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eyes.

For giff he be of so grete excellence,

That he of every wight hath care and charge,
What have I gilt (a) to him, or done offense,

That I am thral'd, and birdis go at large?

In the midst of his musing, as he casts his downward, he beholds « the fairest and the freshest young floure,» that ever he had seen. It is the lovely Lady Jane walking in the garden to enjoy the beauty of that « fresh May morrowe.» Breaking thus suddenly upon his sight in the moment of loneliness and excited susceptibility, she at once captivates the fancy of the romantic prince, and becomes the object of his wandering wishes, the sovereign of his ideal world.

There is, in this charming scene, an evident resemblance to the early part of Chaucer's Knight's Tale; where Palamon and Arcite fall in love with Emilia, whom they see walking in the garden of their prison. Perhaps the similarity of the actual fact to the incident which he had read in Chaucer, may have induced James to dwell on it in his poem. His description of the Lady Jane is given in the

(a) Gilt, what injury have I done, etc.

picturesque and minute manner of his master;
and being doubtless taken from the life, is a
perfect portrait of a beauty of that day. He
dwells, with the fondness of a lover, on every
article of her apparel, from the net of pearl,
splendent with emeralds and sapphires, that
confined her golden hair, even to the « goodly
chaine of small orfeverye » (a) about her neck,
whereby there hung a ruby in shape of a
heart, that seemed, he says, like a spark of
fire burning upon her white bosom. Her
dress of white tissue was looped up to enable
her to walk with more freedom.
She was
accompanied by two female attendants, and
about her sported a little hound decorated
with bells; probably the small Italian hound
of exquisite symmetry, which was a parlour fa-
vourite and pet among the fashionable dames
of ancient times. James closes his description
by a burst of general eulogium.

In her was youth, beauty, with humble port,

Bountee, richesse, and womanly feature;
God better knows than my pen can report,

Wisdom, largesse, (b) estate, (c) and cunning (d) sure,

(a) Wrought gold.

(c) Estate, dignity.

(b) Largesse, bounty.

(d) Cunning, discretion.

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In every point so guided her measure,

In word, in deed, in shape, in countenance,

That nature might no more her child advance.

The departure of the Lady Jane from the garden puts an end to this transient riot of the heart. With her departs the amorous illusion that had shed a temporary charm over the scene of his captivity, and he relapses into loneliness, now rendered tenfold more intolerable by this passing beam of unattainable beauty. Through the long and weary day he repines at his unhappy lot, and when evening approaches, and Phoebus, as he beautifully expresses it, had «< bad farewell to every leaf and flower," he still lingers at the window, and laying his head upon the cold stone, gives vent to a mingled flow of love and sorrow, until gradually lulled by the mute melancholy of the twilight hour, he lapses, « half sleeping, half swoon,» into a vision, which occupies the remainder of the poem, and in which is allegorically shadowed out the history of his passion.

When he wakes from his trance, he rises from his stony pillow, and, pacing his apart

ment, full of dreary reflections, questions his spirit whither it has been wandering; whether, indeed, all that has passed before his dreaming fancy has been conjured up by preceding circumstances; or whether it is a vision, intended to comfort and assure him in his despondency. If the latter, he prays that some token may be sent to confirm the promise of happier days, given him in his slumbers. Suddenly, a turtle dove, of the purest whiteness, comes flying in at the window and alights upon his hand, bearing in her bill a branch of red gilliflower, on the leaves of which is written, in letters of gold, the following sentence: Awake! awake! I bring, lover, I bring

The newis glad that blissful is, and sure
Of thy comfort; now laugh, and play, and sing,
For in the heaven decretit is thy cure.

He receives the branch with mingled hope and dread; reads it with rapture : and this, he says, was the first token of his succeeding happiness. Whether this is a mere poetic fiction, or whether the Lady Jane did actually send him a token of her favour in this romantic way, remains to be determined accord

ing to the faith or fancy of the reader. He concludes his poem, by intimating that the promise conveyed in the vision and by the flower is fulfilled, by his being restored to liberty, and made happy in the possession of the sovereign of his heart.

Such is the poetical account given by James of his love adventures in Windsor Castle. How much of it is absolute fact, and how much the embellishment of fancy, it is fruitless to conjecture: do not, however, let us always consider whatever is romantic as incompatible with real life; but let us sometimes take a poet at his word. I have noticed merely such parts of the poem as were immediately connected with the tower, and have passed over a large part, which was in the allegorical vein, so much cultivated at that day. The language, of course, is quaint and antiquated, so that the beauty of many of its golden phrases will scarcely be perceived at the present day; but it is impossible not to be charmed with the genuine sentiment, the delightful artlessness and urbanity, which prevail throughout it. The descriptions of nature,

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