Abbildungen der Seite
[blocks in formation]

Where virtue, honor, wit, and beauty lay;
Which taking thence you have escap'd

Yet stand as free as e'er you did before:
Yet old Prometheus punish'd for his

rape : Thus poor thieves suffer, when the

greater 'scape.

Yet in my breast more dang'rous con

Alicts are;


THE little flow'rs dropping their honey'd

Which (as thou writ’st) do weep upon

thy shoe,
Not for thy fault (sweet Rosamond) do

Only lament that thou so soon art gone:
For if thy foot touch hemlock as it goes,
That hemlock's made far sweeter than

the rose.

Yet is my signal to the battle's sound
The blessed name of beauteous Rosa.

Accursed be that heart, that tongue, that

breath, Should think, should speak, or whisper

of thy death : For in one smile or lower from thy sweet

eye Consists my life, my hope, my victory. Sweet Woodstock, where my Rosamond

doth rest, Be blest in her, in whom thy king is

blest : For though in France awhile my body

be, My heart remains (dear paradise) in




1585–1649. [WILLIAM DRUMMOND was born at the manor house of Hawthornden, near Edinburgh, on December 13, 1585, and died there December 4, 1649. His chief poetical works are: Teares on the Death of Mæliades (Prince Henry), 1613; Poems, 1616; Forth Feasting, a panegyricke to the King's most excellent Majestie, 1617; Flowers of Sion, 1623; The Entertainment of the high and mighty monarch Charles, 1633; The Exequies of the Honourable Sir Anthony Alexander, Knight, 1638. Besides these he wrote innumerable political pamphlets, etc., and a considerable historical work. More important are his well-known Conversations with Ben Jonson, of which an authentic copy was discovered by Mr. David Laing and printed by him in 1832. A unique copy of the poems, printed on one side of the paper only, and containing Drummond's autograph corrections, is in the Bodleian Library. It varies most curiously from the later editions.]


The nightingales thy coming each where

sing: PHOEBUS, arise !

Make an eternal spring! And paint the sable skies

Give life to this dark world which lieth With azure, white, and red:

dead; Rouse Memnon's mother from her Ti- | Spread forth thy golden hair thon's bed

In larger locks than thou wast wont That she may thy career with roses before, spread:

And emperor-like decore


and wrongs,

With diadem of pearl thy temples fair : Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweetChase hence the ugly night

smelling flowers : Which serves but to make dear thy glo- To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy rious light.


Thou thy Creator's goodness dost de. - This is that happy morn,

clare, That day, long-wished day

And what dear gifts on thee he did not Of all my life so dark,


A stain to human sense in sin that low(If cruel stars have not my ruin sworn And fates my hopes betray), Which, purely white, deserves

What soul can be so sick, which by thy An everlasting diamond should it mark. songs This is the morn should bring unto this

(Attired in sweetness) sweetly is not

driven grove My Love, to hear and recompense my

Quite to forget Earth's turmoils, spites, love. Fair King, who all preserves,

And lift a reverend eye and thought to

But show thy blushing beams,
And thou two sweeter eyes

Sweet, artless songster, thou my mind

dost raise Shalt see than those which by Penéus'

To airs of spheres, yes, and to angels' streams Did once thy heart surprise.

lays. Now, Flora, deck thyself in fairest

guise : If that ye winds would hear

THE LESSONS OF NATURE. A voice surpassing far Amphion's lyre, Of this fair volume which we World do Your furious chiding stay; Let Zephyr only breathe,

name, And with her tresses play.

If we the sheets and leaves could turn - The winds all silent are, And Phoebus in his chair

Of him who it corrects, and did it frame, Ensaffroning sea and air

We clear mig read the art and wisdom Makes vanish every star : Night like a drunkard reels Beyond the hills, to shun his flaming Find out his power which wildest powwheels :

ers doth tame, The fields with flowers are deck'd in

His providence extending everywhere, every hue,

His justice which proud rebels doth not The clouds with orient gold spangle

spare, their blue;

In every page, no period of the same.
Here is the pleasant place —
And nothing wanting is, save She, alas !

But silly we, like foolish children, rest
Well pleased with color'd vellum, leaves

of gold,
Fair dangling ribbands, leaving what is


On the great writer's sense ne'er taking SWEET bird, that sing'st away the early hold;

hours Of winters past, or coming, void of care, Or if by chance we stay our minds on Well pleased with delights which pres- aught,

It is some picture on the margin wrought.

with care,


ent are,



A GOOD that never satisfies the mind,
A beauty fading like the April flow'rs,
A sweet with floods of gall, that runs

A pleasure passing ere in thought made

An honor that more fickle is than wind,
A glory at opinion's frown that low'rs,
A treasury which bankrupt time devours,

A knowledge than grave ignorance

more blind,
A vain delight our equals to command,
A style of greatness, in effect a dream,
A swelling thought of holding sea and

A servile lot, deck'd with a pompous

name, Are the strange ends we toil for here

below, Till wisest death make us our errors



1573–1631. (BORN 1573, in London; his mother being a descendant of Sir Thomas More. He studied both at Oxford and Cambridge, and also at Lincoln's Inn; travelled in Italy and Spain, “and returned perfect in their languages." He was afterwards in the service of Lord Chancellor Ellesmere and others, and in 1610 was persuaded by James I.“ to enter into sacred orders." In 1621 the king made him Dean of St. Paul's, and he held other benefices. He died in 1631. Izaak Walton's celebrated Life was prefixed to his Eighty. Sermons, fol., 1640; and this Life asserts that“,

most of his poems were written before the twentieth year of his age. The Poems were collected and first published posthumously in 1633; but Harl. MS. 5110 (British Museum), is entitled, “Jhon Dunne, his Satyres anno domini 1593.")

But come bad chance,
And we join to't our strength,
And we teach it art and length,

Itself o'er us t'advance.

SWEETEST love, I do not go

For weariness of thee,
Nor in hope the world can show
A fitter love for me;

But since that I
Must die at last, 'tis best
Thus to use myself in jest

By feigned deaths to die.
Yesternight the Sun went hence,

And yet is here to-day,
He hath no desire nor sense,
Nor half so short a way;

Then fear not me,
But believe that I shall make
Hastier journeys, since I take

More wings and spurs than he.

When thou sigh’st thou sigh’st not

But sigh'st my soul away;
When thou weep'st unkindly kind,
My life's blood doth decay.

It cannot be
That thou lov'st me, as thou say'st;
If in thine my life thou waste,

Thou art the life of me.

0, how feeble is man's power,

That if good fortune fall, Cannot ado another hour,

Nor a lost hour recall !

Let not thy divining heart

Forethink me any ill,
Destiny may take my part
And may thy fears fulfil;

But think that we
Are but laid aside to sleep:
They who one another keep

Alive, ne'er parted be.

doth roam,

FROM "VERSES TO SIR HENRY | Having from these suck'd all they haà WOTTON."

of worth Be then thine own home, and in thyself And brought home that faith which you dwell;

carry'd forth, Inn anywhere; continuance maketh

I throughly love: but if myself I've won Hell.

To know my rules, I have, and you have,

And seeing the snail, which everywhere
Carrying his own house still, is still at


SEND home my long stray'd eyes to me, Follow (for he's easy pac’d) this snail,

Which, oh! too long have dwelt on thee; Be thine own palace, or the world's thy

But if they there have learned such ill, jail.

Such forc'd fashions But in the world's sea do not like cork

And false passions, sleep

That they be Upon the water's face, nor in the deep

Made by thee Sink like a lead without a line : but as

Fit for no good sight, keep them still. Fishes glide, leaving no print where they pass,

Send home my harmless heart again, Nor making sound, so closely thy course Which no unworthy thought could stain; go;

But if it be taught by thine Let men dispute whether thou breathe To make jestings

Of protestings,
Only in this be no Galenist. To make And break both
Court's hot ambitions wholesome, do not Word and oath,

Keep it still, 'tis none of mine.
A dram of country's dulness; do not add
Correctives, but as chymics purge the

Yet send me back my heart and eyes, bad.

That I may know and see thy lies, But, sir, I advise not you, I rather do And may laugh and joy when thou Say o'er those lessons which I learn’d Art in anguish,

And dost languish Whom, free from Germany's schisms, For some one and lightness

That will none, Of France, and fair Italie's faithlessness, Or prove as false as thou dost now.

or no:

of you:


1550-1607. .

[Born about 1550, at Sharpham, near Glastonbury; educated at Balliol College, Oxford; ambassador to Denmark, 1589; Ảnighted, 1596; died, 1607.]


My Phillis hath the morning Sun,

At first to look upon her:
And Phillis hath morn-waking birds,

Her rising still to honor.

My Phillis hath prime feathered flow.

ers, That smile when she treads on them: And Phillis hath a gallant flock

That leaps since she doth own them. But Phillis hath too hard a heart,

Alas, that she should have it!

[blocks in formation]

1552-1598–9. (EDMUND SPENSER was born in London about 1552. He was educated at Merchant Taylors' School: his first poetical performances, translations from Petrarch and Du Bellay, published without his name in a miscellaneous collection, belong to the time of his leaving school in 1569. From that year to 1576 he was at Pembroke Hall, Cambridge. In 1579 he was in London, acquainted with Philip Sidney, and in Lord Leicester's household. In 1580 was published, but without his name, The Shepheards Calender; and in the autumn of that year he went to Ireland with Lord Grey of Wilton, as his private secretary. The remainder of his life, with the exception of short visits to England, was spent in Ireland, where he held various subordinate offices, and where he settled on a grant of forfeited land at Kilcolman, in the county of Cork. In 1589 he accompanied Sir Walter Raleigh to London, and in 1590 published the first three books of The

« ZurückWeiter »