Lyric

(From Book of Airs, 1601)

FOLLOW thy fair sun! unhappy shadow !

Though thou be black as night,

And she made all of light;

Yet follow thy fair sun! unhappy shadow !

Follow her whose light thy light depriveth;
Though here thou liv'st disgraced,

And she in heaven is placed :

Yet follow her, whose light the world reviveth!

Follow these pure beams! where beauty burneth, That so have scorched thee

As thou still black must be,

Till her kind beams, thy black to brightness turneth.

Follow her! while yet her glory shineth :
There comes a luckless night,

That will dim all her light;

And this, the black unhappy shade divineth.

Follow still! since to thy fates ordained,

The sun must have his shade,

Till both at once do fade;

The sun still proved, the shadow still disdained.

T. Campion.

Sonnet xlix.

(From Delia)

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 thy cares return!
And let the day be time enough to mourn
The shipwreck of my ill adventured youth!
Let waking eyes suffice to vail their scorn,
Without the torment of the night's untruth!
Cease Dreams! th' imagery of our day desires,
To model forth the passions of the morrow!
Never let rising sun approve 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.

S. Daniel.

The story of Federigo and the Falcon
From The Decameron, Day V. Novel 9)

THERE was once in Florence a young man

called Federigo, son of Messer Filippo Alberighi, and renowned for deeds of arms and courtesy over every other bachelor in Tuscany, who, as most gentlemen know, fell in love with a gentlewoman named Madonna Giovanna, in her day held to be one of the most winsome ladies that

were in Florence: and to gain her love, he held jousts and tournaments and made presents and spent his substance without stint; but she, being no less virtuous than fair, cared naught for these things done for her, nor for him who did them. Federigo, spending thus far beyond his means and earning nothing, his goods came duly to an end, so that naught was left thereof but a little farm, on the rent of which he lived very poorly, and a falcon, one of the finest in the world. Wherefore, being more than ever enamoured, and finding that he could no longer live according to his taste in the city, he retired to Campi where his farm was, and patiently bore his poverty, hawking now and then and asking favours of no man.

After Federigo had thus been brought to want, it happened that Monna Giovanna's husband fell sick; and, seeing that he was near death, made his will, whereby he left his wealth, which was great, to his son, now grown up, and in case the youth should die without issue, to his well-loved wife. After his death Monna Giovanna, following the custom of our ladies, went in the summer time to a country estate of hers which lay near that of Ser Federigo. Now the youth soon became acquainted with Federigo and took keen delight in hawks and hounds. Having seen the falcon of his neighbour flown several times, he was amazingly delighted therewith and desired it for himself, but he had not the heart to ask for it, seeing what store the owner set upon it. The upshot was that the youth

fell sick, whereupon his mother, who loved him exceedingly well, as she could love naught else, was sorely grieved, tending him continually, asking him again and again if there was anything he fancied, and assuring him that if this thing were possible she would procure it for him. The boy having listened to her words, said at last, "Mother, if you could get for me Federigo's falcon, I believe I should quickly recover.”

When the lady heard this she fell a-thinking, and began to lay her plans. She knew that Federigo had loved her long and had never won even a glance of her eye, wherefore she said to herself, 66 How can I go or send to him to ask this falcon, which by report is the best that ever flew, and furthermore is his only means of support; and knowing this, how can I be so graceless as to offer to rob this gentleman of his only remaining pleasure?" She was perplexed with this thought and uncertain what to say-albeit she was sure she might have the bird for the asking—and answered naught to her son. But being overcome at last by mother's love, she determined to satisfy him, come what might, and not to send but to go herself for the falcon and fetch it. Thus she addressed him : "My son, take courage, and have a care to get well again, for I promise you that I will go to-morrow and bring you the falcon." Whereupon the youth was pleased and straightway grew easier.

The next morning Madonna Giovanni, taking another lady as companion, strolled out to the

cottage of Federigo and enquired for him. He, because the weather was unfit for hawking, was at home doing some work in his garden, and hearing Monna Giovanni's voice at the door, hastened thither in great joy. When she saw him she went to meet him with womanly graciousness; and, having answered his respectful salutation with "Give you good-day, Federigo," went on to say, "I am come to make amends for the pain you have suffered through loving me more than you need. This I will do by asking you to let me and this lady, my friend, dine with you this day in friendly fashion ?" "Madonna," said Federigo with much respect, "I cannot remember to have received any ill at your hands. I have rather fared well, seeing that any merit I may possess has come through your many excellencies and the love they have inspired in me. And indeed this welcome visit of yours-albeit made to a poverty-stricken house-gives me more pleasure than would the lavishing of all the money I have spent aforetime." With this speech he bashfully ushered her into the house, and thence into the garden, and said, "Madonna, as there is no one else here save this good woman, the wife of a labourer, I will leave you in her company while I go to set the table."

Poor as he was, Federigo had never yet felt so painfully the strait into which he had been brought from lack of the wealth he had squandered so foolishly. When he found he had nothing wherewith he might entertain the lady for whose sake