Page images
PDF
EPUB
[blocks in formation]

Of lusty youth then lustily to treat,
It is the very May-moon of delight;
When boldest bloods are full of wilful heat,
And joy to think how long they have to fight
In fancy's field, before their life take flight;
Since he which latest did the game begin,
Doth longest hope to linger still therein.

*

*

*

*

SWIFTNESS OF TIME.

The heav'ns on high perpetually do move;
By minutes meal the hour doth steal away,
By hours the days, by days the months remove,
And then by months the years as fast decay;
Yea, Virgil's verse, and Tully's truth do say,
That Time flieth, and never claps her wings;
But rides on clouds, and forward still she flings.

THE VANITY OF THE BEAUTIFUL.

They course the glass, and let it take no rest;
They pass and spy who gazeth on their face;
They darkly ask whose beauty seemeth best;
They hark and mark who marketh most their grace;
They stay their steps, and stalk a stately pace;

They jealous are of every sight they see;
They strive to seem, but never care to be.

[blocks in formation]

What grudge and grief our joys may then suppress,
To see our hairs, which yellow were as gold,
Now grey as glass; to feel and find them less;
To scrape the bald skull which was wont to hold
Our lovely locks with curling sticks controul'd;
To look in glass, and spy Sir Wrinkle's chair
Set fast on fronts which erst were sleek and fair.

[blocks in formation]

JOHN HARRINGTON, the father of the translator of Ariosto, was imprisoned by Queen Mary for his suspected attachment to Queen Elizabeth, by whom he was afterwards rewarded with a grant of lands. Nothing that the younger Harrington has written seems to be worth preserving: but the few specimens of his father's poetry which are found in the Nugæ Antiquæ may excite a regret that he did not His love verses have an elegance and terseness, more modern, by an hundred years, than those of his contemporaries.

write more.

SONNET MADE 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.

From the Nugæ Antiquæ, where the original Manuscript is said to be dated 1564.

WHENCE Comes my love? O heart disclose;
It was from cheeks that sham'd 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,
Sith nought doth the heart of stone.

say

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.

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small]

J. H. MSS. 1564.-From the Nugæ Antiquæ.

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.

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 SYDNEY.

BORN 1554.-DIED 1586.

WITHOUT enduring Lord Orford's cold-blooded depreciation of this hero, it must be owned that his writings fall short of his traditional glory; nor were his actions of the very highest importance to his country. Still there is no necessity for supposing the impression which he made upon his contempo

« PreviousContinue »