THE NYMPH'S REPLY.*

BY SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

[SIR WALTER RALEIGH was born at Budleigh in Devonshire, in 1555. After leaving the University of Oxford, where he was educated, he entered the Middle Temple, but soon embraced the profession of arms, in which he became highly distinguished. His introduction to Elizabeth was due to his gallantry in placing his cloak over a miry place that she might pass over it without inconvenience. He took a very active part in the destruction of the Spanish Armada, but his high character is sullied by the share he took in the ruin of the Earl of Essex. He obtained a grant of 12,000 acres of land, out of the forfeited estate of the Earl of Desmond, in the county of Cork; and during a visit to Spenser at Kilcolman, persuaded that poet to write his "Faerie Queene." After the accession of James he was tried for conspiring with Lord Cobham and others to place Arabella Stewart on the throne, and was condemned; but though respited, he remained twelve years in the Tower, where he wrote his "History of the World." He was then taken from prison and placed in command of a squadron sent against Guiana. While on this expedition, he plundered the town of St. Thomé, and on his return, in 1618, the King, under pretence of carrying out the sentence which had been passed so many years before, and which had been virtually annulled, basely ordered him to be executed. It was afterwards well known that James was led to this cruel step in order to appease the Spanish Ambassador.

Raleigh was a man of great energy and extraordinary talent; he was distinguished not only by his military skill and courage, but also by his extensive acquaintance with the arts and sciences, which is evinced by the many learned works he wrote.]

IF all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me`move
To live with thee, and be thy love.

Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;

To "The Passionate Shepherd to his Love," by Christopher Marlow,

And Philomel becometh dumb,

The rest complain of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields;

A honey tongue-a heart of gall,

Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,

Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,

Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,

In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs;

All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.

But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joys no date, nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.