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And look on her his fill, doth on his tiptoes get, (set, Though in the utmost Peak
Awhile we do remain, Salutes her, and like friends, to Heaven-hill far Amongst the mountains bleak away,
Expos'd to sleet and rain, Thus from their lofty tops, were plainly heard to No sport our hours shall break • Fair hill be not so proud of thy so pleasant scite,
To exercisi our vein.
What though bright Phæbus' beams
Refresh the southern ground, Heaven,
And though the princely Thames Thy bravery to express, was to thy greatness given:
With beauteous nymphs abound, Nor cast thine eye so much on things that be above:
And by old Camber's streams For sawest thou as we do, our Darwin thou would'st
Be many wonders found : love Her more than any thing, that so doth thee allure;
Yet many rivers clear When Darwin that by this her travel could endure,
Here glide in silver swathes, Takes Now into her train (from Nowstoll her great And what of all most dear, sire,
Buxton's delicious baths, Which shews to take her name) with many a winding Strong ale and noble cheer, Then wand'ring through the wilds, at length the
T'assuage breem winter's scathes. pretty Wye,
[doth ply From her black mother Poole, her nimbler course
Those grim and horrid caves, Tow'rds Darwin, and along from Bakewell with
Whose looks affright the day, her brings
Wherein nice Nature saves Lathkell a little brook, and Headford, whose poor
What she would not bewray, springs
Our better leisure craves, But hardly them the name of riverets can afford;
And doth invite our lay. When Burbrook with the strength, that nature her hath stor'd,
In places far or near, (stead.
Or famous, or obscure, Although but very small, yet much doth Darwin
Where wholesome is the air, At Worksworth on her way, when from the mines
Or where the most impure, of lead,
All times, and every where,
The Muse is still in ure.
THE BALLAD OF AGINCOURT. Her to that ancient seat doth kindly entertain,
Fair stood the wind for France, Where Marten-Brook, although an easy shallow rill,
When we our sails advance, There offereth allshe hath, her mistress' banks to fill,
Nor now to prove our chance And all too little thinks that was on Darwin spent;
Longer will tarry; From hence as she departs, in travelling to Trent
But putting to the main, Back goes the active Muse,tow'rds Lancashire amain,
At Kaux, the mouth of Seine, Where matter rests enough her vigour to maintain,
With all his martial train, And to the northern hills shall lead her on along,
Landed King Harry.
And taking many a fort,
Marched towards Agincourt
In happy hour;
Skirmishing day by day
With those that stopp'd his way, Shall we not sing an Ode?
Where the French gen’ral lay
With all his power.
Which in his height of pride,
King Henry to deride,
His ransom to provide
To the king sending ;
Which he neglects the while,
As from a nation vile
Yet with an angry smile,
Their fall portending.
And turning to his men,
With Spanish yew so strong, Quoth our brave Henry then,
Arrows a cloth-yard long,
That like to serpents stung,
Piercing the weather ;
None from his fellow starts, Battles so bravely won
But playing manly parts,
And like true English hearts,
Stuck close together.
SAMUEL DANIEL-A.D. 1562-1619.
TO THE LADY MARGARET, COUNTESS
Of vartair seat hath he, from whence he may
And with how free an eye doth he look down
He looks upon the mightiest monarch's wars
He sees the face of right t appear as manifold
Nor is be mov'd with all the thunder-cracks
Although his heart (so near ally'd to earth)
And whilst distraught ambition compasses,
Thus, madam, fares thị and compar'd
-uk of man, A rest for his da
or glory with her sufferings :
Which, madam, are so fondly fashioned
Which makes, that whatsoever here befals,
And whereas none rejoice more in revenge,
Knowing the heart of man is set to be
And how turmoil'd they are that level lie
Whose ends you see ; and what can be the best
This concord, madam, of a well-tun'd mind
That set thee there to testify their right; Of heav'n, that though the world hath done his worst
And art become a traitor to their name, ' nut it out by discords most unkind,
That trusted thee with all the best they might; Equal in forta.io perfect union stand
Thou shalt stand still bely'd and slandered, And this note, madam, Er will be forc’d
The only gazing-stock of ignorance, Remains recorded in so many hearts,
And by thy guile the wise admonished, As time nor malice cannot wrong your right,
Thamaver more desire such hopes t'advance, The inheritance of fame you must possess :
Consid'ring Trna glory with the dead You that have built you by your great deserts And yet lie safe (as fresh as their fame to chance. (Out of small means) a far more exquisite
All those great worthies of antiquity," And glorious dwelling for your honour'd name, Which long fore-liv'd thee, and shall long survive; Than all the gold that leaden minds can frame. Who stronger tombs found for eternity,
Than could the pow'rs of all the earth contrive.
Where they remain these trifles to upbraid, DESCRIPTION OF STONE-HENGE.
Out of the reach of spoil, and way of rage; And whereto serves that wondrous trophy now Though time with all his pow'r of years hath laid That on the goodly plain near Walton stands ? Long batt'ry, back'd with undermining age; That huge dumb heap, that cannot tell us how, Yet they make head only with their own aid, Nor what, nor whence it is; nor with whose hands,
And war with his all-conqu’ring forces wage; Nor for whose glory—it was set to shew,
Pleading the heaven's prescription to be free, How much our pride mocks that of other lands.
And have a grant t'endure as long as he.
LOVE IN INFANCY.
Ah! I remember well (and how can I Inquires and asks his fellow traveller
But evermore remember well) when first What he had heard, and his opinion.
Our flame began, when scarce we knew what was And he knows nothing. Then he turns again, The flame we felt; whenas we sat and sigh'd And looks and sighs; and then admires afresh, And look'd upon each other, and conceiv'd And in himself with sorrow doth complain
Not what we ail'd, yet something we did ail ; The misery of dark forgetfulness:
And yet were well, and yet we were not well, Angry with time that nothing should remain, And what was our disease we could not tell. Our greatest wonders' wonder to express.
Then would we kiss, then sigh, then look: And thus Then ignorance, with fabulous discourse, In that first garden of our simpleness Robbing fair art and cunning of their right,
We spent our childhood: But when years began Tells how those stones were by the devil's force To reap the fruit of knowledge; ah, how then From Afric brought to Ireland in a night;
Would she with graver looks, and sweet stern brow, And thence to Brittany, by magic course,
Check my presumption and my forwardness; From giants' hands redeem’d by Merlin's sleight. Yet still would give me flowers, still would me show And then near Ambri plac’d, in memory
What she would have me, yet not have me know, Of all those noble Britons murder'd there, By Hengist and his Saxon treachery, Coming to parley, in peace at unaware.
THE STORY OF ISULIA. With this old legend then credulity
- There was sometime a nymph, Holds her content, and closes up her care.
Isulia named, and an Arcadian born, But is antiquity so great a liar?
Whose mother dying left her very young Or do her younger sons her age abuse ;
Unto her father's charge, who carefully Seeing after-comers still so apt t'admire
Did breed her up until she came to years
Of womanhood, and then provides a match
Call's Sirthis, vow'd her love, as unto one
Her heart esteem'd more worthy of her love, For once found false, they straight became to mar Could not by all her father's means be wrought Our faith, and their own reputation quite;
To leave her choice, and to forget her vow. That now her truths hardly believed are; (right. This nymph one day, surcharg'd with love and grief, And though she avouch the right, she scarce bath Which commonly (the more the pity), dwell
And as for thee, thou huge and mighty frame, As inmates both together, walking forth That standst corrupted so with time's despite, With other maids to fish upon the shore ; And giv’st false evidence against their fame Estrays apart, and leaves her company,
To entertain herself with her own thoughts : Her husband to bestow on her that prize,
With safeguard of her body at her will.
The captain seeing his wife, the child, the nymph, By pirates, who lay lurking underneath
All crying to him in this piteous sort,
His wife's request, and seals his grant with tears ;
And some beholders stood not with dry eyes ; Into their ship, which in a little creek
Such passion wrought the passion of their prize. Hard by at anchor lay,
Never was there pardon, that did take
Seem'd nothing to the comfort she receivid,
And from the woman's feet she would not part,
Within the ship, which in few days arrives Move you to pity, pity a poor maid;
At Alexandria, whence these pirates were ; The most distressed soul that ever breath'd;
And there this woeful maid for two years' space And save me from the hands of those fierce men. Did serve, and truly serve this captain's wife, Let me not be defild and made unclean,
(Who would not lose the benefit of her Dear woman, now, and I will be to you
Attendance, for her profit otherwise) The faithfull'st slave that ever mistress servid; But daring not in such a place as that Never poor soul shall be more dutiful,
To trust herself in woman's habit, cray'd To do whatever you command, than I.
That she might be apparel'd like a boy; No toil will I refuse; so that I may
And so she was, and as a boy she serv'd. Keep this poor body clean and undeflower'd, At two years' end her mistress sends her forth Which is all I will ever seek. For know
Onto the port for some commodities, It is not fear of death lays me thus low,
Which whilst she sought for, going up and down, But of that stain will make my death to blush.” She heard some merchantmen of Corinth talk, All this would nothing move the woman's heart, Who spake that language the Arcadians did, Whom yet she would not leave, but still besought; And were next neighbours of one continent. “ O woman, by that infant at your breast,
To them, all rapt with passion, down she kneels, And by the pains it cost you at the birth,
Tells them she was a poor distressed boy, Save me, as ever you desire to have
Born in Arcadia, and by pirates took, Your babe to joy and prosper in the world: And made a slave in Egypt: and besought Which will the better prosper sure, if you
Them, as they fathers were of children, or Shall mercy shew, which is with mercy paid!” Did hold their native country dear, they would Then kisses she her feet, then kisses too
Take pity on her, and relieve her youth The infant's feet; and “ Oh, sweet babe,” (said she) From that sad servitude wherein she liv'd: “ Could’st thou but to thy mother speak for me, For which she hoped that she had friends alive And crave her to have pity on my case,
Would thank them one day, and reward them too; Thou might'st perhaps prevail with her so much If not, yet that she knew the heav'ns would do. Although I cannot; child, ah, could'st thou speak." The merchants mov'd with pity of her case, The infant, whether by her touching it,
Being ready to depart, took her with them, Or by instinct of nature, seeing her weep,
And landed her upon her country coast : Looks earnestly upon her, and then looks
Where, when she found herself, she prostrate falls, Upon the mother, then on her again,
Kisses the ground, thanks gives unto the gods, And then it cries, and then on either looks:
Thanks them who had been her deliverers, Which she perceiving;“ blessed child,” (said she) And on she trudges through the desart woods, * Although thou can’st not speak, yet dost thou cry Climbs over craggy rocks, and mountains steep, Unto thy mother for me. Hear thy child,
Wades thorough rivers, struggles thorough bogs, Dear mother, it's for me it cries,
Sustained only by the force of love ; It's all the speech it hath. Accept those cries, Until she came unto her native plains, Save me at his request from being defil'd:
Unto the fields where first she drew her breath. Let pity move thee, that thus moves thy child." There she lifts up her eyes, salutes the air, The woman, tho' by birth and custom rude,
Salutes the trees, the bushes, flow'rs and all: Yet having veins of nature, could not be
And,“ Oh, dear Sirthis, here I am,” said she, But pierceable, did feel at length the point “ Here, notwithstanding all my miseries, Of pity enter so, as out gush'd tears,
I am, the same I ever was to thee; a pure, (Not usual to stern eyes) and she besought
A chaste, and spotless maid."