There with the heavens, always jovial, Look'd on them lovely, still in stedfast state, Ne suffer'd storm nor frost on them to fall, Their tender buds or leaves to violate; Nor scorching heat, nor cold intemperate, T' afflict the creatures which therein did dwell; But the mild air, with season moderate, Gently attemper'd, and disposed so well, That still it breathed forth sweet spirit and wholesome smell. More sweet and wholesome than the pleasant hill Of Rhodope, on which the nymph, that bore A giant babe, herself for grief did kill; Or the Thessalian Tempe, where of yore Fair Daphne Phoebus' heart with love did gore; Or Ida, where the gods loved to repair Whenever they their heavenly bowers forlore; Or sweet Parnasse, the haunt of muses fair; Or Eden self, if aught with Eden mote compare. Much wonder'd Guyon at the fair aspect Of that sweet place, yet suffer'd no delight To sink into his sense, nor mind affect; But passed forth, and look'd still forward right, Bridling his will, and mastering his might, Till that he came unto another gate; No gate, but like one, being goodly dight With boughs and branches, which did broad dilate Their clasping arms, in wanton wreathings intricate. So fashioned a porch with rare device, Arch'd over head with an embracing vine, Whose bunches hanging down seem'd to entice All passers by to taste their luscious wine, And did themselves into their hands incline, As freely offering to be gathered; Some deep empurpled as the hyacine, Some as the rubine, laughing sweetly red, Some like fair emeraudes not yet well ripened: And them amongst some were of burnish'd gold, Under that porch a comely dame did rest, In her left hand a cup of gold she held, When forth from virgin bow'r she comes in th' It was her guise all strangers goodly so to greet. early morn. So she to Guyon offer'd it to taste : Who, taking it out of her tender hand, The cup to ground did violently cast, That all in pieces it was broken fond, And with the liquor stained all the land: Whereat Excess exceedingly was wroth, Yet no'te the same amend, ne yet withstand, But suffered him to pass, all were she lothe, Who, nought regarding her displeasure, forward goeth. There the most dainty paradise on ground Itself doth offer to his sober eye, In which all pleasures plenteously abound, And none does other's happiness envy ; The painted flowers, the trees upshooting high ; The dales for shade, the hills for breathing space; That trembling groves, the crystal running by ; And that which all fair works doth most aggrace, The art, which all that wrought, appeared in no place. One would have thought, (so cunningly the rude And in the midst of all a fountain stood, Was over-wrought, and shapes of naked boys, To fly about, playing their wanton toys, On which when gazing him the palmer saw, Here wonnes Acrasia, whom we must surprise, Else she will slip away, and all our drift despise." Eftsoons they heard a most melodious sound, Whilst others did themselves embay in liquid joys. Birds, voices, instruments, winds, waters, all agree. At last she her advised, that he which made So strangely viewed her strange lover's shade, Forthwith themselves disguising both in strange And base attire, that none might them bewray, To Maridunum, that is now by change Of name Cayr-Merdin call'd, they took their way; And if thou ever happen that same way For fear the cruel fiends should thee unwares devour. But standing high aloft, low lay thine ear, pains, Do toss, that it will stun thy feeble brains; And oftentimes great groans and grievous stounds, When too huge toil and labour them constrains, And oftentimes loud strokes and ringing sounds, From under that deep rock most horribly rebounds. The cause, some say, is this: a little while Before that Merlin died, he did intend A brazen wall in compass to compile About Cairmardin, and did it commend Unto these sprites to bring to perfect end; During which work the Lady of the Lake, Whom long he loved, for him in haste did send, Who thereby forced his workmen to forsake, Them bound till his return their labour not to slake. In the mean time, through that false lady's train, He was surprised and buried under bier, Ne ever to his work return'd again; Nathless those fiends may not their work forbear, So greatly his commandement they fear, But there do toil and travail day and night, Until that brazen wall they up do rear; For Merlin had in magic more insight Than ever him before or after living wight. For he by words could call out of the sky And sooth men say, that he was not the son Who was the lord of Mathtraval by right, They here arriving, stay'd awhile without, Ne durst adventure rashly in to wend, But of their first intent 'gan make new doubt For dread of danger, which it might portend, Until the hardy maid (with love to friend) First entering, the dreadful mage there found Deep busied 'bout work of wond'rous end, And writing strange characters in the ground, With which the stubborn fiends he to his service * [bound. * SHE on a day, as she pursued the chace Of some wild beast, which, with her arrows keen, She wounded had, the same along did trace By tract of blood, which she had freshly seen To have besprinkled all the grassy green; By the great pursue which she there perceived, Well hoped she the beast engored had been, And made more haste the life to have bereaved; But ah! her expectation greatly was deceived. Shortly she came whereas that woeful squire, With blood deformed, lay in deadly swound; In whose fair eyes, like lamps of quenched fire, The crystal humour stood congealed round; His locks, like faded leaves, fallen to ground, Knotted with blood, in bunches rudely ran, And his sweet lips, on which, before that stound, The bud of youth to blossom fair began, Spoil'd of their rosy red, were waxen pale and wan. Saw never living eye more heavy sight, That could have made a rock of stone to rue Or rive in twain; which when that lady bright Besides all hope, with melting eyes did view, All suddenly abash'd, she changed hue, And with stern horror backward 'gan to start; But when she better him beheld, she grew Full of soft passion and unwonted smart ; The point of pity pierced through her tender heart. Meekly she bowed down, to weet if life Into the woods thenceforth in haste she went, She found, and brought it to her patient dear, Who all this while lay bleeding out his heart-blood near. The sovereign weed, betwixt two marbles plain, By this he had sweet life recur'd again. And gifts of heavenly grace, he by him spied, "Mercy, dear Lord!" said he," what grace is this Thereat she blushing said, "Ah! gentle Squire, Thus warred he long time against his will, Which seeing, fair Belphoebe 'gan to fear For, when as day the heaven doth adorn, SONNET LXXXVIII. LIKE as the culver, on the bared bough, POETRY OF UNCERTAIN AUTHORS OF THE END OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY. THE SOUL'S ERRAND. FROM DAVISON'S "POETICAL RHAPSODY." THIS bold and spirited poem has been ascribed to several authors, but to none on satisfactory authority. It can be traced to MS. of a date as early as 1593, when Francis Davison, who published it in his Poetical Rhapsody, was too young to be supposed, with much probability, to have written it; and as Davison's work was a compilation, his claims to it must be very doubtful. Sir Egerton Brydges has published it among Sir Walter Raleigh's poems, but without a tittle of evidence to show that it was the production of that great man. Mr. Ellis gives it to Joshua Sylvester, evidently by mistake. Whoever looks at the folio vol. of Sylvester's poems, will see that Joshua uses the beautiful original merely as a text, and has the conscience to print his own stuff in a way that shows it to be interpolated. Among those additions there occur some such execrable stanzas as the following: Say, soldiers are the sink Tell townsmen, that because that They prank their brides so proud, Too many times it draws that Which makes them beetle-brow'd. Ohe jam satis! |