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SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

(1552-1618.)

IN the pastoral poem of Colin Clout's Come Home Again
Spenser thus describes a visit paid to him at Kilcolman
Castle, in 1590, by his friend Sir Walter Raleigh :-

"One day, quoth he, I sat, as was my trade,
Under the foot of Mole, that mountain hoar,
Keeping my sheep amongst the cooly shade
Of the green alders, by the Mulla's shore.
There a strange shepherd chanced to find me out ;
Whether allured with my pipe's delight,

Whose pleasing sound yshrilled far about,
Or thither led by chance, I know not right:
Whom when I askèd from what place he came,
And how he hight, himself he did yclepe
The Shepherd of the Ocean by name ;

And said he came far from the main sea deep.
He, sitting me beside in that same shade,
Provoked me to play some pleasant fit;
And, when he heard the musick which I made,
He found himself full greatly pleased at it:
Yet, emuling1 my pipe, he took in hond
My pipe, before that emulèd of many,

And played thereon; for well that skill he conned;2
Himself as skilful in that art as any.

He piped, I sung; and when he sung, I piped;
By change of turns, each making other merry;
Neither envying other, nor envíed,

So pipèd we, until we both were weary."

Of the verses which entitled Raleigh to be thus included among the poets of the day, with the curiously fitting epithet of "Shepherd of the Ocean,” only a few authentic specimens remain. Scattered, in the first instance, anonymously in manuscripts or printed miscellanies, they were not systematically collected until 1715. The complete works of Raleigh, including the History of the World, written during his imprisonment in the Tower (1603-1615), and a number of prose 1 Emulating.

2 Knew.

treatises, one of which, called The Cabinet Council, was edited in 1658 by John Milton, were published at Oxford in eight 8vo volumes in 1829. This is the present standard edition. In the last of the eight Oxford octavos, and in less than forty pages of it, are contained the forty short poems on miscellaneous subjects attributed, with tolerable certainty, to Raleigh. So small a quantity of verse cannot be regarded as adequately representing the man's genius and power in literature. His life was one of the busiest and fullest of results on record. From his youth he was a sailor, a warrior, and a courtier; but he was also a student. Aubrey relates that "he studied most in his sea voyages, when he carried always a trunk of books along with him, and had nothing to divert him." From the same source we learn that the companions of his youth "were boisterous blades, but generally those that had wit." The famous Mermaid Club, frequented by Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, and the other "wits" of the day, was founded by Raleigh; who, through his whole life, had a strong sympathy with literature and learning. His verses are vigorous and original, full of splendid courage and a proud impetuosity. The prevailing tone is one of scorn at the world's meanness; and the scraps of verse written in prison, shortly before his execution in 1618, are as brave and as scornful as any he had ever dashed from his pen in more fortunate days. It is, however, in his prose writings that we must look for the fullest evidence of Raleigh's genius, of his varied learning, and his intimate experience of life and men.

THE SHEPHERD TO HIS FLOWERS.

Sweet Violets, Love's paradise, that spread
Your gracious odours, which you couchèd bear
Within your paly faces,

Upon the gentle wing of some calm breathing wind
That plays amidst the plain !

If, by the favour of propitious stars, you gain
Such grace as in my lady's bosom place to find,
Be proud to touch those places!

And when her warmth your moisture forth doth wear,
Whereby her dainty parts are sweetly fed,

You, honours of the flowery meads, I pray,

You pretty daughters of the earth and sun, With mild and seemly breathing straight display

My bitter sighs, that have my heart undone.

A PILGRIM TO HEAVEN IN SEARCH OF JUSTICE.

Give me my scallop-shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon,
My scrip of joy, immortal diet,
My bottle of salvation,

My gown of glory, Hope's true gage,
And thus I'll take my pilgrimage!

Blood must be my body's balmer,

No other balm will here be given,
Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer,

Travels to the Land of Heaven,
Over all the silver mountains,
Where do spring those nectar fountains.

And I there will sweetly kiss
The happy bowl of peaceful bliss,
Drinking mine eternal fill,
Flowing on each milky hill.

My soul will be a-dry before;
But, after, it will thirst no more.

In that happy peaceful day,

More peaceful pilgrims I shall see ;
That have cast off their rags of clay,
And walk apparelled fresh, like me.
I'll take them first

To slake their thirst,

And then to taste of nectar suckets,
At those clear wells

Where sweetness dwells,

Drawn up by Saints in crystal buckets.

And, when our bottles, and all we,
Are filled with immortality,
Then those holy paths we'll travel,

Strewed with rubies thick as gravel:
Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire floors,
High walls of coral, and pearly doors.

From thence to Heaven's bribeless Hall,
Where no corrupted voices brawl,
No conscience molten unto gold,

No forged accuser bought or sold,
No cause deferred, no vain-spent journey,
For there Christ is the King's Attorney:

Who pleads for all without degrees,
And he hath angels, but no fees.
And, when the grand twelve million jury
Of our sins, with direful fury

'Gainst our souls black verdicts give,
Christ pleads His death, and then we live.

Be Thou my speaker, taintless pleader,
Unblotted lawyer, true proceeder!
Thou giv'st salvation even for alms,

Not with a bribèd lawyer's palms.

Then this is mine eternal plea

To him that made Heaven, Earth and Sea :—
Seeing my flesh must die so soon,

And want a head to dine next noon,

Just at the stroke of death, my arms being spread,
Set on my soul an everlasting head:

So shall I ready, like a palmer fit,

Tread those blest paths shown in Thy holy writ.

Of death and judgment, heaven and hell,
Who oft doth think must needs die well.

1 A coin.

THE FAREWELL.2

Go, Soul, the body's guest,
Upon a thankless errand;

Fear not to touch the best,

The truth shall be thy warrant.
Go, since I needs must die,
And give them all the lie.

Go, tell the Court it glows

And shines like painted wood;

Go, tell the Church it shews

What's good, but does no good:

2 This poem exists in a MS. collection of poems in the British Museum, of the date 1596. It was printed with alterations in "Davison's Rhapsody" in 1608.

If Court and Church reply,
Give Court and Church the lie.

Tell Potentates, they live

Acting, but O their actions!

Not loved unless they give,

Nor strong but by their factions:
If Potentates reply,

Give Potentates the lie.

Tell Men of high condition
That rule affairs of state,
Their purpose is ambition,
Their practice only hate.
And if they do reply,
Then give them all the lie.

Tell them that brave it most,

They beg for more by spending Who, in their greatest cost,

Seek nothing but commending.
And if they make reply,
Spare not to give the lie.

Tell Zeal, it lacks devotion,
Tell Love, it is but lust,
Tell Time, it is but motion,

Tell Flesh, it is but dust:
And wish them not reply,
For thou must give the lie.

Tell Age, it daily wasteth,

Tell Honour, how it alters,

Tell Beauty, how it blasteth,

Tell Favour that she flatters:
And as they do reply,
Give every one the lie.

Tell Wit how much it wrangles
In fickle points of niceness;
Tell Wisdom she entangles

Herself in over-wiseness;
And if they do reply,

Then give them both the lie.

Tell Physic of her boldness,
Tell Skill, it is pretension,

T

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