22.-AN ENGLISH LANDSCAPE

(FROM THE MISTRESS OF PHILARETE")

Two pretty rills do meet; and, meeting, make Within one valley a large silver lake;

About whose banks the fertile mountains stood In ages passèd, bravely crowned with wood.

*

*

*

*

For pleasant was that pool; and near it, then,
Was neither rotten marsh, nor boggy fen.
It was not overgrown with boisterous sedge,
Nor grew there ruddy, then, along the edge
A bending willow, nor a prickly bush,
Nor broad-leafed flag, nor reed, nor knotty rush;
But here, well-ordered, was a grove with bowers;
There, grassy plots set round about with flowers;
Here you might through the water see the land
Appear, strewed o'er with white or yellow sand;
Yon, deeper was it; and the wind by whiffs
Would make it rise and wash the little cliffs;
On which, oft pluming, sat unfrighted there
The gaggling wild goose and the snow-white swan,
With all those flocks of fowls which, to this day,
Upon those quiet waters breed and play.

For, though those excellences wanting be
Which once it had, it is the same that we,
By transposition, name the Ford of Arle;
And out of which, along a chalky marl
That river 2 trills, whose waters wash the fort 3
In which brave Arthur kept his royal court.

North-east, not far from this great pool, there lies
A tract of beechy mountains, that arise

1 Alresford.

2 The Itchen.

3 Winchester.

With leisurely ascending, to such height
As from their tops the warlike Isle of Wight
You in the ocean's bosom may espy,

Though near two thousand furlongs thence it lie.
The pleasant way, as up those hills you climb,
Is strewèd o'er with marjoram and thyme

Which grow unset.

The hedgerows do not want The cowslip, violet, primrose, nor a plant That freshly scents: as birch, both green and tall; Low sallows, on whose bloomings bees do fall; Fair woodbines, which about the hedges twine; Smooth privet, and the sharp-sweet eglantine; With many more, whose leaves and blossoms fair The earth adorn, and oft perfume the air.

When you unto the highest do attain, An intermixture both of wood and plain You shall behold, which, though aloft it lie, Hath downs for sheep and fields for husbandry : So much at least, as little needeth more, If not enough, to merchandise their store.

In every row hath Nature planted there Some banquet for the hungry passenger: For here the hazel-nut and filbert grows; There, bullaces; and, little farther, sloes; On this hand standeth a fair wielding-tree; On that large thickets of black cherries be; The shrubby fields are raspice orchards there; The new-felled woods like strawberry gardens are. And had the King of Rivers blest those hills With some small number of such pretty rills As flow elsewhere, Arcadia had not seen A sweeter plot of earth than this had been.

G. WITHER

23. DROWNED IN YARROW

DOWN in yon garden sweet and gay
Where bonny grows the lily,

I heard a fair maid sighing say

66

My wish be wi' sweet Willie !

"Willie's rare, and Willie's fair,
And Willie's wondrous bonny;
And Willie hecht 1 to marry me
Gin e'er he married ony.

"O gentle wind, that bloweth south,
From where my Love repaireth,
Convey a kiss frae his dear mouth
And tell me how he fareth.

"O tell sweet Willie to come down
And hear the mavis singing,

And see the birds on ilka bush

And leaves around them hinging.

"The lav'rock there, wi' her white breast
And gentle throat sae narrow;
There's sport eneuch for gentlemen
On Leader haughs 2 and Yarrow.

“O Leader haughs are wide and braid,
And Yarrow haughs are bonny;
There Willie hecht to marry me
If e'er he married ony.

1 Promised.

2 Low, rich lands.

"But Willie's gone, whom I thought on,
And does not hear me weeping;
Draws many a tear frae true love's e'e
When other maids are sleeping.
"Yestreen I made my bed fu' braid,
The night I'll mak' it narrow,
For a' the live lang winter night
I lie twinned1 o' my marrow.2

"O came ye by yon water-side?
Pou'd you the rose or lily?
Or came you by yon meadow green,
Or saw you my sweet Willie?"

She sought him up, she sought him down,
She sought him braid and narrow;

Syne,3 in the cleaving of a craig,

She found him drowned in Yarrow!

OLD BALLAD

24. SONG TO STELLA

DOUBT you to whom my Muse these notes intendeth,

Which now my breast o'ercharged to music lendeth?

To you, to you, all song of praise is due :

Only in you my song begins and endeth.

Who hath the eyes which marry state with pleasure?

Who keeps the keys of Nature's chiefest treasure?
To you, to you, all song of praise is due :
Only for you the Heaven forgat all measure.
3 Afterwards.

1 Parted from.

2 Mate.

Who hath the lips where wit in fairness reigneth?
Who womankind at once both decks and staineth?
To you, to you, all song of praise is due :
Only by you Cupid his crown maintaineth.

Who hath the feet whose steps all sweetness planteth?

Who else, for whom Fame worthy trumpets wanteth?

To you, to you, all song of praise is due :
Only to you her sceptre Venus granteth.

Who hath the hand which without stroke subdueth?
Who long-dead beauty with increase reneweth?
To you, to you, all song of praise is due :
Only at you all envies hopeless rueth.

Who hath the hair which, loosest, fastest tieth?
Who makes a man live then glad when he dieth?
To you, to you, all song of praise is due :
Only of you the flatterer never lieth.

Who hath the voice which soul from senses

sunders ?

Whose force but yours the bolts of beauty thunders?
To you, to you, all song of praise is due :
Only with you not miracles are wonders.

Doubt you to whom my Muse these notes intendeth,

Which now my breast o'ercharged to music lendeth?

To you, to you, all song of praise is due: Only in you my song begins and endeth.

P. SIDNEY