Part 33 (1/2)

'The cushat croods, the corbie cries, The cuckoo conks, the prattling pies To geck there they begin; The jargon of the jangling jays, The cracking craws and keckling kays, They deav'd me with their din; The painted p.a.w.n, with Argus eyes, Can on his May-c.o.c.k call, The turtle wails, on wither'd trees, And Echo answers all.

Repeating, with greeting, How fair Narcissus fell, By lying, and spying His shadow in the well.

'The air was sober, saft, and sweet, Nae misty vapours, wind, nor weet, But quiet, calm, and clear; To foster Flora's fragrant flowers, Whereon Apollo's paramours Had trinkled mony a tear; The which, like silver shakers, s.h.i.+ned, Embroidering Beauty's bed, Wherewith their heavy heads declined, In Maye's colours clad; Some knopping, some dropping Of balmy liquor sweet, Excelling and smelling Through Phoebus' wholesome heat.'

The 'Cherry and the Slae' was familiar to Burns, who often, our readers will observe, copied its form of verse.

SAMUEL DANIEL.

This ingenious person was born in 1562, near Taunton, in Somersets.h.i.+re.

His father was a music-master. He was patronised by the n.o.ble family of Pembroke, who probably also maintained him at college. He went to Magdalene Hall, Oxford, in 1579; and after studying there, chiefly history and poetry, for seven years, he left without a degree. When twenty-three years of age, he translated Paulus Jovius' 'Discourse of Rare Inventions.' He became tutor to Lady Anne Clifford, the elegant and accomplished daughter of the Earl of c.u.mberland. She, at his death, raised a monument to his memory, and recorded on it, with pride, that she had been his pupil. After Spenser died, Daniel became a 'voluntary laureat' to the Court, producing masques and pageants, but was soon supplanted by 'rare Ben Jonson.' In 1603 he was appointed Master of the Queen's Revels and Inspector of the Plays to be enacted by juvenile performers. He was also promoted to be Gentleman Extraordinary and Groom of the Chambers to the Queen. He was a varied and voluminous writer, composing plays, miscellaneous poems, and prose compositions, including a 'Defence of Rhyme' and a 'History of England,'--an honest, but somewhat dry and dull production. While composing his works he resided in Old Street, St Luke's, which was then thought a suburban residence; but he was often in town, and mingled on intimate terms with Selden and Shakspeare. When approaching sixty, he took a farm at Beckington, in Somersets.h.i.+re--his native s.h.i.+re--and died there in 1619.

Daniel's Plays and History are now, as wholes, forgotten, although the former contained some vigorous pa.s.sages, such as Richard II.'s soliloquy on the morning of his murder in Pomfret Castle. His smaller pieces and his Sonnets shew no ordinary poetic powers.

RICHARD II., THE MORNING BEFORE HIS MURDER IN POMFRET CASTLE.

Whether the soul receives intelligence, By her near genius, of the body's end, And so imparts a sadness to the sense, Foregoing ruin, whereto it doth tend; Or whether nature else hath conference With profound sleep, and so doth warning send, By prophetising dreams, what hurt is near, And gives the heavv careful heart to fear:--

However, so it is, the now sad king, Toss'd here and there his quiet to confound, Feels a strange weight of sorrows gathering Upon his trembling heart, and sees no ground; Feels sudden terror bring cold s.h.i.+vering; Lists not to eat, still muses, sleeps unsound; His senses droop, his steady eyes unquick, And much he ails, and yet he is not sick.

The morning of that day which was his last, After a weary rest, rising to pain, Out at a little grate his eyes he cast Upon those bordering hills and open plain, Where others' liberty makes him complain The more his own, and grieves his soul the more, Conferring captive crowns with freedom poor.

'O happy man,' saith he, 'that lo I see, Grazing his cattle in those pleasant fields, If he but knew his good. How blessed he That feels not what affliction greatness yields!

Other than what he is he would not be, Nor change his state with him that sceptre wields.

Thine, thine is that true life: that is to live, To rest secure, and not rise up to grieve.

'Thou sitt'st at home safe by thy quiet fire, And hear'st of others' harms, but fearest none: And there thou tell'st of kings, and who aspire, Who fall, who rise, who triumph, who do moan.

Perhaps thou talk'st of me, and dost inquire Of my restraint, why here I live alone, And pitiest this my miserable fall; For pity must have part--envy not all.

'Thrice happy you that look as from the sh.o.r.e, And have no venture in the wreck you see; No interest, no occasion to deplore Other men's travails, while yourselves sit free.

How much doth your sweet rest make us the more To see our misery and what we be: Whose blinded greatness, ever in turmoil, Still seeking happy life, makes life a toil.'

EARLY LOVE.

Ah, I remember well (and how can I But evermore remember well?) when first Our flame began, when scarce we knew what was The flame we felt; when as we sat and sigh'd And look'd upon each other, and conceived Not what we ail'd, yet something we did ail, And yet were well, and yet we were not well, And what was our disease we could not tell.

Then would we kiss, then sigh, then look: and thus In that first garden of our simpleness We spent our childhood. But when years began To reap the fruit of knowledge; ah, how then Would she with sterner looks, with graver brow, Check my presumption and my forwardness!

Yet still would give me flowers, still would show What she would have me, yet not have me know.

SELECTIONS FROM SONNETS.

I must not grieve, my love, whose eyes would read Lines of delight, whereon her youth might smile; Flowers have time before they come to seed, And she is young, and now must sport the while.

And sport, sweet maid, in season of these years, And learn to gather flowers before they wither; And where the sweetest blossom first appears, Let love and youth conduct thy pleasures thither, Lighten forth smiles to clear the clouded air, And calm the tempest which my sighs do raise: Pity and smiles do best become the fair; Pity and smiles must only yield thee praise.

Make me to say, when all my griefs are gone, Happy the heart that sigh'd for such a one.

Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair; Her brow shades frown, although her eyes are sunny; Her smiles are lightning, though her pride despair; And her disdains are gall, her favours honey.