; +Nor ever earth so fair, so undefiled a bride. + + Full of his Father shines his glorious face, + As far the sun surpassing in his light, + As doth the sun the earth with flaming blaze: + Sweet influence streams from his quickening sight: + His beams from nought did all this _All_ display; + And when to less than nought they fell away, +He soon restored again by his new orient ray. + + All heaven shines forth in her sweet face's frame: + Her seeing stars (which we miscall bright eyes) + More bright than is the morning's brightest flame, + More fruitful than the May-time Geminies: + These, back restore the timely summer's fire; + Those, springing thoughts in winter hearts inspire, +Inspiriting dead souls, and quickening warm desire. + + These two fair suns in heavenly spheres are placed, + Where in the centre joy triumphing sits: + Thus in all high perfections fully graced, + Her mid-day bliss no future night admits; + But in the mirrors of her Spouse's eyes + Her fairest self she dresses; there where lies +All sweets, a glorious beauty to emparadise. + + His locks like raven's plumes, or shining jet, + Fall down in curls along his ivory neck; + Within their circlets hundred graces set, + And with love-knots their comely hangings deck: + His mighty shoulders, like that giant swain, + All heaven and earth, and all in both sustain; +Yet knows no weariness, nor feels oppressing pain. + + Her amber hair like to the sunny ray, + With gold enamels fair the silver white; + There heavenly loves their pretty sportings play, + Firing their darts in that wide flaming light: + Her dainty neck, spread with that silver mould, + Where double beauty doth itself unfold, +In the own fair silver shines, and fairer borrow'd gold. + + His breast a rock of purest alabaster, + Where loves self-sailing, shipwreck'd, often sitteth. + Hers a twin-rock, unknown but to the shipmaster; + Which harbours him alone, all other splitteth. + Where better could her love than here have nested, + Or he his thoughts than here more sweetly feasted? +Then both their love and thoughts in each are ever rested. + + Run now, you shepherd swains; ah! run you thither, + Where this fair bridegroom leads the blessed way: + And haste, you lovely maids, haste you together + With this sweet bride, while yet the sunshine day + Guides your blind steps; while yet loud summons call, + That every wood and hill resounds withal, +Come, Hymen, Hymen, come, dress'd in thy golden pall. + + The sounding echo back the music flung, + While heavenly spheres unto the voices play'd. + But see! the day is ended with my song, + And sporting bathes with that fair ocean maid: + Stoop now thy wing, my muse, now stoop thee low: + Hence mayst thou freely play, and rest thee now; +While here I hang my pipe upon the willow bough. + + So up they rose, while all the shepherds' throng + With their loud pipes a country triumph blew, + And led their Thirsil home with joyful song: + Meantime the lovely nymphs, with garlands new + His locks in bay and honour'd palm-tree bound, + With lilies set, and hyacinths around, +And lord of all the year and their May sportings crown'd. + + +END OF VOL. I. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Specimens with Memoirs of the +Less-known British Poets, Vol. 1, by George Gilfillan + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LESS-KNOWN BRITISH POETS, VOL 1 *** + +***** This file should be named 9667-8.txt or 9667-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/9/6/6/9667/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Marc D'Hooghe and the PG +Online Distributed Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets, Vol. 1 + +Author: George Gilfillan + +Posting Date: November 25, 2011 [EBook #9667] +Release Date: January, 2006 +First Posted: October 14, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LESS-KNOWN BRITISH POETS, VOL 1 *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Marc D'Hooghe and the PG +Online Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + + + + + +SPECIMENS WITH MEMOIRS OF THE LESS-KNOWN BRITISH POETS. + + * * * * * + +With an Introductory Essay, + +BY THE REV. GEORGE GILFILLAN. + + * * * * * + +IN THREE VOLS. + +VOL. I. + +M.DCCC.LX. + + + + +INTRODUCTORY ESSAY + + +We propose to introduce our 'Specimens' by a short Essay on the Origin +and Progress of English Poetry on to the days of Chaucer and of Gower. +Having called, in conjunction with many other critics, Chaucer 'the +Father of English Poetry,' to seek to go back further may seem like +pursuing antenatal researches. But while Chaucer was the sun, a certain +glimmering dawn had gone before him, and to reflect that, is the object +of the following pages. + + +Britain, when the Romans invaded it, was a barbarous country; and although +subjugated and long held by that people, they seem to have left it nearly +as uncultivated and illiterate as they found it. 'No magnificent remains,' +says Macaulay, 'of Latian porches and aqueducts are to be found in Britain. +No writer of British birth is to be reckoned among the masters of Latin +poetry and eloquence. It is not probable that the islanders were, at any +time, generally familiar with the tongue of their Italian rulers. From +the Atlantic to the vicinity of the Rhine the Latin has, during many +centuries, been predominant. It drove out the Celtic--it was not driven +out by the Teutonic--and it is at this day the basis of the French, +Spanish, and Portuguese languages. In our island the Latin appears never +to have superseded the old Gaelic speech, and could not stand its ground +before the German.' It was in the fifth century that that modification +of the German or Teutonic speech called the Anglo-Saxon was introduced +into this country. It soon asserted its superiority over the British +tongue, which seemed to retreat before it, reluctantly and proudly, like +a lion, into the mountain-fastnesses of Wales or to the rocky sea-beach +of Cornwall. The triumph was not completed all at once, but from the +beginning it was secure. The bards of Wales continued to sing, but their +strains resembled the mutterings of thunder among their own hills, only +half heard in the distant valleys, and exciting neither curiosity nor awe. +For five centuries, with the exception of some Latin words added by the +preachers of Christianity, the Anglo-Saxon language continued much as it +was when first introduced. Barbarous as the manners of the people were, +literature was by no means left without a witness. Its chief cultivators +were the monks and other religious persons, who spent their leisure in +multiplying books, either by original composition or by transcription, +including treatises on theology, historical chronicles, and a great +abundance and variety of poetical productions. These were written at first +exclusively in Latin, but occasionally, in process of time, in the Anglo- +Saxon tongue. The theology taught in them was, no doubt, crude and +corrupted, the history was stuffed with fables, and the poetry was rough +and bald in the extreme; but still they furnished a food fitted for the +awakening mind of the age. When the Christian religion reached Great +Britain, it brought necessarily with it an impulse to intellect as well +as to morality. So startling are the facts it relates, so broad and deep +the principles it lays down, so humane the spirit it inculcates, and so +ravishing the hopes it awakens, that, however disguised in superstition +and clouded by imperfect representation, it never fails to produce, in all +countries to which it comes, a resurrection of the nation's virtue, and a +revival, for a time at least, of the nation's political and intellectual +energy and genius. Hence we find the very earliest literary names in our +early annals are those of Christian missionaries. Such is said to have +been Gildas, a Briton, who lived in the first part of the sixth century, +and is the reputed author of a short history of Britain in Latin. Such was +the still more apocryphal Nennius, also called, till of late, the writer +of a small Latin historical work. Such was St Columbanus, who was born +in Ireland in 560; became a monk in the Irish monastery of Benchor; and +afterwards, at the head of twelve disciples, preached Christianity, in its +most ascetic form, in England and in France; founded in the latter country +various monasteries; and, when banished by Queen Brunehaut on account of +his stern inflexibility of character, went to Switzerland, and then to +Lombardy, proselytising the heathen, and defending, by his letters and +other writings, the peculiar tenets of the Irish Church in reference to +the time of the celebration of Easter and to the popular heresies of the +day. He died October 2, 615, in the monastery of Bobbio; and his religious +treatises and Latin poetry gave an undoubted impulse to the age's progress +in letters. + +About this period the better sort of Saxons, both clergy and laity, got +into the habit of visiting Rome; while Rome, in her turn, sent emissaries +to England. Thus, while the one insensibly imbibed new knowledge as well +as devotion from the great centre, the other brought with them to our +shores importations of books, including copies of such religious classics +as Josephus and Chrysostom, and of such literary classics as Homer. About +680, died Caedmon, a monk of Whitby, one of the first who composed in +Anglo-Saxon, and some of whose compositions are preserved. Strange and +myth-like stories are told by Bede about this remarkable natural genius. +He was originally a cow-herd. Partly from want of training, and partly +from bashfulness, when the harp was given him in the hall, and he was +asked, as all others were, to raise the voice of song, Caedmon had often +to abscond in confusion. On one occasion he had retired to the stable, +where he fell into a sound sleep. He dreamed that a stranger appeared to +him, and said, 'Caedmon, sing me something.' Caedmon replied that it was +his incapacity to sing which had brought him to take refuge in the stable. +'Nay,' said the stranger, 'but thou hast something to sing.' 'What shall I +sing?' rejoined Caedmon. 'Sing the Creation,' and thereupon he began to +pour out verses, which, when he awoke, he remembered, repeated, and to +which he added others as good. The first lines are, as translated into +English, the following:-- + + Now let us praise + The Guardian of heaven, + The might of the Creator + And his counsel-- + The Glory!--Father of men! + He first created, + For the children of men, + Heaven as a roof-- + The holy Creator! + Then the world-- + The Guardian of mankind! + The Eternal Lord! + Produced afterwards + The Earth for men-- + The Almighty Master!' + +Our readers all remember the well-known story of Coleridge falling asleep +over Purchas's 'Pilgrims'; how the poem of 'Kubla Khan' came rushing +from dreamland upon his soul; and how, when awakened, he wrote it down, +and found it to be, if not sense, something better--a glorious piece +of fantastic imagination. We knew a gentleman who, slumbering while in +a state of bad health, produced, in the course of a few hours, one or +two thousand rhymed lines, some of which he repeated in our hearing +afterwards, and which were full of point and poetry. We cannot see that +Caedmon's lines betray any weird inspiration; but when rehearsed the next +day to the Abbess Hilda, to whom the town-bailiff of Whitby conducted him, +she and a circle of learned men pronounced that he had received the gift +of song direct from heaven! They, after one or two other trials of his +powers, persuaded him to become a monk in the house of the Abbess, who +commanded him to transfer to verse the whole of the Scripture history. It +is said that he was constantly employed in repeating to himself what he +had heard; or, as one of his old biographers has it, 'like a clean animal +ruminating it, he turned it into most sweet verse.' In this way he wrote +or rather improvised a vast quantity of poetry, chiefly on religious +subjects. Thorpe, in his edition of this author, has preserved a speech +of Satan, bearing a striking resemblance to some parts of Milton:-- + + 'Boiled within him + His thought about his heart, + Hot was without him, + His due punishment. + "This narrow place is most unlike + That other that we formerly knew + High in heaven's kingdom, + Which my master bestowed on me, + Though we it, for the All-Powerful, + May not possess. + + * * * * * + + That is to me of sorrows the greatest, + That Adam, + Who was wrought of earth, + Shall possess + My strong seat; + That it shall be to him in delight, + And we endure this torment, + Misery in this hell. + + * * * * * + + Here is a vast fire, + Above and underneath. + Never did I see + A loathlier landscape. + The flame abateth not + Hot over hell. + Me hath the clasping of these rings, + This hard-polished band, + Impeded in my course, + Debarred me from my way. + My feet are bound, + My hands manacled; + Of these hell-doors are + The ways obstructed, + So that with aught I cannot + From these limb-bonds escape. + About me lie + Huge gratings + Of hard iron, + Forged with heat, + With which me God + Hath fastened by the neck. + Thus perceive I that he knoweth my mind, + And that he knew also, + The Lord of hosts, + That should us through Adam + Evil befall, + About the realm of heaven, + Where I had power of my hands."' + +Through these rude lines there flashes forth, like fire through a thick +dull grating, a powerful conception--one which Milton has borrowed and +developed--that of the Evil One feeling in his dark bosom jealousy at +young Man, almost overpowering his hatred to God; and another conception +still more striking, that of the devil's thorough conviction that all +his plans and thoughts are entirely known by his great Adversary, and +are counteracted before they are formed-- + + 'Thus perceive I that he knoweth my mind.' + +Compare this with Milton's lines-- + + 'So should I purchase dear + Short intermission, bought with double smart. + _This knows_ my Punisher; therefore as far + From granting he, as I from begging peace.' + +Caedmon saw, without being able fully to express, the complex idea of +Satan, as distracted between a thousand thoughts, all miserable--tossed +between a thousand winds, all hot as hell--'pale ire, envy, and despair' +struggling within him--fury at man overlapping anger at God--remorse and +reckless desperation wringing each other's miserable hands--a sense of +guilt which will not confess, a fear that will not quake, a sorrow that +will not weep, a respect for God which will not worship; and yet, +springing out of all these elements, a strange, proud joy, as though +the torrid soil of Pandemonium should flower, which makes 'the hell he +suffers seem a heaven,' compared to what his destiny might be were he +either plunged into a deeper abyss, or taken up unchanged to his former +abode of glory. This, in part at least, the monk of Whitby discerned; +but it was reserved for Milton to embody it in that tremendous figure +which has since continued to dwindle all the efforts of art, and to +haunt, like a reality, the human imagination. + +Passing over some interesting but subordinate Saxon writers, such as +Ceolfrid, Abbot of Wearmouth; Aldhelm, Abbot of Malmesbury; Felix of +Croyland; and Alcuine, King Egbert's librarian at York, we come to one +who himself formed an era in the history of our early literature--the +venerable Bede. This famous man was educated in the monastery of +Wearmouth, and there appears to have spent the whole of his quiet, +innocent, and studious life. He was the very sublimation of a book-worm. +One might fancy him becoming at last, as in the 'Metamorphoses' of Ovid, +one of the books, or rolls of vellum and parchment over which he con- +stantly pored. That he did not marry, or was given in marriage, we are +certain; but there is little evidence that he even ate or drank, walked +or slept. To read and to write seemed the 'be all and the end all' of +his existence. Important as well as numerous were his contributions +to literature. He translated from the Scriptures. He wrote religious +treatises, biographies, and commentaries upon portions of Holy Writ. +Besides his very valuable Ecclesiastical History, he composed various +pieces of Latin poetry. His works in all were forty-four in number: and +it is said that on the very day of his death (it took place in 735) he +was dictating to his amanuensis, and had just completed a book. His works +are wonderful for his time, and not the less interesting for a fine +cobweb of fable which is woven over parts of them, and which seems in +keeping with their venerable character. Thus, in speaking of the Magi who +visited the infant Redeemer, he is very particular in describing their +age, appearance, and offerings. Melchior, the first, was old, had gray +hair, and a long beard; and offered 'gold' to Christ, in, acknowledgment +of His sovereignty. Gaspar, the second, was young, and had no beard; +and he offered 'frankincense,' in recognition of our Lord's divinity. +Balthasar, the third, was of a dark complexion, had a large beard, and +offered 'myrrh' to our Saviour's humanity. We should, we confess, miss +such pleasant little myths in other old books besides Bede's Histories. +They seem appropriate to ancient works, as the beard is to the goat +or the hermit; and the truth that lies in them is not difficult to +eliminate. The next name of note in our literary annals is that of the +great Alfred. Surely if ever man was not only before his age, but before +'all ages,' it was he. A palm of the tropics growing on a naked Highland +mountain-side, or an English oak bending over one of the hot springs of +Hecla, were not a stranger or more preternatural sight than a man like +Alfred appearing in a century like the ninth. A thousand theories about +men being the creatures of their age, the products of circumstances, &c., +sink into abeyance beside the facts of his life; and we are driven to the +good old belief that to some men the 'inspiration of the Almighty giveth +understanding;' and that their wisdom, their genius, and their excellency +do not proceed from them-selves. On his deeds of valour and patriotism it +is not necessary to dwell. These form the popular and bepraised side of +his character, but they give a very inadequate idea of the whole. On one +occasion he visited the Danish camp--a king disguised as a harper; but +he was, all his life long, a harper disguised as a king. He was at once +a warrior, a legislator, an architect, a shipbuilder, a philosopher, +a scholar, and a poet. His great object, as avowed in his last will, +was to leave his people 'free as their own thoughts.' Hence he bent the +whole force of his mind, first, to defend them from foreign foes, by +encouraging the new naval strength he had himself established; and then +to cultivate their intellects, and make them, as well as their country, +worth defending. Let us quote the glowing words of Burke:--'He was +indefatigable in his endeavours to bring into England men of learning in +all branches from every part of Europe, and unbounded in his liberality +to them. He enacted by a law that every person possessed of two hides of +land should send their children to school until sixteen. He enterprised +even a greater design than that of forming the growing generation--to +instruct even the grown, enjoining all his sheriffs and other officers +immediately to apply themselves to learning, or to quit their offices. +Whatever trouble he took to extend the benefits of learning among his +subjects, he shewed the example himself, and applied to the cultivation +of his mind with unparalleled diligence and success. He could neither +read nor write at twelve years old, but he improved his time in such +a manner, that he became one of the most knowing men of his age, in +geometry, in philosophy, in architecture, and in music. He applied +himself to the improvement of his native language; he translated several +valuable works from Latin, and wrote a vast number of poems in the Saxon +tongue with a wonderful facility and happiness. He not only excelled in +the theory of the arts and sciences, but possessed a great mechanical +genius for the executive part. He improved the manner of shipbuilding, +introduced a more beautiful and commodious architecture, and even taught +his countrymen the art of making bricks; most of the buildings having +been of wood before his time--in a word, he comprehended in the greatness +of his mind the whole of government, and all its parts at once; and what +is most difficult to human frailty was at the same time sublime and +minute.' + +Some exaggeration must be allowed for in all this account of Alfred the +Great. But the fact that he left a stamp in his age so deep,--that +nothing except what was good and great has been ascribed to him,--that +the very fictions told of him are of such _vraisemblance_ and magnitude +as to FIT IN to nothing less than an extraordinary man,--and that, as +Burke says, 'whatever dark spots of human frailty may have adhered to +such a character, are entirely hid in the splendour of many shining +qualities and grand virtues, that throw a glory over the obscure period +in which he lived, and which is for no other reason worthy of our +knowledge,'--all proclaim his supremacy. Like many great men,--like +Julius Caesar, with his epilepsy--or Sir Walter Scott and Byron, with +their lameness--or Schleiermacher, with his deformed appearance,--a +physical infirmity beset Alfred most of his life, and at last carried +him off at a comparatively early age. This was a disease in his bowels, +which had long afflicted him, 'without interrupting his designs, or +souring his temper.' Nay, who can say that the constant presence of such +a memento of weakness and mortality did not operate as a strong, quiet +stimulus to do with his might what his hand found to do--to lower pride, +and to prompt to labour? If Saladin had had for his companion some such +faithful hound of sorrow, it would have saved him the ostentatious flag +stretched over his head, in the hour of wassail, with the inscription, +'Saladin, Saladin, king of kings! Saladin must die!' + +Alfred wrote little that was original, but he was a copious translator. +He rendered into the Anglo-Saxon tongue--which he sought to enrich with +the fatness of other soils--the historical works of Orosius and of Bede; +nay, it is said the Fables of Aesop, and the Psalms of David--desirous, +it would seem, to teach his people morality and religion, through the +fine medium, of fiction and poetry. + +Alfric, Archbishop of Canterbury, is the name of another important +contributor to Saxon literature. He wrote a grammar of his native +language, which procured him the name of the 'Grammarian,' besides a +collection of homilies, some theological treatises, and a translation +of the first seven books of the Old Testament. In imitation of Alfred, +he devoted all his energies to the instruction of the common people, +constantly writing in Anglo-Saxon, and avoiding as much as possible the +use of compound or obscure words. After him appeared Cynewulf, Bishop of +Winchester, Wulfstan, Archbishop of York, and others of some note. There +was also slowly piled up in the course of ages, and by a succession of +authors, that remarkable production, 'The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.' This +is thought to have commenced soon after the reign of Alfred, and +continued till the times of Henry II. Previous, however, to the Norman +invasion, there had been a decided falling off in the learning of the +Saxons. This arose from various causes. Incessant wars tended to +conserve and increase the barbarism of the people. Various libraries +of value were destroyed by the incursions of the Danes. And not a few +bishops, and other ecclesiastical dignitaries, began to consider +learning as prejudicial to piety-and grammar and ungodliness were +thought akin. The effect of this upon the subordinate clergy was most +pernicious. In the tenth century, Oswald, Archbishop of Canterbury, +found the monks of his province so grossly ignorant, not only of +letters, but even of the canonical rules of their respective orders, +that he required to send to France for competent masters to give them +instruction. + +At length came the Conqueror, William, and one battle gave England to +the Normans, which had cost the Romans, the Saxons, and the Danes so +much time and blood to acquire. The people were not only conquered, but +cowed and crushed. England was as easily and effectually subdued as was +Ireland, sometime after, by Henry II. But while the Conquest was for a +season fatal to liberty, it was from the first favourable to every +species of literature, art, and poetry. 'The influence,' says Campbell, +'of the Norman Conquest upon the language of England was like that of a +great inundation, which at first buries the face of the landscape under +its waters, but which, at last subsiding, leaves behind it the elements +of new beauty and fertility. Its first effect was to degrade the Anglo- +Saxon tongue to the exclusive use of the inferior orders, and by the +transference of estates ecclesiastical benefices, and civil dignities to +Norman possessors, to give the French language, which had begun to +prevail at court from the time of Edward the Confessor, a more complete +predominance among the higher classes of society. The native gentry of +England were either driven into exile, or depressed into a state of +dependence on their conqueror, which habituated them to speak his +language. On the other hand, we received from the Normans the first +germs of romantic poetry; and our language was ultimately indebted to +them for a wealth and compass of expression which it probably would not +have otherwise possessed.' + +The Anglo-Saxon, however, held its place long among the lower orders, +and specimens of it, both in prose and verse, are found a century after +the Conquest. Gradually the Norman tongue began to amalgamate with it, +and the result was, the English. At what precise year our language might +be said to begin, it is impossible to determine. Throughout the whole of +the twelfth century, great changes were taking place in the grammatical +construction, as well as in the substance of the Anglo-Saxon. Some new +words were imported from the Norman, but, as Dr Johnson remarks, 'the +language was still more materially altered by the change of its sounds, +the cutting short of its syllables, and the softening down of its +terminations, and inflections of words.' Somewhere between 1180 and +1216, the majestic speech in which Shakspeare was to write 'Macbeth' +and 'King Lear,' Lord Bacon his 'Advancement of Learning,' Milton his +'Paradise Lost' and 'Areopagitica,' Burke his 'Reflections,' and Sir +Walter Scott the Waverley Novels, and whose rough, but manly accents +were to be spoken by at least a hundred million tongues, commenced its +career, and not since Homer, + + "on the Chian strand, + Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssee + Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea," + +had a nobler era been marked in the history of literature. For here was +a tongue born which was destined to mate even with that of Greece in +richness and flexibility, to make the language of Cicero and Virgil seem +stiff and stilted in comparison, and, if not to vie with the French in +airy grace, or with the Italian in liquid music, to excel them far in +teeming resources and robust energy. Memorable and hallowed for ever be +the hour when the 'well of English undefiled' first sparkled to the day! + +Previous to this the chief of the poets, after the Conquest, were +Normans. The country whence that people came had for some time been +celebrated for poetry. France was, as to its poetic literature, divided +into two great sections--the Provencal and the Northern. The first was +like the country where it flourished--gay, flowery, and exuberant; it +swam in romance, and its rhymers delighted, when addressing large +audiences under the open skies of their delightful climate, to indulge +in compliment and fanfaronade, to sing of war, wine, and love. + +The Normans produced a race of simpler poets. That some of them were men +as well as singers, is proved by the fact that it was a bard named +Taillefer who first broke the English ranks at the battle of Hastings. +After him came Philippe de Thaun, who tried to set to song the science +of his day; Thorold, the author of a romance entitled 'Roland;' Samson +de Nauteuil, the translator of Solomon's Proverbs into French verse; +Geoffrey Gaimar, who wrote a Chronicle of the Saxon kings; and one +David, a minstrel of no little note and power in his day. But a more +remarkable writer succeeded, and his work, like Aaron's rod, swallowed +up all the productions of these clever but petty poets. This was Wace, +commonly called Maistre Wace, a native of Jersey. In 1160, or as some +say 1155, Wace finished his 'Brut d'Angleterre' which is in reality a +translation into French of Geoffrey of Monmouth, who wrote a History +of Britain from the imaginary Brutus of Troy down to Cadwallader in +689. Literature owes not a little to Wace's poem. He collected into +a permanent shape a number of traditions and legends--many of them +interesting--which had been floating through Europe, just as Macpherson +preserved in Ossian not a few real fragments of the songs of Selma. And, +as we shall see immediately, Wace's production became the basis of the +earliest of English poems. + +Maistre Wace is the author also of a History of the Normans, which he +calls 'Roman de Rou;' or, 'The Romance of Rollo.' He was a great favourite +with Henry II., who bestowed on him a canonry in the Cathedral of Bayeux. +Besides Wace, there flourished about the same time Benoit, who wrote a +History of the Dukes of Normandy; and Guernes, a churchman of Pont St +Maxence in Picardy, who wrote in verse a Life of St Thomas a Becket. + +At the beginning of the century following the Conquest, the chief authors, +such as Peter of Blois, John of Salisbury, Joseph of Exeter, and Geoffrey +of Monmouth, all wrote in Latin. Layamon, however, a priest of Ernesley- +upon-Severn, used the vernacular in a poem which, as we have already +hinted, was essentially a translation of Wace's 'Brut d'Angleterre.' The +most remarkable thing about Layamon's poem is the language in which it is +written-language in which you catch English in the very act of chipping +the Saxon shell, or, as Campbell happily remarks, 'the style of Layamon is +as nearly the intermediate state of the old and new languages as can be +found in any ancient specimen --something like the new insect stirring its +wings before it has shaken off the aurelia state.' + +Between Layamon and Robert of Gloucester a good many miscellaneous +strains--some of a satirical, others of an amatory, and others again of +a legendary and devout style--were produced. It was customary then for +minstrels, at the instance of the clergy, to sing on Sundays devotional +strains on the harp to the assembled multitudes. At public entertainments, +during week-days, gay ditties were common. One of these is extant, but +is too coarse for quotation. It is entitled 'The Land of Cokayne,' an +allegorical satire on the luxury and vice of the Church, given under the +description of an imaginary paradise, in which the nuns are represented +as houris, and the black and grey monks as their paramours. 'Richard of +Alemaine' is a ballad, composed by an adherent of Simon de Montfort, Earl +of Leicester, after the defeat of the Royal party at the battle of Lewes +in 1264. In the year after that battle the Royal cause rallied, and the +Earl of Warren and Sir Hugh Bigod returned from exile, and helped the King +in his victory. In the battle of Lewes, Richard, King of the Romans, his +brother Henry III., and Prince Edward, with many others of the Royal +party, were taken prisoners. +[Note: See 'Richard of Alemaine,' Percy's Reliques, vol. ii., p. 2.] + +The spirit and the allusions of this song shew that it was composed by +Leicester's party in the moment of their victory, and not after the +reaction which took place against their cause, and it must therefore +belong to the thirteenth century. To this period, too, probably belongs +a political satire, published by Ritson, and which Campbell thus charac- +terises:--'It is a ballad on the execution of the Scottish patriots, Sir +William Wallace and Sir Simon Frazer. The diction is as barbarous as we +should expect from a song of triumph on such a subject. It relates the +death and treatment of Wallace very minutely. The circumstance of his +being covered with a mock crown of laurel in Westminster Hall, which Stow +repeats, is there mentioned, and that of his legs being fastened with iron +fetters "_under his horse's wombe_" is told with savage exultation. The +piece was probably indited in the very year of the political murders which +it celebrates, certainly before 1314, as it mentions the skulking of +Robert Bruce, which, after the battle of Bannockburn, must have become +a jest out of season.' + +Campbell quotes a love-ditty of this period, which is not devoid of +merit:-- + + 'For her love I cark and cave, + For her love I droop and dare, + For her love my bliss is bare, + And all I wax wan. + + 'For her love in sleep I slake,[1] + For her love all night I wake, + For her love mourning I make + More than any man.' + +[1] 'In sleep I slake:' am deprived of sleep. + + +And another of a pastoral vein:-- + + 'When the nightingale singes the woods waxen green, + Leaf, grass, and blossom springs in Avril I ween, + And love is to my heart gone, with one spear so keen, + Night and day my blood it drinks, my heart doth me teen.' + +About a hundred years after Layamon (in 1280) appeared a poet not +dissimilar to him, named Robert of Gloucester. His surname is unknown, and +so are the particulars of his history. We know only that he was a monk of +Gloucester Abbey, that he lived in the reigns of Henry III. and Edward I., +and that he translated the Legends of Geoffrey of Monmouth, and continued +the History of England down to the time of Edward I. This work is wonder- +fully minute, and, generally speaking, accurate in its topography as well +as narrative, and was of service to Selden when he wrote his Notes to +Drayton's 'Polyolbion.' It is more valuable in this respect than as a +piece of imagination. + +He narrates the grandest events--such as the first crusaders bursting +into Asia, with a sword of fire hung in the firmament before them, and +beckoning them on their way--as coolly as he might the emigration of a +colony of ants. Yet, although there is little animation or poetry in his +general manner, he usually succeeds in riveting the reader's attention; +and the speeches he puts into the mouths of his heroes glow with at +least rhetorical fire. And as a critic truly remarks--'Injustice to the +ancient versifier, we should remember that he had still only a rude +language to employ, the speech of boors and burghers, which, though it +might possess a few songs and satires, could afford him no models of +heroic narration. In such an age the first occupant passes uninspired +over subjects which might kindle the highest enthusiasm in the poet of +a riper period, as the savage treads unconsciously in his deserts over +mines of incalculable value, without sagacity to discover or inplements +to explore them.' We give the following extracts from Robert of +Gloucester's poem:-- + + + THE SPOUTS AND SOLEMNITIES WHICH FOLLOWED KING ARTHUR'S CORONATION. + + The king was to his palace, tho the service was ydo,[1] + Yled with his meinie,[2] and the queen to her also. + For they held the old usages, that men with men were + By themselve, and women by themselve also there. + When they were each one yset, as it to their state become, + Kay, king of Anjou, a thousand knightes nome[3] + Of noble men, yclothed in ermine each one + Of one suit, and served at this noble feast anon. + Bedwer the botyler, king of Normandy, + Nome also in his half a fair company + Of one suit for to serve of the hotelery. + Before the queen it was also of all such courtesy, + For to tell all the nobley that there was ydo, + Though my tongue were of steel, me should nought dure thereto. + Women ne kept of no knight in druery,[4] + But he were in arms well yproved, and atte least thrye.[5] + That made, lo, the women the chaster life lead, + And the knights the stalwarder, and the better in their deed. + Soon after this noble meat, as right was of such tide, + The knights atyled them about in eache side, + In fields and in meadows to prove their bachlery,[6] + Some with lance, some with sword, without villany, + With playing at tables, other atte chekere,[7] + With casting, other with setting,[8] other in some other mannere. + And which so of any game had the mastery, + The king them of his giftes did large courtesy. + Up the alurs[9] of the castle the ladies then stood, + And beheld this noble game, and which knights were good. + All the three exte dayes[10] ylaste this nobley, + In halle's and in fieldes, of meat and eke of play. + These men come the fourth day before the kinge there, + And he gave them large gifts, ever as they worthy were. + Bishoprics and churches' clerks he gave some, + And castles and townes knights that were ycome. + +[1] 'Tho the service was ydo:' when the service was done. +[2] 'Meinie:' attendants. +[3] 'Nome': brought. +[4] 'Druery.' modesty, decorum. +[5] 'Thrye:' thrice. +[6] 'Bachlery:' chivalry, courage, or youth. +[7] 'Chekere:' chess. +[8] 'With casting, other with setting:' different ways of playing at +chess. +[9] 'Alurs:' walks made within the battlements of the castle. +[10] 'Exte dayes:' high, or chief days. + + +AN OLD TRADITION. + +It was a tradition invented by the old fablers that giants brought the +stones of Stonehenge from the most sequestered deserts of Africa, and +placed them in Ireland; that every stone was washed with juices of +herbs, and contained a medical power; and that Merlin, the magician, at +the request of King Arthur, transported them from Ireland, and erected +them in circles on the plain of Amesbury, as a sepulchral monument for +the Britons treacherously slain by Hengist. This fable is thus +delivered, without decoration, by Robert of Glocester:-- + + 'Sir king,' quoth Merlin then, 'such thinge's ywis + Ne be for to shew nought, but when great need is, + For if I said in bismare, other but it need were, + Soon from me he would wend, the ghost that doth me lere.'[1] + The king, then none other n'as, bid him some quaintise + Bethink about thilk cors that so noble were and wise.[2] + 'Sir King,' quoth Merlin then, 'if thou wilt here cast + In the honour of men, a work that ever shall ylast, + To the hill of Kylar[3] send in to Ireland, + After the noble stones that there habbet[4] long ystand; + That was the treche of giants,[5] for a quainte work there is + Of stones all with art ymade, in the world such none is. + Ne there n'is nothing that me should myd[6] strength adowne cast. + Stood they here, as they doth there, ever a woulde last.' + The king somdeal to-lygh[7], when he hearde this tale: + 'How might,' he said, 'such stones, so great and so fale,[8] + Be ybrought of so far land? And yet mist of were, + Me would ween that in this lande no stone to wonke n'ere.' + Sir king,' quoth Merlin, 'ne make nought an idle such laughing; + For it n'is an idle nought that I tell this tiding. + For in the farrest stude of Afric giants while fet [9] + These stones for medicine and in Ireland them set, + While they wonenden in Ireland to make their bathe's there, + There under for to bathe when they sick were. + For they would the stones wash and therein bathe ywis; + For is no stone there among that of great virtue n'is.' + The king and his counsel rode the stones for to fet, + And with great power of battle if any more them let. + Uther, the kinge's brother, that Ambrose hett[10] also, + In another name ychose was thereto, + And fifteen thousand men, this deede for to do, + And Merlin for his quaintise thither went also. + +[1] If I should say any thing out of wantonness or vanity, the spirit + which teaches me would immediately leave me. +[2] Bade him use his cunning, for the sake of the bodies of those noble +and wise Britons. +[3] 'Kylar:' Kildare. +[4] 'Habbet:' have. +[5] 'The treche of giants:' 'The dance of giants.' The name of this +collection of immense stones. +[6] 'Myd:' with. +[7] 'Somdeal to-lygh:' somewhat laughed. +[8] 'Fale:' many. +[9] Giants once brought them from the furthest part of Africa. +[10] 'Hett:' was called. + + + ARTHUR'S INTRIGUE WITH YGERNE. + + At the feast of Easter the king sent his sond,[1] + That they comen all to London the high men of this lond, + And the ladies all so good, to his noble feast wide, + For he shoulde crown here, for the high tide. + All the noble men of this land to the noble feast come, + And their wives and their daughtren with them many nome,[2] + This feast was noble enow, and nobliche ydo; + For many was the fair lady that ycome was thereto. + Ygerne, Gorloys' wife, was fairest of each one, + That was Countess of Cornewall, for so fair n'as there none. + The king beheld her fast enow, and his heart on her cast, + And thoughte, though he were wise, to do folly at last. + He made her semblant fair enow, to none other so great. + The earl n'as not therewith ypayed[3], when he it under get. + After meat he nome his wife myd[4] sturdy med enow, + And, without leave of the king, to his country drow. + The king sente to him then, to byleve[5] all night, + For he must of great counsel have some insight. + That was for nought. Would he not, the king sent yet his sond, + That he byleved at his parlement, for need of the lond. + The king was, when he n'olde not, anguyssous and wroth. + For despite he would a-wreak be he swore his oath, + But he come to amendement. His power atte last + He garked, and went forth to Cornewall fast. + Gorloys his castles a store all about. + In a strong castle he did his wife, for of her was all his doubt, + In another himself he was, for he n'olde nought, + If cas[6] come, that they were both to death ybrought. + The castle, that the earl in was, the king besieged fast, + For he might not his gins for shame to the other cast. + Then he was there seen not, and he spedde nought, + Ygerne, the countesse, so much was in his thought, + That he nuste none other wit, ne he ne might for shame + Tell it but a privy knight, Ulfyn was his name, + That he truste most to. And when the knight heard thia, + 'Sir,' he said, 'I ne can wit, what rede hereof is, + For the castle is so strong, that the lady is in, + For I ween all the land ne should it myd strengthe win. + For the sea goeth all about, but entry one there n'is, + And that is up on harde rocks, and so narrow way it is, + That there may go but one and one, that three men within + Might slay all the laud, ere they come therein. + And nought for then, if Merlin at the counsel were, + If any might, he couthe the best rede thee lere.'[7] + Merlin was soon of sent, pled it was him soon, + That he should the best rede say, what were to don. + Merlin was sorry enow for the kinge's folly, + And natheless, 'Sir king,' he said, 'there may to mast'ry, + The earl hath two men him near, Brithoel and Jordan. + I will make thyself, if thou wilt, through art that I can, + Have all the forme of the earl, as thou were right he, + And Olfyn as Jordan, and as Brithoel me.' + This art was all clean ydo, that all changed they were, + They three in the others' form, the solve as it were. + Against even he went forth, nuste[8] no man that cas; + To the castle they come right as it even was. + The porter ysaw his lord come, and his most privy twei, + With good heart he let his lord in, and his men bey. + The countess was glad enow, when her lord to her come + And either other in their arms myd great joy nome. + When they to bedde come, that so long a-two were, + With them was so great delight, that between them there + Begot was the best body, that ever was in this land, + King Arthur the noble man, that ever worthy understand. + When the king's men nuste amorrow, where he was become, + They fared as wodemen, and wend[9] he were ynome.[10] + They assaileden the castle, as it should adown anon, + They that within were, garked them each one, + And smote out in a full will, and fought myd there fone: + So that the earl was yslaw, and of his men many one, + And the castle was ynome, and the folk to-sprad there, + Yet, though they hadde all ydo, they ne found not the king there. + The tiding to the countess soon was ycome, + That her lord was yslaw, and the castle ynome. + And when the messenger him saw the earl, as him thought, + That he had so foul plow, full sore him of thought, + The countess made somedeal deol,[11] for no sothness they nuste. + The king, for to glad her, beclipt her and cust. + 'Dame,' he said,' no sixt thou well, that les it is all this: + Ne wo'st thou well I am alive. I will thee say how it is. + Out of the castle stillelich I went all in privity, + That none of mine men it nuste, for to speak with thee. + And when they mist me to-day, and nuste where I was, + They fareden right as giddy men, myd whom no rede n'as, + And foughte with the folk without, and have in this mannere + Ylore the castle and themselve, and well thou wo'st I am here. + And for my castle, that is ylore, sorry I am enow, + And for my men, that the king and his power slew. + And my power is to lute, therefore I dreade sore, + Leste the king us nyme[12] here, and sorrow that we were more. + Therefore I will, how so it be, wend against the king, + And make my peace with him, ere he us to shame bring.' + Forth he went, and het[13] his men if the king come, + That they shoulde him the castle yield, ere he with strength it nome. + So he come toward his men, his own form he nome, + And leaved the earl's form, and the king Uther become. + Sore him of thought the earle's death, and in other half he found + Joy in his heart, for the countess of spousehed was unbound, + When he had that he would, and paysed[14] with his son, + To the countess he went again, me let him in anon. + "What halt[15] it to tale longe? but they were set at one, + In great love long enow, when it n'olde other gon; + And had together this noble son, that in the world his pere n'as, + The king Arthur, and a daughter, Anne her name was. + +[1] 'Sond' message. +[2] 'Nome:' took. +[3] 'Ypayed:' satisfied. +[4] 'Myd:' with. +[5] 'Byleve:' stay. +[6] 'Cas:' chance. +[7] 'Lere:' teach. +[8] 'Nuste:' knew. +[9] 'Wend:' thought. +[10] 'Ynome:' taken. +[11] 'Deol:' grief. +[12] 'Nyme:' take. +[13] 'Het:' bade. +[14] 'Paysed:' made peace. +[15] 'Halt:' holdeth. + +The next name of note is Robert, commonly called De Brunne. His real name +was Robert Manning. He was born at Malton in Yorkshire; for some time +belonged to the house of Sixhill, a Gilbertine monastery in Yorkshire; +and afterwards became a member of Brunne or Browne, a priory of black +canons in the same county. When monastical writers became famous, they +were usually designated from the religious houses to which they belonged. +Thus it was with Matthew of Westminster, William of Malmesbury, and John +of Glastonbury--all received their appellations from their respective +monasteries. De Brunne's principal work is a Chronicle of the History of +England, in rhyme. It can in no way be considered an original production, +but is partly translated, and partly compiled from the writings of Maistre +Wace and Peter de Langtoft, which latter was a canon of Bridlington in +Yorkshire, of Norman origin, but born in England, and the author of an +entire History of his country in French verse, down to the end of the +reign of Edward I. Brunne's Chronicle seems to have been written about +the year 1303. We extract the Prologue, and two other passages:-- + + + THE PROLOGUE. + + 'Lordlinges that be now here, + If ye wille listen and lere, + All the story of England, + As Robert Mannyng written it fand, + And in English has it shewed, + Not for the leared but for the lewed;[1] + For those that on this land wonn + That the Latin ne Frankys conn,[2] + For to have solace and gamen + In fellowship when they sit samen, + And it is wisdom for to witten + The state of the land, and have it written, + "What manner of folk first it wan, + And of what kind it first began. + And good it is for many things, + For to hear the deeds of kings, + Whilk were fools, and whilk were wise, + And whilk of them couth[3] most quaintise; + And whilk did wrong, and whilk right, + And whilk maintained peace and fight. + Of their deedes shall be my saw, + In what time, and of what law, + I shall you from gre to gre,[4] + Since the time of Sir Noe: + From Noe unto Eneas, + And what betwixt them was, + And from Eneas till Brutus' time, + That kind he tells in this rhyme. + For Brutus to Cadwallader's, + The last Briton that this land lees. + All that kind and all the fruit + That come of Brutus that is the Brute; + And the right Brute is told no more + Than the Britons' time wore. + After the Britons the English camen, + The lordship of this land they nameu; + South and north, west and east, + That call men now the English gest. + When they first among the Britons, + That now are English then were Saxons, + Saxons English hight all oliche. + They arrived up at Sandwiche, + In the kings since Vortogerne + That the land would them not werne, &c. + One Master Wace the Frankes tells + The Brute all that the Latin spells, + From Eneas to Cadwallader, &c. + And right as Master Wace says, + I tell mine English the same ways,' &c. + +[1] 'Lowed:' ignorant. +[2] 'Conn:' know. +[3] 'Couth:' knew. +[4] 'Gre:' step. + + + KING VORTIGERN'S MEETING WITH PRINCESS KODWEN. + + Hengist that day did his might, + That all were glad, king and knight, + And as they were best in glading, + And wele cop schotin[1] knight and king, + Of chamber Rouewen so gent, + Before the king in hall she went. + A cup with wine she had in hand, + And her attire was well-farand.[2] + Before the king on knee set, + And in her language she him gret. + 'Lauerid[3] king, Wassail,' said she. + The king asked, what should be. + In that language the king ne couth.[4] + A knight the language lered[5] in youth. + Breg hight that knight, born Bretoun, + That lered the language of Sessoun.[6] + This Breg was the latimer,[7] + What she said told Vortager. + 'Sir,' Breg said, 'Rowen you greets, + And king calls and lord you leets.[8] + This is their custom and their gest, + When they are at the ale or feast. + Ilk man that louis quare him think, + Shall say Wosseil, and to him drink. + He that bidis shall say, Wassail, + The other shall say again, Drinkhail. + That says Wosseil drinks of the cup, + Kissing his fellow he gives it up. + Drinkheil, he says, and drinks thereof, + Kissing him in bourd and skof.'[9] + The king said, as the knight 'gan ken,[10] + Drinkheil, smiling on Rouewen. + Rouwen drank as her list, + And gave the king, sine[11] him kist. + There was the first wassail in deed, + And that first of fame gede.[12] + Of that wassail men told great tale, + And wassail when they were at ale, + And drinkheil to them that drank, + Thus was wassail tane[13] to thank. + Fele sithes[14] that maiden ying,[15] + Wassailed and kist the king. + Of body she was right avenant,[16] + Of fair colour, with sweet semblant.[17] + Her attire full well it seemed, + Mervelik[18] the king she quemid.[19] + Out of measure was he glad, + For of that maiden he were all mad. + Drunkenness the fiend wrought, + Of that paen[20] was all his thought. + A mischance that time him led, + He asked that paen for to wed. + Hengist wild not draw a lite,[21] + But granted him, alle so tite.[22] + And Hors his brother consented soon. + Her friendis said, it were to don. + They asked the king to give her Kent, + In douery to take of rent. + Upon that maiden his heart so cast, + That they asked the king made fast. + I ween the king took her that day, + And wedded her on paien's lay.[23] + Of priest was there no benison + No mass sungen, no orison. + In seisine he had her that night. + Of Kent he gave Hengist the right. + The earl that time, that Kent all held, + Sir Goragon, that had the sheld, + Of that gift no thing ne wist + To[24] he was cast out with[25] Hengist. + +[1] 'Schotin:' sending about the cups briskly. +[2] 'Well-farand:' very rich. +[3] 'Lauerid:' lord. +[4] 'Ne couth:' knew not. +[5] 'Lered:' learned. +[6] 'Sessoun:' Saxons. +[7] 'Latimer:' _for_ Latiner, or Latinier, an interpreter. +[8] 'Leets:' esteems. +[9] 'Skof:' sport, joke. +[10] 'Ken:' to signify. +[11] 'Sine:' then. +[12] 'Cede:' went. +[13] 'Tane:' taken. +[14] 'Sithes:' many times. +[15] 'Ying:' young. +[16] 'Avenant:' handsome. +[17] 'Semblant:' countenance. +[18] 'Mervelik:' marvellously. +[19] 'Quemid:' pleased. +[20] 'Paen:' pagan, heathen. +[21] 'Wild not draw a lite:' would not fly off a bit. +[22] 'Tite:' happeneth. +[23] 'On paien's lay:' in pagan's law; according to the heathenish +custom. +[24] 'To:' till. +[25] 'With:' by. + + + THE ATTACK OF RICHARD I. ON A CASTLE HELD BY THE SARACENS. + + The dikes were fulle wide that closed the castle about, + And deep on ilka side, with bankis high without. + Was there none entry that to the castle 'gan ligg,[1] + But a strait kauce;[2] at the end a draw-brig, + With great double chaines drawen over the gate, + And fifty armed swaines porters at that gate. + With slinges and mangonels they cast to king Richard, + Our Christians by parcels casted againward. + Ten sergeants of the best his targe 'gan him bear + That eager were and prest[3] to cover him and to were.[4] + Himself as a giant the chaines in two hew, + The targe was his warant,[5] that none till him threw. + Eight unto the gate with the targe they yede, + Fighting on a gate, under him they slew his steed, + Therefore ne would he cease, alone into the castele + Through them all would press; on foot fought he full wele. + And when he was within, and fought as a wild lion, + He fondred the Sarazins otuynne,[6] and fought as a dragon, + Without the Christians 'gan cry, 'Alas! Richard is taken;' + Then Normans were sorry, of countenance 'gan blaken, + To slay down and to' stroy never would they stint, + They left fordied[7] no noye,[8] ne for no wound no dint, + That in went all their press, maugre the Sarazins all, + And found Richard on dais fighting, and won the hall. + +[1] 'Ligg:' lying. +[2] 'Kauce:' causey. +[3] 'Prest:' ready. +[4] 'Were:' defend. +[5] 'Warant:' guard. +[6] 'He fondred the Sarazins otuynne:' he formed the Saracens into two +parties. +[7] 'Fordied:' undone. +[8] 'No noye:' annoy. + +Of De Brunne, Warton judiciously remarks--'Our author also translated +into English rhymes the treatise of Cardinal Bonaventura, his +contemporary, _De coena et passione Domini, et paenis S. Mariae +Virgins_. But I forbear to give more extracts from this writer, who +appears to have possessed much more industry than genius, and cannot at +present be read with much pleasure. Yet it should be remembered that +even such a writer as Robert de Brunne, uncouth and unpleasing as he +naturally seems, and chiefly employed in turning the theology of his age +into rhyme, contributed to form a style, to teach expression, and to +polish his native tongue. In the infancy of language and composition, +nothing is wanted but writers;--at that period even the most artless +have their use.' + +Here we may allude to the introduction of romantic fiction into English +poetry. This had, as we have seen, reigned in France. There troubadours +in Provence, and men more worthy of the name of poets in Normandy, had +long sung of Brutus, of Charlemagne, and of Rollo. And thence a class, +called sometimes Joculators, sometimes Jongleurs, and sometimes +Minstrels, issued, harp in hand, wandering to and fro, and singing tales +of chivalry and love, composed either by themselves, or by other poets +living or dead. (We refer our readers to our first volume of Percy's +'Reliques,' for a full account of this class, and of the poetry they +produced.) These wanderers reached England in due time and brought with +them compositions which found favour and excited emulation, or at least +imitation, in our vernacular genius. Hence came a great swarm of +romances, all more or less derived from the French, even when Saxon in +subject and style; such as 'Sir Tristrem,' (which Sir Walter Scott tried +in vain to prove to be written by the famous Thomas the Rhymer, of +Ercildoun, or Earlston, in Berwickshire, who died before 1299;) 'The +Life of Alexander the Great,' said to be written by Adam Davie, Marshall +of Stratford-le-Bow, who lived about 1312; 'King Horn,' which certainly +belongs to the latter part of the thirteenth century; 'The Squire of Low +Degree; 'Sir Guy;' 'Sir Degore;' 'The King of Tars;' 'King Robert of +Sicily;' 'La Mort d'Arthur;' 'Impodemon;' and, more lately, 'Sir Libius;' +'Sir Thopas;' 'Sir Isenbras;' 'Gawan and Gologras;' and 'Sir Bevis.' +Richard I. also formed the subject of a very popular romance. We give +extracts from it:-- + + +THE SOLDAN SALADIN SENDS KING RICHARD A HORSE. + + 'Thou sayst thy God is full of might: + Wilt thou grant with spear and shield, + To detryve the right in the field, + With helm, hauberk, and brandes bright, + On stronge steedes good and light, + Whether be of more power, + Thy God almight, or Jupiter? + And he sent rue to saye this + If thou wilt have an horse of his, + In all the lands that thou hast gone + Such ne thou sawest never none: + Favel of Cyprus, ne Lyard of Prys,[1] + Be not at need as he is; + And if thou wilt, this same day, + He shall be brought thee to assay.' + Richard answered, 'Thou sayest well + Such a horse, by Saint Michael, + I would have to ride upon.---- + Bid him send that horse to me, + And I shall assay what he be, + If he be trusty, withoute fail, + I keep none other to me in battail.' + The messengers then home went, + And told the Soldan in present, + That Richard in the field would come him unto: + The rich Soldan bade to come him unto + A noble clerk that coulde well conjure, + That was a master necromansour: + He commanded, as I you tell, + Thorough the fiende's might of hell, + Two strong fiende's of the air, + In likeness of two steedes fair, + Both like in hue and hair, + As men said that there were: + No man saw never none sich; + That one was a mare iliche, + That other a colt, a noble steed, + Where that he were in any mead, + (Were the knight never so bold.) + When the mare neigh wold, + (That him should hold against his will,) + But soon he woulde go her till, + And kneel down and suck his dame, + Therewith the Soldan with shame + Shoulde king Richard quell, + All this an angel 'gan him tell, + That to him came about midnight. + 'Awake,' he said, 'Goddis knight: + My Lord doth thee to understand + That thee shalt come an horse to land, + Fair it is, of body ypight, + To betray thee if the Soldan might; + On him to ride have thou no drede + For he thee helpe shall at need.' + +The angel gives king Richard several directions about managing this +infernal horse, and a general engagement ensuing, between the Christian +and Saracen armies, + + He leapt on horse when it was light; + Ere he in his saddle did leap + Of many thinges he took keep.-- + His men brought them that he bade, + A square tree of forty feet, + Before his saddle anon he it set, + Fast that they should it brase, &c. + Himself was richely begone, + From the crest right to the tone,[2] + He was covered wondrously wele + All with splentes of good steel, + And there above an hauberk. + A shaft he had of trusty werk, + Upon his shoulders a shield of steel, + With the libards[3] painted wele; + And helm he had of rich entaile, + Trusty and true was his ventaile: + Upon his crest a dove white, + Significant of the Holy Sprite, + Upon a cross the dove stood + Of gold ywrought rich and good, + God[4] himself, Mary and John, + As he was done the rood upon,[5] + In significance for whom he fought, + The spear-head forgat he nought, + Upon his shaft he would it have + Goddis name thereon was grave; + Now hearken what oath he sware, + Ere they to the battaile went there: + 'If it were so, that Richard might + Slay the Soldan in field with fight, + At our wille evereachone + He and his should gone + Into the city of Babylon; + And the king of Macedon + He should have under his hand; + And if the Soldan of that land + Might slay Richard in the field + With sword or speare under shield, + That Christian men shoulde go + Out of that land for evermo, + And the Saracens their will in wold.' + Quoth king Richard, 'Thereto I hold, + Thereto my glove, as I am knight.' + They be armed and ready dight: + King Richard to his saddle did leap, + Certes, who that would take keep + To see that sight it were sair; + Their steedes ranne with great ayre,[6] + All so hard as they might dyre,[7] + After their feete sprang out fire: + Tabors and trumpettes 'gan blow: + There men might see in a throw + How king Richard, that noble man, + Encountered with the Soldan, + The chief was tolde of Damas, + His trust upon his mare was, + And therefor, as the book[8] us tells, + His crupper hunge full of bells, + And his peytrel[9] and his arsowne[10] + Three mile men might hear the soun. + His mare neighed, his bells did ring, + For greate pride, without lesing, + A falcon brode[11] in hand he bare, + For he thought he woulde there + Have slain Richard with treasoun + When his colt should kneele down, + As a colt shoulde suck his dame, + And he was 'ware of that shame, + His ears with wax were stopped fast, + Therefore Richard was not aghast, + He struck the steed that under him went, + And gave the Soldan his death with a dent: + In his shielde verament + Was painted a serpent, + With the spear that Richard held + He bare him thorough under his sheld, + None of his armour might him last, + Bridle and peytrel all to-brast, + His girthes and his stirrups also, + His ruare to grounde wente tho; + Maugre her head, he made her seech + The ground, withoute more speech, + His feet toward the firmament, + Behinde him the spear outwent + There he fell dead on the green, + Richard smote the fiend with spurres keen, + And in the name of the Holy Ghost + He driveth into the heathen host, + And as soon as he was come, + Asunder he brake the sheltron,[12] + And all that ever afore him stode, + Horse and man to the grounde yode, + Twenty foot on either side. + When the king of France and his men wist + That the mast'ry had the Christian, + They waxed bold, and good heart took, + Steedes bestrode, and shaftes shook. + +[1] 'Favel of Cyprus, ne Lyard of Prys:' Favel of Cyprus, and Lyard of +Paris, horses of Kichard's. +[2] 'Tone:' toes. +[3] 'Libards:' leopards. +[4] 'God:' our Saviour. +[5] 'As he was done the rood upon:' as he died upon the cross. +[6] 'Ayre:' ire. +[7] 'Dyre:' dare. +[8] 'The book:' the French romance. +[9] 'Peytrel:' the breast-plate or breast-band of a horse. +[10] 'Arsowne:' saddle-bow. +[11] 'falcon brode:' F. bird. +[12] 'Sheltrou:' 'schiltron:' soldiers drawn up in a circle. + +From 'Sir Degore' we quote the description of a dragon, which Warton +thinks drawn by a master:-- + + + DEGORE AND THE DRAGON. + + Degore went forth his way, + Through a forest half a day: + He heard no man, nor sawe none, + Till it past the high none, + Then heard he great strokes fall, + That it made greate noise withal, + Full soone he thought that to see, + To weete what the strokes might be: + There was an earl, both stout and gay, + He was come there that same day, + For to hunt for a deer or a doe, + But his houndes were gone him fro. + Then was there a dragon great and grim, + Full of fire and also venim, + With a wide throat and tuskes great, + Upon that knight fast 'gan he beat. + And as a lion then was his feet, + His tail was long, and full unmeet: + Between his head and his tail + Was twenty-two foot withouten fail; + His body was like a wine tun, + He shone full bright against the sun: + His eyes were bright as any glass, + His scales were hard as any brass; + And thereto he was necked like a horse, + He bare his head up with great force: + The breath of his mouth that did out blow + As it had been a fire on lowe[1]. + He was to look on, as I you tell, + As it had been a fiend of hell. + Many a man he had shent, + And many a horse he had rent. + +[1] 'On lowe:' in flame. + +From Davie's supposed 'Life of Alexander' we extract a description of a +battle, which shews some energy of genius:-- + + + A BATTLE + + Alisander before is ryde, + And many gentle a knight him myde;[1] + As for to gather his meinie free, + He abideth under a tree: + Forty thousand of chivalry + He taketh in his company, + He dasheth him then fast forthward, + And the other cometh afterward. + He seeth his knightes in mischief, + He taketh it greatly a grief, + He takes Bultyphal[2] by the side, + So as a swallow he 'ginneth forth glide. + A duke of Persia soon he met, + And with his lance he him grett. + He pierceth his breny, cleaveth his shielde, + The hearte tokeneth the yrne; + The duke fell downe to the ground, + And starf[3] quickly in that stound: + Alisander aloud then said, + Other toll never I ne paid, + Yet ye shallen of mine pay, + Ere I go more assay. + Another lance in hand he hent, + Against the prince of Tyre he went + He ... him thorough the breast and thare + And out of saddle and crouthe him bare, + And I say for soothe thing + He brake his neck in the falling. + ... with muchel wonder, + Antiochus hadde him under, + And with sword would his heved[4] + From his body have yreaved: + He saw Alisander the goode gome, + Towards him swithe come, + He lete[5] his prey, and flew on horse, + For to save his owen corse: + Antiochus on steed leap, + Of none woundes ne took he keep, + And eke he had foure forde + All ymade with speares' ord.[6] + Tholomeus and all his felawen[7] + Of this succour so weren welfawen, + Alysander made a cry hardy, + 'Ore tost aby aby.' + Then the knightes of Achay + Jousted with them of Araby, + They of Rome with them of Mede, + Many land.... + Egypt jousted with them of Tyre, + Simple knights with riche sire: + There n'as foregift ne forbearing + Betweene vavasour[8] ne king; + Before men mighten and behind + Cunteck[9] seek and cunteck find. + With Persians foughten the Gregeys,[10] + There was cry and great honteys.[11] + They kidden[12] that they weren mice, + They broken speares all to slice. + There might knight find his pere, + There lost many his distrere:[13] + There was quick in little thraw,[14] + Many gentle knight yslaw: + Many arme, many heved[15] + Some from the body reaved: + Many gentle lavedy[16] + There lost quick her amy.[17] + There was many maim yled,[18] + Many fair pensel bebled:[19] + There was swordes liklaking,[20] + There was speares bathing, + Both kinges there sans doute + Be in dash'd with all their route, &c. + +[1] 'Myde:' with. +[2] 'Bultyphal:' Bucephalus. +[3] 'Starf:' died. +[4] 'Heved: head. +[5] 'Lete:' left. +[6] 'Ord:' point. +[7] 'Felawen;' fellows. +[7] 'Vavasour:' subject. +[8] 'Cunteck:' strife. +[9] 'Gregeys:' Greeks. +[10] 'Honteys:' shame. +[11] 'Kidden:' thought. +[12] 'Distrere:' horse. +[13] 'Little thraw:' short time. +[14] 'Heved:' head. +[15] 'Lavedy:' lady. +[16] 'Amy:' paramour. +[17] 'Yled:' led along, maimed. +[18] 'Many fair pensel bebled:' many a banner sprinkled with blood. +[19] 'Liklaking:' clashing. + +Davie was also the author of an original poem, entitled, 'Visions in +Verse,' and of the 'Battle of Jerusalem,' in which he versifies a French +romance. In this production Pilate is represented as challenging our +Lord to single combat! + +In 1349, died Richard Rollo, a hermit, and a verse-writer. He lived a +secluded life near the nunnery of Hampole in Yorkshire, and wrote a +number of devotional pieces, most of them very dull. In 1350, Lawrence +Minot produced some short narrative ballads on the victories of Edward +III., beginning with Halidon Hill, and ending with the siege of Guisnes +Castle. His works lay till the end of the last century obscure in a MS. +of the Cotton Collection, which was supposed to be a transcript of the +Works of Chaucer. On a spare leaf of the MS. there had been accidentally +written a name, probably that of its original possessor, 'Richard +Chawsir.' This the getter-up of the Cotton catalogue imagined to be the +name of Geoffrey Chaucer. Mr Tyrwhitt, while foraging for materials to +his edition of 'The Canterbury Tales,' accidentally found out who the +real writer was; and Ritson afterwards published Minot's ballads, which +are ten in number, written in the northern dialect, and in an alliterative +style, and with considerable spirit and liveliness. He has been called the +Tyrtaeus of his age. + +We come now to the immediate predecessor of Chaucer--Robert Langlande. +He was a secular priest, born at Mortimer's Cleobury, in Shropshire, +and educated at Oriel College, Oxford. He wrote, towards the end of the +fourteenth century, a very remarkable work, entitled, 'Visions of William +concerning Piers Plowman.' The general object of this poem is to denounce +the abuses of society, and to inculcate, upon both clergy and laity, their +respective duties. One William is represented as falling asleep among the +Malvern Hills, and sees in his dream a succession of visions, in which +great ingenuity, great boldness, and here and there a powerful vein of +poetry, are displayed. Truth is described as a magnificent tower, and +Falsehood as a deep dungeon. In one canto Religion descends, and gives +a long harangue about what should be the conduct of society and of +individuals. Bribery and Falsehood, in another part of the poem, seek a +marriage with each other, and make their way to the courts of justice, +where they find many friends. Some very whimsical passages are introduced. +The Power of Grace confers upon Piers Plowman, who stands for the +Christian Life, four stout oxen, to cultivate the field of Truth. These +are Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, the last of whom is described as the +gentlest of the team. She afterwards assigns him the like number of stots +or bullocks, to harrow what the evangelists had ploughed, and this new +horned team consists of Saint or Stot Ambrose, Stot Austin, Stot Gregory, +and Stot Jerome. + +Apart from its fantastic structure, 'Piers Plowman' was not only a sign +of the times, but did great service in its day. His voice rings like +that of Israel's minor prophets--like Nahum or Hosea--in a dark and +corrupt age. He proclaims liberal and independent sentiments, he attacks +slavery and superstition, and he predicts the doom of the Papacy as with +a thunder-knell. Chaucer must have felt roused to his share of the +reformatory work by the success of 'Piers Plowman;' Spenser is suspected +to have read and borrowed from him; and even Milton, in his description +of a lazar-house in 'Paradise Lost,' had him probably in his eye. (See +our last extract from 'Piers.') + +On account of the great merit and peculiarity of this work we proceed to +make rather copious extracts. + + + HUMAN LIFE. + + Then 'gan I to meten[1] a marvellous sweven,[2] + That I was in wilderness, I wist never where: + As I beheld into the east, on high to the sun, + I saw a tower on a loft, richly ymaked, + A deep dale beneath, a dungeon therein, + With deep ditches and dark, and dreadful of sight: + A fair field full of folk found I there between, + Of all manner men, the mean and the rich, + Working and wand'ring, as the world asketh; + Some put them to the plough, playeden full seld, + In setting and sowing swonken[3] full hard: + And some put them to pride, &c. + +[1] 'Meten:' dream. +[2] 'Sweven:' dream. +[3] 'Swonken:' toiled. + + + ALLEGORICAL PICTURES. + + Thus robed in russet, I roamed about + All a summer season, for to seek Dowell + And freyned[1] full oft, of folk that I met + If any wight wist where Dowell was at inn, + And what man he might be, of many man I asked; + Was never wight as I went, that me wysh[2] could + Where this lad lenged,[3] lesse or more, + Till it befell on a Friday, two friars I met + Masters of the Minors,[4] men of greate wit. + I halsed them hendely,[5] as I had learned, + And prayed them for charity, ere they passed further, + If they knew any court or country as they went + Where that Dowell dwelleth, do me to wit,[6] + For they be men on this mould, that most wide walk + And know countries and courts, and many kinnes[7] places, + Both princes' palaces, and poor menne's cotes, + And Dowell, and Doevil, where they dwell both. + 'Amongst us,' quoth the Minors, 'that man is dwelling + And ever hath as I hope, and ever shall hereafter.' + Contra, quod I, as a clerk, and cumsed to disputen, + And said them soothly, _Septies in die cadit justus_, + Seven sythes,[8] sayeth the book, sinneth the rightful, + And whoso sinneth, I say, doth evil as methinketh, + And Dowell and Doevil may not dwell together, + Ergo he is not alway among you friars; + He is other while elsewhere, to wyshen[9] the people. + 'I shall say thee, my son,' said the friar then, + 'How seven sithes the sadde[10] man on a day sinneth, + By a forvisne'[11] quod the friar, 'I shall thee fair shew; + Let bring a man in a boat, amid the broad water, + The wind and the water, and the boate wagging, + Make a man many time, to fall and to stand, + For stand he never so stiff, he stumbleth if he move, + And yet is he safe and sound, and so him behoveth, + For if he ne arise the rather, and raght[12] to the steer, + The wind would with the water the boat overthrow, + And then were his life lost through latches[13] of himself. + And thus it falleth,' quod the friar, 'by folk here on earth, + The water is lik'ned to the world, that waneth and waxeth, + The goods of this world are likened to the great waves + That as winds and weathers, walken about, + The boat is liken'd to our body, that brittle is of kind, + That through the flesh, and the fraile world + Sinneth the sadde man, a day seven times, + And deadly sin doeth he not, for Dowell him keepeth, + And that is Charity the champion, chief help against sin, + For he strengtheth man to stand, and stirreth man's soul, + And though thy body bow, as boate doth in water, + Aye is thy soule safe, but if thou wilt thyself + Do a deadly sin, and drenche[14] so thy soul, + God will suffer well thy sloth, if thyself liketh, + For he gave thee two years' gifts, to teme well thyself, + And that is wit and free-will, to every wight a portion, + To flying fowles, to fishes, and to beasts, + And man hath most thereof, and most is to blame + But if he work well therewith, as Dowell him teacheth.' + 'I have no kind knowing,' quoth I, 'to conceive all your wordes + And if I may live and look, I shall go learne better; + I beken[15] the Christ, that on the crosse died;' + And I said, 'The same save you from mischance, + And give you grace on this ground good me to worth.' + And thus I went wide where, walking mine one + By a wide wilderness, and by a woode's side, + Bliss of the birdes brought me on sleep, + And under a lind[16] on a land, leaned I a stound[17] + To lyth[18] the layes, those lovely fowles made, + Mirth of their mouthes made me there to sleep. + The marvellousest metelles mette[19] me then + That ever dreamed wight, in world as I went. + A much man as me thought, and like to myself, + Came and called me, by my kinde[20] name. + 'What art thou,' quod I then, 'thou that my name knowest?' + 'That thou wottest well,' quod he, 'and no wight better.' + 'Wot I what thou art?' Thought said he then, + 'I have sued[21] thee this seven years, see ye me no rather?' + 'Art thou Thought?' quoth I then, 'thou couldest me wyssh[22] + Where that Dowell dwelleth, and do me that to know.' + 'Dowell, and Dobetter, and Dobest the third,' quod he, + 'Are three fair virtues, and be not far to find, + Whoso is true of his tongue, and of his two handes, + And through his labour or his lod, his livelod winneth, + And is trusty of his tayling,[23] taketh but his own, + And is no drunkelow ne dedigious, Dowell him followeth; + Dobet doth right thus, and he doth much more, + He is as low as a lamb, and lovely of speech, + And helpeth all men, after that them needeth; + The bagges and the bigirdles, he hath to-broke them all, + That the earl avarous helde and his heires, + And thus to mammons many he hath made him friends, + And is run to religion, and hath rend'red[24] the Bible + And preached to the people Saint Paule's wordes, + _Libenter suffertis insipientes, cum sitis ipsi sapientes_. + + * * * * * + + And suffereth the unwise with you for to live, + And with glad will doth he good, for so God you hoteth.[25] + Dobest is above both, and beareth a bishop's cross + Is hooked on that one end to halye[26] men from hell; + A pike is on the potent[27] to pull down the wicked + That waiten any wickedness, Dowell to tene;[28] + And Dowell and Dobet amongst them have ordained + To crown one to be king, to rule them boeth, + That if Dowell and Dobet are against Dobest, + Then shall the king come, and cast them in irons, + And but if Dobest bid for them, they be there for ever. + Thus Dowell and Dobet, and Dobeste the third, + Crowned one to be king, to keepen them all, + And to rule the realme by their three wittes, + And none otherwise but as they three assented.' + I thanked Thought then, that he me thus taught, + And yet favoureth me not thy suging, I covet to learn + How Dowell, Dobest, and Dobetter do among the people. + 'But Wit can wish[29] thee,' quoth Thought, 'where they three dwell, + Else wot I none that can tell that now is alive.' + Thought and I thus, three dayes we yeden[30] + Disputing upon Dowell, daye after other. + And ere we were 'ware, with Wit 'gan we meet. + He was long and leane, like to none other, + Was no pride on his apparel, nor poverty neither; + Sad of his semblance, and of soft cheer; + I durst not move no matter, to make him to laugh, + But as I bade Thought then be mean between, + And put forth some purpose to prevent his wits, + What was Dowell from Dobet, and Dobest from them both? + Then Thought in that time said these wordes; + 'Whether Dowell, Dobet, and Dobest be in land, + Here is well would wit, if Wit could teach him, + And whether he be man or woman, this man fain would espy, + And work as they three would, this is his intent.' + 'Here Dowell dwelleth,' quod Wit, 'not a day hence, + In a castle that kind[31] made, of four kinds things; + Of earth and air is it made, mingled together + With wind and with water, witterly[32] enjoined; + Kinde hath closed therein, craftily withal, + A leman[33] that he loveth, like to himself, + Anima she hight, and Envy her hateth, + A proud pricker of France, _princeps hujus mundi_, + And would win her away with wiles and he might; + And Kind knoweth this well, and keepeth her the better. + And doth her with Sir Dowell is duke of these marches; + Dobet is her damosel, Sir Dowell's daughter, + To serve this lady lelly,[34] both late and rathe.[35] + Dobest is above both, a bishop's pere; + That he bids must be done; he ruleth them all. + Anima, that lady, is led by his learning, + And the constable of the castle, that keepeth all the watch, + Is a wise knight withal, Sir Inwit he hight, + And hath five fair sonnes by his first wife, + Sir Seewell and Saywell, and Hearwell-the-end, + Sir Workwell-with-thy-hand, a wight man of strength, + And Sir Godfray Gowell, great lordes forsooth. + These five be set to save this lady Anima, + Till Kind come or send, to save her for ever.' + 'What kind thing is Kind,' quod I, 'canst thou me tell?'-- + 'Kind,' quod Wit, 'is a creator of all kinds things, + Father and former of all that ever was maked, + And that is the great God that 'ginning had never, + Lord of life and of light, of bliss and of pain, + Angels and all thing are at his will, + And man is him most like, of mark and of shape, + For through the word that he spake, wexen forth beasts, + And made Adam, likest to himself one, + And Eve of his ribbe bone, without any mean, + For he was singular himself, and said _Faciamus_, + As who say more must hereto, than my worde one, + My might must helpe now with my speech, + Even as a lord should make letters, and he lacked parchment, + Though he could write never so well, if he had no pen, + The letters, for all his lordship, I 'lieve were never ymarked; + And so it seemeth by him, as the Bible telleth, + There he saide, _Dixit et facta sunt_. + He must work with his word, and his wit shew; + And in this manner was man made, by might of God Almighty, + With his word and his workmanship, and with life to last, + And thus God gave him a ghost[36] of the Godhead of heaven, + And of his great grace granted him bliss, + And that is life that aye shall last, to all our lineage after; + And that is the castle that Kinde made, Caro it hight, + And is as much to meane as man with a soul, + And that he wrought with work and with word both; + Through might of the majesty, man was ymaked. + Inwit and Allwits closed been therein, + For love of the lady Anima, that life is nempned.[37] + Over all in man's body, she walketh and wand'reth, + And in the heart is her home, and her most rest, + And Inwit is in the head, and to the hearte looketh, + What Anima is lief or loth,[38] he leadeth her at his will + Then had Wit a wife, was hote Dame Study, + That leve was of lere, and of liche boeth. + She was wonderly wrought, Wit me so teached, + And all staring, Dame Study sternely said; + 'Well art thou wise,' quoth she to Wit, 'any wisdoms to tell + To flatterers or to fooles, that frantic be of wits;' + And blamed him and banned him, and bade him be still, + With such wise wordes, to wysh any sots, + And said, '_Noli mittere_, man, _margaritae_, pearls, + Amonge hogges, that have hawes at will. + They do but drivel thereon, draff were them lever,[39] + Than all precious pearls that in paradise waxeth.[40] + I say it, by such,' quod she, 'that shew it by their works, + That them were lever[41] land and lordship on earth, + Or riches or rentes, and rest at their will, + Than all the sooth sawes that Solomon said ever. + Wisdom and wit now is not worth a kerse,[42] + But if it be carded with covetise, as clothers kemb their wool; + Whoso can contrive deceits, and conspire wrongs, + And lead forth a loveday,[43] to let with truth, + He that such craftes can is oft cleped to counsel, + They lead lords with lesings, and belieth truth. + Job the gentle in his gests greatly witnesseth + That wicked men wielden the wealth of this world; + The Psalter sayeth the same, by such as do evil; + _Ecce ipsi peccatores abundantes in seculo obtinuerunt divitias_. + Lo, saith holy lecture, which lords be these shrewes? + Thilke that God giveth most, least good they dealeth, + And most unkind be to that comen, that most chattel wieldeth.[44] + _Quae perfecisti destrutxerunt, justus autem, &c_. + Harlots for their harlotry may have of their goodes, + And japers and juggelers, and janglers of jestes, + And he that hath holy writ aye in his mouth, + And can tell of Tobie, and of the twelve apostles, + Or preach of the penance that Pilate falsely wrought + To Jesu the gentle, that Jewes to-draw: + Little is he loved that such a lesson sheweth; + Or daunten or draw forth, I do it on God himself, + But they that feign they fooles, and with fayting[45] liveth, + Against the lawe of our Lord, and lien on themself, + Spitten and spewen, and speak foule wordes, + Drinken and drivellen, and do men for to gape, + Liken men, and lie on them, and lendeth them no giftes, + They can[46] no more minstrelsy nor music men to glad, + Than Mundie, the miller, of _multa fecit Deus_. + Ne were their vile harlotry, have God my truth, + Shoulde never king nor knight, nor canon of Paul's + Give them to their yeare's gift, nor gift of a groat, + And mirth and minstrelsy amongst men is nought; + Lechery, losenchery,[47] and losels' tales, + Gluttony and great oaths, this mirth they loveth, + And if they carpen[48] of Christ, these clerkes and these lewed, + And they meet in their mirth, when minstrels be still, + When telleth they of the Trinity a tale or twain, + And bringeth forth a blade reason, and take Bernard to witness, + And put forth a presumption to prove the sooth, + Thus they drivel at their dais[49] the Deity to scorn, + And gnawen God to their gorge[50] when their guts fallen; + And the careful[51] may cry, and carpen at the gate, + Both a-hunger'd and a-thirst, and for chill[52] quake, + Is none to nymen[53] them near, his noyel[54] to amend, + But hunten him as a hound, and hoten[55] him go hence. + Little loveth he that Lord that lent him all that bliss, + That thus parteth with the poor; a parcel when him needeth + Ne were mercy in mean men, more than in rich; + Mendynauntes meatless[56] might go to bed. + God is much in the gorge of these greate masters, + And amonges mean men, his mercy and his workes, + And so sayeth the Psalter, I have seen it oft. + Clerks and other kinnes men carpen of God fast, + And have him much in the mouth, and meane men in heart; + Friars and faitours[57] have founden such questions + To please with the proud men, sith the pestilence time, + And preachen at St Paule's, for pure envy of clerks, + That folk is not firmed in the faith, nor free of their goods, + Nor sorry for their sinnes, so is pride waxen, + In religion, and in all the realm, amongst rich and poor; + That prayers have no power the pestilence to let, + And yet the wretches of this world are none 'ware by other, + Nor for dread of the death, withdraw not their pride, + Nor be plenteous to the poor, as pure charity would, + But in gains and in gluttony, forglote goods themself, + And breaketh not to the beggar, as the book teacheth. + And the more he winneth, and waxeth wealthy in riches, + And lordeth in landes, the less good he dealeth. + Tobie telleth ye not so, take heed, ye rich, + How the bible book of him beareth witness; + Whoso hath much, spend manly, so meaneth Tobit, + And whoso little wieldeth, rule him thereafter; + For we have no letter of our life, how long it shall endure. + Suche lessons lordes shoulde love to hear, + And how he might most meinie, manlich find; + Not to fare as a fiddeler, or a friar to seek feasts, + Homely at other men's houses, and haten their own. + Elenge[58] is the hall every day in the week; + There the lord nor the lady liketh not to sit, + Now hath each rich a rule[59] to eaten by themself + In a privy parlour, for poore men's sake, + Or in a chamber with a chimney, and leave the chief hall + That was made for meales men to eat in.'-- + And when that Wit was 'ware what Dame Study told, + He became so confuse he cunneth not look, + And as dumb as death, and drew him arear, + And for no carping I could after, nor kneeling to the earth + I might get no grain of his greate wits, + But all laughing he louted, and looked upon Study, + In sign that I shoulde beseechen her of grace, + And when I was 'ware of his will, to his wife I louted + And said, 'Mercie, madam, your man shall I worth + As long as I live both late and early, + For to worken your will, the while my life endureth, + With this that ye ken me kindly, to know to what is Dowell.' + 'For thy meekness, man,' quoth she, 'and for thy mild speech, + I shall ken thee to my cousin, that Clergy is hoten.[60] + He hath wedded a wife within these six moneths, + Is syb[61] to the seven arts, Scripture is her name; + They two as I hope, after my teaching, + Shall wishen thee Dowell, I dare undertake.' + Then was I as fain as fowl of fair morrow, + And gladder than the gleeman that gold hath to gift, + And asked her the highway where that Clergy[62] dwelt. + 'And tell me some token,' quoth I, 'for time is that I wend.' + 'Ask the highway,' quoth she, 'hence to suffer + Both well and woe, if that thou wilt learn; + And ride forth by riches, and rest thou not therein, + For if thou couplest ye therewith, to Clergy comest thou never, + And also the likorous land that Lechery hight, + Leave it on thy left half, a large mile and more, + Till thou come to a court, keep well thy tongue + From leasings and lyther[63] speech, and likorous drinkes, + Then shalt thou see Sobriety, and Simplicity of speech, + That each might be in his will, his wit to shew, + And thus shall ye come to Clergy that can many things; + Say him this sign, I set him to school, + And that I greet well his wife, for I wrote her many books, + And set her to Sapience, and to the Psalter glose; + Logic I learned her, and many other laws, + And all the unisons to music I made her to know; + Plato the poet, I put them first to book, + Aristotle and other more, to argue I taught, + Grammer for girles, I gard[64] first to write, + And beat them with a bales but if they would learn; + Of all kindes craftes I contrived tooles, + Of carpentry, of carvers, and compassed masons, + And learned them level and line, though I look dim; + And Theology hath tened[65] me seven score times; + The more I muse therein, the mistier it seemeth, + And the deeper I divine, the darker me it thinketh. + +[1] 'Freyned:' inquired. +[2] 'Wysh:' inform. +[3] 'Lenged:' lived. +[4] 'Minors:' the friars minors. +[5] 'Halsed them hendely:' saluted them kindly. +[6] 'Do me to wit:' make me to know. +[7] 'Kinnes:' sorts of. +[8] 'Sythes:' times. +[9] 'Wyshen:' inform, teach. +[10] 'Sadde:' sober, good. +[11] 'Forvisne:' similitude. +[12] 'Raght:' reach. +[13] 'Latches:' laziness. +[14] 'Drenche:' drown. +[15] 'Beken:' confess. +[16] 'Lind:' lime-tree. +[17] 'A stound:' a while. +[18] 'Lyth:' listen. +[19] 'Mette:' dreamed. +[20] 'Kinde:' own. +[21] 'Sued:' sought. +[22] 'Wyssh:' inform. +[23] 'Tayling:' dealing. +[24] 'Rend'red:' translated. +[25] 'Hoteth:' biddeth. +[26] 'Halve:' draw. +[27] 'Potent:' staff. +[28] 'Tene:' grieve. +[29] 'Wish:' inform. +[30] 'Yeden:' went. +[31] 'Kind:' nature. +[32] 'Witterly:' cunningly. +[33] 'Leman:' paramour. +[34] 'Lelly:' fair. +[35] 'Rathe:' early. +[36] 'Ghost:' spirit. +[37] 'Nempned:' named. +[38] 'Loth:' willing. +[39] 'Lever:' rather. +[40] 'Waxeth: grow. +[41] 'Them were lever:' they had rather. +[42] 'Kerse:' curse. +[43] 'Loveday:'lady. +[44] 'Wieldeth:' commands. +[45] 'Fayting:' deceiving. +[46] 'Can:' know. +[47] 'Losenchery:' lying. +[48] 'Carpen:' speak. +[49] 'Dais:' table. +[50] 'Gorge:' throat. +[51] 'Careful:' poor. +[52] 'Chill:' cold. +[53] 'Nymen:' take. +[54] 'Noye:' trouble. +[55] 'Hoten:' order. +[56] 'Mendynauntes meatless:' beggars supperless. +[57] 'Faitours:' idle fellows. +[58] 'Elenge:' strange, deserted. +[59] 'Rule:' custom. +[60] 'Hoten:' named. +[61] 'Syb:' mother. +[62] 'Clergy:' learning. +[63] 'Lyther:' wanton. +[64] 'Gard:' made. +[65] 'Tened:' grieved. + + + COVETOUSNESS. + + And then came Covetise; can I him no descrive, + So hungerly and hollow, so sternely he looked, + He was bittle-browed and baberlipped also; + With two bleared eyen as a blinde hag, + And as a leathern purse lolled his cheekes, + Well sider than his chin they shivered for cold: + And as a bondman of his bacon his beard was bidrauled, + With a hood on his head, and a lousy hat above. + And in a tawny tabard,[1] of twelve winter age, + Alle torn and baudy, and full of lice creeping; + But that if a louse could have leapen the better, + She had not walked on the welt, so was it threadbare. + 'I have been Covetise,' quoth this caitiff, + 'For sometime I served Symme at style, + And was his prentice plight, his profit to wait. + First I learned to lie, a leef other twain + Wickedly to weigh, was my first lesson: + To Wye and to Winchester I went to the fair + With many manner merchandise, as my master me hight.-- + Then drave I me among drapers my donet[2] to learn. + To draw the lyfer along, the longer it seemed + Among the rich rays,' &c. + +[1] 'Tabard:' a coat. +[2] 'Donet:' lesson. + + + THE PRELATES. + + And now is religion a rider, a roamer by the street, + A leader of lovedays,[1] and a loude[2] beggar, + A pricker on a palfrey from manor to manor, + An heap of houndes at his arse as he a lord were. + And if but his knave kneel, that shall his cope bring, + He loured on him, and asked who taught him courtesy. + +[1] 'Lovedays:' ladies. +[2] 'Loude:' lewd. + + + MERCY AND TRUTH. + + Out of the west coast, a wench, as methought, + Came walking in the way, to heavenward she looked; + Mercy hight that maide, a meek thing withal, + A full benign birde, and buxom of speech; + Her sister, as it seemed, came worthily walking, + Even out of the east, and westward she looked, + A full comely creature, Truth she hight, + For the virtue that her followed afeared was she never. + When these maidens met, Mercy and Truth, + Either asked other of this great marvel, + Of the din and of the darkness, &c. + + + NATURE, OR KIND, SENDING FORTH HIS DISEASES FROM THE PLANETS, AT + THE COMMAND OF CONSCIENCE, AND OF HIS ATTENDANTS, AGE AND DEATH. + + Kind Conscience then heard, and came out of the planets, + And sent forth his forriours, Fevers and Fluxes, + Coughes and Cardiacles, Crampes and Toothaches, + Rheumes, and Radgondes, and raynous Scalles, + Boiles, and Botches, and burning Agues, + Phreneses and foul Evil, foragers of Kind! + There was 'Harow! and Help! here cometh Kind, + With Death that is dreadful, to undo us all!' + The lord that liveth after lust then aloud cried. + _Age the hoar, he was in the va-ward, + And bare the banner before Death: by right he it claimed._ + Kinde came after, with many keene sores, + As Pocks and Pestilences, and much people shent. + So Kind through corruptions, killed full many: + Death came driving after, and all to dust pashed + Kings and Kaisers, knightes and popes. + Many a lovely lady, and leman of knights, + Swooned and swelted for sorrow of Death's dints. + Conscience, of his courtesy, to Kind he besought + To cease and sufire, and see where they would + Leave Pride privily, and be perfect Christian, + And Kind ceased then, to see the people amend. + + +'Piers Plowman' found many imitators. One wrote 'Piers the Plowman's +Crede;' another, 'The Plowman's Tale;' another, a poem on 'Alexander the +Great; 'another, on the 'Wars of the Jews;' and another, 'A Vision of +Death and Life,' extracts from all which may be found in Warton's +'History of English Poetry.' + +We close this preliminary essay by giving a very ancient hymn to the +Virgin, as a specimen of the once universally-prevalent alliterative +poetry. + + + I. + + Hail be you, Mary, mother and may, + Mild, and meek, and merciable; + Hail, folliche fruit of soothfast fay, + Against each strife steadfast and stable; + Hail, soothfast soul in each, a say, + Under the sun is none so able; + Hail, lodge that our Lord in lay, + The foremost that never was founden in fable; + Hail, true, truthful, and tretable, + Hail, chief ychosen of chastity, + Hail, homely, hendy, and amiable: + _To pray for us to thy Sone so free!_ AVE. + + + II. + + Hail, star that never stinteth light; + Hail, bush burning that never was brent; + Hail, rightful ruler of every right, + Shadow to shield that should be shent; + Hail, blessed be you blossom bright, + To truth and trust was thine intent; + Hail, maiden and mother, most of might, + Of all mischiefs an amendement; + Hail, spice sprung that never was spent; + Hail, throne of the Trinity; + Hail, scion that God us soon to sent, + _You pray for us thy Sone free!_ AVE. + + + III. + + Hail, heartily in holiness; + Hail, hope of help to high and low; + Hail, strength and stel of stableness; + Hail, window of heaven wowe; + Hail, reason of righteousness, + To each a caitiff comfort to know; + Hail, innocent of angerness, + Our takel, our tol, that we on trow; + Hail, friend to all that beoth forth flow; + Hail, light of love, and of beauty, + Hail, brighter than the blood on snow: + _You pray for us thy Sone free!_ AVE. + + + IV. + + Hail, maiden; hail, mother; hail, martyr trew; + Hail, kindly yknow confessour; + Hail, evenere of old law and new; + Hail, builder bold of Christe's bower; + Hail, rose highest of hyde and hue; + Of all fruite's fairest flower; + Hail, turtle trustiest and true, + Of all truth thou art treasour; + Hail, pured princess of paramour; + Hail, bloom of brere brightest of ble; + Hail, owner of earthly honour: + _You pray for us thy Sone so free!_ AVE, &c. + + + V. + + Hail, hendy; hail, holy emperess; + Hail, queen courteous, comely, and kind; + Hail, destroyer of every strife; + Hail, mender of every man's mind; + Hail, body that we ought to bless, + So faithful friend may never man find; + Hail, lever and lover of largeness, + Sweet and sweetest that never may swynde; + Hail, botenere[1] of every body blind; + Hail, borgun brightest of all bounty, + Hail, trewore then the wode bynd: + _You pray for us thy Sone so free!_ AVE. + + + VI. + + Hail, mother; hail, maiden; hail, heaven queen; + Hail, gatus of paradise; + Hail, star of the sea that ever is seen; + Hail, rich, royal, and righteous; + Hail, burde yblessed may you bene; + Hail, pearl of all perrie the pris; + Hail, shadow in each a shower shene; + Hail, fairer than that fleur-de-lis, + Hail, chere chosen that never n'as chis; + Hail, chief chamber of charity; + Hail, in woe that ever was wis: + _You pray for us thy Sone so free!_ AVE, &c. &c. + +[1] 'Botenere:' helper. + + + + +ADVERTISEMENT. + +It will be observed that, in the specimens given of the earlier poets, the +spelling has been modernised on the principle which has been so generally +approved in its application to the text of Chaucer and of Spenser. + +On a further examination of the material for 'Specimens and Memoirs of the +less-known British Poets,' it has been deemed advisable to devote three +volumes to this _resume_, and merely to give extracts from Cowley, instead +of following out the arrangement proposed when the issue for this year was +announced. In this space it has been found possible to present the reader +with specimens of almost all those authors whose writings were at any +period esteemed. The series will thus be rendered more perfect, and will +include the complete works of the authors whose entire writings are by +a general verdict regarded as worthy of preservation; together with +representations of the style, and brief notices of the poets who have, +during the progress of our literature, occupied a certain rank, but whose +popularity and importance have in a great measure passed. + +It is confidently hoped that the arrangements now made will give a +completeness to the First Division of the Library Edition of the British +Poets--from Chaucer to Cowper--which will be acceptable and satisfactory +to the general reader. + +Edinburgh, July 1860. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + * * * * * + +FIRST PERIOD. + +JOHN GOWER + The Chariot of the Sun + The Tale of the Coffers or Caskets, &c. + Of the Gratification which the Lover's Passion receives from + the Sense of Hearing + +JOHN BARBOUR + Apostrophe to Freedom + Death of Sir Henry de Bohun + +ANDREW WYNTOUN + +BLIND HARRY + Battle of Black-Earnside + The Death of Wallace + +JAMES I. OF SCOTLAND + Description of the King's Mistress + +JOHN THE CHAPLAIN--THOMAS OCCLEVE + +JOHN LYDGATE + Canace, condemned to Death by her Father Aeolus, sends to her guilty + Brother Macareus the last Testimony of her unhappy Passion + The London Lyckpenny + +HARDING, KAY, &c. + +ROBERT HENRYSON + Dinner given by the Town Mouse to the Country Mouse + The Garment of Good Ladies + +WILLIAM DUNBAR + The Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins through Hell + The Merle and Nightingale + +GAVIN DOUGLAS + Morning in May + +HAWES, BARCLAY, &c. + +SKELTON + To Miss Margaret Hussey + +SIR DAVID LYNDSAY + Meldrum's Duel with the English Champion Talbart + Supplication in Contemption of Side Tails + +THOMAS TUSSER + Directions for Cultivating a Hop-garden + Housewifely Physic + Moral Reflections on the Wind + +VAUX, EDWARDS, &c. + +GEORGE GASCOIGNE + Good-morrow + Good-night + +THOMAS SACKVILLE, LORD BUCKHURST AND EARL OF DORSET + Allegorical Characters from 'The Mirror of Magistrates' + Henry Duke of Buckingham in the Infernal Regions + +JOHN HARRINGTON + Sonnet on Isabella Markham + Verses on a most stony-hearted Maiden + +SIR PHILIP SIDNEY + To Sleep + Sonnets + +ROBERT SOUTHWELL + Look Home + The Image of Death + Love's Servile Lot + Times go by Turns + +THOMAS WATSON + The Nymphs to their May-Queen + Sonnet + +THOMAS TURBERVILLE + In praise of the renowned Lady Aime, Countess of Warwick + +UNKNOWN + Harpalus' Complaint of Phillida's Love bestowed on Corin, who loved + her not, and denied him that loved her + A Praise of his Lady + That all things sometime find Ease of their Pain, save only the Lover + From 'The Phoenix' Nest' + From the same + The Soul's Errand + + * * * * * + +SECOND PERIOD. + +FROM SPENSER TO DRYDEN. + +FRANCIS BEAUMONT + To Ben Jonson + On the Tombs in Westminster + An Epitaph + +SIR WALTER RALEIGH + The Country's Recreations + The Silent Lover + A Vision upon 'The Fairy Queen' + Love admits no Rival + +JOSHUA SYLVESTER + To Religion + On Man's Resemblance to God + The Chariot of the Sun + +RICHARD BARNFIELD + Address to the Nightingale + +ALEXANDER HUME + Thanks for a Summer's Day + +OTHER SCOTTISH POETS + +SAMUEL DANIEL + Richard II., the morning before his Murder in Pomfret Castle + Early Love + Selections from Sonnets + +SIR JOHN DAVIES + Introduction to the Poem on the Soul of Man + The Self-subsistence of the Soul + Spirituality of the Soul + +GILES FLETCHER + The Nativity + Song of Sorceress seeking to tempt Christ + Close of 'Christ's Victory and Triumph' + +JOHN DONNE + Holy Sonnets + The Progress of the Soul + +MICHAEL DRAYTON + Description of Morning + +EDWARD FAIRFAX + Rinaldo at Mount Olivet + +SIR HENRY WOTTON + Farewell to the Vanities of the World + A Meditation + +RICHARD CORBET + Dr Corbet's Journey into France + +BEN JONSON + Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke + The Picture of the Body + To Penshurst + To the Memory of my beloved Master, William Shakspeare, and what + he hath left us + On the Portrait of Shakspeare + +VERE, STORBER, &c + +THOMAS RANDOLPH + The Praise of Woman + To my Picture + To a Lady admiring herself in a Looking-glass + +ROBERT BURTON + On Melancholy + +THOMAS CAREW + Persuasions to Love + Song + To my Mistress sitting by a River's Side + Song + A Pastoral Dialogue + Song + +SIR JOHN SUCKLING + Song + A Ballad upon a Wedding + Song + +WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT + Love's Darts + On the Death of Sir Bevil Grenville + A Valediction + +WILLIAM BROWNE + Song + Song + Power of Genius over Envy + Evening + From 'Britannia's Pastorals' + A Descriptive Sketch + +WILLIAM ALEXANDER, EARL OF STIRLING + Sonnet + +WILLIAM DRUMMOND + The River of Forth Feasting + Sonnets + Spiritual Poems + +PHINEAS FLETCHER + Description of Parthenia + Instability of Human Greatness + Happiness of the Shepherd's Life + Marriage of Christ and the Church + + + * * * * * + + +SPECIMENS, WITH MEMOIRS, OF THE LESS-KNOWN BRITISH POETS. + + + + +JOHN GOWER + + +Very little is told us (as usual in the beginnings of a literature) of +the life and private history of Gower, and that little is not specially +authentic or clearly consistent with itself. His life consists mainly of +a series of suppositions, with one or two firm facts between--like a few +stepping-stones insulated in wide spaces of water. He is said to have +been born about the year 1325, and if so must have been a few years +older than Chaucer; whom he, however, outlived. He was a friend as well +as contemporary of that great poet, who, in the fifth book of his +'Troilus and Cresseide,' thus addresses him:-- + + 'O moral Gower, this booke I direct, + To thee and the philosophical Strood, + To vouchsafe where need is to correct, + Of your benignities and zeales good.' + +Gower, on the other hand, in his 'Confessio Amantis,' through the mouth +of Venus, speaks as follows of Chaucer:-- + + 'And greet well Chaucer when ye meet, + As my disciple and my poet; + For 'in the flower of his youth, + In sundry wise, as he well couth, + Of ditties and of songes glad, + The whiche for my sake he made, + The laud fulfill'd is over all,' &c. + +The place of Gower's birth has been the subject of much controversy. +Caxton asserts that he was a native of Wales. Leland, Bales, Pits, +Hollingshed, and Edmondson contend, on the other hand, that he belonged +to the Statenham family, in Yorkshire. In proof of this, a deed is +appealed to, which is preserved among the ancient records of the Marquis +of Stafford. To this deed, of which the local date is Statenham, and the +chronological 1346, one of the subscribing witnesses is _John Gower_ who +on the back of the deed is stated, in the handwriting of at least a +century later, to be '_Sr John Gower the Poet_'. Whatever may be thought +of this piece of evidence, 'the proud tradition,' adds Todd, who had +produced it, 'in the Marquis of Stafford's family has been, and still +is, that the poet was of Statenham; and who would not consider the +dignity of his genealogy augmented by enrolling among its worthies the +moral Gower?' + +From his will we know that he possessed the manor of Southwell, in the +county of Nottingham, and that of Multon, in the county of Suffolk. He +was thus a rich man, as well as probably a knight. The latter fact is +inferred from the circumstance of his effigies in the church of St Mary +Overies wearing a chaplet of roses, such as, says Francis Thynne, 'the +knyghtes in old time used, either of gold or other embroiderye, made +after the fashion of roses, one of the peculiar ornamentes of a knighte, +as well as his collar of S.S.S., his guilte sword and spurres. Which +chaplett or circle of roses was as well attributed to knyghtes, the +lowest degree of honor, as to the higher degrees of duke, erle, &c., +being knyghtes, for so I have seen John of Gaunte pictured in his +chaplett of roses; and King, Edwarde the Thirde gave his chaplett to +Eustace Rybamonte; only the difference was, that as they were of lower +degree, so had they fewer roses placed on their chaplett or cyrcle of +golde, one ornament deduced from the dukes crowne, which had the roses +upon the top of the cyrcle, when the knights had them only upon the +cyrcle or garlande itself.' + +It has been said that Gower as well as Chaucer studied in the Temple. +This, however, Thynne doubts, on the ground that 'it is most certeyn +to be gathered by cyrcumstances of recordes that the lawyers were not +in the Temple until towardes the latter parte of the reygne of Kinge +Edwarde the Thirde, at whiche tyme Chaucer was a grave manne, holden in +greate credyt and employed in embassye;' and when, of course, Gower, +being his senior, must have been 'graver' still. + +There is scarcely anything more to relate of the personal career of our +poet. In his elder days he became attached to the House of Lancaster, +under Thomas of Woodstock, as Chaucer did under John of Gaunt. It is +said that the two poets, who had been warm friends, at last quarrelled, +but obscurity rests on the cause, the circumstances, the duration, and +the consequences of the dispute. Gower, like some far greater bards, +--Milton for instance, and those whom Milton has commemorated, + + 'Blind Thamyris and blind Moeonides, + And Tiresiaa and Phineus, prophets old,'-- + +was sometime ere his death deprived of his sight, as we know on his own +authority. It appears from his will that he was still living in 1408, +having outlived Chaucer eight years. This will is a curious document. +It is that of a very rich and very superstitious Catholic, who leaves +bequests to churches, hospitals, to priors, sub-priors, and priests, +with the significant request '_ut orent pro me_'--a request which, for +the sake of the poor soul of the 'moral Gower,' was we trust devoutly +obeyed, although we are irresistibly reminded of the old rhyme, + + 'Pray for the soul of Gabriel John, + Who died in the year one thousand and one; + You may if you please, or let it alone, + For it's all one + To Gabriel John, + Who died in the year one thousand and one.' + +There is no mention of children in the will, and hence the assertion of +Edmondson, who, in his genealogical table of the Statenham family, says +that Thomas Gower, the governor of the castle of Mans in the times of +the Fifth and Sixth Henrys, was the only son of the poet, and that of +Glover, who, in his 'Visitation of Yorkshire,' describes Gower as +married to a lady named Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Edward Sadbowrughe, +Baron of the Exchequer, by whom he had five sons and three daughters, +must both fall to the ground. According to the will, Gower's wife's name +was Agnes, and he leaves to her L100 in legacy, besides his valuable +goods and the rents accruing from his aforesaid manors of Multon, in +Suffolk, and Southwell, in Nottinghamshire. His body was, according +to his own direction, buried in the monastery of St Mary Overies, in +Southwark, (afterwards the church of St Saviour,) where a monument, and +an effigies, too, were erected, with the roses of a knight girdling the +brow of one who was unquestionably a true, if not a great poet. + +In Warton's 'History of English Poetry,' and in the 'Illustrations of +the Lives and Writings of Gower and Chaucer' by Mr Todd, there will be +found ample and curious details about MS. poems by Gower, such as fifty +sonnets in French; a 'Panegyrick on Henry IV.,' half in Latin and half +in English, a short elegiac poem on the same subject, &c.; besides a +large work, entitled 'Speculum Meditantis,' a poem in French of a moral +cast; and 'Vox Clamantis,' consisting of seven books of Latin elegiacs, +and chiefly filled with a metrical account of the insurrections of the +Commons in the reign of Richard II. In the dedication of this latter +work to Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury, Gower speaks of his blindness +and his age. He says, 'Hanc epistolam subscriptam corde devoto misit +_senex et cecus_ Johannes Gower reverendissimo in Christo patri ac +domino suo precipuo domino Thome de Arundell, Cantuar. Archiepoe.' &c. +Warton proves that the 'Vox Clamantis' was written in the year 1397, by +a line in the Bodleian manuscript of the poem, 'Hos ego _bis deno_ +Ricardo regis in anno.' Richard II. began, it is well known, to reign in +the year 1377, when ten years of age, and, of course, the year 1397 was +the twentieth of his reign. It follows from this, that for eleven years +at least before his death Gower had been _senex et cecus_, helpless +through old age and blindness. + +The 'Confessio Amantis' is the only work of Gower's which is printed and +in English. The rest are still slumbering in MS.; and even although the +'Vox Clamantis' should put in a sleepy plea for the resurrection of +print, on the whole we are disposed to say, better for all parties that +it and the rest should slumber on. But the 'Confessio Amantis' is +altogether a remarkable production. It is said to have been written at +the command of Richard II., who, meeting our poet rowing on the Thames, +near London, took him on board the royal barge, and requested him to +_book some new thing_. It is an English poem, in eight books, and was +first printed by Caxton in the year 1483. The 'Speculum Meditantis,' +'Vox Clamantis,' and 'Confessio Amantis,' are, properly speaking, parts +of one great work, and are represented by three volumes upon Gower's +curious tomb in the old conventual church of St Mary Overies already +alluded to--a church, by the way, which the poet himself assisted in +rebuilding in the elegant shape which it retains to this day. + +The 'Confessio' is a large unwieldy collection of poetry and prose, +superstition and science, love and religion, allegory and historical +facts. It is crammed with all varieties of learning, and a perverse but +infinite ingenuity is shewn in the arrangement of its heterogeneous +materials. In one book the whole mysteries of the Hermetic philosophy +are expounded, and the wonders of alchymy dazzle us in every page. +In another, the poet scales the heights and sounds the depths of +Aristotelianism. From this we have extracted in the 'Specimens' a +glowing account of 'The Chariot of the Sun.' Throughout the work, tales +and stories of every description and degree of merit are interspersed. +These are principally derived from an old book called 'Pantheon; or, +Memoriae Seculorum,'--a kind of universal history, more studious of +effect than accuracy, in which the author ranges over the whole history +of the world, from the creation down to the year 1186. This was a +specimen of a kind of writing in which the Middle Ages abounded--namely, +chronicles, which gradually superseded the monkish legends, and for +a time eclipsed the classics themselves; a kind of writing hovering +between history and fiction, embracing the widest sweep, written in a +barbarous style, and swarming with falsehoods; but exciting, interesting, +and often instructive, and tending to kindle curiosity, and +create in the minds of their readers a love for literature. + +Besides chronicles, Gower had read many romances, and alludes to them +in various parts of his works. His 'Confessio Amantis' was apparently +written after Chaucer's 'Troilus and Cresseide,' and after 'The Flower +and the Leaf,' inasmuch as he speaks of the one and imitates the other +in that poem. That Chaucer had not, however, yet composed his 'Testament +of Love,' appears from the epilogue to the 'Confessio,' where Gower is +ordered by Venus, who expresses admiration of Chaucer for the early +devotion of his muse to her service, to say to him at the close-- + + 'Forthy, now in his daies old, + Thou shalt him tell this message, + That he upon his later age + To set an end of all his work, + As he which is mine owen clerk, + Do make his Testament of Love, + As thou hast done thy shrift above, + So that my court it may record'-- + +the 'shrift' being of course the 'Confessio Amantis.' In 'The Canterbury +Tales' there are several indications that Chaucer was indebted to Gower +--'The Man of Law's Tale' being borrowed from Gower's 'Constantia,' and +'The Wife of Bath's Tale' being founded on Gower's 'Florent.' + +After all, Gower cannot be classed with the greater bards. He sparkles +brightly chiefly from the depth of the darkness through which he shines. +He is more remarkable for extent than for depth, for solidity than for +splendour, for fuel than for fire, for learning than for genius. + + +THE CHARIOT OF THE SUN. + +Of golde glist'ring spoke and wheel +The Sun his cart hath fair and wele, +In which he sitteth, and is croned[1] +With bright stones environed: +Of which if that I speake shall, +There be before in special +Set in the front of his corone +Three stones, whiche no person +Hath upon earth; and the first is +By name cleped Leucachatis. +That other two cleped thus +Astroites and Ceraunus; +In his corone, and also behind, +By olde bookes as I find, +There be of worthy stones three, +Set each of them in his degree. +Whereof a crystal is that one, +Which that corone is set upon: +The second is an adamant: +The third is noble and evenant, +Which cleped is Idriades. +And over this yet natheless, +Upon the sides of the werk, +After the writing of the clerk, +There sitten five stones mo.[2] +The Smaragdine is one of tho,[3] +Jaspis, and Eltropius, +And Vendides, and Jacinctus. +Lo thus the corone is beset, +Whereof it shineth well the bet.[4] +And in such wise his light to spread, +Sits with his diadem on head, +The Sunne shining in his cart: +And for to lead him swith[5] and smart, +After the bright daye's law, +There be ordained for to draw, +Four horse his chare, and him withal, +Whereof the names tell I shall. +Eritheus the first is hote,[6] +The which is red, and shineth hot; +The second Acteos the bright; +Lampes the thirde courser hight; +And Philogens is the ferth, +That bringen light unto this earth, +And go so swift upon the heaven, +In four and twenty houres even, +The carte with the brighte sun +They drawen, so that over run +They have under the circles high, +All midde earth in such an hie.[7] + +And thus the sun is over all +The chief planet imperial, +Above him and beneath him three. +And thus between them runneth he, +As he that hath the middle place +Among the seven: and of his face +Be glad all earthly creatures, +And taken after the natures +Their ease and recreation. +And in his constellation +Who that is born in special, +Of good-will and of liberal +He shall be found in alle place, +And also stand in muchel grace +Toward the lordes for to serve, +And great profit and thank deserve. + +And over that it causeth yet +A man to be subtil of wit, +To work in gold, and to be wise +In everything, which is of prise.[8] +But for to speaken in what coast +Of all this earth he reigneth most, +As for wisdom it is in Greece, +Where is appropred thilk spece.[9] + +[1] 'Croned:' crowned. +[2] 'Mo:' more. +[3] 'Tho:' those. +[4] 'Bet:' better. +[5] 'Swith:' swift. +[6] 'Hot:' named. +[7] 'Hie:' haste. +[8] 'Prise:' value. +[9] 'Thilk spece:' that kind. + + +THE TALE OF THE COFFERS OR CASKETS, &c. + +In a chronique thus I read: +About a kinge, as must need, +There was of knightes and squiers +Great rout, and eke officers: +Some of long time him had served, +And thoughten that they have deserved +Advancement, and gone without: +And some also been of the rout, +That comen but a while agon, +And they advanced were anon. + +These olde men upon this thing, +So as they durst, against the king +Among themselves complainen oft: +But there is nothing said so soft, +That it ne cometh out at last: +The king it wist, anon as fast, +As he which was of high prudence: +He shope[1] therefore an evidence +Of them that 'plainen in the case +To know in whose default it was: +And all within his own intent, +That none more wiste what it meant. +Anon he let two coffers make, +Of one semblance, and of one make, +So like, that no life thilke throw,[2] +The one may from that other know: +They were into his chamber brought, +But no man wot why they be wrought, +And natheless the king hath bede +That they be set in privy stede,[3] +As he that was of wisdom sly; +When he thereto his time sih,[4] +All privily that none it wist, +His owne handes that one chest +Of fine gold, and of fine perrie,[5] +The which out of his treasury +Was take, anon he filled full; +That other coffer of straw and mull,[6] +With stones meynd[7] he fill'd also: +Thus be they full bothe two. +So that erliche[8] upon a day +He bade within, where he lay, +There should be before his bed +A board up set and faire spread: +And then he let the coffers fet[9] +Upon the board, and did them set, +He knew the names well of tho,[10] +The which against him grutched[11] so, +Both of his chamber, and of his hall, +Anon and sent for them all; +And saide to them in this wise: + +'There shall no man his hap despise: +I wot well ye have longe served, +And God wot what ye have deserved; +But if it is along[12] on me +Of that ye unadvanced be, +Or else if it be long on yow, +The soothe shall be proved now: +To stoppe with your evil word, +Lo! here two coffers on the board; +Choose which you list of bothe two; +And witteth well that one of tho +Is with treasure so full begon, +That if he happe thereupon +Ye shall be riche men for ever: +Now choose and take which you is lever,[13] +But be well 'ware ere that ye take, +For of that one I undertake +There is no manner good therein, +Whereof ye mighten profit win. +Now go together of one assent, +And taketh your advisement; +For but I you this day advance, +It stands upon your owne chance, +All only in default of grace; +So shall be shewed in this place +Upon you all well afine,[14] +That no defaulte shall be mine.' + +They kneelen all, and with one voice +The king they thanken of this choice: +And after that they up arise, +And go aside and them advise, +And at laste they accord +(Whereof their tale to record +To what issue they be fall) +A knight shall speake for them all: +He kneeleth down unto the king, +And saith that they upon this thing, +Or for to win, or for to lose, +Be all advised for to choose. + +Then took this knight a yard[15] in hand, +And go'th there as the coffers stand, +And with assent of every one +He lay'th his yarde upon one, +And saith the king[16] how thilke same +They chose in reguerdon[17] by name, +And pray'th him that they might it have. + +The king, which would his honour save, +When he had heard the common voice, +Hath granted them their owne choice, +And took them thereupon the key; +But for he woulde it were see +What good they have as they suppose, +He bade anon the coffer unclose, +Which was fulfill'd with straw and stones: +Thus be they served all at ones. + +This king then in the same stede, +Anon that other coffer undede, +Where as they sawen great riches, +Well more than they couthen [18] guess. + +'Lo!' saith the king, 'now may ye see +That there is no default in me; +Forthy[19] myself I will acquite, +And beareth ye your owne wite[20] +Of that fortune hath you refused.' + +Thus was this wise king excused: +And they left off their evil speech. +And mercy of their king beseech. + +[1] 'Shope:' contrived. +[2] 'Thilke throw:' at that time. +[3] 'Stede:' place. +[4] 'Sih:' saw. +[5] 'Perrie:' precious stones. +[6] 'Mull:' rubbish. +[7] 'Meynd:' mingled. +[8] 'Erlich:' early. +[9] 'Fet:' fetched. +[10] 'Tho:' those. +[11] 'Grutched:' murmured. +[12] 'Along:' because of. +[13] 'Lever:' preferable. +[14] 'Afine:' at last. +[15] 'Yard:' rod. +[16] 'Saith the king:' saith to the king. +[17] 'Reguerdon:' as their reward. +[18] 'Couthen:' could. +[19] 'Forthy:' therefore. +[20] 'Wite:' blame. + + +OF THE GRATIFICATION WHICH THE LOVERS PASSION RECEIVES +FROM THE SENSE OF HEARING. + +Right as mine eye with his look +Is to mine heart a lusty cook +Of love's foode delicate; +Right so mine ear in his estate, +Where as mine eye may nought serve, +Can well mine hearte's thank deserve; +And feeden him, from day to day, +With such dainties as he may. + +For thus it is that, over all +Where as I come in special, +I may hear of my lady price:[1] +I hear one say that she is wise; +Another saith that she is good; +And some men say of worthy blood +That she is come; and is also +So fair that nowhere is none so: +And some men praise her goodly chere.[2] +Thus everything that I may hear, +Which soundeth to my lady good, +Is to mine ear a lusty food. +And eke mine ear hath, over this, +A dainty feaste when so is +That I may hear herselve speak; +For then anon my fast I break +On suche wordes as she saith, +That full of truth and full of faith +They be, and of so good disport, +That to mine eare great comfort +They do, as they that be delices +For all the meats, and all the spices, +That any Lombard couthe[3] make, +Nor be so lusty for to take, +Nor so far forth restoratif, +(I say as for mine owne life,) +As be the wordes of her mouth +For as the windes of the south +Be most of alle debonaire;[4] +So, when her list to speake fair, +The virtue of her goodly speech +Is verily mine hearte's leech. + +And if it so befall among, +That she carol upon a song, +When I it hear, I am so fed, +That I am from myself so led +As though I were in Paradise; +For, certes, as to mine avis,[5] +When I hear of her voice the steven,[6] +Methink'th it is a bliss of heaven. + +And eke in other wise also, +Full ofte time it falleth so, +Mine care with a good pitance[7] +Is fed of reading of romance +Of Ydoine and of Amadas, +That whilom weren in my case; +And eke of other many a score, +That loveden long ere I was bore. +For when I of their loves read, +Mine eare with the tale I feed, +And with the lust of their histoire +Sometime I draw into memoire, +How sorrow may not ever last; +And so hope cometh in at last. + +[1] 'Price:' praise. +[2] 'Chere:' mien. +[3] 'Couthe:' knows to. +[4] 'Debonaire:' gentle. +[5] 'Avis:' opinion. +[6] 'Steven:' sound. +[7] 'Pitance:' allowance. + + + + +JOHN BARBOUR. + + +The facts known about this Scottish poet are only the following. He +seems to have been born about the year 1316, in, probably, the city of +Aberdeen. This is stated by Hume of Godscroft, by Dr Mackenzie, and +others, but is not thoroughly authenticated. Some think he was the son +of one Andrew Barbour, who possessed a tenement in Castle Street, +Aberdeen; and others, that he was related to one Robert Barbour, who, in +1309, received a charter of the lands of Craigie, in Forfarshire, from +King Robert the Bruce. These, however, are mere conjectures, founded +upon a similarity of name. It is clear, from Barbour's after rank in +the Church, that he had received a learned education, but whether in +Arbroath or Aberdeen is uncertain. We know, however, that a school of +divinity and canon law had existed at Aberdeen since the reign of +Alexander II., and it is conjectured that Barbour first studied there, +and then at Oxford. In the year 1357, he was undoubtedly Archdeacon of +Aberdeen, since we find him, under this title, nominated by the Bishop +of that diocese, one of the Commissioners appointed to meet in Edinburgh +to take measures to liberate King David, who had been captured at the +battle of Nevil's Cross, and detained from that date in England. It +seems evident, from the customs of the Roman Catholic Church, that he +must have been at least forty when he was created Archdeacon, and this +is a good reason for fixing his birth in the year 1316. + +In the same year, Barbour obtained permission from Edward III., at the +request of the Scottish King, to travel through England with three +scholars who were to study at Oxford, probably at Balliol College, which +had, a hundred years nearly before, been founded and endowed by the wife +of the famous John Balliol of Scotland. Some years afterwards, in +November 1364, he got permission to pass, accompanied by four horsemen, +through England, to pursue his studies at the same renowned university. +In the year 1365, we find another casual notice of our Scottish bard. A +passport has been found giving him permission from the King of England +to travel, in company with six horsemen, through that country on their +way to St Denis', and other sacred places. It is evident that this was +a religious pilgrimage on the part of Barbour and his companions. + +A most peripatetic poet; verily, he must have been; for we find another +safe-conduct, dated November 1368, granted by Edward to Barbour, +permitting him, to pass through England, with two servants and their +horses, on his way to France, for the purpose of pursuing his studies +there. Dr Jamieson (see his 'Life of Barbour') discovers the poet's name +in the list of Auditors of the Exchequer. + +Barbour has himself told us that he commenced his poem in the 'yer of +grace, a thousand thre hundyr sevynty and five,' when, of course, he +was in his sixtieth year, or, as he says, 'off hys eld sexty.' It is +supposed that David II.--who died in 1370--had urged Barbour to engage +in the work, which was not, however, completed till the fifth year of +his successor, Robert II., who gave our poet a pension on account of it. +This consisted of a sum of ten pounds Scots from the revenues of the +city of Aberdeen, and twenty shillings from the burgh mails. Mr James +Bruce, to whose interesting Life of Barbour, in his 'Eminent Men of +Aberdeen,' we are indebted for many of the facts in this narrative, +says, 'The latter of these sums was granted to him, not merely during +his own life, but to his assignees; and the Archdeacon bequeathed it to +the dean, canons, the chapter, and other ministers of the Cathedral of +Aberdeen, on condition that they should for ever celebrate a yearly mass +for his soul. At the Reformation, when it came to be discovered that +masses did no good to souls in the other world, it is probable that this +endowment reverted to the Crown.' + +Barbour also wrote a poem under what seems now the strange title, 'The +Brute.' This was in reality a metrical history of Scotland, commencing +with the fables concerning Brutus, or 'Brute,' who, according to ancient +legends, was the great-grandson of Aeneas--came over from Italy, the +land of his birth--landed at Totness, in Devonshire--destroyed the +giants who then inhabited Albion--called the island 'Britain' from his +own name, and became its first monarch. From this original fable, +Barbour is supposed to have wandered on through a hundred succeeding +stories of similar value, till he came down to his own day. There can be +little regret felt, therefore, that the book is totally lost. Wynton, in +his 'Chronicle,' refers to it in commendatory terms; but it cannot be +ascertained from his notices whether it was composed in Scotch or in +Latin. + +Barbour died about the beginning of the year 1396, eighty years of age. +Lord Hailes ascertained the time of his death from the Chartulary of +Aberdeen, where, under the date of 10th August 1398, mention is made of +'quondam Joh. Barber, Archidiaconus, Aberd., and where it is said that +he had died two years and a half before, namely, in 1396.' + +His great work, 'The Bruce,' or more fully, 'The History of Robert +Bruce, King of the Scots,' does not appear to have been printed till +1616 in Edinburgh. Between that date and the year 1790, when Pinkerton's +edition appeared, no less than twenty impressions were published, (the +principal being those of Edinburgh in 1620 and 1648; Glasgow, 1665; and +Edinburgh, 1670--all in black letter,) so popular immediately became the +poem. Pinkerton's edition is in three volumes, and has a preface, notes, +and a glossary, all of considerable value. The MS. was copied from a +volume in the Advocates' Library, of the date of 1489, which was in the +handwriting of one John Ramsay, believed to have been the prior of a +Carthusian monastery near Perth. Pinkerton first divided 'The Bruce' +into books. It had previously, like the long works of Naerius and +Ennius, the earliest Roman poets, consisted of one entire piece, woven +'from the top to the bottom without seam,' like the ancient simple +garments in Jewry. The late respectable and very learned Dr Jamieson, of +Nicolson Street United Secession Church, Edinburgh, well known as the +author of the 'Scottish Dictionary,' 'Hermes Scythicus,' &c., published, +in 1820, a more accurate edition of 'The Bruce,' along with Blind +Harry's 'Wallace,' in two quarto volumes. + +In strict chronology Barbour belongs to an earlier date than Chaucer, +having been born and having died a few years before him. But as the +first Scotch poet who has written anything of length, with the exception +of the author of the 'Romance of Sir Tristrem,' he claims a conspicuous +place in our 'Specimens.' He was singularly fortunate in the choice of +a subject. With the exception of Wallace, there is no name in Scottish +history that even yet calls up prouder associations than that of Robert +Bruce. The incidents in his history,--the escape he made from English +bondage to rescue his country from the same yoke; his rise refulgent +from the stroke which, in the cloisters of the Gray Friars, Dumfries, +laid the Red Comyn low; his daring to be crowned at Scone; his frequent +defeats; his lion-like retreat to the Hebrides, accompanied by one or +two friends, his wife meanwhile having been carried captive, three of +his brothers hanged, and himself supposed to be dead; the romantic +perils he survived, and the victories he gained amidst the mountains +where the deep waters of the river Awe are still telling of his name, +and the echoes of Ben Cruachan repeating the immortal sound; his sudden +reappearance on the west coast of Scotland, where, as he 'shook his +Carrick spear,' his country rose, kindling around him like heather on +flame; the awful suspense of the hour when it was announced that Edward +I., the tyrant of the Ragman's Roll, the murderer of Wallace, was +approaching with a mighty army to crush the revolt; the electrifying +news that he had died at Sark, as if struck by the breath of the fatal +Border, which he had reached, but could not overpass; the bloody +summer's day of Bannockburn, in which Edward II. was repelled, and the +gallant army of his father annihilated; the energy and wisdom of the +Bruce's civil administration after the victory; the less famous, but +noble battle of Byland, nine years after Bannockburn, in which he again +smote the foes of his country; and the recognition which at last he +procured, on the accession of Edward III., of the independence of +Scotland in 1329, himself dying the same year, his work done and his +glory for ever secured,--not to speak of the beautiful legends which +have clustered round his history like ivy round an ancestral tower--of +the spider on the wall, teaching him the lesson of perseverance, as he +lay in the barn sad and desponding in heart--of the strange signal-light +upon the shore near his maternal castle of Turnberry, which led him to +land, while + + 'Dark red the heaven above it glow'd, + Dark red the sea beneath it flow'd, + Red rose the rocks on ocean's brim, + In blood-red light her islets swim, + Wild screams the dazzled sea-fowl gave, + Dropp'd from their crags a plashing wave, + The deer to distant covert drew, + The blackcock deem'd it day, and crew;' + +and last, not least, the adventures of his gallant, unquenchable heart, +when, in the hand of Douglas,--meet casket for such a gem!--it marched +onwards, as it was wont to do, in conquering power, toward the Holy +Land;--all this has woven a garland round the brow of Bruce which every +civilised nation has delighted to honour, and given him besides a share +in the affections and the pride of his own land, with the joy of which +'no stranger can intermeddle.' + +Bruce has been fortunate in his laureates, consisting of three of +Scotland's greatest poets,--Barbour, Scott, and Burns. The last of these +has given us a glimpse of the patriot-king, revealing him on the brow of +Bannockburn as by a single flash of lightning. The second has, in 'The +Lord of the Isles,' seized and sung a few of the more romantic passages +of his history. But Barbour has, with unwearied fidelity and no small +force, described the whole incidents of Bruce's career, and reared to +his memory, not an insulated column, but a broad and deep-set temple of +poetry. + +Barbour's poem has always been admired for its strict accuracy of +statement, to which Bower, Wynton, Hailes, Pinkerton, Jamieson, and Sir +Walter Scott all bear testimony; for the picturesque force of its +natural descriptions; for its insight into character, and the lifelike +spirit of its individual sketches; for the martial vigour of its battle- +pictures; for the enthusiasm which he feels, and makes his reader feel, +for the valiant and wise, the sagacious and persevering, the bold, +merciful, and religious character of its hero, and for the piety which +pervades it, and proves that the author was not merely a churchman in +profession, but a Christian at heart. Its defects of rude rhythm, +irregular constructions, and obsolete phraseology, are those of its age; +but its beauties, its unflagging interest, and its fine poetic spirit, +are characteristic of the writer's own genius. + + +APOSTROPHE TO FREEDOM. + +Ah! freedom is a noble thing! +Freedom makes man to have liking! +Freedom all solace to man gives: +He lives at ease that freely lives! +A noble heart may have none ease, +Nor nought else that may him please, +If freedom fail; for free liking +Is yearned o'er all other thing. +Nay, he that aye has lived free, +May not know well the property, +The anger, nor the wretched doom, +That is coupled to foul thirldom. +But if he had assayed it, +Then all perquier[1] he should it wit: +And should think freedom more to prize +Than all the gold in world that is. + +[1] 'Perquier:' perfectly. + + +DEATH OF SIR HENRY DE BOHUN. + +And when the king wist that they were +In hale[1] battle, coming so near, +His battle gart[2] he well array. +He rode upon a little palfrey, +Laughed and jolly, arrayand +His battle, with an axe in hand. +And on his bassinet he bare +A hat of tyre above aye where; +And, thereupon, into tok'ning, +An high crown, that he was king. +And when Gloster and Hereford were +With their battle approaching near, +Before them all there came ridand, +With helm on head and spear in hand, +Sir Henry the Bohun, the worthy, +That was a wight knight, and a hardy, +And to the Earl of Hereford cousin; +Armed in armis good and fine; +Came on a steed a bowshot near, +Before all other that there were: +And knew the king, for that he saw +Him so range his men on raw,[3] +And by the crown that was set +Also upon his bassinet. +And toward him he went in hy.[4] +And the king so apertly[5] +Saw him come, forouth[6] all his feres,[7] +In hy till him the horse he steers. +And when Sir Henry saw the king +Come on, forouten[8] abasing, +To him he rode in full great hy. +He thought that he should well lightly +Win him, and have him at his will, +Since he him horsed saw so ill. +Sprent they samen into a lyng;[9] +Sir Henry miss'd the noble king; +And he that in his stirrups stood, +With the axe, that was hard and good, +With so great main, raucht[10] him a dint, +That neither hat nor helm might stint +The heavy dush that he him gave, +The head near to the harns[11] he clave. +The hand-axe shaft frushit[12] in two; +And he down to the yird[13] 'gan go +All flatlings, for him failed might. +This was the first stroke of the fight, +That was performed doughtily. +And when the king's men so stoutly +Saw him, right at the first meeting, +Forouten doubt or abasing, +Have slain a knight so at a straik, +Such hardment thereat 'gan they take, +That they come on right hardily. +When Englishmen saw them so stoutly +Come on, they had great abasing; +And specially for that the king +So smartly that good knight has slain, +That they withdrew them everilk ane, +And durst not one abide to fight: +So dread they for the king his might. +When that the king repaired was, +That gart his men all leave the chase, +The lordis of his company +Blamed him, as they durst, greatumly, +That be him put in aventure, +To meet so stith[14] a knight, and stour, +In such point as he then was seen. +For they said, well it might have been +Cause of their tynsal[15] everilk ane. +The king answer has made them nane, +But mainit[16] his hand-axe shaft so +Was with the stroke broken in two. + +[1] 'Hale:' whole. +[2] 'Gart:' caused. +[3] 'Haw:' row +[4] 'Hy:' haste +[5] 'Apertly:' openly, clearly. +[6] 'Forouth:' beyond. +[7] 'Feres:' companions. +[8] 'Forouten:' without. +[9] 'Sprent they samen into a lyng:' they sprang forward at once, + against each other, in a line. +[10] 'Raucht:' reached. +[11] 'Harns:' brains. +[12] 'Frushit:' broke. +[13] 'Yird:' earth. +[14] 'Stith:' strong. +[15] 'Tynsal:' destruction. +[16] 'Mainit:' lamented. + + + + +ANDREW WYNTOUN. + + +This author, who was prior of St Serf's monastery in Loch Leven, is the +author of what he calls 'An Orygynale Cronykil of Scotland.' It appeared +about the year 1420. It is much inferior to the work of Barbour in +poetry, but is full of historical information, anecdote, and legend. The +language is often sufficiently prosaic. Thus the poet begins to describe +the return of King David II. from his captivity, referred to above. + + 'Yet in prison was king Davy, + And when a lang time was gane bye, + Frae prison and perplexitie + To Berwick castle brought was he, + With the Earl of Northamptoun, + For to treat there of his ransoun; + Some lords of Scotland come there, + And als prelates that wisest were,' &c. + +Contemporary, or nearly so, with Wyntoun were several other Scottish +writers, such as one Hutcheon, of whom we know only that he is +designated of the 'Awle Ryall,' or of the Royal Hall or Palace, and that +he wrote a metrical romance, of which two cantos remain, called 'The +Gest of Arthur;' and another, named Clerk of Tranent, the author of a +romance, entitled 'The Adventures of Sir Gawain.' Of this latter also +two cantos only are extant. Although not perhaps deserving to have even +portions of them extracted, they contain a good deal of poetry. A +person, too, of the name of Holland, about whose history we have no +information, produced a satirical poem, called 'The Howlate,' written in +the allegorical form, and bearing some resemblance to 'Pierce Plowman's +Vision.' + + + + +BLIND HARRY. + + +Although there are diversities of opinion as to the exact time when this +blind minstrel flourished, we prefer alluding to him at this point, +where he stands in close proximity to Barbour, the author of a poem on +a subject so cognate to 'Wallace' as 'Bruce.' Nothing is known of Harry +but that he was blind from infancy, that he composed this poem, and +gained a subsistence by reciting or singing portions of it through the +country. Another Wandering Willie, (see 'Redgauntlet,') he 'passed like +night from land to land,' led by his own instincts, and wherever he met +with a congenial audience, he proceeded to chant portions of the noble +knight's achievements, his eyes the while twinkling, through their sad +setting of darkness, with enthusiasm, and often suffused with tears. +In some minds the conception of this blind wandering bard may awaken +ludicrous emotions, but to us it suggests a certain sublimity. Blind +Harry has powerfully described Wallace standing in the light and +shrinking from the ghost of Fawdoun, (see the 'Battle of Black- +Earnside,' in the 'Specimens,') but Harry himself seems walking in the +light of the ghost of Wallace, and it ministers to him, not terror, but +inspiration. Entering a cot at night, and asked for a tale, he begins, +in low tones, to recite that frightful apparition at Gaskhall, and the +aged men and the crones vie with the children in drawing near the 'ingle +bleeze,' as if in fire alone lay the refuge from + + 'Fawdoun, that ugly sire, + That haill hall he had set into a fire, + As to his sight, his OWN HEAD IN HIS HAND.' + +Arriving in a village at the hour of morning rest and refreshment, he +charms the swains by such words as + + 'The merry day sprang from the orient + With beams bright illuminate the Occident, + After Titan Phoebus upriseth fair, + High in the sphere the signs he made declare. + Zephyrus then began his morning course, + The sweet vapour thus from the ground resourse,' &c.-- + +and the simple villagers wonder at hearing these images from one who is +blind, not seeing the sun. As the leaves are rustling down from the +ruddy trees of late autumn, he sings to a little circle of wayside +wanderers-- + + 'The dark region appearing wonder fast, + In November, when October was past, + + * * * * * + + Good Wallace saw the night's messenger, + Phoebus had lost his fiery beams so clear; + Out of that wood they durst not turn that side + For adversours that in their way would hide.' + +And while on the verge of the December sky, the wintry sun is trembling +and about to set as if for ever, then is the Minstrel's voice heard +sobbing amidst the sobs of his hearers, as he tells how his hero's sun +went down while it was yet day. + + 'On Wednesday the false Southron furth brocht + To martyr him as they before had wrocht, + Of men in arms led him a full great rout, + With a bauld sprite guid Wallace blent about.' + +There can be little doubt that Blind Harry, during his lifetime, became +a favourite, nay, a power in the realm. Wherever he circulated, there +circulated the fame of Wallace; there, his deeds were recounted; there, +hatred of a foreign foe, and love to their native land, were inculcated +as first principles; and long after the Homer of Scotland had breathed +his last, and been consigned perhaps to some little kirkyard among the +uplands, his lays continued to live; and we know that such a man as +Burns (who read them in the modern paraphrase of William Hamilton of +Gilbertfield, a book which was, till within a somewhat recent period, +a household god in the libraries of the Scotch) derived from the old +singer much of 'that national prejudice which boiled in his breast till +the floodgates of life shut in eternal rest.' If Barbour, as we said, +was fortunate in his subject, still more was Blind Harry in his. The +interest felt in Wallace is of a deeper and warmer kind than that which +we feel in Bruce. Bruce was of royal blood; Wallace was from an ancient +but not wealthy family. Bruce stained his career by one great crime +--great in itself, but greater from the peculiar notions of the age +--the murder of Comyn in the sanctuary of Dumfries; on the character of +Wallace no similar imputation rests. Wallace initiated that plan of +guerilla warfare,--that fighting now on foot and now on the wing, now +with beak and now with talons, now with horns and now with hoofs,--which +Bruce had only to perfect. Wallace was unsuccessful, and was besides +treated by the King of England with revolting barbarity; while Bruce +became victorious: and, as we saw in our remarks on Chaucer, it is the +unfortunate brave who stamp themselves most forcibly on a nation's +heart, and it is the red letters, which tell of suffering and death, +which are with most difficulty erased from a nation's tablets. On Bruce +we look somewhat as we regard Washington,--a great, serene man, who, +after long reverses, nobly sustained, gained a notable national triumph; +to Wallace we feel, as the Italians do to Garibaldi, as a demon of +warlike power,--blending courage and clemency, enthusiasm and skill, +daring and determination, in proportions almost superhuman,--and we cry +with the poet, + + 'The sword that seem'd fit for archangel to wield, + Was light in his terrible hand.' + +We have often regretted that Sir Walter Scott, who, after all, has not +done full justice to Bruce in that very unequal and incondite poem 'The +Lord of the Isles,' had not bent his strength upon the Ulysses bow of +Wallace, and filled up that splendid sketch of a part of his history to +be found near the beginning of 'The Fair Maid of Perth.' As it is, after +all that a number of respectable writers, such as Miss Porter, Mrs +Hemans, Findlay, the late Mr Macpherson of Glasgow, and others, have +done--in prose or verse, in the novel, the poem, or the drama--to +illustrate the character and career of the Scottish hero, Blind Harry +remains his poet. + +It is necessary to notice that Harry derived, by his own account, many +of the facts of his narrative from a work by John Blair, a Benedictine +monk from Dundee, who acted as Wallace's chaplain, and seems to have +composed a life of him in Latin, which is lost. Besides these, he +doubtless mingled in the story a number of traditions--some true, and +some false--which he found floating through the country. His authority +in reference to certain disputed matters, such as Wallace's journey to +France, and his capture of the Red Rover, Thomas de Longueville, who +became his fast friend and fellow-soldier, was not long ago entirely +established by certain important documents brought to light by the +Maitland Club. It is probable that some other of his supposed +misstatements--always excepting his ghost-stories--may yet receive from +future researches the confirmation they as yet want. Blind Harry, living +about a century and a half after the era of Wallace, and at a time when +tradition was the chief literature, was not likely to be able to test +the evidence of many of the circumstances which he narrated; but he +seems to speak in good faith: and, after all, what Paley says is +unquestionably true as a general principle--'Men tell lies about minute +circumstantials, but they rarely invent.' + + +BATTLE OF BLACK-EARNSIDE. + +Kerlie beheld unto the bold Heroun, +Upon Fawdoun as he was looking down, +A subtil stroke upward him took that tide, +Under the cheeks the grounden sword gart[1] glide, +By the mail good, both halse[2] and his craig-bane[3] +In sunder strake; thus ended that chieftain, +To ground he fell, feil[4] folk about him throng, +'Treason,' they cried, 'traitors are us among.' +Kerlie, with that, fled out soon at a side, +His fellow Steven then thought no time to bide. +The fray was great, and fast away they yeed,[5] +Both toward Earn; thus 'scaped they that dread. +Butler for woe of weeping might not stint. +Thus recklessly this good knight have they tint.[6] +They deemed all that it was Wallace' men, +Or else himself, though they could not him ken; +'He is right near, we shall him have but[7] fail, +This feeble wood may little him avail.' +Forty there pass'd again to Saint Johnstoun, +With this dead corpse, to burying made it boune.[8] +Parted their men, syne[9] divers ways they rode, +A great power at Dupplin still there 'bode. +To Dalwryeth the Butler pass'd but let,[10] +At sundry fords the gate[11] they unbeset,[12] +To keep the wood while it was day they thought. +As Wallace thus in the thick forest sought, +For his two men in mind he had great pain, +He wist not well if they were ta'en or slain, +Or 'scaped haill[13] by any jeopardy. +Thirteen were left with him, no more had he; +In the Gaskhall their lodging have they ta'en. +Fire got they soon, but meat then had they nane; +Two sheep they took beside them of a fold, +Ordain'd to sup into that seemly hold: +Graithed[14] in haste some food for them to dight:[15] +So heard they blow rude horns upon height. +Two sent he forth to look what it might be; +They 'bode right long, and no tidings heard he, +But bousteous[16] noise so bryvely blowing fast; +So other two into the wood forth pass'd. +None came again, but bousteously can blaw, +Into great ire he sent them forth on raw.[17] +When that alone Wallace was leaved there, +The awful blast abounded meikle mare;[18] +Then trow'd he well they had his lodging seen; +His sword he drew of noble metal keen, +Syne forth he went whereat he heard the horn. +Without the door Fawdoun was him beforn, +As to his sight, his own head in his hand; +A cross he made when he saw him so stand. +At Wallace in the head he swakked[19] there, +And he in haste soon hint[20] it by the hair, +Syne out again at him he could it cast, +Into his heart he greatly was aghast. +Right well he trow'd that was no sprite of man, +It was some devil, that sic[21] malice began. +He wist no wale[22] there longer for to bide. +Up through the hall thus wight Wallace can glide, +To a close stair, the boards they rave[23] in twin,[24] +Fifteen foot large he lap out of that inn. +Up the water he suddenly could fare, +Again he blink'd what 'pearance he saw there, +He thought he saw Fawdoun, that ugly sire, +That haill[25] hall he had set into a fire; +A great rafter he had into his hand. +Wallace as then no longer would he stand. +Of his good men full great marvel had he, +How they were tint through his feil[26] fantasy. +Trust right well that all this was sooth indeed, +Suppose that it no point be of the creed. +Power they had with Lucifer that fell, +The time when he parted from heaven to hell. +By sic mischief if his men might be lost, +Drowned or slain among the English host; +Or what it was in likeness of Fawdoun, +Which brought his men to sudden confusion; +Or if the man ended in ill intent, +Some wicked sprite again for him present. +I cannot speak of sic divinity, +To clerks I will let all sic matters be: +But of Wallace, now forth I will you tell. +When he was won out of that peril fell, +Right glad was he that he had 'scaped sa,[27] +But for his men great mourning can he ma.[28] +Flait[29] by himself to the Maker above +Why he suffer'd he should sic paining prove. +He wist not well if that it was God's will; +Right or wrong his fortune to fulfil, +Had he pleas'd God, he trow'd it might not bo +He should him thole[30] in sic perplexity. +But great courage in his mind ever drave, +Of Englishmen thinking amends to have. +As he was thus walking by him alone +Upon Earnside, making a piteous moan, +Sir John Butler, to watch the fords right, +Out from his men of Wallace had a sight; +The mist again to the mountains was gone, +To him he rode, where that he made his moan. +On loud he speir'd,[31] 'What art thou walks that gate?' +'A true man, Sir, though my voyage be late; +Errands I pass from Down unto my lord, +Sir John Stewart, the right for to record, +In Down is now, newly come from the King.' +Then Butler said, 'This is a selcouth[32] thing, +You lied all out, you have been with Wallace, +I shall thee know, ere you come off this place;' +To him he start the courser wonder wight, +Drew out a sword, so made him for to light. +Above the knee good Wallace has him ta'en, +Through thigh and brawn in sunder strake the bane.[33] +Derfly[34] to dead the knight fell on the land. +Wallace the horse soon seized in his hand, +An ackward stroke syne took him in that stead, +His craig in two; thus was the Butler dead. +An Englishman saw their chieftain was slain, +A spear in rest he cast with all his main, +On Wallace drave, from the horse him to bear; +Warily he wrought, as worthy man in weir.[35] +The spear ho wan withouten more abode, +On horse he lap,[36] and through a great rout rode; +To Dalwryeth he knew the ford full well: +Before him came feil[37] stuffed[38] in fine steel. +He strake the first, but bade,[39] on the blasoun,[40] +Till horse and man both fleet[41] the water down. +Another soon down from his horse he bare, +Stamped to ground, and drown'd withouten mair.[42] +The third he hit in his harness of steel, +Throughout the cost,[43] the spear it brake some deal. +The great power then after him can ride. +He saw no waill[44] there longer for to bide. +His burnish'd brand braithly[45] in hand he bare, +Whom he hit right they follow'd him na mair.[46] +To stuff the chase feil freiks[47] follow'd fast, +But Wallace made the gayest aye aghast. +The muir he took, and through their power yede, +The horse was good, but yet he had great dread +For failing ere he wan unto a strength, +The chase was great, skail'd[48] over breadth and length, +Through strong danger they had him aye in sight. +At the Blackford there Wallace down can light, +His horse stuffed,[49] for way was deep and lang, +A large great mile wightly on foot could gang.[50] +Ere he was hors'd riders about him cast, +He saw full well long so he might not last. +Sad[51] men indeed upon him can renew, +With returning that night twenty he slew, +The fiercest aye rudely rebutted he, +Keeped his horse, and right wisely can flee, +Till that he came the mirkest[52] muir amang. +His horse gave over, and would no further gang. + +[1] 'Gart:' caused. +[2] 'Halse:' throat. +[3] 'Craig-bane:' neck-lone. +[4] 'Feil:' many. +[5] 'Yeed:' went. +[6] 'Tint:' lost. +[7] 'But:' without. +[8] 'Boune:' ready. +[9] 'Sync:' then. +[10] 'But let:' without impediment. +[11] 'Gate:' way. +[12] 'Unbeset:' surround. +[13] 'Haill:' wholly. +[14] 'Graithed:' prepared. +[15] 'Dight:' Make ready. +[16] 'Bousteous:' boisterous. +[17] 'On raw:' one after another. +[18] 'Meikle mare:' much more. +[19] 'Swakked:' pitched. +[20] 'Hint:' took. +[21] 'Sic:' such. +[22] 'Wale:' advantage. +[23] 'Rave:' split. +[24] 'Twin:' twain. +[25] 'Haill:'whole. +[26] 'Feil:' great. +[27] 'Sa:' so. +[28] 'Ma:' make. +[29] 'Flait:' chided. +[30] 'Thole:' suffer. +[31] 'Speir'd:' asked. +[32] 'Selcouth:' strange. +[33] 'Bane:' bone. +[34] 'Derfly:' Quickly. +[35] 'Weir:' war. +[36] 'Lap:' leaped. +[37] 'Feil:' many. +[38] 'Stuffed:' armed. +[39] 'But bade:' without delay. +[40] 'Blasoun:' dress over armour. +[41] 'Fleet:' float. +[42] 'Mair:' more. +[43] 'Cost:' side. +[44] 'Waill:' advantage. +[45] 'Braithly:' violently. +[46] 'Na mair:' no more. +[47] 'Feil freiks:' many fierce fellows. +[48] 'Skail'd:' spread. +[49] 'Stuffed:' blown. +[50] 'Gang:' go. +[51] 'Sad:' steady. +[52] 'Mirkest:' darkest. + + +THE DEATH OF WALLACE. + +On Wednesday the false Southron forth him brought +To martyr him, as they before had wrought.[1] +Of men in arms led him a full great rout. +With a bold sprite good Wallace blink'd about: +A priest he ask'd, for God that died on tree. +King Edward then commanded his clergy, +And said, 'I charge you, upon loss of life, +None be so bold yon tyrant for to shrive. +He has reign'd long in contrare my highness.' +A blithe bishop soon, present in that place; +Of Canterbury he then was righteous lord; +Against the king he made this right record, +And said, 'Myself shall hear his confessioun, +If I have might, in contrare of thy crown. +An[2] thou through force will stop me of this thing, +I vow to God, who is my righteous king, +That all England I shall her interdict, +And make it known thou art a heretic. +The sacrament of kirk I shall him give: +Syne[3] take thy choice, to starve[4] or let him live. +It were more 'vail, in worship of thy crown, +To keep such one in life in thy bandoun,[5] +Than all the land and good that thou hast reft, +But cowardice thee aye from honour dreft.[6] +Thou hast thy life rougin[7] in wrongous deed; +That shall be seen on thee, or on thy seed.' +The king gart[8] charge they should the bishop tae,[9] +But sad[10] lords counselled to let him gae. +All Englishmen said that his desire was right. +To Wallace then he raiked[11] in their sight, +And sadly heard his confession till an end: +Humbly to God his sprite he there commend, +Lowly him served with hearty devotion +Upon his knees, and said an orison. +A psalter-book Wallace had on him ever, +From his childhood from it would not dissever; +Better he trow'd in voyage[12] for to speed. +But then he was despoiled of his weed.[13] +This grace he ask'd at Lord Clifford, that knight, +To let him have his psalter-book in sight. +He gart a priest it open before him hold, +While they till him had done all that they would. +Steadfast he read for ought they did him there; +Foil[14] Southrons said that Wallace felt no sair.[15] +Good devotion so was his beginning, +Continued therewith, and fair was his ending; +Till speech and spirit at once all can fare +To lasting bliss, we trow, for eveermair. + +[1] 'Wrought:' contrived. +[2] 'An:' if. +[3] 'Syne:' then. +[4] 'Starve:' perish. +[5] 'Bandoun:' disposal. +[6] 'Dreft:' drove. +[7] 'Rougin:' spent. +[8] 'Gart:' caused. +[9] 'Tae:' take. +[10] 'Sad:' grave. +[11] 'Raiked:' walked. +[12] 'Voyage:' journey to heaven. +[13] 'Weed:' clothes. +[14] 'Feil:' many. +[15] 'Sair:' sore. + + + + +JAMES I. OF SCOTLAND. + + +Here we have a great ascent from our former subject of biography--from +Blind Harry to James I.--from a beggar to a king. But in the Palace of +Poetry there are 'many mansions,' and men of all ranks, climes, +characters, professions, and we had almost added _talents_, have been +welcome to inhabit there. For, even as in the House Beautiful, the weak +Ready-to-halt and the timid Much-afraid were as cheerfully received as +the strong Honest and the bold Valiant-for-truth; so Poetry has inspired +children, and seeming fools, and maniacs, and mendicants with the finest +breath of her spirit. The 'Fable-tree' Fontaine is as immortal as +Corneille; Christopher Smart's 'David' shall live as long as Milton's +'Paradise Lost;' and the rude epic of a blind wanderer, whose birth, +parentage, and period of death are all alike unknown, shall continue to +rank in interest with the productions of one who inherited that kingdom +of Scotland, the independence of which was bought by the successive +efforts and the blended blood of Wallace and Bruce. + +Let us now look for a moment at the history and the writings of this +'Royal Poet.' The name will suggest to all intelligent readers the title +of one of the most pleasing papers in Washington Irving's 'Sketch-book.' +James I. was the son of Robert III. of Scotland,--a character familiar +to all from the admirable 'Fair Maid of Perth,'--and of Annabella +Stewart. He was created Earl of Carrick; and after the miserable death +of the Duke of Rothesay, his elder brother, his father, apprehensive of +the further designs of Albany, determined to send James to France, to +find an asylum and receive his education in that friendly Court. On his +way, the vessel was captured off Flamborough Head by an English cruiser, +(the 13th of March 1405,) and the young prince, with his attendants, was +conveyed to London, and committed to the Tower. As there was a truce +between the two nations at the time, this was a flagrant outrage on the +law of nations, and has indelibly disgraced the memory of Henry IV., +who, when some one remonstrated with him on the injustice of the +detention, replied, with cool brutality, 'Had the Scots been grateful, +they ought to have sent the youth to me, for I understand French well.' +Here for nineteen years,--during the remainder of the life of Henry IV., +and the whole of the reign of Henry V.,--James continued. He was +educated, however, highly, according to the fashion of these times, +--instructed in the languages, as well as in music, painting, +architecture, horticulture, dancing, fencing, poetry, and other +accomplishments. Still it must have fretted his high spirit to be +passing his young life in prison, while without horses were stamping, +plumes glistening, trumpets sounding, tournaments waging, and echoes +from the great victories of Henry V. in France ringing around. One +sweetener of his solitude, however, he at length enjoyed. Having been +transferred from the Tower to Windsor Castle, he beheld one day from its +windows that beautiful vision he has described in 'The King's Quhair,' +(see 'Specimens.') This was Lady Jane or Joanna Beaufort, daughter of +the Earl of Somerset, niece of Richard II., and grand-daughter of John +of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster. She was a lady of great beauty and +accomplishments as well as of high rank, and James, even before he knew +her name, became deeply enamoured. The passion was returned, and their +mutual attachment had by and by an important bearing upon his prospects. + +In 1423, the Duke of Bedford being now the English Regent, the friends +of James renewed negotiations--often attempted before in vain--for his +return to his native land, where his father had been long dead, and +which, torn by factions and steeped in blood, was sorely needing his +presence. Commissioners from the two kingdoms met at Pontefract on the +12th of May 1423, when, in presence of the young King, and with his +consent, matters were arranged. The English coolly demanded L40,000 to +defray the expense of James's nurture and education, (as though a _bill_ +were handed in to a man who had been unjustly detained in prison on +a false charge, ere he left its walls,) insisted on the immediate +departure of the Scots from France, where a portion of them were +fighting in the French army, and procured the assent of the Scottish +Privy Council to the marriage of James with his beloved Jane Beaufort. +A truce, too, with Scotland was concluded for seven years. All this was +settled; and soon after, in the Church of St Mary Overies, Southwark, +so often alluded to in the 'Life of Gower,' the happy pair were wed. +It seemed a most auspicious event for both countries, and to augur +the substitution of permanent peace for casual and temporary truces. +To Lady Jane Beaufort it gave a crown, and a noble, gallant, and gifted +prince to share it withal. On James it bestowed a lady of great beauty, +who was regarded, too, with gratitude as having lightened the load of +his captivity, and been a sunshine in his shady place, and--least +consideration--who brought him a dowry of L10,000, which was, in fact, +a remission of the fourth part of his ransom. + +Attended by a magnificent retinue, the royal pair set out for Scotland. +They were met at Durham by three hundred of the principal nobility and +gentry, twenty-eight of whom were retained by the English as hostages +for the national faith. Arrived on his native soil, James, at Melrose +Abbey, gave his solemn assent on the Holy Gospels to the treaty; and +seldom have the Eildon Hills returned a louder and more joyous shout +of acclamation than now welcomed back to the kingdom of his fathers +the 'Royal Poet.' He proceeded to Edinburgh, where he celebrated Easter +with great pomp, and a month later, he and his queen were solemnly +crowned inthe Abbey Church at Scone. This was in 1424. He lived after +this only thirteen years; but the period of his reign has always been +thought a glorious interlude in the dark early history of Scotland. +He set himself, with considerable success, to curb the exorbitant +power of the nobles, sacrificing some of them, such as Albany, to his +just indignation. He passed many useful regulations in reference to +the coinage, the constitution, and the commerce of the country. He +suppressed with a strong hand some of the gangs of robbers and 'sorners' +which abounded, founding instead the order of Bedesmen or King's +Beggars, immortalised since in the character of Edie Ochiltree. He +stretched a strong hand over the refractory Highland chieftains. While +keeping at first on good terms with the English Court, he turned with a +fonder eye to the French as the ancient allies of Scotland, and in 1436 +gave his daughter Margaret in marriage to the Dauphin. This step roused +the jealousy of his southern neighbours, who tried even to intercept the +fleet that was conveying the bride across the Channel, whereupon James, +stung to fury, proclaimed war against England, and in August commenced +the siege of Roxburgh Castle. The castle, after being environed for +fifteen days, was about to fall into his hands, when the Queen suddenly +arrived in the camp, and communicated some information, probably +referring to a threatened conspiracy of the nobles, which induced him +to throw up the siege, disband his army, and return northward in haste. +This unexpected step probably retarded, but could not prevent the +dreadful purpose of death which had already been formed against the +King. + +In October 1436, he held his last Parliament in Edinburgh, in which, +amidst many other enactments, we find, curiously enough, a prefiguration +of the Forbes Mackenzie Act, in a decree that all taverns should be shut +at nine o'clock. In the end of the year he determined on retiring to +Perth, where (in the language of Gibbon, applied to Timour) 'he was +expected by the Angel of Death.' It is said that, when about to cross +the Frith of Forth, then called the Scottish Sea, a Highland woman, who +claimed the character of a prophetess, like Meg Merrilees in fiction, +met the cavalcade, and cried out, with a loud voice, 'My Lord the King, +if you pass this water you shall never return again alive;' but as she +was concluded to be mad or drunk, her warning was scorned. He betook +himself to the convent of the Black Friars, where Christmas was being +celebrated with great pomp and splendour. Meanwhile Robert Grahame, and +Walter, Earl of Athole, the King's own uncle, actuated, the former by +revenge on account of the resumption of some lands improperly granted +to his family, and the latter by a desire to succeed to the Crown, had +formed a plot against James's life. Several warnings, besides that of +the Highland seeress, the King received, but he heeded them not, and, +like most of the doomed, was in unnaturally high spirits, as if the +winding-sheet far up his breast had been a wedding-robe. + +It is the evening of the 20th of February 1437. James and his nobles and +ladies are seated at table till deep into the night, engaged in chess, +music, and song. Athole, like another Judas, has supped with them, and +gone out at a late hour. A tremendous knocking is heard at the gate. It +is the Highland prophetess, who, having followed the monarch to Perth, +is seeking to force her way into the room. The King tells her, through +his usher, that he cannot receive her to-night, but will hear her +tidings to-morrow. She retires reluctantly, murmuring that they will for +ever rue their refusal to admit her into the royal presence. About an +hour after this, James calls for the _Voidee_, or parting-cup, and the +company disperse. Sir Robert Stewart, the chamberlain, who is in the +confidence of the conspirators, is the last to retire, having previously +destroyed the locks and removed the bars of the doors of the royal bed- +chamber and the outer room adjoining. The King is standing before the +fire, in his night-gown and slippers, and talking gaily with the Queen +and her ladies, when torches are seen flashing up from the garden, and +the clash of arms and the sound of angry voices is heard from below. A +sense of the dread reality bursts on them in an instant. The Queen and +the ladies run to secure the door of the chamber, while James, seizing +the tongs, wrenches up one of the boards of the floor and takes refuge +in a vault beneath. This was wont to have an opening to the outer court, +but it had unfortunately been built up of late by his own orders. There, +under the replaced boards, cowers the King, while the Queen and her +women seek to barricade the door. One brave young lady, Catherine +Douglas, thrusts her beautiful arm into the staple from which the bolt +had been removed. It is broken in a moment, and she sinks back, to bear, +with her descendants--a family well known in Scotland--the name of +_Barlass_ ever since. The murderers, who had previously killed in the +passage one Walter Straiton, a page, rush in, with naked swords, +wounding the ladies, striking, and well-nigh killing the Queen, and +crying, with frantic imprecations, 'This is but a woman! Where is +James?' Finding him not in the chamber, they leave it, and disperse +through the neighbouring apartments in search. + +James, who had become wearied of his immurement, and thought the +assassins were gone, calls now on one of the ladies to aid him in coming +out of his place of concealment. But while this is being effected, one +of the murderers returns. The cry, 'Found, found,' rings through the +halls; and after a violent but unarmed resistance, the King is, with +circumstances of horrible barbarity, first mangled, then run through the +body, and then despatched with daggers. In vain he offers half his +kingdom for his life; and when he seeks a confessor from Grahame, the +ruffian replies, 'Thou shalt have no confessor but this sword.' It is +satisfactory to know that the Queen made her escape, and that the +criminals were punished, although the tortures they endured are such +as human nature shrinks from conceiving, and history with a shudder +records. + + * * * * * + +We turn with pleasure from King James's life and death to his poetry, +although there is so little of it that a sentence or two will suffice. +'The King's Quhair' is a poem conceived very much in the spirit, and +written in the style of Chaucer, whose works were favourites with James. +There is the same sympathy with nature, and the same perception of _its_ +relation to and unconscious sympathy with human feelings, and the same +luscious richness in the description, alike of the early beauties of +spring and of youthful feminine loveliness, although this seems more +natural in the young poet James than in the sexagenarian author of 'The +Canterbury Tales.' There is nothing even in Chaucer we think finer than +the picture of Lady Jane Beaufort in the garden, particularly in the +lines-- + + 'Or are ye god Cupidis own princess, + And comen are ye to loose me out of band? + Or are ye very Nature the goddess, + That have depainted with your heavenly hand + This garden full of flowers as they stand?' + +Or where, picturing his mistress, he cries-- + + 'And above all this there was, well I wot, + Beauty enough to make a world to dote.' + +Or where, describing a ruby on her bosom, he says-- + + 'That as a spark of low[1] so wantonly + Seemed burning upon her white throat.' + +[1] 'Low:' fire. + +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.' + + +THE KING THUS DESCRIBES THE APPEARANCE OF HIS MISTRESS, +WHEN HE FIRST SAW HER FROM A WINDOW OF HIS PRISON +AT WINDSOR. + +X. + +The longe dayes and the nightes eke, +I would bewail my fortune in this wise, +For which, against distress comfort to seek, +My custom was, on mornes, for to rise +Early as day: O happy exercise! +By thee came I to joy out of torment; +But now to purpose of my first intent. + +XI. + +Bewailing in my chamber, thus alone, +Despaired of all joy and remedy, +For-tired of my thought, and woe begone; +And to the window 'gan I walk in hye,[1] +To see the world and folk that went forby; +As for the time (though I of mirthis food +Might have no more) to look it did me good. + +XII. + +Now was there made fast by the toweris wall +A garden fair; and in the corners set +An herbere[2] green; with wandis long and small +Railed about, and so with trees set +Was all the place, and hawthorn hedges knet, +That life was none [a] walking there forby +That might within scarce any wight espy. + + * * * * * + +XIV. + +And on the smalle greene twistis [3] sat +The little sweete nightingale, and sung, +So loud and clear the hymnis consecrate +Of love's use, now soft, now loud among,[4] +That all the gardens and the wallis rung +Right of their song; and on the couple next +Of their sweet harmony, and lo the text. + +XV. + +Worship, O ye that lovers be, this May! +For of your bliss the calends are begun; +And sing with us, 'Away! winter, away! +Come, summer, come, the sweet season and sun; +Awake for shame that have your heavens won; +And amorously lift up your heades all, +Thank love that list you to his mercy call. + + * * * * * + +XXI. + +And therewith cast I down mine eye again, +Where as I saw walking under the tower, +Full secretly new comen to her pleyne,[5] +The fairest and the freshest younge flower +That e'er I saw (methought) before that hour +For which sudden abate [6] anon astert [7] +The blood of all my body to my heart. + + * * * * * + +XXVII. + +Of her array the form if I shall write, +Toward her golden hair, and rich attire, +In fret-wise couched with pearlis white, +And greate balas[8] lemyng[9] as the fire; +With many an emerald and fair sapphire, +And on her head a chaplet fresh of hue, +Of plumes parted red, and white, and blue. + + * * * * * + +XXIX. + +About her neck, white as the fair amaille,[10] +A goodly chain of small orfeverie,[11] +Whereby there hang a ruby without fail +Like to a heart yshapen verily, +That as a spark of lowe[12] so wantonly +Seemed burning upon her white throat; +Now if there was good, perdie God it wrote. + +XXX. + +And for to walk that freshe Maye's morrow, +A hook she had upon her tissue white, +That goodlier had not been seen toforrow,[13] +As I suppose, and girt she, was a lite[14] +Thus halfling[15] loose for haste; to such delight +It was to see her youth in goodlihead, +That for rudeness to speak thereof I dread. + +XXXI. + +In her was youth, beauty with humble port, +Bounty, richess, and womanly feature: +(God better wot than my pen can report) +Wisdom, largess, estate, and cunning[16] sure, + + * * * * * + +In word, in deed, in shape and countenance, +That nature might no more her child advance. + +[1] 'Hye:' haste. +[2] 'Herbere:' herbary, or garden of simples. +[3] 'Twistis:' twigs. +[4] 'Among:' promiscuously. +[5] 'Pleyne:' sport. +[6] 'Sudden abate:' unexpected accident. +[7] 'Astert:' started back. +[8] 'Balas:' rubies. +[9] 'Lemyng:' burning. +[10] 'Amaille:' enamel. +[11] 'Orfeverie:' goldsmith's work. +[12] 'Lowe:' fire. +[13] 'Toforrow:' heretofore. +[14] 'Lite:' a little. +[15] 'Halfling:' half. +[16] 'Cunning:' knowledge. + + + + +JOHN THE CHAPLAIN--THOMAS OCCLEVE. + + +The first of these is the only versifier that can be assigned to England +in the reign of Henry IV. His name was John Walton, though he was +generally known as _Johannes Capellanus_ or 'John the Chaplain.' He was +canon of Oseney, and died sub-dean of York. He, in the year 1410, +translated Boethius' famous treatise, 'De Consolatione Philosophiae,' +into English verse. He is not known to have written anything original. +--Thomas Occleve appeared in the reign of Henry V., about 1420. Like +Chaucer and Gower, he was a student of municipal law, having attended +Chester's Inn, which stood on the site of the present Somerset House; +but although he trod in the footsteps of his celebrated predecessors, it +was with far feebler powers. His original pieces are contemptible, both +in subject and in execution. His best production is a translation of +'Egidius De Regimine Principum.' Warton, alluding to the period at which +these writers appeared, has the following oft-quoted observations: +--'I consider Chaucer as a genial day in an English spring. A brilliant +sun enlivens the face of nature with an unusual lustre; the sudden +appearance of cloudless skies, and the unexpected warmth of a tepid +atmosphere, after the gloom and the inclemencies of a tedious winter, +fill our hearts with the visionary prospect of a speedy summer, and we +fondly anticipate a long continuance of gentle gales and vernal serenity. +But winter returns with redoubled horrors; the clouds condense more +formidably than before, and those tender buds and early blossoms which +were called forth by the transient gleam of a temporary sunshine, are +nipped by frosts and torn by tempests.' These sentences are, after all, +rather pompous, and express, in the most verbose style of the _Rambler_, +the simple fact, that after Chaucer's death the ground lay fallow, and +that for a while in England (in Scotland it was otherwise) there were +few poets, and little poetry. + + + + +JOHN LYDGATE. + + +This copious and versatile writer flourished in the reign of Henry VI. +Warton affirms that he reached his highest point of eminence in 1430, +although some of his poems had appeared before. He was a monk of the +Benedictine Abbey at Bury, in Suffolk. He received his education at +Oxford; and when it was finished, he travelled through France and Italy, +mastering the languages and literature of both countries, and studying +their poets, particularly Dante, Boccaccio, and Alain Chartier. When he +returned, he opened a school in his monastery for teaching the sons of +the nobility composition and the art of versification. His acquirements +were, for the age, universal. He was a poet, a rhetorician, an astronomer, +a mathematician, a public disputant, and a theologian. He was born in +1370, ordained sub-deacon in 1389, deacon in 1393, and priest in 1397. +The time of his death is uncertain. His great patron was Humphrey, Duke +of Gloucester, to whom he complains sometimes of necessitous circumstances, +which were, perhaps, produced by indulgence, since he confesses himself to +be 'a lover of wine.' + +The great merit of Lydgate is his versatility. This Warton has happily +expressed in a few sentences, which we shall quote:-- + +'He moves with equal ease in every form of composition. His hymns and +his ballads have the same degree of merit; and whether his subject be +the life of a hermit or a hero, of Saint Austin or Guy, Earl of Warwick, +ludicrous or legendary, religious or romantic, a history or an allegory, +he writes with facility. His transitions were rapid, from works of the +most serious and laborious kind, to sallies of levity and pieces of +popular entertainment. His muse was of universal access; and he was not +only the poet of his monastery, but of the world in general. If a +disguising was intended by the Company of Goldsmiths, a mask before His +Majesty at Eltham, a May game for the sheriffs and aldermen of London, +a mumming before the Lord Mayor, a procession of pageants, from the +"Creation," for the Festival of Corpus Christi, or a carol for the +coronation, Lydgate was consulted, and gave the poetry.' + +Lydgate is, so far as we know, the first British bard who wrote for +hire. At the request of Whethamstede, the Abbot of St Alban's, he +translated a 'Life of St Alban' from Latin into English rhymes, and +received for the whole work one hundred shillings. His principal poems, +all founded on the works of other authors, are the 'Fall of Princes,' +the 'Siege of Thebes,' and the 'Destruction of Troy.' They are written +in a diffuse and verbose style, but are generally clear in sense, and +often very luxuriant in description. 'The London Lyckpenny' is a +fugitive poem, in which the author describes himself coming up to town +in search of legal redress for a wrong, and gives some curious +particulars of the condition of that city in the early part of the +fifteenth century. + + +CANACE, CONDEMNED TO DEATH BY HER FATHER AEOLUS, SENDS +TO HER GUILTY BROTHER MACAREUS THE LAST TESTIMONY OF +HER UNHAPPY PASSION. + +Out of her swoone when she did abraid,[1] +Knowing no mean but death in her distress, +To her brother full piteously she said, +'Cause of my sorrow, root of my heaviness, +That whilom were the source of my gladness, +When both our joys by will were so disposed, +Under one key our hearts to be enclosed.-- + + * * * * * + +This is mine end, I may it not astart;[2] +O brother mine, there is no more to say; +Lowly beseeching with mine whole heart +For to remember specially, I pray, +If it befall my little son to dey[3] +That thou mayst after some mind on us have, +Suffer us both be buried in one grave. +I hold him strictly 'tween my armes twain, +Thou and Nature laid on me this charge; +He, guiltless, muste with me suffer pain, +And, since thou art at freedom and at large, +Let kindness oure love not so discharge, +But have a mind, wherever that thou be, +Once on a day upon my child and me. +On thee and me dependeth the trespace +Touching our guilt and our great offence, +But, welaway! most angelic of face +Our childe, young in his pure innocence, +Shall against right suffer death's violence, +Tender of limbs, God wot, full guilteless +The goodly fair, that lieth here speechless. + +A mouth he has, but wordes hath he none; +Cannot complain, alas! for none outrage: +Nor grutcheth[4] not, but lies here all alone +Still as a lamb, most meek of his visage. +What heart of steel could do to him damage, +Or suffer him die, beholding the mannere +And look benign of his twain even clear.'-- + + * * * * * + +Writing her letter, awhapped[5] all in drede, +In her right hand her pen began to quake, +And a sharp sword to make her hearte bleed, +In her left hand her father hath her take, +And most her sorrow was for her childe's sake, +Upon whose face in her barme[6] sleeping +Full many a tear she wept in complaining. +After all this so as she stood and quoke, +Her child beholding mid of her paines' smart, +Without abode the sharpe sword she took, +And rove herselfe even to the heart; +Her child fell down, which mighte not astart, +Having no help to succour him nor save, +But in her blood theself began to bathe. + +[1] 'Abraid:' awake. +[2] 'Astart:' escape. +[3] 'Dey:' die. +[4] 'Grutcheth:' murmureth. +[5] 'Awhapped:' confounded. +[6] 'Barme:' lap. + + +THE LONDON LYCKPENNY. + +Within the hall, neither rich nor yet poor + Would do for me ought, although I should die: +Which seeing, I gat me out of the door, + Where Flemings began on me for to cry, + 'Master, what will you copen[1] or buy? +Fine felt hats? or spectacles to read? +Lay down your silver, and here you may speed. + +Then to Westminster gate I presently went, + When the sun was at high prime: +Cooks to me they took good intent,[2] + And proffered me bread, with ale and wine, + Ribs of beef, both fat and full fine; +A fair cloth they 'gan for to spread, +But, wanting money, I might not be sped. + +Then unto London I did me hie, + Of all the land it beareth the price; +'Hot peascods!' one began to cry, + 'Strawberry ripe, and cherries in the rise!'[3] + One bade me come near and buy some spice; +Pepper, and saffron they 'gan me beed;[4] +But, for lack of money, I might not speed. + +Then to the Cheap I 'gan me drawn, + Where much people I saw for to stand; +One offered me velvet, silk, and lawn, + Another he taketh me by the hand, + 'Here is Paris thread, the finest in the land!' +I never was used to such things, indeed; +And, wanting money, I might not speed. + +Then went I forth by London Stone, + Throughout all Canwick Street: +Drapers much cloth me offered anon; + Then comes me one cried 'Hot sheep's feet;' + One cried mackerel, rushes green, another 'gan greet,[5] +One bade me buy a hood to cover my head; +But, for want of money, I might not be sped. + +Then I hied me unto East-Cheap, + One cries ribs of beef, and many a pie; +Pewter pots they clattered on a heap; + There was harp, pipe, and minstrelsy; + Yea by cock! nay by cock! some began cry; +Some sung of Jenkin and Julian for their meed; +But, for lack of money, I might not speed. + +Then into Cornhill anon I yode,[6] + Where was much stolen gear among; +I saw where hung mine owne hood, + That I had lost among the throng; + To buy my own hood I thought it wrong: +I knew it well, as I did my creed; +But, for lack of money, I could not speed. + +The taverner took me by the sleeve, + 'Sir,' saith he, 'will you our wine assay?' +I answered, 'That can not much me grieve, + A penny can do no more than it may;' + I drank a pint, and for it did pay; +Yet, sore a-hungered from thence I yede,[7] +And, wanting money, I could not speed. + +[1] 'Copen:' _koopen_(Flem.) to buy. +[2] 'Took good intent:' took notice; paid attention. +[3] 'In the rise:' on the branch. +[4] 'Beed:' offer. +[5] 'Greet:' cry. +[6] 'Yode:' went. +[7] 'Yede:' went. + + + + +HARDING, KAY, &c. + + +John Harding flourished about the year 1403. He fought at the battle of +Shrewsbury on the Percy side. He is the author of a poem entitled 'The +Chronicle of England unto the Reign of King Edward the Fourth, in +Verse.' It has no poetic merit, and little interest, except to the +antiquary. In the reign of the above king we find the first mention of +a Poet Laureate. John Kay was appointed by Edward, when he returned from +Italy, Poet Laureate to the king, but has, perhaps fortunately for the +world, left behind him no poems. Would that the same had been the case +with some of his successors in the office! There is reason to believe, +that for nearly two centuries ere this date, there had existed in the +court a personage, entitled the King's Versifier, (versificator,) to +whom one hundred shillings a-year was the salary, and that the title +was, by and by, changed to that of Poet Laureate, _i.e._, Laurelled +Poet. It had long been customary in the universities to crown scholars +when they graduated with laurel, and Warton thinks that from these the +first poet laureates were selected, less for their general genius than +for their skill in Latin verse. Certainly the earliest of the Laureate +poems, such as those by Baston and Gulielmus, who acted as royal poets +to Richard I. and Edward II., and wrote, the one on Richard's Crusade, +and the other on Edward's Siege of Stirling Castle, are in Latin. So +too are the productions of Andrew Bernard, who was the Poet Laureate +successively to Henry VII. and Henry VIII. It was not till after the +Reformation had lessened the superstitious veneration for the Latin +tongue that the laureates began to write in English. It is almost a +pity, we are sometimes disposed to think, that, in reference to such +odes as those of Pye, Whitehead, Colley Cibber, and even some of +Southey's, the old practice had not continued; since thus, in the first +place, we might have had a chance of elegant Latinity, in the absence of +poetry and sense; and since, secondly, the deficiencies of the laureate +poems would have been disguised, from the general eye at least, under +the veil of an unknown tongue. It is curious to notice about this period +the uprise of two didactic poets, both writing on alchymy, the chemistry +of that day, and neither displaying a spark of genius. These are John +Norton and George Ripley, both renowned for learning and knowledge of +their beloved occult sciences. Their poems, that by Norton, entitled +'The Ordinal,' and that by Ripley, entitled 'The Compound of Alchemie,' +are dry and rugged treatises, done into indifferent verse. One rather +fine fancy occurs in the first of these. It is that of an alchymist who +projected a bridge of gold over the Thames, near London, crowned with +pinnacles of gold, which, being studded with carbuncles, should diffuse +a blaze of light in the dark! Alchymy has had other and nobler singers +than Ripley and Norton. It has, as Warton remarks, 'enriched the store- +house of Arabian romance with many magnificent imageries.' It is the +inspiration of two of the noblest romances in this or any language +--'St. Leon' and 'Zanoni.' And its idea, transfigured into a transcen- +dental form, gave light and life and fire, and the loftiest poetry, to +the eloquence of the lamented Samuel Brown, whose tongue, as he talked +on his favourite theme, seemed transmuted into gold; nay, whose lips, +like the touch of Midas, seemed to create the effects of alchymy upon +every subject they approached, and upon every heart over which they +wielded their sorcery. + +We pass now from this comparatively barren age in the history of English +poetry to a cluster of Scottish bards. The first of these is ROBERT +HENRYSON. He was schoolmaster at Dunfermline, and died some time before +1508. He is supposed by Lord Hailes to have been preceptor of youth in +the Benedictine convent in that place. He is the author of 'Robene and +Makyne,' a pastoral ballad of very considerable merit, and of which +Campbell says, somewhat too warmly, 'It is the first known pastoral,' +(he means in the Scottish language of course,) 'and one of the best, in +a dialect rich with the favours of the pastoral muse.' He wrote also a +sequel to Chaucer's 'Troilus and Cresseide' entitled 'The Testament of +Cresseide,' and thirteen Fables, of which copies, in MS., are preserved +in the Advocates' Library, Edinburgh. One of these, 'The Town and +Country Mouse,' tells that old story with considerable spirit and +humour. 'The Garment of Good Ladies' is an ingenious and beautiful +strain, written in that quaint style of allegorising which continued +popular as far down as the days of Cowley, and even later. + + +DINNER GIVEN BY THE TOWN MOUSE TO THE COUNTRY MOUSE. + +* * * Their harboury was ta'en +Into a spence,[1] where victual was plenty, +Both cheese and butter on long shelves right high, +With fish and flesh enough, both fresh and salt, +And pockis full of groats, both meal and malt. + +After, when they disposed were to dine, +Withouten grace they wuish[2] and went to meat, +On every dish that cookmen can divine, +Mutton and beef stricken out in telyies grit;[3] +A lorde's fare thus can they counterfeit, +Except one thing--they drank the water clear +Instead of wine, but yet they made good cheer. + +With blithe upcast and merry countenance, +The elder sister then spier'd[4] at her guest, +If that she thought by reason difference +Betwixt that chamber and her sairy[5] nest. +'Yea, dame,' quoth she, 'but how long will this last?' +'For evermore, I wait,[6] and longer too;' +'If that be true, ye are at ease,' quoth she. + +To eke the cheer, in plenty forth they brought +A plate of groatis and a dish of meal, +A threif[7] of cakes, I trow she spared them nought, +Abundantly about her for to deal. +Furmage full fine she brought instead of jeil, +A white candle out of a coffer staw,[8] +Instead of spice, to creish[9] their teeth witha'. + +Thus made they merry, till they might nae mair, +And, 'Hail, Yule, hail!' they cryit up on high; +But after joy oftentimes comes care, +And trouble after great prosperity. +Thus as they sat in all their jollity, +The spencer came with keyis in his hand, +Open'd the door, and them at dinner fand. + +They tarried not to wash, as I suppose, +But on to go, who might the foremost win: +The burgess had a hole, and in she goes, +Her sister had no place to hide her in; +To see that silly mouse it was great sin, +So desolate and wild of all good rede,[10] +For very fear she fell in swoon, near dead. + +Then as God would it fell in happy case, +The spencer had no leisure for to bide, +Neither to force, to seek, nor scare, nor chase, +But on he went and cast the door up-wide. +This burgess mouse his passage well has spied. +Out of her hole she came and cried on high, +'How, fair sister, cry peep, where'er thou be.' + +The rural mouse lay flatlings on the ground, +And for the death she was full dreadand, +For to her heart struck many woful stound, +As in a fever trembling foot and hand; +And when her sister in such plight her fand, +For very pity she began to greet, +Syne[11] comfort gave, with words as honey sweet. + +'Why lie ye thus? Rise up, my sister dear, +Come to your meat, this peril is o'erpast.' +The other answer'd with a heavy cheer, +'I may nought eat, so sore I am aghast. +Lever[12] I had this forty dayis fast, +With water kail, and green beans and peas, +Than all your feast with this dread and disease.' + +With fair 'treaty, yet gart she her arise; +To board they went, and on together sat, +But scantly had they drunken once or twice, +When in came Gib Hunter, our jolly cat, +And bade God speed. The burgess up then gat, +And to her hole she fled as fire of flint; +Bawdrons[13] the other by the back has hent.[14] + +From foot to foot he cast her to and frae, +Whiles up, whiles down, as cant[15] as any kid; +Whiles would he let her run under the strae[16] +Whiles would he wink and play with her buik-hid;[17] +Thus to the silly mouse great harm he did; +Till at the last, through fair fortune and hap, +Betwixt the dresser and the wall she crap.[18] + +Syne up in haste behind the panelling, +So high she clamb, that Gilbert might not get her, +And by the cluiks[19] craftily can hing, +Till he was gone, her cheer was all the better: +Syne down she lap, when there was none to let her; +Then on the burgess mouse loud could she cry, +'Farewell, sister, here I thy feast defy. + +Thy mangery is minget[20] all with care, +Thy guise is good, thy gane-full[21] sour as gall; +The fashion of thy feris is but fair, +So shall thou find hereafterward may fall. +I thank yon curtain, and yon parpane[22] wall, +Of my defence now from yon cruel beast; +Almighty God, keep me from such a feast! + +Were I into the place that I came frae, +For weal nor woe I should ne'er come again.' +With that she took her leave, and forth can gae, +Till through the corn, till through the plain. +When she was forth and free she was right fain, +And merrily linkit unto the muir, +I cannot tell how afterward she fure.[23] + +But I heard syne she passed to her den, +As warm as wool, suppose it was not grit, +Full beinly[24] stuffed was both butt and ben, +With peas and nuts, and beans, and rye and wheat; +Whene'er she liked, she had enough of meat, +In quiet and ease, withouten [any] dread, +But to her sister's feast no more she gaed. + + +[FROM THE MORAL.] + +Blessed be simple life, withouten dreid; +Blessed be sober feast in quiete; +Who has enough, of no more has he need, +Though it be little into quantity. +Great abundance, and blind prosperity, +Ofttimes make an evil conclusion; +The sweetest life, therefore, in this country, +Is of sickerness,[25] with small possession. + +[1] 'Spence:' pantry. +[2] 'Wuish:' washed. +[3] 'Telyies grit:' great pieces. +[4] 'Spier'd;' asked. +[5] 'Sairy:' sorry. +[6] 'Wait:' expect. +[7] 'Threif:' a set of twenty-four. +[8] 'Staw:' stole. +[9] 'Creish:' grease. +[10] 'rede:' counsel. +[11] 'Syne:' then. +[12] 'Lever:' rather. +[13] 'Bawdrons:' the cat. +[14] 'Hent:' seized. +[15] 'Cant:' lively. +[16] 'Strae:' straw. +[17] 'Buik-hid:' body. +[18] 'Crap:' crept. +[19] 'Cluiks:' claws. +[20] 'Minget:' mixed. +[21] 'Gane-full:' mouthful. +[22] 'Parpane:' partition. +[23] 'Fure:' went. +[24] 'Beinly:' snugly. +[25] 'Sickerness:' security. + + + +THE GARMENT OF GOOD LADIES. + +Would my good lady love me best, + And work after my will, +I should a garment goodliest + Gar[1] make her body till.[2] + +Of high honour should be her hood, + Upon her head to wear, +Garnish'd with governance, so good + No deeming[3] should her deir,[4] + +Her sark[5] should be her body next, + Of chastity so white: +With shame and dread together mixt, + The same should be perfite.[6] + +Her kirtle should be of clean constance, + Laced with lesum[7] love; +The mailies[8] of continuance, + For never to remove. + +Her gown should be of goodliness, + Well ribbon'd with renown; +Purfill'd[9] with pleasure in ilk[10] place, + Furred with fine fashioun. + +Her belt should be of benignity, + About her middle meet; +Her mantle of humility, + To thole[11] both wind and weet.[12] + +Her hat should be of fair having, + And her tippet of truth; +Her patelet of good pansing,[13] + Her hals-ribbon of ruth.[14] + +Her sleeves should be of esperance, + To keep her from despair; +Her gloves of good governance, + To hide her fingers fair. + +Her shoes should be of sickerness,[15] + In sign that she not slide; +Her hose of honesty, I guess, + I should for her provide. + +Would she put on this garment gay, + I durst swear by my seill,[16] +That she wore never green nor gray +That set[17] her half so weel. + +[1] 'Gar:' cause. +[2] 'Till:' to. +[3] 'Deeming:' opinion. +[4] 'Deir:' injure. +[5] 'Sark:' shift. +[6] 'Perfite:' perfect. +[7] 'Lesum:' lawful. +[8] 'Mailies:' eyelet-holes. +[9] 'Purfill'd:' fringed. +[10] 'Ilk:' each. +[11] 'Thole:' endure. +[12] 'Weet:': wet. +[13] 'Pansing:' thinking. +[14] 'Her hals-ribbon of ruth:' her neck-ribbon of pity. +[15] 'Sickerness:' firmness. +[16] 'Seill:' salvation. +[17] 'Set:' became. + + + + +WILLIAM DUNBAR + + +This was a man of the true and sovereign seed of genius. Sir Walter +Scott calls Dunbar 'a poet unrivalled by any--that Scotland has ever +produced.' We venture to call him the Dante of Scotland; nay, we +question if any English poet has surpassed 'The Dance of the Seven +Deadly Sins through Hell' in its peculiarly Dantesque qualities of +severe and purged grandeur; of deep sincerity, and in that air of moral +disappointment and sorrow, approaching despair, which distinguished the +sad-hearted lover of Beatrice, who might almost have exclaimed, with one +yet mightier than he in his misery and more miserable in his might, + + 'Where'er I am is Hell--myself am Hell.' + +Foster, in an entry in his journal, (we quote from memory,) says, 'I +have just seen the moon rising, and wish the impression to be eternal. +What a look she casts upon earth, like that of a celestial being who +loves our planet still, but has given up all hope of ever doing her any +good or seeing her become any better--so serene she seems in her settled +and unutterable sadness.' Such, we have often fancied, was the feeling +of the great Florentine toward the world, and which--pained, pitying, +yearning enthusiast that he was!--escaped irresistibly from those deep- +set eyes, that adamantine jaw, and that brow, wearing the laurel, proudly +yet painfully, as if it were a crown of everlasting fire! Dunbar was not +altogether a Dante, either in melancholy or in power, but his 'Dance' +reveals kindred moods, operating at times on a kindred genius. + +In Dante humour existed too, but ere it could come up from his deep +nature to the surface, it must freeze and stiffen into monumental scorn +--a laughter that seemed, while mocking at all things else, to mock at +its own mockery most of all. Aird speaks in his 'Demoniac,' of a smile +upon his hero's brow, + + 'Like the lightning of a hope about to DIE + For ever from the furrow'd brows of Hell's Eternity.' + +Dante's smile may rather be compared to the RISING of a false and self- +detected hope upon the lost brows where it is never to come to dawn, and +where, nevertheless, it remains for ever, like a smile carved upon +a sepulchre. Dunbar has a more joyous disposition than his Italian +prototype and master, and he indulges himself to the top of his bent, +but in a style (particularly in his 'Twa Married Women and the Widow,' +and in 'The Friars of Berwick,' which is not, however, quite certainly +his) too coarse and prurient for the taste of this age. + +'The Merle and the Nightingale' is one of the finest of Moelibean poems. +Beautiful is the contest between the two sweet singers as to whether the +love of man or the love of God be the nobler, and more beautiful still +their reconciliation, when + + 'Then sang they both with voices loud and clear, + The Merle sang, "Man, love God that has thee wrought." + The Nightingale sang, "Man, love the Lord most dear, + That thee and all this world made of nought." + The Merle said, "Love him that thy love has sought + From heaven to earth, and here took flesh and bone." + The Nightingale sang. "And with his death thee bought: + All love is lost, but upon him alone." + + _'Then flew these birds over the boughis sheen, + Singing of love among the leaves small.'_ + +William Dunbar is said to have been born about the year 1465. He +received his education at St Andrews, and took there the degree of M.A. +in 1479. He became then a friar of the Franciscan order, (Grey Friars,) +and in the exercise of his profession seems to have rambled over all +Scotland, England, and France, preaching, begging, and, according to his +own confession, cheating, lying, and cajoling. Yet if this kind of life +was not propitious, in his case, to morality, it must have been to the +development of the poetic faculty. It enabled him to see all varieties +of life and of scenery, although here and there, in his verses, you find +symptoms of that bitterness which is apt to arise in the heart of a +wanderer. He was subsequently employed by James IV. in some official +work connected with various foreign embassies, which led him to Spain, +Italy, and Germany, as well as England and France. This proves that he +was no less a man of business-capacity and habits than a poet. For these +services he, in 1500, received from the King a pension of ten pounds, +afterwards increased to twenty, and, in fine, to eighty. He is said to +have been employed in the negotiations preparatory to the marriage of +James with Margaret Tudor, daughter of Henry VII., which took place in +1503, and which our poet celebrated in his verses, 'The Thistle and the +Rose.' He continued ever afterwards in the Court, hovering in position +between a laureate and a court-fool, charming James with his witty +conversation as well as his verses, but refused the benefices for which +he petitioned, and gradually devoured by chagrin and disappointment. +Seldom has genius so great been placed in a falser position, and this +has given a querulous tinge to many of his poems. He seems to have died +about 1520. Even after his death, misfortune pursued him. His works +were, with the exception of two or three pieces, locked up in an obscure +MS. till the middle of last century. Since then, however, their fame has +been still increasing. In 1834, Mr David Laing, so favourably known as +one of our first antiquarians, published a complete and elaborate edition +of Dunbar's works; and in a newspaper this very day (May 23) we see another +edition announced, in a popular and modernised shape, of the poetry of this +great old Scottish _Makkar_. + + +THE DANCE OF THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS THROUGH HELL. + +I. + +Of Februar' the fifteenth night, +Full long before the dayis light, + I lay into a trance; +And then I saw both Heaven and Hell; +Methought among the fiendis fell, + Mahoun[1] gart[2] cry a Dance, +Of shrewis[3] that were never shrevin,[4] +Against the feast of Fastern's even, +To make their observance: +He bade gallants go graith[5] a guise,[6] +And cast up gamounts[7] in the skies, + As varlets do in France. + + +II. + * * * * * +Holy harlottis in hautane[8] wise, +Came in with many sundry guise, + But yet laugh'd never Mahoun, +Till priests came in with bare shaven necks, +Then all the fiends laugh'd and made gecks,[9] +Black-Belly and Bawsy-Broun.[10] + * * * * * + + +III. + +'Let's see,' quoth he, 'now who begins:' +With that the foul Seven Deadly Sins + Began to leap at anis.[11] +And first of all in dance was Pride, +With hair wyld[12] back, and bonnet on side, + Like to make wasty weanis;[13] +And round about him, as a wheel, +Hang all in rumples to the heel, + His kethat[14] for the nanis.[15] +Many proud trompour[16] with him tripped, +Through scalding fire aye as they skipped, + They girn'd[17] with hideous granis.[18] + + +IV. + +Then Ire came in with sturt[19] and strife, +His hand was aye upon his knife, + He brandish'd like a beir; +Boasters, braggers, and barganeris,[20] +After him passed into pairis,[21] + All bodin in feir of weir.[22] +In jackis, scripis, and bonnets of steel, +Their legs were chenyiet[23] to the heel, + Froward was their affeir,[24] +Some upon other with brands beft,[25] +Some jaggit[26] others to the heft[27] + With knives that sharp could shear. + + +V. + +Next in the dance follow'd Envy, +Fill'd full of feud and felony, + Hid malice and despite, +For privy hatred that traitor trembled; +Him follow'd many freik[28] dissembled, +With feigned wordis white. + And flatterers into men's faces, +And backbiters in secret places +To lie that had delight, + And rowneris[29] of false lesings;[30] +Alas, that courts of noble kings + Of them can never be quite![31] + + +VI. + +Next him in dance came Covetice, +Root of all evil and ground of vice, + That never could be content, +Caitiffs, wretches, and ockerars,[32] +Hood-pikes,[33] hoarders, and gatherers, + All with that warlock went. +Out of their throats they shot on other +Hot molten gold, methought, a fother,[34] + As fire-flaucht[35] most fervent; +Aye as they tumit[36] them of shot, +Fiends fill'd them new up to the throat + With gold of all kind prent.[37] + + +VII. + +Syne[38] Sweirness[39] at the second bidding +Came like a sow out of a midding,[40] + Full sleepy was his grunyie.[41] +Many sweir bumbard[42] belly-huddroun,[43] +Many slute daw[44] and sleepy duddroun,[45] + Him served aye with sounyie.[46] +He drew them forth into a chenyie,[47] +And Belial with a bridle-rennyie,[48] + Ever lash'd them on the lunyie.[49] +In dance they were so slow of feet +They gave them in the fire a heat, + And made them quicker of counyie.[50] + + +VIII. + +Then Lechery, that loathly corse, +Came bearing like a bagged horse,[51] + And Idleness did him lead; +There was with him an ugly sort[52] +And many stinking foul tramort,[53] + That had in sin been dead. +When they were enter'd in the dance, +They were full strange of countenance, + Like torches burning reid. + * * * * * + +IX. + +Then the foul monster Gluttony, +Of wame[54] insatiable and greedy, + To dance he did him dress; +Him followed many a foul drunkart +With can and collep, cop and quart,[55] + In surfeit and excess. +Full many a waistless wally-drag[56] +With wames unwieldable did forth drag, + In creish[57] that did incress; +Drink, aye they cried, with many a gape, +The fiends gave them hot lead to laip,[58] +Their leveray[59] was no less. + + +X. + * * * * * +No minstrels play'd to them but[60] doubt, +For gleemen there were holden out, + By day and eke by night, +Except a minstrel that slew a man; +So till his heritage he wan,[61] + And enter'd by brief of right. + * * * * * + +XI. + +Then cried Mahoun for a Highland padyane,[62] +Syne ran a fiend to fetch Mac Fadyane,[63] + Far northward in a nook, +By he the Correnoch had done shout,[64] +Ersch-men[65] so gather'd him about + In hell great room they took: +These termagants, with tag and tatter, +Full loud in Ersch began to clatter, + And roup[66] like raven and rook. +The devil so deaved[67] was with their yell, +That in the deepest pot of hell + He smored[68] them with smoke. + +[1] 'Mahoun:' the devil. +[2] 'Gart:' caused. +[3] 'Shrewis:' sinners. +[4] 'Shrevin:' confessed. +[5] 'Graith:' prepare. +[6] 'Guise:' masque. +[7] 'Gamounts:' dances. +[8] 'Hautane:' haughty. +[9] 'Gecks:' mocks. +[10] 'Black-Belly and Bawsy-Broun:' names of spirits. +[11] 'Anis:' once. +[12] 'Wyld:' combed. +[13] 'Wasty weanis:' wasteful children. +[14] 'Kethat:' cassock. +[15] 'Nanis:' nonce. +[16] 'Trompour:' impostor. +[17] 'Girn'd:' grinned. +[18] 'Granis:' groans. +[19] 'Sturt:' violence. +[20] 'Barganeris:' bullies. +[21] 'Into pairis:' in pairs. +[22] 'Bodin in feir of weir:' arrayed in trappings of war. +[23] 'Chenyiet:' covered with chain-mail. +[24] 'Affeir:' aspect. +[25] 'Beft:' struck. +[26] 'Jaggit:' stabbed. +[27] 'Heft:' hilt. +[28] 'Freik:' fellows. +[29] 'Rowneris:' whisperers. +[30] 'Lesings:' lies. +[31] 'Quite:' quit. +[32] 'Ockerars:' usurers. +[33] 'Hood-pikes:' misers. +[34] 'Fother:' quantity. +[35] 'Flaucht:' flake. +[36] 'Tumit:' emptied. +[37] 'Prent:' stamp. +[38] 'Syne:' then. +[39] 'Sweirness:' laziness. +[40] 'Midding:' dunghill. +[41] 'Grunyie:' grunt. +[42] 'Bumbard:' indolent. +[43] 'Belly-huddroun:' gluttonous sloven. +[44] 'Slute daw:' slovenly drab. +[45] 'Duddroun:' sloven. +[46] 'Sounyie:' care. +[47] 'Chenyie:' chain. +[48] 'Rennyie:' rein. +[49] 'Lunyie:' back. +[50] 'Counyie:' apprehension. +[51] 'Bagged horse:' stallion. +[52] 'Sort:' number. +[53] 'Tramort:' corpse. +[54] 'Wame:' belly. +[55] 'Can and collep, cop and quart:' different names of + drinking-vessels. +[56] 'Wally-drag:' sot. +[57] 'Creish:' grease. +[58] 'Laip:' lap. +[59] 'Leveray:' desire to drink. +[60] 'But:' without. +[61] 'Wan:' got. +[62] 'Padyane:' pageant. +[63] 'Mac Fadyane:' name of some Highland laird. +[64] 'By he the Correnoch had done shout:' by the time that he had + raised the Correnoch, or cry of help. +[65] 'Ersch-men:' Highlanders. +[66] 'Roup:' croak. +[67] 'Deaved:' deafened. +[68] 'Smored:' smothered. + + +THE MERLE AND NIGHTINGALE. + +In May, as that Aurora did upspring, +With crystal een[1] chasing the cluddes sable, +I heard a Merle[2] with merry notes sing +A song of love, with voice right comfortable, +Against the orient beamis, amiable, +Upon a blissful branch of laurel green; +This was her sentence, sweet and delectable, +'A lusty life in Love's service been.' + +Under this branch ran down a river bright, +Of balmy liquor, crystalline of hue, +Against the heavenly azure skyis light, +Where did upon the other side pursue +A Nightingale, with sugar'd notes new, +Whose angel feathers as the peacock shone; +This was her song, and of a sentence true, +'All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +With notes glad, and glorious harmony, +This joyful merle, so salust[3] she the day, +While rung the woodis of her melody, +Saying, 'Awake, ye lovers of this May; +Lo, fresh Flora has flourish'd every spray, +As nature, has her taught, the noble queen, +The fields be clothed in a new array; +A lusty life in Love's service been.' + +Ne'er sweeter noise was heard with living man, +Than made this merry gentle nightingale; +Her sound went with the river as it ran, +Out through the fresh and flourish'd lusty vale; +'O Merle!' quoth she, 'O fool! stint of thy tale, +For in thy song good sentence is there none, +For both is tint,[4] the time and the travail, +Of every love but upon God alone.' + +'Cease,' quoth the Merle, 'thy preaching, Nightingale: +Shall folk their youth spend into holiness? +Of young saintis, grow old fiendis, but[5] fable; +Fy, hypocrite, in yearis' tenderness, +Against the law of kind[6] thou goes express, +That crooked age makes one with youth serene, +Whom nature of conditions made diverse: +A lusty life in Love's service been.' + +The Nightingale said, 'Fool, remember thee, +That both in youth and eild,[7] and every hour, +The love of God most dear to man should be; +That him, of nought, wrought like his own figour, +And died himself, from death him to succour; +Oh, whether was kythit[8] there true love or none? +He is most true and steadfast paramour, +And love is lost but upon him alone.' + +The Merle said, 'Why put God so great beauty +In ladies, with such womanly having, +But if he would that they should loved be? +To love eke nature gave them inclining, +And He of nature that worker was and king, +Would nothing frustir[9] put, nor let be seen, +Into his creature of his own making; +A lusty life in Love's service been.' + +The Nightingale said, 'Not to that behoof +Put God such beauty in a lady's face, +That she should have the thank therefor or love, +But He, the worker, that put in her such grace; +Of beauty, bounty, riches, time, or space, +And every goodness that been to come or gone +The thank redounds to him in every place: +All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +'O Nightingale! it were a story nice, +That love should not depend on charity; +And, if that virtue contrar' be to vice, +Then love must be a virtue, as thinks me; +For, aye, to love envy must contrar' be: +God bade eke love thy neighbour from the spleen;[10] +And who than ladies sweeter neighbours be? +A lusty life in Love's service been.' + +The Nightingale said, 'Bird, why does thou rave? +Man may take in his lady such delight, +Him to forget that her such virtue gave, +And for his heaven receive her colour white: +Her golden tressed hairis redomite,[11] +Like to Apollo's beamis though they shone, +Should not him blind from love that is perfite; +All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +The Merle said, 'Love is cause of honour aye, +Love makis cowards manhood to purchase, +Love makis knightis hardy at essay, +Love makis wretches full of largeness, +Love makis sweir[12] folks full of business, +Love makis sluggards fresh and well beseen,[13] +Love changes vice in virtuous nobleness; +A lusty life in Love's service been.' + +The Nightingale said, 'True is the contrary; +Such frustis love it blindis men so far, +Into their minds it makis them to vary; +In false vain-glory they so drunken are, +Their wit is went, of woe they are not 'ware, +Till that all worship away be from them gone, +Fame, goods, and strength; wherefore well say I dare, +All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +Then said the Merle, 'Mine error I confess: +This frustis love is all but vanity: +Blind ignorance me gave such hardiness, +To argue so against the verity; +Wherefore I counsel every man that he +With love not in the fiendis net be tone,[14] +But love the love that did for his love die: +All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +Then sang they both with voices loud and clear, +The Merle sang, 'Man, love God that has thee wrought.' +The Nightingale sang, 'Man, love the Lord most dear, +That thee and all this world made of nought.' +The Merle said, 'Love him that thy love has sought +From heaven to earth, and here took flesh and bone.' +The Nightingale sang, 'And with his death thee bought: +All love is lost but upon him alone.' + +Then flew these birds over the boughis sheen, +Singing of love among the leaves small; +Whose eidant plead yet made my thoughtis grein,[15] +Both sleeping, waking, in rest and in travail; +Me to recomfort most it does avail, +Again for love, when love I can find none, +To think how sung this Merle and Nightingale; +'All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +[1] 'Een:' eyes. +[2] 'Merle:' blackbird. +[3] 'Salust:' saluted. +[4] 'Tint:' lost. +[5] 'But:' without. +[6] 'Kind:' nature. +[7] 'Eild:' age. +[8] 'Kythit:' shewn. +[9] 'Frustrir:' in vain. +[10] 'Spleen:' from the heart. +[11] 'Redomite:' bound, encircled. +[12] 'Sweir:' slothful. +[13] 'Well beseen:' of good appearance. +[14] 'Tone:' taken. +[15] 'Whose eidant plead yet made my thoughtis grein:' whose close + disputation made my thoughts yearn. + + + + +GAVIN DOUGLAS. + + +This eminent prelate was a younger son of Archibald, the fifth Earl of +Angus. He was born in Brechin about the year 1474. He studied at the +University of Paris. He became a churchman, and yet united with +attention to the duties of his calling great proficiency in polite +learning. In 1513 he finished a translation, into Scottish verse, of +Virgil's 'Aeneid,' which, considering the age, is an extraordinary +performance. It occupied him only sixteen months. The multitude of +obsolete terms, however, in which it abounds, renders it now, as a +whole, illegible. After passing through various subordinate offices, +such as the 'Provostship' of St Giles's, Edinburgh, and the 'Abbotship' +of Arbroath, he was at length appointed Bishop of Dunkeld. Dunkeld was +not then the paradise it has become, but Birnam hill and the other +mountains then, as now, stood round about it, the old Cathedral rose up +in mediaeval majesty, and the broad, smooth Tay flowed onward to the +ocean. And, doubtless, Douglas felt the poetic inspiration from it quite +as warmly as did Thomas Brown, when, three centuries afterwards, he set +up the staff of his summer rest at the beautiful Invar inn, and thence +delighted to diverge to the hundred scenes of enchantment which stretch +around. The good Bishop was an ardent politician as well as a poet, and +was driven, by his share in the troubles of the times, to flee from his +native land, and take refuge in the Court of Henry VIII. The King +received him kindly, and treated him with much liberality. In 1522 he +died at London of the plague, and was interred in the Savoy Church. +He was, according to Buchanan, about to proceed to Rome to vindicate +himself before the Pope against certain charges brought by his enemies. +Besides the translation of the 'Aeneid,' Douglas is the author of a long +poem entitled the 'Palace of Honour;' it is an allegory, describing +a large company making a pilgrimage to Honour's Palace. It bears +considerable resemblance to the 'Pilgrim's Progress,' and some suppose +that Bunyan had seen it before composing his allegory. 'King Hart' is +another production of our poet's, of considerable length and merit. It +gives, metaphorically, a view of human life. Perhaps his best pieces are +his 'Prologues,' affixed to each book of the 'Aeneid.' From them we have +selected 'Morning in May' as a specimen. The closing lines are fine. + + 'Welcome the lord of light, and lamp of day, + Welcome fosterer of tender herbis green, + Welcome quickener of flourish'd flowers sheen, + Welcome support of every root and vein, + Welcome comfort of all kind fruit and grain,' &c. + +Douglas must not be named with Dunbar in strength and grandeur of +genius. His power is more in expression than in conception, and hence +he has shone so much in translation. His version of the 'Aeneid' is the +first made of any classic into a British tongue, and is the worthy +progenitor of such minor miracles of poetical talent--all somewhat more +mechanical than inspired, and yet giving a real, though subordinate +glory to our literature-as Fairfax's 'Tasso,' Dryden's 'Virgil,' and +Pope's, Coper's, and Sotheby's 'Homer.' The fire in Douglas' original +verses is occasionally lost in smoke, and the meaning buried in flowery +verbiage. Still he was an honour alike to the Episcopal bench and the +Muse of Scotland. He was of amiable manners, gentle temperament, and a +noble and commanding appearance. + + +MORNING IN MAY. + +As fresh Aurore, to mighty Tithon spouse, +Ished of[1] her saffron bed and ivor' house, +In cram'sy clad and grained violate, +With sanguine cape, and selvage purpurate, +Unshet[2] the windows of her large hall, +Spread all with roses, and full of balm royal, +And eke the heavenly portis crystalline +Unwarps broad, the world to illumine; +The twinkling streamers of the orient +Shed purpour spraings,[3] with gold and azure ment;[4] +Eous, the steed, with ruby harness red, +Above the seas liftis forth his head, +Of colour sore,[5] and somedeal brown as berry, +For to alighten and glad our hemispery; +The flame out-bursten at the neisthirls,[6] +So fast Phaeton with the whip him whirls. * * +While shortly, with the blazing torch of day, +Abulyit[7] in his lemand[8] fresh array, +Forth of his palace royal ished Phoebus, +With golden crown and visage glorious, +Crisp hairs, bright as chrysolite or topaz; +For whose hue might none behold his face. * * +The aureate vanes of his throne soverain +With glittering glance o'erspread the oceane; +The large floodes, lemand all of light, +But with one blink of his supernal sight. +For to behold, it was a glore to see +The stabled windis, and the calmed sea, +The soft season, the firmament serene, +The loune[9] illuminate air and firth amene. * * +And lusty Flora did her bloomis spread +Under the feet of Phoebus' sulyart[10] steed; +The swarded soil embrode with selcouth[11] hues, +Wood and forest, obumbrate with bews.[12] * * +Towers, turrets, kirnals,[13] and pinnacles high, +Of kirks, castles, and ilk fair city, +Stood painted, every fane, phiol,[14] and stage,[15] +Upon the plain ground by their own umbrage. +Of Aeolus' north blasts having no dreid, +The soil spread her broad bosom on-breid; +The corn crops and the beir new-braird +With gladsome garment revesting the yerd.[16] * * +The prai[17] besprent with springing sprouts disperse +For caller humours[18] on the dewy night +Rendering some place the gerse-piles[19] their light; +As far as cattle the lang summer's day +Had in their pasture eat and nip away; +And blissful blossoms in the bloomed yerd, +Submit their heads to the young sun's safeguard. +Ivy-leaves rank o'erspread the barmkin wall; +The bloomed hawthorn clad his pikis all; +Forth of fresh bourgeons[20] the wine grapes ying[21] +Endlong the trellis did on twistis hing; +The loukit buttons on the gemmed trees +O'erspreading leaves of nature's tapestries; +Soft grassy verdure after balmy showers, +On curling stalkis smiling to their flowers. * * +The daisy did on-breid her crownal small, +And every flower unlapped in the dale. * * +Sere downis small on dentilion sprang. +The young green bloomed strawberry leaves amang; +Jimp jeryflowers thereon leaves unshet, +Fresh primrose and the purpour violet; * * +Heavenly lilies, with lockerand toppis white, +Open'd and shew their crestis redemite. * * +A paradise it seemed to draw near +These galyard gardens and each green herbere. +Most amiable wax the emerald meads; +Swarmis soughis throughout the respand reeds, +Over the lochis and the floodis gray, +Searching by kind a place where they should lay. +Phoebus' red fowl,[22] his cural crest can steer, +Oft stretching forth his heckle, crowing clear. +Amid the wortis and the rootis gent +Picking his meat in alleys where he went, +His wives Toppa and Partolet him by-- +A bird all-time that hauntis bigamy. +The painted powne[23] pacing with plumes gym, +Cast up his tail a proud pleasand wheel-rim, +Yshrouded in his feathering bright and sheen, +Shaping the print of Argus' hundred een. +Among the bowis of the olive twists, +Sere[24] small fowls, working crafty nests, +Endlong the hedges thick, and on rank aiks[25] +Ilk bird rejoicing with their mirthful makes. +In corners and clear fenestres[26] of glass, +Full busily Arachne weaving was, +To knit her nettis and her webbis sly, +Therewith to catch the little midge or fly. +So dusty powder upstours[27] in every street, +While corby gasped for the fervent heat. +Under the boughis bene[28] in lovely vales, +Within fermance and parkis close of pales, +The busteous buckis rakis forth on raw, +Herdis of hartis through the thick wood-shaw. +The young fawns following the dun does, +Kids, skipping through, runnis after roes. +In leisurs and on leais, little lambs +Full tait and trig sought bleating to their dams. +On salt streams wolk[29] Dorida and Thetis, +By running strandis, Nymphis and Naiadis, +Such as we clepe wenches and damasels, +In gersy[30] groves wandering by spring wells; +Of bloomed branches and flowers white and red, +Platting their lusty chaplets for their head. +Some sang ring-songes, dances, leids,[31] and rounds. +With voices shrill, while all thel dale resounds. +Whereso they walk into their carolling, +For amorous lays does all the rockis ring. +One sang, 'The ship sails over the salt faem, +Will bring the merchants and my leman hame.' +Some other sings, 'I will be blithe and light, +My heart is lent upon so goodly wight.'[32] +And thoughtful lovers rounis[33] to and fro, +To leis[34] their pain, and plain their jolly woe; +After their guise, now singing, now in sorrow, +With heartis pensive the long summer's morrow. +Some ballads list indite of his lady; +Some lives in hope; and some all utterly +Despaired is, and so quite out of grace, +His purgatory he finds in every place. * * +Dame Nature's minstrels, on that other part, +Their blissful lay intoning every art, * * +And all small fowlis singis on the spray, +Welcome the lord of light, and lamp of day, +Welcome fosterer of tender herbis green, +Welcome quickener of flourish'd flowers sheen, +Welcome support of every root and vein, +Welcome comfort of all kind fruit and grain, +Welcome the birdis' bield[35] upon the brier, +Welcome master and ruler of the year, +Welcome welfare of husbands at the ploughs, +Welcome repairer of woods, trees, and boughs, +Welcome depainter of the bloomed meads, +Welcome the life of every thing that spreads, +Welcome storer of all kind bestial, +Welcome be thy bright beamis, gladding all. * * + +[1] 'Ished of:' issued from. +[2] 'Unshet:' opened. +[3] 'Spraings:' streaks. +[4] 'Ment:' mingled. +[5] 'Sore:' yellowish brown. +[6] 'Neisthirls:' nostrils. +[7] 'Abulyit:' attired. +[8] 'Lemand:' glittering. +[9] 'Loune:' calm. +[10] 'Sulyart:' sultry. +[11] 'Selcouth:' uncommon. +[12] 'Bews:' boughs. +[13] 'Kirnals:' battlements. +[14] 'Phiol:' cupola. +[15] 'Stage:' storey. +[16] 'Yerd:' earth. +[17] 'Prai:' meadow. +[18] 'Caller humours:' cool vapours. +[19] 'Gerse:' grass. +[20] 'Bourgeons:' sprouts. +[21] 'Ying:' young. +[22] 'Red fowl:' the cook. +[23] 'Powne:' the peacock. +[24] 'Sere:' many. +[25] 'Aiks:' oaks. +[26] 'Fenestres:' windows. +[27] 'Upstours:' rises in clouds. +[28] 'Bene:' snug. +[29] 'Wolk:' walked. +[30] 'Gersy:' grassy. +[31] 'Leids:' lays. +[32] Songs then popular. +[33] 'Rounis:' whisper. +[34] 'Leis:' relieve. +[35] 'Bield:' shelter. + + + + +HAWES, BARCLAY, &c. + + +Stephen Hawes, a native of Suffolk, wrote about the close of the +fifteenth century. He studied at Oxford, and travelled much in France, +where he became a master of French and Italian poetry. King Henry VII., +struck with his conversation and the readiness with which he repeated +old English poets, especially Lydgate, created him groom of the privy +chamber. Hawes has written a number of poems, such as 'The Temple of +Glasse,' 'The Conversion of Swearers,' 'The Consolation of Lovers,' 'The +Pastime of Pleasure,' &c. Those who wish to see specimens of the strange +allegories and curious devices of thought in which it abounds, may find +them in Warton's 'History of English Poetry.' + +In that same valuable work we find an account of Alexander Barclay, author +of 'The Ship of Fools.' He was educated at Oriel College in Oxford, and +after travelling abroad, was appointed one of the priests or prebendaries +of the College of St Mary Ottery, in Devonshire--a parish famous in later +days for the birth of Coleridge. Barclay became afterwards a Benedictine +monk of Ely monastery; and at length a brother of the Order of St Francis, +at Canterbury. He died, a very old man, at Croydon, in Surrey, in the year +1552. His principal work, 'The Ship of Fools,' is a satire upon the vices +and absurdities of his age, and shews considerable wit and power of +sarcasm. + + + + +SKELTON. + + +John Skelton is the name of the next poet. He flourished in the earlier +part of the reign of Henry VIII. Having studied both at Oxford and +Cambridge, and been laureated at the former university in 1489, he was +promoted to the rectory of Diss or Dysse, in Norfolk. Some say he had +acted previously as tutor to Henry VIII. At Dysse he attracted attention +by satirical ballads against the mendicants, as well as by licences of +buffoonery in the pulpit. For these he was censured, and even, it is +said, suspended, by Nykke, Bishop of Norwich. Undaunted by this, he flew +at higher game--ventured to ridicule Cardinal Wolsey, then in his power, +and had to take refuge from the myrmidons of the prelate in Westminster +Abbey. There Abbot Islip kindly entertained and protected him till his +dying day. He breathed his last in the year 1529, and was buried in the +adjacent church of St Margaret's. + +Skelton as well as Barclay enjoyed considerable popularity in his own +age. Erasmus calls him 'Britannicarum literarum lumen et decus!' How +dark must have been the night in which such a Will-o'-wisp was mistaken +for a star! He has wit, indeed, and satirical observation; but his wit +is wilder than it is strong, and his satire is dashed with personality +and obscenity. His style, Campbell observes, is 'almost a texture of +slang phrases, patched with shreds of French and Latin.' His verses on +Margaret Hussey, which we have quoted, are in his happiest vein. The +following lines, too, on Cardinal Wolsey, are as true as they are +terse:-- + + 'Then in the Chamber of Stars + All matter there he mars. + Clapping his rod on the board, + No man dare speak a word. + For he hath all the saying, + Without any renaying. + He rolleth in his records; + He sayeth, How say ye, my Lords? + Is not my reason good? + Good even, good Robin Hood. + Some say, Yes; and some + Sit still, as they were dumb.' + +It is curious that Wolsey's enemies, in one of their charges against him +in the Parliament of 1529, have repeated, almost in the words of Skelton, +the same accusation. + + + TO MISTRESS MARGARET HUSSEY. + + Merry Margaret, + As midsummer flower, + Gentle as falcon, + Or hawk of the tower; + With solace and gladness, + Much mirth and no madness, + All good and no badness; + So joyously, + So maidenly, + So womanly, + Her demeaning, + In everything, + Far, far passing, + That I can indite, + Or suffice to write, + Of merry Margaret, + As midsummer flower, + Gentle as falcon, + Or hawk of the tower; + As patient and as still, + And as full of good-will, + As fair Isiphil, + Coliander, + Sweet Pomander, + Good Cassander; + Steadfast of thought, + Well made, well wrought. + Far may be sought, + Ere you can find + So courteous, so kind, + As merry Margaret, + This midsummer flower, + Gentle as falcon, + Or hawk of the tower. + + + + +SIR DAVID LYNDSAY. + + +Returning to Scotland, we find a Skelton of a higher order and a +brawnier make in Sir David Lyndsay, or, as our forefathers were wont +familiarly to denominate him, 'Davie Lyndsay.' Lyndsay was descended +from a noble family, a younger branch of Lyndsay of the Byres, and born +in 1490, probably at the Mount, the family-seat, near Cupar-Fife. He +entered the University of St Andrews in the year 1505, and four years +later left it to travel in Italy. He must, however, have returned to +Scotland before the 12th of October 1511, since we learn from the +records of the Lord Treasurer that he was presented with a quantity of +'blue and yellow taffety to be a playcoat for the play performed in the +King and Queen's presence in the Abbey of Holyrood.' On the 12th of +April 1512, Lyndsay, then twenty-two years of age, was appointed +gentleman-usher to James V., who had been born that very day. In his +poem called 'The Dream,' he reminds the King of his having borne him +in his arms ere he could walk; of having wrapped him up warmly in his +little bed; of having sung to him with his lute, danced before him to +make him laugh, and having carried him on his shoulders like a 'pedlar +his pack.' He continued to be page and companion to the King till 1524, +when, in consequence of the unprincipled machinations of the Queen- +mother--who was acting as Regent--he, as well as Bellenden, the learned +translator of Livy and Boece, was ejected from his office. When, however, +in 1528, the young King, by a noble effort, emancipated himself from the +thraldom of his mother and the Douglasses, Lyndsay wrote his 'Dream,' in +which, amidst much poetic or fantastic matter, he congratulates James on +his deliverance; reminds him, as aforesaid, of his early services; and +takes occasion to paint the evils the country had endured during his +minority, and to give him some bold and salutary advice as to his future +conduct. The next year (1529) he produced 'The Complaint,' a poem in +which he recurs to former themes, and remonstrates with great freedom +and severity against the treatment he had undergone. Here, too, the +religious reformer peeps out. He exhorts the King to compel the clergy +to attend to the duties of their office; to preach more earnestly; to +administer the sacraments according to the institution of Christ; and not +to deceive their people with superstitious pilgrimages, vain traditions, +and prayers to graven images, contrary to the written command of God. He +with quaint iron says, that if his Grace will lend him + + 'Of gold ane thousand pound or tway,' + +he will give him a sealed bond, obliging himself to repay the loan when +the Bass and the Isle of May are set upon Mount Sinai; or the Lomond +hills, near Falkland, are removed to Northumberland; or + + 'When kirkmen yairnis [desire] na dignity, + Nor wives na soveranitie.' + +Still finer the last lines of the poem. 'If not,' he says, 'my God + + 'Shall cause me stand content + With quiet life and sober rent, + And take me, in my latter age, + Unto my simple hermitage, + To spend the gear my elders won, + As did Diogenes in his tun.' + +This 'Complaint' proved successful, and in the next year (1530) Lyndsay +was appointed Lion King-at-Arms--an office of great dignity in these +days. The Lion was the chief judge of all matters connected with +heraldry in the realm; was also the official ambassador from his +sovereign to foreign countries; and was inaugurated in his office with +a pomp and circumstance little inferior to those of a royal coronation, +the King crowning him with his own hands, anointing him with wine +instead of oil, and putting on his head the Royal Crown of Scotland, +which he continued to wear till the close of the feast. It is of Lyndsay +in the full accoutrements of this office that Sir Walter Scott speaks in +his 'Marmion,' although he antedates by sixteen years the time when he +assumed it:-- + + 'He was a man of middle age, + In aspect manly, grave, and sage, + As on king's errand come; + But in the glances of his eye, + A penetrating, keen, and sly + Expression found its home-- + The flash of that satiric rage + Which, bursting on the early stage, + Branded the vices of the age, + And broke the keys of Rome. + On milk-white palfrey forth he paced; + His cap of maintenance was graced + With the proud heron-plume; + From his steed's shoulder, loin, and breast + Silk housings swept the ground, + With Scotland's arms, device, and crest + Embroider'd round and round. + The double treasure might you see, + First by Achaius borne, + The thistle and the fleur-de-lis, + And gallant unicorn. + So bright the king's armorial coat, + That scarce the dazzled eye could note; + In living colours, blazon'd brave, + The lion, which his title gave. + A train which well beseem'd his state, + But all unarm'd, around him wait; + Still is thy name in high account, + And still thy verse has charms, + Sir David Lyndsay of the Mount, + Lord Lion King-at-Arms.' + +Soon after this appointment, Lyndsay wrote 'The Complaint of the King's +Papingo,' in which, through the mouth of a dying parrot, he gives some +sharp counsel to the king, his courtiers and nobles, and administers +severe satirical chastisement to the corruptions of the clergy. It is an +exceedingly clever production, and has some beautiful poetry as well as +stinging sarcasm. Take the following address to Edinburgh, Stirling, +Linlithgow, and Falkland:-- + + Adieu, Edinburgh! thou high triumphant town, + Within whose bounds right blitheful have I been; + Of true merchandis, the rule of this region, + Most ready to receive court, king, and queen; + Thy policy and justice may be seen; + Were devotion, wisdom, and honesty, + And credence tint, they micht be found in thee. + + Adieu, fair Snawdoun! [Stirling] with thy towers hie, + Thy chapel-royal, park, and table round; + May, June, and July would I dwell in thee, + Were I a man to hear the birdis sound, + Which doth against the royal rock rebound. + Adieu, Lithgow! whose palace of pleasance + Meets not its peer in Portingale or France. + + Farewell, Falkland! the forteress of Fife, + Thy velvet park under the Lomond Law; + Sometime in thee I led a lusty life. + The fallow deer to see them raik on raw [walk in a row], + Caust men to come to thee, they have great awe, &c. + +In the year 1535, Lyndsay wrote his remarkable drama, 'The Satire of the +Three Estates'--Monarch, namely, Barons, and Clergy. It is made up in +nearly three equal parts of ingenuity, wit, and grossness. It is a drama, +and was acted several times--first, in 1535, at Cupar-Fife, on a large +green mound called Moot-hill; then, in 1539, in an open park near +Linlithgow, by the express desire of the king, who with all the ladies +of the Court attended the representation; then in the amphitheatre of +St Johnston in Perth; and in 1554, at Edinburgh, in the village of +Greenside, which skirted the northern base of the Calton Hill, in the +presence of the Queen Regent and an enormous concourse of spectators. +Its exhibition appears to have occupied nearly the whole day. In the +'Pictorial History of Scotland,' chapter xxiv., our readers will find a +full and able analysis with extracts of this extraordinary performance. +It is said to have done much good in opening the eyes of the people to +the evils of the Papacy, and in paving the way for the Reformation. + +In 1536 Sir David, in company with Sir John Campbell of Lundie, was sent +to the Court of France to demand in marriage for James V. a daughter of +the House of Vendome; but the King chose rather to take the matter in +his own hands, and, going over in person, wedded Magdalene, daughter of +Francis. She died two months after her arrival in Scotland, universally +regretted; and Lyndsay made the sad event the subject of a poem, +entitled 'Deploration of the Death of Queen Magdalene,' whom he +designates + + 'The flower of France, and comfort of Scotland.' + +When James subsequently married Mary of Guise, Sir David's ingenuity was +strained to the utmost in providing pageants, masques, and shows to +welcome her Majesty. For forty days in St Andrews, festivities continued; +and it was during this prolonged festival that the Lion King, as if sick +and satiated with vanities, wrote two poems, one entitled 'The Justing +between James Watson and John Barbour,' a dull satire on tournaments, &c., +and the other a somewhat cleverer piece, entitled 'Supplication directed +to the King's Grace in Contemptioun of Side Tails,' the long trains then +worn by the ladies. It met, we presume,with the fate of _Punch's_ sarcasms +against crinoline,--the 'phylacteries' would for a season, instead of +being lessened, be enlarged, till Fashion lifted up her omnipotent rod, +and told it to be otherwise. + +King James died prematurely on the 14th of December 1542, and Lyndsay +closed his eyes at Falkland, and mourned for him as a brother. From that +day forth he probably felt that there was 'less sunshine in the sky for +him.' In the troublous times which succeeded this, he had to retire for +a season from the Court, having become obnoxious to the rigid Papists on +account of his writings. After the death of Cardinal Beatoun he wrote +the tragedy of 'The Cardinal,' a poem in which the spectre of the +Cardinal is the spokesman, and which teems with good advice to all and +sundry. The execution, however, is not so felicitous as the plan. In +1548 Lyndsay went to Denmark to negotiate a free trade with Scotland. On +his return in 1550 he wrote his very pleasing and chivalric 'History of +Squire Meldrum,' founded on the actual adventures of William Meldrum, +the Laird of Cleish and Binns, a distinguished friend of the poet, who +had gained laurels as a warrior both in Scotland and in France. This +poem is, in a measure, an anticipation of the rhymed romances of Scott, +and is full of picturesque description and spirit-stirring adventure. In +1553 he completed his last and most elaborate work, which had occupied +him for years, entitled 'The Monarchic,' containing an account of the +most famous monarchies which have existed on earth, and carrying on the +history to the general judgment. From this date we almost entirely lose +sight of our poet. He seems to have retired into private life, and is +supposed to have died about the close of 1557. He was probably buried in +the family vault at Ceres, but no stone marks the spot. Dying without +issue, his estates passed to his brother Alexander, and were continued +in the possession of his descendants till the middle of last century. +They now belong to the Hopes of Rankeillour. The office of Lord Lion was +held by two of the poet's relatives successively--Sir David, his +nephew, who became Lion King in 1591, and his son-in-law, Sir Jerome +Lyndsay, who succeeded to it in 1621. + +Sir David Lyndsay, unlike most satirists, was a good, a blameless, and a +religious man. The occasional loftiness of his poetic vein, the breadth +of his humour, the purity of his purpose, and his strong reforming zeal +combined to make his poetry exceedingly popular in Scotland for a number +of ages, particularly among the lower orders. Scott introduces Andrew +Fairservice, in 'Rob Roy,' saying, in reference to Francis Osbaldistone's +poetical efforts, 'Gude help him! twa lines o' Davie Lyndsay wad ding a' +he ever clerkit,' and even still there are districts of the country where +his name is a household word. + + +MELDRUM'S DUEL WITH THE ENGLISH CHAMPION TALBART. + +Then clarions and trumpets blew, +And warriors many hither drew; +On every side came many man +To behold who the battle wan. +The field was in the meadow green, +Where every man might well be seen: +The heralds put them so in order, +That no man pass'd within the border, +Nor press'd to come within the green, +But heralds and the champions keen; +The order and the circumstance +Were long to put in remembrance. +When these two noble men of weir +Were well accoutred in their geir, +And in their handis strong burdouns,[1] +Then trumpets blew and clariouns, +And heralds cried high on height, +'Now let them go--God show the right.' + + * * * * * + +Then trumpets blew triumphantly, +And these two champions eagerly, +They spurr'd their horse with spear on breast, +Pertly[2] to prove their pith they press'd. +That round rink-room[3] was at utterance, +But Talbart's horse with a mischance +He outterit,[4] and to run was loth; +Whereof Talbart was wonder wroth. +The Squier forth his rink[5] he ran, +Commended well with every man, +And him discharged of his spear +Honestly, like a man of weir. + + * * * * * + +The trenchour[6] of the Squier's spear +Stuck still into Sir Talbart's geir; +Then every man into that stead[7] +Did all believe that he was dead. +The Squier leap'd right hastily +From his courser deliverly,[8] +And to Sir Talbart made support, +And humillie[9] did him comfort. +When Talbart saw into his shield +An otter in a silver field, +'This race,' said he, 'I sore may rue, +For I see well my dream was true; +Methought yon otter gart[10] me bleed, +And bore me backward from my steed; +But here I vow to God soverain, +That I shall never joust again.' +And sweetly to the Squier said, +'Thou know'st the cunning[11] that we made, +Which of us two should tyne[12] the field, +He should both horse and armour yield +To him that won, wherefore I will +My horse and harness give thee till.' +Then said the Squier, courteously, +'Brother, I thank you heartfully; +Of you, forsooth, nothing I crave, +For I have gotten that I would have.' + +[1] 'Burdouns:' spears. +[2] 'Pertly:' boldly. +[3] 'Rink-room:' course-room. +[4] 'Outterit:' swerved. +[5] 'Kink:' course. +[6] 'Trencliour:' head. +[7] 'Stead:' place. +[8] 'Deliverly:' actively. +[9] 'Humillie:' humbly. +[10] 'Gart:' made. +[11] 'Cunning:' agreement. +[12] 'Tyne:' lose. + + +SUPPLICATION IN CONTEMPTION OF SIDE TAILS,[1] (1538.) + +Sovereign, I mene[2] of these side tails, +Whilk through the dust and dubbes trails, +Three quarters lang behind their heels, +Express against all commonweals. +Though bishops, in their pontificals, +Have men for to bear up their tails, +For dignity of their office; +Right so a queen or an emprice; +Howbeit they use such gravity, +Conforming to their majesty, +Though their robe-royals be upborne, +I think it is a very scorn, +That every lady of the land +Should have her tail so side trailand; +Howbeit they be of high estate, +The queen they should not counterfeit. + +Wherever they go it may be seen +How kirk and causey they sweep clean. +The images into the kirk +May think of their side tailes irk;[3] +For when the weather be most fair, +The dust flies highest into the air, +And all their faces does begary, +If they could speak, they would them wary. * * +But I have most into despite +Poor claggocks[4] clad in raploch[5] white, +Whilk has scant two merks for their fees, +Will have two ells beneath their knees. +Kittock that cleckit[6] was yestreen, +The morn will counterfeit the queen. * * +In barn nor byre she will not bide, +Without her kirtle tail be side. +In burghs, wanton burgess wives +Who may have sidest tailes strives, +Well bordered with velvet fine, +But following them it is a pine: +In summer, when the streetes dries, +They raise the dust above the skies; +None may go near them at their ease, +Without they cover mouth and neese. * * +I think most pain after a rain, +To see them tucked up again; +Then when they step forth through the street, +Their faldings flaps about their feet; +They waste more cloth, within few years, +Nor would cleid[7] fifty score of freirs. * * +Of tails I will no more indite, +For dread some duddron[8] me despite: +Notwithstanding, I will conclude, +That of side tails can come no good, +Sider nor[9] may their ankles hide, +The remanent proceeds of pride, +And pride proceedis of the devil; +Thus alway they proceed of evil. + +Another fault, Sir, may be seen, +They hide their face all but the een; +When gentlemen bid them good-day, +Without reverence they slide away. * * +Without their faults be soon amended, +My flyting,[10] Sir, shall never be ended; +But would your grace my counsel take, +A proclamation ye should make, +Both through the land and burrowstowns, +To show their face and cut their gowns. +Women will say, This is no bourds,[11] +To write such vile and filthy words; +But would they cleanse their filthy tails, +Whilk over the mires and middings[12] trails, +Then should my writing cleansed be, +None other' mends they get of me. + +Quoth Lyndsay, in contempt of the side tails, +That duddrons[13] and duntibours[14] through the dubbes trails. + +[1] 'Side tails:' long skirts. +[2] 'Mene:' complain. +[3] 'Irk:' May feel annoyed. +[4] 'Claggocks:' draggle-tails. +[5] 'Raploch:' homespun. +[6] 'Cleckit:' born. +[7] 'Cleid:' clothe. +[8] 'Duddron:' slut. +[9] 'Nor:' than. +[10] 'Flyting:' scolding. +[11] 'Bourds:' jest. +[12] 'Middings:' dunghills. +[13] 'Duddrons:' sluts. +[14] 'Duntibours:' harlots. + + + + +THOMAS TUSSER. + + +Of Tusser we know only that he was horn in the year 1523, was well +educated, commenced life as a courtier under the patronage of Lord +Paget, but became a farmer, pursuing agriculture at Ratwood in Sussex, +Ipswich, Fairsted in Essex, Norwich, and other places; that he was not +successful, and had to betake himself to other occupations, such as +those of a chorister, fiddler, &c.; and that, finally, he died a poor +man in London in the year 1580. Tusser has left only one work, published +in 1557, entitled 'A Hundred Good Points of Husbandrie,' written in +simple but sometimes strong verse. It is our first, and not our worst +didactic poem. + + +DIRECTIONS FOR CULTIVATING A HOP-GARDEN. + +Whom fancy persuadeth, among other crops, +To have for his spending sufficient of hops, +Must willingly follow, of choices to choose, +Such lessons approved as skilful do use. + +Ground gravelly, sandy, and mixed with clay, +Is naughty for hops, any manner of way. +Or if it be mingled with rubbish and stone, +For dryness and barrenness let it alone. + +Choose soil for the hop of the rottenest mould, +Well dunged and wrought, as a garden-plot should; +Not far from the water, but not overflown, +This lesson, well noted, is meet to be known. + +The sun in the south, or else southly and west, +Is joy to the hop, as a welcomed guest; +But wind in the north, or else northerly east, +To the hop is as ill as a fray in a feast. + +Meet plot for a hop-yard once found as is told, +Make thereof account, as of jewel of gold; +Now dig it, and leave it, the sun for to burn, +And afterwards fence it, to serve for that turn. + +The hop for his profit I thus do exalt, +It strengtheneth drink, and it favoureth malt; +And being well brew'd, long kept it will last, +And drawing abide--if ye draw not too fast. + + +HOUSEWIFELY PHYSIC. + +Good housewife provides, ere a sickness do come, +Of sundry good things in her house to have some. +Good _aqua composita_, and vinegar tart, +Rose-water, and treacle, to comfort thine heart. +Cold herbs in her garden, for agues that burn, +That over-strong heat to good temper may turn. +White endive, and succory, with spinach enow; +All such with good pot-herbs, should follow the plough. +Get water of fumitory, liver to cool, +And others the like, or else lie like a fool. +Conserves of barbary, quinces, and such, +With sirops, that easeth the sickly so much. +Ask _Medicus'_ counsel, ere medicine ye take, +And honour that man for necessity's sake. +Though thousands hate physic, because of the cost, +Yet thousands it helpeth, that else should be lost. +Good broth, and good keeping, do much now and than: +Good diet, with wisdom, best comforteth man. +In health, to be stirring shall profit thee best; +In sickness, hate trouble; seek quiet and rest. +Remember thy soul; let no fancy prevail; +Make ready to God-ward; let faith never quail: +The sooner thyself thou submittest to God, +The sooner he ceaseth to scourge with his rod. + + +MORAL REFLECTIONS ON THE WIND. + +Though winds do rage, as winds were wood,[1] +And cause spring-tides to raise great flood; +And lofty ships leave anchor in mud, +Bereaving many of life and of blood: +Yet, true it is, as cow chews cud, +And trees, at spring, doth yield forth bud, +Except wind stands as never it stood, +It is an ill wind turns none to good. + +[1] 'Wood:' mad. + + + + +VAUX, EDWARDS, &c. + + +In Tottell's 'Miscellany,' the first of the sort in the English language, +published in 1557, although the names of many of the authors are not +given, the following writers are understood to have contributed:--Sir +Francis Bryan, a friend of Wyatt's, one of the principal ornaments of the +Court of Henry VIII., and who died, in 1548, Chief Justiciary of Ireland; +George Boleyn, Earl of Rochford, the amiable brother of the famous Anne +Boleyn, and who fell a victim to the insane jealousy of Henry, being +beheaded in 1536; and Lord Thomas Vaux, son of Nicholas Vaux, who died +in the latter end of Queen Mary's reign. In the same Miscellany is found +'Phillide and Harpalus,' the 'first true pastoral,' says Warton, 'in the +English language,' (see 'Specimens.') To it are annexed, too, a +collection of 'Songes, written by N. G.,' which means Nicholas Grimoald, +an Oxford man, renowned for his rhetorical lectures in Christ Church, +and for being, after Surrey, our first writer of blank verse, in the +modulation of which he excelled even Surrey. Henry himself, who was an +expert musician, is said also to have composed a book of sonnets and one +madrigal in praise of Anne Boleyn. In the same reign occur the names of +Borde, Bale, Bryan, Annesley, John Rastell, Wilfred Holme, and Charles +Bansley, all writers of minor and forgotten poems. John Heywood, called +the Epigrammatist, was of a somewhat higher order. He was the favourite +of Sir Thomas More and the pensioner of Henry VIII. He gained favour +partly through his conversational humour, and partly through his writings. +He is the author of various comedies; of six hundred epigrams, most of +them very poor; of a dialogue, in verse, containing all the proverbs then +afloat in the language; of an apologue, entitled 'The Spider and the Fly,' +&c. Heywood, who was a rigid Papist, left the kingdom after the decease +of Queen Mary, and died at Mechlin, in Brabant, in 1565. Warton has +preserved some specimens of Sir Thomas More's poetry, which do not add +much to our conception of his genius. In 1542, one Robert Vaughan wrote +an alliterative poem, entitled 'The Falcon and the Pie.' In 1521, 'The +Not-browne Maid,' (given by us in 'Percy's Reliques,') appeared in a +curious collection, called 'Arnolde's Chronicle, or Customs of London.' +In the same year Wynkyn de Worde printed a set of 'Christmas Carols,' and +in 1529 'A Treatise of Merlin, or his Prophecies in Verse.' In Henry's +days, too, there commences the long line of translators of the Psalms +into English metre, commencing with Thomas Sternhold, groom of the robes +to the King, who versified fifty-one psalms, which were published in 1549, +and with John Hopkins, a clergyman and schoolmaster in Suffolk, who added +fifty-eight more, and progressing with Whyttingham, Thomas Norton, (the +joint author, along with Lord Buckhurst, of the curious old tragedy of +'Gorboduc,') Robert Wisdome, William Hunnis, William Baldwyn, Parker, the +scholarly and celebrated Archbishop of Canterbury, &c. &c. Parker trans- +lated all the Psalms himself; and John Day published in 1562, and attached +to the Book of Common Prayer, the whole of Sternhold and Hopkins' 'Psalms, +with apt notes to sing them withall.' In Edward's reign appeared a very +different strain--the first drinking-song of merit in the language, 'Back +and sides go bare'--(see 'Specimens,' vol. 2.) This song occurs at the +opening of the second act of 'Gammer Gurton's Needle,' a comedy written +(by a 'Mr S.') and printed in 1551, and afterwards acted at Christ's +College in Cambridge. + +In the reign of Mary, flourished Richard Edwards, a man of no small +versatility of genius. He was a native of Somersetshire, was born about +1523, and died in 1566. He wrote two comedies, one entitled 'Damon and +Pythias,' and the other 'Palamon and Arcite,' both of which were acted +before Queen Elizabeth. He also contrived masques and wrote verses for +pageants, and is said to have been the first fiddler, the most elegant +sonnetteer, and the most amusing mimic of the Court. He is the author of +a pleasing poem, entitled 'Amantium irae,' and of some lines under the +title, 'He requesteth some friendly comfort, affirming his constancy.' +We quote a few of them:-- + + 'The mountains nigh, whose lofty tops do meet the haughty sky, + The craggy rock, that to the sea free passage doth deny, + The aged oak, that doth resist the force of blust'ring blast, + The pleasant herb, that everywhere a pleasant smell doth cast, + The lion's force, whose courage stout declares a prince-like might, + The eagle, that for worthiness is borne of kings in fight-- + Then these, I say, and thousands more, by tract of time decay, + And, like to time, do quite consume and fade from form to clay; + But my true heart and service vow'd shall last time out of mind, + And still remain, as thine by doom, as Cupid hath assign'd.' + +Edwards also contributed some beautiful things to the well-known old +collection, 'The Paradise of Dainty Devices.' + + + + +GEORGE GASCOIGNE. + + +Gascoigne was born in 1540, in Essex, of an ancient family. He was +educated at Cambridge, and entered at Gray's Inn, but was disinherited +by his father for extravagance, and betook himself to Holland, where +he obtained a commission from the Prince of Orange. After various +vicissitudes of fortune, being at one time taken prisoner by the +Spaniards, and at another receiving a reward from the Prince of three +hundred guilders above his pay for his brave conduct at the siege of +Middleburg, he returned to England. In 1575, he accompanied Queen +Elizabeth in one of her progresses, and wrote for her a mask, entitled +'The Princely Pleasures of Kenilworth.' He is said to have died at +Stamford in 1578. He is the author of two or three translated dramas, +such as 'The Supposes,' a comedy from Ariosto, and 'Jocasta,' a tragedy +from Euripides, besides some graceful and lively minor pieces, one or +two of which we append. + + +GOOD-MORROW. + +You that have spent the silent night + In sleep and quiet rest, +And joy to see the cheerful light + That riseth in the east; +Now clear your voice, now cheer your heart, + Come help me now to sing: +Each willing wight come, bear a part, + To praise the heavenly King. + +And you whom care in prison keeps, + Or sickness doth suppress, +Or secret sorrow breaks your sleeps, + Or dolours do distress; +Yet bear a part in doleful wise, + Yea, think it good accord, +And acceptable sacrifice, + Each sprite to praise the Lord. + +The dreadful night with darksomeness + Had overspread the light; +And sluggish sleep with drowsiness + Had overpress'd our might: +A glass wherein you may behold + Each storm that stops our breath, +Our bed the grave, our clothes like mould, + And sleep like dreadful death. + +Yet as this deadly night did last + But for a little space, +And heavenly day, now night is past, + Doth show his pleasant face: +So must we hope to see God's face, + At last in heaven on high, +When we have changed this mortal place + For immortality. + +And of such haps and heavenly joys + As then we hope to hold, +All earthly sights, and worldly toys, + Are tokens to behold. +The day is like the day of doom, + The sun, the Son of man; +The skies, the heavens; the earth, the tomb, + Wherein we rest till than. + +The rainbow bending in the sky, + Bedcck'd with sundry hues, +Is like the seat of God on high, + And seems to tell these news: +That as thereby He promised + To drown the world no more, +So by the blood which Christ hath shed, + He will our health restore. + +The misty clouds that fall sometime, + And overcast the skies, +Are like to troubles of our time, + Which do but dim our eyes. +But as such dews are dried up quite, + When Phoebus shows his face, +So are such fancies put to flight, + Where God doth guide by grace. + +The carrion crow, that loathsome beast, + Which cries against the rain, +Both for her hue, and for the rest, + The devil resembleth plain: +And as with guns we kill the crow, + For spoiling our relief, +The devil so must we o'erthrow, + With gunshot of belief. + +The little birds which sing so sweet, + Are like the angels' voice, +Which renders God His praises meet, + And teach[1] us to rejoice: +And as they more esteem that mirth, + Than dread the night's annoy, +So much we deem our days on earth + But hell to heavenly joy. + +Unto which joys for to attain, + God grant us all His grace, +And send us, after worldly pain, + In heaven to have a place, +When we may still enjoy that light, + Which never shall decay: +Lord, for thy mercy lend us might, + To see that joyful day. + +[1] 'Teach:' _for_ teacheth. + + +GOOD-NIGHT. + +When thou hast spent the ling'ring day + In pleasure and delight, +Or after toil and weary way, + Dost seek to rest at night; +Unto thy pains or pleasures past, + Add this one labour yet, +Ere sleep close up thine eyes too fast, + Do not thy God forget, + +But search within thy secret thoughts, + What deeds did thee befall, +And if thou find amiss in aught, + To God for mercy call. +Yea, though thou findest nought amiss + Which thou canst call to mind, +Yet evermore remember this, + There is the more behind: + +And think how well soe'er it be + That thou hast spent the day, +It came of God, and not of thee, + So to direct thy way. +Thus if thou try thy daily deeds, + And pleasure in this pain, +Thy life shall cleanse thy corn from weeds, + And thine shall be the gain: + +But if thy sinful, sluggish eye, + Will venture for to wink, +Before thy wading will may try + How far thy soul may sink, +Beware and wake,[1] for else thy bed, + Which soft and smooth is made, +May heap more harm upon thy head + Than blows of en'my's blade. + +Thus if this pain procure thine ease, + In bed as thou dost lie, +Perhaps it shall not God displease, + To sing thus soberly: +'I see that sleep is lent me here, + To ease my weary bones, +As death at last shall eke appear, + To ease my grievous groans. + +'My daily sports, my paunch full fed, + Have caused my drowsy eye, +As careless life, in quiet led, + Might cause my soul to die: +The stretching arms, the yawning breath, + Which I to bedward use, +Are patterns of the pangs of death, + When life will me refuse; + +'And of my bed each sundry part, + In shadows, doth resemble +The sundry shapes of death, whose dart + Shall make my flesh to tremble. +My bed it safe is, like the grave, + My sheets the winding-sheet, +My clothes the mould which I must have, + To cover me most meet. + +'The hungry fleas, which frisk so fresh, + To worms I can compare, +Which greedily shall gnaw my flesh, + And leave the bones full bare: +The waking cock that early crows, + To wear the night away, +Puts in my mind the trump that blows + Before the latter day. + +'And as I rise up lustily, + When sluggish sleep is past, +So hope I to rise joyfully, + To judgment at the last. +Thus will I wake, thus will I sleep, + Thus will I hope to rise, +Thus will I neither wail nor weep, + But sing in godly wise. + +'My bones shall in this bed remain + My soul in God shall trust, +By whom I hope to rise again + From, death and earthly dust.' + +[1] 'Wake:' watch. + + + + +THOMAS SACKVILLE, LORD BUCKHURST AND EARL OF DORSET. + + +This was a man of remarkable powers. He was the son of Sir Richard +Sackville, and born at Withyam, in Sussex, in 1527. He was educated and +became distinguished at both the universities. While a student of the +Inner Temple, he wrote, some say in conjunction with Thomas Norton, the +tragedy of 'Gorboduc,' which is probably the earliest original tragedy +in the English language. It was first played as part of a Christmas +entertainment by the young students, and subsequently before Queen +Elizabeth at Whitehall in 1561. Sackville was elected to Parliament when +thirty years of age. In the same year (1557) he formed the plan of a +magnificent poem, which, had he fully accomplished it, would have ranked +his name with Dante, Spenser, and Bunyan. This was his 'Mirrour for +Magistrates,' a poem intended to celebrate the chief of the illustrious +unfortunates in British history, such as King Richard II., Owen Glendower, +James I. of Scotland, Henry VI., Jack Cade, the Duke of Buckingham, &c., +in a series of legends, supposed to be spoken by the characters them- +selves, and with epilogues interspersed to connect the stories. The work +aspired to be the English 'Decameron' of doom, and the part of it extant +is truly called by Campbell 'a bold and gloomy landscape, on which the +sun never shines.' Sackville had coadjutors in the work, all men of +considerable mark, such as Skelton, Baldwyn, a learned ecclesiastic, and +Ferrers, a man of rank. The first edition of the 'Mirrour for Magistrates' +appeared in 1559, and was wholly composed by Baldwyn and Ferrers. In the +second, which was issued in 1563, appeared the 'Induction and Legend of +Henry Duke of Buckingham' from Sackville's own pen. He lays the scene in +hell, and descends there under the guidance of Sorrow. His pictures are +more condensed than those of Spenser, although less so than those of Dante, +and are often startling in their power, and deep, desolate grandeur. Take +this, for instance, of 'Old Age:'-- + + 'Crook-back'd he was, tooth-shaken, and blear-eyed, + Went on three feet, and sometime crept on four, + With old lame bones, that rattled by his side; + His scalp all piled, and he with eld forelore, + _His wither'd fist still knocking at Deaths door;_ + Fumbling and drivelling, as he draws his breath; + For brief--the shape and messenger of Death.' + +Politics diverted Sackville from poetry. This is deeply to be regretted, +as his poetic gift was of a very rare order. In 1566, on the death of his +father, he was promoted to the title of Lord Buckhurst. In the fourteenth +year of Elizabeth's reign he was employed by her in an embassy to Charles +IX. of France. In 1587 he went as an ambassador to the United Provinces. +He was subsequently made Knight of the Garter and Chancellor of Oxford. On +the death of Lord Burleigh he became Lord High Treasurer of England. In +March 1604 he was created Earl of Dorset by James I., but died suddenly +soon after, at the council table, of a disease of the brain. He was, as a +statesman, almost immaculate in reputation. Like Burke and Canning, in +later days, he carried taste and literary exactitude into his political +functions, and, on account of his eloquence, was called 'the Bell of the +Star-Chamber.' Even in that Augustan age of our history, and in that most +brilliantly intellectual Court, it may be doubted if, with the sole +exception of Lord Bacon, there was a man to be compared to Thomas +Sackville for genius. + + +ALLEGORICAL CHARACTERS FROM THE MIRROR FOR MAGISTRATES. + +And first, within the porch and jaws of hell, +Sat deep Remorse of Conscience, all besprent +With tears; and to herself oft would she tell +Her wretchedness, and, cursing, never stent +To sob and sigh, but ever thus lament +With thoughtful care; as she that, all in vain, +Would wear and waste continually in pain: + +Her eyes unsteadfast, rolling here and there, +Whirl'd on each place, as place that vengeance brought, +So was her mind continually in fear, +Toss'd and tormented with the tedious thought +Of those detested crimes which she had wrought; +With dreadful cheer, and looks thrown to the sky, +Wishing for death, and yet she could not die. + +Next saw we Dread, all trembling how he shook, +With foot uncertain, proffer'd here and there; +Benumb'd with speech; and, with a ghastly look, +Search'd every place, all pale and dead for fear, +His cap borne up with staring of his hair; +'Stoin'd and amaz'd at his own shade for dread, +And fearing greater dangers than was need. + +And next, within the entry of this lake, +Sat fell Revenge, gnashing her teeth for ire; +Devising means how she may vengeance take; +Never in rest, till she have her desire; +But frets within so far forth with the fire +Of wreaking flames, that now determines she +To die by death, or Veng'd by death to be. + +When fell Revenge, with bloody foul pretence, +Had show'd herself, as next in order set, +With trembling limbs we softly parted thence, +Till in our eyes another set we met; +When from my heart a sigh forthwith I fet, +Ruing, alas! upon the woeful plight +Of Misery, that next appear'd in sight: + +His face was lean, and some deal pined away +And eke his hands consumed to the bone; +But what his body was I cannot say, +For on his carcase raiment had he none, +Save clouts and patches pieced one by one; +With staff in hand, and scrip on shoulders cast, +His chief defence against the winter's blast: + +His food, for most, was wild fruits of the tree, +Unless sometime some crumbs fell to his share, +Which in his wallet long, God wot, kept he, +As on the which full daint'ly would he fare; +His drink, the running stream, his cup, the bare +Of his palm closed; his bed, the hard cold ground: +To this poor life was Misery ybound. + +Whose wretched state when we had well beheld, +With tender ruth on him, and on his feres, +In thoughtful cares forth then our pace we held; +And, by and by, another shape appears +Of greedy Care, still brushing up the briers; +His knuckles knob'd, his flesh deep dinted in +With tawed hands, and hard ytanned skin: + +The morrow gray no sooner hath begun +To spread his light e'en peeping in our eyes, +But he is up, and to his work yrun; +But let the night's black misty mantles rise, +And with foul dark never so much disguise +The fair bright day, yet ceaseth he no while, +But hath his candles to prolong his toil. + +By him lay heavy Sleep, the cousin of Death, +Flat on the ground, and still as any stone, +A very corpse, save yielding forth a breath; +Small keep took he, whom Fortune frowned on, +Or whom she lifted up into the throne +Of high renown, but, as a living death, +So dead alive, of life he drew the breath: + +The body's rest, the quiet of the heart, +The travel's ease, the still night's fere was he, +And of our life in earth the better part; +Riever of sight, and yet in whom we see +Things oft that [tyde] and oft that never be; +Without respect, esteeming equally +King Croesus' pomp and Irus' poverty. + +And next in order sad, Old Age we found: +His beard all hoar, his eyes hollow and blind; +With drooping cheer still poring on the ground, +As on the place where nature him assign'd +To rest, when that the sisters had untwined +His vital thread, and ended with their knife +The fleeting course of fast declining life: + +There heard we him with broke and hollow plaint. +Rue with himself his end approaching fast, +And all for nought his wretched mind torment +With sweet remembrance of his pleasures past. +And fresh delights of lusty youth forewaste; +Recounting which, how would he sob and shriek, +And to be young again of Jove beseek! + +But, an the cruel fates so fixed be +That time forepast cannot return again, +This one request of Jove yet prayed he +That in such wither'd plight, and wretched pain, +As eld, accompanied with her loathsome train, +Had brought on him, all were it woe and grief, +He might a while yet linger forth his life, + +And not so soon descend into the pit; +Where Death, when he the mortal corpse hath slain, +With reckless hand in grave doth cover it: +Thereafter never to enjoy again +The gladsome light, but, in the ground ylain, +In depth of darkness waste and wear to nought, +As he had ne'er into the world been brought: + +But who had seen him sobbing how he stood +Unto himself, and how he would bemoan +His youth forepast--as though it wrought him good +To talk of youth, all were his youth foregone-- +He would have mused, and marvell'd much whereon +This wretched Age should life desire so fain, +And knows full well life doth but length his pain: + +Crook-back'd he was, tooth-shaken, and blear-eyed; +Went on three feet, and sometime crept on four; +With old lame bones, that rattled by his side; +His scalp all piled,[1] and he with eld forelore, +His wither'd fist still knocking at death's door; +Fumbling, and drivelling, as he draws his breath; +For brief, the shape and messenger of Death. + +And fast by him pale Malady was placed: +Sore sick in bed, her colour all foregone; +Bereft of stomach, savour, and of taste, +Ne could she brook no meat but broths alone; +Her breath corrupt; her keepers every one +Abhorring her; her sickness past recure, +Detesting physic, and all physic's cure. + +But, oh, the doleful sight that then we see! +We turn'd our look, and on the other side +A grisly shape of Famine might we see: +With greedy looks, and gaping mouth, that cried +And roar'd for meat, as she should there have died; +Her body thin and bare as any bone, +Whereto was left nought but the case alone. + +And that, alas! was gnawen everywhere, +All full of holes; that I ne might refrain +From tears, to see how she her arms could tear, +And with her teeth gnash on the bones in vain, +When, all for nought, she fain would so sustain +Her starven corpse, that rather seem'd a shade +Than any substance of a creature made: + +Great was her force, whom stone-wall could not stay: +Her tearing nails snatching at all she saw; +With gaping jaws, that by no means ymay +Be satisfied from hunger of her maw, +But eats herself as she that hath no law; +Gnawing, alas! her carcase all in vain, +Where you may count each sinew, bone, and vein. + +On her while we thus firmly fix'd our eyes, +That bled for ruth of such a dreary sight, +Lo, suddenly she shriek'd in so huge wise +As made hell-gates to shiver with the might; +Wherewith, a dart we saw, how it did light +Right on her breast, and, therewithal, pale Death +Enthirling[2] it, to rieve her of her breath: + +And, by and by, a dumb dead corpse we saw, +Heavy and cold, the shape of Death aright, +That daunts all earthly creatures to his law, +Against whose force in vain it is to fight; +No peers, nor princes, nor no mortal wight, +No towns, nor realms, cities, nor strongest tower, +But all, perforce, must yield unto his power: + +His dart, anon, out of the corpse he took, +And in his hand (a dreadful sight to see) +With great triumph eftsoons the same he shook, +That most of all my fears affrayed me; +His body dight with nought but bones, pardy; +The naked shape of man there saw I plain, +All save the flesh, the sinew, and the vein. + +Lastly, stood War, in glittering arms yclad, +With visage grim, stern look, and blackly hued: +In his right hand a naked sword he had, +That to the hilts was all with blood imbrued; +And in his left (that kings and kingdoms rued) +Famine and fire he held, and therewithal +He razed towns, and threw down towers and all: + +Cities he sack'd, and realms (that whilom flower'd +In honour, glory, and rule, above the rest) +He overwhelm'd, and all their fame devour'd, +Consumed, destroy'd, wasted, and never ceased, +Till he their wealth, their name, and all oppress'd: +His face forhew'd with wounds; and by his side +There hung his targe, with gashes deep and wide. + +[1] 'Piled:' bare. +[2] 'Enthirling:' piercing. + + +HENRY DUKE OP BUCKINGHAM IN THE INFERNAL REGIONS. + +Then first came Henry Duke of Buckingham, +His cloak of black all piled,[1] and quite forlorn, +Wringing his hands, and Fortune oft doth blame, +Which of a duke had made him now her scorn; +With ghastly looks, as one in manner lorn, +Oft spread his arms, stretch'd hands he joins as fast +With rueful cheer, and vapour'd eyes upcast. + +His cloak he rent, his manly breast he beat; +His hair all torn, about the place it lain: +My heart so molt to see his grief so great, +As feelingly, methought, it dropp'd away: +His eyes they whirl'd about withouten stay: +With stormy sighs the place did so complain, +As if his heart at each had burst in twain. + +Thrice he began to tell his doleful tale, +And thrice the sighs did swallow up his voice; +At each of which he shrieked so withal, +As though the heavens rived with the noise; +Till at the last, recovering of his voice, +Supping the tears that all his breast berain'd, +On cruel Fortune weeping thus he plain'd. + +[1] 'Piled:' bare. + + + + +JOHN HARRINGTON. + + +Of Harrington we know only that he was born in 1534 and died in 1582; that +he was imprisoned in the Tower by Queen Mary for holding correspondence +with Elizabeth; and after the accession of the latter to the throne, was +favoured and promoted by her; and that he has written some pretty verses +of an amatory kind. + + +SONNET ON ISABELLA MARKHAM, + +WHEN I FIRST THOUGHT HER FAIR, AS SHE STOOD AT THE PRINCESS'S WINDOW, +IN GOODLY ATTIRE, AND TALKED TO DIVERS IN THE COURT-YARD. + +Whence comes my love? O heart, disclose; +It was from cheeks that shamed the rose, +From lips that spoil the ruby's praise, +From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze: +Whence comes my woe? as freely own; +Ah me! 'twas from a heart like stone. + +The blushing cheek speaks modest mind, +The lips befitting words most kind, +The eye does tempt to love's desire, +And seems to say, ''Tis Cupid's fire;' +Yet all so fair but speak my moan, +Since nought doth say the heart of stone. + +Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak +Sweet eye, sweet lip, sweet blushing cheek +Yet not a heart to save my pain; +O Venus, take thy gifts again; +Make not so fair to cause our moan, +Or make a heart that's like our own. + + +VERSES ON A MOST STONY-HEARTED MAIDEN WHO DID SORELY +BEGUILE THE NOBLE KNIGHT, MY TRUE FRIEND. + +I. + +Why didst thou raise such woeful wail, +And waste in briny tears thy days? +'Cause she that wont to flout and rail, +At last gave proof of woman's ways; +She did, in sooth, display the heart +That might have wrought thee greater smart. + +II. + +Why, thank her then, not weep or moan; +Let others guard their careless heart, +And praise the day that thus made known +The faithless hold on woman's art; +Their lips can gloze and gain such root, +That gentle youth hath hope of fruit. + +III. + +But, ere the blossom fair doth rise, +To shoot its sweetness o'er the taste, +Creepeth disdain in canker-wise, +And chilling scorn the fruit doth blast: +There is no hope of all our toil; +There is no fruit from such a soil. + +IV. + +Give o'er thy plaint, the danger's o'er; +She might have poison'd all thy life; +Such wayward mind had bred thee more +Of sorrow, had she proved thy wife: +Leave her to meet all hopeless meed, +And bless thyself that so art freed. + +V. + +No youth shall sue such one to win. +Unmark'd by all the shining fair, +Save for her pride and scorn, such sin +As heart of love can never bear; +Like leafless plant in blasted shade, +So liveth she--a barren maid. + + + + +SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. + + +All hail to Sidney!--the pink of chivalry--the hero of Zutphen--the author +of the 'Arcadia,'--the gifted, courteous, genial and noble-minded man! He +was born November 29, 1554, at Penshurst, Kent. His father's name was +Henry. He studied at Shrewsbury, at Trinity College, Cambridge, and at +Christ Church, Oxford. At the age of eighteen he set out on his travels, +and, in the course of three years, visited France, Flanders, Germany, +Hungary, and Italy. On his return he was introduced at Court, and became a +favourite with Queen Elizabeth, who sent him on an embassy to Germany. He +returned home, and shortly after had a quarrel at a tournament with Lord +Oxford. But for the interference of the Queen, a duel would have taken +place. Sidney was displeased at the issue of the affair, and retired, in +1580, to Wilton, in Wiltshire, where he wrote his famous 'Arcadia,'--that +true prose-poem, and a work which, with all its faults, no mere sulky and +spoiled child (as some have called him in the matter of this retreat) +could ever have produced. This production, written as an outflow of his +mind in its self-sought solitude, was never meant for publication, and did +not appear till after its author's death. As it was written partly for his +sister's amusement, he entitled it 'The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia.' +In 1581, Sidney reappeared in Court, and distinguished himself in the +jousts and tournaments celebrated in honour of the Duke of Anjou; and on +the return of that prince to the Continent, he accompanied him to Antwerp. +In 1583 he received the honour of knighthood. He published about this time +a tract entitled 'The Defence of Poesy,' which abounds in the element the +praise of which it celebrates, and which is, besides, distinguished by +acuteness of argument and felicity of expression. In 1585 he was named one +of the candidates for the crown of Poland; but Queen Elizabeth, afraid of +'losing the jewel of her times,' prevented him from accepting this honour, +and prevented him also from accompanying Sir Francis Drake on an +expedition against the Spanish settlements in America. In the same year, +however, she made him Governor of Flushing, and subsequently General of +the Cavalry, under his uncle, the Earl of Leicester, who commanded the +troops sent to assist the oppressed Dutch Protestants against the +Spaniards. Here our hero greatly distinguished himself, particularly when +capturing, in 1586, the town of Axel. His career, however, was destined +to be short. On the 22d of September of the same year he accidentally +encountered a convoy of the enemy marching toward Zutphen. In the +engagement which followed, his party triumphed; but their brave commander +received a shot in the thigh, which shattered the bone. As he was carried +from the field, overcome with thirst, he called for water, but while about +to apply it to his lips, he saw a wounded soldier carried by who was +eagerly eyeing the cup. Sidney, perceiving this, instantly delivered to +him the water, saying, in words which would have made an ordinary man +immortal, but which give Sir Philip a twofold immortality, 'Thy necessity +is greater than mine.' He was carried to Arnheim, and lingered on till +October 17, when he died. He was only thirty-two years of age. His death +was an earthquake at home. All England wore mourning for him. Queen +Elizabeth ordered his remains to be carried to London, and to receive a +public funeral in St Paul's. He was identified with the land's Poetry, +Politeness, and Protestantism; and all who admired any of the three, +sorrowed for Sidney. + +Sidney's 'Sonnets and other Poems' contain much that is quaint, but also +much that is beautiful and true; yet they are the least poetical of his +works. His 'Arcadia' is a glorious unfinished and unpolished wilderness +of fancy. It is a vineyard, the scattered clusters of which are so heavy, +that, like the grapes of Eshcol of old, they must be carried on a staff. +Here is one of those rich clusters:-- + + 'There were hills, which garnished their proud heights with stately + trees; humble valleys, whose base estate seemed comforted with the + refreshing of silver rivers; meadows, enamelled with all sorts of + eye-pleasing flowers; thickets, which, being lined with most pleasant + shade, were witnessed so, too, by the cheerful disposition of many + well-tuned birds; each pasture stored with sheep, feeding with sober + security; while the pretty lambs, with bleating oratory, craved the + dams' comfort; _here a shepherd's boy, piping as though he should + never be old;_ there a young shepherdess, knitting and withal singing, + and it seemed that her voice comforted her hands to work, and her + hands kept time to her voice-music.' + +From 'The Defence of Poesy' we could cull, did space permit, a hundred +passages even superior to the above, full of dexterous reasoning, splendid +rhetoric, and subtle fancy, and substantiating all that has been said in +favour of Sir Philip Sidney's accomplishments, chivalric earnestness, and +richly-endowed genius. + + +TO SLEEP. + +FROM THE 'ARCADIA.' + +Come, Sleep, O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, +The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe; +The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, +The indifferent judge between the high and low. + +With shield of proof shield me from out the prease[1] +Of those fierce darts despair doth at me throw: +Oh, make in me those civil wars to cease! +I will good tribute pay if thou do so. + +Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, +A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light, +A rosy garland and a weary head; +And if these things, as being thine by right, +Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me +Livelier than elsewhere Stella's image see. + +[1] 'Prease:' press, throng. + + +SONNETS. + +I. + +Because I oft in dark abstracted guise +Seem most alone in greatest company, +With dearth of words, or answers quite awry +To them that would make speech of speech arise, +They deem, and of their doom the rumour flies, +That poison foul of bubbling Pride doth lie +So in my swelling breast, that only I +Fawn on myself, and others do despise. +Yet Pride, I think, doth not my soul possess, +Which looks too oft in his unflattering glass; +But one worse fault, Ambition, I confess, +That makes me oft my best friends overpass, +Unseen, unheard, while thought to highest place +Bends all his powers, even unto Stella's grace. + + +II. + +With how sad steps, O Moon! thou climb'st the skies, +How silently, and with how wan a face! +What! may it be, that even in heavenly place +That busy archer his sharp arrows tries? +Sure, if that long with love acquainted eyes +Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case; +I read it in thy looks; thy languish'd grace, +To me that feel the like, thy state descries. +Then, even of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, +Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit? +Are beauties there as proud as here they be? +Do they above love to be loved, and yet +Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess? +Do they call virtue there ungratefulness? + + +III. + +Having this day my horse, my hand, my lance +Guided so well, that I obtain'd the prize, +Both by the judgment of the English eyes, +And of some sent from that sweet enemy France; +Horsemen my skill in horsemanship advance; +Townfolks my strength; a daintier judge applies +His praise to sleight which from good use doth rise; +Some lucky wits impute it but to chance; +Others, because of both sides I do take +My blood from them who did excel in this, +Think nature me a man of arms did make. +How far they shot awry! the true cause is, +Stella look'd on, and from her heavenly face +Sent forth the beams which made so fair my race. + + +IV. + +In martial sports I had my cunning tried, +And yet to break more staves did me address; +While with the people's shouts, I must confess, +Youth, luck, and praise, even fill'd my veins with pride. +When Cupid, having me (his slave) descried +In Mars's livery, prancing in the press, +'What now, Sir Fool,' said he, 'I would no less. +Look here, I say.' I look'd, and Stella spied, +Who hard by made a window send forth light. +My heart then quaked, then dazzled were mine eyes; +One hand forgot to rule, th' other to fight; +Nor trumpet's sound I heard, nor friendly cries; +My foe came on, and beat the air for me, +Till that her blush taught me my shame to see. + + +V. + +Of all the kings that ever here did reign, +Edward named Fourth as first in praise I name; +Not for his fair outside, nor well-lined brain, +Although less gifts imp feathers oft on Fame: +Nor that he could, young-wise, wise-valiant, frame +His sire's revenge, join'd with a kingdom's gain, +And, gain'd by Mars, could yet mad Mars so tame, +That Balance weigh'd what Sword did late obtain: +Nor that he made the Flower-de-luce so 'fraid, +Though strongly hedged of bloody Lion's paws, +That witty Lewis to him a tribute paid. +Nor this, nor that, nor any such small cause-- +But only for this worthy knight durst prove +To lose his crown, rather than fail his love. + + +VI. + +O happy Thames, that didst my Stella bear! +I saw thee with full many a smiling line +Upon thy cheerful face joy's livery wear, +While those fair planets on thy streams did shine. +The boat for joy could not to dance forbear; +While wanton winds, with beauties so divine +Ravish'd, stay'd not, till in her golden hair +They did themselves (O sweetest prison!) twine: +And fain those Oeol's youth there would their stay +Have made; but, forced by Nature still to fly, +First did with puffing kiss those locks display. +She, so dishevell'd, blush'd. From window I, +With sight thereof, cried out, 'O fair disgrace; +Let Honour's self to thee grant highest place.' + + + + +ROBERT SOUTHWELL. + + +Robert Southwell was born in 1560, at St. Faith's, Norfolk. His parents +were Roman Catholics, and sent him when very young to be educated at the +English College of Douay, in Flanders. Thence he went to Borne, and when +sixteen years of age he joined the Society of the Jesuits--a strange bed +for the rearing of a poet. In 1585, he was appointed Prefect of Studies, +and was soon after despatched as a missionary of his order to England. +There, notwithstanding a law condemning to death all members of his +profession found in this country, he laboured on for eight years, +residing chiefly with Anne, Countess of Arundel, who died afterwards in +the Tower. In July 1592, Southwell was arrested in a gentleman's house +at Uxendon in Middlesex. He was thrust into a dungeon so filthy that +when he was brought out to be examined his clothes were covered with +vermin. This made his father--a man of good family--petition Queen +Elizabeth that if his son was guilty of anything deserving death he +might suffer it, but that, meanwhile, being a gentleman, he should be +treated as a gentleman. In consequence of this he was somewhat better +lodged, but continued for nearly three years strictly confined to +prison; and as the Queen's agents imagined that he was in the secret of +some conspiracies against the Government, he was put to the torture ten +times. In despair, he entreated to be brought to trial, whereupon Cecil +coolly remarked, 'that if he was in such haste to be hanged, he should +quickly have his desire.' On the 20th of February 1595, he was brought +to trial at King's Bench, and having confessed himself a Papist and a +Jesuit, he was condemned to death, and executed at Tyburn next day, with +all the nameless barbarities enjoined by the treason laws of these +unhappy times. He is believed to have borne all his sufferings with +unalterable serenity of mind and sweetness of temper. 'It is fitting,' +says Burke, 'that those made to suffer should suffer well.' And suffer +well throughout all his short life of sorrow, Southwell did. + +He was, undoubtedly, although in a false position, a true man, and a +true poet. To hope all things and believe all things, in reference to +a Jesuit, is a difficult task for Protestant charity. Yet what system +so vile but it has sometimes been gloriously misrepresented by its +votaries? Who that ever read Edward Irving's 'Preface to Ben Ezra'--that +modern Areopagitica--combining the essence of a hundred theological +treatises with the spirit and grandeur of a Pindaric or Homeric ode--has +forgot the pictures of Ben Ezra, or Lacunza the Jesuit? His work, 'The +Coming of the Messiah in Glory and Majesty,' Irving translated from +Spanish into his own noble English prose, and he describes the author as +a man of primitive manners, ardent piety, and enormous erudition, and +expresses a hope, long since we trust fulfilled, of meeting with the +'good old Jesuit' in a better world. To this probably small class of +exceptions to a general rule (it surely is no uncharity to say this, +since the annals of Jesuitism have confessedly been so stained with +falsehood, treachery, every insidious art, and every detestable crime) +seems to have belonged our poet. No proof was produced that he had any +connexion with the treacherous and bloody designs of his party, although +he had plied his priestly labours with unwearied assiduity. He was too +sincere-minded a man to have ever been admitted to the darker secrets of +the Jesuits. + +His verses are ingenious, simpler in style than was common in his time +--distinguished here by homely picturesqueness, and there by solemn +moralising. A shade of deep but serene and unrepining sadness, connected +partly with his position and partly with his foreseen destiny, (his +larger works were written in prison,) rests on the most of his poems. + + +LOOK HOME. + +Retired thoughts enjoy their own delights, + As beauty doth in self-beholding eye: +Man's mind a mirror is of heavenly sights, + A brief wherein all miracles summ'd lie; +Of fairest forms, and sweetest shapes the store, +Most graceful all, yet thought may grace them more. + +The mind a creature is, yet can create, + To nature's patterns adding higher skill +Of finest works; wit better could the state, + If force of wit had equal power of will. +Device of man in working hath no end; +What thought can think, another thought can mend. + +Man's soul of endless beauties image is, + Drawn by the work of endless skill and might: +This skilful might gave many sparks of bliss, + And, to discern this bliss, a native light, +To frame God's image as his worth required; +His might, his skill, his word and will conspired. + +All that he had, his image should present; + All that it should present, he could afford; +To that he could afford his will was bent; + His will was follow'd with performing word. +Let this suffice, by this conceive the rest, +He should, he could, he would, he did the best. + + +THE IMAGE OF DEATH. + +Before my face the picture hangs, + That daily should put me in mind +Of those cold names and bitter pangs + That shortly I am like to find; +But yet, alas! full little I +Do think hereon, that I must die. + +I often look upon a face + Most ugly, grisly, bare, and thin; +I often view the hollow place + Where eyes and nose had sometime been; +I see the bones across that lie, +Yet little think that I must die. + +I read the label underneath, + That telleth me whereto I must; +I see the sentence too, that saith, + 'Remember, man, thou art but dust.' +But yet, alas! how seldom I +Do think, indeed, that I must die! + +Continually at my bed's head + A hearse doth hang, which doth me tell +That I ere morning may be dead, + Though now I feel myself full well; +But yet, alas! for all this, I +Have little mind that I must die! + +The gown which I am used to wear, + The knife wherewith I cut my meat; +And eke that old and ancient chair, + Which is my only usual seat; +All these do tell me I must die, +And yet my life amend not I. + +My ancestors are turn'd to clay, + And many of my mates are gone; +My youngers daily drop away, + And can I think to 'scape alone? +No, no; I know that I must die, +And yet my life amend not I. + + * * * * * + +If none can 'scape Death's dreadful dart; + If rich and poor his beck obey; +If strong, if wise, if all do smart, + Then I to 'scape shall have no way: +Then grant me grace, O God! that I +My life may mend, since I must die. + + +LOVE'S SERVILE LOT. + +Love mistress is of many minds, + Yet few know whom they serve; +They reckon least how little hope + Their service doth deserve. + +The will she robbeth from the wit, + The sense from reason's lore; +She is delightful in the rind, + Corrupted in the core. + + * * * * * + +May never was the month of love; + For May is full of flowers: +But rather April, wet by kind; + For love is full of showers. + +With soothing words, inthralled souls + She chains in servile bands! +Her eye in silence hath a speech + Which eye best understands. + +Her little sweet hath many sours, + Short hap, immortal harms +Her loving looks are murdering darts, + Her songs bewitching charms. + +Like winter rose, and summer ice, + Her joys are still untimely; +Before her hope, behind remorse, + Fair first, in fine[1] unseemly. + +Plough not the seas, sow not the sands, + Leave off your idle pain; +Seek other mistress for your minds, + Love's service is in vain. + +[1] 'Fine:' end. + + +TIMES GO BY TURNS. + +The lopped tree in time may grow again, + Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower; +The sorriest wight may find release of pain, + The driest soil suck in some moistening shower: +Time goes by turns, and chances change by course, +From foul to fair, from better hap to worse. + +The sea of Fortune doth not ever flow; + She draws her favours to the lowest ebb: +Her tides have equal times to come and go; + Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web: +No joy so great but runneth to an end, +No hap so hard but may in fine amend. + +Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring, + Not endless night, yet not eternal day: +The saddest birds a season find to sing, + The roughest storm a calm may soon allay. +Thus, with succeeding turns, God tempereth all, +That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall. + +A chance may win that by mischance was lost; + That net that holds no great, takes little fish; +In some things all, in all things none are cross'd; + Few all they need, but none have all they wish. +Unmingled joys here to no man befall; +Who least, hath some; who most, hath never all. + + + + +THOMAS WATSON. + + +He was born in 1560, and died about 1592. All besides known certainly of +him is, that he was a native of London, and studied the common law, but +seems to have spent much of his time in the practice of rhyme. His +sonnets--one or two of which we subjoin--have considerable merit; but we +agree with Campbell in thinking that Stevens has surely overrated them +when he prefers them to Shakspeare's. + + +THE NYMPHS TO THEIR MAY-QUEEN. + +With fragrant flowers we strew the way, +And make this our chief holiday: +For though this clime was blest of yore, +Yet was it never proud before. +O beauteous queen of second Troy, +Accept of our unfeigned joy. + +Now the air is sweeter than sweet balm, +And satyrs dance about the palm; +Now earth with verdure newly dight, +Gives perfect signs of her delight: +O beauteous queen! + +Now birds record new harmony, +And trees do whistle melody: +And everything that nature breeds +Doth clad itself in pleasant weeds. + + +SONNET. + +Actaeon lost, in middle of his sport, +Both shape and life for looking but awry: +Diana was afraid he would report +What secrets he had seen in passing by. +To tell the truth, the self-same hurt have I, +By viewing her for whom I daily die; +I lose my wonted shape, in that my mind +Doth suffer wreck upon the stony rock +Of her disdain, who, contrary to kind, +Does bear a breast more hard than any stock; +And former form of limbs is changed quite +By cares in love, and want of due delight. +I leave my life, in that each secret thought +Which I conceive through wanton fond regard, +Doth make me say that life availeth nought, +Where service cannot have a due reward. +I dare not name the nymph that works my smart, +Though love hath graven her name within my heart. + + + + +THOMAS TURBERVILLE. + + +Of this author--Thomas Turberville--once famous in the reign of Queen +Elizabeth, but now almost totally forgotten, and whose works are +altogether omitted in most selections, we have preserved a little. He +was a voluminous author, having produced, besides many original pieces, +a translation of Ovid's Heroical Epistles, from which Warton has +selected a short specimen. + + +IN PRAISE OP THE RENOWNED LADY ANNE, COUNTESS OF +WARWICK. + +When Nature first in hand did take + The clay to frame this Countess' corse, +The earth a while she did forsake, + And was compell'd of very force, +With mould in hand, to flee to skies, +To end the work she did devise. + +The gods that then in council sate, + Were half-amazed, against their kind,[1] +To see so near the stool of state + Dame Nature stand, that was assign'd +Among her worldly imps[2] to wonne,[3] +As she until that day had done. + +First Jove began: 'What, daughter dear, + Hath made thee scorn thy father's will? +Why do I see thee, Nature, here, + That ought'st of duty to fulfil +Thy undertaken charge at home? +What makes thee thus abroad to roam? + +'Disdainful dame, how didst thou dare, + So reckless to depart the ground +That is allotted to thy share?' + And therewithal his godhead frown'd. +'I will,' quoth Nature, 'out of hand, +Declare the cause I fled the land. + +'I undertook of late a piece + Of clay a featured face to frame, +To match the courtly dames of Greece, + That for their beauty bear the name; +But, O good father, now I see +This work of mine it will not be. + +'Vicegerent, since you me assign'd + Below in earth, and gave me laws +On mortal wights, and will'd that kind + Should make and mar, as she saw cause: +Of right, I think, I may appeal, +And crave your help in this to deal.' + +When Jove saw how the case did stand, + And that the work was well begun, +He pray'd to have the helping hand + Of other gods till he had done: +With willing minds they all agreed, +And set upon the clay with speed. + +First Jove each limb did well dispose, + And makes a creature of the clay; +Next, Lady Venus she bestows + Her gallant gifts as best she may; +From face to foot, from top to toe, +She let no whit untouch'd to go. + +When Venus had done what she could + In making of her carcase brave, +Then Pallas thought she might be bold + Among the rest a share to have; +A passing wit she did convey +Into this passing piece of clay. + +Of Bacchus she no member had, + Save fingers fine and feat[4] to see; +Her head with hair Apollo clad, + That gods had thought it gold to be: +So glist'ring was the tress in sight +Of this new form'd and featured wight. + +Diana held her peace a space, + Until those other gods had done; +'At last,' quoth she, 'in Dian's chase + With bow in hand this nymph shall run; +And chief of all my noble train +I will this virgin entertain.' + +Then joyful Juno came and said, + 'Since you to her so friendly are, +I do appoint this noble maid + To match with Mars his peer for war; +She shall the Countess Warwick be, +And yield Diana's bow to me.' + +When to so good effect it came, + And every member had his grace, +There wanted nothing but a name: + By hap was Mercury then in place, +That said, 'I pray you all agree, +Pandora grant her name to be. + +'For since your godheads forged have + With one assent this noble dame, +And each to her a virtue gave, + This term agreeth to the same.' +The gods that heard Mercurius tell +This tale, did like it passing well. + +Report was summon'd then in haste, + And will'd to bring his trump in hand, +To blow therewith a sounding blast, + That might be heard through Brutus' land. +Pandora straight the trumpet blew, +That each this Countess Warwick knew. + +O seely[5] Nature, born to pain, + O woful, wretched kind (I say), +That to forsake the soil were fain + To make this Countess out of clay: +But, O most friendly gods, that wold, +Vouchsafe to set your hands to mould. + +[1] 'Kind:' nature. +[2] 'Imps:' children. +[3] 'Wonne:' dwell. +[4] 'Feat:' neat. +[5] 'Seely:' simple. + + + * * * * * + + +In reference to the Miscellaneous Pieces which close this period, we +need only say that the best of them is 'The Soul's Errand,' and that its +authorship is uncertain. It has, with very little evidence in any of the +cases, been ascribed to Sir Walter Raleigh, to Francis Davison, (author +of a compilation entitled 'A Poetical Rhapsody,' published in 1593, and +where 'The Soul's Errand' first appeared,) and to Joshua Sylvester, who +prints it in his volume of verses, with vile interpolations of his own. +Its outspoken energy and pithy language render it worthy of any of our +poets. + + +HARPALUS' COMPLAINT OF PHILLIDA'S LOVE BESTOWED ON CORIN, +WHO LOVED HER NOT, AND DENIED HIM THAT LOVED HER. + +1 Phillida was a fair maid, + As fresh as any flower; + Whom Harpalus the herdman pray'd + To be his paramour. + +2 Harpalus, and eke Corin, + Were herdmen both yfere:[1] + And Phillida would twist and spin, + And thereto sing full clear. + +3 But Phillida was all too coy + For Harpalus to win; + For Corin was her only joy, + Who forced[2] her not a pin. + +4 How often would she flowers twine, + How often garlands make + Of cowslips and of columbine, + And all for Conn's sake! + +5 But Corin he had hawks to lure, + And forced more the field: + Of lovers' law he took no cure; + For once he was beguiled. + +6 Harpalus prevailed nought, + His labour all was lost; + For he was furthest from her thought, + And yet he loved her most. + +7 Therefore was he both pale and lean, + And dry as clod of clay: + His flesh it was consumed clean; + His colour gone away. + +8 His beard it not long be shave; + His hair hung all unkempt: + A man most fit even for the grave, + Whom spiteful love had shent.[3] + +9 His eyes were red, and all forwacht;[4] + It seem'd unhap had him long hatcht, + His face besprent with tears: + In midst of his despairs. + +10 His clothes were black, and also bare; + As one forlorn was he; + Upon his head always he ware + A wreath of willow tree. + +11 His beasts he kept upon the hill, + And he sat in the dale; + And thus with sighs and sorrows shrill + He 'gan to tell his tale. + +12 'O Harpalus!' thus would he say; + Unhappiest under sun! + The cause of thine unhappy day + By love was first begun. + +13 'For thou went'st first by suit to seek + A tiger to make tame, + That sets not by thy love a leek, + But makes thy grief a game. + +14 'As easy it were for to convert + The frost into the flame; + As for to turn a froward hert, + Whom thou so fain wouldst frame. + +15 'Cerin he liveth careless: + He leaps among the leaves: + He eats the fruits of thy redress: + Thou reap'st, he takes the sheaves. + +16 'My beasts, a while your food refrain, + And hark your herdman's sound; + Whom spiteful love, alas! hath slain, + Through girt with many a wound, + +17 'O happy be ye, beastes wild, + That here your pasture takes: + I see that ye be not beguiled + Of these your faithful makes,[5] + +18 'The hart he feedeth by the hind: + The buck hard by the doe: + The turtle-dove is not unkind + To him that loves her so. + +19 'The ewe she hath by her the ram: + The young cow hath the bull: + The calf with many a lusty lamb + Do feed their hunger full. + +20 'But, well-a-way! that nature wrought + Thee, Phillida, so fair: + For I may say that I have bought + Thy beauty all too dear. + +21 'What reason is that cruelty + With, beauty should have part? + Or else that such great tyranny + Should dwell in woman's heart? + +22 'I see therefore to shape my death + She cruelly is prest,[6] + To the end that I may want my breath: + My days be at the best. + +23 'O Cupid, grant this my request, + And do not stop thine ears: + That she may feel within her breast + The pains of my despairs: + +24 'Of Corin that is careless, + That she may crave her fee: + As I have done in great distress, + That loved her faithfully. + +25 'But since that I shall die her slave, + Her slave, and eke her thrall, + Write you, my friends, upon my grave + This chance that is befall: + +26 '"Here lieth unhappy Harpalus, + By cruel love now slain: + Whom Phillida unjustly thus + Hath murder'd with disdain."' + +[1] 'Yfere' together. +[2] 'Forced' cared for. +[3] 'Shent:' spoiled. +[4] 'Forwacht:' from much watching. +[5] 'Makes:' mates. +[6] 'Prest:' ready. + + +A PRAISE OF HIS LADY. + +1 Give place, you ladies, and begone, + Boast not yourselves at all, + For here at hand approacheth one + Whose face will stain you all. + +2 The virtue of her lively looks + Excels the precious stone; + I wish to have none other books + To read or look upon. + +3 In each of her two crystal eyes + Smileth a naked boy; + It would you all in heart suffice + To see that lamp of joy. + +4 I think Nature hath lost the mould + Where she her shape did take; + Or else I doubt if Nature could + So fair a creature make. + +5 She may be well compared + Unto the phoenix kind, + Whose like was never seen nor heard, + That any man can find. + +6 In life she is Diana chaste, + In truth Penelope; + In word, and eke in deed, steadfast; + What will you more we say? + +7 If all the world were sought so far, + Who could find such a wight? + Her beauty twinkleth like a star + Within the frosty night. + +8 Her rosial colour comes and goes + "With such a comely grace, + More ruddier, too, than doth the rose, + Within her lively face." + +9 At Bacchus' feast none shall her meet, + Nor at no wanton play, + Nor gazing in an open street, + Nor gadding, as astray. + +10 The modest mirth that she doth use, + Is mix'd with shamefastness; + All vice she doth wholly refuse, + And hateth idleness. + +11 O Lord, it is a world to see + How virtue can repair, + And deck in her such honesty, + Whom Nature made so fair. + +12 Truly she doth as far exceed + Our women now-a-days, + As doth the gilliflower a wreed, + And more a thousand ways. + +13 How might I do to get a graff + Of this unspotted tree? + For all the rest are plain but chaff + Which seem good corn to be. + +14 This gift alone I shall her give, + When death doth what he can: + Her honest fame shall ever live + Within the mouth of man. + + +THAT ALL THINGS SOMETIME FIND EASE OF THEIR PAIN, +SAVE ONLY THE LOVER. + +1 I see there is no sort + Of things that live in grief, + Which at sometime may not resort + Where as they have relief. + +2 The stricken deer by kind + Of death that stands in awe, + For his recure an herb can find + The arrow to withdraw. + +3 The chased deer hath soil + To cool him in his heat; + The ass, after his weary toil. + In stable is up set. + +4 The coney hath its cave, + The little bird his nest, + From heat and cold themselves to save + At all times as they list. + +5 The owl, with feeble sight, + Lies lurking in the leaves, + The sparrow in the frosty night + May shroud her in the eaves. + +6 But woe to me, alas! + In sun nor yet in shade, + I cannot find a resting-place, + My burden to unlade. + +7 But day by day still bears + The burden on my back, + With weeping eyes and wat'ry tears, + To hold my hope aback. + +8 All things I see have place + Wherein they bow or bend, + Save this, alas! my woful case, + Which nowhere findeth end. + + +FROM 'THE PHOENIX' NEST.' + +O Night, O jealous Night, repugnant to my pleasure, +O Night so long desired, yet cross to my content, +There's none but only thou can guide me to my treasure, +Yet none but only thou that hindereth my intent. + +Sweet Night, withhold thy beams, withhold them till to-morrow, +Whose joy, in lack so long, a hell of torment breeds, +Sweet Night, sweet gentle Night, do not prolong my sorrow, +Desire is guide to me, and love no loadstar needs. + +Let sailors gaze on stars and moon so freshly shining, +Let them that miss the way be guided by the light, +I know my lady's bower, there needs no more divining, +Affection sees in dark, and love hath eyes by night. + +Dame Cynthia, couch a while; hold in thy horns for shining, +And glad not low'ring Night with thy too glorious rays; +But be she dim and dark, tempestuous and repining, +That in her spite my sport may work thy endless praise. + +And when my will is done, then, Cynthia, shine, good lady, +All other nights and days in honour of that night, +That happy, heavenly night, that night so dark and shady, +Wherein my love had eyes that lighted my delight. + + +FROM THE SAME. + +1 The gentle season of the year + Hath made my blooming branch appear, + And beautified the land with flowers; + The air doth savour with delight, + The heavens do smile to see the sight, + And yet mine eyes augment their showers. + +2 The meads are mantled all with green, + The trembling leaves have clothed the treen, + The birds with feathers new do sing; + But I, poor soul, whom wrong doth rack, + Attire myself in mourning black, + Whose leaf doth fall amidst his spring. + +3 And as you see the scarlet rose + In his sweet prime his buds disclose, + Whose hue is with the sun revived; + So, in the April of mine age, + My lively colours do assuage, + Because my sunshine is deprived. + +4 My heart, that wonted was of yore, + Light as the winds, abroad to soar + Amongst the buds, when beauty springs, + Now only hovers over you, + As doth the bird that's taken new, + And mourns when all her neighbours sings. + +5 When every man is bent to sport, + Then, pensive, I alone resort + Into some solitary walk, + As doth the doleful turtle-dove, + Who, having lost her faithful love, + Sits mourning on some wither'd stalk. + +6 There to myself I do recount + How far my woes my joys surmount, + How love requiteth me with hate, + How all my pleasures end in pain, + How hate doth say my hope is vain, + How fortune frowns upon my state. + +7 And in this mood, charged with despair, + With vapour'd sighs I dim the air, + And to the gods make this request, + That by the ending of my life, + I may have truce with this strange strife, + And bring my soul to better rest. + + +THE SOUL'S ERRAND. + +1 Go, Soul, the body's guest, + Upon a thankless errand, + Fear not to touch the best, + The truth shall be thy warrant; + Go, since I needs must die, + And give the world the lie. + +2 Go tell the Court it glows, + And shines like rotten wood; + Go, tell the Church it shows + What's good and doth no good; + If Church and Court reply, + Then give them both the lie. + +3 Tell potentates they live, + Acting by others' actions, + Not loved, unless they give, + Not strong, but by their factions; + If potentates reply, + Give potentates the lie. + +4 Tell men of high condition, + That rule affairs of state, + Their purpose is ambition, + Their practice only hate; + And if they once reply, + Then give them all the lie. + +5 Tell them that brave it most, + They beg for more by spending, + Who, in their greatest cost, + Seek nothing but commending; + And if they make reply, + Then give them all the lie. + +6 Tell Zeal it lacks devotion, + Tell Love it is but lust, + Tell Time it is but motion, + Tell Flesh it is but dust; + And wish them not reply, + For thou must give the lie. + +7 Tell Age it daily wasteth, + Tell Honour how it alters, + Tell Beauty how she blasteth, + Tell Favour how she falters; + And as they shall reply, + Give every one the lie. + +8 Tell Wit how much it wrangles + In treble points of niceness, + Tell Wisdom she entangles + Herself in overwiseness; + And when they do reply, + Straight give them both the lie. + +9 Tell Physic of her boldness, + Tell Skill it is pretension, + Tell Charity of coldness, + Tell Law it is contention; + And as they do reply, + So give them still the lie. + +10 Tell Fortune of her blindness, + Tell Nature of decay, + Tell Friendship of unkindness, + Tell Justice of delay; + And if they will reply, + Then give them all the lie. + +11 Tell Arts they have no soundness, + But vary by esteeming, + Tell Schools they want profoundness, + And stand too much on seeming; + If Arts and Schools reply, + Give Arts and Schools the lie. + +12 Tell Faith it's fled the city, + Tell how the country erreth, + Tell Manhood shakes off pity, + Tell Virtue least preferreth; + And if they do reply, + Spare not to give the lie. + +13 And when thou hast, as I + Commanded thee, done blabbing, + Although to give the lie + Deserves no less than stabbing; + Yet stab at thee who will, + No stab the Soul can kill. + + + * * * * * + + +SECOND PERIOD. + +FROM SPENSER TO DRYDEN. + + + + +FRANCIS BEAUMONT. + + +This remarkable man, from his intimate connexion with Fletcher, is better +known as a dramatist than as a poet. He was the son of Judge Beaumont, and +descended from an ancient family, which was settled at Grace Dieu in +Leicestershire. He was born in 1585-86, and educated at Cambridge. Thence +he passed to study in the Inner Temple, but seems to have preferred poetry +and the drama to law. He was married to the daughter of Sir Henry Isley of +Kent, who bore him two daughters. He died in his 30th year, and was buried +March 9, 1615-16, in St Benedict's Chapel, Westminster Abbey. More of his +connexion with Fletcher afterwards. + +After his death, his brother published a collection of his miscellaneous +pieces. We extract a few, of no little merit. His verses to Ben Jonson, +written before their author came to London, and first appended to a play +entitled 'Nice Valour,' are picturesque and interesting, as illustrating +the period. + + +TO BEN JONSON. + +The sun (which doth the greatest comfort bring +To absent friends, because the selfsame thing +They know, they see, however absent) is +Here, our best haymaker (forgive me this, +It is our country's style) in this warm shine +I lie, and dream of your full Mermaid wine. +Oh, we have water mix'd with claret lees, +Brink apt to bring in drier heresies +Than beer, good only for the sonnet's strain, +With fustian metaphors to stuff the brain, +So mix'd, that, given to the thirstiest one, +'Twill not prove alms, unless he have the stone. +I think, with one draught man's invention fades: +Two cups had quite spoil'd Homer's Iliades. +'Tis liquor that will find out Sutcliff's wit, +Lie where he will, and make him write worse yet; +Fill'd with such moisture in most grievous qualms, +Did Robert Wisdom write his singing psalms; +And so must I do this: And yet I think +It is a potion sent us down to drink, +By special Providence, keeps us from fights, +Makes us not laugh when we make legs to knights. +'Tis this that keeps our minds fit for our states, +A medicine to obey our magistrates: +For we do live more free than you; no hate, +No envy at one another's happy state, +Moves us; we are all equal: every whit +Of land that God gives men here is their wit, +If we consider fully, for our best +And gravest men will with his main house-jest +Scarce please you; we want subtilty to do +The city tricks, lie, hate, and flatter too: +Here are none that can bear a painted show, +Strike when you wink, and then lament the blow; +Who, like mills, set the right way for to grind, +Can make their gains alike with every wind; +Only some fellows with the subtlest pate, +Amongst us, may perchance equivocate +At selling of a horse, and that's the most. +Methinks the little wit I had is lost +Since I saw you; for wit is like a rest +Held up at tennis, which men do the best, +With the best gamesters: what things have we seen +Done at the Mermaid; heard words that have been +So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, +As if that every one from whence they came +Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, +And had resolved to live a fool the rest +Of his dull life: then when there had been thrown +Wit able enough to justify the town +For three days past; wit that might warrant be +For the whole city to talk foolishly +Till that were cancell'd; and when that was gone, +We left an air behind us, which alone +Was able to make the two next companies +Eight witty; though but downright fools were wise. +When I remember this, +* * * I needs must cry +I see my days of ballading grow nigh; +I can already riddle, and can sing +Catches, sell bargains, and I fear shall bring +Myself to speak the hardest words I find +Over as oft as any with one wind, +That takes no medicines, but thought of thee +Makes me remember all these things to be +The wit of our young men, fellows that show +No part of good, yet utter all they know, +Who, like trees of the garden, have growing souls. +Only strong Destiny, which all controls, +I hope hath left a better fate in store +For me, thy friend, than to live ever poor. +Banish'd unto this home: Fate once again +Bring me to thee, who canst make smooth and plain +The way of knowledge for me; and then I, +Who have no good but in thy company, +Protest it will my greatest comfort be, +To acknowledge all I have to flow from thee, +Ben; when these scenes are perfect, we'll taste wine; +I'll drink thy muse's health, thou shalt quaff mine. + + +ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER. + +Mortality, behold and fear, +What a charge of flesh is here! +Think how many royal bones +Sleep within these heap of stones: +Here they lie, had realms and lands, +Who now want strength to stir their hands; +Where, from their pulpits seal'd with dust, +They preach--in greatness is no trust. +Here's an acre sown indeed +With the richest, royal'st seed, +That the earth did e'er suck in +Since the first man died for sin: +Here the bones of birth have cried, +Though gods they were, as men they died: +Here are wands, ignoble things, +Dropp'd from the ruin'd sides of kings. +Here's a world of pomp and state +Buried in dust, once dead by fate. + + +AN EPITAPH. + +Here she lies, whose spotless fame +Invites a stone to learn her name: +The rigid Spartan that denied +An epitaph to all that died, +Unless for war, in charity +Would here vouchsafe an elegy. +She died a wife, but yet her mind, +Beyond virginity refined, +From lawless fire remain'd as free +As now from heat her ashes be: +Keep well this pawn, thou marble chest; +Till it be call'd for, let it rest; +For while this jewel here is set, +The grave is like a cabinet. + + + + +SIR WALTER RALEIGH. + + +The verses attributed to this illustrious man are few, and the +authenticity of some of them is doubtful. No one, however, who has +studied his career, or read his 'History of the World,' can deny him +the title of a great poet. + +We cannot be expected, in a work of the present kind, to enlarge on a +career so well known as that of Sir Walter Kaleigh. He was born in 1552, +at Hayes Farm, in Devonshire, and descended from an old family there. He +went early to Oxford, but finding its pursuits too tame for his active +and enterprising spirit, he left it, and became a soldier at seventeen. +For six years he fought on the Protestant side in France, besides serving +a campaign in the Netherlands. In 1579, he went a voyage, which proved +disastrous, to Newfoundland, in company with his half-brother, Sir +Humphrey Gilbert. There can be no doubt that this early apprenticeship +to war and navigation was of material service to the future explorer and +historian. In 1580, he fought in Ireland against the Earl of Desmond, +who had raised a rebellion there, and on one occasion is said to have +defended a ford of Shannon against a whole band of wild Irish rebels, +till the stream ran purple with their blood and his own. With the Lord- +Deputy, Lord Grey de Wilton, he got into a dispute, and to settle it came +over to England. Here high favour awaited him. His handsome appearance, +his graceful address, his ready wit and chivalric courtesy, dashed with +a fine poetic enthusiasm, (see them admirably pictured in 'Kenilworth,') +combined to exalt him in the estimation of Queen Elizabeth. On one +occasion he flung his rich plush cloak over a miry part of the way, that +she might pass on unsoiled. By this delicate piece of enacted flattery he +'spoiled a cloak and made a fortune.' The Queen sent him, along with some +other courtiers, to attend the Duke of Anjou, who had in vain solicited +her hand, back to the Netherlands. In 1584, he fitted two ships, and sent +them out for the discovery and settlement of those parts of North America +not already appropriated by Christian states, and the next year there +followed a fleet of seven ships under the command of Sir Richard +Grenville, Raleigh's kinsman. The attempt to colonise America at that +time failed, but two important things were transplanted through means of +the expedition from Virginia to Britain, namely, tobacco and the potato, +--the former of which has ever since been offered up in smoky sacrifice to +Raleigh's memory throughout the whole world, and the latter of which has +become the most valuable of all our vegetable esculents. Raleigh first +planted the potato in Ireland, a country of which it has long been the +principal food. A ludicrous story is told about this. It is said that he +had invited a number of his neighbours to an entertainment, in which the +new root was to form a prominent part, but when the feast began Raleigh +found, to his horror, that the servants had boiled the plums, a most +unsavoury mess, and immediately, we suppose, 'tabulae solvuntur risu.' +In 1584 the Queen had knighted him, and shortly after she granted him +certain lucrative monopolies, and an estate in Ireland, in addition to +one he had possessed for some years. In 1588, he was of material service +as one of Her Majesty's Council of War, formed to resist the Spanish +Armada, and as one of the volunteers who joined the English fleet with +ships of their own. Next year he accompanied a number of his countrymen +in an expedition, which had it in view to restore Don Antonio to the +throne of Portugal, of which the Spaniards had deprived him. On his +return he lost caste considerably, both with the Queen and country, by +taking bribes, and otherwise abusing the influence he had acquired at +Court. Yet, about this time, his active mind was projecting what he +called an 'Office of Address,'--a plan for facilitating the designs of +literary and scientific men, promoting intercourse between them, gaining, +in short, all those objects which are now secured by our literary +associations and philosophical societies. Raleigh was eminently a man +before his age, but, alas! his age was too far behind him. + +While visiting Ireland, after his expedition to Portugal, he contracted +an intimacy with Spenser. (See our 'Life of Spenser,' vol. ii.) In 1592, +he commanded a large naval expedition, destined to attack Panama and +intercept the Spanish Plate-fleet, but was recalled by the Queen, not, +however, till he had seized on an important prize, and, in common +parlance, had 'feathered his nest.' On his return he excited Her +Majesty's wrath, by an intrigue with Elizabeth Throgmorton, one of the +maids of honour, and, although Raleigh afterwards married her, the Queen +imprisoned both the offending parties for some months in the Tower. +Spenser is believed to allude to this in the 4th Book of his great poem. +(See vol. in. of our edition, p. 88.) Even after he was released from +the Tower, Raleigh had to leave the Court in disgrace; instead, however, +of wasting time in vain regrets, he undertook, at his own expense, an +expedition against Guiana, where he captured the city of San Joseph, and +which he occupied in the Queen's name. After his return he published an +account of his expedition, more distinguished by glowing eloquence than +by rigid regard to truth. In 1596, having in some measure regained the +Queen's favour, he was appointed to a command in the expedition against +Cadiz, under the Earl of Essex. In this, as well as in the expedition +against the Spanish Plate-fleet the next year, he won laurels, but was +unfortunate enough to excite the jealousy of his Commander-in-Chief. +When the favourite got into trouble, Raleigh eagerly joined in the hunt, +wrote a letter to Cecil urging him to the destruction of Essex, and +witnessed his execution from a window in the Armoury. This is +undoubtedly a deep blot on the escutcheon of our hero. + +Cecil had been glad of Raleigh's aid in ruining Essex, but he bore him +no good-will otherwise, and is said to have poisoned James, who now +succeeded to the English throne, against him. Assuredly the new King was +no friend of Raleigh's. Stimulated by Cecil, after first depriving him +of his office of Captain of the Guards, he brought him to trial for high +treason. He was accused of conspiring to establish Popery, to dethrone +the King, and to put the crown on the head of Arabella Stewart. Sir +Edward Coke, the Attorney-General, led the accusation, and disgraced +himself by heaping on Raleigh's head every foul epithet, calling him +'viper,' 'damnable atheist,' 'monster,' 'traitor,' 'spider of hell,' +&c., and by his violence, although to his own surprise, as he never +expected to gain his cause in full, he browbeat the jury to bring in a +verdict of high treason. + +Raleigh's defence was a masterpiece of temper, dignity, strength of +reasoning, and eloquence, and his enemies were ashamed of the decision +to which they had driven the jury. He was therefore reprieved, and +committed to the Tower, where his wife was allowed to bear him company, +and where his youngest son was born. His estates were, in general, +preserved to him, but Carr, the infamous minion of the King, under some +pretext of a flaw in the conveyance of it by Raleigh to his son, seized +upon his manor of Sherborne. In the Tower he continued for twelve years. +These years his industry and genius rendered the happiest probably of +his life. Immured in the + + 'towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, + By many a foul and midnight murder fed,' + +his winged soul soared away, like the dove of the Deluge, over the wild +ocean of the past. The Tower confined his body, but this great globe the +world seemed too little for the sweep of his spirit. To fill up the vast +void which a long imprisonment created around him, and to shew that his +powers retained all their elasticity, he projected a work on the largest +scale, and with the noblest purpose--'The History of the World.' In this +undertaking he found literary men ready to lend him their aid. A hundred +hands were generously stretched out to gather materials, and to bring +them to the captive in the Tower. Cart-loads of books were sent. One +Burrell, formerly his chaplain, assisted him in much of the critical and +chronological drudgery. Rugged Ben Jonson sent in a piece of rugged +writing on the Punic War, which Raleigh polished and set as a carved +stone in his magnificent temple. Some have, on this account, sought to +detract from the merit of the author. As if ever an architect could rear +a building without hodmen! But in Raleigh's case the hodmen were Titans. +'The best wits in England assisted him in his undertaking;' and what a +compliment was this to the strength and stature of the master-builder! + +This great work was never finished. The part completed comprehended only +the period from the Creation to the Downfall of the Macedonian Empire +--one hundred and seventy years before Christ. He tarries too long amidst +the misty and mythical ages which precede the dawn of history; his +speculations on the site of the original Paradise, on the Flood, &c., +are more ingenious than instructive; but his descriptions of the Greek +battles--his account of the rise of Rome--the extensive erudition, on +all subjects displayed in the book--the many acute, profound, and +eloquently-expressed observations which are sprinkled throughout--and +the style, massive, dignified, rich, and less involved in structure than +that of almost any of his contemporaries--shall always rank it amongst +the great literary treasures of the language. It was published in 1614. +Besides it, Raleigh was the author of various works, all full of +sagacious thought and brilliant imagery, such as 'The Advice to a Son on +the Choice of a Wife,' 'The Sceptic,' 'Maxims of State,' &c. At last he +was released by the advance of a large sum of money to Villiers, Duke of +Buckingham, James's favourite; and, to retrieve his fortunes, projected +another expedition to America. James granted him a patent, under the +Great Seal, for making a settlement in Guiana, but ungenerously did not +grant him a pardon for the sentence which had been passed on him for +treason. He set sail, 1617, in a ship built by himself, called the +_Destiny_, with eleven other vessels. Having reached the Orinoco, he +despatched a portion of his forces to attack the new Spanish settlement +of St Thomas. This was captured, with the loss of Raleigh's eldest son. +The expected plunder, however, proved of little value; and Sir Walter +having in vain attempted to induce his captains to attack other +settlements of the Spaniards, was compelled to return home--his golden +dreams dissolved, and his prophetic soul forewarning him of the doom +that awaited him on his native shores. In July 1618, he landed at +Plymouth; 'whence,' says Howell, in his 'Familiar Letters,' 'he thought +to make an escape, and some say he tampered with his body by physic to +make him look sickly, that he might be the more pitied, and permitted to +lie in his own house.' James was at this time seeking the hand of the +Infanta for his son Charles, and was naturally disposed to side with the +Spanish cause. He was, besides, stirred up by the Spanish ambassador, +Count Gondomar, who sent to desire an audience with His Majesty, and +said, that he had only one word to say to him. 'The King wondered what +could be delivered in one word, whereupon, when he came before him, he +said only, "Pirates! pirates! pirates!" and so departed.' + +Raleigh consequently was arrested and sent back to his old lodgings in +the Tower. He was not tried, as might have been expected, for the new +offence of waging war against a power then at amity with England, but +James, with consummate meanness and cruelty, determined to revive his +former sentence. He was brought before the King's Bench, where his old +enemy, Sir Edward Coke, now sat as Chief Justice, and officially +condemned him to death. His language, however, was considerably modified +to the prisoner. He said, 'I know you have been valiant and wise, and I +doubt not but you retain both these virtues, for now you shall have +occasion to use them. Your faith hath heretofore been questioned, but I +am resolved you are a good Christian; for your book, which is an +admirable work, doth testify as much. I would give you counsel, but I +know you can apply unto yourself far better than I can give you. Yet +will I (with the good neighbour in the Gospel, who, finding one in the +way wounded and distressed, poured oil into his wounds and refreshed +him) give unto you the oil of comfort, though, in respect that I am a +minister of the law, mixed with vinegar.' Such was Coke's comfort to the +brave and gifted man who stood untrembling before his bar. + +On the 26th of October 1618, the day after his condemnation, Raleigh was +beheaded. He met his fate with dignity and composure. Having addressed +the multitude in vindication of his conduct, he took up the axe, and +said to the sheriff, 'This is a sharp medicine, but a sound cure for all +diseases.' He told the executioner that he would give the signal by +lifting up his hand, and 'then,' he said, 'fear not, but strike home.' +He next laid himself down, but was asked by the executioner to alter the +position of the head. 'So the heart be right,' he replied, 'it is no +matter which way the head lies.' The headsman became uncertain and +tremulous when the signal was given, whereupon Ealeigh exclaimed, 'Why +dost thou not strike? Strike, man!' and by two blows that gallant, +witty, and richly-stored head was severed from the body. He was in his +sixty-fifth year. He had the night before composed the following verse:-- + + Even such is Time, that takes on trust + Our youth, our joys, our all we have, + And pays us but with age and dust; + Who in the dark and silent grave, + When we have wander'd all our ways, + Shuts up the story of our days.' + +Thus perished Sir Walter Raleigh. There has been ever one opinion as to +the breadth and brilliance of his genius. His powers were almost +universal in their range. He commented on Scripture with the ingenuity +of a Talmudist, and wrote love verses (see the lines in Campbell's +'Specimens,' entitled 'Dulcina') with the animus and graceful levity of +a Thomas Moore. He was deep at once in 'all the learning of the +Egyptians,' and in that of the Greeks and Romans. In his large mind lay +dreams of golden lands, which even Australia has not yet fully verified, +alongside of maxims of the most practical wisdom. He was learned in all +that had been; well-informed as to all that was; and speculative and +hopeful as to all that might be and was yet to be. Disgust at the +scholastic methods, blended with the adventurous character of his mind, +and perhaps also with some looseness of moral principle, led him at one +time to the brink of universal scepticism; but disappointment, sorrow, +and the solitude of the Tower, made him a sadder and wiser man, and he +returned to the verities of the Christian religion. The stains on his +character seem to have arisen chiefly from his position. He was, like +some greater and some smaller men of eminence, undoubtedly, to a certain +extent, a brilliant adventurer--a class to whom justice is seldom done, +and against whom every calumny is believed. He was a _novus homo_, in an +age of more than common aristocratic pretence; sprang, indeed, from an +ancient family, but possessing nothing himself, save his cloak, his +sword, his tact, and his genius. We all know how, in later times, such +spirits, kindred in many points to Raleigh, in some superior, and in +others inferior--as Burke, Sheridan, and Canning--were used, less for +their errors of temper or of life, than because they had gained immense +influence, not by birth or favour, but by the force of extraordinary +talent and no less remarkable address. Raleigh, however, was undoubtedly +imprudent in a high degree. He had once or twice outraged common +morality; his enemies were constantly accusing him of gasconading and of +'pride.' His success at first was too early and too easy, and hence a +reverse might have been anticipated as certain and as remarkable as his +rise had been. His fall ultimately is understood to have been +precipitated by the base complicity of James with the Spaniards, who +were informed by the King of Raleigh's motions in America, and prepared +to counteract them, as well as by the loud-sounding invectives and legal +lies of the unscrupulous instruments of his tyrannical power. With all +his faults and follies, (of 'crimes,' it has been justly said, Raleigh +can hardly be accused,) he stood high in that crowd of giants who +illustrated the reign of the Amazonian Queen. What an age it was! Bacon, +with still brighter powers, and far darker and meaner faults than +Raleigh, was sitting on the woolsack in body, while his spirit was +presiding over the half-born philosophies of the future, and beholding +the cold rod of Induction blossom in an after-day into the Aaronic +flowers and fruits of a magnificent science; Cecil was nodding out +wisdom or transcendental craft in the Cabinet; Sir Philip Sidney was +carrying the spirit of 'Arcadia' into the field of battle; Spenser was +dreaming his one beautiful lifelong Dream; and Shakspeare was holding up +his calm mirror to the heart of man and the universe of nature; while, +on the prow of the British vessel, carrying on those lofty spirits and +enterprises, there appeared a daring mariner, the Poet and 'Shepherd of +the Ocean,' with bright eye, sanguine countenance, step treading the +deck like a throne, and look contemplating the sunset, as if it were the +dawning, and the Evening, as if it were the Morning Star. It was the +hopeful and the brilliant Raleigh, who, while he 'opened up to Europe +the New World, was the historian of the Old.' Alas that this illustrious +'Marinere' was doomed to a life so troubled and a death so dreadful, and +that the glory of one of England's prodigies is for ever bound up with +the disgrace of one of England's and Scotland's princes! + + +THE COUNTRY'S RECREATIONS. + +1 Heart-tearing cares and quiv'ring fears, + Anxious sighs, untimely tears, + Fly, fly to courts, + Fly to fond worldling's sports; + Where strain'd sardonic smiles are glozing still, + And Grief is forced to laugh against her will; + Where mirth's but mummery, + And sorrows only real be. + +2 Fly from our country pastimes, fly, + Sad troop of human misery! + Come, serene looks, + Clear as the crystal brooks, + Or the pure azured heaven, that smiles to see + The rich attendance of our poverty. + Peace and a secure mind, + Which all men seek, we only find. + +3 Abused mortals, did you know + Where joy, heart's ease, and comforts grow, + You'd scorn proud towers, + And seek them in these bowers; + Where winds perhaps our woods may sometimes shake, + But blustering care could never tempest make, + Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us, + Saving of fountains that glide by us. + + * * * * * + +4 Blest silent groves! oh, may ye be + For ever mirth's best nursery! + May pure contents, + For ever pitch their tents + Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, these mountains, + And peace still slumber by these purling fountains, + Which we may every year + Find when we come a-fishing here. + + +THE SILENT LOVER. + +1 Passions are liken'd best to floods and streams, + The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb; + So when affection yields discourse, it seems + The bottom is but shallow whence they come; + They that are rich in words must needs discover + They are but poor in that which makes a lover. + +2 Wrong not, sweet mistress of my heart, + The merit of true passion, + With thinking that he feels no smart + That sues for no compassion. + +3 Since if my plaints were not t' approve + The conquest of thy beauty, + It comes not from defect of love, + But fear t' exceed my duty. + +4 For not knowing that I sue to serve + A saint of such perfection + As all desire, but none deserve + A place in her affection, + +5 I rather choose to want relief + Than venture the revealing; + Where glory recommends the grief, + Despair disdains the healing. + +6 Silence in love betrays more woe + Than words, though ne'er so witty; + A beggar that is dumb, you know, + May challenge double pity. + +7 Then wrong not, dearest to my heart, + My love for secret passion; + He smarteth most who hides his smart, + And sues for no compassion. + + +A VISION UPON 'THE FAIRY QUEEN.' + +Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay, +Within that temple where the vestal flame +Was wont to burn: and passing by that way +To see that buried dust of living fame, +Whose tomb fair Love and fairer Virtue kept, +All suddenly I saw the Fairy Queen, +At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept; +And from thenceforth those Graces were not seen, +For they this Queen attended; in whose stead +Oblivion laid him down on Laura's hearse. +Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed, +And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce, +Where Homer's sprite did tremble all for grief, +And cursed the access of that celestial thief. + + +LOVE ADMITS NO RIVAL. + +1 Shall I, like a hermit, dwell, + On a rock, or in a cell, + Calling home the smallest part + That is missing of my heart, + To bestow it where I may + Meet a rival every day? + If she undervalue me, + What care I how fair she be? + +2 Were her tresses angel gold, + If a stranger may be bold, + Unrebuked, unafraid, + To convert them to a braid, + And with little more ado + Work them into bracelets, too; + If the mine be grown so free, + What care I how rich it be? + +3 Were her hand as rich a prize + As her hairs, or precious eyes, + If she lay them out to take + Kisses, for good manners' sake, + And let every lover skip + From her hand unto her lip; + If she seem not chaste to me, + What care I how chaste she be? + +4 No; she must be perfect snow, + In effect as well as show; + Warming but as snow-balls do, + Not like fire, by burning too; + But when she by change hath got + To her heart a second lot, + Then if others share with me, + Farewell her, whate'er she be! + + + + +JOSHUA SYLVESTER. + + +Joshua Sylvester is the next in the list of our imperfectly-known, but +real poets. Very little is known of his history. He was a merchant- +adventurer, and died at Middleburg, aged fifty-five, in 1618. He is said +to have applied, in 1597, for the office of secretary to a trading +company in Stade, and to have been, on this occasion, patronised by +the Earl of Essex. He was at one time attached to the English Court as +a pensioner of Prince Henry. He is said to have been driven abroad by +the severity of his satires. He seems to have had a sweet flow of +conversational eloquence, and hence was called 'The Silver-tongued.' He +was an eminent linguist, and wrote his dedications in various languages. +He published a large volume of poems, very unequal in their value, and +inserted in it 'The Soul's Errand,' with interpolations, as we have seen, +which prove it not to be his own. His great work is the translation of +the 'Divine Weeks and Works' of the French poet, Du Bartas, which is a +marvellous medley of flatness and force--of childish weakness and soaring +genius--with more _seed poetry_ in it than any poem we remember, except +'Festus,' the chaos of a hundred poetic worlds. There can be little doubt +that Milton was familiar with this work in boyhood, and many remarkable +coincidences have been pointed out between it and 'Paradise Lost.' +Sylvester was a Puritan, and his publisher, Humphrey Lownes, who lived +in the same street with Milton's father, belonged to the same sect; and, +as Campbell remarks, 'it is easily to be conceived that Milton often +repaired to the shop of Lownes, and there met with the pious didactic +poem.' The work, therefore, some specimens of which we subjoin, is +interesting, both in itself, and as having been the _prima stamina_ of +the great masterpiece of English poetry. + + +TO RELIGION. + +1 Religion, O thou life of life, + How worldlings, that profane thee rife, + Can wrest thee to their appetites! + How princes, who thy power deny, + Pretend thee for their tyranny, + And people for their false delights! + +2 Under thy sacred name, all over, + The vicious all their vices cover; + The insolent their insolence, + The proud their pride, the false their fraud, + The thief his theft, her filth the bawd, + The impudent, their impudence. + +3 Ambition under thee aspires, + And Avarice under thee desires; + Sloth under thee her ease assumes, + Lux under thee all overflows, + Wrath under thee outrageous grows, + All evil under thee presumes. + +4 Religion, erst so venerable, + What art thou now but made a fable, + A holy mask on folly's brow, + Where under lies Dissimulation, + Lined with all abomination. + Sacred Religion, where art thou? + +5 Not in the church with Simony, + Not on the bench with Bribery, + Nor in the court with Machiavel, + Nor in the city with deceits, + Nor in the country with debates; + For what hath Heaven to do with Hell? + + +ON MAN'S RESEMBLANCE TO GOD. +(FROM DU BARTAS.) + +O complete creature! who the starry spheres +Canst make to move, who 'bove the heavenly bears +Extend'st thy power, who guidest with thy hand +The day's bright chariot, and the nightly brand: +This curious lust to imitate the best +And fairest works of the Almightiest, +By rare effects bears record of thy lineage +And high descent; and that his sacred image +Was in thy soul engraven, when first his Spirit, +The spring of life, did in thy limbs inspire it. +For, as his beauties are past all compare, +So is thy soul all beautiful and fair: +As he's immortal, and is never idle, +Thy soul's immortal, and can brook no bridle +Of sloth, to curb her busy intellect: +He ponders all; thou peizest[1] each effect: +And thy mature and settled sapience +Hath some alliance with his providence: +He works by reason, thou by rule: he's glory +Of the heavenly stages, thou of th' earthly story: +He's great High Priest, thou his great vicar here: +He's sovereign Prince, and thou his viceroy dear. + +For soon as ever he had framed thee, +Into thy hands he put this monarchy: +Made all the creatures know thee for their lord, +And come before thee of their own accord: +And gave thee power as master, to impose +Fit sense-full names unto the host that rows +In watery regions; and the wand'ring herds +Of forest people; and the painted birds: +Oh, too, too happy! had that fall of thine +Not cancell'd so the character divine. + +But, since our souls' now sin-obscured light +Shines through the lanthorn of our flesh so bright; +What sacred splendour will this star send forth, +When it shall shine without this vail of earth? +The Soul here lodged is like a man that dwells +In an ill air, annoy'd with noisome smells; +In an old house, open to wind and weather; +Never in health not half an hour together: +Or, almost, like a spider who, confined +In her web's centre, shakes with every wind; +Moves in an instant, if the buzzing fly +Stir but a string of her lawn canopy. + +[1] 'Peizest:' weighest. + + +THE CHARIOT OF THE SUN. + +Thou radiant coachman, running endless course, +Fountain of heat, of light the lively source, +Life of the world, lamp of this universe, +Heaven's richest gem: oh, teach me where my verse +May but begin thy praise: Alas! I fare +Much like to one that in the clouds doth stare +To count the quails, that with their shadow cover +The Italian sea, when soaring hither over, +Fain of a milder and more fruitful clime, +They come with us to pass the summer time: +No sooner he begins one shoal to sum, +But, more and more, still greater shoals do come, +Swarm upon swarm, that with their countless number +Break off his purpose, and his sense encumber. + +Day's glorious eye! even as a mighty king +About his country stately progressing, +Is compass'd round with dukes, earls, lords, and knights, +(Orderly marshall'd in their noble rites,) +Esquires and gentlemen, in courtly kind, +And then his guard before him and behind. +And there is nought in all his royal muster, +But to his greatness addeth grace and lustre: +So, while about the world thou ridest aye, +Which only lives through virtue of thy ray, +Six heavenly princes, mounted evermore, +Wait on thy coach, three behind, three before; +Besides the host of th' upper twinklers bright, +To whom, for pay, thou givest only light. +And, even as man (the little world of cares) +Within the middle of the body bears +His heart, the spring of life, which with proportion +Supplieth spirits to all, and every portion: +Even so, O Sun, thy golden chariot marches +Amid the six lamps of the six low arches +Which seele the world, that equally it might +Richly impart them beauty, force, and light. + +Praising thy heat, which subtilly doth pierce +The solid thickness of our universe: +Which in the earth's kidneys mercury doth burn, +And pallid sulphur to bright metal turn; +I do digress, to praise that light of thine, +Which if it should but one day cease to shine, +Th' unpurged air to water would resolve, +And water would the mountain tops involve. + +Scarce I begin to measure thy bright face +Whose greatness doth so oft earth's greatness pass, +And which still running the celestial ring, +Is seen and felt of every living thing; +But that fantastic'ly I change my theme +To sing the swiftness of thy tireless team, +To sing how, rising from the Indian wave, +Thou seem'st (O Titan) like a bridegroom brave, +Who, from his chamber early issuing out +In rich array, with rarest gems about, +With pleasant countenance and lovely face, +With golden tresses and attractive grace, +Cheers at his coming all the youthful throng +That for his presence earnestly did long, +Blessing the day, and with delightful glee, +Singing aloud his epithalamie. + + + + +RICHARD BARNFIELD. + + +Of him we only know that he published several poetical volumes between +1594 and 1598. We give one beautiful piece, 'To a Nightingale,' which +used to be attributed to Shakspeare. + + +ADDRESS TO THE NIGHTINGALE. + +As it fell upon a day, +In the merry month of May, +Sitting in a pleasant shade +Which a grove of myrtles made; +Beasts did leap, and birds did sing, +Trees did grow, and plants did spring; +Everything did banish moan, +Save the nightingale alone. +She, poor bird, as all forlorn, +Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn; +And there sung the dolefull'st ditty, +That to hear it was great pity. +'Fie, fie, fie,' now would she cry; +'Teru, teru,' by and by; +That, to hear her so complain, +Scarce I could from tears refrain; +For her griefs, so lively shown, +Made me think upon mine own. +Ah! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain; +None takes pity on thy pain: +Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee, +Ruthless bears they will not cheer thee: +King Pandion he is dead; +All thy friends are lapp'd in lead; +All thy fellow-birds do sing, +Careless of thy sorrowing! +Whilst as fickle Fortune smiled, +Thou and I were both beguiled. +Every one that flatters thee +Is no friend in misery. +Words are easy, like the wind; +Faithful friends are hard to find. +Every man will be thy friend +Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend: +But, if store of crowns be scant, +No man will supply thy want. +If that one be prodigal, +Bountiful they will him call; +And with such-like flattering, +'Pity but he were a king.' +If he be addict to vice, +Quickly him they will entice; +But if Fortune once do frown, +Then farewell his great renown: +They that fawn'd on him before +Use his company no more. +He that is thy friend indeed, +He will help thee in thy need; +If thou sorrow, he will weep, +If thou wake, he cannot sleep: +Thus, of every grief in heart +He with thee doth bear a part. +These are certain signs to know +Faithful friend from flattering foe. + + + + +ALEXANDER HUME. + + +This Scottish poet was the second son of Patrick, fifth Baron of +Polwarth. He was born about the middle of the sixteenth century, and +died in 1609. He resided for some years, in the early part of his life, +in France. Returning home, he studied law, and then tried his fortune at +Court. Here he was eclipsed by a rival, named Montgomery; and after +assailing his rival, who rejoined, in verse, he became a clergyman in +disgust, and was settled in the parish of Logie. Here he darkened into +a sour and savage Calvinist, and uttered an exhortation to the youth of +Scotland to forego the admiration of classical heroes, and to read no +love-poetry save the 'Song of Solomon.' In another poetic walk, however, +that of natural description, Hume excelled, and we print with pleasure +some parts of his 'Summer's Day,' which our readers may compare with Mr +Aird's fine poem under the same title, and be convinced that the sky of +Scotland was as blue, and the grass as green, and Scottish eyes as quick +to perceive their beauty, in the sixteenth century as now. + + +THANKS FOR A SUMMER'S DAY. + +1 O perfect light which shade[1] away + The darkness from the light, + And set a ruler o'er the day, + Another o'er the night. + +2 Thy glory, when the day forth flies, + More vively does appear, + Nor[2] at mid-day unto our eyes + The shining sun is clear. + +3 The shadow of the earth anon + Removes and drawis by, + Syne[3] in the east, when it is gone, + Appears a clearer sky. + +4 Which soon perceive the little larks, + The lapwing, and the snipe, + And tune their song like Nature's clerks, + O'er meadow, muir, and stripe. + +5 But every bold nocturnal beast + No longer may abide, + They hie away both maist and least,[4] + Themselves in house to hide. + + * * * * * + +6 The golden globe incontinent + Sets up his shining head, + And o'er the earth and firmament + Displays his beams abroad.[5] + +7 For joy the birds with boulden[6] throats, + Against his visage sheen,[7] + Take up their kindly music notes + In woods and gardens green. + +8 Upbraids[8] the careful husbandman, + His corn and vines to see, + And every timeous[9] artisan + In booths works busily. + +9 The pastor quits the slothful sleep, + And passes forth with speed, + His little camow-nosed[10] sheep, + And rowting kye[11] to feed. + +10 The passenger, from perils sure, + Goes gladly forth the way, + Brief, every living creaeture + Takes comfort of the day. + + * * * * * + +11 The misty reek,[12] the clouds of rain + From tops of mountain skails,[13] + Clear are the highest hills and plain, + The vapours take the vales. + +12 Begaired[14] is the sapphire pend[15] + With spraings[16] of scarlet hue; + And preciously from end to end, + Damasked white and blue. + +13 The ample heaven, of fabric sure, + In clearness does surpass + The crystal and the silver, pure + As clearest polish'd glass. + +14 The time so tranquil is and clear, + That nowhere shall ye find, + Save on a high and barren hill, + The air of passing wind. + +15 All trees and simples, great and small, + That balmy leaf do bear, + Than they were painted on a wall, + No more they move or steir.[17] + +16 The rivers fresh, the caller[18] streams, + O'er rocks can swiftly rin,[19] + The water clear like crystal beams, + And makes a pleasant din. + + * * * * * + +17 Calm is the deep and purple sea, + Yea, smoother than the sand; + The waves, that woltering[20] wont to be, + Are stable like the land. + +18 So silent is the cessile air, + That every cry and call, + The hills and dales, and forest fair, + Again repeats them all. + +19 The clogged busy humming bees, + That never think to drown,[21] + On flowers and flourishes of trees, + Collect their liquor brown. + +20 The sun most like a speedy post + With ardent course ascends; + The beauty of our heavenly host + Up to our zenith tends. + + * * * * * + +21 The breathless flocks draw to the shade + And freshure[22] of their fauld;[23] + The startling nolt, as they were mad, + Run to the rivers cauld. + +22 The herds beneath some leafy trees, + Amidst the flowers they lie; + The stable ships upon the seas + Tend up their sails to dry. + +23 The hart, the hind, the fallow-deer, + Are tapish'd[24] at their rest; + The fowls and birds that made thee beare,[25] + Prepare their pretty nest. + +24 The rayons dure[26] descending down, + All kindle in a gleid;[27] + In city, nor in burrough town, + May none set forth their head. + +25 Back from the blue pavemented whun,[28] + And from ilk plaster wall, + The hot reflexing of the sun + Inflames the air and all. + +26 The labourers that timely rose, + All weary, faint, and weak, + For heat down to their houses goes, + Noon-meat and sleep to take. + +27 The caller[29] wine in cave is sought, + Men's brothing[30] breasts to cool; + The water cold and clear is brought, + And sallads steeped in ule.[31] + +28 With gilded eyes and open wings, + The cock his courage shows; + With claps of joy his breast he dings,[32] + And twenty times he crows. + +29 The dove with whistling wings so blue, + The winds can fast collect, + Her purple pens turn many a hue + Against the sun direct. + +30 Now noon is gone--gone is mid-day, + The heat does slake at last, + The sun descends down west away, + For three o'clock is past. + + * * * * * + +31 The rayons of the sun we see + Diminish in their strength, + The shade of every tower and tree + Extended is in length. + +32 Great is the calm, for everywhere + The wind is setting down, + The reek[33] throws up right in the air, + From every tower and town. + +33 The mavis and the philomeen,[34] + The starling whistles loud, + The cushats[35] on the branches green, + Full quietly they crood.[36] + +34 The gloamin[37] comes, the clay is spent, + The sun goes out of sight, + And painted is the occident + With purple sanguine bright. + + * * * * * + +35 The scarlet nor the golden thread, + Who would their beauty try, + Are nothing like the colour red + And beauty of the sky. + + * * * * * + +36 What pleasure then to walk and see, + Endlong[38] a river clear, + The perfect form of every tree + Within the deep appear. + +37 The salmon out of cruives[39] and creels[40] + Uphauled into scouts;[41] + The bells and circles on the weills,[42] + Through leaping of the trouts. + +38 O sure it were a seemly thing, + While all is still and calm, + The praise of God to play and sing + With trumpet and with shalm. + +39 Through all the land great is the gild[43] + Of rustic folks that cry; + Of bleating sheep, from they be fill'd, + Of calves and rowting kye. + +40 All labourers draw home at even, + And can to others say, + Thanks to the gracious God of heaven, + Who sent this summer day. + +[1] 'Shade:' for shaded. +[2] 'Nor:' than. +[3] 'Syne:' then. +[4] 'Maist and least:' largest and smallest. +[5] 'Abread:' abroad. +[6] 'Boulden:' emboldened. +[7] 'Sheen:' shining. +[8] 'Upbraids:' uprises. +[9] 'Timeous:' early. +[10]'Camow-nosed:' flat-nosed. +[11]'Rowting kye:' lowing kine. +[12]'Reek:' fog. +[13]'Skails:' dissipates. +[14]'Begaired:' dressed out. +[15]'Pend:' arch. +[16]'Spraings:' streaks. +[17] 'Steir:' stir. +[18] 'Caller:' cool. +[19] 'Rin:' run. +[20] 'Woltering:' tumbling. +[21] 'Drown:' drone, be idle. +[22] 'Freshure:' freshness. +[23] 'Fauld:' fold. +[24] 'Tapish'd:' stretched as on a carpet. +[25] 'Beare:' sound, music. +[26] 'Rayons dure:' hard or keen rays. +[27] 'Gleid:' fire. +[28] 'Whun:' whinstone. +[29] 'Caller:' cool. +[30] 'Brothing:' burning. +[31] 'Ule:' oil. +[32] 'Dings:' beats. +[33] 'Reek:' smoke. +[34] 'The mavis and the philomeen:' thrush and nightingale. +[35] 'Cushats:' wood-pigeons. +[36] 'Crood:' coo. +[37] 'Gloamin:' evening. +[38] 'Endlong:' along. +[39] 'Cruives:' cages for catching fish. +[40] 'Creels:' baskets. +[41] 'Scouts:' small boats or yawls. +[42] 'Weills:' eddies. +[43] 'Gild:' throng. + + + * * * * * + + +OTHER SCOTTISH POETS. + + +About the same time with Hume flourished two or three poets in Scotland +of considerable merit, such as Alexander Scott, author of satires and +amatory poems, and called sometimes the 'Scottish Anacreon;' Sir Richard +Maitland of Lethington, father of the famous Secretary Lethington, who, +in his advanced years, composed and dictated to his daughter a few moral +and conversational pieces, and who collected, besides, into a MS. which +bears his name, the productions of some of his contemporaries; and +Alexander Montgomery, author of an allegorical poem, entitled 'The +Cherry and the Slae.' + +The allegory is not well managed, but some of the natural descriptions +are sweet and striking. Take the two following stanzas as a specimen:-- + + 'The cushat croods, the corbie cries, + The cuckoo conks, the prattling pies + To geck there they begin; + The jargon of the jangling jays, + The cracking craws and keckling kays, + They deav'd me with their din; + The painted pawn, with Argus eyes, + Can on his May-cock call, + The turtle wails, on wither'd trees, + And Echo answers all. + Repeating, with greeting, + How fair Narcissus fell, + By lying, and spying + His shadow in the well. + + 'The air was sober, saft, and sweet, + Nae misty vapours, wind, nor weet, + But quiet, calm, and clear; + To foster Flora's fragrant flowers, + Whereon Apollo's paramours + Had trinkled mony a tear; + The which, like silver shakers, shined, + Embroidering Beauty's bed, + Wherewith their heavy heads declined, + In Maye's colours clad; + Some knopping, some dropping + Of balmy liquor sweet, + Excelling and smelling + Through Phoebus' wholesome heat.' + +The 'Cherry and the Slae' was familiar to Burns, who often, our readers +will observe, copied its form of verse. + + + + +SAMUEL DANIEL. + + +This ingenious person was born in 1562, near Taunton, in Somersetshire. +His father was a music-master. He was patronised by the noble family +of Pembroke, who probably also maintained him at college. He went to +Magdalene Hall, Oxford, in 1579; and after studying there, chiefly +history and poetry, for seven years, he left without a degree. When +twenty-three years of age, he translated Paulus Jovius' 'Discourse of +Rare Inventions.' He became tutor to Lady Anne Clifford, the elegant +and accomplished daughter of the Earl of Cumberland. She, at his death, +raised a monument to his memory, and recorded on it, with pride, that +she had been his pupil. After Spenser died, Daniel became a 'voluntary +laureat' to the Court, producing masques and pageants, but was soon +supplanted by 'rare Ben Jonson.' In 1603 he was appointed Master of the +Queen's Revels and Inspector of the Plays to be enacted by juvenile +performers. He was also promoted to be Gentleman Extraordinary and Groom +of the Chambers to the Queen. He was a varied and voluminous writer, +composing plays, miscellaneous poems, and prose compositions, including +a 'Defence of Rhyme' and a 'History of England,'--an honest, but somewhat +dry and dull production. While composing his works he resided in Old +Street, St Luke's, which was then thought a suburban residence; but he +was often in town, and mingled on intimate terms with Selden and +Shakspeare. When approaching sixty, he took a farm at Beckington, in +Somersetshire--his native shire--and died there in 1619. + +Daniel's Plays and History are now, as wholes, forgotten, although the +former contained some vigorous passages, such as Richard II.'s soliloquy +on the morning of his murder in Pomfret Castle. His smaller pieces and +his Sonnets shew no ordinary poetic powers. + + +RICHARD II., THE MORNING BEFORE HIS MURDER IN POMFRET CASTLE. + +Whether the soul receives intelligence, +By her near genius, of the body's end, +And so imparts a sadness to the sense, +Foregoing ruin, whereto it doth tend; +Or whether nature else hath conference +With profound sleep, and so doth warning send, +By prophetising dreams, what hurt is near, +And gives the heavv careful heart to fear:-- + +However, so it is, the now sad king, +Toss'd here and there his quiet to confound, +Feels a strange weight of sorrows gathering +Upon his trembling heart, and sees no ground; +Feels sudden terror bring cold shivering; +Lists not to eat, still muses, sleeps unsound; +His senses droop, his steady eyes unquick, +And much he ails, and yet he is not sick. + +The morning of that day which was his last, +After a weary rest, rising to pain, +Out at a little grate his eyes he cast +Upon those bordering hills and open plain, +Where others' liberty makes him complain +The more his own, and grieves his soul the more, +Conferring captive crowns with freedom poor. + +'O happy man,' saith he, 'that lo I see, +Grazing his cattle in those pleasant fields, +If he but knew his good. How blessed he +That feels not what affliction greatness yields! +Other than what he is he would not be, +Nor change his state with him that sceptre wields. +Thine, thine is that true life: that is to live, +To rest secure, and not rise up to grieve. + +'Thou sitt'st at home safe by thy quiet fire, +And hear'st of others' harms, but fearest none: +And there thou tell'st of kings, and who aspire, +Who fall, who rise, who triumph, who do moan. +Perhaps thou talk'st of me, and dost inquire +Of my restraint, why here I live alone, +And pitiest this my miserable fall; +For pity must have part--envy not all. + +'Thrice happy you that look as from the shore, +And have no venture in the wreck you see; +No interest, no occasion to deplore +Other men's travails, while yourselves sit free. +How much doth your sweet rest make us the more +To see our misery and what we be: +Whose blinded greatness, ever in turmoil, +Still seeking happy life, makes life a toil.' + + +EARLY LOVE. + +Ah, I remember well (and how can I +But evermore remember well?) when first +Our flame began, when scarce we knew what was +The flame we felt; when as we sat and sigh'd +And look'd upon each other, and conceived +Not what we ail'd, yet something we did ail, +And yet were well, and yet we were not well, +And what was our disease we could not tell. +Then would we kiss, then sigh, then look: and thus +In that first garden of our simpleness +We spent our childhood. But when years began +To reap the fruit of knowledge; ah, how then +Would she with sterner looks, with graver brow, +Check my presumption and my forwardness! +Yet still would give me flowers, still would show +What she would have me, yet not have me know. + + +SELECTIONS FROM SONNETS. + +I must not grieve, my love, whose eyes would read +Lines of delight, whereon her youth might smile; +Flowers have time before they come to seed, +And she is young, and now must sport the while. +And sport, sweet maid, in season of these years, +And learn to gather flowers before they wither; +And where the sweetest blossom first appears, +Let love and youth conduct thy pleasures thither, +Lighten forth smiles to clear the clouded air, +And calm the tempest which my sighs do raise: +Pity and smiles do best become the fair; +Pity and smiles must only yield thee praise. +Make me to say, when all my griefs are gone, +Happy the heart that sigh'd for such a one. + +Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair; +Her brow shades frown, although her eyes are sunny; +Her smiles are lightning, though her pride despair; +And her disdains are gall, her favours honey. +A modest maid, deck'd with a blush of honour, +Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and love; +The wonder of all eyes that look upon her: +Sacred on earth; design'd a saint above; +Chastity and Beauty, which are deadly foes, +Live reconciled friends within her brow; +And had she Pity to conjoin with those, +Then who had heard the plaints I utter now? +For had she not been fair, and thus unkind, +My muse had slept, and none had known my mind. + +Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, +Brother to Death, in silent darkness born, +Relieve my anguish, and restore the light, +With dark forgetting of my care, return. +And let the day be time enough to mourn +The shipwreck of my ill-advised youth; +Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, +Without the torments of the night's untruth. +Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires, +To model forth the passions of to-morrow; +Never let the rising sun prove you liars, +To add more grief, to aggravate my sorrow. +Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain, +And never wake to feel the day's disdain. + + + + +SIR JOHN DAVIES. + + +This knight, says Campbell, 'wrote, at twenty-five years of age, a poem +on the "Immortality of the Soul," and at fifty-two, when he was a judge +and a statesman, another on the "_Art of Dancing_." Well might the +teacher of that noble accomplishment, in Moliere's comedy, exclaim, "_La +philosophie est quelque chose--mais la danse!_" This, however, is more +pointed than correct, since the first of these poems was written in +1592, when the author was only twenty-two years of age, and the latter +appeared in 1599, when he was only twenty-nine. + +Tisbury, in Wiltshire, was the birthplace of this poet, and 1570 the +date of his birth. His father was a practising lawyer. John was expelled +from the Temple for beating one Richard Martyn, afterwards Recorder, but +was restored, and subsequently elected for Parliament. In 1592, as +aforesaid, appeared his poem, 'Nosce Teipsum; or, The Immortality of the +Soul.' Its fame soon travelled to Scotland; and when Davies, along with +Lord Hunsdon, visited that country, James received him most graciously +as the author of 'Nosce Teipsum.' His history became, for some time, a +list of promotions. He was appointed, in 1603, first Solicitor and then +Attorney-General in Ireland, was next made Sergeant, was then knighted, +then appointed King's Sergeant, next elected representative of the +county of Fermanagh, and, in fine, after a violent contest between the +Roman Catholic and Protestant parties, was chosen Speaker of the House +of Commons in the Protestant interest. While in Ireland he married +Eleanor, a daughter of Lord Audley, who turned out a raving prophetess, +and was sent, in 1649, to the Tower, and then to Bethlehem Hospital, by +the Revolutionary Government. In 1616, Sir John returned to England, +continued to practise as a barrister, sat in Parliament for Newcastle- +under-Lyne, and received a promise of being made Chief-Justice of +England; but was suddenly cut off by apoplexy in 1626. + +His poem on dancing, which was written in fifteen days, and left a +fragment, is a piece of beautiful, though somewhat extravagant fancy. +His 'Nosce Teipsum,' if it casts little new light, and rears no +demonstrative argument on the grand and difficult problem of +immortality, is full of ingenuity, and has many apt and memorable +similes. Feeling he happily likens to the + + 'subtle spider, which doth sit + In middle of her web, which spreadeth wide; + If aught do touch the utmost thread of it, + She feels it instantly on every side.' + +In answering an objection, 'Why, if souls continue to exist, do they not +return and bring us news of that strange world?' he replies-- + + 'But as Noah's pigeon, which return'd no more, + Did show she footing found, for all the flood, + So when good souls, departed through death's door, + Come not again, it shows their dwelling good.' + +The poem is interesting from the musical use he makes of the quatrain, +a form of verse in which Dryden afterwards wrote his 'Annus Mirabilis,' +and as one of the earliest philosophical poems in the language. It is +proverbially difficult to reason in verse, but Davies reasons, if not +always with conclusive result, always with energy and skill. + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE POEM ON THE SOUL OF MAN. + +1 The lights of heaven, which are the world's fair eyes, + Look down into the world, the world to see; + And as they turn or wander in the skies, + Survey all things that on this centre be. + +2 And yet the lights which in my tower do shine, + Mine eyes, which view all objects nigh and far, + Look not into this little world of mine, + Nor see my face, wherein they fixed are. + +3 Since Nature fails us in no needful thing, + Why want I means my inward self to see? + Which sight the knowledge of myself might bring, + Which to true wisdom is the first degree. + +4 That Power, which gave me eyes the world to view, + To view myself, infused an inward light, + Whereby my soul, as by a mirror true, + Of her own form may take a perfect sight. + +5 But as the sharpest eye discerneth nought, + Except the sunbeams in the air do shine; + So the best soul, with her reflecting thought, + Sees not herself without some light divine. + +6 O light, which mak'st the light which makes the day! + Which sett'st the eye without, and mind within, + Lighten my spirit with one clear heavenly ray, + Which now to view itself doth first begin. + +7 For her true form how can my spark discern, + Which, dim by nature, art did never clear, + When the great wits, of whom all skill we learn, + Are ignorant both what she is, and where? + +8 One thinks the soul is air; another fire; + Another blood, diffused about the heart; + Another saith, the elements conspire, + And to her essence each doth give a part. + +9 Musicians think our souls are harmonies; + Physicians hold that they complexions be; + Epicures make them swarms of atomies, + Which do by chance into our bodies flee. + +10 Some think one general soul fills every brain, + As the bright sun sheds light in every star; + And others think the name of soul is vain, + And that we only well-mix'd bodies are. + +11 In judgment of her substance thus they vary; + And thus they vary in judgment of her seat; + For some her chair up to the brain do carry, + Some thrust it down into the stomach's heat. + +12 Some place it in the root of life, the heart; + Some in the liver, fountain of the veins; + Some say, she's all in all, and all in every part; + Some say, she's not contain'd, but all contains. + +13 Thus these great clerks their little wisdom show, + While with their doctrines they at hazard play; + Tossing their light opinions to and fro, + To mock the lewd, as learn'd in this as they. + +14 For no crazed brain could ever yet propound, + Touching the soul, so vain and fond a thought; + But some among these masters have been found, + Which in their schools the selfsame thing have taught. + +15 God only wise, to punish pride of wit, + Among men's wits hath this confusion wrought, + As the proud tower whose points the clouds did hit, + By tongues' confusion was to ruin brought. + +16 But thou which didst man's soul of nothing make, + And when to nothing it was fallen again, + 'To make it new, the form of man didst take; + And, God with God, becam'st a man with men.' + +17 Thou that hast fashion'd twice this soul of ours, + So that she is by double title thine, + Thou only know'st her nature and her powers, + Her subtle form thou only canst define. + +18 To judge herself, she must herself transcend, + As greater circles comprehend the less; + But she wants power her own powers to extend, + As fetter'd men cannot their strength express. + +19 But thou bright morning Star, thou rising Sun, + Which in these later times hast brought to light + Those mysteries that, since the world begun, + Lay hid in darkness and eternal night: + +20 Thou, like the sun, dost with an equal ray + Into the palace and the cottage shine, + And show'st the soul, both to the clerk and lay, + By the clear lamp of oracle divine. + +21 This lamp, through all the regions of my brain, + Where my soul sits, doth spread such beams of grace, + As now, methinks, I do distinguish plain + Each subtle line of her immortal face. + +22 The soul a substance and a spirit is, + Which God himself doth in the body make, + Which makes the man; for every man from this + The nature of a man and name doth take. + +23 And though this spirit be to the body knit, + As an apt means her powers to exercise, + Which are life, motion, sense, and will, and wit, + Yet she survives, although the body dies. + + +THE SELF-SUBSISTENCE OF THE SOUL. + +1 She is a substance, and a real thing, + Which hath itself an actual working might, + Which neither from the senses' power doth spring, + Nor from the body's humours temper'd right. + +2 She is a vine, which doth no propping need, + To make her spread herself, or spring upright; + She is a star, whose beams do not proceed + From any sun, but from a native light. + +3 For when she sorts things present with things past, + And thereby things to come doth oft foresee; + When she doth doubt at first, and choose at last, + These acts her own,[1] without her body be. + +4 When of the dew, which the eye and ear do take, + From flowers abroad, and bring into the brain, + She doth within both wax and honey make: + This work is hers, this is her proper pain. + +5 When she from sundry acts, one skill doth draw; + Gathering from divers fights one art of war; + From many cases like, one rule of law; + These her collections, not the senses' are. + +6 When in the effects she doth the causes know; + And seeing the stream, thinks where the spring doth rise; + And seeing the branch, conceives the root below: + These things she views without the body's eyes. + +7 When she, without a Pegasus, doth fly + Swifter than lightning's fire from east to west; + About the centre, and above the sky, + She travels then, although the body rest. + +8 When all her works she formeth first within, + Proportions them, and sees their perfect end; + Ere she in act doth any part begin, + What instruments doth then the body lend? + +9 When without hands she doth thus castles build, + Sees without eyes, and without feet doth run; + When she digests the world, yet is not fill'd: + By her own powers these miracles are done. + +10 When she defines, argues, divides, compounds, + Considers virtue, vice, and general things; + And marrying divers principles and grounds, + Out of their match a true conclusion brings. + +11 These actions in her closet, all alone, + Retired within herself, she doth fulfil; + Use of her body's organs she hath none, + When she doth use the powers of wit and will. + +12 Yet in the body's prison so she lies, + As through the body's windows she must look, + Her divers powers of sense to exercise, + By gathering notes out of the world's great book. + +13 Nor can herself discourse or judge of ought, + But what the sense collects, and home doth bring; + And yet the powers of her discoursing thought, + From these collections is a diverse thing. + +14 For though our eyes can nought but colours see, + Yet colours give them not their power of sight; + So, though these fruits of sense her objects be, + Yet she discerns them by her proper light. + +15 The workman on his stuff his skill doth show, + And yet the stuff gives not the man his skill; + Kings their affairs do by their servants know, + But order them by their own royal will. + +16 So, though this cunning mistress, and this queen, + Doth, as her instruments, the senses use, + To know all things that are felt, heard, or seen; + Yet she herself doth only judge and choose. + +17 Even as a prudent emperor, that reigns + By sovereign title over sundry lands, + Borrows, in mean affairs, his subjects' pains, + Sees by their eyes, and writeth by their hands: + +18 But things of weight and consequence indeed, + Himself doth in his chamber then debate; + Where all his counsellors he doth exceed, + As far in judgment, as he doth in state. + +19 Or as the man whom princes do advance, + Upon their gracious mercy-seat to sit, + Doth common things of course and circumstance, + To the reports of common men commit: + +20 But when the cause itself must be decreed, + Himself in person in his proper court, + To grave and solemn hearing doth proceed, + Of every proof, and every by-report. + +21 Then, like God's angel, he pronounceth right, + And milk and honey from his tongue doth flow: + Happy are they that still are in his sight, + To reap the wisdom which his lips doth sow. + +22 Right so the soul, which is a lady free, + And doth the justice of her state maintain: + Because the senses ready servants be, + Attending nigh about her court, the brain: + +23 By them the forms of outward things she learns, + For they return unto the fantasy, + Whatever each of them abroad discerns, + And there enrol it for the mind to see. + +24 But when she sits to judge the good and ill, + And to discern betwixt the false and true, + She is not guided by the senses' skill, + But doth each thing in her own mirror view. + +25 Then she the senses checks, which oft do err, + And even against their false reports decrees; + And oft she doth condemn what they prefer; + For with a power above the sense she sees. + +26 Therefore no sense the precious joys conceives, + Which in her private contemplations be; + For then the ravish'd spirit the senses leaves, + Hath her own powers, and proper actions free. + +27 Her harmonies are sweet, and full of skill, + When on the body's instruments she plays; + But the proportions of the wit and will, + Those sweet accords are even the angels' lays. + +28 These tunes of reason are Amphion's lyre, + Wherewith he did the Theban city found: + These are the notes wherewith the heavenly choir, + The praise of Him which made the heaven doth sound. + +29 Then her self-being nature shines in this, + That she performs her noblest works alone: + 'The work, the touchstone of the nature is; + And by their operations things are known.' + +[1] That the soul hath a proper operation without the body. + + +SPIRITUALITY OF THE SOUL. + +1 But though this substance be the root of sense, + Sense knows her not, which doth but bodies know: + She is a spirit, and heavenly influence, + Which from the fountain of God's Spirit doth flow. + +2 She is a spirit, yet not like air or wind; + Nor like the spirits about the heart or brain; + Nor like those spirits which alchymists do find, + When they in everything seek gold in vain. + +3 For she all natures under heaven doth pass, + Being like those spirits, which God's bright face do see, + Or like Himself, whose image once she was, + Though now, alas! she scarce his shadow be. + +4 For of all forms, she holds the first degree, + That are to gross, material bodies knit; + Yet she herself is bodiless and free; + And, though confined, is almost infinite. + +5 Were she a body,[1] how could she remain + Within this body, which is less than she? + Or how could she the world's great shape contain, + And in our narrow breasts contained be? + +6 All bodies are confined within some place, + But she all place within herself confines: + All bodies have their measure and their space; + But who can draw the soul's dimensive lines? + +7 No body can at once two forms admit, + Except the one the other do deface; + But in the soul ten thousand forms do fit, + And none intrudes into her neighbour's place. + +8 All bodies are with other bodies fill'd, + But she receives both heaven and earth together: + Nor are their forms by rash encounter spill'd, + For there they stand, and neither toucheth either. + +9 Nor can her wide embracements filled be; + For they that most and greatest things embrace, + Enlarge thereby their mind's capacity, + As streams enlarged, enlarge the channel's space. + +10 All things received, do such proportion take, + As those things have, wherein they are received: + So little glasses little faces make, + And narrow webs on narrow frames are weaved. + +11 Then what vast body must we make the mind, + Wherein are men, beasts, trees, towns, seas, and lands; + And yet each thing a proper place doth find, + And each thing in the true proportion stands? + +12 Doubtless, this could not be, but that she turns + Bodies to spirits, by sublimation strange; + As fire converts to fire the things it burns: + As we our meats into our nature change. + +13 From their gross matter she abstracts the forms, + And draws a kind of quintessence from things, + Which to her proper nature she transforms, + To bear them light on her celestial wings. + +14 This doth she, when, from things particular, + She doth abstract the universal kinds, + Which bodiless and immaterial are, + And can be only lodged within our minds. + +15 And thus from divers accidents and acts, + Which do within her observation fall, + She goddesses and powers divine abstracts; + As nature, fortune, and the virtues all. + +16 Again; how can she several bodies know, + If in herself a body's form she bear? + How can a mirror sundry faces show, + If from all shapes and forms it be not clear? + +17 Nor could we by our eyes all colours learn, + Except our eyes were of all colours void; + Nor sundry tastes can any tongue discern, + Which is with gross and bitter humours cloy'd. + +18 Nor can a man of passions judge aright, + Except his mind be from all passions free: + Nor can a judge his office well acquit, + If he possess'd of either party be. + +19 If, lastly, this quick power a body were, + Were it as swift as in the wind or fire, + Whose atoms do the one down sideways bear, + And the other make in pyramids aspire; + +20 Her nimble body yet in time must move, + And not in instants through all places slide: + But she is nigh and far, beneath, above, + In point of time, which thought cannot divide; + +21 She's sent as soon to China as to Spain; + And thence returns as soon as she is sent: + She measures with one time, and with one pain. + An ell of silk, and heaven's wide-spreading tent. + +22 As then the soul a substance hath alone, + Besides the body in which she's confined; + So hath she not a body of her own, + But is a spirit, and immaterial mind. + +23 Since body and soul have such diversities, + Well might we muse how first their match began; + But that we learn, that He that spread the skies, + And fix'd the earth, first form'd the soul in man. + +24 This true Prometheus first made man of earth, + And shed in him a beam of heavenly fire; + Now in their mothers' wombs, before their birth, + Doth in all sons of men their souls inspire. + +25 And as Minerva is in fables said, + From Jove, without a mother, to proceed; + So our true Jove, without a mother's aid, + Doth daily millions of Minervas breed. + +[1] That it cannot be a body. + + + + +GILES FLETCHER. + + +Giles Fletcher was the younger brother of Phineas, and died twenty-three +years before him. He was a cousin of Fletcher the dramatist, and the son +of Dr Giles Fletcher, who was employed in many important missions in the +reign of Queen Elizabeth, and, among others, negotiated a commercial +treaty with Russia greatly in the favour of his own country. Giles is +supposed to have been born in 1588. He studied at Cambridge; published his +noble poem, 'Christ's Victory and Triumph,' in 1610, when he was twenty- +three years of age; was appointed to the living of Alderston, in Suffolk, +where he died, in 1623, at the early age of thirty-five, 'equally loved,' +says old Wood, 'of the Muses and the Graces.' + +The poem, in four cantos, entitled 'Christ's Victory and Triumph,' is one +of almost Miltonic magnificence. With a wing as easy as it is strong, he +soars to heaven, and fills the austere mouth of Justice and the golden +lips of Mercy with language worthy of both. He then stoops down on the +Wilderness of the Temptation, and paints the Saviour and Satan in colours +admirably contrasted, and which in their brightness and blackness can +never decay. Nor does he fear, in fine, to pierce the gloom of Calvary, +and to mingle his note with the harps of angels, saluting the Redeemer, as +He sprang from the grave, with the song, 'He is risen, He is risen--and +shall die no more.' The style is steeped in Spenser--equally mellifluous, +figurative, and majestic. In allegory the author of the 'Fairy Queen' is +hardly superior, and in the enthusiasm of devotion Fletcher surpasses him +far. From the great light, thus early kindled and early quenched, Milton +did not disdain to draw with his 'golden urn.' 'Paradise Regained' owes +much more than the suggestion of its subject to 'Christ's Victory;' and is +it too much to say that, had Fletcher lived, he might have shone in the +same constellation with the bard of the 'Paradise Lost?' The plan of our +'Specimens' permits only a few extracts. Let those who wish more, along +with a lengthened and glowing tribute to the author's genius, consult +_Blackwood_ for November 1835. The reading of a single sentence will +convince them that the author of the paper was Christopher North. + + +THE NATIVITY. + +I. + +Who can forget, never to be forgot, +The time, that all the world in slumber lies: +When, like the stars, the singing angels shot +To earth, and heaven awaked all his eyes, +To see another sun at midnight rise + On earth? was never sight of pareil fame: + For God before, man like himself did frame, +But God himself now like a mortal man became. + +II. + +A child he was, and had not learned to speak, +That with his word the world before did make: +His mother's arms him bore, he was so weak, +That with one hand the vaults of heaven could shake. +See how small room my infant Lord doth take, + Whom all the world is not enough to hold. + Who of his years, or of his age hath told? +Never such age so young, never a child so old. + +III + +And yet but newly he was infanted, +And yet already he was sought to die; +Yet scarcely born, already banished; +Not able yet to go, and forced to fly: +But scarcely fled away, when by and by, + The tyrant's sword with blood is all denied, + And Rachel, for her sons with fury wild, +Cries, O thou cruel king, and O my sweetest child! + +IV. + +Egypt his nurse became, where Nilus springs, +Who straight, to entertain the rising sun, +The hasty harvest in his bosom brings; +But now for drought the fields were all undone, +And now with waters all is overrun: + So fast the Cynthian mountains poured their snow, + When once they felt the sun so near them glow, +That Nilus Egypt lost, and to a sea did grow. + +V. + +The angels carolled loud their song of peace, +The cursed oracles were stricken dumb, +To see their shepherd, the poor shepherds press, +To see their king, the kingly sophics come, +And them to guide unto his Master's home, + A star comes dancing up the orient, + That springs for joy over the strawy tent, +Where gold, to make their prince a crown, they all present. + +VI. + +Young John, glad child, before he could be born, +Leapt in the womb, his joy to prophesy: +Old Anna, though with age all spent and worn, +Proclaims her Saviour to posterity: +And Simeon fast his dying notes doth ply. + Oh, how the blessed souls about him trace! + It is the fire of heaven thou dost embrace: +Sing, Simeon, sing; sing, Simeon, sing apace. + +VII. + +With that the mighty thunder dropt away +From God's unwary arm, now milder grown, +And melted into tears; as if to pray +For pardon, and for pity, it had known, +That should have been for sacred vengeance thrown: + There too the armies angelic devowed + Their former rage, and all to mercy bowed, +Their broken weapons at her feet they gladly strowed. + +VIII. + +Bring, bring, ye Graces, all your silver flaskets, +Painted with every choicest flower that grows, +That I may soon unflower your fragrant baskets, +To strow the fields with odours where he goes, +Let whatsoe'er he treads on be a rose. + So down she let her eyelids fall, to shine + Upon the rivers of bright Palestine, +Whose woods drop honey, and her rivers skip with wine. + + +SONG OF SORCERESS SEEKING TO TEMPT CHRIST. + +Love is the blossom where there blows +Everything that lives or grows: +Love doth make the heavens to move, +And the sun doth burn in love: +Love the strong and weak doth yoke, +And makes the ivy climb the oak; +Under whose shadows lions wild, +Softened by love, grow tame and mild: +Love no medicine can appease, +He burns the fishes in the seas; +Not all the skill his wounds can stench, +Not all the sea his fire can quench: +Love did make the bloody spear +Once a leafy coat to wear, +While in his leaves there shrouded lay +Sweet birds, for love, that sing and play: +And of all love's joyful flame, +I the bud, and blossom am. + Only bend thy knee to me, + The wooing shall thy winning be. + +See, see the flowers that below, +Now as fresh as morning blow, +And of all, the virgin rose, +That as bright Aurora shows: +How they all unleaved die, +Losing their virginity; +Like unto a summer-shade, +But now born, and now they fade. +Everything doth pass away, +There is danger in delay: +Come, come gather then the rose, +Gather it, ere it you lose. +All the sand of Tagus' shore +Into my bosom casts his ore; +All the valley's swimming corn +To my house is yearly borne: +Every grape of every vine +Is gladly bruised to make me wine. +While ten thousand kings, as proud, +To carry up my train have bowed, +And a world of ladies send me +In my chambers to attend me. +All the stars in heaven that shine, +And ten thousand more, are mine: + Only bend thy knee to me, + Thy wooing shall thy winning be. + + +CLOSE OF 'CHRIST'S VICTORY AND TRIUMPH.' + +I + +Here let my Lord hang up his conquering lance, +And bloody armour with late slaughter warm, +And looking down on his weak militants, +Behold his saints, midst of their hot alarm, +Hang all their golden hopes upon his arm. + And in this lower field dispacing wide, + Through windy thoughts, that would their sails misguide, +Anchor their fleshly ships fast in his wounded side. + +II. + +Here may the band, that now in triumph shines, +And that (before they were invested thus) +In earthly bodies carried heavenly minds, +Pitched round about in order glorious, +Their sunny tents, and houses luminous, + All their eternal day in songs employing, + Joying their end, without end of their joying, +While their Almighty Prince destruction is destroying. + +III. + +Full, yet without satiety, of that +Which whets and quiets greedy appetite, +Where never sun did rise, nor ever sat, +But one eternal day, and endless light +Gives time to those, whose time is infinite, + Speaking without thought, obtaining without fee, + Beholding him, whom never eye could see, +Magnifying him, that cannot greater be. + +IV. + +How can such joy as this want words to speak? +And yet what words can speak such joy as this? +Far from the world, that might their quiet break, +Here the glad souls the face of beauty kiss, +Poured out in pleasure, on their beds of bliss, + And drunk with nectar torrents, ever hold + Their eyes on him, whose graces manifold +The more they do behold, the more they would behold. + +V. + +Their sight drinks lovely fires in at their eyes, +Their brain sweet incense with fine breath accloys, +That on God's sweating altar burning lies; +Their hungry ears feed on the heavenly noise +That angels sing, to tell their untold joys; + Their understanding naked truth, their wills + The all, and self-sufficient goodness fills, +That nothing here is wanting, but the want of ills. + +VI. + +No sorrow now hangs clouding on their brow, +No bloodless malady empales their face, +No age drops on their hairs his silver snow, +No nakedness their bodies doth embase, +No poverty themselves, and theirs disgrace, + No fear of death the joy of life devours, + No unchaste sleep their precious time deflowers, +No loss, no grief, no change wait on their winged hours. + +VII. + +But now their naked bodies scorn the cold, +And from their eyes joy looks, and laughs at pain; +The infant wonders how he came so old, +And old man how he came so young again; +Still resting, though from sleep they still restrain; + Where all are rich, and yet no gold they owe; + And all are kings, and yet no subjects know; +All full, and yet no time on food they do bestow. + +VIII. + +For things that pass are past, and in this field +The indeficient spring no winter fears; +The trees together fruit and blossom yield, +The unfading lily leaves of silver bears, +And crimson rose a scarlet garment wears: + And all of these on the saints' bodies grow, + Not, as they wont, on baser earth below; +Three rivers here of milk, and wine, and honey flow. + +IX. + +About the holy city rolls a flood +Of molten crystal, like a sea of glass, +On which weak stream a strong foundation stood, +Of living diamonds the building was +That all things else, besides itself, did pass: + Her streets, instead of stones, the stars did pave, + And little pearls, for dust, it seemed to have, +On which soft-streaming manna, like pure snow, did wave. + +X. + +In midst of this city celestial, +Where the eternal temple should have rose, +Lightened the idea beatifical: +End and beginning of each thing that grows, +Whose self no end, nor yet beginning knows, + That hath no eyes to see, nor ears to hear; + Yet sees, and hears, and is all eye, all ear; +That nowhere is contained, and yet is everywhere. + +XI. + +Changer of all things, yet immutable; +Before, and after all, the first, and last: +That moving all is yet immoveable; +Great without quantity, in whose forecast, +Things past are present, things to come are past; + Swift without motion, to whose open eye + The hearts of wicked men unbreasted lie; +At once absent, and present to them, far, and nigh. + +XII. + +It is no flaming lustre, made of light; +No sweet consent, or well-timed harmony; +Ambrosia, for to feast the appetite: +Or flowery odour, mixed with spicery; +No soft embrace, or pleasure bodily: + And yet it is a kind of inward feast; + A harmony that sounds within the breast; +An odour, light, embrace, in which the soul doth rest. + +XIII. + +A heavenly feast no hunger can consume; +A light unseen, yet shines in every place; +A sound no time can steal; a sweet perfume +No winds can scatter; an entire embrace, +That no satiety can e'er unlace: + Ingraced into so high a favour, there + The saints, with their beau-peers, whole worlds outwear; +And things unseen do see, and things unheard do hear. + +XIV. + +Ye blessed souls, grown richer by your spoil, +Whose loss, though great, is cause of greater gains; +Here may your weary spirits rest from toil, +Spending your endless evening that remains, +Amongst those white flocks, and celestial trains, + That feed upon their Shepherd's eyes; and frame + That heavenly music of so wondrous fame, +Psalming aloud the holy honours of his name! + +XV. + +Had I a voice of steel to tune my song; +Were every verse as smooth as smoothest glass; +And every member turned to a tongue; +And every tongue were made of sounding brass: +Yet all that skill, and all this strength, alas! + Should it presume to adorn (were misadvised) + The place, where David hath new songs devised, +As in his burning throne he sits emparadised. + +XVI. + +Most happy prince, whose eyes those stars behold, +Treading ours underfeet, now mayst thou pour +That overflowing skill, wherewith of old +Thou wont'st to smooth rough speech; now mayst thou shower +Fresh streams of praise upon that holy bower, + Which well we heaven call, not that it rolls, + But that it is the heaven of our souls: +Most happy prince, whose sight so heavenly sight beholds! + +XVII. + +Ah, foolish shepherds! who were wont to esteem +Your God all rough, and shaggy-haired to be; +And yet far wiser shepherds than ye deem, +For who so poor (though who so rich) as he, +When sojourning with us in low degree, + He washed his flocks in Jordan's spotless tide; + And that his dear remembrance might abide, +Did to us come, and with us lived, and for us died? + +XVIII. + +But now such lively colours did embeam +His sparkling forehead; and such shining rays +Kindled his flaming locks, that down did stream +In curls along his neck, where sweetly plays +(Singing his wounds of love in sacred lays) + His dearest Spouse, Spouse of the dearest Lover, + Knitting a thousand knots over and over, +And dying still for love, but they her still recover. + +XIX. + +Fairest of fairs, that at his eyes doth dress +Her glorious face; those eyes, from whence are shed +Attractions infinite; where to express +His love, high God all heaven as captive leads, +And all the banners of his grace dispreads, + And in those windows doth his arms englaze, + And on those eyes, the angels all do gaze, +And from those eyes, the lights of heaven obtain their blaze. + +XX. + +But let the Kentish lad,[1] that lately taught +His oaten reed the trumpet's silver sound, +Young Thyrsilis; and for his music brought +The willing spheres from heaven, to lead around +The dancing nymphs and swains, that sung, and crowned + Eclecta's Hymen with ten thousand flowers + Of choicest praise; and hung her heavenly bowers +With saffron garlands, dressed for nuptial paramours. + +XXI. + +Let his shrill trumpet, with her silver blast, +Of fair Eclecta, and her spousal bed, +Be the sweet pipe, and smooth encomiast: +But my green muse, hiding her younger head, +Under old Camus' flaggy banks, that spread + Their willow locks abroad, and all the day + With their own watery shadows wanton play; +Dares not those high amours, and love-sick songs assay. + +XXII. + +Impotent words, weak lines, that strive in vain; + In vain, alas, to tell so heavenly sight! +So heavenly sight, as none can greater feign, + Feign what he can, that seems of greatest might: + Could any yet compare with Infinite? + Infinite sure those joys; my words but light; +Light is the palace where she dwells; oh, then, how bright! + +[1] The author of 'The Purple Island.' + + + + +JOHN DONNE. + + +John Donne was born in London, in the year 1573. He sprung from a +Catholic family, and his mother was related to Sir Thomas More and to +Heywood the epigrammatist. He was very early distinguished as a prodigy +of boyish acquirement, and was entered, when only eleven, of Harthall, +now Hertford College. He was designed for the law, but relinquished the +study when he reached nineteen. About the same time, having studied the +controversies between the Papists and Protestants, he deliberately went +over to the latter. He next accompanied the Earl of Essex to Cadiz, and +looked wistfully over the gulf dividing him from Jerusalem, with all its +holy memories, to which his heart had been translated from very boyhood. +He even meditated a journey to the Holy Land, but was discouraged by +reports as to the dangers of the way. On his return he was received by +the Lord Chancellor Ellesmere into his own house as his secretary. Here +he fell in love with Miss More, the daughter of Sir George More, Lord- +Lieutenant of the Tower, and the niece of the Chancellor. His passion +was returned, and the pair were imprudent enough to marry privately. +When the matter became known, the father-in-law became infuriated. He +prevailed on Lord Ellesmere to drive Donne out of his service, and had +him even for a short time imprisoned. Even when released he continued in +a pitiable plight, and but for the kindness of Sir Francis Wooley, a son +of Lady Ellesmere by a former marriage, who received the young couple +into his family and entertained them for years, they would have +perished. + +When Donne reached the age of thirty-four, Dr Merton, afterwards Bishop +of Durham, urged him to take orders, and offered him a benefice, which +he was generously to relinquish in his favour. Donne declined, on +account, he said, of some past errors of life, which, 'though repented +of and pardoned by God, might not be forgotten by men, and might cast +dishonour on the sacred office.' + +When Sir F. Wooley died, Sir Robert Drury became his next protector. +Donne attended him on an embassy to France, and his wife formed the +romantic purpose of accompanying her husband in the disguise of a page. +Here was a wife fit for a poet! In order to restrain her from her +purpose, he had to address to her some verses, commencing, + + 'By our strange and fatal interview.' + +Isaak Walton relates how the poet, one evening, as he sat alone in +Paris, saw his wife appearing to him in vision, with a dead infant in +her arms--a proof at once of the strength of his love and of his +imagination. This beloved and admirable woman died in 1617, a few days +after giving birth to her twelfth child, and Donne's grief approached +distraction. + +When he had reached the forty-second year of his age, our poet, at the +instance of King James, became a clergyman, and was successively +appointed Chaplain to the King, Lecturer to Lincoln's Inn, Dean of St +Dunstan's in the West, and Dean of St Paul's. In the pulpit he attracted +great attention, particularly from the more thoughtful and intelligent +of his auditors. He continued Dean of St Paul's till his death, which +took place in 1631, when he was approaching sixty. He died of consumption, +a disease which seldom cuts down a man so near his grand climacteric. + +'He was buried,' says Campbell, 'in St Paul's, where his figure yet +remains in the vault of St Faith's, carved from a painting, for which he +sat a few days' (it should be weeks) 'before his death, dressed in his +winding-sheet.' He kept this portrait constantly by his bedside to +remind him of his mortality. + +Donne's Sermons fill a large folio, with which we were familiar in +boyhood, but have not seen since. De Quincey says, alluding partly +to them, and partly to his poetry,--'Few writers have shewn a more +extraordinary compass of powers than Donne, for he combined--what no +other man has ever done--the last sublimation of dialectical subtlety +and address with the most impassioned majesty. Massy diamonds compose +the very substance of his poem on the 'Metempsychosis,'--thoughts and +descriptions which have the fervent and gloomy sublimity of Ezekiel or +Aeschylus; while a diamond-dust of rhetorical brilliances is strewed +over the whole of his occasional verses and his prose.' We beg leave +to differ, in some degree, from De Quincey in his estimate of the +'Metempsychosis,' or 'The Progress of the Soul,' although we have given +it entire. It has too many far-fetched conceits and obscure allegories, +although redeemed, we admit, by some very precious thoughts, such as + + 'This soul, to whom Luther and Mahomet were Prisons of flesh.' + +Or the following quaint picture of the apple in Eden-- + + 'Prince of the orchard, fair as dawning morn, + Fenced with the law, and ripe as soon as born.' + +Or this-- + + 'Nature hath no jail, though she hath law.' + +If our readers, however, can admire the account the poet gives of Abel +and his bitch, or see any resemblance to the severe and simple grandeur +of Aeschylus and Ezekiel in the description of the soul informing a +body, made of a '_female fish's sandy roe' 'newly leavened with the +male's jelly_,' we shall say no more. + +Donne, altogether, gives us the impression of a great genius ruined by +a false system. He is a charioteer run away with by his own pampered +steeds. He begins generally well, but long ere the close, quibbles, +conceits, and the temptation of shewing off recondite learning, prove +too strong for him, and he who commenced following a serene star, ends +pursuing a will-o'-wisp into a bottomless morass. Compare, for instance, +the ingenious nonsense which abounds in the middle and the close of his +'Progress of the Soul' with the dark, but magnificent stanzas which are +the first in the poem. + +In no writings in the language is there more spilt treasure--a more lavish +loss of beautiful, original, and striking things than in the poems of +Donne. Every second line, indeed, is either bad, or unintelligible, or +twisted into unnatural distortion, but even the worst passages discover a +great, though trammelled and tasteless mind; and we question if Dr Johnson +himself, who has, in his 'Life of Cowley,' criticised the school of poets +to which Donne belonged so severely, and in some points so justly, +possessed a tithe of the rich fancy, the sublime intuition, and the lofty +spirituality of Donne. How characteristic of the difference between these +two great men, that, while the one shrank from the slightest footprint of +death, Donne deliberately placed the image of his dead self before his +eyes, and became familiar with the shadow ere the grim reality arrived! + +Donne's Satires shew, in addition to the high ideal qualities, the rugged +versification, the fantastic paradox, and the perverted taste of their +author, great strength and clearness of judgment, and a deep, although +somewhat jaundiced, view of human nature. That there must have been +something morbid in the structure of his mind is proved by the fact that +he wrote an elaborate treatise, which was not published till after his +death, entitled, 'Biathanatos,' to prove that suicide was not necessarily +sinful. + + +HOLY SONNETS. + +I. + +Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay? +Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste; +I run to death, and death meets me as fast, +And all my pleasures are like yesterday. +I dare not move my dim eyes any way; +Despair behind, and death before, doth cast +Such terror, and my feeble flesh doth waste +By sin in it, which it towards hell doth weigh, +Only thou art above, and when towards thee +By thy leave I can look, I rise again; +But our old subtle foe so tempteth me, +That not one hour myself I can sustain: +Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art, +And thou, like adamant, draw mine iron heart. + +II. + +As due by many titles, I resign +Myself to thee, O God! First I was made +By thee, and for thee; and when I was decayed +Thy blood bought that, the which before was thine. +I am thy son, made with thyself to shine, +Thy servant, whose pains thou hast still repaid, +Thy sheep, thine image; and, till I betrayed +Myself, a temple of thy Spirit divine. +Why doth the devil then usurp on me? +Why doth he steal, nay, ravish, that's thy right? +Except thou rise, and for thine own work fight, +Oh! I shall soon despair, when I shall see +That thou lov'st mankind well, yet wilt not choose me, +And Satan hates me, yet is loth to lose me. + +III. + +Oh! might these sighs and tears return again +Into my breast and eyes which I have spent, +That I might, in this holy discontent, +Mourn with some fruit, as I have mourned in vain! +In mine idolatry what showers of rain +Mine eyes did waste! what griefs my heart did rent! +That sufferance was my sin I now repent; +'Cause I did suffer, I must suffer pain. +The hydroptic drunkard, and night-scouting thief, +The itchy lecher, and self-tickling proud, +Have th' remembrance of past joys for relief +Of coming ills. To poor me is allow'd +No ease; for long yet vehement grief hath been +The effect and cause, the punishment and sin. + +IV. + +Oh! my black soul! now thou art summoned +By sickness, death's herald and champion, +Thou 'rt like a pilgrim which abroad hath done +Treason, and durst not turn to whence he is fled; +Or like a thief, which, till death's doom be read, +Wisheth himself delivered from prison; +But damn'd, and haul'd to execution, +Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned: +Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack; +But who shall give thee that grace to begin? +Oh! make thyself with holy mourning black, +And red with blushing, as thou art with sin; +Or wash thee in Christ's blood, which hath this might, +That, being red, it dyes red souls to white. + +V. + +I am a little world, made cunningly +Of elements and an angelic sprite; +But black sin hath betrayed to endless night +My world's both parts, and oh! both parts must die. +You, which beyond that heaven, which was most high, +Have found new spheres, and of new land can write, +Pour new seas in mine eyes, that so I might +Drown my world with my weeping earnestly, +Or wash it, if it must be drowned no more: +But oh! it must be burnt; alas! the fire +Of lust and envy burnt it heretofore, +And made it fouler; let their flames retire, +And burn me, O Lord! with a fiery zeal +Of thee and thy house, which doth in eating heal. + +VI. + +This is my play's last scene; here Heavens appoint +My pilgrimage's last mile; and my race, +Idly yet quickly run, hath this last pace, +My span's last inch, my minute's latest point, +And gluttonous Death will instantly unjoint +My body and soul, and I shall sleep a space: +But my ever-waking part shall see that face +Whose fear already shakes my every joint. +Then as my soul to heaven, her first seat, takes flight, +And earth-born body in the earth shall dwell, +So fall my sins, that all may have their right, +To where they're bred, and would press me to hell. +Impute me righteous; thus purged of evil, +For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil. + +VII. + +At the round earth's imagined corners blow +Your trumpets, angels! and arise, arise +From death, you numberless infinities +Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go, +All whom the flood did, and fire shall, overthrow; +All whom war, death, age, ague's tyrannies, +Despair, law, chance, hath slain; and you whose eyes +Shall behold God, and never taste death's woe. +But let them sleep, Lord! and me mourn a space; +For if above all these my sins abound, +'Tis late to ask abundance of thy grace +When we are there. Here on this holy ground +Teach me how to repent, for that's as good +As if thou hadst sealed my pardon with thy blood. + +VIII. + +If faithful souls be alike glorified +As angels, then my father's soul doth see, +And adds this even to full felicity, +That valiantly I hell's wide mouth o'erstride; +But if our minds to these souls be descried +By circumstances and by signs that be +Apparent in us not immediately, +How shall my mind's white truth by them be tried? +They see idolatrous lovers weep and mourn, +And style blasphemous conjurors to call +On Jesus' name, and pharisaical +Dissemblers feign devotion. Then turn, +O pensive soul! to God, for he knows best +Thy grief, for he put it into my breast. + +IX + +If poisonous minerals, and if that tree +Whose fruit threw death on (else immortal) us; +If lecherous goats, if serpents envious, +Cannot be damn'd, alas! why should I be? +Why should intent or reason, born in me, +Make sins, else equal, in me more heinous? +And mercy being easy and glorious +To God, in his stern wrath why threatens he? +But who am I that dare dispute with thee! +O God! oh, of thine only worthy blood, +And my tears, make a heavenly Lethean flood, +And drown in it my sins' black memory: +That thou remember them some claim as debt, +I think it mercy if thou wilt forget! + +X + +Death! be not proud, though some have called thee +Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; +For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow +Die not, poor Death! nor yet canst thou kill me. +From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be, +Much pleasure, then, from thee much more must flow; +And soonest our best men with thee do go, +Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. +Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, +And dost with poison, war, and sickness, dwell, +And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well, +And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou, then? +One short sleep past we wake eternally; +And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. + +XI. + +Spit in my face, you Jews, and pierce my side, +Buffet and scoff, scourge and crucify me, +For I have sinned, and sinned, and only he +Who could do no iniquity hath died, +But by my death cannot be satisfied +My sins, which pass the Jews' impiety: +They killed once an inglorious man, but I +Crucify him daily, being now glorified. +O let me then his strange love still admire. +Kings pardon, but he bore our punishment; +And Jacob came, clothed in vile harsh attire, +But to supplant, and with gainful intent: +God clothed himself in vile man's flesh, that so +He might be weak enough to surfer woe. + +XII. + +Why are we by all creatures waited on? +Why do the prodigal elements supply +Life and food to me, being more pure than I, +Simpler, and further from corruption? +Why brook'st thou, ignorant horse, subjection? +Why do you, bull and boar, so sillily +Dissemble weakness, and by one man's stroke die, +Whose whole kind you might swallow and feed upon? +Weaker I am, woe's me! and worse than you: +You have not sinned, nor need be timorous, +But wonder at a greater, for to us +Created nature doth these things subdue; +But their Creator, whom sin nor nature tied, +For us, his creatures and his foes, hath died. + +XIII. + +What if this present were the world's last night? +Mark in my heart, O Soul! where thou dost dwell, +The picture of Christ crucified, and tell +Whether his countenance can thee affright; +Tears in his eyes quench the amazing light; +Blood fills his frowns, which from his pierced head fell. +And can that tongue adjudge thee unto hell +Which prayed forgiveness for his foes' fierce spite? +No, no; but as in my idolatry +I said to all my profane mistresses, +Beauty of pity, foulness only is +A sign of rigour, so I say to thee: +To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assigned; +This beauteous form assumes a piteous mind. + +XIV. + +Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you +As yet but knock; breathe, shine, and seek to mend, +That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend +Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new. +I, like an usurped town, to another due, +Labour to admit you, but oh! to no end: +Reason, your viceroy in me, we should defend, +But is captived, and proves weak or untrue; +Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain, +But am betrothed unto your enemy. +Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again; +Take me to you, imprison me; for I, +Except you enthral me, never shall be free, +Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me. + +XV. + +Wilt thou love God as he thee? then digest, +My Soul! this wholesome meditation, +How God the Spirit, by angels waited on +In heaven, doth make his temple in thy breast. +The Father having begot a Son most blest, +And still begetting, (for he ne'er begun.) +Hath deigned to choose thee by adoption, +Co-heir to his glory, and Sabbath's endless rest: +And as a robbed man, which by search doth find +His stol'n stuff sold, must lose or buy 't again; +The Sun of glory came down and was slain, +Us, whom he had made, and Satan stole, to unbind. +'Twas much that man was made like God before, +But that God should be made like man much more. + +XVI. + +Father, part of his double interest +Unto thy kingdom thy Son gives to me; +His jointure in the knotty Trinity +He keeps, and gives to me his death's conquest. +This Lamb, whose death with life the world hath blest, +Was from the world's beginning slain, and he +Hath made two wills, which, with the legacy +Of his and thy kingdom, thy sons invest: +Yet such are these laws, that men argue yet +Whether a man those statutes can fulfil: +None doth; but thy all-healing grace and Spirit +Revive again what law and letter kill: +Thy law's abridgment and thy last command +Is all but love; oh, let this last will stand! + + +THE PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. + +I. + +I sing the progress of a deathless Soul, +Whom Fate, which God made, but doth not control, +Placed in most shapes. All times, before the law +Yoked us, and when, and since, in this I sing, +And the great World to his aged evening, +From infant morn through manly noon I draw: +What the gold Chaldee or silver Persian saw, +Greek brass, or Roman iron, 'tis in this one, +A work to outwear Seth's pillars, brick and stone, +And, Holy Writ excepted, made to yield to none. + +II + +Thee, Eye of Heaven, this great Soul envies not; +By thy male force is all we have begot. +In the first east thou now beginn'st to shine, +Suck'st early balm, and island spices there, +And wilt anon in thy loose-reined career +At Tagus, Po, Seine, Thames, and Danow, dine, +And see at night this western land of mine; +Yet hast thou not more nations seen than she +That before thee one day began to be, +And, thy frail light being quench'd, shall long, long outlive thee. + +III + +Nor holy Janus, in whose sovereign boat +The church and all the monarchies did float; +That swimming college and free hospital +Of all mankind, that cage and vivary +Of fowls and beasts, in whose womb Destiny +Us and our latest nephews did install, +(From thence are all derived that fill this all,) +Didst thou in that great stewardship embark +So diverse shapes into that floating park, +As have been moved and inform'd by this heavenly spark. + +IV. + +Great Destiny! the commissary of God! +Thou hast marked out a path and period +For everything; who, where we offspring took, +Our ways and ends seest at one instant: thou +Knot of all causes; thou whose changeless brow +Ne'er smiles nor frowns, oh! vouchsafe thou to look, +And shew my story in thy eternal book, +That (if my prayer be fit) I may understand +So much myself as to know with what hand, +How scant or liberal, this my life's race is spann'd. + +V. + +To my six lustres, almost now outwore, +Except thy book owe me so many more; +Except my legend be free from the lets +Of steep ambition, sleepy poverty, +Spirit-quenching sickness, dull captivity, +Distracting business, and from beauty's nets, +And all that calls from this and t'other's whets; +Oh! let me not launch out, but let me save +The expense of brain and spirit, that my grave +His right and due, a whole unwasted man, may have. + +VI. + +But if my days be long and good enough, +In vain this sea shall enlarge or enrough +Itself; for I will through the wave and foam, +And hold, in sad lone ways, a lively sprite, +Make my dark heavy poem light, and light: +For though through many straits and lands I roam, +I launch at Paradise, and sail towards home: +The course I there began shall here be stayed; +Sails hoisted there struck here, and anchors laid +In Thames which were at Tigris and Euphrates weighed. + +VII. + +For the great Soul which here amongst us now +Doth dwell, and moves that hand, and tongue, and brow, +Which, as the moon the sea, moves us, to hear +Whose story with long patience you will long, +(For 'tis the crown and last strain of my song;) +This Soul, to whom Luther and Mohammed were +Prisons of flesh; this Soul,--which oft did tear +And mend the wrecks of the empire, and late Rome, +And lived when every great change did come, +Had first in Paradise a low but fatal room. + +VIII. + +Yet no low room, nor then the greatest, less +If, as devout and sharp men fitly guess, +That cross, our joy and grief, (where nails did tie +That All, which always was all everywhere, +Which could not sin, and yet all sins did bear, +Which could not die, yet could not choose but die,) +Stood in the self-same room in Calvary +Where first grew the forbidden learned tree; +For on that tree hung in security +This Soul, made by the Maker's will from pulling free. + +IX. + +Prince of the orchard, fair as dawning morn, +Fenced with the law, and ripe as soon as born, +That apple grew which this soul did enlive, +Till the then climbing serpent, that now creeps +For that offence for which all mankind weeps, +Took it, and t' her, whom the first man did wive, +(Whom and her race only forbiddings drive,) +He gave it, she to her husband; both did eat: +So perished the eaters and the meat, +And we, for treason taints the blood, thence die and sweat. + +X. + +Man all at once was there by woman slain, +And one by one we're here slain o'er again +By them. The mother poison'd the well-head; +The daughters here corrupt us rivulets; +No smallness 'scapes, no greatness breaks, their nets: +She thrust us out, and by them we are led +Astray from turning to whence we are fled. +Were prisoners judges 't would seem rigorous; +She sinned, we bear: part of our pain is thus +To love them whose fault to this painful love yoked us. + +XI. + +So fast in us doth this corruption grow, +That now we dare ask why we should be so. +Would God (disputes the curious rebel) make +A law, and would not have it kept? or can +His creatures' will cross his? Of every man +For one will God (and be just) vengeance take? +Who sinned? 'twas not forbidden to the snake, +Nor her, who was not then made; nor is 't writ +That Adam cropt or knew the apple; yet +The worm, and she, and he, and we, endure for it. + +XII. + +But snatch me, heavenly Spirit! from this vain +Reck'ning their vanity; less is their gain +Than hazard still to meditate on ill, +Though with good mind; their reasons like those toys +Of glassy bubbles which the gamesome boys +Stretch to so nice a thinness through a quill, +That they themselves break, and do themselves spill. +Arguing is heretics' game, and exercise, +As wrestlers, perfects them. Not liberties +Of speech, but silence; hands, not tongues, and heresies. + +XIII. + +Just in that instant, when the serpent's gripe +Broke the slight veins and tender conduit-pipe +Through which this Soul from the tree's root did draw +Life and growth to this apple, fled away +This loose Soul, old, one and another day. +As lightning, which one scarce dare say he saw, +'Tis so soon gone (and better proof the law +Of sense than faith requires) swiftly she flew +To a dark and foggy plot; her her fates threw +There through the earth's pores, and in a plant housed her anew. + +XIV. + +The plant, thus abled, to itself did force +A place where no place was by Nature's course, +As air from water, water fleets away +From thicker bodies; by this root thronged so +His spungy confines gave him place to grow: +Just as in our streets, when the people stay +To see the prince, and so fill up the way +That weasels scarce could pass; when he comes near +They throng and cleave up, and a passage clear, +As if for that time their round bodies flatten'd were. + +XV. + +His right arm he thrust out towards the east, +Westward his left; the ends did themselves digest +Into ten lesser strings, these fingers were: +And, as a slumberer, stretching on his bed, +This way he this, and that way scattered +His other leg, which feet with toes upbear; +Grew on his middle part, the first day, hair. +To shew that in love's business he should still +A dealer be, and be used, well or ill: +His apples kindle, his leaves force of conception kill. + +XVI. + +A mouth, but dumb, he hath; blind eyes, deaf ears, +And to his shoulders dangle subtle hairs; +A young Colossus there he stands upright; +And, as that ground by him were conquered, +A lazy garland wears he on his head +Enchased with little fruits so red and bright, +That for them ye would call your love's lips white; +So of a lone unhaunted place possess'd, +Did this Soul's second inn, built by the guest, +This living buried man, this quiet mandrake, rest. + +XVII. + +No lustful woman came this plant to grieve, +But 'twas because there was none yet but Eve, +And she (with other purpose) killed it quite: +Her sin had now brought in infirmities, +And so her cradled child the moist-red eyes +Had never shut, nor slept, since it saw light: +Poppy she knew, she knew the mandrake's might, +And tore up both, and so cooled her child's blood. +Unvirtuous weeds might long unvexed have stood, +But he's short-lived that with his death can do most good. + +XVIII. + +To an unfettered Soul's quick nimble haste +Are falling stars and heart's thoughts but slow-paced, +Thinner than burnt air flies this Soul, and she, +Whom four new-coming and four parting suns +Had found, and left the mandrake's tenant, runs, +Thoughtless of change, when her firm destiny +Confined and enjailed her that seemed so free +Into a small blue shell, the which a poor +Warm bird o'erspread, and sat still evermore, +Till her enclosed child kicked, and picked itself a door. + +XIX. + +Out crept a sparrow, this Soul's moving inn, +On whose raw arms stiff feathers now begin, +As children's teeth through gums, to break with pain: +His flesh is jelly yet, and his bones threads; +All a new downy mantle overspreads: +A mouth he opes, which would as much contain +As his late house, and the first hour speaks plain, +And chirps aloud for meat: meat fit for men +His father steals for him, and so feeds then +One that within a month will beat him from his hen. + +XX. + +In this world's youth wise Nature did make haste, +Things ripened sooner, and did longer last: +Already this hot cock in bush and tree, +In field and tent, o'erflutters his next hen: +He asks her not who did so taste, nor when; +Nor if his sister or his niece she be, +Nor doth she pule for his inconstancy +If in her sight he change; nor doth refuse +The next that calls; both liberty do use. +Where store is of both kinds, both kinds may freely choose. + +XXI. + +Men, till they took laws, which made freedom less, +Their daughters and their sisters did ingress; +Till now unlawful, therefore ill, 'twas not; +So jolly, that it can move this Soul. Is +The body so free of his kindnesses, +That self-preserving it hath now forgot, +And slack'neth not the Soul's and body's knot, +Which temp'rance straitens? Freely on his she-friends +He blood and spirit, pith and marrow, spends; +Ill steward of himself, himself in three years ends. + +XXII. + +Else might he long have lived; man did not know +Of gummy blood which doth in holly grow, +How to make bird-lime, nor how to deceive, +With feigned calls, his nets, or enwrapping snare, +The free inhabitants of the pliant air. +Man to beget, and woman to conceive, +Asked not of roots, nor of cock-sparrows, leave; +Yet chooseth he, though none of these he fears, +Pleasantly three; then straitened twenty years +To live, and to increase his race himself outwears. + +XXIII. + +This coal with over-blowing quenched and dead, +The Soul from her too active organs fled +To a brook. A female fish's sandy roe +With the male's jelly newly leavened was; +For they had intertouched as they did pass, +And one of those small bodies, fitted so, +This Soul informed, and able it to row +Itself with finny oars, which she did fit, +Her scales seemed yet of parchment, and as yet +Perchance a fish, but by no name you could call it. + +XXIV. + +When goodly, like a ship in her full trim, +A swan so white, that you may unto him +Compare all whiteness, but himself to none, +Glided along, and as he glided watched, +And with his arched neck this poor fish catched: +It moved with state, as if to look upon +Low things it scorned; and yet before that one +Could think he sought it, he had swallowed clear +This and much such, and unblamed, devoured there +All but who too swift, too great, or well-armed, were. + +XXV. + +Now swam a prison in a prison put, +And now this Soul in double walls was shut, +Till melted with the swan's digestive fire +She left her house, the fish, and vapoured forth: +Fate not affording bodies of more worth +For her as yet, bids her again retire +To another fish, to any new desire +Made a new prey; for he that can to none +Resistance make, nor complaint, is sure gone; +Weakness invites, but silence feasts oppression. + +XXVI. + +Pace with the native stream this fish doth keep, +And journeys with her towards the glassy deep, +But oft retarded; once with a hidden net, +Though with great windows, (for when need first taught +These tricks to catch food, then they were not wrought +As now, with curious greediness, to let +None 'scape, but few and fit for use to get,) +As in this trap a ravenous pike was ta'en, +Who, though himself distress'd, would fain have slain +This wretch; so hardly are ill habits left again. + +XXVII. + +Here by her smallness she two deaths o'erpast, +Once innocence 'scaped, and left the oppressor fast; +The net through swam, she keeps the liquid path, +And whether she leap up sometimes to breathe +And suck in air, or find it underneath, +Or working parts like mills or limbecs hath, +To make the water thin, and air like faith, +Cares not, but safe the place she's come unto, +Where fresh with salt waves meet, and what to do +She knows not, but between both makes a board or two. + +XXVIII. + +So far from hiding her guests water is, +That she shews them in bigger quantities +Than they are. Thus her, doubtful of her way, +For game, and not for hunger, a sea-pie +Spied through his traitorous spectacle from high +The silly fish, where it disputing lay, +And to end her doubts and her, bears her away; +Exalted, she's but to the exalter's good, +(As are by great ones men which lowly stood;) +It's raised to be the raiser's instrument and food. + +XXIX. + +Is any kind subject to rape like fish? +Ill unto man they neither do nor wish; +Fishers they kill not, nor with noise awake; +They do not hunt, nor strive to make a prey +Of beasts, nor their young sons to bear away; +Fowls they pursue not, nor do undertake +To spoil the nests industrious birds do make; +Yet them all these unkind kinds feed upon; +To kill them is an occupation, +And laws make fasts and lents for their destruction. + +XXX. + +A sudden stiff land-wind in that self hour +To sea-ward forced this bird that did devour +The fish; he cares not, for with ease he flies, +Fat gluttony's best orator: at last, +So long he hath flown, and hath flown so fast, +That, leagues o'erpast at sea, now tired he lies, +And with his prey, that till then languished, dies: +The souls, no longer foes, two ways did err. +The fish I follow, and keep no calender +Of the other: he lives yet in some great officer. + +XXXI. + +Into an embryo fish our Soul is thrown, +And in due time thrown out again, and grown +To such vastness, as if unmanacled +From Greece Morea were, and that, by some +Earthquake unrooted, loose Morea swam; +Or seas from Afric's body had severed +And torn the Hopeful promontory's head: +This fish would seem these, and, when all hopes fail, +A great ship overset, or without sail, +Hulling, might (when this was a whelp) be like this whale. + +XXXII. + +At every stroke his brazen fins do take +More circles in the broken sea they make +Than cannons' voices when the air they tear: +His ribs are pillars, and his high-arched roof +Of bark, that blunts best steel, is thunder-proof: +Swim in him swallowed dolphins without fear, +And feel no sides, as if his vast womb were +Some inland sea; and ever, as he went, +He spouted rivers up, as if he meant +To join our seas with seas above the firmament. + +XXXIII. + +He hunts not fish, but, as an officer +Stays in his court, at his own net, and there +All suitors of all sorts themselves enthral; +So on his back lies this whale wantoning, +And in his gulf-like throat sucks every thing, +That passeth near. Fish chaseth fish, and all, +Flier and follower, in this whirlpool fall: +Oh! might not states of more equality +Consist? and is it of necessity +That thousand guiltless smalls to make one great must die? + +XXXIV. + +Now drinks he up seas, and he eats up flocks; +He jostles islands, and he shakes firm rocks: +Now in a roomful house this Soul doth float, +And, like a prince, she sends her faculties +To all her limbs, distant as provinces. +The sun hath twenty times both Crab and Goat +Parched, since first launched forth this living boat: +'Tis greatest now, and to destruction +Nearest; there's no pause at perfection; +Greatness a period hath, but hath no station. + +XXXV. + +Two little fishes, whom he never harmed, +Nor fed on their kind, two, not th'roughly armed +With hope that they could kill him, nor could do +Good to themselves by his death, (they did not eat +His flesh, nor suck those oils which thence outstreat,) +Conspired against him; and it might undo +The plot of all that the plotters were two, +But that they fishes were, and could not speak. +How shall a tyrant wise strong projects break, +If wretches can on them the common anger wreak? + +XXXVI. + +The flail-finned thresher and steel-beaked sword-fish +Only attempt to do what all do wish: +The thresher backs him, and to beat begins; +The sluggard whale leads to oppression, +And t' hide himself from shame and danger, down +Begins to sink: the sword-fish upwards spins, +And gores him with his beak; his staff-like fins +So well the one, his sword the other, plies, +That, now a scoff and prey, this tyrant dies, +And (his own dole) feeds with himself all companies. + +XXXVII. + +Who will revenge his death? or who will call +Those to account that thought and wrought his fall? +The heirs of slain kings we see are often so +Transported with the joy of what they get, +That they revenge and obsequies forget; +Nor will against such men the people go, +Because he's now dead to whom they should show +Love in that act. Some kings, by vice, being grown +So needy of subjects' love, that of their own +They think they lose if love be to the dead prince shown. + +XXXVIII. + +This soul, now free from prison and passion, +Hath yet a little indignation +That so small hammers should so soon down beat +So great a castle; and having for her house +Got the strait cloister of a wretched mouse, +(As basest men, that have not what to eat, +Nor enjoy ought, do far more hate the great +Than they who good reposed estates possess,) +This Soul, late taught that great things might by less +Be slain, to gallant mischief doth herself address. + +XXXIX. + +Nature's great masterpiece, an elephant, +(The only harmless great thing,) the giant +Of beasts, who thought none had to make him wise, +But to be just and thankful, both to offend, +(Yet Nature hath given him no knees to bend,) +Himself he up-props, on himself relies, +And, foe to none, suspects no enemies, +Still sleeping stood; vexed not his fantasy +Black dreams; like an unbent bow carelessly +His sinewy proboscis did remissly lie. + +XL. + +In which, as in a gallery, this mouse +Walked, and surveyed the rooms of this vast house, +And to the brain, the Soul's bed-chamber, went, +And gnawed the life-cords there: like a whole town +Clean undermined, the slain beast tumbled down: +With him the murderer dies, whom envy sent +To kill, not 'scape, (for only he that meant +To die did ever kill a man of better room,) +And thus he made his foe his prey and tomb: +Who cares not to turn back may any whither come. + +XLI. + +Next housed this Soul a wolf's yet unborn whelp, +Till the best midwife, Nature, gave it help +To issue: it could kill as soon as go. +Abel, as white and mild as his sheep were, +(Who, in that trade, of church and kingdoms there +Was the first type,) was still infested so +With this wolf, that it bred his loss and woe; +And yet his bitch, his sentinel, attends +The flock so near, so well warns and defends, +That the wolf, hopeless else, to corrupt her intends. + +XLII. + +He took a course, which since successfully +Great men have often taken, to espy +The counsels, or to break the plots, of foes; +To Abel's tent he stealeth in the dark, +On whose skirts the bitch slept: ere she could bark, +Attached her with strait gripes, yet he called those +Embracements of love: to love's work he goes, +Where deeds move more than words; nor doth she show, +Nor much resist, no needs he straiten so +His prey, for were she loose she would not bark nor go. + +XLIII. + +He hath engaged her; his she wholly bides; +Who not her own, none other's secrets hides. +If to the flock he come, and Abel there, +She feigns hoarse barkings, but she biteth not! +Her faith is quite, but not her love forgot. +At last a trap, of which some everywhere +Abel had placed, ends all his loss and fear +By the wolf's death; and now just time it was +That a quick Soul should give life to that mass +Of blood in Abel's bitch, and thither this did pass. + +XLIV. + +Some have their wives, their sisters some begot, +But in the lives of emperors you shall not +Read of a lust the which may equal this: +This wolf begot himself, and finished +What he began alive when he was dead. +Son to himself, and father too, he is +A riding lust, for which schoolmen would miss +A proper name. The whelp of both these lay +In Abel's tent, and with soft Moaba, +His sister, being young, it used to sport and play. + +XLV. + +He soon for her too harsh and churlish grew, +And Abel (the dam dead) would use this new +For the field; being of two kinds thus made, +He, as his dam, from sheep drove wolves away, +And, as his sire, he made them his own prey. +Five years he lived, and cozened with his trade, +Then, hopeless that his faults were hid, betrayed +Himself by flight, and by all followed, +From dogs a wolf, from wolves a dog, he fled, +And, like a spy, to both sides false, he perished. + +XLVI. + +It quickened next a toyful ape, and so +Gamesome it was, that it might freely go +From tent to tent, and with the children play: +His organs now so like theirs he doth find, +That why he cannot laugh and speak his mind +He wonders. Much with all, most he doth stay +With Adam's fifth daughter, Siphatecia; +Doth gaze on her, and where she passeth pass, +Gathers her fruits, and tumbles on the grass; +And, wisest of that kind, the first true lover was. + +XLVII. + +He was the first that more desired to have +One than another; first that e'er did crave +Love by mute signs, and had no power to speak; +First that could make love-faces, or could do +The vaulter's somersalts, or used to woo +With hoiting gambols, his own bones to break, +To make his mistress merry, or to wreak +Her anger on himself. Sins against kind +They easily do that can let feed their mind +With outward beauty; beauty they in boys and beasts do find. + +XLVIII. + +By this misled too low things men have proved, +And too high; beasts and angels have been loved: +This ape, though else th'rough vain, in this was wise; +He reached at things too high, but open way +There was, and he knew not she would say Nay. +His toys prevail not; likelier means he tries; +He gazeth on her face with tear-shot eyes, +And uplifts subtlely, with his russet paw, +Her kid-skin apron without fear or awe +Of Nature; Nature hath no jail, though she hath law. + +XLIX. + +First she was silly, and knew not what he meant: +That virtue, by his touches chafed and spent, +Succeeds an itchy warmth, that melts her quite; +She knew not first, nor cares not what he doth; +And willing half and more, more than half wrath, +She neither pulls nor pushes, but outright +Now cries, and now repents; when Thelemite, +Her brother, entered, and a great stone threw +After the ape, who thus prevented flew. +This house, thus battered down, the Soul possessed anew. + +L. + +And whether by this change she lose or win, +She comes out next where the ape would have gone in. +Adam and Eve had mingled bloods, and now, +Like chemic's equal fires, her temperate womb +Had stewed and formed it; and part did become +A spungy liver, that did richly allow, +Like a free conduit on a high hill's brow, +Life-keeping moisture unto every part; +Part hardened itself to a thicker heart, +Whose busy furnaces life's spirits do impart. + +LI. + +Another part became the well of sense, +The tender, well-armed feeling brain, from whence +Those sinew strings which do our bodies tie +Are ravelled out; and fast there by one end +Did this Soul limbs, these limbs a Soul attend; +And now they joined, keeping some quality +Of every past shape; she knew treachery, +Rapine, deceit, and lust, and ills enough +To be a woman: Themech she is now, +Sister and wife to Cain, Cain that first did plough. + +LII. + +Whoe'er thou beest that read'st this sullen writ, +Which just so much courts thee as thou dost it, +Let me arrest thy thoughts; wonder with me +Why ploughing, building, ruling, and the rest, +Or most of those arts whence our lives are blest, +By cursed Cain's race invented be, +And blest Seth vexed us with astronomy. +There's nothing simply good nor ill alone; +Of every quality Comparison +The only measure is, and judge Opinion. + + + + +MICHAEL DRAYTON, + + +The author of 'Polyolbion,' was born in the parish of Atherston, in +Warwickshire, about the year 1563. He was the son of a butcher, but +displayed such precocity that several persons of quality, such as Sir +Walter Aston and the Countess of Bedford, patronised him. In his +childhood he was eager to know what strange kind of beings poets were; +and on coming to Oxford, (if, indeed, he did study there,) is said to +have importuned his tutor to make him, if possible, a poet. He was +supported chiefly, through his life, by the Lady Bedford. He paid court, +without success, to King James. In 1593 (having long ere this become +that 'strange thing a poet') he published a collection of his Pastorals, +and afterwards his 'Barons' Wars' and 'England's Heroical Epistles,' +which are both rhymed histories. In 1612-13 he published the first part +of 'Polyolbion,' and in 1622 completed the work. In 1626 we hear of him +being styled Poet Laureate, but the title then implied neither royal +appointment, nor fee, nor, we presume, duty. In 1627 he published 'The +Battle of Agincourt,' 'The Court of Faerie,' and other poems; and, three +years later, a book called 'The Muses' Elysium.' He had at last found an +asylum in the family of the Earl of Dorset; whose noble lady, Lady Anne +Clifford, subsequently Countess of Pembroke, and who had been, we saw, +Daniel's pupil, after Drayton's death in 1631, erected him a monument, +with a gold-lettered inscription, in Westminster Abbey. + +The main pillar of Drayton's fame is 'Polyolbion,' which forms a poetical +description of England, in thirty songs or books, to which the learned +Camden appended notes. The learning and knowledge of this poem are exten- +sive, and many of the descriptions are true and spirited, but the space +of ground traversed is too large, and the form of versification is too +heavy, for so long a flight. Campbell justly remarks,--'On a general +survey, the mass of his poetry has no strength or sustaining spirit equal +to its bulk. There is a perpetual play of fancy on its surface; but the +impulses of passion, and the guidance of judgment, give it no strong +movements or consistent course.' + +Drayton eminently suits a 'Selection' such as ours, since his parts are +better than his whole. + + +DESCRIPTION OF MORNING. + +When Phoebus lifts his head out of the winter's wave, +No sooner doth the earth her flowery bosom brave, +At such time as the year brings on the pleasant spring, +But hunts-up to the morn the feather'd sylvans sing: +And in the lower grove, as on the rising knoll, +Upon the highest spray of every mounting pole, +Those choristers are perch'd with many a speckled breast. +Then from her burnish'd gate the goodly glitt'ring east +Gilds every lofty top, which late the humorous night +Bespangled had with pearl, to please the morning's sight: +On which the mirthful choirs, with their clear open throats, +Unto the joyful morn so strain their warbling notes, +That hills and valleys ring, and even the echoing air +Seems all composed of sounds, about them everywhere. +The throstle, with shrill sharps; as purposely he sung +T'awake the lustless sun, or chiding, that so long +He was in coming forth, that should the thickets thrill; +The woosel near at hand, that hath a golden bill; +As nature him had mark'd of purpose, t'let us see +That from all other birds his tunes should different be: +For, with their vocal sounds, they sing to pleasant May; +Upon his dulcet pipe the merle doth only play. +When in the lower brake, the nightingale hard by, +In such lamenting strains the joyful hours doth ply, +As though the other birds she to her tunes would draw, +And, but that nature (by her all-constraining law) +Each bird to her own kind this season doth invite, +They else, alone to hear that charmer of the night, +(The more to use their ears,) their voices sure would spare, +That moduleth her tunes so admirably rare, +As man to set in parts at first had learn'd of her. + +To Philomel the next, the linnet we prefer; +And by that warbling bird, the wood-lark place we then, +The red-sparrow, the nope, the redbreast, and the wren. +The yellow-pate; which though she hurt the blooming tree, +Yet scarce hath any bird a finer pipe than she. +And of these chanting fowls, the goldfinch not behind, +That hath so many sorts descending from her kind. +The tydy for her notes as delicate as they, +The laughing hecco, then the counterfeiting jay, +The softer with the shrill (some hid among the leaves, +Some in the taller trees, some in the lower greaves) +Thus sing away the morn, until the mounting sun +Through thick exhaled fogs his golden head hath run, +And through the twisted tops of our close covert creeps +To kiss the gentle shade, this while that sweetly sleeps. +And near to these our thicks, the wild and frightful herds, +Not hearing other noise but this of chattering birds, +Feed fairly on the lawns; both sorts of season'd deer: +Here walk the stately red, the freckled fallow there: +The bucks and lusty stags amongst the rascals strew'd, +As sometime gallant spirits amongst the multitude. + +Of all the beasts which we for our venerial name, +The hart among the rest, the hunter's noblest game: +Of which most princely chase since none did e'er report, +Or by description touch, to express that wondrous sport, +(Yet might have well beseem'd the ancients' nobler songs) +To our old Arden here, most fitly it belongs: +Yet shall she not invoke the muses to her aid; +But thee, Diana bright, a goddess and a maid: +In many a huge-grown wood, and many a shady grove, +Which oft hast borne thy bow (great huntress, used to rove) +At many a cruel beast, and with thy darts to pierce +The lion, panther, ounce, the bear, and tiger fierce; +And following thy fleet game, chaste mighty forest's queen, +With thy dishevell'd nymphs attired in youthful green, +About the lawns hast scour'd, and wastes both far and near, +Brave huntress; but no beast shall prove thy quarries here; +Save those the best of chase, the tall and lusty red, +The stag for goodly shape, and stateliness of head, +Is fitt'st to hunt at force. For whom, when with his hounds +The labouring hunter tufts the thick unbarbed grounds +Where harbour'd is the hart; there often from his feed +The dogs of him do find; or thorough skilful heed, +The huntsman by his slot, or breaking earth, perceives, +On entering of the thick by pressing of the greaves, +Where he had gone to lodge. Now when the hart doth hear +The often-bellowing hounds to vent his secret leir, +He rousing rusheth out, and through the brakes doth drive, +As though up by the roots the bushes he would rive. +And through the cumbrous thicks, as fearfully he makes, +He with his branched head the tender saplings shakes, +That sprinkling their moist pearl do seem for him to weep; +When after goes the cry, with yellings loud and deep, +That all the forest rings, and every neighbouring place: +And there is not a hound but falleth to the chase; +Rechating with his horn, which then the hunter cheers, +Whilst still the lusty stag his high-palm'd head upbears, +His body showing state, with unbent knees upright, +Expressing from all beasts, his courage in his flight. +But when the approaching foes still following he perceives, +That he his speed must trust, his usual walk he leaves: +And o'er the champain flies: which when the assembly find, +Each follows, as his horse were footed with the wind. +But being then imbost, the noble stately deer +When he hath gotten ground (the kennel cast arrear) +Doth beat the brooks and ponds for sweet refreshing soil: +That serving not, then proves if he his scent can foil, +And makes amongst the herds, and flocks of shag-wooled sheep, +Them frighting from the guard of those who had their keep. +But when as all his shifts his safety still denies, +Put quite out of his walk, the ways and fallows tries. +Whom when the ploughman meets, his team he letteth stand +To assail him with his goad: so with his hook in hand, +The shepherd him pursues, and to his dog doth hollo: +When, with tempestuous speed, the hounds and huntsmen follow; +Until the noble deer through toil bereaved of strength, +His long and sinewy legs then failing him at length, +The villages attempts, enraged, not giving way +To anything he meets now at his sad decay. +The cruel ravenous hounds and bloody hunters near, +This noblest beast of chase, that vainly doth but fear, +Some bank or quickset finds: to which his haunch opposed, +He turns upon his foes, that soon have him enclosed. +The churlish-throated hounds then holding him at bay, +And as their cruel fangs on his harsh skin they lay, +With his sharp-pointed head he dealeth deadly wounds. + +The hunter, coming in to help his wearied hounds, +He desperately assails; until oppress'd by force, +He who the mourner is to his own dying corse, +Upon the ruthless earth his precious tears lets fall. + + + + +EDWARD FAIRFAX. + + +Edward Fairfax was the second, some say the natural, son of Sir Thomas +Fairfax of Denton, in Yorkshire. The dates of his birth and of his death +are unknown, although he was living in 1631. While his brothers were +pursuing military glory in the field, Edward married early, and settled in +Fuystone, a place near Knaresborough Forest. Here he spent part of his +time in managing his elder brother, Lord Fairfax's property, and partly in +literary pursuits. He wrote a strange treatise on Demonology, a History of +Edward the Black Prince, which has never been printed, some poor Eclogues, +and a most beautiful translation of Tasso, which stamps him a true poet as +well as a benefactor to the English language, and on account of which +Collins calls him-- + +'Prevailing poet, whose undoubting mind + Believed the magic wonders which he sung.' + + +RINALDO AT MOUNT OLIVET. + +1 It was the time, when 'gainst the breaking day + Rebellious night yet strove, and still repined; + For in the east appear'd the morning gray, + And yet some lamps in Jove's high palace shined, + When to Mount Olivet he took his way, + And saw, as round about his eyes he twined, + Night's shadows hence, from thence the morning's shine; + This bright, that dark; that earthly, this divine: + +2 Thus to himself he thought: 'How many bright + And splendent lamps shine in heaven's temple high! + Day hath his golden sun, her moon the night, + Her fix'd and wandering stars the azure sky; + So framed all by their Creator's might, + That still they live and shine, and ne'er shall die, + Till, in a moment, with the last day's brand + They burn, and with them burn sea, air, and land.' + +3 Thus as he mused, to the top he went, + And there kneel'd down with reverence and fear; + His eyes upon heaven's eastern face he bent; + His thoughts above all heavens uplifted were-- + 'The sins and errors, which I now repent, + Of my unbridled youth, O Father dear, + Remember not, but let thy mercy fall, + And purge my faults and my offences all.' + +4 Thus prayed he; with purple wings up-flew + In golden weed the morning's lusty queen, + Begilding, with the radiant beams she threw, + His helm, his harness, and the mountain green: + Upon his breast and forehead gently blew + The air, that balm and nardus breathed unseen; + And o'er his head, let down from clearest skies, + A cloud of pure and precious dew there flies: + +5 The heavenly dew was on his garments spread, + To which compared, his clothes pale ashes seem, + And sprinkled so, that all that paleness fled, + And thence of purest white bright rays outstream: + So cheered are the flowers, late withered, + With the sweet comfort of the morning beam; + And so, return'd to youth, a serpent old + Adorns herself in new and native gold. + +6 The lovely whiteness of his changed weed + The prince perceived well and long admired; + Toward, the forest march'd he on with speed, + Resolved, as such adventures great required: + Thither he came, whence, shrinking back for dread + Of that strange desert's sight, the first retired; + But not to him fearful or loathsome made + That forest was, but sweet with pleasant shade. + +7 Forward he pass'd, and in the grove before + He heard a sound, that strange, sweet, pleasing was; + There roll'd a crystal brook with gentle roar, + There sigh'd the winds, as through the leaves they pass; + There did the nightingale her wrongs deplore, + There sung the swan, and singing died, alas! + There lute, harp, cittern, human voice, he heard, + And all these sounds one sound right well declared. + +8 A dreadful thunder-clap at last he heard, + The aged trees and plants well-nigh that rent, + Yet heard the nymphs and sirens afterward, + Birds, winds, and waters, sing with sweet consent; + Whereat amazed, he stay'd, and well prepared + For his defence, heedful and slow forth-went; + Nor in his way his passage ought withstood, + Except a quiet, still, transparent flood: + +9 On the green banks, which that fair stream inbound, + Flowers and odours sweetly smiled and smell'd, + Which reaching out his stretched arms around, + All the large desert in his bosom held, + And through the grove one channel passage found; + This in the wood, in that the forest dwell'd: + Trees clad the streams, streams green those trees aye made, + And so exchanged their moisture and their shade. + +10 The knight some way sought out the flood to pass, + And as he sought, a wondrous bridge appear'd; + A bridge of gold, a huge and mighty mass, + On arches great of that rich metal rear'd: + When through that golden way he enter'd was, + Down fell the bridge; swelled the stream, and wear'd + The work away, nor sign left, where it stood, + And of a river calm became a flood. + +11 He turn'd, amazed to see it troubled so, + Like sudden brooks, increased with molten snow; + The billows fierce, that tossed to and fro, + The whirlpools suck'd down to their bosoms low; + But on he went to search for wonders mo,[1] + Through the thick trees, there high and broad which grow; + And in that forest huge, and desert wide, + The more he sought, more wonders still he spied: + +12 Where'er he stepp'd, it seem'd the joyful ground + Renew'd the verdure of her flowery weed; + A fountain here, a well-spring there he found; + Here bud the roses, there the lilies spread: + The aged wood o'er and about him round + Flourish'd with blossoms new, new leaves, new seed; + And on the boughs and branches of those treen + The bark was soften'd, and renew'd the green. + +13 The manna on each leaf did pearled lie; + The honey stilled[2] from the tender rind: + Again he heard that wonderful harmony + Of songs and sweet complaints of lovers kind; + The human voices sung a treble high, + To which respond the birds, the streams, the wind; + But yet unseen those nymphs, those singers were, + Unseen the lutes, harps, viols which they bear. + +14 He look'd, he listen'd, yet his thoughts denied + To think that true which he did hear and see: + A myrtle in an ample plain he spied, + And thither by a beaten path went he; + The myrtle spread her mighty branches wide, + Higher than pine, or palm, or cypress tree, + And far above all other plants was seen + That forest's lady, and that desert's queen. + +15 Upon the tree his eyes Rinaldo bent, + And there a marvel great and strange began; + An aged oak beside him cleft and rent, + And from his fertile, hollow womb, forth ran, + Clad in rare weeds and strange habiliment, + A nymph, for age able to go to man; + An hundred plants beside, even in his sight, + Childed an hundred nymphs, so great, so dight.[3] + +16 Such as on stages play, such as we see + The dryads painted, whom wild satyrs love, + Whose arms half naked, locks untrussed be, + With buskins laced on their legs above, + And silken robes tuck'd short above their knee, + Such seem'd the sylvan daughters of this grove; + Save, that instead of shafts and bows of tree, + She bore a lute, a harp or cittern she; + +17 And wantonly they cast them in a ring, + And sung and danced to move his weaker sense, + Rinaldo round about environing, + As does its centre the circumference; + The tree they compass'd eke, and 'gan to sing, + That woods and streams admired their excellence-- + 'Welcome, dear Lord, welcome to this sweet grove, + Welcome, our lady's hope, welcome, her love! + +18 'Thou com'st to cure our princess, faint and sick + For love, for love of thee, faint, sick, distress'd; + Late black, late dreadful was this forest thick, + Fit dwelling for sad folk, with grief oppress'd; + See, with thy coming how the branches quick + Revived are, and in new blossoms dress'd!' + This was their song; and after from it went + First a sweet sound, and then the myrtle rent. + +19 If antique times admired Silenus old, + Who oft appear'd set on his lazy ass, + How would they wonder, if they had behold + Such sights, as from the myrtle high did pass! + Thence came a lady fair with locks of gold, + That like in shape, in face, and beauty was + To fair Armida; Rinald thinks he spies + Her gestures, smiles, and glances of her eyes: + +20 On him a sad and smiling look she cast, + Which twenty passions strange at once bewrays; + 'And art thou come,' quoth she, 'return'd at last' + To her, from whom but late thou ran'st thy ways? + Com'st thou to comfort me for sorrows past, + To ease my widow nights, and careful days? + Or comest thou to work me grief and harm? + Why nilt thou speak, why not thy face disarm? + +21 'Com'st thou a friend or foe? I did not frame + That golden bridge to entertain my foe; + Nor open'd flowers and fountains, as you came, + To welcome him with joy who brings me woe: + Put off thy helm: rejoice me with the flame + Of thy bright eyes, whence first my fires did grow; + Kiss me, embrace me; if you further venture, + Love keeps the gate, the fort is eath[4] to enter.' + +22 Thus as she woos, she rolls her rueful eyes + With piteous look, and changeth oft her chere,[5] + An hundred sighs from her false heart up-flies; + She sobs, she mourns, it is great ruth to hear: + The hardest breast sweet pity mollifies; + What stony heart resists a woman's tear? + But yet the knight, wise, wary, not unkind, + Drew forth his sword, and from her careless twined:[6] + +23 Towards the tree he march'd; she thither start, + Before him stepp'd, embraced the plant, and cried-- + 'Ah! never do me such a spiteful part, + To cut my tree, this forest's joy and pride; + Put up thy sword, else pierce therewith the heart + Of thy forsaken and despised Armide; + For through this breast, and through this heart, unkind, + To this fair tree thy sword shall passage find.' + +24 He lift his brand, nor cared, though oft she pray'd, + And she her form to other shape did change; + Such monsters huge, when men in dreams are laid, + Oft in their idle fancies roam and range: + Her body swell'd, her face obscure was made; + Vanish'd her garments rich, and vestures strange; + A giantess before him high she stands, + Arm'd, like Briareus, with an hundred hands. + +25 With fifty swords, and fifty targets bright, + She threaten'd death, she roar'd, she cried and fought; + Each other nymph, in armour likewise dight, + A Cyclops great became; he fear'd them nought, + But on the myrtle smote with all his might, + Which groan'd, like living souls, to death nigh brought; + The sky seem'd Pluto's court, the air seem'd hell, + Therein such monsters roar, such spirits yell: + +26 Lighten'd the heaven above, the earth below + Roared aloud; that thunder'd, and this shook: + Bluster'd the tempests strong; the whirlwinds blow; + The bitter storm drove hailstones in his look; + But yet his arm grew neither weak nor slow, + Nor of that fury heed or care he took, + Till low to earth the wounded tree down bended; + en fled the spirits all, the charms all ended. + +27 The heavens grew clear, the air wax'd calm and still, + The wood returned to its wonted state, + Of witchcrafts free, quite void of spirits ill, + Of horror full, but horror there innate: + He further tried, if ought withstood his will + To cut those trees, as did the charms of late, + And finding nought to stop him, smiled and said-- + 'O shadows vain! O fools, of shades afraid!' + +28 From thence home to the camp-ward turn'd the knight; + The hermit cried, upstarting from his seat, + 'Now of the wood the charms have lost their might; + The sprites are conquer'd, ended is the feat; + See where he comes!'--Array'd in glittering white + Appear'd the man, bold, stately, high, and great; + His eagle's silver wings to shine begun + With wondrous splendour 'gainst the golden sun. + +29 The camp received him with a joyful cry,-- + A cry, the hills and dales about that fill'd; + Then Godfrey welcomed him with honours high; + His glory quench'd all spite, all envy kill'd: + 'To yonder dreadful grove,' quoth he, 'went I, + And from the fearful wood, as me you will'd, + Have driven the sprites away; thither let be + Your people sent, the way is safe and free.' + +[1] 'Mo:' more. +[2] 'Stilled:' dropped. +[3] 'Dight:' aparelled. +[4] 'Eath:' easy. +[5] 'Chere:' expression. +[6] 'Twined:' separated. + + + + +SIR HENRY WOTTON + + +Was born in Kent, in 1568; educated at Winchester and Oxford; and, after +travelling on the Continent, became the Secretary of Essex, but had the +sagacity to foresee his downfall, and withdrew from the kingdom in time. +On his return he became a favourite of James I., who employed him to be +ambassador to Venice,--a post he held long, and occupied with great skill +and adroitness. Toward the end of his days, in order to gain the Provost- +ship of Eton, he took orders, and died in that situation, in 1639, in the +72d year of his age. His writings were published in 1651, under the title +of 'Reliquitae Wottonianae,' and Izaak Walton has written an entertaining +account of his life. His poetry has a few pleasing and smooth-flowing +passages; but perhaps the best thing recorded of him is his viva voce +account of an English ambassador, as 'an honest gentleman sent to LIE +abroad for the good of his country.' + + +FAREWELL TO THE VANITIES OF THE WORLD. + +1 Farewell, ye gilded follies! pleasing troubles; + Farewell, ye honour'd rags, ye glorious bubbles; + Fame's but a hollow echo, gold pure clay, + Honour the darling but of one short day, + Beauty, the eye's idol, but a damask'd skin, + State but a golden prison to live in + And torture free-born minds; embroider'd trains + Merely but pageants for proud swelling veins; + And blood, allied to greatness, is alone + Inherited, not purchased, nor our own. + Fame, honour, beauty, state, train, blood, and birth, + Are but the fading blossoms of the earth. + +2 I would be great, but that the sun doth still + Level his rays against the rising hill; + I would be high, but see the proudest oak + Most subject to the rending thunder-stroke; + I would be rich, but see men too unkind + Dig in the bowels of the richest mind; + I would be wise, but that I often see + The fox suspected while the ass goes free; + I would be fair, but see the fair and proud, + Like the bright sun, oft setting in a cloud; + I would be poor, but know the humble grass + Still trampled on by each unworthy ass; + Rich, hated; wise, suspected; scorn'd, if poor; + Great, fear'd; fair, tempted; high, still envied more. + I have wish'd all, but now I wish for neither + Great, high, rich, wise, nor fair--poor I'll be rather. + +3 Would the world now adopt me for her heir, + Would beauty's queen entitle me 'the fair,' + Fame speak me Fortune's minion, could I vie + Angels[1] with India; with a speaking eye + Command bare heads, bow'd knees, strike Justice dumb + As well as blind and lame, or give a tongue + To stones by epitaphs; be call'd great master + In the loose rhymes of every poetaster; + Could I be more than any man that lives, + Great, fair, rich, wise, all in superlatives: + Yet I more freely would these gifts resign, + Than ever fortune would have made them mine; + And hold one minute of this holy leisure + Beyond the riches of this empty pleasure. + +4 Welcome, pure thoughts! welcome, ye silent groves! + These guests, these courts, my soul most dearly loves. + Now the wing'd people of the sky shall sing + My cheerful anthems to the gladsome spring; + A prayer-book now shall be my looking-glass, + In which I will adore sweet Virtue's face; + Here dwell no hateful looks, no palace cares, + No broken vows dwell here, nor pale-faced fears: + Then here I'll sit, and sigh my hot love's folly, + And learn to affect a holy melancholy; + And if Contentment be a stranger then, + I'll ne'er look for it but in heaven again. + +[1] 'Angels:' a species of coin. + + +A MEDITATION. + +O thou great Power! in whom we move, + By whom we live, to whom we die, +Behold me through thy beams of love, + Whilst on this couch of tears I lie, +And cleanse my sordid soul within +By thy Christ's blood, the bath of sin. + +No hallow'd oils, no gums I need, + No new-born drams of purging fire; +One rosy drop from David's seed + Was worlds of seas to quench thine ire: +O precious ransom! which once paid, +That _Consummatum est_ was said. + +And said by him, that said no more, + But seal'd it with his sacred breath: +Thou then, that has dispurged our score, + And dying wert the death of death, +Be now, whilst on thy name we call, +Our life, our strength, our joy, our all! + + + + +RICHARD CORBET. + + +This witty and good-natured bishop was born in 1582. He was the son of +a gardener, who, however, had the honour to be known to and sung by Ben +Jonson. He was educated at Westminster and Oxford; and having received +orders, was made successively Bishop of Oxford and of Norwich. He was +a most facetious and rather too convivial person; and a collection of +anecdotes about him might be made, little inferior, in point of wit and +coarseness, to that famous one, once so popular in Scotland, relating to +the sayings and doings of George Buchanan. He is said, on one occasion, +to have aided an unfortunate ballad-singer in his professional duty by +arraying himself in his leathern jacket and vending the stock, being +possessed of a fine presence and a clear, full, ringing voice. +Occasionally doffing his clerical costume he adjourned with his chaplain, +Dr Lushington, to the wine-cellar, where care and ceremony were both +speedily drowned, the one of the pair exclaiming, 'Here's to thee, +Lushington,' and the other, 'Here's to thee, Corbet.' Men winked at +these irregularities, probably on the principle mentioned by Scott, in +reference to Prior Aymer, in 'Ivanhoe,'--'If Prior Aymer rode hard in +the chase, or remained late at the banquet, men only shrugged up their +shoulders by recollecting that the same irregularities were practised by +many of his brethren, who had no redeeming qualities whatsoever to atone +for them.' Corbet, on the other hand, was a kind as well as a convivial +--a warm-hearted as well as an eccentric man. He was tolerant to the +Puritans and sectaries; his attention to his duties was respectable; his +talents were of a high order, and he had in him a vein of genius of no +ordinary kind. He died in 1635, but his poems were not published till +1647. They are of various merit, and treat of various subjects. In his +'Journey to France,' you see the humorist, who, on one occasion, when the +country people were flocking to be confirmed, cried, 'Bear off there, or +I'll confirm ye with my staff.' In his lines to his son Vincent, we see, +notwithstanding all his foibles, the good man; and in his 'Farewell to +the Fairies' the fine and fanciful poet. + + +DR CORBET'S JOURNEY INTO FRANCE. + +1 I went from England into France, + Nor yet to learn to cringe nor dance, + Nor yet to ride nor fence; + Nor did I go like one of those + That do return with half a nose, + They carried from hence. + +2 But I to Paris rode along, + Much like John Dory in the song, + Upon a holy tide; + I on an ambling nag did jet, + (I trust he is not paid for yet,) + And spurr'd him on each side. + +3 And to St Denis fast we came, + To see the sights of Notre Dame, + (The man that shows them snuffles,) + Where who is apt for to believe, + May see our Lady's right-arm sleeve, + And eke her old pantofles; + +4 Her breast, her milk, her very gown + That she did wear in Bethlehem town, + When in the inn she lay; + Yet all the world knows that's a fable, + For so good clothes ne'er lay in stable, + Upon a lock of hay. + +5 No carpenter could by his trade + Gain so much coin as to have made + A gown of so rich stuff; + Yet they, poor souls, think, for their credit, + That they believe old Joseph did it, + 'Cause he deserved enough. + +6 There is one of the cross's nails, + Which whoso sees, his bonnet vails, + And, if he will, may kneel; + Some say 'twas false,'twas never so, + Yet, feeling it, thus much I know, + It is as true as steel. + +7 There is a Ianthorn which the Jews, + When Judas led them forth, did use, + It weighs my weight downright; + But to believe it, you must think + The Jews did put a candle in 't, + And then 'twas very light. + +8 There's one saint there hath lost his nose, + Another's head, but not his toes, + His elbow and his thumb; + But when that we had seen the rags, + We went to th' inn and took our nags, + And so away did come. + +9 We came to Paris, on the Seine, + 'Tis wondrous fair,'tis nothing clean, + 'Tis Europe's greatest town; + How strong it is I need not tell it, + For all the world may easily smell it, + That walk it up and down. + +10 There many strange things are to see, + The palace and great gallery, + The Place Royal doth excel, + The New Bridge, and the statutes there, + At Notre Dame St Q. Pater, + The steeple bears the bell. + +11 For learning the University, + And for old clothes the Frippery, + The house the queen did build. + St Innocence, whose earth devours + Dead corps in four-and-twenty hours, + And there the king was kill'd. + +12 The Bastille and St Denis Street, + The Shafflenist like London Fleet, + The Arsenal no toy; + But if you'll see the prettiest thing, + Go to the court and see the king-- + Oh, 'tis a hopeful boy! + +13 He is, of all his dukes and peers, + Reverenced for much wit at's years, + Nor must you think it much; + For he with little switch doth play, + And make fine dirty pies of clay, + Oh, never king made such! + +14 A bird that can but kill a fly, + Or prate, doth please his majesty, + Tis known to every one; + The Duke of Guise gave him a parrot, + And he had twenty cannons for it, + For his new galleon. + +15 Oh that I e'er might have the hap + To get the bird which in the map + Is call'd the Indian ruck! + I'd give it him, and hope to be + As rich as Guise or Livine, + Or else I had ill-luck. + +16 Birds round about his chamber stand, + And he them feeds with his own hand, + 'Tis his humility; + And if they do want anything, + They need but whistle for their king, + And he comes presently. + +17 But now, then, for these parts he must + Be enstyled Lewis the Just, + Great Henry's lawful heir; + When to his style to add more words, + They'd better call him King of Birds, + Than of the great Navarre. + +18 He hath besides a pretty quirk, + Taught him by nature, how to work + In iron with much ease; + Sometimes to the forge he goes, + There he knocks and there he blows, + And makes both locks and keys; + +19 Which puts a doubt in every one, + Whether he be Mars' or Vulcan's son, + Some few believe his mother; + But let them all say what they will, + I came resolved, and so think still, + As much the one as th' other. + +20 The people too dislike the youth, + Alleging reasons, for, in truth, + Mothers should honour'd be; + Yet others say, he loves her rather + As well as ere she loved her father, + And that's notoriously. + +21 His queen,[1] a pretty little wench, + Was born in Spain, speaks little French, + She's ne'er like to be mother; + For her incestuous house could not + Have children which were not begot + By uncle or by brother. + +22 Nor why should Lewis, being so just, + Content himself to take his lust + With his Lucina's mate, + And suffer his little pretty queen, + From all her race that yet hath been, + So to degenerate? + +23 'Twere charity for to be known + To love others' children as his own, + And why? it is no shame, + Unless that he would greater be + Than was his father Henery, + Who, men thought, did the same. + +[1] Anne of Austria. + + +FAREWELL TO THE FAIRIES. + +1 Farewell, rewards and fairies, + Good housewives now may say, + For now foul sluts in dairies + Do fare as well as they. + And though they sweep their hearths no less + Than maids were wont to do, + Yet who of late, for cleanliness, + Finds sixpence in her shoe? + +2 Lament, lament, old Abbeys, + The fairies lost command; + They did but change priests' babies, + But some have changed your land; + And all your children sprung from thence + Are now grown Puritans; + Who live as changelings ever since, + For love of your domains. + +3 At morning and at evening both, + You merry were and glad, + So little care of sleep or sloth + These pretty ladies had; + When Tom came home from labour, + Or Cis to milking rose, + Then merrily went their tabor, + And nimbly went their toes. + +4 Witness those rings and roundelays + Of theirs, which yet remain, + Were footed in Queen Mary's days + On many a grassy plain; + But since of late Elizabeth, + And later, James came in, + They never danced on any heath + As when the time hath been. + +5 By which we note the fairies + Were of the old profession, + Their songs were Ave-Maries, + Their dances were procession: + But now, alas! they all are dead, + Or gone beyond the seas; + Or further for religion fled, + Or else they take their ease. + +6 A tell-tale in their company + They never could endure, + And whoso kept not secretly + Their mirth, was punish'd sure; + It was a just and Christian deed, + To pinch such black and blue: + Oh, how the commonwealth doth need + Such justices as you! + + + + +BEN JONSON. + + +As 'rare Ben' chiefly shone as a dramatist, we need not recount at +length the events of his life. He was born in 1574; his father, who had +been a clergyman in Westminster, and was sprung from a Scotch family +in Annandale, having died before his birth. His mother marrying a +bricklayer, Ben was brought up to the same employment. Disliking this, +he enlisted in the army, and served with credit in the Low Countries. +When he came home, he entered St John's College, Cambridge; but his stay +there must have been short, since he is found in London at the age of +twenty, married, and acting on the stage. He began at the same time to +write dramas. He was unlucky enough to quarrel with and kill another +performer, for which he was committed to prison, but released without +a trial. He resumed his labours as a writer for the stage; but having +failed in the acting department, he forsook it for ever. His first hit +was, 'Every Man in his Humour,' a play enacted in 1598, Shakspeare being +one of the actors. His course afterwards was chequered. He quarrelled +with Marston and Dekker,--he was imprisoned for some reflections on the +Scottish nation in one of his comedies,--he was appointed in 1619 poet- +laureate, with a pension of 100 marks,--he made the same year a journey +to Scotland on foot, where he visited Drummond at Hawthornden, and they +seem to have mutually loathed each other,'--he fell into habits of +intemperance, and acquired, as he said himself, + + 'A mountain belly and a rocky face.' + +His favourite haunts were the Mermaid, and the Falcon Tavern, Southwark. +He was engaged in constant squabbles with his contemporaries, and died +at last, in 1637, in miserably poor circumstances. He was buried in +Westminster Abbey, under a square tablet, where one of his admirers +afterwards inscribed the words, + + 'O rare Ben Jonson!' + +Of his powers as a dramatist we need not speak, but present our readers +with some rough and racy specimens of his poetry. + + +EPITAPH ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE. + +Underneath this sable hearse +Lies the subject of all verse, +Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother; +Death! ere thou hast slain another, +Learn'd and fair, and good as she, +Time shall throw a dart at thee! + + +THE PICTURE OF THE BODY. + +Sitting, and ready to be drawn, +What make these velvets, silks, and lawn, +Embroideries, feathers, fringes, lace, +Where every limb takes like a face? + +Send these suspected helps to aid +Some form defective, or decay'd; +This beauty, without falsehood fair, +Needs nought to clothe it but the air. + +Yet something to the painter's view, +Were fitly interposed; so new, +He shall, if he can understand, +Work by my fancy, with his hand. + +Draw first a cloud, all save her neck, +And, out of that, make day to break; +Till like her face it do appear, +And men may think all light rose there. + +Then let the beams of that disperse +The cloud, and show the universe; +But at such distance, as the eye +May rather yet adore, than spy. + + +TO PENSHURST. + +(FROM 'THE FOREST') + +Thou art not, Penshurst, built to envious show +Of touch or marble; nor canst boast a row +Of polish'd pillars, or a roof of gold: +Thou hast no lantern, whereof tales are told; +Or stair, or courts; but stand'st an ancient pile, +And these grudged at, are reverenced the while. +Thou joy'st in better marks of soil and air, +Of wood, of water; therein thou art fair. +Thou hast thy walks for health as well as sport; +Thy mount to which the dryads do resort, +Where Pan and Bacchus their high feasts have made +Beneath the broad beech, and the chestnut shade; +That taller tree which of a nut was set +At his great birth where all the Muses met. +There, in the writhed bark, are cut the names +Of many a Sylvan token with his flames. +And thence the ruddy Satyrs oft provoke +The lighter Fauns to reach thy Ladies' Oak. +Thy copse, too, named of Gamage, thou hast here +That never fails, to serve thee, season'd deer, +When thou would'st feast or exercise thy friends. +The lower land that to the river bends, +Thy sheep, thy bullocks, kine, and calves do feed: +The middle ground thy mares and horses breed. +Each bank doth yield thee conies, and the tops +Fertile of wood. Ashore, and Sidney's copse, +To crown thy open table doth provide +The purpled pheasant, with the speckled side: +The painted partridge lies in every field, +And, for thy mess, is willing to be kill'd. +And if the high-swollen Medway fail thy dish, +Thou hast thy ponds that pay thee tribute fish, +Fat, aged carps that run into thy net, +And pikes, now weary their own kind to eat, +As both the second draught or cast to stay, +Officiously, at first, themselves betray. +Bright eels that emulate them, and leap on land, +Before the fisher, or into his hand. +Thou hast thy orchard fruit, thy garden flowers, +Fresh as the air, and new as are the hours. +The early cherry with the later plum, +Fig, grape, and quince, each in his time doth come: +The blushing apricot and woolly peach +Hang on thy walls that every child may reach. +And though thy walls be of the country stone, +They're rear'd with no man's ruin, no man's groan; +There's none that dwell about them wish them down; +But all come in, the farmer and the clown, +And no one empty-handed, to salute +Thy lord and lady, though they have no suit. +Some bring a capon, some a rural cake, +Some nuts, some apples; some that think they make +The better cheeses, bring them, or else send +By their ripe daughters, whom they would commend +This way to husbands; and whose baskets bear +An emblem of themselves, in plum or pear. +But what can this (more than express their love) +Add to thy free provision, far above +The need of such? whose liberal board doth flow +With all that hospitality doth know! +Where comes no guest but is allow'd to eat +Without his fear, and of thy lord's own meat: +Where the same beer, and bread, and selfsame wine +That is his lordship's shall be also mine. +And I not fain to sit (as some this day +At great men's tables) and yet dine away. +Here no man tells my cups; nor, standing by, +A waiter doth my gluttony envy: +But gives me what I call, and lets me eat; +He knows below he shall find plenty of meat; +Thy tables hoard not up for the next day, +Nor, when I take my lodging, need I pray +For fire, or lights, or livery: all is there, +As if thou, then, wert mine, or I reign'd here. +There's nothing I can wish, for which I stay. +This found King James, when hunting late this way +With his brave son, the Prince; they saw thy fires +Shine bright on every hearth, as the desires +Of thy Penates had been set on flame +To entertain them; or the country came, +With all their zeal, to warm their welcome here. +What (great, I will not say, but) sudden cheer +Did'st thou then make them! and what praise was heap'd +On thy good lady then, who therein reap'd +The just reward of her high housewifery; +To have her linen, plate, and all things nigh, +When she was far; and not a room but drest +As if it had expected such a guest! +These, Penshurst, are thy praise, and yet not all; +Thy lady's noble, fruitful, chaste withal. +His children * * * + * * have been taught religion; thence +Their gentler spirits have suck'd innocence. +Each morn and even they are taught to pray, +With the whole household, and may, every day, +Head, in their virtuous parents' noble parts, +The mysteries of manners, arms, and arts. +Now, Penshurst, they that will proportion thee +With other edifices, when they see +Those proud ambitious heaps, and nothing else, +May say their lords have built, but thy lord dwells. + + +TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER, WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, +AND WHAT HE HATH LEFT US. + +To draw no envy, Shakspeare, on thy name, +Am I thus ample to thy book and fame; +While I confess thy writings to be such +As neither man nor Muse can praise too much, +'Tis true, and all men's suffrage. But these ways +Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise; +For silliest ignorance on these would light, +Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right; +Or blind affection, which doth ne'er advance +The truth, but gropes, and urges all by chance; +Or crafty malice might pretend this praise, +And think to ruin, where it seem'd to raise. +But thou art proof against them, and, indeed, +Above the ill fortune of them, or the need. +I therefore will begin: Soul of the age! +The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! +My Shakspeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by +Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie +A little further off, to make thee room: +Thou art a monument without a tomb, +And art alive still, while thy book doth live, +And we have wits to read, and praise to give. +That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses, +I mean with great but disproportion'd Muses: +For if I thought my judgment were of years, +I should commit thee surely with thy peers, +And tell how far thou didst our Lyly outshine, +Or sporting Kyd or Marlow's mighty line, +And though thou had small Latin and less Greek, +From thence to honour thee I will not seek +For names; but call forth thund'ring Aeschylus, +Euripides, and Sophocles to us, +Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead, +To live again, to hear thy buskin tread, +And shake a stage: or when thy socks were on +Leave thee alone for the comparison +Of all, that insolent Greece or haughty Rome +Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. +Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show, +To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. +He was not of an age, but for all time! +And all the Muses still were in their prime, +When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm +Our ears, or like a Mercury, to charm! +Nature herself was proud of his designs, +And joy'd to wear the dressing of his lines, +Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, +As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. +The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, +Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please; +But antiquated and deserted lie, +As they were not of nature's family, +Yet must I not give nature all; thy art, +My gentle Shakspeare, must enjoy a part, +For though the poet's matter nature be, +His art doth give the fashion; and, that he +Who casts to write a living line, must sweat +(Such as thine are) and strike the second heat +Upon the Muses' anvil; turn the same, +And himself with it, that he thinks to frame; +Or for the laurel, he may gain a scorn; +For a good poet's made as well as born, +And such wert thou! Look how the father's face +Lives in his issue, even so the race +Of Shakspeare's mind and manners brightly shines +In his well-turned and true-filed lines; +In each of which he seems to shake a lance, +As brandish'd at the eyes of ignorance. +Sweet Swan of Avon! what a sight it were +To see thee in our water yet appear, +And make those flights upon the banks of Thames +That so did take Eliza and our James! +But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere +Advanced, and made a constellation there! +Shine forth, thou Star of Poets, and with rage, +Or influence, chide, or cheer the drooping stage, +Which since thy flight from hence hath mourn'd like night, +And despairs day, but for thy volume's light! + + +ON THE PORTRAIT OF SHAKSPEARE. + +(UNDER THE FRONTISPIECE TO THE FIRST EDITION OF HIS WORKS: 1623.) + +This figure that thou here seest put, +It was for gentle Shakspeare cut, +Wherein the graver had a strife +With nature, to outdo the life: +Oh, could he but have drawn his wit, +As well in brass, as he hath hit +His face; the print would then surpass +All that was ever writ in 'brass: +But since he cannot, reader, look +Not on his picture but his book. + + + + +VERE, STORRER, &c. + + +In the same age of fertile, seething mind which produced Jonson and the +rest of the Elizabethan giants, there flourished some minor poets, whose +names we merely chronicle: such as Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford, born +1534, and dying 1604, who travelled in Italy in his youth, and returned +the 'most accomplished coxcomb in Europe,' who sat as Grand Chamberlain +of England upon the trial of Mary Queen of Scots, and who has left, in +the 'Paradise of Dainty Devices,' some rather beautiful verses, entitled, +'Fancy and Desire;'--as Thomas Storrer, a student of Christ Church, Oxford, +and the author of a versified 'History of Cardinal Wolsey,' in three parts, +who died in 1604;--as William Warner, a native of Oxfordshire, born in +1558, who became an attorney of the Common Pleas in London, and died +suddenly in 1609, having made himself famous for a time by a poem, entitled +'Albion's England,' called by Campbell 'an enormous ballad on the history, +or rather the fables appendant to the history of England,' with some fine +touches, but heavy and prolix as a whole;--as Sir John Harrington, who was +the son of a poet and the favourite of Essex, who was created a Knight of +the Bath by James I., and who wrote some pointed epigrams and a miserable +translation of Ariosto, in which heeffectually tamed that wild Pegasus; +--as Henry Perrot, who collected, in 1613, a book of epigrams, entitled, +'Springes for Woodcocks;'--as Sir Thomas Overbury, whose dreadful and +mysterious fate, well known to all who read English history, excited such +a sympathy for him, that his poems, 'A Wife,' and 'The Choice of a Wife,' +passed through sixteen editions before the year 1653, although his prose +'Characters,' such as the exquisite and well-known 'Fair and Happy +Milkmaid,' are far better than his poetry;--as Samuel Rowlandes, a prolific +pamphleteer in the reigns of Elizabeth, James I., and Charles I., author +also of several plays and of a book of epigrams;--as Thomas Picke, who +belonged to the Middle Temple, and published, in 1631, a number of songs, +sonnets, and elegies;--as Henry Constable, born in 1568, and a well-known +sonneteer of his day;--as Nicholas Breton, author of some pretty pastorals, +who, it is conjectured, was born in 1555, and died in 1624;--and as Dr +Thomas Lodge, born in 1556, and who died in 1625, after translating +Josephus into English, and writing some tolerable poetical pieces. + + + + +THOMAS RANDOLPH. + + +This was a true poet, although his power comes forth principally in the +drama. He was born at Newnham, near Daventry, Northamptonshire, in 1605, +being the you of Lord Zouch's steward. He became a King's Scholar at +Westminster, and subsequently a Fellow in Trinity College, Cambridge. +Ben Jonson loved him, and he reciprocated the attachment. Whether from +natural tendency or in imitation of Jonson, who called him, as well as +Cartwright, his adopted son, he learned intemperate habits, and died, in +1634, at the age of twenty-nine. His death took place at the house of W. +Stafford, Esq. of Blatherwyke, in his native county, and he was buried +in the church beside, where Sir Christopher, afterwards Lord Hatton, +signalised the spot of his rest by a monument. He wrote five dramas, +which are imperfect and formal in plan, but written with considerable +power. Some of his miscellaneous poems discover feeling and genius. + + +THE PRAISE OF WOMAN. + +He is a parricide to his mother's name, +And with an impious hand murders her fame, +That wrongs the praise of women; that dares write +Libels on saints, or with foul ink requite +The milk they lent us! Better sex! command +To your defence my more religious hand, +At sword or pen; yours was the nobler birth, +For you of man were made, man but of earth-- +The sun of dust; and though your sin did breed +His fall, again you raised him in your seed. +Adam, in's sleep again full loss sustain'd, +That for one rib a better half regain'd, +Who, had he not your blest creation seen +In Paradise, an anchorite had been. +Why in this work did the creation rest, +But that Eternal Providence thought you best +Of all his six days' labour? Beasts should do +Homage to man, but man shall wait on you; +You are of comelier sight, of daintier touch, +A tender flesh, and colour bright, and such +As Parians see in marble; skin more fair, +More glorious head, and far more glorious hair; +Eyes full of grace and quickness; purer roses +Blush in your cheeks; a milder white composes +Your stately fronts; your breath, more sweet than his, +Breathes spice, and nectar drops at every kiss. + +* * * * * + +If, then, in bodies where the souls do dwell, +You better us, do then our souls excel? + +No. * * * * +Boast we of knowledge, you are more than we, +You were the first ventured to pluck the tree; +And that more rhetoric in your tongues do lie, +Let him dispute against that dares deny +Your least commands; and not persuaded be, +With Samson's strength and David's piety, +To be your willing captives. + + * * * * * + +Thus, perfect creatures, if detraction rise +Against your sex, dispute but with your eyes, +Your hand, your lip, your brow, there will be sent +So subtle and so strong an argument, +Will teach the stoic his affections too, +And call the cynic from his tub to woo. + + +TO MY PICTURE. + +When age hath made me what I am not now, +And every wrinkle tells me where the plough +Of Time hath furrow'd, when an ice shall flow +Through every vein, and all my head be snow; +When Death displays his coldness in my cheek, +And I, myself, in my own picture seek, +Not finding what I am, but what I was, +In doubt which to believe, this or my glass; +Yet though I alter, this remains the same +As it was drawn, retains the primitive frame, +And first complexion; here will still be seen, +Blood on the cheek, and down upon the chin: +Here the smooth brow will stay, the lively eye, +The ruddy lip, and hair of youthful dye. +Behold what frailty we in man may see, +Whose shadow is less given to change than he. + + +TO A LADY ADMIRING HERSELF IN A LOOKING-GLASS. + +Fair lady, when you see the grace +Of beauty in your looking-glass; +A stately forehead, smooth and high, +And full of princely majesty; +A sparkling eye, no gem so fair, +Whose lustre dims the Cyprian star; +A glorious cheek, divinely sweet, +Wherein both roses kindly meet; +A cherry lip that would entice +Even gods to kiss at any price; +You think no beauty is so rare +That with your shadow might compare; +That your reflection is alone +The thing that men must dote upon. +Madam, alas! your glass doth lie, +And you are much deceived; for I +A beauty know of richer grace,-- +(Sweet, be not angry,) 'tis your face. +Hence, then, oh, learn more mild to be, +And leave to lay your blame on me: +If me your real substance move, +When you so much your shadow love, +Wise Nature would not let your eye +Look on her own bright majesty; +Which, had you once but gazed upon, +You could, except yourself, love none: +What then you cannot love, let me, +That face I can, you cannot see. + +'Now you have what to love,' you'll say, +'What then is left for me, I pray?' +My face, sweet heart, if it please thee; +That which you can, I cannot see: +So either love shall gain his due, +Yours, sweet, in me, and mine in you. + + + + +ROBERT BURTON. + + +The great, though whimsical author of the 'Anatomy of Melancholy' was +born at Lindley, in Leicestershire, 1576, and educated at Christ Church, +Oxford. He became Rector of Seagrave, in his native shire. He was a man +of vast erudition, of integrity and benevolence, but his happiness, +like that of Burns, although in a less measure, 'was blasted _ab +origine_ by an incurable taint of hypochondria;' and although at times a +most delightful companion, at other times he was so miserable, even when +a young student at Oxford, that he had no resource but to go down to the +river-side, where the coarse jests of the bargemen threw him into fits +of laughter. This surely was a violent remedy, and one that must have +reacted into deeper depression. In 1621, he wrote and published, as a +safety-valve to his morbid feelings, his famous 'Anatomie of Melancholy, +by Democritus Junior.' It became instantly popular, and sold so well, +that the publisher is said to have made a fortune by it. Nothing more of +consequence is recorded of the author, who died in 1640. Although + + 'Melancholy mark'd him for her own,' + +she failed to kill him till he had passed his grand climacteric. He was +buried in Christ Church, with the following epitaph, said to have been +composed by himself:-- + + 'Paucis notus, paucioribus ignotus. + Hic jacet Democritus Junior, + Cui vitam pariter et mortem + Dedit _Melancholia_! + + 'Known [by name] to few, unknown [as the author of the "Anatomy"] + to fewer, here lies D. J., who owes his death [as a man] and his + life [as an author] to Melancholy.' + +His work is certainly a most curious and bewitching medley of thought, +information, wit, learning, personal interest, and poetic fancy. We all +know it was the only book which ever drew the lazy Johnson from his bed +an hour sooner than he wished to rise. The subject, like the flesh of +that 'melancholy' creature the hare, may be dry, but, as with that, an +astute cookery prevails to make it exceedingly piquant; the sauce is +better than the substance. Burton's melancholy is not, like Johnson's, +a deep, hopeless, 'inspissated gloom,' thickened by memories of remorse, +and lighted up by the lurid fires of feared perdition; it is not, like +Byron's, dashed with the demoniac element, and fretted into universal +misanthropy; it is not, like Foster's, the sad, fixed fascination of +a pure intelligence contemplating the darker side of things, as by a +necessity of nature, and ignoring, without denying, the existence of the +bright; nor is it, like that of the 'melancholy Jacques,' in 'As you +Like it,' a wild, woodland, fantastical habit of thought, as of one +living collaterally and aside to the world, and which often explodes +into laughter at itself and at all things else;--Burton's is a wide- +spread but tender shade, like twilight, diffused over the whole horizon +of his thought, and is nourished at times into a luxury, and at times +paraded as a peculiar possession. In his form of melancholy there are +pleasures as well as pains. 'Most pleasant it is,' he says, 'to such +as are to melancholy given, to lie in bed whole days and keep their +chambers; to walk alone in some solitary grove, betwixt wood and water, +by a brook-side, to meditate upon some delightsome and pleasant subject; +and a most incomparable delight it is so to melancholise and build +castles in the air.' Religious considerations have little to do with +Burton's melancholy, and remorse or fear apparently nothing. Hence his +book, although its theme be sadness, never shadows the spirit, but, on +the contrary, from his dark, Lethean poppies, his readers are made to +extract an element of joyful excitement, and the anatomy, and the cure, +of the evil, are one and the same. + +As a writer, Burton ranks, in some points, with Montaigne, and in others +with Sir Thomas Browne. He resembles the first in simplicity, _bonhommie_, +and miscellaneous learning, and the other in rambling manner, quaint +phraseology, and fantastic imagination. Neither of the three could be said +to write books, but they accumulated vast storehouses, whence thousands of +volumes might be, and have been compiled. There is nothing in Burton so +low as in many of the 'Essays' of Montaigne, but there is nothing so lofty +as in passages of Browne's 'Religio Medici' and 'Urn-Burial.' Burton has +been a favourite quarry to literary thieves, among whom Sterne, in his +'Tristram Shandy,' stands pre-eminent. To his 'Anatomy' he prefixes a poem, +a few stanzas of which we extract. + + +ON MELANCHOLY. + +1 When I go musing all alone, + Thinking of divers things foreknown, + When I build castles in the air, + Void of sorrow, void of fear, + Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet + Methinks the time runs very fleet. + All my joys to this are folly; + Nought so sweet as melancholy. + +2 When I go walking all alone, + Recounting what I have ill-done, + My thoughts on me then tyrannise, + Fear and sorrow me surprise; + Whether I tarry still, or go, + Methinks the time moves very slow. + All my griefs to this are jolly; + Nought so sad as melancholy. + +3 When to myself I act and smile, + With pleasing thoughts the time beguile, + By a brook-side or wood so green, + Unheard, unsought for, or unseen, + A thousand pleasures do me bless, + And crown my soul with happiness. + All my joys besides are folly; + None so sweet as melancholy. + +4 When I lie, sit, or walk alone, + I sigh, I grieve, making great moan; + In a dark grove or irksome den, + With discontents and furies then, + A thousand miseries at once + Mine heavy heart and soul ensconce. + All my griefs to this are jolly; + None so sour as melancholy. + +5 Methinks I hear, methinks I see + Sweet music, wondrous melody, + Towns, palaces, and cities, fine; + Here now, then there, the world is mine, + Rare beauties, gallant ladies shine, + Whate'er is lovely is divine. + All other joys to this are folly; + None so sweet as melancholy, + +6 Methinks I hear, methinks I see + Ghosts, goblins, fiends: my fantasy + Presents a thousand ugly shapes; + Headless bears, black men, and apes; + Doleful outcries and fearful sights + My sad and dismal soul affrights. + All my griefs to this are jolly; + None so damn'd as melancholy. + + + + +THOMAS CAREW. + + +This delectable versifier was born in 1589, in Gloucestershire, from an +old family in which he sprung. He was educated at Corpus Christi College, +Oxford, but neither matriculated nor took a degree. After finishing his +travels, he returned to England, and became soon highly distinguished, in +the Court of Charles I., for his manners, accomplishments, and wit. He +was appointed Gentleman of the Privy Chamber and Sewer in Ordinary to the +King. He spent the rest of his life as a gay and gallant courtier; and in +the intervals of pleasure produced some light but exquisite poetry. He is +said, ere his death, which took place in 1639, to have become very +devout, and bitterly to have deplored the licentiousness of some of his +verses. + +Indelicate choice of subject is often, in Carew, combined with great +delicacy of execution. No one touches dangerous themes with so light and +glove-guarded a hand. His pieces are all fugitive, but they suggest great +possibilities, which his mode of life and his premature removal did not +permit to be realised. Had he, at an earlier period, renounced, like +George Herbert, 'the painted pleasures of a court,' and, like Prospero, +dedicated himself to 'closeness,' with his marvellous facility of verse, +his laboured levity of style, and his nice exuberance of fancy, he might +have produced some work of Horatian merit and classic permanence. + + + + +PERSUASIONS TO LOVE. + +Think not, 'cause men flattering say, +Y'are fresh as April, sweet as May, +Bright as is the morning-star, +That you are so;--or though you are, +Be not therefore proud, and deem +All men unworthy your esteem: + + * * * * * + +Starve not yourself, because you may +Thereby make me pine away; +Nor let brittle beauty make +You your wiser thoughts forsake: +For that lovely face will fail; +Beauty's sweet, but beauty's frail; +'Tis sooner past, 'tis sooner done, +Than summer's rain, or winter's sun: +Most fleeting, when it is most dear; +'Tis gone, while we but say 'tis here. +These curious locks so aptly twined, +Whose every hair a soul doth bind, +Will change their auburn hue, and grow +White and cold as winter's snow. +That eye which now is Cupid's nest +Will prove his grave, and all the rest +Will follow; in the cheek, chin, nose, +Nor lily shall be found, nor rose; +And what will then become of all +Those, whom now you servants call? +Like swallows, when your summer's done +They'll fly, and seek some warmer sun. + + * * * * * + +The snake each year fresh skin resumes, +And eagles change their aged plumes; +The faded rose each spring receives +A fresh red tincture on her leaves; +But if your beauties once decay, +You never know a second May. +Oh, then be wise, and whilst your season +Affords you days for sport, do reason; +Spend not in vain your life's short hour, +But crop in time your beauty's flower: +Which will away, and doth together +Both bud and fade, both blow and wither. + + +SONG. + +Give me more love, or more disdain, + The torrid, or the frozen zone +Bring equal ease unto my pain; + The temperate affords me none; +Either extreme, of love or hate, +Is sweeter than a calm estate. + +Give me a storm; if it be love, + Like Danae in a golden shower, +I swim in pleasure; if it prove + Disdain, that torrent will devour +My vulture-hopes; and he's possess'd +Of heaven that's but from hell released: +Then crown my joys, or cure my pain; +Give me more love, or more disdain. + + +TO MY MISTRESS SITTING BY A RIVER'S SIDE. + +Mark how yon eddy steals away +From the rude stream into the bay; +There lock'd up safe, she doth divorce +Her waters from the channel's course, +And scorns the torrent that did bring +Her headlong from her native spring. +Now doth she with her new love play, +Whilst he runs murmuring away. +Mark how she courts the banks, whilst they +As amorously their arms display, +To embrace and clip her silver waves: +See how she strokes their sides, and craves +An entrance there, which they deny; +Whereat she frowns, threatening to fly +Home to her stream, and 'gins to swim +Backward, but from the channel's brim +Smiling returns into the creek, +With thousand dimples on her cheek. +Be thou this eddy, and I'll make +My breast thy shore, where thou shalt take +Secure repose, and never dream +Of the quite forsaken stream: +Let him to the wide ocean haste, +There lose his colour, name, and taste; +Thou shalt save all, and, safe from him, +Within these arms for ever swim. + + +SONG. + +If the quick spirits in your eye +Now languish, and anon must die; +If every sweet, and every grace, +Must fly from that forsaken face: + Then, Celia, let us reap our joys, + Ere time such goodly fruit destroys. + +Or, if that golden fleece must grow +For ever, free from aged snow; +If those bright suns must know no shade, +Nor your fresh beauties ever fade; +Then fear not, Celia, to bestow +What still being gather'd still must grow. + Thus, either Time his sickle brings + In vain, or else in vain his wings. + + +A PASTORAL DIALOGUE. + +SHEPHERD, NYMPH, CHORUS. + +_Shep._ This mossy bank they press'd. _Nym._That aged oak + Did canopy the happy pair + All night from the damp air. +_Cho._ Here let us sit, and sing the words they spoke, + Till the day-breaking their embraces broke. + +_Shep._ See, love, the blushes of the morn appear: + And now she hangs her pearly store + (Robb'd from the eastern shore) + I' th' cowslip's bell and rose's ear: + Sweet, I must stay no longer here. + +_Nym._ Those streaks of doubtful light usher not day, + But show my sun must set; no morn + Shall shine till thou return: + The yellow planets, and the gray + Dawn, shall attend thee on thy way. + +_Shep._ If thine eyes gild my paths, they may forbear + Their useless shine. _Nym._ My tears will quite + Extinguish their faint light. +_Shep._ Those drops will make their beams more clear, + Love's flames will shine in every tear. + +_Cho._ They kiss'd, and wept; and from their lips and eyes, + In a mix'd dew of briny sweet, + Their joys and sorrows meet; + But she cries out. _Nym._ Shepherd, arise, + The sun betrays us else to spies. + +_Shep._ The winged hours fly fast whilst we embrace; + But when we want their help to meet, + They move with leaden feet. +_Nym._ Then let us pinion time, and chase + The day for ever from this place. + +_Shep._ Hark! _Nym._ Ah me, stay! _Shep._ For ever _Nym._ No, arise; + We must be gone. _Shep._ My nest of spice + _Nym._ My soul. _Shep._ My paradise. +_Cho._ Neither could say farewell, but through their eyes +Grief interrupted speech with tears supplies. + + +SONG. + +Ask me no more where Jove bestows, +When June is past, the fading rose; +For in your beauties orient deep +These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. + +Ask me no more whither do stray +The golden atoms of the day; +For, in pure love, Heaven did prepare +Those powders to enrich your hair. + +Ask me no more whither doth haste +The nightingale, when May is past; +For in your sweet dividing throat +She winters, and keeps warm her note. + +Ask me no more, where those stars light, +That downwards fall in dead of night; +For in your eyes they sit, and there +Fixed become, as in their sphere. + +Ask me no more, if east or west +The phoenix builds her spicy nest; +For unto you at last she flies, +And in your fragrant bosom dies. + + + + +SIR JOHN SUCKLING. + + +This witty baronet was born in 1608. He was the son of the Comptroller +of the Household of Charles I. He was uncommonly precocious; at five is +said to have spoken Latin, and at sixteen had entered into the service +of Gustavus Adolphus, 'the lion of the North, and the bulwark of the +Protestant faith.' + +On his return to England, he was favoured by Charles, and became, in his +turn, a most enthusiastic supporter of the Royal cause; writing plays for +the amusement of the Court; and when the Civil War broke out, raising, at +his own expense of L1200, a regiment for the King, which is said to have +been distinguished only by its 'finery and cowardice.' When the Earl of +Strafford came into trouble, Suckling, along with some other cavaliers, +intrigued for his deliverance, was impeached by the House of Commons, +and had to flee to France. Here an early death awaited him. His servant +having robbed him, he drew on, in vehement haste, his boots, to pursue +the defaulter, when a rusty nail, or, some say, the blade of a knife, +which was concealed in one of them, pierced his heel. A mortification +ensued, and he died, in 1641, at thirty-three years of age. + +Suckling has written five plays, various poems, besides letters, +speeches, and tracts, which have all been collected into one thin volume. +They are of various merit; none, in fact, being worthy of print, or at +least of preservation, except one or two of his songs, and his 'Ballad +upon a Wedding'. This last is an admirable expression of what were his +principal qualities--_naivete_, sly humour, gay badinage, and a delicious +vein of fancy, coming out occasionally by stealth, even as in his own +exquisite lines about the bride, + + 'Her feet, beneath her petticoat, + Like _little mice, stole in and out_, + As if they fear'd the light.' + + +SONG. + +Why so pale and wan, fond lover! + Prithee why so pale? +Will, when looking well can't move her, + Looking ill prevail? + Prithee why so pale? + +Why so dull and mute, young sinner? + Prithee why so mute? +Will, when speaking well can't win her, + Saying nothing do 't? + Prithee why so mute? + +Quit, quit for shame! this will not move, + This cannot take her; +If of herself she will not love, + Nothing can make her-- + The devil take her! + + +A BALLAD UPON A WEDDING. + +1 I tell thee, Dick, where I have been, + Where I the rarest things have seen: + Oh, things without compare! + Such sights again cannot be found + In any place on English ground, + Be it at wake or fair. + +2 At Charing-Cross, hard by the way + Where we (thou know'st) do sell our hay, + There is a house with stairs: + And there did I see coming down + Such folks as are not in our town, + Vorty at least, in pairs. + +3 Amongst the rest, one pest'lent fine, + (His beard no bigger though than thine,) + Walk'd on before the rest: + Our landlord looks like nothing to him: + The king (God bless him)'twould undo him, + Should he go still so dress'd. + +4 At Course-a-park, without all doubt, + He should have first been taken out + By all the maids i' the town: + Though lusty Roger there had been, + Or little George upon the Green, + Or Vincent of the Crown. + +5 But wot you what? the youth was going + To make an end of all his wooing; + The parson for him staid: + Yet by his leave, for all his haste, + He did not so much wish all past + (Perchance) as did the maid. + +6 The maid--and thereby hangs a tale-- + For such a maid no Whitsun-ale + Could ever yet produce: + No grape that's kindly ripe could be + So round, so plump, so soft as she, + Nor half so full of juice. + +7 Her finger was so small, the ring + Would not stay on which they did bring, + It was too wide a peck: + And to say truth (for out it must) + It look'd like the great collar (just) + About our young colt's neck. + +8 Her feet, beneath her petticoat, + Like little mice, stole in and out, + As if they fear'd the light: + But oh! she dances such a way! + No sun upon an Easter-day + Is half so fine a sight. + +9 He would have kiss'd her once or twice, + But she would not, she was so nice, + She would not do 't in sight; + And then she look'd as who should say. + I will do what I list to-day; + And you shall do 't at night. + +10 Her cheeks so rare a white was on, + No daisy makes comparison, + (Who sees them is undone,) + For streaks of red were mingled there, + Such as are on a Katherine pear, + The side that's next the sun. + +11 Her lips were red, and one was thin, + Compared to that was next her chin; + Some bee had stung it newly. + But (Dick) her eyes so guard her face, + I durst no more upon them gaze, + Than on the sun in July. + +12 Her mouth so small, when she does speak, + Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break, + That they might passage get; + But she so handled still the matter, + They came as good as ours, or better, + And are not spent a whit. + +13 If wishing should be any sin, + The parson himself had guilty been, + She look'd that day so purely: + And did the youth so oft the feat + At night, as some did in conceit, + It would have spoil'd him, surely. + +14 Passion o'me! how I run on! + There's that that would be thought upon, + I trow, beside the bride: + The business of the kitchen's great, + For it is fit that men should eat; + Nor was it there denied. + +15 Just in the nick the cook knock'd thrice, + And all the waiters in a trice + His summons did obey; + Each serving-man with dish in hand, + March'd boldly up, like our train'd band, + Presented and away. + +16 When all the meat was on the table, + What man of knife, or teeth, was able + To stay to be entreated? + And this the very reason was, + Before the parson could say grace, + The company were seated. + +17 Now hats fly off, and youths carouse; + Healths first go round, and then the house, + The bride's came thick and thick; + And when 'twas named another's health, + Perhaps he made it hers by stealth, + And who could help it, Dick? + +18 O' the sudden up they rise and dance; + Then sit again, and sigh and glance: + Then dance again and kiss. + Thus sev'ral ways the time did pass, + Whil'st every woman wish'd her place, + And every man wish'd his. + +19 By this time all were stol'n aside + To counsel and undress the bride; + But that he must not know; + But yet 'twas thought he guess'd her mind, + And did not mean to stay behind + Above an hour or so. + +20 When in he came (Dick), there she lay, + Like new-fall'n snow melting away, + 'Twas time, I trow, to part. + Kisses were now the only stay, + Which soon she gave, as who would say, + Good-bye, with all my heart. + +21 But just as heavens would have to cross it, + In came the bridemaids with the posset; + The bridegroom eat in spite; + For had he left the women to 't + It would have cost two hours to do 't, + Which were too much that night. + +22 At length the candle's out, and now + All that they had not done, they do! + What that is, who can tell? + But I believe it was no more + Than thou and I have done before + With Bridget and with Nell! + + +SONG. + +I pray thee send me back my heart, + Since I can not have thine, +For if from yours you will not part, + Why then shouldst thou have mine? + +Yet now I think on 't, let it lie, + To find it were in vain; +For thou'st a thief in either eye + Would steal it back again. + +Why should two hearts in one breast lie, + And yet not lodge together? +O love! where is thy sympathy, + If thus our breasts thou sever? + +But love is such a mystery, + I cannot find it out; +For when I think I'm best resolved, + I then am in most doubt. + +Then farewell care, and farewell woe, + I will no longer pine; +For I'll believe I have her heart + As much as she has mine. + + + + +WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT. + + +Cartwright was born in 1611, and was the son of an innkeeper--once a +gentleman--in Cirencester. He became a King's scholar at Westminster, +and afterwards took orders at Oxford, where he distinguished himself, +according to Wood, as a 'most florid and seraphic preacher.' One is +reminded of the description given of Jeremy Taylor, who, when he first +began to preach, by his 'young and florid beauty, and his sublime and +raised discourses, made men take him for an angel newly descended from +the climes of Paradise.' Cartwright was appointed, through his friend +Bishop Duppa, Succentor of the Church of Salisbury in 1642. He was one +of a council of war appointed by the University of Oxford, for providing +troops in the King's cause, to protect, or some said to overawe, the +Universities. He was imprisoned by the Parliamentary forces on account +of his zeal in the Royal cause, but soon liberated on bail. In 1643, +he was appointed Junior Proctor of his University, and also Reader in +Metaphysics. At this time he is said to have studied sixteen hours +a-day. This, however, seems to have weakened his constitution, and +rendered him an easy victim to what was called the camp-fever, then +prevalent in Oxford. He died December 23, 1643, aged thirty-two. The +King, then in Oxford, went into mourning for him. His works were +published in 1651, and to them were prefixed fifty copies of encomiastic +verses from the wits and poets of the time. They scarcely justify the +praises they have received, being somewhat crude and harsh, and all of +them occasional. His private character, his eloquence as a preacher, and +his zeal as a Royalist, seem to have supplemented his claims as a poet. +He enjoyed, too, in his earlier life, the friendship of Ben Jonson, who +used to say of him, 'My son Cartwright writes all like a man;' and such +a sentence from such an authority was at that time fame. + + +LOVE'S DARTS. + +1 Where is that learned wretch that knows + What are those darts the veil'd god throws? + Oh, let him tell me ere I die + When 'twas he saw or heard them fly; + Whether the sparrow's plumes, or dove's, + Wing them for various loves; + And whether gold or lead, + Quicken or dull the head: + I will anoint and keep them warm, + And make the weapons heal the harm. + +2 Fond that I am to ask! whoe'er + Did yet see thought? or silence hear? + Safe from the search of human eye + These arrows (as their ways are) fly: + The flights of angels part + Not air with so much art; + And snows on streams, we may + Say, louder fall than they. + So hopeless I must now endure, + And neither know the shaft nor cure. + +3 A sudden fire of blushes shed + To dye white paths with hasty red; + A glance's lightning swiftly thrown, + Or from a true or seeming frown; + A subtle taking smile + From passion, or from guile; + The spirit, life, and grace + Of motion, limbs, and face; + These misconceit entitles darts, + And tears the bleedings of our hearts. + +4 But as the feathers in the wing + Unblemish'd are, and no wounds bring, + And harmless twigs no bloodshed know, + Till art doth fit them for the bow; + So lights of flowing graces + Sparkling in several places, + Only adorn the parts, + Till that we make them darts; + Themselves are only twigs and quills: + We give them shape and force for ills. + +5 Beauty's our grief, but in the ore, + We mint, and stamp, and then adore: + Like heathen we the image crown, + And indiscreetly then fall down: + Those graces all were meant + Our joy, not discontent; + But with untaught desires + We turn those lights to fires, + Thus Nature's healing herbs we take, + And out of cures do poisons make. + + +ON THE DEATH OF SIR BEVIL GRENVILLE. + +Not to be wrought by malice, gain, or pride, +To a compliance with the thriving side; +Not to take arms for love of change, or spite, +But only to maintain afflicted right; +Not to die vainly in pursuit of fame, +Perversely seeking after voice and name; +Is to resolve, fight, die, as martyrs do, +And thus did he, soldier and martyr too. + + * * * * * + +When now the incensed legions proudly came +Down like a torrent without bank or dam: +When undeserved success urged on their force; +That thunder must come down to stop their course, +Or Grenville must step in; then Grenville stood, +And with himself opposed and check'd the flood. +Conquest or death was all his thought. So fire +Either o'ercomes, or doth itself expire: +His courage work'd like flames, cast heat about, +Here, there, on this, on that side, none gave out; +Not any pike on that renowned stand, +But took new force from his inspiring hand: +Soldier encouraged soldier, man urged man, +And he urged all; so much example can; +Hurt upon hurt, wound upon wound did call, +He was the butt, the mark, the aim of all: +His soul this while retired from cell to cell, +At last flew up from all, and then he fell. +But the devoted stand enraged more +From that his fate, plied hotter than before, +And proud to fall with him, sworn not to yield, +Each sought an honour'd grave, so gain'd the field. +Thus he being fallen, his action fought anew: +And the dead conquer'd, whiles the living slew. + +This was not nature's courage, not that thing +We valour call, which time and reason bring; +But a diviner fury, fierce and high, +Valour transported into ecstasy, +Which angels, looking on us from above, +Use to convey into the souls they love. +You now that boast the spirit, and its sway, +Shew us his second, and we'll give the day: +We know your politic axiom, lurk, or fly; +Ye cannot conquer, 'cause you dare not die: +And though you thank God that you lost none there, +'Cause they were such who lived not when they were; +Yet your great general (who doth rise and fall, +As his successes do, whom you dare call, +As fame unto you doth reports dispense, +Either a -------- or his excellence) +Howe'er he reigns now by unheard-of laws, +Could wish his fate together with his cause. + +And thou (blest soul) whose clear compacted fame, +As amber bodies keeps, preserves thy name, +Whose life affords what doth content both eyes, +Glory for people, substance for the wise, +Go laden up with spoils, possess that seat +To which the valiant, when they've done, retreat: +And when thou seest an happy period sent +To these distractions, and the storm quite spent, +Look down and say, I have my share in all, +Much good grew from my life, much from my fall. + + +A VALEDICTION. + +Bid me not go where neither suns nor showers +Do make or cherish flowers; +Where discontented things in sadness lie, +And Nature grieves as I. +When I am parted from those eyes, +From which my better day doth rise, +Though some propitious power +Should plant me in a bower, +Where amongst happy lovers I might see +How showers and sunbeams bring +One everlasting spring, +Nor would those fall, nor these shine forth to me; +Nature herself to him is lost, +Who loseth her he honours most. +Then, fairest, to my parting view display +Your graces all in one full day; +Whose blessed shapes I'll snatch and keep till when +I do return and view again: +So by this art fancy shall fortune cross, +And lovers live by thinking on their loss. + + + + +WILLIAM BROWNE. + + +This pastoral poet was born, in 1590, at Tavistock, in Devonshire, +a lovely part of a lovely county. He was educated at Oxford, and went +thence to the Inner Temple. He was at one time tutor to the Earl of +Carnarvon, and afterwards, when that nobleman perished in the battle of +Newbury, in 1643, he was patronised by the Earl of Pembroke, in whose +house he resided, and is even said to have become so rich that he +purchased an estate. In 1645 he died, at Ottery St Mary, the parish +where, in 1772, Coleridge was born. + +Browne began his poetical career early, and closed it soon. He published +the first part of 'Britannia's Pastorals' in 1613, the second in 1616; +shortly after, his 'Shepherd's Pipe;' and, in 1620, produced his 'Inner +Temple Masque' which was then enacted, but not printed till a hundred +and twenty years after the author's death, when Dr Farmer transcribed +it from a MS. of the Bodleian Library, and it appeared in Tom Davies' +edition of Browne's poems. Browne has no constructive power, and no +human interest in his pastorals, but he has an eye for nature, and we +quote from him some excellent specimens of descriptive poetry. + + +SONG. + +Gentle nymphs, be not refusing, +Love's neglect is Time's abusing, + They and beauty are but lent you; +Take the one, and keep the other: +Love keeps fresh what age doth smother, + Beauty gone, you will repent you. + +'Twill be said, when ye have proved, +Never swains more truly loved: + Oh, then, fly all nice behaviour! +Pity fain would (as her duty) +Be attending still on Beauty, + Let her not be out of favour. + + +SONG. + +1 Shall I tell you whom I love? + Hearken then a while to me, + And if such a woman move + As I now shall versify; + Be assured, 'tis she, or none, + That I love, and love alone. + +2 Nature did her so much right, + As she scorns the help of art. + In as many virtues dight + As e'er yet embraced a heart; + So much good so truly tried, + Some for less were deified. + +3 Wit she hath, without desire + To make known how much she hath; + And her anger flames no higher + Than may fitly sweeten wrath. + Full of pity as may be, + Though perhaps not so to me. + +4 Reason masters every sense, + And her virtues grace her birth: + Lovely as all excellence, + Modest in her most of mirth: + Likelihood enough to prove + Only worth could kindle love. + +5 Such she is: and if you know + Such a one as I have sung; + Be she brown, or fair, or so, + That she be but somewhile young; + Be assured, 'tis she, or none, + That I love, and love alone. + + +POWER OF GENIUS OVER ENVY. + +'Tis not the rancour of a canker'd heart +That can debase the excellence of art, +Nor great in titles makes our worth obey, +Since we have lines far more esteem'd than they. +For there is hidden in a poet's name +A spell that can command the wings of Fame, +And maugre all oblivion's hated birth +Begin their immortality on earth, +When he that 'gainst a muse with hate combines +May raise his tomb in vain to reach our lines. + + +EVENING. + +As in an evening when the gentle air +Breathes to the sullen night a soft repair, +I oft have sat on Thames' sweet bank to hear +My friend with his sweet touch to charm mine ear, +When he hath play'd (as well he can) some strain +That likes me, straight I ask the same again, +And he, as gladly granting, strikes it o'er +With some sweet relish was forgot before: +I would have been content, if he would play, +In that one strain to pass the night away; +But fearing much to do his patience wrong, +Unwillingly have ask'd some other song: +So in this differing key though I could well +A many hours but as few minutes tell, +Yet lest mine own delight might injure you +(Though both so soon) I take my song anew. + + +FROM 'BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS.' + +Between two rocks (immortal, without mother) +That stand as if outfacing one another, +There ran a creek up, intricate and blind, +As if the waters hid them from the wind, +Which never wash'd but at a higher tide +The frizzled cotes which do the mountains hide, +Where never gale was longer known to stay +Than from the smooth wave it had swept away +The new divorced leaves, that from each side +Left the thick boughs to dance out with the tide. +At further end the creek, a stately wood +Gave a kind shadow (to the brackish flood) +Made up of trees, not less kenn'd by each skiff +Than that sky-scaling peak of Teneriffe, +Upon whose tops the hernshew bred her young, +And hoary moss upon their branches hung; +Whose rugged rinds sufficient were to show, +Without their height, what time they 'gan to grow. +And if dry eld by wrinkled skin appears, +None could allot them less than Nestor's years. +As under their command the thronged creek +Ran lessen'd up. Here did the shepherd seek +Where he his little boat might safely hide, +Till it was fraught with what the world beside +Could not outvalue; nor give equal weight +Though in the time when Greece was at her height. + + * * * * * + +Yet that their happy voyage might not be +Without Time's shortener, heaven-taught melody, +(Music that lent feet to the stable woods, +And in their currents turn'd the mighty floods, +Sorrow's sweet nurse, yet keeping Joy alive, +Sad Discontent's most welcome corrosive, +The soul of art, best loved when love is by, +The kind inspirer of sweet poesy, +Least thou shouldst wanting be, when swans would fain +Have sung one song, and never sung again,) +The gentle shepherd, hasting to the shore, +Began this lay, and timed it with his oar: + +Nevermore let holy Dee + O'er other rivers brave, +Or boast how (in his jollity) + Kings row'd upon his wave. +But silent be, and ever know +That Neptune for my fare would row. + + * * * * * + +Swell then, gently swell, ye floods, + As proud of what ye bear, +And nymphs that in low coral woods + String pearls upon your hair, +Ascend; and tell if ere this day +A fairer prize was seen at sea. + +See the salmons leap and bound + To please us as we pass, +Each mermaid on the rocks around + Lets fall her brittle glass, +As they their beauties did despise +And loved no mirror but your eyes, + +Blow, but gently blow, fair wind, + From the forsaken shore, +And be as to the halcyon kind, + Till we have ferried o'er: +So mayst thou still have leave to blow, +And fan the way where she shall go. + + +A DESCRIPTIVE SKETCH. + +Oh, what a rapture have I gotten now! +That age of gold, this of the lovely brow, +Have drawn me from my song! I onward run, +(Clean from the end to which I first begun,) +But ye, the heavenly creatures of the West, +In whom the virtues and the graces rest, +Pardon! that I have run astray so long, +And grow so tedious in so rude a song. +If you yourselves should come to add one grace +Unto a pleasant grove or such like place, +Where, here, the curious cutting of a hedge, +There in a pond, the trimming of the sedge; +Here the fine setting of well-shaded trees, +The walks their mounting up by small degrees, +The gravel and the green so equal lie, +It, with the rest, draws on your lingering eye: +Here the sweet smells that do perfume the air, +Arising from the infinite repair +Of odoriferous buds, and herbs of price, +(As if it were another paradise,) +So please the smelling sense, that you are fain +Where last you walk'd to turn and walk again. +There the small birds with their harmonious notes +Sing to a spring that smileth as she floats: +For in her face a many dimples show, +And often skips as it did dancing go: +Here further down an over-arched alley +That from a hill goes winding in a valley, +You spy at end thereof a standing lake, +Where some ingenious artist strives to make +The water (brought in turning pipes of lead +Through birds of earth most lively fashioned) +To counterfeit and mock the sylvans all +In singing well their own set madrigal. +This with no small delight retains your ear, +And makes you think none blest but who live there. +Then in another place the fruits that be +In gallant clusters decking each good tree +Invite your hand to crop them from the stem, +And liking one, taste every sort of them: +Then to the arbours walk, then to the bowers, +Thence to the walks again, thence to the flowers, +Then to the birds, and to the clear spring thence, +Now pleasing one, and then another sense: +Here one walks oft, and yet anew begin'th, +As if it were some hidden labyrinth. + + + + +WILLIAM ALEXANDER, EARL OF STIRLING. + + +This eminent Scotchman was born in 1580. He travelled on the Continent +as tutor to the Duke of Argyle. After his return to Scotland, he fell in +love with a lady, whom he calls 'Aurora,' and to whom he addressed some +beautiful sonnets. She refused his hand, however, and he married the +daughter of Sir William Erskine. He repaired to the Court of James I., +and became a distinguished favourite, being appointed Gentleman Usher to +Charles I., and created a knight. He concocted a scheme for colonising +Nova Scotia, in which he was encouraged by both James and Charles; but +the difficulties seemed too formidable, and it was in consequence +dropped. Charles appointed him Lord-Lieutenant of Nova Scotia, and, in +1633, he created him Lord Stirling. Fifteen years (from 1626 to 1641) +our poet was Secretary of State for Scotland. These were the years +during which Laud was foolishly seeking to force his liturgy upon the +Presbyterians, but Stirling gained the praise of being moderate in his +share of the business. In the course of this time he contrived to amass +an ample fortune, and spent part of it in building a fine mansion in +Stirling, which is still, we believe, standing. He died in 1641. + +Besides his smaller pieces, Stirling wrote several tragedies, including +one on Julius Caesar; an heroic poem; a poem addressed to Prince Henry, +the son of James I.; another heroic poem, entitled 'Jonathan;' and a +poem, in twelve parts, on the 'Day of Judgment.' These are all +forgotten, and, notwithstanding vigorous parts, deserve to be forgotten; +but his little sonnets, which are, if not brilliant, true things, and +inspired by a true passion, may long survive. He was, on the whole, +rather a man of great talent than of genius. + + +SONNET. + +I swear, Aurora, by thy starry eyes, +And by those golden locks, whose lock none slips, +And by the coral of thy rosy lips, +And by the naked snows which beauty dyes; +I swear by all the jewels of thy mind, +Whose like yet never worldly treasure bought, +Thy solid judgment, and thy generous thought, + +Which in this darken'd age have clearly shined; +I swear by those, and by my spotless love, +And by my secret, yet most fervent fires, +That I have never nursed but chaste desires, +And such as modesty might well approve. +Then, since I love those virtuous parts in thee, +Shouldst thou not love this virtuous mind in me? + + + + +WILLIAM DRUMMOND. + + +A man of much finer gifts than Stirling, was the famous Drummond. He +was born, December 13, 1585, at Hawthornden, his father's estate, in +Mid- Lothian. It is one of the most beautiful spots, along the sides +of one of the fairest streams in all Scotland, and well fitted to be +the home of genius. He studied civil law for four years in France, but, +in 1611, the estate of Hawthornden became his own, and here he fixed his +residence, and applied himself to literature. At this time he courted, +and was upon the point of marrying, a lady named Cunningham, who died; +and the melancholy which preyed on his mind after this event, drove him +abroad in search of solace. He visited Italy, Germany, and France; and +during his eight years of residence on the Continent, used his time +well, conversing with the learned, admiring all that was admirable in +the scenery and the life of foreign lands, and collecting rare books and +manuscripts. He had, before his departure, published, first, a volume +of occasional poems; next, a moral treatise, in prose, entitled, 'The +Cypress Grove;' and then another work, in verse, 'The Flowers of Zion.' +Returned once more to Scotland, he retired to the seat of his brother- +in-law, Sir John Scott of Scotstarvet, and there wrote a 'History of +the Five James's of Scotland,' a book abounding in bombast and slavish +principles. When he returned to his own lovely Hawthornden, he met a +lady named Logan, of the house of Restalrig, whom he fancied to bear a +striking resemblance to his dead mistress. On that hint he spake, and +she became his wife. He proceeded to repair the house of Hawthornden, +and would have spent his days there in great peace, had it not been for +the distracted times. His politics were of the Royalist complexion; and +the party in power, belonging to the Presbyterians, used every method to +annoy him, compelling him, for instance, to furnish his quota of men and +arms to support the cause which he opposed. In 1619, Ben Jonson visited +him at Hawthornden. The pair were not well assorted. Brawny Ben and +dreaming Drummond seem, in the expressive coinage of De Quincey, to have +'interdespised;' and is not their feud, with all its circumstances, +recorded in the chronicles of the 'Quarrels of Authors' compiled by the +elder Disraeli? The death of a lady sent Drummond travelling over Europe +--the death of a King sent him away on a farther and a final journey. +His grief for the execution of Charles I. is said to have shortened his +days. At all events, in December of the year of the so-called +'Martyrdom,' (1649,) he breathed his last. + +He was a genuine poet as well as a brilliant humorist. His 'Polemo +Middinia,' a grotesque mixture of bad Latin and semi-Latinised Scotch, +has created, among many generations, inextinguishable laughter. His +'Wandering Muses; or, The River of Forth Feasting,' has some gorgeous +descriptions, particularly of Scotland's lakes and rivers, at a time +when + + 'She lay, like some unkenn'd of isle, + Ayont New Holland;' + +but his sonnets are unquestionably his finest productions. They breathe +a spirit of genuine poetry. Each one of them is a rose lightly wet +with the dew of tenderness, and one or two suggest irresistibly the +recollection of our Great Dramatist's sonnets, although we feel that +'a less than Shakspeare is here.' + + +THE RIVER OF FORTH FEASTING. + +A PANEGYRIC TO THE HIGH AND MIGHTY PRINCE JAMES, KING +Or GREAT BRITAIN, FRANCE, AND IRELAND. + +_To His Sacred Majesty._ + +If in this storm of joy and pompous throng, +This nymph (great king) doth come to thee so near +That thy harmonious ears her accents hear, +Give pardon to her hoarse and lowly song: +Fain would she trophies to thy virtues rear; +But for this stately task she is not strong, +And her defects her high attempts do wrong, +Yet as she could she makes thy worth appear. +So in a map is shown this flowery place; +So wrought in arras by a virgin's hand +With heaven and blazing stars doth Atlas stand, +So drawn by charcoal is Narcissus' face: + She like the morn may be to some bright sun, + The day to perfect that's by her begun. + + * * * * * + +What blustering noise now interrupts my sleep? +What echoing shouts thus cleave my crystal deep, +And seem to call me from my watery court? +What melody, what sounds of joy and sport, +Are convey'd hither from each neighbouring spring? +With what loud rumours do the mountains ring, +Which in unusual pomp on tiptoes stand, +And (full of wonder) overlook the land? +Whence come these glittering throngs, these meteors bright, +This golden people glancing in my sight? +Whence doth this praise, applause, and love arise, +What load-star eastward draweth thus all eyes? +Am I awake? or have some dreams conspired +To mock my sense with what I most desired? +View I that living face, see I those looks, +Which with delight were wont t'amaze my brooks? +Do I behold that worth, that man divine, +This age's glory, by these banks of mine? +Then find I true what long I wish'd in vain, +My much beloved prince is come again; +So unto them whose zenith is the pole, +When six black months are past, the sun doth roll: +So after tempest to sea-tossed wights +Fair Helen's brothers show their cheering lights: +So comes Arabia's wonder from her woods, +And far, far off is seen by Memphis' floods; +The feather'd Sylvans, cloud-like, by her fly, +And with triumphing plaudits beat the sky; +Nile marvels, Seraph's priests, entranced, rave, +And in Mydonian stone her shape engrave; +In lasting cedars they do mark the time +In which Apollo's bird came to their clime. +Let Mother Earth now deck'd with flowers be seen, +And sweet-breath'd zephyrs curl the meadows green, +Let heaven weep rubies in a crimson shower, +Such as on India's shores they use to pour: +Or with that golden storm the fields adorn, +Which Jove rain'd when his blue-eyed maid was born. +May never hours the web of day outweave, +May never night rise from her sable cave. +Swell proud, my billows, faint not to declare +Your joys as ample as their causes are: +For murmurs hoarse sound like Arion's harp, +Now delicately flat, now sweetly sharp; +And you, my nymphs, rise from your moist repair; +Strow all your springs and grots with lilies fair: +Some swiftest-footed, get them hence, and pray +Our floods and lakes come keep this holiday; +Whate'er beneath Albania's hills do run, +Which see the rising or the setting sun, +Which drink stern Grampius' mists, or Ochil's snows: +Stone-rolling Tay, Tyne tortoise-like that flows, +The pearly Don, the Dees, the fertile Spey, +Wild Neverne, which doth see our longest day; +Ness smoking sulphur, Leave with mountains crown'd, +Strange Lomond for his floating isles renown'd: +The Irish Rian, Ken, the silver Ayr, +The snaky Dun, the Ore with rushy hair, +The crystal-streaming Nid, loud-bellowing Clyde, +Tweed which no more our kingdoms shall divide; +Rank-swelling Annan, Lid with curled streams, +The Esks, the Solway, where they lose their names, +To every one proclaim our joys and feasts, +Our triumphs; bid all come and be our guests: +And as they meet in Neptune's azure hall, +Bid them bid sea-gods keep this festival; +This day shall by our currents be renown'd, +Our hills about shall still this day resound; +Nay, that our love more to this day appear, +Let us with it henceforth begin our year. +To virgins, flowers; to sunburnt earth, the rain; +To mariners, fair winds amidst the main; +Cool shades to pilgrims, which hot glances burn, +Are not so pleasing as thy blest return. +That day, dear prince, which robb'd us of thy sight, +(Day, no, but darkness and a dusky night,) +Did fill our breasts with sighs, our eyes with tears, +Turn'd minutes to sad months, sad months to years, +Trees left to flourish, meadows to bear flowers, +Brooks hid their heads within their sedgy bowers, +Fair Ceres cursed our fields with barren frost, +As if again she had her daughter lost: +The muses left our groves, and for sweet songs +Sat sadly silent, or did weep their wrongs. +You know it, meads; your murmuring woods it know, +Hill, dales, and caves, copartners of their woe; +And you it know, my streams, which from their een +Oft on your glass received their pearly brine; +O Naiads dear, (said they,) Napeas fair, +O nymphs of trees, nymphs which on hills repair! +Gone are those maiden glories, gone that state, +Which made all eyes admire our bliss of late. +As looks the heaven when never star appears, +But slow and weary shroud them in their spheres, +While Titon's wife embosom'd by him lies, +And world doth languish in a dreary guise: +As looks a garden of its beauty spoil'd, +As woods in winter by rough Boreas foil'd, +As portraits razed of colours used to be: +So look'd these abject bounds deprived of thee. + +While as my rills enjoy'd thy royal gleams, +They did not envy Tiber's haughty streams, +Nor wealthy Tagus with his golden ore, +Nor clear Hydaspes which on pearls doth roar, +Nor golden Gange that sees the sun new born, +Nor Achelous with his flowery horn, +Nor floods which near Elysian fields do fall: +For why? thy sight did serve to them for all. +No place there is so desert, so alone, +Even from the frozen to the torrid zone, +From flaming Hecla to great Quinsey's lake, +Which thy abode could not most happy make; +All those perfections which by bounteous Heaven +To divers worlds in divers times were given, +The starry senate pour'd at once on thee, +That thou exemplar mightst to others be. +Thy life was kept till the Three Sisters spun +Their threads of gold, and then it was begun. +With chequer'd clouds when skies do look most fair, +And no disordered blasts disturb the air, +When lilies do them deck in azure gowns; +And new-born roses blush with golden crowns, +To prove how calm we under thee should live, +What halcyonian days thy reign should give, +And to two flowery diadems thy right; +The heavens thee made a partner of the light. +Scarce wast thou born when, join'd in friendly bands, +Two mortal foes with other clasped hands; +With Virtue Fortune strove, which most should grace +Thy place for thee, thee for so high a place; +One vow'd thy sacred breast not to forsake, +The other on thee not to turn her back; +And that thou more her love's effects mightst feel, +For thee she left her globe, and broke her wheel. + +When years thee vigour gave, oh, then, how clear +Did smother'd sparkles in bright flames appear! +Amongst the woods to force the flying hart, +To pierce the mountain wolf with feather'd dart; +See falcons climb the clouds, the fox ensnare, +Outrun the wind-outrunning Doedale hare, +To breathe thy fiery steed on every plain, +And in meand'ring gyres him bring again, +The press thee making place, and vulgar things, +In Admiration's air, on Glory's wings; +Oh, thou far from the common pitch didst rise, +With thy designs to dazzle Envy's eyes: +Thou soughtst to know this All's eternal source, +Of ever-turning heaven the restless course, +Their fixed lamps, their lights which wandering run, +Whence moon her silver hath, his gold the sun; +If Fate there be or no, if planets can +By fierce aspects force the free will of man; +The light aspiring fire, the liquid air, +The flaming dragons, comets with red hair, +Heaven's tilting lances, artillery, and bow, +Loud-sounding trumpets, darts of hail and snow, +The roaring elements, with people dumb, +The earth with what conceived is in her womb. +What on her moves were set unto thy sight, +Till thou didst find their causes, essence, might. +But unto nought thou so thy mind didst strain, +As to be read in man, and learn to reign: +To know the weight and Atlas of a crown, +To spare the humble, proud ones tumble down. +When from those piercing cares which thrones invest, +As thorns the rose, thou wearied wouldst thee rest, +With lute in hand, full of celestial fire, +To the Pierian groves thou didst retire: +There garlanded with all Urania's flowers, +In sweeter lays than builded Thebes' towers, +Or them which charm'd the dolphins in the main, +Or which did call Eurydice again, +Thou sung'st away the hours, till from their sphere +Stars seem'd to shoot thy melody to hear. +The god with golden hair, the sister maids, +Did leave their Helicon, and Tempe's shades, +To see thine isle, here lost their native tongue, +And in thy world-divided language sung. + +Who of thine after age can count the deeds, +With all that Fame in Time's huge annals reads? +How, by example more than any law, +This people fierce thou didst to goodness draw; +How, while the neighbour world, toss'd by the Fates, +So many Phaetons had in their states, +Which turn'd to heedless flames their burnish'd thrones, +Thou, as ensphered, kept'st temperate thy zones; +In Afric shores the sands that ebb and flow, +The shady leaves on Arden's trees that grow, +He sure may count, with all the waves that meet +To wash the Mauritanian Atlas' feet. +Though crown'd thou wert not, nor a king by birth, +Thy worth deserves the richest crown on earth. +Search this half sphere, and the Antarctic ground, +Where is such wit and bounty to be found? +As into silent night, when near the Bear, +The virgin huntress shines at full most clear, +And strives to match her brother's golden light, +The host of stars doth vanish in her sight, +Arcturus dies; cool'd is the Lion's ire, +Po burns no more with Phaetontal fire: +Orion faints to see his arms grow black, +And that his flaming sword he now doth lack: +So Europe's lights, all bright in their degree, +Lose all their lustre parallel'd with thee; +By just descent thou from more kings dost shine, +Than many can name men in all their line: +What most they toil to find, and finding hold, +Thou scornest--orient gems, and flattering gold; +Esteeming treasure surer in men's breasts, +Than when immured with marble, closed in chests; +No stormy passions do disturb thy mind, +No mists of greatness ever could thee blind: +Who yet hath been so meek? thou life didst give +To them who did repine to see thee live; +What prince by goodness hath such kingdoms gain'd? +Who hath so long his people's peace maintain'd? +Their swords are turn'd to scythes, to coulters spears, +Some giant post their antique armour bears: +Now, where the wounded knight his life did bleed, +The wanton swain sits piping on a reed; +And where the cannon did Jove's thunder scorn, +The gaudy huntsman winds his shrill-tuned horn: +Her green locks Ceres doth to yellow dye, +The pilgrim safely in the shade doth lie, +Both Pan and Pales careless keep their flocks, +Seas have no dangers save the wind and rocks: +Thou art this isle's Palladium, neither can +(Whiles thou dost live) it be o'erthrown by man. + +Let others boast of blood and spoils of foes, +Fierce rapines, murders, Iliads of woes, +Of hated pomp, and trophies reared fair, +Gore-spangled ensigns streaming in the air, +Count how they make the Scythian them adore, +The Gaditan and soldier of Aurore. +Unhappy boasting! to enlarge their bounds, +That charge themselves with cares, their friends with wounds; +Who have no law to their ambitious will, +But, man-plagues, born are human blood to spill! +Thou a true victor art, sent from above +What others strain by force, to gain by love; +World-wandering Fame this praise to thee imparts, +To be the only monarch of all hearts. +They many fear who are of many fear'd, +And kingdoms got by wrongs, by wrongs are tear'd; +Such thrones as blood doth raise, blood throweth down, +No guard so sure as love unto a crown. + +Eye of our western world, Mars-daunting king, +With whose renown the earth's seven climates ring, +Thy deeds not only claim these diadems, +To which Thame, Liftey, Tay, subject their streams; +But to thy virtues rare, and gifts, is due +All that the planet of the year doth view; +Sure if the world above did want a prince, +The world above to it would take thee hence. + +That Murder, Rapine, Lust, are fled to hell, +And in their rooms with us the Graces dwell; +That honour more than riches men respect, +That worthiness than gold doth more effect, +That Piety unmasked shows her face, +That Innocency keeps with Power her place, +That long-exiled Astrea leaves the heaven, +And turneth right her sword, her weights holds even, +That the Saturnian world is come again, +Are wish'd effects of thy most happy reign. +That daily, Peace, Love, Truth, Delights increase, +And Discord, Hate, Fraud, with Incumbers, cease; +That men use strength not to shed others' blood, +But use their strength now to do others good; +That Fury is enchain'd, disarmed Wrath, +That (save by Nature's hand) there is no death; +That late grim foes like brothers other love, +That vultures prey not on the harmless dove, +That wolves with lambs do friendship entertain, +Are wish'd effects of thy most happy reign. +That towns increase, that ruin'd temples rise, +That their wind-moving vanes do kiss the skies; +That Ignorance and Sloth hence run away, +That buried Arts now rouse them to the day, +That Hyperion far beyond his bed +Doth see our lions ramp, our roses spread; +That Iber courts us, Tiber not us charms, +That Rhine with hence-brought beams his bosom warms; +That ill doth fear, and good doth us maintain, +Are wish'd effects of thy most happy reign. + +O Virtue's pattern, glory of our times, +Sent of past days to expiate the crimes, +Great king, but better far than thou art great, +Whom state not honours, but who honours state, +By wonder born, by wonder first install'd, +By wonder after to new kingdoms call'd; +Young, kept by wonder from home-bred alarms, +Old, saved by wonder from pale traitors' harms, +To be for this thy reign, which wonders brings, +A king of wonder, wonder unto kings. +If Pict, Dane, Norman, thy smooth yoke had seen, +Pict, Dane, and Norman had thy subjects been; +If Brutus knew the bliss thy rule doth give, +Even Brutus joy would under thee to live, +For thou thy people dost so dearly love, +That they a father, more than prince, thee prove. + +O days to be desired! Age happy thrice! +If you your heaven-sent good could duly prize; +But we (half palsy-sick) think never right +Of what we hold, till it be from our sight, +Prize only summer's sweet and musked breath, +When armed winters threaten us with death, +In pallid sickness do esteem of health, +And by sad poverty discern of wealth: +I see an age when, after some few years, +And revolutions of the slow-paced spheres, +These days shall be 'bove other far esteem'd, +And like Augustus' palmy reign be deem'd. +The names of Arthur, fabulous Paladines, +Graven in Time's surly brows, in wrinkled lines, +Of Henrys, Edwards, famous for their fights, +Their neighbour conquests, orders new of knights, +Shall by this prince's name be pass'd as far +As meteors are by the Idalian star. +If gray-hair'd Proteus' songs the truth not miss-- +And gray-hair'd Proteus oft a prophet is-- +There is a land hence distant many miles, +Outreaching fiction and Atlantic isles, +Which (homelings) from this little world we name, +That shall emblazon with strange rites his fame, +Shall rear him statues all of purest gold, +Such as men gave unto the gods of old, +Name by him temples, palaces, and towns, +With some great river, which their fields renowns: +This is that king who should make right each wrong, +Of whom the bards and mystic Sibyls sung, +The man long promised, by whose glorious reign +This isle should yet her ancient name regain, +And more of fortunate deserve the style, +Than those whose heavens with double summers smile. + +Run on, great prince, thy course in glory's way, +The end the life, the evening crowns the day; +Heap worth on worth, and strongly soar above +Those heights which made the world thee first to love; +Surmount thyself, and make thine actions past +Be but as gleams or lightnings of thy last, +Let them exceed those of thy younger time, +As far as autumn; doth the flowery prime. +Through this thy empire range, like world's bright eye, +That once each year surveys all earth and sky, +Now glances on the slow and resty Bears, +Then turns to dry the weeping Auster's tears, +Hurries to both the poles, and moveth even +In the figured circle of the heaven: +Oh, long, long haunt these bounds which by thy sight +Have now regain'd their former heat and light. +Here grow green woods, here silver brooks do glide, +Here meadows stretch them out with painted pride, +Embroidering all the banks, here hills aspire +To crown their heads with the ethereal fire, +Hills, bulwarks of our freedom, giant walls, +Which never friends did slight, nor sword made thralls: +Each circling flood to Thetis tribute pays, +Men here in health outlive old Nestor's days: +Grim Saturn yet amongst our rocks remains, +Bound in our caves, with many metall'd chains, +Bulls haunt our shade like Leda's lover white, +Which yet might breed Pesiphae delight, +Our flocks fair fleeces bear, with which for sport +Endymion of old the moon did court, +High-palmed harts amidst our forests run, +And, not impaled, the deep-mouth'd hounds do shun; +The rough-foot hare safe in our bushes shrouds, +And long-wing'd hawks do perch amidst our clouds. +The wanton wood-nymphs of the verdant spring, +Blue, golden, purple flowers shall to thee bring, +Pomona's fruits the Panisks, Thetis' girls, +The Thule's amber, with the ocean pearls; +The Tritons, herdsmen of the glassy field, +Shall give thee what far-distant shores can yield, +The Serean fleeces, Erythrean gems, +Vast Plata's silver, gold of Peru streams, +Antarctic parrots, Ethiopian plumes, +Sabasan odours, myrrh, and sweet perfumes: +And I myself, wrapt in a watchet gown +Of reeds and lilies, on mine head a crown, +Shall incense to thee burn, green altars raise, +And yearly sing due paeans to thy praise. + +Ah! why should Isis only see thee shine? +Is not thy Forth, as well as Isis, thine? +Though Isis vaunt she hath more wealth in store, +Let it suffice thy Forth doth love thee more: +Though she for beauty may compare with Seine, +For swans, and sea-nymphs with imperial Rhine, +Yet for the title may be claim'd in thee, +Nor she nor all the world can match with me. +Now when, by honour drawn, them shalt away +To her, already jealous of thy stay, +When in her amorous arms she doth thee fold, +And dries thy dewy hairs with hers of gold, +Much asking of thy fare, much of thy sport, +Much of thine absence, long, howe'er so short, +And chides, perhaps, thy coming to the north, +Loathe not to think on thy much-loving Forth: +Oh, love these bounds, where of thy royal stem +More than an hundred wore a diadem. +So ever gold and bays thy brows adorn, +So never time may see thy race outworn, +So of thine own still mayst thou be desired, +Of strangers fear'd, redoubted, and admired; +So Memory thee praise, so precious hours +May character thy name in starry flowers; +So may thy high exploits at last make even, +With earth thy empire, glory with the heaven. + + +SONNETS. + +I. + +I know that all beneath the moon decays, +And what by mortals in this world is brought, +In Time's great periods shall return to nought; +That fairest states have fatal nights and days; +I know that all the Muse's heavenly lays, +With toil of sp'rit, which are so dearly bought, +As idle sounds, of few, or none, are sought, +That there is nothing lighter than vain praise; +I know frail beauty like the purple flower, +To which one morn oft birth and death affords, +That love a jarring is of minds' accords, +Where sense and will envassal Reason's power; + Know what I list, all this can not me move, + But that, alas! I both must write and love. + +II. + +Ah me! and I am now the man whose muse +In happier times was wont to laugh at love, +And those who suffer'd that blind boy abuse +The noble gifts were given them from above. +What metamorphose strange is this I prove I +Myself now scarce I 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 into a better course to move: +Reason may chide her fill, and oft reprove +Affection's power, but what is that to me? + Who ever think, and never think on ought + But that bright cherubim which thralls my thought. + +III. + +How that vast heaven, entitled first, is roll'd, +If any glancing towers beyond it be, +And people living in eternity, +Or essence pure that doth this all uphold: +What motion have those fixed sparks of gold, +The wandering carbuncles which shine from high, +By sp'rits, or bodies crossways in the sky, +If they be turn'd, and mortal things behold; +How sun posts heaven about, how night's pale queen +With borrow'd beams looks on this hanging round, +What cause fair Iris hath, and monsters seen +In air's large field of light, and seas profound, + Did hold my wandering thoughts, when thy sweet eye + Bade me leave all, and only think on thee. + +IV. + +If cross'd with all mishaps be my poor life, +If one short day I never spent in mirth, +If my sp'rit with itself holds lasting strife, +If sorrow's death is but new sorrow's birth; +If this vain world be but a mournful stage, +Where slave-born man plays to the scoffing stars, +If youth be toss'd with love, with weakness age; +If knowledge serves to hold our thoughts in wars, +If Time can close the hundred mouths of Fame, +And make what's long since past, like that's to be; +If virtue only be an idle name, +If being born I was but born to die; + Why seek I to prolong these loathsome days? + The fairest rose in shortest time decays. + +V. + +Dear chorister, who from those shadows sends, +Ere that the blushing morn dare show her light, +Such sad, lamenting strains, that night attends, +Become all ear; stars stay to hear thy plight, +If one whose grief even reach of thought transcends, +Who ne'er, not in a dream, did taste delight, +May thee importune who like case pretends, +And seems to joy in woe, in woe's despite. +Tell me (so may thou fortune milder try, +And long, long sing) for what thou thus complains, +Since winter's gone, and sun in dappled sky, +Enamour'd, smiles on woods and flowery plains? + The bird, as if my questions did her move, + With trembling wings sigh'd forth, 'I love, I love.' + +VI. + +Sweet soul, which, in the April of thy years, +For to enrich the heaven mad'st poor this round, +And now, with flaming rays of glory crown'd, +Most blest abides above the sphere of spheres; +If heavenly laws, alas! have not thee bound +From looking to this globe that all upbears, +If ruth and pity there above be found, +Oh, deign to lend a look unto these tears, +Do not disdain, dear ghost, this sacrifice, +And though I raise not pillars to thy praise, +My offerings take, let this for me suffice, +My heart a living pyramid I raise: + And whilst kings' tombs with laurels flourish green, + Thine shall with myrtles and these flowers be seen. + + +SPIRITUAL POEMS. + +I. + +Look, how the flower which ling'ringly doth fade, +The morning's darling late, the summer's queen, +Spoil'd of that juice which kept it fresh and green, +As high as it did raise, bows low the head: +Right so the pleasures of my life being dead, +Or in their contraries but only seen, +With swifter speed declines than erst it spread, +And, blasted, scarce now shows what it hath been. +As doth the pilgrim, therefore, whom the night +By darkness would imprison on his way, +Think on thy home, my soul, and think aright, +Of what's yet left thee of life's wasting day; + Thy sun posts westward, passed is thy morn, + And twice it is not given thee to be born. + +II. + +The weary mariner so fast not flies +A howling tempest, harbour to attain; +Nor shepherd hastes, when frays of wolves arise, +So fast to fold, to save his bleating train, +As I, wing'd with contempt and just disdain, +Now fly the world, and what it most doth prize, +And sanctuary seek, free to remain +From wounds of abject times, and Envy's eyes. +To me this world did once seem sweet and fair, +While senses' light mind's prospective kept blind, +Now, like imagined landscape in the air, +And weeping rainbows, her best joys I find: + Or if aught here is had that praise should have, + It is a life obscure, and silent grave. + +III. + +The last and greatest herald of heaven's King, +Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild, +Among that savage brood the woods forth bring, +Which he more harmless found than man, and mild; +His food was locusts, and what there doth spring, +With honey that from virgin hives distill'd; +Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing +Made him appear, long since from earth exiled; +There burst he forth; 'All ye whose hopes rely +On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn; +Repent, repent, and from old errors turn!' +Who listen'd to his voice, obey'd his cry? + Only the echoes, which he made relent, + Rung from their flinty caves, 'Repent, repent!' + +IV. + +Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours +Of winters past or coming, void of care, +Well-pleased with delights which present are, +Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers: +To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers, +Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare, +And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare, +A stain to human sense in sin that lowers. +What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs, +Attired in sweetness, sweetly is not driven +Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites, and wrongs, +And lift a reverend eye and thought to heaven? + Sweet artless songster, thou my mind dost raise + To airs of spheres, yes, and to angels' lays. + +V. + +As when it happ'neth that some lovely town +Unto a barbarous besieger falls, +Who both by sword and flame himself installs, +And, shameless, it in tears and blood doth drown +Her beauty spoil'd, her citizens made thralls, +His spite yet cannot so her all throw down, +But that some statue, pillar of renown, +Yet lurks unmaim'd within her weeping walls: +So, after all the spoil, disgrace, and wreck, +That time, the world, and death, could bring combined, +Amidst that mass of ruins they did make, +Safe and all scarless yet remains my mind: + From this so high transcending rapture springs, + That I, all else defaced, not envy kings. + + + + +PHINEAS FLETCHER + +We have already spoken of Giles Fletcher, the brother of Phineas. Of +Phineas we know nothing except that he was born in 1584, educated at +Eton and Cambridge, became Rector at Hilgay, in Norfolk, where he +remained for twenty-nine years, surviving his brother; that he wrote +an account of the founders and learned men of his university; that in +1633, he published 'The Purple Island;' and that in 1650 he died. + +His 'Purple Island' (with which we first became acquainted in the +writings of James Hervey, author of the 'Meditations,' who was its +fervent admirer) is a curious, complex, and highly ingenious allegory, +forming an elaborate picture of _Man_, in his body and soul; and for +subtlety and infinite flexibility, both of fancy and verse, deserves +great praise, although it cannot, for a moment, be compared with his +brother's 'Christ's Victory and Triumph,' either in interest of subject +or in splendour of genius. + + +DESCRIPTION OF PARTHENIA. + + With her, her sister went, a warlike maid, + Parthenia, all in steel and gilded arms; + In needle's stead, a mighty spear she sway'd, + With which in bloody fields and fierce alarms, + The boldest champion she down would bear, + And like a thunderbolt wide passage tear, +Flinging all to the earth with her enchanted spear. + + Her goodly armour seem'd a garden green, + Where thousand spotless lilies freshly blew; + And on her shield the lone bird might be seen, + The Arabian bird, shining in colours new; + Itself unto itself was only mate; + Ever the same, but new in newer date: +And underneath was writ, 'Such is chaste single state.' + + Thus hid in arms she seem'd a goodly knight, + And fit for any warlike exercise: + But when she list lay down her armour bright, + And back resume her peaceful maiden's guise; + The fairest maid she was, that ever yet + Prison'd her locks within a golden net, +Or let them waving hang, with roses fair beset. + + Choice nymph! the crown of chaste Diana's train, + Thou beauty's lily, set in heavenly earth; + Thy fairs, unpattern'd, all perfection stain: + Sure heaven with curious pencil at thy birth + In thy rare face her own full picture drew: + It is a strong verse here to write, but true, +Hyperboles in others are but half thy due. + + Upon her forehead Love his trophies fits, + A thousand spoils in silver arch displaying: + And in the midst himself full proudly sits, + Himself in awful majesty arraying: + Upon her brows lies his bent ebon bow, + And ready shafts; deadly those weapons show; +Yet sweet the death appear'd, lovely that deadly blow. + + * * * * * + + A bed of lilies flower upon her cheek, + And in the midst was set a circling rose; + Whose sweet aspect would force Narcissus seek + New liveries, and fresher colours choose + To deck his beauteous head in snowy 'tire; + But all in vain: for who can hope t' aspire +To such a fair, which none attain, but all admire? + + Her ruby lips lock up from gazing sight + A troop of pearls, which march in goodly row: + But when she deigns those precious bones undight, + Soon heavenly notes from those divisions flow, + And with rare music charm the ravish'd ears, + Daunting bold thoughts, but cheering modest fears: +The spheres so only sing, so only charm the spheres. + + Yet all these stars which deck this beauteous sky + By force of th'inward sun both shine and move; + Throned in her heart sits love's high majesty; + In highest majesty the highest love. + As when a taper shines in glassy frame, + The sparkling crystal burns in glittering flame, +So does that brightest love brighten this lovely dame. + + +INSTABILITY OF HUMAN GREATNESS. + + Fond man, that looks on earth for happiness, + And here long seeks what here is never found! + For all our good we hold from Heaven by lease, + With many forfeits and conditions bound; + Nor can we pay the fine and rentage due: + Though now but writ and seal'd, and given anew, +Yet daily we it break, then daily must renew. + + Why shouldst thou here look for perpetual good, + At every loss against Heaven's face repining? + Do but behold where glorious cities stood, + With gilded tops, and silver turrets shining; + Where now the hart fearless of greyhound feeds, + And loving pelican in safety breeds; +Where screeching satyrs fill the people's empty steads. + + Where is the Assyrian lion's golden hide, + That all the East once grasp'd in lordly paw? + Where that great Persian bear, whose swelling pride + The lion's self tore out with ravenous jaw? + Or he which, 'twixt a lion and a pard, + Through all the world with nimble pinions fared, +And to his greedy whelps his conquer'd kingdoms shared? + + Hardly the place of such antiquity, + Or note of these great monarchies we find: + Only a fading verbal memory, + An empty name in writ is left behind: + But when this second life and glory fades, + And sinks at length in time's obscurer shades, +A second fall succeeds, and double death invades. + + That monstrous Beast, which nursed in Tiber's fen, + Did all the world with hideous shape affray; + That fill'd with costly spoil his gaping den, + And trod down all the rest to dust and clay: + His battering horns pull'd out by civil hands, + And iron teeth lie scatter'd on the sands; +Backed, bridled by a monk, with seven heads yoked stands. + + And that black Vulture,[1] which with deathful wing + O'ershadows half the earth, whose dismal sight + Frighten'd the Muses from their native spring, + Already stoops, and flags with weary flight: + Who then shall look for happiness beneath? + Where each new day proclaims chance, change, and death, +And life itself's as fleet as is the air we breathe. + +[1] 'Black Vulture:' the Turk. + + +HAPPINESS OF THE SHEPHERD'S LIFE. + + Thrice, oh, thrice happy, shepherd's life and state! + When courts are happiness, unhappy pawns! + His cottage low and safely humble gate + Shuts out proud Fortune, with her scorns and fawns + No feared treason breaks his quiet sleep: + Singing all day, his flocks he learns to keep; +Himself as innocent as are his simple sheep. + + No Serian worms he knows, that with their thread + Draw out their silken lives; nor silken pride: + His lambs' warm fleece well fits his little need, + Not in that proud Sidonian tineture dyed: + No empty hopes, no courtly fears him fright, + Nor begging wants his middle fortune bite; +But sweet content exiles both misery and spite. + + Instead of music, and base flattering tongues, + Which wait to first salute my lord's uprise, + The cheerful lark wakes him with early songs, + And birds' sweet whistling notes unlock his eyes: + In country plays is all the strife he uses, + Or sing, or dance unto the rural Muses, +And but in music's sports all difference refuses. + + His certain life, that never can deceive him, + Is full of thousand sweets, and rich content; + The smooth-leaved beeches in the field receive him + With coolest shades, till noontide rage is spent; + His life is neither toss'd in boisterous seas + Of troublous world, nor lost in slothful ease; +Pleased, and full blest he lives, when he his God can please. + + His bed of wool yields safe and quiet sleeps, + While by his side his faithful spouse hath place; + His little son into his bosom creeps, + The lively picture of his father's face: + Never his humble house nor state torment him; + Less he could like, if less his God had sent him; +And when he dies, green turfs, with grassy tomb, content him. + + +MARRIAGE OF CHRIST AND THE CHURCH. + + 'Ah, dearest Lord! does my rapt soul behold thee? + Am I awake, and sure I do not dream? + Do these thrice-blessed arms again enfold thee? + Too much delight makes true things feigned seem. + Thee, thee I see; thou, thou thus folded art: + For deep thy stamp is printed on my heart, +And thousand ne'er-felt joys stream in each melting part.' + + Thus with glad sorrow did she sweetly 'plain her, + Upon his neck a welcome load depending; + While he with equal joy did entertain her, + Herself, her champions, highly all commending: + So all in triumph to his palace went; + Whose work in narrow words may not be pent: +For boundless thought is less than is that glorious tent. + + There sweet delights, which know nor end nor measure; + No chance is there, nor eating times succeeding: + No wasteful spending can impair their treasure; + Pleasure full grown, yet ever freshly breeding: + Fulness of sweets excludes not more receiving; + The soul still big of joy, yet still conceiving; +Beyond slow tongue's report, beyond quick thought's perceiving. + + There are they gone; there will they ever bide; + Swimming in waves of joys and heavenly loves: + He still a bridegroom, she a gladsome bride; + Their hearts in love, like spheres still constant moving; + No change, no grief, no age can them befall; + Their bridal bed is in that heavenly hall, +Where all days are but one, and only one is all. + + And as in his state they thus in triumph ride, + The boys and damsels their just praises chant; + The boys the bridegroom sing, the maids the bride, + While all the hills glad hymens loudly vaunt: + Heaven's winged shoals, greeting this glorious spring, + Attune their higher notes, and hymens sing: +Each thought to pass, and each did pass thought's loftiest wing. + + Upon his lightning brow love proudly sitting + Flames out in power, shines out in majesty; + There all his lofty spoils and trophies fitting, + Displays the marks of highest Deity: + There full of strength in lordly arms he stands, + And every heart and every soul commands: +No heart, no soul, his strength and lordly force withstands. + + Upon her forehead thousand cheerful graces, + Seated on thrones of spotless ivory; + There gentle Love his armed hand unbraces; + His bow unbent disclaims all tyranny; + There by his play a thousand souls beguiles, + Persuading more by simple, modest smiles, +Than ever he could force by arms or crafty wiles. + + Upon her cheek doth Beauty's self implant + The freshest garden of her choicest flowers; + On which, if Envy might but glance askant, + Her eyes would swell, and burst, and melt in showers: + Thrice fairer both than ever fairest eyed; + Heaven never such a bridegroom yet descried; +Nor ever earth so fair, so undefiled a bride. + + Full of his Father shines his glorious face, + As far the sun surpassing in his light, + As doth the sun the earth with flaming blaze: + Sweet influence streams from his quickening sight: + His beams from nought did all this _All_ display; + And when to less than nought they fell away, +He soon restored again by his new orient ray. + + All heaven shines forth in her sweet face's frame: + Her seeing stars (which we miscall bright eyes) + More bright than is the morning's brightest flame, + More fruitful than the May-time Geminies: + These, back restore the timely summer's fire; + Those, springing thoughts in winter hearts inspire, +Inspiriting dead souls, and quickening warm desire. + + These two fair suns in heavenly spheres are placed, + Where in the centre joy triumphing sits: + Thus in all high perfections fully graced, + Her mid-day bliss no future night admits; + But in the mirrors of her Spouse's eyes + Her fairest self she dresses; there where lies +All sweets, a glorious beauty to emparadise. + + His locks like raven's plumes, or shining jet, + Fall down in curls along his ivory neck; + Within their circlets hundred graces set, + And with love-knots their comely hangings deck: + His mighty shoulders, like that giant swain, + All heaven and earth, and all in both sustain; +Yet knows no weariness, nor feels oppressing pain. + + Her amber hair like to the sunny ray, + With gold enamels fair the silver white; + There heavenly loves their pretty sportings play, + Firing their darts in that wide flaming light: + Her dainty neck, spread with that silver mould, + Where double beauty doth itself unfold, +In the own fair silver shines, and fairer borrow'd gold. + + His breast a rock of purest alabaster, + Where loves self-sailing, shipwreck'd, often sitteth. + Hers a twin-rock, unknown but to the shipmaster; + Which harbours him alone, all other splitteth. + Where better could her love than here have nested, + Or he his thoughts than here more sweetly feasted? +Then both their love and thoughts in each are ever rested. + + Run now, you shepherd swains; ah! run you thither, + Where this fair bridegroom leads the blessed way: + And haste, you lovely maids, haste you together + With this sweet bride, while yet the sunshine day + Guides your blind steps; while yet loud summons call, + That every wood and hill resounds withal, +Come, Hymen, Hymen, come, dress'd in thy golden pall. + + The sounding echo back the music flung, + While heavenly spheres unto the voices play'd. + But see! the day is ended with my song, + And sporting bathes with that fair ocean maid: + Stoop now thy wing, my muse, now stoop thee low: + Hence mayst thou freely play, and rest thee now; +While here I hang my pipe upon the willow bough. + + So up they rose, while all the shepherds' throng + With their loud pipes a country triumph blew, + And led their Thirsil home with joyful song: + Meantime the lovely nymphs, with garlands new + His locks in bay and honour'd palm-tree bound, + With lilies set, and hyacinths around, +And lord of all the year and their May sportings crown'd. + + +END OF VOL. I. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Specimens with Memoirs of the +Less-known British Poets, Vol. 1, by George Gilfillan + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LESS-KNOWN BRITISH POETS, VOL 1 *** + +***** This file should be named 9667.txt or 9667.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/9/6/6/9667/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Marc D'Hooghe and the PG +Online Distributed Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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I. + +M.DCCC.LX. + + + + +INTRODUCTORY ESSAY + + +We propose to introduce our 'Specimens' by a short Essay on the Origin +and Progress of English Poetry on to the days of Chaucer and of Gower. +Having called, in conjunction with many other critics, Chaucer 'the +Father of English Poetry,' to seek to go back further may seem like +pursuing antenatal researches. But while Chaucer was the sun, a certain +glimmering dawn had gone before him, and to reflect that, is the object +of the following pages. + + +Britain, when the Romans invaded it, was a barbarous country; and although +subjugated and long held by that people, they seem to have left it nearly +as uncultivated and illiterate as they found it. 'No magnificent remains,' +says Macaulay, 'of Latian porches and aqueducts are to be found in Britain. +No writer of British birth is to be reckoned among the masters of Latin +poetry and eloquence. It is not probable that the islanders were, at any +time, generally familiar with the tongue of their Italian rulers. From +the Atlantic to the vicinity of the Rhine the Latin has, during many +centuries, been predominant. It drove out the Celtic--it was not driven +out by the Teutonic--and it is at this day the basis of the French, +Spanish, and Portuguese languages. In our island the Latin appears never +to have superseded the old Gaelic speech, and could not stand its ground +before the German.' It was in the fifth century that that modification +of the German or Teutonic speech called the Anglo-Saxon was introduced +into this country. It soon asserted its superiority over the British +tongue, which seemed to retreat before it, reluctantly and proudly, like +a lion, into the mountain-fastnesses of Wales or to the rocky sea-beach +of Cornwall. The triumph was not completed all at once, but from the +beginning it was secure. The bards of Wales continued to sing, but their +strains resembled the mutterings of thunder among their own hills, only +half heard in the distant valleys, and exciting neither curiosity nor awe. +For five centuries, with the exception of some Latin words added by the +preachers of Christianity, the Anglo-Saxon language continued much as it +was when first introduced. Barbarous as the manners of the people were, +literature was by no means left without a witness. Its chief cultivators +were the monks and other religious persons, who spent their leisure in +multiplying books, either by original composition or by transcription, +including treatises on theology, historical chronicles, and a great +abundance and variety of poetical productions. These were written at first +exclusively in Latin, but occasionally, in process of time, in the Anglo- +Saxon tongue. The theology taught in them was, no doubt, crude and +corrupted, the history was stuffed with fables, and the poetry was rough +and bald in the extreme; but still they furnished a food fitted for the +awakening mind of the age. When the Christian religion reached Great +Britain, it brought necessarily with it an impulse to intellect as well +as to morality. So startling are the facts it relates, so broad and deep +the principles it lays down, so humane the spirit it inculcates, and so +ravishing the hopes it awakens, that, however disguised in superstition +and clouded by imperfect representation, it never fails to produce, in all +countries to which it comes, a resurrection of the nation's virtue, and a +revival, for a time at least, of the nation's political and intellectual +energy and genius. Hence we find the very earliest literary names in our +early annals are those of Christian missionaries. Such is said to have +been Gildas, a Briton, who lived in the first part of the sixth century, +and is the reputed author of a short history of Britain in Latin. Such was +the still more apocryphal Nennius, also called, till of late, the writer +of a small Latin historical work. Such was St Columbanus, who was born +in Ireland in 560; became a monk in the Irish monastery of Benchor; and +afterwards, at the head of twelve disciples, preached Christianity, in its +most ascetic form, in England and in France; founded in the latter country +various monasteries; and, when banished by Queen Brunehaut on account of +his stern inflexibility of character, went to Switzerland, and then to +Lombardy, proselytising the heathen, and defending, by his letters and +other writings, the peculiar tenets of the Irish Church in reference to +the time of the celebration of Easter and to the popular heresies of the +day. He died October 2, 615, in the monastery of Bobbio; and his religious +treatises and Latin poetry gave an undoubted impulse to the age's progress +in letters. + +About this period the better sort of Saxons, both clergy and laity, got +into the habit of visiting Rome; while Rome, in her turn, sent emissaries +to England. Thus, while the one insensibly imbibed new knowledge as well +as devotion from the great centre, the other brought with them to our +shores importations of books, including copies of such religious classics +as Josephus and Chrysostom, and of such literary classics as Homer. About +680, died Caedmon, a monk of Whitby, one of the first who composed in +Anglo-Saxon, and some of whose compositions are preserved. Strange and +myth-like stories are told by Bede about this remarkable natural genius. +He was originally a cow-herd. Partly from want of training, and partly +from bashfulness, when the harp was given him in the hall, and he was +asked, as all others were, to raise the voice of song, Caedmon had often +to abscond in confusion. On one occasion he had retired to the stable, +where he fell into a sound sleep. He dreamed that a stranger appeared to +him, and said, 'Caedmon, sing me something.' Caedmon replied that it was +his incapacity to sing which had brought him to take refuge in the stable. +'Nay,' said the stranger, 'but thou hast something to sing.' 'What shall I +sing?' rejoined Caedmon. 'Sing the Creation,' and thereupon he began to +pour out verses, which, when he awoke, he remembered, repeated, and to +which he added others as good. The first lines are, as translated into +English, the following:-- + + Now let us praise + The Guardian of heaven, + The might of the Creator + And his counsel-- + The Glory!--Father of men! + He first created, + For the children of men, + Heaven as a roof-- + The holy Creator! + Then the world-- + The Guardian of mankind! + The Eternal Lord! + Produced afterwards + The Earth for men-- + The Almighty Master!' + +Our readers all remember the well-known story of Coleridge falling asleep +over Purchas's 'Pilgrims'; how the poem of 'Kubla Khan' came rushing +from dreamland upon his soul; and how, when awakened, he wrote it down, +and found it to be, if not sense, something better--a glorious piece +of fantastic imagination. We knew a gentleman who, slumbering while in +a state of bad health, produced, in the course of a few hours, one or +two thousand rhymed lines, some of which he repeated in our hearing +afterwards, and which were full of point and poetry. We cannot see that +Caedmon's lines betray any weird inspiration; but when rehearsed the next +day to the Abbess Hilda, to whom the town-bailiff of Whitby conducted him, +she and a circle of learned men pronounced that he had received the gift +of song direct from heaven! They, after one or two other trials of his +powers, persuaded him to become a monk in the house of the Abbess, who +commanded him to transfer to verse the whole of the Scripture history. It +is said that he was constantly employed in repeating to himself what he +had heard; or, as one of his old biographers has it, 'like a clean animal +ruminating it, he turned it into most sweet verse.' In this way he wrote +or rather improvised a vast quantity of poetry, chiefly on religious +subjects. Thorpe, in his edition of this author, has preserved a speech +of Satan, bearing a striking resemblance to some parts of Milton:-- + + 'Boiled within him + His thought about his heart, + Hot was without him, + His due punishment. + "This narrow place is most unlike + That other that we formerly knew + High in heaven's kingdom, + Which my master bestowed on me, + Though we it, for the All-Powerful, + May not possess. + + * * * * * + + That is to me of sorrows the greatest, + That Adam, + Who was wrought of earth, + Shall possess + My strong seat; + That it shall be to him in delight, + And we endure this torment, + Misery in this hell. + + * * * * * + + Here is a vast fire, + Above and underneath. + Never did I see + A loathlier landscape. + The flame abateth not + Hot over hell. + Me hath the clasping of these rings, + This hard-polished band, + Impeded in my course, + Debarred me from my way. + My feet are bound, + My hands manacled; + Of these hell-doors are + The ways obstructed, + So that with aught I cannot + From these limb-bonds escape. + About me lie + Huge gratings + Of hard iron, + Forged with heat, + With which me God + Hath fastened by the neck. + Thus perceive I that he knoweth my mind, + And that he knew also, + The Lord of hosts, + That should us through Adam + Evil befall, + About the realm of heaven, + Where I had power of my hands."' + +Through these rude lines there flashes forth, like fire through a thick +dull grating, a powerful conception--one which Milton has borrowed and +developed--that of the Evil One feeling in his dark bosom jealousy at +young Man, almost overpowering his hatred to God; and another conception +still more striking, that of the devil's thorough conviction that all +his plans and thoughts are entirely known by his great Adversary, and +are counteracted before they are formed-- + + 'Thus perceive I that he knoweth my mind.' + +Compare this with Milton's lines-- + + 'So should I purchase dear + Short intermission, bought with double smart. + _This knows_ my Punisher; therefore as far + From granting he, as I from begging peace.' + +Caedmon saw, without being able fully to express, the complex idea of +Satan, as distracted between a thousand thoughts, all miserable--tossed +between a thousand winds, all hot as hell--'pale ire, envy, and despair' +struggling within him--fury at man overlapping anger at God--remorse and +reckless desperation wringing each other's miserable hands--a sense of +guilt which will not confess, a fear that will not quake, a sorrow that +will not weep, a respect for God which will not worship; and yet, +springing out of all these elements, a strange, proud joy, as though +the torrid soil of Pandemonium should flower, which makes 'the hell he +suffers seem a heaven,' compared to what his destiny might be were he +either plunged into a deeper abyss, or taken up unchanged to his former +abode of glory. This, in part at least, the monk of Whitby discerned; +but it was reserved for Milton to embody it in that tremendous figure +which has since continued to dwindle all the efforts of art, and to +haunt, like a reality, the human imagination. + +Passing over some interesting but subordinate Saxon writers, such as +Ceolfrid, Abbot of Wearmouth; Aldhelm, Abbot of Malmesbury; Felix of +Croyland; and Alcuine, King Egbert's librarian at York, we come to one +who himself formed an era in the history of our early literature--the +venerable Bede. This famous man was educated in the monastery of +Wearmouth, and there appears to have spent the whole of his quiet, +innocent, and studious life. He was the very sublimation of a book-worm. +One might fancy him becoming at last, as in the 'Metamorphoses' of Ovid, +one of the books, or rolls of vellum and parchment over which he con- +stantly pored. That he did not marry, or was given in marriage, we are +certain; but there is little evidence that he even ate or drank, walked +or slept. To read and to write seemed the 'be all and the end all' of +his existence. Important as well as numerous were his contributions +to literature. He translated from the Scriptures. He wrote religious +treatises, biographies, and commentaries upon portions of Holy Writ. +Besides his very valuable Ecclesiastical History, he composed various +pieces of Latin poetry. His works in all were forty-four in number: and +it is said that on the very day of his death (it took place in 735) he +was dictating to his amanuensis, and had just completed a book. His works +are wonderful for his time, and not the less interesting for a fine +cobweb of fable which is woven over parts of them, and which seems in +keeping with their venerable character. Thus, in speaking of the Magi who +visited the infant Redeemer, he is very particular in describing their +age, appearance, and offerings. Melchior, the first, was old, had gray +hair, and a long beard; and offered 'gold' to Christ, in, acknowledgment +of His sovereignty. Gaspar, the second, was young, and had no beard; +and he offered 'frankincense,' in recognition of our Lord's divinity. +Balthasar, the third, was of a dark complexion, had a large beard, and +offered 'myrrh' to our Saviour's humanity. We should, we confess, miss +such pleasant little myths in other old books besides Bede's Histories. +They seem appropriate to ancient works, as the beard is to the goat +or the hermit; and the truth that lies in them is not difficult to +eliminate. The next name of note in our literary annals is that of the +great Alfred. Surely if ever man was not only before his age, but before +'all ages,' it was he. A palm of the tropics growing on a naked Highland +mountain-side, or an English oak bending over one of the hot springs of +Hecla, were not a stranger or more preternatural sight than a man like +Alfred appearing in a century like the ninth. A thousand theories about +men being the creatures of their age, the products of circumstances, &c., +sink into abeyance beside the facts of his life; and we are driven to the +good old belief that to some men the 'inspiration of the Almighty giveth +understanding;' and that their wisdom, their genius, and their excellency +do not proceed from them-selves. On his deeds of valour and patriotism it +is not necessary to dwell. These form the popular and bepraised side of +his character, but they give a very inadequate idea of the whole. On one +occasion he visited the Danish camp--a king disguised as a harper; but +he was, all his life long, a harper disguised as a king. He was at once +a warrior, a legislator, an architect, a shipbuilder, a philosopher, +a scholar, and a poet. His great object, as avowed in his last will, +was to leave his people 'free as their own thoughts.' Hence he bent the +whole force of his mind, first, to defend them from foreign foes, by +encouraging the new naval strength he had himself established; and then +to cultivate their intellects, and make them, as well as their country, +worth defending. Let us quote the glowing words of Burke:--'He was +indefatigable in his endeavours to bring into England men of learning in +all branches from every part of Europe, and unbounded in his liberality +to them. He enacted by a law that every person possessed of two hides of +land should send their children to school until sixteen. He enterprised +even a greater design than that of forming the growing generation--to +instruct even the grown, enjoining all his sheriffs and other officers +immediately to apply themselves to learning, or to quit their offices. +Whatever trouble he took to extend the benefits of learning among his +subjects, he shewed the example himself, and applied to the cultivation +of his mind with unparalleled diligence and success. He could neither +read nor write at twelve years old, but he improved his time in such +a manner, that he became one of the most knowing men of his age, in +geometry, in philosophy, in architecture, and in music. He applied +himself to the improvement of his native language; he translated several +valuable works from Latin, and wrote a vast number of poems in the Saxon +tongue with a wonderful facility and happiness. He not only excelled in +the theory of the arts and sciences, but possessed a great mechanical +genius for the executive part. He improved the manner of shipbuilding, +introduced a more beautiful and commodious architecture, and even taught +his countrymen the art of making bricks; most of the buildings having +been of wood before his time--in a word, he comprehended in the greatness +of his mind the whole of government, and all its parts at once; and what +is most difficult to human frailty was at the same time sublime and +minute.' + +Some exaggeration must be allowed for in all this account of Alfred the +Great. But the fact that he left a stamp in his age so deep,--that +nothing except what was good and great has been ascribed to him,--that +the very fictions told of him are of such _vraisemblance_ and magnitude +as to FIT IN to nothing less than an extraordinary man,--and that, as +Burke says, 'whatever dark spots of human frailty may have adhered to +such a character, are entirely hid in the splendour of many shining +qualities and grand virtues, that throw a glory over the obscure period +in which he lived, and which is for no other reason worthy of our +knowledge,'--all proclaim his supremacy. Like many great men,--like +Julius Caesar, with his epilepsy--or Sir Walter Scott and Byron, with +their lameness--or Schleiermacher, with his deformed appearance,--a +physical infirmity beset Alfred most of his life, and at last carried +him off at a comparatively early age. This was a disease in his bowels, +which had long afflicted him, 'without interrupting his designs, or +souring his temper.' Nay, who can say that the constant presence of such +a memento of weakness and mortality did not operate as a strong, quiet +stimulus to do with his might what his hand found to do--to lower pride, +and to prompt to labour? If Saladin had had for his companion some such +faithful hound of sorrow, it would have saved him the ostentatious flag +stretched over his head, in the hour of wassail, with the inscription, +'Saladin, Saladin, king of kings! Saladin must die!' + +Alfred wrote little that was original, but he was a copious translator. +He rendered into the Anglo-Saxon tongue--which he sought to enrich with +the fatness of other soils--the historical works of Orosius and of Bede; +nay, it is said the Fables of Aesop, and the Psalms of David--desirous, +it would seem, to teach his people morality and religion, through the +fine medium, of fiction and poetry. + +Alfric, Archbishop of Canterbury, is the name of another important +contributor to Saxon literature. He wrote a grammar of his native +language, which procured him the name of the 'Grammarian,' besides a +collection of homilies, some theological treatises, and a translation +of the first seven books of the Old Testament. In imitation of Alfred, +he devoted all his energies to the instruction of the common people, +constantly writing in Anglo-Saxon, and avoiding as much as possible the +use of compound or obscure words. After him appeared Cynewulf, Bishop of +Winchester, Wulfstan, Archbishop of York, and others of some note. There +was also slowly piled up in the course of ages, and by a succession of +authors, that remarkable production, 'The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.' This +is thought to have commenced soon after the reign of Alfred, and +continued till the times of Henry II. Previous, however, to the Norman +invasion, there had been a decided falling off in the learning of the +Saxons. This arose from various causes. Incessant wars tended to +conserve and increase the barbarism of the people. Various libraries +of value were destroyed by the incursions of the Danes. And not a few +bishops, and other ecclesiastical dignitaries, began to consider +learning as prejudicial to piety-and grammar and ungodliness were +thought akin. The effect of this upon the subordinate clergy was most +pernicious. In the tenth century, Oswald, Archbishop of Canterbury, +found the monks of his province so grossly ignorant, not only of +letters, but even of the canonical rules of their respective orders, +that he required to send to France for competent masters to give them +instruction. + +At length came the Conqueror, William, and one battle gave England to +the Normans, which had cost the Romans, the Saxons, and the Danes so +much time and blood to acquire. The people were not only conquered, but +cowed and crushed. England was as easily and effectually subdued as was +Ireland, sometime after, by Henry II. But while the Conquest was for a +season fatal to liberty, it was from the first favourable to every +species of literature, art, and poetry. 'The influence,' says Campbell, +'of the Norman Conquest upon the language of England was like that of a +great inundation, which at first buries the face of the landscape under +its waters, but which, at last subsiding, leaves behind it the elements +of new beauty and fertility. Its first effect was to degrade the Anglo- +Saxon tongue to the exclusive use of the inferior orders, and by the +transference of estates ecclesiastical benefices, and civil dignities to +Norman possessors, to give the French language, which had begun to +prevail at court from the time of Edward the Confessor, a more complete +predominance among the higher classes of society. The native gentry of +England were either driven into exile, or depressed into a state of +dependence on their conqueror, which habituated them to speak his +language. On the other hand, we received from the Normans the first +germs of romantic poetry; and our language was ultimately indebted to +them for a wealth and compass of expression which it probably would not +have otherwise possessed.' + +The Anglo-Saxon, however, held its place long among the lower orders, +and specimens of it, both in prose and verse, are found a century after +the Conquest. Gradually the Norman tongue began to amalgamate with it, +and the result was, the English. At what precise year our language might +be said to begin, it is impossible to determine. Throughout the whole of +the twelfth century, great changes were taking place in the grammatical +construction, as well as in the substance of the Anglo-Saxon. Some new +words were imported from the Norman, but, as Dr Johnson remarks, 'the +language was still more materially altered by the change of its sounds, +the cutting short of its syllables, and the softening down of its +terminations, and inflections of words.' Somewhere between 1180 and +1216, the majestic speech in which Shakspeare was to write 'Macbeth' +and 'King Lear,' Lord Bacon his 'Advancement of Learning,' Milton his +'Paradise Lost' and 'Areopagitica,' Burke his 'Reflections,' and Sir +Walter Scott the Waverley Novels, and whose rough, but manly accents +were to be spoken by at least a hundred million tongues, commenced its +career, and not since Homer, + + "on the Chian strand, + Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssee + Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea," + +had a nobler era been marked in the history of literature. For here was +a tongue born which was destined to mate even with that of Greece in +richness and flexibility, to make the language of Cicero and Virgil seem +stiff and stilted in comparison, and, if not to vie with the French in +airy grace, or with the Italian in liquid music, to excel them far in +teeming resources and robust energy. Memorable and hallowed for ever be +the hour when the 'well of English undefiled' first sparkled to the day! + +Previous to this the chief of the poets, after the Conquest, were +Normans. The country whence that people came had for some time been +celebrated for poetry. France was, as to its poetic literature, divided +into two great sections--the Provencal and the Northern. The first was +like the country where it flourished--gay, flowery, and exuberant; it +swam in romance, and its rhymers delighted, when addressing large +audiences under the open skies of their delightful climate, to indulge +in compliment and fanfaronade, to sing of war, wine, and love. + +The Normans produced a race of simpler poets. That some of them were men +as well as singers, is proved by the fact that it was a bard named +Taillefer who first broke the English ranks at the battle of Hastings. +After him came Philippe de Thaun, who tried to set to song the science +of his day; Thorold, the author of a romance entitled 'Roland;' Samson +de Nauteuil, the translator of Solomon's Proverbs into French verse; +Geoffrey Gaimar, who wrote a Chronicle of the Saxon kings; and one +David, a minstrel of no little note and power in his day. But a more +remarkable writer succeeded, and his work, like Aaron's rod, swallowed +up all the productions of these clever but petty poets. This was Wace, +commonly called Maistre Wace, a native of Jersey. In 1160, or as some +say 1155, Wace finished his 'Brut d'Angleterre' which is in reality a +translation into French of Geoffrey of Monmouth, who wrote a History +of Britain from the imaginary Brutus of Troy down to Cadwallader in +689. Literature owes not a little to Wace's poem. He collected into +a permanent shape a number of traditions and legends--many of them +interesting--which had been floating through Europe, just as Macpherson +preserved in Ossian not a few real fragments of the songs of Selma. And, +as we shall see immediately, Wace's production became the basis of the +earliest of English poems. + +Maistre Wace is the author also of a History of the Normans, which he +calls 'Roman de Rou;' or, 'The Romance of Rollo.' He was a great favourite +with Henry II., who bestowed on him a canonry in the Cathedral of Bayeux. +Besides Wace, there flourished about the same time Benoit, who wrote a +History of the Dukes of Normandy; and Guernes, a churchman of Pont St +Maxence in Picardy, who wrote in verse a Life of St Thomas a Becket. + +At the beginning of the century following the Conquest, the chief authors, +such as Peter of Blois, John of Salisbury, Joseph of Exeter, and Geoffrey +of Monmouth, all wrote in Latin. Layamon, however, a priest of Ernesley- +upon-Severn, used the vernacular in a poem which, as we have already +hinted, was essentially a translation of Wace's 'Brut d'Angleterre.' The +most remarkable thing about Layamon's poem is the language in which it is +written-language in which you catch English in the very act of chipping +the Saxon shell, or, as Campbell happily remarks, 'the style of Layamon is +as nearly the intermediate state of the old and new languages as can be +found in any ancient specimen --something like the new insect stirring its +wings before it has shaken off the aurelia state.' + +Between Layamon and Robert of Gloucester a good many miscellaneous +strains--some of a satirical, others of an amatory, and others again of +a legendary and devout style--were produced. It was customary then for +minstrels, at the instance of the clergy, to sing on Sundays devotional +strains on the harp to the assembled multitudes. At public entertainments, +during week-days, gay ditties were common. One of these is extant, but +is too coarse for quotation. It is entitled 'The Land of Cokayne,' an +allegorical satire on the luxury and vice of the Church, given under the +description of an imaginary paradise, in which the nuns are represented +as houris, and the black and grey monks as their paramours. 'Richard of +Alemaine' is a ballad, composed by an adherent of Simon de Montfort, Earl +of Leicester, after the defeat of the Royal party at the battle of Lewes +in 1264. In the year after that battle the Royal cause rallied, and the +Earl of Warren and Sir Hugh Bigod returned from exile, and helped the King +in his victory. In the battle of Lewes, Richard, King of the Romans, his +brother Henry III., and Prince Edward, with many others of the Royal +party, were taken prisoners. +[Note: See 'Richard of Alemaine,' Percy's Reliques, vol. ii., p. 2.] + +The spirit and the allusions of this song shew that it was composed by +Leicester's party in the moment of their victory, and not after the +reaction which took place against their cause, and it must therefore +belong to the thirteenth century. To this period, too, probably belongs +a political satire, published by Ritson, and which Campbell thus charac- +terises:--'It is a ballad on the execution of the Scottish patriots, Sir +William Wallace and Sir Simon Frazer. The diction is as barbarous as we +should expect from a song of triumph on such a subject. It relates the +death and treatment of Wallace very minutely. The circumstance of his +being covered with a mock crown of laurel in Westminster Hall, which Stow +repeats, is there mentioned, and that of his legs being fastened with iron +fetters "_under his horse's wombe_" is told with savage exultation. The +piece was probably indited in the very year of the political murders which +it celebrates, certainly before 1314, as it mentions the skulking of +Robert Bruce, which, after the battle of Bannockburn, must have become +a jest out of season.' + +Campbell quotes a love-ditty of this period, which is not devoid of +merit:-- + + 'For her love I cark and cave, + For her love I droop and dare, + For her love my bliss is bare, + And all I wax wan. + + 'For her love in sleep I slake,[1] + For her love all night I wake, + For her love mourning I make + More than any man.' + +[1] 'In sleep I slake:' am deprived of sleep. + + +And another of a pastoral vein:-- + + 'When the nightingale singes the woods waxen green, + Leaf, grass, and blossom springs in Avril I ween, + And love is to my heart gone, with one spear so keen, + Night and day my blood it drinks, my heart doth me teen.' + +About a hundred years after Layamon (in 1280) appeared a poet not +dissimilar to him, named Robert of Gloucester. His surname is unknown, and +so are the particulars of his history. We know only that he was a monk of +Gloucester Abbey, that he lived in the reigns of Henry III. and Edward I., +and that he translated the Legends of Geoffrey of Monmouth, and continued +the History of England down to the time of Edward I. This work is wonder- +fully minute, and, generally speaking, accurate in its topography as well +as narrative, and was of service to Selden when he wrote his Notes to +Drayton's 'Polyolbion.' It is more valuable in this respect than as a +piece of imagination. + +He narrates the grandest events--such as the first crusaders bursting +into Asia, with a sword of fire hung in the firmament before them, and +beckoning them on their way--as coolly as he might the emigration of a +colony of ants. Yet, although there is little animation or poetry in his +general manner, he usually succeeds in riveting the reader's attention; +and the speeches he puts into the mouths of his heroes glow with at +least rhetorical fire. And as a critic truly remarks--'Injustice to the +ancient versifier, we should remember that he had still only a rude +language to employ, the speech of boors and burghers, which, though it +might possess a few songs and satires, could afford him no models of +heroic narration. In such an age the first occupant passes uninspired +over subjects which might kindle the highest enthusiasm in the poet of +a riper period, as the savage treads unconsciously in his deserts over +mines of incalculable value, without sagacity to discover or inplements +to explore them.' We give the following extracts from Robert of +Gloucester's poem:-- + + + THE SPOUTS AND SOLEMNITIES WHICH FOLLOWED KING ARTHUR'S CORONATION. + + The king was to his palace, tho the service was ydo,[1] + Yled with his meinie,[2] and the queen to her also. + For they held the old usages, that men with men were + By themselve, and women by themselve also there. + When they were each one yset, as it to their state become, + Kay, king of Anjou, a thousand knightes nome[3] + Of noble men, yclothed in ermine each one + Of one suit, and served at this noble feast anon. + Bedwer the botyler, king of Normandy, + Nome also in his half a fair company + Of one suit for to serve of the hotelery. + Before the queen it was also of all such courtesy, + For to tell all the nobley that there was ydo, + Though my tongue were of steel, me should nought dure thereto. + Women ne kept of no knight in druery,[4] + But he were in arms well yproved, and atte least thrye.[5] + That made, lo, the women the chaster life lead, + And the knights the stalwarder, and the better in their deed. + Soon after this noble meat, as right was of such tide, + The knights atyled them about in eache side, + In fields and in meadows to prove their bachlery,[6] + Some with lance, some with sword, without villany, + With playing at tables, other atte chekere,[7] + With casting, other with setting,[8] other in some other mannere. + And which so of any game had the mastery, + The king them of his giftes did large courtesy. + Up the alurs[9] of the castle the ladies then stood, + And beheld this noble game, and which knights were good. + All the three exte dayes[10] ylaste this nobley, + In halle's and in fieldes, of meat and eke of play. + These men come the fourth day before the kinge there, + And he gave them large gifts, ever as they worthy were. + Bishoprics and churches' clerks he gave some, + And castles and townes knights that were ycome. + +[1] 'Tho the service was ydo:' when the service was done. +[2] 'Meinie:' attendants. +[3] 'Nome': brought. +[4] 'Druery.' modesty, decorum. +[5] 'Thrye:' thrice. +[6] 'Bachlery:' chivalry, courage, or youth. +[7] 'Chekere:' chess. +[8] 'With casting, other with setting:' different ways of playing at +chess. +[9] 'Alurs:' walks made within the battlements of the castle. +[10] 'Exte dayes:' high, or chief days. + + +AN OLD TRADITION. + +It was a tradition invented by the old fablers that giants brought the +stones of Stonehenge from the most sequestered deserts of Africa, and +placed them in Ireland; that every stone was washed with juices of +herbs, and contained a medical power; and that Merlin, the magician, at +the request of King Arthur, transported them from Ireland, and erected +them in circles on the plain of Amesbury, as a sepulchral monument for +the Britons treacherously slain by Hengist. This fable is thus +delivered, without decoration, by Robert of Glocester:-- + + 'Sir king,' quoth Merlin then, 'such thinge's ywis + Ne be for to shew nought, but when great need is, + For if I said in bismare, other but it need were, + Soon from me he would wend, the ghost that doth me lere.'[1] + The king, then none other n'as, bid him some quaintise + Bethink about thilk cors that so noble were and wise.[2] + 'Sir King,' quoth Merlin then, 'if thou wilt here cast + In the honour of men, a work that ever shall ylast, + To the hill of Kylar[3] send in to Ireland, + After the noble stones that there habbet[4] long ystand; + That was the treche of giants,[5] for a quainte work there is + Of stones all with art ymade, in the world such none is. + Ne there n'is nothing that me should myd[6] strength adowne cast. + Stood they here, as they doth there, ever a woulde last.' + The king somdeal to-lygh[7], when he hearde this tale: + 'How might,' he said, 'such stones, so great and so fale,[8] + Be ybrought of so far land? And yet mist of were, + Me would ween that in this lande no stone to wonke n'ere.' + Sir king,' quoth Merlin, 'ne make nought an idle such laughing; + For it n'is an idle nought that I tell this tiding. + For in the farrest stude of Afric giants while fet [9] + These stones for medicine and in Ireland them set, + While they wonenden in Ireland to make their bathe's there, + There under for to bathe when they sick were. + For they would the stones wash and therein bathe ywis; + For is no stone there among that of great virtue n'is.' + The king and his counsel rode the stones for to fet, + And with great power of battle if any more them let. + Uther, the kinge's brother, that Ambrose hett[10] also, + In another name ychose was thereto, + And fifteen thousand men, this deede for to do, + And Merlin for his quaintise thither went also. + +[1] If I should say any thing out of wantonness or vanity, the spirit + which teaches me would immediately leave me. +[2] Bade him use his cunning, for the sake of the bodies of those noble +and wise Britons. +[3] 'Kylar:' Kildare. +[4] 'Habbet:' have. +[5] 'The treche of giants:' 'The dance of giants.' The name of this +collection of immense stones. +[6] 'Myd:' with. +[7] 'Somdeal to-lygh:' somewhat laughed. +[8] 'Fale:' many. +[9] Giants once brought them from the furthest part of Africa. +[10] 'Hett:' was called. + + + ARTHUR'S INTRIGUE WITH YGERNE. + + At the feast of Easter the king sent his sond,[1] + That they comen all to London the high men of this lond, + And the ladies all so good, to his noble feast wide, + For he shoulde crown here, for the high tide. + All the noble men of this land to the noble feast come, + And their wives and their daughtren with them many nome,[2] + This feast was noble enow, and nobliche ydo; + For many was the fair lady that ycome was thereto. + Ygerne, Gorloys' wife, was fairest of each one, + That was Countess of Cornewall, for so fair n'as there none. + The king beheld her fast enow, and his heart on her cast, + And thoughte, though he were wise, to do folly at last. + He made her semblant fair enow, to none other so great. + The earl n'as not therewith ypayed[3], when he it under get. + After meat he nome his wife myd[4] sturdy med enow, + And, without leave of the king, to his country drow. + The king sente to him then, to byleve[5] all night, + For he must of great counsel have some insight. + That was for nought. Would he not, the king sent yet his sond, + That he byleved at his parlement, for need of the lond. + The king was, when he n'olde not, anguyssous and wroth. + For despite he would a-wreak be he swore his oath, + But he come to amendement. His power atte last + He garked, and went forth to Cornewall fast. + Gorloys his castles a store all about. + In a strong castle he did his wife, for of her was all his doubt, + In another himself he was, for he n'olde nought, + If cas[6] come, that they were both to death ybrought. + The castle, that the earl in was, the king besieged fast, + For he might not his gins for shame to the other cast. + Then he was there seen not, and he spedde nought, + Ygerne, the countesse, so much was in his thought, + That he nuste none other wit, ne he ne might for shame + Tell it but a privy knight, Ulfyn was his name, + That he truste most to. And when the knight heard thia, + 'Sir,' he said, 'I ne can wit, what rede hereof is, + For the castle is so strong, that the lady is in, + For I ween all the land ne should it myd strengthe win. + For the sea goeth all about, but entry one there n'is, + And that is up on harde rocks, and so narrow way it is, + That there may go but one and one, that three men within + Might slay all the laud, ere they come therein. + And nought for then, if Merlin at the counsel were, + If any might, he couthe the best rede thee lere.'[7] + Merlin was soon of sent, pled it was him soon, + That he should the best rede say, what were to don. + Merlin was sorry enow for the kinge's folly, + And natheless, 'Sir king,' he said, 'there may to mast'ry, + The earl hath two men him near, Brithoel and Jordan. + I will make thyself, if thou wilt, through art that I can, + Have all the forme of the earl, as thou were right he, + And Olfyn as Jordan, and as Brithoel me.' + This art was all clean ydo, that all changed they were, + They three in the others' form, the solve as it were. + Against even he went forth, nuste[8] no man that cas; + To the castle they come right as it even was. + The porter ysaw his lord come, and his most privy twei, + With good heart he let his lord in, and his men bey. + The countess was glad enow, when her lord to her come + And either other in their arms myd great joy nome. + When they to bedde come, that so long a-two were, + With them was so great delight, that between them there + Begot was the best body, that ever was in this land, + King Arthur the noble man, that ever worthy understand. + When the king's men nuste amorrow, where he was become, + They fared as wodemen, and wend[9] he were ynome.[10] + They assaileden the castle, as it should adown anon, + They that within were, garked them each one, + And smote out in a full will, and fought myd there fone: + So that the earl was yslaw, and of his men many one, + And the castle was ynome, and the folk to-sprad there, + Yet, though they hadde all ydo, they ne found not the king there. + The tiding to the countess soon was ycome, + That her lord was yslaw, and the castle ynome. + And when the messenger him saw the earl, as him thought, + That he had so foul plow, full sore him of thought, + The countess made somedeal deol,[11] for no sothness they nuste. + The king, for to glad her, beclipt her and cust. + 'Dame,' he said,' no sixt thou well, that les it is all this: + Ne wo'st thou well I am alive. I will thee say how it is. + Out of the castle stillelich I went all in privity, + That none of mine men it nuste, for to speak with thee. + And when they mist me to-day, and nuste where I was, + They fareden right as giddy men, myd whom no rede n'as, + And foughte with the folk without, and have in this mannere + Ylore the castle and themselve, and well thou wo'st I am here. + And for my castle, that is ylore, sorry I am enow, + And for my men, that the king and his power slew. + And my power is to lute, therefore I dreade sore, + Leste the king us nyme[12] here, and sorrow that we were more. + Therefore I will, how so it be, wend against the king, + And make my peace with him, ere he us to shame bring.' + Forth he went, and het[13] his men if the king come, + That they shoulde him the castle yield, ere he with strength it nome. + So he come toward his men, his own form he nome, + And leaved the earl's form, and the king Uther become. + Sore him of thought the earle's death, and in other half he found + Joy in his heart, for the countess of spousehed was unbound, + When he had that he would, and paysed[14] with his son, + To the countess he went again, me let him in anon. + "What halt[15] it to tale longe? but they were set at one, + In great love long enow, when it n'olde other gon; + And had together this noble son, that in the world his pere n'as, + The king Arthur, and a daughter, Anne her name was. + +[1] 'Sond' message. +[2] 'Nome:' took. +[3] 'Ypayed:' satisfied. +[4] 'Myd:' with. +[5] 'Byleve:' stay. +[6] 'Cas:' chance. +[7] 'Lere:' teach. +[8] 'Nuste:' knew. +[9] 'Wend:' thought. +[10] 'Ynome:' taken. +[11] 'Deol:' grief. +[12] 'Nyme:' take. +[13] 'Het:' bade. +[14] 'Paysed:' made peace. +[15] 'Halt:' holdeth. + +The next name of note is Robert, commonly called De Brunne. His real name +was Robert Manning. He was born at Malton in Yorkshire; for some time +belonged to the house of Sixhill, a Gilbertine monastery in Yorkshire; +and afterwards became a member of Brunne or Browne, a priory of black +canons in the same county. When monastical writers became famous, they +were usually designated from the religious houses to which they belonged. +Thus it was with Matthew of Westminster, William of Malmesbury, and John +of Glastonbury--all received their appellations from their respective +monasteries. De Brunne's principal work is a Chronicle of the History of +England, in rhyme. It can in no way be considered an original production, +but is partly translated, and partly compiled from the writings of Maistre +Wace and Peter de Langtoft, which latter was a canon of Bridlington in +Yorkshire, of Norman origin, but born in England, and the author of an +entire History of his country in French verse, down to the end of the +reign of Edward I. Brunne's Chronicle seems to have been written about +the year 1303. We extract the Prologue, and two other passages:-- + + + THE PROLOGUE. + + 'Lordlinges that be now here, + If ye wille listen and lere, + All the story of England, + As Robert Mannyng written it fand, + And in English has it shewed, + Not for the leared but for the lewed;[1] + For those that on this land wonn + That the Latin ne Frankys conn,[2] + For to have solace and gamen + In fellowship when they sit samen, + And it is wisdom for to witten + The state of the land, and have it written, + "What manner of folk first it wan, + And of what kind it first began. + And good it is for many things, + For to hear the deeds of kings, + Whilk were fools, and whilk were wise, + And whilk of them couth[3] most quaintise; + And whilk did wrong, and whilk right, + And whilk maintained peace and fight. + Of their deedes shall be my saw, + In what time, and of what law, + I shall you from gre to gre,[4] + Since the time of Sir Noe: + From Noe unto Eneas, + And what betwixt them was, + And from Eneas till Brutus' time, + That kind he tells in this rhyme. + For Brutus to Cadwallader's, + The last Briton that this land lees. + All that kind and all the fruit + That come of Brutus that is the Brute; + And the right Brute is told no more + Than the Britons' time wore. + After the Britons the English camen, + The lordship of this land they nameu; + South and north, west and east, + That call men now the English gest. + When they first among the Britons, + That now are English then were Saxons, + Saxons English hight all oliche. + They arrived up at Sandwiche, + In the kings since Vortogerne + That the land would them not werne, &c. + One Master Wace the Frankes tells + The Brute all that the Latin spells, + From Eneas to Cadwallader, &c. + And right as Master Wace says, + I tell mine English the same ways,' &c. + +[1] 'Lowed:' ignorant. +[2] 'Conn:' know. +[3] 'Couth:' knew. +[4] 'Gre:' step. + + + KING VORTIGERN'S MEETING WITH PRINCESS KODWEN. + + Hengist that day did his might, + That all were glad, king and knight, + And as they were best in glading, + And wele cop schotin[1] knight and king, + Of chamber Rouewen so gent, + Before the king in hall she went. + A cup with wine she had in hand, + And her attire was well-farand.[2] + Before the king on knee set, + And in her language she him gret. + 'Lauerid[3] king, Wassail,' said she. + The king asked, what should be. + In that language the king ne couth.[4] + A knight the language lered[5] in youth. + Breg hight that knight, born Bretoun, + That lered the language of Sessoun.[6] + This Breg was the latimer,[7] + What she said told Vortager. + 'Sir,' Breg said, 'Rowen you greets, + And king calls and lord you leets.[8] + This is their custom and their gest, + When they are at the ale or feast. + Ilk man that louis quare him think, + Shall say Wosseil, and to him drink. + He that bidis shall say, Wassail, + The other shall say again, Drinkhail. + That says Wosseil drinks of the cup, + Kissing his fellow he gives it up. + Drinkheil, he says, and drinks thereof, + Kissing him in bourd and skof.'[9] + The king said, as the knight 'gan ken,[10] + Drinkheil, smiling on Rouewen. + Rouwen drank as her list, + And gave the king, sine[11] him kist. + There was the first wassail in deed, + And that first of fame gede.[12] + Of that wassail men told great tale, + And wassail when they were at ale, + And drinkheil to them that drank, + Thus was wassail tane[13] to thank. + Fele sithes[14] that maiden ying,[15] + Wassailed and kist the king. + Of body she was right avenant,[16] + Of fair colour, with sweet semblant.[17] + Her attire full well it seemed, + Mervelik[18] the king she quemid.[19] + Out of measure was he glad, + For of that maiden he were all mad. + Drunkenness the fiend wrought, + Of that paen[20] was all his thought. + A mischance that time him led, + He asked that paen for to wed. + Hengist wild not draw a lite,[21] + But granted him, alle so tite.[22] + And Hors his brother consented soon. + Her friendis said, it were to don. + They asked the king to give her Kent, + In douery to take of rent. + Upon that maiden his heart so cast, + That they asked the king made fast. + I ween the king took her that day, + And wedded her on paien's lay.[23] + Of priest was there no benison + No mass sungen, no orison. + In seisine he had her that night. + Of Kent he gave Hengist the right. + The earl that time, that Kent all held, + Sir Goragon, that had the sheld, + Of that gift no thing ne wist + To[24] he was cast out with[25] Hengist. + +[1] 'Schotin:' sending about the cups briskly. +[2] 'Well-farand:' very rich. +[3] 'Lauerid:' lord. +[4] 'Ne couth:' knew not. +[5] 'Lered:' learned. +[6] 'Sessoun:' Saxons. +[7] 'Latimer:' _for_ Latiner, or Latinier, an interpreter. +[8] 'Leets:' esteems. +[9] 'Skof:' sport, joke. +[10] 'Ken:' to signify. +[11] 'Sine:' then. +[12] 'Cede:' went. +[13] 'Tane:' taken. +[14] 'Sithes:' many times. +[15] 'Ying:' young. +[16] 'Avenant:' handsome. +[17] 'Semblant:' countenance. +[18] 'Mervelik:' marvellously. +[19] 'Quemid:' pleased. +[20] 'Paen:' pagan, heathen. +[21] 'Wild not draw a lite:' would not fly off a bit. +[22] 'Tite:' happeneth. +[23] 'On paien's lay:' in pagan's law; according to the heathenish +custom. +[24] 'To:' till. +[25] 'With:' by. + + + THE ATTACK OF RICHARD I. ON A CASTLE HELD BY THE SARACENS. + + The dikes were fulle wide that closed the castle about, + And deep on ilka side, with bankis high without. + Was there none entry that to the castle 'gan ligg,[1] + But a strait kauce;[2] at the end a draw-brig, + With great double chaines drawen over the gate, + And fifty armed swaines porters at that gate. + With slinges and mangonels they cast to king Richard, + Our Christians by parcels casted againward. + Ten sergeants of the best his targe 'gan him bear + That eager were and prest[3] to cover him and to were.[4] + Himself as a giant the chaines in two hew, + The targe was his warant,[5] that none till him threw. + Eight unto the gate with the targe they yede, + Fighting on a gate, under him they slew his steed, + Therefore ne would he cease, alone into the castele + Through them all would press; on foot fought he full wele. + And when he was within, and fought as a wild lion, + He fondred the Sarazins otuynne,[6] and fought as a dragon, + Without the Christians 'gan cry, 'Alas! Richard is taken;' + Then Normans were sorry, of countenance 'gan blaken, + To slay down and to' stroy never would they stint, + They left fordied[7] no noye,[8] ne for no wound no dint, + That in went all their press, maugre the Sarazins all, + And found Richard on dais fighting, and won the hall. + +[1] 'Ligg:' lying. +[2] 'Kauce:' causey. +[3] 'Prest:' ready. +[4] 'Were:' defend. +[5] 'Warant:' guard. +[6] 'He fondred the Sarazins otuynne:' he formed the Saracens into two +parties. +[7] 'Fordied:' undone. +[8] 'No noye:' annoy. + +Of De Brunne, Warton judiciously remarks--'Our author also translated +into English rhymes the treatise of Cardinal Bonaventura, his +contemporary, _De coena et passione Domini, et paenis S. Mariae +Virgins_. But I forbear to give more extracts from this writer, who +appears to have possessed much more industry than genius, and cannot at +present be read with much pleasure. Yet it should be remembered that +even such a writer as Robert de Brunne, uncouth and unpleasing as he +naturally seems, and chiefly employed in turning the theology of his age +into rhyme, contributed to form a style, to teach expression, and to +polish his native tongue. In the infancy of language and composition, +nothing is wanted but writers;--at that period even the most artless +have their use.' + +Here we may allude to the introduction of romantic fiction into English +poetry. This had, as we have seen, reigned in France. There troubadours +in Provence, and men more worthy of the name of poets in Normandy, had +long sung of Brutus, of Charlemagne, and of Rollo. And thence a class, +called sometimes Joculators, sometimes Jongleurs, and sometimes +Minstrels, issued, harp in hand, wandering to and fro, and singing tales +of chivalry and love, composed either by themselves, or by other poets +living or dead. (We refer our readers to our first volume of Percy's +'Reliques,' for a full account of this class, and of the poetry they +produced.) These wanderers reached England in due time and brought with +them compositions which found favour and excited emulation, or at least +imitation, in our vernacular genius. Hence came a great swarm of +romances, all more or less derived from the French, even when Saxon in +subject and style; such as 'Sir Tristrem,' (which Sir Walter Scott tried +in vain to prove to be written by the famous Thomas the Rhymer, of +Ercildoun, or Earlston, in Berwickshire, who died before 1299;) 'The +Life of Alexander the Great,' said to be written by Adam Davie, Marshall +of Stratford-le-Bow, who lived about 1312; 'King Horn,' which certainly +belongs to the latter part of the thirteenth century; 'The Squire of Low +Degree; 'Sir Guy;' 'Sir Degore;' 'The King of Tars;' 'King Robert of +Sicily;' 'La Mort d'Arthur;' 'Impodemon;' and, more lately, 'Sir Libius;' +'Sir Thopas;' 'Sir Isenbras;' 'Gawan and Gologras;' and 'Sir Bevis.' +Richard I. also formed the subject of a very popular romance. We give +extracts from it:-- + + +THE SOLDAN SALADIN SENDS KING RICHARD A HORSE. + + 'Thou sayst thy God is full of might: + Wilt thou grant with spear and shield, + To detryve the right in the field, + With helm, hauberk, and brandes bright, + On stronge steedes good and light, + Whether be of more power, + Thy God almight, or Jupiter? + And he sent rue to saye this + If thou wilt have an horse of his, + In all the lands that thou hast gone + Such ne thou sawest never none: + Favel of Cyprus, ne Lyard of Prys,[1] + Be not at need as he is; + And if thou wilt, this same day, + He shall be brought thee to assay.' + Richard answered, 'Thou sayest well + Such a horse, by Saint Michael, + I would have to ride upon.---- + Bid him send that horse to me, + And I shall assay what he be, + If he be trusty, withoute fail, + I keep none other to me in battail.' + The messengers then home went, + And told the Soldan in present, + That Richard in the field would come him unto: + The rich Soldan bade to come him unto + A noble clerk that coulde well conjure, + That was a master necromansour: + He commanded, as I you tell, + Thorough the fiende's might of hell, + Two strong fiende's of the air, + In likeness of two steedes fair, + Both like in hue and hair, + As men said that there were: + No man saw never none sich; + That one was a mare iliche, + That other a colt, a noble steed, + Where that he were in any mead, + (Were the knight never so bold.) + When the mare neigh wold, + (That him should hold against his will,) + But soon he woulde go her till, + And kneel down and suck his dame, + Therewith the Soldan with shame + Shoulde king Richard quell, + All this an angel 'gan him tell, + That to him came about midnight. + 'Awake,' he said, 'Goddis knight: + My Lord doth thee to understand + That thee shalt come an horse to land, + Fair it is, of body ypight, + To betray thee if the Soldan might; + On him to ride have thou no drede + For he thee helpe shall at need.' + +The angel gives king Richard several directions about managing this +infernal horse, and a general engagement ensuing, between the Christian +and Saracen armies, + + He leapt on horse when it was light; + Ere he in his saddle did leap + Of many thinges he took keep.-- + His men brought them that he bade, + A square tree of forty feet, + Before his saddle anon he it set, + Fast that they should it brase, &c. + Himself was richely begone, + From the crest right to the tone,[2] + He was covered wondrously wele + All with splentes of good steel, + And there above an hauberk. + A shaft he had of trusty werk, + Upon his shoulders a shield of steel, + With the libards[3] painted wele; + And helm he had of rich entaile, + Trusty and true was his ventaile: + Upon his crest a dove white, + Significant of the Holy Sprite, + Upon a cross the dove stood + Of gold ywrought rich and good, + God[4] himself, Mary and John, + As he was done the rood upon,[5] + In significance for whom he fought, + The spear-head forgat he nought, + Upon his shaft he would it have + Goddis name thereon was grave; + Now hearken what oath he sware, + Ere they to the battaile went there: + 'If it were so, that Richard might + Slay the Soldan in field with fight, + At our wille evereachone + He and his should gone + Into the city of Babylon; + And the king of Macedon + He should have under his hand; + And if the Soldan of that land + Might slay Richard in the field + With sword or speare under shield, + That Christian men shoulde go + Out of that land for evermo, + And the Saracens their will in wold.' + Quoth king Richard, 'Thereto I hold, + Thereto my glove, as I am knight.' + They be armed and ready dight: + King Richard to his saddle did leap, + Certes, who that would take keep + To see that sight it were sair; + Their steedes ranne with great ayre,[6] + All so hard as they might dyre,[7] + After their feete sprang out fire: + Tabors and trumpettes 'gan blow: + There men might see in a throw + How king Richard, that noble man, + Encountered with the Soldan, + The chief was tolde of Damas, + His trust upon his mare was, + And therefor, as the book[8] us tells, + His crupper hunge full of bells, + And his peytrel[9] and his arsowne[10] + Three mile men might hear the soun. + His mare neighed, his bells did ring, + For greate pride, without lesing, + A falcon brode[11] in hand he bare, + For he thought he woulde there + Have slain Richard with treasoun + When his colt should kneele down, + As a colt shoulde suck his dame, + And he was 'ware of that shame, + His ears with wax were stopped fast, + Therefore Richard was not aghast, + He struck the steed that under him went, + And gave the Soldan his death with a dent: + In his shielde verament + Was painted a serpent, + With the spear that Richard held + He bare him thorough under his sheld, + None of his armour might him last, + Bridle and peytrel all to-brast, + His girthes and his stirrups also, + His ruare to grounde wente tho; + Maugre her head, he made her seech + The ground, withoute more speech, + His feet toward the firmament, + Behinde him the spear outwent + There he fell dead on the green, + Richard smote the fiend with spurres keen, + And in the name of the Holy Ghost + He driveth into the heathen host, + And as soon as he was come, + Asunder he brake the sheltron,[12] + And all that ever afore him stode, + Horse and man to the grounde yode, + Twenty foot on either side. + When the king of France and his men wist + That the mast'ry had the Christian, + They waxed bold, and good heart took, + Steedes bestrode, and shaftes shook. + +[1] 'Favel of Cyprus, ne Lyard of Prys:' Favel of Cyprus, and Lyard of +Paris, horses of Kichard's. +[2] 'Tone:' toes. +[3] 'Libards:' leopards. +[4] 'God:' our Saviour. +[5] 'As he was done the rood upon:' as he died upon the cross. +[6] 'Ayre:' ire. +[7] 'Dyre:' dare. +[8] 'The book:' the French romance. +[9] 'Peytrel:' the breast-plate or breast-band of a horse. +[10] 'Arsowne:' saddle-bow. +[11] 'falcon brode:' F. bird. +[12] 'Sheltrou:' 'schiltron:' soldiers drawn up in a circle. + +From 'Sir Degore' we quote the description of a dragon, which Warton +thinks drawn by a master:-- + + + DEGORE AND THE DRAGON. + + Degore went forth his way, + Through a forest half a day: + He heard no man, nor sawe none, + Till it past the high none, + Then heard he great strokes fall, + That it made greate noise withal, + Full soone he thought that to see, + To weete what the strokes might be: + There was an earl, both stout and gay, + He was come there that same day, + For to hunt for a deer or a doe, + But his houndes were gone him fro. + Then was there a dragon great and grim, + Full of fire and also venim, + With a wide throat and tuskes great, + Upon that knight fast 'gan he beat. + And as a lion then was his feet, + His tail was long, and full unmeet: + Between his head and his tail + Was twenty-two foot withouten fail; + His body was like a wine tun, + He shone full bright against the sun: + His eyes were bright as any glass, + His scales were hard as any brass; + And thereto he was necked like a horse, + He bare his head up with great force: + The breath of his mouth that did out blow + As it had been a fire on lowe[1]. + He was to look on, as I you tell, + As it had been a fiend of hell. + Many a man he had shent, + And many a horse he had rent. + +[1] 'On lowe:' in flame. + +From Davie's supposed 'Life of Alexander' we extract a description of a +battle, which shews some energy of genius:-- + + + A BATTLE + + Alisander before is ryde, + And many gentle a knight him myde;[1] + As for to gather his meinie free, + He abideth under a tree: + Forty thousand of chivalry + He taketh in his company, + He dasheth him then fast forthward, + And the other cometh afterward. + He seeth his knightes in mischief, + He taketh it greatly a grief, + He takes Bultyphal[2] by the side, + So as a swallow he 'ginneth forth glide. + A duke of Persia soon he met, + And with his lance he him grett. + He pierceth his breny, cleaveth his shielde, + The hearte tokeneth the yrne; + The duke fell downe to the ground, + And starf[3] quickly in that stound: + Alisander aloud then said, + Other toll never I ne paid, + Yet ye shallen of mine pay, + Ere I go more assay. + Another lance in hand he hent, + Against the prince of Tyre he went + He ... him thorough the breast and thare + And out of saddle and crouthe him bare, + And I say for soothe thing + He brake his neck in the falling. + ... with muchel wonder, + Antiochus hadde him under, + And with sword would his heved[4] + From his body have yreaved: + He saw Alisander the goode gome, + Towards him swithe come, + He lete[5] his prey, and flew on horse, + For to save his owen corse: + Antiochus on steed leap, + Of none woundes ne took he keep, + And eke he had foure forde + All ymade with speares' ord.[6] + Tholomeus and all his felawen[7] + Of this succour so weren welfawen, + Alysander made a cry hardy, + 'Ore tost aby aby.' + Then the knightes of Achay + Jousted with them of Araby, + They of Rome with them of Mede, + Many land.... + Egypt jousted with them of Tyre, + Simple knights with riche sire: + There n'as foregift ne forbearing + Betweene vavasour[8] ne king; + Before men mighten and behind + Cunteck[9] seek and cunteck find. + With Persians foughten the Gregeys,[10] + There was cry and great honteys.[11] + They kidden[12] that they weren mice, + They broken speares all to slice. + There might knight find his pere, + There lost many his distrere:[13] + There was quick in little thraw,[14] + Many gentle knight yslaw: + Many arme, many heved[15] + Some from the body reaved: + Many gentle lavedy[16] + There lost quick her amy.[17] + There was many maim yled,[18] + Many fair pensel bebled:[19] + There was swordes liklaking,[20] + There was speares bathing, + Both kinges there sans doute + Be in dash'd with all their route, &c. + +[1] 'Myde:' with. +[2] 'Bultyphal:' Bucephalus. +[3] 'Starf:' died. +[4] 'Heved: head. +[5] 'Lete:' left. +[6] 'Ord:' point. +[7] 'Felawen;' fellows. +[7] 'Vavasour:' subject. +[8] 'Cunteck:' strife. +[9] 'Gregeys:' Greeks. +[10] 'Honteys:' shame. +[11] 'Kidden:' thought. +[12] 'Distrere:' horse. +[13] 'Little thraw:' short time. +[14] 'Heved:' head. +[15] 'Lavedy:' lady. +[16] 'Amy:' paramour. +[17] 'Yled:' led along, maimed. +[18] 'Many fair pensel bebled:' many a banner sprinkled with blood. +[19] 'Liklaking:' clashing. + +Davie was also the author of an original poem, entitled, 'Visions in +Verse,' and of the 'Battle of Jerusalem,' in which he versifies a French +romance. In this production Pilate is represented as challenging our +Lord to single combat! + +In 1349, died Richard Rollo, a hermit, and a verse-writer. He lived a +secluded life near the nunnery of Hampole in Yorkshire, and wrote a +number of devotional pieces, most of them very dull. In 1350, Lawrence +Minot produced some short narrative ballads on the victories of Edward +III., beginning with Halidon Hill, and ending with the siege of Guisnes +Castle. His works lay till the end of the last century obscure in a MS. +of the Cotton Collection, which was supposed to be a transcript of the +Works of Chaucer. On a spare leaf of the MS. there had been accidentally +written a name, probably that of its original possessor, 'Richard +Chawsir.' This the getter-up of the Cotton catalogue imagined to be the +name of Geoffrey Chaucer. Mr Tyrwhitt, while foraging for materials to +his edition of 'The Canterbury Tales,' accidentally found out who the +real writer was; and Ritson afterwards published Minot's ballads, which +are ten in number, written in the northern dialect, and in an alliterative +style, and with considerable spirit and liveliness. He has been called the +Tyrtaeus of his age. + +We come now to the immediate predecessor of Chaucer--Robert Langlande. +He was a secular priest, born at Mortimer's Cleobury, in Shropshire, +and educated at Oriel College, Oxford. He wrote, towards the end of the +fourteenth century, a very remarkable work, entitled, 'Visions of William +concerning Piers Plowman.' The general object of this poem is to denounce +the abuses of society, and to inculcate, upon both clergy and laity, their +respective duties. One William is represented as falling asleep among the +Malvern Hills, and sees in his dream a succession of visions, in which +great ingenuity, great boldness, and here and there a powerful vein of +poetry, are displayed. Truth is described as a magnificent tower, and +Falsehood as a deep dungeon. In one canto Religion descends, and gives +a long harangue about what should be the conduct of society and of +individuals. Bribery and Falsehood, in another part of the poem, seek a +marriage with each other, and make their way to the courts of justice, +where they find many friends. Some very whimsical passages are introduced. +The Power of Grace confers upon Piers Plowman, who stands for the +Christian Life, four stout oxen, to cultivate the field of Truth. These +are Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, the last of whom is described as the +gentlest of the team. She afterwards assigns him the like number of stots +or bullocks, to harrow what the evangelists had ploughed, and this new +horned team consists of Saint or Stot Ambrose, Stot Austin, Stot Gregory, +and Stot Jerome. + +Apart from its fantastic structure, 'Piers Plowman' was not only a sign +of the times, but did great service in its day. His voice rings like +that of Israel's minor prophets--like Nahum or Hosea--in a dark and +corrupt age. He proclaims liberal and independent sentiments, he attacks +slavery and superstition, and he predicts the doom of the Papacy as with +a thunder-knell. Chaucer must have felt roused to his share of the +reformatory work by the success of 'Piers Plowman;' Spenser is suspected +to have read and borrowed from him; and even Milton, in his description +of a lazar-house in 'Paradise Lost,' had him probably in his eye. (See +our last extract from 'Piers.') + +On account of the great merit and peculiarity of this work we proceed to +make rather copious extracts. + + + HUMAN LIFE. + + Then 'gan I to meten[1] a marvellous sweven,[2] + That I was in wilderness, I wist never where: + As I beheld into the east, on high to the sun, + I saw a tower on a loft, richly ymaked, + A deep dale beneath, a dungeon therein, + With deep ditches and dark, and dreadful of sight: + A fair field full of folk found I there between, + Of all manner men, the mean and the rich, + Working and wand'ring, as the world asketh; + Some put them to the plough, playeden full seld, + In setting and sowing swonken[3] full hard: + And some put them to pride, &c. + +[1] 'Meten:' dream. +[2] 'Sweven:' dream. +[3] 'Swonken:' toiled. + + + ALLEGORICAL PICTURES. + + Thus robed in russet, I roamed about + All a summer season, for to seek Dowell + And freyned[1] full oft, of folk that I met + If any wight wist where Dowell was at inn, + And what man he might be, of many man I asked; + Was never wight as I went, that me wysh[2] could + Where this lad lenged,[3] lesse or more, + Till it befell on a Friday, two friars I met + Masters of the Minors,[4] men of greate wit. + I halsed them hendely,[5] as I had learned, + And prayed them for charity, ere they passed further, + If they knew any court or country as they went + Where that Dowell dwelleth, do me to wit,[6] + For they be men on this mould, that most wide walk + And know countries and courts, and many kinnes[7] places, + Both princes' palaces, and poor menne's cotes, + And Dowell, and Doevil, where they dwell both. + 'Amongst us,' quoth the Minors, 'that man is dwelling + And ever hath as I hope, and ever shall hereafter.' + Contra, quod I, as a clerk, and cumsed to disputen, + And said them soothly, _Septies in die cadit justus_, + Seven sythes,[8] sayeth the book, sinneth the rightful, + And whoso sinneth, I say, doth evil as methinketh, + And Dowell and Doevil may not dwell together, + Ergo he is not alway among you friars; + He is other while elsewhere, to wyshen[9] the people. + 'I shall say thee, my son,' said the friar then, + 'How seven sithes the sadde[10] man on a day sinneth, + By a forvisne'[11] quod the friar, 'I shall thee fair shew; + Let bring a man in a boat, amid the broad water, + The wind and the water, and the boate wagging, + Make a man many time, to fall and to stand, + For stand he never so stiff, he stumbleth if he move, + And yet is he safe and sound, and so him behoveth, + For if he ne arise the rather, and raght[12] to the steer, + The wind would with the water the boat overthrow, + And then were his life lost through latches[13] of himself. + And thus it falleth,' quod the friar, 'by folk here on earth, + The water is lik'ned to the world, that waneth and waxeth, + The goods of this world are likened to the great waves + That as winds and weathers, walken about, + The boat is liken'd to our body, that brittle is of kind, + That through the flesh, and the fraile world + Sinneth the sadde man, a day seven times, + And deadly sin doeth he not, for Dowell him keepeth, + And that is Charity the champion, chief help against sin, + For he strengtheth man to stand, and stirreth man's soul, + And though thy body bow, as boate doth in water, + Aye is thy soule safe, but if thou wilt thyself + Do a deadly sin, and drenche[14] so thy soul, + God will suffer well thy sloth, if thyself liketh, + For he gave thee two years' gifts, to teme well thyself, + And that is wit and free-will, to every wight a portion, + To flying fowles, to fishes, and to beasts, + And man hath most thereof, and most is to blame + But if he work well therewith, as Dowell him teacheth.' + 'I have no kind knowing,' quoth I, 'to conceive all your wordes + And if I may live and look, I shall go learne better; + I beken[15] the Christ, that on the crosse died;' + And I said, 'The same save you from mischance, + And give you grace on this ground good me to worth.' + And thus I went wide where, walking mine one + By a wide wilderness, and by a woode's side, + Bliss of the birdes brought me on sleep, + And under a lind[16] on a land, leaned I a stound[17] + To lyth[18] the layes, those lovely fowles made, + Mirth of their mouthes made me there to sleep. + The marvellousest metelles mette[19] me then + That ever dreamed wight, in world as I went. + A much man as me thought, and like to myself, + Came and called me, by my kinde[20] name. + 'What art thou,' quod I then, 'thou that my name knowest?' + 'That thou wottest well,' quod he, 'and no wight better.' + 'Wot I what thou art?' Thought said he then, + 'I have sued[21] thee this seven years, see ye me no rather?' + 'Art thou Thought?' quoth I then, 'thou couldest me wyssh[22] + Where that Dowell dwelleth, and do me that to know.' + 'Dowell, and Dobetter, and Dobest the third,' quod he, + 'Are three fair virtues, and be not far to find, + Whoso is true of his tongue, and of his two handes, + And through his labour or his lod, his livelod winneth, + And is trusty of his tayling,[23] taketh but his own, + And is no drunkelow ne dedigious, Dowell him followeth; + Dobet doth right thus, and he doth much more, + He is as low as a lamb, and lovely of speech, + And helpeth all men, after that them needeth; + The bagges and the bigirdles, he hath to-broke them all, + That the earl avarous helde and his heires, + And thus to mammons many he hath made him friends, + And is run to religion, and hath rend'red[24] the Bible + And preached to the people Saint Paule's wordes, + _Libenter suffertis insipientes, cum sitis ipsi sapientes_. + + * * * * * + + And suffereth the unwise with you for to live, + And with glad will doth he good, for so God you hoteth.[25] + Dobest is above both, and beareth a bishop's cross + Is hooked on that one end to halye[26] men from hell; + A pike is on the potent[27] to pull down the wicked + That waiten any wickedness, Dowell to tene;[28] + And Dowell and Dobet amongst them have ordained + To crown one to be king, to rule them boeth, + That if Dowell and Dobet are against Dobest, + Then shall the king come, and cast them in irons, + And but if Dobest bid for them, they be there for ever. + Thus Dowell and Dobet, and Dobeste the third, + Crowned one to be king, to keepen them all, + And to rule the realme by their three wittes, + And none otherwise but as they three assented.' + I thanked Thought then, that he me thus taught, + And yet favoureth me not thy suging, I covet to learn + How Dowell, Dobest, and Dobetter do among the people. + 'But Wit can wish[29] thee,' quoth Thought, 'where they three dwell, + Else wot I none that can tell that now is alive.' + Thought and I thus, three dayes we yeden[30] + Disputing upon Dowell, daye after other. + And ere we were 'ware, with Wit 'gan we meet. + He was long and leane, like to none other, + Was no pride on his apparel, nor poverty neither; + Sad of his semblance, and of soft cheer; + I durst not move no matter, to make him to laugh, + But as I bade Thought then be mean between, + And put forth some purpose to prevent his wits, + What was Dowell from Dobet, and Dobest from them both? + Then Thought in that time said these wordes; + 'Whether Dowell, Dobet, and Dobest be in land, + Here is well would wit, if Wit could teach him, + And whether he be man or woman, this man fain would espy, + And work as they three would, this is his intent.' + 'Here Dowell dwelleth,' quod Wit, 'not a day hence, + In a castle that kind[31] made, of four kinds things; + Of earth and air is it made, mingled together + With wind and with water, witterly[32] enjoined; + Kinde hath closed therein, craftily withal, + A leman[33] that he loveth, like to himself, + Anima she hight, and Envy her hateth, + A proud pricker of France, _princeps hujus mundi_, + And would win her away with wiles and he might; + And Kind knoweth this well, and keepeth her the better. + And doth her with Sir Dowell is duke of these marches; + Dobet is her damosel, Sir Dowell's daughter, + To serve this lady lelly,[34] both late and rathe.[35] + Dobest is above both, a bishop's pere; + That he bids must be done; he ruleth them all. + Anima, that lady, is led by his learning, + And the constable of the castle, that keepeth all the watch, + Is a wise knight withal, Sir Inwit he hight, + And hath five fair sonnes by his first wife, + Sir Seewell and Saywell, and Hearwell-the-end, + Sir Workwell-with-thy-hand, a wight man of strength, + And Sir Godfray Gowell, great lordes forsooth. + These five be set to save this lady Anima, + Till Kind come or send, to save her for ever.' + 'What kind thing is Kind,' quod I, 'canst thou me tell?'-- + 'Kind,' quod Wit, 'is a creator of all kinds things, + Father and former of all that ever was maked, + And that is the great God that 'ginning had never, + Lord of life and of light, of bliss and of pain, + Angels and all thing are at his will, + And man is him most like, of mark and of shape, + For through the word that he spake, wexen forth beasts, + And made Adam, likest to himself one, + And Eve of his ribbe bone, without any mean, + For he was singular himself, and said _Faciamus_, + As who say more must hereto, than my worde one, + My might must helpe now with my speech, + Even as a lord should make letters, and he lacked parchment, + Though he could write never so well, if he had no pen, + The letters, for all his lordship, I 'lieve were never ymarked; + And so it seemeth by him, as the Bible telleth, + There he saide, _Dixit et facta sunt_. + He must work with his word, and his wit shew; + And in this manner was man made, by might of God Almighty, + With his word and his workmanship, and with life to last, + And thus God gave him a ghost[36] of the Godhead of heaven, + And of his great grace granted him bliss, + And that is life that aye shall last, to all our lineage after; + And that is the castle that Kinde made, Caro it hight, + And is as much to meane as man with a soul, + And that he wrought with work and with word both; + Through might of the majesty, man was ymaked. + Inwit and Allwits closed been therein, + For love of the lady Anima, that life is nempned.[37] + Over all in man's body, she walketh and wand'reth, + And in the heart is her home, and her most rest, + And Inwit is in the head, and to the hearte looketh, + What Anima is lief or loth,[38] he leadeth her at his will + Then had Wit a wife, was hote Dame Study, + That leve was of lere, and of liche boeth. + She was wonderly wrought, Wit me so teached, + And all staring, Dame Study sternely said; + 'Well art thou wise,' quoth she to Wit, 'any wisdoms to tell + To flatterers or to fooles, that frantic be of wits;' + And blamed him and banned him, and bade him be still, + With such wise wordes, to wysh any sots, + And said, '_Noli mittere_, man, _margaritae_, pearls, + Amonge hogges, that have hawes at will. + They do but drivel thereon, draff were them lever,[39] + Than all precious pearls that in paradise waxeth.[40] + I say it, by such,' quod she, 'that shew it by their works, + That them were lever[41] land and lordship on earth, + Or riches or rentes, and rest at their will, + Than all the sooth sawes that Solomon said ever. + Wisdom and wit now is not worth a kerse,[42] + But if it be carded with covetise, as clothers kemb their wool; + Whoso can contrive deceits, and conspire wrongs, + And lead forth a loveday,[43] to let with truth, + He that such craftes can is oft cleped to counsel, + They lead lords with lesings, and belieth truth. + Job the gentle in his gests greatly witnesseth + That wicked men wielden the wealth of this world; + The Psalter sayeth the same, by such as do evil; + _Ecce ipsi peccatores abundantes in seculo obtinuerunt divitias_. + Lo, saith holy lecture, which lords be these shrewes? + Thilke that God giveth most, least good they dealeth, + And most unkind be to that comen, that most chattel wieldeth.[44] + _Quae perfecisti destrutxerunt, justus autem, &c_. + Harlots for their harlotry may have of their goodes, + And japers and juggelers, and janglers of jestes, + And he that hath holy writ aye in his mouth, + And can tell of Tobie, and of the twelve apostles, + Or preach of the penance that Pilate falsely wrought + To Jesu the gentle, that Jewes to-draw: + Little is he loved that such a lesson sheweth; + Or daunten or draw forth, I do it on God himself, + But they that feign they fooles, and with fayting[45] liveth, + Against the lawe of our Lord, and lien on themself, + Spitten and spewen, and speak foule wordes, + Drinken and drivellen, and do men for to gape, + Liken men, and lie on them, and lendeth them no giftes, + They can[46] no more minstrelsy nor music men to glad, + Than Mundie, the miller, of _multa fecit Deus_. + Ne were their vile harlotry, have God my truth, + Shoulde never king nor knight, nor canon of Paul's + Give them to their yeare's gift, nor gift of a groat, + And mirth and minstrelsy amongst men is nought; + Lechery, losenchery,[47] and losels' tales, + Gluttony and great oaths, this mirth they loveth, + And if they carpen[48] of Christ, these clerkes and these lewed, + And they meet in their mirth, when minstrels be still, + When telleth they of the Trinity a tale or twain, + And bringeth forth a blade reason, and take Bernard to witness, + And put forth a presumption to prove the sooth, + Thus they drivel at their dais[49] the Deity to scorn, + And gnawen God to their gorge[50] when their guts fallen; + And the careful[51] may cry, and carpen at the gate, + Both a-hunger'd and a-thirst, and for chill[52] quake, + Is none to nymen[53] them near, his noyel[54] to amend, + But hunten him as a hound, and hoten[55] him go hence. + Little loveth he that Lord that lent him all that bliss, + That thus parteth with the poor; a parcel when him needeth + Ne were mercy in mean men, more than in rich; + Mendynauntes meatless[56] might go to bed. + God is much in the gorge of these greate masters, + And amonges mean men, his mercy and his workes, + And so sayeth the Psalter, I have seen it oft. + Clerks and other kinnes men carpen of God fast, + And have him much in the mouth, and meane men in heart; + Friars and faitours[57] have founden such questions + To please with the proud men, sith the pestilence time, + And preachen at St Paule's, for pure envy of clerks, + That folk is not firmed in the faith, nor free of their goods, + Nor sorry for their sinnes, so is pride waxen, + In religion, and in all the realm, amongst rich and poor; + That prayers have no power the pestilence to let, + And yet the wretches of this world are none 'ware by other, + Nor for dread of the death, withdraw not their pride, + Nor be plenteous to the poor, as pure charity would, + But in gains and in gluttony, forglote goods themself, + And breaketh not to the beggar, as the book teacheth. + And the more he winneth, and waxeth wealthy in riches, + And lordeth in landes, the less good he dealeth. + Tobie telleth ye not so, take heed, ye rich, + How the bible book of him beareth witness; + Whoso hath much, spend manly, so meaneth Tobit, + And whoso little wieldeth, rule him thereafter; + For we have no letter of our life, how long it shall endure. + Suche lessons lordes shoulde love to hear, + And how he might most meinie, manlich find; + Not to fare as a fiddeler, or a friar to seek feasts, + Homely at other men's houses, and haten their own. + Elenge[58] is the hall every day in the week; + There the lord nor the lady liketh not to sit, + Now hath each rich a rule[59] to eaten by themself + In a privy parlour, for poore men's sake, + Or in a chamber with a chimney, and leave the chief hall + That was made for meales men to eat in.'-- + And when that Wit was 'ware what Dame Study told, + He became so confuse he cunneth not look, + And as dumb as death, and drew him arear, + And for no carping I could after, nor kneeling to the earth + I might get no grain of his greate wits, + But all laughing he louted, and looked upon Study, + In sign that I shoulde beseechen her of grace, + And when I was 'ware of his will, to his wife I louted + And said, 'Mercie, madam, your man shall I worth + As long as I live both late and early, + For to worken your will, the while my life endureth, + With this that ye ken me kindly, to know to what is Dowell.' + 'For thy meekness, man,' quoth she, 'and for thy mild speech, + I shall ken thee to my cousin, that Clergy is hoten.[60] + He hath wedded a wife within these six moneths, + Is syb[61] to the seven arts, Scripture is her name; + They two as I hope, after my teaching, + Shall wishen thee Dowell, I dare undertake.' + Then was I as fain as fowl of fair morrow, + And gladder than the gleeman that gold hath to gift, + And asked her the highway where that Clergy[62] dwelt. + 'And tell me some token,' quoth I, 'for time is that I wend.' + 'Ask the highway,' quoth she, 'hence to suffer + Both well and woe, if that thou wilt learn; + And ride forth by riches, and rest thou not therein, + For if thou couplest ye therewith, to Clergy comest thou never, + And also the likorous land that Lechery hight, + Leave it on thy left half, a large mile and more, + Till thou come to a court, keep well thy tongue + From leasings and lyther[63] speech, and likorous drinkes, + Then shalt thou see Sobriety, and Simplicity of speech, + That each might be in his will, his wit to shew, + And thus shall ye come to Clergy that can many things; + Say him this sign, I set him to school, + And that I greet well his wife, for I wrote her many books, + And set her to Sapience, and to the Psalter glose; + Logic I learned her, and many other laws, + And all the unisons to music I made her to know; + Plato the poet, I put them first to book, + Aristotle and other more, to argue I taught, + Grammer for girles, I gard[64] first to write, + And beat them with a bales but if they would learn; + Of all kindes craftes I contrived tooles, + Of carpentry, of carvers, and compassed masons, + And learned them level and line, though I look dim; + And Theology hath tened[65] me seven score times; + The more I muse therein, the mistier it seemeth, + And the deeper I divine, the darker me it thinketh. + +[1] 'Freyned:' inquired. +[2] 'Wysh:' inform. +[3] 'Lenged:' lived. +[4] 'Minors:' the friars minors. +[5] 'Halsed them hendely:' saluted them kindly. +[6] 'Do me to wit:' make me to know. +[7] 'Kinnes:' sorts of. +[8] 'Sythes:' times. +[9] 'Wyshen:' inform, teach. +[10] 'Sadde:' sober, good. +[11] 'Forvisne:' similitude. +[12] 'Raght:' reach. +[13] 'Latches:' laziness. +[14] 'Drenche:' drown. +[15] 'Beken:' confess. +[16] 'Lind:' lime-tree. +[17] 'A stound:' a while. +[18] 'Lyth:' listen. +[19] 'Mette:' dreamed. +[20] 'Kinde:' own. +[21] 'Sued:' sought. +[22] 'Wyssh:' inform. +[23] 'Tayling:' dealing. +[24] 'Rend'red:' translated. +[25] 'Hoteth:' biddeth. +[26] 'Halve:' draw. +[27] 'Potent:' staff. +[28] 'Tene:' grieve. +[29] 'Wish:' inform. +[30] 'Yeden:' went. +[31] 'Kind:' nature. +[32] 'Witterly:' cunningly. +[33] 'Leman:' paramour. +[34] 'Lelly:' fair. +[35] 'Rathe:' early. +[36] 'Ghost:' spirit. +[37] 'Nempned:' named. +[38] 'Loth:' willing. +[39] 'Lever:' rather. +[40] 'Waxeth: grow. +[41] 'Them were lever:' they had rather. +[42] 'Kerse:' curse. +[43] 'Loveday:'lady. +[44] 'Wieldeth:' commands. +[45] 'Fayting:' deceiving. +[46] 'Can:' know. +[47] 'Losenchery:' lying. +[48] 'Carpen:' speak. +[49] 'Dais:' table. +[50] 'Gorge:' throat. +[51] 'Careful:' poor. +[52] 'Chill:' cold. +[53] 'Nymen:' take. +[54] 'Noye:' trouble. +[55] 'Hoten:' order. +[56] 'Mendynauntes meatless:' beggars supperless. +[57] 'Faitours:' idle fellows. +[58] 'Elenge:' strange, deserted. +[59] 'Rule:' custom. +[60] 'Hoten:' named. +[61] 'Syb:' mother. +[62] 'Clergy:' learning. +[63] 'Lyther:' wanton. +[64] 'Gard:' made. +[65] 'Tened:' grieved. + + + COVETOUSNESS. + + And then came Covetise; can I him no descrive, + So hungerly and hollow, so sternely he looked, + He was bittle-browed and baberlipped also; + With two bleared eyen as a blinde hag, + And as a leathern purse lolled his cheekes, + Well sider than his chin they shivered for cold: + And as a bondman of his bacon his beard was bidrauled, + With a hood on his head, and a lousy hat above. + And in a tawny tabard,[1] of twelve winter age, + Alle torn and baudy, and full of lice creeping; + But that if a louse could have leapen the better, + She had not walked on the welt, so was it threadbare. + 'I have been Covetise,' quoth this caitiff, + 'For sometime I served Symme at style, + And was his prentice plight, his profit to wait. + First I learned to lie, a leef other twain + Wickedly to weigh, was my first lesson: + To Wye and to Winchester I went to the fair + With many manner merchandise, as my master me hight.-- + Then drave I me among drapers my donet[2] to learn. + To draw the lyfer along, the longer it seemed + Among the rich rays,' &c. + +[1] 'Tabard:' a coat. +[2] 'Donet:' lesson. + + + THE PRELATES. + + And now is religion a rider, a roamer by the street, + A leader of lovedays,[1] and a loude[2] beggar, + A pricker on a palfrey from manor to manor, + An heap of houndes at his arse as he a lord were. + And if but his knave kneel, that shall his cope bring, + He loured on him, and asked who taught him courtesy. + +[1] 'Lovedays:' ladies. +[2] 'Loude:' lewd. + + + MERCY AND TRUTH. + + Out of the west coast, a wench, as methought, + Came walking in the way, to heavenward she looked; + Mercy hight that maide, a meek thing withal, + A full benign birde, and buxom of speech; + Her sister, as it seemed, came worthily walking, + Even out of the east, and westward she looked, + A full comely creature, Truth she hight, + For the virtue that her followed afeared was she never. + When these maidens met, Mercy and Truth, + Either asked other of this great marvel, + Of the din and of the darkness, &c. + + + NATURE, OR KIND, SENDING FORTH HIS DISEASES FROM THE PLANETS, AT + THE COMMAND OF CONSCIENCE, AND OF HIS ATTENDANTS, AGE AND DEATH. + + Kind Conscience then heard, and came out of the planets, + And sent forth his forriours, Fevers and Fluxes, + Coughes and Cardiacles, Crampes and Toothaches, + Rheumes, and Radgondes, and raynous Scalles, + Boiles, and Botches, and burning Agues, + Phreneses and foul Evil, foragers of Kind! + There was 'Harow! and Help! here cometh Kind, + With Death that is dreadful, to undo us all!' + The lord that liveth after lust then aloud cried. + _Age the hoar, he was in the va-ward, + And bare the banner before Death: by right he it claimed._ + Kinde came after, with many keene sores, + As Pocks and Pestilences, and much people shent. + So Kind through corruptions, killed full many: + Death came driving after, and all to dust pashed + Kings and Kaisers, knightes and popes. + Many a lovely lady, and leman of knights, + Swooned and swelted for sorrow of Death's dints. + Conscience, of his courtesy, to Kind he besought + To cease and sufire, and see where they would + Leave Pride privily, and be perfect Christian, + And Kind ceased then, to see the people amend. + + +'Piers Plowman' found many imitators. One wrote 'Piers the Plowman's +Crede;' another, 'The Plowman's Tale;' another, a poem on 'Alexander the +Great; 'another, on the 'Wars of the Jews;' and another, 'A Vision of +Death and Life,' extracts from all which may be found in Warton's +'History of English Poetry.' + +We close this preliminary essay by giving a very ancient hymn to the +Virgin, as a specimen of the once universally-prevalent alliterative +poetry. + + + I. + + Hail be you, Mary, mother and may, + Mild, and meek, and merciable; + Hail, folliche fruit of soothfast fay, + Against each strife steadfast and stable; + Hail, soothfast soul in each, a say, + Under the sun is none so able; + Hail, lodge that our Lord in lay, + The foremost that never was founden in fable; + Hail, true, truthful, and tretable, + Hail, chief ychosen of chastity, + Hail, homely, hendy, and amiable: + _To pray for us to thy Sone so free!_ AVE. + + + II. + + Hail, star that never stinteth light; + Hail, bush burning that never was brent; + Hail, rightful ruler of every right, + Shadow to shield that should be shent; + Hail, blessed be you blossom bright, + To truth and trust was thine intent; + Hail, maiden and mother, most of might, + Of all mischiefs an amendement; + Hail, spice sprung that never was spent; + Hail, throne of the Trinity; + Hail, scion that God us soon to sent, + _You pray for us thy Sone free!_ AVE. + + + III. + + Hail, heartily in holiness; + Hail, hope of help to high and low; + Hail, strength and stel of stableness; + Hail, window of heaven wowe; + Hail, reason of righteousness, + To each a caitiff comfort to know; + Hail, innocent of angerness, + Our takel, our tol, that we on trow; + Hail, friend to all that beoth forth flow; + Hail, light of love, and of beauty, + Hail, brighter than the blood on snow: + _You pray for us thy Sone free!_ AVE. + + + IV. + + Hail, maiden; hail, mother; hail, martyr trew; + Hail, kindly yknow confessour; + Hail, evenere of old law and new; + Hail, builder bold of Christe's bower; + Hail, rose highest of hyde and hue; + Of all fruite's fairest flower; + Hail, turtle trustiest and true, + Of all truth thou art treasour; + Hail, pured princess of paramour; + Hail, bloom of brere brightest of ble; + Hail, owner of earthly honour: + _You pray for us thy Sone so free!_ AVE, &c. + + + V. + + Hail, hendy; hail, holy emperess; + Hail, queen courteous, comely, and kind; + Hail, destroyer of every strife; + Hail, mender of every man's mind; + Hail, body that we ought to bless, + So faithful friend may never man find; + Hail, lever and lover of largeness, + Sweet and sweetest that never may swynde; + Hail, botenere[1] of every body blind; + Hail, borgun brightest of all bounty, + Hail, trewore then the wode bynd: + _You pray for us thy Sone so free!_ AVE. + + + VI. + + Hail, mother; hail, maiden; hail, heaven queen; + Hail, gatus of paradise; + Hail, star of the sea that ever is seen; + Hail, rich, royal, and righteous; + Hail, burde yblessed may you bene; + Hail, pearl of all perrie the pris; + Hail, shadow in each a shower shene; + Hail, fairer than that fleur-de-lis, + Hail, chere chosen that never n'as chis; + Hail, chief chamber of charity; + Hail, in woe that ever was wis: + _You pray for us thy Sone so free!_ AVE, &c. &c. + +[1] 'Botenere:' helper. + + + + +ADVERTISEMENT. + +It will be observed that, in the specimens given of the earlier poets, the +spelling has been modernised on the principle which has been so generally +approved in its application to the text of Chaucer and of Spenser. + +On a further examination of the material for 'Specimens and Memoirs of the +less-known British Poets,' it has been deemed advisable to devote three +volumes to this _resume_, and merely to give extracts from Cowley, instead +of following out the arrangement proposed when the issue for this year was +announced. In this space it has been found possible to present the reader +with specimens of almost all those authors whose writings were at any +period esteemed. The series will thus be rendered more perfect, and will +include the complete works of the authors whose entire writings are by +a general verdict regarded as worthy of preservation; together with +representations of the style, and brief notices of the poets who have, +during the progress of our literature, occupied a certain rank, but whose +popularity and importance have in a great measure passed. + +It is confidently hoped that the arrangements now made will give a +completeness to the First Division of the Library Edition of the British +Poets--from Chaucer to Cowper--which will be acceptable and satisfactory +to the general reader. + +Edinburgh, July 1860. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + * * * * * + +FIRST PERIOD. + +JOHN GOWER + The Chariot of the Sun + The Tale of the Coffers or Caskets, &c. + Of the Gratification which the Lover's Passion receives from + the Sense of Hearing + +JOHN BARBOUR + Apostrophe to Freedom + Death of Sir Henry de Bohun + +ANDREW WYNTOUN + +BLIND HARRY + Battle of Black-Earnside + The Death of Wallace + +JAMES I. OF SCOTLAND + Description of the King's Mistress + +JOHN THE CHAPLAIN--THOMAS OCCLEVE + +JOHN LYDGATE + Canace, condemned to Death by her Father Aeolus, sends to her guilty + Brother Macareus the last Testimony of her unhappy Passion + The London Lyckpenny + +HARDING, KAY, &c. + +ROBERT HENRYSON + Dinner given by the Town Mouse to the Country Mouse + The Garment of Good Ladies + +WILLIAM DUNBAR + The Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins through Hell + The Merle and Nightingale + +GAVIN DOUGLAS + Morning in May + +HAWES, BARCLAY, &c. + +SKELTON + To Miss Margaret Hussey + +SIR DAVID LYNDSAY + Meldrum's Duel with the English Champion Talbart + Supplication in Contemption of Side Tails + +THOMAS TUSSER + Directions for Cultivating a Hop-garden + Housewifely Physic + Moral Reflections on the Wind + +VAUX, EDWARDS, &c. + +GEORGE GASCOIGNE + Good-morrow + Good-night + +THOMAS SACKVILLE, LORD BUCKHURST AND EARL OF DORSET + Allegorical Characters from 'The Mirror of Magistrates' + Henry Duke of Buckingham in the Infernal Regions + +JOHN HARRINGTON + Sonnet on Isabella Markham + Verses on a most stony-hearted Maiden + +SIR PHILIP SIDNEY + To Sleep + Sonnets + +ROBERT SOUTHWELL + Look Home + The Image of Death + Love's Servile Lot + Times go by Turns + +THOMAS WATSON + The Nymphs to their May-Queen + Sonnet + +THOMAS TURBERVILLE + In praise of the renowned Lady Aime, Countess of Warwick + +UNKNOWN + Harpalus' Complaint of Phillida's Love bestowed on Corin, who loved + her not, and denied him that loved her + A Praise of his Lady + That all things sometime find Ease of their Pain, save only the Lover + From 'The Phoenix' Nest' + From the same + The Soul's Errand + + * * * * * + +SECOND PERIOD. + +FROM SPENSER TO DRYDEN. + +FRANCIS BEAUMONT + To Ben Jonson + On the Tombs in Westminster + An Epitaph + +SIR WALTER RALEIGH + The Country's Recreations + The Silent Lover + A Vision upon 'The Fairy Queen' + Love admits no Rival + +JOSHUA SYLVESTER + To Religion + On Man's Resemblance to God + The Chariot of the Sun + +RICHARD BARNFIELD + Address to the Nightingale + +ALEXANDER HUME + Thanks for a Summer's Day + +OTHER SCOTTISH POETS + +SAMUEL DANIEL + Richard II., the morning before his Murder in Pomfret Castle + Early Love + Selections from Sonnets + +SIR JOHN DAVIES + Introduction to the Poem on the Soul of Man + The Self-subsistence of the Soul + Spirituality of the Soul + +GILES FLETCHER + The Nativity + Song of Sorceress seeking to tempt Christ + Close of 'Christ's Victory and Triumph' + +JOHN DONNE + Holy Sonnets + The Progress of the Soul + +MICHAEL DRAYTON + Description of Morning + +EDWARD FAIRFAX + Rinaldo at Mount Olivet + +SIR HENRY WOTTON + Farewell to the Vanities of the World + A Meditation + +RICHARD CORBET + Dr Corbet's Journey into France + +BEN JONSON + Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke + The Picture of the Body + To Penshurst + To the Memory of my beloved Master, William Shakspeare, and what + he hath left us + On the Portrait of Shakspeare + +VERE, STORBER, &c + +THOMAS RANDOLPH + The Praise of Woman + To my Picture + To a Lady admiring herself in a Looking-glass + +ROBERT BURTON + On Melancholy + +THOMAS CAREW + Persuasions to Love + Song + To my Mistress sitting by a River's Side + Song + A Pastoral Dialogue + Song + +SIR JOHN SUCKLING + Song + A Ballad upon a Wedding + Song + +WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT + Love's Darts + On the Death of Sir Bevil Grenville + A Valediction + +WILLIAM BROWNE + Song + Song + Power of Genius over Envy + Evening + From 'Britannia's Pastorals' + A Descriptive Sketch + +WILLIAM ALEXANDER, EARL OF STIRLING + Sonnet + +WILLIAM DRUMMOND + The River of Forth Feasting + Sonnets + Spiritual Poems + +PHINEAS FLETCHER + Description of Parthenia + Instability of Human Greatness + Happiness of the Shepherd's Life + Marriage of Christ and the Church + + + * * * * * + + +SPECIMENS, WITH MEMOIRS, OF THE LESS-KNOWN BRITISH POETS. + + + + +JOHN GOWER + + +Very little is told us (as usual in the beginnings of a literature) of +the life and private history of Gower, and that little is not specially +authentic or clearly consistent with itself. His life consists mainly of +a series of suppositions, with one or two firm facts between--like a few +stepping-stones insulated in wide spaces of water. He is said to have +been born about the year 1325, and if so must have been a few years +older than Chaucer; whom he, however, outlived. He was a friend as well +as contemporary of that great poet, who, in the fifth book of his +'Troilus and Cresseide,' thus addresses him:-- + + 'O moral Gower, this booke I direct, + To thee and the philosophical Strood, + To vouchsafe where need is to correct, + Of your benignities and zeales good.' + +Gower, on the other hand, in his 'Confessio Amantis,' through the mouth +of Venus, speaks as follows of Chaucer:-- + + 'And greet well Chaucer when ye meet, + As my disciple and my poet; + For 'in the flower of his youth, + In sundry wise, as he well couth, + Of ditties and of songes glad, + The whiche for my sake he made, + The laud fulfill'd is over all,' &c. + +The place of Gower's birth has been the subject of much controversy. +Caxton asserts that he was a native of Wales. Leland, Bales, Pits, +Hollingshed, and Edmondson contend, on the other hand, that he belonged +to the Statenham family, in Yorkshire. In proof of this, a deed is +appealed to, which is preserved among the ancient records of the Marquis +of Stafford. To this deed, of which the local date is Statenham, and the +chronological 1346, one of the subscribing witnesses is _John Gower_ who +on the back of the deed is stated, in the handwriting of at least a +century later, to be '_Sr John Gower the Poet_'. Whatever may be thought +of this piece of evidence, 'the proud tradition,' adds Todd, who had +produced it, 'in the Marquis of Stafford's family has been, and still +is, that the poet was of Statenham; and who would not consider the +dignity of his genealogy augmented by enrolling among its worthies the +moral Gower?' + +From his will we know that he possessed the manor of Southwell, in the +county of Nottingham, and that of Multon, in the county of Suffolk. He +was thus a rich man, as well as probably a knight. The latter fact is +inferred from the circumstance of his effigies in the church of St Mary +Overies wearing a chaplet of roses, such as, says Francis Thynne, 'the +knyghtes in old time used, either of gold or other embroiderye, made +after the fashion of roses, one of the peculiar ornamentes of a knighte, +as well as his collar of S.S.S., his guilte sword and spurres. Which +chaplett or circle of roses was as well attributed to knyghtes, the +lowest degree of honor, as to the higher degrees of duke, erle, &c., +being knyghtes, for so I have seen John of Gaunte pictured in his +chaplett of roses; and King, Edwarde the Thirde gave his chaplett to +Eustace Rybamonte; only the difference was, that as they were of lower +degree, so had they fewer roses placed on their chaplett or cyrcle of +golde, one ornament deduced from the dukes crowne, which had the roses +upon the top of the cyrcle, when the knights had them only upon the +cyrcle or garlande itself.' + +It has been said that Gower as well as Chaucer studied in the Temple. +This, however, Thynne doubts, on the ground that 'it is most certeyn +to be gathered by cyrcumstances of recordes that the lawyers were not +in the Temple until towardes the latter parte of the reygne of Kinge +Edwarde the Thirde, at whiche tyme Chaucer was a grave manne, holden in +greate credyt and employed in embassye;' and when, of course, Gower, +being his senior, must have been 'graver' still. + +There is scarcely anything more to relate of the personal career of our +poet. In his elder days he became attached to the House of Lancaster, +under Thomas of Woodstock, as Chaucer did under John of Gaunt. It is +said that the two poets, who had been warm friends, at last quarrelled, +but obscurity rests on the cause, the circumstances, the duration, and +the consequences of the dispute. Gower, like some far greater bards, +--Milton for instance, and those whom Milton has commemorated, + + 'Blind Thamyris and blind Moeonides, + And Tiresiaa and Phineus, prophets old,'-- + +was sometime ere his death deprived of his sight, as we know on his own +authority. It appears from his will that he was still living in 1408, +having outlived Chaucer eight years. This will is a curious document. +It is that of a very rich and very superstitious Catholic, who leaves +bequests to churches, hospitals, to priors, sub-priors, and priests, +with the significant request '_ut orent pro me_'--a request which, for +the sake of the poor soul of the 'moral Gower,' was we trust devoutly +obeyed, although we are irresistibly reminded of the old rhyme, + + 'Pray for the soul of Gabriel John, + Who died in the year one thousand and one; + You may if you please, or let it alone, + For it's all one + To Gabriel John, + Who died in the year one thousand and one.' + +There is no mention of children in the will, and hence the assertion of +Edmondson, who, in his genealogical table of the Statenham family, says +that Thomas Gower, the governor of the castle of Mans in the times of +the Fifth and Sixth Henrys, was the only son of the poet, and that of +Glover, who, in his 'Visitation of Yorkshire,' describes Gower as +married to a lady named Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Edward Sadbowrughe, +Baron of the Exchequer, by whom he had five sons and three daughters, +must both fall to the ground. According to the will, Gower's wife's name +was Agnes, and he leaves to her L100 in legacy, besides his valuable +goods and the rents accruing from his aforesaid manors of Multon, in +Suffolk, and Southwell, in Nottinghamshire. His body was, according +to his own direction, buried in the monastery of St Mary Overies, in +Southwark, (afterwards the church of St Saviour,) where a monument, and +an effigies, too, were erected, with the roses of a knight girdling the +brow of one who was unquestionably a true, if not a great poet. + +In Warton's 'History of English Poetry,' and in the 'Illustrations of +the Lives and Writings of Gower and Chaucer' by Mr Todd, there will be +found ample and curious details about MS. poems by Gower, such as fifty +sonnets in French; a 'Panegyrick on Henry IV.,' half in Latin and half +in English, a short elegiac poem on the same subject, &c.; besides a +large work, entitled 'Speculum Meditantis,' a poem in French of a moral +cast; and 'Vox Clamantis,' consisting of seven books of Latin elegiacs, +and chiefly filled with a metrical account of the insurrections of the +Commons in the reign of Richard II. In the dedication of this latter +work to Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury, Gower speaks of his blindness +and his age. He says, 'Hanc epistolam subscriptam corde devoto misit +_senex et cecus_ Johannes Gower reverendissimo in Christo patri ac +domino suo precipuo domino Thome de Arundell, Cantuar. Archiepoe.' &c. +Warton proves that the 'Vox Clamantis' was written in the year 1397, by +a line in the Bodleian manuscript of the poem, 'Hos ego _bis deno_ +Ricardo regis in anno.' Richard II. began, it is well known, to reign in +the year 1377, when ten years of age, and, of course, the year 1397 was +the twentieth of his reign. It follows from this, that for eleven years +at least before his death Gower had been _senex et cecus_, helpless +through old age and blindness. + +The 'Confessio Amantis' is the only work of Gower's which is printed and +in English. The rest are still slumbering in MS.; and even although the +'Vox Clamantis' should put in a sleepy plea for the resurrection of +print, on the whole we are disposed to say, better for all parties that +it and the rest should slumber on. But the 'Confessio Amantis' is +altogether a remarkable production. It is said to have been written at +the command of Richard II., who, meeting our poet rowing on the Thames, +near London, took him on board the royal barge, and requested him to +_book some new thing_. It is an English poem, in eight books, and was +first printed by Caxton in the year 1483. The 'Speculum Meditantis,' +'Vox Clamantis,' and 'Confessio Amantis,' are, properly speaking, parts +of one great work, and are represented by three volumes upon Gower's +curious tomb in the old conventual church of St Mary Overies already +alluded to--a church, by the way, which the poet himself assisted in +rebuilding in the elegant shape which it retains to this day. + +The 'Confessio' is a large unwieldy collection of poetry and prose, +superstition and science, love and religion, allegory and historical +facts. It is crammed with all varieties of learning, and a perverse but +infinite ingenuity is shewn in the arrangement of its heterogeneous +materials. In one book the whole mysteries of the Hermetic philosophy +are expounded, and the wonders of alchymy dazzle us in every page. +In another, the poet scales the heights and sounds the depths of +Aristotelianism. From this we have extracted in the 'Specimens' a +glowing account of 'The Chariot of the Sun.' Throughout the work, tales +and stories of every description and degree of merit are interspersed. +These are principally derived from an old book called 'Pantheon; or, +Memoriae Seculorum,'--a kind of universal history, more studious of +effect than accuracy, in which the author ranges over the whole history +of the world, from the creation down to the year 1186. This was a +specimen of a kind of writing in which the Middle Ages abounded--namely, +chronicles, which gradually superseded the monkish legends, and for +a time eclipsed the classics themselves; a kind of writing hovering +between history and fiction, embracing the widest sweep, written in a +barbarous style, and swarming with falsehoods; but exciting, interesting, +and often instructive, and tending to kindle curiosity, and +create in the minds of their readers a love for literature. + +Besides chronicles, Gower had read many romances, and alludes to them +in various parts of his works. His 'Confessio Amantis' was apparently +written after Chaucer's 'Troilus and Cresseide,' and after 'The Flower +and the Leaf,' inasmuch as he speaks of the one and imitates the other +in that poem. That Chaucer had not, however, yet composed his 'Testament +of Love,' appears from the epilogue to the 'Confessio,' where Gower is +ordered by Venus, who expresses admiration of Chaucer for the early +devotion of his muse to her service, to say to him at the close-- + + 'Forthy, now in his daies old, + Thou shalt him tell this message, + That he upon his later age + To set an end of all his work, + As he which is mine owen clerk, + Do make his Testament of Love, + As thou hast done thy shrift above, + So that my court it may record'-- + +the 'shrift' being of course the 'Confessio Amantis.' In 'The Canterbury +Tales' there are several indications that Chaucer was indebted to Gower +--'The Man of Law's Tale' being borrowed from Gower's 'Constantia,' and +'The Wife of Bath's Tale' being founded on Gower's 'Florent.' + +After all, Gower cannot be classed with the greater bards. He sparkles +brightly chiefly from the depth of the darkness through which he shines. +He is more remarkable for extent than for depth, for solidity than for +splendour, for fuel than for fire, for learning than for genius. + + +THE CHARIOT OF THE SUN. + +Of golde glist'ring spoke and wheel +The Sun his cart hath fair and wele, +In which he sitteth, and is croned[1] +With bright stones environed: +Of which if that I speake shall, +There be before in special +Set in the front of his corone +Three stones, whiche no person +Hath upon earth; and the first is +By name cleped Leucachatis. +That other two cleped thus +Astroites and Ceraunus; +In his corone, and also behind, +By olde bookes as I find, +There be of worthy stones three, +Set each of them in his degree. +Whereof a crystal is that one, +Which that corone is set upon: +The second is an adamant: +The third is noble and evenant, +Which cleped is Idriades. +And over this yet natheless, +Upon the sides of the werk, +After the writing of the clerk, +There sitten five stones mo.[2] +The Smaragdine is one of tho,[3] +Jaspis, and Eltropius, +And Vendides, and Jacinctus. +Lo thus the corone is beset, +Whereof it shineth well the bet.[4] +And in such wise his light to spread, +Sits with his diadem on head, +The Sunne shining in his cart: +And for to lead him swith[5] and smart, +After the bright daye's law, +There be ordained for to draw, +Four horse his chare, and him withal, +Whereof the names tell I shall. +Eritheus the first is hote,[6] +The which is red, and shineth hot; +The second Acteos the bright; +Lampes the thirde courser hight; +And Philogens is the ferth, +That bringen light unto this earth, +And go so swift upon the heaven, +In four and twenty houres even, +The carte with the brighte sun +They drawen, so that over run +They have under the circles high, +All midde earth in such an hie.[7] + +And thus the sun is over all +The chief planet imperial, +Above him and beneath him three. +And thus between them runneth he, +As he that hath the middle place +Among the seven: and of his face +Be glad all earthly creatures, +And taken after the natures +Their ease and recreation. +And in his constellation +Who that is born in special, +Of good-will and of liberal +He shall be found in alle place, +And also stand in muchel grace +Toward the lordes for to serve, +And great profit and thank deserve. + +And over that it causeth yet +A man to be subtil of wit, +To work in gold, and to be wise +In everything, which is of prise.[8] +But for to speaken in what coast +Of all this earth he reigneth most, +As for wisdom it is in Greece, +Where is appropred thilk spece.[9] + +[1] 'Croned:' crowned. +[2] 'Mo:' more. +[3] 'Tho:' those. +[4] 'Bet:' better. +[5] 'Swith:' swift. +[6] 'Hot:' named. +[7] 'Hie:' haste. +[8] 'Prise:' value. +[9] 'Thilk spece:' that kind. + + +THE TALE OF THE COFFERS OR CASKETS, &c. + +In a chronique thus I read: +About a kinge, as must need, +There was of knightes and squiers +Great rout, and eke officers: +Some of long time him had served, +And thoughten that they have deserved +Advancement, and gone without: +And some also been of the rout, +That comen but a while agon, +And they advanced were anon. + +These olde men upon this thing, +So as they durst, against the king +Among themselves complainen oft: +But there is nothing said so soft, +That it ne cometh out at last: +The king it wist, anon as fast, +As he which was of high prudence: +He shope[1] therefore an evidence +Of them that 'plainen in the case +To know in whose default it was: +And all within his own intent, +That none more wiste what it meant. +Anon he let two coffers make, +Of one semblance, and of one make, +So like, that no life thilke throw,[2] +The one may from that other know: +They were into his chamber brought, +But no man wot why they be wrought, +And natheless the king hath bede +That they be set in privy stede,[3] +As he that was of wisdom sly; +When he thereto his time sih,[4] +All privily that none it wist, +His owne handes that one chest +Of fine gold, and of fine perrie,[5] +The which out of his treasury +Was take, anon he filled full; +That other coffer of straw and mull,[6] +With stones meynd[7] he fill'd also: +Thus be they full bothe two. +So that erliche[8] upon a day +He bade within, where he lay, +There should be before his bed +A board up set and faire spread: +And then he let the coffers fet[9] +Upon the board, and did them set, +He knew the names well of tho,[10] +The which against him grutched[11] so, +Both of his chamber, and of his hall, +Anon and sent for them all; +And saide to them in this wise: + +'There shall no man his hap despise: +I wot well ye have longe served, +And God wot what ye have deserved; +But if it is along[12] on me +Of that ye unadvanced be, +Or else if it be long on yow, +The soothe shall be proved now: +To stoppe with your evil word, +Lo! here two coffers on the board; +Choose which you list of bothe two; +And witteth well that one of tho +Is with treasure so full begon, +That if he happe thereupon +Ye shall be riche men for ever: +Now choose and take which you is lever,[13] +But be well 'ware ere that ye take, +For of that one I undertake +There is no manner good therein, +Whereof ye mighten profit win. +Now go together of one assent, +And taketh your advisement; +For but I you this day advance, +It stands upon your owne chance, +All only in default of grace; +So shall be shewed in this place +Upon you all well afine,[14] +That no defaulte shall be mine.' + +They kneelen all, and with one voice +The king they thanken of this choice: +And after that they up arise, +And go aside and them advise, +And at laste they accord +(Whereof their tale to record +To what issue they be fall) +A knight shall speake for them all: +He kneeleth down unto the king, +And saith that they upon this thing, +Or for to win, or for to lose, +Be all advised for to choose. + +Then took this knight a yard[15] in hand, +And go'th there as the coffers stand, +And with assent of every one +He lay'th his yarde upon one, +And saith the king[16] how thilke same +They chose in reguerdon[17] by name, +And pray'th him that they might it have. + +The king, which would his honour save, +When he had heard the common voice, +Hath granted them their owne choice, +And took them thereupon the key; +But for he woulde it were see +What good they have as they suppose, +He bade anon the coffer unclose, +Which was fulfill'd with straw and stones: +Thus be they served all at ones. + +This king then in the same stede, +Anon that other coffer undede, +Where as they sawen great riches, +Well more than they couthen [18] guess. + +'Lo!' saith the king, 'now may ye see +That there is no default in me; +Forthy[19] myself I will acquite, +And beareth ye your owne wite[20] +Of that fortune hath you refused.' + +Thus was this wise king excused: +And they left off their evil speech. +And mercy of their king beseech. + +[1] 'Shope:' contrived. +[2] 'Thilke throw:' at that time. +[3] 'Stede:' place. +[4] 'Sih:' saw. +[5] 'Perrie:' precious stones. +[6] 'Mull:' rubbish. +[7] 'Meynd:' mingled. +[8] 'Erlich:' early. +[9] 'Fet:' fetched. +[10] 'Tho:' those. +[11] 'Grutched:' murmured. +[12] 'Along:' because of. +[13] 'Lever:' preferable. +[14] 'Afine:' at last. +[15] 'Yard:' rod. +[16] 'Saith the king:' saith to the king. +[17] 'Reguerdon:' as their reward. +[18] 'Couthen:' could. +[19] 'Forthy:' therefore. +[20] 'Wite:' blame. + + +OF THE GRATIFICATION WHICH THE LOVERS PASSION RECEIVES +FROM THE SENSE OF HEARING. + +Right as mine eye with his look +Is to mine heart a lusty cook +Of love's foode delicate; +Right so mine ear in his estate, +Where as mine eye may nought serve, +Can well mine hearte's thank deserve; +And feeden him, from day to day, +With such dainties as he may. + +For thus it is that, over all +Where as I come in special, +I may hear of my lady price:[1] +I hear one say that she is wise; +Another saith that she is good; +And some men say of worthy blood +That she is come; and is also +So fair that nowhere is none so: +And some men praise her goodly chere.[2] +Thus everything that I may hear, +Which soundeth to my lady good, +Is to mine ear a lusty food. +And eke mine ear hath, over this, +A dainty feaste when so is +That I may hear herselve speak; +For then anon my fast I break +On suche wordes as she saith, +That full of truth and full of faith +They be, and of so good disport, +That to mine eare great comfort +They do, as they that be delices +For all the meats, and all the spices, +That any Lombard couthe[3] make, +Nor be so lusty for to take, +Nor so far forth restoratif, +(I say as for mine owne life,) +As be the wordes of her mouth +For as the windes of the south +Be most of alle debonaire;[4] +So, when her list to speake fair, +The virtue of her goodly speech +Is verily mine hearte's leech. + +And if it so befall among, +That she carol upon a song, +When I it hear, I am so fed, +That I am from myself so led +As though I were in Paradise; +For, certes, as to mine avis,[5] +When I hear of her voice the steven,[6] +Methink'th it is a bliss of heaven. + +And eke in other wise also, +Full ofte time it falleth so, +Mine care with a good pitance[7] +Is fed of reading of romance +Of Ydoine and of Amadas, +That whilom weren in my case; +And eke of other many a score, +That loveden long ere I was bore. +For when I of their loves read, +Mine eare with the tale I feed, +And with the lust of their histoire +Sometime I draw into memoire, +How sorrow may not ever last; +And so hope cometh in at last. + +[1] 'Price:' praise. +[2] 'Chere:' mien. +[3] 'Couthe:' knows to. +[4] 'Debonaire:' gentle. +[5] 'Avis:' opinion. +[6] 'Steven:' sound. +[7] 'Pitance:' allowance. + + + + +JOHN BARBOUR. + + +The facts known about this Scottish poet are only the following. He +seems to have been born about the year 1316, in, probably, the city of +Aberdeen. This is stated by Hume of Godscroft, by Dr Mackenzie, and +others, but is not thoroughly authenticated. Some think he was the son +of one Andrew Barbour, who possessed a tenement in Castle Street, +Aberdeen; and others, that he was related to one Robert Barbour, who, in +1309, received a charter of the lands of Craigie, in Forfarshire, from +King Robert the Bruce. These, however, are mere conjectures, founded +upon a similarity of name. It is clear, from Barbour's after rank in +the Church, that he had received a learned education, but whether in +Arbroath or Aberdeen is uncertain. We know, however, that a school of +divinity and canon law had existed at Aberdeen since the reign of +Alexander II., and it is conjectured that Barbour first studied there, +and then at Oxford. In the year 1357, he was undoubtedly Archdeacon of +Aberdeen, since we find him, under this title, nominated by the Bishop +of that diocese, one of the Commissioners appointed to meet in Edinburgh +to take measures to liberate King David, who had been captured at the +battle of Nevil's Cross, and detained from that date in England. It +seems evident, from the customs of the Roman Catholic Church, that he +must have been at least forty when he was created Archdeacon, and this +is a good reason for fixing his birth in the year 1316. + +In the same year, Barbour obtained permission from Edward III., at the +request of the Scottish King, to travel through England with three +scholars who were to study at Oxford, probably at Balliol College, which +had, a hundred years nearly before, been founded and endowed by the wife +of the famous John Balliol of Scotland. Some years afterwards, in +November 1364, he got permission to pass, accompanied by four horsemen, +through England, to pursue his studies at the same renowned university. +In the year 1365, we find another casual notice of our Scottish bard. A +passport has been found giving him permission from the King of England +to travel, in company with six horsemen, through that country on their +way to St Denis', and other sacred places. It is evident that this was +a religious pilgrimage on the part of Barbour and his companions. + +A most peripatetic poet; verily, he must have been; for we find another +safe-conduct, dated November 1368, granted by Edward to Barbour, +permitting him, to pass through England, with two servants and their +horses, on his way to France, for the purpose of pursuing his studies +there. Dr Jamieson (see his 'Life of Barbour') discovers the poet's name +in the list of Auditors of the Exchequer. + +Barbour has himself told us that he commenced his poem in the 'yer of +grace, a thousand thre hundyr sevynty and five,' when, of course, he +was in his sixtieth year, or, as he says, 'off hys eld sexty.' It is +supposed that David II.--who died in 1370--had urged Barbour to engage +in the work, which was not, however, completed till the fifth year of +his successor, Robert II., who gave our poet a pension on account of it. +This consisted of a sum of ten pounds Scots from the revenues of the +city of Aberdeen, and twenty shillings from the burgh mails. Mr James +Bruce, to whose interesting Life of Barbour, in his 'Eminent Men of +Aberdeen,' we are indebted for many of the facts in this narrative, +says, 'The latter of these sums was granted to him, not merely during +his own life, but to his assignees; and the Archdeacon bequeathed it to +the dean, canons, the chapter, and other ministers of the Cathedral of +Aberdeen, on condition that they should for ever celebrate a yearly mass +for his soul. At the Reformation, when it came to be discovered that +masses did no good to souls in the other world, it is probable that this +endowment reverted to the Crown.' + +Barbour also wrote a poem under what seems now the strange title, 'The +Brute.' This was in reality a metrical history of Scotland, commencing +with the fables concerning Brutus, or 'Brute,' who, according to ancient +legends, was the great-grandson of Aeneas--came over from Italy, the +land of his birth--landed at Totness, in Devonshire--destroyed the +giants who then inhabited Albion--called the island 'Britain' from his +own name, and became its first monarch. From this original fable, +Barbour is supposed to have wandered on through a hundred succeeding +stories of similar value, till he came down to his own day. There can be +little regret felt, therefore, that the book is totally lost. Wynton, in +his 'Chronicle,' refers to it in commendatory terms; but it cannot be +ascertained from his notices whether it was composed in Scotch or in +Latin. + +Barbour died about the beginning of the year 1396, eighty years of age. +Lord Hailes ascertained the time of his death from the Chartulary of +Aberdeen, where, under the date of 10th August 1398, mention is made of +'quondam Joh. Barber, Archidiaconus, Aberd., and where it is said that +he had died two years and a half before, namely, in 1396.' + +His great work, 'The Bruce,' or more fully, 'The History of Robert +Bruce, King of the Scots,' does not appear to have been printed till +1616 in Edinburgh. Between that date and the year 1790, when Pinkerton's +edition appeared, no less than twenty impressions were published, (the +principal being those of Edinburgh in 1620 and 1648; Glasgow, 1665; and +Edinburgh, 1670--all in black letter,) so popular immediately became the +poem. Pinkerton's edition is in three volumes, and has a preface, notes, +and a glossary, all of considerable value. The MS. was copied from a +volume in the Advocates' Library, of the date of 1489, which was in the +handwriting of one John Ramsay, believed to have been the prior of a +Carthusian monastery near Perth. Pinkerton first divided 'The Bruce' +into books. It had previously, like the long works of Naerius and +Ennius, the earliest Roman poets, consisted of one entire piece, woven +'from the top to the bottom without seam,' like the ancient simple +garments in Jewry. The late respectable and very learned Dr Jamieson, of +Nicolson Street United Secession Church, Edinburgh, well known as the +author of the 'Scottish Dictionary,' 'Hermes Scythicus,' &c., published, +in 1820, a more accurate edition of 'The Bruce,' along with Blind +Harry's 'Wallace,' in two quarto volumes. + +In strict chronology Barbour belongs to an earlier date than Chaucer, +having been born and having died a few years before him. But as the +first Scotch poet who has written anything of length, with the exception +of the author of the 'Romance of Sir Tristrem,' he claims a conspicuous +place in our 'Specimens.' He was singularly fortunate in the choice of +a subject. With the exception of Wallace, there is no name in Scottish +history that even yet calls up prouder associations than that of Robert +Bruce. The incidents in his history,--the escape he made from English +bondage to rescue his country from the same yoke; his rise refulgent +from the stroke which, in the cloisters of the Gray Friars, Dumfries, +laid the Red Comyn low; his daring to be crowned at Scone; his frequent +defeats; his lion-like retreat to the Hebrides, accompanied by one or +two friends, his wife meanwhile having been carried captive, three of +his brothers hanged, and himself supposed to be dead; the romantic +perils he survived, and the victories he gained amidst the mountains +where the deep waters of the river Awe are still telling of his name, +and the echoes of Ben Cruachan repeating the immortal sound; his sudden +reappearance on the west coast of Scotland, where, as he 'shook his +Carrick spear,' his country rose, kindling around him like heather on +flame; the awful suspense of the hour when it was announced that Edward +I., the tyrant of the Ragman's Roll, the murderer of Wallace, was +approaching with a mighty army to crush the revolt; the electrifying +news that he had died at Sark, as if struck by the breath of the fatal +Border, which he had reached, but could not overpass; the bloody +summer's day of Bannockburn, in which Edward II. was repelled, and the +gallant army of his father annihilated; the energy and wisdom of the +Bruce's civil administration after the victory; the less famous, but +noble battle of Byland, nine years after Bannockburn, in which he again +smote the foes of his country; and the recognition which at last he +procured, on the accession of Edward III., of the independence of +Scotland in 1329, himself dying the same year, his work done and his +glory for ever secured,--not to speak of the beautiful legends which +have clustered round his history like ivy round an ancestral tower--of +the spider on the wall, teaching him the lesson of perseverance, as he +lay in the barn sad and desponding in heart--of the strange signal-light +upon the shore near his maternal castle of Turnberry, which led him to +land, while + + 'Dark red the heaven above it glow'd, + Dark red the sea beneath it flow'd, + Red rose the rocks on ocean's brim, + In blood-red light her islets swim, + Wild screams the dazzled sea-fowl gave, + Dropp'd from their crags a plashing wave, + The deer to distant covert drew, + The blackcock deem'd it day, and crew;' + +and last, not least, the adventures of his gallant, unquenchable heart, +when, in the hand of Douglas,--meet casket for such a gem!--it marched +onwards, as it was wont to do, in conquering power, toward the Holy +Land;--all this has woven a garland round the brow of Bruce which every +civilised nation has delighted to honour, and given him besides a share +in the affections and the pride of his own land, with the joy of which +'no stranger can intermeddle.' + +Bruce has been fortunate in his laureates, consisting of three of +Scotland's greatest poets,--Barbour, Scott, and Burns. The last of these +has given us a glimpse of the patriot-king, revealing him on the brow of +Bannockburn as by a single flash of lightning. The second has, in 'The +Lord of the Isles,' seized and sung a few of the more romantic passages +of his history. But Barbour has, with unwearied fidelity and no small +force, described the whole incidents of Bruce's career, and reared to +his memory, not an insulated column, but a broad and deep-set temple of +poetry. + +Barbour's poem has always been admired for its strict accuracy of +statement, to which Bower, Wynton, Hailes, Pinkerton, Jamieson, and Sir +Walter Scott all bear testimony; for the picturesque force of its +natural descriptions; for its insight into character, and the lifelike +spirit of its individual sketches; for the martial vigour of its battle- +pictures; for the enthusiasm which he feels, and makes his reader feel, +for the valiant and wise, the sagacious and persevering, the bold, +merciful, and religious character of its hero, and for the piety which +pervades it, and proves that the author was not merely a churchman in +profession, but a Christian at heart. Its defects of rude rhythm, +irregular constructions, and obsolete phraseology, are those of its age; +but its beauties, its unflagging interest, and its fine poetic spirit, +are characteristic of the writer's own genius. + + +APOSTROPHE TO FREEDOM. + +Ah! freedom is a noble thing! +Freedom makes man to have liking! +Freedom all solace to man gives: +He lives at ease that freely lives! +A noble heart may have none ease, +Nor nought else that may him please, +If freedom fail; for free liking +Is yearned o'er all other thing. +Nay, he that aye has lived free, +May not know well the property, +The anger, nor the wretched doom, +That is coupled to foul thirldom. +But if he had assayed it, +Then all perquier[1] he should it wit: +And should think freedom more to prize +Than all the gold in world that is. + +[1] 'Perquier:' perfectly. + + +DEATH OF SIR HENRY DE BOHUN. + +And when the king wist that they were +In hale[1] battle, coming so near, +His battle gart[2] he well array. +He rode upon a little palfrey, +Laughed and jolly, arrayand +His battle, with an axe in hand. +And on his bassinet he bare +A hat of tyre above aye where; +And, thereupon, into tok'ning, +An high crown, that he was king. +And when Gloster and Hereford were +With their battle approaching near, +Before them all there came ridand, +With helm on head and spear in hand, +Sir Henry the Bohun, the worthy, +That was a wight knight, and a hardy, +And to the Earl of Hereford cousin; +Armed in armis good and fine; +Came on a steed a bowshot near, +Before all other that there were: +And knew the king, for that he saw +Him so range his men on raw,[3] +And by the crown that was set +Also upon his bassinet. +And toward him he went in hy.[4] +And the king so apertly[5] +Saw him come, forouth[6] all his feres,[7] +In hy till him the horse he steers. +And when Sir Henry saw the king +Come on, forouten[8] abasing, +To him he rode in full great hy. +He thought that he should well lightly +Win him, and have him at his will, +Since he him horsed saw so ill. +Sprent they samen into a lyng;[9] +Sir Henry miss'd the noble king; +And he that in his stirrups stood, +With the axe, that was hard and good, +With so great main, raucht[10] him a dint, +That neither hat nor helm might stint +The heavy dush that he him gave, +The head near to the harns[11] he clave. +The hand-axe shaft frushit[12] in two; +And he down to the yird[13] 'gan go +All flatlings, for him failed might. +This was the first stroke of the fight, +That was performed doughtily. +And when the king's men so stoutly +Saw him, right at the first meeting, +Forouten doubt or abasing, +Have slain a knight so at a straik, +Such hardment thereat 'gan they take, +That they come on right hardily. +When Englishmen saw them so stoutly +Come on, they had great abasing; +And specially for that the king +So smartly that good knight has slain, +That they withdrew them everilk ane, +And durst not one abide to fight: +So dread they for the king his might. +When that the king repaired was, +That gart his men all leave the chase, +The lordis of his company +Blamed him, as they durst, greatumly, +That be him put in aventure, +To meet so stith[14] a knight, and stour, +In such point as he then was seen. +For they said, well it might have been +Cause of their tynsal[15] everilk ane. +The king answer has made them nane, +But mainit[16] his hand-axe shaft so +Was with the stroke broken in two. + +[1] 'Hale:' whole. +[2] 'Gart:' caused. +[3] 'Haw:' row +[4] 'Hy:' haste +[5] 'Apertly:' openly, clearly. +[6] 'Forouth:' beyond. +[7] 'Feres:' companions. +[8] 'Forouten:' without. +[9] 'Sprent they samen into a lyng:' they sprang forward at once, + against each other, in a line. +[10] 'Raucht:' reached. +[11] 'Harns:' brains. +[12] 'Frushit:' broke. +[13] 'Yird:' earth. +[14] 'Stith:' strong. +[15] 'Tynsal:' destruction. +[16] 'Mainit:' lamented. + + + + +ANDREW WYNTOUN. + + +This author, who was prior of St Serf's monastery in Loch Leven, is the +author of what he calls 'An Orygynale Cronykil of Scotland.' It appeared +about the year 1420. It is much inferior to the work of Barbour in +poetry, but is full of historical information, anecdote, and legend. The +language is often sufficiently prosaic. Thus the poet begins to describe +the return of King David II. from his captivity, referred to above. + + 'Yet in prison was king Davy, + And when a lang time was gane bye, + Frae prison and perplexitie + To Berwick castle brought was he, + With the Earl of Northamptoun, + For to treat there of his ransoun; + Some lords of Scotland come there, + And als prelates that wisest were,' &c. + +Contemporary, or nearly so, with Wyntoun were several other Scottish +writers, such as one Hutcheon, of whom we know only that he is +designated of the 'Awle Ryall,' or of the Royal Hall or Palace, and that +he wrote a metrical romance, of which two cantos remain, called 'The +Gest of Arthur;' and another, named Clerk of Tranent, the author of a +romance, entitled 'The Adventures of Sir Gawain.' Of this latter also +two cantos only are extant. Although not perhaps deserving to have even +portions of them extracted, they contain a good deal of poetry. A +person, too, of the name of Holland, about whose history we have no +information, produced a satirical poem, called 'The Howlate,' written in +the allegorical form, and bearing some resemblance to 'Pierce Plowman's +Vision.' + + + + +BLIND HARRY. + + +Although there are diversities of opinion as to the exact time when this +blind minstrel flourished, we prefer alluding to him at this point, +where he stands in close proximity to Barbour, the author of a poem on +a subject so cognate to 'Wallace' as 'Bruce.' Nothing is known of Harry +but that he was blind from infancy, that he composed this poem, and +gained a subsistence by reciting or singing portions of it through the +country. Another Wandering Willie, (see 'Redgauntlet,') he 'passed like +night from land to land,' led by his own instincts, and wherever he met +with a congenial audience, he proceeded to chant portions of the noble +knight's achievements, his eyes the while twinkling, through their sad +setting of darkness, with enthusiasm, and often suffused with tears. +In some minds the conception of this blind wandering bard may awaken +ludicrous emotions, but to us it suggests a certain sublimity. Blind +Harry has powerfully described Wallace standing in the light and +shrinking from the ghost of Fawdoun, (see the 'Battle of Black- +Earnside,' in the 'Specimens,') but Harry himself seems walking in the +light of the ghost of Wallace, and it ministers to him, not terror, but +inspiration. Entering a cot at night, and asked for a tale, he begins, +in low tones, to recite that frightful apparition at Gaskhall, and the +aged men and the crones vie with the children in drawing near the 'ingle +bleeze,' as if in fire alone lay the refuge from + + 'Fawdoun, that ugly sire, + That haill hall he had set into a fire, + As to his sight, his OWN HEAD IN HIS HAND.' + +Arriving in a village at the hour of morning rest and refreshment, he +charms the swains by such words as + + 'The merry day sprang from the orient + With beams bright illuminate the Occident, + After Titan Phoebus upriseth fair, + High in the sphere the signs he made declare. + Zephyrus then began his morning course, + The sweet vapour thus from the ground resourse,' &c.-- + +and the simple villagers wonder at hearing these images from one who is +blind, not seeing the sun. As the leaves are rustling down from the +ruddy trees of late autumn, he sings to a little circle of wayside +wanderers-- + + 'The dark region appearing wonder fast, + In November, when October was past, + + * * * * * + + Good Wallace saw the night's messenger, + Phoebus had lost his fiery beams so clear; + Out of that wood they durst not turn that side + For adversours that in their way would hide.' + +And while on the verge of the December sky, the wintry sun is trembling +and about to set as if for ever, then is the Minstrel's voice heard +sobbing amidst the sobs of his hearers, as he tells how his hero's sun +went down while it was yet day. + + 'On Wednesday the false Southron furth brocht + To martyr him as they before had wrocht, + Of men in arms led him a full great rout, + With a bauld sprite guid Wallace blent about.' + +There can be little doubt that Blind Harry, during his lifetime, became +a favourite, nay, a power in the realm. Wherever he circulated, there +circulated the fame of Wallace; there, his deeds were recounted; there, +hatred of a foreign foe, and love to their native land, were inculcated +as first principles; and long after the Homer of Scotland had breathed +his last, and been consigned perhaps to some little kirkyard among the +uplands, his lays continued to live; and we know that such a man as +Burns (who read them in the modern paraphrase of William Hamilton of +Gilbertfield, a book which was, till within a somewhat recent period, +a household god in the libraries of the Scotch) derived from the old +singer much of 'that national prejudice which boiled in his breast till +the floodgates of life shut in eternal rest.' If Barbour, as we said, +was fortunate in his subject, still more was Blind Harry in his. The +interest felt in Wallace is of a deeper and warmer kind than that which +we feel in Bruce. Bruce was of royal blood; Wallace was from an ancient +but not wealthy family. Bruce stained his career by one great crime +--great in itself, but greater from the peculiar notions of the age +--the murder of Comyn in the sanctuary of Dumfries; on the character of +Wallace no similar imputation rests. Wallace initiated that plan of +guerilla warfare,--that fighting now on foot and now on the wing, now +with beak and now with talons, now with horns and now with hoofs,--which +Bruce had only to perfect. Wallace was unsuccessful, and was besides +treated by the King of England with revolting barbarity; while Bruce +became victorious: and, as we saw in our remarks on Chaucer, it is the +unfortunate brave who stamp themselves most forcibly on a nation's +heart, and it is the red letters, which tell of suffering and death, +which are with most difficulty erased from a nation's tablets. On Bruce +we look somewhat as we regard Washington,--a great, serene man, who, +after long reverses, nobly sustained, gained a notable national triumph; +to Wallace we feel, as the Italians do to Garibaldi, as a demon of +warlike power,--blending courage and clemency, enthusiasm and skill, +daring and determination, in proportions almost superhuman,--and we cry +with the poet, + + 'The sword that seem'd fit for archangel to wield, + Was light in his terrible hand.' + +We have often regretted that Sir Walter Scott, who, after all, has not +done full justice to Bruce in that very unequal and incondite poem 'The +Lord of the Isles,' had not bent his strength upon the Ulysses bow of +Wallace, and filled up that splendid sketch of a part of his history to +be found near the beginning of 'The Fair Maid of Perth.' As it is, after +all that a number of respectable writers, such as Miss Porter, Mrs +Hemans, Findlay, the late Mr Macpherson of Glasgow, and others, have +done--in prose or verse, in the novel, the poem, or the drama--to +illustrate the character and career of the Scottish hero, Blind Harry +remains his poet. + +It is necessary to notice that Harry derived, by his own account, many +of the facts of his narrative from a work by John Blair, a Benedictine +monk from Dundee, who acted as Wallace's chaplain, and seems to have +composed a life of him in Latin, which is lost. Besides these, he +doubtless mingled in the story a number of traditions--some true, and +some false--which he found floating through the country. His authority +in reference to certain disputed matters, such as Wallace's journey to +France, and his capture of the Red Rover, Thomas de Longueville, who +became his fast friend and fellow-soldier, was not long ago entirely +established by certain important documents brought to light by the +Maitland Club. It is probable that some other of his supposed +misstatements--always excepting his ghost-stories--may yet receive from +future researches the confirmation they as yet want. Blind Harry, living +about a century and a half after the era of Wallace, and at a time when +tradition was the chief literature, was not likely to be able to test +the evidence of many of the circumstances which he narrated; but he +seems to speak in good faith: and, after all, what Paley says is +unquestionably true as a general principle--'Men tell lies about minute +circumstantials, but they rarely invent.' + + +BATTLE OF BLACK-EARNSIDE. + +Kerlie beheld unto the bold Heroun, +Upon Fawdoun as he was looking down, +A subtil stroke upward him took that tide, +Under the cheeks the grounden sword gart[1] glide, +By the mail good, both halse[2] and his craig-bane[3] +In sunder strake; thus ended that chieftain, +To ground he fell, feil[4] folk about him throng, +'Treason,' they cried, 'traitors are us among.' +Kerlie, with that, fled out soon at a side, +His fellow Steven then thought no time to bide. +The fray was great, and fast away they yeed,[5] +Both toward Earn; thus 'scaped they that dread. +Butler for woe of weeping might not stint. +Thus recklessly this good knight have they tint.[6] +They deemed all that it was Wallace' men, +Or else himself, though they could not him ken; +'He is right near, we shall him have but[7] fail, +This feeble wood may little him avail.' +Forty there pass'd again to Saint Johnstoun, +With this dead corpse, to burying made it boune.[8] +Parted their men, syne[9] divers ways they rode, +A great power at Dupplin still there 'bode. +To Dalwryeth the Butler pass'd but let,[10] +At sundry fords the gate[11] they unbeset,[12] +To keep the wood while it was day they thought. +As Wallace thus in the thick forest sought, +For his two men in mind he had great pain, +He wist not well if they were ta'en or slain, +Or 'scaped haill[13] by any jeopardy. +Thirteen were left with him, no more had he; +In the Gaskhall their lodging have they ta'en. +Fire got they soon, but meat then had they nane; +Two sheep they took beside them of a fold, +Ordain'd to sup into that seemly hold: +Graithed[14] in haste some food for them to dight:[15] +So heard they blow rude horns upon height. +Two sent he forth to look what it might be; +They 'bode right long, and no tidings heard he, +But bousteous[16] noise so bryvely blowing fast; +So other two into the wood forth pass'd. +None came again, but bousteously can blaw, +Into great ire he sent them forth on raw.[17] +When that alone Wallace was leaved there, +The awful blast abounded meikle mare;[18] +Then trow'd he well they had his lodging seen; +His sword he drew of noble metal keen, +Syne forth he went whereat he heard the horn. +Without the door Fawdoun was him beforn, +As to his sight, his own head in his hand; +A cross he made when he saw him so stand. +At Wallace in the head he swakked[19] there, +And he in haste soon hint[20] it by the hair, +Syne out again at him he could it cast, +Into his heart he greatly was aghast. +Right well he trow'd that was no sprite of man, +It was some devil, that sic[21] malice began. +He wist no wale[22] there longer for to bide. +Up through the hall thus wight Wallace can glide, +To a close stair, the boards they rave[23] in twin,[24] +Fifteen foot large he lap out of that inn. +Up the water he suddenly could fare, +Again he blink'd what 'pearance he saw there, +He thought he saw Fawdoun, that ugly sire, +That haill[25] hall he had set into a fire; +A great rafter he had into his hand. +Wallace as then no longer would he stand. +Of his good men full great marvel had he, +How they were tint through his feil[26] fantasy. +Trust right well that all this was sooth indeed, +Suppose that it no point be of the creed. +Power they had with Lucifer that fell, +The time when he parted from heaven to hell. +By sic mischief if his men might be lost, +Drowned or slain among the English host; +Or what it was in likeness of Fawdoun, +Which brought his men to sudden confusion; +Or if the man ended in ill intent, +Some wicked sprite again for him present. +I cannot speak of sic divinity, +To clerks I will let all sic matters be: +But of Wallace, now forth I will you tell. +When he was won out of that peril fell, +Right glad was he that he had 'scaped sa,[27] +But for his men great mourning can he ma.[28] +Flait[29] by himself to the Maker above +Why he suffer'd he should sic paining prove. +He wist not well if that it was God's will; +Right or wrong his fortune to fulfil, +Had he pleas'd God, he trow'd it might not bo +He should him thole[30] in sic perplexity. +But great courage in his mind ever drave, +Of Englishmen thinking amends to have. +As he was thus walking by him alone +Upon Earnside, making a piteous moan, +Sir John Butler, to watch the fords right, +Out from his men of Wallace had a sight; +The mist again to the mountains was gone, +To him he rode, where that he made his moan. +On loud he speir'd,[31] 'What art thou walks that gate?' +'A true man, Sir, though my voyage be late; +Errands I pass from Down unto my lord, +Sir John Stewart, the right for to record, +In Down is now, newly come from the King.' +Then Butler said, 'This is a selcouth[32] thing, +You lied all out, you have been with Wallace, +I shall thee know, ere you come off this place;' +To him he start the courser wonder wight, +Drew out a sword, so made him for to light. +Above the knee good Wallace has him ta'en, +Through thigh and brawn in sunder strake the bane.[33] +Derfly[34] to dead the knight fell on the land. +Wallace the horse soon seized in his hand, +An ackward stroke syne took him in that stead, +His craig in two; thus was the Butler dead. +An Englishman saw their chieftain was slain, +A spear in rest he cast with all his main, +On Wallace drave, from the horse him to bear; +Warily he wrought, as worthy man in weir.[35] +The spear ho wan withouten more abode, +On horse he lap,[36] and through a great rout rode; +To Dalwryeth he knew the ford full well: +Before him came feil[37] stuffed[38] in fine steel. +He strake the first, but bade,[39] on the blasoun,[40] +Till horse and man both fleet[41] the water down. +Another soon down from his horse he bare, +Stamped to ground, and drown'd withouten mair.[42] +The third he hit in his harness of steel, +Throughout the cost,[43] the spear it brake some deal. +The great power then after him can ride. +He saw no waill[44] there longer for to bide. +His burnish'd brand braithly[45] in hand he bare, +Whom he hit right they follow'd him na mair.[46] +To stuff the chase feil freiks[47] follow'd fast, +But Wallace made the gayest aye aghast. +The muir he took, and through their power yede, +The horse was good, but yet he had great dread +For failing ere he wan unto a strength, +The chase was great, skail'd[48] over breadth and length, +Through strong danger they had him aye in sight. +At the Blackford there Wallace down can light, +His horse stuffed,[49] for way was deep and lang, +A large great mile wightly on foot could gang.[50] +Ere he was hors'd riders about him cast, +He saw full well long so he might not last. +Sad[51] men indeed upon him can renew, +With returning that night twenty he slew, +The fiercest aye rudely rebutted he, +Keeped his horse, and right wisely can flee, +Till that he came the mirkest[52] muir amang. +His horse gave over, and would no further gang. + +[1] 'Gart:' caused. +[2] 'Halse:' throat. +[3] 'Craig-bane:' neck-lone. +[4] 'Feil:' many. +[5] 'Yeed:' went. +[6] 'Tint:' lost. +[7] 'But:' without. +[8] 'Boune:' ready. +[9] 'Sync:' then. +[10] 'But let:' without impediment. +[11] 'Gate:' way. +[12] 'Unbeset:' surround. +[13] 'Haill:' wholly. +[14] 'Graithed:' prepared. +[15] 'Dight:' Make ready. +[16] 'Bousteous:' boisterous. +[17] 'On raw:' one after another. +[18] 'Meikle mare:' much more. +[19] 'Swakked:' pitched. +[20] 'Hint:' took. +[21] 'Sic:' such. +[22] 'Wale:' advantage. +[23] 'Rave:' split. +[24] 'Twin:' twain. +[25] 'Haill:'whole. +[26] 'Feil:' great. +[27] 'Sa:' so. +[28] 'Ma:' make. +[29] 'Flait:' chided. +[30] 'Thole:' suffer. +[31] 'Speir'd:' asked. +[32] 'Selcouth:' strange. +[33] 'Bane:' bone. +[34] 'Derfly:' Quickly. +[35] 'Weir:' war. +[36] 'Lap:' leaped. +[37] 'Feil:' many. +[38] 'Stuffed:' armed. +[39] 'But bade:' without delay. +[40] 'Blasoun:' dress over armour. +[41] 'Fleet:' float. +[42] 'Mair:' more. +[43] 'Cost:' side. +[44] 'Waill:' advantage. +[45] 'Braithly:' violently. +[46] 'Na mair:' no more. +[47] 'Feil freiks:' many fierce fellows. +[48] 'Skail'd:' spread. +[49] 'Stuffed:' blown. +[50] 'Gang:' go. +[51] 'Sad:' steady. +[52] 'Mirkest:' darkest. + + +THE DEATH OF WALLACE. + +On Wednesday the false Southron forth him brought +To martyr him, as they before had wrought.[1] +Of men in arms led him a full great rout. +With a bold sprite good Wallace blink'd about: +A priest he ask'd, for God that died on tree. +King Edward then commanded his clergy, +And said, 'I charge you, upon loss of life, +None be so bold yon tyrant for to shrive. +He has reign'd long in contrare my highness.' +A blithe bishop soon, present in that place; +Of Canterbury he then was righteous lord; +Against the king he made this right record, +And said, 'Myself shall hear his confessioun, +If I have might, in contrare of thy crown. +An[2] thou through force will stop me of this thing, +I vow to God, who is my righteous king, +That all England I shall her interdict, +And make it known thou art a heretic. +The sacrament of kirk I shall him give: +Syne[3] take thy choice, to starve[4] or let him live. +It were more 'vail, in worship of thy crown, +To keep such one in life in thy bandoun,[5] +Than all the land and good that thou hast reft, +But cowardice thee aye from honour dreft.[6] +Thou hast thy life rougin[7] in wrongous deed; +That shall be seen on thee, or on thy seed.' +The king gart[8] charge they should the bishop tae,[9] +But sad[10] lords counselled to let him gae. +All Englishmen said that his desire was right. +To Wallace then he raiked[11] in their sight, +And sadly heard his confession till an end: +Humbly to God his sprite he there commend, +Lowly him served with hearty devotion +Upon his knees, and said an orison. +A psalter-book Wallace had on him ever, +From his childhood from it would not dissever; +Better he trow'd in voyage[12] for to speed. +But then he was despoiled of his weed.[13] +This grace he ask'd at Lord Clifford, that knight, +To let him have his psalter-book in sight. +He gart a priest it open before him hold, +While they till him had done all that they would. +Steadfast he read for ought they did him there; +Foil[14] Southrons said that Wallace felt no sair.[15] +Good devotion so was his beginning, +Continued therewith, and fair was his ending; +Till speech and spirit at once all can fare +To lasting bliss, we trow, for eveermair. + +[1] 'Wrought:' contrived. +[2] 'An:' if. +[3] 'Syne:' then. +[4] 'Starve:' perish. +[5] 'Bandoun:' disposal. +[6] 'Dreft:' drove. +[7] 'Rougin:' spent. +[8] 'Gart:' caused. +[9] 'Tae:' take. +[10] 'Sad:' grave. +[11] 'Raiked:' walked. +[12] 'Voyage:' journey to heaven. +[13] 'Weed:' clothes. +[14] 'Feil:' many. +[15] 'Sair:' sore. + + + + +JAMES I. OF SCOTLAND. + + +Here we have a great ascent from our former subject of biography--from +Blind Harry to James I.--from a beggar to a king. But in the Palace of +Poetry there are 'many mansions,' and men of all ranks, climes, +characters, professions, and we had almost added _talents_, have been +welcome to inhabit there. For, even as in the House Beautiful, the weak +Ready-to-halt and the timid Much-afraid were as cheerfully received as +the strong Honest and the bold Valiant-for-truth; so Poetry has inspired +children, and seeming fools, and maniacs, and mendicants with the finest +breath of her spirit. The 'Fable-tree' Fontaine is as immortal as +Corneille; Christopher Smart's 'David' shall live as long as Milton's +'Paradise Lost;' and the rude epic of a blind wanderer, whose birth, +parentage, and period of death are all alike unknown, shall continue to +rank in interest with the productions of one who inherited that kingdom +of Scotland, the independence of which was bought by the successive +efforts and the blended blood of Wallace and Bruce. + +Let us now look for a moment at the history and the writings of this +'Royal Poet.' The name will suggest to all intelligent readers the title +of one of the most pleasing papers in Washington Irving's 'Sketch-book.' +James I. was the son of Robert III. of Scotland,--a character familiar +to all from the admirable 'Fair Maid of Perth,'--and of Annabella +Stewart. He was created Earl of Carrick; and after the miserable death +of the Duke of Rothesay, his elder brother, his father, apprehensive of +the further designs of Albany, determined to send James to France, to +find an asylum and receive his education in that friendly Court. On his +way, the vessel was captured off Flamborough Head by an English cruiser, +(the 13th of March 1405,) and the young prince, with his attendants, was +conveyed to London, and committed to the Tower. As there was a truce +between the two nations at the time, this was a flagrant outrage on the +law of nations, and has indelibly disgraced the memory of Henry IV., +who, when some one remonstrated with him on the injustice of the +detention, replied, with cool brutality, 'Had the Scots been grateful, +they ought to have sent the youth to me, for I understand French well.' +Here for nineteen years,--during the remainder of the life of Henry IV., +and the whole of the reign of Henry V.,--James continued. He was +educated, however, highly, according to the fashion of these times, +--instructed in the languages, as well as in music, painting, +architecture, horticulture, dancing, fencing, poetry, and other +accomplishments. Still it must have fretted his high spirit to be +passing his young life in prison, while without horses were stamping, +plumes glistening, trumpets sounding, tournaments waging, and echoes +from the great victories of Henry V. in France ringing around. One +sweetener of his solitude, however, he at length enjoyed. Having been +transferred from the Tower to Windsor Castle, he beheld one day from its +windows that beautiful vision he has described in 'The King's Quhair,' +(see 'Specimens.') This was Lady Jane or Joanna Beaufort, daughter of +the Earl of Somerset, niece of Richard II., and grand-daughter of John +of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster. She was a lady of great beauty and +accomplishments as well as of high rank, and James, even before he knew +her name, became deeply enamoured. The passion was returned, and their +mutual attachment had by and by an important bearing upon his prospects. + +In 1423, the Duke of Bedford being now the English Regent, the friends +of James renewed negotiations--often attempted before in vain--for his +return to his native land, where his father had been long dead, and +which, torn by factions and steeped in blood, was sorely needing his +presence. Commissioners from the two kingdoms met at Pontefract on the +12th of May 1423, when, in presence of the young King, and with his +consent, matters were arranged. The English coolly demanded L40,000 to +defray the expense of James's nurture and education, (as though a _bill_ +were handed in to a man who had been unjustly detained in prison on +a false charge, ere he left its walls,) insisted on the immediate +departure of the Scots from France, where a portion of them were +fighting in the French army, and procured the assent of the Scottish +Privy Council to the marriage of James with his beloved Jane Beaufort. +A truce, too, with Scotland was concluded for seven years. All this was +settled; and soon after, in the Church of St Mary Overies, Southwark, +so often alluded to in the 'Life of Gower,' the happy pair were wed. +It seemed a most auspicious event for both countries, and to augur +the substitution of permanent peace for casual and temporary truces. +To Lady Jane Beaufort it gave a crown, and a noble, gallant, and gifted +prince to share it withal. On James it bestowed a lady of great beauty, +who was regarded, too, with gratitude as having lightened the load of +his captivity, and been a sunshine in his shady place, and--least +consideration--who brought him a dowry of L10,000, which was, in fact, +a remission of the fourth part of his ransom. + +Attended by a magnificent retinue, the royal pair set out for Scotland. +They were met at Durham by three hundred of the principal nobility and +gentry, twenty-eight of whom were retained by the English as hostages +for the national faith. Arrived on his native soil, James, at Melrose +Abbey, gave his solemn assent on the Holy Gospels to the treaty; and +seldom have the Eildon Hills returned a louder and more joyous shout +of acclamation than now welcomed back to the kingdom of his fathers +the 'Royal Poet.' He proceeded to Edinburgh, where he celebrated Easter +with great pomp, and a month later, he and his queen were solemnly +crowned inthe Abbey Church at Scone. This was in 1424. He lived after +this only thirteen years; but the period of his reign has always been +thought a glorious interlude in the dark early history of Scotland. +He set himself, with considerable success, to curb the exorbitant +power of the nobles, sacrificing some of them, such as Albany, to his +just indignation. He passed many useful regulations in reference to +the coinage, the constitution, and the commerce of the country. He +suppressed with a strong hand some of the gangs of robbers and 'sorners' +which abounded, founding instead the order of Bedesmen or King's +Beggars, immortalised since in the character of Edie Ochiltree. He +stretched a strong hand over the refractory Highland chieftains. While +keeping at first on good terms with the English Court, he turned with a +fonder eye to the French as the ancient allies of Scotland, and in 1436 +gave his daughter Margaret in marriage to the Dauphin. This step roused +the jealousy of his southern neighbours, who tried even to intercept the +fleet that was conveying the bride across the Channel, whereupon James, +stung to fury, proclaimed war against England, and in August commenced +the siege of Roxburgh Castle. The castle, after being environed for +fifteen days, was about to fall into his hands, when the Queen suddenly +arrived in the camp, and communicated some information, probably +referring to a threatened conspiracy of the nobles, which induced him +to throw up the siege, disband his army, and return northward in haste. +This unexpected step probably retarded, but could not prevent the +dreadful purpose of death which had already been formed against the +King. + +In October 1436, he held his last Parliament in Edinburgh, in which, +amidst many other enactments, we find, curiously enough, a prefiguration +of the Forbes Mackenzie Act, in a decree that all taverns should be shut +at nine o'clock. In the end of the year he determined on retiring to +Perth, where (in the language of Gibbon, applied to Timour) 'he was +expected by the Angel of Death.' It is said that, when about to cross +the Frith of Forth, then called the Scottish Sea, a Highland woman, who +claimed the character of a prophetess, like Meg Merrilees in fiction, +met the cavalcade, and cried out, with a loud voice, 'My Lord the King, +if you pass this water you shall never return again alive;' but as she +was concluded to be mad or drunk, her warning was scorned. He betook +himself to the convent of the Black Friars, where Christmas was being +celebrated with great pomp and splendour. Meanwhile Robert Grahame, and +Walter, Earl of Athole, the King's own uncle, actuated, the former by +revenge on account of the resumption of some lands improperly granted +to his family, and the latter by a desire to succeed to the Crown, had +formed a plot against James's life. Several warnings, besides that of +the Highland seeress, the King received, but he heeded them not, and, +like most of the doomed, was in unnaturally high spirits, as if the +winding-sheet far up his breast had been a wedding-robe. + +It is the evening of the 20th of February 1437. James and his nobles and +ladies are seated at table till deep into the night, engaged in chess, +music, and song. Athole, like another Judas, has supped with them, and +gone out at a late hour. A tremendous knocking is heard at the gate. It +is the Highland prophetess, who, having followed the monarch to Perth, +is seeking to force her way into the room. The King tells her, through +his usher, that he cannot receive her to-night, but will hear her +tidings to-morrow. She retires reluctantly, murmuring that they will for +ever rue their refusal to admit her into the royal presence. About an +hour after this, James calls for the _Voidee_, or parting-cup, and the +company disperse. Sir Robert Stewart, the chamberlain, who is in the +confidence of the conspirators, is the last to retire, having previously +destroyed the locks and removed the bars of the doors of the royal bed- +chamber and the outer room adjoining. The King is standing before the +fire, in his night-gown and slippers, and talking gaily with the Queen +and her ladies, when torches are seen flashing up from the garden, and +the clash of arms and the sound of angry voices is heard from below. A +sense of the dread reality bursts on them in an instant. The Queen and +the ladies run to secure the door of the chamber, while James, seizing +the tongs, wrenches up one of the boards of the floor and takes refuge +in a vault beneath. This was wont to have an opening to the outer court, +but it had unfortunately been built up of late by his own orders. There, +under the replaced boards, cowers the King, while the Queen and her +women seek to barricade the door. One brave young lady, Catherine +Douglas, thrusts her beautiful arm into the staple from which the bolt +had been removed. It is broken in a moment, and she sinks back, to bear, +with her descendants--a family well known in Scotland--the name of +_Barlass_ ever since. The murderers, who had previously killed in the +passage one Walter Straiton, a page, rush in, with naked swords, +wounding the ladies, striking, and well-nigh killing the Queen, and +crying, with frantic imprecations, 'This is but a woman! Where is +James?' Finding him not in the chamber, they leave it, and disperse +through the neighbouring apartments in search. + +James, who had become wearied of his immurement, and thought the +assassins were gone, calls now on one of the ladies to aid him in coming +out of his place of concealment. But while this is being effected, one +of the murderers returns. The cry, 'Found, found,' rings through the +halls; and after a violent but unarmed resistance, the King is, with +circumstances of horrible barbarity, first mangled, then run through the +body, and then despatched with daggers. In vain he offers half his +kingdom for his life; and when he seeks a confessor from Grahame, the +ruffian replies, 'Thou shalt have no confessor but this sword.' It is +satisfactory to know that the Queen made her escape, and that the +criminals were punished, although the tortures they endured are such +as human nature shrinks from conceiving, and history with a shudder +records. + + * * * * * + +We turn with pleasure from King James's life and death to his poetry, +although there is so little of it that a sentence or two will suffice. +'The King's Quhair' is a poem conceived very much in the spirit, and +written in the style of Chaucer, whose works were favourites with James. +There is the same sympathy with nature, and the same perception of _its_ +relation to and unconscious sympathy with human feelings, and the same +luscious richness in the description, alike of the early beauties of +spring and of youthful feminine loveliness, although this seems more +natural in the young poet James than in the sexagenarian author of 'The +Canterbury Tales.' There is nothing even in Chaucer we think finer than +the picture of Lady Jane Beaufort in the garden, particularly in the +lines-- + + 'Or are ye god Cupidis own princess, + And comen are ye to loose me out of band? + Or are ye very Nature the goddess, + That have depainted with your heavenly hand + This garden full of flowers as they stand?' + +Or where, picturing his mistress, he cries-- + + 'And above all this there was, well I wot, + Beauty enough to make a world to dote.' + +Or where, describing a ruby on her bosom, he says-- + + 'That as a spark of low[1] so wantonly + Seemed burning upon her white throat.' + +[1] 'Low:' fire. + +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.' + + +THE KING THUS DESCRIBES THE APPEARANCE OF HIS MISTRESS, +WHEN HE FIRST SAW HER FROM A WINDOW OF HIS PRISON +AT WINDSOR. + +X. + +The longe dayes and the nightes eke, +I would bewail my fortune in this wise, +For which, against distress comfort to seek, +My custom was, on mornes, for to rise +Early as day: O happy exercise! +By thee came I to joy out of torment; +But now to purpose of my first intent. + +XI. + +Bewailing in my chamber, thus alone, +Despaired of all joy and remedy, +For-tired of my thought, and woe begone; +And to the window 'gan I walk in hye,[1] +To see the world and folk that went forby; +As for the time (though I of mirthis food +Might have no more) to look it did me good. + +XII. + +Now was there made fast by the toweris wall +A garden fair; and in the corners set +An herbere[2] green; with wandis long and small +Railed about, and so with trees set +Was all the place, and hawthorn hedges knet, +That life was none [a] walking there forby +That might within scarce any wight espy. + + * * * * * + +XIV. + +And on the smalle greene twistis [3] sat +The little sweete nightingale, and sung, +So loud and clear the hymnis consecrate +Of love's use, now soft, now loud among,[4] +That all the gardens and the wallis rung +Right of their song; and on the couple next +Of their sweet harmony, and lo the text. + +XV. + +Worship, O ye that lovers be, this May! +For of your bliss the calends are begun; +And sing with us, 'Away! winter, away! +Come, summer, come, the sweet season and sun; +Awake for shame that have your heavens won; +And amorously lift up your heades all, +Thank love that list you to his mercy call. + + * * * * * + +XXI. + +And therewith cast I down mine eye again, +Where as I saw walking under the tower, +Full secretly new comen to her pleyne,[5] +The fairest and the freshest younge flower +That e'er I saw (methought) before that hour +For which sudden abate [6] anon astert [7] +The blood of all my body to my heart. + + * * * * * + +XXVII. + +Of her array the form if I shall write, +Toward her golden hair, and rich attire, +In fret-wise couched with pearlis white, +And greate balas[8] lemyng[9] as the fire; +With many an emerald and fair sapphire, +And on her head a chaplet fresh of hue, +Of plumes parted red, and white, and blue. + + * * * * * + +XXIX. + +About her neck, white as the fair amaille,[10] +A goodly chain of small orfeverie,[11] +Whereby there hang a ruby without fail +Like to a heart yshapen verily, +That as a spark of lowe[12] so wantonly +Seemed burning upon her white throat; +Now if there was good, perdie God it wrote. + +XXX. + +And for to walk that freshe Maye's morrow, +A hook she had upon her tissue white, +That goodlier had not been seen toforrow,[13] +As I suppose, and girt she, was a lite[14] +Thus halfling[15] loose for haste; to such delight +It was to see her youth in goodlihead, +That for rudeness to speak thereof I dread. + +XXXI. + +In her was youth, beauty with humble port, +Bounty, richess, and womanly feature: +(God better wot than my pen can report) +Wisdom, largess, estate, and cunning[16] sure, + + * * * * * + +In word, in deed, in shape and countenance, +That nature might no more her child advance. + +[1] 'Hye:' haste. +[2] 'Herbere:' herbary, or garden of simples. +[3] 'Twistis:' twigs. +[4] 'Among:' promiscuously. +[5] 'Pleyne:' sport. +[6] 'Sudden abate:' unexpected accident. +[7] 'Astert:' started back. +[8] 'Balas:' rubies. +[9] 'Lemyng:' burning. +[10] 'Amaille:' enamel. +[11] 'Orfeverie:' goldsmith's work. +[12] 'Lowe:' fire. +[13] 'Toforrow:' heretofore. +[14] 'Lite:' a little. +[15] 'Halfling:' half. +[16] 'Cunning:' knowledge. + + + + +JOHN THE CHAPLAIN--THOMAS OCCLEVE. + + +The first of these is the only versifier that can be assigned to England +in the reign of Henry IV. His name was John Walton, though he was +generally known as _Johannes Capellanus_ or 'John the Chaplain.' He was +canon of Oseney, and died sub-dean of York. He, in the year 1410, +translated Boethius' famous treatise, 'De Consolatione Philosophiae,' +into English verse. He is not known to have written anything original. +--Thomas Occleve appeared in the reign of Henry V., about 1420. Like +Chaucer and Gower, he was a student of municipal law, having attended +Chester's Inn, which stood on the site of the present Somerset House; +but although he trod in the footsteps of his celebrated predecessors, it +was with far feebler powers. His original pieces are contemptible, both +in subject and in execution. His best production is a translation of +'Egidius De Regimine Principum.' Warton, alluding to the period at which +these writers appeared, has the following oft-quoted observations: +--'I consider Chaucer as a genial day in an English spring. A brilliant +sun enlivens the face of nature with an unusual lustre; the sudden +appearance of cloudless skies, and the unexpected warmth of a tepid +atmosphere, after the gloom and the inclemencies of a tedious winter, +fill our hearts with the visionary prospect of a speedy summer, and we +fondly anticipate a long continuance of gentle gales and vernal serenity. +But winter returns with redoubled horrors; the clouds condense more +formidably than before, and those tender buds and early blossoms which +were called forth by the transient gleam of a temporary sunshine, are +nipped by frosts and torn by tempests.' These sentences are, after all, +rather pompous, and express, in the most verbose style of the _Rambler_, +the simple fact, that after Chaucer's death the ground lay fallow, and +that for a while in England (in Scotland it was otherwise) there were +few poets, and little poetry. + + + + +JOHN LYDGATE. + + +This copious and versatile writer flourished in the reign of Henry VI. +Warton affirms that he reached his highest point of eminence in 1430, +although some of his poems had appeared before. He was a monk of the +Benedictine Abbey at Bury, in Suffolk. He received his education at +Oxford; and when it was finished, he travelled through France and Italy, +mastering the languages and literature of both countries, and studying +their poets, particularly Dante, Boccaccio, and Alain Chartier. When he +returned, he opened a school in his monastery for teaching the sons of +the nobility composition and the art of versification. His acquirements +were, for the age, universal. He was a poet, a rhetorician, an astronomer, +a mathematician, a public disputant, and a theologian. He was born in +1370, ordained sub-deacon in 1389, deacon in 1393, and priest in 1397. +The time of his death is uncertain. His great patron was Humphrey, Duke +of Gloucester, to whom he complains sometimes of necessitous circumstances, +which were, perhaps, produced by indulgence, since he confesses himself to +be 'a lover of wine.' + +The great merit of Lydgate is his versatility. This Warton has happily +expressed in a few sentences, which we shall quote:-- + +'He moves with equal ease in every form of composition. His hymns and +his ballads have the same degree of merit; and whether his subject be +the life of a hermit or a hero, of Saint Austin or Guy, Earl of Warwick, +ludicrous or legendary, religious or romantic, a history or an allegory, +he writes with facility. His transitions were rapid, from works of the +most serious and laborious kind, to sallies of levity and pieces of +popular entertainment. His muse was of universal access; and he was not +only the poet of his monastery, but of the world in general. If a +disguising was intended by the Company of Goldsmiths, a mask before His +Majesty at Eltham, a May game for the sheriffs and aldermen of London, +a mumming before the Lord Mayor, a procession of pageants, from the +"Creation," for the Festival of Corpus Christi, or a carol for the +coronation, Lydgate was consulted, and gave the poetry.' + +Lydgate is, so far as we know, the first British bard who wrote for +hire. At the request of Whethamstede, the Abbot of St Alban's, he +translated a 'Life of St Alban' from Latin into English rhymes, and +received for the whole work one hundred shillings. His principal poems, +all founded on the works of other authors, are the 'Fall of Princes,' +the 'Siege of Thebes,' and the 'Destruction of Troy.' They are written +in a diffuse and verbose style, but are generally clear in sense, and +often very luxuriant in description. 'The London Lyckpenny' is a +fugitive poem, in which the author describes himself coming up to town +in search of legal redress for a wrong, and gives some curious +particulars of the condition of that city in the early part of the +fifteenth century. + + +CANACE, CONDEMNED TO DEATH BY HER FATHER AEOLUS, SENDS +TO HER GUILTY BROTHER MACAREUS THE LAST TESTIMONY OF +HER UNHAPPY PASSION. + +Out of her swoone when she did abraid,[1] +Knowing no mean but death in her distress, +To her brother full piteously she said, +'Cause of my sorrow, root of my heaviness, +That whilom were the source of my gladness, +When both our joys by will were so disposed, +Under one key our hearts to be enclosed.-- + + * * * * * + +This is mine end, I may it not astart;[2] +O brother mine, there is no more to say; +Lowly beseeching with mine whole heart +For to remember specially, I pray, +If it befall my little son to dey[3] +That thou mayst after some mind on us have, +Suffer us both be buried in one grave. +I hold him strictly 'tween my armes twain, +Thou and Nature laid on me this charge; +He, guiltless, muste with me suffer pain, +And, since thou art at freedom and at large, +Let kindness oure love not so discharge, +But have a mind, wherever that thou be, +Once on a day upon my child and me. +On thee and me dependeth the trespace +Touching our guilt and our great offence, +But, welaway! most angelic of face +Our childe, young in his pure innocence, +Shall against right suffer death's violence, +Tender of limbs, God wot, full guilteless +The goodly fair, that lieth here speechless. + +A mouth he has, but wordes hath he none; +Cannot complain, alas! for none outrage: +Nor grutcheth[4] not, but lies here all alone +Still as a lamb, most meek of his visage. +What heart of steel could do to him damage, +Or suffer him die, beholding the mannere +And look benign of his twain even clear.'-- + + * * * * * + +Writing her letter, awhapped[5] all in drede, +In her right hand her pen began to quake, +And a sharp sword to make her hearte bleed, +In her left hand her father hath her take, +And most her sorrow was for her childe's sake, +Upon whose face in her barme[6] sleeping +Full many a tear she wept in complaining. +After all this so as she stood and quoke, +Her child beholding mid of her paines' smart, +Without abode the sharpe sword she took, +And rove herselfe even to the heart; +Her child fell down, which mighte not astart, +Having no help to succour him nor save, +But in her blood theself began to bathe. + +[1] 'Abraid:' awake. +[2] 'Astart:' escape. +[3] 'Dey:' die. +[4] 'Grutcheth:' murmureth. +[5] 'Awhapped:' confounded. +[6] 'Barme:' lap. + + +THE LONDON LYCKPENNY. + +Within the hall, neither rich nor yet poor + Would do for me ought, although I should die: +Which seeing, I gat me out of the door, + Where Flemings began on me for to cry, + 'Master, what will you copen[1] or buy? +Fine felt hats? or spectacles to read? +Lay down your silver, and here you may speed. + +Then to Westminster gate I presently went, + When the sun was at high prime: +Cooks to me they took good intent,[2] + And proffered me bread, with ale and wine, + Ribs of beef, both fat and full fine; +A fair cloth they 'gan for to spread, +But, wanting money, I might not be sped. + +Then unto London I did me hie, + Of all the land it beareth the price; +'Hot peascods!' one began to cry, + 'Strawberry ripe, and cherries in the rise!'[3] + One bade me come near and buy some spice; +Pepper, and saffron they 'gan me beed;[4] +But, for lack of money, I might not speed. + +Then to the Cheap I 'gan me drawn, + Where much people I saw for to stand; +One offered me velvet, silk, and lawn, + Another he taketh me by the hand, + 'Here is Paris thread, the finest in the land!' +I never was used to such things, indeed; +And, wanting money, I might not speed. + +Then went I forth by London Stone, + Throughout all Canwick Street: +Drapers much cloth me offered anon; + Then comes me one cried 'Hot sheep's feet;' + One cried mackerel, rushes green, another 'gan greet,[5] +One bade me buy a hood to cover my head; +But, for want of money, I might not be sped. + +Then I hied me unto East-Cheap, + One cries ribs of beef, and many a pie; +Pewter pots they clattered on a heap; + There was harp, pipe, and minstrelsy; + Yea by cock! nay by cock! some began cry; +Some sung of Jenkin and Julian for their meed; +But, for lack of money, I might not speed. + +Then into Cornhill anon I yode,[6] + Where was much stolen gear among; +I saw where hung mine owne hood, + That I had lost among the throng; + To buy my own hood I thought it wrong: +I knew it well, as I did my creed; +But, for lack of money, I could not speed. + +The taverner took me by the sleeve, + 'Sir,' saith he, 'will you our wine assay?' +I answered, 'That can not much me grieve, + A penny can do no more than it may;' + I drank a pint, and for it did pay; +Yet, sore a-hungered from thence I yede,[7] +And, wanting money, I could not speed. + +[1] 'Copen:' _koopen_(Flem.) to buy. +[2] 'Took good intent:' took notice; paid attention. +[3] 'In the rise:' on the branch. +[4] 'Beed:' offer. +[5] 'Greet:' cry. +[6] 'Yode:' went. +[7] 'Yede:' went. + + + + +HARDING, KAY, &c. + + +John Harding flourished about the year 1403. He fought at the battle of +Shrewsbury on the Percy side. He is the author of a poem entitled 'The +Chronicle of England unto the Reign of King Edward the Fourth, in +Verse.' It has no poetic merit, and little interest, except to the +antiquary. In the reign of the above king we find the first mention of +a Poet Laureate. John Kay was appointed by Edward, when he returned from +Italy, Poet Laureate to the king, but has, perhaps fortunately for the +world, left behind him no poems. Would that the same had been the case +with some of his successors in the office! There is reason to believe, +that for nearly two centuries ere this date, there had existed in the +court a personage, entitled the King's Versifier, (versificator,) to +whom one hundred shillings a-year was the salary, and that the title +was, by and by, changed to that of Poet Laureate, _i.e._, Laurelled +Poet. It had long been customary in the universities to crown scholars +when they graduated with laurel, and Warton thinks that from these the +first poet laureates were selected, less for their general genius than +for their skill in Latin verse. Certainly the earliest of the Laureate +poems, such as those by Baston and Gulielmus, who acted as royal poets +to Richard I. and Edward II., and wrote, the one on Richard's Crusade, +and the other on Edward's Siege of Stirling Castle, are in Latin. So +too are the productions of Andrew Bernard, who was the Poet Laureate +successively to Henry VII. and Henry VIII. It was not till after the +Reformation had lessened the superstitious veneration for the Latin +tongue that the laureates began to write in English. It is almost a +pity, we are sometimes disposed to think, that, in reference to such +odes as those of Pye, Whitehead, Colley Cibber, and even some of +Southey's, the old practice had not continued; since thus, in the first +place, we might have had a chance of elegant Latinity, in the absence of +poetry and sense; and since, secondly, the deficiencies of the laureate +poems would have been disguised, from the general eye at least, under +the veil of an unknown tongue. It is curious to notice about this period +the uprise of two didactic poets, both writing on alchymy, the chemistry +of that day, and neither displaying a spark of genius. These are John +Norton and George Ripley, both renowned for learning and knowledge of +their beloved occult sciences. Their poems, that by Norton, entitled +'The Ordinal,' and that by Ripley, entitled 'The Compound of Alchemie,' +are dry and rugged treatises, done into indifferent verse. One rather +fine fancy occurs in the first of these. It is that of an alchymist who +projected a bridge of gold over the Thames, near London, crowned with +pinnacles of gold, which, being studded with carbuncles, should diffuse +a blaze of light in the dark! Alchymy has had other and nobler singers +than Ripley and Norton. It has, as Warton remarks, 'enriched the store- +house of Arabian romance with many magnificent imageries.' It is the +inspiration of two of the noblest romances in this or any language +--'St. Leon' and 'Zanoni.' And its idea, transfigured into a transcen- +dental form, gave light and life and fire, and the loftiest poetry, to +the eloquence of the lamented Samuel Brown, whose tongue, as he talked +on his favourite theme, seemed transmuted into gold; nay, whose lips, +like the touch of Midas, seemed to create the effects of alchymy upon +every subject they approached, and upon every heart over which they +wielded their sorcery. + +We pass now from this comparatively barren age in the history of English +poetry to a cluster of Scottish bards. The first of these is ROBERT +HENRYSON. He was schoolmaster at Dunfermline, and died some time before +1508. He is supposed by Lord Hailes to have been preceptor of youth in +the Benedictine convent in that place. He is the author of 'Robene and +Makyne,' a pastoral ballad of very considerable merit, and of which +Campbell says, somewhat too warmly, 'It is the first known pastoral,' +(he means in the Scottish language of course,) 'and one of the best, in +a dialect rich with the favours of the pastoral muse.' He wrote also a +sequel to Chaucer's 'Troilus and Cresseide' entitled 'The Testament of +Cresseide,' and thirteen Fables, of which copies, in MS., are preserved +in the Advocates' Library, Edinburgh. One of these, 'The Town and +Country Mouse,' tells that old story with considerable spirit and +humour. 'The Garment of Good Ladies' is an ingenious and beautiful +strain, written in that quaint style of allegorising which continued +popular as far down as the days of Cowley, and even later. + + +DINNER GIVEN BY THE TOWN MOUSE TO THE COUNTRY MOUSE. + +* * * Their harboury was ta'en +Into a spence,[1] where victual was plenty, +Both cheese and butter on long shelves right high, +With fish and flesh enough, both fresh and salt, +And pockis full of groats, both meal and malt. + +After, when they disposed were to dine, +Withouten grace they wuish[2] and went to meat, +On every dish that cookmen can divine, +Mutton and beef stricken out in telyies grit;[3] +A lorde's fare thus can they counterfeit, +Except one thing--they drank the water clear +Instead of wine, but yet they made good cheer. + +With blithe upcast and merry countenance, +The elder sister then spier'd[4] at her guest, +If that she thought by reason difference +Betwixt that chamber and her sairy[5] nest. +'Yea, dame,' quoth she, 'but how long will this last?' +'For evermore, I wait,[6] and longer too;' +'If that be true, ye are at ease,' quoth she. + +To eke the cheer, in plenty forth they brought +A plate of groatis and a dish of meal, +A threif[7] of cakes, I trow she spared them nought, +Abundantly about her for to deal. +Furmage full fine she brought instead of jeil, +A white candle out of a coffer staw,[8] +Instead of spice, to creish[9] their teeth witha'. + +Thus made they merry, till they might nae mair, +And, 'Hail, Yule, hail!' they cryit up on high; +But after joy oftentimes comes care, +And trouble after great prosperity. +Thus as they sat in all their jollity, +The spencer came with keyis in his hand, +Open'd the door, and them at dinner fand. + +They tarried not to wash, as I suppose, +But on to go, who might the foremost win: +The burgess had a hole, and in she goes, +Her sister had no place to hide her in; +To see that silly mouse it was great sin, +So desolate and wild of all good rede,[10] +For very fear she fell in swoon, near dead. + +Then as God would it fell in happy case, +The spencer had no leisure for to bide, +Neither to force, to seek, nor scare, nor chase, +But on he went and cast the door up-wide. +This burgess mouse his passage well has spied. +Out of her hole she came and cried on high, +'How, fair sister, cry peep, where'er thou be.' + +The rural mouse lay flatlings on the ground, +And for the death she was full dreadand, +For to her heart struck many woful stound, +As in a fever trembling foot and hand; +And when her sister in such plight her fand, +For very pity she began to greet, +Syne[11] comfort gave, with words as honey sweet. + +'Why lie ye thus? Rise up, my sister dear, +Come to your meat, this peril is o'erpast.' +The other answer'd with a heavy cheer, +'I may nought eat, so sore I am aghast. +Lever[12] I had this forty dayis fast, +With water kail, and green beans and peas, +Than all your feast with this dread and disease.' + +With fair 'treaty, yet gart she her arise; +To board they went, and on together sat, +But scantly had they drunken once or twice, +When in came Gib Hunter, our jolly cat, +And bade God speed. The burgess up then gat, +And to her hole she fled as fire of flint; +Bawdrons[13] the other by the back has hent.[14] + +From foot to foot he cast her to and frae, +Whiles up, whiles down, as cant[15] as any kid; +Whiles would he let her run under the strae[16] +Whiles would he wink and play with her buik-hid;[17] +Thus to the silly mouse great harm he did; +Till at the last, through fair fortune and hap, +Betwixt the dresser and the wall she crap.[18] + +Syne up in haste behind the panelling, +So high she clamb, that Gilbert might not get her, +And by the cluiks[19] craftily can hing, +Till he was gone, her cheer was all the better: +Syne down she lap, when there was none to let her; +Then on the burgess mouse loud could she cry, +'Farewell, sister, here I thy feast defy. + +Thy mangery is minget[20] all with care, +Thy guise is good, thy gane-full[21] sour as gall; +The fashion of thy feris is but fair, +So shall thou find hereafterward may fall. +I thank yon curtain, and yon parpane[22] wall, +Of my defence now from yon cruel beast; +Almighty God, keep me from such a feast! + +Were I into the place that I came frae, +For weal nor woe I should ne'er come again.' +With that she took her leave, and forth can gae, +Till through the corn, till through the plain. +When she was forth and free she was right fain, +And merrily linkit unto the muir, +I cannot tell how afterward she fure.[23] + +But I heard syne she passed to her den, +As warm as wool, suppose it was not grit, +Full beinly[24] stuffed was both butt and ben, +With peas and nuts, and beans, and rye and wheat; +Whene'er she liked, she had enough of meat, +In quiet and ease, withouten [any] dread, +But to her sister's feast no more she gaed. + + +[FROM THE MORAL.] + +Blessed be simple life, withouten dreid; +Blessed be sober feast in quiete; +Who has enough, of no more has he need, +Though it be little into quantity. +Great abundance, and blind prosperity, +Ofttimes make an evil conclusion; +The sweetest life, therefore, in this country, +Is of sickerness,[25] with small possession. + +[1] 'Spence:' pantry. +[2] 'Wuish:' washed. +[3] 'Telyies grit:' great pieces. +[4] 'Spier'd;' asked. +[5] 'Sairy:' sorry. +[6] 'Wait:' expect. +[7] 'Threif:' a set of twenty-four. +[8] 'Staw:' stole. +[9] 'Creish:' grease. +[10] 'rede:' counsel. +[11] 'Syne:' then. +[12] 'Lever:' rather. +[13] 'Bawdrons:' the cat. +[14] 'Hent:' seized. +[15] 'Cant:' lively. +[16] 'Strae:' straw. +[17] 'Buik-hid:' body. +[18] 'Crap:' crept. +[19] 'Cluiks:' claws. +[20] 'Minget:' mixed. +[21] 'Gane-full:' mouthful. +[22] 'Parpane:' partition. +[23] 'Fure:' went. +[24] 'Beinly:' snugly. +[25] 'Sickerness:' security. + + + +THE GARMENT OF GOOD LADIES. + +Would my good lady love me best, + And work after my will, +I should a garment goodliest + Gar[1] make her body till.[2] + +Of high honour should be her hood, + Upon her head to wear, +Garnish'd with governance, so good + No deeming[3] should her deir,[4] + +Her sark[5] should be her body next, + Of chastity so white: +With shame and dread together mixt, + The same should be perfite.[6] + +Her kirtle should be of clean constance, + Laced with lesum[7] love; +The mailies[8] of continuance, + For never to remove. + +Her gown should be of goodliness, + Well ribbon'd with renown; +Purfill'd[9] with pleasure in ilk[10] place, + Furred with fine fashioun. + +Her belt should be of benignity, + About her middle meet; +Her mantle of humility, + To thole[11] both wind and weet.[12] + +Her hat should be of fair having, + And her tippet of truth; +Her patelet of good pansing,[13] + Her hals-ribbon of ruth.[14] + +Her sleeves should be of esperance, + To keep her from despair; +Her gloves of good governance, + To hide her fingers fair. + +Her shoes should be of sickerness,[15] + In sign that she not slide; +Her hose of honesty, I guess, + I should for her provide. + +Would she put on this garment gay, + I durst swear by my seill,[16] +That she wore never green nor gray +That set[17] her half so weel. + +[1] 'Gar:' cause. +[2] 'Till:' to. +[3] 'Deeming:' opinion. +[4] 'Deir:' injure. +[5] 'Sark:' shift. +[6] 'Perfite:' perfect. +[7] 'Lesum:' lawful. +[8] 'Mailies:' eyelet-holes. +[9] 'Purfill'd:' fringed. +[10] 'Ilk:' each. +[11] 'Thole:' endure. +[12] 'Weet:': wet. +[13] 'Pansing:' thinking. +[14] 'Her hals-ribbon of ruth:' her neck-ribbon of pity. +[15] 'Sickerness:' firmness. +[16] 'Seill:' salvation. +[17] 'Set:' became. + + + + +WILLIAM DUNBAR + + +This was a man of the true and sovereign seed of genius. Sir Walter +Scott calls Dunbar 'a poet unrivalled by any--that Scotland has ever +produced.' We venture to call him the Dante of Scotland; nay, we +question if any English poet has surpassed 'The Dance of the Seven +Deadly Sins through Hell' in its peculiarly Dantesque qualities of +severe and purged grandeur; of deep sincerity, and in that air of moral +disappointment and sorrow, approaching despair, which distinguished the +sad-hearted lover of Beatrice, who might almost have exclaimed, with one +yet mightier than he in his misery and more miserable in his might, + + 'Where'er I am is Hell--myself am Hell.' + +Foster, in an entry in his journal, (we quote from memory,) says, 'I +have just seen the moon rising, and wish the impression to be eternal. +What a look she casts upon earth, like that of a celestial being who +loves our planet still, but has given up all hope of ever doing her any +good or seeing her become any better--so serene she seems in her settled +and unutterable sadness.' Such, we have often fancied, was the feeling +of the great Florentine toward the world, and which--pained, pitying, +yearning enthusiast that he was!--escaped irresistibly from those deep- +set eyes, that adamantine jaw, and that brow, wearing the laurel, proudly +yet painfully, as if it were a crown of everlasting fire! Dunbar was not +altogether a Dante, either in melancholy or in power, but his 'Dance' +reveals kindred moods, operating at times on a kindred genius. + +In Dante humour existed too, but ere it could come up from his deep +nature to the surface, it must freeze and stiffen into monumental scorn +--a laughter that seemed, while mocking at all things else, to mock at +its own mockery most of all. Aird speaks in his 'Demoniac,' of a smile +upon his hero's brow, + + 'Like the lightning of a hope about to DIE + For ever from the furrow'd brows of Hell's Eternity.' + +Dante's smile may rather be compared to the RISING of a false and self- +detected hope upon the lost brows where it is never to come to dawn, and +where, nevertheless, it remains for ever, like a smile carved upon +a sepulchre. Dunbar has a more joyous disposition than his Italian +prototype and master, and he indulges himself to the top of his bent, +but in a style (particularly in his 'Twa Married Women and the Widow,' +and in 'The Friars of Berwick,' which is not, however, quite certainly +his) too coarse and prurient for the taste of this age. + +'The Merle and the Nightingale' is one of the finest of Moelibean poems. +Beautiful is the contest between the two sweet singers as to whether the +love of man or the love of God be the nobler, and more beautiful still +their reconciliation, when + + 'Then sang they both with voices loud and clear, + The Merle sang, "Man, love God that has thee wrought." + The Nightingale sang, "Man, love the Lord most dear, + That thee and all this world made of nought." + The Merle said, "Love him that thy love has sought + From heaven to earth, and here took flesh and bone." + The Nightingale sang. "And with his death thee bought: + All love is lost, but upon him alone." + + _'Then flew these birds over the boughis sheen, + Singing of love among the leaves small.'_ + +William Dunbar is said to have been born about the year 1465. He +received his education at St Andrews, and took there the degree of M.A. +in 1479. He became then a friar of the Franciscan order, (Grey Friars,) +and in the exercise of his profession seems to have rambled over all +Scotland, England, and France, preaching, begging, and, according to his +own confession, cheating, lying, and cajoling. Yet if this kind of life +was not propitious, in his case, to morality, it must have been to the +development of the poetic faculty. It enabled him to see all varieties +of life and of scenery, although here and there, in his verses, you find +symptoms of that bitterness which is apt to arise in the heart of a +wanderer. He was subsequently employed by James IV. in some official +work connected with various foreign embassies, which led him to Spain, +Italy, and Germany, as well as England and France. This proves that he +was no less a man of business-capacity and habits than a poet. For these +services he, in 1500, received from the King a pension of ten pounds, +afterwards increased to twenty, and, in fine, to eighty. He is said to +have been employed in the negotiations preparatory to the marriage of +James with Margaret Tudor, daughter of Henry VII., which took place in +1503, and which our poet celebrated in his verses, 'The Thistle and the +Rose.' He continued ever afterwards in the Court, hovering in position +between a laureate and a court-fool, charming James with his witty +conversation as well as his verses, but refused the benefices for which +he petitioned, and gradually devoured by chagrin and disappointment. +Seldom has genius so great been placed in a falser position, and this +has given a querulous tinge to many of his poems. He seems to have died +about 1520. Even after his death, misfortune pursued him. His works +were, with the exception of two or three pieces, locked up in an obscure +MS. till the middle of last century. Since then, however, their fame has +been still increasing. In 1834, Mr David Laing, so favourably known as +one of our first antiquarians, published a complete and elaborate edition +of Dunbar's works; and in a newspaper this very day (May 23) we see another +edition announced, in a popular and modernised shape, of the poetry of this +great old Scottish _Makkar_. + + +THE DANCE OF THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS THROUGH HELL. + +I. + +Of Februar' the fifteenth night, +Full long before the dayis light, + I lay into a trance; +And then I saw both Heaven and Hell; +Methought among the fiendis fell, + Mahoun[1] gart[2] cry a Dance, +Of shrewis[3] that were never shrevin,[4] +Against the feast of Fastern's even, +To make their observance: +He bade gallants go graith[5] a guise,[6] +And cast up gamounts[7] in the skies, + As varlets do in France. + + +II. + * * * * * +Holy harlottis in hautane[8] wise, +Came in with many sundry guise, + But yet laugh'd never Mahoun, +Till priests came in with bare shaven necks, +Then all the fiends laugh'd and made gecks,[9] +Black-Belly and Bawsy-Broun.[10] + * * * * * + + +III. + +'Let's see,' quoth he, 'now who begins:' +With that the foul Seven Deadly Sins + Began to leap at anis.[11] +And first of all in dance was Pride, +With hair wyld[12] back, and bonnet on side, + Like to make wasty weanis;[13] +And round about him, as a wheel, +Hang all in rumples to the heel, + His kethat[14] for the nanis.[15] +Many proud trompour[16] with him tripped, +Through scalding fire aye as they skipped, + They girn'd[17] with hideous granis.[18] + + +IV. + +Then Ire came in with sturt[19] and strife, +His hand was aye upon his knife, + He brandish'd like a beir; +Boasters, braggers, and barganeris,[20] +After him passed into pairis,[21] + All bodin in feir of weir.[22] +In jackis, scripis, and bonnets of steel, +Their legs were chenyiet[23] to the heel, + Froward was their affeir,[24] +Some upon other with brands beft,[25] +Some jaggit[26] others to the heft[27] + With knives that sharp could shear. + + +V. + +Next in the dance follow'd Envy, +Fill'd full of feud and felony, + Hid malice and despite, +For privy hatred that traitor trembled; +Him follow'd many freik[28] dissembled, +With feigned wordis white. + And flatterers into men's faces, +And backbiters in secret places +To lie that had delight, + And rowneris[29] of false lesings;[30] +Alas, that courts of noble kings + Of them can never be quite![31] + + +VI. + +Next him in dance came Covetice, +Root of all evil and ground of vice, + That never could be content, +Caitiffs, wretches, and ockerars,[32] +Hood-pikes,[33] hoarders, and gatherers, + All with that warlock went. +Out of their throats they shot on other +Hot molten gold, methought, a fother,[34] + As fire-flaucht[35] most fervent; +Aye as they tumit[36] them of shot, +Fiends fill'd them new up to the throat + With gold of all kind prent.[37] + + +VII. + +Syne[38] Sweirness[39] at the second bidding +Came like a sow out of a midding,[40] + Full sleepy was his grunyie.[41] +Many sweir bumbard[42] belly-huddroun,[43] +Many slute daw[44] and sleepy duddroun,[45] + Him served aye with sounyie.[46] +He drew them forth into a chenyie,[47] +And Belial with a bridle-rennyie,[48] + Ever lash'd them on the lunyie.[49] +In dance they were so slow of feet +They gave them in the fire a heat, + And made them quicker of counyie.[50] + + +VIII. + +Then Lechery, that loathly corse, +Came bearing like a bagged horse,[51] + And Idleness did him lead; +There was with him an ugly sort[52] +And many stinking foul tramort,[53] + That had in sin been dead. +When they were enter'd in the dance, +They were full strange of countenance, + Like torches burning reid. + * * * * * + +IX. + +Then the foul monster Gluttony, +Of wame[54] insatiable and greedy, + To dance he did him dress; +Him followed many a foul drunkart +With can and collep, cop and quart,[55] + In surfeit and excess. +Full many a waistless wally-drag[56] +With wames unwieldable did forth drag, + In creish[57] that did incress; +Drink, aye they cried, with many a gape, +The fiends gave them hot lead to laip,[58] +Their leveray[59] was no less. + + +X. + * * * * * +No minstrels play'd to them but[60] doubt, +For gleemen there were holden out, + By day and eke by night, +Except a minstrel that slew a man; +So till his heritage he wan,[61] + And enter'd by brief of right. + * * * * * + +XI. + +Then cried Mahoun for a Highland padyane,[62] +Syne ran a fiend to fetch Mac Fadyane,[63] + Far northward in a nook, +By he the Correnoch had done shout,[64] +Ersch-men[65] so gather'd him about + In hell great room they took: +These termagants, with tag and tatter, +Full loud in Ersch began to clatter, + And roup[66] like raven and rook. +The devil so deaved[67] was with their yell, +That in the deepest pot of hell + He smored[68] them with smoke. + +[1] 'Mahoun:' the devil. +[2] 'Gart:' caused. +[3] 'Shrewis:' sinners. +[4] 'Shrevin:' confessed. +[5] 'Graith:' prepare. +[6] 'Guise:' masque. +[7] 'Gamounts:' dances. +[8] 'Hautane:' haughty. +[9] 'Gecks:' mocks. +[10] 'Black-Belly and Bawsy-Broun:' names of spirits. +[11] 'Anis:' once. +[12] 'Wyld:' combed. +[13] 'Wasty weanis:' wasteful children. +[14] 'Kethat:' cassock. +[15] 'Nanis:' nonce. +[16] 'Trompour:' impostor. +[17] 'Girn'd:' grinned. +[18] 'Granis:' groans. +[19] 'Sturt:' violence. +[20] 'Barganeris:' bullies. +[21] 'Into pairis:' in pairs. +[22] 'Bodin in feir of weir:' arrayed in trappings of war. +[23] 'Chenyiet:' covered with chain-mail. +[24] 'Affeir:' aspect. +[25] 'Beft:' struck. +[26] 'Jaggit:' stabbed. +[27] 'Heft:' hilt. +[28] 'Freik:' fellows. +[29] 'Rowneris:' whisperers. +[30] 'Lesings:' lies. +[31] 'Quite:' quit. +[32] 'Ockerars:' usurers. +[33] 'Hood-pikes:' misers. +[34] 'Fother:' quantity. +[35] 'Flaucht:' flake. +[36] 'Tumit:' emptied. +[37] 'Prent:' stamp. +[38] 'Syne:' then. +[39] 'Sweirness:' laziness. +[40] 'Midding:' dunghill. +[41] 'Grunyie:' grunt. +[42] 'Bumbard:' indolent. +[43] 'Belly-huddroun:' gluttonous sloven. +[44] 'Slute daw:' slovenly drab. +[45] 'Duddroun:' sloven. +[46] 'Sounyie:' care. +[47] 'Chenyie:' chain. +[48] 'Rennyie:' rein. +[49] 'Lunyie:' back. +[50] 'Counyie:' apprehension. +[51] 'Bagged horse:' stallion. +[52] 'Sort:' number. +[53] 'Tramort:' corpse. +[54] 'Wame:' belly. +[55] 'Can and collep, cop and quart:' different names of + drinking-vessels. +[56] 'Wally-drag:' sot. +[57] 'Creish:' grease. +[58] 'Laip:' lap. +[59] 'Leveray:' desire to drink. +[60] 'But:' without. +[61] 'Wan:' got. +[62] 'Padyane:' pageant. +[63] 'Mac Fadyane:' name of some Highland laird. +[64] 'By he the Correnoch had done shout:' by the time that he had + raised the Correnoch, or cry of help. +[65] 'Ersch-men:' Highlanders. +[66] 'Roup:' croak. +[67] 'Deaved:' deafened. +[68] 'Smored:' smothered. + + +THE MERLE AND NIGHTINGALE. + +In May, as that Aurora did upspring, +With crystal een[1] chasing the cluddes sable, +I heard a Merle[2] with merry notes sing +A song of love, with voice right comfortable, +Against the orient beamis, amiable, +Upon a blissful branch of laurel green; +This was her sentence, sweet and delectable, +'A lusty life in Love's service been.' + +Under this branch ran down a river bright, +Of balmy liquor, crystalline of hue, +Against the heavenly azure skyis light, +Where did upon the other side pursue +A Nightingale, with sugar'd notes new, +Whose angel feathers as the peacock shone; +This was her song, and of a sentence true, +'All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +With notes glad, and glorious harmony, +This joyful merle, so salust[3] she the day, +While rung the woodis of her melody, +Saying, 'Awake, ye lovers of this May; +Lo, fresh Flora has flourish'd every spray, +As nature, has her taught, the noble queen, +The fields be clothed in a new array; +A lusty life in Love's service been.' + +Ne'er sweeter noise was heard with living man, +Than made this merry gentle nightingale; +Her sound went with the river as it ran, +Out through the fresh and flourish'd lusty vale; +'O Merle!' quoth she, 'O fool! stint of thy tale, +For in thy song good sentence is there none, +For both is tint,[4] the time and the travail, +Of every love but upon God alone.' + +'Cease,' quoth the Merle, 'thy preaching, Nightingale: +Shall folk their youth spend into holiness? +Of young saintis, grow old fiendis, but[5] fable; +Fy, hypocrite, in yearis' tenderness, +Against the law of kind[6] thou goes express, +That crooked age makes one with youth serene, +Whom nature of conditions made diverse: +A lusty life in Love's service been.' + +The Nightingale said, 'Fool, remember thee, +That both in youth and eild,[7] and every hour, +The love of God most dear to man should be; +That him, of nought, wrought like his own figour, +And died himself, from death him to succour; +Oh, whether was kythit[8] there true love or none? +He is most true and steadfast paramour, +And love is lost but upon him alone.' + +The Merle said, 'Why put God so great beauty +In ladies, with such womanly having, +But if he would that they should loved be? +To love eke nature gave them inclining, +And He of nature that worker was and king, +Would nothing frustir[9] put, nor let be seen, +Into his creature of his own making; +A lusty life in Love's service been.' + +The Nightingale said, 'Not to that behoof +Put God such beauty in a lady's face, +That she should have the thank therefor or love, +But He, the worker, that put in her such grace; +Of beauty, bounty, riches, time, or space, +And every goodness that been to come or gone +The thank redounds to him in every place: +All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +'O Nightingale! it were a story nice, +That love should not depend on charity; +And, if that virtue contrar' be to vice, +Then love must be a virtue, as thinks me; +For, aye, to love envy must contrar' be: +God bade eke love thy neighbour from the spleen;[10] +And who than ladies sweeter neighbours be? +A lusty life in Love's service been.' + +The Nightingale said, 'Bird, why does thou rave? +Man may take in his lady such delight, +Him to forget that her such virtue gave, +And for his heaven receive her colour white: +Her golden tressed hairis redomite,[11] +Like to Apollo's beamis though they shone, +Should not him blind from love that is perfite; +All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +The Merle said, 'Love is cause of honour aye, +Love makis cowards manhood to purchase, +Love makis knightis hardy at essay, +Love makis wretches full of largeness, +Love makis sweir[12] folks full of business, +Love makis sluggards fresh and well beseen,[13] +Love changes vice in virtuous nobleness; +A lusty life in Love's service been.' + +The Nightingale said, 'True is the contrary; +Such frustis love it blindis men so far, +Into their minds it makis them to vary; +In false vain-glory they so drunken are, +Their wit is went, of woe they are not 'ware, +Till that all worship away be from them gone, +Fame, goods, and strength; wherefore well say I dare, +All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +Then said the Merle, 'Mine error I confess: +This frustis love is all but vanity: +Blind ignorance me gave such hardiness, +To argue so against the verity; +Wherefore I counsel every man that he +With love not in the fiendis net be tone,[14] +But love the love that did for his love die: +All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +Then sang they both with voices loud and clear, +The Merle sang, 'Man, love God that has thee wrought.' +The Nightingale sang, 'Man, love the Lord most dear, +That thee and all this world made of nought.' +The Merle said, 'Love him that thy love has sought +From heaven to earth, and here took flesh and bone.' +The Nightingale sang, 'And with his death thee bought: +All love is lost but upon him alone.' + +Then flew these birds over the boughis sheen, +Singing of love among the leaves small; +Whose eidant plead yet made my thoughtis grein,[15] +Both sleeping, waking, in rest and in travail; +Me to recomfort most it does avail, +Again for love, when love I can find none, +To think how sung this Merle and Nightingale; +'All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +[1] 'Een:' eyes. +[2] 'Merle:' blackbird. +[3] 'Salust:' saluted. +[4] 'Tint:' lost. +[5] 'But:' without. +[6] 'Kind:' nature. +[7] 'Eild:' age. +[8] 'Kythit:' shewn. +[9] 'Frustrir:' in vain. +[10] 'Spleen:' from the heart. +[11] 'Redomite:' bound, encircled. +[12] 'Sweir:' slothful. +[13] 'Well beseen:' of good appearance. +[14] 'Tone:' taken. +[15] 'Whose eidant plead yet made my thoughtis grein:' whose close + disputation made my thoughts yearn. + + + + +GAVIN DOUGLAS. + + +This eminent prelate was a younger son of Archibald, the fifth Earl of +Angus. He was born in Brechin about the year 1474. He studied at the +University of Paris. He became a churchman, and yet united with +attention to the duties of his calling great proficiency in polite +learning. In 1513 he finished a translation, into Scottish verse, of +Virgil's 'Aeneid,' which, considering the age, is an extraordinary +performance. It occupied him only sixteen months. The multitude of +obsolete terms, however, in which it abounds, renders it now, as a +whole, illegible. After passing through various subordinate offices, +such as the 'Provostship' of St Giles's, Edinburgh, and the 'Abbotship' +of Arbroath, he was at length appointed Bishop of Dunkeld. Dunkeld was +not then the paradise it has become, but Birnam hill and the other +mountains then, as now, stood round about it, the old Cathedral rose up +in mediaeval majesty, and the broad, smooth Tay flowed onward to the +ocean. And, doubtless, Douglas felt the poetic inspiration from it quite +as warmly as did Thomas Brown, when, three centuries afterwards, he set +up the staff of his summer rest at the beautiful Invar inn, and thence +delighted to diverge to the hundred scenes of enchantment which stretch +around. The good Bishop was an ardent politician as well as a poet, and +was driven, by his share in the troubles of the times, to flee from his +native land, and take refuge in the Court of Henry VIII. The King +received him kindly, and treated him with much liberality. In 1522 he +died at London of the plague, and was interred in the Savoy Church. +He was, according to Buchanan, about to proceed to Rome to vindicate +himself before the Pope against certain charges brought by his enemies. +Besides the translation of the 'Aeneid,' Douglas is the author of a long +poem entitled the 'Palace of Honour;' it is an allegory, describing +a large company making a pilgrimage to Honour's Palace. It bears +considerable resemblance to the 'Pilgrim's Progress,' and some suppose +that Bunyan had seen it before composing his allegory. 'King Hart' is +another production of our poet's, of considerable length and merit. It +gives, metaphorically, a view of human life. Perhaps his best pieces are +his 'Prologues,' affixed to each book of the 'Aeneid.' From them we have +selected 'Morning in May' as a specimen. The closing lines are fine. + + 'Welcome the lord of light, and lamp of day, + Welcome fosterer of tender herbis green, + Welcome quickener of flourish'd flowers sheen, + Welcome support of every root and vein, + Welcome comfort of all kind fruit and grain,' &c. + +Douglas must not be named with Dunbar in strength and grandeur of +genius. His power is more in expression than in conception, and hence +he has shone so much in translation. His version of the 'Aeneid' is the +first made of any classic into a British tongue, and is the worthy +progenitor of such minor miracles of poetical talent--all somewhat more +mechanical than inspired, and yet giving a real, though subordinate +glory to our literature-as Fairfax's 'Tasso,' Dryden's 'Virgil,' and +Pope's, Coper's, and Sotheby's 'Homer.' The fire in Douglas' original +verses is occasionally lost in smoke, and the meaning buried in flowery +verbiage. Still he was an honour alike to the Episcopal bench and the +Muse of Scotland. He was of amiable manners, gentle temperament, and a +noble and commanding appearance. + + +MORNING IN MAY. + +As fresh Aurore, to mighty Tithon spouse, +Ished of[1] her saffron bed and ivor' house, +In cram'sy clad and grained violate, +With sanguine cape, and selvage purpurate, +Unshet[2] the windows of her large hall, +Spread all with roses, and full of balm royal, +And eke the heavenly portis crystalline +Unwarps broad, the world to illumine; +The twinkling streamers of the orient +Shed purpour spraings,[3] with gold and azure ment;[4] +Eous, the steed, with ruby harness red, +Above the seas liftis forth his head, +Of colour sore,[5] and somedeal brown as berry, +For to alighten and glad our hemispery; +The flame out-bursten at the neisthirls,[6] +So fast Phaeton with the whip him whirls. * * +While shortly, with the blazing torch of day, +Abulyit[7] in his lemand[8] fresh array, +Forth of his palace royal ished Phoebus, +With golden crown and visage glorious, +Crisp hairs, bright as chrysolite or topaz; +For whose hue might none behold his face. * * +The aureate vanes of his throne soverain +With glittering glance o'erspread the oceane; +The large floodes, lemand all of light, +But with one blink of his supernal sight. +For to behold, it was a glore to see +The stabled windis, and the calmed sea, +The soft season, the firmament serene, +The loune[9] illuminate air and firth amene. * * +And lusty Flora did her bloomis spread +Under the feet of Phoebus' sulyart[10] steed; +The swarded soil embrode with selcouth[11] hues, +Wood and forest, obumbrate with bews.[12] * * +Towers, turrets, kirnals,[13] and pinnacles high, +Of kirks, castles, and ilk fair city, +Stood painted, every fane, phiol,[14] and stage,[15] +Upon the plain ground by their own umbrage. +Of Aeolus' north blasts having no dreid, +The soil spread her broad bosom on-breid; +The corn crops and the beir new-braird +With gladsome garment revesting the yerd.[16] * * +The prai[17] besprent with springing sprouts disperse +For caller humours[18] on the dewy night +Rendering some place the gerse-piles[19] their light; +As far as cattle the lang summer's day +Had in their pasture eat and nip away; +And blissful blossoms in the bloomed yerd, +Submit their heads to the young sun's safeguard. +Ivy-leaves rank o'erspread the barmkin wall; +The bloomed hawthorn clad his pikis all; +Forth of fresh bourgeons[20] the wine grapes ying[21] +Endlong the trellis did on twistis hing; +The loukit buttons on the gemmed trees +O'erspreading leaves of nature's tapestries; +Soft grassy verdure after balmy showers, +On curling stalkis smiling to their flowers. * * +The daisy did on-breid her crownal small, +And every flower unlapped in the dale. * * +Sere downis small on dentilion sprang. +The young green bloomed strawberry leaves amang; +Jimp jeryflowers thereon leaves unshet, +Fresh primrose and the purpour violet; * * +Heavenly lilies, with lockerand toppis white, +Open'd and shew their crestis redemite. * * +A paradise it seemed to draw near +These galyard gardens and each green herbere. +Most amiable wax the emerald meads; +Swarmis soughis throughout the respand reeds, +Over the lochis and the floodis gray, +Searching by kind a place where they should lay. +Phoebus' red fowl,[22] his cural crest can steer, +Oft stretching forth his heckle, crowing clear. +Amid the wortis and the rootis gent +Picking his meat in alleys where he went, +His wives Toppa and Partolet him by-- +A bird all-time that hauntis bigamy. +The painted powne[23] pacing with plumes gym, +Cast up his tail a proud pleasand wheel-rim, +Yshrouded in his feathering bright and sheen, +Shaping the print of Argus' hundred een. +Among the bowis of the olive twists, +Sere[24] small fowls, working crafty nests, +Endlong the hedges thick, and on rank aiks[25] +Ilk bird rejoicing with their mirthful makes. +In corners and clear fenestres[26] of glass, +Full busily Arachne weaving was, +To knit her nettis and her webbis sly, +Therewith to catch the little midge or fly. +So dusty powder upstours[27] in every street, +While corby gasped for the fervent heat. +Under the boughis bene[28] in lovely vales, +Within fermance and parkis close of pales, +The busteous buckis rakis forth on raw, +Herdis of hartis through the thick wood-shaw. +The young fawns following the dun does, +Kids, skipping through, runnis after roes. +In leisurs and on leais, little lambs +Full tait and trig sought bleating to their dams. +On salt streams wolk[29] Dorida and Thetis, +By running strandis, Nymphis and Naiadis, +Such as we clepe wenches and damasels, +In gersy[30] groves wandering by spring wells; +Of bloomed branches and flowers white and red, +Platting their lusty chaplets for their head. +Some sang ring-songes, dances, leids,[31] and rounds. +With voices shrill, while all thel dale resounds. +Whereso they walk into their carolling, +For amorous lays does all the rockis ring. +One sang, 'The ship sails over the salt faem, +Will bring the merchants and my leman hame.' +Some other sings, 'I will be blithe and light, +My heart is lent upon so goodly wight.'[32] +And thoughtful lovers rounis[33] to and fro, +To leis[34] their pain, and plain their jolly woe; +After their guise, now singing, now in sorrow, +With heartis pensive the long summer's morrow. +Some ballads list indite of his lady; +Some lives in hope; and some all utterly +Despaired is, and so quite out of grace, +His purgatory he finds in every place. * * +Dame Nature's minstrels, on that other part, +Their blissful lay intoning every art, * * +And all small fowlis singis on the spray, +Welcome the lord of light, and lamp of day, +Welcome fosterer of tender herbis green, +Welcome quickener of flourish'd flowers sheen, +Welcome support of every root and vein, +Welcome comfort of all kind fruit and grain, +Welcome the birdis' bield[35] upon the brier, +Welcome master and ruler of the year, +Welcome welfare of husbands at the ploughs, +Welcome repairer of woods, trees, and boughs, +Welcome depainter of the bloomed meads, +Welcome the life of every thing that spreads, +Welcome storer of all kind bestial, +Welcome be thy bright beamis, gladding all. * * + +[1] 'Ished of:' issued from. +[2] 'Unshet:' opened. +[3] 'Spraings:' streaks. +[4] 'Ment:' mingled. +[5] 'Sore:' yellowish brown. +[6] 'Neisthirls:' nostrils. +[7] 'Abulyit:' attired. +[8] 'Lemand:' glittering. +[9] 'Loune:' calm. +[10] 'Sulyart:' sultry. +[11] 'Selcouth:' uncommon. +[12] 'Bews:' boughs. +[13] 'Kirnals:' battlements. +[14] 'Phiol:' cupola. +[15] 'Stage:' storey. +[16] 'Yerd:' earth. +[17] 'Prai:' meadow. +[18] 'Caller humours:' cool vapours. +[19] 'Gerse:' grass. +[20] 'Bourgeons:' sprouts. +[21] 'Ying:' young. +[22] 'Red fowl:' the cook. +[23] 'Powne:' the peacock. +[24] 'Sere:' many. +[25] 'Aiks:' oaks. +[26] 'Fenestres:' windows. +[27] 'Upstours:' rises in clouds. +[28] 'Bene:' snug. +[29] 'Wolk:' walked. +[30] 'Gersy:' grassy. +[31] 'Leids:' lays. +[32] Songs then popular. +[33] 'Rounis:' whisper. +[34] 'Leis:' relieve. +[35] 'Bield:' shelter. + + + + +HAWES, BARCLAY, &c. + + +Stephen Hawes, a native of Suffolk, wrote about the close of the +fifteenth century. He studied at Oxford, and travelled much in France, +where he became a master of French and Italian poetry. King Henry VII., +struck with his conversation and the readiness with which he repeated +old English poets, especially Lydgate, created him groom of the privy +chamber. Hawes has written a number of poems, such as 'The Temple of +Glasse,' 'The Conversion of Swearers,' 'The Consolation of Lovers,' 'The +Pastime of Pleasure,' &c. Those who wish to see specimens of the strange +allegories and curious devices of thought in which it abounds, may find +them in Warton's 'History of English Poetry.' + +In that same valuable work we find an account of Alexander Barclay, author +of 'The Ship of Fools.' He was educated at Oriel College in Oxford, and +after travelling abroad, was appointed one of the priests or prebendaries +of the College of St Mary Ottery, in Devonshire--a parish famous in later +days for the birth of Coleridge. Barclay became afterwards a Benedictine +monk of Ely monastery; and at length a brother of the Order of St Francis, +at Canterbury. He died, a very old man, at Croydon, in Surrey, in the year +1552. His principal work, 'The Ship of Fools,' is a satire upon the vices +and absurdities of his age, and shews considerable wit and power of +sarcasm. + + + + +SKELTON. + + +John Skelton is the name of the next poet. He flourished in the earlier +part of the reign of Henry VIII. Having studied both at Oxford and +Cambridge, and been laureated at the former university in 1489, he was +promoted to the rectory of Diss or Dysse, in Norfolk. Some say he had +acted previously as tutor to Henry VIII. At Dysse he attracted attention +by satirical ballads against the mendicants, as well as by licences of +buffoonery in the pulpit. For these he was censured, and even, it is +said, suspended, by Nykke, Bishop of Norwich. Undaunted by this, he flew +at higher game--ventured to ridicule Cardinal Wolsey, then in his power, +and had to take refuge from the myrmidons of the prelate in Westminster +Abbey. There Abbot Islip kindly entertained and protected him till his +dying day. He breathed his last in the year 1529, and was buried in the +adjacent church of St Margaret's. + +Skelton as well as Barclay enjoyed considerable popularity in his own +age. Erasmus calls him 'Britannicarum literarum lumen et decus!' How +dark must have been the night in which such a Will-o'-wisp was mistaken +for a star! He has wit, indeed, and satirical observation; but his wit +is wilder than it is strong, and his satire is dashed with personality +and obscenity. His style, Campbell observes, is 'almost a texture of +slang phrases, patched with shreds of French and Latin.' His verses on +Margaret Hussey, which we have quoted, are in his happiest vein. The +following lines, too, on Cardinal Wolsey, are as true as they are +terse:-- + + 'Then in the Chamber of Stars + All matter there he mars. + Clapping his rod on the board, + No man dare speak a word. + For he hath all the saying, + Without any renaying. + He rolleth in his records; + He sayeth, How say ye, my Lords? + Is not my reason good? + Good even, good Robin Hood. + Some say, Yes; and some + Sit still, as they were dumb.' + +It is curious that Wolsey's enemies, in one of their charges against him +in the Parliament of 1529, have repeated, almost in the words of Skelton, +the same accusation. + + + TO MISTRESS MARGARET HUSSEY. + + Merry Margaret, + As midsummer flower, + Gentle as falcon, + Or hawk of the tower; + With solace and gladness, + Much mirth and no madness, + All good and no badness; + So joyously, + So maidenly, + So womanly, + Her demeaning, + In everything, + Far, far passing, + That I can indite, + Or suffice to write, + Of merry Margaret, + As midsummer flower, + Gentle as falcon, + Or hawk of the tower; + As patient and as still, + And as full of good-will, + As fair Isiphil, + Coliander, + Sweet Pomander, + Good Cassander; + Steadfast of thought, + Well made, well wrought. + Far may be sought, + Ere you can find + So courteous, so kind, + As merry Margaret, + This midsummer flower, + Gentle as falcon, + Or hawk of the tower. + + + + +SIR DAVID LYNDSAY. + + +Returning to Scotland, we find a Skelton of a higher order and a +brawnier make in Sir David Lyndsay, or, as our forefathers were wont +familiarly to denominate him, 'Davie Lyndsay.' Lyndsay was descended +from a noble family, a younger branch of Lyndsay of the Byres, and born +in 1490, probably at the Mount, the family-seat, near Cupar-Fife. He +entered the University of St Andrews in the year 1505, and four years +later left it to travel in Italy. He must, however, have returned to +Scotland before the 12th of October 1511, since we learn from the +records of the Lord Treasurer that he was presented with a quantity of +'blue and yellow taffety to be a playcoat for the play performed in the +King and Queen's presence in the Abbey of Holyrood.' On the 12th of +April 1512, Lyndsay, then twenty-two years of age, was appointed +gentleman-usher to James V., who had been born that very day. In his +poem called 'The Dream,' he reminds the King of his having borne him +in his arms ere he could walk; of having wrapped him up warmly in his +little bed; of having sung to him with his lute, danced before him to +make him laugh, and having carried him on his shoulders like a 'pedlar +his pack.' He continued to be page and companion to the King till 1524, +when, in consequence of the unprincipled machinations of the Queen- +mother--who was acting as Regent--he, as well as Bellenden, the learned +translator of Livy and Boece, was ejected from his office. When, however, +in 1528, the young King, by a noble effort, emancipated himself from the +thraldom of his mother and the Douglasses, Lyndsay wrote his 'Dream,' in +which, amidst much poetic or fantastic matter, he congratulates James on +his deliverance; reminds him, as aforesaid, of his early services; and +takes occasion to paint the evils the country had endured during his +minority, and to give him some bold and salutary advice as to his future +conduct. The next year (1529) he produced 'The Complaint,' a poem in +which he recurs to former themes, and remonstrates with great freedom +and severity against the treatment he had undergone. Here, too, the +religious reformer peeps out. He exhorts the King to compel the clergy +to attend to the duties of their office; to preach more earnestly; to +administer the sacraments according to the institution of Christ; and not +to deceive their people with superstitious pilgrimages, vain traditions, +and prayers to graven images, contrary to the written command of God. He +with quaint iron says, that if his Grace will lend him + + 'Of gold ane thousand pound or tway,' + +he will give him a sealed bond, obliging himself to repay the loan when +the Bass and the Isle of May are set upon Mount Sinai; or the Lomond +hills, near Falkland, are removed to Northumberland; or + + 'When kirkmen yairnis [desire] na dignity, + Nor wives na soveranitie.' + +Still finer the last lines of the poem. 'If not,' he says, 'my God + + 'Shall cause me stand content + With quiet life and sober rent, + And take me, in my latter age, + Unto my simple hermitage, + To spend the gear my elders won, + As did Diogenes in his tun.' + +This 'Complaint' proved successful, and in the next year (1530) Lyndsay +was appointed Lion King-at-Arms--an office of great dignity in these +days. The Lion was the chief judge of all matters connected with +heraldry in the realm; was also the official ambassador from his +sovereign to foreign countries; and was inaugurated in his office with +a pomp and circumstance little inferior to those of a royal coronation, +the King crowning him with his own hands, anointing him with wine +instead of oil, and putting on his head the Royal Crown of Scotland, +which he continued to wear till the close of the feast. It is of Lyndsay +in the full accoutrements of this office that Sir Walter Scott speaks in +his 'Marmion,' although he antedates by sixteen years the time when he +assumed it:-- + + 'He was a man of middle age, + In aspect manly, grave, and sage, + As on king's errand come; + But in the glances of his eye, + A penetrating, keen, and sly + Expression found its home-- + The flash of that satiric rage + Which, bursting on the early stage, + Branded the vices of the age, + And broke the keys of Rome. + On milk-white palfrey forth he paced; + His cap of maintenance was graced + With the proud heron-plume; + From his steed's shoulder, loin, and breast + Silk housings swept the ground, + With Scotland's arms, device, and crest + Embroider'd round and round. + The double treasure might you see, + First by Achaius borne, + The thistle and the fleur-de-lis, + And gallant unicorn. + So bright the king's armorial coat, + That scarce the dazzled eye could note; + In living colours, blazon'd brave, + The lion, which his title gave. + A train which well beseem'd his state, + But all unarm'd, around him wait; + Still is thy name in high account, + And still thy verse has charms, + Sir David Lyndsay of the Mount, + Lord Lion King-at-Arms.' + +Soon after this appointment, Lyndsay wrote 'The Complaint of the King's +Papingo,' in which, through the mouth of a dying parrot, he gives some +sharp counsel to the king, his courtiers and nobles, and administers +severe satirical chastisement to the corruptions of the clergy. It is an +exceedingly clever production, and has some beautiful poetry as well as +stinging sarcasm. Take the following address to Edinburgh, Stirling, +Linlithgow, and Falkland:-- + + Adieu, Edinburgh! thou high triumphant town, + Within whose bounds right blitheful have I been; + Of true merchandis, the rule of this region, + Most ready to receive court, king, and queen; + Thy policy and justice may be seen; + Were devotion, wisdom, and honesty, + And credence tint, they micht be found in thee. + + Adieu, fair Snawdoun! [Stirling] with thy towers hie, + Thy chapel-royal, park, and table round; + May, June, and July would I dwell in thee, + Were I a man to hear the birdis sound, + Which doth against the royal rock rebound. + Adieu, Lithgow! whose palace of pleasance + Meets not its peer in Portingale or France. + + Farewell, Falkland! the forteress of Fife, + Thy velvet park under the Lomond Law; + Sometime in thee I led a lusty life. + The fallow deer to see them raik on raw [walk in a row], + Caust men to come to thee, they have great awe, &c. + +In the year 1535, Lyndsay wrote his remarkable drama, 'The Satire of the +Three Estates'--Monarch, namely, Barons, and Clergy. It is made up in +nearly three equal parts of ingenuity, wit, and grossness. It is a drama, +and was acted several times--first, in 1535, at Cupar-Fife, on a large +green mound called Moot-hill; then, in 1539, in an open park near +Linlithgow, by the express desire of the king, who with all the ladies +of the Court attended the representation; then in the amphitheatre of +St Johnston in Perth; and in 1554, at Edinburgh, in the village of +Greenside, which skirted the northern base of the Calton Hill, in the +presence of the Queen Regent and an enormous concourse of spectators. +Its exhibition appears to have occupied nearly the whole day. In the +'Pictorial History of Scotland,' chapter xxiv., our readers will find a +full and able analysis with extracts of this extraordinary performance. +It is said to have done much good in opening the eyes of the people to +the evils of the Papacy, and in paving the way for the Reformation. + +In 1536 Sir David, in company with Sir John Campbell of Lundie, was sent +to the Court of France to demand in marriage for James V. a daughter of +the House of Vendome; but the King chose rather to take the matter in +his own hands, and, going over in person, wedded Magdalene, daughter of +Francis. She died two months after her arrival in Scotland, universally +regretted; and Lyndsay made the sad event the subject of a poem, +entitled 'Deploration of the Death of Queen Magdalene,' whom he +designates + + 'The flower of France, and comfort of Scotland.' + +When James subsequently married Mary of Guise, Sir David's ingenuity was +strained to the utmost in providing pageants, masques, and shows to +welcome her Majesty. For forty days in St Andrews, festivities continued; +and it was during this prolonged festival that the Lion King, as if sick +and satiated with vanities, wrote two poems, one entitled 'The Justing +between James Watson and John Barbour,' a dull satire on tournaments, &c., +and the other a somewhat cleverer piece, entitled 'Supplication directed +to the King's Grace in Contemptioun of Side Tails,' the long trains then +worn by the ladies. It met, we presume,with the fate of _Punch's_ sarcasms +against crinoline,--the 'phylacteries' would for a season, instead of +being lessened, be enlarged, till Fashion lifted up her omnipotent rod, +and told it to be otherwise. + +King James died prematurely on the 14th of December 1542, and Lyndsay +closed his eyes at Falkland, and mourned for him as a brother. From that +day forth he probably felt that there was 'less sunshine in the sky for +him.' In the troublous times which succeeded this, he had to retire for +a season from the Court, having become obnoxious to the rigid Papists on +account of his writings. After the death of Cardinal Beatoun he wrote +the tragedy of 'The Cardinal,' a poem in which the spectre of the +Cardinal is the spokesman, and which teems with good advice to all and +sundry. The execution, however, is not so felicitous as the plan. In +1548 Lyndsay went to Denmark to negotiate a free trade with Scotland. On +his return in 1550 he wrote his very pleasing and chivalric 'History of +Squire Meldrum,' founded on the actual adventures of William Meldrum, +the Laird of Cleish and Binns, a distinguished friend of the poet, who +had gained laurels as a warrior both in Scotland and in France. This +poem is, in a measure, an anticipation of the rhymed romances of Scott, +and is full of picturesque description and spirit-stirring adventure. In +1553 he completed his last and most elaborate work, which had occupied +him for years, entitled 'The Monarchic,' containing an account of the +most famous monarchies which have existed on earth, and carrying on the +history to the general judgment. From this date we almost entirely lose +sight of our poet. He seems to have retired into private life, and is +supposed to have died about the close of 1557. He was probably buried in +the family vault at Ceres, but no stone marks the spot. Dying without +issue, his estates passed to his brother Alexander, and were continued +in the possession of his descendants till the middle of last century. +They now belong to the Hopes of Rankeillour. The office of Lord Lion was +held by two of the poet's relatives successively--Sir David, his +nephew, who became Lion King in 1591, and his son-in-law, Sir Jerome +Lyndsay, who succeeded to it in 1621. + +Sir David Lyndsay, unlike most satirists, was a good, a blameless, and a +religious man. The occasional loftiness of his poetic vein, the breadth +of his humour, the purity of his purpose, and his strong reforming zeal +combined to make his poetry exceedingly popular in Scotland for a number +of ages, particularly among the lower orders. Scott introduces Andrew +Fairservice, in 'Rob Roy,' saying, in reference to Francis Osbaldistone's +poetical efforts, 'Gude help him! twa lines o' Davie Lyndsay wad ding a' +he ever clerkit,' and even still there are districts of the country where +his name is a household word. + + +MELDRUM'S DUEL WITH THE ENGLISH CHAMPION TALBART. + +Then clarions and trumpets blew, +And warriors many hither drew; +On every side came many man +To behold who the battle wan. +The field was in the meadow green, +Where every man might well be seen: +The heralds put them so in order, +That no man pass'd within the border, +Nor press'd to come within the green, +But heralds and the champions keen; +The order and the circumstance +Were long to put in remembrance. +When these two noble men of weir +Were well accoutred in their geir, +And in their handis strong burdouns,[1] +Then trumpets blew and clariouns, +And heralds cried high on height, +'Now let them go--God show the right.' + + * * * * * + +Then trumpets blew triumphantly, +And these two champions eagerly, +They spurr'd their horse with spear on breast, +Pertly[2] to prove their pith they press'd. +That round rink-room[3] was at utterance, +But Talbart's horse with a mischance +He outterit,[4] and to run was loth; +Whereof Talbart was wonder wroth. +The Squier forth his rink[5] he ran, +Commended well with every man, +And him discharged of his spear +Honestly, like a man of weir. + + * * * * * + +The trenchour[6] of the Squier's spear +Stuck still into Sir Talbart's geir; +Then every man into that stead[7] +Did all believe that he was dead. +The Squier leap'd right hastily +From his courser deliverly,[8] +And to Sir Talbart made support, +And humillie[9] did him comfort. +When Talbart saw into his shield +An otter in a silver field, +'This race,' said he, 'I sore may rue, +For I see well my dream was true; +Methought yon otter gart[10] me bleed, +And bore me backward from my steed; +But here I vow to God soverain, +That I shall never joust again.' +And sweetly to the Squier said, +'Thou know'st the cunning[11] that we made, +Which of us two should tyne[12] the field, +He should both horse and armour yield +To him that won, wherefore I will +My horse and harness give thee till.' +Then said the Squier, courteously, +'Brother, I thank you heartfully; +Of you, forsooth, nothing I crave, +For I have gotten that I would have.' + +[1] 'Burdouns:' spears. +[2] 'Pertly:' boldly. +[3] 'Rink-room:' course-room. +[4] 'Outterit:' swerved. +[5] 'Kink:' course. +[6] 'Trencliour:' head. +[7] 'Stead:' place. +[8] 'Deliverly:' actively. +[9] 'Humillie:' humbly. +[10] 'Gart:' made. +[11] 'Cunning:' agreement. +[12] 'Tyne:' lose. + + +SUPPLICATION IN CONTEMPTION OF SIDE TAILS,[1] (1538.) + +Sovereign, I mene[2] of these side tails, +Whilk through the dust and dubbes trails, +Three quarters lang behind their heels, +Express against all commonweals. +Though bishops, in their pontificals, +Have men for to bear up their tails, +For dignity of their office; +Right so a queen or an emprice; +Howbeit they use such gravity, +Conforming to their majesty, +Though their robe-royals be upborne, +I think it is a very scorn, +That every lady of the land +Should have her tail so side trailand; +Howbeit they be of high estate, +The queen they should not counterfeit. + +Wherever they go it may be seen +How kirk and causey they sweep clean. +The images into the kirk +May think of their side tailes irk;[3] +For when the weather be most fair, +The dust flies highest into the air, +And all their faces does begary, +If they could speak, they would them wary. * * +But I have most into despite +Poor claggocks[4] clad in raploch[5] white, +Whilk has scant two merks for their fees, +Will have two ells beneath their knees. +Kittock that cleckit[6] was yestreen, +The morn will counterfeit the queen. * * +In barn nor byre she will not bide, +Without her kirtle tail be side. +In burghs, wanton burgess wives +Who may have sidest tailes strives, +Well bordered with velvet fine, +But following them it is a pine: +In summer, when the streetes dries, +They raise the dust above the skies; +None may go near them at their ease, +Without they cover mouth and neese. * * +I think most pain after a rain, +To see them tucked up again; +Then when they step forth through the street, +Their faldings flaps about their feet; +They waste more cloth, within few years, +Nor would cleid[7] fifty score of freirs. * * +Of tails I will no more indite, +For dread some duddron[8] me despite: +Notwithstanding, I will conclude, +That of side tails can come no good, +Sider nor[9] may their ankles hide, +The remanent proceeds of pride, +And pride proceedis of the devil; +Thus alway they proceed of evil. + +Another fault, Sir, may be seen, +They hide their face all but the een; +When gentlemen bid them good-day, +Without reverence they slide away. * * +Without their faults be soon amended, +My flyting,[10] Sir, shall never be ended; +But would your grace my counsel take, +A proclamation ye should make, +Both through the land and burrowstowns, +To show their face and cut their gowns. +Women will say, This is no bourds,[11] +To write such vile and filthy words; +But would they cleanse their filthy tails, +Whilk over the mires and middings[12] trails, +Then should my writing cleansed be, +None other' mends they get of me. + +Quoth Lyndsay, in contempt of the side tails, +That duddrons[13] and duntibours[14] through the dubbes trails. + +[1] 'Side tails:' long skirts. +[2] 'Mene:' complain. +[3] 'Irk:' May feel annoyed. +[4] 'Claggocks:' draggle-tails. +[5] 'Raploch:' homespun. +[6] 'Cleckit:' born. +[7] 'Cleid:' clothe. +[8] 'Duddron:' slut. +[9] 'Nor:' than. +[10] 'Flyting:' scolding. +[11] 'Bourds:' jest. +[12] 'Middings:' dunghills. +[13] 'Duddrons:' sluts. +[14] 'Duntibours:' harlots. + + + + +THOMAS TUSSER. + + +Of Tusser we know only that he was horn in the year 1523, was well +educated, commenced life as a courtier under the patronage of Lord +Paget, but became a farmer, pursuing agriculture at Ratwood in Sussex, +Ipswich, Fairsted in Essex, Norwich, and other places; that he was not +successful, and had to betake himself to other occupations, such as +those of a chorister, fiddler, &c.; and that, finally, he died a poor +man in London in the year 1580. Tusser has left only one work, published +in 1557, entitled 'A Hundred Good Points of Husbandrie,' written in +simple but sometimes strong verse. It is our first, and not our worst +didactic poem. + + +DIRECTIONS FOR CULTIVATING A HOP-GARDEN. + +Whom fancy persuadeth, among other crops, +To have for his spending sufficient of hops, +Must willingly follow, of choices to choose, +Such lessons approved as skilful do use. + +Ground gravelly, sandy, and mixed with clay, +Is naughty for hops, any manner of way. +Or if it be mingled with rubbish and stone, +For dryness and barrenness let it alone. + +Choose soil for the hop of the rottenest mould, +Well dunged and wrought, as a garden-plot should; +Not far from the water, but not overflown, +This lesson, well noted, is meet to be known. + +The sun in the south, or else southly and west, +Is joy to the hop, as a welcomed guest; +But wind in the north, or else northerly east, +To the hop is as ill as a fray in a feast. + +Meet plot for a hop-yard once found as is told, +Make thereof account, as of jewel of gold; +Now dig it, and leave it, the sun for to burn, +And afterwards fence it, to serve for that turn. + +The hop for his profit I thus do exalt, +It strengtheneth drink, and it favoureth malt; +And being well brew'd, long kept it will last, +And drawing abide--if ye draw not too fast. + + +HOUSEWIFELY PHYSIC. + +Good housewife provides, ere a sickness do come, +Of sundry good things in her house to have some. +Good _aqua composita_, and vinegar tart, +Rose-water, and treacle, to comfort thine heart. +Cold herbs in her garden, for agues that burn, +That over-strong heat to good temper may turn. +White endive, and succory, with spinach enow; +All such with good pot-herbs, should follow the plough. +Get water of fumitory, liver to cool, +And others the like, or else lie like a fool. +Conserves of barbary, quinces, and such, +With sirops, that easeth the sickly so much. +Ask _Medicus'_ counsel, ere medicine ye take, +And honour that man for necessity's sake. +Though thousands hate physic, because of the cost, +Yet thousands it helpeth, that else should be lost. +Good broth, and good keeping, do much now and than: +Good diet, with wisdom, best comforteth man. +In health, to be stirring shall profit thee best; +In sickness, hate trouble; seek quiet and rest. +Remember thy soul; let no fancy prevail; +Make ready to God-ward; let faith never quail: +The sooner thyself thou submittest to God, +The sooner he ceaseth to scourge with his rod. + + +MORAL REFLECTIONS ON THE WIND. + +Though winds do rage, as winds were wood,[1] +And cause spring-tides to raise great flood; +And lofty ships leave anchor in mud, +Bereaving many of life and of blood: +Yet, true it is, as cow chews cud, +And trees, at spring, doth yield forth bud, +Except wind stands as never it stood, +It is an ill wind turns none to good. + +[1] 'Wood:' mad. + + + + +VAUX, EDWARDS, &c. + + +In Tottell's 'Miscellany,' the first of the sort in the English language, +published in 1557, although the names of many of the authors are not +given, the following writers are understood to have contributed:--Sir +Francis Bryan, a friend of Wyatt's, one of the principal ornaments of the +Court of Henry VIII., and who died, in 1548, Chief Justiciary of Ireland; +George Boleyn, Earl of Rochford, the amiable brother of the famous Anne +Boleyn, and who fell a victim to the insane jealousy of Henry, being +beheaded in 1536; and Lord Thomas Vaux, son of Nicholas Vaux, who died +in the latter end of Queen Mary's reign. In the same Miscellany is found +'Phillide and Harpalus,' the 'first true pastoral,' says Warton, 'in the +English language,' (see 'Specimens.') To it are annexed, too, a +collection of 'Songes, written by N. G.,' which means Nicholas Grimoald, +an Oxford man, renowned for his rhetorical lectures in Christ Church, +and for being, after Surrey, our first writer of blank verse, in the +modulation of which he excelled even Surrey. Henry himself, who was an +expert musician, is said also to have composed a book of sonnets and one +madrigal in praise of Anne Boleyn. In the same reign occur the names of +Borde, Bale, Bryan, Annesley, John Rastell, Wilfred Holme, and Charles +Bansley, all writers of minor and forgotten poems. John Heywood, called +the Epigrammatist, was of a somewhat higher order. He was the favourite +of Sir Thomas More and the pensioner of Henry VIII. He gained favour +partly through his conversational humour, and partly through his writings. +He is the author of various comedies; of six hundred epigrams, most of +them very poor; of a dialogue, in verse, containing all the proverbs then +afloat in the language; of an apologue, entitled 'The Spider and the Fly,' +&c. Heywood, who was a rigid Papist, left the kingdom after the decease +of Queen Mary, and died at Mechlin, in Brabant, in 1565. Warton has +preserved some specimens of Sir Thomas More's poetry, which do not add +much to our conception of his genius. In 1542, one Robert Vaughan wrote +an alliterative poem, entitled 'The Falcon and the Pie.' In 1521, 'The +Not-browne Maid,' (given by us in 'Percy's Reliques,') appeared in a +curious collection, called 'Arnolde's Chronicle, or Customs of London.' +In the same year Wynkyn de Worde printed a set of 'Christmas Carols,' and +in 1529 'A Treatise of Merlin, or his Prophecies in Verse.' In Henry's +days, too, there commences the long line of translators of the Psalms +into English metre, commencing with Thomas Sternhold, groom of the robes +to the King, who versified fifty-one psalms, which were published in 1549, +and with John Hopkins, a clergyman and schoolmaster in Suffolk, who added +fifty-eight more, and progressing with Whyttingham, Thomas Norton, (the +joint author, along with Lord Buckhurst, of the curious old tragedy of +'Gorboduc,') Robert Wisdome, William Hunnis, William Baldwyn, Parker, the +scholarly and celebrated Archbishop of Canterbury, &c. &c. Parker trans- +lated all the Psalms himself; and John Day published in 1562, and attached +to the Book of Common Prayer, the whole of Sternhold and Hopkins' 'Psalms, +with apt notes to sing them withall.' In Edward's reign appeared a very +different strain--the first drinking-song of merit in the language, 'Back +and sides go bare'--(see 'Specimens,' vol. 2.) This song occurs at the +opening of the second act of 'Gammer Gurton's Needle,' a comedy written +(by a 'Mr S.') and printed in 1551, and afterwards acted at Christ's +College in Cambridge. + +In the reign of Mary, flourished Richard Edwards, a man of no small +versatility of genius. He was a native of Somersetshire, was born about +1523, and died in 1566. He wrote two comedies, one entitled 'Damon and +Pythias,' and the other 'Palamon and Arcite,' both of which were acted +before Queen Elizabeth. He also contrived masques and wrote verses for +pageants, and is said to have been the first fiddler, the most elegant +sonnetteer, and the most amusing mimic of the Court. He is the author of +a pleasing poem, entitled 'Amantium irae,' and of some lines under the +title, 'He requesteth some friendly comfort, affirming his constancy.' +We quote a few of them:-- + + 'The mountains nigh, whose lofty tops do meet the haughty sky, + The craggy rock, that to the sea free passage doth deny, + The aged oak, that doth resist the force of blust'ring blast, + The pleasant herb, that everywhere a pleasant smell doth cast, + The lion's force, whose courage stout declares a prince-like might, + The eagle, that for worthiness is borne of kings in fight-- + Then these, I say, and thousands more, by tract of time decay, + And, like to time, do quite consume and fade from form to clay; + But my true heart and service vow'd shall last time out of mind, + And still remain, as thine by doom, as Cupid hath assign'd.' + +Edwards also contributed some beautiful things to the well-known old +collection, 'The Paradise of Dainty Devices.' + + + + +GEORGE GASCOIGNE. + + +Gascoigne was born in 1540, in Essex, of an ancient family. He was +educated at Cambridge, and entered at Gray's Inn, but was disinherited +by his father for extravagance, and betook himself to Holland, where +he obtained a commission from the Prince of Orange. After various +vicissitudes of fortune, being at one time taken prisoner by the +Spaniards, and at another receiving a reward from the Prince of three +hundred guilders above his pay for his brave conduct at the siege of +Middleburg, he returned to England. In 1575, he accompanied Queen +Elizabeth in one of her progresses, and wrote for her a mask, entitled +'The Princely Pleasures of Kenilworth.' He is said to have died at +Stamford in 1578. He is the author of two or three translated dramas, +such as 'The Supposes,' a comedy from Ariosto, and 'Jocasta,' a tragedy +from Euripides, besides some graceful and lively minor pieces, one or +two of which we append. + + +GOOD-MORROW. + +You that have spent the silent night + In sleep and quiet rest, +And joy to see the cheerful light + That riseth in the east; +Now clear your voice, now cheer your heart, + Come help me now to sing: +Each willing wight come, bear a part, + To praise the heavenly King. + +And you whom care in prison keeps, + Or sickness doth suppress, +Or secret sorrow breaks your sleeps, + Or dolours do distress; +Yet bear a part in doleful wise, + Yea, think it good accord, +And acceptable sacrifice, + Each sprite to praise the Lord. + +The dreadful night with darksomeness + Had overspread the light; +And sluggish sleep with drowsiness + Had overpress'd our might: +A glass wherein you may behold + Each storm that stops our breath, +Our bed the grave, our clothes like mould, + And sleep like dreadful death. + +Yet as this deadly night did last + But for a little space, +And heavenly day, now night is past, + Doth show his pleasant face: +So must we hope to see God's face, + At last in heaven on high, +When we have changed this mortal place + For immortality. + +And of such haps and heavenly joys + As then we hope to hold, +All earthly sights, and worldly toys, + Are tokens to behold. +The day is like the day of doom, + The sun, the Son of man; +The skies, the heavens; the earth, the tomb, + Wherein we rest till than. + +The rainbow bending in the sky, + Bedcck'd with sundry hues, +Is like the seat of God on high, + And seems to tell these news: +That as thereby He promised + To drown the world no more, +So by the blood which Christ hath shed, + He will our health restore. + +The misty clouds that fall sometime, + And overcast the skies, +Are like to troubles of our time, + Which do but dim our eyes. +But as such dews are dried up quite, + When Phoebus shows his face, +So are such fancies put to flight, + Where God doth guide by grace. + +The carrion crow, that loathsome beast, + Which cries against the rain, +Both for her hue, and for the rest, + The devil resembleth plain: +And as with guns we kill the crow, + For spoiling our relief, +The devil so must we o'erthrow, + With gunshot of belief. + +The little birds which sing so sweet, + Are like the angels' voice, +Which renders God His praises meet, + And teach[1] us to rejoice: +And as they more esteem that mirth, + Than dread the night's annoy, +So much we deem our days on earth + But hell to heavenly joy. + +Unto which joys for to attain, + God grant us all His grace, +And send us, after worldly pain, + In heaven to have a place, +When we may still enjoy that light, + Which never shall decay: +Lord, for thy mercy lend us might, + To see that joyful day. + +[1] 'Teach:' _for_ teacheth. + + +GOOD-NIGHT. + +When thou hast spent the ling'ring day + In pleasure and delight, +Or after toil and weary way, + Dost seek to rest at night; +Unto thy pains or pleasures past, + Add this one labour yet, +Ere sleep close up thine eyes too fast, + Do not thy God forget, + +But search within thy secret thoughts, + What deeds did thee befall, +And if thou find amiss in aught, + To God for mercy call. +Yea, though thou findest nought amiss + Which thou canst call to mind, +Yet evermore remember this, + There is the more behind: + +And think how well soe'er it be + That thou hast spent the day, +It came of God, and not of thee, + So to direct thy way. +Thus if thou try thy daily deeds, + And pleasure in this pain, +Thy life shall cleanse thy corn from weeds, + And thine shall be the gain: + +But if thy sinful, sluggish eye, + Will venture for to wink, +Before thy wading will may try + How far thy soul may sink, +Beware and wake,[1] for else thy bed, + Which soft and smooth is made, +May heap more harm upon thy head + Than blows of en'my's blade. + +Thus if this pain procure thine ease, + In bed as thou dost lie, +Perhaps it shall not God displease, + To sing thus soberly: +'I see that sleep is lent me here, + To ease my weary bones, +As death at last shall eke appear, + To ease my grievous groans. + +'My daily sports, my paunch full fed, + Have caused my drowsy eye, +As careless life, in quiet led, + Might cause my soul to die: +The stretching arms, the yawning breath, + Which I to bedward use, +Are patterns of the pangs of death, + When life will me refuse; + +'And of my bed each sundry part, + In shadows, doth resemble +The sundry shapes of death, whose dart + Shall make my flesh to tremble. +My bed it safe is, like the grave, + My sheets the winding-sheet, +My clothes the mould which I must have, + To cover me most meet. + +'The hungry fleas, which frisk so fresh, + To worms I can compare, +Which greedily shall gnaw my flesh, + And leave the bones full bare: +The waking cock that early crows, + To wear the night away, +Puts in my mind the trump that blows + Before the latter day. + +'And as I rise up lustily, + When sluggish sleep is past, +So hope I to rise joyfully, + To judgment at the last. +Thus will I wake, thus will I sleep, + Thus will I hope to rise, +Thus will I neither wail nor weep, + But sing in godly wise. + +'My bones shall in this bed remain + My soul in God shall trust, +By whom I hope to rise again + From, death and earthly dust.' + +[1] 'Wake:' watch. + + + + +THOMAS SACKVILLE, LORD BUCKHURST AND EARL OF DORSET. + + +This was a man of remarkable powers. He was the son of Sir Richard +Sackville, and born at Withyam, in Sussex, in 1527. He was educated and +became distinguished at both the universities. While a student of the +Inner Temple, he wrote, some say in conjunction with Thomas Norton, the +tragedy of 'Gorboduc,' which is probably the earliest original tragedy +in the English language. It was first played as part of a Christmas +entertainment by the young students, and subsequently before Queen +Elizabeth at Whitehall in 1561. Sackville was elected to Parliament when +thirty years of age. In the same year (1557) he formed the plan of a +magnificent poem, which, had he fully accomplished it, would have ranked +his name with Dante, Spenser, and Bunyan. This was his 'Mirrour for +Magistrates,' a poem intended to celebrate the chief of the illustrious +unfortunates in British history, such as King Richard II., Owen Glendower, +James I. of Scotland, Henry VI., Jack Cade, the Duke of Buckingham, &c., +in a series of legends, supposed to be spoken by the characters them- +selves, and with epilogues interspersed to connect the stories. The work +aspired to be the English 'Decameron' of doom, and the part of it extant +is truly called by Campbell 'a bold and gloomy landscape, on which the +sun never shines.' Sackville had coadjutors in the work, all men of +considerable mark, such as Skelton, Baldwyn, a learned ecclesiastic, and +Ferrers, a man of rank. The first edition of the 'Mirrour for Magistrates' +appeared in 1559, and was wholly composed by Baldwyn and Ferrers. In the +second, which was issued in 1563, appeared the 'Induction and Legend of +Henry Duke of Buckingham' from Sackville's own pen. He lays the scene in +hell, and descends there under the guidance of Sorrow. His pictures are +more condensed than those of Spenser, although less so than those of Dante, +and are often startling in their power, and deep, desolate grandeur. Take +this, for instance, of 'Old Age:'-- + + 'Crook-back'd he was, tooth-shaken, and blear-eyed, + Went on three feet, and sometime crept on four, + With old lame bones, that rattled by his side; + His scalp all piled, and he with eld forelore, + _His wither'd fist still knocking at Deaths door;_ + Fumbling and drivelling, as he draws his breath; + For brief--the shape and messenger of Death.' + +Politics diverted Sackville from poetry. This is deeply to be regretted, +as his poetic gift was of a very rare order. In 1566, on the death of his +father, he was promoted to the title of Lord Buckhurst. In the fourteenth +year of Elizabeth's reign he was employed by her in an embassy to Charles +IX. of France. In 1587 he went as an ambassador to the United Provinces. +He was subsequently made Knight of the Garter and Chancellor of Oxford. On +the death of Lord Burleigh he became Lord High Treasurer of England. In +March 1604 he was created Earl of Dorset by James I., but died suddenly +soon after, at the council table, of a disease of the brain. He was, as a +statesman, almost immaculate in reputation. Like Burke and Canning, in +later days, he carried taste and literary exactitude into his political +functions, and, on account of his eloquence, was called 'the Bell of the +Star-Chamber.' Even in that Augustan age of our history, and in that most +brilliantly intellectual Court, it may be doubted if, with the sole +exception of Lord Bacon, there was a man to be compared to Thomas +Sackville for genius. + + +ALLEGORICAL CHARACTERS FROM THE MIRROR FOR MAGISTRATES. + +And first, within the porch and jaws of hell, +Sat deep Remorse of Conscience, all besprent +With tears; and to herself oft would she tell +Her wretchedness, and, cursing, never stent +To sob and sigh, but ever thus lament +With thoughtful care; as she that, all in vain, +Would wear and waste continually in pain: + +Her eyes unsteadfast, rolling here and there, +Whirl'd on each place, as place that vengeance brought, +So was her mind continually in fear, +Toss'd and tormented with the tedious thought +Of those detested crimes which she had wrought; +With dreadful cheer, and looks thrown to the sky, +Wishing for death, and yet she could not die. + +Next saw we Dread, all trembling how he shook, +With foot uncertain, proffer'd here and there; +Benumb'd with speech; and, with a ghastly look, +Search'd every place, all pale and dead for fear, +His cap borne up with staring of his hair; +'Stoin'd and amaz'd at his own shade for dread, +And fearing greater dangers than was need. + +And next, within the entry of this lake, +Sat fell Revenge, gnashing her teeth for ire; +Devising means how she may vengeance take; +Never in rest, till she have her desire; +But frets within so far forth with the fire +Of wreaking flames, that now determines she +To die by death, or Veng'd by death to be. + +When fell Revenge, with bloody foul pretence, +Had show'd herself, as next in order set, +With trembling limbs we softly parted thence, +Till in our eyes another set we met; +When from my heart a sigh forthwith I fet, +Ruing, alas! upon the woeful plight +Of Misery, that next appear'd in sight: + +His face was lean, and some deal pined away +And eke his hands consumed to the bone; +But what his body was I cannot say, +For on his carcase raiment had he none, +Save clouts and patches pieced one by one; +With staff in hand, and scrip on shoulders cast, +His chief defence against the winter's blast: + +His food, for most, was wild fruits of the tree, +Unless sometime some crumbs fell to his share, +Which in his wallet long, God wot, kept he, +As on the which full daint'ly would he fare; +His drink, the running stream, his cup, the bare +Of his palm closed; his bed, the hard cold ground: +To this poor life was Misery ybound. + +Whose wretched state when we had well beheld, +With tender ruth on him, and on his feres, +In thoughtful cares forth then our pace we held; +And, by and by, another shape appears +Of greedy Care, still brushing up the briers; +His knuckles knob'd, his flesh deep dinted in +With tawed hands, and hard ytanned skin: + +The morrow gray no sooner hath begun +To spread his light e'en peeping in our eyes, +But he is up, and to his work yrun; +But let the night's black misty mantles rise, +And with foul dark never so much disguise +The fair bright day, yet ceaseth he no while, +But hath his candles to prolong his toil. + +By him lay heavy Sleep, the cousin of Death, +Flat on the ground, and still as any stone, +A very corpse, save yielding forth a breath; +Small keep took he, whom Fortune frowned on, +Or whom she lifted up into the throne +Of high renown, but, as a living death, +So dead alive, of life he drew the breath: + +The body's rest, the quiet of the heart, +The travel's ease, the still night's fere was he, +And of our life in earth the better part; +Riever of sight, and yet in whom we see +Things oft that [tyde] and oft that never be; +Without respect, esteeming equally +King Croesus' pomp and Irus' poverty. + +And next in order sad, Old Age we found: +His beard all hoar, his eyes hollow and blind; +With drooping cheer still poring on the ground, +As on the place where nature him assign'd +To rest, when that the sisters had untwined +His vital thread, and ended with their knife +The fleeting course of fast declining life: + +There heard we him with broke and hollow plaint. +Rue with himself his end approaching fast, +And all for nought his wretched mind torment +With sweet remembrance of his pleasures past. +And fresh delights of lusty youth forewaste; +Recounting which, how would he sob and shriek, +And to be young again of Jove beseek! + +But, an the cruel fates so fixed be +That time forepast cannot return again, +This one request of Jove yet prayed he +That in such wither'd plight, and wretched pain, +As eld, accompanied with her loathsome train, +Had brought on him, all were it woe and grief, +He might a while yet linger forth his life, + +And not so soon descend into the pit; +Where Death, when he the mortal corpse hath slain, +With reckless hand in grave doth cover it: +Thereafter never to enjoy again +The gladsome light, but, in the ground ylain, +In depth of darkness waste and wear to nought, +As he had ne'er into the world been brought: + +But who had seen him sobbing how he stood +Unto himself, and how he would bemoan +His youth forepast--as though it wrought him good +To talk of youth, all were his youth foregone-- +He would have mused, and marvell'd much whereon +This wretched Age should life desire so fain, +And knows full well life doth but length his pain: + +Crook-back'd he was, tooth-shaken, and blear-eyed; +Went on three feet, and sometime crept on four; +With old lame bones, that rattled by his side; +His scalp all piled,[1] and he with eld forelore, +His wither'd fist still knocking at death's door; +Fumbling, and drivelling, as he draws his breath; +For brief, the shape and messenger of Death. + +And fast by him pale Malady was placed: +Sore sick in bed, her colour all foregone; +Bereft of stomach, savour, and of taste, +Ne could she brook no meat but broths alone; +Her breath corrupt; her keepers every one +Abhorring her; her sickness past recure, +Detesting physic, and all physic's cure. + +But, oh, the doleful sight that then we see! +We turn'd our look, and on the other side +A grisly shape of Famine might we see: +With greedy looks, and gaping mouth, that cried +And roar'd for meat, as she should there have died; +Her body thin and bare as any bone, +Whereto was left nought but the case alone. + +And that, alas! was gnawen everywhere, +All full of holes; that I ne might refrain +From tears, to see how she her arms could tear, +And with her teeth gnash on the bones in vain, +When, all for nought, she fain would so sustain +Her starven corpse, that rather seem'd a shade +Than any substance of a creature made: + +Great was her force, whom stone-wall could not stay: +Her tearing nails snatching at all she saw; +With gaping jaws, that by no means ymay +Be satisfied from hunger of her maw, +But eats herself as she that hath no law; +Gnawing, alas! her carcase all in vain, +Where you may count each sinew, bone, and vein. + +On her while we thus firmly fix'd our eyes, +That bled for ruth of such a dreary sight, +Lo, suddenly she shriek'd in so huge wise +As made hell-gates to shiver with the might; +Wherewith, a dart we saw, how it did light +Right on her breast, and, therewithal, pale Death +Enthirling[2] it, to rieve her of her breath: + +And, by and by, a dumb dead corpse we saw, +Heavy and cold, the shape of Death aright, +That daunts all earthly creatures to his law, +Against whose force in vain it is to fight; +No peers, nor princes, nor no mortal wight, +No towns, nor realms, cities, nor strongest tower, +But all, perforce, must yield unto his power: + +His dart, anon, out of the corpse he took, +And in his hand (a dreadful sight to see) +With great triumph eftsoons the same he shook, +That most of all my fears affrayed me; +His body dight with nought but bones, pardy; +The naked shape of man there saw I plain, +All save the flesh, the sinew, and the vein. + +Lastly, stood War, in glittering arms yclad, +With visage grim, stern look, and blackly hued: +In his right hand a naked sword he had, +That to the hilts was all with blood imbrued; +And in his left (that kings and kingdoms rued) +Famine and fire he held, and therewithal +He razed towns, and threw down towers and all: + +Cities he sack'd, and realms (that whilom flower'd +In honour, glory, and rule, above the rest) +He overwhelm'd, and all their fame devour'd, +Consumed, destroy'd, wasted, and never ceased, +Till he their wealth, their name, and all oppress'd: +His face forhew'd with wounds; and by his side +There hung his targe, with gashes deep and wide. + +[1] 'Piled:' bare. +[2] 'Enthirling:' piercing. + + +HENRY DUKE OP BUCKINGHAM IN THE INFERNAL REGIONS. + +Then first came Henry Duke of Buckingham, +His cloak of black all piled,[1] and quite forlorn, +Wringing his hands, and Fortune oft doth blame, +Which of a duke had made him now her scorn; +With ghastly looks, as one in manner lorn, +Oft spread his arms, stretch'd hands he joins as fast +With rueful cheer, and vapour'd eyes upcast. + +His cloak he rent, his manly breast he beat; +His hair all torn, about the place it lain: +My heart so molt to see his grief so great, +As feelingly, methought, it dropp'd away: +His eyes they whirl'd about withouten stay: +With stormy sighs the place did so complain, +As if his heart at each had burst in twain. + +Thrice he began to tell his doleful tale, +And thrice the sighs did swallow up his voice; +At each of which he shrieked so withal, +As though the heavens rived with the noise; +Till at the last, recovering of his voice, +Supping the tears that all his breast berain'd, +On cruel Fortune weeping thus he plain'd. + +[1] 'Piled:' bare. + + + + +JOHN HARRINGTON. + + +Of Harrington we know only that he was born in 1534 and died in 1582; that +he was imprisoned in the Tower by Queen Mary for holding correspondence +with Elizabeth; and after the accession of the latter to the throne, was +favoured and promoted by her; and that he has written some pretty verses +of an amatory kind. + + +SONNET ON ISABELLA MARKHAM, + +WHEN I FIRST THOUGHT HER FAIR, AS SHE STOOD AT THE PRINCESS'S WINDOW, +IN GOODLY ATTIRE, AND TALKED TO DIVERS IN THE COURT-YARD. + +Whence comes my love? O heart, disclose; +It was from cheeks that shamed the rose, +From lips that spoil the ruby's praise, +From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze: +Whence comes my woe? as freely own; +Ah me! 'twas from a heart like stone. + +The blushing cheek speaks modest mind, +The lips befitting words most kind, +The eye does tempt to love's desire, +And seems to say, ''Tis Cupid's fire;' +Yet all so fair but speak my moan, +Since nought doth say the heart of stone. + +Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak +Sweet eye, sweet lip, sweet blushing cheek +Yet not a heart to save my pain; +O Venus, take thy gifts again; +Make not so fair to cause our moan, +Or make a heart that's like our own. + + +VERSES ON A MOST STONY-HEARTED MAIDEN WHO DID SORELY +BEGUILE THE NOBLE KNIGHT, MY TRUE FRIEND. + +I. + +Why didst thou raise such woeful wail, +And waste in briny tears thy days? +'Cause she that wont to flout and rail, +At last gave proof of woman's ways; +She did, in sooth, display the heart +That might have wrought thee greater smart. + +II. + +Why, thank her then, not weep or moan; +Let others guard their careless heart, +And praise the day that thus made known +The faithless hold on woman's art; +Their lips can gloze and gain such root, +That gentle youth hath hope of fruit. + +III. + +But, ere the blossom fair doth rise, +To shoot its sweetness o'er the taste, +Creepeth disdain in canker-wise, +And chilling scorn the fruit doth blast: +There is no hope of all our toil; +There is no fruit from such a soil. + +IV. + +Give o'er thy plaint, the danger's o'er; +She might have poison'd all thy life; +Such wayward mind had bred thee more +Of sorrow, had she proved thy wife: +Leave her to meet all hopeless meed, +And bless thyself that so art freed. + +V. + +No youth shall sue such one to win. +Unmark'd by all the shining fair, +Save for her pride and scorn, such sin +As heart of love can never bear; +Like leafless plant in blasted shade, +So liveth she--a barren maid. + + + + +SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. + + +All hail to Sidney!--the pink of chivalry--the hero of Zutphen--the author +of the 'Arcadia,'--the gifted, courteous, genial and noble-minded man! He +was born November 29, 1554, at Penshurst, Kent. His father's name was +Henry. He studied at Shrewsbury, at Trinity College, Cambridge, and at +Christ Church, Oxford. At the age of eighteen he set out on his travels, +and, in the course of three years, visited France, Flanders, Germany, +Hungary, and Italy. On his return he was introduced at Court, and became a +favourite with Queen Elizabeth, who sent him on an embassy to Germany. He +returned home, and shortly after had a quarrel at a tournament with Lord +Oxford. But for the interference of the Queen, a duel would have taken +place. Sidney was displeased at the issue of the affair, and retired, in +1580, to Wilton, in Wiltshire, where he wrote his famous 'Arcadia,'--that +true prose-poem, and a work which, with all its faults, no mere sulky and +spoiled child (as some have called him in the matter of this retreat) +could ever have produced. This production, written as an outflow of his +mind in its self-sought solitude, was never meant for publication, and did +not appear till after its author's death. As it was written partly for his +sister's amusement, he entitled it 'The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia.' +In 1581, Sidney reappeared in Court, and distinguished himself in the +jousts and tournaments celebrated in honour of the Duke of Anjou; and on +the return of that prince to the Continent, he accompanied him to Antwerp. +In 1583 he received the honour of knighthood. He published about this time +a tract entitled 'The Defence of Poesy,' which abounds in the element the +praise of which it celebrates, and which is, besides, distinguished by +acuteness of argument and felicity of expression. In 1585 he was named one +of the candidates for the crown of Poland; but Queen Elizabeth, afraid of +'losing the jewel of her times,' prevented him from accepting this honour, +and prevented him also from accompanying Sir Francis Drake on an +expedition against the Spanish settlements in America. In the same year, +however, she made him Governor of Flushing, and subsequently General of +the Cavalry, under his uncle, the Earl of Leicester, who commanded the +troops sent to assist the oppressed Dutch Protestants against the +Spaniards. Here our hero greatly distinguished himself, particularly when +capturing, in 1586, the town of Axel. His career, however, was destined +to be short. On the 22d of September of the same year he accidentally +encountered a convoy of the enemy marching toward Zutphen. In the +engagement which followed, his party triumphed; but their brave commander +received a shot in the thigh, which shattered the bone. As he was carried +from the field, overcome with thirst, he called for water, but while about +to apply it to his lips, he saw a wounded soldier carried by who was +eagerly eyeing the cup. Sidney, perceiving this, instantly delivered to +him the water, saying, in words which would have made an ordinary man +immortal, but which give Sir Philip a twofold immortality, 'Thy necessity +is greater than mine.' He was carried to Arnheim, and lingered on till +October 17, when he died. He was only thirty-two years of age. His death +was an earthquake at home. All England wore mourning for him. Queen +Elizabeth ordered his remains to be carried to London, and to receive a +public funeral in St Paul's. He was identified with the land's Poetry, +Politeness, and Protestantism; and all who admired any of the three, +sorrowed for Sidney. + +Sidney's 'Sonnets and other Poems' contain much that is quaint, but also +much that is beautiful and true; yet they are the least poetical of his +works. His 'Arcadia' is a glorious unfinished and unpolished wilderness +of fancy. It is a vineyard, the scattered clusters of which are so heavy, +that, like the grapes of Eshcol of old, they must be carried on a staff. +Here is one of those rich clusters:-- + + 'There were hills, which garnished their proud heights with stately + trees; humble valleys, whose base estate seemed comforted with the + refreshing of silver rivers; meadows, enamelled with all sorts of + eye-pleasing flowers; thickets, which, being lined with most pleasant + shade, were witnessed so, too, by the cheerful disposition of many + well-tuned birds; each pasture stored with sheep, feeding with sober + security; while the pretty lambs, with bleating oratory, craved the + dams' comfort; _here a shepherd's boy, piping as though he should + never be old;_ there a young shepherdess, knitting and withal singing, + and it seemed that her voice comforted her hands to work, and her + hands kept time to her voice-music.' + +From 'The Defence of Poesy' we could cull, did space permit, a hundred +passages even superior to the above, full of dexterous reasoning, splendid +rhetoric, and subtle fancy, and substantiating all that has been said in +favour of Sir Philip Sidney's accomplishments, chivalric earnestness, and +richly-endowed genius. + + +TO SLEEP. + +FROM THE 'ARCADIA.' + +Come, Sleep, O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, +The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe; +The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, +The indifferent judge between the high and low. + +With shield of proof shield me from out the prease[1] +Of those fierce darts despair doth at me throw: +Oh, make in me those civil wars to cease! +I will good tribute pay if thou do so. + +Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, +A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light, +A rosy garland and a weary head; +And if these things, as being thine by right, +Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me +Livelier than elsewhere Stella's image see. + +[1] 'Prease:' press, throng. + + +SONNETS. + +I. + +Because I oft in dark abstracted guise +Seem most alone in greatest company, +With dearth of words, or answers quite awry +To them that would make speech of speech arise, +They deem, and of their doom the rumour flies, +That poison foul of bubbling Pride doth lie +So in my swelling breast, that only I +Fawn on myself, and others do despise. +Yet Pride, I think, doth not my soul possess, +Which looks too oft in his unflattering glass; +But one worse fault, Ambition, I confess, +That makes me oft my best friends overpass, +Unseen, unheard, while thought to highest place +Bends all his powers, even unto Stella's grace. + + +II. + +With how sad steps, O Moon! thou climb'st the skies, +How silently, and with how wan a face! +What! may it be, that even in heavenly place +That busy archer his sharp arrows tries? +Sure, if that long with love acquainted eyes +Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case; +I read it in thy looks; thy languish'd grace, +To me that feel the like, thy state descries. +Then, even of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, +Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit? +Are beauties there as proud as here they be? +Do they above love to be loved, and yet +Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess? +Do they call virtue there ungratefulness? + + +III. + +Having this day my horse, my hand, my lance +Guided so well, that I obtain'd the prize, +Both by the judgment of the English eyes, +And of some sent from that sweet enemy France; +Horsemen my skill in horsemanship advance; +Townfolks my strength; a daintier judge applies +His praise to sleight which from good use doth rise; +Some lucky wits impute it but to chance; +Others, because of both sides I do take +My blood from them who did excel in this, +Think nature me a man of arms did make. +How far they shot awry! the true cause is, +Stella look'd on, and from her heavenly face +Sent forth the beams which made so fair my race. + + +IV. + +In martial sports I had my cunning tried, +And yet to break more staves did me address; +While with the people's shouts, I must confess, +Youth, luck, and praise, even fill'd my veins with pride. +When Cupid, having me (his slave) descried +In Mars's livery, prancing in the press, +'What now, Sir Fool,' said he, 'I would no less. +Look here, I say.' I look'd, and Stella spied, +Who hard by made a window send forth light. +My heart then quaked, then dazzled were mine eyes; +One hand forgot to rule, th' other to fight; +Nor trumpet's sound I heard, nor friendly cries; +My foe came on, and beat the air for me, +Till that her blush taught me my shame to see. + + +V. + +Of all the kings that ever here did reign, +Edward named Fourth as first in praise I name; +Not for his fair outside, nor well-lined brain, +Although less gifts imp feathers oft on Fame: +Nor that he could, young-wise, wise-valiant, frame +His sire's revenge, join'd with a kingdom's gain, +And, gain'd by Mars, could yet mad Mars so tame, +That Balance weigh'd what Sword did late obtain: +Nor that he made the Flower-de-luce so 'fraid, +Though strongly hedged of bloody Lion's paws, +That witty Lewis to him a tribute paid. +Nor this, nor that, nor any such small cause-- +But only for this worthy knight durst prove +To lose his crown, rather than fail his love. + + +VI. + +O happy Thames, that didst my Stella bear! +I saw thee with full many a smiling line +Upon thy cheerful face joy's livery wear, +While those fair planets on thy streams did shine. +The boat for joy could not to dance forbear; +While wanton winds, with beauties so divine +Ravish'd, stay'd not, till in her golden hair +They did themselves (O sweetest prison!) twine: +And fain those Oeol's youth there would their stay +Have made; but, forced by Nature still to fly, +First did with puffing kiss those locks display. +She, so dishevell'd, blush'd. From window I, +With sight thereof, cried out, 'O fair disgrace; +Let Honour's self to thee grant highest place.' + + + + +ROBERT SOUTHWELL. + + +Robert Southwell was born in 1560, at St. Faith's, Norfolk. His parents +were Roman Catholics, and sent him when very young to be educated at the +English College of Douay, in Flanders. Thence he went to Borne, and when +sixteen years of age he joined the Society of the Jesuits--a strange bed +for the rearing of a poet. In 1585, he was appointed Prefect of Studies, +and was soon after despatched as a missionary of his order to England. +There, notwithstanding a law condemning to death all members of his +profession found in this country, he laboured on for eight years, +residing chiefly with Anne, Countess of Arundel, who died afterwards in +the Tower. In July 1592, Southwell was arrested in a gentleman's house +at Uxendon in Middlesex. He was thrust into a dungeon so filthy that +when he was brought out to be examined his clothes were covered with +vermin. This made his father--a man of good family--petition Queen +Elizabeth that if his son was guilty of anything deserving death he +might suffer it, but that, meanwhile, being a gentleman, he should be +treated as a gentleman. In consequence of this he was somewhat better +lodged, but continued for nearly three years strictly confined to +prison; and as the Queen's agents imagined that he was in the secret of +some conspiracies against the Government, he was put to the torture ten +times. In despair, he entreated to be brought to trial, whereupon Cecil +coolly remarked, 'that if he was in such haste to be hanged, he should +quickly have his desire.' On the 20th of February 1595, he was brought +to trial at King's Bench, and having confessed himself a Papist and a +Jesuit, he was condemned to death, and executed at Tyburn next day, with +all the nameless barbarities enjoined by the treason laws of these +unhappy times. He is believed to have borne all his sufferings with +unalterable serenity of mind and sweetness of temper. 'It is fitting,' +says Burke, 'that those made to suffer should suffer well.' And suffer +well throughout all his short life of sorrow, Southwell did. + +He was, undoubtedly, although in a false position, a true man, and a +true poet. To hope all things and believe all things, in reference to +a Jesuit, is a difficult task for Protestant charity. Yet what system +so vile but it has sometimes been gloriously misrepresented by its +votaries? Who that ever read Edward Irving's 'Preface to Ben Ezra'--that +modern Areopagitica--combining the essence of a hundred theological +treatises with the spirit and grandeur of a Pindaric or Homeric ode--has +forgot the pictures of Ben Ezra, or Lacunza the Jesuit? His work, 'The +Coming of the Messiah in Glory and Majesty,' Irving translated from +Spanish into his own noble English prose, and he describes the author as +a man of primitive manners, ardent piety, and enormous erudition, and +expresses a hope, long since we trust fulfilled, of meeting with the +'good old Jesuit' in a better world. To this probably small class of +exceptions to a general rule (it surely is no uncharity to say this, +since the annals of Jesuitism have confessedly been so stained with +falsehood, treachery, every insidious art, and every detestable crime) +seems to have belonged our poet. No proof was produced that he had any +connexion with the treacherous and bloody designs of his party, although +he had plied his priestly labours with unwearied assiduity. He was too +sincere-minded a man to have ever been admitted to the darker secrets of +the Jesuits. + +His verses are ingenious, simpler in style than was common in his time +--distinguished here by homely picturesqueness, and there by solemn +moralising. A shade of deep but serene and unrepining sadness, connected +partly with his position and partly with his foreseen destiny, (his +larger works were written in prison,) rests on the most of his poems. + + +LOOK HOME. + +Retired thoughts enjoy their own delights, + As beauty doth in self-beholding eye: +Man's mind a mirror is of heavenly sights, + A brief wherein all miracles summ'd lie; +Of fairest forms, and sweetest shapes the store, +Most graceful all, yet thought may grace them more. + +The mind a creature is, yet can create, + To nature's patterns adding higher skill +Of finest works; wit better could the state, + If force of wit had equal power of will. +Device of man in working hath no end; +What thought can think, another thought can mend. + +Man's soul of endless beauties image is, + Drawn by the work of endless skill and might: +This skilful might gave many sparks of bliss, + And, to discern this bliss, a native light, +To frame God's image as his worth required; +His might, his skill, his word and will conspired. + +All that he had, his image should present; + All that it should present, he could afford; +To that he could afford his will was bent; + His will was follow'd with performing word. +Let this suffice, by this conceive the rest, +He should, he could, he would, he did the best. + + +THE IMAGE OF DEATH. + +Before my face the picture hangs, + That daily should put me in mind +Of those cold names and bitter pangs + That shortly I am like to find; +But yet, alas! full little I +Do think hereon, that I must die. + +I often look upon a face + Most ugly, grisly, bare, and thin; +I often view the hollow place + Where eyes and nose had sometime been; +I see the bones across that lie, +Yet little think that I must die. + +I read the label underneath, + That telleth me whereto I must; +I see the sentence too, that saith, + 'Remember, man, thou art but dust.' +But yet, alas! how seldom I +Do think, indeed, that I must die! + +Continually at my bed's head + A hearse doth hang, which doth me tell +That I ere morning may be dead, + Though now I feel myself full well; +But yet, alas! for all this, I +Have little mind that I must die! + +The gown which I am used to wear, + The knife wherewith I cut my meat; +And eke that old and ancient chair, + Which is my only usual seat; +All these do tell me I must die, +And yet my life amend not I. + +My ancestors are turn'd to clay, + And many of my mates are gone; +My youngers daily drop away, + And can I think to 'scape alone? +No, no; I know that I must die, +And yet my life amend not I. + + * * * * * + +If none can 'scape Death's dreadful dart; + If rich and poor his beck obey; +If strong, if wise, if all do smart, + Then I to 'scape shall have no way: +Then grant me grace, O God! that I +My life may mend, since I must die. + + +LOVE'S SERVILE LOT. + +Love mistress is of many minds, + Yet few know whom they serve; +They reckon least how little hope + Their service doth deserve. + +The will she robbeth from the wit, + The sense from reason's lore; +She is delightful in the rind, + Corrupted in the core. + + * * * * * + +May never was the month of love; + For May is full of flowers: +But rather April, wet by kind; + For love is full of showers. + +With soothing words, inthralled souls + She chains in servile bands! +Her eye in silence hath a speech + Which eye best understands. + +Her little sweet hath many sours, + Short hap, immortal harms +Her loving looks are murdering darts, + Her songs bewitching charms. + +Like winter rose, and summer ice, + Her joys are still untimely; +Before her hope, behind remorse, + Fair first, in fine[1] unseemly. + +Plough not the seas, sow not the sands, + Leave off your idle pain; +Seek other mistress for your minds, + Love's service is in vain. + +[1] 'Fine:' end. + + +TIMES GO BY TURNS. + +The lopped tree in time may grow again, + Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower; +The sorriest wight may find release of pain, + The driest soil suck in some moistening shower: +Time goes by turns, and chances change by course, +From foul to fair, from better hap to worse. + +The sea of Fortune doth not ever flow; + She draws her favours to the lowest ebb: +Her tides have equal times to come and go; + Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web: +No joy so great but runneth to an end, +No hap so hard but may in fine amend. + +Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring, + Not endless night, yet not eternal day: +The saddest birds a season find to sing, + The roughest storm a calm may soon allay. +Thus, with succeeding turns, God tempereth all, +That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall. + +A chance may win that by mischance was lost; + That net that holds no great, takes little fish; +In some things all, in all things none are cross'd; + Few all they need, but none have all they wish. +Unmingled joys here to no man befall; +Who least, hath some; who most, hath never all. + + + + +THOMAS WATSON. + + +He was born in 1560, and died about 1592. All besides known certainly of +him is, that he was a native of London, and studied the common law, but +seems to have spent much of his time in the practice of rhyme. His +sonnets--one or two of which we subjoin--have considerable merit; but we +agree with Campbell in thinking that Stevens has surely overrated them +when he prefers them to Shakspeare's. + + +THE NYMPHS TO THEIR MAY-QUEEN. + +With fragrant flowers we strew the way, +And make this our chief holiday: +For though this clime was blest of yore, +Yet was it never proud before. +O beauteous queen of second Troy, +Accept of our unfeigned joy. + +Now the air is sweeter than sweet balm, +And satyrs dance about the palm; +Now earth with verdure newly dight, +Gives perfect signs of her delight: +O beauteous queen! + +Now birds record new harmony, +And trees do whistle melody: +And everything that nature breeds +Doth clad itself in pleasant weeds. + + +SONNET. + +Actaeon lost, in middle of his sport, +Both shape and life for looking but awry: +Diana was afraid he would report +What secrets he had seen in passing by. +To tell the truth, the self-same hurt have I, +By viewing her for whom I daily die; +I lose my wonted shape, in that my mind +Doth suffer wreck upon the stony rock +Of her disdain, who, contrary to kind, +Does bear a breast more hard than any stock; +And former form of limbs is changed quite +By cares in love, and want of due delight. +I leave my life, in that each secret thought +Which I conceive through wanton fond regard, +Doth make me say that life availeth nought, +Where service cannot have a due reward. +I dare not name the nymph that works my smart, +Though love hath graven her name within my heart. + + + + +THOMAS TURBERVILLE. + + +Of this author--Thomas Turberville--once famous in the reign of Queen +Elizabeth, but now almost totally forgotten, and whose works are +altogether omitted in most selections, we have preserved a little. He +was a voluminous author, having produced, besides many original pieces, +a translation of Ovid's Heroical Epistles, from which Warton has +selected a short specimen. + + +IN PRAISE OP THE RENOWNED LADY ANNE, COUNTESS OF +WARWICK. + +When Nature first in hand did take + The clay to frame this Countess' corse, +The earth a while she did forsake, + And was compell'd of very force, +With mould in hand, to flee to skies, +To end the work she did devise. + +The gods that then in council sate, + Were half-amazed, against their kind,[1] +To see so near the stool of state + Dame Nature stand, that was assign'd +Among her worldly imps[2] to wonne,[3] +As she until that day had done. + +First Jove began: 'What, daughter dear, + Hath made thee scorn thy father's will? +Why do I see thee, Nature, here, + That ought'st of duty to fulfil +Thy undertaken charge at home? +What makes thee thus abroad to roam? + +'Disdainful dame, how didst thou dare, + So reckless to depart the ground +That is allotted to thy share?' + And therewithal his godhead frown'd. +'I will,' quoth Nature, 'out of hand, +Declare the cause I fled the land. + +'I undertook of late a piece + Of clay a featured face to frame, +To match the courtly dames of Greece, + That for their beauty bear the name; +But, O good father, now I see +This work of mine it will not be. + +'Vicegerent, since you me assign'd + Below in earth, and gave me laws +On mortal wights, and will'd that kind + Should make and mar, as she saw cause: +Of right, I think, I may appeal, +And crave your help in this to deal.' + +When Jove saw how the case did stand, + And that the work was well begun, +He pray'd to have the helping hand + Of other gods till he had done: +With willing minds they all agreed, +And set upon the clay with speed. + +First Jove each limb did well dispose, + And makes a creature of the clay; +Next, Lady Venus she bestows + Her gallant gifts as best she may; +From face to foot, from top to toe, +She let no whit untouch'd to go. + +When Venus had done what she could + In making of her carcase brave, +Then Pallas thought she might be bold + Among the rest a share to have; +A passing wit she did convey +Into this passing piece of clay. + +Of Bacchus she no member had, + Save fingers fine and feat[4] to see; +Her head with hair Apollo clad, + That gods had thought it gold to be: +So glist'ring was the tress in sight +Of this new form'd and featured wight. + +Diana held her peace a space, + Until those other gods had done; +'At last,' quoth she, 'in Dian's chase + With bow in hand this nymph shall run; +And chief of all my noble train +I will this virgin entertain.' + +Then joyful Juno came and said, + 'Since you to her so friendly are, +I do appoint this noble maid + To match with Mars his peer for war; +She shall the Countess Warwick be, +And yield Diana's bow to me.' + +When to so good effect it came, + And every member had his grace, +There wanted nothing but a name: + By hap was Mercury then in place, +That said, 'I pray you all agree, +Pandora grant her name to be. + +'For since your godheads forged have + With one assent this noble dame, +And each to her a virtue gave, + This term agreeth to the same.' +The gods that heard Mercurius tell +This tale, did like it passing well. + +Report was summon'd then in haste, + And will'd to bring his trump in hand, +To blow therewith a sounding blast, + That might be heard through Brutus' land. +Pandora straight the trumpet blew, +That each this Countess Warwick knew. + +O seely[5] Nature, born to pain, + O woful, wretched kind (I say), +That to forsake the soil were fain + To make this Countess out of clay: +But, O most friendly gods, that wold, +Vouchsafe to set your hands to mould. + +[1] 'Kind:' nature. +[2] 'Imps:' children. +[3] 'Wonne:' dwell. +[4] 'Feat:' neat. +[5] 'Seely:' simple. + + + * * * * * + + +In reference to the Miscellaneous Pieces which close this period, we +need only say that the best of them is 'The Soul's Errand,' and that its +authorship is uncertain. It has, with very little evidence in any of the +cases, been ascribed to Sir Walter Raleigh, to Francis Davison, (author +of a compilation entitled 'A Poetical Rhapsody,' published in 1593, and +where 'The Soul's Errand' first appeared,) and to Joshua Sylvester, who +prints it in his volume of verses, with vile interpolations of his own. +Its outspoken energy and pithy language render it worthy of any of our +poets. + + +HARPALUS' COMPLAINT OF PHILLIDA'S LOVE BESTOWED ON CORIN, +WHO LOVED HER NOT, AND DENIED HIM THAT LOVED HER. + +1 Phillida was a fair maid, + As fresh as any flower; + Whom Harpalus the herdman pray'd + To be his paramour. + +2 Harpalus, and eke Corin, + Were herdmen both yfere:[1] + And Phillida would twist and spin, + And thereto sing full clear. + +3 But Phillida was all too coy + For Harpalus to win; + For Corin was her only joy, + Who forced[2] her not a pin. + +4 How often would she flowers twine, + How often garlands make + Of cowslips and of columbine, + And all for Conn's sake! + +5 But Corin he had hawks to lure, + And forced more the field: + Of lovers' law he took no cure; + For once he was beguiled. + +6 Harpalus prevailed nought, + His labour all was lost; + For he was furthest from her thought, + And yet he loved her most. + +7 Therefore was he both pale and lean, + And dry as clod of clay: + His flesh it was consumed clean; + His colour gone away. + +8 His beard it not long be shave; + His hair hung all unkempt: + A man most fit even for the grave, + Whom spiteful love had shent.[3] + +9 His eyes were red, and all forwacht;[4] + It seem'd unhap had him long hatcht, + His face besprent with tears: + In midst of his despairs. + +10 His clothes were black, and also bare; + As one forlorn was he; + Upon his head always he ware + A wreath of willow tree. + +11 His beasts he kept upon the hill, + And he sat in the dale; + And thus with sighs and sorrows shrill + He 'gan to tell his tale. + +12 'O Harpalus!' thus would he say; + Unhappiest under sun! + The cause of thine unhappy day + By love was first begun. + +13 'For thou went'st first by suit to seek + A tiger to make tame, + That sets not by thy love a leek, + But makes thy grief a game. + +14 'As easy it were for to convert + The frost into the flame; + As for to turn a froward hert, + Whom thou so fain wouldst frame. + +15 'Cerin he liveth careless: + He leaps among the leaves: + He eats the fruits of thy redress: + Thou reap'st, he takes the sheaves. + +16 'My beasts, a while your food refrain, + And hark your herdman's sound; + Whom spiteful love, alas! hath slain, + Through girt with many a wound, + +17 'O happy be ye, beastes wild, + That here your pasture takes: + I see that ye be not beguiled + Of these your faithful makes,[5] + +18 'The hart he feedeth by the hind: + The buck hard by the doe: + The turtle-dove is not unkind + To him that loves her so. + +19 'The ewe she hath by her the ram: + The young cow hath the bull: + The calf with many a lusty lamb + Do feed their hunger full. + +20 'But, well-a-way! that nature wrought + Thee, Phillida, so fair: + For I may say that I have bought + Thy beauty all too dear. + +21 'What reason is that cruelty + With, beauty should have part? + Or else that such great tyranny + Should dwell in woman's heart? + +22 'I see therefore to shape my death + She cruelly is prest,[6] + To the end that I may want my breath: + My days be at the best. + +23 'O Cupid, grant this my request, + And do not stop thine ears: + That she may feel within her breast + The pains of my despairs: + +24 'Of Corin that is careless, + That she may crave her fee: + As I have done in great distress, + That loved her faithfully. + +25 'But since that I shall die her slave, + Her slave, and eke her thrall, + Write you, my friends, upon my grave + This chance that is befall: + +26 '"Here lieth unhappy Harpalus, + By cruel love now slain: + Whom Phillida unjustly thus + Hath murder'd with disdain."' + +[1] 'Yfere' together. +[2] 'Forced' cared for. +[3] 'Shent:' spoiled. +[4] 'Forwacht:' from much watching. +[5] 'Makes:' mates. +[6] 'Prest:' ready. + + +A PRAISE OF HIS LADY. + +1 Give place, you ladies, and begone, + Boast not yourselves at all, + For here at hand approacheth one + Whose face will stain you all. + +2 The virtue of her lively looks + Excels the precious stone; + I wish to have none other books + To read or look upon. + +3 In each of her two crystal eyes + Smileth a naked boy; + It would you all in heart suffice + To see that lamp of joy. + +4 I think Nature hath lost the mould + Where she her shape did take; + Or else I doubt if Nature could + So fair a creature make. + +5 She may be well compared + Unto the phoenix kind, + Whose like was never seen nor heard, + That any man can find. + +6 In life she is Diana chaste, + In truth Penelope; + In word, and eke in deed, steadfast; + What will you more we say? + +7 If all the world were sought so far, + Who could find such a wight? + Her beauty twinkleth like a star + Within the frosty night. + +8 Her rosial colour comes and goes + "With such a comely grace, + More ruddier, too, than doth the rose, + Within her lively face." + +9 At Bacchus' feast none shall her meet, + Nor at no wanton play, + Nor gazing in an open street, + Nor gadding, as astray. + +10 The modest mirth that she doth use, + Is mix'd with shamefastness; + All vice she doth wholly refuse, + And hateth idleness. + +11 O Lord, it is a world to see + How virtue can repair, + And deck in her such honesty, + Whom Nature made so fair. + +12 Truly she doth as far exceed + Our women now-a-days, + As doth the gilliflower a wreed, + And more a thousand ways. + +13 How might I do to get a graff + Of this unspotted tree? + For all the rest are plain but chaff + Which seem good corn to be. + +14 This gift alone I shall her give, + When death doth what he can: + Her honest fame shall ever live + Within the mouth of man. + + +THAT ALL THINGS SOMETIME FIND EASE OF THEIR PAIN, +SAVE ONLY THE LOVER. + +1 I see there is no sort + Of things that live in grief, + Which at sometime may not resort + Where as they have relief. + +2 The stricken deer by kind + Of death that stands in awe, + For his recure an herb can find + The arrow to withdraw. + +3 The chased deer hath soil + To cool him in his heat; + The ass, after his weary toil. + In stable is up set. + +4 The coney hath its cave, + The little bird his nest, + From heat and cold themselves to save + At all times as they list. + +5 The owl, with feeble sight, + Lies lurking in the leaves, + The sparrow in the frosty night + May shroud her in the eaves. + +6 But woe to me, alas! + In sun nor yet in shade, + I cannot find a resting-place, + My burden to unlade. + +7 But day by day still bears + The burden on my back, + With weeping eyes and wat'ry tears, + To hold my hope aback. + +8 All things I see have place + Wherein they bow or bend, + Save this, alas! my woful case, + Which nowhere findeth end. + + +FROM 'THE PHOENIX' NEST.' + +O Night, O jealous Night, repugnant to my pleasure, +O Night so long desired, yet cross to my content, +There's none but only thou can guide me to my treasure, +Yet none but only thou that hindereth my intent. + +Sweet Night, withhold thy beams, withhold them till to-morrow, +Whose joy, in lack so long, a hell of torment breeds, +Sweet Night, sweet gentle Night, do not prolong my sorrow, +Desire is guide to me, and love no loadstar needs. + +Let sailors gaze on stars and moon so freshly shining, +Let them that miss the way be guided by the light, +I know my lady's bower, there needs no more divining, +Affection sees in dark, and love hath eyes by night. + +Dame Cynthia, couch a while; hold in thy horns for shining, +And glad not low'ring Night with thy too glorious rays; +But be she dim and dark, tempestuous and repining, +That in her spite my sport may work thy endless praise. + +And when my will is done, then, Cynthia, shine, good lady, +All other nights and days in honour of that night, +That happy, heavenly night, that night so dark and shady, +Wherein my love had eyes that lighted my delight. + + +FROM THE SAME. + +1 The gentle season of the year + Hath made my blooming branch appear, + And beautified the land with flowers; + The air doth savour with delight, + The heavens do smile to see the sight, + And yet mine eyes augment their showers. + +2 The meads are mantled all with green, + The trembling leaves have clothed the treen, + The birds with feathers new do sing; + But I, poor soul, whom wrong doth rack, + Attire myself in mourning black, + Whose leaf doth fall amidst his spring. + +3 And as you see the scarlet rose + In his sweet prime his buds disclose, + Whose hue is with the sun revived; + So, in the April of mine age, + My lively colours do assuage, + Because my sunshine is deprived. + +4 My heart, that wonted was of yore, + Light as the winds, abroad to soar + Amongst the buds, when beauty springs, + Now only hovers over you, + As doth the bird that's taken new, + And mourns when all her neighbours sings. + +5 When every man is bent to sport, + Then, pensive, I alone resort + Into some solitary walk, + As doth the doleful turtle-dove, + Who, having lost her faithful love, + Sits mourning on some wither'd stalk. + +6 There to myself I do recount + How far my woes my joys surmount, + How love requiteth me with hate, + How all my pleasures end in pain, + How hate doth say my hope is vain, + How fortune frowns upon my state. + +7 And in this mood, charged with despair, + With vapour'd sighs I dim the air, + And to the gods make this request, + That by the ending of my life, + I may have truce with this strange strife, + And bring my soul to better rest. + + +THE SOUL'S ERRAND. + +1 Go, Soul, the body's guest, + Upon a thankless errand, + Fear not to touch the best, + The truth shall be thy warrant; + Go, since I needs must die, + And give the world the lie. + +2 Go tell the Court it glows, + And shines like rotten wood; + Go, tell the Church it shows + What's good and doth no good; + If Church and Court reply, + Then give them both the lie. + +3 Tell potentates they live, + Acting by others' actions, + Not loved, unless they give, + Not strong, but by their factions; + If potentates reply, + Give potentates the lie. + +4 Tell men of high condition, + That rule affairs of state, + Their purpose is ambition, + Their practice only hate; + And if they once reply, + Then give them all the lie. + +5 Tell them that brave it most, + They beg for more by spending, + Who, in their greatest cost, + Seek nothing but commending; + And if they make reply, + Then give them all the lie. + +6 Tell Zeal it lacks devotion, + Tell Love it is but lust, + Tell Time it is but motion, + Tell Flesh it is but dust; + And wish them not reply, + For thou must give the lie. + +7 Tell Age it daily wasteth, + Tell Honour how it alters, + Tell Beauty how she blasteth, + Tell Favour how she falters; + And as they shall reply, + Give every one the lie. + +8 Tell Wit how much it wrangles + In treble points of niceness, + Tell Wisdom she entangles + Herself in overwiseness; + And when they do reply, + Straight give them both the lie. + +9 Tell Physic of her boldness, + Tell Skill it is pretension, + Tell Charity of coldness, + Tell Law it is contention; + And as they do reply, + So give them still the lie. + +10 Tell Fortune of her blindness, + Tell Nature of decay, + Tell Friendship of unkindness, + Tell Justice of delay; + And if they will reply, + Then give them all the lie. + +11 Tell Arts they have no soundness, + But vary by esteeming, + Tell Schools they want profoundness, + And stand too much on seeming; + If Arts and Schools reply, + Give Arts and Schools the lie. + +12 Tell Faith it's fled the city, + Tell how the country erreth, + Tell Manhood shakes off pity, + Tell Virtue least preferreth; + And if they do reply, + Spare not to give the lie. + +13 And when thou hast, as I + Commanded thee, done blabbing, + Although to give the lie + Deserves no less than stabbing; + Yet stab at thee who will, + No stab the Soul can kill. + + + * * * * * + + +SECOND PERIOD. + +FROM SPENSER TO DRYDEN. + + + + +FRANCIS BEAUMONT. + + +This remarkable man, from his intimate connexion with Fletcher, is better +known as a dramatist than as a poet. He was the son of Judge Beaumont, and +descended from an ancient family, which was settled at Grace Dieu in +Leicestershire. He was born in 1585-86, and educated at Cambridge. Thence +he passed to study in the Inner Temple, but seems to have preferred poetry +and the drama to law. He was married to the daughter of Sir Henry Isley of +Kent, who bore him two daughters. He died in his 30th year, and was buried +March 9, 1615-16, in St Benedict's Chapel, Westminster Abbey. More of his +connexion with Fletcher afterwards. + +After his death, his brother published a collection of his miscellaneous +pieces. We extract a few, of no little merit. His verses to Ben Jonson, +written before their author came to London, and first appended to a play +entitled 'Nice Valour,' are picturesque and interesting, as illustrating +the period. + + +TO BEN JONSON. + +The sun (which doth the greatest comfort bring +To absent friends, because the selfsame thing +They know, they see, however absent) is +Here, our best haymaker (forgive me this, +It is our country's style) in this warm shine +I lie, and dream of your full Mermaid wine. +Oh, we have water mix'd with claret lees, +Brink apt to bring in drier heresies +Than beer, good only for the sonnet's strain, +With fustian metaphors to stuff the brain, +So mix'd, that, given to the thirstiest one, +'Twill not prove alms, unless he have the stone. +I think, with one draught man's invention fades: +Two cups had quite spoil'd Homer's Iliades. +'Tis liquor that will find out Sutcliff's wit, +Lie where he will, and make him write worse yet; +Fill'd with such moisture in most grievous qualms, +Did Robert Wisdom write his singing psalms; +And so must I do this: And yet I think +It is a potion sent us down to drink, +By special Providence, keeps us from fights, +Makes us not laugh when we make legs to knights. +'Tis this that keeps our minds fit for our states, +A medicine to obey our magistrates: +For we do live more free than you; no hate, +No envy at one another's happy state, +Moves us; we are all equal: every whit +Of land that God gives men here is their wit, +If we consider fully, for our best +And gravest men will with his main house-jest +Scarce please you; we want subtilty to do +The city tricks, lie, hate, and flatter too: +Here are none that can bear a painted show, +Strike when you wink, and then lament the blow; +Who, like mills, set the right way for to grind, +Can make their gains alike with every wind; +Only some fellows with the subtlest pate, +Amongst us, may perchance equivocate +At selling of a horse, and that's the most. +Methinks the little wit I had is lost +Since I saw you; for wit is like a rest +Held up at tennis, which men do the best, +With the best gamesters: what things have we seen +Done at the Mermaid; heard words that have been +So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, +As if that every one from whence they came +Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, +And had resolved to live a fool the rest +Of his dull life: then when there had been thrown +Wit able enough to justify the town +For three days past; wit that might warrant be +For the whole city to talk foolishly +Till that were cancell'd; and when that was gone, +We left an air behind us, which alone +Was able to make the two next companies +Eight witty; though but downright fools were wise. +When I remember this, +* * * I needs must cry +I see my days of ballading grow nigh; +I can already riddle, and can sing +Catches, sell bargains, and I fear shall bring +Myself to speak the hardest words I find +Over as oft as any with one wind, +That takes no medicines, but thought of thee +Makes me remember all these things to be +The wit of our young men, fellows that show +No part of good, yet utter all they know, +Who, like trees of the garden, have growing souls. +Only strong Destiny, which all controls, +I hope hath left a better fate in store +For me, thy friend, than to live ever poor. +Banish'd unto this home: Fate once again +Bring me to thee, who canst make smooth and plain +The way of knowledge for me; and then I, +Who have no good but in thy company, +Protest it will my greatest comfort be, +To acknowledge all I have to flow from thee, +Ben; when these scenes are perfect, we'll taste wine; +I'll drink thy muse's health, thou shalt quaff mine. + + +ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER. + +Mortality, behold and fear, +What a charge of flesh is here! +Think how many royal bones +Sleep within these heap of stones: +Here they lie, had realms and lands, +Who now want strength to stir their hands; +Where, from their pulpits seal'd with dust, +They preach--in greatness is no trust. +Here's an acre sown indeed +With the richest, royal'st seed, +That the earth did e'er suck in +Since the first man died for sin: +Here the bones of birth have cried, +Though gods they were, as men they died: +Here are wands, ignoble things, +Dropp'd from the ruin'd sides of kings. +Here's a world of pomp and state +Buried in dust, once dead by fate. + + +AN EPITAPH. + +Here she lies, whose spotless fame +Invites a stone to learn her name: +The rigid Spartan that denied +An epitaph to all that died, +Unless for war, in charity +Would here vouchsafe an elegy. +She died a wife, but yet her mind, +Beyond virginity refined, +From lawless fire remain'd as free +As now from heat her ashes be: +Keep well this pawn, thou marble chest; +Till it be call'd for, let it rest; +For while this jewel here is set, +The grave is like a cabinet. + + + + +SIR WALTER RALEIGH. + + +The verses attributed to this illustrious man are few, and the +authenticity of some of them is doubtful. No one, however, who has +studied his career, or read his 'History of the World,' can deny him +the title of a great poet. + +We cannot be expected, in a work of the present kind, to enlarge on a +career so well known as that of Sir Walter Kaleigh. He was born in 1552, +at Hayes Farm, in Devonshire, and descended from an old family there. He +went early to Oxford, but finding its pursuits too tame for his active +and enterprising spirit, he left it, and became a soldier at seventeen. +For six years he fought on the Protestant side in France, besides serving +a campaign in the Netherlands. In 1579, he went a voyage, which proved +disastrous, to Newfoundland, in company with his half-brother, Sir +Humphrey Gilbert. There can be no doubt that this early apprenticeship +to war and navigation was of material service to the future explorer and +historian. In 1580, he fought in Ireland against the Earl of Desmond, +who had raised a rebellion there, and on one occasion is said to have +defended a ford of Shannon against a whole band of wild Irish rebels, +till the stream ran purple with their blood and his own. With the Lord- +Deputy, Lord Grey de Wilton, he got into a dispute, and to settle it came +over to England. Here high favour awaited him. His handsome appearance, +his graceful address, his ready wit and chivalric courtesy, dashed with +a fine poetic enthusiasm, (see them admirably pictured in 'Kenilworth,') +combined to exalt him in the estimation of Queen Elizabeth. On one +occasion he flung his rich plush cloak over a miry part of the way, that +she might pass on unsoiled. By this delicate piece of enacted flattery he +'spoiled a cloak and made a fortune.' The Queen sent him, along with some +other courtiers, to attend the Duke of Anjou, who had in vain solicited +her hand, back to the Netherlands. In 1584, he fitted two ships, and sent +them out for the discovery and settlement of those parts of North America +not already appropriated by Christian states, and the next year there +followed a fleet of seven ships under the command of Sir Richard +Grenville, Raleigh's kinsman. The attempt to colonise America at that +time failed, but two important things were transplanted through means of +the expedition from Virginia to Britain, namely, tobacco and the potato, +--the former of which has ever since been offered up in smoky sacrifice to +Raleigh's memory throughout the whole world, and the latter of which has +become the most valuable of all our vegetable esculents. Raleigh first +planted the potato in Ireland, a country of which it has long been the +principal food. A ludicrous story is told about this. It is said that he +had invited a number of his neighbours to an entertainment, in which the +new root was to form a prominent part, but when the feast began Raleigh +found, to his horror, that the servants had boiled the plums, a most +unsavoury mess, and immediately, we suppose, 'tabulae solvuntur risu.' +In 1584 the Queen had knighted him, and shortly after she granted him +certain lucrative monopolies, and an estate in Ireland, in addition to +one he had possessed for some years. In 1588, he was of material service +as one of Her Majesty's Council of War, formed to resist the Spanish +Armada, and as one of the volunteers who joined the English fleet with +ships of their own. Next year he accompanied a number of his countrymen +in an expedition, which had it in view to restore Don Antonio to the +throne of Portugal, of which the Spaniards had deprived him. On his +return he lost caste considerably, both with the Queen and country, by +taking bribes, and otherwise abusing the influence he had acquired at +Court. Yet, about this time, his active mind was projecting what he +called an 'Office of Address,'--a plan for facilitating the designs of +literary and scientific men, promoting intercourse between them, gaining, +in short, all those objects which are now secured by our literary +associations and philosophical societies. Raleigh was eminently a man +before his age, but, alas! his age was too far behind him. + +While visiting Ireland, after his expedition to Portugal, he contracted +an intimacy with Spenser. (See our 'Life of Spenser,' vol. ii.) In 1592, +he commanded a large naval expedition, destined to attack Panama and +intercept the Spanish Plate-fleet, but was recalled by the Queen, not, +however, till he had seized on an important prize, and, in common +parlance, had 'feathered his nest.' On his return he excited Her +Majesty's wrath, by an intrigue with Elizabeth Throgmorton, one of the +maids of honour, and, although Raleigh afterwards married her, the Queen +imprisoned both the offending parties for some months in the Tower. +Spenser is believed to allude to this in the 4th Book of his great poem. +(See vol. in. of our edition, p. 88.) Even after he was released from +the Tower, Raleigh had to leave the Court in disgrace; instead, however, +of wasting time in vain regrets, he undertook, at his own expense, an +expedition against Guiana, where he captured the city of San Joseph, and +which he occupied in the Queen's name. After his return he published an +account of his expedition, more distinguished by glowing eloquence than +by rigid regard to truth. In 1596, having in some measure regained the +Queen's favour, he was appointed to a command in the expedition against +Cadiz, under the Earl of Essex. In this, as well as in the expedition +against the Spanish Plate-fleet the next year, he won laurels, but was +unfortunate enough to excite the jealousy of his Commander-in-Chief. +When the favourite got into trouble, Raleigh eagerly joined in the hunt, +wrote a letter to Cecil urging him to the destruction of Essex, and +witnessed his execution from a window in the Armoury. This is +undoubtedly a deep blot on the escutcheon of our hero. + +Cecil had been glad of Raleigh's aid in ruining Essex, but he bore him +no good-will otherwise, and is said to have poisoned James, who now +succeeded to the English throne, against him. Assuredly the new King was +no friend of Raleigh's. Stimulated by Cecil, after first depriving him +of his office of Captain of the Guards, he brought him to trial for high +treason. He was accused of conspiring to establish Popery, to dethrone +the King, and to put the crown on the head of Arabella Stewart. Sir +Edward Coke, the Attorney-General, led the accusation, and disgraced +himself by heaping on Raleigh's head every foul epithet, calling him +'viper,' 'damnable atheist,' 'monster,' 'traitor,' 'spider of hell,' +&c., and by his violence, although to his own surprise, as he never +expected to gain his cause in full, he browbeat the jury to bring in a +verdict of high treason. + +Raleigh's defence was a masterpiece of temper, dignity, strength of +reasoning, and eloquence, and his enemies were ashamed of the decision +to which they had driven the jury. He was therefore reprieved, and +committed to the Tower, where his wife was allowed to bear him company, +and where his youngest son was born. His estates were, in general, +preserved to him, but Carr, the infamous minion of the King, under some +pretext of a flaw in the conveyance of it by Raleigh to his son, seized +upon his manor of Sherborne. In the Tower he continued for twelve years. +These years his industry and genius rendered the happiest probably of +his life. Immured in the + + 'towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, + By many a foul and midnight murder fed,' + +his winged soul soared away, like the dove of the Deluge, over the wild +ocean of the past. The Tower confined his body, but this great globe the +world seemed too little for the sweep of his spirit. To fill up the vast +void which a long imprisonment created around him, and to shew that his +powers retained all their elasticity, he projected a work on the largest +scale, and with the noblest purpose--'The History of the World.' In this +undertaking he found literary men ready to lend him their aid. A hundred +hands were generously stretched out to gather materials, and to bring +them to the captive in the Tower. Cart-loads of books were sent. One +Burrell, formerly his chaplain, assisted him in much of the critical and +chronological drudgery. Rugged Ben Jonson sent in a piece of rugged +writing on the Punic War, which Raleigh polished and set as a carved +stone in his magnificent temple. Some have, on this account, sought to +detract from the merit of the author. As if ever an architect could rear +a building without hodmen! But in Raleigh's case the hodmen were Titans. +'The best wits in England assisted him in his undertaking;' and what a +compliment was this to the strength and stature of the master-builder! + +This great work was never finished. The part completed comprehended only +the period from the Creation to the Downfall of the Macedonian Empire +--one hundred and seventy years before Christ. He tarries too long amidst +the misty and mythical ages which precede the dawn of history; his +speculations on the site of the original Paradise, on the Flood, &c., +are more ingenious than instructive; but his descriptions of the Greek +battles--his account of the rise of Rome--the extensive erudition, on +all subjects displayed in the book--the many acute, profound, and +eloquently-expressed observations which are sprinkled throughout--and +the style, massive, dignified, rich, and less involved in structure than +that of almost any of his contemporaries--shall always rank it amongst +the great literary treasures of the language. It was published in 1614. +Besides it, Raleigh was the author of various works, all full of +sagacious thought and brilliant imagery, such as 'The Advice to a Son on +the Choice of a Wife,' 'The Sceptic,' 'Maxims of State,' &c. At last he +was released by the advance of a large sum of money to Villiers, Duke of +Buckingham, James's favourite; and, to retrieve his fortunes, projected +another expedition to America. James granted him a patent, under the +Great Seal, for making a settlement in Guiana, but ungenerously did not +grant him a pardon for the sentence which had been passed on him for +treason. He set sail, 1617, in a ship built by himself, called the +_Destiny_, with eleven other vessels. Having reached the Orinoco, he +despatched a portion of his forces to attack the new Spanish settlement +of St Thomas. This was captured, with the loss of Raleigh's eldest son. +The expected plunder, however, proved of little value; and Sir Walter +having in vain attempted to induce his captains to attack other +settlements of the Spaniards, was compelled to return home--his golden +dreams dissolved, and his prophetic soul forewarning him of the doom +that awaited him on his native shores. In July 1618, he landed at +Plymouth; 'whence,' says Howell, in his 'Familiar Letters,' 'he thought +to make an escape, and some say he tampered with his body by physic to +make him look sickly, that he might be the more pitied, and permitted to +lie in his own house.' James was at this time seeking the hand of the +Infanta for his son Charles, and was naturally disposed to side with the +Spanish cause. He was, besides, stirred up by the Spanish ambassador, +Count Gondomar, who sent to desire an audience with His Majesty, and +said, that he had only one word to say to him. 'The King wondered what +could be delivered in one word, whereupon, when he came before him, he +said only, "Pirates! pirates! pirates!" and so departed.' + +Raleigh consequently was arrested and sent back to his old lodgings in +the Tower. He was not tried, as might have been expected, for the new +offence of waging war against a power then at amity with England, but +James, with consummate meanness and cruelty, determined to revive his +former sentence. He was brought before the King's Bench, where his old +enemy, Sir Edward Coke, now sat as Chief Justice, and officially +condemned him to death. His language, however, was considerably modified +to the prisoner. He said, 'I know you have been valiant and wise, and I +doubt not but you retain both these virtues, for now you shall have +occasion to use them. Your faith hath heretofore been questioned, but I +am resolved you are a good Christian; for your book, which is an +admirable work, doth testify as much. I would give you counsel, but I +know you can apply unto yourself far better than I can give you. Yet +will I (with the good neighbour in the Gospel, who, finding one in the +way wounded and distressed, poured oil into his wounds and refreshed +him) give unto you the oil of comfort, though, in respect that I am a +minister of the law, mixed with vinegar.' Such was Coke's comfort to the +brave and gifted man who stood untrembling before his bar. + +On the 26th of October 1618, the day after his condemnation, Raleigh was +beheaded. He met his fate with dignity and composure. Having addressed +the multitude in vindication of his conduct, he took up the axe, and +said to the sheriff, 'This is a sharp medicine, but a sound cure for all +diseases.' He told the executioner that he would give the signal by +lifting up his hand, and 'then,' he said, 'fear not, but strike home.' +He next laid himself down, but was asked by the executioner to alter the +position of the head. 'So the heart be right,' he replied, 'it is no +matter which way the head lies.' The headsman became uncertain and +tremulous when the signal was given, whereupon Ealeigh exclaimed, 'Why +dost thou not strike? Strike, man!' and by two blows that gallant, +witty, and richly-stored head was severed from the body. He was in his +sixty-fifth year. He had the night before composed the following verse:-- + + Even such is Time, that takes on trust + Our youth, our joys, our all we have, + And pays us but with age and dust; + Who in the dark and silent grave, + When we have wander'd all our ways, + Shuts up the story of our days.' + +Thus perished Sir Walter Raleigh. There has been ever one opinion as to +the breadth and brilliance of his genius. His powers were almost +universal in their range. He commented on Scripture with the ingenuity +of a Talmudist, and wrote love verses (see the lines in Campbell's +'Specimens,' entitled 'Dulcina') with the animus and graceful levity of +a Thomas Moore. He was deep at once in 'all the learning of the +Egyptians,' and in that of the Greeks and Romans. In his large mind lay +dreams of golden lands, which even Australia has not yet fully verified, +alongside of maxims of the most practical wisdom. He was learned in all +that had been; well-informed as to all that was; and speculative and +hopeful as to all that might be and was yet to be. Disgust at the +scholastic methods, blended with the adventurous character of his mind, +and perhaps also with some looseness of moral principle, led him at one +time to the brink of universal scepticism; but disappointment, sorrow, +and the solitude of the Tower, made him a sadder and wiser man, and he +returned to the verities of the Christian religion. The stains on his +character seem to have arisen chiefly from his position. He was, like +some greater and some smaller men of eminence, undoubtedly, to a certain +extent, a brilliant adventurer--a class to whom justice is seldom done, +and against whom every calumny is believed. He was a _novus homo_, in an +age of more than common aristocratic pretence; sprang, indeed, from an +ancient family, but possessing nothing himself, save his cloak, his +sword, his tact, and his genius. We all know how, in later times, such +spirits, kindred in many points to Raleigh, in some superior, and in +others inferior--as Burke, Sheridan, and Canning--were used, less for +their errors of temper or of life, than because they had gained immense +influence, not by birth or favour, but by the force of extraordinary +talent and no less remarkable address. Raleigh, however, was undoubtedly +imprudent in a high degree. He had once or twice outraged common +morality; his enemies were constantly accusing him of gasconading and of +'pride.' His success at first was too early and too easy, and hence a +reverse might have been anticipated as certain and as remarkable as his +rise had been. His fall ultimately is understood to have been +precipitated by the base complicity of James with the Spaniards, who +were informed by the King of Raleigh's motions in America, and prepared +to counteract them, as well as by the loud-sounding invectives and legal +lies of the unscrupulous instruments of his tyrannical power. With all +his faults and follies, (of 'crimes,' it has been justly said, Raleigh +can hardly be accused,) he stood high in that crowd of giants who +illustrated the reign of the Amazonian Queen. What an age it was! Bacon, +with still brighter powers, and far darker and meaner faults than +Raleigh, was sitting on the woolsack in body, while his spirit was +presiding over the half-born philosophies of the future, and beholding +the cold rod of Induction blossom in an after-day into the Aaronic +flowers and fruits of a magnificent science; Cecil was nodding out +wisdom or transcendental craft in the Cabinet; Sir Philip Sidney was +carrying the spirit of 'Arcadia' into the field of battle; Spenser was +dreaming his one beautiful lifelong Dream; and Shakspeare was holding up +his calm mirror to the heart of man and the universe of nature; while, +on the prow of the British vessel, carrying on those lofty spirits and +enterprises, there appeared a daring mariner, the Poet and 'Shepherd of +the Ocean,' with bright eye, sanguine countenance, step treading the +deck like a throne, and look contemplating the sunset, as if it were the +dawning, and the Evening, as if it were the Morning Star. It was the +hopeful and the brilliant Raleigh, who, while he 'opened up to Europe +the New World, was the historian of the Old.' Alas that this illustrious +'Marinere' was doomed to a life so troubled and a death so dreadful, and +that the glory of one of England's prodigies is for ever bound up with +the disgrace of one of England's and Scotland's princes! + + +THE COUNTRY'S RECREATIONS. + +1 Heart-tearing cares and quiv'ring fears, + Anxious sighs, untimely tears, + Fly, fly to courts, + Fly to fond worldling's sports; + Where strain'd sardonic smiles are glozing still, + And Grief is forced to laugh against her will; + Where mirth's but mummery, + And sorrows only real be. + +2 Fly from our country pastimes, fly, + Sad troop of human misery! + Come, serene looks, + Clear as the crystal brooks, + Or the pure azured heaven, that smiles to see + The rich attendance of our poverty. + Peace and a secure mind, + Which all men seek, we only find. + +3 Abused mortals, did you know + Where joy, heart's ease, and comforts grow, + You'd scorn proud towers, + And seek them in these bowers; + Where winds perhaps our woods may sometimes shake, + But blustering care could never tempest make, + Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us, + Saving of fountains that glide by us. + + * * * * * + +4 Blest silent groves! oh, may ye be + For ever mirth's best nursery! + May pure contents, + For ever pitch their tents + Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, these mountains, + And peace still slumber by these purling fountains, + Which we may every year + Find when we come a-fishing here. + + +THE SILENT LOVER. + +1 Passions are liken'd best to floods and streams, + The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb; + So when affection yields discourse, it seems + The bottom is but shallow whence they come; + They that are rich in words must needs discover + They are but poor in that which makes a lover. + +2 Wrong not, sweet mistress of my heart, + The merit of true passion, + With thinking that he feels no smart + That sues for no compassion. + +3 Since if my plaints were not t' approve + The conquest of thy beauty, + It comes not from defect of love, + But fear t' exceed my duty. + +4 For not knowing that I sue to serve + A saint of such perfection + As all desire, but none deserve + A place in her affection, + +5 I rather choose to want relief + Than venture the revealing; + Where glory recommends the grief, + Despair disdains the healing. + +6 Silence in love betrays more woe + Than words, though ne'er so witty; + A beggar that is dumb, you know, + May challenge double pity. + +7 Then wrong not, dearest to my heart, + My love for secret passion; + He smarteth most who hides his smart, + And sues for no compassion. + + +A VISION UPON 'THE FAIRY QUEEN.' + +Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay, +Within that temple where the vestal flame +Was wont to burn: and passing by that way +To see that buried dust of living fame, +Whose tomb fair Love and fairer Virtue kept, +All suddenly I saw the Fairy Queen, +At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept; +And from thenceforth those Graces were not seen, +For they this Queen attended; in whose stead +Oblivion laid him down on Laura's hearse. +Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed, +And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce, +Where Homer's sprite did tremble all for grief, +And cursed the access of that celestial thief. + + +LOVE ADMITS NO RIVAL. + +1 Shall I, like a hermit, dwell, + On a rock, or in a cell, + Calling home the smallest part + That is missing of my heart, + To bestow it where I may + Meet a rival every day? + If she undervalue me, + What care I how fair she be? + +2 Were her tresses angel gold, + If a stranger may be bold, + Unrebuked, unafraid, + To convert them to a braid, + And with little more ado + Work them into bracelets, too; + If the mine be grown so free, + What care I how rich it be? + +3 Were her hand as rich a prize + As her hairs, or precious eyes, + If she lay them out to take + Kisses, for good manners' sake, + And let every lover skip + From her hand unto her lip; + If she seem not chaste to me, + What care I how chaste she be? + +4 No; she must be perfect snow, + In effect as well as show; + Warming but as snow-balls do, + Not like fire, by burning too; + But when she by change hath got + To her heart a second lot, + Then if others share with me, + Farewell her, whate'er she be! + + + + +JOSHUA SYLVESTER. + + +Joshua Sylvester is the next in the list of our imperfectly-known, but +real poets. Very little is known of his history. He was a merchant- +adventurer, and died at Middleburg, aged fifty-five, in 1618. He is said +to have applied, in 1597, for the office of secretary to a trading +company in Stade, and to have been, on this occasion, patronised by +the Earl of Essex. He was at one time attached to the English Court as +a pensioner of Prince Henry. He is said to have been driven abroad by +the severity of his satires. He seems to have had a sweet flow of +conversational eloquence, and hence was called 'The Silver-tongued.' He +was an eminent linguist, and wrote his dedications in various languages. +He published a large volume of poems, very unequal in their value, and +inserted in it 'The Soul's Errand,' with interpolations, as we have seen, +which prove it not to be his own. His great work is the translation of +the 'Divine Weeks and Works' of the French poet, Du Bartas, which is a +marvellous medley of flatness and force--of childish weakness and soaring +genius--with more _seed poetry_ in it than any poem we remember, except +'Festus,' the chaos of a hundred poetic worlds. There can be little doubt +that Milton was familiar with this work in boyhood, and many remarkable +coincidences have been pointed out between it and 'Paradise Lost.' +Sylvester was a Puritan, and his publisher, Humphrey Lownes, who lived +in the same street with Milton's father, belonged to the same sect; and, +as Campbell remarks, 'it is easily to be conceived that Milton often +repaired to the shop of Lownes, and there met with the pious didactic +poem.' The work, therefore, some specimens of which we subjoin, is +interesting, both in itself, and as having been the _prima stamina_ of +the great masterpiece of English poetry. + + +TO RELIGION. + +1 Religion, O thou life of life, + How worldlings, that profane thee rife, + Can wrest thee to their appetites! + How princes, who thy power deny, + Pretend thee for their tyranny, + And people for their false delights! + +2 Under thy sacred name, all over, + The vicious all their vices cover; + The insolent their insolence, + The proud their pride, the false their fraud, + The thief his theft, her filth the bawd, + The impudent, their impudence. + +3 Ambition under thee aspires, + And Avarice under thee desires; + Sloth under thee her ease assumes, + Lux under thee all overflows, + Wrath under thee outrageous grows, + All evil under thee presumes. + +4 Religion, erst so venerable, + What art thou now but made a fable, + A holy mask on folly's brow, + Where under lies Dissimulation, + Lined with all abomination. + Sacred Religion, where art thou? + +5 Not in the church with Simony, + Not on the bench with Bribery, + Nor in the court with Machiavel, + Nor in the city with deceits, + Nor in the country with debates; + For what hath Heaven to do with Hell? + + +ON MAN'S RESEMBLANCE TO GOD. +(FROM DU BARTAS.) + +O complete creature! who the starry spheres +Canst make to move, who 'bove the heavenly bears +Extend'st thy power, who guidest with thy hand +The day's bright chariot, and the nightly brand: +This curious lust to imitate the best +And fairest works of the Almightiest, +By rare effects bears record of thy lineage +And high descent; and that his sacred image +Was in thy soul engraven, when first his Spirit, +The spring of life, did in thy limbs inspire it. +For, as his beauties are past all compare, +So is thy soul all beautiful and fair: +As he's immortal, and is never idle, +Thy soul's immortal, and can brook no bridle +Of sloth, to curb her busy intellect: +He ponders all; thou peizest[1] each effect: +And thy mature and settled sapience +Hath some alliance with his providence: +He works by reason, thou by rule: he's glory +Of the heavenly stages, thou of th' earthly story: +He's great High Priest, thou his great vicar here: +He's sovereign Prince, and thou his viceroy dear. + +For soon as ever he had framed thee, +Into thy hands he put this monarchy: +Made all the creatures know thee for their lord, +And come before thee of their own accord: +And gave thee power as master, to impose +Fit sense-full names unto the host that rows +In watery regions; and the wand'ring herds +Of forest people; and the painted birds: +Oh, too, too happy! had that fall of thine +Not cancell'd so the character divine. + +But, since our souls' now sin-obscured light +Shines through the lanthorn of our flesh so bright; +What sacred splendour will this star send forth, +When it shall shine without this vail of earth? +The Soul here lodged is like a man that dwells +In an ill air, annoy'd with noisome smells; +In an old house, open to wind and weather; +Never in health not half an hour together: +Or, almost, like a spider who, confined +In her web's centre, shakes with every wind; +Moves in an instant, if the buzzing fly +Stir but a string of her lawn canopy. + +[1] 'Peizest:' weighest. + + +THE CHARIOT OF THE SUN. + +Thou radiant coachman, running endless course, +Fountain of heat, of light the lively source, +Life of the world, lamp of this universe, +Heaven's richest gem: oh, teach me where my verse +May but begin thy praise: Alas! I fare +Much like to one that in the clouds doth stare +To count the quails, that with their shadow cover +The Italian sea, when soaring hither over, +Fain of a milder and more fruitful clime, +They come with us to pass the summer time: +No sooner he begins one shoal to sum, +But, more and more, still greater shoals do come, +Swarm upon swarm, that with their countless number +Break off his purpose, and his sense encumber. + +Day's glorious eye! even as a mighty king +About his country stately progressing, +Is compass'd round with dukes, earls, lords, and knights, +(Orderly marshall'd in their noble rites,) +Esquires and gentlemen, in courtly kind, +And then his guard before him and behind. +And there is nought in all his royal muster, +But to his greatness addeth grace and lustre: +So, while about the world thou ridest aye, +Which only lives through virtue of thy ray, +Six heavenly princes, mounted evermore, +Wait on thy coach, three behind, three before; +Besides the host of th' upper twinklers bright, +To whom, for pay, thou givest only light. +And, even as man (the little world of cares) +Within the middle of the body bears +His heart, the spring of life, which with proportion +Supplieth spirits to all, and every portion: +Even so, O Sun, thy golden chariot marches +Amid the six lamps of the six low arches +Which seele the world, that equally it might +Richly impart them beauty, force, and light. + +Praising thy heat, which subtilly doth pierce +The solid thickness of our universe: +Which in the earth's kidneys mercury doth burn, +And pallid sulphur to bright metal turn; +I do digress, to praise that light of thine, +Which if it should but one day cease to shine, +Th' unpurged air to water would resolve, +And water would the mountain tops involve. + +Scarce I begin to measure thy bright face +Whose greatness doth so oft earth's greatness pass, +And which still running the celestial ring, +Is seen and felt of every living thing; +But that fantastic'ly I change my theme +To sing the swiftness of thy tireless team, +To sing how, rising from the Indian wave, +Thou seem'st (O Titan) like a bridegroom brave, +Who, from his chamber early issuing out +In rich array, with rarest gems about, +With pleasant countenance and lovely face, +With golden tresses and attractive grace, +Cheers at his coming all the youthful throng +That for his presence earnestly did long, +Blessing the day, and with delightful glee, +Singing aloud his epithalamie. + + + + +RICHARD BARNFIELD. + + +Of him we only know that he published several poetical volumes between +1594 and 1598. We give one beautiful piece, 'To a Nightingale,' which +used to be attributed to Shakspeare. + + +ADDRESS TO THE NIGHTINGALE. + +As it fell upon a day, +In the merry month of May, +Sitting in a pleasant shade +Which a grove of myrtles made; +Beasts did leap, and birds did sing, +Trees did grow, and plants did spring; +Everything did banish moan, +Save the nightingale alone. +She, poor bird, as all forlorn, +Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn; +And there sung the dolefull'st ditty, +That to hear it was great pity. +'Fie, fie, fie,' now would she cry; +'Teru, teru,' by and by; +That, to hear her so complain, +Scarce I could from tears refrain; +For her griefs, so lively shown, +Made me think upon mine own. +Ah! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain; +None takes pity on thy pain: +Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee, +Ruthless bears they will not cheer thee: +King Pandion he is dead; +All thy friends are lapp'd in lead; +All thy fellow-birds do sing, +Careless of thy sorrowing! +Whilst as fickle Fortune smiled, +Thou and I were both beguiled. +Every one that flatters thee +Is no friend in misery. +Words are easy, like the wind; +Faithful friends are hard to find. +Every man will be thy friend +Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend: +But, if store of crowns be scant, +No man will supply thy want. +If that one be prodigal, +Bountiful they will him call; +And with such-like flattering, +'Pity but he were a king.' +If he be addict to vice, +Quickly him they will entice; +But if Fortune once do frown, +Then farewell his great renown: +They that fawn'd on him before +Use his company no more. +He that is thy friend indeed, +He will help thee in thy need; +If thou sorrow, he will weep, +If thou wake, he cannot sleep: +Thus, of every grief in heart +He with thee doth bear a part. +These are certain signs to know +Faithful friend from flattering foe. + + + + +ALEXANDER HUME. + + +This Scottish poet was the second son of Patrick, fifth Baron of +Polwarth. He was born about the middle of the sixteenth century, and +died in 1609. He resided for some years, in the early part of his life, +in France. Returning home, he studied law, and then tried his fortune at +Court. Here he was eclipsed by a rival, named Montgomery; and after +assailing his rival, who rejoined, in verse, he became a clergyman in +disgust, and was settled in the parish of Logie. Here he darkened into +a sour and savage Calvinist, and uttered an exhortation to the youth of +Scotland to forego the admiration of classical heroes, and to read no +love-poetry save the 'Song of Solomon.' In another poetic walk, however, +that of natural description, Hume excelled, and we print with pleasure +some parts of his 'Summer's Day,' which our readers may compare with Mr +Aird's fine poem under the same title, and be convinced that the sky of +Scotland was as blue, and the grass as green, and Scottish eyes as quick +to perceive their beauty, in the sixteenth century as now. + + +THANKS FOR A SUMMER'S DAY. + +1 O perfect light which shade[1] away + The darkness from the light, + And set a ruler o'er the day, + Another o'er the night. + +2 Thy glory, when the day forth flies, + More vively does appear, + Nor[2] at mid-day unto our eyes + The shining sun is clear. + +3 The shadow of the earth anon + Removes and drawis by, + Syne[3] in the east, when it is gone, + Appears a clearer sky. + +4 Which soon perceive the little larks, + The lapwing, and the snipe, + And tune their song like Nature's clerks, + O'er meadow, muir, and stripe. + +5 But every bold nocturnal beast + No longer may abide, + They hie away both maist and least,[4] + Themselves in house to hide. + + * * * * * + +6 The golden globe incontinent + Sets up his shining head, + And o'er the earth and firmament + Displays his beams abroad.[5] + +7 For joy the birds with boulden[6] throats, + Against his visage sheen,[7] + Take up their kindly music notes + In woods and gardens green. + +8 Upbraids[8] the careful husbandman, + His corn and vines to see, + And every timeous[9] artisan + In booths works busily. + +9 The pastor quits the slothful sleep, + And passes forth with speed, + His little camow-nosed[10] sheep, + And rowting kye[11] to feed. + +10 The passenger, from perils sure, + Goes gladly forth the way, + Brief, every living creaeture + Takes comfort of the day. + + * * * * * + +11 The misty reek,[12] the clouds of rain + From tops of mountain skails,[13] + Clear are the highest hills and plain, + The vapours take the vales. + +12 Begaired[14] is the sapphire pend[15] + With spraings[16] of scarlet hue; + And preciously from end to end, + Damasked white and blue. + +13 The ample heaven, of fabric sure, + In clearness does surpass + The crystal and the silver, pure + As clearest polish'd glass. + +14 The time so tranquil is and clear, + That nowhere shall ye find, + Save on a high and barren hill, + The air of passing wind. + +15 All trees and simples, great and small, + That balmy leaf do bear, + Than they were painted on a wall, + No more they move or steir.[17] + +16 The rivers fresh, the caller[18] streams, + O'er rocks can swiftly rin,[19] + The water clear like crystal beams, + And makes a pleasant din. + + * * * * * + +17 Calm is the deep and purple sea, + Yea, smoother than the sand; + The waves, that woltering[20] wont to be, + Are stable like the land. + +18 So silent is the cessile air, + That every cry and call, + The hills and dales, and forest fair, + Again repeats them all. + +19 The clogged busy humming bees, + That never think to drown,[21] + On flowers and flourishes of trees, + Collect their liquor brown. + +20 The sun most like a speedy post + With ardent course ascends; + The beauty of our heavenly host + Up to our zenith tends. + + * * * * * + +21 The breathless flocks draw to the shade + And freshure[22] of their fauld;[23] + The startling nolt, as they were mad, + Run to the rivers cauld. + +22 The herds beneath some leafy trees, + Amidst the flowers they lie; + The stable ships upon the seas + Tend up their sails to dry. + +23 The hart, the hind, the fallow-deer, + Are tapish'd[24] at their rest; + The fowls and birds that made thee beare,[25] + Prepare their pretty nest. + +24 The rayons dure[26] descending down, + All kindle in a gleid;[27] + In city, nor in burrough town, + May none set forth their head. + +25 Back from the blue pavemented whun,[28] + And from ilk plaster wall, + The hot reflexing of the sun + Inflames the air and all. + +26 The labourers that timely rose, + All weary, faint, and weak, + For heat down to their houses goes, + Noon-meat and sleep to take. + +27 The caller[29] wine in cave is sought, + Men's brothing[30] breasts to cool; + The water cold and clear is brought, + And sallads steeped in ule.[31] + +28 With gilded eyes and open wings, + The cock his courage shows; + With claps of joy his breast he dings,[32] + And twenty times he crows. + +29 The dove with whistling wings so blue, + The winds can fast collect, + Her purple pens turn many a hue + Against the sun direct. + +30 Now noon is gone--gone is mid-day, + The heat does slake at last, + The sun descends down west away, + For three o'clock is past. + + * * * * * + +31 The rayons of the sun we see + Diminish in their strength, + The shade of every tower and tree + Extended is in length. + +32 Great is the calm, for everywhere + The wind is setting down, + The reek[33] throws up right in the air, + From every tower and town. + +33 The mavis and the philomeen,[34] + The starling whistles loud, + The cushats[35] on the branches green, + Full quietly they crood.[36] + +34 The gloamin[37] comes, the clay is spent, + The sun goes out of sight, + And painted is the occident + With purple sanguine bright. + + * * * * * + +35 The scarlet nor the golden thread, + Who would their beauty try, + Are nothing like the colour red + And beauty of the sky. + + * * * * * + +36 What pleasure then to walk and see, + Endlong[38] a river clear, + The perfect form of every tree + Within the deep appear. + +37 The salmon out of cruives[39] and creels[40] + Uphauled into scouts;[41] + The bells and circles on the weills,[42] + Through leaping of the trouts. + +38 O sure it were a seemly thing, + While all is still and calm, + The praise of God to play and sing + With trumpet and with shalm. + +39 Through all the land great is the gild[43] + Of rustic folks that cry; + Of bleating sheep, from they be fill'd, + Of calves and rowting kye. + +40 All labourers draw home at even, + And can to others say, + Thanks to the gracious God of heaven, + Who sent this summer day. + +[1] 'Shade:' for shaded. +[2] 'Nor:' than. +[3] 'Syne:' then. +[4] 'Maist and least:' largest and smallest. +[5] 'Abread:' abroad. +[6] 'Boulden:' emboldened. +[7] 'Sheen:' shining. +[8] 'Upbraids:' uprises. +[9] 'Timeous:' early. +[10]'Camow-nosed:' flat-nosed. +[11]'Rowting kye:' lowing kine. +[12]'Reek:' fog. +[13]'Skails:' dissipates. +[14]'Begaired:' dressed out. +[15]'Pend:' arch. +[16]'Spraings:' streaks. +[17] 'Steir:' stir. +[18] 'Caller:' cool. +[19] 'Rin:' run. +[20] 'Woltering:' tumbling. +[21] 'Drown:' drone, be idle. +[22] 'Freshure:' freshness. +[23] 'Fauld:' fold. +[24] 'Tapish'd:' stretched as on a carpet. +[25] 'Beare:' sound, music. +[26] 'Rayons dure:' hard or keen rays. +[27] 'Gleid:' fire. +[28] 'Whun:' whinstone. +[29] 'Caller:' cool. +[30] 'Brothing:' burning. +[31] 'Ule:' oil. +[32] 'Dings:' beats. +[33] 'Reek:' smoke. +[34] 'The mavis and the philomeen:' thrush and nightingale. +[35] 'Cushats:' wood-pigeons. +[36] 'Crood:' coo. +[37] 'Gloamin:' evening. +[38] 'Endlong:' along. +[39] 'Cruives:' cages for catching fish. +[40] 'Creels:' baskets. +[41] 'Scouts:' small boats or yawls. +[42] 'Weills:' eddies. +[43] 'Gild:' throng. + + + * * * * * + + +OTHER SCOTTISH POETS. + + +About the same time with Hume flourished two or three poets in Scotland +of considerable merit, such as Alexander Scott, author of satires and +amatory poems, and called sometimes the 'Scottish Anacreon;' Sir Richard +Maitland of Lethington, father of the famous Secretary Lethington, who, +in his advanced years, composed and dictated to his daughter a few moral +and conversational pieces, and who collected, besides, into a MS. which +bears his name, the productions of some of his contemporaries; and +Alexander Montgomery, author of an allegorical poem, entitled 'The +Cherry and the Slae.' + +The allegory is not well managed, but some of the natural descriptions +are sweet and striking. Take the two following stanzas as a specimen:-- + + 'The cushat croods, the corbie cries, + The cuckoo conks, the prattling pies + To geck there they begin; + The jargon of the jangling jays, + The cracking craws and keckling kays, + They deav'd me with their din; + The painted pawn, with Argus eyes, + Can on his May-cock call, + The turtle wails, on wither'd trees, + And Echo answers all. + Repeating, with greeting, + How fair Narcissus fell, + By lying, and spying + His shadow in the well. + + 'The air was sober, saft, and sweet, + Nae misty vapours, wind, nor weet, + But quiet, calm, and clear; + To foster Flora's fragrant flowers, + Whereon Apollo's paramours + Had trinkled mony a tear; + The which, like silver shakers, shined, + Embroidering Beauty's bed, + Wherewith their heavy heads declined, + In Maye's colours clad; + Some knopping, some dropping + Of balmy liquor sweet, + Excelling and smelling + Through Phoebus' wholesome heat.' + +The 'Cherry and the Slae' was familiar to Burns, who often, our readers +will observe, copied its form of verse. + + + + +SAMUEL DANIEL. + + +This ingenious person was born in 1562, near Taunton, in Somersetshire. +His father was a music-master. He was patronised by the noble family +of Pembroke, who probably also maintained him at college. He went to +Magdalene Hall, Oxford, in 1579; and after studying there, chiefly +history and poetry, for seven years, he left without a degree. When +twenty-three years of age, he translated Paulus Jovius' 'Discourse of +Rare Inventions.' He became tutor to Lady Anne Clifford, the elegant +and accomplished daughter of the Earl of Cumberland. She, at his death, +raised a monument to his memory, and recorded on it, with pride, that +she had been his pupil. After Spenser died, Daniel became a 'voluntary +laureat' to the Court, producing masques and pageants, but was soon +supplanted by 'rare Ben Jonson.' In 1603 he was appointed Master of the +Queen's Revels and Inspector of the Plays to be enacted by juvenile +performers. He was also promoted to be Gentleman Extraordinary and Groom +of the Chambers to the Queen. He was a varied and voluminous writer, +composing plays, miscellaneous poems, and prose compositions, including +a 'Defence of Rhyme' and a 'History of England,'--an honest, but somewhat +dry and dull production. While composing his works he resided in Old +Street, St Luke's, which was then thought a suburban residence; but he +was often in town, and mingled on intimate terms with Selden and +Shakspeare. When approaching sixty, he took a farm at Beckington, in +Somersetshire--his native shire--and died there in 1619. + +Daniel's Plays and History are now, as wholes, forgotten, although the +former contained some vigorous passages, such as Richard II.'s soliloquy +on the morning of his murder in Pomfret Castle. His smaller pieces and +his Sonnets shew no ordinary poetic powers. + + +RICHARD II., THE MORNING BEFORE HIS MURDER IN POMFRET CASTLE. + +Whether the soul receives intelligence, +By her near genius, of the body's end, +And so imparts a sadness to the sense, +Foregoing ruin, whereto it doth tend; +Or whether nature else hath conference +With profound sleep, and so doth warning send, +By prophetising dreams, what hurt is near, +And gives the heavv careful heart to fear:-- + +However, so it is, the now sad king, +Toss'd here and there his quiet to confound, +Feels a strange weight of sorrows gathering +Upon his trembling heart, and sees no ground; +Feels sudden terror bring cold shivering; +Lists not to eat, still muses, sleeps unsound; +His senses droop, his steady eyes unquick, +And much he ails, and yet he is not sick. + +The morning of that day which was his last, +After a weary rest, rising to pain, +Out at a little grate his eyes he cast +Upon those bordering hills and open plain, +Where others' liberty makes him complain +The more his own, and grieves his soul the more, +Conferring captive crowns with freedom poor. + +'O happy man,' saith he, 'that lo I see, +Grazing his cattle in those pleasant fields, +If he but knew his good. How blessed he +That feels not what affliction greatness yields! +Other than what he is he would not be, +Nor change his state with him that sceptre wields. +Thine, thine is that true life: that is to live, +To rest secure, and not rise up to grieve. + +'Thou sitt'st at home safe by thy quiet fire, +And hear'st of others' harms, but fearest none: +And there thou tell'st of kings, and who aspire, +Who fall, who rise, who triumph, who do moan. +Perhaps thou talk'st of me, and dost inquire +Of my restraint, why here I live alone, +And pitiest this my miserable fall; +For pity must have part--envy not all. + +'Thrice happy you that look as from the shore, +And have no venture in the wreck you see; +No interest, no occasion to deplore +Other men's travails, while yourselves sit free. +How much doth your sweet rest make us the more +To see our misery and what we be: +Whose blinded greatness, ever in turmoil, +Still seeking happy life, makes life a toil.' + + +EARLY LOVE. + +Ah, I remember well (and how can I +But evermore remember well?) when first +Our flame began, when scarce we knew what was +The flame we felt; when as we sat and sigh'd +And look'd upon each other, and conceived +Not what we ail'd, yet something we did ail, +And yet were well, and yet we were not well, +And what was our disease we could not tell. +Then would we kiss, then sigh, then look: and thus +In that first garden of our simpleness +We spent our childhood. But when years began +To reap the fruit of knowledge; ah, how then +Would she with sterner looks, with graver brow, +Check my presumption and my forwardness! +Yet still would give me flowers, still would show +What she would have me, yet not have me know. + + +SELECTIONS FROM SONNETS. + +I must not grieve, my love, whose eyes would read +Lines of delight, whereon her youth might smile; +Flowers have time before they come to seed, +And she is young, and now must sport the while. +And sport, sweet maid, in season of these years, +And learn to gather flowers before they wither; +And where the sweetest blossom first appears, +Let love and youth conduct thy pleasures thither, +Lighten forth smiles to clear the clouded air, +And calm the tempest which my sighs do raise: +Pity and smiles do best become the fair; +Pity and smiles must only yield thee praise. +Make me to say, when all my griefs are gone, +Happy the heart that sigh'd for such a one. + +Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair; +Her brow shades frown, although her eyes are sunny; +Her smiles are lightning, though her pride despair; +And her disdains are gall, her favours honey. +A modest maid, deck'd with a blush of honour, +Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and love; +The wonder of all eyes that look upon her: +Sacred on earth; design'd a saint above; +Chastity and Beauty, which are deadly foes, +Live reconciled friends within her brow; +And had she Pity to conjoin with those, +Then who had heard the plaints I utter now? +For had she not been fair, and thus unkind, +My muse had slept, and none had known my mind. + +Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, +Brother to Death, in silent darkness born, +Relieve my anguish, and restore the light, +With dark forgetting of my care, return. +And let the day be time enough to mourn +The shipwreck of my ill-advised youth; +Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, +Without the torments of the night's untruth. +Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires, +To model forth the passions of to-morrow; +Never let the rising sun prove you liars, +To add more grief, to aggravate my sorrow. +Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain, +And never wake to feel the day's disdain. + + + + +SIR JOHN DAVIES. + + +This knight, says Campbell, 'wrote, at twenty-five years of age, a poem +on the "Immortality of the Soul," and at fifty-two, when he was a judge +and a statesman, another on the "_Art of Dancing_." Well might the +teacher of that noble accomplishment, in Moliere's comedy, exclaim, "_La +philosophie est quelque chose--mais la danse!_" This, however, is more +pointed than correct, since the first of these poems was written in +1592, when the author was only twenty-two years of age, and the latter +appeared in 1599, when he was only twenty-nine. + +Tisbury, in Wiltshire, was the birthplace of this poet, and 1570 the +date of his birth. His father was a practising lawyer. John was expelled +from the Temple for beating one Richard Martyn, afterwards Recorder, but +was restored, and subsequently elected for Parliament. In 1592, as +aforesaid, appeared his poem, 'Nosce Teipsum; or, The Immortality of the +Soul.' Its fame soon travelled to Scotland; and when Davies, along with +Lord Hunsdon, visited that country, James received him most graciously +as the author of 'Nosce Teipsum.' His history became, for some time, a +list of promotions. He was appointed, in 1603, first Solicitor and then +Attorney-General in Ireland, was next made Sergeant, was then knighted, +then appointed King's Sergeant, next elected representative of the +county of Fermanagh, and, in fine, after a violent contest between the +Roman Catholic and Protestant parties, was chosen Speaker of the House +of Commons in the Protestant interest. While in Ireland he married +Eleanor, a daughter of Lord Audley, who turned out a raving prophetess, +and was sent, in 1649, to the Tower, and then to Bethlehem Hospital, by +the Revolutionary Government. In 1616, Sir John returned to England, +continued to practise as a barrister, sat in Parliament for Newcastle- +under-Lyne, and received a promise of being made Chief-Justice of +England; but was suddenly cut off by apoplexy in 1626. + +His poem on dancing, which was written in fifteen days, and left a +fragment, is a piece of beautiful, though somewhat extravagant fancy. +His 'Nosce Teipsum,' if it casts little new light, and rears no +demonstrative argument on the grand and difficult problem of +immortality, is full of ingenuity, and has many apt and memorable +similes. Feeling he happily likens to the + + 'subtle spider, which doth sit + In middle of her web, which spreadeth wide; + If aught do touch the utmost thread of it, + She feels it instantly on every side.' + +In answering an objection, 'Why, if souls continue to exist, do they not +return and bring us news of that strange world?' he replies-- + + 'But as Noah's pigeon, which return'd no more, + Did show she footing found, for all the flood, + So when good souls, departed through death's door, + Come not again, it shows their dwelling good.' + +The poem is interesting from the musical use he makes of the quatrain, +a form of verse in which Dryden afterwards wrote his 'Annus Mirabilis,' +and as one of the earliest philosophical poems in the language. It is +proverbially difficult to reason in verse, but Davies reasons, if not +always with conclusive result, always with energy and skill. + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE POEM ON THE SOUL OF MAN. + +1 The lights of heaven, which are the world's fair eyes, + Look down into the world, the world to see; + And as they turn or wander in the skies, + Survey all things that on this centre be. + +2 And yet the lights which in my tower do shine, + Mine eyes, which view all objects nigh and far, + Look not into this little world of mine, + Nor see my face, wherein they fixed are. + +3 Since Nature fails us in no needful thing, + Why want I means my inward self to see? + Which sight the knowledge of myself might bring, + Which to true wisdom is the first degree. + +4 That Power, which gave me eyes the world to view, + To view myself, infused an inward light, + Whereby my soul, as by a mirror true, + Of her own form may take a perfect sight. + +5 But as the sharpest eye discerneth nought, + Except the sunbeams in the air do shine; + So the best soul, with her reflecting thought, + Sees not herself without some light divine. + +6 O light, which mak'st the light which makes the day! + Which sett'st the eye without, and mind within, + Lighten my spirit with one clear heavenly ray, + Which now to view itself doth first begin. + +7 For her true form how can my spark discern, + Which, dim by nature, art did never clear, + When the great wits, of whom all skill we learn, + Are ignorant both what she is, and where? + +8 One thinks the soul is air; another fire; + Another blood, diffused about the heart; + Another saith, the elements conspire, + And to her essence each doth give a part. + +9 Musicians think our souls are harmonies; + Physicians hold that they complexions be; + Epicures make them swarms of atomies, + Which do by chance into our bodies flee. + +10 Some think one general soul fills every brain, + As the bright sun sheds light in every star; + And others think the name of soul is vain, + And that we only well-mix'd bodies are. + +11 In judgment of her substance thus they vary; + And thus they vary in judgment of her seat; + For some her chair up to the brain do carry, + Some thrust it down into the stomach's heat. + +12 Some place it in the root of life, the heart; + Some in the liver, fountain of the veins; + Some say, she's all in all, and all in every part; + Some say, she's not contain'd, but all contains. + +13 Thus these great clerks their little wisdom show, + While with their doctrines they at hazard play; + Tossing their light opinions to and fro, + To mock the lewd, as learn'd in this as they. + +14 For no crazed brain could ever yet propound, + Touching the soul, so vain and fond a thought; + But some among these masters have been found, + Which in their schools the selfsame thing have taught. + +15 God only wise, to punish pride of wit, + Among men's wits hath this confusion wrought, + As the proud tower whose points the clouds did hit, + By tongues' confusion was to ruin brought. + +16 But thou which didst man's soul of nothing make, + And when to nothing it was fallen again, + 'To make it new, the form of man didst take; + And, God with God, becam'st a man with men.' + +17 Thou that hast fashion'd twice this soul of ours, + So that she is by double title thine, + Thou only know'st her nature and her powers, + Her subtle form thou only canst define. + +18 To judge herself, she must herself transcend, + As greater circles comprehend the less; + But she wants power her own powers to extend, + As fetter'd men cannot their strength express. + +19 But thou bright morning Star, thou rising Sun, + Which in these later times hast brought to light + Those mysteries that, since the world begun, + Lay hid in darkness and eternal night: + +20 Thou, like the sun, dost with an equal ray + Into the palace and the cottage shine, + And show'st the soul, both to the clerk and lay, + By the clear lamp of oracle divine. + +21 This lamp, through all the regions of my brain, + Where my soul sits, doth spread such beams of grace, + As now, methinks, I do distinguish plain + Each subtle line of her immortal face. + +22 The soul a substance and a spirit is, + Which God himself doth in the body make, + Which makes the man; for every man from this + The nature of a man and name doth take. + +23 And though this spirit be to the body knit, + As an apt means her powers to exercise, + Which are life, motion, sense, and will, and wit, + Yet she survives, although the body dies. + + +THE SELF-SUBSISTENCE OF THE SOUL. + +1 She is a substance, and a real thing, + Which hath itself an actual working might, + Which neither from the senses' power doth spring, + Nor from the body's humours temper'd right. + +2 She is a vine, which doth no propping need, + To make her spread herself, or spring upright; + She is a star, whose beams do not proceed + From any sun, but from a native light. + +3 For when she sorts things present with things past, + And thereby things to come doth oft foresee; + When she doth doubt at first, and choose at last, + These acts her own,[1] without her body be. + +4 When of the dew, which the eye and ear do take, + From flowers abroad, and bring into the brain, + She doth within both wax and honey make: + This work is hers, this is her proper pain. + +5 When she from sundry acts, one skill doth draw; + Gathering from divers fights one art of war; + From many cases like, one rule of law; + These her collections, not the senses' are. + +6 When in the effects she doth the causes know; + And seeing the stream, thinks where the spring doth rise; + And seeing the branch, conceives the root below: + These things she views without the body's eyes. + +7 When she, without a Pegasus, doth fly + Swifter than lightning's fire from east to west; + About the centre, and above the sky, + She travels then, although the body rest. + +8 When all her works she formeth first within, + Proportions them, and sees their perfect end; + Ere she in act doth any part begin, + What instruments doth then the body lend? + +9 When without hands she doth thus castles build, + Sees without eyes, and without feet doth run; + When she digests the world, yet is not fill'd: + By her own powers these miracles are done. + +10 When she defines, argues, divides, compounds, + Considers virtue, vice, and general things; + And marrying divers principles and grounds, + Out of their match a true conclusion brings. + +11 These actions in her closet, all alone, + Retired within herself, she doth fulfil; + Use of her body's organs she hath none, + When she doth use the powers of wit and will. + +12 Yet in the body's prison so she lies, + As through the body's windows she must look, + Her divers powers of sense to exercise, + By gathering notes out of the world's great book. + +13 Nor can herself discourse or judge of ought, + But what the sense collects, and home doth bring; + And yet the powers of her discoursing thought, + From these collections is a diverse thing. + +14 For though our eyes can nought but colours see, + Yet colours give them not their power of sight; + So, though these fruits of sense her objects be, + Yet she discerns them by her proper light. + +15 The workman on his stuff his skill doth show, + And yet the stuff gives not the man his skill; + Kings their affairs do by their servants know, + But order them by their own royal will. + +16 So, though this cunning mistress, and this queen, + Doth, as her instruments, the senses use, + To know all things that are felt, heard, or seen; + Yet she herself doth only judge and choose. + +17 Even as a prudent emperor, that reigns + By sovereign title over sundry lands, + Borrows, in mean affairs, his subjects' pains, + Sees by their eyes, and writeth by their hands: + +18 But things of weight and consequence indeed, + Himself doth in his chamber then debate; + Where all his counsellors he doth exceed, + As far in judgment, as he doth in state. + +19 Or as the man whom princes do advance, + Upon their gracious mercy-seat to sit, + Doth common things of course and circumstance, + To the reports of common men commit: + +20 But when the cause itself must be decreed, + Himself in person in his proper court, + To grave and solemn hearing doth proceed, + Of every proof, and every by-report. + +21 Then, like God's angel, he pronounceth right, + And milk and honey from his tongue doth flow: + Happy are they that still are in his sight, + To reap the wisdom which his lips doth sow. + +22 Right so the soul, which is a lady free, + And doth the justice of her state maintain: + Because the senses ready servants be, + Attending nigh about her court, the brain: + +23 By them the forms of outward things she learns, + For they return unto the fantasy, + Whatever each of them abroad discerns, + And there enrol it for the mind to see. + +24 But when she sits to judge the good and ill, + And to discern betwixt the false and true, + She is not guided by the senses' skill, + But doth each thing in her own mirror view. + +25 Then she the senses checks, which oft do err, + And even against their false reports decrees; + And oft she doth condemn what they prefer; + For with a power above the sense she sees. + +26 Therefore no sense the precious joys conceives, + Which in her private contemplations be; + For then the ravish'd spirit the senses leaves, + Hath her own powers, and proper actions free. + +27 Her harmonies are sweet, and full of skill, + When on the body's instruments she plays; + But the proportions of the wit and will, + Those sweet accords are even the angels' lays. + +28 These tunes of reason are Amphion's lyre, + Wherewith he did the Theban city found: + These are the notes wherewith the heavenly choir, + The praise of Him which made the heaven doth sound. + +29 Then her self-being nature shines in this, + That she performs her noblest works alone: + 'The work, the touchstone of the nature is; + And by their operations things are known.' + +[1] That the soul hath a proper operation without the body. + + +SPIRITUALITY OF THE SOUL. + +1 But though this substance be the root of sense, + Sense knows her not, which doth but bodies know: + She is a spirit, and heavenly influence, + Which from the fountain of God's Spirit doth flow. + +2 She is a spirit, yet not like air or wind; + Nor like the spirits about the heart or brain; + Nor like those spirits which alchymists do find, + When they in everything seek gold in vain. + +3 For she all natures under heaven doth pass, + Being like those spirits, which God's bright face do see, + Or like Himself, whose image once she was, + Though now, alas! she scarce his shadow be. + +4 For of all forms, she holds the first degree, + That are to gross, material bodies knit; + Yet she herself is bodiless and free; + And, though confined, is almost infinite. + +5 Were she a body,[1] how could she remain + Within this body, which is less than she? + Or how could she the world's great shape contain, + And in our narrow breasts contained be? + +6 All bodies are confined within some place, + But she all place within herself confines: + All bodies have their measure and their space; + But who can draw the soul's dimensive lines? + +7 No body can at once two forms admit, + Except the one the other do deface; + But in the soul ten thousand forms do fit, + And none intrudes into her neighbour's place. + +8 All bodies are with other bodies fill'd, + But she receives both heaven and earth together: + Nor are their forms by rash encounter spill'd, + For there they stand, and neither toucheth either. + +9 Nor can her wide embracements filled be; + For they that most and greatest things embrace, + Enlarge thereby their mind's capacity, + As streams enlarged, enlarge the channel's space. + +10 All things received, do such proportion take, + As those things have, wherein they are received: + So little glasses little faces make, + And narrow webs on narrow frames are weaved. + +11 Then what vast body must we make the mind, + Wherein are men, beasts, trees, towns, seas, and lands; + And yet each thing a proper place doth find, + And each thing in the true proportion stands? + +12 Doubtless, this could not be, but that she turns + Bodies to spirits, by sublimation strange; + As fire converts to fire the things it burns: + As we our meats into our nature change. + +13 From their gross matter she abstracts the forms, + And draws a kind of quintessence from things, + Which to her proper nature she transforms, + To bear them light on her celestial wings. + +14 This doth she, when, from things particular, + She doth abstract the universal kinds, + Which bodiless and immaterial are, + And can be only lodged within our minds. + +15 And thus from divers accidents and acts, + Which do within her observation fall, + She goddesses and powers divine abstracts; + As nature, fortune, and the virtues all. + +16 Again; how can she several bodies know, + If in herself a body's form she bear? + How can a mirror sundry faces show, + If from all shapes and forms it be not clear? + +17 Nor could we by our eyes all colours learn, + Except our eyes were of all colours void; + Nor sundry tastes can any tongue discern, + Which is with gross and bitter humours cloy'd. + +18 Nor can a man of passions judge aright, + Except his mind be from all passions free: + Nor can a judge his office well acquit, + If he possess'd of either party be. + +19 If, lastly, this quick power a body were, + Were it as swift as in the wind or fire, + Whose atoms do the one down sideways bear, + And the other make in pyramids aspire; + +20 Her nimble body yet in time must move, + And not in instants through all places slide: + But she is nigh and far, beneath, above, + In point of time, which thought cannot divide; + +21 She's sent as soon to China as to Spain; + And thence returns as soon as she is sent: + She measures with one time, and with one pain. + An ell of silk, and heaven's wide-spreading tent. + +22 As then the soul a substance hath alone, + Besides the body in which she's confined; + So hath she not a body of her own, + But is a spirit, and immaterial mind. + +23 Since body and soul have such diversities, + Well might we muse how first their match began; + But that we learn, that He that spread the skies, + And fix'd the earth, first form'd the soul in man. + +24 This true Prometheus first made man of earth, + And shed in him a beam of heavenly fire; + Now in their mothers' wombs, before their birth, + Doth in all sons of men their souls inspire. + +25 And as Minerva is in fables said, + From Jove, without a mother, to proceed; + So our true Jove, without a mother's aid, + Doth daily millions of Minervas breed. + +[1] That it cannot be a body. + + + + +GILES FLETCHER. + + +Giles Fletcher was the younger brother of Phineas, and died twenty-three +years before him. He was a cousin of Fletcher the dramatist, and the son +of Dr Giles Fletcher, who was employed in many important missions in the +reign of Queen Elizabeth, and, among others, negotiated a commercial +treaty with Russia greatly in the favour of his own country. Giles is +supposed to have been born in 1588. He studied at Cambridge; published his +noble poem, 'Christ's Victory and Triumph,' in 1610, when he was twenty- +three years of age; was appointed to the living of Alderston, in Suffolk, +where he died, in 1623, at the early age of thirty-five, 'equally loved,' +says old Wood, 'of the Muses and the Graces.' + +The poem, in four cantos, entitled 'Christ's Victory and Triumph,' is one +of almost Miltonic magnificence. With a wing as easy as it is strong, he +soars to heaven, and fills the austere mouth of Justice and the golden +lips of Mercy with language worthy of both. He then stoops down on the +Wilderness of the Temptation, and paints the Saviour and Satan in colours +admirably contrasted, and which in their brightness and blackness can +never decay. Nor does he fear, in fine, to pierce the gloom of Calvary, +and to mingle his note with the harps of angels, saluting the Redeemer, as +He sprang from the grave, with the song, 'He is risen, He is risen--and +shall die no more.' The style is steeped in Spenser--equally mellifluous, +figurative, and majestic. In allegory the author of the 'Fairy Queen' is +hardly superior, and in the enthusiasm of devotion Fletcher surpasses him +far. From the great light, thus early kindled and early quenched, Milton +did not disdain to draw with his 'golden urn.' 'Paradise Regained' owes +much more than the suggestion of its subject to 'Christ's Victory;' and is +it too much to say that, had Fletcher lived, he might have shone in the +same constellation with the bard of the 'Paradise Lost?' The plan of our +'Specimens' permits only a few extracts. Let those who wish more, along +with a lengthened and glowing tribute to the author's genius, consult +_Blackwood_ for November 1835. The reading of a single sentence will +convince them that the author of the paper was Christopher North. + + +THE NATIVITY. + +I. + +Who can forget, never to be forgot, +The time, that all the world in slumber lies: +When, like the stars, the singing angels shot +To earth, and heaven awaked all his eyes, +To see another sun at midnight rise + On earth? was never sight of pareil fame: + For God before, man like himself did frame, +But God himself now like a mortal man became. + +II. + +A child he was, and had not learned to speak, +That with his word the world before did make: +His mother's arms him bore, he was so weak, +That with one hand the vaults of heaven could shake. +See how small room my infant Lord doth take, + Whom all the world is not enough to hold. + Who of his years, or of his age hath told? +Never such age so young, never a child so old. + +III + +And yet but newly he was infanted, +And yet already he was sought to die; +Yet scarcely born, already banished; +Not able yet to go, and forced to fly: +But scarcely fled away, when by and by, + The tyrant's sword with blood is all denied, + And Rachel, for her sons with fury wild, +Cries, O thou cruel king, and O my sweetest child! + +IV. + +Egypt his nurse became, where Nilus springs, +Who straight, to entertain the rising sun, +The hasty harvest in his bosom brings; +But now for drought the fields were all undone, +And now with waters all is overrun: + So fast the Cynthian mountains poured their snow, + When once they felt the sun so near them glow, +That Nilus Egypt lost, and to a sea did grow. + +V. + +The angels carolled loud their song of peace, +The cursed oracles were stricken dumb, +To see their shepherd, the poor shepherds press, +To see their king, the kingly sophics come, +And them to guide unto his Master's home, + A star comes dancing up the orient, + That springs for joy over the strawy tent, +Where gold, to make their prince a crown, they all present. + +VI. + +Young John, glad child, before he could be born, +Leapt in the womb, his joy to prophesy: +Old Anna, though with age all spent and worn, +Proclaims her Saviour to posterity: +And Simeon fast his dying notes doth ply. + Oh, how the blessed souls about him trace! + It is the fire of heaven thou dost embrace: +Sing, Simeon, sing; sing, Simeon, sing apace. + +VII. + +With that the mighty thunder dropt away +From God's unwary arm, now milder grown, +And melted into tears; as if to pray +For pardon, and for pity, it had known, +That should have been for sacred vengeance thrown: + There too the armies angelic devowed + Their former rage, and all to mercy bowed, +Their broken weapons at her feet they gladly strowed. + +VIII. + +Bring, bring, ye Graces, all your silver flaskets, +Painted with every choicest flower that grows, +That I may soon unflower your fragrant baskets, +To strow the fields with odours where he goes, +Let whatsoe'er he treads on be a rose. + So down she let her eyelids fall, to shine + Upon the rivers of bright Palestine, +Whose woods drop honey, and her rivers skip with wine. + + +SONG OF SORCERESS SEEKING TO TEMPT CHRIST. + +Love is the blossom where there blows +Everything that lives or grows: +Love doth make the heavens to move, +And the sun doth burn in love: +Love the strong and weak doth yoke, +And makes the ivy climb the oak; +Under whose shadows lions wild, +Softened by love, grow tame and mild: +Love no medicine can appease, +He burns the fishes in the seas; +Not all the skill his wounds can stench, +Not all the sea his fire can quench: +Love did make the bloody spear +Once a leafy coat to wear, +While in his leaves there shrouded lay +Sweet birds, for love, that sing and play: +And of all love's joyful flame, +I the bud, and blossom am. + Only bend thy knee to me, + The wooing shall thy winning be. + +See, see the flowers that below, +Now as fresh as morning blow, +And of all, the virgin rose, +That as bright Aurora shows: +How they all unleaved die, +Losing their virginity; +Like unto a summer-shade, +But now born, and now they fade. +Everything doth pass away, +There is danger in delay: +Come, come gather then the rose, +Gather it, ere it you lose. +All the sand of Tagus' shore +Into my bosom casts his ore; +All the valley's swimming corn +To my house is yearly borne: +Every grape of every vine +Is gladly bruised to make me wine. +While ten thousand kings, as proud, +To carry up my train have bowed, +And a world of ladies send me +In my chambers to attend me. +All the stars in heaven that shine, +And ten thousand more, are mine: + Only bend thy knee to me, + Thy wooing shall thy winning be. + + +CLOSE OF 'CHRIST'S VICTORY AND TRIUMPH.' + +I + +Here let my Lord hang up his conquering lance, +And bloody armour with late slaughter warm, +And looking down on his weak militants, +Behold his saints, midst of their hot alarm, +Hang all their golden hopes upon his arm. + And in this lower field dispacing wide, + Through windy thoughts, that would their sails misguide, +Anchor their fleshly ships fast in his wounded side. + +II. + +Here may the band, that now in triumph shines, +And that (before they were invested thus) +In earthly bodies carried heavenly minds, +Pitched round about in order glorious, +Their sunny tents, and houses luminous, + All their eternal day in songs employing, + Joying their end, without end of their joying, +While their Almighty Prince destruction is destroying. + +III. + +Full, yet without satiety, of that +Which whets and quiets greedy appetite, +Where never sun did rise, nor ever sat, +But one eternal day, and endless light +Gives time to those, whose time is infinite, + Speaking without thought, obtaining without fee, + Beholding him, whom never eye could see, +Magnifying him, that cannot greater be. + +IV. + +How can such joy as this want words to speak? +And yet what words can speak such joy as this? +Far from the world, that might their quiet break, +Here the glad souls the face of beauty kiss, +Poured out in pleasure, on their beds of bliss, + And drunk with nectar torrents, ever hold + Their eyes on him, whose graces manifold +The more they do behold, the more they would behold. + +V. + +Their sight drinks lovely fires in at their eyes, +Their brain sweet incense with fine breath accloys, +That on God's sweating altar burning lies; +Their hungry ears feed on the heavenly noise +That angels sing, to tell their untold joys; + Their understanding naked truth, their wills + The all, and self-sufficient goodness fills, +That nothing here is wanting, but the want of ills. + +VI. + +No sorrow now hangs clouding on their brow, +No bloodless malady empales their face, +No age drops on their hairs his silver snow, +No nakedness their bodies doth embase, +No poverty themselves, and theirs disgrace, + No fear of death the joy of life devours, + No unchaste sleep their precious time deflowers, +No loss, no grief, no change wait on their winged hours. + +VII. + +But now their naked bodies scorn the cold, +And from their eyes joy looks, and laughs at pain; +The infant wonders how he came so old, +And old man how he came so young again; +Still resting, though from sleep they still restrain; + Where all are rich, and yet no gold they owe; + And all are kings, and yet no subjects know; +All full, and yet no time on food they do bestow. + +VIII. + +For things that pass are past, and in this field +The indeficient spring no winter fears; +The trees together fruit and blossom yield, +The unfading lily leaves of silver bears, +And crimson rose a scarlet garment wears: + And all of these on the saints' bodies grow, + Not, as they wont, on baser earth below; +Three rivers here of milk, and wine, and honey flow. + +IX. + +About the holy city rolls a flood +Of molten crystal, like a sea of glass, +On which weak stream a strong foundation stood, +Of living diamonds the building was +That all things else, besides itself, did pass: + Her streets, instead of stones, the stars did pave, + And little pearls, for dust, it seemed to have, +On which soft-streaming manna, like pure snow, did wave. + +X. + +In midst of this city celestial, +Where the eternal temple should have rose, +Lightened the idea beatifical: +End and beginning of each thing that grows, +Whose self no end, nor yet beginning knows, + That hath no eyes to see, nor ears to hear; + Yet sees, and hears, and is all eye, all ear; +That nowhere is contained, and yet is everywhere. + +XI. + +Changer of all things, yet immutable; +Before, and after all, the first, and last: +That moving all is yet immoveable; +Great without quantity, in whose forecast, +Things past are present, things to come are past; + Swift without motion, to whose open eye + The hearts of wicked men unbreasted lie; +At once absent, and present to them, far, and nigh. + +XII. + +It is no flaming lustre, made of light; +No sweet consent, or well-timed harmony; +Ambrosia, for to feast the appetite: +Or flowery odour, mixed with spicery; +No soft embrace, or pleasure bodily: + And yet it is a kind of inward feast; + A harmony that sounds within the breast; +An odour, light, embrace, in which the soul doth rest. + +XIII. + +A heavenly feast no hunger can consume; +A light unseen, yet shines in every place; +A sound no time can steal; a sweet perfume +No winds can scatter; an entire embrace, +That no satiety can e'er unlace: + Ingraced into so high a favour, there + The saints, with their beau-peers, whole worlds outwear; +And things unseen do see, and things unheard do hear. + +XIV. + +Ye blessed souls, grown richer by your spoil, +Whose loss, though great, is cause of greater gains; +Here may your weary spirits rest from toil, +Spending your endless evening that remains, +Amongst those white flocks, and celestial trains, + That feed upon their Shepherd's eyes; and frame + That heavenly music of so wondrous fame, +Psalming aloud the holy honours of his name! + +XV. + +Had I a voice of steel to tune my song; +Were every verse as smooth as smoothest glass; +And every member turned to a tongue; +And every tongue were made of sounding brass: +Yet all that skill, and all this strength, alas! + Should it presume to adorn (were misadvised) + The place, where David hath new songs devised, +As in his burning throne he sits emparadised. + +XVI. + +Most happy prince, whose eyes those stars behold, +Treading ours underfeet, now mayst thou pour +That overflowing skill, wherewith of old +Thou wont'st to smooth rough speech; now mayst thou shower +Fresh streams of praise upon that holy bower, + Which well we heaven call, not that it rolls, + But that it is the heaven of our souls: +Most happy prince, whose sight so heavenly sight beholds! + +XVII. + +Ah, foolish shepherds! who were wont to esteem +Your God all rough, and shaggy-haired to be; +And yet far wiser shepherds than ye deem, +For who so poor (though who so rich) as he, +When sojourning with us in low degree, + He washed his flocks in Jordan's spotless tide; + And that his dear remembrance might abide, +Did to us come, and with us lived, and for us died? + +XVIII. + +But now such lively colours did embeam +His sparkling forehead; and such shining rays +Kindled his flaming locks, that down did stream +In curls along his neck, where sweetly plays +(Singing his wounds of love in sacred lays) + His dearest Spouse, Spouse of the dearest Lover, + Knitting a thousand knots over and over, +And dying still for love, but they her still recover. + +XIX. + +Fairest of fairs, that at his eyes doth dress +Her glorious face; those eyes, from whence are shed +Attractions infinite; where to express +His love, high God all heaven as captive leads, +And all the banners of his grace dispreads, + And in those windows doth his arms englaze, + And on those eyes, the angels all do gaze, +And from those eyes, the lights of heaven obtain their blaze. + +XX. + +But let the Kentish lad,[1] that lately taught +His oaten reed the trumpet's silver sound, +Young Thyrsilis; and for his music brought +The willing spheres from heaven, to lead around +The dancing nymphs and swains, that sung, and crowned + Eclecta's Hymen with ten thousand flowers + Of choicest praise; and hung her heavenly bowers +With saffron garlands, dressed for nuptial paramours. + +XXI. + +Let his shrill trumpet, with her silver blast, +Of fair Eclecta, and her spousal bed, +Be the sweet pipe, and smooth encomiast: +But my green muse, hiding her younger head, +Under old Camus' flaggy banks, that spread + Their willow locks abroad, and all the day + With their own watery shadows wanton play; +Dares not those high amours, and love-sick songs assay. + +XXII. + +Impotent words, weak lines, that strive in vain; + In vain, alas, to tell so heavenly sight! +So heavenly sight, as none can greater feign, + Feign what he can, that seems of greatest might: + Could any yet compare with Infinite? + Infinite sure those joys; my words but light; +Light is the palace where she dwells; oh, then, how bright! + +[1] The author of 'The Purple Island.' + + + + +JOHN DONNE. + + +John Donne was born in London, in the year 1573. He sprung from a +Catholic family, and his mother was related to Sir Thomas More and to +Heywood the epigrammatist. He was very early distinguished as a prodigy +of boyish acquirement, and was entered, when only eleven, of Harthall, +now Hertford College. He was designed for the law, but relinquished the +study when he reached nineteen. About the same time, having studied the +controversies between the Papists and Protestants, he deliberately went +over to the latter. He next accompanied the Earl of Essex to Cadiz, and +looked wistfully over the gulf dividing him from Jerusalem, with all its +holy memories, to which his heart had been translated from very boyhood. +He even meditated a journey to the Holy Land, but was discouraged by +reports as to the dangers of the way. On his return he was received by +the Lord Chancellor Ellesmere into his own house as his secretary. Here +he fell in love with Miss More, the daughter of Sir George More, Lord- +Lieutenant of the Tower, and the niece of the Chancellor. His passion +was returned, and the pair were imprudent enough to marry privately. +When the matter became known, the father-in-law became infuriated. He +prevailed on Lord Ellesmere to drive Donne out of his service, and had +him even for a short time imprisoned. Even when released he continued in +a pitiable plight, and but for the kindness of Sir Francis Wooley, a son +of Lady Ellesmere by a former marriage, who received the young couple +into his family and entertained them for years, they would have +perished. + +When Donne reached the age of thirty-four, Dr Merton, afterwards Bishop +of Durham, urged him to take orders, and offered him a benefice, which +he was generously to relinquish in his favour. Donne declined, on +account, he said, of some past errors of life, which, 'though repented +of and pardoned by God, might not be forgotten by men, and might cast +dishonour on the sacred office.' + +When Sir F. Wooley died, Sir Robert Drury became his next protector. +Donne attended him on an embassy to France, and his wife formed the +romantic purpose of accompanying her husband in the disguise of a page. +Here was a wife fit for a poet! In order to restrain her from her +purpose, he had to address to her some verses, commencing, + + 'By our strange and fatal interview.' + +Isaak Walton relates how the poet, one evening, as he sat alone in +Paris, saw his wife appearing to him in vision, with a dead infant in +her arms--a proof at once of the strength of his love and of his +imagination. This beloved and admirable woman died in 1617, a few days +after giving birth to her twelfth child, and Donne's grief approached +distraction. + +When he had reached the forty-second year of his age, our poet, at the +instance of King James, became a clergyman, and was successively +appointed Chaplain to the King, Lecturer to Lincoln's Inn, Dean of St +Dunstan's in the West, and Dean of St Paul's. In the pulpit he attracted +great attention, particularly from the more thoughtful and intelligent +of his auditors. He continued Dean of St Paul's till his death, which +took place in 1631, when he was approaching sixty. He died of consumption, +a disease which seldom cuts down a man so near his grand climacteric. + +'He was buried,' says Campbell, 'in St Paul's, where his figure yet +remains in the vault of St Faith's, carved from a painting, for which he +sat a few days' (it should be weeks) 'before his death, dressed in his +winding-sheet.' He kept this portrait constantly by his bedside to +remind him of his mortality. + +Donne's Sermons fill a large folio, with which we were familiar in +boyhood, but have not seen since. De Quincey says, alluding partly +to them, and partly to his poetry,--'Few writers have shewn a more +extraordinary compass of powers than Donne, for he combined--what no +other man has ever done--the last sublimation of dialectical subtlety +and address with the most impassioned majesty. Massy diamonds compose +the very substance of his poem on the 'Metempsychosis,'--thoughts and +descriptions which have the fervent and gloomy sublimity of Ezekiel or +Aeschylus; while a diamond-dust of rhetorical brilliances is strewed +over the whole of his occasional verses and his prose.' We beg leave +to differ, in some degree, from De Quincey in his estimate of the +'Metempsychosis,' or 'The Progress of the Soul,' although we have given +it entire. It has too many far-fetched conceits and obscure allegories, +although redeemed, we admit, by some very precious thoughts, such as + + 'This soul, to whom Luther and Mahomet were Prisons of flesh.' + +Or the following quaint picture of the apple in Eden-- + + 'Prince of the orchard, fair as dawning morn, + Fenced with the law, and ripe as soon as born.' + +Or this-- + + 'Nature hath no jail, though she hath law.' + +If our readers, however, can admire the account the poet gives of Abel +and his bitch, or see any resemblance to the severe and simple grandeur +of Aeschylus and Ezekiel in the description of the soul informing a +body, made of a '_female fish's sandy roe' 'newly leavened with the +male's jelly_,' we shall say no more. + +Donne, altogether, gives us the impression of a great genius ruined by +a false system. He is a charioteer run away with by his own pampered +steeds. He begins generally well, but long ere the close, quibbles, +conceits, and the temptation of shewing off recondite learning, prove +too strong for him, and he who commenced following a serene star, ends +pursuing a will-o'-wisp into a bottomless morass. Compare, for instance, +the ingenious nonsense which abounds in the middle and the close of his +'Progress of the Soul' with the dark, but magnificent stanzas which are +the first in the poem. + +In no writings in the language is there more spilt treasure--a more lavish +loss of beautiful, original, and striking things than in the poems of +Donne. Every second line, indeed, is either bad, or unintelligible, or +twisted into unnatural distortion, but even the worst passages discover a +great, though trammelled and tasteless mind; and we question if Dr Johnson +himself, who has, in his 'Life of Cowley,' criticised the school of poets +to which Donne belonged so severely, and in some points so justly, +possessed a tithe of the rich fancy, the sublime intuition, and the lofty +spirituality of Donne. How characteristic of the difference between these +two great men, that, while the one shrank from the slightest footprint of +death, Donne deliberately placed the image of his dead self before his +eyes, and became familiar with the shadow ere the grim reality arrived! + +Donne's Satires shew, in addition to the high ideal qualities, the rugged +versification, the fantastic paradox, and the perverted taste of their +author, great strength and clearness of judgment, and a deep, although +somewhat jaundiced, view of human nature. That there must have been +something morbid in the structure of his mind is proved by the fact that +he wrote an elaborate treatise, which was not published till after his +death, entitled, 'Biathanatos,' to prove that suicide was not necessarily +sinful. + + +HOLY SONNETS. + +I. + +Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay? +Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste; +I run to death, and death meets me as fast, +And all my pleasures are like yesterday. +I dare not move my dim eyes any way; +Despair behind, and death before, doth cast +Such terror, and my feeble flesh doth waste +By sin in it, which it towards hell doth weigh, +Only thou art above, and when towards thee +By thy leave I can look, I rise again; +But our old subtle foe so tempteth me, +That not one hour myself I can sustain: +Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art, +And thou, like adamant, draw mine iron heart. + +II. + +As due by many titles, I resign +Myself to thee, O God! First I was made +By thee, and for thee; and when I was decayed +Thy blood bought that, the which before was thine. +I am thy son, made with thyself to shine, +Thy servant, whose pains thou hast still repaid, +Thy sheep, thine image; and, till I betrayed +Myself, a temple of thy Spirit divine. +Why doth the devil then usurp on me? +Why doth he steal, nay, ravish, that's thy right? +Except thou rise, and for thine own work fight, +Oh! I shall soon despair, when I shall see +That thou lov'st mankind well, yet wilt not choose me, +And Satan hates me, yet is loth to lose me. + +III. + +Oh! might these sighs and tears return again +Into my breast and eyes which I have spent, +That I might, in this holy discontent, +Mourn with some fruit, as I have mourned in vain! +In mine idolatry what showers of rain +Mine eyes did waste! what griefs my heart did rent! +That sufferance was my sin I now repent; +'Cause I did suffer, I must suffer pain. +The hydroptic drunkard, and night-scouting thief, +The itchy lecher, and self-tickling proud, +Have th' remembrance of past joys for relief +Of coming ills. To poor me is allow'd +No ease; for long yet vehement grief hath been +The effect and cause, the punishment and sin. + +IV. + +Oh! my black soul! now thou art summoned +By sickness, death's herald and champion, +Thou 'rt like a pilgrim which abroad hath done +Treason, and durst not turn to whence he is fled; +Or like a thief, which, till death's doom be read, +Wisheth himself delivered from prison; +But damn'd, and haul'd to execution, +Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned: +Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack; +But who shall give thee that grace to begin? +Oh! make thyself with holy mourning black, +And red with blushing, as thou art with sin; +Or wash thee in Christ's blood, which hath this might, +That, being red, it dyes red souls to white. + +V. + +I am a little world, made cunningly +Of elements and an angelic sprite; +But black sin hath betrayed to endless night +My world's both parts, and oh! both parts must die. +You, which beyond that heaven, which was most high, +Have found new spheres, and of new land can write, +Pour new seas in mine eyes, that so I might +Drown my world with my weeping earnestly, +Or wash it, if it must be drowned no more: +But oh! it must be burnt; alas! the fire +Of lust and envy burnt it heretofore, +And made it fouler; let their flames retire, +And burn me, O Lord! with a fiery zeal +Of thee and thy house, which doth in eating heal. + +VI. + +This is my play's last scene; here Heavens appoint +My pilgrimage's last mile; and my race, +Idly yet quickly run, hath this last pace, +My span's last inch, my minute's latest point, +And gluttonous Death will instantly unjoint +My body and soul, and I shall sleep a space: +But my ever-waking part shall see that face +Whose fear already shakes my every joint. +Then as my soul to heaven, her first seat, takes flight, +And earth-born body in the earth shall dwell, +So fall my sins, that all may have their right, +To where they're bred, and would press me to hell. +Impute me righteous; thus purged of evil, +For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil. + +VII. + +At the round earth's imagined corners blow +Your trumpets, angels! and arise, arise +From death, you numberless infinities +Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go, +All whom the flood did, and fire shall, overthrow; +All whom war, death, age, ague's tyrannies, +Despair, law, chance, hath slain; and you whose eyes +Shall behold God, and never taste death's woe. +But let them sleep, Lord! and me mourn a space; +For if above all these my sins abound, +'Tis late to ask abundance of thy grace +When we are there. Here on this holy ground +Teach me how to repent, for that's as good +As if thou hadst sealed my pardon with thy blood. + +VIII. + +If faithful souls be alike glorified +As angels, then my father's soul doth see, +And adds this even to full felicity, +That valiantly I hell's wide mouth o'erstride; +But if our minds to these souls be descried +By circumstances and by signs that be +Apparent in us not immediately, +How shall my mind's white truth by them be tried? +They see idolatrous lovers weep and mourn, +And style blasphemous conjurors to call +On Jesus' name, and pharisaical +Dissemblers feign devotion. Then turn, +O pensive soul! to God, for he knows best +Thy grief, for he put it into my breast. + +IX + +If poisonous minerals, and if that tree +Whose fruit threw death on (else immortal) us; +If lecherous goats, if serpents envious, +Cannot be damn'd, alas! why should I be? +Why should intent or reason, born in me, +Make sins, else equal, in me more heinous? +And mercy being easy and glorious +To God, in his stern wrath why threatens he? +But who am I that dare dispute with thee! +O God! oh, of thine only worthy blood, +And my tears, make a heavenly Lethean flood, +And drown in it my sins' black memory: +That thou remember them some claim as debt, +I think it mercy if thou wilt forget! + +X + +Death! be not proud, though some have called thee +Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; +For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow +Die not, poor Death! nor yet canst thou kill me. +From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be, +Much pleasure, then, from thee much more must flow; +And soonest our best men with thee do go, +Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. +Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, +And dost with poison, war, and sickness, dwell, +And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well, +And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou, then? +One short sleep past we wake eternally; +And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. + +XI. + +Spit in my face, you Jews, and pierce my side, +Buffet and scoff, scourge and crucify me, +For I have sinned, and sinned, and only he +Who could do no iniquity hath died, +But by my death cannot be satisfied +My sins, which pass the Jews' impiety: +They killed once an inglorious man, but I +Crucify him daily, being now glorified. +O let me then his strange love still admire. +Kings pardon, but he bore our punishment; +And Jacob came, clothed in vile harsh attire, +But to supplant, and with gainful intent: +God clothed himself in vile man's flesh, that so +He might be weak enough to surfer woe. + +XII. + +Why are we by all creatures waited on? +Why do the prodigal elements supply +Life and food to me, being more pure than I, +Simpler, and further from corruption? +Why brook'st thou, ignorant horse, subjection? +Why do you, bull and boar, so sillily +Dissemble weakness, and by one man's stroke die, +Whose whole kind you might swallow and feed upon? +Weaker I am, woe's me! and worse than you: +You have not sinned, nor need be timorous, +But wonder at a greater, for to us +Created nature doth these things subdue; +But their Creator, whom sin nor nature tied, +For us, his creatures and his foes, hath died. + +XIII. + +What if this present were the world's last night? +Mark in my heart, O Soul! where thou dost dwell, +The picture of Christ crucified, and tell +Whether his countenance can thee affright; +Tears in his eyes quench the amazing light; +Blood fills his frowns, which from his pierced head fell. +And can that tongue adjudge thee unto hell +Which prayed forgiveness for his foes' fierce spite? +No, no; but as in my idolatry +I said to all my profane mistresses, +Beauty of pity, foulness only is +A sign of rigour, so I say to thee: +To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assigned; +This beauteous form assumes a piteous mind. + +XIV. + +Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you +As yet but knock; breathe, shine, and seek to mend, +That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend +Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new. +I, like an usurped town, to another due, +Labour to admit you, but oh! to no end: +Reason, your viceroy in me, we should defend, +But is captived, and proves weak or untrue; +Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain, +But am betrothed unto your enemy. +Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again; +Take me to you, imprison me; for I, +Except you enthral me, never shall be free, +Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me. + +XV. + +Wilt thou love God as he thee? then digest, +My Soul! this wholesome meditation, +How God the Spirit, by angels waited on +In heaven, doth make his temple in thy breast. +The Father having begot a Son most blest, +And still begetting, (for he ne'er begun.) +Hath deigned to choose thee by adoption, +Co-heir to his glory, and Sabbath's endless rest: +And as a robbed man, which by search doth find +His stol'n stuff sold, must lose or buy 't again; +The Sun of glory came down and was slain, +Us, whom he had made, and Satan stole, to unbind. +'Twas much that man was made like God before, +But that God should be made like man much more. + +XVI. + +Father, part of his double interest +Unto thy kingdom thy Son gives to me; +His jointure in the knotty Trinity +He keeps, and gives to me his death's conquest. +This Lamb, whose death with life the world hath blest, +Was from the world's beginning slain, and he +Hath made two wills, which, with the legacy +Of his and thy kingdom, thy sons invest: +Yet such are these laws, that men argue yet +Whether a man those statutes can fulfil: +None doth; but thy all-healing grace and Spirit +Revive again what law and letter kill: +Thy law's abridgment and thy last command +Is all but love; oh, let this last will stand! + + +THE PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. + +I. + +I sing the progress of a deathless Soul, +Whom Fate, which God made, but doth not control, +Placed in most shapes. All times, before the law +Yoked us, and when, and since, in this I sing, +And the great World to his aged evening, +From infant morn through manly noon I draw: +What the gold Chaldee or silver Persian saw, +Greek brass, or Roman iron, 'tis in this one, +A work to outwear Seth's pillars, brick and stone, +And, Holy Writ excepted, made to yield to none. + +II + +Thee, Eye of Heaven, this great Soul envies not; +By thy male force is all we have begot. +In the first east thou now beginn'st to shine, +Suck'st early balm, and island spices there, +And wilt anon in thy loose-reined career +At Tagus, Po, Seine, Thames, and Danow, dine, +And see at night this western land of mine; +Yet hast thou not more nations seen than she +That before thee one day began to be, +And, thy frail light being quench'd, shall long, long outlive thee. + +III + +Nor holy Janus, in whose sovereign boat +The church and all the monarchies did float; +That swimming college and free hospital +Of all mankind, that cage and vivary +Of fowls and beasts, in whose womb Destiny +Us and our latest nephews did install, +(From thence are all derived that fill this all,) +Didst thou in that great stewardship embark +So diverse shapes into that floating park, +As have been moved and inform'd by this heavenly spark. + +IV. + +Great Destiny! the commissary of God! +Thou hast marked out a path and period +For everything; who, where we offspring took, +Our ways and ends seest at one instant: thou +Knot of all causes; thou whose changeless brow +Ne'er smiles nor frowns, oh! vouchsafe thou to look, +And shew my story in thy eternal book, +That (if my prayer be fit) I may understand +So much myself as to know with what hand, +How scant or liberal, this my life's race is spann'd. + +V. + +To my six lustres, almost now outwore, +Except thy book owe me so many more; +Except my legend be free from the lets +Of steep ambition, sleepy poverty, +Spirit-quenching sickness, dull captivity, +Distracting business, and from beauty's nets, +And all that calls from this and t'other's whets; +Oh! let me not launch out, but let me save +The expense of brain and spirit, that my grave +His right and due, a whole unwasted man, may have. + +VI. + +But if my days be long and good enough, +In vain this sea shall enlarge or enrough +Itself; for I will through the wave and foam, +And hold, in sad lone ways, a lively sprite, +Make my dark heavy poem light, and light: +For though through many straits and lands I roam, +I launch at Paradise, and sail towards home: +The course I there began shall here be stayed; +Sails hoisted there struck here, and anchors laid +In Thames which were at Tigris and Euphrates weighed. + +VII. + +For the great Soul which here amongst us now +Doth dwell, and moves that hand, and tongue, and brow, +Which, as the moon the sea, moves us, to hear +Whose story with long patience you will long, +(For 'tis the crown and last strain of my song;) +This Soul, to whom Luther and Mohammed were +Prisons of flesh; this Soul,--which oft did tear +And mend the wrecks of the empire, and late Rome, +And lived when every great change did come, +Had first in Paradise a low but fatal room. + +VIII. + +Yet no low room, nor then the greatest, less +If, as devout and sharp men fitly guess, +That cross, our joy and grief, (where nails did tie +That All, which always was all everywhere, +Which could not sin, and yet all sins did bear, +Which could not die, yet could not choose but die,) +Stood in the self-same room in Calvary +Where first grew the forbidden learned tree; +For on that tree hung in security +This Soul, made by the Maker's will from pulling free. + +IX. + +Prince of the orchard, fair as dawning morn, +Fenced with the law, and ripe as soon as born, +That apple grew which this soul did enlive, +Till the then climbing serpent, that now creeps +For that offence for which all mankind weeps, +Took it, and t' her, whom the first man did wive, +(Whom and her race only forbiddings drive,) +He gave it, she to her husband; both did eat: +So perished the eaters and the meat, +And we, for treason taints the blood, thence die and sweat. + +X. + +Man all at once was there by woman slain, +And one by one we're here slain o'er again +By them. The mother poison'd the well-head; +The daughters here corrupt us rivulets; +No smallness 'scapes, no greatness breaks, their nets: +She thrust us out, and by them we are led +Astray from turning to whence we are fled. +Were prisoners judges 't would seem rigorous; +She sinned, we bear: part of our pain is thus +To love them whose fault to this painful love yoked us. + +XI. + +So fast in us doth this corruption grow, +That now we dare ask why we should be so. +Would God (disputes the curious rebel) make +A law, and would not have it kept? or can +His creatures' will cross his? Of every man +For one will God (and be just) vengeance take? +Who sinned? 'twas not forbidden to the snake, +Nor her, who was not then made; nor is 't writ +That Adam cropt or knew the apple; yet +The worm, and she, and he, and we, endure for it. + +XII. + +But snatch me, heavenly Spirit! from this vain +Reck'ning their vanity; less is their gain +Than hazard still to meditate on ill, +Though with good mind; their reasons like those toys +Of glassy bubbles which the gamesome boys +Stretch to so nice a thinness through a quill, +That they themselves break, and do themselves spill. +Arguing is heretics' game, and exercise, +As wrestlers, perfects them. Not liberties +Of speech, but silence; hands, not tongues, and heresies. + +XIII. + +Just in that instant, when the serpent's gripe +Broke the slight veins and tender conduit-pipe +Through which this Soul from the tree's root did draw +Life and growth to this apple, fled away +This loose Soul, old, one and another day. +As lightning, which one scarce dare say he saw, +'Tis so soon gone (and better proof the law +Of sense than faith requires) swiftly she flew +To a dark and foggy plot; her her fates threw +There through the earth's pores, and in a plant housed her anew. + +XIV. + +The plant, thus abled, to itself did force +A place where no place was by Nature's course, +As air from water, water fleets away +From thicker bodies; by this root thronged so +His spungy confines gave him place to grow: +Just as in our streets, when the people stay +To see the prince, and so fill up the way +That weasels scarce could pass; when he comes near +They throng and cleave up, and a passage clear, +As if for that time their round bodies flatten'd were. + +XV. + +His right arm he thrust out towards the east, +Westward his left; the ends did themselves digest +Into ten lesser strings, these fingers were: +And, as a slumberer, stretching on his bed, +This way he this, and that way scattered +His other leg, which feet with toes upbear; +Grew on his middle part, the first day, hair. +To shew that in love's business he should still +A dealer be, and be used, well or ill: +His apples kindle, his leaves force of conception kill. + +XVI. + +A mouth, but dumb, he hath; blind eyes, deaf ears, +And to his shoulders dangle subtle hairs; +A young Colossus there he stands upright; +And, as that ground by him were conquered, +A lazy garland wears he on his head +Enchased with little fruits so red and bright, +That for them ye would call your love's lips white; +So of a lone unhaunted place possess'd, +Did this Soul's second inn, built by the guest, +This living buried man, this quiet mandrake, rest. + +XVII. + +No lustful woman came this plant to grieve, +But 'twas because there was none yet but Eve, +And she (with other purpose) killed it quite: +Her sin had now brought in infirmities, +And so her cradled child the moist-red eyes +Had never shut, nor slept, since it saw light: +Poppy she knew, she knew the mandrake's might, +And tore up both, and so cooled her child's blood. +Unvirtuous weeds might long unvexed have stood, +But he's short-lived that with his death can do most good. + +XVIII. + +To an unfettered Soul's quick nimble haste +Are falling stars and heart's thoughts but slow-paced, +Thinner than burnt air flies this Soul, and she, +Whom four new-coming and four parting suns +Had found, and left the mandrake's tenant, runs, +Thoughtless of change, when her firm destiny +Confined and enjailed her that seemed so free +Into a small blue shell, the which a poor +Warm bird o'erspread, and sat still evermore, +Till her enclosed child kicked, and picked itself a door. + +XIX. + +Out crept a sparrow, this Soul's moving inn, +On whose raw arms stiff feathers now begin, +As children's teeth through gums, to break with pain: +His flesh is jelly yet, and his bones threads; +All a new downy mantle overspreads: +A mouth he opes, which would as much contain +As his late house, and the first hour speaks plain, +And chirps aloud for meat: meat fit for men +His father steals for him, and so feeds then +One that within a month will beat him from his hen. + +XX. + +In this world's youth wise Nature did make haste, +Things ripened sooner, and did longer last: +Already this hot cock in bush and tree, +In field and tent, o'erflutters his next hen: +He asks her not who did so taste, nor when; +Nor if his sister or his niece she be, +Nor doth she pule for his inconstancy +If in her sight he change; nor doth refuse +The next that calls; both liberty do use. +Where store is of both kinds, both kinds may freely choose. + +XXI. + +Men, till they took laws, which made freedom less, +Their daughters and their sisters did ingress; +Till now unlawful, therefore ill, 'twas not; +So jolly, that it can move this Soul. Is +The body so free of his kindnesses, +That self-preserving it hath now forgot, +And slack'neth not the Soul's and body's knot, +Which temp'rance straitens? Freely on his she-friends +He blood and spirit, pith and marrow, spends; +Ill steward of himself, himself in three years ends. + +XXII. + +Else might he long have lived; man did not know +Of gummy blood which doth in holly grow, +How to make bird-lime, nor how to deceive, +With feigned calls, his nets, or enwrapping snare, +The free inhabitants of the pliant air. +Man to beget, and woman to conceive, +Asked not of roots, nor of cock-sparrows, leave; +Yet chooseth he, though none of these he fears, +Pleasantly three; then straitened twenty years +To live, and to increase his race himself outwears. + +XXIII. + +This coal with over-blowing quenched and dead, +The Soul from her too active organs fled +To a brook. A female fish's sandy roe +With the male's jelly newly leavened was; +For they had intertouched as they did pass, +And one of those small bodies, fitted so, +This Soul informed, and able it to row +Itself with finny oars, which she did fit, +Her scales seemed yet of parchment, and as yet +Perchance a fish, but by no name you could call it. + +XXIV. + +When goodly, like a ship in her full trim, +A swan so white, that you may unto him +Compare all whiteness, but himself to none, +Glided along, and as he glided watched, +And with his arched neck this poor fish catched: +It moved with state, as if to look upon +Low things it scorned; and yet before that one +Could think he sought it, he had swallowed clear +This and much such, and unblamed, devoured there +All but who too swift, too great, or well-armed, were. + +XXV. + +Now swam a prison in a prison put, +And now this Soul in double walls was shut, +Till melted with the swan's digestive fire +She left her house, the fish, and vapoured forth: +Fate not affording bodies of more worth +For her as yet, bids her again retire +To another fish, to any new desire +Made a new prey; for he that can to none +Resistance make, nor complaint, is sure gone; +Weakness invites, but silence feasts oppression. + +XXVI. + +Pace with the native stream this fish doth keep, +And journeys with her towards the glassy deep, +But oft retarded; once with a hidden net, +Though with great windows, (for when need first taught +These tricks to catch food, then they were not wrought +As now, with curious greediness, to let +None 'scape, but few and fit for use to get,) +As in this trap a ravenous pike was ta'en, +Who, though himself distress'd, would fain have slain +This wretch; so hardly are ill habits left again. + +XXVII. + +Here by her smallness she two deaths o'erpast, +Once innocence 'scaped, and left the oppressor fast; +The net through swam, she keeps the liquid path, +And whether she leap up sometimes to breathe +And suck in air, or find it underneath, +Or working parts like mills or limbecs hath, +To make the water thin, and air like faith, +Cares not, but safe the place she's come unto, +Where fresh with salt waves meet, and what to do +She knows not, but between both makes a board or two. + +XXVIII. + +So far from hiding her guests water is, +That she shews them in bigger quantities +Than they are. Thus her, doubtful of her way, +For game, and not for hunger, a sea-pie +Spied through his traitorous spectacle from high +The silly fish, where it disputing lay, +And to end her doubts and her, bears her away; +Exalted, she's but to the exalter's good, +(As are by great ones men which lowly stood;) +It's raised to be the raiser's instrument and food. + +XXIX. + +Is any kind subject to rape like fish? +Ill unto man they neither do nor wish; +Fishers they kill not, nor with noise awake; +They do not hunt, nor strive to make a prey +Of beasts, nor their young sons to bear away; +Fowls they pursue not, nor do undertake +To spoil the nests industrious birds do make; +Yet them all these unkind kinds feed upon; +To kill them is an occupation, +And laws make fasts and lents for their destruction. + +XXX. + +A sudden stiff land-wind in that self hour +To sea-ward forced this bird that did devour +The fish; he cares not, for with ease he flies, +Fat gluttony's best orator: at last, +So long he hath flown, and hath flown so fast, +That, leagues o'erpast at sea, now tired he lies, +And with his prey, that till then languished, dies: +The souls, no longer foes, two ways did err. +The fish I follow, and keep no calender +Of the other: he lives yet in some great officer. + +XXXI. + +Into an embryo fish our Soul is thrown, +And in due time thrown out again, and grown +To such vastness, as if unmanacled +From Greece Morea were, and that, by some +Earthquake unrooted, loose Morea swam; +Or seas from Afric's body had severed +And torn the Hopeful promontory's head: +This fish would seem these, and, when all hopes fail, +A great ship overset, or without sail, +Hulling, might (when this was a whelp) be like this whale. + +XXXII. + +At every stroke his brazen fins do take +More circles in the broken sea they make +Than cannons' voices when the air they tear: +His ribs are pillars, and his high-arched roof +Of bark, that blunts best steel, is thunder-proof: +Swim in him swallowed dolphins without fear, +And feel no sides, as if his vast womb were +Some inland sea; and ever, as he went, +He spouted rivers up, as if he meant +To join our seas with seas above the firmament. + +XXXIII. + +He hunts not fish, but, as an officer +Stays in his court, at his own net, and there +All suitors of all sorts themselves enthral; +So on his back lies this whale wantoning, +And in his gulf-like throat sucks every thing, +That passeth near. Fish chaseth fish, and all, +Flier and follower, in this whirlpool fall: +Oh! might not states of more equality +Consist? and is it of necessity +That thousand guiltless smalls to make one great must die? + +XXXIV. + +Now drinks he up seas, and he eats up flocks; +He jostles islands, and he shakes firm rocks: +Now in a roomful house this Soul doth float, +And, like a prince, she sends her faculties +To all her limbs, distant as provinces. +The sun hath twenty times both Crab and Goat +Parched, since first launched forth this living boat: +'Tis greatest now, and to destruction +Nearest; there's no pause at perfection; +Greatness a period hath, but hath no station. + +XXXV. + +Two little fishes, whom he never harmed, +Nor fed on their kind, two, not th'roughly armed +With hope that they could kill him, nor could do +Good to themselves by his death, (they did not eat +His flesh, nor suck those oils which thence outstreat,) +Conspired against him; and it might undo +The plot of all that the plotters were two, +But that they fishes were, and could not speak. +How shall a tyrant wise strong projects break, +If wretches can on them the common anger wreak? + +XXXVI. + +The flail-finned thresher and steel-beaked sword-fish +Only attempt to do what all do wish: +The thresher backs him, and to beat begins; +The sluggard whale leads to oppression, +And t' hide himself from shame and danger, down +Begins to sink: the sword-fish upwards spins, +And gores him with his beak; his staff-like fins +So well the one, his sword the other, plies, +That, now a scoff and prey, this tyrant dies, +And (his own dole) feeds with himself all companies. + +XXXVII. + +Who will revenge his death? or who will call +Those to account that thought and wrought his fall? +The heirs of slain kings we see are often so +Transported with the joy of what they get, +That they revenge and obsequies forget; +Nor will against such men the people go, +Because he's now dead to whom they should show +Love in that act. Some kings, by vice, being grown +So needy of subjects' love, that of their own +They think they lose if love be to the dead prince shown. + +XXXVIII. + +This soul, now free from prison and passion, +Hath yet a little indignation +That so small hammers should so soon down beat +So great a castle; and having for her house +Got the strait cloister of a wretched mouse, +(As basest men, that have not what to eat, +Nor enjoy ought, do far more hate the great +Than they who good reposed estates possess,) +This Soul, late taught that great things might by less +Be slain, to gallant mischief doth herself address. + +XXXIX. + +Nature's great masterpiece, an elephant, +(The only harmless great thing,) the giant +Of beasts, who thought none had to make him wise, +But to be just and thankful, both to offend, +(Yet Nature hath given him no knees to bend,) +Himself he up-props, on himself relies, +And, foe to none, suspects no enemies, +Still sleeping stood; vexed not his fantasy +Black dreams; like an unbent bow carelessly +His sinewy proboscis did remissly lie. + +XL. + +In which, as in a gallery, this mouse +Walked, and surveyed the rooms of this vast house, +And to the brain, the Soul's bed-chamber, went, +And gnawed the life-cords there: like a whole town +Clean undermined, the slain beast tumbled down: +With him the murderer dies, whom envy sent +To kill, not 'scape, (for only he that meant +To die did ever kill a man of better room,) +And thus he made his foe his prey and tomb: +Who cares not to turn back may any whither come. + +XLI. + +Next housed this Soul a wolf's yet unborn whelp, +Till the best midwife, Nature, gave it help +To issue: it could kill as soon as go. +Abel, as white and mild as his sheep were, +(Who, in that trade, of church and kingdoms there +Was the first type,) was still infested so +With this wolf, that it bred his loss and woe; +And yet his bitch, his sentinel, attends +The flock so near, so well warns and defends, +That the wolf, hopeless else, to corrupt her intends. + +XLII. + +He took a course, which since successfully +Great men have often taken, to espy +The counsels, or to break the plots, of foes; +To Abel's tent he stealeth in the dark, +On whose skirts the bitch slept: ere she could bark, +Attached her with strait gripes, yet he called those +Embracements of love: to love's work he goes, +Where deeds move more than words; nor doth she show, +Nor much resist, no needs he straiten so +His prey, for were she loose she would not bark nor go. + +XLIII. + +He hath engaged her; his she wholly bides; +Who not her own, none other's secrets hides. +If to the flock he come, and Abel there, +She feigns hoarse barkings, but she biteth not! +Her faith is quite, but not her love forgot. +At last a trap, of which some everywhere +Abel had placed, ends all his loss and fear +By the wolf's death; and now just time it was +That a quick Soul should give life to that mass +Of blood in Abel's bitch, and thither this did pass. + +XLIV. + +Some have their wives, their sisters some begot, +But in the lives of emperors you shall not +Read of a lust the which may equal this: +This wolf begot himself, and finished +What he began alive when he was dead. +Son to himself, and father too, he is +A riding lust, for which schoolmen would miss +A proper name. The whelp of both these lay +In Abel's tent, and with soft Moaba, +His sister, being young, it used to sport and play. + +XLV. + +He soon for her too harsh and churlish grew, +And Abel (the dam dead) would use this new +For the field; being of two kinds thus made, +He, as his dam, from sheep drove wolves away, +And, as his sire, he made them his own prey. +Five years he lived, and cozened with his trade, +Then, hopeless that his faults were hid, betrayed +Himself by flight, and by all followed, +From dogs a wolf, from wolves a dog, he fled, +And, like a spy, to both sides false, he perished. + +XLVI. + +It quickened next a toyful ape, and so +Gamesome it was, that it might freely go +From tent to tent, and with the children play: +His organs now so like theirs he doth find, +That why he cannot laugh and speak his mind +He wonders. Much with all, most he doth stay +With Adam's fifth daughter, Siphatecia; +Doth gaze on her, and where she passeth pass, +Gathers her fruits, and tumbles on the grass; +And, wisest of that kind, the first true lover was. + +XLVII. + +He was the first that more desired to have +One than another; first that e'er did crave +Love by mute signs, and had no power to speak; +First that could make love-faces, or could do +The vaulter's somersalts, or used to woo +With hoiting gambols, his own bones to break, +To make his mistress merry, or to wreak +Her anger on himself. Sins against kind +They easily do that can let feed their mind +With outward beauty; beauty they in boys and beasts do find. + +XLVIII. + +By this misled too low things men have proved, +And too high; beasts and angels have been loved: +This ape, though else th'rough vain, in this was wise; +He reached at things too high, but open way +There was, and he knew not she would say Nay. +His toys prevail not; likelier means he tries; +He gazeth on her face with tear-shot eyes, +And uplifts subtlely, with his russet paw, +Her kid-skin apron without fear or awe +Of Nature; Nature hath no jail, though she hath law. + +XLIX. + +First she was silly, and knew not what he meant: +That virtue, by his touches chafed and spent, +Succeeds an itchy warmth, that melts her quite; +She knew not first, nor cares not what he doth; +And willing half and more, more than half wrath, +She neither pulls nor pushes, but outright +Now cries, and now repents; when Thelemite, +Her brother, entered, and a great stone threw +After the ape, who thus prevented flew. +This house, thus battered down, the Soul possessed anew. + +L. + +And whether by this change she lose or win, +She comes out next where the ape would have gone in. +Adam and Eve had mingled bloods, and now, +Like chemic's equal fires, her temperate womb +Had stewed and formed it; and part did become +A spungy liver, that did richly allow, +Like a free conduit on a high hill's brow, +Life-keeping moisture unto every part; +Part hardened itself to a thicker heart, +Whose busy furnaces life's spirits do impart. + +LI. + +Another part became the well of sense, +The tender, well-armed feeling brain, from whence +Those sinew strings which do our bodies tie +Are ravelled out; and fast there by one end +Did this Soul limbs, these limbs a Soul attend; +And now they joined, keeping some quality +Of every past shape; she knew treachery, +Rapine, deceit, and lust, and ills enough +To be a woman: Themech she is now, +Sister and wife to Cain, Cain that first did plough. + +LII. + +Whoe'er thou beest that read'st this sullen writ, +Which just so much courts thee as thou dost it, +Let me arrest thy thoughts; wonder with me +Why ploughing, building, ruling, and the rest, +Or most of those arts whence our lives are blest, +By cursed Cain's race invented be, +And blest Seth vexed us with astronomy. +There's nothing simply good nor ill alone; +Of every quality Comparison +The only measure is, and judge Opinion. + + + + +MICHAEL DRAYTON, + + +The author of 'Polyolbion,' was born in the parish of Atherston, in +Warwickshire, about the year 1563. He was the son of a butcher, but +displayed such precocity that several persons of quality, such as Sir +Walter Aston and the Countess of Bedford, patronised him. In his +childhood he was eager to know what strange kind of beings poets were; +and on coming to Oxford, (if, indeed, he did study there,) is said to +have importuned his tutor to make him, if possible, a poet. He was +supported chiefly, through his life, by the Lady Bedford. He paid court, +without success, to King James. In 1593 (having long ere this become +that 'strange thing a poet') he published a collection of his Pastorals, +and afterwards his 'Barons' Wars' and 'England's Heroical Epistles,' +which are both rhymed histories. In 1612-13 he published the first part +of 'Polyolbion,' and in 1622 completed the work. In 1626 we hear of him +being styled Poet Laureate, but the title then implied neither royal +appointment, nor fee, nor, we presume, duty. In 1627 he published 'The +Battle of Agincourt,' 'The Court of Faerie,' and other poems; and, three +years later, a book called 'The Muses' Elysium.' He had at last found an +asylum in the family of the Earl of Dorset; whose noble lady, Lady Anne +Clifford, subsequently Countess of Pembroke, and who had been, we saw, +Daniel's pupil, after Drayton's death in 1631, erected him a monument, +with a gold-lettered inscription, in Westminster Abbey. + +The main pillar of Drayton's fame is 'Polyolbion,' which forms a poetical +description of England, in thirty songs or books, to which the learned +Camden appended notes. The learning and knowledge of this poem are exten- +sive, and many of the descriptions are true and spirited, but the space +of ground traversed is too large, and the form of versification is too +heavy, for so long a flight. Campbell justly remarks,--'On a general +survey, the mass of his poetry has no strength or sustaining spirit equal +to its bulk. There is a perpetual play of fancy on its surface; but the +impulses of passion, and the guidance of judgment, give it no strong +movements or consistent course.' + +Drayton eminently suits a 'Selection' such as ours, since his parts are +better than his whole. + + +DESCRIPTION OF MORNING. + +When Phoebus lifts his head out of the winter's wave, +No sooner doth the earth her flowery bosom brave, +At such time as the year brings on the pleasant spring, +But hunts-up to the morn the feather'd sylvans sing: +And in the lower grove, as on the rising knoll, +Upon the highest spray of every mounting pole, +Those choristers are perch'd with many a speckled breast. +Then from her burnish'd gate the goodly glitt'ring east +Gilds every lofty top, which late the humorous night +Bespangled had with pearl, to please the morning's sight: +On which the mirthful choirs, with their clear open throats, +Unto the joyful morn so strain their warbling notes, +That hills and valleys ring, and even the echoing air +Seems all composed of sounds, about them everywhere. +The throstle, with shrill sharps; as purposely he sung +T'awake the lustless sun, or chiding, that so long +He was in coming forth, that should the thickets thrill; +The woosel near at hand, that hath a golden bill; +As nature him had mark'd of purpose, t'let us see +That from all other birds his tunes should different be: +For, with their vocal sounds, they sing to pleasant May; +Upon his dulcet pipe the merle doth only play. +When in the lower brake, the nightingale hard by, +In such lamenting strains the joyful hours doth ply, +As though the other birds she to her tunes would draw, +And, but that nature (by her all-constraining law) +Each bird to her own kind this season doth invite, +They else, alone to hear that charmer of the night, +(The more to use their ears,) their voices sure would spare, +That moduleth her tunes so admirably rare, +As man to set in parts at first had learn'd of her. + +To Philomel the next, the linnet we prefer; +And by that warbling bird, the wood-lark place we then, +The red-sparrow, the nope, the redbreast, and the wren. +The yellow-pate; which though she hurt the blooming tree, +Yet scarce hath any bird a finer pipe than she. +And of these chanting fowls, the goldfinch not behind, +That hath so many sorts descending from her kind. +The tydy for her notes as delicate as they, +The laughing hecco, then the counterfeiting jay, +The softer with the shrill (some hid among the leaves, +Some in the taller trees, some in the lower greaves) +Thus sing away the morn, until the mounting sun +Through thick exhaled fogs his golden head hath run, +And through the twisted tops of our close covert creeps +To kiss the gentle shade, this while that sweetly sleeps. +And near to these our thicks, the wild and frightful herds, +Not hearing other noise but this of chattering birds, +Feed fairly on the lawns; both sorts of season'd deer: +Here walk the stately red, the freckled fallow there: +The bucks and lusty stags amongst the rascals strew'd, +As sometime gallant spirits amongst the multitude. + +Of all the beasts which we for our venerial name, +The hart among the rest, the hunter's noblest game: +Of which most princely chase since none did e'er report, +Or by description touch, to express that wondrous sport, +(Yet might have well beseem'd the ancients' nobler songs) +To our old Arden here, most fitly it belongs: +Yet shall she not invoke the muses to her aid; +But thee, Diana bright, a goddess and a maid: +In many a huge-grown wood, and many a shady grove, +Which oft hast borne thy bow (great huntress, used to rove) +At many a cruel beast, and with thy darts to pierce +The lion, panther, ounce, the bear, and tiger fierce; +And following thy fleet game, chaste mighty forest's queen, +With thy dishevell'd nymphs attired in youthful green, +About the lawns hast scour'd, and wastes both far and near, +Brave huntress; but no beast shall prove thy quarries here; +Save those the best of chase, the tall and lusty red, +The stag for goodly shape, and stateliness of head, +Is fitt'st to hunt at force. For whom, when with his hounds +The labouring hunter tufts the thick unbarbed grounds +Where harbour'd is the hart; there often from his feed +The dogs of him do find; or thorough skilful heed, +The huntsman by his slot, or breaking earth, perceives, +On entering of the thick by pressing of the greaves, +Where he had gone to lodge. Now when the hart doth hear +The often-bellowing hounds to vent his secret leir, +He rousing rusheth out, and through the brakes doth drive, +As though up by the roots the bushes he would rive. +And through the cumbrous thicks, as fearfully he makes, +He with his branched head the tender saplings shakes, +That sprinkling their moist pearl do seem for him to weep; +When after goes the cry, with yellings loud and deep, +That all the forest rings, and every neighbouring place: +And there is not a hound but falleth to the chase; +Rechating with his horn, which then the hunter cheers, +Whilst still the lusty stag his high-palm'd head upbears, +His body showing state, with unbent knees upright, +Expressing from all beasts, his courage in his flight. +But when the approaching foes still following he perceives, +That he his speed must trust, his usual walk he leaves: +And o'er the champain flies: which when the assembly find, +Each follows, as his horse were footed with the wind. +But being then imbost, the noble stately deer +When he hath gotten ground (the kennel cast arrear) +Doth beat the brooks and ponds for sweet refreshing soil: +That serving not, then proves if he his scent can foil, +And makes amongst the herds, and flocks of shag-wooled sheep, +Them frighting from the guard of those who had their keep. +But when as all his shifts his safety still denies, +Put quite out of his walk, the ways and fallows tries. +Whom when the ploughman meets, his team he letteth stand +To assail him with his goad: so with his hook in hand, +The shepherd him pursues, and to his dog doth hollo: +When, with tempestuous speed, the hounds and huntsmen follow; +Until the noble deer through toil bereaved of strength, +His long and sinewy legs then failing him at length, +The villages attempts, enraged, not giving way +To anything he meets now at his sad decay. +The cruel ravenous hounds and bloody hunters near, +This noblest beast of chase, that vainly doth but fear, +Some bank or quickset finds: to which his haunch opposed, +He turns upon his foes, that soon have him enclosed. +The churlish-throated hounds then holding him at bay, +And as their cruel fangs on his harsh skin they lay, +With his sharp-pointed head he dealeth deadly wounds. + +The hunter, coming in to help his wearied hounds, +He desperately assails; until oppress'd by force, +He who the mourner is to his own dying corse, +Upon the ruthless earth his precious tears lets fall. + + + + +EDWARD FAIRFAX. + + +Edward Fairfax was the second, some say the natural, son of Sir Thomas +Fairfax of Denton, in Yorkshire. The dates of his birth and of his death +are unknown, although he was living in 1631. While his brothers were +pursuing military glory in the field, Edward married early, and settled in +Fuystone, a place near Knaresborough Forest. Here he spent part of his +time in managing his elder brother, Lord Fairfax's property, and partly in +literary pursuits. He wrote a strange treatise on Demonology, a History of +Edward the Black Prince, which has never been printed, some poor Eclogues, +and a most beautiful translation of Tasso, which stamps him a true poet as +well as a benefactor to the English language, and on account of which +Collins calls him-- + +'Prevailing poet, whose undoubting mind + Believed the magic wonders which he sung.' + + +RINALDO AT MOUNT OLIVET. + +1 It was the time, when 'gainst the breaking day + Rebellious night yet strove, and still repined; + For in the east appear'd the morning gray, + And yet some lamps in Jove's high palace shined, + When to Mount Olivet he took his way, + And saw, as round about his eyes he twined, + Night's shadows hence, from thence the morning's shine; + This bright, that dark; that earthly, this divine: + +2 Thus to himself he thought: 'How many bright + And splendent lamps shine in heaven's temple high! + Day hath his golden sun, her moon the night, + Her fix'd and wandering stars the azure sky; + So framed all by their Creator's might, + That still they live and shine, and ne'er shall die, + Till, in a moment, with the last day's brand + They burn, and with them burn sea, air, and land.' + +3 Thus as he mused, to the top he went, + And there kneel'd down with reverence and fear; + His eyes upon heaven's eastern face he bent; + His thoughts above all heavens uplifted were-- + 'The sins and errors, which I now repent, + Of my unbridled youth, O Father dear, + Remember not, but let thy mercy fall, + And purge my faults and my offences all.' + +4 Thus prayed he; with purple wings up-flew + In golden weed the morning's lusty queen, + Begilding, with the radiant beams she threw, + His helm, his harness, and the mountain green: + Upon his breast and forehead gently blew + The air, that balm and nardus breathed unseen; + And o'er his head, let down from clearest skies, + A cloud of pure and precious dew there flies: + +5 The heavenly dew was on his garments spread, + To which compared, his clothes pale ashes seem, + And sprinkled so, that all that paleness fled, + And thence of purest white bright rays outstream: + So cheered are the flowers, late withered, + With the sweet comfort of the morning beam; + And so, return'd to youth, a serpent old + Adorns herself in new and native gold. + +6 The lovely whiteness of his changed weed + The prince perceived well and long admired; + Toward, the forest march'd he on with speed, + Resolved, as such adventures great required: + Thither he came, whence, shrinking back for dread + Of that strange desert's sight, the first retired; + But not to him fearful or loathsome made + That forest was, but sweet with pleasant shade. + +7 Forward he pass'd, and in the grove before + He heard a sound, that strange, sweet, pleasing was; + There roll'd a crystal brook with gentle roar, + There sigh'd the winds, as through the leaves they pass; + There did the nightingale her wrongs deplore, + There sung the swan, and singing died, alas! + There lute, harp, cittern, human voice, he heard, + And all these sounds one sound right well declared. + +8 A dreadful thunder-clap at last he heard, + The aged trees and plants well-nigh that rent, + Yet heard the nymphs and sirens afterward, + Birds, winds, and waters, sing with sweet consent; + Whereat amazed, he stay'd, and well prepared + For his defence, heedful and slow forth-went; + Nor in his way his passage ought withstood, + Except a quiet, still, transparent flood: + +9 On the green banks, which that fair stream inbound, + Flowers and odours sweetly smiled and smell'd, + Which reaching out his stretched arms around, + All the large desert in his bosom held, + And through the grove one channel passage found; + This in the wood, in that the forest dwell'd: + Trees clad the streams, streams green those trees aye made, + And so exchanged their moisture and their shade. + +10 The knight some way sought out the flood to pass, + And as he sought, a wondrous bridge appear'd; + A bridge of gold, a huge and mighty mass, + On arches great of that rich metal rear'd: + When through that golden way he enter'd was, + Down fell the bridge; swelled the stream, and wear'd + The work away, nor sign left, where it stood, + And of a river calm became a flood. + +11 He turn'd, amazed to see it troubled so, + Like sudden brooks, increased with molten snow; + The billows fierce, that tossed to and fro, + The whirlpools suck'd down to their bosoms low; + But on he went to search for wonders mo,[1] + Through the thick trees, there high and broad which grow; + And in that forest huge, and desert wide, + The more he sought, more wonders still he spied: + +12 Where'er he stepp'd, it seem'd the joyful ground + Renew'd the verdure of her flowery weed; + A fountain here, a well-spring there he found; + Here bud the roses, there the lilies spread: + The aged wood o'er and about him round + Flourish'd with blossoms new, new leaves, new seed; + And on the boughs and branches of those treen + The bark was soften'd, and renew'd the green. + +13 The manna on each leaf did pearled lie; + The honey stilled[2] from the tender rind: + Again he heard that wonderful harmony + Of songs and sweet complaints of lovers kind; + The human voices sung a treble high, + To which respond the birds, the streams, the wind; + But yet unseen those nymphs, those singers were, + Unseen the lutes, harps, viols which they bear. + +14 He look'd, he listen'd, yet his thoughts denied + To think that true which he did hear and see: + A myrtle in an ample plain he spied, + And thither by a beaten path went he; + The myrtle spread her mighty branches wide, + Higher than pine, or palm, or cypress tree, + And far above all other plants was seen + That forest's lady, and that desert's queen. + +15 Upon the tree his eyes Rinaldo bent, + And there a marvel great and strange began; + An aged oak beside him cleft and rent, + And from his fertile, hollow womb, forth ran, + Clad in rare weeds and strange habiliment, + A nymph, for age able to go to man; + An hundred plants beside, even in his sight, + Childed an hundred nymphs, so great, so dight.[3] + +16 Such as on stages play, such as we see + The dryads painted, whom wild satyrs love, + Whose arms half naked, locks untrussed be, + With buskins laced on their legs above, + And silken robes tuck'd short above their knee, + Such seem'd the sylvan daughters of this grove; + Save, that instead of shafts and bows of tree, + She bore a lute, a harp or cittern she; + +17 And wantonly they cast them in a ring, + And sung and danced to move his weaker sense, + Rinaldo round about environing, + As does its centre the circumference; + The tree they compass'd eke, and 'gan to sing, + That woods and streams admired their excellence-- + 'Welcome, dear Lord, welcome to this sweet grove, + Welcome, our lady's hope, welcome, her love! + +18 'Thou com'st to cure our princess, faint and sick + For love, for love of thee, faint, sick, distress'd; + Late black, late dreadful was this forest thick, + Fit dwelling for sad folk, with grief oppress'd; + See, with thy coming how the branches quick + Revived are, and in new blossoms dress'd!' + This was their song; and after from it went + First a sweet sound, and then the myrtle rent. + +19 If antique times admired Silenus old, + Who oft appear'd set on his lazy ass, + How would they wonder, if they had behold + Such sights, as from the myrtle high did pass! + Thence came a lady fair with locks of gold, + That like in shape, in face, and beauty was + To fair Armida; Rinald thinks he spies + Her gestures, smiles, and glances of her eyes: + +20 On him a sad and smiling look she cast, + Which twenty passions strange at once bewrays; + 'And art thou come,' quoth she, 'return'd at last' + To her, from whom but late thou ran'st thy ways? + Com'st thou to comfort me for sorrows past, + To ease my widow nights, and careful days? + Or comest thou to work me grief and harm? + Why nilt thou speak, why not thy face disarm? + +21 'Com'st thou a friend or foe? I did not frame + That golden bridge to entertain my foe; + Nor open'd flowers and fountains, as you came, + To welcome him with joy who brings me woe: + Put off thy helm: rejoice me with the flame + Of thy bright eyes, whence first my fires did grow; + Kiss me, embrace me; if you further venture, + Love keeps the gate, the fort is eath[4] to enter.' + +22 Thus as she woos, she rolls her rueful eyes + With piteous look, and changeth oft her chere,[5] + An hundred sighs from her false heart up-flies; + She sobs, she mourns, it is great ruth to hear: + The hardest breast sweet pity mollifies; + What stony heart resists a woman's tear? + But yet the knight, wise, wary, not unkind, + Drew forth his sword, and from her careless twined:[6] + +23 Towards the tree he march'd; she thither start, + Before him stepp'd, embraced the plant, and cried-- + 'Ah! never do me such a spiteful part, + To cut my tree, this forest's joy and pride; + Put up thy sword, else pierce therewith the heart + Of thy forsaken and despised Armide; + For through this breast, and through this heart, unkind, + To this fair tree thy sword shall passage find.' + +24 He lift his brand, nor cared, though oft she pray'd, + And she her form to other shape did change; + Such monsters huge, when men in dreams are laid, + Oft in their idle fancies roam and range: + Her body swell'd, her face obscure was made; + Vanish'd her garments rich, and vestures strange; + A giantess before him high she stands, + Arm'd, like Briareus, with an hundred hands. + +25 With fifty swords, and fifty targets bright, + She threaten'd death, she roar'd, she cried and fought; + Each other nymph, in armour likewise dight, + A Cyclops great became; he fear'd them nought, + But on the myrtle smote with all his might, + Which groan'd, like living souls, to death nigh brought; + The sky seem'd Pluto's court, the air seem'd hell, + Therein such monsters roar, such spirits yell: + +26 Lighten'd the heaven above, the earth below + Roared aloud; that thunder'd, and this shook: + Bluster'd the tempests strong; the whirlwinds blow; + The bitter storm drove hailstones in his look; + But yet his arm grew neither weak nor slow, + Nor of that fury heed or care he took, + Till low to earth the wounded tree down bended; + en fled the spirits all, the charms all ended. + +27 The heavens grew clear, the air wax'd calm and still, + The wood returned to its wonted state, + Of witchcrafts free, quite void of spirits ill, + Of horror full, but horror there innate: + He further tried, if ought withstood his will + To cut those trees, as did the charms of late, + And finding nought to stop him, smiled and said-- + 'O shadows vain! O fools, of shades afraid!' + +28 From thence home to the camp-ward turn'd the knight; + The hermit cried, upstarting from his seat, + 'Now of the wood the charms have lost their might; + The sprites are conquer'd, ended is the feat; + See where he comes!'--Array'd in glittering white + Appear'd the man, bold, stately, high, and great; + His eagle's silver wings to shine begun + With wondrous splendour 'gainst the golden sun. + +29 The camp received him with a joyful cry,-- + A cry, the hills and dales about that fill'd; + Then Godfrey welcomed him with honours high; + His glory quench'd all spite, all envy kill'd: + 'To yonder dreadful grove,' quoth he, 'went I, + And from the fearful wood, as me you will'd, + Have driven the sprites away; thither let be + Your people sent, the way is safe and free.' + +[1] 'Mo:' more. +[2] 'Stilled:' dropped. +[3] 'Dight:' aparelled. +[4] 'Eath:' easy. +[5] 'Chere:' expression. +[6] 'Twined:' separated. + + + + +SIR HENRY WOTTON + + +Was born in Kent, in 1568; educated at Winchester and Oxford; and, after +travelling on the Continent, became the Secretary of Essex, but had the +sagacity to foresee his downfall, and withdrew from the kingdom in time. +On his return he became a favourite of James I., who employed him to be +ambassador to Venice,--a post he held long, and occupied with great skill +and adroitness. Toward the end of his days, in order to gain the Provost- +ship of Eton, he took orders, and died in that situation, in 1639, in the +72d year of his age. His writings were published in 1651, under the title +of 'Reliquitae Wottonianae,' and Izaak Walton has written an entertaining +account of his life. His poetry has a few pleasing and smooth-flowing +passages; but perhaps the best thing recorded of him is his viva voce +account of an English ambassador, as 'an honest gentleman sent to LIE +abroad for the good of his country.' + + +FAREWELL TO THE VANITIES OF THE WORLD. + +1 Farewell, ye gilded follies! pleasing troubles; + Farewell, ye honour'd rags, ye glorious bubbles; + Fame's but a hollow echo, gold pure clay, + Honour the darling but of one short day, + Beauty, the eye's idol, but a damask'd skin, + State but a golden prison to live in + And torture free-born minds; embroider'd trains + Merely but pageants for proud swelling veins; + And blood, allied to greatness, is alone + Inherited, not purchased, nor our own. + Fame, honour, beauty, state, train, blood, and birth, + Are but the fading blossoms of the earth. + +2 I would be great, but that the sun doth still + Level his rays against the rising hill; + I would be high, but see the proudest oak + Most subject to the rending thunder-stroke; + I would be rich, but see men too unkind + Dig in the bowels of the richest mind; + I would be wise, but that I often see + The fox suspected while the ass goes free; + I would be fair, but see the fair and proud, + Like the bright sun, oft setting in a cloud; + I would be poor, but know the humble grass + Still trampled on by each unworthy ass; + Rich, hated; wise, suspected; scorn'd, if poor; + Great, fear'd; fair, tempted; high, still envied more. + I have wish'd all, but now I wish for neither + Great, high, rich, wise, nor fair--poor I'll be rather. + +3 Would the world now adopt me for her heir, + Would beauty's queen entitle me 'the fair,' + Fame speak me Fortune's minion, could I vie + Angels[1] with India; with a speaking eye + Command bare heads, bow'd knees, strike Justice dumb + As well as blind and lame, or give a tongue + To stones by epitaphs; be call'd great master + In the loose rhymes of every poetaster; + Could I be more than any man that lives, + Great, fair, rich, wise, all in superlatives: + Yet I more freely would these gifts resign, + Than ever fortune would have made them mine; + And hold one minute of this holy leisure + Beyond the riches of this empty pleasure. + +4 Welcome, pure thoughts! welcome, ye silent groves! + These guests, these courts, my soul most dearly loves. + Now the wing'd people of the sky shall sing + My cheerful anthems to the gladsome spring; + A prayer-book now shall be my looking-glass, + In which I will adore sweet Virtue's face; + Here dwell no hateful looks, no palace cares, + No broken vows dwell here, nor pale-faced fears: + Then here I'll sit, and sigh my hot love's folly, + And learn to affect a holy melancholy; + And if Contentment be a stranger then, + I'll ne'er look for it but in heaven again. + +[1] 'Angels:' a species of coin. + + +A MEDITATION. + +O thou great Power! in whom we move, + By whom we live, to whom we die, +Behold me through thy beams of love, + Whilst on this couch of tears I lie, +And cleanse my sordid soul within +By thy Christ's blood, the bath of sin. + +No hallow'd oils, no gums I need, + No new-born drams of purging fire; +One rosy drop from David's seed + Was worlds of seas to quench thine ire: +O precious ransom! which once paid, +That _Consummatum est_ was said. + +And said by him, that said no more, + But seal'd it with his sacred breath: +Thou then, that has dispurged our score, + And dying wert the death of death, +Be now, whilst on thy name we call, +Our life, our strength, our joy, our all! + + + + +RICHARD CORBET. + + +This witty and good-natured bishop was born in 1582. He was the son of +a gardener, who, however, had the honour to be known to and sung by Ben +Jonson. He was educated at Westminster and Oxford; and having received +orders, was made successively Bishop of Oxford and of Norwich. He was +a most facetious and rather too convivial person; and a collection of +anecdotes about him might be made, little inferior, in point of wit and +coarseness, to that famous one, once so popular in Scotland, relating to +the sayings and doings of George Buchanan. He is said, on one occasion, +to have aided an unfortunate ballad-singer in his professional duty by +arraying himself in his leathern jacket and vending the stock, being +possessed of a fine presence and a clear, full, ringing voice. +Occasionally doffing his clerical costume he adjourned with his chaplain, +Dr Lushington, to the wine-cellar, where care and ceremony were both +speedily drowned, the one of the pair exclaiming, 'Here's to thee, +Lushington,' and the other, 'Here's to thee, Corbet.' Men winked at +these irregularities, probably on the principle mentioned by Scott, in +reference to Prior Aymer, in 'Ivanhoe,'--'If Prior Aymer rode hard in +the chase, or remained late at the banquet, men only shrugged up their +shoulders by recollecting that the same irregularities were practised by +many of his brethren, who had no redeeming qualities whatsoever to atone +for them.' Corbet, on the other hand, was a kind as well as a convivial +--a warm-hearted as well as an eccentric man. He was tolerant to the +Puritans and sectaries; his attention to his duties was respectable; his +talents were of a high order, and he had in him a vein of genius of no +ordinary kind. He died in 1635, but his poems were not published till +1647. They are of various merit, and treat of various subjects. In his +'Journey to France,' you see the humorist, who, on one occasion, when the +country people were flocking to be confirmed, cried, 'Bear off there, or +I'll confirm ye with my staff.' In his lines to his son Vincent, we see, +notwithstanding all his foibles, the good man; and in his 'Farewell to +the Fairies' the fine and fanciful poet. + + +DR CORBET'S JOURNEY INTO FRANCE. + +1 I went from England into France, + Nor yet to learn to cringe nor dance, + Nor yet to ride nor fence; + Nor did I go like one of those + That do return with half a nose, + They carried from hence. + +2 But I to Paris rode along, + Much like John Dory in the song, + Upon a holy tide; + I on an ambling nag did jet, + (I trust he is not paid for yet,) + And spurr'd him on each side. + +3 And to St Denis fast we came, + To see the sights of Notre Dame, + (The man that shows them snuffles,) + Where who is apt for to believe, + May see our Lady's right-arm sleeve, + And eke her old pantofles; + +4 Her breast, her milk, her very gown + That she did wear in Bethlehem town, + When in the inn she lay; + Yet all the world knows that's a fable, + For so good clothes ne'er lay in stable, + Upon a lock of hay. + +5 No carpenter could by his trade + Gain so much coin as to have made + A gown of so rich stuff; + Yet they, poor souls, think, for their credit, + That they believe old Joseph did it, + 'Cause he deserved enough. + +6 There is one of the cross's nails, + Which whoso sees, his bonnet vails, + And, if he will, may kneel; + Some say 'twas false,'twas never so, + Yet, feeling it, thus much I know, + It is as true as steel. + +7 There is a Ianthorn which the Jews, + When Judas led them forth, did use, + It weighs my weight downright; + But to believe it, you must think + The Jews did put a candle in 't, + And then 'twas very light. + +8 There's one saint there hath lost his nose, + Another's head, but not his toes, + His elbow and his thumb; + But when that we had seen the rags, + We went to th' inn and took our nags, + And so away did come. + +9 We came to Paris, on the Seine, + 'Tis wondrous fair,'tis nothing clean, + 'Tis Europe's greatest town; + How strong it is I need not tell it, + For all the world may easily smell it, + That walk it up and down. + +10 There many strange things are to see, + The palace and great gallery, + The Place Royal doth excel, + The New Bridge, and the statutes there, + At Notre Dame St Q. Pater, + The steeple bears the bell. + +11 For learning the University, + And for old clothes the Frippery, + The house the queen did build. + St Innocence, whose earth devours + Dead corps in four-and-twenty hours, + And there the king was kill'd. + +12 The Bastille and St Denis Street, + The Shafflenist like London Fleet, + The Arsenal no toy; + But if you'll see the prettiest thing, + Go to the court and see the king-- + Oh, 'tis a hopeful boy! + +13 He is, of all his dukes and peers, + Reverenced for much wit at's years, + Nor must you think it much; + For he with little switch doth play, + And make fine dirty pies of clay, + Oh, never king made such! + +14 A bird that can but kill a fly, + Or prate, doth please his majesty, + Tis known to every one; + The Duke of Guise gave him a parrot, + And he had twenty cannons for it, + For his new galleon. + +15 Oh that I e'er might have the hap + To get the bird which in the map + Is call'd the Indian ruck! + I'd give it him, and hope to be + As rich as Guise or Livine, + Or else I had ill-luck. + +16 Birds round about his chamber stand, + And he them feeds with his own hand, + 'Tis his humility; + And if they do want anything, + They need but whistle for their king, + And he comes presently. + +17 But now, then, for these parts he must + Be enstyled Lewis the Just, + Great Henry's lawful heir; + When to his style to add more words, + They'd better call him King of Birds, + Than of the great Navarre. + +18 He hath besides a pretty quirk, + Taught him by nature, how to work + In iron with much ease; + Sometimes to the forge he goes, + There he knocks and there he blows, + And makes both locks and keys; + +19 Which puts a doubt in every one, + Whether he be Mars' or Vulcan's son, + Some few believe his mother; + But let them all say what they will, + I came resolved, and so think still, + As much the one as th' other. + +20 The people too dislike the youth, + Alleging reasons, for, in truth, + Mothers should honour'd be; + Yet others say, he loves her rather + As well as ere she loved her father, + And that's notoriously. + +21 His queen,[1] a pretty little wench, + Was born in Spain, speaks little French, + She's ne'er like to be mother; + For her incestuous house could not + Have children which were not begot + By uncle or by brother. + +22 Nor why should Lewis, being so just, + Content himself to take his lust + With his Lucina's mate, + And suffer his little pretty queen, + From all her race that yet hath been, + So to degenerate? + +23 'Twere charity for to be known + To love others' children as his own, + And why? it is no shame, + Unless that he would greater be + Than was his father Henery, + Who, men thought, did the same. + +[1] Anne of Austria. + + +FAREWELL TO THE FAIRIES. + +1 Farewell, rewards and fairies, + Good housewives now may say, + For now foul sluts in dairies + Do fare as well as they. + And though they sweep their hearths no less + Than maids were wont to do, + Yet who of late, for cleanliness, + Finds sixpence in her shoe? + +2 Lament, lament, old Abbeys, + The fairies lost command; + They did but change priests' babies, + But some have changed your land; + And all your children sprung from thence + Are now grown Puritans; + Who live as changelings ever since, + For love of your domains. + +3 At morning and at evening both, + You merry were and glad, + So little care of sleep or sloth + These pretty ladies had; + When Tom came home from labour, + Or Cis to milking rose, + Then merrily went their tabor, + And nimbly went their toes. + +4 Witness those rings and roundelays + Of theirs, which yet remain, + Were footed in Queen Mary's days + On many a grassy plain; + But since of late Elizabeth, + And later, James came in, + They never danced on any heath + As when the time hath been. + +5 By which we note the fairies + Were of the old profession, + Their songs were Ave-Maries, + Their dances were procession: + But now, alas! they all are dead, + Or gone beyond the seas; + Or further for religion fled, + Or else they take their ease. + +6 A tell-tale in their company + They never could endure, + And whoso kept not secretly + Their mirth, was punish'd sure; + It was a just and Christian deed, + To pinch such black and blue: + Oh, how the commonwealth doth need + Such justices as you! + + + + +BEN JONSON. + + +As 'rare Ben' chiefly shone as a dramatist, we need not recount at +length the events of his life. He was born in 1574; his father, who had +been a clergyman in Westminster, and was sprung from a Scotch family +in Annandale, having died before his birth. His mother marrying a +bricklayer, Ben was brought up to the same employment. Disliking this, +he enlisted in the army, and served with credit in the Low Countries. +When he came home, he entered St John's College, Cambridge; but his stay +there must have been short, since he is found in London at the age of +twenty, married, and acting on the stage. He began at the same time to +write dramas. He was unlucky enough to quarrel with and kill another +performer, for which he was committed to prison, but released without +a trial. He resumed his labours as a writer for the stage; but having +failed in the acting department, he forsook it for ever. His first hit +was, 'Every Man in his Humour,' a play enacted in 1598, Shakspeare being +one of the actors. His course afterwards was chequered. He quarrelled +with Marston and Dekker,--he was imprisoned for some reflections on the +Scottish nation in one of his comedies,--he was appointed in 1619 poet- +laureate, with a pension of 100 marks,--he made the same year a journey +to Scotland on foot, where he visited Drummond at Hawthornden, and they +seem to have mutually loathed each other,'--he fell into habits of +intemperance, and acquired, as he said himself, + + 'A mountain belly and a rocky face.' + +His favourite haunts were the Mermaid, and the Falcon Tavern, Southwark. +He was engaged in constant squabbles with his contemporaries, and died +at last, in 1637, in miserably poor circumstances. He was buried in +Westminster Abbey, under a square tablet, where one of his admirers +afterwards inscribed the words, + + 'O rare Ben Jonson!' + +Of his powers as a dramatist we need not speak, but present our readers +with some rough and racy specimens of his poetry. + + +EPITAPH ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE. + +Underneath this sable hearse +Lies the subject of all verse, +Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother; +Death! ere thou hast slain another, +Learn'd and fair, and good as she, +Time shall throw a dart at thee! + + +THE PICTURE OF THE BODY. + +Sitting, and ready to be drawn, +What make these velvets, silks, and lawn, +Embroideries, feathers, fringes, lace, +Where every limb takes like a face? + +Send these suspected helps to aid +Some form defective, or decay'd; +This beauty, without falsehood fair, +Needs nought to clothe it but the air. + +Yet something to the painter's view, +Were fitly interposed; so new, +He shall, if he can understand, +Work by my fancy, with his hand. + +Draw first a cloud, all save her neck, +And, out of that, make day to break; +Till like her face it do appear, +And men may think all light rose there. + +Then let the beams of that disperse +The cloud, and show the universe; +But at such distance, as the eye +May rather yet adore, than spy. + + +TO PENSHURST. + +(FROM 'THE FOREST') + +Thou art not, Penshurst, built to envious show +Of touch or marble; nor canst boast a row +Of polish'd pillars, or a roof of gold: +Thou hast no lantern, whereof tales are told; +Or stair, or courts; but stand'st an ancient pile, +And these grudged at, are reverenced the while. +Thou joy'st in better marks of soil and air, +Of wood, of water; therein thou art fair. +Thou hast thy walks for health as well as sport; +Thy mount to which the dryads do resort, +Where Pan and Bacchus their high feasts have made +Beneath the broad beech, and the chestnut shade; +That taller tree which of a nut was set +At his great birth where all the Muses met. +There, in the writhed bark, are cut the names +Of many a Sylvan token with his flames. +And thence the ruddy Satyrs oft provoke +The lighter Fauns to reach thy Ladies' Oak. +Thy copse, too, named of Gamage, thou hast here +That never fails, to serve thee, season'd deer, +When thou would'st feast or exercise thy friends. +The lower land that to the river bends, +Thy sheep, thy bullocks, kine, and calves do feed: +The middle ground thy mares and horses breed. +Each bank doth yield thee conies, and the tops +Fertile of wood. Ashore, and Sidney's copse, +To crown thy open table doth provide +The purpled pheasant, with the speckled side: +The painted partridge lies in every field, +And, for thy mess, is willing to be kill'd. +And if the high-swollen Medway fail thy dish, +Thou hast thy ponds that pay thee tribute fish, +Fat, aged carps that run into thy net, +And pikes, now weary their own kind to eat, +As both the second draught or cast to stay, +Officiously, at first, themselves betray. +Bright eels that emulate them, and leap on land, +Before the fisher, or into his hand. +Thou hast thy orchard fruit, thy garden flowers, +Fresh as the air, and new as are the hours. +The early cherry with the later plum, +Fig, grape, and quince, each in his time doth come: +The blushing apricot and woolly peach +Hang on thy walls that every child may reach. +And though thy walls be of the country stone, +They're rear'd with no man's ruin, no man's groan; +There's none that dwell about them wish them down; +But all come in, the farmer and the clown, +And no one empty-handed, to salute +Thy lord and lady, though they have no suit. +Some bring a capon, some a rural cake, +Some nuts, some apples; some that think they make +The better cheeses, bring them, or else send +By their ripe daughters, whom they would commend +This way to husbands; and whose baskets bear +An emblem of themselves, in plum or pear. +But what can this (more than express their love) +Add to thy free provision, far above +The need of such? whose liberal board doth flow +With all that hospitality doth know! +Where comes no guest but is allow'd to eat +Without his fear, and of thy lord's own meat: +Where the same beer, and bread, and selfsame wine +That is his lordship's shall be also mine. +And I not fain to sit (as some this day +At great men's tables) and yet dine away. +Here no man tells my cups; nor, standing by, +A waiter doth my gluttony envy: +But gives me what I call, and lets me eat; +He knows below he shall find plenty of meat; +Thy tables hoard not up for the next day, +Nor, when I take my lodging, need I pray +For fire, or lights, or livery: all is there, +As if thou, then, wert mine, or I reign'd here. +There's nothing I can wish, for which I stay. +This found King James, when hunting late this way +With his brave son, the Prince; they saw thy fires +Shine bright on every hearth, as the desires +Of thy Penates had been set on flame +To entertain them; or the country came, +With all their zeal, to warm their welcome here. +What (great, I will not say, but) sudden cheer +Did'st thou then make them! and what praise was heap'd +On thy good lady then, who therein reap'd +The just reward of her high housewifery; +To have her linen, plate, and all things nigh, +When she was far; and not a room but drest +As if it had expected such a guest! +These, Penshurst, are thy praise, and yet not all; +Thy lady's noble, fruitful, chaste withal. +His children * * * + * * have been taught religion; thence +Their gentler spirits have suck'd innocence. +Each morn and even they are taught to pray, +With the whole household, and may, every day, +Head, in their virtuous parents' noble parts, +The mysteries of manners, arms, and arts. +Now, Penshurst, they that will proportion thee +With other edifices, when they see +Those proud ambitious heaps, and nothing else, +May say their lords have built, but thy lord dwells. + + +TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER, WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, +AND WHAT HE HATH LEFT US. + +To draw no envy, Shakspeare, on thy name, +Am I thus ample to thy book and fame; +While I confess thy writings to be such +As neither man nor Muse can praise too much, +'Tis true, and all men's suffrage. But these ways +Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise; +For silliest ignorance on these would light, +Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right; +Or blind affection, which doth ne'er advance +The truth, but gropes, and urges all by chance; +Or crafty malice might pretend this praise, +And think to ruin, where it seem'd to raise. +But thou art proof against them, and, indeed, +Above the ill fortune of them, or the need. +I therefore will begin: Soul of the age! +The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! +My Shakspeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by +Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie +A little further off, to make thee room: +Thou art a monument without a tomb, +And art alive still, while thy book doth live, +And we have wits to read, and praise to give. +That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses, +I mean with great but disproportion'd Muses: +For if I thought my judgment were of years, +I should commit thee surely with thy peers, +And tell how far thou didst our Lyly outshine, +Or sporting Kyd or Marlow's mighty line, +And though thou had small Latin and less Greek, +From thence to honour thee I will not seek +For names; but call forth thund'ring Aeschylus, +Euripides, and Sophocles to us, +Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead, +To live again, to hear thy buskin tread, +And shake a stage: or when thy socks were on +Leave thee alone for the comparison +Of all, that insolent Greece or haughty Rome +Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. +Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show, +To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. +He was not of an age, but for all time! +And all the Muses still were in their prime, +When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm +Our ears, or like a Mercury, to charm! +Nature herself was proud of his designs, +And joy'd to wear the dressing of his lines, +Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, +As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. +The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, +Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please; +But antiquated and deserted lie, +As they were not of nature's family, +Yet must I not give nature all; thy art, +My gentle Shakspeare, must enjoy a part, +For though the poet's matter nature be, +His art doth give the fashion; and, that he +Who casts to write a living line, must sweat +(Such as thine are) and strike the second heat +Upon the Muses' anvil; turn the same, +And himself with it, that he thinks to frame; +Or for the laurel, he may gain a scorn; +For a good poet's made as well as born, +And such wert thou! Look how the father's face +Lives in his issue, even so the race +Of Shakspeare's mind and manners brightly shines +In his well-turned and true-filed lines; +In each of which he seems to shake a lance, +As brandish'd at the eyes of ignorance. +Sweet Swan of Avon! what a sight it were +To see thee in our water yet appear, +And make those flights upon the banks of Thames +That so did take Eliza and our James! +But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere +Advanced, and made a constellation there! +Shine forth, thou Star of Poets, and with rage, +Or influence, chide, or cheer the drooping stage, +Which since thy flight from hence hath mourn'd like night, +And despairs day, but for thy volume's light! + + +ON THE PORTRAIT OF SHAKSPEARE. + +(UNDER THE FRONTISPIECE TO THE FIRST EDITION OF HIS WORKS: 1623.) + +This figure that thou here seest put, +It was for gentle Shakspeare cut, +Wherein the graver had a strife +With nature, to outdo the life: +Oh, could he but have drawn his wit, +As well in brass, as he hath hit +His face; the print would then surpass +All that was ever writ in 'brass: +But since he cannot, reader, look +Not on his picture but his book. + + + + +VERE, STORRER, &c. + + +In the same age of fertile, seething mind which produced Jonson and the +rest of the Elizabethan giants, there flourished some minor poets, whose +names we merely chronicle: such as Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford, born +1534, and dying 1604, who travelled in Italy in his youth, and returned +the 'most accomplished coxcomb in Europe,' who sat as Grand Chamberlain +of England upon the trial of Mary Queen of Scots, and who has left, in +the 'Paradise of Dainty Devices,' some rather beautiful verses, entitled, +'Fancy and Desire;'--as Thomas Storrer, a student of Christ Church, Oxford, +and the author of a versified 'History of Cardinal Wolsey,' in three parts, +who died in 1604;--as William Warner, a native of Oxfordshire, born in +1558, who became an attorney of the Common Pleas in London, and died +suddenly in 1609, having made himself famous for a time by a poem, entitled +'Albion's England,' called by Campbell 'an enormous ballad on the history, +or rather the fables appendant to the history of England,' with some fine +touches, but heavy and prolix as a whole;--as Sir John Harrington, who was +the son of a poet and the favourite of Essex, who was created a Knight of +the Bath by James I., and who wrote some pointed epigrams and a miserable +translation of Ariosto, in which heeffectually tamed that wild Pegasus; +--as Henry Perrot, who collected, in 1613, a book of epigrams, entitled, +'Springes for Woodcocks;'--as Sir Thomas Overbury, whose dreadful and +mysterious fate, well known to all who read English history, excited such +a sympathy for him, that his poems, 'A Wife,' and 'The Choice of a Wife,' +passed through sixteen editions before the year 1653, although his prose +'Characters,' such as the exquisite and well-known 'Fair and Happy +Milkmaid,' are far better than his poetry;--as Samuel Rowlandes, a prolific +pamphleteer in the reigns of Elizabeth, James I., and Charles I., author +also of several plays and of a book of epigrams;--as Thomas Picke, who +belonged to the Middle Temple, and published, in 1631, a number of songs, +sonnets, and elegies;--as Henry Constable, born in 1568, and a well-known +sonneteer of his day;--as Nicholas Breton, author of some pretty pastorals, +who, it is conjectured, was born in 1555, and died in 1624;--and as Dr +Thomas Lodge, born in 1556, and who died in 1625, after translating +Josephus into English, and writing some tolerable poetical pieces. + + + + +THOMAS RANDOLPH. + + +This was a true poet, although his power comes forth principally in the +drama. He was born at Newnham, near Daventry, Northamptonshire, in 1605, +being the you of Lord Zouch's steward. He became a King's Scholar at +Westminster, and subsequently a Fellow in Trinity College, Cambridge. +Ben Jonson loved him, and he reciprocated the attachment. Whether from +natural tendency or in imitation of Jonson, who called him, as well as +Cartwright, his adopted son, he learned intemperate habits, and died, in +1634, at the age of twenty-nine. His death took place at the house of W. +Stafford, Esq. of Blatherwyke, in his native county, and he was buried +in the church beside, where Sir Christopher, afterwards Lord Hatton, +signalised the spot of his rest by a monument. He wrote five dramas, +which are imperfect and formal in plan, but written with considerable +power. Some of his miscellaneous poems discover feeling and genius. + + +THE PRAISE OF WOMAN. + +He is a parricide to his mother's name, +And with an impious hand murders her fame, +That wrongs the praise of women; that dares write +Libels on saints, or with foul ink requite +The milk they lent us! Better sex! command +To your defence my more religious hand, +At sword or pen; yours was the nobler birth, +For you of man were made, man but of earth-- +The sun of dust; and though your sin did breed +His fall, again you raised him in your seed. +Adam, in's sleep again full loss sustain'd, +That for one rib a better half regain'd, +Who, had he not your blest creation seen +In Paradise, an anchorite had been. +Why in this work did the creation rest, +But that Eternal Providence thought you best +Of all his six days' labour? Beasts should do +Homage to man, but man shall wait on you; +You are of comelier sight, of daintier touch, +A tender flesh, and colour bright, and such +As Parians see in marble; skin more fair, +More glorious head, and far more glorious hair; +Eyes full of grace and quickness; purer roses +Blush in your cheeks; a milder white composes +Your stately fronts; your breath, more sweet than his, +Breathes spice, and nectar drops at every kiss. + +* * * * * + +If, then, in bodies where the souls do dwell, +You better us, do then our souls excel? + +No. * * * * +Boast we of knowledge, you are more than we, +You were the first ventured to pluck the tree; +And that more rhetoric in your tongues do lie, +Let him dispute against that dares deny +Your least commands; and not persuaded be, +With Samson's strength and David's piety, +To be your willing captives. + + * * * * * + +Thus, perfect creatures, if detraction rise +Against your sex, dispute but with your eyes, +Your hand, your lip, your brow, there will be sent +So subtle and so strong an argument, +Will teach the stoic his affections too, +And call the cynic from his tub to woo. + + +TO MY PICTURE. + +When age hath made me what I am not now, +And every wrinkle tells me where the plough +Of Time hath furrow'd, when an ice shall flow +Through every vein, and all my head be snow; +When Death displays his coldness in my cheek, +And I, myself, in my own picture seek, +Not finding what I am, but what I was, +In doubt which to believe, this or my glass; +Yet though I alter, this remains the same +As it was drawn, retains the primitive frame, +And first complexion; here will still be seen, +Blood on the cheek, and down upon the chin: +Here the smooth brow will stay, the lively eye, +The ruddy lip, and hair of youthful dye. +Behold what frailty we in man may see, +Whose shadow is less given to change than he. + + +TO A LADY ADMIRING HERSELF IN A LOOKING-GLASS. + +Fair lady, when you see the grace +Of beauty in your looking-glass; +A stately forehead, smooth and high, +And full of princely majesty; +A sparkling eye, no gem so fair, +Whose lustre dims the Cyprian star; +A glorious cheek, divinely sweet, +Wherein both roses kindly meet; +A cherry lip that would entice +Even gods to kiss at any price; +You think no beauty is so rare +That with your shadow might compare; +That your reflection is alone +The thing that men must dote upon. +Madam, alas! your glass doth lie, +And you are much deceived; for I +A beauty know of richer grace,-- +(Sweet, be not angry,) 'tis your face. +Hence, then, oh, learn more mild to be, +And leave to lay your blame on me: +If me your real substance move, +When you so much your shadow love, +Wise Nature would not let your eye +Look on her own bright majesty; +Which, had you once but gazed upon, +You could, except yourself, love none: +What then you cannot love, let me, +That face I can, you cannot see. + +'Now you have what to love,' you'll say, +'What then is left for me, I pray?' +My face, sweet heart, if it please thee; +That which you can, I cannot see: +So either love shall gain his due, +Yours, sweet, in me, and mine in you. + + + + +ROBERT BURTON. + + +The great, though whimsical author of the 'Anatomy of Melancholy' was +born at Lindley, in Leicestershire, 1576, and educated at Christ Church, +Oxford. He became Rector of Seagrave, in his native shire. He was a man +of vast erudition, of integrity and benevolence, but his happiness, +like that of Burns, although in a less measure, 'was blasted _ab +origine_ by an incurable taint of hypochondria;' and although at times a +most delightful companion, at other times he was so miserable, even when +a young student at Oxford, that he had no resource but to go down to the +river-side, where the coarse jests of the bargemen threw him into fits +of laughter. This surely was a violent remedy, and one that must have +reacted into deeper depression. In 1621, he wrote and published, as a +safety-valve to his morbid feelings, his famous 'Anatomie of Melancholy, +by Democritus Junior.' It became instantly popular, and sold so well, +that the publisher is said to have made a fortune by it. Nothing more of +consequence is recorded of the author, who died in 1640. Although + + 'Melancholy mark'd him for her own,' + +she failed to kill him till he had passed his grand climacteric. He was +buried in Christ Church, with the following epitaph, said to have been +composed by himself:-- + + 'Paucis notus, paucioribus ignotus. + Hic jacet Democritus Junior, + Cui vitam pariter et mortem + Dedit _Melancholia_! + + 'Known [by name] to few, unknown [as the author of the "Anatomy"] + to fewer, here lies D. J., who owes his death [as a man] and his + life [as an author] to Melancholy.' + +His work is certainly a most curious and bewitching medley of thought, +information, wit, learning, personal interest, and poetic fancy. We all +know it was the only book which ever drew the lazy Johnson from his bed +an hour sooner than he wished to rise. The subject, like the flesh of +that 'melancholy' creature the hare, may be dry, but, as with that, an +astute cookery prevails to make it exceedingly piquant; the sauce is +better than the substance. Burton's melancholy is not, like Johnson's, +a deep, hopeless, 'inspissated gloom,' thickened by memories of remorse, +and lighted up by the lurid fires of feared perdition; it is not, like +Byron's, dashed with the demoniac element, and fretted into universal +misanthropy; it is not, like Foster's, the sad, fixed fascination of +a pure intelligence contemplating the darker side of things, as by a +necessity of nature, and ignoring, without denying, the existence of the +bright; nor is it, like that of the 'melancholy Jacques,' in 'As you +Like it,' a wild, woodland, fantastical habit of thought, as of one +living collaterally and aside to the world, and which often explodes +into laughter at itself and at all things else;--Burton's is a wide- +spread but tender shade, like twilight, diffused over the whole horizon +of his thought, and is nourished at times into a luxury, and at times +paraded as a peculiar possession. In his form of melancholy there are +pleasures as well as pains. 'Most pleasant it is,' he says, 'to such +as are to melancholy given, to lie in bed whole days and keep their +chambers; to walk alone in some solitary grove, betwixt wood and water, +by a brook-side, to meditate upon some delightsome and pleasant subject; +and a most incomparable delight it is so to melancholise and build +castles in the air.' Religious considerations have little to do with +Burton's melancholy, and remorse or fear apparently nothing. Hence his +book, although its theme be sadness, never shadows the spirit, but, on +the contrary, from his dark, Lethean poppies, his readers are made to +extract an element of joyful excitement, and the anatomy, and the cure, +of the evil, are one and the same. + +As a writer, Burton ranks, in some points, with Montaigne, and in others +with Sir Thomas Browne. He resembles the first in simplicity, _bonhommie_, +and miscellaneous learning, and the other in rambling manner, quaint +phraseology, and fantastic imagination. Neither of the three could be said +to write books, but they accumulated vast storehouses, whence thousands of +volumes might be, and have been compiled. There is nothing in Burton so +low as in many of the 'Essays' of Montaigne, but there is nothing so lofty +as in passages of Browne's 'Religio Medici' and 'Urn-Burial.' Burton has +been a favourite quarry to literary thieves, among whom Sterne, in his +'Tristram Shandy,' stands pre-eminent. To his 'Anatomy' he prefixes a poem, +a few stanzas of which we extract. + + +ON MELANCHOLY. + +1 When I go musing all alone, + Thinking of divers things foreknown, + When I build castles in the air, + Void of sorrow, void of fear, + Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet + Methinks the time runs very fleet. + All my joys to this are folly; + Nought so sweet as melancholy. + +2 When I go walking all alone, + Recounting what I have ill-done, + My thoughts on me then tyrannise, + Fear and sorrow me surprise; + Whether I tarry still, or go, + Methinks the time moves very slow. + All my griefs to this are jolly; + Nought so sad as melancholy. + +3 When to myself I act and smile, + With pleasing thoughts the time beguile, + By a brook-side or wood so green, + Unheard, unsought for, or unseen, + A thousand pleasures do me bless, + And crown my soul with happiness. + All my joys besides are folly; + None so sweet as melancholy. + +4 When I lie, sit, or walk alone, + I sigh, I grieve, making great moan; + In a dark grove or irksome den, + With discontents and furies then, + A thousand miseries at once + Mine heavy heart and soul ensconce. + All my griefs to this are jolly; + None so sour as melancholy. + +5 Methinks I hear, methinks I see + Sweet music, wondrous melody, + Towns, palaces, and cities, fine; + Here now, then there, the world is mine, + Rare beauties, gallant ladies shine, + Whate'er is lovely is divine. + All other joys to this are folly; + None so sweet as melancholy, + +6 Methinks I hear, methinks I see + Ghosts, goblins, fiends: my fantasy + Presents a thousand ugly shapes; + Headless bears, black men, and apes; + Doleful outcries and fearful sights + My sad and dismal soul affrights. + All my griefs to this are jolly; + None so damn'd as melancholy. + + + + +THOMAS CAREW. + + +This delectable versifier was born in 1589, in Gloucestershire, from an +old family in which he sprung. He was educated at Corpus Christi College, +Oxford, but neither matriculated nor took a degree. After finishing his +travels, he returned to England, and became soon highly distinguished, in +the Court of Charles I., for his manners, accomplishments, and wit. He +was appointed Gentleman of the Privy Chamber and Sewer in Ordinary to the +King. He spent the rest of his life as a gay and gallant courtier; and in +the intervals of pleasure produced some light but exquisite poetry. He is +said, ere his death, which took place in 1639, to have become very +devout, and bitterly to have deplored the licentiousness of some of his +verses. + +Indelicate choice of subject is often, in Carew, combined with great +delicacy of execution. No one touches dangerous themes with so light and +glove-guarded a hand. His pieces are all fugitive, but they suggest great +possibilities, which his mode of life and his premature removal did not +permit to be realised. Had he, at an earlier period, renounced, like +George Herbert, 'the painted pleasures of a court,' and, like Prospero, +dedicated himself to 'closeness,' with his marvellous facility of verse, +his laboured levity of style, and his nice exuberance of fancy, he might +have produced some work of Horatian merit and classic permanence. + + + + +PERSUASIONS TO LOVE. + +Think not, 'cause men flattering say, +Y'are fresh as April, sweet as May, +Bright as is the morning-star, +That you are so;--or though you are, +Be not therefore proud, and deem +All men unworthy your esteem: + + * * * * * + +Starve not yourself, because you may +Thereby make me pine away; +Nor let brittle beauty make +You your wiser thoughts forsake: +For that lovely face will fail; +Beauty's sweet, but beauty's frail; +'Tis sooner past, 'tis sooner done, +Than summer's rain, or winter's sun: +Most fleeting, when it is most dear; +'Tis gone, while we but say 'tis here. +These curious locks so aptly twined, +Whose every hair a soul doth bind, +Will change their auburn hue, and grow +White and cold as winter's snow. +That eye which now is Cupid's nest +Will prove his grave, and all the rest +Will follow; in the cheek, chin, nose, +Nor lily shall be found, nor rose; +And what will then become of all +Those, whom now you servants call? +Like swallows, when your summer's done +They'll fly, and seek some warmer sun. + + * * * * * + +The snake each year fresh skin resumes, +And eagles change their aged plumes; +The faded rose each spring receives +A fresh red tincture on her leaves; +But if your beauties once decay, +You never know a second May. +Oh, then be wise, and whilst your season +Affords you days for sport, do reason; +Spend not in vain your life's short hour, +But crop in time your beauty's flower: +Which will away, and doth together +Both bud and fade, both blow and wither. + + +SONG. + +Give me more love, or more disdain, + The torrid, or the frozen zone +Bring equal ease unto my pain; + The temperate affords me none; +Either extreme, of love or hate, +Is sweeter than a calm estate. + +Give me a storm; if it be love, + Like Danae in a golden shower, +I swim in pleasure; if it prove + Disdain, that torrent will devour +My vulture-hopes; and he's possess'd +Of heaven that's but from hell released: +Then crown my joys, or cure my pain; +Give me more love, or more disdain. + + +TO MY MISTRESS SITTING BY A RIVER'S SIDE. + +Mark how yon eddy steals away +From the rude stream into the bay; +There lock'd up safe, she doth divorce +Her waters from the channel's course, +And scorns the torrent that did bring +Her headlong from her native spring. +Now doth she with her new love play, +Whilst he runs murmuring away. +Mark how she courts the banks, whilst they +As amorously their arms display, +To embrace and clip her silver waves: +See how she strokes their sides, and craves +An entrance there, which they deny; +Whereat she frowns, threatening to fly +Home to her stream, and 'gins to swim +Backward, but from the channel's brim +Smiling returns into the creek, +With thousand dimples on her cheek. +Be thou this eddy, and I'll make +My breast thy shore, where thou shalt take +Secure repose, and never dream +Of the quite forsaken stream: +Let him to the wide ocean haste, +There lose his colour, name, and taste; +Thou shalt save all, and, safe from him, +Within these arms for ever swim. + + +SONG. + +If the quick spirits in your eye +Now languish, and anon must die; +If every sweet, and every grace, +Must fly from that forsaken face: + Then, Celia, let us reap our joys, + Ere time such goodly fruit destroys. + +Or, if that golden fleece must grow +For ever, free from aged snow; +If those bright suns must know no shade, +Nor your fresh beauties ever fade; +Then fear not, Celia, to bestow +What still being gather'd still must grow. + Thus, either Time his sickle brings + In vain, or else in vain his wings. + + +A PASTORAL DIALOGUE. + +SHEPHERD, NYMPH, CHORUS. + +_Shep._ This mossy bank they press'd. _Nym._That aged oak + Did canopy the happy pair + All night from the damp air. +_Cho._ Here let us sit, and sing the words they spoke, + Till the day-breaking their embraces broke. + +_Shep._ See, love, the blushes of the morn appear: + And now she hangs her pearly store + (Robb'd from the eastern shore) + I' th' cowslip's bell and rose's ear: + Sweet, I must stay no longer here. + +_Nym._ Those streaks of doubtful light usher not day, + But show my sun must set; no morn + Shall shine till thou return: + The yellow planets, and the gray + Dawn, shall attend thee on thy way. + +_Shep._ If thine eyes gild my paths, they may forbear + Their useless shine. _Nym._ My tears will quite + Extinguish their faint light. +_Shep._ Those drops will make their beams more clear, + Love's flames will shine in every tear. + +_Cho._ They kiss'd, and wept; and from their lips and eyes, + In a mix'd dew of briny sweet, + Their joys and sorrows meet; + But she cries out. _Nym._ Shepherd, arise, + The sun betrays us else to spies. + +_Shep._ The winged hours fly fast whilst we embrace; + But when we want their help to meet, + They move with leaden feet. +_Nym._ Then let us pinion time, and chase + The day for ever from this place. + +_Shep._ Hark! _Nym._ Ah me, stay! _Shep._ For ever _Nym._ No, arise; + We must be gone. _Shep._ My nest of spice + _Nym._ My soul. _Shep._ My paradise. +_Cho._ Neither could say farewell, but through their eyes +Grief interrupted speech with tears supplies. + + +SONG. + +Ask me no more where Jove bestows, +When June is past, the fading rose; +For in your beauties orient deep +These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. + +Ask me no more whither do stray +The golden atoms of the day; +For, in pure love, Heaven did prepare +Those powders to enrich your hair. + +Ask me no more whither doth haste +The nightingale, when May is past; +For in your sweet dividing throat +She winters, and keeps warm her note. + +Ask me no more, where those stars light, +That downwards fall in dead of night; +For in your eyes they sit, and there +Fixed become, as in their sphere. + +Ask me no more, if east or west +The phoenix builds her spicy nest; +For unto you at last she flies, +And in your fragrant bosom dies. + + + + +SIR JOHN SUCKLING. + + +This witty baronet was born in 1608. He was the son of the Comptroller +of the Household of Charles I. He was uncommonly precocious; at five is +said to have spoken Latin, and at sixteen had entered into the service +of Gustavus Adolphus, 'the lion of the North, and the bulwark of the +Protestant faith.' + +On his return to England, he was favoured by Charles, and became, in his +turn, a most enthusiastic supporter of the Royal cause; writing plays for +the amusement of the Court; and when the Civil War broke out, raising, at +his own expense of L1200, a regiment for the King, which is said to have +been distinguished only by its 'finery and cowardice.' When the Earl of +Strafford came into trouble, Suckling, along with some other cavaliers, +intrigued for his deliverance, was impeached by the House of Commons, +and had to flee to France. Here an early death awaited him. His servant +having robbed him, he drew on, in vehement haste, his boots, to pursue +the defaulter, when a rusty nail, or, some say, the blade of a knife, +which was concealed in one of them, pierced his heel. A mortification +ensued, and he died, in 1641, at thirty-three years of age. + +Suckling has written five plays, various poems, besides letters, +speeches, and tracts, which have all been collected into one thin volume. +They are of various merit; none, in fact, being worthy of print, or at +least of preservation, except one or two of his songs, and his 'Ballad +upon a Wedding'. This last is an admirable expression of what were his +principal qualities--_naivete_, sly humour, gay badinage, and a delicious +vein of fancy, coming out occasionally by stealth, even as in his own +exquisite lines about the bride, + + 'Her feet, beneath her petticoat, + Like _little mice, stole in and out_, + As if they fear'd the light.' + + +SONG. + +Why so pale and wan, fond lover! + Prithee why so pale? +Will, when looking well can't move her, + Looking ill prevail? + Prithee why so pale? + +Why so dull and mute, young sinner? + Prithee why so mute? +Will, when speaking well can't win her, + Saying nothing do 't? + Prithee why so mute? + +Quit, quit for shame! this will not move, + This cannot take her; +If of herself she will not love, + Nothing can make her-- + The devil take her! + + +A BALLAD UPON A WEDDING. + +1 I tell thee, Dick, where I have been, + Where I the rarest things have seen: + Oh, things without compare! + Such sights again cannot be found + In any place on English ground, + Be it at wake or fair. + +2 At Charing-Cross, hard by the way + Where we (thou know'st) do sell our hay, + There is a house with stairs: + And there did I see coming down + Such folks as are not in our town, + Vorty at least, in pairs. + +3 Amongst the rest, one pest'lent fine, + (His beard no bigger though than thine,) + Walk'd on before the rest: + Our landlord looks like nothing to him: + The king (God bless him)'twould undo him, + Should he go still so dress'd. + +4 At Course-a-park, without all doubt, + He should have first been taken out + By all the maids i' the town: + Though lusty Roger there had been, + Or little George upon the Green, + Or Vincent of the Crown. + +5 But wot you what? the youth was going + To make an end of all his wooing; + The parson for him staid: + Yet by his leave, for all his haste, + He did not so much wish all past + (Perchance) as did the maid. + +6 The maid--and thereby hangs a tale-- + For such a maid no Whitsun-ale + Could ever yet produce: + No grape that's kindly ripe could be + So round, so plump, so soft as she, + Nor half so full of juice. + +7 Her finger was so small, the ring + Would not stay on which they did bring, + It was too wide a peck: + And to say truth (for out it must) + It look'd like the great collar (just) + About our young colt's neck. + +8 Her feet, beneath her petticoat, + Like little mice, stole in and out, + As if they fear'd the light: + But oh! she dances such a way! + No sun upon an Easter-day + Is half so fine a sight. + +9 He would have kiss'd her once or twice, + But she would not, she was so nice, + She would not do 't in sight; + And then she look'd as who should say. + I will do what I list to-day; + And you shall do 't at night. + +10 Her cheeks so rare a white was on, + No daisy makes comparison, + (Who sees them is undone,) + For streaks of red were mingled there, + Such as are on a Katherine pear, + The side that's next the sun. + +11 Her lips were red, and one was thin, + Compared to that was next her chin; + Some bee had stung it newly. + But (Dick) her eyes so guard her face, + I durst no more upon them gaze, + Than on the sun in July. + +12 Her mouth so small, when she does speak, + Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break, + That they might passage get; + But she so handled still the matter, + They came as good as ours, or better, + And are not spent a whit. + +13 If wishing should be any sin, + The parson himself had guilty been, + She look'd that day so purely: + And did the youth so oft the feat + At night, as some did in conceit, + It would have spoil'd him, surely. + +14 Passion o'me! how I run on! + There's that that would be thought upon, + I trow, beside the bride: + The business of the kitchen's great, + For it is fit that men should eat; + Nor was it there denied. + +15 Just in the nick the cook knock'd thrice, + And all the waiters in a trice + His summons did obey; + Each serving-man with dish in hand, + March'd boldly up, like our train'd band, + Presented and away. + +16 When all the meat was on the table, + What man of knife, or teeth, was able + To stay to be entreated? + And this the very reason was, + Before the parson could say grace, + The company were seated. + +17 Now hats fly off, and youths carouse; + Healths first go round, and then the house, + The bride's came thick and thick; + And when 'twas named another's health, + Perhaps he made it hers by stealth, + And who could help it, Dick? + +18 O' the sudden up they rise and dance; + Then sit again, and sigh and glance: + Then dance again and kiss. + Thus sev'ral ways the time did pass, + Whil'st every woman wish'd her place, + And every man wish'd his. + +19 By this time all were stol'n aside + To counsel and undress the bride; + But that he must not know; + But yet 'twas thought he guess'd her mind, + And did not mean to stay behind + Above an hour or so. + +20 When in he came (Dick), there she lay, + Like new-fall'n snow melting away, + 'Twas time, I trow, to part. + Kisses were now the only stay, + Which soon she gave, as who would say, + Good-bye, with all my heart. + +21 But just as heavens would have to cross it, + In came the bridemaids with the posset; + The bridegroom eat in spite; + For had he left the women to 't + It would have cost two hours to do 't, + Which were too much that night. + +22 At length the candle's out, and now + All that they had not done, they do! + What that is, who can tell? + But I believe it was no more + Than thou and I have done before + With Bridget and with Nell! + + +SONG. + +I pray thee send me back my heart, + Since I can not have thine, +For if from yours you will not part, + Why then shouldst thou have mine? + +Yet now I think on 't, let it lie, + To find it were in vain; +For thou'st a thief in either eye + Would steal it back again. + +Why should two hearts in one breast lie, + And yet not lodge together? +O love! where is thy sympathy, + If thus our breasts thou sever? + +But love is such a mystery, + I cannot find it out; +For when I think I'm best resolved, + I then am in most doubt. + +Then farewell care, and farewell woe, + I will no longer pine; +For I'll believe I have her heart + As much as she has mine. + + + + +WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT. + + +Cartwright was born in 1611, and was the son of an innkeeper--once a +gentleman--in Cirencester. He became a King's scholar at Westminster, +and afterwards took orders at Oxford, where he distinguished himself, +according to Wood, as a 'most florid and seraphic preacher.' One is +reminded of the description given of Jeremy Taylor, who, when he first +began to preach, by his 'young and florid beauty, and his sublime and +raised discourses, made men take him for an angel newly descended from +the climes of Paradise.' Cartwright was appointed, through his friend +Bishop Duppa, Succentor of the Church of Salisbury in 1642. He was one +of a council of war appointed by the University of Oxford, for providing +troops in the King's cause, to protect, or some said to overawe, the +Universities. He was imprisoned by the Parliamentary forces on account +of his zeal in the Royal cause, but soon liberated on bail. In 1643, +he was appointed Junior Proctor of his University, and also Reader in +Metaphysics. At this time he is said to have studied sixteen hours +a-day. This, however, seems to have weakened his constitution, and +rendered him an easy victim to what was called the camp-fever, then +prevalent in Oxford. He died December 23, 1643, aged thirty-two. The +King, then in Oxford, went into mourning for him. His works were +published in 1651, and to them were prefixed fifty copies of encomiastic +verses from the wits and poets of the time. They scarcely justify the +praises they have received, being somewhat crude and harsh, and all of +them occasional. His private character, his eloquence as a preacher, and +his zeal as a Royalist, seem to have supplemented his claims as a poet. +He enjoyed, too, in his earlier life, the friendship of Ben Jonson, who +used to say of him, 'My son Cartwright writes all like a man;' and such +a sentence from such an authority was at that time fame. + + +LOVE'S DARTS. + +1 Where is that learned wretch that knows + What are those darts the veil'd god throws? + Oh, let him tell me ere I die + When 'twas he saw or heard them fly; + Whether the sparrow's plumes, or dove's, + Wing them for various loves; + And whether gold or lead, + Quicken or dull the head: + I will anoint and keep them warm, + And make the weapons heal the harm. + +2 Fond that I am to ask! whoe'er + Did yet see thought? or silence hear? + Safe from the search of human eye + These arrows (as their ways are) fly: + The flights of angels part + Not air with so much art; + And snows on streams, we may + Say, louder fall than they. + So hopeless I must now endure, + And neither know the shaft nor cure. + +3 A sudden fire of blushes shed + To dye white paths with hasty red; + A glance's lightning swiftly thrown, + Or from a true or seeming frown; + A subtle taking smile + From passion, or from guile; + The spirit, life, and grace + Of motion, limbs, and face; + These misconceit entitles darts, + And tears the bleedings of our hearts. + +4 But as the feathers in the wing + Unblemish'd are, and no wounds bring, + And harmless twigs no bloodshed know, + Till art doth fit them for the bow; + So lights of flowing graces + Sparkling in several places, + Only adorn the parts, + Till that we make them darts; + Themselves are only twigs and quills: + We give them shape and force for ills. + +5 Beauty's our grief, but in the ore, + We mint, and stamp, and then adore: + Like heathen we the image crown, + And indiscreetly then fall down: + Those graces all were meant + Our joy, not discontent; + But with untaught desires + We turn those lights to fires, + Thus Nature's healing herbs we take, + And out of cures do poisons make. + + +ON THE DEATH OF SIR BEVIL GRENVILLE. + +Not to be wrought by malice, gain, or pride, +To a compliance with the thriving side; +Not to take arms for love of change, or spite, +But only to maintain afflicted right; +Not to die vainly in pursuit of fame, +Perversely seeking after voice and name; +Is to resolve, fight, die, as martyrs do, +And thus did he, soldier and martyr too. + + * * * * * + +When now the incensed legions proudly came +Down like a torrent without bank or dam: +When undeserved success urged on their force; +That thunder must come down to stop their course, +Or Grenville must step in; then Grenville stood, +And with himself opposed and check'd the flood. +Conquest or death was all his thought. So fire +Either o'ercomes, or doth itself expire: +His courage work'd like flames, cast heat about, +Here, there, on this, on that side, none gave out; +Not any pike on that renowned stand, +But took new force from his inspiring hand: +Soldier encouraged soldier, man urged man, +And he urged all; so much example can; +Hurt upon hurt, wound upon wound did call, +He was the butt, the mark, the aim of all: +His soul this while retired from cell to cell, +At last flew up from all, and then he fell. +But the devoted stand enraged more +From that his fate, plied hotter than before, +And proud to fall with him, sworn not to yield, +Each sought an honour'd grave, so gain'd the field. +Thus he being fallen, his action fought anew: +And the dead conquer'd, whiles the living slew. + +This was not nature's courage, not that thing +We valour call, which time and reason bring; +But a diviner fury, fierce and high, +Valour transported into ecstasy, +Which angels, looking on us from above, +Use to convey into the souls they love. +You now that boast the spirit, and its sway, +Shew us his second, and we'll give the day: +We know your politic axiom, lurk, or fly; +Ye cannot conquer, 'cause you dare not die: +And though you thank God that you lost none there, +'Cause they were such who lived not when they were; +Yet your great general (who doth rise and fall, +As his successes do, whom you dare call, +As fame unto you doth reports dispense, +Either a -------- or his excellence) +Howe'er he reigns now by unheard-of laws, +Could wish his fate together with his cause. + +And thou (blest soul) whose clear compacted fame, +As amber bodies keeps, preserves thy name, +Whose life affords what doth content both eyes, +Glory for people, substance for the wise, +Go laden up with spoils, possess that seat +To which the valiant, when they've done, retreat: +And when thou seest an happy period sent +To these distractions, and the storm quite spent, +Look down and say, I have my share in all, +Much good grew from my life, much from my fall. + + +A VALEDICTION. + +Bid me not go where neither suns nor showers +Do make or cherish flowers; +Where discontented things in sadness lie, +And Nature grieves as I. +When I am parted from those eyes, +From which my better day doth rise, +Though some propitious power +Should plant me in a bower, +Where amongst happy lovers I might see +How showers and sunbeams bring +One everlasting spring, +Nor would those fall, nor these shine forth to me; +Nature herself to him is lost, +Who loseth her he honours most. +Then, fairest, to my parting view display +Your graces all in one full day; +Whose blessed shapes I'll snatch and keep till when +I do return and view again: +So by this art fancy shall fortune cross, +And lovers live by thinking on their loss. + + + + +WILLIAM BROWNE. + + +This pastoral poet was born, in 1590, at Tavistock, in Devonshire, +a lovely part of a lovely county. He was educated at Oxford, and went +thence to the Inner Temple. He was at one time tutor to the Earl of +Carnarvon, and afterwards, when that nobleman perished in the battle of +Newbury, in 1643, he was patronised by the Earl of Pembroke, in whose +house he resided, and is even said to have become so rich that he +purchased an estate. In 1645 he died, at Ottery St Mary, the parish +where, in 1772, Coleridge was born. + +Browne began his poetical career early, and closed it soon. He published +the first part of 'Britannia's Pastorals' in 1613, the second in 1616; +shortly after, his 'Shepherd's Pipe;' and, in 1620, produced his 'Inner +Temple Masque' which was then enacted, but not printed till a hundred +and twenty years after the author's death, when Dr Farmer transcribed +it from a MS. of the Bodleian Library, and it appeared in Tom Davies' +edition of Browne's poems. Browne has no constructive power, and no +human interest in his pastorals, but he has an eye for nature, and we +quote from him some excellent specimens of descriptive poetry. + + +SONG. + +Gentle nymphs, be not refusing, +Love's neglect is Time's abusing, + They and beauty are but lent you; +Take the one, and keep the other: +Love keeps fresh what age doth smother, + Beauty gone, you will repent you. + +'Twill be said, when ye have proved, +Never swains more truly loved: + Oh, then, fly all nice behaviour! +Pity fain would (as her duty) +Be attending still on Beauty, + Let her not be out of favour. + + +SONG. + +1 Shall I tell you whom I love? + Hearken then a while to me, + And if such a woman move + As I now shall versify; + Be assured, 'tis she, or none, + That I love, and love alone. + +2 Nature did her so much right, + As she scorns the help of art. + In as many virtues dight + As e'er yet embraced a heart; + So much good so truly tried, + Some for less were deified. + +3 Wit she hath, without desire + To make known how much she hath; + And her anger flames no higher + Than may fitly sweeten wrath. + Full of pity as may be, + Though perhaps not so to me. + +4 Reason masters every sense, + And her virtues grace her birth: + Lovely as all excellence, + Modest in her most of mirth: + Likelihood enough to prove + Only worth could kindle love. + +5 Such she is: and if you know + Such a one as I have sung; + Be she brown, or fair, or so, + That she be but somewhile young; + Be assured, 'tis she, or none, + That I love, and love alone. + + +POWER OF GENIUS OVER ENVY. + +'Tis not the rancour of a canker'd heart +That can debase the excellence of art, +Nor great in titles makes our worth obey, +Since we have lines far more esteem'd than they. +For there is hidden in a poet's name +A spell that can command the wings of Fame, +And maugre all oblivion's hated birth +Begin their immortality on earth, +When he that 'gainst a muse with hate combines +May raise his tomb in vain to reach our lines. + + +EVENING. + +As in an evening when the gentle air +Breathes to the sullen night a soft repair, +I oft have sat on Thames' sweet bank to hear +My friend with his sweet touch to charm mine ear, +When he hath play'd (as well he can) some strain +That likes me, straight I ask the same again, +And he, as gladly granting, strikes it o'er +With some sweet relish was forgot before: +I would have been content, if he would play, +In that one strain to pass the night away; +But fearing much to do his patience wrong, +Unwillingly have ask'd some other song: +So in this differing key though I could well +A many hours but as few minutes tell, +Yet lest mine own delight might injure you +(Though both so soon) I take my song anew. + + +FROM 'BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS.' + +Between two rocks (immortal, without mother) +That stand as if outfacing one another, +There ran a creek up, intricate and blind, +As if the waters hid them from the wind, +Which never wash'd but at a higher tide +The frizzled cotes which do the mountains hide, +Where never gale was longer known to stay +Than from the smooth wave it had swept away +The new divorced leaves, that from each side +Left the thick boughs to dance out with the tide. +At further end the creek, a stately wood +Gave a kind shadow (to the brackish flood) +Made up of trees, not less kenn'd by each skiff +Than that sky-scaling peak of Teneriffe, +Upon whose tops the hernshew bred her young, +And hoary moss upon their branches hung; +Whose rugged rinds sufficient were to show, +Without their height, what time they 'gan to grow. +And if dry eld by wrinkled skin appears, +None could allot them less than Nestor's years. +As under their command the thronged creek +Ran lessen'd up. Here did the shepherd seek +Where he his little boat might safely hide, +Till it was fraught with what the world beside +Could not outvalue; nor give equal weight +Though in the time when Greece was at her height. + + * * * * * + +Yet that their happy voyage might not be +Without Time's shortener, heaven-taught melody, +(Music that lent feet to the stable woods, +And in their currents turn'd the mighty floods, +Sorrow's sweet nurse, yet keeping Joy alive, +Sad Discontent's most welcome corrosive, +The soul of art, best loved when love is by, +The kind inspirer of sweet poesy, +Least thou shouldst wanting be, when swans would fain +Have sung one song, and never sung again,) +The gentle shepherd, hasting to the shore, +Began this lay, and timed it with his oar: + +Nevermore let holy Dee + O'er other rivers brave, +Or boast how (in his jollity) + Kings row'd upon his wave. +But silent be, and ever know +That Neptune for my fare would row. + + * * * * * + +Swell then, gently swell, ye floods, + As proud of what ye bear, +And nymphs that in low coral woods + String pearls upon your hair, +Ascend; and tell if ere this day +A fairer prize was seen at sea. + +See the salmons leap and bound + To please us as we pass, +Each mermaid on the rocks around + Lets fall her brittle glass, +As they their beauties did despise +And loved no mirror but your eyes, + +Blow, but gently blow, fair wind, + From the forsaken shore, +And be as to the halcyon kind, + Till we have ferried o'er: +So mayst thou still have leave to blow, +And fan the way where she shall go. + + +A DESCRIPTIVE SKETCH. + +Oh, what a rapture have I gotten now! +That age of gold, this of the lovely brow, +Have drawn me from my song! I onward run, +(Clean from the end to which I first begun,) +But ye, the heavenly creatures of the West, +In whom the virtues and the graces rest, +Pardon! that I have run astray so long, +And grow so tedious in so rude a song. +If you yourselves should come to add one grace +Unto a pleasant grove or such like place, +Where, here, the curious cutting of a hedge, +There in a pond, the trimming of the sedge; +Here the fine setting of well-shaded trees, +The walks their mounting up by small degrees, +The gravel and the green so equal lie, +It, with the rest, draws on your lingering eye: +Here the sweet smells that do perfume the air, +Arising from the infinite repair +Of odoriferous buds, and herbs of price, +(As if it were another paradise,) +So please the smelling sense, that you are fain +Where last you walk'd to turn and walk again. +There the small birds with their harmonious notes +Sing to a spring that smileth as she floats: +For in her face a many dimples show, +And often skips as it did dancing go: +Here further down an over-arched alley +That from a hill goes winding in a valley, +You spy at end thereof a standing lake, +Where some ingenious artist strives to make +The water (brought in turning pipes of lead +Through birds of earth most lively fashioned) +To counterfeit and mock the sylvans all +In singing well their own set madrigal. +This with no small delight retains your ear, +And makes you think none blest but who live there. +Then in another place the fruits that be +In gallant clusters decking each good tree +Invite your hand to crop them from the stem, +And liking one, taste every sort of them: +Then to the arbours walk, then to the bowers, +Thence to the walks again, thence to the flowers, +Then to the birds, and to the clear spring thence, +Now pleasing one, and then another sense: +Here one walks oft, and yet anew begin'th, +As if it were some hidden labyrinth. + + + + +WILLIAM ALEXANDER, EARL OF STIRLING. + + +This eminent Scotchman was born in 1580. He travelled on the Continent +as tutor to the Duke of Argyle. After his return to Scotland, he fell in +love with a lady, whom he calls 'Aurora,' and to whom he addressed some +beautiful sonnets. She refused his hand, however, and he married the +daughter of Sir William Erskine. He repaired to the Court of James I., +and became a distinguished favourite, being appointed Gentleman Usher to +Charles I., and created a knight. He concocted a scheme for colonising +Nova Scotia, in which he was encouraged by both James and Charles; but +the difficulties seemed too formidable, and it was in consequence +dropped. Charles appointed him Lord-Lieutenant of Nova Scotia, and, in +1633, he created him Lord Stirling. Fifteen years (from 1626 to 1641) +our poet was Secretary of State for Scotland. These were the years +during which Laud was foolishly seeking to force his liturgy upon the +Presbyterians, but Stirling gained the praise of being moderate in his +share of the business. In the course of this time he contrived to amass +an ample fortune, and spent part of it in building a fine mansion in +Stirling, which is still, we believe, standing. He died in 1641. + +Besides his smaller pieces, Stirling wrote several tragedies, including +one on Julius Caesar; an heroic poem; a poem addressed to Prince Henry, +the son of James I.; another heroic poem, entitled 'Jonathan;' and a +poem, in twelve parts, on the 'Day of Judgment.' These are all +forgotten, and, notwithstanding vigorous parts, deserve to be forgotten; +but his little sonnets, which are, if not brilliant, true things, and +inspired by a true passion, may long survive. He was, on the whole, +rather a man of great talent than of genius. + + +SONNET. + +I swear, Aurora, by thy starry eyes, +And by those golden locks, whose lock none slips, +And by the coral of thy rosy lips, +And by the naked snows which beauty dyes; +I swear by all the jewels of thy mind, +Whose like yet never worldly treasure bought, +Thy solid judgment, and thy generous thought, + +Which in this darken'd age have clearly shined; +I swear by those, and by my spotless love, +And by my secret, yet most fervent fires, +That I have never nursed but chaste desires, +And such as modesty might well approve. +Then, since I love those virtuous parts in thee, +Shouldst thou not love this virtuous mind in me? + + + + +WILLIAM DRUMMOND. + + +A man of much finer gifts than Stirling, was the famous Drummond. He +was born, December 13, 1585, at Hawthornden, his father's estate, in +Mid- Lothian. It is one of the most beautiful spots, along the sides +of one of the fairest streams in all Scotland, and well fitted to be +the home of genius. He studied civil law for four years in France, but, +in 1611, the estate of Hawthornden became his own, and here he fixed his +residence, and applied himself to literature. At this time he courted, +and was upon the point of marrying, a lady named Cunningham, who died; +and the melancholy which preyed on his mind after this event, drove him +abroad in search of solace. He visited Italy, Germany, and France; and +during his eight years of residence on the Continent, used his time +well, conversing with the learned, admiring all that was admirable in +the scenery and the life of foreign lands, and collecting rare books and +manuscripts. He had, before his departure, published, first, a volume +of occasional poems; next, a moral treatise, in prose, entitled, 'The +Cypress Grove;' and then another work, in verse, 'The Flowers of Zion.' +Returned once more to Scotland, he retired to the seat of his brother- +in-law, Sir John Scott of Scotstarvet, and there wrote a 'History of +the Five James's of Scotland,' a book abounding in bombast and slavish +principles. When he returned to his own lovely Hawthornden, he met a +lady named Logan, of the house of Restalrig, whom he fancied to bear a +striking resemblance to his dead mistress. On that hint he spake, and +she became his wife. He proceeded to repair the house of Hawthornden, +and would have spent his days there in great peace, had it not been for +the distracted times. His politics were of the Royalist complexion; and +the party in power, belonging to the Presbyterians, used every method to +annoy him, compelling him, for instance, to furnish his quota of men and +arms to support the cause which he opposed. In 1619, Ben Jonson visited +him at Hawthornden. The pair were not well assorted. Brawny Ben and +dreaming Drummond seem, in the expressive coinage of De Quincey, to have +'interdespised;' and is not their feud, with all its circumstances, +recorded in the chronicles of the 'Quarrels of Authors' compiled by the +elder Disraeli? The death of a lady sent Drummond travelling over Europe +--the death of a King sent him away on a farther and a final journey. +His grief for the execution of Charles I. is said to have shortened his +days. At all events, in December of the year of the so-called +'Martyrdom,' (1649,) he breathed his last. + +He was a genuine poet as well as a brilliant humorist. His 'Polemo +Middinia,' a grotesque mixture of bad Latin and semi-Latinised Scotch, +has created, among many generations, inextinguishable laughter. His +'Wandering Muses; or, The River of Forth Feasting,' has some gorgeous +descriptions, particularly of Scotland's lakes and rivers, at a time +when + + 'She lay, like some unkenn'd of isle, + Ayont New Holland;' + +but his sonnets are unquestionably his finest productions. They breathe +a spirit of genuine poetry. Each one of them is a rose lightly wet +with the dew of tenderness, and one or two suggest irresistibly the +recollection of our Great Dramatist's sonnets, although we feel that +'a less than Shakspeare is here.' + + +THE RIVER OF FORTH FEASTING. + +A PANEGYRIC TO THE HIGH AND MIGHTY PRINCE JAMES, KING +Or GREAT BRITAIN, FRANCE, AND IRELAND. + +_To His Sacred Majesty._ + +If in this storm of joy and pompous throng, +This nymph (great king) doth come to thee so near +That thy harmonious ears her accents hear, +Give pardon to her hoarse and lowly song: +Fain would she trophies to thy virtues rear; +But for this stately task she is not strong, +And her defects her high attempts do wrong, +Yet as she could she makes thy worth appear. +So in a map is shown this flowery place; +So wrought in arras by a virgin's hand +With heaven and blazing stars doth Atlas stand, +So drawn by charcoal is Narcissus' face: + She like the morn may be to some bright sun, + The day to perfect that's by her begun. + + * * * * * + +What blustering noise now interrupts my sleep? +What echoing shouts thus cleave my crystal deep, +And seem to call me from my watery court? +What melody, what sounds of joy and sport, +Are convey'd hither from each neighbouring spring? +With what loud rumours do the mountains ring, +Which in unusual pomp on tiptoes stand, +And (full of wonder) overlook the land? +Whence come these glittering throngs, these meteors bright, +This golden people glancing in my sight? +Whence doth this praise, applause, and love arise, +What load-star eastward draweth thus all eyes? +Am I awake? or have some dreams conspired +To mock my sense with what I most desired? +View I that living face, see I those looks, +Which with delight were wont t'amaze my brooks? +Do I behold that worth, that man divine, +This age's glory, by these banks of mine? +Then find I true what long I wish'd in vain, +My much beloved prince is come again; +So unto them whose zenith is the pole, +When six black months are past, the sun doth roll: +So after tempest to sea-tossed wights +Fair Helen's brothers show their cheering lights: +So comes Arabia's wonder from her woods, +And far, far off is seen by Memphis' floods; +The feather'd Sylvans, cloud-like, by her fly, +And with triumphing plaudits beat the sky; +Nile marvels, Seraph's priests, entranced, rave, +And in Mydonian stone her shape engrave; +In lasting cedars they do mark the time +In which Apollo's bird came to their clime. +Let Mother Earth now deck'd with flowers be seen, +And sweet-breath'd zephyrs curl the meadows green, +Let heaven weep rubies in a crimson shower, +Such as on India's shores they use to pour: +Or with that golden storm the fields adorn, +Which Jove rain'd when his blue-eyed maid was born. +May never hours the web of day outweave, +May never night rise from her sable cave. +Swell proud, my billows, faint not to declare +Your joys as ample as their causes are: +For murmurs hoarse sound like Arion's harp, +Now delicately flat, now sweetly sharp; +And you, my nymphs, rise from your moist repair; +Strow all your springs and grots with lilies fair: +Some swiftest-footed, get them hence, and pray +Our floods and lakes come keep this holiday; +Whate'er beneath Albania's hills do run, +Which see the rising or the setting sun, +Which drink stern Grampius' mists, or Ochil's snows: +Stone-rolling Tay, Tyne tortoise-like that flows, +The pearly Don, the Dees, the fertile Spey, +Wild Neverne, which doth see our longest day; +Ness smoking sulphur, Leave with mountains crown'd, +Strange Lomond for his floating isles renown'd: +The Irish Rian, Ken, the silver Ayr, +The snaky Dun, the Ore with rushy hair, +The crystal-streaming Nid, loud-bellowing Clyde, +Tweed which no more our kingdoms shall divide; +Rank-swelling Annan, Lid with curled streams, +The Esks, the Solway, where they lose their names, +To every one proclaim our joys and feasts, +Our triumphs; bid all come and be our guests: +And as they meet in Neptune's azure hall, +Bid them bid sea-gods keep this festival; +This day shall by our currents be renown'd, +Our hills about shall still this day resound; +Nay, that our love more to this day appear, +Let us with it henceforth begin our year. +To virgins, flowers; to sunburnt earth, the rain; +To mariners, fair winds amidst the main; +Cool shades to pilgrims, which hot glances burn, +Are not so pleasing as thy blest return. +That day, dear prince, which robb'd us of thy sight, +(Day, no, but darkness and a dusky night,) +Did fill our breasts with sighs, our eyes with tears, +Turn'd minutes to sad months, sad months to years, +Trees left to flourish, meadows to bear flowers, +Brooks hid their heads within their sedgy bowers, +Fair Ceres cursed our fields with barren frost, +As if again she had her daughter lost: +The muses left our groves, and for sweet songs +Sat sadly silent, or did weep their wrongs. +You know it, meads; your murmuring woods it know, +Hill, dales, and caves, copartners of their woe; +And you it know, my streams, which from their een +Oft on your glass received their pearly brine; +O Naiads dear, (said they,) Napeas fair, +O nymphs of trees, nymphs which on hills repair! +Gone are those maiden glories, gone that state, +Which made all eyes admire our bliss of late. +As looks the heaven when never star appears, +But slow and weary shroud them in their spheres, +While Titon's wife embosom'd by him lies, +And world doth languish in a dreary guise: +As looks a garden of its beauty spoil'd, +As woods in winter by rough Boreas foil'd, +As portraits razed of colours used to be: +So look'd these abject bounds deprived of thee. + +While as my rills enjoy'd thy royal gleams, +They did not envy Tiber's haughty streams, +Nor wealthy Tagus with his golden ore, +Nor clear Hydaspes which on pearls doth roar, +Nor golden Gange that sees the sun new born, +Nor Achelous with his flowery horn, +Nor floods which near Elysian fields do fall: +For why? thy sight did serve to them for all. +No place there is so desert, so alone, +Even from the frozen to the torrid zone, +From flaming Hecla to great Quinsey's lake, +Which thy abode could not most happy make; +All those perfections which by bounteous Heaven +To divers worlds in divers times were given, +The starry senate pour'd at once on thee, +That thou exemplar mightst to others be. +Thy life was kept till the Three Sisters spun +Their threads of gold, and then it was begun. +With chequer'd clouds when skies do look most fair, +And no disordered blasts disturb the air, +When lilies do them deck in azure gowns; +And new-born roses blush with golden crowns, +To prove how calm we under thee should live, +What halcyonian days thy reign should give, +And to two flowery diadems thy right; +The heavens thee made a partner of the light. +Scarce wast thou born when, join'd in friendly bands, +Two mortal foes with other clasped hands; +With Virtue Fortune strove, which most should grace +Thy place for thee, thee for so high a place; +One vow'd thy sacred breast not to forsake, +The other on thee not to turn her back; +And that thou more her love's effects mightst feel, +For thee she left her globe, and broke her wheel. + +When years thee vigour gave, oh, then, how clear +Did smother'd sparkles in bright flames appear! +Amongst the woods to force the flying hart, +To pierce the mountain wolf with feather'd dart; +See falcons climb the clouds, the fox ensnare, +Outrun the wind-outrunning Doedale hare, +To breathe thy fiery steed on every plain, +And in meand'ring gyres him bring again, +The press thee making place, and vulgar things, +In Admiration's air, on Glory's wings; +Oh, thou far from the common pitch didst rise, +With thy designs to dazzle Envy's eyes: +Thou soughtst to know this All's eternal source, +Of ever-turning heaven the restless course, +Their fixed lamps, their lights which wandering run, +Whence moon her silver hath, his gold the sun; +If Fate there be or no, if planets can +By fierce aspects force the free will of man; +The light aspiring fire, the liquid air, +The flaming dragons, comets with red hair, +Heaven's tilting lances, artillery, and bow, +Loud-sounding trumpets, darts of hail and snow, +The roaring elements, with people dumb, +The earth with what conceived is in her womb. +What on her moves were set unto thy sight, +Till thou didst find their causes, essence, might. +But unto nought thou so thy mind didst strain, +As to be read in man, and learn to reign: +To know the weight and Atlas of a crown, +To spare the humble, proud ones tumble down. +When from those piercing cares which thrones invest, +As thorns the rose, thou wearied wouldst thee rest, +With lute in hand, full of celestial fire, +To the Pierian groves thou didst retire: +There garlanded with all Urania's flowers, +In sweeter lays than builded Thebes' towers, +Or them which charm'd the dolphins in the main, +Or which did call Eurydice again, +Thou sung'st away the hours, till from their sphere +Stars seem'd to shoot thy melody to hear. +The god with golden hair, the sister maids, +Did leave their Helicon, and Tempe's shades, +To see thine isle, here lost their native tongue, +And in thy world-divided language sung. + +Who of thine after age can count the deeds, +With all that Fame in Time's huge annals reads? +How, by example more than any law, +This people fierce thou didst to goodness draw; +How, while the neighbour world, toss'd by the Fates, +So many Phaetons had in their states, +Which turn'd to heedless flames their burnish'd thrones, +Thou, as ensphered, kept'st temperate thy zones; +In Afric shores the sands that ebb and flow, +The shady leaves on Arden's trees that grow, +He sure may count, with all the waves that meet +To wash the Mauritanian Atlas' feet. +Though crown'd thou wert not, nor a king by birth, +Thy worth deserves the richest crown on earth. +Search this half sphere, and the Antarctic ground, +Where is such wit and bounty to be found? +As into silent night, when near the Bear, +The virgin huntress shines at full most clear, +And strives to match her brother's golden light, +The host of stars doth vanish in her sight, +Arcturus dies; cool'd is the Lion's ire, +Po burns no more with Phaetontal fire: +Orion faints to see his arms grow black, +And that his flaming sword he now doth lack: +So Europe's lights, all bright in their degree, +Lose all their lustre parallel'd with thee; +By just descent thou from more kings dost shine, +Than many can name men in all their line: +What most they toil to find, and finding hold, +Thou scornest--orient gems, and flattering gold; +Esteeming treasure surer in men's breasts, +Than when immured with marble, closed in chests; +No stormy passions do disturb thy mind, +No mists of greatness ever could thee blind: +Who yet hath been so meek? thou life didst give +To them who did repine to see thee live; +What prince by goodness hath such kingdoms gain'd? +Who hath so long his people's peace maintain'd? +Their swords are turn'd to scythes, to coulters spears, +Some giant post their antique armour bears: +Now, where the wounded knight his life did bleed, +The wanton swain sits piping on a reed; +And where the cannon did Jove's thunder scorn, +The gaudy huntsman winds his shrill-tuned horn: +Her green locks Ceres doth to yellow dye, +The pilgrim safely in the shade doth lie, +Both Pan and Pales careless keep their flocks, +Seas have no dangers save the wind and rocks: +Thou art this isle's Palladium, neither can +(Whiles thou dost live) it be o'erthrown by man. + +Let others boast of blood and spoils of foes, +Fierce rapines, murders, Iliads of woes, +Of hated pomp, and trophies reared fair, +Gore-spangled ensigns streaming in the air, +Count how they make the Scythian them adore, +The Gaditan and soldier of Aurore. +Unhappy boasting! to enlarge their bounds, +That charge themselves with cares, their friends with wounds; +Who have no law to their ambitious will, +But, man-plagues, born are human blood to spill! +Thou a true victor art, sent from above +What others strain by force, to gain by love; +World-wandering Fame this praise to thee imparts, +To be the only monarch of all hearts. +They many fear who are of many fear'd, +And kingdoms got by wrongs, by wrongs are tear'd; +Such thrones as blood doth raise, blood throweth down, +No guard so sure as love unto a crown. + +Eye of our western world, Mars-daunting king, +With whose renown the earth's seven climates ring, +Thy deeds not only claim these diadems, +To which Thame, Liftey, Tay, subject their streams; +But to thy virtues rare, and gifts, is due +All that the planet of the year doth view; +Sure if the world above did want a prince, +The world above to it would take thee hence. + +That Murder, Rapine, Lust, are fled to hell, +And in their rooms with us the Graces dwell; +That honour more than riches men respect, +That worthiness than gold doth more effect, +That Piety unmasked shows her face, +That Innocency keeps with Power her place, +That long-exiled Astrea leaves the heaven, +And turneth right her sword, her weights holds even, +That the Saturnian world is come again, +Are wish'd effects of thy most happy reign. +That daily, Peace, Love, Truth, Delights increase, +And Discord, Hate, Fraud, with Incumbers, cease; +That men use strength not to shed others' blood, +But use their strength now to do others good; +That Fury is enchain'd, disarmed Wrath, +That (save by Nature's hand) there is no death; +That late grim foes like brothers other love, +That vultures prey not on the harmless dove, +That wolves with lambs do friendship entertain, +Are wish'd effects of thy most happy reign. +That towns increase, that ruin'd temples rise, +That their wind-moving vanes do kiss the skies; +That Ignorance and Sloth hence run away, +That buried Arts now rouse them to the day, +That Hyperion far beyond his bed +Doth see our lions ramp, our roses spread; +That Iber courts us, Tiber not us charms, +That Rhine with hence-brought beams his bosom warms; +That ill doth fear, and good doth us maintain, +Are wish'd effects of thy most happy reign. + +O Virtue's pattern, glory of our times, +Sent of past days to expiate the crimes, +Great king, but better far than thou art great, +Whom state not honours, but who honours state, +By wonder born, by wonder first install'd, +By wonder after to new kingdoms call'd; +Young, kept by wonder from home-bred alarms, +Old, saved by wonder from pale traitors' harms, +To be for this thy reign, which wonders brings, +A king of wonder, wonder unto kings. +If Pict, Dane, Norman, thy smooth yoke had seen, +Pict, Dane, and Norman had thy subjects been; +If Brutus knew the bliss thy rule doth give, +Even Brutus joy would under thee to live, +For thou thy people dost so dearly love, +That they a father, more than prince, thee prove. + +O days to be desired! Age happy thrice! +If you your heaven-sent good could duly prize; +But we (half palsy-sick) think never right +Of what we hold, till it be from our sight, +Prize only summer's sweet and musked breath, +When armed winters threaten us with death, +In pallid sickness do esteem of health, +And by sad poverty discern of wealth: +I see an age when, after some few years, +And revolutions of the slow-paced spheres, +These days shall be 'bove other far esteem'd, +And like Augustus' palmy reign be deem'd. +The names of Arthur, fabulous Paladines, +Graven in Time's surly brows, in wrinkled lines, +Of Henrys, Edwards, famous for their fights, +Their neighbour conquests, orders new of knights, +Shall by this prince's name be pass'd as far +As meteors are by the Idalian star. +If gray-hair'd Proteus' songs the truth not miss-- +And gray-hair'd Proteus oft a prophet is-- +There is a land hence distant many miles, +Outreaching fiction and Atlantic isles, +Which (homelings) from this little world we name, +That shall emblazon with strange rites his fame, +Shall rear him statues all of purest gold, +Such as men gave unto the gods of old, +Name by him temples, palaces, and towns, +With some great river, which their fields renowns: +This is that king who should make right each wrong, +Of whom the bards and mystic Sibyls sung, +The man long promised, by whose glorious reign +This isle should yet her ancient name regain, +And more of fortunate deserve the style, +Than those whose heavens with double summers smile. + +Run on, great prince, thy course in glory's way, +The end the life, the evening crowns the day; +Heap worth on worth, and strongly soar above +Those heights which made the world thee first to love; +Surmount thyself, and make thine actions past +Be but as gleams or lightnings of thy last, +Let them exceed those of thy younger time, +As far as autumn; doth the flowery prime. +Through this thy empire range, like world's bright eye, +That once each year surveys all earth and sky, +Now glances on the slow and resty Bears, +Then turns to dry the weeping Auster's tears, +Hurries to both the poles, and moveth even +In the figured circle of the heaven: +Oh, long, long haunt these bounds which by thy sight +Have now regain'd their former heat and light. +Here grow green woods, here silver brooks do glide, +Here meadows stretch them out with painted pride, +Embroidering all the banks, here hills aspire +To crown their heads with the ethereal fire, +Hills, bulwarks of our freedom, giant walls, +Which never friends did slight, nor sword made thralls: +Each circling flood to Thetis tribute pays, +Men here in health outlive old Nestor's days: +Grim Saturn yet amongst our rocks remains, +Bound in our caves, with many metall'd chains, +Bulls haunt our shade like Leda's lover white, +Which yet might breed Pesiphae delight, +Our flocks fair fleeces bear, with which for sport +Endymion of old the moon did court, +High-palmed harts amidst our forests run, +And, not impaled, the deep-mouth'd hounds do shun; +The rough-foot hare safe in our bushes shrouds, +And long-wing'd hawks do perch amidst our clouds. +The wanton wood-nymphs of the verdant spring, +Blue, golden, purple flowers shall to thee bring, +Pomona's fruits the Panisks, Thetis' girls, +The Thule's amber, with the ocean pearls; +The Tritons, herdsmen of the glassy field, +Shall give thee what far-distant shores can yield, +The Serean fleeces, Erythrean gems, +Vast Plata's silver, gold of Peru streams, +Antarctic parrots, Ethiopian plumes, +Sabasan odours, myrrh, and sweet perfumes: +And I myself, wrapt in a watchet gown +Of reeds and lilies, on mine head a crown, +Shall incense to thee burn, green altars raise, +And yearly sing due paeans to thy praise. + +Ah! why should Isis only see thee shine? +Is not thy Forth, as well as Isis, thine? +Though Isis vaunt she hath more wealth in store, +Let it suffice thy Forth doth love thee more: +Though she for beauty may compare with Seine, +For swans, and sea-nymphs with imperial Rhine, +Yet for the title may be claim'd in thee, +Nor she nor all the world can match with me. +Now when, by honour drawn, them shalt away +To her, already jealous of thy stay, +When in her amorous arms she doth thee fold, +And dries thy dewy hairs with hers of gold, +Much asking of thy fare, much of thy sport, +Much of thine absence, long, howe'er so short, +And chides, perhaps, thy coming to the north, +Loathe not to think on thy much-loving Forth: +Oh, love these bounds, where of thy royal stem +More than an hundred wore a diadem. +So ever gold and bays thy brows adorn, +So never time may see thy race outworn, +So of thine own still mayst thou be desired, +Of strangers fear'd, redoubted, and admired; +So Memory thee praise, so precious hours +May character thy name in starry flowers; +So may thy high exploits at last make even, +With earth thy empire, glory with the heaven. + + +SONNETS. + +I. + +I know that all beneath the moon decays, +And what by mortals in this world is brought, +In Time's great periods shall return to nought; +That fairest states have fatal nights and days; +I know that all the Muse's heavenly lays, +With toil of sp'rit, which are so dearly bought, +As idle sounds, of few, or none, are sought, +That there is nothing lighter than vain praise; +I know frail beauty like the purple flower, +To which one morn oft birth and death affords, +That love a jarring is of minds' accords, +Where sense and will envassal Reason's power; + Know what I list, all this can not me move, + But that, alas! I both must write and love. + +II. + +Ah me! and I am now the man whose muse +In happier times was wont to laugh at love, +And those who suffer'd that blind boy abuse +The noble gifts were given them from above. +What metamorphose strange is this I prove I +Myself now scarce I 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 into a better course to move: +Reason may chide her fill, and oft reprove +Affection's power, but what is that to me? + Who ever think, and never think on ought + But that bright cherubim which thralls my thought. + +III. + +How that vast heaven, entitled first, is roll'd, +If any glancing towers beyond it be, +And people living in eternity, +Or essence pure that doth this all uphold: +What motion have those fixed sparks of gold, +The wandering carbuncles which shine from high, +By sp'rits, or bodies crossways in the sky, +If they be turn'd, and mortal things behold; +How sun posts heaven about, how night's pale queen +With borrow'd beams looks on this hanging round, +What cause fair Iris hath, and monsters seen +In air's large field of light, and seas profound, + Did hold my wandering thoughts, when thy sweet eye + Bade me leave all, and only think on thee. + +IV. + +If cross'd with all mishaps be my poor life, +If one short day I never spent in mirth, +If my sp'rit with itself holds lasting strife, +If sorrow's death is but new sorrow's birth; +If this vain world be but a mournful stage, +Where slave-born man plays to the scoffing stars, +If youth be toss'd with love, with weakness age; +If knowledge serves to hold our thoughts in wars, +If Time can close the hundred mouths of Fame, +And make what's long since past, like that's to be; +If virtue only be an idle name, +If being born I was but born to die; + Why seek I to prolong these loathsome days? + The fairest rose in shortest time decays. + +V. + +Dear chorister, who from those shadows sends, +Ere that the blushing morn dare show her light, +Such sad, lamenting strains, that night attends, +Become all ear; stars stay to hear thy plight, +If one whose grief even reach of thought transcends, +Who ne'er, not in a dream, did taste delight, +May thee importune who like case pretends, +And seems to joy in woe, in woe's despite. +Tell me (so may thou fortune milder try, +And long, long sing) for what thou thus complains, +Since winter's gone, and sun in dappled sky, +Enamour'd, smiles on woods and flowery plains? + The bird, as if my questions did her move, + With trembling wings sigh'd forth, 'I love, I love.' + +VI. + +Sweet soul, which, in the April of thy years, +For to enrich the heaven mad'st poor this round, +And now, with flaming rays of glory crown'd, +Most blest abides above the sphere of spheres; +If heavenly laws, alas! have not thee bound +From looking to this globe that all upbears, +If ruth and pity there above be found, +Oh, deign to lend a look unto these tears, +Do not disdain, dear ghost, this sacrifice, +And though I raise not pillars to thy praise, +My offerings take, let this for me suffice, +My heart a living pyramid I raise: + And whilst kings' tombs with laurels flourish green, + Thine shall with myrtles and these flowers be seen. + + +SPIRITUAL POEMS. + +I. + +Look, how the flower which ling'ringly doth fade, +The morning's darling late, the summer's queen, +Spoil'd of that juice which kept it fresh and green, +As high as it did raise, bows low the head: +Right so the pleasures of my life being dead, +Or in their contraries but only seen, +With swifter speed declines than erst it spread, +And, blasted, scarce now shows what it hath been. +As doth the pilgrim, therefore, whom the night +By darkness would imprison on his way, +Think on thy home, my soul, and think aright, +Of what's yet left thee of life's wasting day; + Thy sun posts westward, passed is thy morn, + And twice it is not given thee to be born. + +II. + +The weary mariner so fast not flies +A howling tempest, harbour to attain; +Nor shepherd hastes, when frays of wolves arise, +So fast to fold, to save his bleating train, +As I, wing'd with contempt and just disdain, +Now fly the world, and what it most doth prize, +And sanctuary seek, free to remain +From wounds of abject times, and Envy's eyes. +To me this world did once seem sweet and fair, +While senses' light mind's prospective kept blind, +Now, like imagined landscape in the air, +And weeping rainbows, her best joys I find: + Or if aught here is had that praise should have, + It is a life obscure, and silent grave. + +III. + +The last and greatest herald of heaven's King, +Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild, +Among that savage brood the woods forth bring, +Which he more harmless found than man, and mild; +His food was locusts, and what there doth spring, +With honey that from virgin hives distill'd; +Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing +Made him appear, long since from earth exiled; +There burst he forth; 'All ye whose hopes rely +On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn; +Repent, repent, and from old errors turn!' +Who listen'd to his voice, obey'd his cry? + Only the echoes, which he made relent, + Rung from their flinty caves, 'Repent, repent!' + +IV. + +Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours +Of winters past or coming, void of care, +Well-pleased with delights which present are, +Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers: +To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers, +Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare, +And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare, +A stain to human sense in sin that lowers. +What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs, +Attired in sweetness, sweetly is not driven +Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites, and wrongs, +And lift a reverend eye and thought to heaven? + Sweet artless songster, thou my mind dost raise + To airs of spheres, yes, and to angels' lays. + +V. + +As when it happ'neth that some lovely town +Unto a barbarous besieger falls, +Who both by sword and flame himself installs, +And, shameless, it in tears and blood doth drown +Her beauty spoil'd, her citizens made thralls, +His spite yet cannot so her all throw down, +But that some statue, pillar of renown, +Yet lurks unmaim'd within her weeping walls: +So, after all the spoil, disgrace, and wreck, +That time, the world, and death, could bring combined, +Amidst that mass of ruins they did make, +Safe and all scarless yet remains my mind: + From this so high transcending rapture springs, + That I, all else defaced, not envy kings. + + + + +PHINEAS FLETCHER + +We have already spoken of Giles Fletcher, the brother of Phineas. Of +Phineas we know nothing except that he was born in 1584, educated at +Eton and Cambridge, became Rector at Hilgay, in Norfolk, where he +remained for twenty-nine years, surviving his brother; that he wrote +an account of the founders and learned men of his university; that in +1633, he published 'The Purple Island;' and that in 1650 he died. + +His 'Purple Island' (with which we first became acquainted in the +writings of James Hervey, author of the 'Meditations,' who was its +fervent admirer) is a curious, complex, and highly ingenious allegory, +forming an elaborate picture of _Man_, in his body and soul; and for +subtlety and infinite flexibility, both of fancy and verse, deserves +great praise, although it cannot, for a moment, be compared with his +brother's 'Christ's Victory and Triumph,' either in interest of subject +or in splendour of genius. + + +DESCRIPTION OF PARTHENIA. + + With her, her sister went, a warlike maid, + Parthenia, all in steel and gilded arms; + In needle's stead, a mighty spear she sway'd, + With which in bloody fields and fierce alarms, + The boldest champion she down would bear, + And like a thunderbolt wide passage tear, +Flinging all to the earth with her enchanted spear. + + Her goodly armour seem'd a garden green, + Where thousand spotless lilies freshly blew; + And on her shield the lone bird might be seen, + The Arabian bird, shining in colours new; + Itself unto itself was only mate; + Ever the same, but new in newer date: +And underneath was writ, 'Such is chaste single state.' + + Thus hid in arms she seem'd a goodly knight, + And fit for any warlike exercise: + But when she list lay down her armour bright, + And back resume her peaceful maiden's guise; + The fairest maid she was, that ever yet + Prison'd her locks within a golden net, +Or let them waving hang, with roses fair beset. + + Choice nymph! the crown of chaste Diana's train, + Thou beauty's lily, set in heavenly earth; + Thy fairs, unpattern'd, all perfection stain: + Sure heaven with curious pencil at thy birth + In thy rare face her own full picture drew: + It is a strong verse here to write, but true, +Hyperboles in others are but half thy due. + + Upon her forehead Love his trophies fits, + A thousand spoils in silver arch displaying: + And in the midst himself full proudly sits, + Himself in awful majesty arraying: + Upon her brows lies his bent ebon bow, + And ready shafts; deadly those weapons show; +Yet sweet the death appear'd, lovely that deadly blow. + + * * * * * + + A bed of lilies flower upon her cheek, + And in the midst was set a circling rose; + Whose sweet aspect would force Narcissus seek + New liveries, and fresher colours choose + To deck his beauteous head in snowy 'tire; + But all in vain: for who can hope t' aspire +To such a fair, which none attain, but all admire? + + Her ruby lips lock up from gazing sight + A troop of pearls, which march in goodly row: + But when she deigns those precious bones undight, + Soon heavenly notes from those divisions flow, + And with rare music charm the ravish'd ears, + Daunting bold thoughts, but cheering modest fears: +The spheres so only sing, so only charm the spheres. + + Yet all these stars which deck this beauteous sky + By force of th'inward sun both shine and move; + Throned in her heart sits love's high majesty; + In highest majesty the highest love. + As when a taper shines in glassy frame, + The sparkling crystal burns in glittering flame, +So does that brightest love brighten this lovely dame. + + +INSTABILITY OF HUMAN GREATNESS. + + Fond man, that looks on earth for happiness, + And here long seeks what here is never found! + For all our good we hold from Heaven by lease, + With many forfeits and conditions bound; + Nor can we pay the fine and rentage due: + Though now but writ and seal'd, and given anew, +Yet daily we it break, then daily must renew. + + Why shouldst thou here look for perpetual good, + At every loss against Heaven's face repining? + Do but behold where glorious cities stood, + With gilded tops, and silver turrets shining; + Where now the hart fearless of greyhound feeds, + And loving pelican in safety breeds; +Where screeching satyrs fill the people's empty steads. + + Where is the Assyrian lion's golden hide, + That all the East once grasp'd in lordly paw? + Where that great Persian bear, whose swelling pride + The lion's self tore out with ravenous jaw? + Or he which, 'twixt a lion and a pard, + Through all the world with nimble pinions fared, +And to his greedy whelps his conquer'd kingdoms shared? + + Hardly the place of such antiquity, + Or note of these great monarchies we find: + Only a fading verbal memory, + An empty name in writ is left behind: + But when this second life and glory fades, + And sinks at length in time's obscurer shades, +A second fall succeeds, and double death invades. + + That monstrous Beast, which nursed in Tiber's fen, + Did all the world with hideous shape affray; + That fill'd with costly spoil his gaping den, + And trod down all the rest to dust and clay: + His battering horns pull'd out by civil hands, + And iron teeth lie scatter'd on the sands; +Backed, bridled by a monk, with seven heads yoked stands. + + And that black Vulture,[1] which with deathful wing + O'ershadows half the earth, whose dismal sight + Frighten'd the Muses from their native spring, + Already stoops, and flags with weary flight: + Who then shall look for happiness beneath? + Where each new day proclaims chance, change, and death, +And life itself's as fleet as is the air we breathe. + +[1] 'Black Vulture:' the Turk. + + +HAPPINESS OF THE SHEPHERD'S LIFE. + + Thrice, oh, thrice happy, shepherd's life and state! + When courts are happiness, unhappy pawns! + His cottage low and safely humble gate + Shuts out proud Fortune, with her scorns and fawns + No feared treason breaks his quiet sleep: + Singing all day, his flocks he learns to keep; +Himself as innocent as are his simple sheep. + + No Serian worms he knows, that with their thread + Draw out their silken lives; nor silken pride: + His lambs' warm fleece well fits his little need, + Not in that proud Sidonian tineture dyed: + No empty hopes, no courtly fears him fright, + Nor begging wants his middle fortune bite; +But sweet content exiles both misery and spite. + + Instead of music, and base flattering tongues, + Which wait to first salute my lord's uprise, + The cheerful lark wakes him with early songs, + And birds' sweet whistling notes unlock his eyes: + In country plays is all the strife he uses, + Or sing, or dance unto the rural Muses, +And but in music's sports all difference refuses. + + His certain life, that never can deceive him, + Is full of thousand sweets, and rich content; + The smooth-leaved beeches in the field receive him + With coolest shades, till noontide rage is spent; + His life is neither toss'd in boisterous seas + Of troublous world, nor lost in slothful ease; +Pleased, and full blest he lives, when he his God can please. + + His bed of wool yields safe and quiet sleeps, + While by his side his faithful spouse hath place; + His little son into his bosom creeps, + The lively picture of his father's face: + Never his humble house nor state torment him; + Less he could like, if less his God had sent him; +And when he dies, green turfs, with grassy tomb, content him. + + +MARRIAGE OF CHRIST AND THE CHURCH. + + 'Ah, dearest Lord! does my rapt soul behold thee? + Am I awake, and sure I do not dream? + Do these thrice-blessed arms again enfold thee? + Too much delight makes true things feigned seem. + Thee, thee I see; thou, thou thus folded art: + For deep thy stamp is printed on my heart, +And thousand ne'er-felt joys stream in each melting part.' + + Thus with glad sorrow did she sweetly 'plain her, + Upon his neck a welcome load depending; + While he with equal joy did entertain her, + Herself, her champions, highly all commending: + So all in triumph to his palace went; + Whose work in narrow words may not be pent: +For boundless thought is less than is that glorious tent. + + There sweet delights, which know nor end nor measure; + No chance is there, nor eating times succeeding: + No wasteful spending can impair their treasure; + Pleasure full grown, yet ever freshly breeding: + Fulness of sweets excludes not more receiving; + The soul still big of joy, yet still conceiving; +Beyond slow tongue's report, beyond quick thought's perceiving. + + There are they gone; there will they ever bide; + Swimming in waves of joys and heavenly loves: + He still a bridegroom, she a gladsome bride; + Their hearts in love, like spheres still constant moving; + No change, no grief, no age can them befall; + Their bridal bed is in that heavenly hall, +Where all days are but one, and only one is all. + + And as in his state they thus in triumph ride, + The boys and damsels their just praises chant; + The boys the bridegroom sing, the maids the bride, + While all the hills glad hymens loudly vaunt: + Heaven's winged shoals, greeting this glorious spring, + Attune their higher notes, and hymens sing: +Each thought to pass, and each did pass thought's loftiest wing. + + Upon his lightning brow love proudly sitting + Flames out in power, shines out in majesty; + There all his lofty spoils and trophies fitting, + Displays the marks of highest Deity: + There full of strength in lordly arms he stands, + And every heart and every soul commands: +No heart, no soul, his strength and lordly force withstands. + + Upon her forehead thousand cheerful graces, + Seated on thrones of spotless ivory; + There gentle Love his armed hand unbraces; + His bow unbent disclaims all tyranny; + There by his play a thousand souls beguiles, + Persuading more by simple, modest smiles, +Than ever he could force by arms or crafty wiles. + + Upon her cheek doth Beauty's self implant + The freshest garden of her choicest flowers; + On which, if Envy might but glance askant, + Her eyes would swell, and burst, and melt in showers: + Thrice fairer both than ever fairest eyed; + Heaven never such a bridegroom yet descried; +Nor ever earth so fair, so undefiled a bride. + + Full of his Father shines his glorious face, + As far the sun surpassing in his light, + As doth the sun the earth with flaming blaze: + Sweet influence streams from his quickening sight: + His beams from nought did all this _All_ display; + And when to less than nought they fell away, +He soon restored again by his new orient ray. + + All heaven shines forth in her sweet face's frame: + Her seeing stars (which we miscall bright eyes) + More bright than is the morning's brightest flame, + More fruitful than the May-time Geminies: + These, back restore the timely summer's fire; + Those, springing thoughts in winter hearts inspire, +Inspiriting dead souls, and quickening warm desire. + + These two fair suns in heavenly spheres are placed, + Where in the centre joy triumphing sits: + Thus in all high perfections fully graced, + Her mid-day bliss no future night admits; + But in the mirrors of her Spouse's eyes + Her fairest self she dresses; there where lies +All sweets, a glorious beauty to emparadise. + + His locks like raven's plumes, or shining jet, + Fall down in curls along his ivory neck; + Within their circlets hundred graces set, + And with love-knots their comely hangings deck: + His mighty shoulders, like that giant swain, + All heaven and earth, and all in both sustain; +Yet knows no weariness, nor feels oppressing pain. + + Her amber hair like to the sunny ray, + With gold enamels fair the silver white; + There heavenly loves their pretty sportings play, + Firing their darts in that wide flaming light: + Her dainty neck, spread with that silver mould, + Where double beauty doth itself unfold, +In the own fair silver shines, and fairer borrow'd gold. + + His breast a rock of purest alabaster, + Where loves self-sailing, shipwreck'd, often sitteth. + Hers a twin-rock, unknown but to the shipmaster; + Which harbours him alone, all other splitteth. + Where better could her love than here have nested, + Or he his thoughts than here more sweetly feasted? +Then both their love and thoughts in each are ever rested. + + Run now, you shepherd swains; ah! run you thither, + Where this fair bridegroom leads the blessed way: + And haste, you lovely maids, haste you together + With this sweet bride, while yet the sunshine day + Guides your blind steps; while yet loud summons call, + That every wood and hill resounds withal, +Come, Hymen, Hymen, come, dress'd in thy golden pall. + + The sounding echo back the music flung, + While heavenly spheres unto the voices play'd. + But see! the day is ended with my song, + And sporting bathes with that fair ocean maid: + Stoop now thy wing, my muse, now stoop thee low: + Hence mayst thou freely play, and rest thee now; +While here I hang my pipe upon the willow bough. + + So up they rose, while all the shepherds' throng + With their loud pipes a country triumph blew, + And led their Thirsil home with joyful song: + Meantime the lovely nymphs, with garlands new + His locks in bay and honour'd palm-tree bound, + With lilies set, and hyacinths around, +And lord of all the year and their May sportings crown'd. + + +END OF VOL. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets, Vol. 1 + +Author: George Gilfillan + +Release Date: January, 2006 [EBook #9667] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on October 14, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LESS-KNOWN BRITISH POETS, VOL. 1 *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Marc D'Hooghe +and the PG Online Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +SPECIMENS WITH MEMOIRS OF THE LESS-KNOWN BRITISH POETS. + + * * * * * + +With an Introductory Essay, + +BY THE REV. GEORGE GILFILLAN. + + * * * * * + +IN THREE VOLS. + +VOL. I. + +M.DCCC.LX. + + + + +INTRODUCTORY ESSAY + + +We propose to introduce our 'Specimens' by a short Essay on the Origin +and Progress of English Poetry on to the days of Chaucer and of Gower. +Having called, in conjunction with many other critics, Chaucer 'the +Father of English Poetry,' to seek to go back further may seem like +pursuing antenatal researches. But while Chaucer was the sun, a certain +glimmering dawn had gone before him, and to reflect that, is the object +of the following pages. + + +Britain, when the Romans invaded it, was a barbarous country; and although +subjugated and long held by that people, they seem to have left it nearly +as uncultivated and illiterate as they found it. 'No magnificent remains,' +says Macaulay, 'of Latian porches and aqueducts are to be found in Britain. +No writer of British birth is to be reckoned among the masters of Latin +poetry and eloquence. It is not probable that the islanders were, at any +time, generally familiar with the tongue of their Italian rulers. From +the Atlantic to the vicinity of the Rhine the Latin has, during many +centuries, been predominant. It drove out the Celtic--it was not driven +out by the Teutonic--and it is at this day the basis of the French, +Spanish, and Portuguese languages. In our island the Latin appears never +to have superseded the old Gaelic speech, and could not stand its ground +before the German.' It was in the fifth century that that modification +of the German or Teutonic speech called the Anglo-Saxon was introduced +into this country. It soon asserted its superiority over the British +tongue, which seemed to retreat before it, reluctantly and proudly, like +a lion, into the mountain-fastnesses of Wales or to the rocky sea-beach +of Cornwall. The triumph was not completed all at once, but from the +beginning it was secure. The bards of Wales continued to sing, but their +strains resembled the mutterings of thunder among their own hills, only +half heard in the distant valleys, and exciting neither curiosity nor awe. +For five centuries, with the exception of some Latin words added by the +preachers of Christianity, the Anglo-Saxon language continued much as it +was when first introduced. Barbarous as the manners of the people were, +literature was by no means left without a witness. Its chief cultivators +were the monks and other religious persons, who spent their leisure in +multiplying books, either by original composition or by transcription, +including treatises on theology, historical chronicles, and a great +abundance and variety of poetical productions. These were written at first +exclusively in Latin, but occasionally, in process of time, in the Anglo- +Saxon tongue. The theology taught in them was, no doubt, crude and +corrupted, the history was stuffed with fables, and the poetry was rough +and bald in the extreme; but still they furnished a food fitted for the +awakening mind of the age. When the Christian religion reached Great +Britain, it brought necessarily with it an impulse to intellect as well +as to morality. So startling are the facts it relates, so broad and deep +the principles it lays down, so humane the spirit it inculcates, and so +ravishing the hopes it awakens, that, however disguised in superstition +and clouded by imperfect representation, it never fails to produce, in all +countries to which it comes, a resurrection of the nation's virtue, and a +revival, for a time at least, of the nation's political and intellectual +energy and genius. Hence we find the very earliest literary names in our +early annals are those of Christian missionaries. Such is said to have +been Gildas, a Briton, who lived in the first part of the sixth century, +and is the reputed author of a short history of Britain in Latin. Such was +the still more apocryphal Nennius, also called, till of late, the writer +of a small Latin historical work. Such was St Columbanus, who was born +in Ireland in 560; became a monk in the Irish monastery of Benchor; and +afterwards, at the head of twelve disciples, preached Christianity, in its +most ascetic form, in England and in France; founded in the latter country +various monasteries; and, when banished by Queen Brunehaut on account of +his stern inflexibility of character, went to Switzerland, and then to +Lombardy, proselytising the heathen, and defending, by his letters and +other writings, the peculiar tenets of the Irish Church in reference to +the time of the celebration of Easter and to the popular heresies of the +day. He died October 2, 615, in the monastery of Bobbio; and his religious +treatises and Latin poetry gave an undoubted impulse to the age's progress +in letters. + +About this period the better sort of Saxons, both clergy and laity, got +into the habit of visiting Rome; while Rome, in her turn, sent emissaries +to England. Thus, while the one insensibly imbibed new knowledge as well +as devotion from the great centre, the other brought with them to our +shores importations of books, including copies of such religious classics +as Josephus and Chrysostom, and of such literary classics as Homer. About +680, died Caedmon, a monk of Whitby, one of the first who composed in +Anglo-Saxon, and some of whose compositions are preserved. Strange and +myth-like stories are told by Bede about this remarkable natural genius. +He was originally a cow-herd. Partly from want of training, and partly +from bashfulness, when the harp was given him in the hall, and he was +asked, as all others were, to raise the voice of song, Caedmon had often +to abscond in confusion. On one occasion he had retired to the stable, +where he fell into a sound sleep. He dreamed that a stranger appeared to +him, and said, 'Caedmon, sing me something.' Caedmon replied that it was +his incapacity to sing which had brought him to take refuge in the stable. +'Nay,' said the stranger, 'but thou hast something to sing.' 'What shall I +sing?' rejoined Caedmon. 'Sing the Creation,' and thereupon he began to +pour out verses, which, when he awoke, he remembered, repeated, and to +which he added others as good. The first lines are, as translated into +English, the following:-- + + Now let us praise + The Guardian of heaven, + The might of the Creator + And his counsel-- + The Glory!--Father of men! + He first created, + For the children of men, + Heaven as a roof-- + The holy Creator! + Then the world-- + The Guardian of mankind! + The Eternal Lord! + Produced afterwards + The Earth for men-- + The Almighty Master!' + +Our readers all remember the well-known story of Coleridge falling asleep +over Purchas's 'Pilgrims'; how the poem of 'Kubla Khan' came rushing +from dreamland upon his soul; and how, when awakened, he wrote it down, +and found it to be, if not sense, something better--a glorious piece +of fantastic imagination. We knew a gentleman who, slumbering while in +a state of bad health, produced, in the course of a few hours, one or +two thousand rhymed lines, some of which he repeated in our hearing +afterwards, and which were full of point and poetry. We cannot see that +Caedmon's lines betray any weird inspiration; but when rehearsed the next +day to the Abbess Hilda, to whom the town-bailiff of Whitby conducted him, +she and a circle of learned men pronounced that he had received the gift +of song direct from heaven! They, after one or two other trials of his +powers, persuaded him to become a monk in the house of the Abbess, who +commanded him to transfer to verse the whole of the Scripture history. It +is said that he was constantly employed in repeating to himself what he +had heard; or, as one of his old biographers has it, 'like a clean animal +ruminating it, he turned it into most sweet verse.' In this way he wrote +or rather improvised a vast quantity of poetry, chiefly on religious +subjects. Thorpe, in his edition of this author, has preserved a speech +of Satan, bearing a striking resemblance to some parts of Milton:-- + + 'Boiled within him + His thought about his heart, + Hot was without him, + His due punishment. + "This narrow place is most unlike + That other that we formerly knew + High in heaven's kingdom, + Which my master bestowed on me, + Though we it, for the All-Powerful, + May not possess. + + * * * * * + + That is to me of sorrows the greatest, + That Adam, + Who was wrought of earth, + Shall possess + My strong seat; + That it shall be to him in delight, + And we endure this torment, + Misery in this hell. + + * * * * * + + Here is a vast fire, + Above and underneath. + Never did I see + A loathlier landscape. + The flame abateth not + Hot over hell. + Me hath the clasping of these rings, + This hard-polished band, + Impeded in my course, + Debarred me from my way. + My feet are bound, + My hands manacled; + Of these hell-doors are + The ways obstructed, + So that with aught I cannot + From these limb-bonds escape. + About me lie + Huge gratings + Of hard iron, + Forged with heat, + With which me God + Hath fastened by the neck. + Thus perceive I that he knoweth my mind, + And that he knew also, + The Lord of hosts, + That should us through Adam + Evil befall, + About the realm of heaven, + Where I had power of my hands."' + +Through these rude lines there flashes forth, like fire through a thick +dull grating, a powerful conception--one which Milton has borrowed and +developed--that of the Evil One feeling in his dark bosom jealousy at +young Man, almost overpowering his hatred to God; and another conception +still more striking, that of the devil's thorough conviction that all +his plans and thoughts are entirely known by his great Adversary, and +are counteracted before they are formed-- + + 'Thus perceive I that he knoweth my mind.' + +Compare this with Milton's lines-- + + 'So should I purchase dear + Short intermission, bought with double smart. + _This knows_ my Punisher; therefore as far + From granting he, as I from begging peace.' + +Caedmon saw, without being able fully to express, the complex idea of +Satan, as distracted between a thousand thoughts, all miserable--tossed +between a thousand winds, all hot as hell--'pale ire, envy, and despair' +struggling within him--fury at man overlapping anger at God--remorse and +reckless desperation wringing each other's miserable hands--a sense of +guilt which will not confess, a fear that will not quake, a sorrow that +will not weep, a respect for God which will not worship; and yet, +springing out of all these elements, a strange, proud joy, as though +the torrid soil of Pandemonium should flower, which makes 'the hell he +suffers seem a heaven,' compared to what his destiny might be were he +either plunged into a deeper abyss, or taken up unchanged to his former +abode of glory. This, in part at least, the monk of Whitby discerned; +but it was reserved for Milton to embody it in that tremendous figure +which has since continued to dwindle all the efforts of art, and to +haunt, like a reality, the human imagination. + +Passing over some interesting but subordinate Saxon writers, such as +Ceolfrid, Abbot of Wearmouth; Aldhelm, Abbot of Malmesbury; Felix of +Croyland; and Alcuine, King Egbert's librarian at York, we come to one +who himself formed an era in the history of our early literature--the +venerable Bede. This famous man was educated in the monastery of +Wearmouth, and there appears to have spent the whole of his quiet, +innocent, and studious life. He was the very sublimation of a book-worm. +One might fancy him becoming at last, as in the 'Metamorphoses' of Ovid, +one of the books, or rolls of vellum and parchment over which he con- +stantly pored. That he did not marry, or was given in marriage, we are +certain; but there is little evidence that he even ate or drank, walked +or slept. To read and to write seemed the 'be all and the end all' of +his existence. Important as well as numerous were his contributions +to literature. He translated from the Scriptures. He wrote religious +treatises, biographies, and commentaries upon portions of Holy Writ. +Besides his very valuable Ecclesiastical History, he composed various +pieces of Latin poetry. His works in all were forty-four in number: and +it is said that on the very day of his death (it took place in 735) he +was dictating to his amanuensis, and had just completed a book. His works +are wonderful for his time, and not the less interesting for a fine +cobweb of fable which is woven over parts of them, and which seems in +keeping with their venerable character. Thus, in speaking of the Magi who +visited the infant Redeemer, he is very particular in describing their +age, appearance, and offerings. Melchior, the first, was old, had gray +hair, and a long beard; and offered 'gold' to Christ, in, acknowledgment +of His sovereignty. Gaspar, the second, was young, and had no beard; +and he offered 'frankincense,' in recognition of our Lord's divinity. +Balthasar, the third, was of a dark complexion, had a large beard, and +offered 'myrrh' to our Saviour's humanity. We should, we confess, miss +such pleasant little myths in other old books besides Bede's Histories. +They seem appropriate to ancient works, as the beard is to the goat +or the hermit; and the truth that lies in them is not difficult to +eliminate. The next name of note in our literary annals is that of the +great Alfred. Surely if ever man was not only before his age, but before +'all ages,' it was he. A palm of the tropics growing on a naked Highland +mountain-side, or an English oak bending over one of the hot springs of +Hecla, were not a stranger or more preternatural sight than a man like +Alfred appearing in a century like the ninth. A thousand theories about +men being the creatures of their age, the products of circumstances, &c., +sink into abeyance beside the facts of his life; and we are driven to the +good old belief that to some men the 'inspiration of the Almighty giveth +understanding;' and that their wisdom, their genius, and their excellency +do not proceed from them-selves. On his deeds of valour and patriotism it +is not necessary to dwell. These form the popular and bepraised side of +his character, but they give a very inadequate idea of the whole. On one +occasion he visited the Danish camp--a king disguised as a harper; but +he was, all his life long, a harper disguised as a king. He was at once +a warrior, a legislator, an architect, a shipbuilder, a philosopher, +a scholar, and a poet. His great object, as avowed in his last will, +was to leave his people 'free as their own thoughts.' Hence he bent the +whole force of his mind, first, to defend them from foreign foes, by +encouraging the new naval strength he had himself established; and then +to cultivate their intellects, and make them, as well as their country, +worth defending. Let us quote the glowing words of Burke:--'He was +indefatigable in his endeavours to bring into England men of learning in +all branches from every part of Europe, and unbounded in his liberality +to them. He enacted by a law that every person possessed of two hides of +land should send their children to school until sixteen. He enterprised +even a greater design than that of forming the growing generation--to +instruct even the grown, enjoining all his sheriffs and other officers +immediately to apply themselves to learning, or to quit their offices. +Whatever trouble he took to extend the benefits of learning among his +subjects, he shewed the example himself, and applied to the cultivation +of his mind with unparalleled diligence and success. He could neither +read nor write at twelve years old, but he improved his time in such +a manner, that he became one of the most knowing men of his age, in +geometry, in philosophy, in architecture, and in music. He applied +himself to the improvement of his native language; he translated several +valuable works from Latin, and wrote a vast number of poems in the Saxon +tongue with a wonderful facility and happiness. He not only excelled in +the theory of the arts and sciences, but possessed a great mechanical +genius for the executive part. He improved the manner of shipbuilding, +introduced a more beautiful and commodious architecture, and even taught +his countrymen the art of making bricks; most of the buildings having +been of wood before his time--in a word, he comprehended in the greatness +of his mind the whole of government, and all its parts at once; and what +is most difficult to human frailty was at the same time sublime and +minute.' + +Some exaggeration must be allowed for in all this account of Alfred the +Great. But the fact that he left a stamp in his age so deep,--that +nothing except what was good and great has been ascribed to him,--that +the very fictions told of him are of such _vraisemblance_ and magnitude +as to FIT IN to nothing less than an extraordinary man,--and that, as +Burke says, 'whatever dark spots of human frailty may have adhered to +such a character, are entirely hid in the splendour of many shining +qualities and grand virtues, that throw a glory over the obscure period +in which he lived, and which is for no other reason worthy of our +knowledge,'--all proclaim his supremacy. Like many great men,--like +Julius Caesar, with his epilepsy--or Sir Walter Scott and Byron, with +their lameness--or Schleiermacher, with his deformed appearance,--a +physical infirmity beset Alfred most of his life, and at last carried +him off at a comparatively early age. This was a disease in his bowels, +which had long afflicted him, 'without interrupting his designs, or +souring his temper.' Nay, who can say that the constant presence of such +a memento of weakness and mortality did not operate as a strong, quiet +stimulus to do with his might what his hand found to do--to lower pride, +and to prompt to labour? If Saladin had had for his companion some such +faithful hound of sorrow, it would have saved him the ostentatious flag +stretched over his head, in the hour of wassail, with the inscription, +'Saladin, Saladin, king of kings! Saladin must die!' + +Alfred wrote little that was original, but he was a copious translator. +He rendered into the Anglo-Saxon tongue--which he sought to enrich with +the fatness of other soils--the historical works of Orosius and of Bede; +nay, it is said the Fables of Aesop, and the Psalms of David--desirous, +it would seem, to teach his people morality and religion, through the +fine medium, of fiction and poetry. + +Alfric, Archbishop of Canterbury, is the name of another important +contributor to Saxon literature. He wrote a grammar of his native +language, which procured him the name of the 'Grammarian,' besides a +collection of homilies, some theological treatises, and a translation +of the first seven books of the Old Testament. In imitation of Alfred, +he devoted all his energies to the instruction of the common people, +constantly writing in Anglo-Saxon, and avoiding as much as possible the +use of compound or obscure words. After him appeared Cynewulf, Bishop of +Winchester, Wulfstan, Archbishop of York, and others of some note. There +was also slowly piled up in the course of ages, and by a succession of +authors, that remarkable production, 'The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.' This +is thought to have commenced soon after the reign of Alfred, and +continued till the times of Henry II. Previous, however, to the Norman +invasion, there had been a decided falling off in the learning of the +Saxons. This arose from various causes. Incessant wars tended to +conserve and increase the barbarism of the people. Various libraries +of value were destroyed by the incursions of the Danes. And not a few +bishops, and other ecclesiastical dignitaries, began to consider +learning as prejudicial to piety-and grammar and ungodliness were +thought akin. The effect of this upon the subordinate clergy was most +pernicious. In the tenth century, Oswald, Archbishop of Canterbury, +found the monks of his province so grossly ignorant, not only of +letters, but even of the canonical rules of their respective orders, +that he required to send to France for competent masters to give them +instruction. + +At length came the Conqueror, William, and one battle gave England to +the Normans, which had cost the Romans, the Saxons, and the Danes so +much time and blood to acquire. The people were not only conquered, but +cowed and crushed. England was as easily and effectually subdued as was +Ireland, sometime after, by Henry II. But while the Conquest was for a +season fatal to liberty, it was from the first favourable to every +species of literature, art, and poetry. 'The influence,' says Campbell, +'of the Norman Conquest upon the language of England was like that of a +great inundation, which at first buries the face of the landscape under +its waters, but which, at last subsiding, leaves behind it the elements +of new beauty and fertility. Its first effect was to degrade the Anglo- +Saxon tongue to the exclusive use of the inferior orders, and by the +transference of estates ecclesiastical benefices, and civil dignities to +Norman possessors, to give the French language, which had begun to +prevail at court from the time of Edward the Confessor, a more complete +predominance among the higher classes of society. The native gentry of +England were either driven into exile, or depressed into a state of +dependence on their conqueror, which habituated them to speak his +language. On the other hand, we received from the Normans the first +germs of romantic poetry; and our language was ultimately indebted to +them for a wealth and compass of expression which it probably would not +have otherwise possessed.' + +The Anglo-Saxon, however, held its place long among the lower orders, +and specimens of it, both in prose and verse, are found a century after +the Conquest. Gradually the Norman tongue began to amalgamate with it, +and the result was, the English. At what precise year our language might +be said to begin, it is impossible to determine. Throughout the whole of +the twelfth century, great changes were taking place in the grammatical +construction, as well as in the substance of the Anglo-Saxon. Some new +words were imported from the Norman, but, as Dr Johnson remarks, 'the +language was still more materially altered by the change of its sounds, +the cutting short of its syllables, and the softening down of its +terminations, and inflections of words.' Somewhere between 1180 and +1216, the majestic speech in which Shakspeare was to write 'Macbeth' +and 'King Lear,' Lord Bacon his 'Advancement of Learning,' Milton his +'Paradise Lost' and 'Areopagitica,' Burke his 'Reflections,' and Sir +Walter Scott the Waverley Novels, and whose rough, but manly accents +were to be spoken by at least a hundred million tongues, commenced its +career, and not since Homer, + + "on the Chian strand, + Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssee + Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea," + +had a nobler era been marked in the history of literature. For here was +a tongue born which was destined to mate even with that of Greece in +richness and flexibility, to make the language of Cicero and Virgil seem +stiff and stilted in comparison, and, if not to vie with the French in +airy grace, or with the Italian in liquid music, to excel them far in +teeming resources and robust energy. Memorable and hallowed for ever be +the hour when the 'well of English undefiled' first sparkled to the day! + +Previous to this the chief of the poets, after the Conquest, were +Normans. The country whence that people came had for some time been +celebrated for poetry. France was, as to its poetic literature, divided +into two great sections--the Provenēal and the Northern. The first was +like the country where it flourished--gay, flowery, and exuberant; it +swam in romance, and its rhymers delighted, when addressing large +audiences under the open skies of their delightful climate, to indulge +in compliment and fanfaronade, to sing of war, wine, and love. + +The Normans produced a race of simpler poets. That some of them were men +as well as singers, is proved by the fact that it was a bard named +Taillefer who first broke the English ranks at the battle of Hastings. +After him came Philippe de Thaun, who tried to set to song the science +of his day; Thorold, the author of a romance entitled 'Roland;' Samson +de Nauteuil, the translator of Solomon's Proverbs into French verse; +Geoffrey Gaimar, who wrote a Chronicle of the Saxon kings; and one +David, a minstrel of no little note and power in his day. But a more +remarkable writer succeeded, and his work, like Aaron's rod, swallowed +up all the productions of these clever but petty poets. This was Wace, +commonly called Maistre Wace, a native of Jersey. In 1160, or as some +say 1155, Wace finished his 'Brut d'Angleterre' which is in reality a +translation into French of Geoffrey of Monmouth, who wrote a History +of Britain from the imaginary Brutus of Troy down to Cadwallader in +689. Literature owes not a little to Wace's poem. He collected into +a permanent shape a number of traditions and legends--many of them +interesting--which had been floating through Europe, just as Macpherson +preserved in Ossian not a few real fragments of the songs of Selma. And, +as we shall see immediately, Wace's production became the basis of the +earliest of English poems. + +Maistre Wace is the author also of a History of the Normans, which he +calls 'Roman de Rou;' or, 'The Romance of Rollo.' He was a great favourite +with Henry II., who bestowed on him a canonry in the Cathedral of Bayeux. +Besides Wace, there flourished about the same time Benoit, who wrote a +History of the Dukes of Normandy; and Guernes, a churchman of Pont St +Maxence in Picardy, who wrote in verse a Life of St Thomas ą Becket. + +At the beginning of the century following the Conquest, the chief authors, +such as Peter of Blois, John of Salisbury, Joseph of Exeter, and Geoffrey +of Monmouth, all wrote in Latin. Layamon, however, a priest of Ernesley- +upon-Severn, used the vernacular in a poem which, as we have already +hinted, was essentially a translation of Wace's 'Brut d'Angleterre.' The +most remarkable thing about Layamon's poem is the language in which it is +written-language in which you catch English in the very act of chipping +the Saxon shell, or, as Campbell happily remarks, 'the style of Layamon is +as nearly the intermediate state of the old and new languages as can be +found in any ancient specimen --something like the new insect stirring its +wings before it has shaken off the aurelia state.' + +Between Layamon and Robert of Gloucester a good many miscellaneous +strains--some of a satirical, others of an amatory, and others again of +a legendary and devout style--were produced. It was customary then for +minstrels, at the instance of the clergy, to sing on Sundays devotional +strains on the harp to the assembled multitudes. At public entertainments, +during week-days, gay ditties were common. One of these is extant, but +is too coarse for quotation. It is entitled 'The Land of Cokayne,' an +allegorical satire on the luxury and vice of the Church, given under the +description of an imaginary paradise, in which the nuns are represented +as houris, and the black and grey monks as their paramours. 'Richard of +Alemaine' is a ballad, composed by an adherent of Simon de Montfort, Earl +of Leicester, after the defeat of the Royal party at the battle of Lewes +in 1264. In the year after that battle the Royal cause rallied, and the +Earl of Warren and Sir Hugh Bigod returned from exile, and helped the King +in his victory. In the battle of Lewes, Richard, King of the Romans, his +brother Henry III., and Prince Edward, with many others of the Royal +party, were taken prisoners. +[Note: See 'Richard of Alemaine,' Percy's Reliques, vol. ii., p. 2.] + +The spirit and the allusions of this song shew that it was composed by +Leicester's party in the moment of their victory, and not after the +reaction which took place against their cause, and it must therefore +belong to the thirteenth century. To this period, too, probably belongs +a political satire, published by Ritson, and which Campbell thus charac- +terises:--'It is a ballad on the execution of the Scottish patriots, Sir +William Wallace and Sir Simon Frazer. The diction is as barbarous as we +should expect from a song of triumph on such a subject. It relates the +death and treatment of Wallace very minutely. The circumstance of his +being covered with a mock crown of laurel in Westminster Hall, which Stow +repeats, is there mentioned, and that of his legs being fastened with iron +fetters "_under his horse's wombe_" is told with savage exultation. The +piece was probably indited in the very year of the political murders which +it celebrates, certainly before 1314, as it mentions the skulking of +Robert Bruce, which, after the battle of Bannockburn, must have become +a jest out of season.' + +Campbell quotes a love-ditty of this period, which is not devoid of +merit:-- + + 'For her love I cark and cave, + For her love I droop and dare, + For her love my bliss is bare, + And all I wax wan. + + 'For her love in sleep I slake,[1] + For her love all night I wake, + For her love mourning I make + More than any man.' + +[1] 'In sleep I slake:' am deprived of sleep. + + +And another of a pastoral vein:-- + + 'When the nightingale singės the woods waxen green, + Leaf, grass, and blossom springs in Avril I ween, + And love is to my heart gone, with one spear so keen, + Night and day my blood it drinks, my heart doth me teen.' + +About a hundred years after Layamon (in 1280) appeared a poet not +dissimilar to him, named Robert of Gloucester. His surname is unknown, and +so are the particulars of his history. We know only that he was a monk of +Gloucester Abbey, that he lived in the reigns of Henry III. and Edward I., +and that he translated the Legends of Geoffrey of Monmouth, and continued +the History of England down to the time of Edward I. This work is wonder- +fully minute, and, generally speaking, accurate in its topography as well +as narrative, and was of service to Selden when he wrote his Notes to +Drayton's 'Polyolbion.' It is more valuable in this respect than as a +piece of imagination. + +He narrates the grandest events--such as the first crusaders bursting +into Asia, with a sword of fire hung in the firmament before them, and +beckoning them on their way--as coolly as he might the emigration of a +colony of ants. Yet, although there is little animation or poetry in his +general manner, he usually succeeds in riveting the reader's attention; +and the speeches he puts into the mouths of his heroes glow with at +least rhetorical fire. And as a critic truly remarks--'Injustice to the +ancient versifier, we should remember that he had still only a rude +language to employ, the speech of boors and burghers, which, though it +might possess a few songs and satires, could afford him no models of +heroic narration. In such an age the first occupant passes uninspired +over subjects which might kindle the highest enthusiasm in the poet of +a riper period, as the savage treads unconsciously in his deserts over +mines of incalculable value, without sagacity to discover or inplements +to explore them.' We give the following extracts from Robert of +Gloucester's poem:-- + + + THE SPOUTS AND SOLEMNITIES WHICH FOLLOWED KING ARTHUR'S CORONATION. + + The king was to his palace, tho the service was ydo,[1] + Yled with his meinie,[2] and the queen to her also. + For they held the old usages, that men with men were + By themselve, and women by themselve also there. + When they were each one yset, as it to their state become, + Kay, king of Anjou, a thousand knightės nome[3] + Of noble men, yclothed in ermine each one + Of one suit, and served at this noble feast anon. + Bedwer the botyler, king of Normandy, + Nome also in his half a fair company + Of one suit for to serve of the hotelery. + Before the queen it was also of all such courtesy, + For to tell all the nobley that there was ydo, + Though my tongue were of steel, me should nought dure thereto. + Women ne kept of no knight in druery,[4] + But he were in arms well yproved, and atte least thrye.[5] + That made, lo, the women the chaster life lead, + And the knights the stalwarder, and the better in their deed. + Soon after this noble meat, as right was of such tide, + The knights atyled them about in eachė side, + In fields and in meadows to prove their bachlery,[6] + Some with lance, some with sword, without villany, + With playing at tables, other attė chekere,[7] + With casting, other with setting,[8] other in some other mannere. + And which so of any game had the mastery, + The king them of his giftės did large courtesy. + Up the alurs[9] of the castle the ladies then stood, + And beheld this noble game, and which knights were good. + All the three extė dayės[10] ylastė this nobley, + In halle's and in fieldės, of meat and eke of play. + These men come the fourth day before the kingė there, + And he gave them large gifts, ever as they worthy were. + Bishoprics and churches' clerks he gave some, + And castles and townės knights that were ycome. + +[1] 'Tho the service was ydo:' when the service was done. +[2] 'Meinie:' attendants. +[3] 'Nome': brought. +[4] 'Druery.' modesty, decorum. +[5] 'Thrye:' thrice. +[6] 'Bachlery:' chivalry, courage, or youth. +[7] 'Chekere:' chess. +[8] 'With casting, other with setting:' different ways of playing at +chess. +[9] 'Alurs:' walks made within the battlements of the castle. +[10] 'Extė dayės:' high, or chief days. + + +AN OLD TRADITION. + +It was a tradition invented by the old fablers that giants brought the +stones of Stonehenge from the most sequestered deserts of Africa, and +placed them in Ireland; that every stone was washed with juices of +herbs, and contained a medical power; and that Merlin, the magician, at +the request of King Arthur, transported them from Ireland, and erected +them in circles on the plain of Amesbury, as a sepulchral monument for +the Britons treacherously slain by Hengist. This fable is thus +delivered, without decoration, by Robert of Glocester:-- + + 'Sir king,' quoth Merlin then, 'such thingė's ywis + Ne be for to shew nought, but when great need is, + For if I said in bismare, other but it need were, + Soon from me he would wend, the ghost that doth me lere.'[1] + The king, then none other n'as, bid him some quaintise + Bethink about thilk cors that so noble were and wise.[2] + 'Sir King,' quoth Merlin then, 'if thou wilt here cast + In the honour of men, a work that ever shall ylast, + To the hill of Kylar[3] send in to Ireland, + After the noble stonės that there habbet[4] long ystand; + That was the treche of giants,[5] for a quaintė work there is + Of stonės all with art ymade, in the world such none is. + Ne there n'is nothing that me should myd[6] strength adownė cast. + Stood they here, as they doth there, ever a woulde last.' + The king somdeal to-lygh[7], when he heardė this tale: + 'How might,' he said, 'such stonės, so great and so fale,[8] + Be ybrought of so far land? And yet mist of were, + Me would ween that in this landė no stone to wonke n'ere.' + Sir king,' quoth Merlin, 'ne make nought an idle such laughing; + For it n'is an idle nought that I tell this tiding. + For in the farrest stude of Afric giants whilė fet [9] + These stones for medicine and in Ireland them set, + While they wonenden in Ireland to make their bathė's there, + There under for to bathė when they sick were. + For they would the stonės wash and therein bathe ywis; + For is no stone there among that of great virtue n'is.' + The king and his counsel rode the stones for to fet, + And with great power of battle if any more them let. + Uther, the kingė's brother, that Ambrose hett[10] also, + In another namė ychosė was thereto, + And fifteen thousand men, this deedė for to do, + And Merlin for his quaintise thither went also. + +[1] If I should say any thing out of wantonness or vanity, the spirit + which teaches me would immediately leave me. +[2] Bade him use his cunning, for the sake of the bodies of those noble +and wise Britons. +[3] 'Kylar:' Kildare. +[4] 'Habbet:' have. +[5] 'The treche of giants:' 'The dance of giants.' The name of this +collection of immense stones. +[6] 'Myd:' with. +[7] 'Somdeal to-lygh:' somewhat laughed. +[8] 'Fale:' many. +[9] Giants once brought them from the furthest part of Africa. +[10] 'Hett:' was called. + + + ARTHUR'S INTRIGUE WITH YGERNE. + + At the feast of Easter the king sent his sond,[1] + That they comen all to London the high men of this lond, + And the ladies all so good, to his noble feast wide, + For he shouldė crown here, for the high tide. + All the noble men of this land to the noble feast come, + And their wivės and their daughtren with them many nome,[2] + This feast was noble enow, and nobliche ydo; + For many was the fair lady that ycome was thereto. + Ygerne, Gorloys' wife, was fairest of each one, + That was Countess of Cornėwall, for so fair n'as there none. + The king beheld her fast enow, and his heart on her cast, + And thoughtė, though he were wise, to do folly at last. + He made her semblant fair enow, to none other so great. + The earl n'as not therewith ypayed[3], when he it under get. + After meat he nome his wife myd[4] sturdy med enow, + And, without leave of the king, to his country drow. + The king sentė to him then, to byleve[5] all night, + For he must of great counsel havė some insight. + That was for nought. Would he not, the king sent yet his sond, + That he byleved at his parlement, for need of the lond. + The king was, when he n'oldė not, anguyssous and wroth. + For despite he would a-wreak be he sworė his oath, + But he come to amendėment. His power attė last + He garked, and went forth to Cornėwall fast. + Gorloys his castles a store all about. + In a strong castle he did his wife, for of her was all his doubt, + In another himself he was, for he n'oldė nought, + If cas[6] come, that they were both to death ybrought. + The castle, that the earl in was, the king besieged fast, + For he might not his gins for shame to the other cast. + Then he was there seen not, and he speddė nought, + Ygerne, the countessė, so much was in his thought, + That he nustė none other wit, ne he ne might for shame + Tell it but a privy knight, Ulfyn was his name, + That he trustė most to. And when the knight heard thia, + 'Sir,' he said, 'I ne can wit, what rede hereof is, + For the castle is so strong, that the lady is in, + For I ween all the land ne should it myd strengthė win. + For the sea goeth all about, but entry one there n'is, + And that is up on hardė rocks, and so narrow way it is, + That there may go but one and one, that three men within + Might slay all the laud, ere they come therein. + And nought for then, if Merlin at the counsel were, + If any might, he couthė the best rede thee lere.'[7] + Merlin was soon of sent, pled it was him soon, + That he should the best rede say, what were to don. + Merlin was sorry enow for the kingė's folly, + And natheless, 'Sir king,' he said, 'there may to mast'ry, + The earl hath two men him near, Brithoel and Jordan. + I will make thyself, if thou wilt, through art that I can, + Have all the formė of the earl, as thou were right he, + And Olfyn as Jordan, and as Brithoel me.' + This art was all clean ydo, that all changed they were, + They three in the others' form, the solve as it were. + Against even he went forth, nustė[8] no man that cas; + To the castle they come right as it even was. + The porter ysaw his lord come, and his most privy twei, + With good heart he let his lord in, and his men bey. + The countess was glad enow, when her lord to her come + And either other in their arms myd great joy nome. + When they to beddė come, that so long a-two were, + With them was so great delight, that between them there + Begot was the best body, that ever was in this land, + King Arthur the noble man, that ever worthy understand. + When the king's men nuste amorrow, where he was become, + They fared as wodėmen, and wend[9] he were ynome.[10] + They assaileden the castle, as it should adown anon, + They that within were, garked them each one, + And smote out in a full will, and fought myd there fone: + So that the earl was yslaw, and of his men many one, + And the castle was ynome, and the folk to-sprad there, + Yet, though they haddė all ydo, they ne found not the king there. + The tiding to the countess soon was ycome, + That her lord was yslaw, and the castle ynome. + And when the messenger him saw the earl, as him thought, + That he had so foul plow, full sore him of thought, + The countess made somedeal deol,[11] for no sothness they nustė. + The king, for to glad her, beclipt her and cust. + 'Dame,' he said,' no sixt thou well, that les it is all this: + Ne wo'st thou well I am alive. I will thee say how it is. + Out of the castle stillėlich I went all in privity, + That none of minė men it nustė, for to speak with thee. + And when they mist me to-day, and nuste where I was, + They fareden right as giddy men, myd whom no rede n'as, + And foughtė with the folk without, and have in this mannere + Ylore the castle and themselve, and well thou wo'st I am here. + And for my castle, that is ylore, sorry I am enow, + And for my men, that the king and his power slew. + And my power is to lute, therefore I dreadė sore, + Lestė the king us nyme[12] here, and sorrow that we were more. + Therefore I will, how so it be, wend against the king, + And make my peace with him, ere he us to shamė bring.' + Forth he went, and het[13] his men if the king come, + That they shouldė him the castle yield, ere he with strength it nome. + So he come toward his men, his own form he nome, + And leaved the earl's form, and the king Uther become. + Sore him of thought the earlė's death, and in other half he found + Joy in his heart, for the countess of spousehed was unbound, + When he had that he would, and paysed[14] with his son, + To the countess he went again, me let him in anon. + "What halt[15] it to tale longė? but they were set at one, + In great love long enow, when it n'oldė other gon; + And had together this noble son, that in the world his pere n'as, + The king Arthur, and a daughter, Anne her namė was. + +[1] 'Sond' message. +[2] 'Nome:' took. +[3] 'Ypayed:' satisfied. +[4] 'Myd:' with. +[5] 'Byleve:' stay. +[6] 'Cas:' chance. +[7] 'Lere:' teach. +[8] 'Nustė:' knew. +[9] 'Wend:' thought. +[10] 'Ynome:' taken. +[11] 'Deol:' grief. +[12] 'Nyme:' take. +[13] 'Het:' bade. +[14] 'Paysed:' made peace. +[15] 'Halt:' holdeth. + +The next name of note is Robert, commonly called De Brunne. His real name +was Robert Manning. He was born at Malton in Yorkshire; for some time +belonged to the house of Sixhill, a Gilbertine monastery in Yorkshire; +and afterwards became a member of Brunne or Browne, a priory of black +canons in the same county. When monastical writers became famous, they +were usually designated from the religious houses to which they belonged. +Thus it was with Matthew of Westminster, William of Malmesbury, and John +of Glastonbury--all received their appellations from their respective +monasteries. De Brunne's principal work is a Chronicle of the History of +England, in rhyme. It can in no way be considered an original production, +but is partly translated, and partly compiled from the writings of Maistre +Wace and Peter de Langtoft, which latter was a canon of Bridlington in +Yorkshire, of Norman origin, but born in England, and the author of an +entire History of his country in French verse, down to the end of the +reign of Edward I. Brunne's Chronicle seems to have been written about +the year 1303. We extract the Prologue, and two other passages:-- + + + THE PROLOGUE. + + 'Lordlingės that be now here, + If ye willė listen and lere, + All the story of England, + As Robert Mannyng written it fand, + And in English has it shewed, + Not for the leared but for the lewed;[1] + For those that on this land wonn + That the Latin ne Frankys conn,[2] + For to have solace and gamen + In fellowship when they sit samen, + And it is wisdom for to witten + The state of the land, and have it written, + "What manner of folk first it wan, + And of what kind it first began. + And good it is for many things, + For to hear the deeds of kings, + Whilk were fools, and whilk were wise, + And whilk of them couth[3] most quaintise; + And whilk did wrong, and whilk right, + And whilk maintained peace and fight. + Of their deedės shall be my saw, + In what time, and of what law, + I shall you from gre to gre,[4] + Since the time of Sir Noe: + From Noe unto Eneas, + And what betwixt them was, + And from Eneas till Brutus' time, + That kind he tells in this rhyme. + For Brutus to Cadwallader's, + The last Briton that this land lees. + All that kind and all the fruit + That come of Brutus that is the Brute; + And the right Brute is told no more + Than the Britons' timė wore. + After the Britons the English camen, + The lordship of this land they nameu; + South and north, west and east, + That call men now the English gest. + When they first among the Britons, + That now are English then were Saxons, + Saxons English hight all oliche. + They arrived up at Sandwiche, + In the kings since Vortogerne + That the land would them not werne, &c. + One Master Wace the Frankės tells + The Brute all that the Latin spells, + From Eneas to Cadwallader, &c. + And right as Master Wacė says, + I tell mine English the same ways,' &c. + +[1] 'Lowed:' ignorant. +[2] 'Conn:' know. +[3] 'Couth:' knew. +[4] 'Gre:' step. + + + KING VORTIGERN'S MEETING WITH PRINCESS KODWEN. + + Hengist that day did his might, + That all were glad, king and knight, + And as they were best in glading, + And wele cop schotin[1] knight and king, + Of chamber Rouewen so gent, + Before the king in hall she went. + A cup with wine she had in hand, + And her attire was well-farand.[2] + Before the king on knee set, + And in her language she him gret. + 'Lauerid[3] king, Wassail,' said she. + The king asked, what should be. + In that language the king ne couth.[4] + A knight the language lered[5] in youth. + Breg hight that knight, born Bretoun, + That lered the language of Sessoun.[6] + This Breg was the latimer,[7] + What she said told Vortager. + 'Sir,' Breg said, 'Rowen you greets, + And king calls and lord you leets.[8] + This is their custom and their gest, + When they are at the ale or feast. + Ilk man that louis quare him think, + Shall say Wosseil, and to him drink. + He that bidis shall say, Wassail, + The other shall say again, Drinkhail. + That says Wosseil drinks of the cup, + Kissing his fellow he gives it up. + Drinkheil, he says, and drinks thereof, + Kissing him in bourd and skof.'[9] + The king said, as the knight 'gan ken,[10] + Drinkheil, smiling on Rouewen. + Rouwen drank as her list, + And gave the king, sine[11] him kist. + There was the first wassail in deed, + And that first of fame gede.[12] + Of that wassail men told great tale, + And wassail when they were at ale, + And drinkheil to them that drank, + Thus was wassail tane[13] to thank. + Fele sithės[14] that maiden ying,[15] + Wassailed and kist the king. + Of body she was right avenant,[16] + Of fair colour, with sweet semblant.[17] + Her attire full well it seemed, + Mervelik[18] the king she quemid.[19] + Out of measure was he glad, + For of that maiden he were all mad. + Drunkenness the fiend wrought, + Of that paen[20] was all his thought. + A mischance that time him led, + He asked that paen for to wed. + Hengist wild not draw a lite,[21] + But granted him, allė so tite.[22] + And Hors his brother consented soon. + Her friendis said, it were to don. + They asked the king to give her Kent, + In douery to take of rent. + Upon that maiden his heart so cast, + That they asked the king made fast. + I ween the king took her that day, + And wedded her on paien's lay.[23] + Of priest was there no benison + No mass sungen, no orison. + In seisine he had her that night. + Of Kent he gave Hengist the right. + The earl that time, that Kent all held, + Sir Goragon, that had the sheld, + Of that gift no thing ne wist + To[24] he was cast out with[25] Hengist. + +[1] 'Schotin:' sending about the cups briskly. +[2] 'Well-farand:' very rich. +[3] 'Lauerid:' lord. +[4] 'Ne couth:' knew not. +[5] 'Lered:' learned. +[6] 'Sessoun:' Saxons. +[7] 'Latimer:' _for_ Latiner, or Latinier, an interpreter. +[8] 'Leets:' esteems. +[9] 'Skof:' sport, joke. +[10] 'Ken:' to signify. +[11] 'Sine:' then. +[12] 'Cede:' went. +[13] 'Tane:' taken. +[14] 'Sithės:' many times. +[15] 'Ying:' young. +[16] 'Avenant:' handsome. +[17] 'Semblant:' countenance. +[18] 'Mervelik:' marvellously. +[19] 'Quemid:' pleased. +[20] 'Paen:' pagan, heathen. +[21] 'Wild not draw a lite:' would not fly off a bit. +[22] 'Tite:' happeneth. +[23] 'On paien's lay:' in pagan's law; according to the heathenish +custom. +[24] 'To:' till. +[25] 'With:' by. + + + THE ATTACK OF RICHARD I. ON A CASTLE HELD BY THE SARACENS. + + The dikes were fullė wide that closed the castle about, + And deep on ilka side, with bankis high without. + Was there none entry that to the castle 'gan ligg,[1] + But a strait kaucė;[2] at the end a draw-brig, + With great double chainės drawen over the gate, + And fifty armed swainės porters at that gate. + With slingės and mangonels they cast to king Richard, + Our Christians by parcels casted againward. + Ten sergeants of the best his targe 'gan him bear + That eager were and prest[3] to cover him and to were.[4] + Himself as a giant the chainės in two hew, + The targe was his warant,[5] that none till him threw. + Eight unto the gate with the targe they yede, + Fighting on a gate, under him they slew his steed, + Therefore ne would he cease, alone into the castele + Through them all would press; on foot fought he full wele. + And when he was within, and fought as a wild lión, + He fondred the Sarazins otuynne,[6] and fought as a dragon, + Without the Christians 'gan cry, 'Alas! Richard is taken;' + Then Normans were sorry, of countenance 'gan blaken, + To slay down and to' stroy never would they stint, + They left fordied[7] no noye,[8] ne for no wound no dint, + That in went all their press, maugre the Sarazins all, + And found Richard on dais fighting, and won the hall. + +[1] 'Ligg:' lying. +[2] 'Kaucė:' causey. +[3] 'Prest:' ready. +[4] 'Were:' defend. +[5] 'Warant:' guard. +[6] 'He fondred the Sarazins otuynne:' he formed the Saracens into two +parties. +[7] 'Fordied:' undone. +[8] 'No noye:' annoy. + +Of De Brunne, Warton judiciously remarks--'Our author also translated +into English rhymes the treatise of Cardinal Bonaventura, his +contemporary, _De coena et passione Domini, et paenis S. Mariae +Virgins_. But I forbear to give more extracts from this writer, who +appears to have possessed much more industry than genius, and cannot at +present be read with much pleasure. Yet it should be remembered that +even such a writer as Robert de Brunne, uncouth and unpleasing as he +naturally seems, and chiefly employed in turning the theology of his age +into rhyme, contributed to form a style, to teach expression, and to +polish his native tongue. In the infancy of language and composition, +nothing is wanted but writers;--at that period even the most artless +have their use.' + +Here we may allude to the introduction of romantic fiction into English +poetry. This had, as we have seen, reigned in France. There troubadours +in Provence, and men more worthy of the name of poets in Normandy, had +long sung of Brutus, of Charlemagne, and of Rollo. And thence a class, +called sometimes Joculators, sometimes Jongleurs, and sometimes +Minstrels, issued, harp in hand, wandering to and fro, and singing tales +of chivalry and love, composed either by themselves, or by other poets +living or dead. (We refer our readers to our first volume of Percy's +'Reliques,' for a full account of this class, and of the poetry they +produced.) These wanderers reached England in due time and brought with +them compositions which found favour and excited emulation, or at least +imitation, in our vernacular genius. Hence came a great swarm of +romances, all more or less derived from the French, even when Saxon in +subject and style; such as 'Sir Tristrem,' (which Sir Walter Scott tried +in vain to prove to be written by the famous Thomas the Rhymer, of +Ercildoun, or Earlston, in Berwickshire, who died before 1299;) 'The +Life of Alexander the Great,' said to be written by Adam Davie, Marshall +of Stratford-le-Bow, who lived about 1312; 'King Horn,' which certainly +belongs to the latter part of the thirteenth century; 'The Squire of Low +Degree; 'Sir Guy;' 'Sir Degore;' 'The King of Tars;' 'King Robert of +Sicily;' 'La Mort d'Arthur;' 'Impodemon;' and, more lately, 'Sir Libius;' +'Sir Thopas;' 'Sir Isenbras;' 'Gawan and Gologras;' and 'Sir Bevis.' +Richard I. also formed the subject of a very popular romance. We give +extracts from it:-- + + +THE SOLDAN SALADIN SENDS KING RICHARD A HORSE. + + 'Thou sayst thy God is full of might: + Wilt thou grant with spear and shield, + To detryve the right in the field, + With helm, hauberk, and brandės bright, + On strongė steedės good and light, + Whether be of more power, + Thy God almight, or Jupiter? + And he sent rue to sayė this + If thou wilt have an horse of his, + In all the lands that thou hast gone + Such ne thou sawest never none: + Favel of Cyprus, ne Lyard of Prys,[1] + Be not at need as he is; + And if thou wilt, this samė day, + He shall be brought thee to assay.' + Richard answered, 'Thou sayest well + Such a horse, by Saint Michael, + I would have to ride upon.---- + Bid him send that horse to me, + And I shall assay what he be, + If he be trusty, withoutė fail, + I keep none other to me in battail.' + The messengers then homė went, + And told the Soldan in present, + That Richard in the field would come him unto: + The rich Soldan bade to come him unto + A noble clerk that couldė well conjure, + That was a master necromansour: + He commanded, as I you tell, + Thorough the fiendė's might of hell, + Two strong fiendė's of the air, + In likeness of two steedės fair, + Both like in hue and hair, + As men said that there were: + No man saw never none sich; + That one was a mare iliche, + That other a colt, a noble steed, + Where that he were in any mead, + (Were the knight never so bold.) + When the mare neigh wold, + (That him should hold against his will,) + But soon he wouldė go her till, + And kneel down and suck his dame, + Therewith the Soldan with shame + Shouldė king Richard quell, + All this an angel 'gan him tell, + That to him came about midnight. + 'Awake,' he said, 'Goddis knight: + My Lord doth thee to understand + That thee shalt come an horse to land, + Fair it is, of body ypight, + To betray thee if the Soldan might; + On him to ride have thou no drede + For he thee helpė shall at need.' + +The angel gives king Richard several directions about managing this +infernal horse, and a general engagement ensuing, between the Christian +and Saracen armies, + + He leapt on horse when it was light; + Ere he in his saddle did leap + Of many thingės he took keep.-- + His men brought them that he bade, + A square tree of forty feet, + Before his saddle anon he it set, + Fast that they should it brase, &c. + Himself was richėly begone, + From the crest right to the tone,[2] + He was covered wondrously wele + All with splentės of good steel, + And there above an hauberk. + A shaft he had of trusty werk, + Upon his shoulders a shield of steel, + With the libards[3] painted wele; + And helm he had of rich entaile, + Trusty and true was his ventaile: + Upon his crest a dovė white, + Significant of the Holy Sprite, + Upon a cross the dovė stood + Of gold ywrought rich and good, + God[4] himself, Mary and John, + As he was done the rood upon,[5] + In significance for whom he fought, + The spear-head forgat he nought, + Upon his shaft he would it have + Goddis name thereon was grave; + Now hearken what oath he sware, + Ere they to the battaile went there: + 'If it were so, that Richard might + Slay the Soldan in field with fight, + At our willė evereachone + He and his should gone + Into the city of Babylon; + And the king of Macedon + He should have under his hand; + And if the Soldan of that land + Might slay Richard in the field + With sword or spearė under shield, + That Christian men shouldė go + Out of that land for evermo, + And the Saracens their will in wold.' + Quoth king Richard, 'Thereto I hold, + Thereto my glove, as I am knight.' + They be armed and ready dight: + King Richard to his saddle did leap, + Certes, who that would takė keep + To see that sight it were sair; + Their steedės rannė with great ayre,[6] + All so hard as they might dyre,[7] + After their feetė sprang out fire: + Tabors and trumpettės 'gan blow: + There men might see in a throw + How king Richard, that noble man, + Encountered with the Soldan, + The chief was toldė of Damas, + His trust upon his marė was, + And therefor, as the book[8] us tells, + His crupper hungė full of bells, + And his peytrel[9] and his arsowne[10] + Three mile men might hear the soun. + His mare neighed, his bells did ring, + For greatė pride, without lesing, + A falcon brode[11] in hand he bare, + For he thought he wouldė there + Have slain Richard with treasoun + When his colt should kneelė down, + As a colt shouldė suck his dame, + And he was 'warė of that shame, + His ears with wax were stopped fast, + Therefore Richard was not aghast, + He struck the steed that under him went, + And gave the Soldan his death with a dent: + In his shieldė verament + Was painted a serpent, + With the spear that Richard held + He bare him thorough under his sheld, + None of his armour might him last, + Bridle and peytrel all to-brast, + His girthės and his stirrups also, + His ruare to groundė wentė tho; + Maugre her head, he made her seech + The ground, withoutė morė speech, + His feet toward the firmament, + Behinde him the spear outwent + There he fell dead on the green, + Richard smote the fiend with spurrės keen, + And in the name of the Holy Ghost + He driveth into the heathen host, + And as soon as he was come, + Asunder he brake the sheltron,[12] + And all that ever afore him stode, + Horse and man to the groundė yode, + Twenty foot on either side. + When the king of France and his men wist + That the mast'ry had the Christian, + They waxed bold, and good heart took, + Steedės bestrode, and shaftės shook. + +[1] 'Favel of Cyprus, ne Lyard of Prys:' Favel of Cyprus, and Lyard of +Paris, horses of Kichard's. +[2] 'Tone:' toes. +[3] 'Libards:' leopards. +[4] 'God:' our Saviour. +[5] 'As he was done the rood upon:' as he died upon the cross. +[6] 'Ayre:' ire. +[7] 'Dyre:' dare. +[8] 'The book:' the French romance. +[9] 'Peytrel:' the breast-plate or breast-band of a horse. +[10] 'Arsowne:' saddle-bow. +[11] 'falcon brode:' F. bird. +[12] 'Sheltrou:' 'schiltron:' soldiers drawn up in a circle. + +From 'Sir Degore' we quote the description of a dragon, which Warton +thinks drawn by a master:-- + + + DEGORE AND THE DRAGON. + + Degorė went forth his way, + Through a forest half a day: + He heard no man, nor sawė none, + Till it past the high none, + Then heard he great strokės fall, + That it made greatė noise withal, + Full soonė he thought that to see, + To weetė what the strokes might be: + There was an earl, both stout and gay, + He was come there that samė day, + For to hunt for a deer or a doe, + But his houndės were gone him fro. + Then was there a dragon great and grim, + Full of fire and also venim, + With a wide throat and tuskės great, + Upon that knight fast 'gan he beat. + And as a lion then was his feet, + His tail was long, and full unmeet: + Between his head and his tail + Was twenty-two foot withouten fail; + His body was like a wine tun, + He shone full bright against the sun: + His eyes were bright as any glass, + His scales were hard as any brass; + And thereto he was necked like a horse, + He bare his head up with great force: + The breath of his mouth that did out blow + As it had been a fire on lowe[1]. + He was to look on, as I you tell, + As it had been a fiend of hell. + Many a man he had shent, + And many a horsė he had rent. + +[1] 'On lowe:' in flame. + +From Davie's supposed 'Life of Alexander' we extract a description of a +battle, which shews some energy of genius:-- + + + A BATTLE + + Alisander before is ryde, + And many gentle a knight him myde;[1] + As for to gather his meinie free, + He abideth under a tree: + Forty thousand of chivalry + He taketh in his company, + He dasheth him then fast forthward, + And the other cometh afterward. + He seeth his knightės in mischief, + He taketh it greatly a grief, + He takes Bultyphal[2] by the side, + So as a swallow he 'ginneth forth glide. + A duke of Persia soon he met, + And with his lance he him grett. + He pķerceth his breny, cleaveth his shieldė, + The heartė tokeneth the yrnė; + The duke fell downė to the ground, + And starf[3] quickly in that stound: + Alisander aloud then said, + Other toll never I ne paid, + Yet ye shallen of mine pay, + Ere I go more assay. + Another lance in hand he hent, + Against the prince of Tyre he went + He ... him thorough the breast and thare + And out of saddle and crouthe him bare, + And I say for soothė thing + He brake his neck in the falling. + ... with muchel wonder, + Antiochus haddė him under, + And with sword would his heved[4] + From his body have yreaved: + He saw Alisander the goodė gome, + Towards him swithė come, + He lete[5] his prey, and flew on horse, + For to save his owen corse: + Antiochus on steed leap, + Of none woundės ne took he keep, + And eke he had fourė forde + All ymade with spearės' ord.[6] + Tholomeus and all his felawen[7] + Of this succour so weren welfawen, + Alysander made a cry hardy, + 'Ore tost aby aby.' + Then the knightės of Acha’ + Jousted with them of Araby, + They of Rome with them of Mede, + Many land.... + Egypt jousted with them of Tyre, + Simple knights with richė sire: + There n'as foregift ne forbearing + Betweenė vavasour[8] ne king; + Before men mighten and behind + Cunteck[9] seek and cunteck find. + With Persians foughten the Gregeys,[10] + There was cry and great honteys.[11] + They kidden[12] that they weren mice, + They broken spearės all to slice. + There might knight find his pere, + There lost many his distrere:[13] + There was quick in little thraw,[14] + Many gentle knight yslaw: + Many armė, many heved[15] + Some from the body reaved: + Many gentle lavedy[16] + There lost quick her amy.[17] + There was many maim yled,[18] + Many fair pensel bebled:[19] + There was swordės liklaking,[20] + There was spearės bathing, + Both kingės there sans doute + Be in dash'd with all their route, &c. + +[1] 'Myde:' with. +[2] 'Bultyphal:' Bucephalus. +[3] 'Starf:' died. +[4] 'Heved: head. +[5] 'Lete:' left. +[6] 'Ord:' point. +[7] 'Felawen;' fellows. +[7] 'Vavasour:' subject. +[8] 'Cunteck:' strife. +[9] 'Gregeys:' Greeks. +[10] 'Honteys:' shame. +[11] 'Kidden:' thought. +[12] 'Distrere:' horse. +[13] 'Little thraw:' short time. +[14] 'Heved:' head. +[15] 'Lavedy:' lady. +[16] 'Amy:' paramour. +[17] 'Yled:' led along, maimed. +[18] 'Many fair pensel bebled:' many a banner sprinkled with blood. +[19] 'Liklaking:' clashing. + +Davie was also the author of an original poem, entitled, 'Visions in +Verse,' and of the 'Battle of Jerusalem,' in which he versifies a French +romance. In this production Pilate is represented as challenging our +Lord to single combat! + +In 1349, died Richard Rollo, a hermit, and a verse-writer. He lived a +secluded life near the nunnery of Hampole in Yorkshire, and wrote a +number of devotional pieces, most of them very dull. In 1350, Lawrence +Minot produced some short narrative ballads on the victories of Edward +III., beginning with Halidon Hill, and ending with the siege of Guisnes +Castle. His works lay till the end of the last century obscure in a MS. +of the Cotton Collection, which was supposed to be a transcript of the +Works of Chaucer. On a spare leaf of the MS. there had been accidentally +written a name, probably that of its original possessor, 'Richard +Chawsir.' This the getter-up of the Cotton catalogue imagined to be the +name of Geoffrey Chaucer. Mr Tyrwhitt, while foraging for materials to +his edition of 'The Canterbury Tales,' accidentally found out who the +real writer was; and Ritson afterwards published Minot's ballads, which +are ten in number, written in the northern dialect, and in an alliterative +style, and with considerable spirit and liveliness. He has been called the +Tyrtaeus of his age. + +We come now to the immediate predecessor of Chaucer--Robert Langlande. +He was a secular priest, born at Mortimer's Cleobury, in Shropshire, +and educated at Oriel College, Oxford. He wrote, towards the end of the +fourteenth century, a very remarkable work, entitled, 'Visions of William +concerning Piers Plowman.' The general object of this poem is to denounce +the abuses of society, and to inculcate, upon both clergy and laity, their +respective duties. One William is represented as falling asleep among the +Malvern Hills, and sees in his dream a succession of visions, in which +great ingenuity, great boldness, and here and there a powerful vein of +poetry, are displayed. Truth is described as a magnificent tower, and +Falsehood as a deep dungeon. In one canto Religion descends, and gives +a long harangue about what should be the conduct of society and of +individuals. Bribery and Falsehood, in another part of the poem, seek a +marriage with each other, and make their way to the courts of justice, +where they find many friends. Some very whimsical passages are introduced. +The Power of Grace confers upon Piers Plowman, who stands for the +Christian Life, four stout oxen, to cultivate the field of Truth. These +are Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, the last of whom is described as the +gentlest of the team. She afterwards assigns him the like number of stots +or bullocks, to harrow what the evangelists had ploughed, and this new +horned team consists of Saint or Stot Ambrose, Stot Austin, Stot Gregory, +and Stot Jerome. + +Apart from its fantastic structure, 'Piers Plowman' was not only a sign +of the times, but did great service in its day. His voice rings like +that of Israel's minor prophets--like Nahum or Hosea--in a dark and +corrupt age. He proclaims liberal and independent sentiments, he attacks +slavery and superstition, and he predicts the doom of the Papacy as with +a thunder-knell. Chaucer must have felt roused to his share of the +reformatory work by the success of 'Piers Plowman;' Spenser is suspected +to have read and borrowed from him; and even Milton, in his description +of a lazar-house in 'Paradise Lost,' had him probably in his eye. (See +our last extract from 'Piers.') + +On account of the great merit and peculiarity of this work we proceed to +make rather copious extracts. + + + HUMAN LIFE. + + Then 'gan I to meten[1] a marvellous sweven,[2] + That I was in wilderness, I wist never where: + As I beheld into the east, on high to the sun, + I saw a tower on a loft, richly ymaked, + A deep dale beneath, a dungeon therein, + With deep ditches and dark, and dreadful of sight: + A fair field full of folk found I there between, + Of all manner men, the mean and the rich, + Working and wand'ring, as the world asketh; + Some put them to the plough, playeden full seld, + In setting and sowing swonken[3] full hard: + And some put them to pride, &c. + +[1] 'Meten:' dream. +[2] 'Sweven:' dream. +[3] 'Swonken:' toiled. + + + ALLEGORICAL PICTURES. + + Thus robed in russet, I roamed about + All a summer season, for to seek Dowell + And freyned[1] full oft, of folk that I met + If any wight wist where Dowell was at inn, + And what man he might be, of many man I asked; + Was never wight as I went, that me wysh[2] could + Where this lad lenged,[3] lessė or more, + Till it befell on a Friday, two friars I met + Masters of the Minors,[4] men of greatė wit. + I halsed them hendely,[5] as I had learned, + And prayed them for charity, ere they passed further, + If they knew any court or country as they went + Where that Dowell dwelleth, do me to wit,[6] + For they be men on this mould, that most widė walk + And know countries and courts, and many kinnes[7] places, + Both princes' palaces, and poor mennė's cotes, + And Dowell, and Doevil, where they dwell both. + 'Amongst us,' quoth the Minors, 'that man is dwelling + And ever hath as I hope, and ever shall hereafter.' + Contra, quod I, as a clerk, and cumsed to disputen, + And said them soothly, _Septies in die cadit justus_, + Seven sythes,[8] sayeth the book, sinneth the rightful, + And whoso sinneth, I say, doth evil as methinketh, + And Dowell and Doevil may not dwell together, + Ergo he is not alway among you friars; + He is other while elsewhere, to wyshen[9] the people. + 'I shall say thee, my son,' said the friar then, + 'How seven sithes the saddė[10] man on a day sinneth, + By a forvisne'[11] quod the friar, 'I shall thee fair shew; + Let bring a man in a boat, amid the broad water, + The wind and the water, and the boatė wagging, + Make a man many time, to fall and to stand, + For stand he never so stiff, he stumbleth if he move, + And yet is he safe and sound, and so him behoveth, + For if he ne arise the rather, and raght[12] to the steer, + The wind would with the water the boat overthrow, + And then were his life lost through latches[13] of himself. + And thus it falleth,' quod the friar, 'by folk here on earth, + The water is lik'ned to the world, that waneth and waxeth, + The goods of this world are likened to the great waves + That as winds and weathers, walken about, + The boat is liken'd to our body, that brittle is of kind, + That through the flesh, and the frailė world + Sinneth the saddė man, a day seven times, + And deadly sin doeth he not, for Dowell him keepeth, + And that is Charity the champion, chief help against sin, + For he strengtheth man to stand, and stirreth man's soul, + And though thy body bow, as boatė doth in water, + Aye is thy soulė safe, but if thou wilt thyself + Do a deadly sin, and drenchė[14] so thy soul, + God will suffer well thy sloth, if thyself liketh, + For he gave thee two years' gifts, to teme well thyself, + And that is wit and free-will, to every wight a portion, + To flying fowlės, to fishes, and to beasts, + And man hath most thereof, and most is to blame + But if he work well therewith, as Dowell him teacheth.' + 'I have no kind knowing,' quoth I, 'to conceive all your wordės + And if I may live and look, I shall go learnė better; + I beken[15] the Christ, that on the crossė died;' + And I said, 'The samė save you from mischance, + And give you grace on this ground good me to worth.' + And thus I went wide where, walking mine one + By a wide wilderness, and by a woodė's side, + Bliss of the birdės brought me on sleep, + And under a lind[16] on a land, leaned I a stound[17] + To lyth[18] the layės, those lovely fowlės made, + Mirth of their mouthės made me there to sleep. + The marvellousest metelles mettė[19] me then + That ever dreamed wight, in world as I went. + A much man as me thought, and like to myself, + Came and called me, by my kindė[20] namė. + 'What art thou,' quod I then, 'thou that my namė knowest?' + 'That thou wottest well,' quod he, 'and no wight better.' + 'Wot I what thou art?' Thought said he then, + 'I have sued[21] thee this seven years, see ye me no rather?' + 'Art thou Thought?' quoth I then, 'thou couldest me wyssh[22] + Where that Dowell dwelleth, and do me that to know.' + 'Dowell, and Dobetter, and Dobest the third,' quod he, + 'Are three fair virtues, and be not far to find, + Whoso is true of his tongue, and of his two handės, + And through his labour or his lod, his livelod winneth, + And is trusty of his tayling,[23] taketh but his own, + And is no drunkelow ne dedigious, Dowell him followeth; + Dobet doth right thus, and he doth much more, + He is as low as a lamb, and lovėly of speech, + And helpeth all men, after that them needeth; + The baggės and the bigirdles, he hath to-broke them all, + That the earl avarous heldė and his heirės, + And thus to mammons many he hath made him friends, + And is run to religion, and hath rend'red[24] the Bible + And preached to the people Saint Paulė's wordės, + _Libenter suffertis insipientes, cum sitis ipsi sapientes_. + + * * * * * + + And suffereth the unwise with you for to live, + And with glad will doth he good, for so God you hoteth.[25] + Dobest is above both, and beareth a bishop's cross + Is hooked on that one end to halye[26] men from hell; + A pike is on the potent[27] to pull down the wicked + That waiten any wickedness, Dowell to tene;[28] + And Dowell and Dobet amongst them have ordained + To crown one to be king, to rule them boeth, + That if Dowell and Dobet are against Dobest, + Then shall the king come, and cast them in irons, + And but if Dobest bid for them, they be there for ever. + Thus Dowell and Dobet, and Dobestė the third, + Crowned one to be king, to keepen them all, + And to rule the realmė by their three wittės, + And none otherwise but as they three assented.' + I thanked Thought then, that he me thus taught, + And yet favoureth me not thy suging, I covet to learn + How Dowell, Dobest, and Dobetter do among the people. + 'But Wit can wish[29] thee,' quoth Thought, 'where they three dwell, + Else wot I none that can tell that now is alive.' + Thought and I thus, three dayės we yeden[30] + Disputing upon Dowell, dayė after other. + And ere we were 'ware, with Wit 'gan we meet. + He was long and leanė, like to none other, + Was no pride on his apparel, nor poverty neither; + Sad of his semblance, and of soft cheer; + I durst not move no matter, to make him to laugh, + But as I bade Thought then be mean between, + And put forth some purpose to prevent his wits, + What was Dowell from Dobet, and Dobest from them both? + Then Thought in that timė said these wordės; + 'Whether Dowell, Dobet, and Dobest be in land, + Here is well would wit, if Wit could teach him, + And whether he be man or woman, this man fain would espy, + And work as they three would, this is his intent.' + 'Here Dowell dwelleth,' quod Wit, 'not a day hence, + In a castle that kind[31] made, of four kinds things; + Of earth and air is it made, mingled together + With wind and with water, witterly[32] enjoined; + Kindė hath closed therein, craftily withal, + A leman[33] that he loveth, like to himself, + Anima she hight, and Envy her hateth, + A proud pricker of France, _princeps hujus mundi_, + And would win her away with wiles and he might; + And Kind knoweth this well, and keepeth her the better. + And doth her with Sir Dowell is duke of these marches; + Dobet is her damosel, Sir Dowell's daughter, + To serve this lady lelly,[34] both late and rathe.[35] + Dobest is above both, a bishop's pere; + That he bids must be done; he ruleth them all. + Anima, that lady, is led by his learning, + And the constable of the castle, that keepeth all the watch, + Is a wise knight withal, Sir Inwit he hight, + And hath five fair sonnės by his first wife, + Sir Seewell and Saywell, and Hearwell-the-end, + Sir Workwell-with-thy-hand, a wight man of strength, + And Sir Godfray Gowell, great lordės forsooth. + These five be set to save this lady Anima, + Till Kind come or send, to save her for ever.' + 'What kind thing is Kind,' quod I, 'canst thou me tell?'-- + 'Kind,' quod Wit, 'is a creator of all kinds things, + Father and former of all that ever was maked, + And that is the great God that 'ginning had never, + Lord of life and of light, of bliss and of pain, + Angels and all thing are at his will, + And man is him most like, of mark and of shape, + For through the word that he spake, wexen forth beasts, + And made Adam, likest to himself one, + And Eve of his ribbė bone, without any mean, + For he was singular himself, and said _Faciamus_, + As who say more must hereto, than my wordė one, + My might must helpė now with my speech, + Even as a lord should make letters, and he lacked parchment, + Though he could write never so well, if he had no pen, + The letters, for all his lordship, I 'lieve were never ymarked; + And so it seemeth by him, as the Bible telleth, + There he saidė, _Dixit et facta sunt_. + He must work with his word, and his wit shew; + And in this manner was man made, by might of God Almighty, + With his word and his workmanship, and with life to last, + And thus God gave him a ghost[36] of the Godhead of heaven, + And of his great grace granted him bliss, + And that is life that aye shall last, to all our lineage after; + And that is the castle that Kindė made, Caro it hight, + And is as much to meanė as man with a soul, + And that he wrought with work and with word both; + Through might of the majesty, man was ymaked. + Inwit and Allwits closed been therein, + For love of the lady Anima, that life is nempned.[37] + Over all in man's body, she walketh and wand'reth, + And in the heart is her home, and her most rest, + And Inwit is in the head, and to the heartė looketh, + What Anima is lief or loth,[38] he leadeth her at his will + Then had Wit a wife, was hotė Dame Study, + That leve was of lere, and of liche boeth. + She was wonderly wrought, Wit me so teached, + And all staring, Dame Study sternėly said; + 'Well art thou wise,' quoth she to Wit, 'any wisdoms to tell + To flatterers or to foolės, that frantic be of wits;' + And blamed him and banned him, and bade him be still, + With such wisė wordės, to wysh any sots, + And said, '_Noli mittere_, man, _margaritae_, pearls, + Amongė hoggės, that havė hawes at will. + They do but drivel thereon, draff were them lever,[39] + Than all precious pearls that in paradise waxeth.[40] + I say it, by such,' quod she, 'that shew it by their works, + That them were lever[41] land and lordship on earth, + Or riches or rentės, and rest at their will, + Than all the sooth sawės that Solomon said ever. + Wisdom and wit now is not worth a kerse,[42] + But if it be carded with covetise, as clothers kemb their wool; + Whoso can contrive deceits, and conspire wrongs, + And lead forth a lovėday,[43] to let with truth, + He that such craftės can is oft cleped to counsel, + They lead lords with lesings, and belieth truth. + Job the gentle in his gests greatly witnesseth + That wicked men wielden the wealth of this world; + The Psalter sayeth the same, by such as do evil; + _Ecce ipsi peccatores abundantes in seculo obtinuerunt divitias_. + Lo, saith holy lecture, which lords be these shrewes? + Thilkė that God giveth most, least good they dealeth, + And most unkind be to that comen, that most chattel wieldeth.[44] + _Quae perfecisti destrutxerunt, justus autem, &c_. + Harlots for their harlotry may have of their goodės, + And japers and juggelers, and janglers of jestės, + And he that hath holy writ aye in his mouth, + And can tell of Tobie, and of the twelve apostles, + Or preach of the penance that Pilate falsely wrought + To Jesu the gentle, that Jewės to-draw: + Little is he loved that such a lesson sheweth; + Or daunten or draw forth, I do it on God himself, + But they that feign they foolės, and with fayting[45] liveth, + Against the lawė of our Lord, and lien on themself, + Spitten and spewen, and speak foulė wordės, + Drinken and drivellen, and do men for to gape, + Liken men, and lie on them, and lendeth them no giftės, + They can[46] no more minstrelsy nor music men to glad, + Than Mundie, the miller, of _multa fecit Deus_. + Ne were their vile harlotry, have God my truth, + Shouldė never king nor knight, nor canon of Paul's + Give them to their yearė's gift, nor gift of a groat, + And mirth and minstrelsy amongst men is nought; + Lechery, losenchery,[47] and losels' talės, + Gluttony and great oaths, this mirth they loveth, + And if they carpen[48] of Christ, these clerkės and these lewed, + And they meet in their mirth, when minstrels be still, + When telleth they of the Trinity a talė or twain, + And bringeth forth a blade reason, and take Bernard to witness, + And put forth a presumption to prove the sooth, + Thus they drivel at their dais[49] the Deity to scorn, + And gnawen God to their gorge[50] when their guts fallen; + And the careful[51] may cry, and carpen at the gate, + Both a-hunger'd and a-thirst, and for chill[52] quake, + Is none to nymen[53] them near, his noyel[54] to amend, + But hunten him as a hound, and hoten[55] him go hence. + Little loveth he that Lord that lent him all that bliss, + That thus parteth with the poor; a parcel when him needeth + Ne were mercy in mean men, more than in rich; + Mendynauntes meatless[56] might go to bed. + God is much in the gorge of these greatė masters, + And amongės mean men, his mercy and his workės, + And so sayeth the Psalter, I have seen it oft. + Clerks and other kinnes men carpen of God fast, + And have him much in the mouth, and meanė men in heart; + Friars and faitours[57] have founden such questions + To please with the proud men, sith the pestilence time, + And preachen at St Paulė's, for pure envy of clerks, + That folk is not firmed in the faith, nor free of their goods, + Nor sorry for their sinnės, so is pride waxen, + In religion, and in all the realm, amongst rich and poor; + That prayers have no power the pestilence to let, + And yet the wretches of this world are none 'ware by other, + Nor for dread of the death, withdraw not their pride, + Nor be plenteous to the poor, as pure charity would, + But in gains and in gluttony, forglote goods themself, + And breaketh not to the beggar, as the book teacheth. + And the more he winneth, and waxeth wealthy in riches, + And lordeth in landės, the less good he dealeth. + Tobie telleth ye not so, takė heed, ye rich, + How the bible book of him beareth witness; + Whoso hath much, spend manly, so meaneth Tobit, + And whoso little wieldeth, rule him thereafter; + For we have no letter of our life, how long it shall endure. + Suchė lessons lordės shouldė love to hear, + And how he might most meinie, manlich find; + Not to fare as a fiddeler, or a friar to seek feasts, + Homely at other men's houses, and haten their own. + Elenge[58] is the hall every day in the week; + There the lord nor the lady liketh not to sit, + Now hath each rich a rule[59] to eaten by themself + In a privy parlour, for poorė men's sake, + Or in a chamber with a chimney, and leave the chief hall + That was made for mealės men to eat in.'-- + And when that Wit was 'ware what Dame Study told, + He became so confuse he cunneth not look, + And as dumb as death, and drew him arear, + And for no carping I could after, nor kneeling to the earth + I might get no grain of his greatė wits, + But all laughing he louted, and looked upon Study, + In sign that I shouldė beseechen her of grace, + And when I was 'ware of his will, to his wife I louted + And said, 'Mercie, madam, your man shall I worth + As long as I live both late and early, + For to worken your will, the while my life endureth, + With this that ye ken me kindly, to know to what is Dowell.' + 'For thy meekness, man,' quoth she, 'and for thy mild speech, + I shall ken thee to my cousin, that Clergy is hoten.[60] + He hath wedded a wife within these six moneths, + Is syb[61] to the seven arts, Scripture is her name; + They two as I hope, after my teaching, + Shall wishen thee Dowell, I dare undertake.' + Then was I as fain as fowl of fair morrow, + And gladder than the gleeman that gold hath to gift, + And asked her the highway where that Clergy[62] dwelt. + 'And tell me some token,' quoth I, 'for time is that I wend.' + 'Ask the highway,' quoth she, 'hencė to suffer + Both well and woe, if that thou wilt learn; + And ride forth by riches, and rest thou not therein, + For if thou couplest ye therewith, to Clergy comest thou never, + And also the likorous land that Lechery hight, + Leave it on thy left half, a largė mile and more, + Till thou come to a court, keep well thy tongue + From leasings and lyther[63] speech, and likorous drinkės, + Then shalt thou see Sobriety, and Simplicity of speech, + That each might be in his will, his wit to shew, + And thus shall ye come to Clergy that can many things; + Say him this sign, I set him to school, + And that I greet well his wife, for I wrote her many books, + And set her to Sapience, and to the Psalter glose; + Logic I learned her, and many other laws, + And all the unisons to music I made her to know; + Plato the poet, I put them first to book, + Aristotle and other more, to argue I taught, + Grammer for girlės, I gard[64] first to write, + And beat them with a bales but if they would learn; + Of all kindės craftės I contrived toolės, + Of carpentry, of carvers, and compassed masons, + And learned them level and line, though I look dim; + And Theology hath tened[65] me seven score timės; + The more I muse therein, the mistier it seemeth, + And the deeper I divine, the darker me it thinketh. + +[1] 'Freyned:' inquired. +[2] 'Wysh:' inform. +[3] 'Lenged:' lived. +[4] 'Minors:' the friars minors. +[5] 'Halsed them hendely:' saluted them kindly. +[6] 'Do me to wit:' make me to know. +[7] 'Kinnes:' sorts of. +[8] 'Sythes:' times. +[9] 'Wyshen:' inform, teach. +[10] 'Saddė:' sober, good. +[11] 'Forvisne:' similitude. +[12] 'Raght:' reach. +[13] 'Latches:' laziness. +[14] 'Drenchė:' drown. +[15] 'Beken:' confess. +[16] 'Lind:' lime-tree. +[17] 'A stound:' a while. +[18] 'Lyth:' listen. +[19] 'Mettė:' dreamed. +[20] 'Kinde:' own. +[21] 'Sued:' sought. +[22] 'Wyssh:' inform. +[23] 'Tayling:' dealing. +[24] 'Rend'red:' translated. +[25] 'Hoteth:' biddeth. +[26] 'Halve:' draw. +[27] 'Potent:' staff. +[28] 'Tene:' grieve. +[29] 'Wish:' inform. +[30] 'Yeden:' went. +[31] 'Kind:' nature. +[32] 'Witterly:' cunningly. +[33] 'Leman:' paramour. +[34] 'Lelly:' fair. +[35] 'Rathe:' early. +[36] 'Ghost:' spirit. +[37] 'Nempned:' named. +[38] 'Loth:' willing. +[39] 'Lever:' rather. +[40] 'Waxeth: grow. +[41] 'Them were lever:' they had rather. +[42] 'Kerse:' curse. +[43] 'Lovėday:'lady. +[44] 'Wieldeth:' commands. +[45] 'Fayting:' deceiving. +[46] 'Can:' know. +[47] 'Losenchery:' lying. +[48] 'Carpen:' speak. +[49] 'Dais:' table. +[50] 'Gorge:' throat. +[51] 'Careful:' poor. +[52] 'Chill:' cold. +[53] 'Nymen:' take. +[54] 'Noye:' trouble. +[55] 'Hoten:' order. +[56] 'Mendynauntes meatless:' beggars supperless. +[57] 'Faitours:' idle fellows. +[58] 'Elenge:' strange, deserted. +[59] 'Rule:' custom. +[60] 'Hoten:' named. +[61] 'Syb:' mother. +[62] 'Clergy:' learning. +[63] 'Lyther:' wanton. +[64] 'Gard:' made. +[65] 'Tened:' grieved. + + + COVETOUSNESS. + + And then came Covetise; can I him no descrive, + So hungerly and hollow, so sternėly he looked, + He was bittle-browed and baberlipped also; + With two bleared eyen as a blindė hag, + And as a leathern pursė lolled his cheekės, + Well sider than his chin they shivered for cold: + And as a bondman of his bacon his beard was bidrauled, + With a hood on his head, and a lousy hat above. + And in a tawny tabard,[1] of twelve winter age, + Allė torn and baudy, and full of lice creeping; + But that if a louse could have leapen the better, + She had not walked on the welt, so was it threadbare. + 'I have been Covetise,' quoth this caitiff, + 'For sometime I served Symmė at style, + And was his prentice plight, his profit to wait. + First I learned to lie, a leef other twain + Wickedly to weigh, was my first lesson: + To Wye and to Winchester I went to the fair + With many manner merchandise, as my master me hight.-- + Then drave I me among drapers my donet[2] to learn. + To draw the lyfer along, the longer it seemed + Among the rich rays,' &c. + +[1] 'Tabard:' a coat. +[2] 'Donet:' lesson. + + + THE PRELATES. + + And now is religion a rider, a roamer by the street, + A leader of lovėdays,[1] and a loudė[2] beggar, + A pricker on a palfrey from manor to manor, + An heap of houndės at his arse as he a lord were. + And if but his knave kneel, that shall his cope bring, + He loured on him, and asked who taught him courtesy. + +[1] 'Lovėdays:' ladies. +[2] 'Loudė:' lewd. + + + MERCY AND TRUTH. + + Out of the west coast, a wench, as methought, + Came walking in the way, to heavenward she looked; + Mercy hight that maidė, a meek thing withal, + A full benign birdė, and buxom of speech; + Her sister, as it seemed, came worthily walking, + Even out of the east, and westward she looked, + A full comely creature, Truth she hight, + For the virtue that her followed afeared was she never. + When these maidens met, Mercy and Truth, + Either asked other of this great marvel, + Of the din and of the darkness, &c. + + + NATURE, OR KIND, SENDING FORTH HIS DISEASES FROM THE PLANETS, AT + THE COMMAND OF CONSCIENCE, AND OF HIS ATTENDANTS, AGE AND DEATH. + + Kind Conscience then heard, and came out of the planets, + And sent forth his forriours, Fevers and Fluxes, + Coughės and Cardiacles, Crampės and Toothaches, + Rheumės, and Radgondes, and raynous Scallės, + Boilės, and Botches, and burning Agues, + Phreneses and foul Evil, foragers of Kind! + There was 'Harow! and Help! here cometh Kind, + With Death that is dreadful, to undo us all!' + The lord that liveth after lust then aloud cried. + _Age the hoar, he was in the va-ward, + And bare the banner before Death: by right he it claimed._ + Kindė came after, with many keenė sorės, + As Pocks and Pestilences, and much people shent. + So Kind through corruptions, killed full many: + Death came driving after, and all to dust pashed + Kings and Kaisers, knightės and popės. + Many a lovely lady, and leman of knights, + Swooned and swelted for sorrow of Death's dints. + Conscience, of his courtesy, to Kind he besought + To cease and sufire, and see where they would + Leave Pride privily, and be perfect Christian, + And Kind ceased then, to see the people amend. + + +'Piers Plowman' found many imitators. One wrote 'Piers the Plowman's +Crede;' another, 'The Plowman's Tale;' another, a poem on 'Alexander the +Great; 'another, on the 'Wars of the Jews;' and another, 'A Vision of +Death and Life,' extracts from all which may be found in Warton's +'History of English Poetry.' + +We close this preliminary essay by giving a very ancient hymn to the +Virgin, as a specimen of the once universally-prevalent alliterative +poetry. + + + I. + + Hail be you, Mary, mother and may, + Mild, and meek, and merciable; + Hail, folliche fruit of soothfast fay, + Against each strife steadfast and stable; + Hail, soothfast soul in each, a say, + Under the sun is none so able; + Hail, lodge that our Lord in lay, + The foremost that never was founden in fable; + Hail, true, truthful, and tretable, + Hail, chief ychosen of chastity, + Hail, homely, hendy, and amiable: + _To pray for us to thy Sonė so free!_ AVE. + + + II. + + Hail, star that never stinteth light; + Hail, bush burning that never was brent; + Hail, rightful ruler of every right, + Shadow to shield that should be shent; + Hail, blessed be you blossom bright, + To truth and trust was thine intent; + Hail, maiden and mother, most of might, + Of all mischiefs an amendėment; + Hail, spice sprung that never was spent; + Hail, throne of the Trinity; + Hail, scion that God us soon to sent, + _You pray for us thy Sonė free!_ AVE. + + + III. + + Hail, heartily in holiness; + Hail, hope of help to high and low; + Hail, strength and stel of stableness; + Hail, window of heaven wowe; + Hail, reason of righteousness, + To each a caitiff comfort to know; + Hail, innocent of angerness, + Our takel, our tol, that we on trow; + Hail, friend to all that beoth forth flow; + Hail, light of love, and of beauty, + Hail, brighter than the blood on snow: + _You pray for us thy Sonė free!_ AVE. + + + IV. + + Hail, maiden; hail, mother; hail, martyr trew; + Hail, kindly yknow confessour; + Hail, evenere of old law and new; + Hail, builder bold of Christė's bower; + Hail, rose highest of hyde and hue; + Of all fruitė's fairest flower; + Hail, turtle trustiest and true, + Of all truth thou art treasour; + Hail, pured princess of paramour; + Hail, bloom of brere brightest of ble; + Hail, owner of earthly honour: + _You pray for us thy Sonė so free!_ AVE, &c. + + + V. + + Hail, hendy; hail, holy emperess; + Hail, queen courteous, comely, and kind; + Hail, destroyer of every strife; + Hail, mender of every man's mind; + Hail, body that we ought to bless, + So faithful friend may never man find; + Hail, lever and lover of largėness, + Sweet and sweetest that never may swynde; + Hail, botenere[1] of every body blind; + Hail, borgun brightest of all bounty, + Hail, trewore then the wode bynd: + _You pray for us thy Sonė so free!_ AVE. + + + VI. + + Hail, mother; hail, maiden; hail, heaven queen; + Hail, gatus of paradise; + Hail, star of the sea that ever is seen; + Hail, rich, royal, and righteous; + Hail, burde yblessed may you bene; + Hail, pearl of all perrie the pris; + Hail, shadow in each a shower shene; + Hail, fairer than that fleur-de-lis, + Hail, chere chosen that never n'as chis; + Hail, chief chamber of charity; + Hail, in woe that ever was wis: + _You pray for us thy Sonė so free!_ AVE, &c. &c. + +[1] 'Botenere:' helper. + + + + +ADVERTISEMENT. + +It will be observed that, in the specimens given of the earlier poets, the +spelling has been modernised on the principle which has been so generally +approved in its application to the text of Chaucer and of Spenser. + +On a further examination of the material for 'Specimens and Memoirs of the +less-known British Poets,' it has been deemed advisable to devote three +volumes to this _résumé_, and merely to give extracts from Cowley, instead +of following out the arrangement proposed when the issue for this year was +announced. In this space it has been found possible to present the reader +with specimens of almost all those authors whose writings were at any +period esteemed. The series will thus be rendered more perfect, and will +include the complete works of the authors whose entire writings are by +a general verdict regarded as worthy of preservation; together with +representations of the style, and brief notices of the poets who have, +during the progress of our literature, occupied a certain rank, but whose +popularity and importance have in a great measure passed. + +It is confidently hoped that the arrangements now made will give a +completeness to the First Division of the Library Edition of the British +Poets--from Chaucer to Cowper--which will be acceptable and satisfactory +to the general reader. + +Edinburgh, July 1860. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + * * * * * + +FIRST PERIOD. + +JOHN GOWER + The Chariot of the Sun + The Tale of the Coffers or Caskets, &c. + Of the Gratification which the Lover's Passion receives from + the Sense of Hearing + +JOHN BARBOUR + Apostrophe to Freedom + Death of Sir Henry de Bohun + +ANDREW WYNTOUN + +BLIND HARRY + Battle of Black-Earnside + The Death of Wallace + +JAMES I. OF SCOTLAND + Description of the King's Mistress + +JOHN THE CHAPLAIN--THOMAS OCCLEVE + +JOHN LYDGATE + Canace, condemned to Death by her Father Aeolus, sends to her guilty + Brother Macareus the last Testimony of her unhappy Passion + The London Lyckpenny + +HARDING, KAY, &c. + +ROBERT HENRYSON + Dinner given by the Town Mouse to the Country Mouse + The Garment of Good Ladies + +WILLIAM DUNBAR + The Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins through Hell + The Merle and Nightingale + +GAVIN DOUGLAS + Morning in May + +HAWES, BARCLAY, &c. + +SKELTON + To Miss Margaret Hussey + +SIR DAVID LYNDSAY + Meldrum's Duel with the English Champion Talbart + Supplication in Contemption of Side Tails + +THOMAS TUSSER + Directions for Cultivating a Hop-garden + Housewifely Physic + Moral Reflections on the Wind + +VAUX, EDWARDS, &c. + +GEORGE GASCOIGNE + Good-morrow + Good-night + +THOMAS SACKVILLE, LORD BUCKHURST AND EARL OF DORSET + Allegorical Characters from 'The Mirror of Magistrates' + Henry Duke of Buckingham in the Infernal Regions + +JOHN HARRINGTON + Sonnet on Isabella Markham + Verses on a most stony-hearted Maiden + +SIR PHILIP SIDNEY + To Sleep + Sonnets + +ROBERT SOUTHWELL + Look Home + The Image of Death + Love's Servile Lot + Times go by Turns + +THOMAS WATSON + The Nymphs to their May-Queen + Sonnet + +THOMAS TURBERVILLE + In praise of the renowned Lady Aime, Countess of Warwick + +UNKNOWN + Harpalus' Complaint of Phillida's Love bestowed on Corin, who loved + her not, and denied him that loved her + A Praise of his Lady + That all things sometime find Ease of their Pain, save only the Lover + From 'The Phoenix' Nest' + From the same + The Soul's Errand + + * * * * * + +SECOND PERIOD. + +FROM SPENSER TO DRYDEN. + +FRANCIS BEAUMONT + To Ben Jonson + On the Tombs in Westminster + An Epitaph + +SIR WALTER RALEIGH + The Country's Recreations + The Silent Lover + A Vision upon 'The Fairy Queen' + Love admits no Rival + +JOSHUA SYLVESTER + To Religion + On Man's Resemblance to God + The Chariot of the Sun + +RICHARD BARNFIELD + Address to the Nightingale + +ALEXANDER HUME + Thanks for a Summer's Day + +OTHER SCOTTISH POETS + +SAMUEL DANIEL + Richard II., the morning before his Murder in Pomfret Castle + Early Love + Selections from Sonnets + +SIR JOHN DAVIES + Introduction to the Poem on the Soul of Man + The Self-subsistence of the Soul + Spirituality of the Soul + +GILES FLETCHER + The Nativity + Song of Sorceress seeking to tempt Christ + Close of 'Christ's Victory and Triumph' + +JOHN DONNE + Holy Sonnets + The Progress of the Soul + +MICHAEL DRAYTON + Description of Morning + +EDWARD FAIRFAX + Rinaldo at Mount Olivet + +SIR HENRY WOTTON + Farewell to the Vanities of the World + A Meditation + +RICHARD CORBET + Dr Corbet's Journey into France + +BEN JONSON + Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke + The Picture of the Body + To Penshurst + To the Memory of my beloved Master, William Shakspeare, and what + he hath left us + On the Portrait of Shakspeare + +VERE, STORBER, &c + +THOMAS RANDOLPH + The Praise of Woman + To my Picture + To a Lady admiring herself in a Looking-glass + +ROBERT BURTON + On Melancholy + +THOMAS CAREW + Persuasions to Love + Song + To my Mistress sitting by a River's Side + Song + A Pastoral Dialogue + Song + +SIR JOHN SUCKLING + Song + A Ballad upon a Wedding + Song + +WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT + Love's Darts + On the Death of Sir Bevil Grenville + A Valediction + +WILLIAM BROWNE + Song + Song + Power of Genius over Envy + Evening + From 'Britannia's Pastorals' + A Descriptive Sketch + +WILLIAM ALEXANDER, EARL OF STIRLING + Sonnet + +WILLIAM DRUMMOND + The River of Forth Feasting + Sonnets + Spiritual Poems + +PHINEAS FLETCHER + Description of Parthenia + Instability of Human Greatness + Happiness of the Shepherd's Life + Marriage of Christ and the Church + + + * * * * * + + +SPECIMENS, WITH MEMOIRS, OF THE LESS-KNOWN BRITISH POETS. + + + + +JOHN GOWER + + +Very little is told us (as usual in the beginnings of a literature) of +the life and private history of Gower, and that little is not specially +authentic or clearly consistent with itself. His life consists mainly of +a series of suppositions, with one or two firm facts between--like a few +stepping-stones insulated in wide spaces of water. He is said to have +been born about the year 1325, and if so must have been a few years +older than Chaucer; whom he, however, outlived. He was a friend as well +as contemporary of that great poet, who, in the fifth book of his +'Troilus and Cresseide,' thus addresses him:-- + + 'O moral Gower, this bookė I direct, + To thee and the philosophical Strood, + To vouchsafe where need is to correct, + Of your benignities and zealės good.' + +Gower, on the other hand, in his 'Confessio Amantis,' through the mouth +of Venus, speaks as follows of Chaucer:-- + + 'And greet well Chaucer when ye meet, + As my disciple and my poėt; + For 'in the flower of his youth, + In sundry wise, as he well couth, + Of ditties and of songės glad, + The whichė for my sake he made, + The laud fulfill'd is over all,' &c. + +The place of Gower's birth has been the subject of much controversy. +Caxton asserts that he was a native of Wales. Leland, Bales, Pits, +Hollingshed, and Edmondson contend, on the other hand, that he belonged +to the Statenham family, in Yorkshire. In proof of this, a deed is +appealed to, which is preserved among the ancient records of the Marquis +of Stafford. To this deed, of which the local date is Statenham, and the +chronological 1346, one of the subscribing witnesses is _John Gower_ who +on the back of the deed is stated, in the handwriting of at least a +century later, to be '_Sr John Gower the Poet_'. Whatever may be thought +of this piece of evidence, 'the proud tradition,' adds Todd, who had +produced it, 'in the Marquis of Stafford's family has been, and still +is, that the poet was of Statenham; and who would not consider the +dignity of his genealogy augmented by enrolling among its worthies the +moral Gower?' + +From his will we know that he possessed the manor of Southwell, in the +county of Nottingham, and that of Multon, in the county of Suffolk. He +was thus a rich man, as well as probably a knight. The latter fact is +inferred from the circumstance of his effigies in the church of St Mary +Overies wearing a chaplet of roses, such as, says Francis Thynne, 'the +knyghtes in old time used, either of gold or other embroiderye, made +after the fashion of roses, one of the peculiar ornamentes of a knighte, +as well as his collar of S.S.S., his guilte sword and spurres. Which +chaplett or circle of roses was as well attributed to knyghtes, the +lowest degree of honor, as to the higher degrees of duke, erle, &c., +being knyghtes, for so I have seen John of Gaunte pictured in his +chaplett of roses; and King, Edwarde the Thirde gave his chaplett to +Eustace Rybamonte; only the difference was, that as they were of lower +degree, so had they fewer roses placed on their chaplett or cyrcle of +golde, one ornament deduced from the dukes crowne, which had the roses +upon the top of the cyrcle, when the knights had them only upon the +cyrcle or garlande itself.' + +It has been said that Gower as well as Chaucer studied in the Temple. +This, however, Thynne doubts, on the ground that 'it is most certeyn +to be gathered by cyrcumstances of recordes that the lawyers were not +in the Temple until towardes the latter parte of the reygne of Kinge +Edwarde the Thirde, at whiche tyme Chaucer was a grave manne, holden in +greate credyt and employed in embassye;' and when, of course, Gower, +being his senior, must have been 'graver' still. + +There is scarcely anything more to relate of the personal career of our +poet. In his elder days he became attached to the House of Lancaster, +under Thomas of Woodstock, as Chaucer did under John of Gaunt. It is +said that the two poets, who had been warm friends, at last quarrelled, +but obscurity rests on the cause, the circumstances, the duration, and +the consequences of the dispute. Gower, like some far greater bards, +--Milton for instance, and those whom Milton has commemorated, + + 'Blind Thamyris and blind Moeonides, + And Tiresiaa and Phineus, prophets old,'-- + +was sometime ere his death deprived of his sight, as we know on his own +authority. It appears from his will that he was still living in 1408, +having outlived Chaucer eight years. This will is a curious document. +It is that of a very rich and very superstitious Catholic, who leaves +bequests to churches, hospitals, to priors, sub-priors, and priests, +with the significant request '_ut orent pro me_'--a request which, for +the sake of the poor soul of the 'moral Gower,' was we trust devoutly +obeyed, although we are irresistibly reminded of the old rhyme, + + 'Pray for the soul of Gabriel John, + Who died in the year one thousand and one; + You may if you please, or let it alone, + For it's all one + To Gabriel John, + Who died in the year one thousand and one.' + +There is no mention of children in the will, and hence the assertion of +Edmondson, who, in his genealogical table of the Statenham family, says +that Thomas Gower, the governor of the castle of Mans in the times of +the Fifth and Sixth Henrys, was the only son of the poet, and that of +Glover, who, in his 'Visitation of Yorkshire,' describes Gower as +married to a lady named Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Edward Sadbowrughe, +Baron of the Exchequer, by whom he had five sons and three daughters, +must both fall to the ground. According to the will, Gower's wife's name +was Agnes, and he leaves to her £100 in legacy, besides his valuable +goods and the rents accruing from his aforesaid manors of Multon, in +Suffolk, and Southwell, in Nottinghamshire. His body was, according +to his own direction, buried in the monastery of St Mary Overies, in +Southwark, (afterwards the church of St Saviour,) where a monument, and +an effigies, too, were erected, with the roses of a knight girdling the +brow of one who was unquestionably a true, if not a great poet. + +In Warton's 'History of English Poetry,' and in the 'Illustrations of +the Lives and Writings of Gower and Chaucer' by Mr Todd, there will be +found ample and curious details about MS. poems by Gower, such as fifty +sonnets in French; a 'Panegyrick on Henry IV.,' half in Latin and half +in English, a short elegiac poem on the same subject, &c.; besides a +large work, entitled 'Speculum Meditantis,' a poem in French of a moral +cast; and 'Vox Clamantis,' consisting of seven books of Latin elegiacs, +and chiefly filled with a metrical account of the insurrections of the +Commons in the reign of Richard II. In the dedication of this latter +work to Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury, Gower speaks of his blindness +and his age. He says, 'Hanc epistolam subscriptam corde devoto misit +_senex et cecus_ Johannes Gower reverendissimo in Christo patri ac +domino suo precipuo domino Thome de Arundell, Cantuar. Archiepö.' &c. +Warton proves that the 'Vox Clamantis' was written in the year 1397, by +a line in the Bodleian manuscript of the poem, 'Hos ego _bis deno_ +Ricardo regis in anno.' Richard II. began, it is well known, to reign in +the year 1377, when ten years of age, and, of course, the year 1397 was +the twentieth of his reign. It follows from this, that for eleven years +at least before his death Gower had been _senex et cecus_, helpless +through old age and blindness. + +The 'Confessio Amantis' is the only work of Gower's which is printed and +in English. The rest are still slumbering in MS.; and even although the +'Vox Clamantis' should put in a sleepy plea for the resurrection of +print, on the whole we are disposed to say, better for all parties that +it and the rest should slumber on. But the 'Confessio Amantis' is +altogether a remarkable production. It is said to have been written at +the command of Richard II., who, meeting our poet rowing on the Thames, +near London, took him on board the royal barge, and requested him to +_book some new thing_. It is an English poem, in eight books, and was +first printed by Caxton in the year 1483. The 'Speculum Meditantis,' +'Vox Clamantis,' and 'Confessio Amantis,' are, properly speaking, parts +of one great work, and are represented by three volumes upon Gower's +curious tomb in the old conventual church of St Mary Overies already +alluded to--a church, by the way, which the poet himself assisted in +rebuilding in the elegant shape which it retains to this day. + +The 'Confessio' is a large unwieldy collection of poetry and prose, +superstition and science, love and religion, allegory and historical +facts. It is crammed with all varieties of learning, and a perverse but +infinite ingenuity is shewn in the arrangement of its heterogeneous +materials. In one book the whole mysteries of the Hermetic philosophy +are expounded, and the wonders of alchymy dazzle us in every page. +In another, the poet scales the heights and sounds the depths of +Aristotelianism. From this we have extracted in the 'Specimens' a +glowing account of 'The Chariot of the Sun.' Throughout the work, tales +and stories of every description and degree of merit are interspersed. +These are principally derived from an old book called 'Pantheon; or, +Memoriae Seculorum,'--a kind of universal history, more studious of +effect than accuracy, in which the author ranges over the whole history +of the world, from the creation down to the year 1186. This was a +specimen of a kind of writing in which the Middle Ages abounded--namely, +chronicles, which gradually superseded the monkish legends, and for +a time eclipsed the classics themselves; a kind of writing hovering +between history and fiction, embracing the widest sweep, written in a +barbarous style, and swarming with falsehoods; but exciting, interesting, +and often instructive, and tending to kindle curiosity, and +create in the minds of their readers a love for literature. + +Besides chronicles, Gower had read many romances, and alludes to them +in various parts of his works. His 'Confessio Amantis' was apparently +written after Chaucer's 'Troilus and Cresseide,' and after 'The Flower +and the Leaf,' inasmuch as he speaks of the one and imitates the other +in that poem. That Chaucer had not, however, yet composed his 'Testament +of Love,' appears from the epilogue to the 'Confessio,' where Gower is +ordered by Venus, who expresses admiration of Chaucer for the early +devotion of his muse to her service, to say to him at the close-- + + 'Forthy, now in his daies old, + Thou shalt him tell this message, + That he upon his later age + To set an end of all his work, + As he which is mine owen clerk, + Do make his Testament of Love, + As thou hast done thy shrift above, + So that my court it may record'-- + +the 'shrift' being of course the 'Confessio Amantis.' In 'The Canterbury +Tales' there are several indications that Chaucer was indebted to Gower +--'The Man of Law's Tale' being borrowed from Gower's 'Constantia,' and +'The Wife of Bath's Tale' being founded on Gower's 'Florent.' + +After all, Gower cannot be classed with the greater bards. He sparkles +brightly chiefly from the depth of the darkness through which he shines. +He is more remarkable for extent than for depth, for solidity than for +splendour, for fuel than for fire, for learning than for genius. + + +THE CHARIOT OF THE SUN. + +Of goldė glist'ring spoke and wheel +The Sun his cart hath fair and wele, +In which he sitteth, and is croned[1] +With bright stonės environed: +Of which if that I speakė shall, +There be before in special +Set in the front of his corone +Three stones, whichė no person +Hath upon earth; and the first is +By name cleped Leucachatis. +That other two cleped thus +Astroites and Ceraunus; +In his corone, and also behind, +By oldė bookės as I find, +There be of worthy stonės three, +Set each of them in his degree. +Whereof a crystal is that one, +Which that corone is set upon: +The second is an adamant: +The third is noble and evenant, +Which cleped is Idriades. +And over this yet natheless, +Upon the sidės of the werk, +After the writing of the clerk, +There sitten fivė stones mo.[2] +The Smaragdine is one of tho,[3] +Jaspis, and Eltropius, +And Vendides, and Jacinctus. +Lo thus the corone is beset, +Whereof it shineth well the bet.[4] +And in such wise his light to spread, +Sits with his diadem on head, +The Sunnė shining in his cart: +And for to lead him swith[5] and smart, +After the bright dayė's law, +There be ordained for to draw, +Four horse his chare, and him withal, +Whereof the namės tell I shall. +Eritheus the first is hote,[6] +The which is red, and shineth hot; +The second Acteos the bright; +Lampes the thirdė courser hight; +And Philogens is the ferth, +That bringen light unto this earth, +And go so swift upon the heaven, +In four and twenty hourės even, +The cartė with the brightė sun +They drawen, so that over run +They have under the circles high, +All middė earth in such an hie.[7] + +And thus the sun is over all +The chief planet imperial, +Above him and beneath him three. +And thus between them runneth he, +As he that hath the middle place +Among the seven: and of his face +Be glad all earthly creatures, +And taken after the natures +Their ease and recreation. +And in his constellation +Who that is born in special, +Of good-will and of liberal +He shall be found in allė place, +And also stand in muchel grace +Toward the lordės for to serve, +And great profit and thank deserve. + +And over that it causeth yet +A man to be subtil of wit, +To work in gold, and to be wise +In everything, which is of prise.[8] +But for to speaken in what coast +Of all this earth he reigneth most, +As for wisdom it is in Greece, +Where is appropred thilk spece.[9] + +[1] 'Croned:' crowned. +[2] 'Mo:' more. +[3] 'Tho:' those. +[4] 'Bet:' better. +[5] 'Swith:' swift. +[6] 'Hot:' named. +[7] 'Hie:' haste. +[8] 'Prise:' value. +[9] 'Thilk spece:' that kind. + + +THE TALE OF THE COFFERS OR CASKETS, &c. + +In a chroniquė thus I read: +About a kingė, as must need, +There was of knightės and squiers +Great rout, and ekė officers: +Some of long timė him had served, +And thoughten that they have deserved +Advancėment, and gone without: +And some also been of the rout, +That comen but a while agon, +And they advanced were anon. + +These oldė men upon this thing, +So as they durst, against the king +Among themselves complainen oft: +But there is nothing said so soft, +That it ne cometh out at last: +The king it wist, anon as fast, +As he which was of high prudence: +He shope[1] therefore an evidence +Of them that 'plainen in the case +To know in whose default it was: +And all within his own intent, +That none more wistė what it meant. +Anon he let two coffers make, +Of one sembląnce, and of one make, +So like, that no life thilkė throw,[2] +The one may from that other know: +They were into his chamber brought, +But no man wot why they be wrought, +And natheless the king hath bede +That they be set in privy stede,[3] +As he that was of wisdom sly; +When he thereto his timė sih,[4] +All privily that none it wist, +His ownė handės that one chest +Of fine gold, and of fine perrie,[5] +The which out of his treasury +Was take, anon he filled full; +That other coffer of straw and mull,[6] +With stonės meynd[7] he fill'd also: +Thus be they full bothė two. +So that erliche[8] upon a day +He bade within, where he lay, +There should be before his bed +A board up set and fairė spread: +And then he let the coffers fet[9] +Upon the board, and did them set, +He knew the namės well of tho,[10] +The which against him grutched[11] so, +Both of his chamber, and of his hall, +Anon and sent for them all; +And saidė to them in this wise: + +'There shall no man his hap despise: +I wot well ye have longė served, +And God wot what ye have deserved; +But if it is along[12] on me +Of that ye unadvanced be, +Or else if it be long on yow, +The soothė shall be proved now: +To stoppė with your evil word, +Lo! here two coffers on the board; +Choose which you list of bothė two; +And witteth well that one of tho +Is with treasure so full begon, +That if he happė thereupon +Ye shall be richė men for ever: +Now choose and take which you is lever,[13] +But be well 'ware ere that ye take, +For of that one I undertake +There is no manner good therein, +Whereof ye mighten profit win. +Now go together of one assent, +And taketh your advisėment; +For but I you this day advance, +It stands upon your ownė chance, +All only in default of grace; +So shall be shewed in this place +Upon you all well afine,[14] +That no defaultė shall be mine.' + +They kneelen all, and with one voice +The king they thanken of this choice: +And after that they up arise, +And go aside and them advise, +And at lastė they accord +(Whereof their talė to record +To what issue they be fall) +A knight shall speakė for them all: +He kneeleth down unto the king, +And saith that they upon this thing, +Or for to win, or for to lose, +Be all advised for to choose. + +Then took this knight a yard[15] in hand, +And go'th there as the coffers stand, +And with assent of every one +He lay'th his yardė upon one, +And saith the king[16] how thilkė same +They chose in reguerdon[17] by name, +And pray'th him that they might it have. + +The king, which would his honour save, +When he had heard the common voice, +Hath granted them their ownė choice, +And took them thereupon the key; +But for he wouldė it were see +What good they have as they suppose, +He bade anon the coffer unclose, +Which was fulfill'd with straw and stones: +Thus be they served all at ones. + +This king then in the samė stede, +Anon that other coffer undede, +Where as they sawen great richés, +Well morė than they couthen [18] guess. + +'Lo!' saith the king, 'now may ye see +That there is no default in me; +Forthy[19] myself I will acquite, +And beareth ye your ownė wite[20] +Of that fortune hath you refused.' + +Thus was this wisė king excused: +And they left off their evil speech. +And mercy of their king beseech. + +[1] 'Shope:' contrived. +[2] 'Thilkė throw:' at that time. +[3] 'Stede:' place. +[4] 'Sih:' saw. +[5] 'Perrie:' precious stones. +[6] 'Mull:' rubbish. +[7] 'Meynd:' mingled. +[8] 'Erlich:' early. +[9] 'Fet:' fetched. +[10] 'Tho:' those. +[11] 'Grutched:' murmured. +[12] 'Along:' because of. +[13] 'Lever:' preferable. +[14] 'Afine:' at last. +[15] 'Yard:' rod. +[16] 'Saith the king:' saith to the king. +[17] 'Reguerdon:' as their reward. +[18] 'Couthen:' could. +[19] 'Forthy:' therefore. +[20] 'Wite:' blame. + + +OF THE GRATIFICATION WHICH THE LOVERS PASSION RECEIVES +FROM THE SENSE OF HEARING. + +Right as mine eyė with his look +Is to mine heart a lusty cook +Of lovė's foodė delicate; +Right so mine ear in his estate, +Where as mine eyė may nought serve, +Can well mine heartė's thank deserve; +And feeden him, from day to day, +With such dainties as he may. + +For thus it is that, over all +Where as I come in special, +I may hear of my lady price:[1] +I hear one say that she is wise; +Another saith that she is good; +And some men say of worthy blood +That she is come; and is also +So fair that nowhere is none so: +And some men praise her goodly chere.[2] +Thus everything that I may hear, +Which soundeth to my lady good, +Is to mine ear a lusty food. +And eke mine ear hath, over this, +A dainty feastė when so is +That I may hear herselvė speak; +For then anon my fast I break +On suchė wordės as she saith, +That full of truth and full of faith +They be, and of so good disport, +That to mine earė great comfórt +They do, as they that be delices +For all the meats, and all the spices, +That any Lombard couthė[3] make, +Nor be so lusty for to take, +Nor so far forth restoratif, +(I say as for mine ownė life,) +As be the wordės of her mouth +For as the windės of the south +Be most of allė debonaire;[4] +So, when her list to speakė fair, +The virtue of her goodly speech +Is verily mine heartė's leech. + +And if it so befall among, +That she carol upon a song, +When I it hear, I am so fed, +That I am from myself so led +As though I were in Paradise; +For, certes, as to mine avģs,[5] +When I hear of her voice the steven,[6] +Methink'th it is a bliss of heaven. + +And eke in other wise also, +Full oftė time it falleth so, +Mine carė with a good pitąnce[7] +Is fed of reading of romance +Of Ydoine and of Amadas, +That whilom weren in my case; +And eke of other many a score, +That loveden long ere I was bore. +For when I of their lovės read, +Mine eare with the tale I feed, +And with the lust of their histoire +Sometime I draw into memoire, +How sorrow may not ever last; +And so hope cometh in at last. + +[1] 'Price:' praise. +[2] 'Chere:' mien. +[3] 'Couthė:' knows to. +[4] 'Debonaire:' gentle. +[5] 'Avis:' opinion. +[6] 'Steven:' sound. +[7] 'Pitance:' allowance. + + + + +JOHN BARBOUR. + + +The facts known about this Scottish poet are only the following. He +seems to have been born about the year 1316, in, probably, the city of +Aberdeen. This is stated by Hume of Godscroft, by Dr Mackenzie, and +others, but is not thoroughly authenticated. Some think he was the son +of one Andrew Barbour, who possessed a tenement in Castle Street, +Aberdeen; and others, that he was related to one Robert Barbour, who, in +1309, received a charter of the lands of Craigie, in Forfarshire, from +King Robert the Bruce. These, however, are mere conjectures, founded +upon a similarity of name. It is clear, from Barbour's after rank in +the Church, that he had received a learned education, but whether in +Arbroath or Aberdeen is uncertain. We know, however, that a school of +divinity and canon law had existed at Aberdeen since the reign of +Alexander II., and it is conjectured that Barbour first studied there, +and then at Oxford. In the year 1357, he was undoubtedly Archdeacon of +Aberdeen, since we find him, under this title, nominated by the Bishop +of that diocese, one of the Commissioners appointed to meet in Edinburgh +to take measures to liberate King David, who had been captured at the +battle of Nevil's Cross, and detained from that date in England. It +seems evident, from the customs of the Roman Catholic Church, that he +must have been at least forty when he was created Archdeacon, and this +is a good reason for fixing his birth in the year 1316. + +In the same year, Barbour obtained permission from Edward III., at the +request of the Scottish King, to travel through England with three +scholars who were to study at Oxford, probably at Balliol College, which +had, a hundred years nearly before, been founded and endowed by the wife +of the famous John Balliol of Scotland. Some years afterwards, in +November 1364, he got permission to pass, accompanied by four horsemen, +through England, to pursue his studies at the same renowned university. +In the year 1365, we find another casual notice of our Scottish bard. A +passport has been found giving him permission from the King of England +to travel, in company with six horsemen, through that country on their +way to St Denis', and other sacred places. It is evident that this was +a religious pilgrimage on the part of Barbour and his companions. + +A most peripatetic poet; verily, he must have been; for we find another +safe-conduct, dated November 1368, granted by Edward to Barbour, +permitting him, to pass through England, with two servants and their +horses, on his way to France, for the purpose of pursuing his studies +there. Dr Jamieson (see his 'Life of Barbour') discovers the poet's name +in the list of Auditors of the Exchequer. + +Barbour has himself told us that he commenced his poem in the 'yer of +grace, a thousand thre hundyr sevynty and five,' when, of course, he +was in his sixtieth year, or, as he says, 'off hys eld sexty.' It is +supposed that David II.--who died in 1370--had urged Barbour to engage +in the work, which was not, however, completed till the fifth year of +his successor, Robert II., who gave our poet a pension on account of it. +This consisted of a sum of ten pounds Scots from the revenues of the +city of Aberdeen, and twenty shillings from the burgh mails. Mr James +Bruce, to whose interesting Life of Barbour, in his 'Eminent Men of +Aberdeen,' we are indebted for many of the facts in this narrative, +says, 'The latter of these sums was granted to him, not merely during +his own life, but to his assignees; and the Archdeacon bequeathed it to +the dean, canons, the chapter, and other ministers of the Cathedral of +Aberdeen, on condition that they should for ever celebrate a yearly mass +for his soul. At the Reformation, when it came to be discovered that +masses did no good to souls in the other world, it is probable that this +endowment reverted to the Crown.' + +Barbour also wrote a poem under what seems now the strange title, 'The +Brute.' This was in reality a metrical history of Scotland, commencing +with the fables concerning Brutus, or 'Brute,' who, according to ancient +legends, was the great-grandson of Aeneas--came over from Italy, the +land of his birth--landed at Totness, in Devonshire--destroyed the +giants who then inhabited Albion--called the island 'Britain' from his +own name, and became its first monarch. From this original fable, +Barbour is supposed to have wandered on through a hundred succeeding +stories of similar value, till he came down to his own day. There can be +little regret felt, therefore, that the book is totally lost. Wynton, in +his 'Chronicle,' refers to it in commendatory terms; but it cannot be +ascertained from his notices whether it was composed in Scotch or in +Latin. + +Barbour died about the beginning of the year 1396, eighty years of age. +Lord Hailes ascertained the time of his death from the Chartulary of +Aberdeen, where, under the date of 10th August 1398, mention is made of +'quondam Joh. Barber, Archidiaconus, Aberd., and where it is said that +he had died two years and a half before, namely, in 1396.' + +His great work, 'The Bruce,' or more fully, 'The History of Robert +Bruce, King of the Scots,' does not appear to have been printed till +1616 in Edinburgh. Between that date and the year 1790, when Pinkerton's +edition appeared, no less than twenty impressions were published, (the +principal being those of Edinburgh in 1620 and 1648; Glasgow, 1665; and +Edinburgh, 1670--all in black letter,) so popular immediately became the +poem. Pinkerton's edition is in three volumes, and has a preface, notes, +and a glossary, all of considerable value. The MS. was copied from a +volume in the Advocates' Library, of the date of 1489, which was in the +handwriting of one John Ramsay, believed to have been the prior of a +Carthusian monastery near Perth. Pinkerton first divided 'The Bruce' +into books. It had previously, like the long works of Naerius and +Ennius, the earliest Roman poets, consisted of one entire piece, woven +'from the top to the bottom without seam,' like the ancient simple +garments in Jewry. The late respectable and very learned Dr Jamieson, of +Nicolson Street United Secession Church, Edinburgh, well known as the +author of the 'Scottish Dictionary,' 'Hermes Scythicus,' &c., published, +in 1820, a more accurate edition of 'The Bruce,' along with Blind +Harry's 'Wallace,' in two quarto volumes. + +In strict chronology Barbour belongs to an earlier date than Chaucer, +having been born and having died a few years before him. But as the +first Scotch poet who has written anything of length, with the exception +of the author of the 'Romance of Sir Tristrem,' he claims a conspicuous +place in our 'Specimens.' He was singularly fortunate in the choice of +a subject. With the exception of Wallace, there is no name in Scottish +history that even yet calls up prouder associations than that of Robert +Bruce. The incidents in his history,--the escape he made from English +bondage to rescue his country from the same yoke; his rise refulgent +from the stroke which, in the cloisters of the Gray Friars, Dumfries, +laid the Red Comyn low; his daring to be crowned at Scone; his frequent +defeats; his lion-like retreat to the Hebrides, accompanied by one or +two friends, his wife meanwhile having been carried captive, three of +his brothers hanged, and himself supposed to be dead; the romantic +perils he survived, and the victories he gained amidst the mountains +where the deep waters of the river Awe are still telling of his name, +and the echoes of Ben Cruachan repeating the immortal sound; his sudden +reappearance on the west coast of Scotland, where, as he 'shook his +Carrick spear,' his country rose, kindling around him like heather on +flame; the awful suspense of the hour when it was announced that Edward +I., the tyrant of the Ragman's Roll, the murderer of Wallace, was +approaching with a mighty army to crush the revolt; the electrifying +news that he had died at Sark, as if struck by the breath of the fatal +Border, which he had reached, but could not overpass; the bloody +summer's day of Bannockburn, in which Edward II. was repelled, and the +gallant army of his father annihilated; the energy and wisdom of the +Bruce's civil administration after the victory; the less famous, but +noble battle of Byland, nine years after Bannockburn, in which he again +smote the foes of his country; and the recognition which at last he +procured, on the accession of Edward III., of the independence of +Scotland in 1329, himself dying the same year, his work done and his +glory for ever secured,--not to speak of the beautiful legends which +have clustered round his history like ivy round an ancestral tower--of +the spider on the wall, teaching him the lesson of perseverance, as he +lay in the barn sad and desponding in heart--of the strange signal-light +upon the shore near his maternal castle of Turnberry, which led him to +land, while + + 'Dark red the heaven above it glow'd, + Dark red the sea beneath it flow'd, + Red rose the rocks on ocean's brim, + In blood-red light her islets swim, + Wild screams the dazzled sea-fowl gave, + Dropp'd from their crags a plashing wave, + The deer to distant covert drew, + The blackcock deem'd it day, and crew;' + +and last, not least, the adventures of his gallant, unquenchable heart, +when, in the hand of Douglas,--meet casket for such a gem!--it marched +onwards, as it was wont to do, in conquering power, toward the Holy +Land;--all this has woven a garland round the brow of Bruce which every +civilised nation has delighted to honour, and given him besides a share +in the affections and the pride of his own land, with the joy of which +'no stranger can intermeddle.' + +Bruce has been fortunate in his laureates, consisting of three of +Scotland's greatest poets,--Barbour, Scott, and Burns. The last of these +has given us a glimpse of the patriot-king, revealing him on the brow of +Bannockburn as by a single flash of lightning. The second has, in 'The +Lord of the Isles,' seized and sung a few of the more romantic passages +of his history. But Barbour has, with unwearied fidelity and no small +force, described the whole incidents of Bruce's career, and reared to +his memory, not an insulated column, but a broad and deep-set temple of +poetry. + +Barbour's poem has always been admired for its strict accuracy of +statement, to which Bower, Wynton, Hailes, Pinkerton, Jamieson, and Sir +Walter Scott all bear testimony; for the picturesque force of its +natural descriptions; for its insight into character, and the lifelike +spirit of its individual sketches; for the martial vigour of its battle- +pictures; for the enthusiasm which he feels, and makes his reader feel, +for the valiant and wise, the sagacious and persevering, the bold, +merciful, and religious character of its hero, and for the piety which +pervades it, and proves that the author was not merely a churchman in +profession, but a Christian at heart. Its defects of rude rhythm, +irregular constructions, and obsolete phraseology, are those of its age; +but its beauties, its unflagging interest, and its fine poetic spirit, +are characteristic of the writer's own genius. + + +APOSTROPHE TO FREEDOM. + +Ah! freedom is a noble thing! +Freedom makes man to have liking! +Freedom all solace to man gives: +He lives at ease that freely lives! +A noble heart may have none ease, +Nor nought else that may him please, +If freedom fail; for free liking +Is yearned o'er all other thing. +Nay, he that aye has lived free, +May not know well the property, +The anger, nor the wretched doom, +That is coupled to foul thirldom. +But if he had assayed it, +Then all perquier[1] he should it wit: +And should think freedom more to prize +Than all the gold in world that is. + +[1] 'Perquier:' perfectly. + + +DEATH OF SIR HENRY DE BOHUN. + +And when the king wist that they were +In hale[1] battle, coming so near, +His battle gart[2] he well array. +He rode upon a little palfrey, +Laughed and jolly, arrayand +His battle, with an axe in hand. +And on his bassinet he bare +A hat of tyre above aye where; +And, thereupon, into tok'ning, +An high crown, that he was king. +And when Gloster and Hereford were +With their battle approaching near, +Before them all there came ridand, +With helm on head and spear in hand, +Sir Henry the Bohun, the worthy, +That was a wight knight, and a hardy, +And to the Earl of Hereford cousin; +Armed in armis good and fine; +Came on a steed a bowshot near, +Before all other that there were: +And knew the king, for that he saw +Him so range his men on raw,[3] +And by the crown that was set +Also upon his bassinet. +And toward him he went in hy.[4] +And the king so apertly[5] +Saw him come, forouth[6] all his feres,[7] +In hy till him the horse he steers. +And when Sir Henry saw the king +Come on, forouten[8] abasing, +To him he rode in full great hy. +He thought that he should well lightly +Win him, and have him at his will, +Since he him horsed saw so ill. +Sprent they samen into a lyng;[9] +Sir Henry miss'd the noble king; +And he that in his stirrups stood, +With the axe, that was hard and good, +With so great main, raucht[10] him a dint, +That neither hat nor helm might stint +The heavy dush that he him gave, +The head near to the harns[11] he clave. +The hand-axe shaft frushit[12] in two; +And he down to the yird[13] 'gan go +All flatlings, for him failed might. +This was the first stroke of the fight, +That was performed doughtily. +And when the king's men so stoutly +Saw him, right at the first meeting, +Forouten doubt or abasing, +Have slain a knight so at a straik, +Such hardment thereat 'gan they take, +That they come on right hardily. +When Englishmen saw them so stoutly +Come on, they had great abasing; +And specially for that the king +So smartly that good knight has slain, +That they withdrew them everilk ane, +And durst not one abide to fight: +So dread they for the king his might. +When that the king repaired was, +That gart his men all leave the chase, +The lordis of his company +Blamed him, as they durst, greatumly, +That be him put in aventure, +To meet so stith[14] a knight, and stour, +In such point as he then was seen. +For they said, well it might have been +Cause of their tynsal[15] everilk ane. +The king answer has made them nane, +But mainit[16] his hand-axe shaft so +Was with the stroke broken in two. + +[1] 'Hale:' whole. +[2] 'Gart:' caused. +[3] 'Haw:' row +[4] 'Hy:' haste +[5] 'Apertly:' openly, clearly. +[6] 'Forouth:' beyond. +[7] 'Feres:' companions. +[8] 'Forouten:' without. +[9] 'Sprent they samen into a lyng:' they sprang forward at once, + against each other, in a line. +[10] 'Raucht:' reached. +[11] 'Harns:' brains. +[12] 'Frushit:' broke. +[13] 'Yird:' earth. +[14] 'Stith:' strong. +[15] 'Tynsal:' destruction. +[16] 'Mainit:' lamented. + + + + +ANDREW WYNTOUN. + + +This author, who was prior of St Serf's monastery in Loch Leven, is the +author of what he calls 'An Orygynale Cronykil of Scotland.' It appeared +about the year 1420. It is much inferior to the work of Barbour in +poetry, but is full of historical information, anecdote, and legend. The +language is often sufficiently prosaic. Thus the poet begins to describe +the return of King David II. from his captivity, referred to above. + + 'Yet in prison was king Davy, + And when a lang time was gane bye, + Frae prison and perplexitie + To Berwick castle brought was he, + With the Earl of Northamptoun, + For to treat there of his ransoun; + Some lords of Scotland come there, + And als prelates that wisest were,' &c. + +Contemporary, or nearly so, with Wyntoun were several other Scottish +writers, such as one Hutcheon, of whom we know only that he is +designated of the 'Awle Ryall,' or of the Royal Hall or Palace, and that +he wrote a metrical romance, of which two cantos remain, called 'The +Gest of Arthur;' and another, named Clerk of Tranent, the author of a +romance, entitled 'The Adventures of Sir Gawain.' Of this latter also +two cantos only are extant. Although not perhaps deserving to have even +portions of them extracted, they contain a good deal of poetry. A +person, too, of the name of Holland, about whose history we have no +information, produced a satirical poem, called 'The Howlate,' written in +the allegorical form, and bearing some resemblance to 'Pierce Plowman's +Vision.' + + + + +BLIND HARRY. + + +Although there are diversities of opinion as to the exact time when this +blind minstrel flourished, we prefer alluding to him at this point, +where he stands in close proximity to Barbour, the author of a poem on +a subject so cognate to 'Wallace' as 'Bruce.' Nothing is known of Harry +but that he was blind from infancy, that he composed this poem, and +gained a subsistence by reciting or singing portions of it through the +country. Another Wandering Willie, (see 'Redgauntlet,') he 'passed like +night from land to land,' led by his own instincts, and wherever he met +with a congenial audience, he proceeded to chant portions of the noble +knight's achievements, his eyes the while twinkling, through their sad +setting of darkness, with enthusiasm, and often suffused with tears. +In some minds the conception of this blind wandering bard may awaken +ludicrous emotions, but to us it suggests a certain sublimity. Blind +Harry has powerfully described Wallace standing in the light and +shrinking from the ghost of Fawdoun, (see the 'Battle of Black- +Earnside,' in the 'Specimens,') but Harry himself seems walking in the +light of the ghost of Wallace, and it ministers to him, not terror, but +inspiration. Entering a cot at night, and asked for a tale, he begins, +in low tones, to recite that frightful apparition at Gaskhall, and the +aged men and the crones vie with the children in drawing near the 'ingle +bleeze,' as if in fire alone lay the refuge from + + 'Fawdoun, that ugly sire, + That haill hall he had set into a fire, + As to his sight, his OWN HEAD IN HIS HAND.' + +Arriving in a village at the hour of morning rest and refreshment, he +charms the swains by such words as + + 'The merry day sprang from the orient + With beams bright illuminate the Occident, + After Titan Phoebus upriseth fair, + High in the sphere the signs he made declare. + Zephyrus then began his morning course, + The sweet vapour thus from the ground resourse,' &c.-- + +and the simple villagers wonder at hearing these images from one who is +blind, not seeing the sun. As the leaves are rustling down from the +ruddy trees of late autumn, he sings to a little circle of wayside +wanderers-- + + 'The dark region appearing wonder fast, + In November, when October was past, + + * * * * * + + Good Wallace saw the night's messenger, + Phoebus had lost his fiery beams so clear; + Out of that wood they durst not turn that side + For adversours that in their way would hide.' + +And while on the verge of the December sky, the wintry sun is trembling +and about to set as if for ever, then is the Minstrel's voice heard +sobbing amidst the sobs of his hearers, as he tells how his hero's sun +went down while it was yet day. + + 'On Wednesday the false Southron furth brocht + To martyr him as they before had wrocht, + Of men in arms led him a full great rout, + With a bauld sprite guid Wallace blent about.' + +There can be little doubt that Blind Harry, during his lifetime, became +a favourite, nay, a power in the realm. Wherever he circulated, there +circulated the fame of Wallace; there, his deeds were recounted; there, +hatred of a foreign foe, and love to their native land, were inculcated +as first principles; and long after the Homer of Scotland had breathed +his last, and been consigned perhaps to some little kirkyard among the +uplands, his lays continued to live; and we know that such a man as +Burns (who read them in the modern paraphrase of William Hamilton of +Gilbertfield, a book which was, till within a somewhat recent period, +a household god in the libraries of the Scotch) derived from the old +singer much of 'that national prejudice which boiled in his breast till +the floodgates of life shut in eternal rest.' If Barbour, as we said, +was fortunate in his subject, still more was Blind Harry in his. The +interest felt in Wallace is of a deeper and warmer kind than that which +we feel in Bruce. Bruce was of royal blood; Wallace was from an ancient +but not wealthy family. Bruce stained his career by one great crime +--great in itself, but greater from the peculiar notions of the age +--the murder of Comyn in the sanctuary of Dumfries; on the character of +Wallace no similar imputation rests. Wallace initiated that plan of +guerilla warfare,--that fighting now on foot and now on the wing, now +with beak and now with talons, now with horns and now with hoofs,--which +Bruce had only to perfect. Wallace was unsuccessful, and was besides +treated by the King of England with revolting barbarity; while Bruce +became victorious: and, as we saw in our remarks on Chaucer, it is the +unfortunate brave who stamp themselves most forcibly on a nation's +heart, and it is the red letters, which tell of suffering and death, +which are with most difficulty erased from a nation's tablets. On Bruce +we look somewhat as we regard Washington,--a great, serene man, who, +after long reverses, nobly sustained, gained a notable national triumph; +to Wallace we feel, as the Italians do to Garibaldi, as a demon of +warlike power,--blending courage and clemency, enthusiasm and skill, +daring and determination, in proportions almost superhuman,--and we cry +with the poet, + + 'The sword that seem'd fit for archangel to wield, + Was light in his terrible hand.' + +We have often regretted that Sir Walter Scott, who, after all, has not +done full justice to Bruce in that very unequal and incondite poem 'The +Lord of the Isles,' had not bent his strength upon the Ulysses bow of +Wallace, and filled up that splendid sketch of a part of his history to +be found near the beginning of 'The Fair Maid of Perth.' As it is, after +all that a number of respectable writers, such as Miss Porter, Mrs +Hemans, Findlay, the late Mr Macpherson of Glasgow, and others, have +done--in prose or verse, in the novel, the poem, or the drama--to +illustrate the character and career of the Scottish hero, Blind Harry +remains his poet. + +It is necessary to notice that Harry derived, by his own account, many +of the facts of his narrative from a work by John Blair, a Benedictine +monk from Dundee, who acted as Wallace's chaplain, and seems to have +composed a life of him in Latin, which is lost. Besides these, he +doubtless mingled in the story a number of traditions--some true, and +some false--which he found floating through the country. His authority +in reference to certain disputed matters, such as Wallace's journey to +France, and his capture of the Red Rover, Thomas de Longueville, who +became his fast friend and fellow-soldier, was not long ago entirely +established by certain important documents brought to light by the +Maitland Club. It is probable that some other of his supposed +misstatements--always excepting his ghost-stories--may yet receive from +future researches the confirmation they as yet want. Blind Harry, living +about a century and a half after the era of Wallace, and at a time when +tradition was the chief literature, was not likely to be able to test +the evidence of many of the circumstances which he narrated; but he +seems to speak in good faith: and, after all, what Paley says is +unquestionably true as a general principle--'Men tell lies about minute +circumstantials, but they rarely invent.' + + +BATTLE OF BLACK-EARNSIDE. + +Kerlie beheld unto the bold Heroun, +Upon Fawdoun as he was looking down, +A subtil stroke upward him took that tide, +Under the cheeks the grounden sword gart[1] glide, +By the mail good, both halse[2] and his craig-bane[3] +In sunder strake; thus ended that chieftain, +To ground he fell, feil[4] folk about him throng, +'Treason,' they cried, 'traitors are us among.' +Kerlie, with that, fled out soon at a side, +His fellow Steven then thought no time to bide. +The fray was great, and fast away they yeed,[5] +Both toward Earn; thus 'scaped they that dread. +Butler for woe of weeping might not stint. +Thus recklessly this good knight have they tint.[6] +They deemed all that it was Wallace' men, +Or else himself, though they could not him ken; +'He is right near, we shall him have but[7] fail, +This feeble wood may little him avail.' +Forty there pass'd again to Saint Johnstoun, +With this dead corpse, to burying made it boune.[8] +Parted their men, syne[9] divers ways they rode, +A great power at Dupplin still there 'bode. +To Dalwryeth the Butler pass'd but let,[10] +At sundry fords the gate[11] they unbeset,[12] +To keep the wood while it was day they thought. +As Wallace thus in the thick forest sought, +For his two men in mind he had great pain, +He wist not well if they were ta'en or slain, +Or 'scaped haill[13] by any jeopardy. +Thirteen were left with him, no more had he; +In the Gaskhall their lodging have they ta'en. +Fire got they soon, but meat then had they nane; +Two sheep they took beside them of a fold, +Ordain'd to sup into that seemly hold: +Graithed[14] in haste some food for them to dight:[15] +So heard they blow rude horns upon height. +Two sent he forth to look what it might be; +They 'bode right long, and no tidings heard he, +But bousteous[16] noise so bryvely blowing fast; +So other two into the wood forth pass'd. +None came again, but bousteously can blaw, +Into great ire he sent them forth on raw.[17] +When that alone Wallace was leaved there, +The awful blast abounded meikle mare;[18] +Then trow'd he well they had his lodging seen; +His sword he drew of noble metal keen, +Syne forth he went whereat he heard the horn. +Without the door Fawdoun was him beforn, +As to his sight, his own head in his hand; +A cross he made when he saw him so stand. +At Wallace in the head he swakked[19] there, +And he in haste soon hint[20] it by the hair, +Syne out again at him he could it cast, +Into his heart he greatly was aghast. +Right well he trow'd that was no sprite of man, +It was some devil, that sic[21] malice began. +He wist no wale[22] there longer for to bide. +Up through the hall thus wight Wallace can glide, +To a close stair, the boards they rave[23] in twin,[24] +Fifteen foot large he lap out of that inn. +Up the water he suddenly could fare, +Again he blink'd what 'pearance he saw there, +He thought he saw Fawdoun, that ugly sire, +That haill[25] hall he had set into a fire; +A great rafter he had into his hand. +Wallace as then no longer would he stand. +Of his good men full great marvel had he, +How they were tint through his feil[26] fantasy. +Trust right well that all this was sooth indeed, +Suppose that it no point be of the creed. +Power they had with Lucifer that fell, +The time when he parted from heaven to hell. +By sic mischief if his men might be lost, +Drowned or slain among the English host; +Or what it was in likeness of Fawdoun, +Which brought his men to sudden confusion; +Or if the man ended in ill intent, +Some wicked sprite again for him present. +I cannot speak of sic divinity, +To clerks I will let all sic matters be: +But of Wallace, now forth I will you tell. +When he was won out of that peril fell, +Right glad was he that he had 'scaped sa,[27] +But for his men great mourning can he ma.[28] +Flait[29] by himself to the Maker above +Why he suffer'd he should sic paining prove. +He wist not well if that it was God's will; +Right or wrong his fortune to fulfil, +Had he pleas'd God, he trow'd it might not bo +He should him thole[30] in sic perplexity. +But great courage in his mind ever drave, +Of Englishmen thinking amends to have. +As he was thus walking by him alone +Upon Earnside, making a piteous moan, +Sir John Butler, to watch the fords right, +Out from his men of Wallace had a sight; +The mist again to the mountains was gone, +To him he rode, where that he made his moan. +On loud he speir'd,[31] 'What art thou walks that gate?' +'A true man, Sir, though my voyage be late; +Errands I pass from Down unto my lord, +Sir John Stewart, the right for to record, +In Down is now, newly come from the King.' +Then Butler said, 'This is a selcouth[32] thing, +You lied all out, you have been with Wallace, +I shall thee know, ere you come off this place;' +To him he start the courser wonder wight, +Drew out a sword, so made him for to light. +Above the knee good Wallace has him ta'en, +Through thigh and brawn in sunder strake the bane.[33] +Derfly[34] to dead the knight fell on the land. +Wallace the horse soon seized in his hand, +An ackward stroke syne took him in that stead, +His craig in two; thus was the Butler dead. +An Englishman saw their chieftain was slain, +A spear in rest he cast with all his main, +On Wallace drave, from the horse him to bear; +Warily he wrought, as worthy man in weir.[35] +The spear ho wan withouten more abode, +On horse he lap,[36] and through a great rout rode; +To Dalwryeth he knew the ford full well: +Before him came feil[37] stuffed[38] in fine steel. +He strake the first, but bade,[39] on the blasoun,[40] +Till horse and man both fleet[41] the water down. +Another soon down from his horse he bare, +Stamped to ground, and drown'd withouten mair.[42] +The third he hit in his harness of steel, +Throughout the cost,[43] the spear it brake some deal. +The great power then after him can ride. +He saw no waill[44] there longer for to bide. +His burnish'd brand braithly[45] in hand he bare, +Whom he hit right they follow'd him na mair.[46] +To stuff the chase feil freiks[47] follow'd fast, +But Wallace made the gayest aye aghast. +The muir he took, and through their power yede, +The horse was good, but yet he had great dread +For failing ere he wan unto a strength, +The chase was great, skail'd[48] over breadth and length, +Through strong danger they had him aye in sight. +At the Blackford there Wallace down can light, +His horse stuffed,[49] for way was deep and lang, +A large great mile wightly on foot could gang.[50] +Ere he was hors'd riders about him cast, +He saw full well long so he might not last. +Sad[51] men indeed upon him can renew, +With returning that night twenty he slew, +The fiercest aye rudely rebutted he, +Keeped his horse, and right wisely can flee, +Till that he came the mirkest[52] muir amang. +His horse gave over, and would no further gang. + +[1] 'Gart:' caused. +[2] 'Halse:' throat. +[3] 'Craig-bane:' neck-lone. +[4] 'Feil:' many. +[5] 'Yeed:' went. +[6] 'Tint:' lost. +[7] 'But:' without. +[8] 'Boune:' ready. +[9] 'Sync:' then. +[10] 'But let:' without impediment. +[11] 'Gate:' way. +[12] 'Unbeset:' surround. +[13] 'Haill:' wholly. +[14] 'Graithed:' prepared. +[15] 'Dight:' Make ready. +[16] 'Bousteous:' boisterous. +[17] 'On raw:' one after another. +[18] 'Meikle mare:' much more. +[19] 'Swakked:' pitched. +[20] 'Hint:' took. +[21] 'Sic:' such. +[22] 'Wale:' advantage. +[23] 'Rave:' split. +[24] 'Twin:' twain. +[25] 'Haill:'whole. +[26] 'Feil:' great. +[27] 'Sa:' so. +[28] 'Ma:' make. +[29] 'Flait:' chided. +[30] 'Thole:' suffer. +[31] 'Speir'd:' asked. +[32] 'Selcouth:' strange. +[33] 'Bane:' bone. +[34] 'Derfly:' Quickly. +[35] 'Weir:' war. +[36] 'Lap:' leaped. +[37] 'Feil:' many. +[38] 'Stuffed:' armed. +[39] 'But bade:' without delay. +[40] 'Blasoun:' dress over armour. +[41] 'Fleet:' float. +[42] 'Mair:' more. +[43] 'Cost:' side. +[44] 'Waill:' advantage. +[45] 'Braithly:' violently. +[46] 'Na mair:' no more. +[47] 'Feil freiks:' many fierce fellows. +[48] 'Skail'd:' spread. +[49] 'Stuffed:' blown. +[50] 'Gang:' go. +[51] 'Sad:' steady. +[52] 'Mirkest:' darkest. + + +THE DEATH OF WALLACE. + +On Wednesday the false Southron forth him brought +To martyr him, as they before had wrought.[1] +Of men in arms led him a full great rout. +With a bold sprite good Wallace blink'd about: +A priest he ask'd, for God that died on tree. +King Edward then commanded his clergy, +And said, 'I charge you, upon loss of life, +None be so bold yon tyrant for to shrive. +He has reign'd long in contrare my highness.' +A blithe bishop soon, present in that place; +Of Canterbury he then was righteous lord; +Against the king he made this right record, +And said, 'Myself shall hear his confessioun, +If I have might, in contrare of thy crown. +An[2] thou through force will stop me of this thing, +I vow to God, who is my righteous king, +That all England I shall her interdict, +And make it known thou art a heretic. +The sacrament of kirk I shall him give: +Syne[3] take thy choice, to starve[4] or let him live. +It were more 'vail, in worship of thy crown, +To keep such one in life in thy bandoun,[5] +Than all the land and good that thou hast reft, +But cowardice thee aye from honour dreft.[6] +Thou hast thy life rougin[7] in wrongous deed; +That shall be seen on thee, or on thy seed.' +The king gart[8] charge they should the bishop tae,[9] +But sad[10] lords counselled to let him gae. +All Englishmen said that his desire was right. +To Wallace then he raiked[11] in their sight, +And sadly heard his confession till an end: +Humbly to God his sprite he there commend, +Lowly him served with hearty devotion +Upon his knees, and said an orison. +A psalter-book Wallace had on him ever, +From his childhood from it would not dissever; +Better he trow'd in voyage[12] for to speed. +But then he was despoiled of his weed.[13] +This grace he ask'd at Lord Clifford, that knight, +To let him have his psalter-book in sight. +He gart a priest it open before him hold, +While they till him had done all that they would. +Steadfast he read for ought they did him there; +Foil[14] Southrons said that Wallace felt no sair.[15] +Good devotion so was his beginning, +Continued therewith, and fair was his ending; +Till speech and spirit at once all can fare +To lasting bliss, we trow, for eveermair. + +[1] 'Wrought:' contrived. +[2] 'An:' if. +[3] 'Syne:' then. +[4] 'Starve:' perish. +[5] 'Bandoun:' disposal. +[6] 'Dreft:' drove. +[7] 'Rougin:' spent. +[8] 'Gart:' caused. +[9] 'Tae:' take. +[10] 'Sad:' grave. +[11] 'Raiked:' walked. +[12] 'Voyage:' journey to heaven. +[13] 'Weed:' clothes. +[14] 'Feil:' many. +[15] 'Sair:' sore. + + + + +JAMES I. OF SCOTLAND. + + +Here we have a great ascent from our former subject of biography--from +Blind Harry to James I.--from a beggar to a king. But in the Palace of +Poetry there are 'many mansions,' and men of all ranks, climes, +characters, professions, and we had almost added _talents_, have been +welcome to inhabit there. For, even as in the House Beautiful, the weak +Ready-to-halt and the timid Much-afraid were as cheerfully received as +the strong Honest and the bold Valiant-for-truth; so Poetry has inspired +children, and seeming fools, and maniacs, and mendicants with the finest +breath of her spirit. The 'Fable-tree' Fontaine is as immortal as +Corneille; Christopher Smart's 'David' shall live as long as Milton's +'Paradise Lost;' and the rude epic of a blind wanderer, whose birth, +parentage, and period of death are all alike unknown, shall continue to +rank in interest with the productions of one who inherited that kingdom +of Scotland, the independence of which was bought by the successive +efforts and the blended blood of Wallace and Bruce. + +Let us now look for a moment at the history and the writings of this +'Royal Poet.' The name will suggest to all intelligent readers the title +of one of the most pleasing papers in Washington Irving's 'Sketch-book.' +James I. was the son of Robert III. of Scotland,--a character familiar +to all from the admirable 'Fair Maid of Perth,'--and of Annabella +Stewart. He was created Earl of Carrick; and after the miserable death +of the Duke of Rothesay, his elder brother, his father, apprehensive of +the further designs of Albany, determined to send James to France, to +find an asylum and receive his education in that friendly Court. On his +way, the vessel was captured off Flamborough Head by an English cruiser, +(the 13th of March 1405,) and the young prince, with his attendants, was +conveyed to London, and committed to the Tower. As there was a truce +between the two nations at the time, this was a flagrant outrage on the +law of nations, and has indelibly disgraced the memory of Henry IV., +who, when some one remonstrated with him on the injustice of the +detention, replied, with cool brutality, 'Had the Scots been grateful, +they ought to have sent the youth to me, for I understand French well.' +Here for nineteen years,--during the remainder of the life of Henry IV., +and the whole of the reign of Henry V.,--James continued. He was +educated, however, highly, according to the fashion of these times, +--instructed in the languages, as well as in music, painting, +architecture, horticulture, dancing, fencing, poetry, and other +accomplishments. Still it must have fretted his high spirit to be +passing his young life in prison, while without horses were stamping, +plumes glistening, trumpets sounding, tournaments waging, and echoes +from the great victories of Henry V. in France ringing around. One +sweetener of his solitude, however, he at length enjoyed. Having been +transferred from the Tower to Windsor Castle, he beheld one day from its +windows that beautiful vision he has described in 'The King's Quhair,' +(see 'Specimens.') This was Lady Jane or Joanna Beaufort, daughter of +the Earl of Somerset, niece of Richard II., and grand-daughter of John +of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster. She was a lady of great beauty and +accomplishments as well as of high rank, and James, even before he knew +her name, became deeply enamoured. The passion was returned, and their +mutual attachment had by and by an important bearing upon his prospects. + +In 1423, the Duke of Bedford being now the English Regent, the friends +of James renewed negotiations--often attempted before in vain--for his +return to his native land, where his father had been long dead, and +which, torn by factions and steeped in blood, was sorely needing his +presence. Commissioners from the two kingdoms met at Pontefract on the +12th of May 1423, when, in presence of the young King, and with his +consent, matters were arranged. The English coolly demanded £40,000 to +defray the expense of James's nurture and education, (as though a _bill_ +were handed in to a man who had been unjustly detained in prison on +a false charge, ere he left its walls,) insisted on the immediate +departure of the Scots from France, where a portion of them were +fighting in the French army, and procured the assent of the Scottish +Privy Council to the marriage of James with his beloved Jane Beaufort. +A truce, too, with Scotland was concluded for seven years. All this was +settled; and soon after, in the Church of St Mary Overies, Southwark, +so often alluded to in the 'Life of Gower,' the happy pair were wed. +It seemed a most auspicious event for both countries, and to augur +the substitution of permanent peace for casual and temporary truces. +To Lady Jane Beaufort it gave a crown, and a noble, gallant, and gifted +prince to share it withal. On James it bestowed a lady of great beauty, +who was regarded, too, with gratitude as having lightened the load of +his captivity, and been a sunshine in his shady place, and--least +consideration--who brought him a dowry of £10,000, which was, in fact, +a remission of the fourth part of his ransom. + +Attended by a magnificent retinue, the royal pair set out for Scotland. +They were met at Durham by three hundred of the principal nobility and +gentry, twenty-eight of whom were retained by the English as hostages +for the national faith. Arrived on his native soil, James, at Melrose +Abbey, gave his solemn assent on the Holy Gospels to the treaty; and +seldom have the Eildon Hills returned a louder and more joyous shout +of acclamation than now welcomed back to the kingdom of his fathers +the 'Royal Poet.' He proceeded to Edinburgh, where he celebrated Easter +with great pomp, and a month later, he and his queen were solemnly +crowned inthe Abbey Church at Scone. This was in 1424. He lived after +this only thirteen years; but the period of his reign has always been +thought a glorious interlude in the dark early history of Scotland. +He set himself, with considerable success, to curb the exorbitant +power of the nobles, sacrificing some of them, such as Albany, to his +just indignation. He passed many useful regulations in reference to +the coinage, the constitution, and the commerce of the country. He +suppressed with a strong hand some of the gangs of robbers and 'sorners' +which abounded, founding instead the order of Bedesmen or King's +Beggars, immortalised since in the character of Edie Ochiltree. He +stretched a strong hand over the refractory Highland chieftains. While +keeping at first on good terms with the English Court, he turned with a +fonder eye to the French as the ancient allies of Scotland, and in 1436 +gave his daughter Margaret in marriage to the Dauphin. This step roused +the jealousy of his southern neighbours, who tried even to intercept the +fleet that was conveying the bride across the Channel, whereupon James, +stung to fury, proclaimed war against England, and in August commenced +the siege of Roxburgh Castle. The castle, after being environed for +fifteen days, was about to fall into his hands, when the Queen suddenly +arrived in the camp, and communicated some information, probably +referring to a threatened conspiracy of the nobles, which induced him +to throw up the siege, disband his army, and return northward in haste. +This unexpected step probably retarded, but could not prevent the +dreadful purpose of death which had already been formed against the +King. + +In October 1436, he held his last Parliament in Edinburgh, in which, +amidst many other enactments, we find, curiously enough, a prefiguration +of the Forbes Mackenzie Act, in a decree that all taverns should be shut +at nine o'clock. In the end of the year he determined on retiring to +Perth, where (in the language of Gibbon, applied to Timour) 'he was +expected by the Angel of Death.' It is said that, when about to cross +the Frith of Forth, then called the Scottish Sea, a Highland woman, who +claimed the character of a prophetess, like Meg Merrilees in fiction, +met the cavalcade, and cried out, with a loud voice, 'My Lord the King, +if you pass this water you shall never return again alive;' but as she +was concluded to be mad or drunk, her warning was scorned. He betook +himself to the convent of the Black Friars, where Christmas was being +celebrated with great pomp and splendour. Meanwhile Robert Grahame, and +Walter, Earl of Athole, the King's own uncle, actuated, the former by +revenge on account of the resumption of some lands improperly granted +to his family, and the latter by a desire to succeed to the Crown, had +formed a plot against James's life. Several warnings, besides that of +the Highland seeress, the King received, but he heeded them not, and, +like most of the doomed, was in unnaturally high spirits, as if the +winding-sheet far up his breast had been a wedding-robe. + +It is the evening of the 20th of February 1437. James and his nobles and +ladies are seated at table till deep into the night, engaged in chess, +music, and song. Athole, like another Judas, has supped with them, and +gone out at a late hour. A tremendous knocking is heard at the gate. It +is the Highland prophetess, who, having followed the monarch to Perth, +is seeking to force her way into the room. The King tells her, through +his usher, that he cannot receive her to-night, but will hear her +tidings to-morrow. She retires reluctantly, murmuring that they will for +ever rue their refusal to admit her into the royal presence. About an +hour after this, James calls for the _Voidee_, or parting-cup, and the +company disperse. Sir Robert Stewart, the chamberlain, who is in the +confidence of the conspirators, is the last to retire, having previously +destroyed the locks and removed the bars of the doors of the royal bed- +chamber and the outer room adjoining. The King is standing before the +fire, in his night-gown and slippers, and talking gaily with the Queen +and her ladies, when torches are seen flashing up from the garden, and +the clash of arms and the sound of angry voices is heard from below. A +sense of the dread reality bursts on them in an instant. The Queen and +the ladies run to secure the door of the chamber, while James, seizing +the tongs, wrenches up one of the boards of the floor and takes refuge +in a vault beneath. This was wont to have an opening to the outer court, +but it had unfortunately been built up of late by his own orders. There, +under the replaced boards, cowers the King, while the Queen and her +women seek to barricade the door. One brave young lady, Catherine +Douglas, thrusts her beautiful arm into the staple from which the bolt +had been removed. It is broken in a moment, and she sinks back, to bear, +with her descendants--a family well known in Scotland--the name of +_Barlass_ ever since. The murderers, who had previously killed in the +passage one Walter Straiton, a page, rush in, with naked swords, +wounding the ladies, striking, and well-nigh killing the Queen, and +crying, with frantic imprecations, 'This is but a woman! Where is +James?' Finding him not in the chamber, they leave it, and disperse +through the neighbouring apartments in search. + +James, who had become wearied of his immurement, and thought the +assassins were gone, calls now on one of the ladies to aid him in coming +out of his place of concealment. But while this is being effected, one +of the murderers returns. The cry, 'Found, found,' rings through the +halls; and after a violent but unarmed resistance, the King is, with +circumstances of horrible barbarity, first mangled, then run through the +body, and then despatched with daggers. In vain he offers half his +kingdom for his life; and when he seeks a confessor from Grahame, the +ruffian replies, 'Thou shalt have no confessor but this sword.' It is +satisfactory to know that the Queen made her escape, and that the +criminals were punished, although the tortures they endured are such +as human nature shrinks from conceiving, and history with a shudder +records. + + * * * * * + +We turn with pleasure from King James's life and death to his poetry, +although there is so little of it that a sentence or two will suffice. +'The King's Quhair' is a poem conceived very much in the spirit, and +written in the style of Chaucer, whose works were favourites with James. +There is the same sympathy with nature, and the same perception of _its_ +relation to and unconscious sympathy with human feelings, and the same +luscious richness in the description, alike of the early beauties of +spring and of youthful feminine loveliness, although this seems more +natural in the young poet James than in the sexagenarian author of 'The +Canterbury Tales.' There is nothing even in Chaucer we think finer than +the picture of Lady Jane Beaufort in the garden, particularly in the +lines-- + + 'Or are ye god Cupidis own princess, + And comen are ye to loose me out of band? + Or are ye very Nature the goddess, + That have depainted with your heavenly hand + This garden full of flowers as they stand?' + +Or where, picturing his mistress, he cries-- + + 'And above all this there was, well I wot, + Beauty enough to make a world to dote.' + +Or where, describing a ruby on her bosom, he says-- + + 'That as a spark of low[1] so wantonly + Seemed burning upon her white throat.' + +[1] 'Low:' fire. + +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.' + + +THE KING THUS DESCRIBES THE APPEARANCE OF HIS MISTRESS, +WHEN HE FIRST SAW HER FROM A WINDOW OF HIS PRISON +AT WINDSOR. + +X. + +The longė dayės and the nightės eke, +I would bewail my fortune in this wise, +For which, against distress comfórt to seek, +My custom was, on mornės, for to rise +Early as day: O happy exercise! +By thee came I to joy out of tormčnt; +But now to purpose of my first intent. + +XI. + +Bewailing in my chamber, thus alone, +Despaired of all joy and remedy, +For-tired of my thought, and woe begone; +And to the window 'gan I walk in hye,[1] +To see the world and folk that went forby; +As for the time (though I of mirthis food +Might have no more) to look it did me good. + +XII. + +Now was there made fast by the toweris wall +A garden fair; and in the corners set +An herbere[2] green; with wandis long and small +Railed about, and so with treės set +Was all the place, and hawthorn hedges knet, +That life was none [a] walking there forby +That might within scarce any wight espy. + + * * * * * + +XIV. + +And on the smallė greenė twistis [3] sat +The little sweetė nightingale, and sung, +So loud and clear the hymnis consecrate +Of lovė's use, now soft, now loud among,[4] +That all the gardens and the wallis rung +Right of their song; and on the couple next +Of their sweet harmony, and lo the text. + +XV. + +Worship, O ye that lovers be, this May! +For of your bliss the calends are begun; +And sing with us, 'Away! winter, away! +Come, summer, come, the sweet seasņn and sun; +Awake for shame that have your heavens won; +And amorously lift up your headės all, +Thank love that list you to his mercy call. + + * * * * * + +XXI. + +And therewith cast I down mine eye again, +Where as I saw walking under the tower, +Full secretly new comen to her pleyne,[5] +The fairest and the freshest youngė flower +That e'er I saw (methought) before that hour +For which sudden abate [6] anon astert [7] +The blood of all my body to my heart. + + * * * * * + +XXVII. + +Of her array the form if I shall write, +Toward her golden hair, and rich attire, +In fret-wise couched with pearlis white, +And greatė balas[8] lemyng[9] as the fire; +With many an emerald and fair sapphģre, +And on her head a chaplet fresh of hue, +Of plumės parted red, and white, and blue. + + * * * * * + +XXIX. + +About her neck, white as the fair amaille,[10] +A goodly chain of small orfeverie,[11] +Whereby there hang a ruby without fail +Like to a heart yshapen verily, +That as a spark of lowe[12] so wantonly +Seemed burning upon her whitė throat; +Now if there was good, perdie God it wrote. + +XXX. + +And for to walk that freshė Mayė's morrow, +A hook she had upon her tissue white, +That goodlier had not been seen toforrow,[13] +As I suppose, and girt she, was a lite[14] +Thus halfling[15] loose for haste; to such delight +It was to see her youth in goodlihead, +That for rudeness to speak thereof I dread. + +XXXI. + +In her was youth, beauty with humble port, +Bounty, richess, and womanly featśre: +(God better wot than my pen can report) +Wisdom, largčss, estate, and cunning[16] sure, + + * * * * * + +In word, in deed, in shape and countenance, +That nature might no more her child advance. + +[1] 'Hye:' haste. +[2] 'Herbere:' herbary, or garden of simples. +[3] 'Twistis:' twigs. +[4] 'Among:' promiscuously. +[5] 'Pleyne:' sport. +[6] 'Sudden abate:' unexpected accident. +[7] 'Astert:' started back. +[8] 'Balas:' rubies. +[9] 'Lemyng:' burning. +[10] 'Amaille:' enamel. +[11] 'Orfeverie:' goldsmith's work. +[12] 'Lowe:' fire. +[13] 'Toforrow:' heretofore. +[14] 'Lite:' a little. +[15] 'Halfling:' half. +[16] 'Cunning:' knowledge. + + + + +JOHN THE CHAPLAIN--THOMAS OCCLEVE. + + +The first of these is the only versifier that can be assigned to England +in the reign of Henry IV. His name was John Walton, though he was +generally known as _Johannes Capellanus_ or 'John the Chaplain.' He was +canon of Oseney, and died sub-dean of York. He, in the year 1410, +translated Boethius' famous treatise, 'De Consolatione Philosophiae,' +into English verse. He is not known to have written anything original. +--Thomas Occleve appeared in the reign of Henry V., about 1420. Like +Chaucer and Gower, he was a student of municipal law, having attended +Chester's Inn, which stood on the site of the present Somerset House; +but although he trod in the footsteps of his celebrated predecessors, it +was with far feebler powers. His original pieces are contemptible, both +in subject and in execution. His best production is a translation of +'Egidius De Regimine Principum.' Warton, alluding to the period at which +these writers appeared, has the following oft-quoted observations: +--'I consider Chaucer as a genial day in an English spring. A brilliant +sun enlivens the face of nature with an unusual lustre; the sudden +appearance of cloudless skies, and the unexpected warmth of a tepid +atmosphere, after the gloom and the inclemencies of a tedious winter, +fill our hearts with the visionary prospect of a speedy summer, and we +fondly anticipate a long continuance of gentle gales and vernal serenity. +But winter returns with redoubled horrors; the clouds condense more +formidably than before, and those tender buds and early blossoms which +were called forth by the transient gleam of a temporary sunshine, are +nipped by frosts and torn by tempests.' These sentences are, after all, +rather pompous, and express, in the most verbose style of the _Rambler_, +the simple fact, that after Chaucer's death the ground lay fallow, and +that for a while in England (in Scotland it was otherwise) there were +few poets, and little poetry. + + + + +JOHN LYDGATE. + + +This copious and versatile writer flourished in the reign of Henry VI. +Warton affirms that he reached his highest point of eminence in 1430, +although some of his poems had appeared before. He was a monk of the +Benedictine Abbey at Bury, in Suffolk. He received his education at +Oxford; and when it was finished, he travelled through France and Italy, +mastering the languages and literature of both countries, and studying +their poets, particularly Dante, Boccaccio, and Alain Chartier. When he +returned, he opened a school in his monastery for teaching the sons of +the nobility composition and the art of versification. His acquirements +were, for the age, universal. He was a poet, a rhetorician, an astronomer, +a mathematician, a public disputant, and a theologian. He was born in +1370, ordained sub-deacon in 1389, deacon in 1393, and priest in 1397. +The time of his death is uncertain. His great patron was Humphrey, Duke +of Gloucester, to whom he complains sometimes of necessitous circumstances, +which were, perhaps, produced by indulgence, since he confesses himself to +be 'a lover of wine.' + +The great merit of Lydgate is his versatility. This Warton has happily +expressed in a few sentences, which we shall quote:-- + +'He moves with equal ease in every form of composition. His hymns and +his ballads have the same degree of merit; and whether his subject be +the life of a hermit or a hero, of Saint Austin or Guy, Earl of Warwick, +ludicrous or legendary, religious or romantic, a history or an allegory, +he writes with facility. His transitions were rapid, from works of the +most serious and laborious kind, to sallies of levity and pieces of +popular entertainment. His muse was of universal access; and he was not +only the poet of his monastery, but of the world in general. If a +disguising was intended by the Company of Goldsmiths, a mask before His +Majesty at Eltham, a May game for the sheriffs and aldermen of London, +a mumming before the Lord Mayor, a procession of pageants, from the +"Creation," for the Festival of Corpus Christi, or a carol for the +coronation, Lydgate was consulted, and gave the poetry.' + +Lydgate is, so far as we know, the first British bard who wrote for +hire. At the request of Whethamstede, the Abbot of St Alban's, he +translated a 'Life of St Alban' from Latin into English rhymes, and +received for the whole work one hundred shillings. His principal poems, +all founded on the works of other authors, are the 'Fall of Princes,' +the 'Siege of Thebes,' and the 'Destruction of Troy.' They are written +in a diffuse and verbose style, but are generally clear in sense, and +often very luxuriant in description. 'The London Lyckpenny' is a +fugitive poem, in which the author describes himself coming up to town +in search of legal redress for a wrong, and gives some curious +particulars of the condition of that city in the early part of the +fifteenth century. + + +CANACE, CONDEMNED TO DEATH BY HER FATHER AEOLUS, SENDS +TO HER GUILTY BROTHER MACAREUS THE LAST TESTIMONY OF +HER UNHAPPY PASSION. + +Out of her swoonė when she did abraid,[1] +Knowing no mean but death in her distrčss, +To her brothčr full piteously she said, +'Cause of my sorrow, root of my heaviness, +That whilom were the source of my gladness, +When both our joys by will were so disposed, +Under one key our hearts to be enclosed.-- + + * * * * * + +This is mine end, I may it not astart;[2] +O brother mine, there is no more to say; +Lowly beseeching with mine wholė heart +For to remember specially, I pray, +If it befall my little son to dey[3] +That thou mayst after some mind on us have, +Suffer us both be buried in one grave. +I hold him strictly 'tween my armės twain, +Thou and Natłrė laid on me this charge; +He, guiltless, mustė with me suffer pain, +And, since thou art at freedom and at large, +Let kindness ourė love not so discharge, +But have a mind, wherever that thou be, +Once on a day upon my child and me. +On thee and me dependeth the trespące +Touching our guilt and our great offence, +But, welaway! most ąngelic of face +Our childė, young in his pure innocence, +Shall against right suffer death's violence, +Tender of limbs, God wot, full guiltėless +The goodly fair, that lieth here speechlčss. + +A mouth he has, but wordės hath he none; +Cannot complain, alas! for none outrąge: +Nor grutcheth[4] not, but lies here all alone +Still as a lamb, most meek of his visąge. +What heart of steel could do to him damąge, +Or suffer him die, beholding the mannčre +And look benign of his twain even clear.'-- + + * * * * * + +Writing her letter, awhapped[5] all in drede, +In her right hand her pen began to quake, +And a sharp sword to make her heartė bleed, +In her left hand her father hath her take, +And most her sorrow was for her childė's sake, +Upon whose facė in her barme[6] sleepķng +Full many a tear she wept in complainķng. +After all this so as she stood and quoke, +Her child beholding mid of her paines' smart, +Without abode the sharpė sword she took, +And rove herselfė even to the heart; +Her child fell down, which mightė not astart, +Having no help to succour him nor save, +But in her blood theself began to bathe. + +[1] 'Abraid:' awake. +[2] 'Astart:' escape. +[3] 'Dey:' die. +[4] 'Grutcheth:' murmureth. +[5] 'Awhapped:' confounded. +[6] 'Barme:' lap. + + +THE LONDON LYCKPENNY. + +Within the hall, neither rich nor yet poor + Would do for me ought, although I should die: +Which seeing, I gat me out of the door, + Where Flemings began on me for to cry, + 'Master, what will you copen[1] or buy? +Fine felt hats? or spectacles to read? +Lay down your silver, and here you may speed. + +Then to Westminster gate I presently went, + When the sun was at high prime: +Cooks to me they took good intent,[2] + And proffered me bread, with ale and wine, + Ribs of beef, both fat and full fine; +A fair cloth they 'gan for to spread, +But, wanting money, I might not be sped. + +Then unto London I did me hie, + Of all the land it beareth the price; +'Hot peascods!' one began to cry, + 'Strawberry ripe, and cherries in the rise!'[3] + One bade me come near and buy some spice; +Pepper, and saffron they 'gan me beed;[4] +But, for lack of money, I might not speed. + +Then to the Cheap I 'gan me drawn, + Where much people I saw for to stand; +One offered me velvet, silk, and lawn, + Another he taketh me by the hand, + 'Here is Paris thread, the finest in the land!' +I never was used to such things, indeed; +And, wanting money, I might not speed. + +Then went I forth by London Stone, + Throughout all Canwick Street: +Drapers much cloth me offered anon; + Then comes me one cried 'Hot sheep's feet;' + One cried mackerel, rushes green, another 'gan greet,[5] +One bade me buy a hood to cover my head; +But, for want of money, I might not be sped. + +Then I hied me unto East-Cheap, + One cries ribs of beef, and many a pie; +Pewter pots they clattered on a heap; + There was harp, pipe, and minstrelsy; + Yea by cock! nay by cock! some began cry; +Some sung of Jenkin and Julian for their meed; +But, for lack of money, I might not speed. + +Then into Cornhill anon I yode,[6] + Where was much stolen gear among; +I saw where hung mine ownė hood, + That I had lost among the throng; + To buy my own hood I thought it wrong: +I knew it well, as I did my creed; +But, for lack of money, I could not speed. + +The taverner took me by the sleeve, + 'Sir,' saith he, 'will you our wine assay?' +I answered, 'That can not much me grieve, + A penny can do no more than it may;' + I drank a pint, and for it did pay; +Yet, sore a-hungered from thence I yede,[7] +And, wanting money, I could not speed. + +[1] 'Copen:' _koopen_(Flem.) to buy. +[2] 'Took good intent:' took notice; paid attention. +[3] 'In the rise:' on the branch. +[4] 'Beed:' offer. +[5] 'Greet:' cry. +[6] 'Yode:' went. +[7] 'Yede:' went. + + + + +HARDING, KAY, &c. + + +John Harding flourished about the year 1403. He fought at the battle of +Shrewsbury on the Percy side. He is the author of a poem entitled 'The +Chronicle of England unto the Reign of King Edward the Fourth, in +Verse.' It has no poetic merit, and little interest, except to the +antiquary. In the reign of the above king we find the first mention of +a Poet Laureate. John Kay was appointed by Edward, when he returned from +Italy, Poet Laureate to the king, but has, perhaps fortunately for the +world, left behind him no poems. Would that the same had been the case +with some of his successors in the office! There is reason to believe, +that for nearly two centuries ere this date, there had existed in the +court a personage, entitled the King's Versifier, (versificator,) to +whom one hundred shillings a-year was the salary, and that the title +was, by and by, changed to that of Poet Laureate, _i.e._, Laurelled +Poet. It had long been customary in the universities to crown scholars +when they graduated with laurel, and Warton thinks that from these the +first poet laureates were selected, less for their general genius than +for their skill in Latin verse. Certainly the earliest of the Laureate +poems, such as those by Baston and Gulielmus, who acted as royal poets +to Richard I. and Edward II., and wrote, the one on Richard's Crusade, +and the other on Edward's Siege of Stirling Castle, are in Latin. So +too are the productions of Andrew Bernard, who was the Poet Laureate +successively to Henry VII. and Henry VIII. It was not till after the +Reformation had lessened the superstitious veneration for the Latin +tongue that the laureates began to write in English. It is almost a +pity, we are sometimes disposed to think, that, in reference to such +odes as those of Pye, Whitehead, Colley Cibber, and even some of +Southey's, the old practice had not continued; since thus, in the first +place, we might have had a chance of elegant Latinity, in the absence of +poetry and sense; and since, secondly, the deficiencies of the laureate +poems would have been disguised, from the general eye at least, under +the veil of an unknown tongue. It is curious to notice about this period +the uprise of two didactic poets, both writing on alchymy, the chemistry +of that day, and neither displaying a spark of genius. These are John +Norton and George Ripley, both renowned for learning and knowledge of +their beloved occult sciences. Their poems, that by Norton, entitled +'The Ordinal,' and that by Ripley, entitled 'The Compound of Alchemie,' +are dry and rugged treatises, done into indifferent verse. One rather +fine fancy occurs in the first of these. It is that of an alchymist who +projected a bridge of gold over the Thames, near London, crowned with +pinnacles of gold, which, being studded with carbuncles, should diffuse +a blaze of light in the dark! Alchymy has had other and nobler singers +than Ripley and Norton. It has, as Warton remarks, 'enriched the store- +house of Arabian romance with many magnificent imageries.' It is the +inspiration of two of the noblest romances in this or any language +--'St. Leon' and 'Zanoni.' And its idea, transfigured into a transcen- +dental form, gave light and life and fire, and the loftiest poetry, to +the eloquence of the lamented Samuel Brown, whose tongue, as he talked +on his favourite theme, seemed transmuted into gold; nay, whose lips, +like the touch of Midas, seemed to create the effects of alchymy upon +every subject they approached, and upon every heart over which they +wielded their sorcery. + +We pass now from this comparatively barren age in the history of English +poetry to a cluster of Scottish bards. The first of these is ROBERT +HENRYSON. He was schoolmaster at Dunfermline, and died some time before +1508. He is supposed by Lord Hailes to have been preceptor of youth in +the Benedictine convent in that place. He is the author of 'Robene and +Makyne,' a pastoral ballad of very considerable merit, and of which +Campbell says, somewhat too warmly, 'It is the first known pastoral,' +(he means in the Scottish language of course,) 'and one of the best, in +a dialect rich with the favours of the pastoral muse.' He wrote also a +sequel to Chaucer's 'Troilus and Cresseide' entitled 'The Testament of +Cresseide,' and thirteen Fables, of which copies, in MS., are preserved +in the Advocates' Library, Edinburgh. One of these, 'The Town and +Country Mouse,' tells that old story with considerable spirit and +humour. 'The Garment of Good Ladies' is an ingenious and beautiful +strain, written in that quaint style of allegorising which continued +popular as far down as the days of Cowley, and even later. + + +DINNER GIVEN BY THE TOWN MOUSE TO THE COUNTRY MOUSE. + +* * * Their harboury was ta'en +Into a spence,[1] where victual was plenty, +Both cheese and butter on long shelves right high, +With fish and flesh enough, both fresh and salt, +And pockis full of groats, both meal and malt. + +After, when they disposed were to dine, +Withouten grace they wuish[2] and went to meat, +On every dish that cookmen can divine, +Mutton and beef stricken out in telyies grit;[3] +A lordė's fare thus can they counterfeit, +Except one thing--they drank the water clear +Instead of wine, but yet they made good cheer. + +With blithe upcast and merry countenance, +The elder sister then spier'd[4] at her guest, +If that she thought by reason difference +Betwixt that chamber and her sairy[5] nest. +'Yea, dame,' quoth she, 'but how long will this last?' +'For evermore, I wait,[6] and longer too;' +'If that be true, ye are at ease,' quoth she. + +To eke the cheer, in plenty forth they brought +A plate of groatis and a dish of meal, +A threif[7] of cakes, I trow she spared them nought, +Abundantly about her for to deal. +Furmage full fine she brought instead of jeil, +A white candle out of a coffer staw,[8] +Instead of spice, to creish[9] their teeth witha'. + +Thus made they merry, till they might nae mair, +And, 'Hail, Yule, hail!' they cryit up on high; +But after joy oftentimes comes care, +And trouble after great prosperity. +Thus as they sat in all their jollity, +The spencer came with keyis in his hand, +Open'd the door, and them at dinner fand. + +They tarried not to wash, as I suppose, +But on to go, who might the foremost win: +The burgess had a hole, and in she goes, +Her sister had no place to hide her in; +To see that silly mouse it was great sin, +So desolate and wild of all good rede,[10] +For very fear she fell in swoon, near dead. + +Then as God would it fell in happy case, +The spencer had no leisure for to bide, +Neither to force, to seek, nor scare, nor chase, +But on he went and cast the door up-wide. +This burgess mouse his passage well has spied. +Out of her hole she came and cried on high, +'How, fair sister, cry peep, where'er thou be.' + +The rural mouse lay flatlings on the ground, +And for the death she was full dreadand, +For to her heart struck many woful stound, +As in a fever trembling foot and hand; +And when her sister in such plight her fand, +For very pity she began to greet, +Syne[11] comfort gave, with words as honey sweet. + +'Why lie ye thus? Rise up, my sister dear, +Come to your meat, this peril is o'erpast.' +The other answer'd with a heavy cheer, +'I may nought eat, so sore I am aghast. +Lever[12] I had this forty dayis fast, +With water kail, and green beans and peas, +Than all your feast with this dread and disease.' + +With fair 'treaty, yet gart she her arise; +To board they went, and on together sat, +But scantly had they drunken once or twice, +When in came Gib Huntér, our jolly cat, +And bade God speed. The burgess up then gat, +And to her hole she fled as fire of flint; +Bawdrons[13] the other by the back has hent.[14] + +From foot to foot he cast her to and frae, +Whiles up, whiles down, as cant[15] as any kid; +Whiles would he let her run under the strae[16] +Whiles would he wink and play with her buik-hid;[17] +Thus to the silly mouse great harm he did; +Till at the last, through fair fortune and hap, +Betwixt the dresser and the wall she crap.[18] + +Syne up in haste behind the panelling, +So high she clamb, that Gilbert might not get her, +And by the cluiks[19] craftily can hing, +Till he was gone, her cheer was all the better: +Syne down she lap, when there was none to let her; +Then on the burgess mouse loud could she cry, +'Farewell, sister, here I thy feast defy. + +Thy mangery is minget[20] all with care, +Thy guise is good, thy gane-full[21] sour as gall; +The fashion of thy feris is but fair, +So shall thou find hereafterward may fall. +I thank yon curtain, and yon parpane[22] wall, +Of my defence now from yon cruel beast; +Almighty God, keep me from such a feast! + +Were I into the place that I came frae, +For weal nor woe I should ne'er come again.' +With that she took her leave, and forth can gae, +Till through the corn, till through the plain. +When she was forth and free she was right fain, +And merrily linkit unto the muir, +I cannot tell how afterward she fure.[23] + +But I heard syne she passed to her den, +As warm as wool, suppose it was not grit, +Full beinly[24] stuffed was both butt and ben, +With peas and nuts, and beans, and rye and wheat; +Whene'er she liked, she had enough of meat, +In quiet and ease, withouten [any] dread, +But to her sister's feast no more she gaed. + + +[FROM THE MORAL.] + +Blessed be simple life, withouten dreid; +Blessed be sober feast in quieté; +Who has enough, of no more has he need, +Though it be little into quantity. +Great abundance, and blind prosperity, +Ofttimės make an evil conclusion; +The sweetest life, therefore, in this country, +Is of sickerness,[25] with small possession. + +[1] 'Spence:' pantry. +[2] 'Wuish:' washed. +[3] 'Telyies grit:' great pieces. +[4] 'Spier'd;' asked. +[5] 'Sairy:' sorry. +[6] 'Wait:' expect. +[7] 'Threif:' a set of twenty-four. +[8] 'Staw:' stole. +[9] 'Creish:' grease. +[10] 'rede:' counsel. +[11] 'Syne:' then. +[12] 'Lever:' rather. +[13] 'Bawdrons:' the cat. +[14] 'Hent:' seized. +[15] 'Cant:' lively. +[16] 'Strae:' straw. +[17] 'Buik-hid:' body. +[18] 'Crap:' crept. +[19] 'Cluiks:' claws. +[20] 'Minget:' mixed. +[21] 'Gane-full:' mouthful. +[22] 'Parpane:' partition. +[23] 'Fure:' went. +[24] 'Beinly:' snugly. +[25] 'Sickerness:' security. + + + +THE GARMENT OF GOOD LADIES. + +Would my good lady love me best, + And work after my will, +I should a garment goodliest + Gar[1] make her body till.[2] + +Of high honołr should be her hood, + Upon her head to wear, +Garnish'd with governance, so good + No deeming[3] should her deir,[4] + +Her sark[5] should be her body next, + Of chastity so white: +With shame and dread together mixt, + The same should be perfite.[6] + +Her kirtle should be of clean constance, + Laced with lesum[7] love; +The mailies[8] of continuance, + For never to remove. + +Her gown should be of goodliness, + Well ribbon'd with renown; +Purfill'd[9] with pleasure in ilk[10] place, + Furred with fine fashiołn. + +Her belt should be of benignity, + About her middle meet; +Her mantle of humility, + To thole[11] both wind and weet.[12] + +Her hat should be of fair havģng, + And her tippet of truth; +Her patelet of good pansģng,[13] + Her hals-ribbon of ruth.[14] + +Her sleeves should be of esperance, + To keep her from despair; +Her glovės of good governance, + To hide her fingers fair. + +Her shoes should be of sickerness,[15] + In sign that she not slide; +Her hose of honesty, I guess, + I should for her provide. + +Would she put on this garment gay, + I durst swear by my seill,[16] +That she wore never green nor gray +That set[17] her half so weel. + +[1] 'Gar:' cause. +[2] 'Till:' to. +[3] 'Deeming:' opinion. +[4] 'Deir:' injure. +[5] 'Sark:' shift. +[6] 'Perfite:' perfect. +[7] 'Lesum:' lawful. +[8] 'Mailies:' eyelet-holes. +[9] 'Purfill'd:' fringed. +[10] 'Ilk:' each. +[11] 'Thole:' endure. +[12] 'Weet:': wet. +[13] 'Pansing:' thinking. +[14] 'Her hals-ribbon of ruth:' her neck-ribbon of pity. +[15] 'Sickerness:' firmness. +[16] 'Seill:' salvation. +[17] 'Set:' became. + + + + +WILLIAM DUNBAR + + +This was a man of the true and sovereign seed of genius. Sir Walter +Scott calls Dunbar 'a poet unrivalled by any--that Scotland has ever +produced.' We venture to call him the Dante of Scotland; nay, we +question if any English poet has surpassed 'The Dance of the Seven +Deadly Sins through Hell' in its peculiarly Dantesque qualities of +severe and purged grandeur; of deep sincerity, and in that air of moral +disappointment and sorrow, approaching despair, which distinguished the +sad-hearted lover of Beatrice, who might almost have exclaimed, with one +yet mightier than he in his misery and more miserable in his might, + + 'Where'er I am is Hell--myself am Hell.' + +Foster, in an entry in his journal, (we quote from memory,) says, 'I +have just seen the moon rising, and wish the impression to be eternal. +What a look she casts upon earth, like that of a celestial being who +loves our planet still, but has given up all hope of ever doing her any +good or seeing her become any better--so serene she seems in her settled +and unutterable sadness.' Such, we have often fancied, was the feeling +of the great Florentine toward the world, and which--pained, pitying, +yearning enthusiast that he was!--escaped irresistibly from those deep- +set eyes, that adamantine jaw, and that brow, wearing the laurel, proudly +yet painfully, as if it were a crown of everlasting fire! Dunbar was not +altogether a Dante, either in melancholy or in power, but his 'Dance' +reveals kindred moods, operating at times on a kindred genius. + +In Dante humour existed too, but ere it could come up from his deep +nature to the surface, it must freeze and stiffen into monumental scorn +--a laughter that seemed, while mocking at all things else, to mock at +its own mockery most of all. Aird speaks in his 'Demoniac,' of a smile +upon his hero's brow, + + 'Like the lightning of a hope about to DIE + For ever from the furrow'd brows of Hell's Eternity.' + +Dante's smile may rather be compared to the RISING of a false and self- +detected hope upon the lost brows where it is never to come to dawn, and +where, nevertheless, it remains for ever, like a smile carved upon +a sepulchre. Dunbar has a more joyous disposition than his Italian +prototype and master, and he indulges himself to the top of his bent, +but in a style (particularly in his 'Twa Married Women and the Widow,' +and in 'The Friars of Berwick,' which is not, however, quite certainly +his) too coarse and prurient for the taste of this age. + +'The Merle and the Nightingale' is one of the finest of Moelibean poems. +Beautiful is the contest between the two sweet singers as to whether the +love of man or the love of God be the nobler, and more beautiful still +their reconciliation, when + + 'Then sang they both with voices loud and clear, + The Merle sang, "Man, love God that has thee wrought." + The Nightingale sang, "Man, love the Lord most dear, + That thee and all this world made of nought." + The Merle said, "Love him that thy love has sought + From heaven to earth, and here took flesh and bone." + The Nightingale sang. "And with his death thee bought: + All love is lost, but upon him alone." + + _'Then flew these birds over the boughis sheen, + Singing of love among the leaves small.'_ + +William Dunbar is said to have been born about the year 1465. He +received his education at St Andrews, and took there the degree of M.A. +in 1479. He became then a friar of the Franciscan order, (Grey Friars,) +and in the exercise of his profession seems to have rambled over all +Scotland, England, and France, preaching, begging, and, according to his +own confession, cheating, lying, and cajoling. Yet if this kind of life +was not propitious, in his case, to morality, it must have been to the +development of the poetic faculty. It enabled him to see all varieties +of life and of scenery, although here and there, in his verses, you find +symptoms of that bitterness which is apt to arise in the heart of a +wanderer. He was subsequently employed by James IV. in some official +work connected with various foreign embassies, which led him to Spain, +Italy, and Germany, as well as England and France. This proves that he +was no less a man of business-capacity and habits than a poet. For these +services he, in 1500, received from the King a pension of ten pounds, +afterwards increased to twenty, and, in fine, to eighty. He is said to +have been employed in the negotiations preparatory to the marriage of +James with Margaret Tudor, daughter of Henry VII., which took place in +1503, and which our poet celebrated in his verses, 'The Thistle and the +Rose.' He continued ever afterwards in the Court, hovering in position +between a laureate and a court-fool, charming James with his witty +conversation as well as his verses, but refused the benefices for which +he petitioned, and gradually devoured by chagrin and disappointment. +Seldom has genius so great been placed in a falser position, and this +has given a querulous tinge to many of his poems. He seems to have died +about 1520. Even after his death, misfortune pursued him. His works +were, with the exception of two or three pieces, locked up in an obscure +MS. till the middle of last century. Since then, however, their fame has +been still increasing. In 1834, Mr David Laing, so favourably known as +one of our first antiquarians, published a complete and elaborate edition +of Dunbar's works; and in a newspaper this very day (May 23) we see another +edition announced, in a popular and modernised shape, of the poetry of this +great old Scottish _Makkar_. + + +THE DANCE OF THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS THROUGH HELL. + +I. + +Of Februar' the fifteenth night, +Full long before the dayis light, + I lay into a trance; +And then I saw both Heaven and Hell; +Methought among the fiendis fell, + Mahoun[1] gart[2] cry a Dance, +Of shrewis[3] that were never shrevin,[4] +Against the feast of Fastern's even, +To make their observąnce: +He bade gallants go graith[5] a guise,[6] +And cast up gamounts[7] in the skies, + As varlets do in France. + + +II. + * * * * * +Holy harlottis in hautane[8] wise, +Came in with many sundry guise, + But yet laugh'd never Mahņun, +Till priests came in with bare shaven necks, +Then all the fiends laugh'd and made gecks,[9] +Black-Belly and Bawsy-Broun.[10] + * * * * * + + +III. + +'Let's see,' quoth he, 'now who begins:' +With that the foul Seven Deadly Sins + Began to leap at anis.[11] +And first of all in dance was Pride, +With hair wyld[12] back, and bonnet on side, + Like to make wasty weanis;[13] +And round about him, as a wheel, +Hang all in rumples to the heel, + His kethat[14] for the nanis.[15] +Many proud trompour[16] with him tripped, +Through scalding fire aye as they skipped, + They girn'd[17] with hideous granis.[18] + + +IV. + +Then Ire came in with sturt[19] and strife, +His hand was aye upon his knife, + He brandish'd like a beir; +Boasters, braggers, and barganeris,[20] +After him passed into pairis,[21] + All bodin in feir of weir.[22] +In jackis, scripis, and bonnets of steel, +Their legs were chenyiet[23] to the heel, + Froward was their affeir,[24] +Some upon other with brands beft,[25] +Some jaggit[26] others to the heft[27] + With knives that sharp could shear. + + +V. + +Next in the dance follow'd Envy, +Fill'd full of feud and felony, + Hid malice and despite, +For privy hatred that traitor trembled; +Him follow'd many freik[28] dissembled, +With feigned wordis white. + And flatterers into men's faces, +And backbiters in secret places +To lie that had delight, + And rowneris[29] of false lesģngs;[30] +Alas, that courts of noble kings + Of them can never be quite![31] + + +VI. + +Next him in dance came Covetice, +Root of all evil and ground of vice, + That never could be content, +Caitiffs, wretches, and ockerars,[32] +Hood-pikes,[33] hoarders, and gatherers, + All with that warlock went. +Out of their throats they shot on other +Hot molten gold, methought, a fother,[34] + As fire-flaucht[35] most fervčnt; +Aye as they tumit[36] them of shot, +Fiends fill'd them new up to the throat + With gold of all kind prent.[37] + + +VII. + +Syne[38] Sweirness[39] at the second bidding +Came like a sow out of a midding,[40] + Full sleepy was his grunyie.[41] +Many sweir bumbard[42] belly-huddroun,[43] +Many slute daw[44] and sleepy duddroun,[45] + Him served aye with sounyie.[46] +He drew them forth into a chenyie,[47] +And Belial with a bridle-rennyie,[48] + Ever lash'd them on the lunyie.[49] +In dance they were so slow of feet +They gave them in the fire a heat, + And made them quicker of counyie.[50] + + +VIII. + +Then Lechery, that loathly corse, +Came bearing like a bagged horse,[51] + And Idleness did him lead; +There was with him an ugly sort[52] +And many stinking foul tramort,[53] + That had in sin been dead. +When they were enter'd in the dance, +They were full strange of countenance, + Like torches burning reid. + * * * * * + +IX. + +Then the foul monster Gluttony, +Of wame[54] insatiable and greedy, + To dance he did him dress; +Him followed many a foul drunkąrt +With can and collep, cop and quart,[55] + In surfeit and excess. +Full many a waistless wally-drag[56] +With wames unwieldable did forth drag, + In creish[57] that did incress; +Drink, aye they cried, with many a gape, +The fiends gave them hot lead to laip,[58] +Their leveray[59] was no less. + + +X. + * * * * * +No minstrels play'd to them but[60] doubt, +For gleemen there were holden out, + By day and eke by night, +Except a minstrel that slew a man; +So till his heritage he wan,[61] + And enter'd by brief of right. + * * * * * + +XI. + +Then cried Mahoun for a Highland padyane,[62] +Syne ran a fiend to fetch Mac Fadyane,[63] + Far northward in a nook, +By he the Correnoch had done shout,[64] +Ersch-men[65] so gather'd him about + In hell great room they took: +These termagants, with tag and tatter, +Full loud in Ersch began to clatter, + And roup[66] like raven and rook. +The devil so deaved[67] was with their yell, +That in the deepest pot of hell + He smored[68] them with smoke. + +[1] 'Mahoun:' the devil. +[2] 'Gart:' caused. +[3] 'Shrewis:' sinners. +[4] 'Shrevin:' confessed. +[5] 'Graith:' prepare. +[6] 'Guise:' masque. +[7] 'Gamounts:' dances. +[8] 'Hautane:' haughty. +[9] 'Gecks:' mocks. +[10] 'Black-Belly and Bawsy-Broun:' names of spirits. +[11] 'Anis:' once. +[12] 'Wyld:' combed. +[13] 'Wasty weanis:' wasteful children. +[14] 'Kethat:' cassock. +[15] 'Nanis:' nonce. +[16] 'Trompour:' impostor. +[17] 'Girn'd:' grinned. +[18] 'Granis:' groans. +[19] 'Sturt:' violence. +[20] 'Barganeris:' bullies. +[21] 'Into pairis:' in pairs. +[22] 'Bodin in feir of weir:' arrayed in trappings of war. +[23] 'Chenyiet:' covered with chain-mail. +[24] 'Affeir:' aspect. +[25] 'Beft:' struck. +[26] 'Jaggit:' stabbed. +[27] 'Heft:' hilt. +[28] 'Freik:' fellows. +[29] 'Rowneris:' whisperers. +[30] 'Lesģngs:' lies. +[31] 'Quite:' quit. +[32] 'Ockerars:' usurers. +[33] 'Hood-pikes:' misers. +[34] 'Fother:' quantity. +[35] 'Flaucht:' flake. +[36] 'Tumit:' emptied. +[37] 'Prent:' stamp. +[38] 'Syne:' then. +[39] 'Sweirness:' laziness. +[40] 'Midding:' dunghill. +[41] 'Grunyie:' grunt. +[42] 'Bumbard:' indolent. +[43] 'Belly-huddroun:' gluttonous sloven. +[44] 'Slute daw:' slovenly drab. +[45] 'Duddroun:' sloven. +[46] 'Sounyie:' care. +[47] 'Chenyie:' chain. +[48] 'Rennyie:' rein. +[49] 'Lunyie:' back. +[50] 'Counyie:' apprehension. +[51] 'Bagged horse:' stallion. +[52] 'Sort:' number. +[53] 'Tramort:' corpse. +[54] 'Wame:' belly. +[55] 'Can and collep, cop and quart:' different names of + drinking-vessels. +[56] 'Wally-drag:' sot. +[57] 'Creish:' grease. +[58] 'Laip:' lap. +[59] 'Leveray:' desire to drink. +[60] 'But:' without. +[61] 'Wan:' got. +[62] 'Padyane:' pageant. +[63] 'Mac Fadyane:' name of some Highland laird. +[64] 'By he the Correnoch had done shout:' by the time that he had + raised the Correnoch, or cry of help. +[65] 'Ersch-men:' Highlanders. +[66] 'Roup:' croak. +[67] 'Deaved:' deafened. +[68] 'Smored:' smothered. + + +THE MERLE AND NIGHTINGALE. + +In May, as that Aurora did upspring, +With crystal een[1] chasing the cluddės sable, +I heard a Merle[2] with merry notės sing +A song of love, with voice right comfortįble, +Against the orient beamis, amiable, +Upon a blissful branch of laurel green; +This was her sentence, sweet and delectable, +'A lusty life in Lovė's service been.' + +Under this branch ran down a river bright, +Of balmy liquor, crystalline of hue, +Against the heavenly azure skyis light, +Where did upon the other side pursue +A Nightingale, with sugar'd notės new, +Whose angel feathers as the peacock shone; +This was her song, and of a sentence true, +'All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +With notės glad, and glorious harmony, +This joyful merle, so salust[3] she the day, +While rung the woodis of her melody, +Saying, 'Awake, ye lovers of this May; +Lo, fresh Flora has flourish'd every spray, +As nature, has her taught, the noble queen, +The fields be clothed in a new array; +A lusty life in Lovė's service been.' + +Ne'er sweeter noise was heard with living man, +Than made this merry gentle nightingale; +Her sound went with the river as it ran, +Out through the fresh and flourish'd lusty vale; +'O Merle!' quoth she, 'O fool! stint of thy tale, +For in thy song good sentence is there none, +For both is tint,[4] the time and the travail, +Of every love but upon God alone.' + +'Cease,' quoth the Merle, 'thy preaching, Nightingale: +Shall folk their youth spend into holiness? +Of young saintis, grow old fiendis, but[5] fable; +Fy, hypocrite, in yearis' tenderness, +Against the law of kind[6] thou goes express, +That crooked age makes one with youth serene, +Whom nature of conditions made diverse: +A lusty life in Lovė's service been.' + +The Nightingale said, 'Fool, remember thee, +That both in youth and eild,[7] and every hour, +The love of God most dear to man should be; +That him, of nought, wrought like his own figour, +And died himself, from death him to succour; +Oh, whether was kythit[8] there true love or none? +He is most true and steadfast paramour, +And love is lost but upon him alone.' + +The Merle said, 'Why put God so great beauty +In ladies, with such womanly havķng, +But if he would that they should loved be? +To love eke nature gave them inclinķng, +And He of nature that worker was and king, +Would nothing frustir[9] put, nor let be seen, +Into his creature of his own making; +A lusty life in Lovė's service been.' + +The Nightingale said, 'Not to that behoof +Put God such beauty in a lady's face, +That she should have the thank therefor or love, +But He, the worker, that put in her such grace; +Of beauty, bounty, riches, time, or space, +And every goodness that been to come or gone +The thank redounds to him in every place: +All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +'O Nightingale! it were a story nice, +That love should not depend on charity; +And, if that virtue contrar' be to vice, +Then love must be a virtue, as thinks me; +For, aye, to love envy must contrar' be: +God bade eke love thy neighbour from the spleen;[10] +And who than ladies sweeter neighbours be? +A lusty life in Lovė's service been.' + +The Nightingale said, 'Bird, why does thou rave? +Man may take in his lady such delight, +Him to forget that her such virtue gave, +And for his heaven receive her colour white: +Her golden tressed hairis redomite,[11] +Like to Apollo's beamis though they shone, +Should not him blind from love that is perfite; +All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +The Merle said, 'Love is cause of honour aye, +Love makis cowards manhood to purchase, +Love makis knightis hardy at essay, +Love makis wretches full of largėness, +Love makis sweir[12] folks full of business, +Love makis sluggards fresh and well beseen,[13] +Love changes vice in virtuous nobleness; +A lusty life in Lovė's service been.' + +The Nightingale said, 'True is the contrary; +Such frustis love it blindis men so far, +Into their minds it makis them to vary; +In false vain-glory they so drunken are, +Their wit is went, of woe they are not 'ware, +Till that all worship away be from them gone, +Fame, goods, and strength; wherefore well say I dare, +All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +Then said the Merle, 'Mine error I confess: +This frustis love is all but vanity: +Blind ignorance me gave such hardiness, +To argue so against the verity; +Wherefore I counsel every man that he +With love not in the fiendis net be tone,[14] +But love the love that did for his love die: +All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +Then sang they both with voices loud and clear, +The Merle sang, 'Man, love God that has thee wrought.' +The Nightingale sang, 'Man, love the Lord most dear, +That thee and all this world made of nought.' +The Merle said, 'Love him that thy love has sought +From heaven to earth, and here took flesh and bone.' +The Nightingale sang, 'And with his death thee bought: +All love is lost but upon him alone.' + +Then flew these birds over the boughis sheen, +Singing of love among the leavės small; +Whose eidant plead yet made my thoughtis grein,[15] +Both sleeping, waking, in rest and in travail; +Me to recomfort most it does avail, +Again for love, when love I can find none, +To think how sung this Merle and Nightingale; +'All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +[1] 'Een:' eyes. +[2] 'Merle:' blackbird. +[3] 'Salust:' saluted. +[4] 'Tint:' lost. +[5] 'But:' without. +[6] 'Kind:' nature. +[7] 'Eild:' age. +[8] 'Kythit:' shewn. +[9] 'Frustrir:' in vain. +[10] 'Spleen:' from the heart. +[11] 'Redomite:' bound, encircled. +[12] 'Sweir:' slothful. +[13] 'Well beseen:' of good appearance. +[14] 'Tone:' taken. +[15] 'Whose eidant plead yet made my thoughtis grein:' whose close + disputation made my thoughts yearn. + + + + +GAVIN DOUGLAS. + + +This eminent prelate was a younger son of Archibald, the fifth Earl of +Angus. He was born in Brechin about the year 1474. He studied at the +University of Paris. He became a churchman, and yet united with +attention to the duties of his calling great proficiency in polite +learning. In 1513 he finished a translation, into Scottish verse, of +Virgil's 'Aeneid,' which, considering the age, is an extraordinary +performance. It occupied him only sixteen months. The multitude of +obsolete terms, however, in which it abounds, renders it now, as a +whole, illegible. After passing through various subordinate offices, +such as the 'Provostship' of St Giles's, Edinburgh, and the 'Abbotship' +of Arbroath, he was at length appointed Bishop of Dunkeld. Dunkeld was +not then the paradise it has become, but Birnam hill and the other +mountains then, as now, stood round about it, the old Cathedral rose up +in mediaeval majesty, and the broad, smooth Tay flowed onward to the +ocean. And, doubtless, Douglas felt the poetic inspiration from it quite +as warmly as did Thomas Brown, when, three centuries afterwards, he set +up the staff of his summer rest at the beautiful Invar inn, and thence +delighted to diverge to the hundred scenes of enchantment which stretch +around. The good Bishop was an ardent politician as well as a poet, and +was driven, by his share in the troubles of the times, to flee from his +native land, and take refuge in the Court of Henry VIII. The King +received him kindly, and treated him with much liberality. In 1522 he +died at London of the plague, and was interred in the Savoy Church. +He was, according to Buchanan, about to proceed to Rome to vindicate +himself before the Pope against certain charges brought by his enemies. +Besides the translation of the 'Aeneid,' Douglas is the author of a long +poem entitled the 'Palace of Honour;' it is an allegory, describing +a large company making a pilgrimage to Honour's Palace. It bears +considerable resemblance to the 'Pilgrim's Progress,' and some suppose +that Bunyan had seen it before composing his allegory. 'King Hart' is +another production of our poet's, of considerable length and merit. It +gives, metaphorically, a view of human life. Perhaps his best pieces are +his 'Prologues,' affixed to each book of the 'Aeneid.' From them we have +selected 'Morning in May' as a specimen. The closing lines are fine. + + 'Welcome the lord of light, and lamp of day, + Welcome fosterer of tender herbis green, + Welcome quickener of flourish'd flowers sheen, + Welcome support of every root and vein, + Welcome comfort of all kind fruit and grain,' &c. + +Douglas must not be named with Dunbar in strength and grandeur of +genius. His power is more in expression than in conception, and hence +he has shone so much in translation. His version of the 'Aeneid' is the +first made of any classic into a British tongue, and is the worthy +progenitor of such minor miracles of poetical talent--all somewhat more +mechanical than inspired, and yet giving a real, though subordinate +glory to our literature-as Fairfax's 'Tasso,' Dryden's 'Virgil,' and +Pope's, Coper's, and Sotheby's 'Homer.' The fire in Douglas' original +verses is occasionally lost in smoke, and the meaning buried in flowery +verbiage. Still he was an honour alike to the Episcopal bench and the +Muse of Scotland. He was of amiable manners, gentle temperament, and a +noble and commanding appearance. + + +MORNING IN MAY. + +As fresh Aurore, to mighty Tithon spouse, +Ished of[1] her saffron bed and ivor' house, +In cram'sy clad and grained violate, +With sanguine cape, and selvage purpurate, +Unshet[2] the windows of her largė hall, +Spread all with roses, and full of balm royal, +And eke the heavenly portis crystalline +Unwarps broad, the world to illumine; +The twinkling streamers of the orient +Shed purpour spraings,[3] with gold and azure ment;[4] +Eous, the steed, with ruby harness red, +Above the seas liftis forth his head, +Of colour sore,[5] and somedeal brown as berry, +For to alighten and glad our hemispery; +The flame out-bursten at the neisthirls,[6] +So fast Phaeton with the whip him whirls. * * +While shortly, with the blazing torch of day, +Abulyit[7] in his lemand[8] fresh array, +Forth of his palace royal ished Phoebus, +With golden crown and visage glorious, +Crisp hairs, bright as chrysolite or topaz; +For whose hue might none behold his face. * * +The aureate vanes of his throne soverain +With glittering glance o'erspread the oceane; +The largė floodės, lemand all of light, +But with one blink of his supernal sight. +For to behold, it was a glore to see +The stabled windis, and the calmed sea, +The soft season, the firmament serene, +The loune[9] illuminate air and firth amene. * * +And lusty Flora did her bloomis spread +Under the feet of Phoebus' sulyart[10] steed; +The swarded soil embrode with selcouth[11] hues, +Wood and forest, obumbratė with bews.[12] * * +Towers, turrets, kirnals,[13] and pinnacles high, +Of kirks, castles, and ilk fair city, +Stood painted, every fane, phiol,[14] and stage,[15] +Upon the plain ground by their own umbrage. +Of Aeolus' north blasts having no dreid, +The soil spread her broad bosom on-breid; +The corn crops and the beir new-braird +With gladsome garment revesting the yerd.[16] * * +The prai[17] besprent with springing sprouts disperse +For caller humours[18] on the dewy night +Rendering some place the gersė-piles[19] their light; +As far as cattle the lang summer's day +Had in their pasture eat and nip away; +And blissful blossoms in the bloomed yerd, +Submit their heads to the young sun's safeguard. +Ivy-leaves rank o'erspread the barmkin wall; +The bloomed hawthorn clad his pikis all; +Forth of fresh bourgeons[20] the wine grapės ying[21] +Endlong the trellis did on twistis hing; +The loukit buttons on the gemmed trees +O'erspreading leaves of nature's tapestries; +Soft grassy verdure after balmy showers, +On curling stalkis smiling to their flowers. * * +The daisy did on-breid her crownal small, +And every flower unlapped in the dale. * * +Sere downis small on dentilion sprang. +The young green bloomed strawberry leaves amang; +Jimp jeryflowers thereon leaves unshet, +Fresh primrose and the purpour violet; * * +Heavenly lilies, with lockerand toppis white, +Open'd and shew their crestis redemite. * * +A paradise it seemed to draw near +These galyard gardens and each green herbere. +Most amiable wax the emerald meads; +Swarmis soughis throughout the respand reeds, +Over the lochis and the floodis gray, +Searching by kind a place where they should lay. +Phoebus' red fowl,[22] his cural crest can steer, +Oft stretching forth his heckle, crowing clear. +Amid the wortis and the rootis gent +Picking his meat in alleys where he went, +His wivės Toppa and Partolet him by-- +A bird all-time that hauntis bigamy. +The painted powne[23] pacing with plumės gym, +Cast up his tail a proud pleasand wheel-rim, +Yshrouded in his feathering bright and sheen, +Shaping the print of Argus' hundred een. +Among the bowis of the olive twists, +Sere[24] small fowls, working crafty nests, +Endlong the hedges thick, and on rank aiks[25] +Ilk bird rejoicing with their mirthful makes. +In corners and clear fenestres[26] of glass, +Full busily Arachne weaving was, +To knit her nettis and her webbis sly, +Therewith to catch the little midge or fly. +So dusty powder upstours[27] in every street, +While corby gasped for the fervent heat. +Under the boughis bene[28] in lovely vales, +Within fermance and parkis close of pales, +The busteous buckis rakis forth on raw, +Herdis of hartis through the thick wood-shaw. +The young fawns following the dun does, +Kids, skipping through, runnis after roes. +In leisurs and on leais, little lambs +Full tait and trig sought bleating to their dams. +On salt streams wolk[29] Dorida and Thetis, +By running strandis, Nymphis and Naiadis, +Such as we clepe wenches and damasels, +In gersy[30] groves wandering by spring wells; +Of bloomed branches and flowers white and red, +Platting their lusty chaplets for their head. +Some sang ring-songės, dances, leids,[31] and rounds. +With voices shrill, while all thel dale resounds. +Whereso they walk into their carolling, +For amorous lays does all the rockis ring. +One sang, 'The ship sails over the salt faem, +Will bring the merchants and my leman hame.' +Some other sings, 'I will be blithe and light, +My heart is lent upon so goodly wight.'[32] +And thoughtful lovers rounis[33] to and fro, +To leis[34] their pain, and plain their jolly woe; +After their guise, now singing, now in sorrow, +With heartis pensive the long summer's morrow. +Some ballads list indite of his lady; +Some lives in hope; and some all utterly +Despaired is, and so quite out of grace, +His purgatory he finds in every place. * * +Dame Nature's minstrels, on that other part, +Their blissful lay intoning every art, * * +And all small fowlis singis on the spray, +Welcome the lord of light, and lamp of day, +Welcome fosterer of tender herbis green, +Welcome quickener of flourish'd flowers sheen, +Welcome support of every root and vein, +Welcome comfort of all kind fruit and grain, +Welcome the birdis' bield[35] upon the brier, +Welcome master and ruler of the year, +Welcome welfare of husbands at the ploughs, +Welcome repairer of woods, trees, and boughs, +Welcome depainter of the bloomed meads, +Welcome the life of every thing that spreads, +Welcome storer of all kind bestial, +Welcome be thy bright beamis, gladding all. * * + +[1] 'Ished of:' issued from. +[2] 'Unshet:' opened. +[3] 'Spraings:' streaks. +[4] 'Ment:' mingled. +[5] 'Sore:' yellowish brown. +[6] 'Neisthirls:' nostrils. +[7] 'Abulyit:' attired. +[8] 'Lemand:' glittering. +[9] 'Loune:' calm. +[10] 'Sulyart:' sultry. +[11] 'Selcouth:' uncommon. +[12] 'Bews:' boughs. +[13] 'Kirnals:' battlements. +[14] 'Phiol:' cupola. +[15] 'Stage:' storey. +[16] 'Yerd:' earth. +[17] 'Prai:' meadow. +[18] 'Caller humours:' cool vapours. +[19] 'Gersė:' grass. +[20] 'Bourgeons:' sprouts. +[21] 'Ying:' young. +[22] 'Red fowl:' the cook. +[23] 'Powne:' the peacock. +[24] 'Sere:' many. +[25] 'Aiks:' oaks. +[26] 'Fenestres:' windows. +[27] 'Upstours:' rises in clouds. +[28] 'Bene:' snug. +[29] 'Wolk:' walked. +[30] 'Gersy:' grassy. +[31] 'Leids:' lays. +[32] Songs then popular. +[33] 'Rounis:' whisper. +[34] 'Leis:' relieve. +[35] 'Bield:' shelter. + + + + +HAWES, BARCLAY, &c. + + +Stephen Hawes, a native of Suffolk, wrote about the close of the +fifteenth century. He studied at Oxford, and travelled much in France, +where he became a master of French and Italian poetry. King Henry VII., +struck with his conversation and the readiness with which he repeated +old English poets, especially Lydgate, created him groom of the privy +chamber. Hawes has written a number of poems, such as 'The Temple of +Glasse,' 'The Conversion of Swearers,' 'The Consolation of Lovers,' 'The +Pastime of Pleasure,' &c. Those who wish to see specimens of the strange +allegories and curious devices of thought in which it abounds, may find +them in Warton's 'History of English Poetry.' + +In that same valuable work we find an account of Alexander Barclay, author +of 'The Ship of Fools.' He was educated at Oriel College in Oxford, and +after travelling abroad, was appointed one of the priests or prebendaries +of the College of St Mary Ottery, in Devonshire--a parish famous in later +days for the birth of Coleridge. Barclay became afterwards a Benedictine +monk of Ely monastery; and at length a brother of the Order of St Francis, +at Canterbury. He died, a very old man, at Croydon, in Surrey, in the year +1552. His principal work, 'The Ship of Fools,' is a satire upon the vices +and absurdities of his age, and shews considerable wit and power of +sarcasm. + + + + +SKELTON. + + +John Skelton is the name of the next poet. He flourished in the earlier +part of the reign of Henry VIII. Having studied both at Oxford and +Cambridge, and been laureated at the former university in 1489, he was +promoted to the rectory of Diss or Dysse, in Norfolk. Some say he had +acted previously as tutor to Henry VIII. At Dysse he attracted attention +by satirical ballads against the mendicants, as well as by licences of +buffoonery in the pulpit. For these he was censured, and even, it is +said, suspended, by Nykke, Bishop of Norwich. Undaunted by this, he flew +at higher game--ventured to ridicule Cardinal Wolsey, then in his power, +and had to take refuge from the myrmidons of the prelate in Westminster +Abbey. There Abbot Islip kindly entertained and protected him till his +dying day. He breathed his last in the year 1529, and was buried in the +adjacent church of St Margaret's. + +Skelton as well as Barclay enjoyed considerable popularity in his own +age. Erasmus calls him 'Britannicarum literarum lumen et decus!' How +dark must have been the night in which such a Will-o'-wisp was mistaken +for a star! He has wit, indeed, and satirical observation; but his wit +is wilder than it is strong, and his satire is dashed with personality +and obscenity. His style, Campbell observes, is 'almost a texture of +slang phrases, patched with shreds of French and Latin.' His verses on +Margaret Hussey, which we have quoted, are in his happiest vein. The +following lines, too, on Cardinal Wolsey, are as true as they are +terse:-- + + 'Then in the Chamber of Stars + All matter there he mars. + Clapping his rod on the board, + No man dare speak a word. + For he hath all the saying, + Without any renaying. + He rolleth in his recņrds; + He sayeth, How say ye, my Lords? + Is not my reason good? + Good even, good Robin Hood. + Some say, Yes; and some + Sit still, as they were dumb.' + +It is curious that Wolsey's enemies, in one of their charges against him +in the Parliament of 1529, have repeated, almost in the words of Skelton, +the same accusation. + + + TO MISTRESS MARGARET HUSSEY. + + Merry Margaret, + As midsummer flower, + Gentle as falcon, + Or hawk of the tower; + With solace and gladness, + Much mirth and no madness, + All good and no badness; + So joyously, + So maidenly, + So womanly, + Her demeaning, + In everything, + Far, far passing, + That I can indite, + Or suffice to write, + Of merry Margaret, + As midsummer flower, + Gentle as falcon, + Or hawk of the tower; + As patient and as still, + And as full of good-will, + As fair Isiphil, + Coliander, + Sweet Pomander, + Good Cassander; + Steadfast of thought, + Well made, well wrought. + Far may be sought, + Ere you can find + So courteous, so kind, + As merry Margaret, + This midsummer flower, + Gentle as falcon, + Or hawk of the tower. + + + + +SIR DAVID LYNDSAY. + + +Returning to Scotland, we find a Skelton of a higher order and a +brawnier make in Sir David Lyndsay, or, as our forefathers were wont +familiarly to denominate him, 'Davie Lyndsay.' Lyndsay was descended +from a noble family, a younger branch of Lyndsay of the Byres, and born +in 1490, probably at the Mount, the family-seat, near Cupar-Fife. He +entered the University of St Andrews in the year 1505, and four years +later left it to travel in Italy. He must, however, have returned to +Scotland before the 12th of October 1511, since we learn from the +records of the Lord Treasurer that he was presented with a quantity of +'blue and yellow taffety to be a playcoat for the play performed in the +King and Queen's presence in the Abbey of Holyrood.' On the 12th of +April 1512, Lyndsay, then twenty-two years of age, was appointed +gentleman-usher to James V., who had been born that very day. In his +poem called 'The Dream,' he reminds the King of his having borne him +in his arms ere he could walk; of having wrapped him up warmly in his +little bed; of having sung to him with his lute, danced before him to +make him laugh, and having carried him on his shoulders like a 'pedlar +his pack.' He continued to be page and companion to the King till 1524, +when, in consequence of the unprincipled machinations of the Queen- +mother--who was acting as Regent--he, as well as Bellenden, the learned +translator of Livy and Boece, was ejected from his office. When, however, +in 1528, the young King, by a noble effort, emancipated himself from the +thraldom of his mother and the Douglasses, Lyndsay wrote his 'Dream,' in +which, amidst much poetic or fantastic matter, he congratulates James on +his deliverance; reminds him, as aforesaid, of his early services; and +takes occasion to paint the evils the country had endured during his +minority, and to give him some bold and salutary advice as to his future +conduct. The next year (1529) he produced 'The Complaint,' a poem in +which he recurs to former themes, and remonstrates with great freedom +and severity against the treatment he had undergone. Here, too, the +religious reformer peeps out. He exhorts the King to compel the clergy +to attend to the duties of their office; to preach more earnestly; to +administer the sacraments according to the institution of Christ; and not +to deceive their people with superstitious pilgrimages, vain traditions, +and prayers to graven images, contrary to the written command of God. He +with quaint iron says, that if his Grace will lend him + + 'Of gold ane thousand pound or tway,' + +he will give him a sealed bond, obliging himself to repay the loan when +the Bass and the Isle of May are set upon Mount Sinai; or the Lomond +hills, near Falkland, are removed to Northumberland; or + + 'When kirkmen yairnis [desire] na dignity, + Nor wives na soveranitie.' + +Still finer the last lines of the poem. 'If not,' he says, 'my God + + 'Shall cause me stand content + With quiet life and sober rent, + And take me, in my latter age, + Unto my simple hermitage, + To spend the gear my elders won, + As did Diogenes in his tun.' + +This 'Complaint' proved successful, and in the next year (1530) Lyndsay +was appointed Lion King-at-Arms--an office of great dignity in these +days. The Lion was the chief judge of all matters connected with +heraldry in the realm; was also the official ambassador from his +sovereign to foreign countries; and was inaugurated in his office with +a pomp and circumstance little inferior to those of a royal coronation, +the King crowning him with his own hands, anointing him with wine +instead of oil, and putting on his head the Royal Crown of Scotland, +which he continued to wear till the close of the feast. It is of Lyndsay +in the full accoutrements of this office that Sir Walter Scott speaks in +his 'Marmion,' although he antedates by sixteen years the time when he +assumed it:-- + + 'He was a man of middle age, + In aspect manly, grave, and sage, + As on king's errand come; + But in the glances of his eye, + A penetrating, keen, and sly + Expression found its home-- + The flash of that satiric rage + Which, bursting on the early stage, + Branded the vices of the age, + And broke the keys of Rome. + On milk-white palfrey forth he paced; + His cap of maintenance was graced + With the proud heron-plume; + From his steed's shoulder, loin, and breast + Silk housings swept the ground, + With Scotland's arms, device, and crest + Embroider'd round and round. + The double treasure might you see, + First by Achaius borne, + The thistle and the fleur-de-lis, + And gallant unicorn. + So bright the king's armorial coat, + That scarce the dazzled eye could note; + In living colours, blazon'd brave, + The lion, which his title gave. + A train which well beseem'd his state, + But all unarm'd, around him wait; + Still is thy name in high account, + And still thy verse has charms, + Sir David Lyndsay of the Mount, + Lord Lion King-at-Arms.' + +Soon after this appointment, Lyndsay wrote 'The Complaint of the King's +Papingo,' in which, through the mouth of a dying parrot, he gives some +sharp counsel to the king, his courtiers and nobles, and administers +severe satirical chastisement to the corruptions of the clergy. It is an +exceedingly clever production, and has some beautiful poetry as well as +stinging sarcasm. Take the following address to Edinburgh, Stirling, +Linlithgow, and Falkland:-- + + Adieu, Edinburgh! thou high triumphant town, + Within whose bounds right blitheful have I been; + Of true merchandis, the rule of this region, + Most ready to receive court, king, and queen; + Thy policy and justice may be seen; + Were devotion, wisdom, and honesty, + And credence tint, they micht be found in thee. + + Adieu, fair Snawdoun! [Stirling] with thy towers hie, + Thy chapel-royal, park, and table round; + May, June, and July would I dwell in thee, + Were I a man to hear the birdis sound, + Which doth against the royal rock rebound. + Adieu, Lithgow! whose palace of pleasance + Meets not its peer in Portingale or France. + + Farewell, Falkland! the forteress of Fife, + Thy velvet park under the Lomond Law; + Sometime in thee I led a lusty life. + The fallow deer to see them raik on raw [walk in a row], + Caust men to come to thee, they have great awe, &c. + +In the year 1535, Lyndsay wrote his remarkable drama, 'The Satire of the +Three Estates'--Monarch, namely, Barons, and Clergy. It is made up in +nearly three equal parts of ingenuity, wit, and grossness. It is a drama, +and was acted several times--first, in 1535, at Cupar-Fife, on a large +green mound called Moot-hill; then, in 1539, in an open park near +Linlithgow, by the express desire of the king, who with all the ladies +of the Court attended the representation; then in the amphitheatre of +St Johnston in Perth; and in 1554, at Edinburgh, in the village of +Greenside, which skirted the northern base of the Calton Hill, in the +presence of the Queen Regent and an enormous concourse of spectators. +Its exhibition appears to have occupied nearly the whole day. In the +'Pictorial History of Scotland,' chapter xxiv., our readers will find a +full and able analysis with extracts of this extraordinary performance. +It is said to have done much good in opening the eyes of the people to +the evils of the Papacy, and in paving the way for the Reformation. + +In 1536 Sir David, in company with Sir John Campbell of Lundie, was sent +to the Court of France to demand in marriage for James V. a daughter of +the House of Vendome; but the King chose rather to take the matter in +his own hands, and, going over in person, wedded Magdalene, daughter of +Francis. She died two months after her arrival in Scotland, universally +regretted; and Lyndsay made the sad event the subject of a poem, +entitled 'Deploration of the Death of Queen Magdalene,' whom he +designates + + 'The flower of France, and comfort of Scotland.' + +When James subsequently married Mary of Guise, Sir David's ingenuity was +strained to the utmost in providing pageants, masques, and shows to +welcome her Majesty. For forty days in St Andrews, festivities continued; +and it was during this prolonged festival that the Lion King, as if sick +and satiated with vanities, wrote two poems, one entitled 'The Justing +between James Watson and John Barbour,' a dull satire on tournaments, &c., +and the other a somewhat cleverer piece, entitled 'Supplication directed +to the King's Grace in Contemptioun of Side Tails,' the long trains then +worn by the ladies. It met, we presume,with the fate of _Punch's_ sarcasms +against crinoline,--the 'phylacteries' would for a season, instead of +being lessened, be enlarged, till Fashion lifted up her omnipotent rod, +and told it to be otherwise. + +King James died prematurely on the 14th of December 1542, and Lyndsay +closed his eyes at Falkland, and mourned for him as a brother. From that +day forth he probably felt that there was 'less sunshine in the sky for +him.' In the troublous times which succeeded this, he had to retire for +a season from the Court, having become obnoxious to the rigid Papists on +account of his writings. After the death of Cardinal Beatoun he wrote +the tragedy of 'The Cardinal,' a poem in which the spectre of the +Cardinal is the spokesman, and which teems with good advice to all and +sundry. The execution, however, is not so felicitous as the plan. In +1548 Lyndsay went to Denmark to negotiate a free trade with Scotland. On +his return in 1550 he wrote his very pleasing and chivalric 'History of +Squire Meldrum,' founded on the actual adventures of William Meldrum, +the Laird of Cleish and Binns, a distinguished friend of the poet, who +had gained laurels as a warrior both in Scotland and in France. This +poem is, in a measure, an anticipation of the rhymed romances of Scott, +and is full of picturesque description and spirit-stirring adventure. In +1553 he completed his last and most elaborate work, which had occupied +him for years, entitled 'The Monarchic,' containing an account of the +most famous monarchies which have existed on earth, and carrying on the +history to the general judgment. From this date we almost entirely lose +sight of our poet. He seems to have retired into private life, and is +supposed to have died about the close of 1557. He was probably buried in +the family vault at Ceres, but no stone marks the spot. Dying without +issue, his estates passed to his brother Alexander, and were continued +in the possession of his descendants till the middle of last century. +They now belong to the Hopes of Rankeillour. The office of Lord Lion was +held by two of the poet's relatives successively--Sir David, his +nephew, who became Lion King in 1591, and his son-in-law, Sir Jerome +Lyndsay, who succeeded to it in 1621. + +Sir David Lyndsay, unlike most satirists, was a good, a blameless, and a +religious man. The occasional loftiness of his poetic vein, the breadth +of his humour, the purity of his purpose, and his strong reforming zeal +combined to make his poetry exceedingly popular in Scotland for a number +of ages, particularly among the lower orders. Scott introduces Andrew +Fairservice, in 'Rob Roy,' saying, in reference to Francis Osbaldistone's +poetical efforts, 'Gude help him! twa lines o' Davie Lyndsay wad ding a' +he ever clerkit,' and even still there are districts of the country where +his name is a household word. + + +MELDRUM'S DUEL WITH THE ENGLISH CHAMPION TALBART. + +Then clarions and trumpets blew, +And warriors many hither drew; +On every side came many man +To behold who the battle wan. +The field was in the meadow green, +Where every man might well be seen: +The heralds put them so in order, +That no man pass'd within the border, +Nor press'd to come within the green, +But heralds and the champions keen; +The order and the circumstance +Were long to put in remembrance. +When these two noble men of weir +Were well accoutred in their geir, +And in their handis strong burdouns,[1] +Then trumpets blew and clariouns, +And heralds cried high on height, +'Now let them go--God show the right.' + + * * * * * + +Then trumpets blew triumphantly, +And these two champions eagerly, +They spurr'd their horse with spear on breast, +Pertly[2] to prove their pith they press'd. +That round rink-room[3] was at utterance, +But Talbart's horse with a mischance +He outterit,[4] and to run was loth; +Whereof Talbart was wonder wroth. +The Squier forth his rink[5] he ran, +Commended well with every man, +And him discharged of his spear +Honestly, like a man of weir. + + * * * * * + +The trenchour[6] of the Squier's spear +Stuck still into Sir Talbart's geir; +Then every man into that stead[7] +Did all believe that he was dead. +The Squier leap'd right hastily +From his courser deliverly,[8] +And to Sir Talbart made support, +And humillie[9] did him comfort. +When Talbart saw into his shield +An otter in a silver field, +'This race,' said he, 'I sore may rue, +For I see well my dream was true; +Methought yon otter gart[10] me bleed, +And bore me backward from my steed; +But here I vow to God soverain, +That I shall never joust again.' +And sweetly to the Squier said, +'Thou know'st the cunning[11] that we made, +Which of us two should tyne[12] the field, +He should both horse and armour yield +To him that won, wherefore I will +My horse and harness give thee till.' +Then said the Squier, courteously, +'Brother, I thank you heartfully; +Of you, forsooth, nothing I crave, +For I have gotten that I would have.' + +[1] 'Burdouns:' spears. +[2] 'Pertly:' boldly. +[3] 'Rink-room:' course-room. +[4] 'Outterit:' swerved. +[5] 'Kink:' course. +[6] 'Trencliour:' head. +[7] 'Stead:' place. +[8] 'Deliverly:' actively. +[9] 'Humillie:' humbly. +[10] 'Gart:' made. +[11] 'Cunning:' agreement. +[12] 'Tyne:' lose. + + +SUPPLICATION IN CONTEMPTION OF SIDE TAILS,[1] (1538.) + +Sovereign, I mene[2] of these side tails, +Whilk through the dust and dubbės trails, +Three quarters lang behind their heels, +Express against all commonweals. +Though bishops, in their pontificals, +Have men for to bear up their tails, +For dignity of their office; +Right so a queen or an emprice; +Howbeit they use such gravity, +Conforming to their majesty, +Though their robe-royals be upborne, +I think it is a very scorn, +That every lady of the land +Should have her tail so side trailand; +Howbeit they be of high estate, +The queen they should not counterfeit. + +Wherever they go it may be seen +How kirk and causey they sweep clean. +The images into the kirk +May think of their side tailės irk;[3] +For when the weather be most fair, +The dust flies highest into the air, +And all their faces does begary, +If they could speak, they would them wary. * * +But I have most into despite +Poor claggocks[4] clad in raploch[5] white, +Whilk has scant two merks for their fees, +Will have two ells beneath their knees. +Kittock that cleckit[6] was yestreen, +The morn will counterfeit the queen. * * +In barn nor byre she will not bide, +Without her kirtle tail be side. +In burghs, wanton burgess wives +Who may have sidest tailės strives, +Well bordered with velvet fine, +But following them it is a pine: +In summer, when the streetės dries, +They raise the dust above the skies; +None may go near them at their ease, +Without they cover mouth and neese. * * +I think most pain after a rain, +To see them tucked up again; +Then when they step forth through the street, +Their faldings flaps about their feet; +They waste more cloth, within few years, +Nor would cleid[7] fifty score of freirs. * * +Of tails I will no more indite, +For dread some duddron[8] me despite: +Notwithstanding, I will conclude, +That of side tails can come no good, +Sider nor[9] may their ankles hide, +The remanent proceeds of pride, +And pride proceedis of the devil; +Thus alway they proceed of evil. + +Another fault, Sir, may be seen, +They hide their face all but the een; +When gentlemen bid them good-day, +Without reverence they slide away. * * +Without their faults be soon amended, +My flyting,[10] Sir, shall never be ended; +But would your grace my counsel take, +A proclamation ye should make, +Both through the land and burrowstowns, +To show their face and cut their gowns. +Women will say, This is no bourds,[11] +To write such vile and filthy words; +But would they cleanse their filthy tails, +Whilk over the mires and middings[12] trails, +Then should my writing cleansed be, +None other' mends they get of me. + +Quoth Lyndsay, in contempt of the side tails, +That duddrons[13] and duntibours[14] through the dubbės trails. + +[1] 'Side tails:' long skirts. +[2] 'Mene:' complain. +[3] 'Irk:' May feel annoyed. +[4] 'Claggocks:' draggle-tails. +[5] 'Raploch:' homespun. +[6] 'Cleckit:' born. +[7] 'Cleid:' clothe. +[8] 'Duddron:' slut. +[9] 'Nor:' than. +[10] 'Flyting:' scolding. +[11] 'Bourds:' jest. +[12] 'Middings:' dunghills. +[13] 'Duddrons:' sluts. +[14] 'Duntibours:' harlots. + + + + +THOMAS TUSSER. + + +Of Tusser we know only that he was horn in the year 1523, was well +educated, commenced life as a courtier under the patronage of Lord +Paget, but became a farmer, pursuing agriculture at Ratwood in Sussex, +Ipswich, Fairsted in Essex, Norwich, and other places; that he was not +successful, and had to betake himself to other occupations, such as +those of a chorister, fiddler, &c.; and that, finally, he died a poor +man in London in the year 1580. Tusser has left only one work, published +in 1557, entitled 'A Hundred Good Points of Husbandrie,' written in +simple but sometimes strong verse. It is our first, and not our worst +didactic poem. + + +DIRECTIONS FOR CULTIVATING A HOP-GARDEN. + +Whom fancy persuadeth, among other crops, +To have for his spending sufficient of hops, +Must willingly follow, of choices to choose, +Such lessons approved as skilful do use. + +Ground gravelly, sandy, and mixed with clay, +Is naughty for hops, any manner of way. +Or if it be mingled with rubbish and stone, +For dryness and barrenness let it alone. + +Choose soil for the hop of the rottenest mould, +Well dunged and wrought, as a garden-plot should; +Not far from the water, but not overflown, +This lesson, well noted, is meet to be known. + +The sun in the south, or else southly and west, +Is joy to the hop, as a welcomed guest; +But wind in the north, or else northerly east, +To the hop is as ill as a fray in a feast. + +Meet plot for a hop-yard once found as is told, +Make thereof account, as of jewel of gold; +Now dig it, and leave it, the sun for to burn, +And afterwards fence it, to serve for that turn. + +The hop for his profit I thus do exalt, +It strengtheneth drink, and it favoureth malt; +And being well brew'd, long kept it will last, +And drawing abide--if ye draw not too fast. + + +HOUSEWIFELY PHYSIC. + +Good housewife provides, ere a sickness do come, +Of sundry good things in her house to have some. +Good _aqua composita_, and vinegar tart, +Rose-water, and treacle, to comfort thine heart. +Cold herbs in her garden, for agues that burn, +That over-strong heat to good temper may turn. +White endive, and succory, with spinach enow; +All such with good pot-herbs, should follow the plough. +Get water of fumitory, liver to cool, +And others the like, or else lie like a fool. +Conserves of barbary, quinces, and such, +With sirops, that easeth the sickly so much. +Ask _Medicus'_ counsel, ere medicine ye take, +And honour that man for necessity's sake. +Though thousands hate physic, because of the cost, +Yet thousands it helpeth, that else should be lost. +Good broth, and good keeping, do much now and than: +Good diet, with wisdom, best comforteth man. +In health, to be stirring shall profit thee best; +In sickness, hate trouble; seek quiet and rest. +Remember thy soul; let no fancy prevail; +Make ready to God-ward; let faith never quail: +The sooner thyself thou submittest to God, +The sooner he ceaseth to scourge with his rod. + + +MORAL REFLECTIONS ON THE WIND. + +Though winds do rage, as winds were wood,[1] +And cause spring-tides to raise great flood; +And lofty ships leave anchor in mud, +Bereaving many of life and of blood: +Yet, true it is, as cow chews cud, +And trees, at spring, doth yield forth bud, +Except wind stands as never it stood, +It is an ill wind turns none to good. + +[1] 'Wood:' mad. + + + + +VAUX, EDWARDS, &c. + + +In Tottell's 'Miscellany,' the first of the sort in the English language, +published in 1557, although the names of many of the authors are not +given, the following writers are understood to have contributed:--Sir +Francis Bryan, a friend of Wyatt's, one of the principal ornaments of the +Court of Henry VIII., and who died, in 1548, Chief Justiciary of Ireland; +George Boleyn, Earl of Rochford, the amiable brother of the famous Anne +Boleyn, and who fell a victim to the insane jealousy of Henry, being +beheaded in 1536; and Lord Thomas Vaux, son of Nicholas Vaux, who died +in the latter end of Queen Mary's reign. In the same Miscellany is found +'Phillide and Harpalus,' the 'first true pastoral,' says Warton, 'in the +English language,' (see 'Specimens.') To it are annexed, too, a +collection of 'Songes, written by N. G.,' which means Nicholas Grimoald, +an Oxford man, renowned for his rhetorical lectures in Christ Church, +and for being, after Surrey, our first writer of blank verse, in the +modulation of which he excelled even Surrey. Henry himself, who was an +expert musician, is said also to have composed a book of sonnets and one +madrigal in praise of Anne Boleyn. In the same reign occur the names of +Borde, Bale, Bryan, Annesley, John Rastell, Wilfred Holme, and Charles +Bansley, all writers of minor and forgotten poems. John Heywood, called +the Epigrammatist, was of a somewhat higher order. He was the favourite +of Sir Thomas More and the pensioner of Henry VIII. He gained favour +partly through his conversational humour, and partly through his writings. +He is the author of various comedies; of six hundred epigrams, most of +them very poor; of a dialogue, in verse, containing all the proverbs then +afloat in the language; of an apologue, entitled 'The Spider and the Fly,' +&c. Heywood, who was a rigid Papist, left the kingdom after the decease +of Queen Mary, and died at Mechlin, in Brabant, in 1565. Warton has +preserved some specimens of Sir Thomas More's poetry, which do not add +much to our conception of his genius. In 1542, one Robert Vaughan wrote +an alliterative poem, entitled 'The Falcon and the Pie.' In 1521, 'The +Not-browne Maid,' (given by us in 'Percy's Reliques,') appeared in a +curious collection, called 'Arnolde's Chronicle, or Customs of London.' +In the same year Wynkyn de Worde printed a set of 'Christmas Carols,' and +in 1529 'A Treatise of Merlin, or his Prophecies in Verse.' In Henry's +days, too, there commences the long line of translators of the Psalms +into English metre, commencing with Thomas Sternhold, groom of the robes +to the King, who versified fifty-one psalms, which were published in 1549, +and with John Hopkins, a clergyman and schoolmaster in Suffolk, who added +fifty-eight more, and progressing with Whyttingham, Thomas Norton, (the +joint author, along with Lord Buckhurst, of the curious old tragedy of +'Gorboduc,') Robert Wisdome, William Hunnis, William Baldwyn, Parker, the +scholarly and celebrated Archbishop of Canterbury, &c. &c. Parker trans- +lated all the Psalms himself; and John Day published in 1562, and attached +to the Book of Common Prayer, the whole of Sternhold and Hopkins' 'Psalms, +with apt notes to sing them withall.' In Edward's reign appeared a very +different strain--the first drinking-song of merit in the language, 'Back +and sides go bare'--(see 'Specimens,' vol. 2.) This song occurs at the +opening of the second act of 'Gammer Gurton's Needle,' a comedy written +(by a 'Mr S.') and printed in 1551, and afterwards acted at Christ's +College in Cambridge. + +In the reign of Mary, flourished Richard Edwards, a man of no small +versatility of genius. He was a native of Somersetshire, was born about +1523, and died in 1566. He wrote two comedies, one entitled 'Damon and +Pythias,' and the other 'Palamon and Arcité,' both of which were acted +before Queen Elizabeth. He also contrived masques and wrote verses for +pageants, and is said to have been the first fiddler, the most elegant +sonnetteer, and the most amusing mimic of the Court. He is the author of +a pleasing poem, entitled 'Amantium irae,' and of some lines under the +title, 'He requesteth some friendly comfort, affirming his constancy.' +We quote a few of them:-- + + 'The mountains nigh, whose lofty tops do meet the haughty sky, + The craggy rock, that to the sea free passage doth deny, + The aged oak, that doth resist the force of blust'ring blast, + The pleasant herb, that everywhere a pleasant smell doth cast, + The lion's force, whose courage stout declares a prince-like might, + The eagle, that for worthiness is borne of kings in fight-- + Then these, I say, and thousands more, by tract of time decay, + And, like to time, do quite consume and fade from form to clay; + But my true heart and service vow'd shall last time out of mind, + And still remain, as thine by doom, as Cupid hath assign'd.' + +Edwards also contributed some beautiful things to the well-known old +collection, 'The Paradise of Dainty Devices.' + + + + +GEORGE GASCOIGNE. + + +Gascoigne was born in 1540, in Essex, of an ancient family. He was +educated at Cambridge, and entered at Gray's Inn, but was disinherited +by his father for extravagance, and betook himself to Holland, where +he obtained a commission from the Prince of Orange. After various +vicissitudes of fortune, being at one time taken prisoner by the +Spaniards, and at another receiving a reward from the Prince of three +hundred guilders above his pay for his brave conduct at the siege of +Middleburg, he returned to England. In 1575, he accompanied Queen +Elizabeth in one of her progresses, and wrote for her a mask, entitled +'The Princely Pleasures of Kenilworth.' He is said to have died at +Stamford in 1578. He is the author of two or three translated dramas, +such as 'The Supposes,' a comedy from Ariosto, and 'Jocasta,' a tragedy +from Euripides, besides some graceful and lively minor pieces, one or +two of which we append. + + +GOOD-MORROW. + +You that have spent the silent night + In sleep and quiet rest, +And joy to see the cheerful light + That riseth in the east; +Now clear your voice, now cheer your heart, + Come help me now to sing: +Each willing wight come, bear a part, + To praise the heavenly King. + +And you whom care in prison keeps, + Or sickness doth suppress, +Or secret sorrow breaks your sleeps, + Or dolours do distress; +Yet bear a part in doleful wise, + Yea, think it good accord, +And acceptable sacrifice, + Each sprite to praise the Lord. + +The dreadful night with darksomeness + Had overspread the light; +And sluggish sleep with drowsiness + Had overpress'd our might: +A glass wherein you may behold + Each storm that stops our breath, +Our bed the grave, our clothes like mould, + And sleep like dreadful death. + +Yet as this deadly night did last + But for a little space, +And heavenly day, now night is past, + Doth show his pleasant face: +So must we hope to see God's face, + At last in heaven on high, +When we have changed this mortal place + For immortality. + +And of such haps and heavenly joys + As then we hope to hold, +All earthly sights, and worldly toys, + Are tokens to behold. +The day is like the day of doom, + The sun, the Son of man; +The skies, the heavens; the earth, the tomb, + Wherein we rest till than. + +The rainbow bending in the sky, + Bedcck'd with sundry hues, +Is like the seat of God on high, + And seems to tell these news: +That as thereby He promised + To drown the world no more, +So by the blood which Christ hath shed, + He will our health restore. + +The misty clouds that fall sometime, + And overcast the skies, +Are like to troubles of our time, + Which do but dim our eyes. +But as such dews are dried up quite, + When Phoebus shows his face, +So are such fancies put to flight, + Where God doth guide by grace. + +The carrion crow, that loathsome beast, + Which cries against the rain, +Both for her hue, and for the rest, + The devil resembleth plain: +And as with guns we kill the crow, + For spoiling our relief, +The devil so must we o'erthrow, + With gunshot of belief. + +The little birds which sing so sweet, + Are like the angels' voice, +Which renders God His praises meet, + And teach[1] us to rejoice: +And as they more esteem that mirth, + Than dread the night's annoy, +So much we deem our days on earth + But hell to heavenly joy. + +Unto which joys for to attain, + God grant us all His grace, +And send us, after worldly pain, + In heaven to have a place, +When we may still enjoy that light, + Which never shall decay: +Lord, for thy mercy lend us might, + To see that joyful day. + +[1] 'Teach:' _for_ teacheth. + + +GOOD-NIGHT. + +When thou hast spent the ling'ring day + In pleasure and delight, +Or after toil and weary way, + Dost seek to rest at night; +Unto thy pains or pleasures past, + Add this one labour yet, +Ere sleep close up thine eyes too fast, + Do not thy God forget, + +But search within thy secret thoughts, + What deeds did thee befall, +And if thou find amiss in aught, + To God for mercy call. +Yea, though thou findest nought amiss + Which thou canst call to mind, +Yet evermore remember this, + There is the more behind: + +And think how well soe'er it be + That thou hast spent the day, +It came of God, and not of thee, + So to direct thy way. +Thus if thou try thy daily deeds, + And pleasure in this pain, +Thy life shall cleanse thy corn from weeds, + And thine shall be the gain: + +But if thy sinful, sluggish eye, + Will venture for to wink, +Before thy wading will may try + How far thy soul may sink, +Beware and wake,[1] for else thy bed, + Which soft and smooth is made, +May heap more harm upon thy head + Than blows of en'my's blade. + +Thus if this pain procure thine ease, + In bed as thou dost lie, +Perhaps it shall not God displease, + To sing thus soberly: +'I see that sleep is lent me here, + To ease my weary bones, +As death at last shall eke appear, + To ease my grievous groans. + +'My daily sports, my paunch full fed, + Have caused my drowsy eye, +As careless life, in quiet led, + Might cause my soul to die: +The stretching arms, the yawning breath, + Which I to bedward use, +Are patterns of the pangs of death, + When life will me refuse; + +'And of my bed each sundry part, + In shadows, doth resemble +The sundry shapes of death, whose dart + Shall make my flesh to tremble. +My bed it safe is, like the grave, + My sheets the winding-sheet, +My clothes the mould which I must have, + To cover me most meet. + +'The hungry fleas, which frisk so fresh, + To worms I can compare, +Which greedily shall gnaw my flesh, + And leave the bones full bare: +The waking cock that early crows, + To wear the night away, +Puts in my mind the trump that blows + Before the latter day. + +'And as I rise up lustily, + When sluggish sleep is past, +So hope I to rise joyfully, + To judgment at the last. +Thus will I wake, thus will I sleep, + Thus will I hope to rise, +Thus will I neither wail nor weep, + But sing in godly wise. + +'My bones shall in this bed remain + My soul in God shall trust, +By whom I hope to rise again + From, death and earthly dust.' + +[1] 'Wake:' watch. + + + + +THOMAS SACKVILLE, LORD BUCKHURST AND EARL OF DORSET. + + +This was a man of remarkable powers. He was the son of Sir Richard +Sackville, and born at Withyam, in Sussex, in 1527. He was educated and +became distinguished at both the universities. While a student of the +Inner Temple, he wrote, some say in conjunction with Thomas Norton, the +tragedy of 'Gorboduc,' which is probably the earliest original tragedy +in the English language. It was first played as part of a Christmas +entertainment by the young students, and subsequently before Queen +Elizabeth at Whitehall in 1561. Sackville was elected to Parliament when +thirty years of age. In the same year (1557) he formed the plan of a +magnificent poem, which, had he fully accomplished it, would have ranked +his name with Dante, Spenser, and Bunyan. This was his 'Mirrour for +Magistrates,' a poem intended to celebrate the chief of the illustrious +unfortunates in British history, such as King Richard II., Owen Glendower, +James I. of Scotland, Henry VI., Jack Cade, the Duke of Buckingham, &c., +in a series of legends, supposed to be spoken by the characters them- +selves, and with epilogues interspersed to connect the stories. The work +aspired to be the English 'Decameron' of doom, and the part of it extant +is truly called by Campbell 'a bold and gloomy landscape, on which the +sun never shines.' Sackville had coadjutors in the work, all men of +considerable mark, such as Skelton, Baldwyn, a learned ecclesiastic, and +Ferrers, a man of rank. The first edition of the 'Mirrour for Magistrates' +appeared in 1559, and was wholly composed by Baldwyn and Ferrers. In the +second, which was issued in 1563, appeared the 'Induction and Legend of +Henry Duke of Buckingham' from Sackville's own pen. He lays the scene in +hell, and descends there under the guidance of Sorrow. His pictures are +more condensed than those of Spenser, although less so than those of Dante, +and are often startling in their power, and deep, desolate grandeur. Take +this, for instance, of 'Old Age:'-- + + 'Crook-back'd he was, tooth-shaken, and blear-eyed, + Went on three feet, and sometime crept on four, + With old lame bones, that rattled by his side; + His scalp all piled, and he with eld forelore, + _His wither'd fist still knocking at Deaths door;_ + Fumbling and drivelling, as he draws his breath; + For brief--the shape and messenger of Death.' + +Politics diverted Sackville from poetry. This is deeply to be regretted, +as his poetic gift was of a very rare order. In 1566, on the death of his +father, he was promoted to the title of Lord Buckhurst. In the fourteenth +year of Elizabeth's reign he was employed by her in an embassy to Charles +IX. of France. In 1587 he went as an ambassador to the United Provinces. +He was subsequently made Knight of the Garter and Chancellor of Oxford. On +the death of Lord Burleigh he became Lord High Treasurer of England. In +March 1604 he was created Earl of Dorset by James I., but died suddenly +soon after, at the council table, of a disease of the brain. He was, as a +statesman, almost immaculate in reputation. Like Burke and Canning, in +later days, he carried taste and literary exactitude into his political +functions, and, on account of his eloquence, was called 'the Bell of the +Star-Chamber.' Even in that Augustan age of our history, and in that most +brilliantly intellectual Court, it may be doubted if, with the sole +exception of Lord Bacon, there was a man to be compared to Thomas +Sackville for genius. + + +ALLEGORICAL CHARACTERS FROM THE MIRROR FOR MAGISTRATES. + +And first, within the porch and jaws of hell, +Sat deep Remorse of Conscience, all besprent +With tears; and to herself oft would she tell +Her wretchedness, and, cursing, never stent +To sob and sigh, but ever thus lament +With thoughtful care; as she that, all in vain, +Would wear and waste continually in pain: + +Her eyes unsteadfast, rolling here and there, +Whirl'd on each place, as place that vengeance brought, +So was her mind continually in fear, +Toss'd and tormented with the tedious thought +Of those detested crimes which she had wrought; +With dreadful cheer, and looks thrown to the sky, +Wishing for death, and yet she could not die. + +Next saw we Dread, all trembling how he shook, +With foot uncertain, proffer'd here and there; +Benumb'd with speech; and, with a ghastly look, +Search'd every place, all pale and dead for fear, +His cap borne up with staring of his hair; +'Stoin'd and amaz'd at his own shade for dread, +And fearing greater dangers than was need. + +And next, within the entry of this lake, +Sat fell Revenge, gnashing her teeth for ire; +Devising means how she may vengeance take; +Never in rest, till she have her desire; +But frets within so far forth with the fire +Of wreaking flames, that now determines she +To die by death, or Veng'd by death to be. + +When fell Revenge, with bloody foul pretence, +Had show'd herself, as next in order set, +With trembling limbs we softly parted thence, +Till in our eyes another set we met; +When from my heart a sigh forthwith I fet, +Ruing, alas! upon the woeful plight +Of Misery, that next appear'd in sight: + +His face was lean, and some deal pined away +And eke his hands consumed to the bone; +But what his body was I cannot say, +For on his carcase raiment had he none, +Save clouts and patches pieced one by one; +With staff in hand, and scrip on shoulders cast, +His chief defence against the winter's blast: + +His food, for most, was wild fruits of the tree, +Unless sometime some crumbs fell to his share, +Which in his wallet long, God wot, kept he, +As on the which full daint'ly would he fare; +His drink, the running stream, his cup, the bare +Of his palm closed; his bed, the hard cold ground: +To this poor life was Misery ybound. + +Whose wretched state when we had well beheld, +With tender ruth on him, and on his feres, +In thoughtful cares forth then our pace we held; +And, by and by, another shape appears +Of greedy Care, still brushing up the briers; +His knuckles knob'd, his flesh deep dinted in +With tawed hands, and hard ytanned skin: + +The morrow gray no sooner hath begun +To spread his light e'en peeping in our eyes, +But he is up, and to his work yrun; +But let the night's black misty mantles rise, +And with foul dark never so much disguise +The fair bright day, yet ceaseth he no while, +But hath his candles to prolong his toil. + +By him lay heavy Sleep, the cousin of Death, +Flat on the ground, and still as any stone, +A very corpse, save yielding forth a breath; +Small keep took he, whom Fortune frowned on, +Or whom she lifted up into the throne +Of high renown, but, as a living death, +So dead alive, of life he drew the breath: + +The body's rest, the quiet of the heart, +The travel's ease, the still night's fere was he, +And of our life in earth the better part; +Riever of sight, and yet in whom we see +Things oft that [tyde] and oft that never be; +Without respect, esteeming equally +King Croesus' pomp and Irus' poverty. + +And next in order sad, Old Age we found: +His beard all hoar, his eyes hollow and blind; +With drooping cheer still poring on the ground, +As on the place where nature him assign'd +To rest, when that the sisters had untwined +His vital thread, and ended with their knife +The fleeting course of fast declining life: + +There heard we him with broke and hollow plaint. +Rue with himself his end approaching fast, +And all for nought his wretched mind torment +With sweet remembrance of his pleasures past. +And fresh delights of lusty youth forewaste; +Recounting which, how would he sob and shriek, +And to be young again of Jove beseek! + +But, an the cruel fates so fixed be +That time forepast cannot return again, +This one request of Jove yet prayed he +That in such wither'd plight, and wretched pain, +As eld, accompanied with her loathsome train, +Had brought on him, all were it woe and grief, +He might a while yet linger forth his life, + +And not so soon descend into the pit; +Where Death, when he the mortal corpse hath slain, +With reckless hand in grave doth cover it: +Thereafter never to enjoy again +The gladsome light, but, in the ground ylain, +In depth of darkness waste and wear to nought, +As he had ne'er into the world been brought: + +But who had seen him sobbing how he stood +Unto himself, and how he would bemoan +His youth forepast--as though it wrought him good +To talk of youth, all were his youth foregone-- +He would have mused, and marvell'd much whereon +This wretched Age should life desire so fain, +And knows full well life doth but length his pain: + +Crook-back'd he was, tooth-shaken, and blear-eyed; +Went on three feet, and sometime crept on four; +With old lame bones, that rattled by his side; +His scalp all piled,[1] and he with eld forelore, +His wither'd fist still knocking at death's door; +Fumbling, and drivelling, as he draws his breath; +For brief, the shape and messenger of Death. + +And fast by him pale Malady was placed: +Sore sick in bed, her colour all foregone; +Bereft of stomach, savour, and of taste, +Ne could she brook no meat but broths alone; +Her breath corrupt; her keepers every one +Abhorring her; her sickness past recure, +Detesting physic, and all physic's cure. + +But, oh, the doleful sight that then we see! +We turn'd our look, and on the other side +A grisly shape of Famine might we see: +With greedy looks, and gaping mouth, that cried +And roar'd for meat, as she should there have died; +Her body thin and bare as any bone, +Whereto was left nought but the case alone. + +And that, alas! was gnawen everywhere, +All full of holes; that I ne might refrain +From tears, to see how she her arms could tear, +And with her teeth gnash on the bones in vain, +When, all for nought, she fain would so sustain +Her starven corpse, that rather seem'd a shade +Than any substance of a creature made: + +Great was her force, whom stone-wall could not stay: +Her tearing nails snatching at all she saw; +With gaping jaws, that by no means ymay +Be satisfied from hunger of her maw, +But eats herself as she that hath no law; +Gnawing, alas! her carcase all in vain, +Where you may count each sinew, bone, and vein. + +On her while we thus firmly fix'd our eyes, +That bled for ruth of such a dreary sight, +Lo, suddenly she shriek'd in so huge wise +As made hell-gates to shiver with the might; +Wherewith, a dart we saw, how it did light +Right on her breast, and, therewithal, pale Death +Enthirling[2] it, to rieve her of her breath: + +And, by and by, a dumb dead corpse we saw, +Heavy and cold, the shape of Death aright, +That daunts all earthly creatures to his law, +Against whose force in vain it is to fight; +No peers, nor princes, nor no mortal wight, +No towns, nor realms, cities, nor strongest tower, +But all, perforce, must yield unto his power: + +His dart, anon, out of the corpse he took, +And in his hand (a dreadful sight to see) +With great triumph eftsoons the same he shook, +That most of all my fears affrayed me; +His body dight with nought but bones, pardy; +The naked shape of man there saw I plain, +All save the flesh, the sinew, and the vein. + +Lastly, stood War, in glittering arms yclad, +With visage grim, stern look, and blackly hued: +In his right hand a naked sword he had, +That to the hilts was all with blood imbrued; +And in his left (that kings and kingdoms rued) +Famine and fire he held, and therewithal +He razed towns, and threw down towers and all: + +Cities he sack'd, and realms (that whilom flower'd +In honour, glory, and rule, above the rest) +He overwhelm'd, and all their fame devour'd, +Consumed, destroy'd, wasted, and never ceased, +Till he their wealth, their name, and all oppress'd: +His face forhew'd with wounds; and by his side +There hung his targe, with gashes deep and wide. + +[1] 'Piled:' bare. +[2] 'Enthirling:' piercing. + + +HENRY DUKE OP BUCKINGHAM IN THE INFERNAL REGIONS. + +Then first came Henry Duke of Buckingham, +His cloak of black all piled,[1] and quite forlorn, +Wringing his hands, and Fortune oft doth blame, +Which of a duke had made him now her scorn; +With ghastly looks, as one in manner lorn, +Oft spread his arms, stretch'd hands he joins as fast +With rueful cheer, and vapour'd eyes upcast. + +His cloak he rent, his manly breast he beat; +His hair all torn, about the place it lain: +My heart so molt to see his grief so great, +As feelingly, methought, it dropp'd away: +His eyes they whirl'd about withouten stay: +With stormy sighs the place did so complain, +As if his heart at each had burst in twain. + +Thrice he began to tell his doleful tale, +And thrice the sighs did swallow up his voice; +At each of which he shrieked so withal, +As though the heavens rived with the noise; +Till at the last, recovering of his voice, +Supping the tears that all his breast berain'd, +On cruel Fortune weeping thus he plain'd. + +[1] 'Piled:' bare. + + + + +JOHN HARRINGTON. + + +Of Harrington we know only that he was born in 1534 and died in 1582; that +he was imprisoned in the Tower by Queen Mary for holding correspondence +with Elizabeth; and after the accession of the latter to the throne, was +favoured and promoted by her; and that he has written some pretty verses +of an amatory kind. + + +SONNET ON ISABELLA MARKHAM, + +WHEN I FIRST THOUGHT HER FAIR, AS SHE STOOD AT THE PRINCESS'S WINDOW, +IN GOODLY ATTIRE, AND TALKED TO DIVERS IN THE COURT-YARD. + +Whence comes my love? O heart, disclose; +It was from cheeks that shamed the rose, +From lips that spoil the ruby's praise, +From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze: +Whence comes my woe? as freely own; +Ah me! 'twas from a heart like stone. + +The blushing cheek speaks modest mind, +The lips befitting words most kind, +The eye does tempt to love's desire, +And seems to say, ''Tis Cupid's fire;' +Yet all so fair but speak my moan, +Since nought doth say the heart of stone. + +Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak +Sweet eye, sweet lip, sweet blushing cheek +Yet not a heart to save my pain; +O Venus, take thy gifts again; +Make not so fair to cause our moan, +Or make a heart that's like our own. + + +VERSES ON A MOST STONY-HEARTED MAIDEN WHO DID SORELY +BEGUILE THE NOBLE KNIGHT, MY TRUE FRIEND. + +I. + +Why didst thou raise such woeful wail, +And waste in briny tears thy days? +'Cause she that wont to flout and rail, +At last gave proof of woman's ways; +She did, in sooth, display the heart +That might have wrought thee greater smart. + +II. + +Why, thank her then, not weep or moan; +Let others guard their careless heart, +And praise the day that thus made known +The faithless hold on woman's art; +Their lips can gloze and gain such root, +That gentle youth hath hope of fruit. + +III. + +But, ere the blossom fair doth rise, +To shoot its sweetness o'er the taste, +Creepeth disdain in canker-wise, +And chilling scorn the fruit doth blast: +There is no hope of all our toil; +There is no fruit from such a soil. + +IV. + +Give o'er thy plaint, the danger's o'er; +She might have poison'd all thy life; +Such wayward mind had bred thee more +Of sorrow, had she proved thy wife: +Leave her to meet all hopeless meed, +And bless thyself that so art freed. + +V. + +No youth shall sue such one to win. +Unmark'd by all the shining fair, +Save for her pride and scorn, such sin +As heart of love can never bear; +Like leafless plant in blasted shade, +So liveth she--a barren maid. + + + + +SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. + + +All hail to Sidney!--the pink of chivalry--the hero of Zutphen--the author +of the 'Arcadia,'--the gifted, courteous, genial and noble-minded man! He +was born November 29, 1554, at Penshurst, Kent. His father's name was +Henry. He studied at Shrewsbury, at Trinity College, Cambridge, and at +Christ Church, Oxford. At the age of eighteen he set out on his travels, +and, in the course of three years, visited France, Flanders, Germany, +Hungary, and Italy. On his return he was introduced at Court, and became a +favourite with Queen Elizabeth, who sent him on an embassy to Germany. He +returned home, and shortly after had a quarrel at a tournament with Lord +Oxford. But for the interference of the Queen, a duel would have taken +place. Sidney was displeased at the issue of the affair, and retired, in +1580, to Wilton, in Wiltshire, where he wrote his famous 'Arcadia,'--that +true prose-poem, and a work which, with all its faults, no mere sulky and +spoiled child (as some have called him in the matter of this retreat) +could ever have produced. This production, written as an outflow of his +mind in its self-sought solitude, was never meant for publication, and did +not appear till after its author's death. As it was written partly for his +sister's amusement, he entitled it 'The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia.' +In 1581, Sidney reappeared in Court, and distinguished himself in the +jousts and tournaments celebrated in honour of the Duke of Anjou; and on +the return of that prince to the Continent, he accompanied him to Antwerp. +In 1583 he received the honour of knighthood. He published about this time +a tract entitled 'The Defence of Poesy,' which abounds in the element the +praise of which it celebrates, and which is, besides, distinguished by +acuteness of argument and felicity of expression. In 1585 he was named one +of the candidates for the crown of Poland; but Queen Elizabeth, afraid of +'losing the jewel of her times,' prevented him from accepting this honour, +and prevented him also from accompanying Sir Francis Drake on an +expedition against the Spanish settlements in America. In the same year, +however, she made him Governor of Flushing, and subsequently General of +the Cavalry, under his uncle, the Earl of Leicester, who commanded the +troops sent to assist the oppressed Dutch Protestants against the +Spaniards. Here our hero greatly distinguished himself, particularly when +capturing, in 1586, the town of Axel. His career, however, was destined +to be short. On the 22d of September of the same year he accidentally +encountered a convoy of the enemy marching toward Zutphen. In the +engagement which followed, his party triumphed; but their brave commander +received a shot in the thigh, which shattered the bone. As he was carried +from the field, overcome with thirst, he called for water, but while about +to apply it to his lips, he saw a wounded soldier carried by who was +eagerly eyeing the cup. Sidney, perceiving this, instantly delivered to +him the water, saying, in words which would have made an ordinary man +immortal, but which give Sir Philip a twofold immortality, 'Thy necessity +is greater than mine.' He was carried to Arnheim, and lingered on till +October 17, when he died. He was only thirty-two years of age. His death +was an earthquake at home. All England wore mourning for him. Queen +Elizabeth ordered his remains to be carried to London, and to receive a +public funeral in St Paul's. He was identified with the land's Poetry, +Politeness, and Protestantism; and all who admired any of the three, +sorrowed for Sidney. + +Sidney's 'Sonnets and other Poems' contain much that is quaint, but also +much that is beautiful and true; yet they are the least poetical of his +works. His 'Arcadia' is a glorious unfinished and unpolished wilderness +of fancy. It is a vineyard, the scattered clusters of which are so heavy, +that, like the grapes of Eshcol of old, they must be carried on a staff. +Here is one of those rich clusters:-- + + 'There were hills, which garnished their proud heights with stately + trees; humble valleys, whose base estate seemed comforted with the + refreshing of silver rivers; meadows, enamelled with all sorts of + eye-pleasing flowers; thickets, which, being lined with most pleasant + shade, were witnessed so, too, by the cheerful disposition of many + well-tuned birds; each pasture stored with sheep, feeding with sober + security; while the pretty lambs, with bleating oratory, craved the + dams' comfort; _here a shepherd's boy, piping as though he should + never be old;_ there a young shepherdess, knitting and withal singing, + and it seemed that her voice comforted her hands to work, and her + hands kept time to her voice-music.' + +From 'The Defence of Poesy' we could cull, did space permit, a hundred +passages even superior to the above, full of dexterous reasoning, splendid +rhetoric, and subtle fancy, and substantiating all that has been said in +favour of Sir Philip Sidney's accomplishments, chivalric earnestness, and +richly-endowed genius. + + +TO SLEEP. + +FROM THE 'ARCADIA.' + +Come, Sleep, O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, +The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe; +The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, +The indifferent judge between the high and low. + +With shield of proof shield me from out the prease[1] +Of those fierce darts despair doth at me throw: +Oh, make in me those civil wars to cease! +I will good tribute pay if thou do so. + +Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, +A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light, +A rosy garland and a weary head; +And if these things, as being thine by right, +Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me +Livelier than elsewhere Stella's image see. + +[1] 'Prease:' press, throng. + + +SONNETS. + +I. + +Because I oft in dark abstracted guise +Seem most alone in greatest company, +With dearth of words, or answers quite awry +To them that would make speech of speech arise, +They deem, and of their doom the rumour flies, +That poison foul of bubbling Pride doth lie +So in my swelling breast, that only I +Fawn on myself, and others do despise. +Yet Pride, I think, doth not my soul possess, +Which looks too oft in his unflattering glass; +But one worse fault, Ambition, I confess, +That makes me oft my best friends overpass, +Unseen, unheard, while thought to highest place +Bends all his powers, even unto Stella's grace. + + +II. + +With how sad steps, O Moon! thou climb'st the skies, +How silently, and with how wan a face! +What! may it be, that even in heavenly place +That busy archer his sharp arrows tries? +Sure, if that long with love acquainted eyes +Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case; +I read it in thy looks; thy languish'd grace, +To me that feel the like, thy state descries. +Then, even of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, +Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit? +Are beauties there as proud as here they be? +Do they above love to be loved, and yet +Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess? +Do they call virtue there ungratefulness? + + +III. + +Having this day my horse, my hand, my lance +Guided so well, that I obtain'd the prize, +Both by the judgment of the English eyes, +And of some sent from that sweet enemy France; +Horsemen my skill in horsemanship advance; +Townfolks my strength; a daintier judge applies +His praise to sleight which from good use doth rise; +Some lucky wits impute it but to chance; +Others, because of both sides I do take +My blood from them who did excel in this, +Think nature me a man of arms did make. +How far they shot awry! the true cause is, +Stella look'd on, and from her heavenly face +Sent forth the beams which made so fair my race. + + +IV. + +In martial sports I had my cunning tried, +And yet to break more staves did me address; +While with the people's shouts, I must confess, +Youth, luck, and praise, even fill'd my veins with pride. +When Cupid, having me (his slave) descried +In Mars's livery, prancing in the press, +'What now, Sir Fool,' said he, 'I would no less. +Look here, I say.' I look'd, and Stella spied, +Who hard by made a window send forth light. +My heart then quaked, then dazzled were mine eyes; +One hand forgot to rule, th' other to fight; +Nor trumpet's sound I heard, nor friendly cries; +My foe came on, and beat the air for me, +Till that her blush taught me my shame to see. + + +V. + +Of all the kings that ever here did reign, +Edward named Fourth as first in praise I name; +Not for his fair outside, nor well-lined brain, +Although less gifts imp feathers oft on Fame: +Nor that he could, young-wise, wise-valiant, frame +His sire's revenge, join'd with a kingdom's gain, +And, gain'd by Mars, could yet mad Mars so tame, +That Balance weigh'd what Sword did late obtain: +Nor that he made the Flower-de-luce so 'fraid, +Though strongly hedged of bloody Lion's paws, +That witty Lewis to him a tribute paid. +Nor this, nor that, nor any such small cause-- +But only for this worthy knight durst prove +To lose his crown, rather than fail his love. + + +VI. + +O happy Thames, that didst my Stella bear! +I saw thee with full many a smiling line +Upon thy cheerful face joy's livery wear, +While those fair planets on thy streams did shine. +The boat for joy could not to dance forbear; +While wanton winds, with beauties so divine +Ravish'd, stay'd not, till in her golden hair +They did themselves (O sweetest prison!) twine: +And fain those Oeol's youth there would their stay +Have made; but, forced by Nature still to fly, +First did with puffing kiss those locks display. +She, so dishevell'd, blush'd. From window I, +With sight thereof, cried out, 'O fair disgrace; +Let Honour's self to thee grant highest place.' + + + + +ROBERT SOUTHWELL. + + +Robert Southwell was born in 1560, at St. Faith's, Norfolk. His parents +were Roman Catholics, and sent him when very young to be educated at the +English College of Douay, in Flanders. Thence he went to Borne, and when +sixteen years of age he joined the Society of the Jesuits--a strange bed +for the rearing of a poet. In 1585, he was appointed Prefect of Studies, +and was soon after despatched as a missionary of his order to England. +There, notwithstanding a law condemning to death all members of his +profession found in this country, he laboured on for eight years, +residing chiefly with Anne, Countess of Arundel, who died afterwards in +the Tower. In July 1592, Southwell was arrested in a gentleman's house +at Uxendon in Middlesex. He was thrust into a dungeon so filthy that +when he was brought out to be examined his clothes were covered with +vermin. This made his father--a man of good family--petition Queen +Elizabeth that if his son was guilty of anything deserving death he +might suffer it, but that, meanwhile, being a gentleman, he should be +treated as a gentleman. In consequence of this he was somewhat better +lodged, but continued for nearly three years strictly confined to +prison; and as the Queen's agents imagined that he was in the secret of +some conspiracies against the Government, he was put to the torture ten +times. In despair, he entreated to be brought to trial, whereupon Cecil +coolly remarked, 'that if he was in such haste to be hanged, he should +quickly have his desire.' On the 20th of February 1595, he was brought +to trial at King's Bench, and having confessed himself a Papist and a +Jesuit, he was condemned to death, and executed at Tyburn next day, with +all the nameless barbarities enjoined by the treason laws of these +unhappy times. He is believed to have borne all his sufferings with +unalterable serenity of mind and sweetness of temper. 'It is fitting,' +says Burke, 'that those made to suffer should suffer well.' And suffer +well throughout all his short life of sorrow, Southwell did. + +He was, undoubtedly, although in a false position, a true man, and a +true poet. To hope all things and believe all things, in reference to +a Jesuit, is a difficult task for Protestant charity. Yet what system +so vile but it has sometimes been gloriously misrepresented by its +votaries? Who that ever read Edward Irving's 'Preface to Ben Ezra'--that +modern Areopagitica--combining the essence of a hundred theological +treatises with the spirit and grandeur of a Pindaric or Homeric ode--has +forgot the pictures of Ben Ezra, or Lacunza the Jesuit? His work, 'The +Coming of the Messiah in Glory and Majesty,' Irving translated from +Spanish into his own noble English prose, and he describes the author as +a man of primitive manners, ardent piety, and enormous erudition, and +expresses a hope, long since we trust fulfilled, of meeting with the +'good old Jesuit' in a better world. To this probably small class of +exceptions to a general rule (it surely is no uncharity to say this, +since the annals of Jesuitism have confessedly been so stained with +falsehood, treachery, every insidious art, and every detestable crime) +seems to have belonged our poet. No proof was produced that he had any +connexion with the treacherous and bloody designs of his party, although +he had plied his priestly labours with unwearied assiduity. He was too +sincere-minded a man to have ever been admitted to the darker secrets of +the Jesuits. + +His verses are ingenious, simpler in style than was common in his time +--distinguished here by homely picturesqueness, and there by solemn +moralising. A shade of deep but serene and unrepining sadness, connected +partly with his position and partly with his foreseen destiny, (his +larger works were written in prison,) rests on the most of his poems. + + +LOOK HOME. + +Retired thoughts enjoy their own delights, + As beauty doth in self-beholding eye: +Man's mind a mirror is of heavenly sights, + A brief wherein all miracles summ'd lie; +Of fairest forms, and sweetest shapes the store, +Most graceful all, yet thought may grace them more. + +The mind a creature is, yet can create, + To nature's patterns adding higher skill +Of finest works; wit better could the state, + If force of wit had equal power of will. +Device of man in working hath no end; +What thought can think, another thought can mend. + +Man's soul of endless beauties image is, + Drawn by the work of endless skill and might: +This skilful might gave many sparks of bliss, + And, to discern this bliss, a native light, +To frame God's image as his worth required; +His might, his skill, his word and will conspired. + +All that he had, his image should present; + All that it should present, he could afford; +To that he could afford his will was bent; + His will was follow'd with performing word. +Let this suffice, by this conceive the rest, +He should, he could, he would, he did the best. + + +THE IMAGE OF DEATH. + +Before my face the picture hangs, + That daily should put me in mind +Of those cold names and bitter pangs + That shortly I am like to find; +But yet, alas! full little I +Do think hereon, that I must die. + +I often look upon a face + Most ugly, grisly, bare, and thin; +I often view the hollow place + Where eyes and nose had sometime been; +I see the bones across that lie, +Yet little think that I must die. + +I read the label underneath, + That telleth me whereto I must; +I see the sentence too, that saith, + 'Remember, man, thou art but dust.' +But yet, alas! how seldom I +Do think, indeed, that I must die! + +Continually at my bed's head + A hearse doth hang, which doth me tell +That I ere morning may be dead, + Though now I feel myself full well; +But yet, alas! for all this, I +Have little mind that I must die! + +The gown which I am used to wear, + The knife wherewith I cut my meat; +And eke that old and ancient chair, + Which is my only usual seat; +All these do tell me I must die, +And yet my life amend not I. + +My ancestors are turn'd to clay, + And many of my mates are gone; +My youngers daily drop away, + And can I think to 'scape alone? +No, no; I know that I must die, +And yet my life amend not I. + + * * * * * + +If none can 'scape Death's dreadful dart; + If rich and poor his beck obey; +If strong, if wise, if all do smart, + Then I to 'scape shall have no way: +Then grant me grace, O God! that I +My life may mend, since I must die. + + +LOVE'S SERVILE LOT. + +Love mistress is of many minds, + Yet few know whom they serve; +They reckon least how little hope + Their service doth deserve. + +The will she robbeth from the wit, + The sense from reason's lore; +She is delightful in the rind, + Corrupted in the core. + + * * * * * + +May never was the month of love; + For May is full of flowers: +But rather April, wet by kind; + For love is full of showers. + +With soothing words, inthralled souls + She chains in servile bands! +Her eye in silence hath a speech + Which eye best understands. + +Her little sweet hath many sours, + Short hap, immortal harms +Her loving looks are murdering darts, + Her songs bewitching charms. + +Like winter rose, and summer ice, + Her joys are still untimely; +Before her hope, behind remorse, + Fair first, in fine[1] unseemly. + +Plough not the seas, sow not the sands, + Leave off your idle pain; +Seek other mistress for your minds, + Love's service is in vain. + +[1] 'Fine:' end. + + +TIMES GO BY TURNS. + +The lopped tree in time may grow again, + Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower; +The sorriest wight may find release of pain, + The driest soil suck in some moistening shower: +Time goes by turns, and chances change by course, +From foul to fair, from better hap to worse. + +The sea of Fortune doth not ever flow; + She draws her favours to the lowest ebb: +Her tides have equal times to come and go; + Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web: +No joy so great but runneth to an end, +No hap so hard but may in fine amend. + +Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring, + Not endless night, yet not eternal day: +The saddest birds a season find to sing, + The roughest storm a calm may soon allay. +Thus, with succeeding turns, God tempereth all, +That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall. + +A chance may win that by mischance was lost; + That net that holds no great, takes little fish; +In some things all, in all things none are cross'd; + Few all they need, but none have all they wish. +Unmingled joys here to no man befall; +Who least, hath some; who most, hath never all. + + + + +THOMAS WATSON. + + +He was born in 1560, and died about 1592. All besides known certainly of +him is, that he was a native of London, and studied the common law, but +seems to have spent much of his time in the practice of rhyme. His +sonnets--one or two of which we subjoin--have considerable merit; but we +agree with Campbell in thinking that Stevens has surely overrated them +when he prefers them to Shakspeare's. + + +THE NYMPHS TO THEIR MAY-QUEEN. + +With fragrant flowers we strew the way, +And make this our chief holiday: +For though this clime was blest of yore, +Yet was it never proud before. +O beauteous queen of second Troy, +Accept of our unfeigned joy. + +Now the air is sweeter than sweet balm, +And satyrs dance about the palm; +Now earth with verdure newly dight, +Gives perfect signs of her delight: +O beauteous queen! + +Now birds record new harmony, +And trees do whistle melody: +And everything that nature breeds +Doth clad itself in pleasant weeds. + + +SONNET. + +Actaeon lost, in middle of his sport, +Both shape and life for looking but awry: +Diana was afraid he would report +What secrets he had seen in passing by. +To tell the truth, the self-same hurt have I, +By viewing her for whom I daily die; +I lose my wonted shape, in that my mind +Doth suffer wreck upon the stony rock +Of her disdain, who, contrary to kind, +Does bear a breast more hard than any stock; +And former form of limbs is changed quite +By cares in love, and want of due delight. +I leave my life, in that each secret thought +Which I conceive through wanton fond regard, +Doth make me say that life availeth nought, +Where service cannot have a due reward. +I dare not name the nymph that works my smart, +Though love hath graven her name within my heart. + + + + +THOMAS TURBERVILLE. + + +Of this author--Thomas Turberville--once famous in the reign of Queen +Elizabeth, but now almost totally forgotten, and whose works are +altogether omitted in most selections, we have preserved a little. He +was a voluminous author, having produced, besides many original pieces, +a translation of Ovid's Heroical Epistles, from which Warton has +selected a short specimen. + + +IN PRAISE OP THE RENOWNED LADY ANNE, COUNTESS OF +WARWICK. + +When Nature first in hand did take + The clay to frame this Countess' corse, +The earth a while she did forsake, + And was compell'd of very force, +With mould in hand, to flee to skies, +To end the work she did devise. + +The gods that then in council sate, + Were half-amazed, against their kind,[1] +To see so near the stool of state + Dame Nature stand, that was assign'd +Among her worldly imps[2] to wonne,[3] +As she until that day had done. + +First Jove began: 'What, daughter dear, + Hath made thee scorn thy father's will? +Why do I see thee, Nature, here, + That ought'st of duty to fulfil +Thy undertaken charge at home? +What makes thee thus abroad to roam? + +'Disdainful dame, how didst thou dare, + So reckless to depart the ground +That is allotted to thy share?' + And therewithal his godhead frown'd. +'I will,' quoth Nature, 'out of hand, +Declare the cause I fled the land. + +'I undertook of late a piece + Of clay a featured face to frame, +To match the courtly dames of Greece, + That for their beauty bear the name; +But, O good father, now I see +This work of mine it will not be. + +'Vicegerent, since you me assign'd + Below in earth, and gave me laws +On mortal wights, and will'd that kind + Should make and mar, as she saw cause: +Of right, I think, I may appeal, +And crave your help in this to deal.' + +When Jove saw how the case did stand, + And that the work was well begun, +He pray'd to have the helping hand + Of other gods till he had done: +With willing minds they all agreed, +And set upon the clay with speed. + +First Jove each limb did well dispose, + And makes a creature of the clay; +Next, Lady Venus she bestows + Her gallant gifts as best she may; +From face to foot, from top to toe, +She let no whit untouch'd to go. + +When Venus had done what she could + In making of her carcase brave, +Then Pallas thought she might be bold + Among the rest a share to have; +A passing wit she did convey +Into this passing piece of clay. + +Of Bacchus she no member had, + Save fingers fine and feat[4] to see; +Her head with hair Apollo clad, + That gods had thought it gold to be: +So glist'ring was the tress in sight +Of this new form'd and featured wight. + +Diana held her peace a space, + Until those other gods had done; +'At last,' quoth she, 'in Dian's chase + With bow in hand this nymph shall run; +And chief of all my noble train +I will this virgin entertain.' + +Then joyful Juno came and said, + 'Since you to her so friendly are, +I do appoint this noble maid + To match with Mars his peer for war; +She shall the Countess Warwick be, +And yield Diana's bow to me.' + +When to so good effect it came, + And every member had his grace, +There wanted nothing but a name: + By hap was Mercury then in place, +That said, 'I pray you all agree, +Pandora grant her name to be. + +'For since your godheads forged have + With one assent this noble dame, +And each to her a virtue gave, + This term agreeth to the same.' +The gods that heard Mercurius tell +This tale, did like it passing well. + +Report was summon'd then in haste, + And will'd to bring his trump in hand, +To blow therewith a sounding blast, + That might be heard through Brutus' land. +Pandora straight the trumpet blew, +That each this Countess Warwick knew. + +O seely[5] Nature, born to pain, + O woful, wretched kind (I say), +That to forsake the soil were fain + To make this Countess out of clay: +But, O most friendly gods, that wold, +Vouchsafe to set your hands to mould. + +[1] 'Kind:' nature. +[2] 'Imps:' children. +[3] 'Wonne:' dwell. +[4] 'Feat:' neat. +[5] 'Seely:' simple. + + + * * * * * + + +In reference to the Miscellaneous Pieces which close this period, we +need only say that the best of them is 'The Soul's Errand,' and that its +authorship is uncertain. It has, with very little evidence in any of the +cases, been ascribed to Sir Walter Raleigh, to Francis Davison, (author +of a compilation entitled 'A Poetical Rhapsody,' published in 1593, and +where 'The Soul's Errand' first appeared,) and to Joshua Sylvester, who +prints it in his volume of verses, with vile interpolations of his own. +Its outspoken energy and pithy language render it worthy of any of our +poets. + + +HARPALUS' COMPLAINT OF PHILLIDA'S LOVE BESTOWED ON CORIN, +WHO LOVED HER NOT, AND DENIED HIM THAT LOVED HER. + +1 Phillida was a fair maid, + As fresh as any flower; + Whom Harpalus the herdman pray'd + To be his paramour. + +2 Harpalus, and eke Corin, + Were herdmen both yfere:[1] + And Phillida would twist and spin, + And thereto sing full clear. + +3 But Phillida was all too coy + For Harpalus to win; + For Corin was her only joy, + Who forced[2] her not a pin. + +4 How often would she flowers twine, + How often garlands make + Of cowslips and of columbine, + And all for Conn's sake! + +5 But Corin he had hawks to lure, + And forced more the field: + Of lovers' law he took no cure; + For once he was beguiled. + +6 Harpalus prevailed nought, + His labour all was lost; + For he was furthest from her thought, + And yet he loved her most. + +7 Therefore was he both pale and lean, + And dry as clod of clay: + His flesh it was consumed clean; + His colour gone away. + +8 His beard it not long be shave; + His hair hung all unkempt: + A man most fit even for the grave, + Whom spiteful love had shent.[3] + +9 His eyes were red, and all forwacht;[4] + It seem'd unhap had him long hatcht, + His face besprent with tears: + In midst of his despairs. + +10 His clothes were black, and also bare; + As one forlorn was he; + Upon his head always he ware + A wreath of willow tree. + +11 His beasts he kept upon the hill, + And he sat in the dale; + And thus with sighs and sorrows shrill + He 'gan to tell his tale. + +12 'O Harpalus!' thus would he say; + Unhappiest under sun! + The cause of thine unhappy day + By love was first begun. + +13 'For thou went'st first by suit to seek + A tiger to make tame, + That sets not by thy love a leek, + But makes thy grief a game. + +14 'As easy it were for to convert + The frost into the flame; + As for to turn a froward hert, + Whom thou so fain wouldst frame. + +15 'Cerin he liveth carėless: + He leaps among the leaves: + He eats the fruits of thy redress: + Thou reap'st, he takes the sheaves. + +16 'My beasts, a while your food refrain, + And hark your herdman's sound; + Whom spiteful love, alas! hath slain, + Through girt with many a wound, + +17 'O happy be ye, beastes wild, + That here your pasture takes: + I see that ye be not beguiled + Of these your faithful makes,[5] + +18 'The hart he feedeth by the hind: + The buck hard by the doe: + The turtle-dove is not unkind + To him that loves her so. + +19 'The ewe she hath by her the ram: + The young cow hath the bull: + The calf with many a lusty lamb + Do feed their hunger full. + +20 'But, well-a-way! that nature wrought + Thee, Phillida, so fair: + For I may say that I have bought + Thy beauty all too dear. + +21 'What reason is that cruelty + With, beauty should have part? + Or else that such great tyranny + Should dwell in woman's heart? + +22 'I see therefore to shape my death + She cruelly is prest,[6] + To the end that I may want my breath: + My days be at the best. + +23 'O Cupid, grant this my request, + And do not stop thine ears: + That she may feel within her breast + The pains of my despairs: + +24 'Of Corin that is careless, + That she may crave her fee: + As I have done in great distress, + That loved her faithfully. + +25 'But since that I shall die her slave, + Her slave, and eke her thrall, + Write you, my friends, upon my grave + This chance that is befall: + +26 '"Here lieth unhappy Harpalus, + By cruel love now slain: + Whom Phillida unjustly thus + Hath murder'd with disdain."' + +[1] 'Yfere' together. +[2] 'Forced' cared for. +[3] 'Shent:' spoiled. +[4] 'Forwacht:' from much watching. +[5] 'Makes:' mates. +[6] 'Prest:' ready. + + +A PRAISE OF HIS LADY. + +1 Give place, you ladies, and begone, + Boast not yourselves at all, + For here at hand approacheth one + Whose face will stain you all. + +2 The virtue of her lively looks + Excels the precious stone; + I wish to have none other books + To read or look upon. + +3 In each of her two crystal eyes + Smileth a naked boy; + It would you all in heart suffice + To see that lamp of joy. + +4 I think Nature hath lost the mould + Where she her shape did take; + Or else I doubt if Nature could + So fair a creature make. + +5 She may be well compared + Unto the phoenix kind, + Whose like was never seen nor heard, + That any man can find. + +6 In life she is Diana chaste, + In truth Penelope; + In word, and eke in deed, steadfast; + What will you more we say? + +7 If all the world were sought so far, + Who could find such a wight? + Her beauty twinkleth like a star + Within the frosty night. + +8 Her rosial colour comes and goes + "With such a comely grace, + More ruddier, too, than doth the rose, + Within her lively face." + +9 At Bacchus' feast none shall her meet, + Nor at no wanton play, + Nor gazing in an open street, + Nor gadding, as astray. + +10 The modest mirth that she doth use, + Is mix'd with shamefastness; + All vice she doth wholly refuse, + And hateth idleness. + +11 O Lord, it is a world to see + How virtue can repair, + And deck in her such honesty, + Whom Nature made so fair. + +12 Truly she doth as far exceed + Our women now-a-days, + As doth the gilliflower a wreed, + And more a thousand ways. + +13 How might I do to get a graff + Of this unspotted tree? + For all the rest are plain but chaff + Which seem good corn to be. + +14 This gift alone I shall her give, + When death doth what he can: + Her honest fame shall ever live + Within the mouth of man. + + +THAT ALL THINGS SOMETIME FIND EASE OF THEIR PAIN, +SAVE ONLY THE LOVER. + +1 I see there is no sort + Of things that live in grief, + Which at sometime may not resort + Where as they have relief. + +2 The stricken deer by kind + Of death that stands in awe, + For his recure an herb can find + The arrow to withdraw. + +3 The chased deer hath soil + To cool him in his heat; + The ass, after his weary toil. + In stable is up set. + +4 The coney hath its cave, + The little bird his nest, + From heat and cold themselves to save + At all times as they list. + +5 The owl, with feeble sight, + Lies lurking in the leaves, + The sparrow in the frosty night + May shroud her in the eaves. + +6 But woe to me, alas! + In sun nor yet in shade, + I cannot find a resting-place, + My burden to unlade. + +7 But day by day still bears + The burden on my back, + With weeping eyes and wat'ry tears, + To hold my hope aback. + +8 All things I see have place + Wherein they bow or bend, + Save this, alas! my woful case, + Which nowhere findeth end. + + +FROM 'THE PHOENIX' NEST.' + +O Night, O jealous Night, repugnant to my pleasure, +O Night so long desired, yet cross to my content, +There's none but only thou can guide me to my treasure, +Yet none but only thou that hindereth my intent. + +Sweet Night, withhold thy beams, withhold them till to-morrow, +Whose joy, in lack so long, a hell of torment breeds, +Sweet Night, sweet gentle Night, do not prolong my sorrow, +Desire is guide to me, and love no loadstar needs. + +Let sailors gaze on stars and moon so freshly shining, +Let them that miss the way be guided by the light, +I know my lady's bower, there needs no more divining, +Affection sees in dark, and love hath eyes by night. + +Dame Cynthia, couch a while; hold in thy horns for shining, +And glad not low'ring Night with thy too glorious rays; +But be she dim and dark, tempestuous and repining, +That in her spite my sport may work thy endless praise. + +And when my will is done, then, Cynthia, shine, good lady, +All other nights and days in honour of that night, +That happy, heavenly night, that night so dark and shady, +Wherein my love had eyes that lighted my delight. + + +FROM THE SAME. + +1 The gentle season of the year + Hath made my blooming branch appear, + And beautified the land with flowers; + The air doth savour with delight, + The heavens do smile to see the sight, + And yet mine eyes augment their showers. + +2 The meads are mantled all with green, + The trembling leaves have clothed the treen, + The birds with feathers new do sing; + But I, poor soul, whom wrong doth rack, + Attire myself in mourning black, + Whose leaf doth fall amidst his spring. + +3 And as you see the scarlet rose + In his sweet prime his buds disclose, + Whose hue is with the sun revived; + So, in the April of mine age, + My lively colours do assuage, + Because my sunshine is deprived. + +4 My heart, that wonted was of yore, + Light as the winds, abroad to soar + Amongst the buds, when beauty springs, + Now only hovers over you, + As doth the bird that's taken new, + And mourns when all her neighbours sings. + +5 When every man is bent to sport, + Then, pensive, I alone resort + Into some solitary walk, + As doth the doleful turtle-dove, + Who, having lost her faithful love, + Sits mourning on some wither'd stalk. + +6 There to myself I do recount + How far my woes my joys surmount, + How love requiteth me with hate, + How all my pleasures end in pain, + How hate doth say my hope is vain, + How fortune frowns upon my state. + +7 And in this mood, charged with despair, + With vapour'd sighs I dim the air, + And to the gods make this request, + That by the ending of my life, + I may have truce with this strange strife, + And bring my soul to better rest. + + +THE SOUL'S ERRAND. + +1 Go, Soul, the body's guest, + Upon a thankless errand, + Fear not to touch the best, + The truth shall be thy warrant; + Go, since I needs must die, + And give the world the lie. + +2 Go tell the Court it glows, + And shines like rotten wood; + Go, tell the Church it shows + What's good and doth no good; + If Church and Court reply, + Then give them both the lie. + +3 Tell potentates they live, + Acting by others' actions, + Not loved, unless they give, + Not strong, but by their factions; + If potentates reply, + Give potentates the lie. + +4 Tell men of high condition, + That rule affairs of state, + Their purpose is ambition, + Their practice only hate; + And if they once reply, + Then give them all the lie. + +5 Tell them that brave it most, + They beg for more by spending, + Who, in their greatest cost, + Seek nothing but commending; + And if they make reply, + Then give them all the lie. + +6 Tell Zeal it lacks devotion, + Tell Love it is but lust, + Tell Time it is but motion, + Tell Flesh it is but dust; + And wish them not reply, + For thou must give the lie. + +7 Tell Age it daily wasteth, + Tell Honour how it alters, + Tell Beauty how she blasteth, + Tell Favour how she falters; + And as they shall reply, + Give every one the lie. + +8 Tell Wit how much it wrangles + In treble points of niceness, + Tell Wisdom she entangles + Herself in overwiseness; + And when they do reply, + Straight give them both the lie. + +9 Tell Physic of her boldness, + Tell Skill it is pretension, + Tell Charity of coldness, + Tell Law it is contention; + And as they do reply, + So give them still the lie. + +10 Tell Fortune of her blindness, + Tell Nature of decay, + Tell Friendship of unkindness, + Tell Justice of delay; + And if they will reply, + Then give them all the lie. + +11 Tell Arts they have no soundness, + But vary by esteeming, + Tell Schools they want profoundness, + And stand too much on seeming; + If Arts and Schools reply, + Give Arts and Schools the lie. + +12 Tell Faith it's fled the city, + Tell how the country erreth, + Tell Manhood shakes off pity, + Tell Virtue least preferreth; + And if they do reply, + Spare not to give the lie. + +13 And when thou hast, as I + Commanded thee, done blabbing, + Although to give the lie + Deserves no less than stabbing; + Yet stab at thee who will, + No stab the Soul can kill. + + + * * * * * + + +SECOND PERIOD. + +FROM SPENSER TO DRYDEN. + + + + +FRANCIS BEAUMONT. + + +This remarkable man, from his intimate connexion with Fletcher, is better +known as a dramatist than as a poet. He was the son of Judge Beaumont, and +descended from an ancient family, which was settled at Grace Dieu in +Leicestershire. He was born in 1585-86, and educated at Cambridge. Thence +he passed to study in the Inner Temple, but seems to have preferred poetry +and the drama to law. He was married to the daughter of Sir Henry Isley of +Kent, who bore him two daughters. He died in his 30th year, and was buried +March 9, 1615-16, in St Benedict's Chapel, Westminster Abbey. More of his +connexion with Fletcher afterwards. + +After his death, his brother published a collection of his miscellaneous +pieces. We extract a few, of no little merit. His verses to Ben Jonson, +written before their author came to London, and first appended to a play +entitled 'Nice Valour,' are picturesque and interesting, as illustrating +the period. + + +TO BEN JONSON. + +The sun (which doth the greatest comfort bring +To absent friends, because the selfsame thing +They know, they see, however absent) is +Here, our best haymaker (forgive me this, +It is our country's style) in this warm shine +I lie, and dream of your full Mermaid wine. +Oh, we have water mix'd with claret lees, +Brink apt to bring in drier heresies +Than beer, good only for the sonnet's strain, +With fustian metaphors to stuff the brain, +So mix'd, that, given to the thirstiest one, +'Twill not prove alms, unless he have the stone. +I think, with one draught man's invention fades: +Two cups had quite spoil'd Homer's Iliades. +'Tis liquor that will find out Sutcliff's wit, +Lie where he will, and make him write worse yet; +Fill'd with such moisture in most grievous qualms, +Did Robert Wisdom write his singing psalms; +And so must I do this: And yet I think +It is a potion sent us down to drink, +By special Providence, keeps us from fights, +Makes us not laugh when we make legs to knights. +'Tis this that keeps our minds fit for our states, +A medicine to obey our magistrates: +For we do live more free than you; no hate, +No envy at one another's happy state, +Moves us; we are all equal: every whit +Of land that God gives men here is their wit, +If we consider fully, for our best +And gravest men will with his main house-jest +Scarce please you; we want subtilty to do +The city tricks, lie, hate, and flatter too: +Here are none that can bear a painted show, +Strike when you wink, and then lament the blow; +Who, like mills, set the right way for to grind, +Can make their gains alike with every wind; +Only some fellows with the subtlest pate, +Amongst us, may perchance equivocate +At selling of a horse, and that's the most. +Methinks the little wit I had is lost +Since I saw you; for wit is like a rest +Held up at tennis, which men do the best, +With the best gamesters: what things have we seen +Done at the Mermaid; heard words that have been +So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, +As if that every one from whence they came +Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, +And had resolved to live a fool the rest +Of his dull life: then when there had been thrown +Wit able enough to justify the town +For three days past; wit that might warrant be +For the whole city to talk foolishly +Till that were cancell'd; and when that was gone, +We left an air behind us, which alone +Was able to make the two next companies +Eight witty; though but downright fools were wise. +When I remember this, +* * * I needs must cry +I see my days of ballading grow nigh; +I can already riddle, and can sing +Catches, sell bargains, and I fear shall bring +Myself to speak the hardest words I find +Over as oft as any with one wind, +That takes no medicines, but thought of thee +Makes me remember all these things to be +The wit of our young men, fellows that show +No part of good, yet utter all they know, +Who, like trees of the garden, have growing souls. +Only strong Destiny, which all controls, +I hope hath left a better fate in store +For me, thy friend, than to live ever poor. +Banish'd unto this home: Fate once again +Bring me to thee, who canst make smooth and plain +The way of knowledge for me; and then I, +Who have no good but in thy company, +Protest it will my greatest comfort be, +To acknowledge all I have to flow from thee, +Ben; when these scenes are perfect, we'll taste wine; +I'll drink thy muse's health, thou shalt quaff mine. + + +ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER. + +Mortality, behold and fear, +What a charge of flesh is here! +Think how many royal bones +Sleep within these heap of stones: +Here they lie, had realms and lands, +Who now want strength to stir their hands; +Where, from their pulpits seal'd with dust, +They preach--in greatness is no trust. +Here's an acre sown indeed +With the richest, royal'st seed, +That the earth did e'er suck in +Since the first man died for sin: +Here the bones of birth have cried, +Though gods they were, as men they died: +Here are wands, ignoble things, +Dropp'd from the ruin'd sides of kings. +Here's a world of pomp and state +Buried in dust, once dead by fate. + + +AN EPITAPH. + +Here she lies, whose spotless fame +Invites a stone to learn her name: +The rigid Spartan that denied +An epitaph to all that died, +Unless for war, in charity +Would here vouchsafe an elegy. +She died a wife, but yet her mind, +Beyond virginity refined, +From lawless fire remain'd as free +As now from heat her ashes be: +Keep well this pawn, thou marble chest; +Till it be call'd for, let it rest; +For while this jewel here is set, +The grave is like a cabinet. + + + + +SIR WALTER RALEIGH. + + +The verses attributed to this illustrious man are few, and the +authenticity of some of them is doubtful. No one, however, who has +studied his career, or read his 'History of the World,' can deny him +the title of a great poet. + +We cannot be expected, in a work of the present kind, to enlarge on a +career so well known as that of Sir Walter Kaleigh. He was born in 1552, +at Hayes Farm, in Devonshire, and descended from an old family there. He +went early to Oxford, but finding its pursuits too tame for his active +and enterprising spirit, he left it, and became a soldier at seventeen. +For six years he fought on the Protestant side in France, besides serving +a campaign in the Netherlands. In 1579, he went a voyage, which proved +disastrous, to Newfoundland, in company with his half-brother, Sir +Humphrey Gilbert. There can be no doubt that this early apprenticeship +to war and navigation was of material service to the future explorer and +historian. In 1580, he fought in Ireland against the Earl of Desmond, +who had raised a rebellion there, and on one occasion is said to have +defended a ford of Shannon against a whole band of wild Irish rebels, +till the stream ran purple with their blood and his own. With the Lord- +Deputy, Lord Grey de Wilton, he got into a dispute, and to settle it came +over to England. Here high favour awaited him. His handsome appearance, +his graceful address, his ready wit and chivalric courtesy, dashed with +a fine poetic enthusiasm, (see them admirably pictured in 'Kenilworth,') +combined to exalt him in the estimation of Queen Elizabeth. On one +occasion he flung his rich plush cloak over a miry part of the way, that +she might pass on unsoiled. By this delicate piece of enacted flattery he +'spoiled a cloak and made a fortune.' The Queen sent him, along with some +other courtiers, to attend the Duke of Anjou, who had in vain solicited +her hand, back to the Netherlands. In 1584, he fitted two ships, and sent +them out for the discovery and settlement of those parts of North America +not already appropriated by Christian states, and the next year there +followed a fleet of seven ships under the command of Sir Richard +Grenville, Raleigh's kinsman. The attempt to colonise America at that +time failed, but two important things were transplanted through means of +the expedition from Virginia to Britain, namely, tobacco and the potato, +--the former of which has ever since been offered up in smoky sacrifice to +Raleigh's memory throughout the whole world, and the latter of which has +become the most valuable of all our vegetable esculents. Raleigh first +planted the potato in Ireland, a country of which it has long been the +principal food. A ludicrous story is told about this. It is said that he +had invited a number of his neighbours to an entertainment, in which the +new root was to form a prominent part, but when the feast began Raleigh +found, to his horror, that the servants had boiled the plums, a most +unsavoury mess, and immediately, we suppose, 'tabulae solvuntur risu.' +In 1584 the Queen had knighted him, and shortly after she granted him +certain lucrative monopolies, and an estate in Ireland, in addition to +one he had possessed for some years. In 1588, he was of material service +as one of Her Majesty's Council of War, formed to resist the Spanish +Armada, and as one of the volunteers who joined the English fleet with +ships of their own. Next year he accompanied a number of his countrymen +in an expedition, which had it in view to restore Don Antonio to the +throne of Portugal, of which the Spaniards had deprived him. On his +return he lost caste considerably, both with the Queen and country, by +taking bribes, and otherwise abusing the influence he had acquired at +Court. Yet, about this time, his active mind was projecting what he +called an 'Office of Address,'--a plan for facilitating the designs of +literary and scientific men, promoting intercourse between them, gaining, +in short, all those objects which are now secured by our literary +associations and philosophical societies. Raleigh was eminently a man +before his age, but, alas! his age was too far behind him. + +While visiting Ireland, after his expedition to Portugal, he contracted +an intimacy with Spenser. (See our 'Life of Spenser,' vol. ii.) In 1592, +he commanded a large naval expedition, destined to attack Panama and +intercept the Spanish Plate-fleet, but was recalled by the Queen, not, +however, till he had seized on an important prize, and, in common +parlance, had 'feathered his nest.' On his return he excited Her +Majesty's wrath, by an intrigue with Elizabeth Throgmorton, one of the +maids of honour, and, although Raleigh afterwards married her, the Queen +imprisoned both the offending parties for some months in the Tower. +Spenser is believed to allude to this in the 4th Book of his great poem. +(See vol. in. of our edition, p. 88.) Even after he was released from +the Tower, Raleigh had to leave the Court in disgrace; instead, however, +of wasting time in vain regrets, he undertook, at his own expense, an +expedition against Guiana, where he captured the city of San Joseph, and +which he occupied in the Queen's name. After his return he published an +account of his expedition, more distinguished by glowing eloquence than +by rigid regard to truth. In 1596, having in some measure regained the +Queen's favour, he was appointed to a command in the expedition against +Cadiz, under the Earl of Essex. In this, as well as in the expedition +against the Spanish Plate-fleet the next year, he won laurels, but was +unfortunate enough to excite the jealousy of his Commander-in-Chief. +When the favourite got into trouble, Raleigh eagerly joined in the hunt, +wrote a letter to Cecil urging him to the destruction of Essex, and +witnessed his execution from a window in the Armoury. This is +undoubtedly a deep blot on the escutcheon of our hero. + +Cecil had been glad of Raleigh's aid in ruining Essex, but he bore him +no good-will otherwise, and is said to have poisoned James, who now +succeeded to the English throne, against him. Assuredly the new King was +no friend of Raleigh's. Stimulated by Cecil, after first depriving him +of his office of Captain of the Guards, he brought him to trial for high +treason. He was accused of conspiring to establish Popery, to dethrone +the King, and to put the crown on the head of Arabella Stewart. Sir +Edward Coke, the Attorney-General, led the accusation, and disgraced +himself by heaping on Raleigh's head every foul epithet, calling him +'viper,' 'damnable atheist,' 'monster,' 'traitor,' 'spider of hell,' +&c., and by his violence, although to his own surprise, as he never +expected to gain his cause in full, he browbeat the jury to bring in a +verdict of high treason. + +Raleigh's defence was a masterpiece of temper, dignity, strength of +reasoning, and eloquence, and his enemies were ashamed of the decision +to which they had driven the jury. He was therefore reprieved, and +committed to the Tower, where his wife was allowed to bear him company, +and where his youngest son was born. His estates were, in general, +preserved to him, but Carr, the infamous minion of the King, under some +pretext of a flaw in the conveyance of it by Raleigh to his son, seized +upon his manor of Sherborne. In the Tower he continued for twelve years. +These years his industry and genius rendered the happiest probably of +his life. Immured in the + + 'towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, + By many a foul and midnight murder fed,' + +his winged soul soared away, like the dove of the Deluge, over the wild +ocean of the past. The Tower confined his body, but this great globe the +world seemed too little for the sweep of his spirit. To fill up the vast +void which a long imprisonment created around him, and to shew that his +powers retained all their elasticity, he projected a work on the largest +scale, and with the noblest purpose--'The History of the World.' In this +undertaking he found literary men ready to lend him their aid. A hundred +hands were generously stretched out to gather materials, and to bring +them to the captive in the Tower. Cart-loads of books were sent. One +Burrell, formerly his chaplain, assisted him in much of the critical and +chronological drudgery. Rugged Ben Jonson sent in a piece of rugged +writing on the Punic War, which Raleigh polished and set as a carved +stone in his magnificent temple. Some have, on this account, sought to +detract from the merit of the author. As if ever an architect could rear +a building without hodmen! But in Raleigh's case the hodmen were Titans. +'The best wits in England assisted him in his undertaking;' and what a +compliment was this to the strength and stature of the master-builder! + +This great work was never finished. The part completed comprehended only +the period from the Creation to the Downfall of the Macedonian Empire +--one hundred and seventy years before Christ. He tarries too long amidst +the misty and mythical ages which precede the dawn of history; his +speculations on the site of the original Paradise, on the Flood, &c., +are more ingenious than instructive; but his descriptions of the Greek +battles--his account of the rise of Rome--the extensive erudition, on +all subjects displayed in the book--the many acute, profound, and +eloquently-expressed observations which are sprinkled throughout--and +the style, massive, dignified, rich, and less involved in structure than +that of almost any of his contemporaries--shall always rank it amongst +the great literary treasures of the language. It was published in 1614. +Besides it, Raleigh was the author of various works, all full of +sagacious thought and brilliant imagery, such as 'The Advice to a Son on +the Choice of a Wife,' 'The Sceptic,' 'Maxims of State,' &c. At last he +was released by the advance of a large sum of money to Villiers, Duke of +Buckingham, James's favourite; and, to retrieve his fortunes, projected +another expedition to America. James granted him a patent, under the +Great Seal, for making a settlement in Guiana, but ungenerously did not +grant him a pardon for the sentence which had been passed on him for +treason. He set sail, 1617, in a ship built by himself, called the +_Destiny_, with eleven other vessels. Having reached the Orinoco, he +despatched a portion of his forces to attack the new Spanish settlement +of St Thomas. This was captured, with the loss of Raleigh's eldest son. +The expected plunder, however, proved of little value; and Sir Walter +having in vain attempted to induce his captains to attack other +settlements of the Spaniards, was compelled to return home--his golden +dreams dissolved, and his prophetic soul forewarning him of the doom +that awaited him on his native shores. In July 1618, he landed at +Plymouth; 'whence,' says Howell, in his 'Familiar Letters,' 'he thought +to make an escape, and some say he tampered with his body by physic to +make him look sickly, that he might be the more pitied, and permitted to +lie in his own house.' James was at this time seeking the hand of the +Infanta for his son Charles, and was naturally disposed to side with the +Spanish cause. He was, besides, stirred up by the Spanish ambassador, +Count Gondomar, who sent to desire an audience with His Majesty, and +said, that he had only one word to say to him. 'The King wondered what +could be delivered in one word, whereupon, when he came before him, he +said only, "Pirates! pirates! pirates!" and so departed.' + +Raleigh consequently was arrested and sent back to his old lodgings in +the Tower. He was not tried, as might have been expected, for the new +offence of waging war against a power then at amity with England, but +James, with consummate meanness and cruelty, determined to revive his +former sentence. He was brought before the King's Bench, where his old +enemy, Sir Edward Coke, now sat as Chief Justice, and officially +condemned him to death. His language, however, was considerably modified +to the prisoner. He said, 'I know you have been valiant and wise, and I +doubt not but you retain both these virtues, for now you shall have +occasion to use them. Your faith hath heretofore been questioned, but I +am resolved you are a good Christian; for your book, which is an +admirable work, doth testify as much. I would give you counsel, but I +know you can apply unto yourself far better than I can give you. Yet +will I (with the good neighbour in the Gospel, who, finding one in the +way wounded and distressed, poured oil into his wounds and refreshed +him) give unto you the oil of comfort, though, in respect that I am a +minister of the law, mixed with vinegar.' Such was Coke's comfort to the +brave and gifted man who stood untrembling before his bar. + +On the 26th of October 1618, the day after his condemnation, Raleigh was +beheaded. He met his fate with dignity and composure. Having addressed +the multitude in vindication of his conduct, he took up the axe, and +said to the sheriff, 'This is a sharp medicine, but a sound cure for all +diseases.' He told the executioner that he would give the signal by +lifting up his hand, and 'then,' he said, 'fear not, but strike home.' +He next laid himself down, but was asked by the executioner to alter the +position of the head. 'So the heart be right,' he replied, 'it is no +matter which way the head lies.' The headsman became uncertain and +tremulous when the signal was given, whereupon Ealeigh exclaimed, 'Why +dost thou not strike? Strike, man!' and by two blows that gallant, +witty, and richly-stored head was severed from the body. He was in his +sixty-fifth year. He had the night before composed the following verse:-- + + Even such is Time, that takes on trust + Our youth, our joys, our all we have, + And pays us but with age and dust; + Who in the dark and silent grave, + When we have wander'd all our ways, + Shuts up the story of our days.' + +Thus perished Sir Walter Raleigh. There has been ever one opinion as to +the breadth and brilliance of his genius. His powers were almost +universal in their range. He commented on Scripture with the ingenuity +of a Talmudist, and wrote love verses (see the lines in Campbell's +'Specimens,' entitled 'Dulcina') with the animus and graceful levity of +a Thomas Moore. He was deep at once in 'all the learning of the +Egyptians,' and in that of the Greeks and Romans. In his large mind lay +dreams of golden lands, which even Australia has not yet fully verified, +alongside of maxims of the most practical wisdom. He was learned in all +that had been; well-informed as to all that was; and speculative and +hopeful as to all that might be and was yet to be. Disgust at the +scholastic methods, blended with the adventurous character of his mind, +and perhaps also with some looseness of moral principle, led him at one +time to the brink of universal scepticism; but disappointment, sorrow, +and the solitude of the Tower, made him a sadder and wiser man, and he +returned to the verities of the Christian religion. The stains on his +character seem to have arisen chiefly from his position. He was, like +some greater and some smaller men of eminence, undoubtedly, to a certain +extent, a brilliant adventurer--a class to whom justice is seldom done, +and against whom every calumny is believed. He was a _novus homo_, in an +age of more than common aristocratic pretence; sprang, indeed, from an +ancient family, but possessing nothing himself, save his cloak, his +sword, his tact, and his genius. We all know how, in later times, such +spirits, kindred in many points to Raleigh, in some superior, and in +others inferior--as Burke, Sheridan, and Canning--were used, less for +their errors of temper or of life, than because they had gained immense +influence, not by birth or favour, but by the force of extraordinary +talent and no less remarkable address. Raleigh, however, was undoubtedly +imprudent in a high degree. He had once or twice outraged common +morality; his enemies were constantly accusing him of gasconading and of +'pride.' His success at first was too early and too easy, and hence a +reverse might have been anticipated as certain and as remarkable as his +rise had been. His fall ultimately is understood to have been +precipitated by the base complicity of James with the Spaniards, who +were informed by the King of Raleigh's motions in America, and prepared +to counteract them, as well as by the loud-sounding invectives and legal +lies of the unscrupulous instruments of his tyrannical power. With all +his faults and follies, (of 'crimes,' it has been justly said, Raleigh +can hardly be accused,) he stood high in that crowd of giants who +illustrated the reign of the Amazonian Queen. What an age it was! Bacon, +with still brighter powers, and far darker and meaner faults than +Raleigh, was sitting on the woolsack in body, while his spirit was +presiding over the half-born philosophies of the future, and beholding +the cold rod of Induction blossom in an after-day into the Aaronic +flowers and fruits of a magnificent science; Cecil was nodding out +wisdom or transcendental craft in the Cabinet; Sir Philip Sidney was +carrying the spirit of 'Arcadia' into the field of battle; Spenser was +dreaming his one beautiful lifelong Dream; and Shakspeare was holding up +his calm mirror to the heart of man and the universe of nature; while, +on the prow of the British vessel, carrying on those lofty spirits and +enterprises, there appeared a daring mariner, the Poet and 'Shepherd of +the Ocean,' with bright eye, sanguine countenance, step treading the +deck like a throne, and look contemplating the sunset, as if it were the +dawning, and the Evening, as if it were the Morning Star. It was the +hopeful and the brilliant Raleigh, who, while he 'opened up to Europe +the New World, was the historian of the Old.' Alas that this illustrious +'Marinere' was doomed to a life so troubled and a death so dreadful, and +that the glory of one of England's prodigies is for ever bound up with +the disgrace of one of England's and Scotland's princes! + + +THE COUNTRY'S RECREATIONS. + +1 Heart-tearing cares and quiv'ring fears, + Anxious sighs, untimely tears, + Fly, fly to courts, + Fly to fond worldling's sports; + Where strain'd sardonic smiles are glozing still, + And Grief is forced to laugh against her will; + Where mirth's but mummery, + And sorrows only real be. + +2 Fly from our country pastimes, fly, + Sad troop of human misery! + Come, serene looks, + Clear as the crystal brooks, + Or the pure azured heaven, that smiles to see + The rich attendance of our poverty. + Peace and a secure mind, + Which all men seek, we only find. + +3 Abused mortals, did you know + Where joy, heart's ease, and comforts grow, + You'd scorn proud towers, + And seek them in these bowers; + Where winds perhaps our woods may sometimes shake, + But blustering care could never tempest make, + Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us, + Saving of fountains that glide by us. + + * * * * * + +4 Blest silent groves! oh, may ye be + For ever mirth's best nursery! + May pure contents, + For ever pitch their tents + Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, these mountains, + And peace still slumber by these purling fountains, + Which we may every year + Find when we come a-fishing here. + + +THE SILENT LOVER. + +1 Passions are liken'd best to floods and streams, + The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb; + So when affection yields discourse, it seems + The bottom is but shallow whence they come; + They that are rich in words must needs discover + They are but poor in that which makes a lover. + +2 Wrong not, sweet mistress of my heart, + The merit of true passion, + With thinking that he feels no smart + That sues for no compassion. + +3 Since if my plaints were not t' approve + The conquest of thy beauty, + It comes not from defect of love, + But fear t' exceed my duty. + +4 For not knowing that I sue to serve + A saint of such perfection + As all desire, but none deserve + A place in her affection, + +5 I rather choose to want relief + Than venture the revealing; + Where glory recommends the grief, + Despair disdains the healing. + +6 Silence in love betrays more woe + Than words, though ne'er so witty; + A beggar that is dumb, you know, + May challenge double pity. + +7 Then wrong not, dearest to my heart, + My love for secret passion; + He smarteth most who hides his smart, + And sues for no compassion. + + +A VISION UPON 'THE FAIRY QUEEN.' + +Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay, +Within that temple where the vestal flame +Was wont to burn: and passing by that way +To see that buried dust of living fame, +Whose tomb fair Love and fairer Virtue kept, +All suddenly I saw the Fairy Queen, +At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept; +And from thenceforth those Graces were not seen, +For they this Queen attended; in whose stead +Oblivion laid him down on Laura's hearse. +Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed, +And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce, +Where Homer's sprite did tremble all for grief, +And cursed the access of that celestial thief. + + +LOVE ADMITS NO RIVAL. + +1 Shall I, like a hermit, dwell, + On a rock, or in a cell, + Calling home the smallest part + That is missing of my heart, + To bestow it where I may + Meet a rival every day? + If she undervalue me, + What care I how fair she be? + +2 Were her tresses angel gold, + If a stranger may be bold, + Unrebuked, unafraid, + To convert them to a braid, + And with little more ado + Work them into bracelets, too; + If the mine be grown so free, + What care I how rich it be? + +3 Were her hand as rich a prize + As her hairs, or precious eyes, + If she lay them out to take + Kisses, for good manners' sake, + And let every lover skip + From her hand unto her lip; + If she seem not chaste to me, + What care I how chaste she be? + +4 No; she must be perfect snow, + In effect as well as show; + Warming but as snow-balls do, + Not like fire, by burning too; + But when she by change hath got + To her heart a second lot, + Then if others share with me, + Farewell her, whate'er she be! + + + + +JOSHUA SYLVESTER. + + +Joshua Sylvester is the next in the list of our imperfectly-known, but +real poets. Very little is known of his history. He was a merchant- +adventurer, and died at Middleburg, aged fifty-five, in 1618. He is said +to have applied, in 1597, for the office of secretary to a trading +company in Stade, and to have been, on this occasion, patronised by +the Earl of Essex. He was at one time attached to the English Court as +a pensioner of Prince Henry. He is said to have been driven abroad by +the severity of his satires. He seems to have had a sweet flow of +conversational eloquence, and hence was called 'The Silver-tongued.' He +was an eminent linguist, and wrote his dedications in various languages. +He published a large volume of poems, very unequal in their value, and +inserted in it 'The Soul's Errand,' with interpolations, as we have seen, +which prove it not to be his own. His great work is the translation of +the 'Divine Weeks and Works' of the French poet, Du Bartas, which is a +marvellous medley of flatness and force--of childish weakness and soaring +genius--with more _seed poetry_ in it than any poem we remember, except +'Festus,' the chaos of a hundred poetic worlds. There can be little doubt +that Milton was familiar with this work in boyhood, and many remarkable +coincidences have been pointed out between it and 'Paradise Lost.' +Sylvester was a Puritan, and his publisher, Humphrey Lownes, who lived +in the same street with Milton's father, belonged to the same sect; and, +as Campbell remarks, 'it is easily to be conceived that Milton often +repaired to the shop of Lownes, and there met with the pious didactic +poem.' The work, therefore, some specimens of which we subjoin, is +interesting, both in itself, and as having been the _prima stamina_ of +the great masterpiece of English poetry. + + +TO RELIGION. + +1 Religion, O thou life of life, + How worldlings, that profane thee rife, + Can wrest thee to their appetites! + How princes, who thy power deny, + Pretend thee for their tyranny, + And people for their false delights! + +2 Under thy sacred name, all over, + The vicious all their vices cover; + The insolent their insolence, + The proud their pride, the false their fraud, + The thief his theft, her filth the bawd, + The impudent, their impudence. + +3 Ambition under thee aspires, + And Avarice under thee desires; + Sloth under thee her ease assumes, + Lux under thee all overflows, + Wrath under thee outrageous grows, + All evil under thee presumes. + +4 Religion, erst so venerable, + What art thou now but made a fable, + A holy mask on folly's brow, + Where under lies Dissimulation, + Lined with all abomination. + Sacred Religion, where art thou? + +5 Not in the church with Simony, + Not on the bench with Bribery, + Nor in the court with Machiavel, + Nor in the city with deceits, + Nor in the country with debates; + For what hath Heaven to do with Hell? + + +ON MAN'S RESEMBLANCE TO GOD. +(FROM DU BARTAS.) + +O complete creature! who the starry spheres +Canst make to move, who 'bove the heavenly bears +Extend'st thy power, who guidest with thy hand +The day's bright chariot, and the nightly brand: +This curious lust to imitate the best +And fairest works of the Almightiest, +By rare effects bears record of thy lineage +And high descent; and that his sacred image +Was in thy soul engraven, when first his Spirit, +The spring of life, did in thy limbs inspire it. +For, as his beauties are past all compare, +So is thy soul all beautiful and fair: +As he's immortal, and is never idle, +Thy soul's immortal, and can brook no bridle +Of sloth, to curb her busy intellect: +He ponders all; thou peizest[1] each effect: +And thy mature and settled sapience +Hath some alliance with his providence: +He works by reason, thou by rule: he's glory +Of the heavenly stages, thou of th' earthly story: +He's great High Priest, thou his great vicar here: +He's sovereign Prince, and thou his viceroy dear. + +For soon as ever he had framed thee, +Into thy hands he put this monarchy: +Made all the creatures know thee for their lord, +And come before thee of their own accord: +And gave thee power as master, to impose +Fit sense-full names unto the host that rows +In watery regions; and the wand'ring herds +Of forest people; and the painted birds: +Oh, too, too happy! had that fall of thine +Not cancell'd so the character divine. + +But, since our souls' now sin-obscured light +Shines through the lanthorn of our flesh so bright; +What sacred splendour will this star send forth, +When it shall shine without this vail of earth? +The Soul here lodged is like a man that dwells +In an ill air, annoy'd with noisome smells; +In an old house, open to wind and weather; +Never in health not half an hour together: +Or, almost, like a spider who, confined +In her web's centre, shakes with every wind; +Moves in an instant, if the buzzing fly +Stir but a string of her lawn canopy. + +[1] 'Peizest:' weighest. + + +THE CHARIOT OF THE SUN. + +Thou radiant coachman, running endless course, +Fountain of heat, of light the lively source, +Life of the world, lamp of this universe, +Heaven's richest gem: oh, teach me where my verse +May but begin thy praise: Alas! I fare +Much like to one that in the clouds doth stare +To count the quails, that with their shadow cover +The Italian sea, when soaring hither over, +Fain of a milder and more fruitful clime, +They come with us to pass the summer time: +No sooner he begins one shoal to sum, +But, more and more, still greater shoals do come, +Swarm upon swarm, that with their countless number +Break off his purpose, and his sense encumber. + +Day's glorious eye! even as a mighty king +About his country stately progressing, +Is compass'd round with dukes, earls, lords, and knights, +(Orderly marshall'd in their noble rites,) +Esquires and gentlemen, in courtly kind, +And then his guard before him and behind. +And there is nought in all his royal muster, +But to his greatness addeth grace and lustre: +So, while about the world thou ridest aye, +Which only lives through virtue of thy ray, +Six heavenly princes, mounted evermore, +Wait on thy coach, three behind, three before; +Besides the host of th' upper twinklers bright, +To whom, for pay, thou givest only light. +And, even as man (the little world of cares) +Within the middle of the body bears +His heart, the spring of life, which with proportion +Supplieth spirits to all, and every portion: +Even so, O Sun, thy golden chariot marches +Amid the six lamps of the six low arches +Which seele the world, that equally it might +Richly impart them beauty, force, and light. + +Praising thy heat, which subtilly doth pierce +The solid thickness of our universe: +Which in the earth's kidneys mercury doth burn, +And pallid sulphur to bright metal turn; +I do digress, to praise that light of thine, +Which if it should but one day cease to shine, +Th' unpurged air to water would resolve, +And water would the mountain tops involve. + +Scarce I begin to measure thy bright face +Whose greatness doth so oft earth's greatness pass, +And which still running the celestial ring, +Is seen and felt of every living thing; +But that fantastic'ly I change my theme +To sing the swiftness of thy tireless team, +To sing how, rising from the Indian wave, +Thou seem'st (O Titan) like a bridegroom brave, +Who, from his chamber early issuing out +In rich array, with rarest gems about, +With pleasant countenance and lovely face, +With golden tresses and attractive grace, +Cheers at his coming all the youthful throng +That for his presence earnestly did long, +Blessing the day, and with delightful glee, +Singing aloud his epithalamie. + + + + +RICHARD BARNFIELD. + + +Of him we only know that he published several poetical volumes between +1594 and 1598. We give one beautiful piece, 'To a Nightingale,' which +used to be attributed to Shakspeare. + + +ADDRESS TO THE NIGHTINGALE. + +As it fell upon a day, +In the merry month of May, +Sitting in a pleasant shade +Which a grove of myrtles made; +Beasts did leap, and birds did sing, +Trees did grow, and plants did spring; +Everything did banish moan, +Save the nightingale alone. +She, poor bird, as all forlorn, +Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn; +And there sung the dolefull'st ditty, +That to hear it was great pity. +'Fie, fie, fie,' now would she cry; +'Teru, teru,' by and by; +That, to hear her so complain, +Scarce I could from tears refrain; +For her griefs, so lively shown, +Made me think upon mine own. +Ah! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain; +None takes pity on thy pain: +Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee, +Ruthless bears they will not cheer thee: +King Pandion he is dead; +All thy friends are lapp'd in lead; +All thy fellow-birds do sing, +Careless of thy sorrowing! +Whilst as fickle Fortune smiled, +Thou and I were both beguiled. +Every one that flatters thee +Is no friend in misery. +Words are easy, like the wind; +Faithful friends are hard to find. +Every man will be thy friend +Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend: +But, if store of crowns be scant, +No man will supply thy want. +If that one be prodigal, +Bountiful they will him call; +And with such-like flattering, +'Pity but he were a king.' +If he be addict to vice, +Quickly him they will entice; +But if Fortune once do frown, +Then farewell his great renown: +They that fawn'd on him before +Use his company no more. +He that is thy friend indeed, +He will help thee in thy need; +If thou sorrow, he will weep, +If thou wake, he cannot sleep: +Thus, of every grief in heart +He with thee doth bear a part. +These are certain signs to know +Faithful friend from flattering foe. + + + + +ALEXANDER HUME. + + +This Scottish poet was the second son of Patrick, fifth Baron of +Polwarth. He was born about the middle of the sixteenth century, and +died in 1609. He resided for some years, in the early part of his life, +in France. Returning home, he studied law, and then tried his fortune at +Court. Here he was eclipsed by a rival, named Montgomery; and after +assailing his rival, who rejoined, in verse, he became a clergyman in +disgust, and was settled in the parish of Logie. Here he darkened into +a sour and savage Calvinist, and uttered an exhortation to the youth of +Scotland to forego the admiration of classical heroes, and to read no +love-poetry save the 'Song of Solomon.' In another poetic walk, however, +that of natural description, Hume excelled, and we print with pleasure +some parts of his 'Summer's Day,' which our readers may compare with Mr +Aird's fine poem under the same title, and be convinced that the sky of +Scotland was as blue, and the grass as green, and Scottish eyes as quick +to perceive their beauty, in the sixteenth century as now. + + +THANKS FOR A SUMMER'S DAY. + +1 O perfect light which shade[1] away + The darkness from the light, + And set a ruler o'er the day, + Another o'er the night. + +2 Thy glory, when the day forth flies, + More vively does appear, + Nor[2] at mid-day unto our eyes + The shining sun is clear. + +3 The shadow of the earth anon + Removes and drawis by, + Syne[3] in the east, when it is gone, + Appears a clearer sky. + +4 Which soon perceive the little larks, + The lapwing, and the snipe, + And tune their song like Nature's clerks, + O'er meadow, muir, and stripe. + +5 But every bold nocturnal beast + No longer may abide, + They hie away both maist and least,[4] + Themselves in house to hide. + + * * * * * + +6 The golden globe incontinent + Sets up his shining head, + And o'er the earth and firmament + Displays his beams abroad.[5] + +7 For joy the birds with boulden[6] throats, + Against his visage sheen,[7] + Take up their kindly music notes + In woods and gardens green. + +8 Upbraids[8] the careful husbandman, + His corn and vines to see, + And every timeous[9] artisan + In booths works busily. + +9 The pastor quits the slothful sleep, + And passes forth with speed, + His little camow-nosed[10] sheep, + And rowting kye[11] to feed. + +10 The passenger, from perils sure, + Goes gladly forth the way, + Brief, every living creäture + Takes comfort of the day. + + * * * * * + +11 The misty reek,[12] the clouds of rain + From tops of mountain skails,[13] + Clear are the highest hills and plain, + The vapours take the vales. + +12 Begaired[14] is the sapphire pend[15] + With spraings[16] of scarlet hue; + And preciously from end to end, + Damasked white and blue. + +13 The ample heaven, of fabric sure, + In clearness does surpass + The crystal and the silver, pure + As clearest polish'd glass. + +14 The time so tranquil is and clear, + That nowhere shall ye find, + Save on a high and barren hill, + The air of passing wind. + +15 All trees and simples, great and small, + That balmy leaf do bear, + Than they were painted on a wall, + No more they move or steir.[17] + +16 The rivers fresh, the caller[18] streams, + O'er rocks can swiftly rin,[19] + The water clear like crystal beams, + And makes a pleasant din. + + * * * * * + +17 Calm is the deep and purple sea, + Yea, smoother than the sand; + The waves, that woltering[20] wont to be, + Are stable like the land. + +18 So silent is the cessile air, + That every cry and call, + The hills and dales, and forest fair, + Again repeats them all. + +19 The clogged busy humming bees, + That never think to drown,[21] + On flowers and flourishes of trees, + Collect their liquor brown. + +20 The sun most like a speedy post + With ardent course ascends; + The beauty of our heavenly host + Up to our zenith tends. + + * * * * * + +21 The breathless flocks draw to the shade + And freshure[22] of their fauld;[23] + The startling nolt, as they were mad, + Run to the rivers cauld. + +22 The herds beneath some leafy trees, + Amidst the flowers they lie; + The stable ships upon the seas + Tend up their sails to dry. + +23 The hart, the hind, the fallow-deer, + Are tapish'd[24] at their rest; + The fowls and birds that made thee beare,[25] + Prepare their pretty nest. + +24 The rayons dure[26] descending down, + All kindle in a gleid;[27] + In city, nor in burrough town, + May none set forth their head. + +25 Back from the blue pavemented whun,[28] + And from ilk plaster wall, + The hot reflexing of the sun + Inflames the air and all. + +26 The labourers that timely rose, + All weary, faint, and weak, + For heat down to their houses goes, + Noon-meat and sleep to take. + +27 The caller[29] wine in cave is sought, + Men's brothing[30] breasts to cool; + The water cold and clear is brought, + And sallads steeped in ule.[31] + +28 With gilded eyes and open wings, + The cock his courage shows; + With claps of joy his breast he dings,[32] + And twenty times he crows. + +29 The dove with whistling wings so blue, + The winds can fast collect, + Her purple pens turn many a hue + Against the sun direct. + +30 Now noon is gone--gone is mid-day, + The heat does slake at last, + The sun descends down west away, + For three o'clock is past. + + * * * * * + +31 The rayons of the sun we see + Diminish in their strength, + The shade of every tower and tree + Extended is in length. + +32 Great is the calm, for everywhere + The wind is setting down, + The reek[33] throws up right in the air, + From every tower and town. + +33 The mavis and the philomeen,[34] + The starling whistles loud, + The cushats[35] on the branches green, + Full quietly they crood.[36] + +34 The gloamin[37] comes, the clay is spent, + The sun goes out of sight, + And painted is the occident + With purple sanguine bright. + + * * * * * + +35 The scarlet nor the golden thread, + Who would their beauty try, + Are nothing like the colour red + And beauty of the sky. + + * * * * * + +36 What pleasure then to walk and see, + Endlong[38] a river clear, + The perfect form of every tree + Within the deep appear. + +37 The salmon out of cruives[39] and creels[40] + Uphauled into scouts;[41] + The bells and circles on the weills,[42] + Through leaping of the trouts. + +38 O sure it were a seemly thing, + While all is still and calm, + The praise of God to play and sing + With trumpet and with shalm. + +39 Through all the land great is the gild[43] + Of rustic folks that cry; + Of bleating sheep, from they be fill'd, + Of calves and rowting kye. + +40 All labourers draw home at even, + And can to others say, + Thanks to the gracious God of heaven, + Who sent this summer day. + +[1] 'Shade:' for shaded. +[2] 'Nor:' than. +[3] 'Syne:' then. +[4] 'Maist and least:' largest and smallest. +[5] 'Abread:' abroad. +[6] 'Boulden:' emboldened. +[7] 'Sheen:' shining. +[8] 'Upbraids:' uprises. +[9] 'Timeous:' early. +[10]'Camow-nosed:' flat-nosed. +[11]'Rowting kye:' lowing kine. +[12]'Reek:' fog. +[13]'Skails:' dissipates. +[14]'Begaired:' dressed out. +[15]'Pend:' arch. +[16]'Spraings:' streaks. +[17] 'Steir:' stir. +[18] 'Caller:' cool. +[19] 'Rin:' run. +[20] 'Woltering:' tumbling. +[21] 'Drown:' drone, be idle. +[22] 'Freshure:' freshness. +[23] 'Fauld:' fold. +[24] 'Tapish'd:' stretched as on a carpet. +[25] 'Beare:' sound, music. +[26] 'Rayons dure:' hard or keen rays. +[27] 'Gleid:' fire. +[28] 'Whun:' whinstone. +[29] 'Caller:' cool. +[30] 'Brothing:' burning. +[31] 'Ule:' oil. +[32] 'Dings:' beats. +[33] 'Reek:' smoke. +[34] 'The mavis and the philomeen:' thrush and nightingale. +[35] 'Cushats:' wood-pigeons. +[36] 'Crood:' coo. +[37] 'Gloamin:' evening. +[38] 'Endlong:' along. +[39] 'Cruives:' cages for catching fish. +[40] 'Creels:' baskets. +[41] 'Scouts:' small boats or yawls. +[42] 'Weills:' eddies. +[43] 'Gild:' throng. + + + * * * * * + + +OTHER SCOTTISH POETS. + + +About the same time with Hume flourished two or three poets in Scotland +of considerable merit, such as Alexander Scott, author of satires and +amatory poems, and called sometimes the 'Scottish Anacreon;' Sir Richard +Maitland of Lethington, father of the famous Secretary Lethington, who, +in his advanced years, composed and dictated to his daughter a few moral +and conversational pieces, and who collected, besides, into a MS. which +bears his name, the productions of some of his contemporaries; and +Alexander Montgomery, author of an allegorical poem, entitled 'The +Cherry and the Slae.' + +The allegory is not well managed, but some of the natural descriptions +are sweet and striking. Take the two following stanzas as a specimen:-- + + 'The cushat croods, the corbie cries, + The cuckoo conks, the prattling pies + To geck there they begin; + The jargon of the jangling jays, + The cracking craws and keckling kays, + They deav'd me with their din; + The painted pawn, with Argus eyes, + Can on his May-cock call, + The turtle wails, on wither'd trees, + And Echo answers all. + Repeating, with greeting, + How fair Narcissus fell, + By lying, and spying + His shadow in the well. + + 'The air was sober, saft, and sweet, + Nae misty vapours, wind, nor weet, + But quiet, calm, and clear; + To foster Flora's fragrant flowers, + Whereon Apollo's paramours + Had trinkled mony a tear; + The which, like silver shakers, shined, + Embroidering Beauty's bed, + Wherewith their heavy heads declined, + In Mayė's colours clad; + Some knopping, some dropping + Of balmy liquor sweet, + Excelling and smelling + Through Phoebus' wholesome heat.' + +The 'Cherry and the Slae' was familiar to Burns, who often, our readers +will observe, copied its form of verse. + + + + +SAMUEL DANIEL. + + +This ingenious person was born in 1562, near Taunton, in Somersetshire. +His father was a music-master. He was patronised by the noble family +of Pembroke, who probably also maintained him at college. He went to +Magdalene Hall, Oxford, in 1579; and after studying there, chiefly +history and poetry, for seven years, he left without a degree. When +twenty-three years of age, he translated Paulus Jovius' 'Discourse of +Rare Inventions.' He became tutor to Lady Anne Clifford, the elegant +and accomplished daughter of the Earl of Cumberland. She, at his death, +raised a monument to his memory, and recorded on it, with pride, that +she had been his pupil. After Spenser died, Daniel became a 'voluntary +laureat' to the Court, producing masques and pageants, but was soon +supplanted by 'rare Ben Jonson.' In 1603 he was appointed Master of the +Queen's Revels and Inspector of the Plays to be enacted by juvenile +performers. He was also promoted to be Gentleman Extraordinary and Groom +of the Chambers to the Queen. He was a varied and voluminous writer, +composing plays, miscellaneous poems, and prose compositions, including +a 'Defence of Rhyme' and a 'History of England,'--an honest, but somewhat +dry and dull production. While composing his works he resided in Old +Street, St Luke's, which was then thought a suburban residence; but he +was often in town, and mingled on intimate terms with Selden and +Shakspeare. When approaching sixty, he took a farm at Beckington, in +Somersetshire--his native shire--and died there in 1619. + +Daniel's Plays and History are now, as wholes, forgotten, although the +former contained some vigorous passages, such as Richard II.'s soliloquy +on the morning of his murder in Pomfret Castle. His smaller pieces and +his Sonnets shew no ordinary poetic powers. + + +RICHARD II., THE MORNING BEFORE HIS MURDER IN POMFRET CASTLE. + +Whether the soul receives intelligence, +By her near genius, of the body's end, +And so imparts a sadness to the sense, +Foregoing ruin, whereto it doth tend; +Or whether nature else hath conference +With profound sleep, and so doth warning send, +By prophetising dreams, what hurt is near, +And gives the heavv careful heart to fear:-- + +However, so it is, the now sad king, +Toss'd here and there his quiet to confound, +Feels a strange weight of sorrows gathering +Upon his trembling heart, and sees no ground; +Feels sudden terror bring cold shivering; +Lists not to eat, still muses, sleeps unsound; +His senses droop, his steady eyes unquick, +And much he ails, and yet he is not sick. + +The morning of that day which was his last, +After a weary rest, rising to pain, +Out at a little grate his eyes he cast +Upon those bordering hills and open plain, +Where others' liberty makes him complain +The more his own, and grieves his soul the more, +Conferring captive crowns with freedom poor. + +'O happy man,' saith he, 'that lo I see, +Grazing his cattle in those pleasant fields, +If he but knew his good. How blessed he +That feels not what affliction greatness yields! +Other than what he is he would not be, +Nor change his state with him that sceptre wields. +Thine, thine is that true life: that is to live, +To rest secure, and not rise up to grieve. + +'Thou sitt'st at home safe by thy quiet fire, +And hear'st of others' harms, but fearest none: +And there thou tell'st of kings, and who aspire, +Who fall, who rise, who triumph, who do moan. +Perhaps thou talk'st of me, and dost inquire +Of my restraint, why here I live alone, +And pitiest this my miserable fall; +For pity must have part--envy not all. + +'Thrice happy you that look as from the shore, +And have no venture in the wreck you see; +No interest, no occasion to deplore +Other men's travails, while yourselves sit free. +How much doth your sweet rest make us the more +To see our misery and what we be: +Whose blinded greatness, ever in turmoil, +Still seeking happy life, makes life a toil.' + + +EARLY LOVE. + +Ah, I remember well (and how can I +But evermore remember well?) when first +Our flame began, when scarce we knew what was +The flame we felt; when as we sat and sigh'd +And look'd upon each other, and conceived +Not what we ail'd, yet something we did ail, +And yet were well, and yet we were not well, +And what was our disease we could not tell. +Then would we kiss, then sigh, then look: and thus +In that first garden of our simpleness +We spent our childhood. But when years began +To reap the fruit of knowledge; ah, how then +Would she with sterner looks, with graver brow, +Check my presumption and my forwardness! +Yet still would give me flowers, still would show +What she would have me, yet not have me know. + + +SELECTIONS FROM SONNETS. + +I must not grieve, my love, whose eyes would read +Lines of delight, whereon her youth might smile; +Flowers have time before they come to seed, +And she is young, and now must sport the while. +And sport, sweet maid, in season of these years, +And learn to gather flowers before they wither; +And where the sweetest blossom first appears, +Let love and youth conduct thy pleasures thither, +Lighten forth smiles to clear the clouded air, +And calm the tempest which my sighs do raise: +Pity and smiles do best become the fair; +Pity and smiles must only yield thee praise. +Make me to say, when all my griefs are gone, +Happy the heart that sigh'd for such a one. + +Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair; +Her brow shades frown, although her eyes are sunny; +Her smiles are lightning, though her pride despair; +And her disdains are gall, her favours honey. +A modest maid, deck'd with a blush of honour, +Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and love; +The wonder of all eyes that look upon her: +Sacred on earth; design'd a saint above; +Chastity and Beauty, which are deadly foes, +Live reconciled friends within her brow; +And had she Pity to conjoin with those, +Then who had heard the plaints I utter now? +For had she not been fair, and thus unkind, +My muse had slept, and none had known my mind. + +Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, +Brother to Death, in silent darkness born, +Relieve my anguish, and restore the light, +With dark forgetting of my care, return. +And let the day be time enough to mourn +The shipwreck of my ill-advised youth; +Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, +Without the torments of the night's untruth. +Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires, +To model forth the passions of to-morrow; +Never let the rising sun prove you liars, +To add more grief, to aggravate my sorrow. +Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain, +And never wake to feel the day's disdain. + + + + +SIR JOHN DAVIES. + + +This knight, says Campbell, 'wrote, at twenty-five years of age, a poem +on the "Immortality of the Soul," and at fifty-two, when he was a judge +and a statesman, another on the "_Art of Dancing_." Well might the +teacher of that noble accomplishment, in Moličre's comedy, exclaim, "_La +philosophie est quelque chose--mais la danse!_" This, however, is more +pointed than correct, since the first of these poems was written in +1592, when the author was only twenty-two years of age, and the latter +appeared in 1599, when he was only twenty-nine. + +Tisbury, in Wiltshire, was the birthplace of this poet, and 1570 the +date of his birth. His father was a practising lawyer. John was expelled +from the Temple for beating one Richard Martyn, afterwards Recorder, but +was restored, and subsequently elected for Parliament. In 1592, as +aforesaid, appeared his poem, 'Nosce Teipsum; or, The Immortality of the +Soul.' Its fame soon travelled to Scotland; and when Davies, along with +Lord Hunsdon, visited that country, James received him most graciously +as the author of 'Nosce Teipsum.' His history became, for some time, a +list of promotions. He was appointed, in 1603, first Solicitor and then +Attorney-General in Ireland, was next made Sergeant, was then knighted, +then appointed King's Sergeant, next elected representative of the +county of Fermanagh, and, in fine, after a violent contest between the +Roman Catholic and Protestant parties, was chosen Speaker of the House +of Commons in the Protestant interest. While in Ireland he married +Eleanor, a daughter of Lord Audley, who turned out a raving prophetess, +and was sent, in 1649, to the Tower, and then to Bethlehem Hospital, by +the Revolutionary Government. In 1616, Sir John returned to England, +continued to practise as a barrister, sat in Parliament for Newcastle- +under-Lyne, and received a promise of being made Chief-Justice of +England; but was suddenly cut off by apoplexy in 1626. + +His poem on dancing, which was written in fifteen days, and left a +fragment, is a piece of beautiful, though somewhat extravagant fancy. +His 'Nosce Teipsum,' if it casts little new light, and rears no +demonstrative argument on the grand and difficult problem of +immortality, is full of ingenuity, and has many apt and memorable +similes. Feeling he happily likens to the + + 'subtle spider, which doth sit + In middle of her web, which spreadeth wide; + If aught do touch the utmost thread of it, + She feels it instantly on every side.' + +In answering an objection, 'Why, if souls continue to exist, do they not +return and bring us news of that strange world?' he replies-- + + 'But as Noah's pigeon, which return'd no more, + Did show she footing found, for all the flood, + So when good souls, departed through death's door, + Come not again, it shows their dwelling good.' + +The poem is interesting from the musical use he makes of the quatrain, +a form of verse in which Dryden afterwards wrote his 'Annus Mirabilis,' +and as one of the earliest philosophical poems in the language. It is +proverbially difficult to reason in verse, but Davies reasons, if not +always with conclusive result, always with energy and skill. + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE POEM ON THE SOUL OF MAN. + +1 The lights of heaven, which are the world's fair eyes, + Look down into the world, the world to see; + And as they turn or wander in the skies, + Survey all things that on this centre be. + +2 And yet the lights which in my tower do shine, + Mine eyes, which view all objects nigh and far, + Look not into this little world of mine, + Nor see my face, wherein they fixed are. + +3 Since Nature fails us in no needful thing, + Why want I means my inward self to see? + Which sight the knowledge of myself might bring, + Which to true wisdom is the first degree. + +4 That Power, which gave me eyes the world to view, + To view myself, infused an inward light, + Whereby my soul, as by a mirror true, + Of her own form may take a perfect sight. + +5 But as the sharpest eye discerneth nought, + Except the sunbeams in the air do shine; + So the best soul, with her reflecting thought, + Sees not herself without some light divine. + +6 O light, which mak'st the light which makes the day! + Which sett'st the eye without, and mind within, + Lighten my spirit with one clear heavenly ray, + Which now to view itself doth first begin. + +7 For her true form how can my spark discern, + Which, dim by nature, art did never clear, + When the great wits, of whom all skill we learn, + Are ignorant both what she is, and where? + +8 One thinks the soul is air; another fire; + Another blood, diffused about the heart; + Another saith, the elements conspire, + And to her essence each doth give a part. + +9 Musicians think our souls are harmonies; + Physicians hold that they complexions be; + Epicures make them swarms of atomies, + Which do by chance into our bodies flee. + +10 Some think one general soul fills every brain, + As the bright sun sheds light in every star; + And others think the name of soul is vain, + And that we only well-mix'd bodies are. + +11 In judgment of her substance thus they vary; + And thus they vary in judgment of her seat; + For some her chair up to the brain do carry, + Some thrust it down into the stomach's heat. + +12 Some place it in the root of life, the heart; + Some in the liver, fountain of the veins; + Some say, she's all in all, and all in every part; + Some say, she's not contain'd, but all contains. + +13 Thus these great clerks their little wisdom show, + While with their doctrines they at hazard play; + Tossing their light opinions to and fro, + To mock the lewd, as learn'd in this as they. + +14 For no crazed brain could ever yet propound, + Touching the soul, so vain and fond a thought; + But some among these masters have been found, + Which in their schools the selfsame thing have taught. + +15 God only wise, to punish pride of wit, + Among men's wits hath this confusion wrought, + As the proud tower whose points the clouds did hit, + By tongues' confusion was to ruin brought. + +16 But thou which didst man's soul of nothing make, + And when to nothing it was fallen again, + 'To make it new, the form of man didst take; + And, God with God, becam'st a man with men.' + +17 Thou that hast fashion'd twice this soul of ours, + So that she is by double title thine, + Thou only know'st her nature and her powers, + Her subtle form thou only canst define. + +18 To judge herself, she must herself transcend, + As greater circles comprehend the less; + But she wants power her own powers to extend, + As fetter'd men cannot their strength express. + +19 But thou bright morning Star, thou rising Sun, + Which in these later times hast brought to light + Those mysteries that, since the world begun, + Lay hid in darkness and eternal night: + +20 Thou, like the sun, dost with an equal ray + Into the palace and the cottage shine, + And show'st the soul, both to the clerk and lay, + By the clear lamp of oracle divine. + +21 This lamp, through all the regions of my brain, + Where my soul sits, doth spread such beams of grace, + As now, methinks, I do distinguish plain + Each subtle line of her immortal face. + +22 The soul a substance and a spirit is, + Which God himself doth in the body make, + Which makes the man; for every man from this + The nature of a man and name doth take. + +23 And though this spirit be to the body knit, + As an apt means her powers to exercise, + Which are life, motion, sense, and will, and wit, + Yet she survives, although the body dies. + + +THE SELF-SUBSISTENCE OF THE SOUL. + +1 She is a substance, and a real thing, + Which hath itself an actual working might, + Which neither from the senses' power doth spring, + Nor from the body's humours temper'd right. + +2 She is a vine, which doth no propping need, + To make her spread herself, or spring upright; + She is a star, whose beams do not proceed + From any sun, but from a native light. + +3 For when she sorts things present with things past, + And thereby things to come doth oft foresee; + When she doth doubt at first, and choose at last, + These acts her own,[1] without her body be. + +4 When of the dew, which the eye and ear do take, + From flowers abroad, and bring into the brain, + She doth within both wax and honey make: + This work is hers, this is her proper pain. + +5 When she from sundry acts, one skill doth draw; + Gathering from divers fights one art of war; + From many cases like, one rule of law; + These her collections, not the senses' are. + +6 When in the effects she doth the causes know; + And seeing the stream, thinks where the spring doth rise; + And seeing the branch, conceives the root below: + These things she views without the body's eyes. + +7 When she, without a Pegasus, doth fly + Swifter than lightning's fire from east to west; + About the centre, and above the sky, + She travels then, although the body rest. + +8 When all her works she formeth first within, + Proportions them, and sees their perfect end; + Ere she in act doth any part begin, + What instruments doth then the body lend? + +9 When without hands she doth thus castles build, + Sees without eyes, and without feet doth run; + When she digests the world, yet is not fill'd: + By her own powers these miracles are done. + +10 When she defines, argues, divides, compounds, + Considers virtue, vice, and general things; + And marrying divers principles and grounds, + Out of their match a true conclusion brings. + +11 These actions in her closet, all alone, + Retired within herself, she doth fulfil; + Use of her body's organs she hath none, + When she doth use the powers of wit and will. + +12 Yet in the body's prison so she lies, + As through the body's windows she must look, + Her divers powers of sense to exercise, + By gathering notes out of the world's great book. + +13 Nor can herself discourse or judge of ought, + But what the sense collects, and home doth bring; + And yet the powers of her discoursing thought, + From these collections is a diverse thing. + +14 For though our eyes can nought but colours see, + Yet colours give them not their power of sight; + So, though these fruits of sense her objects be, + Yet she discerns them by her proper light. + +15 The workman on his stuff his skill doth show, + And yet the stuff gives not the man his skill; + Kings their affairs do by their servants know, + But order them by their own royal will. + +16 So, though this cunning mistress, and this queen, + Doth, as her instruments, the senses use, + To know all things that are felt, heard, or seen; + Yet she herself doth only judge and choose. + +17 Even as a prudent emperor, that reigns + By sovereign title over sundry lands, + Borrows, in mean affairs, his subjects' pains, + Sees by their eyes, and writeth by their hands: + +18 But things of weight and consequence indeed, + Himself doth in his chamber then debate; + Where all his counsellors he doth exceed, + As far in judgment, as he doth in state. + +19 Or as the man whom princes do advance, + Upon their gracious mercy-seat to sit, + Doth common things of course and circumstance, + To the reports of common men commit: + +20 But when the cause itself must be decreed, + Himself in person in his proper court, + To grave and solemn hearing doth proceed, + Of every proof, and every by-report. + +21 Then, like God's angel, he pronounceth right, + And milk and honey from his tongue doth flow: + Happy are they that still are in his sight, + To reap the wisdom which his lips doth sow. + +22 Right so the soul, which is a lady free, + And doth the justice of her state maintain: + Because the senses ready servants be, + Attending nigh about her court, the brain: + +23 By them the forms of outward things she learns, + For they return unto the fantasy, + Whatever each of them abroad discerns, + And there enrol it for the mind to see. + +24 But when she sits to judge the good and ill, + And to discern betwixt the false and true, + She is not guided by the senses' skill, + But doth each thing in her own mirror view. + +25 Then she the senses checks, which oft do err, + And even against their false reports decrees; + And oft she doth condemn what they prefer; + For with a power above the sense she sees. + +26 Therefore no sense the precious joys conceives, + Which in her private contemplations be; + For then the ravish'd spirit the senses leaves, + Hath her own powers, and proper actions free. + +27 Her harmonies are sweet, and full of skill, + When on the body's instruments she plays; + But the proportions of the wit and will, + Those sweet accords are even the angels' lays. + +28 These tunes of reason are Amphion's lyre, + Wherewith he did the Theban city found: + These are the notes wherewith the heavenly choir, + The praise of Him which made the heaven doth sound. + +29 Then her self-being nature shines in this, + That she performs her noblest works alone: + 'The work, the touchstone of the nature is; + And by their operations things are known.' + +[1] That the soul hath a proper operation without the body. + + +SPIRITUALITY OF THE SOUL. + +1 But though this substance be the root of sense, + Sense knows her not, which doth but bodies know: + She is a spirit, and heavenly influence, + Which from the fountain of God's Spirit doth flow. + +2 She is a spirit, yet not like air or wind; + Nor like the spirits about the heart or brain; + Nor like those spirits which alchymists do find, + When they in everything seek gold in vain. + +3 For she all natures under heaven doth pass, + Being like those spirits, which God's bright face do see, + Or like Himself, whose image once she was, + Though now, alas! she scarce his shadow be. + +4 For of all forms, she holds the first degree, + That are to gross, material bodies knit; + Yet she herself is bodiless and free; + And, though confined, is almost infinite. + +5 Were she a body,[1] how could she remain + Within this body, which is less than she? + Or how could she the world's great shape contain, + And in our narrow breasts contained be? + +6 All bodies are confined within some place, + But she all place within herself confines: + All bodies have their measure and their space; + But who can draw the soul's dimensive lines? + +7 No body can at once two forms admit, + Except the one the other do deface; + But in the soul ten thousand forms do fit, + And none intrudes into her neighbour's place. + +8 All bodies are with other bodies fill'd, + But she receives both heaven and earth together: + Nor are their forms by rash encounter spill'd, + For there they stand, and neither toucheth either. + +9 Nor can her wide embracements filled be; + For they that most and greatest things embrace, + Enlarge thereby their mind's capacity, + As streams enlarged, enlarge the channel's space. + +10 All things received, do such proportion take, + As those things have, wherein they are received: + So little glasses little faces make, + And narrow webs on narrow frames are weaved. + +11 Then what vast body must we make the mind, + Wherein are men, beasts, trees, towns, seas, and lands; + And yet each thing a proper place doth find, + And each thing in the true proportion stands? + +12 Doubtless, this could not be, but that she turns + Bodies to spirits, by sublimation strange; + As fire converts to fire the things it burns: + As we our meats into our nature change. + +13 From their gross matter she abstracts the forms, + And draws a kind of quintessence from things, + Which to her proper nature she transforms, + To bear them light on her celestial wings. + +14 This doth she, when, from things particular, + She doth abstract the universal kinds, + Which bodiless and immaterial are, + And can be only lodged within our minds. + +15 And thus from divers accidents and acts, + Which do within her observation fall, + She goddesses and powers divine abstracts; + As nature, fortune, and the virtues all. + +16 Again; how can she several bodies know, + If in herself a body's form she bear? + How can a mirror sundry faces show, + If from all shapes and forms it be not clear? + +17 Nor could we by our eyes all colours learn, + Except our eyes were of all colours void; + Nor sundry tastes can any tongue discern, + Which is with gross and bitter humours cloy'd. + +18 Nor can a man of passions judge aright, + Except his mind be from all passions free: + Nor can a judge his office well acquit, + If he possess'd of either party be. + +19 If, lastly, this quick power a body were, + Were it as swift as in the wind or fire, + Whose atoms do the one down sideways bear, + And the other make in pyramids aspire; + +20 Her nimble body yet in time must move, + And not in instants through all places slide: + But she is nigh and far, beneath, above, + In point of time, which thought cannot divide; + +21 She's sent as soon to China as to Spain; + And thence returns as soon as she is sent: + She measures with one time, and with one pain. + An ell of silk, and heaven's wide-spreading tent. + +22 As then the soul a substance hath alone, + Besides the body in which she's confined; + So hath she not a body of her own, + But is a spirit, and immaterial mind. + +23 Since body and soul have such diversities, + Well might we muse how first their match began; + But that we learn, that He that spread the skies, + And fix'd the earth, first form'd the soul in man. + +24 This true Prometheus first made man of earth, + And shed in him a beam of heavenly fire; + Now in their mothers' wombs, before their birth, + Doth in all sons of men their souls inspire. + +25 And as Minerva is in fables said, + From Jove, without a mother, to proceed; + So our true Jove, without a mother's aid, + Doth daily millions of Minervas breed. + +[1] That it cannot be a body. + + + + +GILES FLETCHER. + + +Giles Fletcher was the younger brother of Phineas, and died twenty-three +years before him. He was a cousin of Fletcher the dramatist, and the son +of Dr Giles Fletcher, who was employed in many important missions in the +reign of Queen Elizabeth, and, among others, negotiated a commercial +treaty with Russia greatly in the favour of his own country. Giles is +supposed to have been born in 1588. He studied at Cambridge; published his +noble poem, 'Christ's Victory and Triumph,' in 1610, when he was twenty- +three years of age; was appointed to the living of Alderston, in Suffolk, +where he died, in 1623, at the early age of thirty-five, 'equally loved,' +says old Wood, 'of the Muses and the Graces.' + +The poem, in four cantos, entitled 'Christ's Victory and Triumph,' is one +of almost Miltonic magnificence. With a wing as easy as it is strong, he +soars to heaven, and fills the austere mouth of Justice and the golden +lips of Mercy with language worthy of both. He then stoops down on the +Wilderness of the Temptation, and paints the Saviour and Satan in colours +admirably contrasted, and which in their brightness and blackness can +never decay. Nor does he fear, in fine, to pierce the gloom of Calvary, +and to mingle his note with the harps of angels, saluting the Redeemer, as +He sprang from the grave, with the song, 'He is risen, He is risen--and +shall die no more.' The style is steeped in Spenser--equally mellifluous, +figurative, and majestic. In allegory the author of the 'Fairy Queen' is +hardly superior, and in the enthusiasm of devotion Fletcher surpasses him +far. From the great light, thus early kindled and early quenched, Milton +did not disdain to draw with his 'golden urn.' 'Paradise Regained' owes +much more than the suggestion of its subject to 'Christ's Victory;' and is +it too much to say that, had Fletcher lived, he might have shone in the +same constellation with the bard of the 'Paradise Lost?' The plan of our +'Specimens' permits only a few extracts. Let those who wish more, along +with a lengthened and glowing tribute to the author's genius, consult +_Blackwood_ for November 1835. The reading of a single sentence will +convince them that the author of the paper was Christopher North. + + +THE NATIVITY. + +I. + +Who can forget, never to be forgot, +The time, that all the world in slumber lies: +When, like the stars, the singing angels shot +To earth, and heaven awaked all his eyes, +To see another sun at midnight rise + On earth? was never sight of pareil fame: + For God before, man like himself did frame, +But God himself now like a mortal man became. + +II. + +A child he was, and had not learned to speak, +That with his word the world before did make: +His mother's arms him bore, he was so weak, +That with one hand the vaults of heaven could shake. +See how small room my infant Lord doth take, + Whom all the world is not enough to hold. + Who of his years, or of his age hath told? +Never such age so young, never a child so old. + +III + +And yet but newly he was infanted, +And yet already he was sought to die; +Yet scarcely born, already banished; +Not able yet to go, and forced to fly: +But scarcely fled away, when by and by, + The tyrant's sword with blood is all denied, + And Rachel, for her sons with fury wild, +Cries, O thou cruel king, and O my sweetest child! + +IV. + +Egypt his nurse became, where Nilus springs, +Who straight, to entertain the rising sun, +The hasty harvest in his bosom brings; +But now for drought the fields were all undone, +And now with waters all is overrun: + So fast the Cynthian mountains poured their snow, + When once they felt the sun so near them glow, +That Nilus Egypt lost, and to a sea did grow. + +V. + +The angels carolled loud their song of peace, +The cursed oracles were stricken dumb, +To see their shepherd, the poor shepherds press, +To see their king, the kingly sophics come, +And them to guide unto his Master's home, + A star comes dancing up the orient, + That springs for joy over the strawy tent, +Where gold, to make their prince a crown, they all present. + +VI. + +Young John, glad child, before he could be born, +Leapt in the womb, his joy to prophesy: +Old Anna, though with age all spent and worn, +Proclaims her Saviour to posterity: +And Simeon fast his dying notes doth ply. + Oh, how the blessed souls about him trace! + It is the fire of heaven thou dost embrace: +Sing, Simeon, sing; sing, Simeon, sing apace. + +VII. + +With that the mighty thunder dropt away +From God's unwary arm, now milder grown, +And melted into tears; as if to pray +For pardon, and for pity, it had known, +That should have been for sacred vengeance thrown: + There too the armies angelic devowed + Their former rage, and all to mercy bowed, +Their broken weapons at her feet they gladly strowed. + +VIII. + +Bring, bring, ye Graces, all your silver flaskets, +Painted with every choicest flower that grows, +That I may soon unflower your fragrant baskets, +To strow the fields with odours where he goes, +Let whatsoe'er he treads on be a rose. + So down she let her eyelids fall, to shine + Upon the rivers of bright Palestine, +Whose woods drop honey, and her rivers skip with wine. + + +SONG OF SORCERESS SEEKING TO TEMPT CHRIST. + +Love is the blossom where there blows +Everything that lives or grows: +Love doth make the heavens to move, +And the sun doth burn in love: +Love the strong and weak doth yoke, +And makes the ivy climb the oak; +Under whose shadows lions wild, +Softened by love, grow tame and mild: +Love no medicine can appease, +He burns the fishes in the seas; +Not all the skill his wounds can stench, +Not all the sea his fire can quench: +Love did make the bloody spear +Once a leafy coat to wear, +While in his leaves there shrouded lay +Sweet birds, for love, that sing and play: +And of all love's joyful flame, +I the bud, and blossom am. + Only bend thy knee to me, + The wooing shall thy winning be. + +See, see the flowers that below, +Now as fresh as morning blow, +And of all, the virgin rose, +That as bright Aurora shows: +How they all unleaved die, +Losing their virginity; +Like unto a summer-shade, +But now born, and now they fade. +Everything doth pass away, +There is danger in delay: +Come, come gather then the rose, +Gather it, ere it you lose. +All the sand of Tagus' shore +Into my bosom casts his ore; +All the valley's swimming corn +To my house is yearly borne: +Every grape of every vine +Is gladly bruised to make me wine. +While ten thousand kings, as proud, +To carry up my train have bowed, +And a world of ladies send me +In my chambers to attend me. +All the stars in heaven that shine, +And ten thousand more, are mine: + Only bend thy knee to me, + Thy wooing shall thy winning be. + + +CLOSE OF 'CHRIST'S VICTORY AND TRIUMPH.' + +I + +Here let my Lord hang up his conquering lance, +And bloody armour with late slaughter warm, +And looking down on his weak militants, +Behold his saints, midst of their hot alarm, +Hang all their golden hopes upon his arm. + And in this lower field dispacing wide, + Through windy thoughts, that would their sails misguide, +Anchor their fleshly ships fast in his wounded side. + +II. + +Here may the band, that now in triumph shines, +And that (before they were invested thus) +In earthly bodies carried heavenly minds, +Pitched round about in order glorious, +Their sunny tents, and houses luminous, + All their eternal day in songs employing, + Joying their end, without end of their joying, +While their Almighty Prince destruction is destroying. + +III. + +Full, yet without satiety, of that +Which whets and quiets greedy appetite, +Where never sun did rise, nor ever sat, +But one eternal day, and endless light +Gives time to those, whose time is infinite, + Speaking without thought, obtaining without fee, + Beholding him, whom never eye could see, +Magnifying him, that cannot greater be. + +IV. + +How can such joy as this want words to speak? +And yet what words can speak such joy as this? +Far from the world, that might their quiet break, +Here the glad souls the face of beauty kiss, +Poured out in pleasure, on their beds of bliss, + And drunk with nectar torrents, ever hold + Their eyes on him, whose graces manifold +The more they do behold, the more they would behold. + +V. + +Their sight drinks lovely fires in at their eyes, +Their brain sweet incense with fine breath accloys, +That on God's sweating altar burning lies; +Their hungry ears feed on the heavenly noise +That angels sing, to tell their untold joys; + Their understanding naked truth, their wills + The all, and self-sufficient goodness fills, +That nothing here is wanting, but the want of ills. + +VI. + +No sorrow now hangs clouding on their brow, +No bloodless malady empales their face, +No age drops on their hairs his silver snow, +No nakedness their bodies doth embase, +No poverty themselves, and theirs disgrace, + No fear of death the joy of life devours, + No unchaste sleep their precious time deflowers, +No loss, no grief, no change wait on their winged hours. + +VII. + +But now their naked bodies scorn the cold, +And from their eyes joy looks, and laughs at pain; +The infant wonders how he came so old, +And old man how he came so young again; +Still resting, though from sleep they still restrain; + Where all are rich, and yet no gold they owe; + And all are kings, and yet no subjects know; +All full, and yet no time on food they do bestow. + +VIII. + +For things that pass are past, and in this field +The indeficient spring no winter fears; +The trees together fruit and blossom yield, +The unfading lily leaves of silver bears, +And crimson rose a scarlet garment wears: + And all of these on the saints' bodies grow, + Not, as they wont, on baser earth below; +Three rivers here of milk, and wine, and honey flow. + +IX. + +About the holy city rolls a flood +Of molten crystal, like a sea of glass, +On which weak stream a strong foundation stood, +Of living diamonds the building was +That all things else, besides itself, did pass: + Her streets, instead of stones, the stars did pave, + And little pearls, for dust, it seemed to have, +On which soft-streaming manna, like pure snow, did wave. + +X. + +In midst of this city celestial, +Where the eternal temple should have rose, +Lightened the idea beatifical: +End and beginning of each thing that grows, +Whose self no end, nor yet beginning knows, + That hath no eyes to see, nor ears to hear; + Yet sees, and hears, and is all eye, all ear; +That nowhere is contained, and yet is everywhere. + +XI. + +Changer of all things, yet immutable; +Before, and after all, the first, and last: +That moving all is yet immoveable; +Great without quantity, in whose forecast, +Things past are present, things to come are past; + Swift without motion, to whose open eye + The hearts of wicked men unbreasted lie; +At once absent, and present to them, far, and nigh. + +XII. + +It is no flaming lustre, made of light; +No sweet consent, or well-timed harmony; +Ambrosia, for to feast the appetite: +Or flowery odour, mixed with spicery; +No soft embrace, or pleasure bodily: + And yet it is a kind of inward feast; + A harmony that sounds within the breast; +An odour, light, embrace, in which the soul doth rest. + +XIII. + +A heavenly feast no hunger can consume; +A light unseen, yet shines in every place; +A sound no time can steal; a sweet perfume +No winds can scatter; an entire embrace, +That no satiety can e'er unlace: + Ingraced into so high a favour, there + The saints, with their beau-peers, whole worlds outwear; +And things unseen do see, and things unheard do hear. + +XIV. + +Ye blessed souls, grown richer by your spoil, +Whose loss, though great, is cause of greater gains; +Here may your weary spirits rest from toil, +Spending your endless evening that remains, +Amongst those white flocks, and celestial trains, + That feed upon their Shepherd's eyes; and frame + That heavenly music of so wondrous fame, +Psalming aloud the holy honours of his name! + +XV. + +Had I a voice of steel to tune my song; +Were every verse as smooth as smoothest glass; +And every member turned to a tongue; +And every tongue were made of sounding brass: +Yet all that skill, and all this strength, alas! + Should it presume to adorn (were misadvised) + The place, where David hath new songs devised, +As in his burning throne he sits emparadised. + +XVI. + +Most happy prince, whose eyes those stars behold, +Treading ours underfeet, now mayst thou pour +That overflowing skill, wherewith of old +Thou wont'st to smooth rough speech; now mayst thou shower +Fresh streams of praise upon that holy bower, + Which well we heaven call, not that it rolls, + But that it is the heaven of our souls: +Most happy prince, whose sight so heavenly sight beholds! + +XVII. + +Ah, foolish shepherds! who were wont to esteem +Your God all rough, and shaggy-haired to be; +And yet far wiser shepherds than ye deem, +For who so poor (though who so rich) as he, +When sojourning with us in low degree, + He washed his flocks in Jordan's spotless tide; + And that his dear remembrance might abide, +Did to us come, and with us lived, and for us died? + +XVIII. + +But now such lively colours did embeam +His sparkling forehead; and such shining rays +Kindled his flaming locks, that down did stream +In curls along his neck, where sweetly plays +(Singing his wounds of love in sacred lays) + His dearest Spouse, Spouse of the dearest Lover, + Knitting a thousand knots over and over, +And dying still for love, but they her still recover. + +XIX. + +Fairest of fairs, that at his eyes doth dress +Her glorious face; those eyes, from whence are shed +Attractions infinite; where to express +His love, high God all heaven as captive leads, +And all the banners of his grace dispreads, + And in those windows doth his arms englaze, + And on those eyes, the angels all do gaze, +And from those eyes, the lights of heaven obtain their blaze. + +XX. + +But let the Kentish lad,[1] that lately taught +His oaten reed the trumpet's silver sound, +Young Thyrsilis; and for his music brought +The willing spheres from heaven, to lead around +The dancing nymphs and swains, that sung, and crowned + Eclecta's Hymen with ten thousand flowers + Of choicest praise; and hung her heavenly bowers +With saffron garlands, dressed for nuptial paramours. + +XXI. + +Let his shrill trumpet, with her silver blast, +Of fair Eclecta, and her spousal bed, +Be the sweet pipe, and smooth encomiast: +But my green muse, hiding her younger head, +Under old Camus' flaggy banks, that spread + Their willow locks abroad, and all the day + With their own watery shadows wanton play; +Dares not those high amours, and love-sick songs assay. + +XXII. + +Impotent words, weak lines, that strive in vain; + In vain, alas, to tell so heavenly sight! +So heavenly sight, as none can greater feign, + Feign what he can, that seems of greatest might: + Could any yet compare with Infinite? + Infinite sure those joys; my words but light; +Light is the palace where she dwells; oh, then, how bright! + +[1] The author of 'The Purple Island.' + + + + +JOHN DONNE. + + +John Donne was born in London, in the year 1573. He sprung from a +Catholic family, and his mother was related to Sir Thomas More and to +Heywood the epigrammatist. He was very early distinguished as a prodigy +of boyish acquirement, and was entered, when only eleven, of Harthall, +now Hertford College. He was designed for the law, but relinquished the +study when he reached nineteen. About the same time, having studied the +controversies between the Papists and Protestants, he deliberately went +over to the latter. He next accompanied the Earl of Essex to Cadiz, and +looked wistfully over the gulf dividing him from Jerusalem, with all its +holy memories, to which his heart had been translated from very boyhood. +He even meditated a journey to the Holy Land, but was discouraged by +reports as to the dangers of the way. On his return he was received by +the Lord Chancellor Ellesmere into his own house as his secretary. Here +he fell in love with Miss More, the daughter of Sir George More, Lord- +Lieutenant of the Tower, and the niece of the Chancellor. His passion +was returned, and the pair were imprudent enough to marry privately. +When the matter became known, the father-in-law became infuriated. He +prevailed on Lord Ellesmere to drive Donne out of his service, and had +him even for a short time imprisoned. Even when released he continued in +a pitiable plight, and but for the kindness of Sir Francis Wooley, a son +of Lady Ellesmere by a former marriage, who received the young couple +into his family and entertained them for years, they would have +perished. + +When Donne reached the age of thirty-four, Dr Merton, afterwards Bishop +of Durham, urged him to take orders, and offered him a benefice, which +he was generously to relinquish in his favour. Donne declined, on +account, he said, of some past errors of life, which, 'though repented +of and pardoned by God, might not be forgotten by men, and might cast +dishonour on the sacred office.' + +When Sir F. Wooley died, Sir Robert Drury became his next protector. +Donne attended him on an embassy to France, and his wife formed the +romantic purpose of accompanying her husband in the disguise of a page. +Here was a wife fit for a poet! In order to restrain her from her +purpose, he had to address to her some verses, commencing, + + 'By our strange and fatal interview.' + +Isaak Walton relates how the poet, one evening, as he sat alone in +Paris, saw his wife appearing to him in vision, with a dead infant in +her arms--a proof at once of the strength of his love and of his +imagination. This beloved and admirable woman died in 1617, a few days +after giving birth to her twelfth child, and Donne's grief approached +distraction. + +When he had reached the forty-second year of his age, our poet, at the +instance of King James, became a clergyman, and was successively +appointed Chaplain to the King, Lecturer to Lincoln's Inn, Dean of St +Dunstan's in the West, and Dean of St Paul's. In the pulpit he attracted +great attention, particularly from the more thoughtful and intelligent +of his auditors. He continued Dean of St Paul's till his death, which +took place in 1631, when he was approaching sixty. He died of consumption, +a disease which seldom cuts down a man so near his grand climacteric. + +'He was buried,' says Campbell, 'in St Paul's, where his figure yet +remains in the vault of St Faith's, carved from a painting, for which he +sat a few days' (it should be weeks) 'before his death, dressed in his +winding-sheet.' He kept this portrait constantly by his bedside to +remind him of his mortality. + +Donne's Sermons fill a large folio, with which we were familiar in +boyhood, but have not seen since. De Quincey says, alluding partly +to them, and partly to his poetry,--'Few writers have shewn a more +extraordinary compass of powers than Donne, for he combined--what no +other man has ever done--the last sublimation of dialectical subtlety +and address with the most impassioned majesty. Massy diamonds compose +the very substance of his poem on the 'Metempsychosis,'--thoughts and +descriptions which have the fervent and gloomy sublimity of Ezekiel or +Aeschylus; while a diamond-dust of rhetorical brilliances is strewed +over the whole of his occasional verses and his prose.' We beg leave +to differ, in some degree, from De Quincey in his estimate of the +'Metempsychosis,' or 'The Progress of the Soul,' although we have given +it entire. It has too many far-fetched conceits and obscure allegories, +although redeemed, we admit, by some very precious thoughts, such as + + 'This soul, to whom Luther and Mahomet were Prisons of flesh.' + +Or the following quaint picture of the apple in Eden-- + + 'Prince of the orchard, fair as dawning morn, + Fenced with the law, and ripe as soon as born.' + +Or this-- + + 'Nature hath no jail, though she hath law.' + +If our readers, however, can admire the account the poet gives of Abel +and his bitch, or see any resemblance to the severe and simple grandeur +of Aeschylus and Ezekiel in the description of the soul informing a +body, made of a '_female fish's sandy roe' 'newly leavened with the +male's jelly_,' we shall say no more. + +Donne, altogether, gives us the impression of a great genius ruined by +a false system. He is a charioteer run away with by his own pampered +steeds. He begins generally well, but long ere the close, quibbles, +conceits, and the temptation of shewing off recondite learning, prove +too strong for him, and he who commenced following a serene star, ends +pursuing a will-o'-wisp into a bottomless morass. Compare, for instance, +the ingenious nonsense which abounds in the middle and the close of his +'Progress of the Soul' with the dark, but magnificent stanzas which are +the first in the poem. + +In no writings in the language is there more spilt treasure--a more lavish +loss of beautiful, original, and striking things than in the poems of +Donne. Every second line, indeed, is either bad, or unintelligible, or +twisted into unnatural distortion, but even the worst passages discover a +great, though trammelled and tasteless mind; and we question if Dr Johnson +himself, who has, in his 'Life of Cowley,' criticised the school of poets +to which Donne belonged so severely, and in some points so justly, +possessed a tithe of the rich fancy, the sublime intuition, and the lofty +spirituality of Donne. How characteristic of the difference between these +two great men, that, while the one shrank from the slightest footprint of +death, Donne deliberately placed the image of his dead self before his +eyes, and became familiar with the shadow ere the grim reality arrived! + +Donne's Satires shew, in addition to the high ideal qualities, the rugged +versification, the fantastic paradox, and the perverted taste of their +author, great strength and clearness of judgment, and a deep, although +somewhat jaundiced, view of human nature. That there must have been +something morbid in the structure of his mind is proved by the fact that +he wrote an elaborate treatise, which was not published till after his +death, entitled, 'Biathanatos,' to prove that suicide was not necessarily +sinful. + + +HOLY SONNETS. + +I. + +Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay? +Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste; +I run to death, and death meets me as fast, +And all my pleasures are like yesterday. +I dare not move my dim eyes any way; +Despair behind, and death before, doth cast +Such terror, and my feeble flesh doth waste +By sin in it, which it towards hell doth weigh, +Only thou art above, and when towards thee +By thy leave I can look, I rise again; +But our old subtle foe so tempteth me, +That not one hour myself I can sustain: +Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art, +And thou, like adamant, draw mine iron heart. + +II. + +As due by many titles, I resign +Myself to thee, O God! First I was made +By thee, and for thee; and when I was decayed +Thy blood bought that, the which before was thine. +I am thy son, made with thyself to shine, +Thy servant, whose pains thou hast still repaid, +Thy sheep, thine image; and, till I betrayed +Myself, a temple of thy Spirit divine. +Why doth the devil then usurp on me? +Why doth he steal, nay, ravish, that's thy right? +Except thou rise, and for thine own work fight, +Oh! I shall soon despair, when I shall see +That thou lov'st mankind well, yet wilt not choose me, +And Satan hates me, yet is loth to lose me. + +III. + +Oh! might these sighs and tears return again +Into my breast and eyes which I have spent, +That I might, in this holy discontent, +Mourn with some fruit, as I have mourned in vain! +In mine idolatry what showers of rain +Mine eyes did waste! what griefs my heart did rent! +That sufferance was my sin I now repent; +'Cause I did suffer, I must suffer pain. +The hydroptic drunkard, and night-scouting thief, +The itchy lecher, and self-tickling proud, +Have th' remembrance of past joys for relief +Of coming ills. To poor me is allow'd +No ease; for long yet vehement grief hath been +The effect and cause, the punishment and sin. + +IV. + +Oh! my black soul! now thou art summoned +By sickness, death's herald and champion, +Thou 'rt like a pilgrim which abroad hath done +Treason, and durst not turn to whence he is fled; +Or like a thief, which, till death's doom be read, +Wisheth himself delivered from prison; +But damn'd, and haul'd to execution, +Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned: +Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack; +But who shall give thee that grace to begin? +Oh! make thyself with holy mourning black, +And red with blushing, as thou art with sin; +Or wash thee in Christ's blood, which hath this might, +That, being red, it dyes red souls to white. + +V. + +I am a little world, made cunningly +Of elements and an angelic sprite; +But black sin hath betrayed to endless night +My world's both parts, and oh! both parts must die. +You, which beyond that heaven, which was most high, +Have found new spheres, and of new land can write, +Pour new seas in mine eyes, that so I might +Drown my world with my weeping earnestly, +Or wash it, if it must be drowned no more: +But oh! it must be burnt; alas! the fire +Of lust and envy burnt it heretofore, +And made it fouler; let their flames retire, +And burn me, O Lord! with a fiery zeal +Of thee and thy house, which doth in eating heal. + +VI. + +This is my play's last scene; here Heavens appoint +My pilgrimage's last mile; and my race, +Idly yet quickly run, hath this last pace, +My span's last inch, my minute's latest point, +And gluttonous Death will instantly unjoint +My body and soul, and I shall sleep a space: +But my ever-waking part shall see that face +Whose fear already shakes my every joint. +Then as my soul to heaven, her first seat, takes flight, +And earth-born body in the earth shall dwell, +So fall my sins, that all may have their right, +To where they're bred, and would press me to hell. +Impute me righteous; thus purged of evil, +For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil. + +VII. + +At the round earth's imagined corners blow +Your trumpets, angels! and arise, arise +From death, you numberless infinities +Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go, +All whom the flood did, and fire shall, overthrow; +All whom war, death, age, ague's tyrannies, +Despair, law, chance, hath slain; and you whose eyes +Shall behold God, and never taste death's woe. +But let them sleep, Lord! and me mourn a space; +For if above all these my sins abound, +'Tis late to ask abundance of thy grace +When we are there. Here on this holy ground +Teach me how to repent, for that's as good +As if thou hadst sealed my pardon with thy blood. + +VIII. + +If faithful souls be alike glorified +As angels, then my father's soul doth see, +And adds this even to full felicity, +That valiantly I hell's wide mouth o'erstride; +But if our minds to these souls be descried +By circumstances and by signs that be +Apparent in us not immediately, +How shall my mind's white truth by them be tried? +They see idolatrous lovers weep and mourn, +And style blasphemous conjurors to call +On Jesus' name, and pharisaical +Dissemblers feign devotion. Then turn, +O pensive soul! to God, for he knows best +Thy grief, for he put it into my breast. + +IX + +If poisonous minerals, and if that tree +Whose fruit threw death on (else immortal) us; +If lecherous goats, if serpents envious, +Cannot be damn'd, alas! why should I be? +Why should intent or reason, born in me, +Make sins, else equal, in me more heinous? +And mercy being easy and glorious +To God, in his stern wrath why threatens he? +But who am I that dare dispute with thee! +O God! oh, of thine only worthy blood, +And my tears, make a heavenly Lethean flood, +And drown in it my sins' black memory: +That thou remember them some claim as debt, +I think it mercy if thou wilt forget! + +X + +Death! be not proud, though some have called thee +Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; +For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow +Die not, poor Death! nor yet canst thou kill me. +From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be, +Much pleasure, then, from thee much more must flow; +And soonest our best men with thee do go, +Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. +Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, +And dost with poison, war, and sickness, dwell, +And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well, +And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou, then? +One short sleep past we wake eternally; +And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. + +XI. + +Spit in my face, you Jews, and pierce my side, +Buffet and scoff, scourge and crucify me, +For I have sinned, and sinned, and only he +Who could do no iniquity hath died, +But by my death cannot be satisfied +My sins, which pass the Jews' impiety: +They killed once an inglorious man, but I +Crucify him daily, being now glorified. +O let me then his strange love still admire. +Kings pardon, but he bore our punishment; +And Jacob came, clothed in vile harsh attire, +But to supplant, and with gainful intent: +God clothed himself in vile man's flesh, that so +He might be weak enough to surfer woe. + +XII. + +Why are we by all creatures waited on? +Why do the prodigal elements supply +Life and food to me, being more pure than I, +Simpler, and further from corruption? +Why brook'st thou, ignorant horse, subjection? +Why do you, bull and boar, so sillily +Dissemble weakness, and by one man's stroke die, +Whose whole kind you might swallow and feed upon? +Weaker I am, woe's me! and worse than you: +You have not sinned, nor need be timorous, +But wonder at a greater, for to us +Created nature doth these things subdue; +But their Creator, whom sin nor nature tied, +For us, his creatures and his foes, hath died. + +XIII. + +What if this present were the world's last night? +Mark in my heart, O Soul! where thou dost dwell, +The picture of Christ crucified, and tell +Whether his countenance can thee affright; +Tears in his eyes quench the amazing light; +Blood fills his frowns, which from his pierced head fell. +And can that tongue adjudge thee unto hell +Which prayed forgiveness for his foes' fierce spite? +No, no; but as in my idolatry +I said to all my profane mistresses, +Beauty of pity, foulness only is +A sign of rigour, so I say to thee: +To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assigned; +This beauteous form assumes a piteous mind. + +XIV. + +Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you +As yet but knock; breathe, shine, and seek to mend, +That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend +Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new. +I, like an usurped town, to another due, +Labour to admit you, but oh! to no end: +Reason, your viceroy in me, we should defend, +But is captived, and proves weak or untrue; +Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain, +But am betrothed unto your enemy. +Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again; +Take me to you, imprison me; for I, +Except you enthral me, never shall be free, +Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me. + +XV. + +Wilt thou love God as he thee? then digest, +My Soul! this wholesome meditation, +How God the Spirit, by angels waited on +In heaven, doth make his temple in thy breast. +The Father having begot a Son most blest, +And still begetting, (for he ne'er begun.) +Hath deigned to choose thee by adoption, +Co-heir to his glory, and Sabbath's endless rest: +And as a robbed man, which by search doth find +His stol'n stuff sold, must lose or buy 't again; +The Sun of glory came down and was slain, +Us, whom he had made, and Satan stole, to unbind. +'Twas much that man was made like God before, +But that God should be made like man much more. + +XVI. + +Father, part of his double interest +Unto thy kingdom thy Son gives to me; +His jointure in the knotty Trinity +He keeps, and gives to me his death's conquest. +This Lamb, whose death with life the world hath blest, +Was from the world's beginning slain, and he +Hath made two wills, which, with the legacy +Of his and thy kingdom, thy sons invest: +Yet such are these laws, that men argue yet +Whether a man those statutes can fulfil: +None doth; but thy all-healing grace and Spirit +Revive again what law and letter kill: +Thy law's abridgment and thy last command +Is all but love; oh, let this last will stand! + + +THE PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. + +I. + +I sing the progress of a deathless Soul, +Whom Fate, which God made, but doth not control, +Placed in most shapes. All times, before the law +Yoked us, and when, and since, in this I sing, +And the great World to his aged evening, +From infant morn through manly noon I draw: +What the gold Chaldee or silver Persian saw, +Greek brass, or Roman iron, 'tis in this one, +A work to outwear Seth's pillars, brick and stone, +And, Holy Writ excepted, made to yield to none. + +II + +Thee, Eye of Heaven, this great Soul envies not; +By thy male force is all we have begot. +In the first east thou now beginn'st to shine, +Suck'st early balm, and island spices there, +And wilt anon in thy loose-reined career +At Tagus, Po, Seine, Thames, and Danow, dine, +And see at night this western land of mine; +Yet hast thou not more nations seen than she +That before thee one day began to be, +And, thy frail light being quench'd, shall long, long outlive thee. + +III + +Nor holy Janus, in whose sovereign boat +The church and all the monarchies did float; +That swimming college and free hospital +Of all mankind, that cage and vivary +Of fowls and beasts, in whose womb Destiny +Us and our latest nephews did install, +(From thence are all derived that fill this all,) +Didst thou in that great stewardship embark +So diverse shapes into that floating park, +As have been moved and inform'd by this heavenly spark. + +IV. + +Great Destiny! the commissary of God! +Thou hast marked out a path and period +For everything; who, where we offspring took, +Our ways and ends seest at one instant: thou +Knot of all causes; thou whose changeless brow +Ne'er smiles nor frowns, oh! vouchsafe thou to look, +And shew my story in thy eternal book, +That (if my prayer be fit) I may understand +So much myself as to know with what hand, +How scant or liberal, this my life's race is spann'd. + +V. + +To my six lustres, almost now outwore, +Except thy book owe me so many more; +Except my legend be free from the lets +Of steep ambition, sleepy poverty, +Spirit-quenching sickness, dull captivity, +Distracting business, and from beauty's nets, +And all that calls from this and t'other's whets; +Oh! let me not launch out, but let me save +The expense of brain and spirit, that my grave +His right and due, a whole unwasted man, may have. + +VI. + +But if my days be long and good enough, +In vain this sea shall enlarge or enrough +Itself; for I will through the wave and foam, +And hold, in sad lone ways, a lively sprite, +Make my dark heavy poem light, and light: +For though through many straits and lands I roam, +I launch at Paradise, and sail towards home: +The course I there began shall here be stayed; +Sails hoisted there struck here, and anchors laid +In Thames which were at Tigris and Euphrates weighed. + +VII. + +For the great Soul which here amongst us now +Doth dwell, and moves that hand, and tongue, and brow, +Which, as the moon the sea, moves us, to hear +Whose story with long patience you will long, +(For 'tis the crown and last strain of my song;) +This Soul, to whom Luther and Mohammed were +Prisons of flesh; this Soul,--which oft did tear +And mend the wrecks of the empire, and late Rome, +And lived when every great change did come, +Had first in Paradise a low but fatal room. + +VIII. + +Yet no low room, nor then the greatest, less +If, as devout and sharp men fitly guess, +That cross, our joy and grief, (where nails did tie +That All, which always was all everywhere, +Which could not sin, and yet all sins did bear, +Which could not die, yet could not choose but die,) +Stood in the self-same room in Calvary +Where first grew the forbidden learned tree; +For on that tree hung in security +This Soul, made by the Maker's will from pulling free. + +IX. + +Prince of the orchard, fair as dawning morn, +Fenced with the law, and ripe as soon as born, +That apple grew which this soul did enlive, +Till the then climbing serpent, that now creeps +For that offence for which all mankind weeps, +Took it, and t' her, whom the first man did wive, +(Whom and her race only forbiddings drive,) +He gave it, she to her husband; both did eat: +So perished the eaters and the meat, +And we, for treason taints the blood, thence die and sweat. + +X. + +Man all at once was there by woman slain, +And one by one we're here slain o'er again +By them. The mother poison'd the well-head; +The daughters here corrupt us rivulets; +No smallness 'scapes, no greatness breaks, their nets: +She thrust us out, and by them we are led +Astray from turning to whence we are fled. +Were prisoners judges 't would seem rigorous; +She sinned, we bear: part of our pain is thus +To love them whose fault to this painful love yoked us. + +XI. + +So fast in us doth this corruption grow, +That now we dare ask why we should be so. +Would God (disputes the curious rebel) make +A law, and would not have it kept? or can +His creatures' will cross his? Of every man +For one will God (and be just) vengeance take? +Who sinned? 'twas not forbidden to the snake, +Nor her, who was not then made; nor is 't writ +That Adam cropt or knew the apple; yet +The worm, and she, and he, and we, endure for it. + +XII. + +But snatch me, heavenly Spirit! from this vain +Reck'ning their vanity; less is their gain +Than hazard still to meditate on ill, +Though with good mind; their reasons like those toys +Of glassy bubbles which the gamesome boys +Stretch to so nice a thinness through a quill, +That they themselves break, and do themselves spill. +Arguing is heretics' game, and exercise, +As wrestlers, perfects them. Not liberties +Of speech, but silence; hands, not tongues, and heresies. + +XIII. + +Just in that instant, when the serpent's gripe +Broke the slight veins and tender conduit-pipe +Through which this Soul from the tree's root did draw +Life and growth to this apple, fled away +This loose Soul, old, one and another day. +As lightning, which one scarce dare say he saw, +'Tis so soon gone (and better proof the law +Of sense than faith requires) swiftly she flew +To a dark and foggy plot; her her fates threw +There through the earth's pores, and in a plant housed her anew. + +XIV. + +The plant, thus abled, to itself did force +A place where no place was by Nature's course, +As air from water, water fleets away +From thicker bodies; by this root thronged so +His spungy confines gave him place to grow: +Just as in our streets, when the people stay +To see the prince, and so fill up the way +That weasels scarce could pass; when he comes near +They throng and cleave up, and a passage clear, +As if for that time their round bodies flatten'd were. + +XV. + +His right arm he thrust out towards the east, +Westward his left; the ends did themselves digest +Into ten lesser strings, these fingers were: +And, as a slumberer, stretching on his bed, +This way he this, and that way scattered +His other leg, which feet with toes upbear; +Grew on his middle part, the first day, hair. +To shew that in love's business he should still +A dealer be, and be used, well or ill: +His apples kindle, his leaves force of conception kill. + +XVI. + +A mouth, but dumb, he hath; blind eyes, deaf ears, +And to his shoulders dangle subtle hairs; +A young Colossus there he stands upright; +And, as that ground by him were conquered, +A lazy garland wears he on his head +Enchased with little fruits so red and bright, +That for them ye would call your love's lips white; +So of a lone unhaunted place possess'd, +Did this Soul's second inn, built by the guest, +This living buried man, this quiet mandrake, rest. + +XVII. + +No lustful woman came this plant to grieve, +But 'twas because there was none yet but Eve, +And she (with other purpose) killed it quite: +Her sin had now brought in infirmities, +And so her cradled child the moist-red eyes +Had never shut, nor slept, since it saw light: +Poppy she knew, she knew the mandrake's might, +And tore up both, and so cooled her child's blood. +Unvirtuous weeds might long unvexed have stood, +But he's short-lived that with his death can do most good. + +XVIII. + +To an unfettered Soul's quick nimble haste +Are falling stars and heart's thoughts but slow-paced, +Thinner than burnt air flies this Soul, and she, +Whom four new-coming and four parting suns +Had found, and left the mandrake's tenant, runs, +Thoughtless of change, when her firm destiny +Confined and enjailed her that seemed so free +Into a small blue shell, the which a poor +Warm bird o'erspread, and sat still evermore, +Till her enclosed child kicked, and picked itself a door. + +XIX. + +Out crept a sparrow, this Soul's moving inn, +On whose raw arms stiff feathers now begin, +As children's teeth through gums, to break with pain: +His flesh is jelly yet, and his bones threads; +All a new downy mantle overspreads: +A mouth he opes, which would as much contain +As his late house, and the first hour speaks plain, +And chirps aloud for meat: meat fit for men +His father steals for him, and so feeds then +One that within a month will beat him from his hen. + +XX. + +In this world's youth wise Nature did make haste, +Things ripened sooner, and did longer last: +Already this hot cock in bush and tree, +In field and tent, o'erflutters his next hen: +He asks her not who did so taste, nor when; +Nor if his sister or his niece she be, +Nor doth she pule for his inconstancy +If in her sight he change; nor doth refuse +The next that calls; both liberty do use. +Where store is of both kinds, both kinds may freely choose. + +XXI. + +Men, till they took laws, which made freedom less, +Their daughters and their sisters did ingress; +Till now unlawful, therefore ill, 'twas not; +So jolly, that it can move this Soul. Is +The body so free of his kindnesses, +That self-preserving it hath now forgot, +And slack'neth not the Soul's and body's knot, +Which temp'rance straitens? Freely on his she-friends +He blood and spirit, pith and marrow, spends; +Ill steward of himself, himself in three years ends. + +XXII. + +Else might he long have lived; man did not know +Of gummy blood which doth in holly grow, +How to make bird-lime, nor how to deceive, +With feigned calls, his nets, or enwrapping snare, +The free inhabitants of the pliant air. +Man to beget, and woman to conceive, +Asked not of roots, nor of cock-sparrows, leave; +Yet chooseth he, though none of these he fears, +Pleasantly three; then straitened twenty years +To live, and to increase his race himself outwears. + +XXIII. + +This coal with over-blowing quenched and dead, +The Soul from her too active organs fled +To a brook. A female fish's sandy roe +With the male's jelly newly leavened was; +For they had intertouched as they did pass, +And one of those small bodies, fitted so, +This Soul informed, and able it to row +Itself with finny oars, which she did fit, +Her scales seemed yet of parchment, and as yet +Perchance a fish, but by no name you could call it. + +XXIV. + +When goodly, like a ship in her full trim, +A swan so white, that you may unto him +Compare all whiteness, but himself to none, +Glided along, and as he glided watched, +And with his arched neck this poor fish catched: +It moved with state, as if to look upon +Low things it scorned; and yet before that one +Could think he sought it, he had swallowed clear +This and much such, and unblamed, devoured there +All but who too swift, too great, or well-armed, were. + +XXV. + +Now swam a prison in a prison put, +And now this Soul in double walls was shut, +Till melted with the swan's digestive fire +She left her house, the fish, and vapoured forth: +Fate not affording bodies of more worth +For her as yet, bids her again retire +To another fish, to any new desire +Made a new prey; for he that can to none +Resistance make, nor complaint, is sure gone; +Weakness invites, but silence feasts oppression. + +XXVI. + +Pace with the native stream this fish doth keep, +And journeys with her towards the glassy deep, +But oft retarded; once with a hidden net, +Though with great windows, (for when need first taught +These tricks to catch food, then they were not wrought +As now, with curious greediness, to let +None 'scape, but few and fit for use to get,) +As in this trap a ravenous pike was ta'en, +Who, though himself distress'd, would fain have slain +This wretch; so hardly are ill habits left again. + +XXVII. + +Here by her smallness she two deaths o'erpast, +Once innocence 'scaped, and left the oppressor fast; +The net through swam, she keeps the liquid path, +And whether she leap up sometimes to breathe +And suck in air, or find it underneath, +Or working parts like mills or limbecs hath, +To make the water thin, and air like faith, +Cares not, but safe the place she's come unto, +Where fresh with salt waves meet, and what to do +She knows not, but between both makes a board or two. + +XXVIII. + +So far from hiding her guests water is, +That she shews them in bigger quantities +Than they are. Thus her, doubtful of her way, +For game, and not for hunger, a sea-pie +Spied through his traitorous spectacle from high +The silly fish, where it disputing lay, +And to end her doubts and her, bears her away; +Exalted, she's but to the exalter's good, +(As are by great ones men which lowly stood;) +It's raised to be the raiser's instrument and food. + +XXIX. + +Is any kind subject to rape like fish? +Ill unto man they neither do nor wish; +Fishers they kill not, nor with noise awake; +They do not hunt, nor strive to make a prey +Of beasts, nor their young sons to bear away; +Fowls they pursue not, nor do undertake +To spoil the nests industrious birds do make; +Yet them all these unkind kinds feed upon; +To kill them is an occupation, +And laws make fasts and lents for their destruction. + +XXX. + +A sudden stiff land-wind in that self hour +To sea-ward forced this bird that did devour +The fish; he cares not, for with ease he flies, +Fat gluttony's best orator: at last, +So long he hath flown, and hath flown so fast, +That, leagues o'erpast at sea, now tired he lies, +And with his prey, that till then languished, dies: +The souls, no longer foes, two ways did err. +The fish I follow, and keep no calender +Of the other: he lives yet in some great officer. + +XXXI. + +Into an embryo fish our Soul is thrown, +And in due time thrown out again, and grown +To such vastness, as if unmanacled +From Greece Morea were, and that, by some +Earthquake unrooted, loose Morea swam; +Or seas from Afric's body had severed +And torn the Hopeful promontory's head: +This fish would seem these, and, when all hopes fail, +A great ship overset, or without sail, +Hulling, might (when this was a whelp) be like this whale. + +XXXII. + +At every stroke his brazen fins do take +More circles in the broken sea they make +Than cannons' voices when the air they tear: +His ribs are pillars, and his high-arched roof +Of bark, that blunts best steel, is thunder-proof: +Swim in him swallowed dolphins without fear, +And feel no sides, as if his vast womb were +Some inland sea; and ever, as he went, +He spouted rivers up, as if he meant +To join our seas with seas above the firmament. + +XXXIII. + +He hunts not fish, but, as an officer +Stays in his court, at his own net, and there +All suitors of all sorts themselves enthral; +So on his back lies this whale wantoning, +And in his gulf-like throat sucks every thing, +That passeth near. Fish chaseth fish, and all, +Flier and follower, in this whirlpool fall: +Oh! might not states of more equality +Consist? and is it of necessity +That thousand guiltless smalls to make one great must die? + +XXXIV. + +Now drinks he up seas, and he eats up flocks; +He jostles islands, and he shakes firm rocks: +Now in a roomful house this Soul doth float, +And, like a prince, she sends her faculties +To all her limbs, distant as provinces. +The sun hath twenty times both Crab and Goat +Parched, since first launched forth this living boat: +'Tis greatest now, and to destruction +Nearest; there's no pause at perfection; +Greatness a period hath, but hath no station. + +XXXV. + +Two little fishes, whom he never harmed, +Nor fed on their kind, two, not th'roughly armed +With hope that they could kill him, nor could do +Good to themselves by his death, (they did not eat +His flesh, nor suck those oils which thence outstreat,) +Conspired against him; and it might undo +The plot of all that the plotters were two, +But that they fishes were, and could not speak. +How shall a tyrant wise strong projects break, +If wretches can on them the common anger wreak? + +XXXVI. + +The flail-finned thresher and steel-beaked sword-fish +Only attempt to do what all do wish: +The thresher backs him, and to beat begins; +The sluggard whale leads to oppression, +And t' hide himself from shame and danger, down +Begins to sink: the sword-fish upwards spins, +And gores him with his beak; his staff-like fins +So well the one, his sword the other, plies, +That, now a scoff and prey, this tyrant dies, +And (his own dole) feeds with himself all companies. + +XXXVII. + +Who will revenge his death? or who will call +Those to account that thought and wrought his fall? +The heirs of slain kings we see are often so +Transported with the joy of what they get, +That they revenge and obsequies forget; +Nor will against such men the people go, +Because he's now dead to whom they should show +Love in that act. Some kings, by vice, being grown +So needy of subjects' love, that of their own +They think they lose if love be to the dead prince shown. + +XXXVIII. + +This soul, now free from prison and passion, +Hath yet a little indignation +That so small hammers should so soon down beat +So great a castle; and having for her house +Got the strait cloister of a wretched mouse, +(As basest men, that have not what to eat, +Nor enjoy ought, do far more hate the great +Than they who good reposed estates possess,) +This Soul, late taught that great things might by less +Be slain, to gallant mischief doth herself address. + +XXXIX. + +Nature's great masterpiece, an elephant, +(The only harmless great thing,) the giant +Of beasts, who thought none had to make him wise, +But to be just and thankful, both to offend, +(Yet Nature hath given him no knees to bend,) +Himself he up-props, on himself relies, +And, foe to none, suspects no enemies, +Still sleeping stood; vexed not his fantasy +Black dreams; like an unbent bow carelessly +His sinewy proboscis did remissly lie. + +XL. + +In which, as in a gallery, this mouse +Walked, and surveyed the rooms of this vast house, +And to the brain, the Soul's bed-chamber, went, +And gnawed the life-cords there: like a whole town +Clean undermined, the slain beast tumbled down: +With him the murderer dies, whom envy sent +To kill, not 'scape, (for only he that meant +To die did ever kill a man of better room,) +And thus he made his foe his prey and tomb: +Who cares not to turn back may any whither come. + +XLI. + +Next housed this Soul a wolf's yet unborn whelp, +Till the best midwife, Nature, gave it help +To issue: it could kill as soon as go. +Abel, as white and mild as his sheep were, +(Who, in that trade, of church and kingdoms there +Was the first type,) was still infested so +With this wolf, that it bred his loss and woe; +And yet his bitch, his sentinel, attends +The flock so near, so well warns and defends, +That the wolf, hopeless else, to corrupt her intends. + +XLII. + +He took a course, which since successfully +Great men have often taken, to espy +The counsels, or to break the plots, of foes; +To Abel's tent he stealeth in the dark, +On whose skirts the bitch slept: ere she could bark, +Attached her with strait gripes, yet he called those +Embracements of love: to love's work he goes, +Where deeds move more than words; nor doth she show, +Nor much resist, no needs he straiten so +His prey, for were she loose she would not bark nor go. + +XLIII. + +He hath engaged her; his she wholly bides; +Who not her own, none other's secrets hides. +If to the flock he come, and Abel there, +She feigns hoarse barkings, but she biteth not! +Her faith is quite, but not her love forgot. +At last a trap, of which some everywhere +Abel had placed, ends all his loss and fear +By the wolf's death; and now just time it was +That a quick Soul should give life to that mass +Of blood in Abel's bitch, and thither this did pass. + +XLIV. + +Some have their wives, their sisters some begot, +But in the lives of emperors you shall not +Read of a lust the which may equal this: +This wolf begot himself, and finished +What he began alive when he was dead. +Son to himself, and father too, he is +A riding lust, for which schoolmen would miss +A proper name. The whelp of both these lay +In Abel's tent, and with soft Moaba, +His sister, being young, it used to sport and play. + +XLV. + +He soon for her too harsh and churlish grew, +And Abel (the dam dead) would use this new +For the field; being of two kinds thus made, +He, as his dam, from sheep drove wolves away, +And, as his sire, he made them his own prey. +Five years he lived, and cozened with his trade, +Then, hopeless that his faults were hid, betrayed +Himself by flight, and by all followed, +From dogs a wolf, from wolves a dog, he fled, +And, like a spy, to both sides false, he perished. + +XLVI. + +It quickened next a toyful ape, and so +Gamesome it was, that it might freely go +From tent to tent, and with the children play: +His organs now so like theirs he doth find, +That why he cannot laugh and speak his mind +He wonders. Much with all, most he doth stay +With Adam's fifth daughter, Siphatecia; +Doth gaze on her, and where she passeth pass, +Gathers her fruits, and tumbles on the grass; +And, wisest of that kind, the first true lover was. + +XLVII. + +He was the first that more desired to have +One than another; first that e'er did crave +Love by mute signs, and had no power to speak; +First that could make love-faces, or could do +The vaulter's somersalts, or used to woo +With hoiting gambols, his own bones to break, +To make his mistress merry, or to wreak +Her anger on himself. Sins against kind +They easily do that can let feed their mind +With outward beauty; beauty they in boys and beasts do find. + +XLVIII. + +By this misled too low things men have proved, +And too high; beasts and angels have been loved: +This ape, though else th'rough vain, in this was wise; +He reached at things too high, but open way +There was, and he knew not she would say Nay. +His toys prevail not; likelier means he tries; +He gazeth on her face with tear-shot eyes, +And uplifts subtlely, with his russet paw, +Her kid-skin apron without fear or awe +Of Nature; Nature hath no jail, though she hath law. + +XLIX. + +First she was silly, and knew not what he meant: +That virtue, by his touches chafed and spent, +Succeeds an itchy warmth, that melts her quite; +She knew not first, nor cares not what he doth; +And willing half and more, more than half wrath, +She neither pulls nor pushes, but outright +Now cries, and now repents; when Thelemite, +Her brother, entered, and a great stone threw +After the ape, who thus prevented flew. +This house, thus battered down, the Soul possessed anew. + +L. + +And whether by this change she lose or win, +She comes out next where the ape would have gone in. +Adam and Eve had mingled bloods, and now, +Like chemic's equal fires, her temperate womb +Had stewed and formed it; and part did become +A spungy liver, that did richly allow, +Like a free conduit on a high hill's brow, +Life-keeping moisture unto every part; +Part hardened itself to a thicker heart, +Whose busy furnaces life's spirits do impart. + +LI. + +Another part became the well of sense, +The tender, well-armed feeling brain, from whence +Those sinew strings which do our bodies tie +Are ravelled out; and fast there by one end +Did this Soul limbs, these limbs a Soul attend; +And now they joined, keeping some quality +Of every past shape; she knew treachery, +Rapine, deceit, and lust, and ills enough +To be a woman: Themech she is now, +Sister and wife to Cain, Cain that first did plough. + +LII. + +Whoe'er thou beest that read'st this sullen writ, +Which just so much courts thee as thou dost it, +Let me arrest thy thoughts; wonder with me +Why ploughing, building, ruling, and the rest, +Or most of those arts whence our lives are blest, +By cursed Cain's race invented be, +And blest Seth vexed us with astronomy. +There's nothing simply good nor ill alone; +Of every quality Comparison +The only measure is, and judge Opinion. + + + + +MICHAEL DRAYTON, + + +The author of 'Polyolbion,' was born in the parish of Atherston, in +Warwickshire, about the year 1563. He was the son of a butcher, but +displayed such precocity that several persons of quality, such as Sir +Walter Aston and the Countess of Bedford, patronised him. In his +childhood he was eager to know what strange kind of beings poets were; +and on coming to Oxford, (if, indeed, he did study there,) is said to +have importuned his tutor to make him, if possible, a poet. He was +supported chiefly, through his life, by the Lady Bedford. He paid court, +without success, to King James. In 1593 (having long ere this become +that 'strange thing a poet') he published a collection of his Pastorals, +and afterwards his 'Barons' Wars' and 'England's Heroical Epistles,' +which are both rhymed histories. In 1612-13 he published the first part +of 'Polyolbion,' and in 1622 completed the work. In 1626 we hear of him +being styled Poet Laureate, but the title then implied neither royal +appointment, nor fee, nor, we presume, duty. In 1627 he published 'The +Battle of Agincourt,' 'The Court of Faerie,' and other poems; and, three +years later, a book called 'The Muses' Elysium.' He had at last found an +asylum in the family of the Earl of Dorset; whose noble lady, Lady Anne +Clifford, subsequently Countess of Pembroke, and who had been, we saw, +Daniel's pupil, after Drayton's death in 1631, erected him a monument, +with a gold-lettered inscription, in Westminster Abbey. + +The main pillar of Drayton's fame is 'Polyolbion,' which forms a poetical +description of England, in thirty songs or books, to which the learned +Camden appended notes. The learning and knowledge of this poem are exten- +sive, and many of the descriptions are true and spirited, but the space +of ground traversed is too large, and the form of versification is too +heavy, for so long a flight. Campbell justly remarks,--'On a general +survey, the mass of his poetry has no strength or sustaining spirit equal +to its bulk. There is a perpetual play of fancy on its surface; but the +impulses of passion, and the guidance of judgment, give it no strong +movements or consistent course.' + +Drayton eminently suits a 'Selection' such as ours, since his parts are +better than his whole. + + +DESCRIPTION OF MORNING. + +When Phoebus lifts his head out of the winter's wave, +No sooner doth the earth her flowery bosom brave, +At such time as the year brings on the pleasant spring, +But hunts-up to the morn the feather'd sylvans sing: +And in the lower grove, as on the rising knoll, +Upon the highest spray of every mounting pole, +Those choristers are perch'd with many a speckled breast. +Then from her burnish'd gate the goodly glitt'ring east +Gilds every lofty top, which late the humorous night +Bespangled had with pearl, to please the morning's sight: +On which the mirthful choirs, with their clear open throats, +Unto the joyful morn so strain their warbling notes, +That hills and valleys ring, and even the echoing air +Seems all composed of sounds, about them everywhere. +The throstle, with shrill sharps; as purposely he sung +T'awake the lustless sun, or chiding, that so long +He was in coming forth, that should the thickets thrill; +The woosel near at hand, that hath a golden bill; +As nature him had mark'd of purpose, t'let us see +That from all other birds his tunes should different be: +For, with their vocal sounds, they sing to pleasant May; +Upon his dulcet pipe the merle doth only play. +When in the lower brake, the nightingale hard by, +In such lamenting strains the joyful hours doth ply, +As though the other birds she to her tunes would draw, +And, but that nature (by her all-constraining law) +Each bird to her own kind this season doth invite, +They else, alone to hear that charmer of the night, +(The more to use their ears,) their voices sure would spare, +That moduleth her tunes so admirably rare, +As man to set in parts at first had learn'd of her. + +To Philomel the next, the linnet we prefer; +And by that warbling bird, the wood-lark place we then, +The red-sparrow, the nope, the redbreast, and the wren. +The yellow-pate; which though she hurt the blooming tree, +Yet scarce hath any bird a finer pipe than she. +And of these chanting fowls, the goldfinch not behind, +That hath so many sorts descending from her kind. +The tydy for her notes as delicate as they, +The laughing hecco, then the counterfeiting jay, +The softer with the shrill (some hid among the leaves, +Some in the taller trees, some in the lower greaves) +Thus sing away the morn, until the mounting sun +Through thick exhaled fogs his golden head hath run, +And through the twisted tops of our close covert creeps +To kiss the gentle shade, this while that sweetly sleeps. +And near to these our thicks, the wild and frightful herds, +Not hearing other noise but this of chattering birds, +Feed fairly on the lawns; both sorts of season'd deer: +Here walk the stately red, the freckled fallow there: +The bucks and lusty stags amongst the rascals strew'd, +As sometime gallant spirits amongst the multitude. + +Of all the beasts which we for our venerial name, +The hart among the rest, the hunter's noblest game: +Of which most princely chase since none did e'er report, +Or by description touch, to express that wondrous sport, +(Yet might have well beseem'd the ancients' nobler songs) +To our old Arden here, most fitly it belongs: +Yet shall she not invoke the muses to her aid; +But thee, Diana bright, a goddess and a maid: +In many a huge-grown wood, and many a shady grove, +Which oft hast borne thy bow (great huntress, used to rove) +At many a cruel beast, and with thy darts to pierce +The lion, panther, ounce, the bear, and tiger fierce; +And following thy fleet game, chaste mighty forest's queen, +With thy dishevell'd nymphs attired in youthful green, +About the lawns hast scour'd, and wastes both far and near, +Brave huntress; but no beast shall prove thy quarries here; +Save those the best of chase, the tall and lusty red, +The stag for goodly shape, and stateliness of head, +Is fitt'st to hunt at force. For whom, when with his hounds +The labouring hunter tufts the thick unbarbed grounds +Where harbour'd is the hart; there often from his feed +The dogs of him do find; or thorough skilful heed, +The huntsman by his slot, or breaking earth, perceives, +On entering of the thick by pressing of the greaves, +Where he had gone to lodge. Now when the hart doth hear +The often-bellowing hounds to vent his secret leir, +He rousing rusheth out, and through the brakes doth drive, +As though up by the roots the bushes he would rive. +And through the cumbrous thicks, as fearfully he makes, +He with his branched head the tender saplings shakes, +That sprinkling their moist pearl do seem for him to weep; +When after goes the cry, with yellings loud and deep, +That all the forest rings, and every neighbouring place: +And there is not a hound but falleth to the chase; +Rechating with his horn, which then the hunter cheers, +Whilst still the lusty stag his high-palm'd head upbears, +His body showing state, with unbent knees upright, +Expressing from all beasts, his courage in his flight. +But when the approaching foes still following he perceives, +That he his speed must trust, his usual walk he leaves: +And o'er the champain flies: which when the assembly find, +Each follows, as his horse were footed with the wind. +But being then imbost, the noble stately deer +When he hath gotten ground (the kennel cast arrear) +Doth beat the brooks and ponds for sweet refreshing soil: +That serving not, then proves if he his scent can foil, +And makes amongst the herds, and flocks of shag-wooled sheep, +Them frighting from the guard of those who had their keep. +But when as all his shifts his safety still denies, +Put quite out of his walk, the ways and fallows tries. +Whom when the ploughman meets, his team he letteth stand +To assail him with his goad: so with his hook in hand, +The shepherd him pursues, and to his dog doth hollo: +When, with tempestuous speed, the hounds and huntsmen follow; +Until the noble deer through toil bereaved of strength, +His long and sinewy legs then failing him at length, +The villages attempts, enraged, not giving way +To anything he meets now at his sad decay. +The cruel ravenous hounds and bloody hunters near, +This noblest beast of chase, that vainly doth but fear, +Some bank or quickset finds: to which his haunch opposed, +He turns upon his foes, that soon have him enclosed. +The churlish-throated hounds then holding him at bay, +And as their cruel fangs on his harsh skin they lay, +With his sharp-pointed head he dealeth deadly wounds. + +The hunter, coming in to help his wearied hounds, +He desperately assails; until oppress'd by force, +He who the mourner is to his own dying corse, +Upon the ruthless earth his precious tears lets fall. + + + + +EDWARD FAIRFAX. + + +Edward Fairfax was the second, some say the natural, son of Sir Thomas +Fairfax of Denton, in Yorkshire. The dates of his birth and of his death +are unknown, although he was living in 1631. While his brothers were +pursuing military glory in the field, Edward married early, and settled in +Fuystone, a place near Knaresborough Forest. Here he spent part of his +time in managing his elder brother, Lord Fairfax's property, and partly in +literary pursuits. He wrote a strange treatise on Demonology, a History of +Edward the Black Prince, which has never been printed, some poor Eclogues, +and a most beautiful translation of Tasso, which stamps him a true poet as +well as a benefactor to the English language, and on account of which +Collins calls him-- + +'Prevailing poet, whose undoubting mind + Believed the magic wonders which he sung.' + + +RINALDO AT MOUNT OLIVET. + +1 It was the time, when 'gainst the breaking day + Rebellious night yet strove, and still repined; + For in the east appear'd the morning gray, + And yet some lamps in Jove's high palace shined, + When to Mount Olivet he took his way, + And saw, as round about his eyes he twined, + Night's shadows hence, from thence the morning's shine; + This bright, that dark; that earthly, this divine: + +2 Thus to himself he thought: 'How many bright + And splendent lamps shine in heaven's temple high! + Day hath his golden sun, her moon the night, + Her fix'd and wandering stars the azure sky; + So framed all by their Creator's might, + That still they live and shine, and ne'er shall die, + Till, in a moment, with the last day's brand + They burn, and with them burn sea, air, and land.' + +3 Thus as he mused, to the top he went, + And there kneel'd down with reverence and fear; + His eyes upon heaven's eastern face he bent; + His thoughts above all heavens uplifted were-- + 'The sins and errors, which I now repent, + Of my unbridled youth, O Father dear, + Remember not, but let thy mercy fall, + And purge my faults and my offences all.' + +4 Thus prayed he; with purple wings up-flew + In golden weed the morning's lusty queen, + Begilding, with the radiant beams she threw, + His helm, his harness, and the mountain green: + Upon his breast and forehead gently blew + The air, that balm and nardus breathed unseen; + And o'er his head, let down from clearest skies, + A cloud of pure and precious dew there flies: + +5 The heavenly dew was on his garments spread, + To which compared, his clothes pale ashes seem, + And sprinkled so, that all that paleness fled, + And thence of purest white bright rays outstream: + So cheered are the flowers, late withered, + With the sweet comfort of the morning beam; + And so, return'd to youth, a serpent old + Adorns herself in new and native gold. + +6 The lovely whiteness of his changed weed + The prince perceived well and long admired; + Toward, the forest march'd he on with speed, + Resolved, as such adventures great required: + Thither he came, whence, shrinking back for dread + Of that strange desert's sight, the first retired; + But not to him fearful or loathsome made + That forest was, but sweet with pleasant shade. + +7 Forward he pass'd, and in the grove before + He heard a sound, that strange, sweet, pleasing was; + There roll'd a crystal brook with gentle roar, + There sigh'd the winds, as through the leaves they pass; + There did the nightingale her wrongs deplore, + There sung the swan, and singing died, alas! + There lute, harp, cittern, human voice, he heard, + And all these sounds one sound right well declared. + +8 A dreadful thunder-clap at last he heard, + The aged trees and plants well-nigh that rent, + Yet heard the nymphs and sirens afterward, + Birds, winds, and waters, sing with sweet consent; + Whereat amazed, he stay'd, and well prepared + For his defence, heedful and slow forth-went; + Nor in his way his passage ought withstood, + Except a quiet, still, transparent flood: + +9 On the green banks, which that fair stream inbound, + Flowers and odours sweetly smiled and smell'd, + Which reaching out his stretched arms around, + All the large desert in his bosom held, + And through the grove one channel passage found; + This in the wood, in that the forest dwell'd: + Trees clad the streams, streams green those trees aye made, + And so exchanged their moisture and their shade. + +10 The knight some way sought out the flood to pass, + And as he sought, a wondrous bridge appear'd; + A bridge of gold, a huge and mighty mass, + On arches great of that rich metal rear'd: + When through that golden way he enter'd was, + Down fell the bridge; swelled the stream, and wear'd + The work away, nor sign left, where it stood, + And of a river calm became a flood. + +11 He turn'd, amazed to see it troubled so, + Like sudden brooks, increased with molten snow; + The billows fierce, that tossed to and fro, + The whirlpools suck'd down to their bosoms low; + But on he went to search for wonders mo,[1] + Through the thick trees, there high and broad which grow; + And in that forest huge, and desert wide, + The more he sought, more wonders still he spied: + +12 Where'er he stepp'd, it seem'd the joyful ground + Renew'd the verdure of her flowery weed; + A fountain here, a well-spring there he found; + Here bud the roses, there the lilies spread: + The aged wood o'er and about him round + Flourish'd with blossoms new, new leaves, new seed; + And on the boughs and branches of those treen + The bark was soften'd, and renew'd the green. + +13 The manna on each leaf did pearled lie; + The honey stilled[2] from the tender rind: + Again he heard that wonderful harmony + Of songs and sweet complaints of lovers kind; + The human voices sung a treble high, + To which respond the birds, the streams, the wind; + But yet unseen those nymphs, those singers were, + Unseen the lutes, harps, viols which they bear. + +14 He look'd, he listen'd, yet his thoughts denied + To think that true which he did hear and see: + A myrtle in an ample plain he spied, + And thither by a beaten path went he; + The myrtle spread her mighty branches wide, + Higher than pine, or palm, or cypress tree, + And far above all other plants was seen + That forest's lady, and that desert's queen. + +15 Upon the tree his eyes Rinaldo bent, + And there a marvel great and strange began; + An aged oak beside him cleft and rent, + And from his fertile, hollow womb, forth ran, + Clad in rare weeds and strange habiliment, + A nymph, for age able to go to man; + An hundred plants beside, even in his sight, + Childed an hundred nymphs, so great, so dight.[3] + +16 Such as on stages play, such as we see + The dryads painted, whom wild satyrs love, + Whose arms half naked, locks untrussed be, + With buskins laced on their legs above, + And silken robes tuck'd short above their knee, + Such seem'd the sylvan daughters of this grove; + Save, that instead of shafts and bows of tree, + She bore a lute, a harp or cittern she; + +17 And wantonly they cast them in a ring, + And sung and danced to move his weaker sense, + Rinaldo round about environing, + As does its centre the circumference; + The tree they compass'd eke, and 'gan to sing, + That woods and streams admired their excellence-- + 'Welcome, dear Lord, welcome to this sweet grove, + Welcome, our lady's hope, welcome, her love! + +18 'Thou com'st to cure our princess, faint and sick + For love, for love of thee, faint, sick, distress'd; + Late black, late dreadful was this forest thick, + Fit dwelling for sad folk, with grief oppress'd; + See, with thy coming how the branches quick + Revived are, and in new blossoms dress'd!' + This was their song; and after from it went + First a sweet sound, and then the myrtle rent. + +19 If antique times admired Silenus old, + Who oft appear'd set on his lazy ass, + How would they wonder, if they had behold + Such sights, as from the myrtle high did pass! + Thence came a lady fair with locks of gold, + That like in shape, in face, and beauty was + To fair Armida; Rinald thinks he spies + Her gestures, smiles, and glances of her eyes: + +20 On him a sad and smiling look she cast, + Which twenty passions strange at once bewrays; + 'And art thou come,' quoth she, 'return'd at last' + To her, from whom but late thou ran'st thy ways? + Com'st thou to comfort me for sorrows past, + To ease my widow nights, and careful days? + Or comest thou to work me grief and harm? + Why nilt thou speak, why not thy face disarm? + +21 'Com'st thou a friend or foe? I did not frame + That golden bridge to entertain my foe; + Nor open'd flowers and fountains, as you came, + To welcome him with joy who brings me woe: + Put off thy helm: rejoice me with the flame + Of thy bright eyes, whence first my fires did grow; + Kiss me, embrace me; if you further venture, + Love keeps the gate, the fort is eath[4] to enter.' + +22 Thus as she woos, she rolls her rueful eyes + With piteous look, and changeth oft her chere,[5] + An hundred sighs from her false heart up-flies; + She sobs, she mourns, it is great ruth to hear: + The hardest breast sweet pity mollifies; + What stony heart resists a woman's tear? + But yet the knight, wise, wary, not unkind, + Drew forth his sword, and from her careless twined:[6] + +23 Towards the tree he march'd; she thither start, + Before him stepp'd, embraced the plant, and cried-- + 'Ah! never do me such a spiteful part, + To cut my tree, this forest's joy and pride; + Put up thy sword, else pierce therewith the heart + Of thy forsaken and despised Armide; + For through this breast, and through this heart, unkind, + To this fair tree thy sword shall passage find.' + +24 He lift his brand, nor cared, though oft she pray'd, + And she her form to other shape did change; + Such monsters huge, when men in dreams are laid, + Oft in their idle fancies roam and range: + Her body swell'd, her face obscure was made; + Vanish'd her garments rich, and vestures strange; + A giantess before him high she stands, + Arm'd, like Briareus, with an hundred hands. + +25 With fifty swords, and fifty targets bright, + She threaten'd death, she roar'd, she cried and fought; + Each other nymph, in armour likewise dight, + A Cyclops great became; he fear'd them nought, + But on the myrtle smote with all his might, + Which groan'd, like living souls, to death nigh brought; + The sky seem'd Pluto's court, the air seem'd hell, + Therein such monsters roar, such spirits yell: + +26 Lighten'd the heaven above, the earth below + Roared aloud; that thunder'd, and this shook: + Bluster'd the tempests strong; the whirlwinds blow; + The bitter storm drove hailstones in his look; + But yet his arm grew neither weak nor slow, + Nor of that fury heed or care he took, + Till low to earth the wounded tree down bended; + en fled the spirits all, the charms all ended. + +27 The heavens grew clear, the air wax'd calm and still, + The wood returned to its wonted state, + Of witchcrafts free, quite void of spirits ill, + Of horror full, but horror there innate: + He further tried, if ought withstood his will + To cut those trees, as did the charms of late, + And finding nought to stop him, smiled and said-- + 'O shadows vain! O fools, of shades afraid!' + +28 From thence home to the camp-ward turn'd the knight; + The hermit cried, upstarting from his seat, + 'Now of the wood the charms have lost their might; + The sprites are conquer'd, ended is the feat; + See where he comes!'--Array'd in glittering white + Appear'd the man, bold, stately, high, and great; + His eagle's silver wings to shine begun + With wondrous splendour 'gainst the golden sun. + +29 The camp received him with a joyful cry,-- + A cry, the hills and dales about that fill'd; + Then Godfrey welcomed him with honours high; + His glory quench'd all spite, all envy kill'd: + 'To yonder dreadful grove,' quoth he, 'went I, + And from the fearful wood, as me you will'd, + Have driven the sprites away; thither let be + Your people sent, the way is safe and free.' + +[1] 'Mo:' more. +[2] 'Stilled:' dropped. +[3] 'Dight:' aparelled. +[4] 'Eath:' easy. +[5] 'Chere:' expression. +[6] 'Twined:' separated. + + + + +SIR HENRY WOTTON + + +Was born in Kent, in 1568; educated at Winchester and Oxford; and, after +travelling on the Continent, became the Secretary of Essex, but had the +sagacity to foresee his downfall, and withdrew from the kingdom in time. +On his return he became a favourite of James I., who employed him to be +ambassador to Venice,--a post he held long, and occupied with great skill +and adroitness. Toward the end of his days, in order to gain the Provost- +ship of Eton, he took orders, and died in that situation, in 1639, in the +72d year of his age. His writings were published in 1651, under the title +of 'Reliquitae Wottonianae,' and Izaak Walton has written an entertaining +account of his life. His poetry has a few pleasing and smooth-flowing +passages; but perhaps the best thing recorded of him is his viva voce +account of an English ambassador, as 'an honest gentleman sent to LIE +abroad for the good of his country.' + + +FAREWELL TO THE VANITIES OF THE WORLD. + +1 Farewell, ye gilded follies! pleasing troubles; + Farewell, ye honour'd rags, ye glorious bubbles; + Fame's but a hollow echo, gold pure clay, + Honour the darling but of one short day, + Beauty, the eye's idol, but a damask'd skin, + State but a golden prison to live in + And torture free-born minds; embroider'd trains + Merely but pageants for proud swelling veins; + And blood, allied to greatness, is alone + Inherited, not purchased, nor our own. + Fame, honour, beauty, state, train, blood, and birth, + Are but the fading blossoms of the earth. + +2 I would be great, but that the sun doth still + Level his rays against the rising hill; + I would be high, but see the proudest oak + Most subject to the rending thunder-stroke; + I would be rich, but see men too unkind + Dig in the bowels of the richest mind; + I would be wise, but that I often see + The fox suspected while the ass goes free; + I would be fair, but see the fair and proud, + Like the bright sun, oft setting in a cloud; + I would be poor, but know the humble grass + Still trampled on by each unworthy ass; + Rich, hated; wise, suspected; scorn'd, if poor; + Great, fear'd; fair, tempted; high, still envied more. + I have wish'd all, but now I wish for neither + Great, high, rich, wise, nor fair--poor I'll be rather. + +3 Would the world now adopt me for her heir, + Would beauty's queen entitle me 'the fair,' + Fame speak me Fortune's minion, could I vie + Angels[1] with India; with a speaking eye + Command bare heads, bow'd knees, strike Justice dumb + As well as blind and lame, or give a tongue + To stones by epitaphs; be call'd great master + In the loose rhymes of every poetaster; + Could I be more than any man that lives, + Great, fair, rich, wise, all in superlatives: + Yet I more freely would these gifts resign, + Than ever fortune would have made them mine; + And hold one minute of this holy leisure + Beyond the riches of this empty pleasure. + +4 Welcome, pure thoughts! welcome, ye silent groves! + These guests, these courts, my soul most dearly loves. + Now the wing'd people of the sky shall sing + My cheerful anthems to the gladsome spring; + A prayer-book now shall be my looking-glass, + In which I will adore sweet Virtue's face; + Here dwell no hateful looks, no palace cares, + No broken vows dwell here, nor pale-faced fears: + Then here I'll sit, and sigh my hot love's folly, + And learn to affect a holy melancholy; + And if Contentment be a stranger then, + I'll ne'er look for it but in heaven again. + +[1] 'Angels:' a species of coin. + + +A MEDITATION. + +O thou great Power! in whom we move, + By whom we live, to whom we die, +Behold me through thy beams of love, + Whilst on this couch of tears I lie, +And cleanse my sordid soul within +By thy Christ's blood, the bath of sin. + +No hallow'd oils, no gums I need, + No new-born drams of purging fire; +One rosy drop from David's seed + Was worlds of seas to quench thine ire: +O precious ransom! which once paid, +That _Consummatum est_ was said. + +And said by him, that said no more, + But seal'd it with his sacred breath: +Thou then, that has dispurged our score, + And dying wert the death of death, +Be now, whilst on thy name we call, +Our life, our strength, our joy, our all! + + + + +RICHARD CORBET. + + +This witty and good-natured bishop was born in 1582. He was the son of +a gardener, who, however, had the honour to be known to and sung by Ben +Jonson. He was educated at Westminster and Oxford; and having received +orders, was made successively Bishop of Oxford and of Norwich. He was +a most facetious and rather too convivial person; and a collection of +anecdotes about him might be made, little inferior, in point of wit and +coarseness, to that famous one, once so popular in Scotland, relating to +the sayings and doings of George Buchanan. He is said, on one occasion, +to have aided an unfortunate ballad-singer in his professional duty by +arraying himself in his leathern jacket and vending the stock, being +possessed of a fine presence and a clear, full, ringing voice. +Occasionally doffing his clerical costume he adjourned with his chaplain, +Dr Lushington, to the wine-cellar, where care and ceremony were both +speedily drowned, the one of the pair exclaiming, 'Here's to thee, +Lushington,' and the other, 'Here's to thee, Corbet.' Men winked at +these irregularities, probably on the principle mentioned by Scott, in +reference to Prior Aymer, in 'Ivanhoe,'--'If Prior Aymer rode hard in +the chase, or remained late at the banquet, men only shrugged up their +shoulders by recollecting that the same irregularities were practised by +many of his brethren, who had no redeeming qualities whatsoever to atone +for them.' Corbet, on the other hand, was a kind as well as a convivial +--a warm-hearted as well as an eccentric man. He was tolerant to the +Puritans and sectaries; his attention to his duties was respectable; his +talents were of a high order, and he had in him a vein of genius of no +ordinary kind. He died in 1635, but his poems were not published till +1647. They are of various merit, and treat of various subjects. In his +'Journey to France,' you see the humorist, who, on one occasion, when the +country people were flocking to be confirmed, cried, 'Bear off there, or +I'll confirm ye with my staff.' In his lines to his son Vincent, we see, +notwithstanding all his foibles, the good man; and in his 'Farewell to +the Fairies' the fine and fanciful poet. + + +DR CORBET'S JOURNEY INTO FRANCE. + +1 I went from England into France, + Nor yet to learn to cringe nor dance, + Nor yet to ride nor fence; + Nor did I go like one of those + That do return with half a nose, + They carried from hence. + +2 But I to Paris rode along, + Much like John Dory in the song, + Upon a holy tide; + I on an ambling nag did jet, + (I trust he is not paid for yet,) + And spurr'd him on each side. + +3 And to St Denis fast we came, + To see the sights of Notre Dame, + (The man that shows them snuffles,) + Where who is apt for to believe, + May see our Lady's right-arm sleeve, + And eke her old pantofles; + +4 Her breast, her milk, her very gown + That she did wear in Bethlehem town, + When in the inn she lay; + Yet all the world knows that's a fable, + For so good clothes ne'er lay in stable, + Upon a lock of hay. + +5 No carpenter could by his trade + Gain so much coin as to have made + A gown of so rich stuff; + Yet they, poor souls, think, for their credit, + That they believe old Joseph did it, + 'Cause he deserved enough. + +6 There is one of the cross's nails, + Which whoso sees, his bonnet vails, + And, if he will, may kneel; + Some say 'twas false,'twas never so, + Yet, feeling it, thus much I know, + It is as true as steel. + +7 There is a Ianthorn which the Jews, + When Judas led them forth, did use, + It weighs my weight downright; + But to believe it, you must think + The Jews did put a candle in 't, + And then 'twas very light. + +8 There's one saint there hath lost his nose, + Another's head, but not his toes, + His elbow and his thumb; + But when that we had seen the rags, + We went to th' inn and took our nags, + And so away did come. + +9 We came to Paris, on the Seine, + 'Tis wondrous fair,'tis nothing clean, + 'Tis Europe's greatest town; + How strong it is I need not tell it, + For all the world may easily smell it, + That walk it up and down. + +10 There many strange things are to see, + The palace and great gallery, + The Place Royal doth excel, + The New Bridge, and the statutes there, + At Notre Dame St Q. Pater, + The steeple bears the bell. + +11 For learning the University, + And for old clothes the Frippery, + The house the queen did build. + St Innocence, whose earth devours + Dead corps in four-and-twenty hours, + And there the king was kill'd. + +12 The Bastille and St Denis Street, + The Shafflenist like London Fleet, + The Arsenal no toy; + But if you'll see the prettiest thing, + Go to the court and see the king-- + Oh, 'tis a hopeful boy! + +13 He is, of all his dukes and peers, + Reverenced for much wit at's years, + Nor must you think it much; + For he with little switch doth play, + And make fine dirty pies of clay, + Oh, never king made such! + +14 A bird that can but kill a fly, + Or prate, doth please his majesty, + Tis known to every one; + The Duke of Guise gave him a parrot, + And he had twenty cannons for it, + For his new galleon. + +15 Oh that I e'er might have the hap + To get the bird which in the map + Is call'd the Indian ruck! + I'd give it him, and hope to be + As rich as Guise or Liviné, + Or else I had ill-luck. + +16 Birds round about his chamber stand, + And he them feeds with his own hand, + 'Tis his humility; + And if they do want anything, + They need but whistle for their king, + And he comes presently. + +17 But now, then, for these parts he must + Be enstyled Lewis the Just, + Great Henry's lawful heir; + When to his style to add more words, + They'd better call him King of Birds, + Than of the great Navarre. + +18 He hath besides a pretty quirk, + Taught him by nature, how to work + In iron with much ease; + Sometimes to the forge he goes, + There he knocks and there he blows, + And makes both locks and keys; + +19 Which puts a doubt in every one, + Whether he be Mars' or Vulcan's son, + Some few believe his mother; + But let them all say what they will, + I came resolved, and so think still, + As much the one as th' other. + +20 The people too dislike the youth, + Alleging reasons, for, in truth, + Mothers should honour'd be; + Yet others say, he loves her rather + As well as ere she loved her father, + And that's notoriously. + +21 His queen,[1] a pretty little wench, + Was born in Spain, speaks little French, + She's ne'er like to be mother; + For her incestuous house could not + Have children which were not begot + By uncle or by brother. + +22 Nor why should Lewis, being so just, + Content himself to take his lust + With his Lucina's mate, + And suffer his little pretty queen, + From all her race that yet hath been, + So to degenerate? + +23 'Twere charity for to be known + To love others' children as his own, + And why? it is no shame, + Unless that he would greater be + Than was his father Henery, + Who, men thought, did the same. + +[1] Anne of Austria. + + +FAREWELL TO THE FAIRIES. + +1 Farewell, rewards and fairies, + Good housewives now may say, + For now foul sluts in dairies + Do fare as well as they. + And though they sweep their hearths no less + Than maids were wont to do, + Yet who of late, for cleanliness, + Finds sixpence in her shoe? + +2 Lament, lament, old Abbeys, + The fairies lost command; + They did but change priests' babies, + But some have changed your land; + And all your children sprung from thence + Are now grown Puritans; + Who live as changelings ever since, + For love of your domains. + +3 At morning and at evening both, + You merry were and glad, + So little care of sleep or sloth + These pretty ladies had; + When Tom came home from labour, + Or Cis to milking rose, + Then merrily went their tabor, + And nimbly went their toes. + +4 Witness those rings and roundelays + Of theirs, which yet remain, + Were footed in Queen Mary's days + On many a grassy plain; + But since of late Elizabeth, + And later, James came in, + They never danced on any heath + As when the time hath been. + +5 By which we note the fairies + Were of the old profession, + Their songs were Ave-Maries, + Their dances were procession: + But now, alas! they all are dead, + Or gone beyond the seas; + Or further for religion fled, + Or else they take their ease. + +6 A tell-tale in their company + They never could endure, + And whoso kept not secretly + Their mirth, was punish'd sure; + It was a just and Christian deed, + To pinch such black and blue: + Oh, how the commonwealth doth need + Such justices as you! + + + + +BEN JONSON. + + +As 'rare Ben' chiefly shone as a dramatist, we need not recount at +length the events of his life. He was born in 1574; his father, who had +been a clergyman in Westminster, and was sprung from a Scotch family +in Annandale, having died before his birth. His mother marrying a +bricklayer, Ben was brought up to the same employment. Disliking this, +he enlisted in the army, and served with credit in the Low Countries. +When he came home, he entered St John's College, Cambridge; but his stay +there must have been short, since he is found in London at the age of +twenty, married, and acting on the stage. He began at the same time to +write dramas. He was unlucky enough to quarrel with and kill another +performer, for which he was committed to prison, but released without +a trial. He resumed his labours as a writer for the stage; but having +failed in the acting department, he forsook it for ever. His first hit +was, 'Every Man in his Humour,' a play enacted in 1598, Shakspeare being +one of the actors. His course afterwards was chequered. He quarrelled +with Marston and Dekker,--he was imprisoned for some reflections on the +Scottish nation in one of his comedies,--he was appointed in 1619 poet- +laureate, with a pension of 100 marks,--he made the same year a journey +to Scotland on foot, where he visited Drummond at Hawthornden, and they +seem to have mutually loathed each other,'--he fell into habits of +intemperance, and acquired, as he said himself, + + 'A mountain belly and a rocky face.' + +His favourite haunts were the Mermaid, and the Falcon Tavern, Southwark. +He was engaged in constant squabbles with his contemporaries, and died +at last, in 1637, in miserably poor circumstances. He was buried in +Westminster Abbey, under a square tablet, where one of his admirers +afterwards inscribed the words, + + 'O rare Ben Jonson!' + +Of his powers as a dramatist we need not speak, but present our readers +with some rough and racy specimens of his poetry. + + +EPITAPH ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE. + +Underneath this sable hearse +Lies the subject of all verse, +Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother; +Death! ere thou hast slain another, +Learn'd and fair, and good as she, +Time shall throw a dart at thee! + + +THE PICTURE OF THE BODY. + +Sitting, and ready to be drawn, +What make these velvets, silks, and lawn, +Embroideries, feathers, fringes, lace, +Where every limb takes like a face? + +Send these suspected helps to aid +Some form defective, or decay'd; +This beauty, without falsehood fair, +Needs nought to clothe it but the air. + +Yet something to the painter's view, +Were fitly interposed; so new, +He shall, if he can understand, +Work by my fancy, with his hand. + +Draw first a cloud, all save her neck, +And, out of that, make day to break; +Till like her face it do appear, +And men may think all light rose there. + +Then let the beams of that disperse +The cloud, and show the universe; +But at such distance, as the eye +May rather yet adore, than spy. + + +TO PENSHURST. + +(FROM 'THE FOREST') + +Thou art not, Penshurst, built to envious show +Of touch or marble; nor canst boast a row +Of polish'd pillars, or a roof of gold: +Thou hast no lantern, whereof tales are told; +Or stair, or courts; but stand'st an ancient pile, +And these grudged at, are reverenced the while. +Thou joy'st in better marks of soil and air, +Of wood, of water; therein thou art fair. +Thou hast thy walks for health as well as sport; +Thy mount to which the dryads do resort, +Where Pan and Bacchus their high feasts have made +Beneath the broad beech, and the chestnut shade; +That taller tree which of a nut was set +At his great birth where all the Muses met. +There, in the writhed bark, are cut the names +Of many a Sylvan token with his flames. +And thence the ruddy Satyrs oft provoke +The lighter Fauns to reach thy Ladies' Oak. +Thy copse, too, named of Gamage, thou hast here +That never fails, to serve thee, season'd deer, +When thou would'st feast or exercise thy friends. +The lower land that to the river bends, +Thy sheep, thy bullocks, kine, and calves do feed: +The middle ground thy mares and horses breed. +Each bank doth yield thee conies, and the tops +Fertile of wood. Ashore, and Sidney's copse, +To crown thy open table doth provide +The purpled pheasant, with the speckled side: +The painted partridge lies in every field, +And, for thy mess, is willing to be kill'd. +And if the high-swollen Medway fail thy dish, +Thou hast thy ponds that pay thee tribute fish, +Fat, aged carps that run into thy net, +And pikes, now weary their own kind to eat, +As both the second draught or cast to stay, +Officiously, at first, themselves betray. +Bright eels that emulate them, and leap on land, +Before the fisher, or into his hand. +Thou hast thy orchard fruit, thy garden flowers, +Fresh as the air, and new as are the hours. +The early cherry with the later plum, +Fig, grape, and quince, each in his time doth come: +The blushing apricot and woolly peach +Hang on thy walls that every child may reach. +And though thy walls be of the country stone, +They're rear'd with no man's ruin, no man's groan; +There's none that dwell about them wish them down; +But all come in, the farmer and the clown, +And no one empty-handed, to salute +Thy lord and lady, though they have no suit. +Some bring a capon, some a rural cake, +Some nuts, some apples; some that think they make +The better cheeses, bring them, or else send +By their ripe daughters, whom they would commend +This way to husbands; and whose baskets bear +An emblem of themselves, in plum or pear. +But what can this (more than express their love) +Add to thy free provision, far above +The need of such? whose liberal board doth flow +With all that hospitality doth know! +Where comes no guest but is allow'd to eat +Without his fear, and of thy lord's own meat: +Where the same beer, and bread, and selfsame wine +That is his lordship's shall be also mine. +And I not fain to sit (as some this day +At great men's tables) and yet dine away. +Here no man tells my cups; nor, standing by, +A waiter doth my gluttony envy: +But gives me what I call, and lets me eat; +He knows below he shall find plenty of meat; +Thy tables hoard not up for the next day, +Nor, when I take my lodging, need I pray +For fire, or lights, or livery: all is there, +As if thou, then, wert mine, or I reign'd here. +There's nothing I can wish, for which I stay. +This found King James, when hunting late this way +With his brave son, the Prince; they saw thy fires +Shine bright on every hearth, as the desires +Of thy Penates had been set on flame +To entertain them; or the country came, +With all their zeal, to warm their welcome here. +What (great, I will not say, but) sudden cheer +Did'st thou then make them! and what praise was heap'd +On thy good lady then, who therein reap'd +The just reward of her high housewifery; +To have her linen, plate, and all things nigh, +When she was far; and not a room but drest +As if it had expected such a guest! +These, Penshurst, are thy praise, and yet not all; +Thy lady's noble, fruitful, chaste withal. +His children * * * + * * have been taught religion; thence +Their gentler spirits have suck'd innocence. +Each morn and even they are taught to pray, +With the whole household, and may, every day, +Head, in their virtuous parents' noble parts, +The mysteries of manners, arms, and arts. +Now, Penshurst, they that will proportion thee +With other edifices, when they see +Those proud ambitious heaps, and nothing else, +May say their lords have built, but thy lord dwells. + + +TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER, WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, +AND WHAT HE HATH LEFT US. + +To draw no envy, Shakspeare, on thy name, +Am I thus ample to thy book and fame; +While I confess thy writings to be such +As neither man nor Muse can praise too much, +'Tis true, and all men's suffrage. But these ways +Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise; +For silliest ignorance on these would light, +Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right; +Or blind affection, which doth ne'er advance +The truth, but gropes, and urges all by chance; +Or crafty malice might pretend this praise, +And think to ruin, where it seem'd to raise. +But thou art proof against them, and, indeed, +Above the ill fortune of them, or the need. +I therefore will begin: Soul of the age! +The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! +My Shakspeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by +Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie +A little further off, to make thee room: +Thou art a monument without a tomb, +And art alive still, while thy book doth live, +And we have wits to read, and praise to give. +That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses, +I mean with great but disproportion'd Muses: +For if I thought my judgment were of years, +I should commit thee surely with thy peers, +And tell how far thou didst our Lyly outshine, +Or sporting Kyd or Marlow's mighty line, +And though thou had small Latin and less Greek, +From thence to honour thee I will not seek +For names; but call forth thund'ring Aeschylus, +Euripides, and Sophocles to us, +Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead, +To live again, to hear thy buskin tread, +And shake a stage: or when thy socks were on +Leave thee alone for the comparison +Of all, that insolent Greece or haughty Rome +Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. +Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show, +To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. +He was not of an age, but for all time! +And all the Muses still were in their prime, +When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm +Our ears, or like a Mercury, to charm! +Nature herself was proud of his designs, +And joy'd to wear the dressing of his lines, +Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, +As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. +The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, +Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please; +But antiquated and deserted lie, +As they were not of nature's family, +Yet must I not give nature all; thy art, +My gentle Shakspeare, must enjoy a part, +For though the poet's matter nature be, +His art doth give the fashion; and, that he +Who casts to write a living line, must sweat +(Such as thine are) and strike the second heat +Upon the Muses' anvil; turn the same, +And himself with it, that he thinks to frame; +Or for the laurel, he may gain a scorn; +For a good poet's made as well as born, +And such wert thou! Look how the father's face +Lives in his issue, even so the race +Of Shakspeare's mind and manners brightly shines +In his well-turned and true-filed lines; +In each of which he seems to shake a lance, +As brandish'd at the eyes of ignorance. +Sweet Swan of Avon! what a sight it were +To see thee in our water yet appear, +And make those flights upon the banks of Thames +That so did take Eliza and our James! +But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere +Advanced, and made a constellation there! +Shine forth, thou Star of Poets, and with rage, +Or influence, chide, or cheer the drooping stage, +Which since thy flight from hence hath mourn'd like night, +And despairs day, but for thy volume's light! + + +ON THE PORTRAIT OF SHAKSPEARE. + +(UNDER THE FRONTISPIECE TO THE FIRST EDITION OF HIS WORKS: 1623.) + +This figure that thou here seest put, +It was for gentle Shakspeare cut, +Wherein the graver had a strife +With nature, to outdo the life: +Oh, could he but have drawn his wit, +As well in brass, as he hath hit +His face; the print would then surpass +All that was ever writ in 'brass: +But since he cannot, reader, look +Not on his picture but his book. + + + + +VERE, STORRER, &c. + + +In the same age of fertile, seething mind which produced Jonson and the +rest of the Elizabethan giants, there flourished some minor poets, whose +names we merely chronicle: such as Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford, born +1534, and dying 1604, who travelled in Italy in his youth, and returned +the 'most accomplished coxcomb in Europe,' who sat as Grand Chamberlain +of England upon the trial of Mary Queen of Scots, and who has left, in +the 'Paradise of Dainty Devices,' some rather beautiful verses, entitled, +'Fancy and Desire;'--as Thomas Storrer, a student of Christ Church, Oxford, +and the author of a versified 'History of Cardinal Wolsey,' in three parts, +who died in 1604;--as William Warner, a native of Oxfordshire, born in +1558, who became an attorney of the Common Pleas in London, and died +suddenly in 1609, having made himself famous for a time by a poem, entitled +'Albion's England,' called by Campbell 'an enormous ballad on the history, +or rather the fables appendant to the history of England,' with some fine +touches, but heavy and prolix as a whole;--as Sir John Harrington, who was +the son of a poet and the favourite of Essex, who was created a Knight of +the Bath by James I., and who wrote some pointed epigrams and a miserable +translation of Ariosto, in which heeffectually tamed that wild Pegasus; +--as Henry Perrot, who collected, in 1613, a book of epigrams, entitled, +'Springes for Woodcocks;'--as Sir Thomas Overbury, whose dreadful and +mysterious fate, well known to all who read English history, excited such +a sympathy for him, that his poems, 'A Wife,' and 'The Choice of a Wife,' +passed through sixteen editions before the year 1653, although his prose +'Characters,' such as the exquisite and well-known 'Fair and Happy +Milkmaid,' are far better than his poetry;--as Samuel Rowlandes, a prolific +pamphleteer in the reigns of Elizabeth, James I., and Charles I., author +also of several plays and of a book of epigrams;--as Thomas Picke, who +belonged to the Middle Temple, and published, in 1631, a number of songs, +sonnets, and elegies;--as Henry Constable, born in 1568, and a well-known +sonneteer of his day;--as Nicholas Breton, author of some pretty pastorals, +who, it is conjectured, was born in 1555, and died in 1624;--and as Dr +Thomas Lodge, born in 1556, and who died in 1625, after translating +Josephus into English, and writing some tolerable poetical pieces. + + + + +THOMAS RANDOLPH. + + +This was a true poet, although his power comes forth principally in the +drama. He was born at Newnham, near Daventry, Northamptonshire, in 1605, +being the you of Lord Zouch's steward. He became a King's Scholar at +Westminster, and subsequently a Fellow in Trinity College, Cambridge. +Ben Jonson loved him, and he reciprocated the attachment. Whether from +natural tendency or in imitation of Jonson, who called him, as well as +Cartwright, his adopted son, he learned intemperate habits, and died, in +1634, at the age of twenty-nine. His death took place at the house of W. +Stafford, Esq. of Blatherwyke, in his native county, and he was buried +in the church beside, where Sir Christopher, afterwards Lord Hatton, +signalised the spot of his rest by a monument. He wrote five dramas, +which are imperfect and formal in plan, but written with considerable +power. Some of his miscellaneous poems discover feeling and genius. + + +THE PRAISE OF WOMAN. + +He is a parricide to his mother's name, +And with an impious hand murders her fame, +That wrongs the praise of women; that dares write +Libels on saints, or with foul ink requite +The milk they lent us! Better sex! command +To your defence my more religious hand, +At sword or pen; yours was the nobler birth, +For you of man were made, man but of earth-- +The sun of dust; and though your sin did breed +His fall, again you raised him in your seed. +Adam, in's sleep again full loss sustain'd, +That for one rib a better half regain'd, +Who, had he not your blest creation seen +In Paradise, an anchorite had been. +Why in this work did the creation rest, +But that Eternal Providence thought you best +Of all his six days' labour? Beasts should do +Homage to man, but man shall wait on you; +You are of comelier sight, of daintier touch, +A tender flesh, and colour bright, and such +As Parians see in marble; skin more fair, +More glorious head, and far more glorious hair; +Eyes full of grace and quickness; purer roses +Blush in your cheeks; a milder white composes +Your stately fronts; your breath, more sweet than his, +Breathes spice, and nectar drops at every kiss. + +* * * * * + +If, then, in bodies where the souls do dwell, +You better us, do then our souls excel? + +No. * * * * +Boast we of knowledge, you are more than we, +You were the first ventured to pluck the tree; +And that more rhetoric in your tongues do lie, +Let him dispute against that dares deny +Your least commands; and not persuaded be, +With Samson's strength and David's piety, +To be your willing captives. + + * * * * * + +Thus, perfect creatures, if detraction rise +Against your sex, dispute but with your eyes, +Your hand, your lip, your brow, there will be sent +So subtle and so strong an argument, +Will teach the stoic his affections too, +And call the cynic from his tub to woo. + + +TO MY PICTURE. + +When age hath made me what I am not now, +And every wrinkle tells me where the plough +Of Time hath furrow'd, when an ice shall flow +Through every vein, and all my head be snow; +When Death displays his coldness in my cheek, +And I, myself, in my own picture seek, +Not finding what I am, but what I was, +In doubt which to believe, this or my glass; +Yet though I alter, this remains the same +As it was drawn, retains the primitive frame, +And first complexion; here will still be seen, +Blood on the cheek, and down upon the chin: +Here the smooth brow will stay, the lively eye, +The ruddy lip, and hair of youthful dye. +Behold what frailty we in man may see, +Whose shadow is less given to change than he. + + +TO A LADY ADMIRING HERSELF IN A LOOKING-GLASS. + +Fair lady, when you see the grace +Of beauty in your looking-glass; +A stately forehead, smooth and high, +And full of princely majesty; +A sparkling eye, no gem so fair, +Whose lustre dims the Cyprian star; +A glorious cheek, divinely sweet, +Wherein both roses kindly meet; +A cherry lip that would entice +Even gods to kiss at any price; +You think no beauty is so rare +That with your shadow might compare; +That your reflection is alone +The thing that men must dote upon. +Madam, alas! your glass doth lie, +And you are much deceived; for I +A beauty know of richer grace,-- +(Sweet, be not angry,) 'tis your face. +Hence, then, oh, learn more mild to be, +And leave to lay your blame on me: +If me your real substance move, +When you so much your shadow love, +Wise Nature would not let your eye +Look on her own bright majesty; +Which, had you once but gazed upon, +You could, except yourself, love none: +What then you cannot love, let me, +That face I can, you cannot see. + +'Now you have what to love,' you'll say, +'What then is left for me, I pray?' +My face, sweet heart, if it please thee; +That which you can, I cannot see: +So either love shall gain his due, +Yours, sweet, in me, and mine in you. + + + + +ROBERT BURTON. + + +The great, though whimsical author of the 'Anatomy of Melancholy' was +born at Lindley, in Leicestershire, 1576, and educated at Christ Church, +Oxford. He became Rector of Seagrave, in his native shire. He was a man +of vast erudition, of integrity and benevolence, but his happiness, +like that of Burns, although in a less measure, 'was blasted _ab +origine_ by an incurable taint of hypochondria;' and although at times a +most delightful companion, at other times he was so miserable, even when +a young student at Oxford, that he had no resource but to go down to the +river-side, where the coarse jests of the bargemen threw him into fits +of laughter. This surely was a violent remedy, and one that must have +reacted into deeper depression. In 1621, he wrote and published, as a +safety-valve to his morbid feelings, his famous 'Anatomie of Melancholy, +by Democritus Junior.' It became instantly popular, and sold so well, +that the publisher is said to have made a fortune by it. Nothing more of +consequence is recorded of the author, who died in 1640. Although + + 'Melancholy mark'd him for her own,' + +she failed to kill him till he had passed his grand climacteric. He was +buried in Christ Church, with the following epitaph, said to have been +composed by himself:-- + + 'Paucis notus, paucioribus ignotus. + Hic jacet Democritus Junior, + Cui vitam pariter et mortem + Dedit _Melancholia_! + + 'Known [by name] to few, unknown [as the author of the "Anatomy"] + to fewer, here lies D. J., who owes his death [as a man] and his + life [as an author] to Melancholy.' + +His work is certainly a most curious and bewitching medley of thought, +information, wit, learning, personal interest, and poetic fancy. We all +know it was the only book which ever drew the lazy Johnson from his bed +an hour sooner than he wished to rise. The subject, like the flesh of +that 'melancholy' creature the hare, may be dry, but, as with that, an +astute cookery prevails to make it exceedingly piquant; the sauce is +better than the substance. Burton's melancholy is not, like Johnson's, +a deep, hopeless, 'inspissated gloom,' thickened by memories of remorse, +and lighted up by the lurid fires of feared perdition; it is not, like +Byron's, dashed with the demoniac element, and fretted into universal +misanthropy; it is not, like Foster's, the sad, fixed fascination of +a pure intelligence contemplating the darker side of things, as by a +necessity of nature, and ignoring, without denying, the existence of the +bright; nor is it, like that of the 'melancholy Jacques,' in 'As you +Like it,' a wild, woodland, fantastical habit of thought, as of one +living collaterally and aside to the world, and which often explodes +into laughter at itself and at all things else;--Burton's is a wide- +spread but tender shade, like twilight, diffused over the whole horizon +of his thought, and is nourished at times into a luxury, and at times +paraded as a peculiar possession. In his form of melancholy there are +pleasures as well as pains. 'Most pleasant it is,' he says, 'to such +as are to melancholy given, to lie in bed whole days and keep their +chambers; to walk alone in some solitary grove, betwixt wood and water, +by a brook-side, to meditate upon some delightsome and pleasant subject; +and a most incomparable delight it is so to melancholise and build +castles in the air.' Religious considerations have little to do with +Burton's melancholy, and remorse or fear apparently nothing. Hence his +book, although its theme be sadness, never shadows the spirit, but, on +the contrary, from his dark, Lethean poppies, his readers are made to +extract an element of joyful excitement, and the anatomy, and the cure, +of the evil, are one and the same. + +As a writer, Burton ranks, in some points, with Montaigne, and in others +with Sir Thomas Browne. He resembles the first in simplicity, _bonhommie_, +and miscellaneous learning, and the other in rambling manner, quaint +phraseology, and fantastic imagination. Neither of the three could be said +to write books, but they accumulated vast storehouses, whence thousands of +volumes might be, and have been compiled. There is nothing in Burton so +low as in many of the 'Essays' of Montaigne, but there is nothing so lofty +as in passages of Browne's 'Religio Medici' and 'Urn-Burial.' Burton has +been a favourite quarry to literary thieves, among whom Sterne, in his +'Tristram Shandy,' stands pre-eminent. To his 'Anatomy' he prefixes a poem, +a few stanzas of which we extract. + + +ON MELANCHOLY. + +1 When I go musing all alone, + Thinking of divers things foreknown, + When I build castles in the air, + Void of sorrow, void of fear, + Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet + Methinks the time runs very fleet. + All my joys to this are folly; + Nought so sweet as melancholy. + +2 When I go walking all alone, + Recounting what I have ill-done, + My thoughts on me then tyrannise, + Fear and sorrow me surprise; + Whether I tarry still, or go, + Methinks the time moves very slow. + All my griefs to this are jolly; + Nought so sad as melancholy. + +3 When to myself I act and smile, + With pleasing thoughts the time beguile, + By a brook-side or wood so green, + Unheard, unsought for, or unseen, + A thousand pleasures do me bless, + And crown my soul with happiness. + All my joys besides are folly; + None so sweet as melancholy. + +4 When I lie, sit, or walk alone, + I sigh, I grieve, making great moan; + In a dark grove or irksome den, + With discontents and furies then, + A thousand miseries at once + Mine heavy heart and soul ensconce. + All my griefs to this are jolly; + None so sour as melancholy. + +5 Methinks I hear, methinks I see + Sweet music, wondrous melody, + Towns, palaces, and cities, fine; + Here now, then there, the world is mine, + Rare beauties, gallant ladies shine, + Whate'er is lovely is divine. + All other joys to this are folly; + None so sweet as melancholy, + +6 Methinks I hear, methinks I see + Ghosts, goblins, fiends: my fantasy + Presents a thousand ugly shapes; + Headless bears, black men, and apes; + Doleful outcries and fearful sights + My sad and dismal soul affrights. + All my griefs to this are jolly; + None so damn'd as melancholy. + + + + +THOMAS CAREW. + + +This delectable versifier was born in 1589, in Gloucestershire, from an +old family in which he sprung. He was educated at Corpus Christi College, +Oxford, but neither matriculated nor took a degree. After finishing his +travels, he returned to England, and became soon highly distinguished, in +the Court of Charles I., for his manners, accomplishments, and wit. He +was appointed Gentleman of the Privy Chamber and Sewer in Ordinary to the +King. He spent the rest of his life as a gay and gallant courtier; and in +the intervals of pleasure produced some light but exquisite poetry. He is +said, ere his death, which took place in 1639, to have become very +devout, and bitterly to have deplored the licentiousness of some of his +verses. + +Indelicate choice of subject is often, in Carew, combined with great +delicacy of execution. No one touches dangerous themes with so light and +glove-guarded a hand. His pieces are all fugitive, but they suggest great +possibilities, which his mode of life and his premature removal did not +permit to be realised. Had he, at an earlier period, renounced, like +George Herbert, 'the painted pleasures of a court,' and, like Prospero, +dedicated himself to 'closeness,' with his marvellous facility of verse, +his laboured levity of style, and his nice exuberance of fancy, he might +have produced some work of Horatian merit and classic permanence. + + + + +PERSUASIONS TO LOVE. + +Think not, 'cause men flattering say, +Y'are fresh as April, sweet as May, +Bright as is the morning-star, +That you are so;--or though you are, +Be not therefore proud, and deem +All men unworthy your esteem: + + * * * * * + +Starve not yourself, because you may +Thereby make me pine away; +Nor let brittle beauty make +You your wiser thoughts forsake: +For that lovely face will fail; +Beauty's sweet, but beauty's frail; +'Tis sooner past, 'tis sooner done, +Than summer's rain, or winter's sun: +Most fleeting, when it is most dear; +'Tis gone, while we but say 'tis here. +These curious locks so aptly twined, +Whose every hair a soul doth bind, +Will change their auburn hue, and grow +White and cold as winter's snow. +That eye which now is Cupid's nest +Will prove his grave, and all the rest +Will follow; in the cheek, chin, nose, +Nor lily shall be found, nor rose; +And what will then become of all +Those, whom now you servants call? +Like swallows, when your summer's done +They'll fly, and seek some warmer sun. + + * * * * * + +The snake each year fresh skin resumes, +And eagles change their aged plumes; +The faded rose each spring receives +A fresh red tincture on her leaves; +But if your beauties once decay, +You never know a second May. +Oh, then be wise, and whilst your season +Affords you days for sport, do reason; +Spend not in vain your life's short hour, +But crop in time your beauty's flower: +Which will away, and doth together +Both bud and fade, both blow and wither. + + +SONG. + +Give me more love, or more disdain, + The torrid, or the frozen zone +Bring equal ease unto my pain; + The temperate affords me none; +Either extreme, of love or hate, +Is sweeter than a calm estate. + +Give me a storm; if it be love, + Like Danaė in a golden shower, +I swim in pleasure; if it prove + Disdain, that torrent will devour +My vulture-hopes; and he's possess'd +Of heaven that's but from hell released: +Then crown my joys, or cure my pain; +Give me more love, or more disdain. + + +TO MY MISTRESS SITTING BY A RIVER'S SIDE. + +Mark how yon eddy steals away +From the rude stream into the bay; +There lock'd up safe, she doth divorce +Her waters from the channel's course, +And scorns the torrent that did bring +Her headlong from her native spring. +Now doth she with her new love play, +Whilst he runs murmuring away. +Mark how she courts the banks, whilst they +As amorously their arms display, +To embrace and clip her silver waves: +See how she strokes their sides, and craves +An entrance there, which they deny; +Whereat she frowns, threatening to fly +Home to her stream, and 'gins to swim +Backward, but from the channel's brim +Smiling returns into the creek, +With thousand dimples on her cheek. +Be thou this eddy, and I'll make +My breast thy shore, where thou shalt take +Secure repose, and never dream +Of the quite forsaken stream: +Let him to the wide ocean haste, +There lose his colour, name, and taste; +Thou shalt save all, and, safe from him, +Within these arms for ever swim. + + +SONG. + +If the quick spirits in your eye +Now languish, and anon must die; +If every sweet, and every grace, +Must fly from that forsaken face: + Then, Celia, let us reap our joys, + Ere time such goodly fruit destroys. + +Or, if that golden fleece must grow +For ever, free from aged snow; +If those bright suns must know no shade, +Nor your fresh beauties ever fade; +Then fear not, Celia, to bestow +What still being gather'd still must grow. + Thus, either Time his sickle brings + In vain, or else in vain his wings. + + +A PASTORAL DIALOGUE. + +SHEPHERD, NYMPH, CHORUS. + +_Shep._ This mossy bank they press'd. _Nym._That aged oak + Did canopy the happy pair + All night from the damp air. +_Cho._ Here let us sit, and sing the words they spoke, + Till the day-breaking their embraces broke. + +_Shep._ See, love, the blushes of the morn appear: + And now she hangs her pearly store + (Robb'd from the eastern shore) + I' th' cowslip's bell and rose's ear: + Sweet, I must stay no longer here. + +_Nym._ Those streaks of doubtful light usher not day, + But show my sun must set; no morn + Shall shine till thou return: + The yellow planets, and the gray + Dawn, shall attend thee on thy way. + +_Shep._ If thine eyes gild my paths, they may forbear + Their useless shine. _Nym._ My tears will quite + Extinguish their faint light. +_Shep._ Those drops will make their beams more clear, + Love's flames will shine in every tear. + +_Cho._ They kiss'd, and wept; and from their lips and eyes, + In a mix'd dew of briny sweet, + Their joys and sorrows meet; + But she cries out. _Nym._ Shepherd, arise, + The sun betrays us else to spies. + +_Shep._ The winged hours fly fast whilst we embrace; + But when we want their help to meet, + They move with leaden feet. +_Nym._ Then let us pinion time, and chase + The day for ever from this place. + +_Shep._ Hark! _Nym._ Ah me, stay! _Shep._ For ever _Nym._ No, arise; + We must be gone. _Shep._ My nest of spice + _Nym._ My soul. _Shep._ My paradise. +_Cho._ Neither could say farewell, but through their eyes +Grief interrupted speech with tears supplies. + + +SONG. + +Ask me no more where Jove bestows, +When June is past, the fading rose; +For in your beauties orient deep +These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. + +Ask me no more whither do stray +The golden atoms of the day; +For, in pure love, Heaven did prepare +Those powders to enrich your hair. + +Ask me no more whither doth haste +The nightingale, when May is past; +For in your sweet dividing throat +She winters, and keeps warm her note. + +Ask me no more, where those stars light, +That downwards fall in dead of night; +For in your eyes they sit, and there +Fixed become, as in their sphere. + +Ask me no more, if east or west +The phoenix builds her spicy nest; +For unto you at last she flies, +And in your fragrant bosom dies. + + + + +SIR JOHN SUCKLING. + + +This witty baronet was born in 1608. He was the son of the Comptroller +of the Household of Charles I. He was uncommonly precocious; at five is +said to have spoken Latin, and at sixteen had entered into the service +of Gustavus Adolphus, 'the lion of the North, and the bulwark of the +Protestant faith.' + +On his return to England, he was favoured by Charles, and became, in his +turn, a most enthusiastic supporter of the Royal cause; writing plays for +the amusement of the Court; and when the Civil War broke out, raising, at +his own expense of £1200, a regiment for the King, which is said to have +been distinguished only by its 'finery and cowardice.' When the Earl of +Strafford came into trouble, Suckling, along with some other cavaliers, +intrigued for his deliverance, was impeached by the House of Commons, +and had to flee to France. Here an early death awaited him. His servant +having robbed him, he drew on, in vehement haste, his boots, to pursue +the defaulter, when a rusty nail, or, some say, the blade of a knife, +which was concealed in one of them, pierced his heel. A mortification +ensued, and he died, in 1641, at thirty-three years of age. + +Suckling has written five plays, various poems, besides letters, +speeches, and tracts, which have all been collected into one thin volume. +They are of various merit; none, in fact, being worthy of print, or at +least of preservation, except one or two of his songs, and his 'Ballad +upon a Wedding'. This last is an admirable expression of what were his +principal qualities--_naiveté_, sly humour, gay badinage, and a delicious +vein of fancy, coming out occasionally by stealth, even as in his own +exquisite lines about the bride, + + 'Her feet, beneath her petticoat, + Like _little mice, stole in and out_, + As if they fear'd the light.' + + +SONG. + +Why so pale and wan, fond lover! + Prithee why so pale? +Will, when looking well can't move her, + Looking ill prevail? + Prithee why so pale? + +Why so dull and mute, young sinner? + Prithee why so mute? +Will, when speaking well can't win her, + Saying nothing do 't? + Prithee why so mute? + +Quit, quit for shame! this will not move, + This cannot take her; +If of herself she will not love, + Nothing can make her-- + The devil take her! + + +A BALLAD UPON A WEDDING. + +1 I tell thee, Dick, where I have been, + Where I the rarest things have seen: + Oh, things without compare! + Such sights again cannot be found + In any place on English ground, + Be it at wake or fair. + +2 At Charing-Cross, hard by the way + Where we (thou know'st) do sell our hay, + There is a house with stairs: + And there did I see coming down + Such folks as are not in our town, + Vorty at least, in pairs. + +3 Amongst the rest, one pest'lent fine, + (His beard no bigger though than thine,) + Walk'd on before the rest: + Our landlord looks like nothing to him: + The king (God bless him)'twould undo him, + Should he go still so dress'd. + +4 At Course-a-park, without all doubt, + He should have first been taken out + By all the maids i' the town: + Though lusty Roger there had been, + Or little George upon the Green, + Or Vincent of the Crown. + +5 But wot you what? the youth was going + To make an end of all his wooing; + The parson for him staid: + Yet by his leave, for all his haste, + He did not so much wish all past + (Perchance) as did the maid. + +6 The maid--and thereby hangs a tale-- + For such a maid no Whitsun-ale + Could ever yet produce: + No grape that's kindly ripe could be + So round, so plump, so soft as she, + Nor half so full of juice. + +7 Her finger was so small, the ring + Would not stay on which they did bring, + It was too wide a peck: + And to say truth (for out it must) + It look'd like the great collar (just) + About our young colt's neck. + +8 Her feet, beneath her petticoat, + Like little mice, stole in and out, + As if they fear'd the light: + But oh! she dances such a way! + No sun upon an Easter-day + Is half so fine a sight. + +9 He would have kiss'd her once or twice, + But she would not, she was so nice, + She would not do 't in sight; + And then she look'd as who should say. + I will do what I list to-day; + And you shall do 't at night. + +10 Her cheeks so rare a white was on, + No daisy makes comparison, + (Who sees them is undone,) + For streaks of red were mingled there, + Such as are on a Katherine pear, + The side that's next the sun. + +11 Her lips were red, and one was thin, + Compared to that was next her chin; + Some bee had stung it newly. + But (Dick) her eyes so guard her face, + I durst no more upon them gaze, + Than on the sun in July. + +12 Her mouth so small, when she does speak, + Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break, + That they might passage get; + But she so handled still the matter, + They came as good as ours, or better, + And are not spent a whit. + +13 If wishing should be any sin, + The parson himself had guilty been, + She look'd that day so purely: + And did the youth so oft the feat + At night, as some did in conceit, + It would have spoil'd him, surely. + +14 Passion o'me! how I run on! + There's that that would be thought upon, + I trow, beside the bride: + The business of the kitchen's great, + For it is fit that men should eat; + Nor was it there denied. + +15 Just in the nick the cook knock'd thrice, + And all the waiters in a trice + His summons did obey; + Each serving-man with dish in hand, + March'd boldly up, like our train'd band, + Presented and away. + +16 When all the meat was on the table, + What man of knife, or teeth, was able + To stay to be entreated? + And this the very reason was, + Before the parson could say grace, + The company were seated. + +17 Now hats fly off, and youths carouse; + Healths first go round, and then the house, + The bride's came thick and thick; + And when 'twas named another's health, + Perhaps he made it hers by stealth, + And who could help it, Dick? + +18 O' the sudden up they rise and dance; + Then sit again, and sigh and glance: + Then dance again and kiss. + Thus sev'ral ways the time did pass, + Whil'st every woman wish'd her place, + And every man wish'd his. + +19 By this time all were stol'n aside + To counsel and undress the bride; + But that he must not know; + But yet 'twas thought he guess'd her mind, + And did not mean to stay behind + Above an hour or so. + +20 When in he came (Dick), there she lay, + Like new-fall'n snow melting away, + 'Twas time, I trow, to part. + Kisses were now the only stay, + Which soon she gave, as who would say, + Good-bye, with all my heart. + +21 But just as heavens would have to cross it, + In came the bridemaids with the posset; + The bridegroom eat in spite; + For had he left the women to 't + It would have cost two hours to do 't, + Which were too much that night. + +22 At length the candle's out, and now + All that they had not done, they do! + What that is, who can tell? + But I believe it was no more + Than thou and I have done before + With Bridget and with Nell! + + +SONG. + +I pray thee send me back my heart, + Since I can not have thine, +For if from yours you will not part, + Why then shouldst thou have mine? + +Yet now I think on 't, let it lie, + To find it were in vain; +For thou'st a thief in either eye + Would steal it back again. + +Why should two hearts in one breast lie, + And yet not lodge together? +O love! where is thy sympathy, + If thus our breasts thou sever? + +But love is such a mystery, + I cannot find it out; +For when I think I'm best resolved, + I then am in most doubt. + +Then farewell care, and farewell woe, + I will no longer pine; +For I'll believe I have her heart + As much as she has mine. + + + + +WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT. + + +Cartwright was born in 1611, and was the son of an innkeeper--once a +gentleman--in Cirencester. He became a King's scholar at Westminster, +and afterwards took orders at Oxford, where he distinguished himself, +according to Wood, as a 'most florid and seraphic preacher.' One is +reminded of the description given of Jeremy Taylor, who, when he first +began to preach, by his 'young and florid beauty, and his sublime and +raised discourses, made men take him for an angel newly descended from +the climes of Paradise.' Cartwright was appointed, through his friend +Bishop Duppa, Succentor of the Church of Salisbury in 1642. He was one +of a council of war appointed by the University of Oxford, for providing +troops in the King's cause, to protect, or some said to overawe, the +Universities. He was imprisoned by the Parliamentary forces on account +of his zeal in the Royal cause, but soon liberated on bail. In 1643, +he was appointed Junior Proctor of his University, and also Reader in +Metaphysics. At this time he is said to have studied sixteen hours +a-day. This, however, seems to have weakened his constitution, and +rendered him an easy victim to what was called the camp-fever, then +prevalent in Oxford. He died December 23, 1643, aged thirty-two. The +King, then in Oxford, went into mourning for him. His works were +published in 1651, and to them were prefixed fifty copies of encomiastic +verses from the wits and poets of the time. They scarcely justify the +praises they have received, being somewhat crude and harsh, and all of +them occasional. His private character, his eloquence as a preacher, and +his zeal as a Royalist, seem to have supplemented his claims as a poet. +He enjoyed, too, in his earlier life, the friendship of Ben Jonson, who +used to say of him, 'My son Cartwright writes all like a man;' and such +a sentence from such an authority was at that time fame. + + +LOVE'S DARTS. + +1 Where is that learned wretch that knows + What are those darts the veil'd god throws? + Oh, let him tell me ere I die + When 'twas he saw or heard them fly; + Whether the sparrow's plumes, or dove's, + Wing them for various loves; + And whether gold or lead, + Quicken or dull the head: + I will anoint and keep them warm, + And make the weapons heal the harm. + +2 Fond that I am to ask! whoe'er + Did yet see thought? or silence hear? + Safe from the search of human eye + These arrows (as their ways are) fly: + The flights of angels part + Not air with so much art; + And snows on streams, we may + Say, louder fall than they. + So hopeless I must now endure, + And neither know the shaft nor cure. + +3 A sudden fire of blushes shed + To dye white paths with hasty red; + A glance's lightning swiftly thrown, + Or from a true or seeming frown; + A subtle taking smile + From passion, or from guile; + The spirit, life, and grace + Of motion, limbs, and face; + These misconceit entitles darts, + And tears the bleedings of our hearts. + +4 But as the feathers in the wing + Unblemish'd are, and no wounds bring, + And harmless twigs no bloodshed know, + Till art doth fit them for the bow; + So lights of flowing graces + Sparkling in several places, + Only adorn the parts, + Till that we make them darts; + Themselves are only twigs and quills: + We give them shape and force for ills. + +5 Beauty's our grief, but in the ore, + We mint, and stamp, and then adore: + Like heathen we the image crown, + And indiscreetly then fall down: + Those graces all were meant + Our joy, not discontent; + But with untaught desires + We turn those lights to fires, + Thus Nature's healing herbs we take, + And out of cures do poisons make. + + +ON THE DEATH OF SIR BEVIL GRENVILLE. + +Not to be wrought by malice, gain, or pride, +To a compliance with the thriving side; +Not to take arms for love of change, or spite, +But only to maintain afflicted right; +Not to die vainly in pursuit of fame, +Perversely seeking after voice and name; +Is to resolve, fight, die, as martyrs do, +And thus did he, soldier and martyr too. + + * * * * * + +When now the incensed legions proudly came +Down like a torrent without bank or dam: +When undeserved success urged on their force; +That thunder must come down to stop their course, +Or Grenville must step in; then Grenville stood, +And with himself opposed and check'd the flood. +Conquest or death was all his thought. So fire +Either o'ercomes, or doth itself expire: +His courage work'd like flames, cast heat about, +Here, there, on this, on that side, none gave out; +Not any pike on that renowned stand, +But took new force from his inspiring hand: +Soldier encouraged soldier, man urged man, +And he urged all; so much example can; +Hurt upon hurt, wound upon wound did call, +He was the butt, the mark, the aim of all: +His soul this while retired from cell to cell, +At last flew up from all, and then he fell. +But the devoted stand enraged more +From that his fate, plied hotter than before, +And proud to fall with him, sworn not to yield, +Each sought an honour'd grave, so gain'd the field. +Thus he being fallen, his action fought anew: +And the dead conquer'd, whiles the living slew. + +This was not nature's courage, not that thing +We valour call, which time and reason bring; +But a diviner fury, fierce and high, +Valour transported into ecstasy, +Which angels, looking on us from above, +Use to convey into the souls they love. +You now that boast the spirit, and its sway, +Shew us his second, and we'll give the day: +We know your politic axiom, lurk, or fly; +Ye cannot conquer, 'cause you dare not die: +And though you thank God that you lost none there, +'Cause they were such who lived not when they were; +Yet your great general (who doth rise and fall, +As his successes do, whom you dare call, +As fame unto you doth reports dispense, +Either a -------- or his excellence) +Howe'er he reigns now by unheard-of laws, +Could wish his fate together with his cause. + +And thou (blest soul) whose clear compacted fame, +As amber bodies keeps, preserves thy name, +Whose life affords what doth content both eyes, +Glory for people, substance for the wise, +Go laden up with spoils, possess that seat +To which the valiant, when they've done, retreat: +And when thou seest an happy period sent +To these distractions, and the storm quite spent, +Look down and say, I have my share in all, +Much good grew from my life, much from my fall. + + +A VALEDICTION. + +Bid me not go where neither suns nor showers +Do make or cherish flowers; +Where discontented things in sadness lie, +And Nature grieves as I. +When I am parted from those eyes, +From which my better day doth rise, +Though some propitious power +Should plant me in a bower, +Where amongst happy lovers I might see +How showers and sunbeams bring +One everlasting spring, +Nor would those fall, nor these shine forth to me; +Nature herself to him is lost, +Who loseth her he honours most. +Then, fairest, to my parting view display +Your graces all in one full day; +Whose blessed shapes I'll snatch and keep till when +I do return and view again: +So by this art fancy shall fortune cross, +And lovers live by thinking on their loss. + + + + +WILLIAM BROWNE. + + +This pastoral poet was born, in 1590, at Tavistock, in Devonshire, +a lovely part of a lovely county. He was educated at Oxford, and went +thence to the Inner Temple. He was at one time tutor to the Earl of +Carnarvon, and afterwards, when that nobleman perished in the battle of +Newbury, in 1643, he was patronised by the Earl of Pembroke, in whose +house he resided, and is even said to have become so rich that he +purchased an estate. In 1645 he died, at Ottery St Mary, the parish +where, in 1772, Coleridge was born. + +Browne began his poetical career early, and closed it soon. He published +the first part of 'Britannia's Pastorals' in 1613, the second in 1616; +shortly after, his 'Shepherd's Pipe;' and, in 1620, produced his 'Inner +Temple Masque' which was then enacted, but not printed till a hundred +and twenty years after the author's death, when Dr Farmer transcribed +it from a MS. of the Bodleian Library, and it appeared in Tom Davies' +edition of Browne's poems. Browne has no constructive power, and no +human interest in his pastorals, but he has an eye for nature, and we +quote from him some excellent specimens of descriptive poetry. + + +SONG. + +Gentle nymphs, be not refusing, +Love's neglect is Time's abusing, + They and beauty are but lent you; +Take the one, and keep the other: +Love keeps fresh what age doth smother, + Beauty gone, you will repent you. + +'Twill be said, when ye have proved, +Never swains more truly loved: + Oh, then, fly all nice behaviour! +Pity fain would (as her duty) +Be attending still on Beauty, + Let her not be out of favour. + + +SONG. + +1 Shall I tell you whom I love? + Hearken then a while to me, + And if such a woman move + As I now shall versify; + Be assured, 'tis she, or none, + That I love, and love alone. + +2 Nature did her so much right, + As she scorns the help of art. + In as many virtues dight + As e'er yet embraced a heart; + So much good so truly tried, + Some for less were deified. + +3 Wit she hath, without desire + To make known how much she hath; + And her anger flames no higher + Than may fitly sweeten wrath. + Full of pity as may be, + Though perhaps not so to me. + +4 Reason masters every sense, + And her virtues grace her birth: + Lovely as all excellence, + Modest in her most of mirth: + Likelihood enough to prove + Only worth could kindle love. + +5 Such she is: and if you know + Such a one as I have sung; + Be she brown, or fair, or so, + That she be but somewhile young; + Be assured, 'tis she, or none, + That I love, and love alone. + + +POWER OF GENIUS OVER ENVY. + +'Tis not the rancour of a canker'd heart +That can debase the excellence of art, +Nor great in titles makes our worth obey, +Since we have lines far more esteem'd than they. +For there is hidden in a poet's name +A spell that can command the wings of Fame, +And maugre all oblivion's hated birth +Begin their immortality on earth, +When he that 'gainst a muse with hate combines +May raise his tomb in vain to reach our lines. + + +EVENING. + +As in an evening when the gentle air +Breathes to the sullen night a soft repair, +I oft have sat on Thames' sweet bank to hear +My friend with his sweet touch to charm mine ear, +When he hath play'd (as well he can) some strain +That likes me, straight I ask the same again, +And he, as gladly granting, strikes it o'er +With some sweet relish was forgot before: +I would have been content, if he would play, +In that one strain to pass the night away; +But fearing much to do his patience wrong, +Unwillingly have ask'd some other song: +So in this differing key though I could well +A many hours but as few minutes tell, +Yet lest mine own delight might injure you +(Though both so soon) I take my song anew. + + +FROM 'BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS.' + +Between two rocks (immortal, without mother) +That stand as if outfacing one another, +There ran a creek up, intricate and blind, +As if the waters hid them from the wind, +Which never wash'd but at a higher tide +The frizzled cotes which do the mountains hide, +Where never gale was longer known to stay +Than from the smooth wave it had swept away +The new divorced leaves, that from each side +Left the thick boughs to dance out with the tide. +At further end the creek, a stately wood +Gave a kind shadow (to the brackish flood) +Made up of trees, not less kenn'd by each skiff +Than that sky-scaling peak of Teneriffe, +Upon whose tops the hernshew bred her young, +And hoary moss upon their branches hung; +Whose rugged rinds sufficient were to show, +Without their height, what time they 'gan to grow. +And if dry eld by wrinkled skin appears, +None could allot them less than Nestor's years. +As under their command the thronged creek +Ran lessen'd up. Here did the shepherd seek +Where he his little boat might safely hide, +Till it was fraught with what the world beside +Could not outvalue; nor give equal weight +Though in the time when Greece was at her height. + + * * * * * + +Yet that their happy voyage might not be +Without Time's shortener, heaven-taught melody, +(Music that lent feet to the stable woods, +And in their currents turn'd the mighty floods, +Sorrow's sweet nurse, yet keeping Joy alive, +Sad Discontent's most welcome corrosive, +The soul of art, best loved when love is by, +The kind inspirer of sweet poesy, +Least thou shouldst wanting be, when swans would fain +Have sung one song, and never sung again,) +The gentle shepherd, hasting to the shore, +Began this lay, and timed it with his oar: + +Nevermore let holy Dee + O'er other rivers brave, +Or boast how (in his jollity) + Kings row'd upon his wave. +But silent be, and ever know +That Neptune for my fare would row. + + * * * * * + +Swell then, gently swell, ye floods, + As proud of what ye bear, +And nymphs that in low coral woods + String pearls upon your hair, +Ascend; and tell if ere this day +A fairer prize was seen at sea. + +See the salmons leap and bound + To please us as we pass, +Each mermaid on the rocks around + Lets fall her brittle glass, +As they their beauties did despise +And loved no mirror but your eyes, + +Blow, but gently blow, fair wind, + From the forsaken shore, +And be as to the halcyon kind, + Till we have ferried o'er: +So mayst thou still have leave to blow, +And fan the way where she shall go. + + +A DESCRIPTIVE SKETCH. + +Oh, what a rapture have I gotten now! +That age of gold, this of the lovely brow, +Have drawn me from my song! I onward run, +(Clean from the end to which I first begun,) +But ye, the heavenly creatures of the West, +In whom the virtues and the graces rest, +Pardon! that I have run astray so long, +And grow so tedious in so rude a song. +If you yourselves should come to add one grace +Unto a pleasant grove or such like place, +Where, here, the curious cutting of a hedge, +There in a pond, the trimming of the sedge; +Here the fine setting of well-shaded trees, +The walks their mounting up by small degrees, +The gravel and the green so equal lie, +It, with the rest, draws on your lingering eye: +Here the sweet smells that do perfume the air, +Arising from the infinite repair +Of odoriferous buds, and herbs of price, +(As if it were another paradise,) +So please the smelling sense, that you are fain +Where last you walk'd to turn and walk again. +There the small birds with their harmonious notes +Sing to a spring that smileth as she floats: +For in her face a many dimples show, +And often skips as it did dancing go: +Here further down an over-arched alley +That from a hill goes winding in a valley, +You spy at end thereof a standing lake, +Where some ingenious artist strives to make +The water (brought in turning pipes of lead +Through birds of earth most lively fashioned) +To counterfeit and mock the sylvans all +In singing well their own set madrigal. +This with no small delight retains your ear, +And makes you think none blest but who live there. +Then in another place the fruits that be +In gallant clusters decking each good tree +Invite your hand to crop them from the stem, +And liking one, taste every sort of them: +Then to the arbours walk, then to the bowers, +Thence to the walks again, thence to the flowers, +Then to the birds, and to the clear spring thence, +Now pleasing one, and then another sense: +Here one walks oft, and yet anew begin'th, +As if it were some hidden labyrinth. + + + + +WILLIAM ALEXANDER, EARL OF STIRLING. + + +This eminent Scotchman was born in 1580. He travelled on the Continent +as tutor to the Duke of Argyle. After his return to Scotland, he fell in +love with a lady, whom he calls 'Aurora,' and to whom he addressed some +beautiful sonnets. She refused his hand, however, and he married the +daughter of Sir William Erskine. He repaired to the Court of James I., +and became a distinguished favourite, being appointed Gentleman Usher to +Charles I., and created a knight. He concocted a scheme for colonising +Nova Scotia, in which he was encouraged by both James and Charles; but +the difficulties seemed too formidable, and it was in consequence +dropped. Charles appointed him Lord-Lieutenant of Nova Scotia, and, in +1633, he created him Lord Stirling. Fifteen years (from 1626 to 1641) +our poet was Secretary of State for Scotland. These were the years +during which Laud was foolishly seeking to force his liturgy upon the +Presbyterians, but Stirling gained the praise of being moderate in his +share of the business. In the course of this time he contrived to amass +an ample fortune, and spent part of it in building a fine mansion in +Stirling, which is still, we believe, standing. He died in 1641. + +Besides his smaller pieces, Stirling wrote several tragedies, including +one on Julius Caesar; an heroic poem; a poem addressed to Prince Henry, +the son of James I.; another heroic poem, entitled 'Jonathan;' and a +poem, in twelve parts, on the 'Day of Judgment.' These are all +forgotten, and, notwithstanding vigorous parts, deserve to be forgotten; +but his little sonnets, which are, if not brilliant, true things, and +inspired by a true passion, may long survive. He was, on the whole, +rather a man of great talent than of genius. + + +SONNET. + +I swear, Aurora, by thy starry eyes, +And by those golden locks, whose lock none slips, +And by the coral of thy rosy lips, +And by the naked snows which beauty dyes; +I swear by all the jewels of thy mind, +Whose like yet never worldly treasure bought, +Thy solid judgment, and thy generous thought, + +Which in this darken'd age have clearly shined; +I swear by those, and by my spotless love, +And by my secret, yet most fervent fires, +That I have never nursed but chaste desires, +And such as modesty might well approve. +Then, since I love those virtuous parts in thee, +Shouldst thou not love this virtuous mind in me? + + + + +WILLIAM DRUMMOND. + + +A man of much finer gifts than Stirling, was the famous Drummond. He +was born, December 13, 1585, at Hawthornden, his father's estate, in +Mid- Lothian. It is one of the most beautiful spots, along the sides +of one of the fairest streams in all Scotland, and well fitted to be +the home of genius. He studied civil law for four years in France, but, +in 1611, the estate of Hawthornden became his own, and here he fixed his +residence, and applied himself to literature. At this time he courted, +and was upon the point of marrying, a lady named Cunningham, who died; +and the melancholy which preyed on his mind after this event, drove him +abroad in search of solace. He visited Italy, Germany, and France; and +during his eight years of residence on the Continent, used his time +well, conversing with the learned, admiring all that was admirable in +the scenery and the life of foreign lands, and collecting rare books and +manuscripts. He had, before his departure, published, first, a volume +of occasional poems; next, a moral treatise, in prose, entitled, 'The +Cypress Grove;' and then another work, in verse, 'The Flowers of Zion.' +Returned once more to Scotland, he retired to the seat of his brother- +in-law, Sir John Scott of Scotstarvet, and there wrote a 'History of +the Five James's of Scotland,' a book abounding in bombast and slavish +principles. When he returned to his own lovely Hawthornden, he met a +lady named Logan, of the house of Restalrig, whom he fancied to bear a +striking resemblance to his dead mistress. On that hint he spake, and +she became his wife. He proceeded to repair the house of Hawthornden, +and would have spent his days there in great peace, had it not been for +the distracted times. His politics were of the Royalist complexion; and +the party in power, belonging to the Presbyterians, used every method to +annoy him, compelling him, for instance, to furnish his quota of men and +arms to support the cause which he opposed. In 1619, Ben Jonson visited +him at Hawthornden. The pair were not well assorted. Brawny Ben and +dreaming Drummond seem, in the expressive coinage of De Quincey, to have +'interdespised;' and is not their feud, with all its circumstances, +recorded in the chronicles of the 'Quarrels of Authors' compiled by the +elder Disraeli? The death of a lady sent Drummond travelling over Europe +--the death of a King sent him away on a farther and a final journey. +His grief for the execution of Charles I. is said to have shortened his +days. At all events, in December of the year of the so-called +'Martyrdom,' (1649,) he breathed his last. + +He was a genuine poet as well as a brilliant humorist. His 'Polemo +Middinia,' a grotesque mixture of bad Latin and semi-Latinised Scotch, +has created, among many generations, inextinguishable laughter. His +'Wandering Muses; or, The River of Forth Feasting,' has some gorgeous +descriptions, particularly of Scotland's lakes and rivers, at a time +when + + 'She lay, like some unkenn'd of isle, + Ayont New Holland;' + +but his sonnets are unquestionably his finest productions. They breathe +a spirit of genuine poetry. Each one of them is a rose lightly wet +with the dew of tenderness, and one or two suggest irresistibly the +recollection of our Great Dramatist's sonnets, although we feel that +'a less than Shakspeare is here.' + + +THE RIVER OF FORTH FEASTING. + +A PANEGYRIC TO THE HIGH AND MIGHTY PRINCE JAMES, KING +Or GREAT BRITAIN, FRANCE, AND IRELAND. + +_To His Sacred Majesty._ + +If in this storm of joy and pompous throng, +This nymph (great king) doth come to thee so near +That thy harmonious ears her accents hear, +Give pardon to her hoarse and lowly song: +Fain would she trophies to thy virtues rear; +But for this stately task she is not strong, +And her defects her high attempts do wrong, +Yet as she could she makes thy worth appear. +So in a map is shown this flowery place; +So wrought in arras by a virgin's hand +With heaven and blazing stars doth Atlas stand, +So drawn by charcoal is Narcissus' face: + She like the morn may be to some bright sun, + The day to perfect that's by her begun. + + * * * * * + +What blustering noise now interrupts my sleep? +What echoing shouts thus cleave my crystal deep, +And seem to call me from my watery court? +What melody, what sounds of joy and sport, +Are convey'd hither from each neighbouring spring? +With what loud rumours do the mountains ring, +Which in unusual pomp on tiptoes stand, +And (full of wonder) overlook the land? +Whence come these glittering throngs, these meteors bright, +This golden people glancing in my sight? +Whence doth this praise, applause, and love arise, +What load-star eastward draweth thus all eyes? +Am I awake? or have some dreams conspired +To mock my sense with what I most desired? +View I that living face, see I those looks, +Which with delight were wont t'amaze my brooks? +Do I behold that worth, that man divine, +This age's glory, by these banks of mine? +Then find I true what long I wish'd in vain, +My much beloved prince is come again; +So unto them whose zenith is the pole, +When six black months are past, the sun doth roll: +So after tempest to sea-tossed wights +Fair Helen's brothers show their cheering lights: +So comes Arabia's wonder from her woods, +And far, far off is seen by Memphis' floods; +The feather'd Sylvans, cloud-like, by her fly, +And with triumphing plaudits beat the sky; +Nile marvels, Seraph's priests, entranced, rave, +And in Mydonian stone her shape engrave; +In lasting cedars they do mark the time +In which Apollo's bird came to their clime. +Let Mother Earth now deck'd with flowers be seen, +And sweet-breath'd zephyrs curl the meadows green, +Let heaven weep rubies in a crimson shower, +Such as on India's shores they use to pour: +Or with that golden storm the fields adorn, +Which Jove rain'd when his blue-eyed maid was born. +May never hours the web of day outweave, +May never night rise from her sable cave. +Swell proud, my billows, faint not to declare +Your joys as ample as their causes are: +For murmurs hoarse sound like Arion's harp, +Now delicately flat, now sweetly sharp; +And you, my nymphs, rise from your moist repair; +Strow all your springs and grots with lilies fair: +Some swiftest-footed, get them hence, and pray +Our floods and lakes come keep this holiday; +Whate'er beneath Albania's hills do run, +Which see the rising or the setting sun, +Which drink stern Grampius' mists, or Ochil's snows: +Stone-rolling Tay, Tyne tortoise-like that flows, +The pearly Don, the Dees, the fertile Spey, +Wild Neverne, which doth see our longest day; +Ness smoking sulphur, Leave with mountains crown'd, +Strange Lomond for his floating isles renown'd: +The Irish Rian, Ken, the silver Ayr, +The snaky Dun, the Ore with rushy hair, +The crystal-streaming Nid, loud-bellowing Clyde, +Tweed which no more our kingdoms shall divide; +Rank-swelling Annan, Lid with curled streams, +The Esks, the Solway, where they lose their names, +To every one proclaim our joys and feasts, +Our triumphs; bid all come and be our guests: +And as they meet in Neptune's azure hall, +Bid them bid sea-gods keep this festival; +This day shall by our currents be renown'd, +Our hills about shall still this day resound; +Nay, that our love more to this day appear, +Let us with it henceforth begin our year. +To virgins, flowers; to sunburnt earth, the rain; +To mariners, fair winds amidst the main; +Cool shades to pilgrims, which hot glances burn, +Are not so pleasing as thy blest return. +That day, dear prince, which robb'd us of thy sight, +(Day, no, but darkness and a dusky night,) +Did fill our breasts with sighs, our eyes with tears, +Turn'd minutes to sad months, sad months to years, +Trees left to flourish, meadows to bear flowers, +Brooks hid their heads within their sedgy bowers, +Fair Ceres cursed our fields with barren frost, +As if again she had her daughter lost: +The muses left our groves, and for sweet songs +Sat sadly silent, or did weep their wrongs. +You know it, meads; your murmuring woods it know, +Hill, dales, and caves, copartners of their woe; +And you it know, my streams, which from their een +Oft on your glass received their pearly brine; +O Naiads dear, (said they,) Napeas fair, +O nymphs of trees, nymphs which on hills repair! +Gone are those maiden glories, gone that state, +Which made all eyes admire our bliss of late. +As looks the heaven when never star appears, +But slow and weary shroud them in their spheres, +While Titon's wife embosom'd by him lies, +And world doth languish in a dreary guise: +As looks a garden of its beauty spoil'd, +As woods in winter by rough Boreas foil'd, +As portraits razed of colours used to be: +So look'd these abject bounds deprived of thee. + +While as my rills enjoy'd thy royal gleams, +They did not envy Tiber's haughty streams, +Nor wealthy Tagus with his golden ore, +Nor clear Hydaspes which on pearls doth roar, +Nor golden Gange that sees the sun new born, +Nor Achelous with his flowery horn, +Nor floods which near Elysian fields do fall: +For why? thy sight did serve to them for all. +No place there is so desert, so alone, +Even from the frozen to the torrid zone, +From flaming Hecla to great Quinsey's lake, +Which thy abode could not most happy make; +All those perfections which by bounteous Heaven +To divers worlds in divers times were given, +The starry senate pour'd at once on thee, +That thou exemplar mightst to others be. +Thy life was kept till the Three Sisters spun +Their threads of gold, and then it was begun. +With chequer'd clouds when skies do look most fair, +And no disordered blasts disturb the air, +When lilies do them deck in azure gowns; +And new-born roses blush with golden crowns, +To prove how calm we under thee should live, +What halcyonian days thy reign should give, +And to two flowery diadems thy right; +The heavens thee made a partner of the light. +Scarce wast thou born when, join'd in friendly bands, +Two mortal foes with other clasped hands; +With Virtue Fortune strove, which most should grace +Thy place for thee, thee for so high a place; +One vow'd thy sacred breast not to forsake, +The other on thee not to turn her back; +And that thou more her love's effects mightst feel, +For thee she left her globe, and broke her wheel. + +When years thee vigour gave, oh, then, how clear +Did smother'd sparkles in bright flames appear! +Amongst the woods to force the flying hart, +To pierce the mountain wolf with feather'd dart; +See falcons climb the clouds, the fox ensnare, +Outrun the wind-outrunning Doedale hare, +To breathe thy fiery steed on every plain, +And in meand'ring gyres him bring again, +The press thee making place, and vulgar things, +In Admiration's air, on Glory's wings; +Oh, thou far from the common pitch didst rise, +With thy designs to dazzle Envy's eyes: +Thou soughtst to know this All's eternal source, +Of ever-turning heaven the restless course, +Their fixed lamps, their lights which wandering run, +Whence moon her silver hath, his gold the sun; +If Fate there be or no, if planets can +By fierce aspects force the free will of man; +The light aspiring fire, the liquid air, +The flaming dragons, comets with red hair, +Heaven's tilting lances, artillery, and bow, +Loud-sounding trumpets, darts of hail and snow, +The roaring elements, with people dumb, +The earth with what conceived is in her womb. +What on her moves were set unto thy sight, +Till thou didst find their causes, essence, might. +But unto nought thou so thy mind didst strain, +As to be read in man, and learn to reign: +To know the weight and Atlas of a crown, +To spare the humble, proud ones tumble down. +When from those piercing cares which thrones invest, +As thorns the rose, thou wearied wouldst thee rest, +With lute in hand, full of celestial fire, +To the Pierian groves thou didst retire: +There garlanded with all Urania's flowers, +In sweeter lays than builded Thebes' towers, +Or them which charm'd the dolphins in the main, +Or which did call Eurydice again, +Thou sung'st away the hours, till from their sphere +Stars seem'd to shoot thy melody to hear. +The god with golden hair, the sister maids, +Did leave their Helicon, and Tempe's shades, +To see thine isle, here lost their native tongue, +And in thy world-divided language sung. + +Who of thine after age can count the deeds, +With all that Fame in Time's huge annals reads? +How, by example more than any law, +This people fierce thou didst to goodness draw; +How, while the neighbour world, toss'd by the Fates, +So many Phaėtons had in their states, +Which turn'd to heedless flames their burnish'd thrones, +Thou, as ensphered, kept'st temperate thy zones; +In Afric shores the sands that ebb and flow, +The shady leaves on Arden's trees that grow, +He sure may count, with all the waves that meet +To wash the Mauritanian Atlas' feet. +Though crown'd thou wert not, nor a king by birth, +Thy worth deserves the richest crown on earth. +Search this half sphere, and the Antarctic ground, +Where is such wit and bounty to be found? +As into silent night, when near the Bear, +The virgin huntress shines at full most clear, +And strives to match her brother's golden light, +The host of stars doth vanish in her sight, +Arcturus dies; cool'd is the Lion's ire, +Po burns no more with Phaėtontal fire: +Orion faints to see his arms grow black, +And that his flaming sword he now doth lack: +So Europe's lights, all bright in their degree, +Lose all their lustre parallel'd with thee; +By just descent thou from more kings dost shine, +Than many can name men in all their line: +What most they toil to find, and finding hold, +Thou scornest--orient gems, and flattering gold; +Esteeming treasure surer in men's breasts, +Than when immured with marble, closed in chests; +No stormy passions do disturb thy mind, +No mists of greatness ever could thee blind: +Who yet hath been so meek? thou life didst give +To them who did repine to see thee live; +What prince by goodness hath such kingdoms gain'd? +Who hath so long his people's peace maintain'd? +Their swords are turn'd to scythes, to coulters spears, +Some giant post their antique armour bears: +Now, where the wounded knight his life did bleed, +The wanton swain sits piping on a reed; +And where the cannon did Jove's thunder scorn, +The gaudy huntsman winds his shrill-tuned horn: +Her green locks Ceres doth to yellow dye, +The pilgrim safely in the shade doth lie, +Both Pan and Pales careless keep their flocks, +Seas have no dangers save the wind and rocks: +Thou art this isle's Palladium, neither can +(Whiles thou dost live) it be o'erthrown by man. + +Let others boast of blood and spoils of foes, +Fierce rapines, murders, Iliads of woes, +Of hated pomp, and trophies reared fair, +Gore-spangled ensigns streaming in the air, +Count how they make the Scythian them adore, +The Gaditan and soldier of Aurore. +Unhappy boasting! to enlarge their bounds, +That charge themselves with cares, their friends with wounds; +Who have no law to their ambitious will, +But, man-plagues, born are human blood to spill! +Thou a true victor art, sent from above +What others strain by force, to gain by love; +World-wandering Fame this praise to thee imparts, +To be the only monarch of all hearts. +They many fear who are of many fear'd, +And kingdoms got by wrongs, by wrongs are tear'd; +Such thrones as blood doth raise, blood throweth down, +No guard so sure as love unto a crown. + +Eye of our western world, Mars-daunting king, +With whose renown the earth's seven climates ring, +Thy deeds not only claim these diadems, +To which Thame, Liftey, Tay, subject their streams; +But to thy virtues rare, and gifts, is due +All that the planet of the year doth view; +Sure if the world above did want a prince, +The world above to it would take thee hence. + +That Murder, Rapine, Lust, are fled to hell, +And in their rooms with us the Graces dwell; +That honour more than riches men respect, +That worthiness than gold doth more effect, +That Piety unmasked shows her face, +That Innocency keeps with Power her place, +That long-exiled Astrea leaves the heaven, +And turneth right her sword, her weights holds even, +That the Saturnian world is come again, +Are wish'd effects of thy most happy reign. +That daily, Peace, Love, Truth, Delights increase, +And Discord, Hate, Fraud, with Incumbers, cease; +That men use strength not to shed others' blood, +But use their strength now to do others good; +That Fury is enchain'd, disarmed Wrath, +That (save by Nature's hand) there is no death; +That late grim foes like brothers other love, +That vultures prey not on the harmless dove, +That wolves with lambs do friendship entertain, +Are wish'd effects of thy most happy reign. +That towns increase, that ruin'd temples rise, +That their wind-moving vanes do kiss the skies; +That Ignorance and Sloth hence run away, +That buried Arts now rouse them to the day, +That Hyperion far beyond his bed +Doth see our lions ramp, our roses spread; +That Iber courts us, Tiber not us charms, +That Rhine with hence-brought beams his bosom warms; +That ill doth fear, and good doth us maintain, +Are wish'd effects of thy most happy reign. + +O Virtue's pattern, glory of our times, +Sent of past days to expiate the crimes, +Great king, but better far than thou art great, +Whom state not honours, but who honours state, +By wonder born, by wonder first install'd, +By wonder after to new kingdoms call'd; +Young, kept by wonder from home-bred alarms, +Old, saved by wonder from pale traitors' harms, +To be for this thy reign, which wonders brings, +A king of wonder, wonder unto kings. +If Pict, Dane, Norman, thy smooth yoke had seen, +Pict, Dane, and Norman had thy subjects been; +If Brutus knew the bliss thy rule doth give, +Even Brutus joy would under thee to live, +For thou thy people dost so dearly love, +That they a father, more than prince, thee prove. + +O days to be desired! Age happy thrice! +If you your heaven-sent good could duly prize; +But we (half palsy-sick) think never right +Of what we hold, till it be from our sight, +Prize only summer's sweet and musked breath, +When armed winters threaten us with death, +In pallid sickness do esteem of health, +And by sad poverty discern of wealth: +I see an age when, after some few years, +And revolutions of the slow-paced spheres, +These days shall be 'bove other far esteem'd, +And like Augustus' palmy reign be deem'd. +The names of Arthur, fabulous Paladines, +Graven in Time's surly brows, in wrinkled lines, +Of Henrys, Edwards, famous for their fights, +Their neighbour conquests, orders new of knights, +Shall by this prince's name be pass'd as far +As meteors are by the Idalian star. +If gray-hair'd Proteus' songs the truth not miss-- +And gray-hair'd Proteus oft a prophet is-- +There is a land hence distant many miles, +Outreaching fiction and Atlantic isles, +Which (homelings) from this little world we name, +That shall emblazon with strange rites his fame, +Shall rear him statues all of purest gold, +Such as men gave unto the gods of old, +Name by him temples, palaces, and towns, +With some great river, which their fields renowns: +This is that king who should make right each wrong, +Of whom the bards and mystic Sibyls sung, +The man long promised, by whose glorious reign +This isle should yet her ancient name regain, +And more of fortunate deserve the style, +Than those whose heavens with double summers smile. + +Run on, great prince, thy course in glory's way, +The end the life, the evening crowns the day; +Heap worth on worth, and strongly soar above +Those heights which made the world thee first to love; +Surmount thyself, and make thine actions past +Be but as gleams or lightnings of thy last, +Let them exceed those of thy younger time, +As far as autumn; doth the flowery prime. +Through this thy empire range, like world's bright eye, +That once each year surveys all earth and sky, +Now glances on the slow and resty Bears, +Then turns to dry the weeping Auster's tears, +Hurries to both the poles, and moveth even +In the figured circle of the heaven: +Oh, long, long haunt these bounds which by thy sight +Have now regain'd their former heat and light. +Here grow green woods, here silver brooks do glide, +Here meadows stretch them out with painted pride, +Embroidering all the banks, here hills aspire +To crown their heads with the ethereal fire, +Hills, bulwarks of our freedom, giant walls, +Which never friends did slight, nor sword made thralls: +Each circling flood to Thetis tribute pays, +Men here in health outlive old Nestor's days: +Grim Saturn yet amongst our rocks remains, +Bound in our caves, with many metall'd chains, +Bulls haunt our shade like Leda's lover white, +Which yet might breed Pesiphae delight, +Our flocks fair fleeces bear, with which for sport +Endymion of old the moon did court, +High-palmed harts amidst our forests run, +And, not impaled, the deep-mouth'd hounds do shun; +The rough-foot hare safe in our bushes shrouds, +And long-wing'd hawks do perch amidst our clouds. +The wanton wood-nymphs of the verdant spring, +Blue, golden, purple flowers shall to thee bring, +Pomona's fruits the Panisks, Thetis' girls, +The Thule's amber, with the ocean pearls; +The Tritons, herdsmen of the glassy field, +Shall give thee what far-distant shores can yield, +The Serean fleeces, Erythrean gems, +Vast Plata's silver, gold of Peru streams, +Antarctic parrots, Ethiopian plumes, +Sabasan odours, myrrh, and sweet perfumes: +And I myself, wrapt in a watchet gown +Of reeds and lilies, on mine head a crown, +Shall incense to thee burn, green altars raise, +And yearly sing due paeans to thy praise. + +Ah! why should Isis only see thee shine? +Is not thy Forth, as well as Isis, thine? +Though Isis vaunt she hath more wealth in store, +Let it suffice thy Forth doth love thee more: +Though she for beauty may compare with Seine, +For swans, and sea-nymphs with imperial Rhine, +Yet for the title may be claim'd in thee, +Nor she nor all the world can match with me. +Now when, by honour drawn, them shalt away +To her, already jealous of thy stay, +When in her amorous arms she doth thee fold, +And dries thy dewy hairs with hers of gold, +Much asking of thy fare, much of thy sport, +Much of thine absence, long, howe'er so short, +And chides, perhaps, thy coming to the north, +Loathe not to think on thy much-loving Forth: +Oh, love these bounds, where of thy royal stem +More than an hundred wore a diadem. +So ever gold and bays thy brows adorn, +So never time may see thy race outworn, +So of thine own still mayst thou be desired, +Of strangers fear'd, redoubted, and admired; +So Memory thee praise, so precious hours +May character thy name in starry flowers; +So may thy high exploits at last make even, +With earth thy empire, glory with the heaven. + + +SONNETS. + +I. + +I know that all beneath the moon decays, +And what by mortals in this world is brought, +In Time's great periods shall return to nought; +That fairest states have fatal nights and days; +I know that all the Muse's heavenly lays, +With toil of sp'rit, which are so dearly bought, +As idle sounds, of few, or none, are sought, +That there is nothing lighter than vain praise; +I know frail beauty like the purple flower, +To which one morn oft birth and death affords, +That love a jarring is of minds' accords, +Where sense and will envassal Reason's power; + Know what I list, all this can not me move, + But that, alas! I both must write and love. + +II. + +Ah me! and I am now the man whose muse +In happier times was wont to laugh at love, +And those who suffer'd that blind boy abuse +The noble gifts were given them from above. +What metamorphose strange is this I prove I +Myself now scarce I 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 into a better course to move: +Reason may chide her fill, and oft reprove +Affection's power, but what is that to me? + Who ever think, and never think on ought + But that bright cherubim which thralls my thought. + +III. + +How that vast heaven, entitled first, is roll'd, +If any glancing towers beyond it be, +And people living in eternity, +Or essence pure that doth this all uphold: +What motion have those fixed sparks of gold, +The wandering carbuncles which shine from high, +By sp'rits, or bodies crossways in the sky, +If they be turn'd, and mortal things behold; +How sun posts heaven about, how night's pale queen +With borrow'd beams looks on this hanging round, +What cause fair Iris hath, and monsters seen +In air's large field of light, and seas profound, + Did hold my wandering thoughts, when thy sweet eye + Bade me leave all, and only think on thee. + +IV. + +If cross'd with all mishaps be my poor life, +If one short day I never spent in mirth, +If my sp'rit with itself holds lasting strife, +If sorrow's death is but new sorrow's birth; +If this vain world be but a mournful stage, +Where slave-born man plays to the scoffing stars, +If youth be toss'd with love, with weakness age; +If knowledge serves to hold our thoughts in wars, +If Time can close the hundred mouths of Fame, +And make what's long since past, like that's to be; +If virtue only be an idle name, +If being born I was but born to die; + Why seek I to prolong these loathsome days? + The fairest rose in shortest time decays. + +V. + +Dear chorister, who from those shadows sends, +Ere that the blushing morn dare show her light, +Such sad, lamenting strains, that night attends, +Become all ear; stars stay to hear thy plight, +If one whose grief even reach of thought transcends, +Who ne'er, not in a dream, did taste delight, +May thee importune who like case pretends, +And seems to joy in woe, in woe's despite. +Tell me (so may thou fortune milder try, +And long, long sing) for what thou thus complains, +Since winter's gone, and sun in dappled sky, +Enamour'd, smiles on woods and flowery plains? + The bird, as if my questions did her move, + With trembling wings sigh'd forth, 'I love, I love.' + +VI. + +Sweet soul, which, in the April of thy years, +For to enrich the heaven mad'st poor this round, +And now, with flaming rays of glory crown'd, +Most blest abides above the sphere of spheres; +If heavenly laws, alas! have not thee bound +From looking to this globe that all upbears, +If ruth and pity there above be found, +Oh, deign to lend a look unto these tears, +Do not disdain, dear ghost, this sacrifice, +And though I raise not pillars to thy praise, +My offerings take, let this for me suffice, +My heart a living pyramid I raise: + And whilst kings' tombs with laurels flourish green, + Thine shall with myrtles and these flowers be seen. + + +SPIRITUAL POEMS. + +I. + +Look, how the flower which ling'ringly doth fade, +The morning's darling late, the summer's queen, +Spoil'd of that juice which kept it fresh and green, +As high as it did raise, bows low the head: +Right so the pleasures of my life being dead, +Or in their contraries but only seen, +With swifter speed declines than erst it spread, +And, blasted, scarce now shows what it hath been. +As doth the pilgrim, therefore, whom the night +By darkness would imprison on his way, +Think on thy home, my soul, and think aright, +Of what's yet left thee of life's wasting day; + Thy sun posts westward, passed is thy morn, + And twice it is not given thee to be born. + +II. + +The weary mariner so fast not flies +A howling tempest, harbour to attain; +Nor shepherd hastes, when frays of wolves arise, +So fast to fold, to save his bleating train, +As I, wing'd with contempt and just disdain, +Now fly the world, and what it most doth prize, +And sanctuary seek, free to remain +From wounds of abject times, and Envy's eyes. +To me this world did once seem sweet and fair, +While senses' light mind's prospective kept blind, +Now, like imagined landscape in the air, +And weeping rainbows, her best joys I find: + Or if aught here is had that praise should have, + It is a life obscure, and silent grave. + +III. + +The last and greatest herald of heaven's King, +Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild, +Among that savage brood the woods forth bring, +Which he more harmless found than man, and mild; +His food was locusts, and what there doth spring, +With honey that from virgin hives distill'd; +Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing +Made him appear, long since from earth exiled; +There burst he forth; 'All ye whose hopes rely +On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn; +Repent, repent, and from old errors turn!' +Who listen'd to his voice, obey'd his cry? + Only the echoes, which he made relent, + Rung from their flinty caves, 'Repent, repent!' + +IV. + +Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours +Of winters past or coming, void of care, +Well-pleased with delights which present are, +Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers: +To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers, +Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare, +And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare, +A stain to human sense in sin that lowers. +What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs, +Attired in sweetness, sweetly is not driven +Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites, and wrongs, +And lift a reverend eye and thought to heaven? + Sweet artless songster, thou my mind dost raise + To airs of spheres, yes, and to angels' lays. + +V. + +As when it happ'neth that some lovely town +Unto a barbarous besieger falls, +Who both by sword and flame himself installs, +And, shameless, it in tears and blood doth drown +Her beauty spoil'd, her citizens made thralls, +His spite yet cannot so her all throw down, +But that some statue, pillar of renown, +Yet lurks unmaim'd within her weeping walls: +So, after all the spoil, disgrace, and wreck, +That time, the world, and death, could bring combined, +Amidst that mass of ruins they did make, +Safe and all scarless yet remains my mind: + From this so high transcending rapture springs, + That I, all else defaced, not envy kings. + + + + +PHINEAS FLETCHER + +We have already spoken of Giles Fletcher, the brother of Phineas. Of +Phineas we know nothing except that he was born in 1584, educated at +Eton and Cambridge, became Rector at Hilgay, in Norfolk, where he +remained for twenty-nine years, surviving his brother; that he wrote +an account of the founders and learned men of his university; that in +1633, he published 'The Purple Island;' and that in 1650 he died. + +His 'Purple Island' (with which we first became acquainted in the +writings of James Hervey, author of the 'Meditations,' who was its +fervent admirer) is a curious, complex, and highly ingenious allegory, +forming an elaborate picture of _Man_, in his body and soul; and for +subtlety and infinite flexibility, both of fancy and verse, deserves +great praise, although it cannot, for a moment, be compared with his +brother's 'Christ's Victory and Triumph,' either in interest of subject +or in splendour of genius. + + +DESCRIPTION OF PARTHENIA. + + With her, her sister went, a warlike maid, + Parthenia, all in steel and gilded arms; + In needle's stead, a mighty spear she sway'd, + With which in bloody fields and fierce alarms, + The boldest champion she down would bear, + And like a thunderbolt wide passage tear, +Flinging all to the earth with her enchanted spear. + + Her goodly armour seem'd a garden green, + Where thousand spotless lilies freshly blew; + And on her shield the lone bird might be seen, + The Arabian bird, shining in colours new; + Itself unto itself was only mate; + Ever the same, but new in newer date: +And underneath was writ, 'Such is chaste single state.' + + Thus hid in arms she seem'd a goodly knight, + And fit for any warlike exercise: + But when she list lay down her armour bright, + And back resume her peaceful maiden's guise; + The fairest maid she was, that ever yet + Prison'd her locks within a golden net, +Or let them waving hang, with roses fair beset. + + Choice nymph! the crown of chaste Diana's train, + Thou beauty's lily, set in heavenly earth; + Thy fairs, unpattern'd, all perfection stain: + Sure heaven with curious pencil at thy birth + In thy rare face her own full picture drew: + It is a strong verse here to write, but true, +Hyperboles in others are but half thy due. + + Upon her forehead Love his trophies fits, + A thousand spoils in silver arch displaying: + And in the midst himself full proudly sits, + Himself in awful majesty arraying: + Upon her brows lies his bent ebon bow, + And ready shafts; deadly those weapons show; +Yet sweet the death appear'd, lovely that deadly blow. + + * * * * * + + A bed of lilies flower upon her cheek, + And in the midst was set a circling rose; + Whose sweet aspect would force Narcissus seek + New liveries, and fresher colours choose + To deck his beauteous head in snowy 'tire; + But all in vain: for who can hope t' aspire +To such a fair, which none attain, but all admire? + + Her ruby lips lock up from gazing sight + A troop of pearls, which march in goodly row: + But when she deigns those precious bones undight, + Soon heavenly notes from those divisions flow, + And with rare music charm the ravish'd ears, + Daunting bold thoughts, but cheering modest fears: +The spheres so only sing, so only charm the spheres. + + Yet all these stars which deck this beauteous sky + By force of th'inward sun both shine and move; + Throned in her heart sits love's high majesty; + In highest majesty the highest love. + As when a taper shines in glassy frame, + The sparkling crystal burns in glittering flame, +So does that brightest love brighten this lovely dame. + + +INSTABILITY OF HUMAN GREATNESS. + + Fond man, that looks on earth for happiness, + And here long seeks what here is never found! + For all our good we hold from Heaven by lease, + With many forfeits and conditions bound; + Nor can we pay the fine and rentage due: + Though now but writ and seal'd, and given anew, +Yet daily we it break, then daily must renew. + + Why shouldst thou here look for perpetual good, + At every loss against Heaven's face repining? + Do but behold where glorious cities stood, + With gilded tops, and silver turrets shining; + Where now the hart fearless of greyhound feeds, + And loving pelican in safety breeds; +Where screeching satyrs fill the people's empty steads. + + Where is the Assyrian lion's golden hide, + That all the East once grasp'd in lordly paw? + Where that great Persian bear, whose swelling pride + The lion's self tore out with ravenous jaw? + Or he which, 'twixt a lion and a pard, + Through all the world with nimble pinions fared, +And to his greedy whelps his conquer'd kingdoms shared? + + Hardly the place of such antiquity, + Or note of these great monarchies we find: + Only a fading verbal memory, + An empty name in writ is left behind: + But when this second life and glory fades, + And sinks at length in time's obscurer shades, +A second fall succeeds, and double death invades. + + That monstrous Beast, which nursed in Tiber's fen, + Did all the world with hideous shape affray; + That fill'd with costly spoil his gaping den, + And trod down all the rest to dust and clay: + His battering horns pull'd out by civil hands, + And iron teeth lie scatter'd on the sands; +Backed, bridled by a monk, with seven heads yoked stands. + + And that black Vulture,[1] which with deathful wing + O'ershadows half the earth, whose dismal sight + Frighten'd the Muses from their native spring, + Already stoops, and flags with weary flight: + Who then shall look for happiness beneath? + Where each new day proclaims chance, change, and death, +And life itself's as fleet as is the air we breathe. + +[1] 'Black Vulture:' the Turk. + + +HAPPINESS OF THE SHEPHERD'S LIFE. + + Thrice, oh, thrice happy, shepherd's life and state! + When courts are happiness, unhappy pawns! + His cottage low and safely humble gate + Shuts out proud Fortune, with her scorns and fawns + No feared treason breaks his quiet sleep: + Singing all day, his flocks he learns to keep; +Himself as innocent as are his simple sheep. + + No Serian worms he knows, that with their thread + Draw out their silken lives; nor silken pride: + His lambs' warm fleece well fits his little need, + Not in that proud Sidonian tineture dyed: + No empty hopes, no courtly fears him fright, + Nor begging wants his middle fortune bite; +But sweet content exiles both misery and spite. + + Instead of music, and base flattering tongues, + Which wait to first salute my lord's uprise, + The cheerful lark wakes him with early songs, + And birds' sweet whistling notes unlock his eyes: + In country plays is all the strife he uses, + Or sing, or dance unto the rural Muses, +And but in music's sports all difference refuses. + + His certain life, that never can deceive him, + Is full of thousand sweets, and rich content; + The smooth-leaved beeches in the field receive him + With coolest shades, till noontide rage is spent; + His life is neither toss'd in boisterous seas + Of troublous world, nor lost in slothful ease; +Pleased, and full blest he lives, when he his God can please. + + His bed of wool yields safe and quiet sleeps, + While by his side his faithful spouse hath place; + His little son into his bosom creeps, + The lively picture of his father's face: + Never his humble house nor state torment him; + Less he could like, if less his God had sent him; +And when he dies, green turfs, with grassy tomb, content him. + + +MARRIAGE OF CHRIST AND THE CHURCH. + + 'Ah, dearest Lord! does my rapt soul behold thee? + Am I awake, and sure I do not dream? + Do these thrice-blessed arms again enfold thee? + Too much delight makes true things feigned seem. + Thee, thee I see; thou, thou thus folded art: + For deep thy stamp is printed on my heart, +And thousand ne'er-felt joys stream in each melting part.' + + Thus with glad sorrow did she sweetly 'plain her, + Upon his neck a welcome load depending; + While he with equal joy did entertain her, + Herself, her champions, highly all commending: + So all in triumph to his palace went; + Whose work in narrow words may not be pent: +For boundless thought is less than is that glorious tent. + + There sweet delights, which know nor end nor measure; + No chance is there, nor eating times succeeding: + No wasteful spending can impair their treasure; + Pleasure full grown, yet ever freshly breeding: + Fulness of sweets excludes not more receiving; + The soul still big of joy, yet still conceiving; +Beyond slow tongue's report, beyond quick thought's perceiving. + + There are they gone; there will they ever bide; + Swimming in waves of joys and heavenly loves: + He still a bridegroom, she a gladsome bride; + Their hearts in love, like spheres still constant moving; + No change, no grief, no age can them befall; + Their bridal bed is in that heavenly hall, +Where all days are but one, and only one is all. + + And as in his state they thus in triumph ride, + The boys and damsels their just praises chant; + The boys the bridegroom sing, the maids the bride, + While all the hills glad hymens loudly vaunt: + Heaven's winged shoals, greeting this glorious spring, + Attune their higher notes, and hymens sing: +Each thought to pass, and each did pass thought's loftiest wing. + + Upon his lightning brow love proudly sitting + Flames out in power, shines out in majesty; + There all his lofty spoils and trophies fitting, + Displays the marks of highest Deity: + There full of strength in lordly arms he stands, + And every heart and every soul commands: +No heart, no soul, his strength and lordly force withstands. + + Upon her forehead thousand cheerful graces, + Seated on thrones of spotless ivory; + There gentle Love his armed hand unbraces; + His bow unbent disclaims all tyranny; + There by his play a thousand souls beguiles, + Persuading more by simple, modest smiles, +Than ever he could force by arms or crafty wiles. + + Upon her cheek doth Beauty's self implant + The freshest garden of her choicest flowers; + On which, if Envy might but glance askant, + Her eyes would swell, and burst, and melt in showers: + Thrice fairer both than ever fairest eyed; + Heaven never such a bridegroom yet descried; +Nor ever earth so fair, so undefiled a bride. + + Full of his Father shines his glorious face, + As far the sun surpassing in his light, + As doth the sun the earth with flaming blaze: + Sweet influence streams from his quickening sight: + His beams from nought did all this _All_ display; + And when to less than nought they fell away, +He soon restored again by his new orient ray. + + All heaven shines forth in her sweet face's frame: + Her seeing stars (which we miscall bright eyes) + More bright than is the morning's brightest flame, + More fruitful than the May-time Geminies: + These, back restore the timely summer's fire; + Those, springing thoughts in winter hearts inspire, +Inspiriting dead souls, and quickening warm desire. + + These two fair suns in heavenly spheres are placed, + Where in the centre joy triumphing sits: + Thus in all high perfections fully graced, + Her mid-day bliss no future night admits; + But in the mirrors of her Spouse's eyes + Her fairest self she dresses; there where lies +All sweets, a glorious beauty to emparadise. + + His locks like raven's plumes, or shining jet, + Fall down in curls along his ivory neck; + Within their circlets hundred graces set, + And with love-knots their comely hangings deck: + His mighty shoulders, like that giant swain, + All heaven and earth, and all in both sustain; +Yet knows no weariness, nor feels oppressing pain. + + Her amber hair like to the sunny ray, + With gold enamels fair the silver white; + There heavenly loves their pretty sportings play, + Firing their darts in that wide flaming light: + Her dainty neck, spread with that silver mould, + Where double beauty doth itself unfold, +In the own fair silver shines, and fairer borrow'd gold. + + His breast a rock of purest alabaster, + Where loves self-sailing, shipwreck'd, often sitteth. + Hers a twin-rock, unknown but to the shipmaster; + Which harbours him alone, all other splitteth. + Where better could her love than here have nested, + Or he his thoughts than here more sweetly feasted? +Then both their love and thoughts in each are ever rested. + + Run now, you shepherd swains; ah! run you thither, + Where this fair bridegroom leads the blessed way: + And haste, you lovely maids, haste you together + With this sweet bride, while yet the sunshine day + Guides your blind steps; while yet loud summons call, + That every wood and hill resounds withal, +Come, Hymen, Hymen, come, dress'd in thy golden pall. + + The sounding echo back the music flung, + While heavenly spheres unto the voices play'd. + But see! the day is ended with my song, + And sporting bathes with that fair ocean maid: + Stoop now thy wing, my muse, now stoop thee low: + Hence mayst thou freely play, and rest thee now; +While here I hang my pipe upon the willow bough. + + So up they rose, while all the shepherds' throng + With their loud pipes a country triumph blew, + And led their Thirsil home with joyful song: + Meantime the lovely nymphs, with garlands new + His locks in bay and honour'd palm-tree bound, + With lilies set, and hyacinths around, +And lord of all the year and their May sportings crown'd. + + +END OF VOL. 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