Six Centuries of English Poetry Part 36

"_In fifty-two years, without counting the drama, two hundred and thirty-three poets are enumerated, of whom forty have genius or talent. . . . What is this condition which gives rise to so universal a taste for poetry? What is it breathes life into their books? How happens it, that amongst the least, in spite of pedantrie, awkwardnesses, we meet with brilliant pictures and genuine love-cries? How happens it, that when this generation was exhausted, true poetry ended in England, as true painting in Italy and Flanders? It was because an epoch of the mind came and pa.s.sed away,--that, namely, of instinctive and creative conception. These men had new senses, and no theories in their heads. . . . They are happy in contemplating beautiful things, and wish only that they should be the most beautiful possible. They do not excite themselves to express moral or philosophical ideas. They wish to enjoy through the imagination, through the eyes, like those Italian n.o.bles, who, at the same time, were so captivated by fine colors and forms, that they covered with paintings not only their rooms and their churches, but the lids of their chests and the saddles of their horses. . . . Think what poetry was likely to spring from them, how superior to common events, how free from literal imitation, how smitten with ideal beauty, how capable of creating a world beyond our sad world._"--TAINE.

Poets of the Sixteenth Century.

=Sir Thomas Wyatt= (1503-1542). See biographical note, page 252.

=Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey= (1517-1547). See biographical note, page 252.

=George Gascoigne= (1536-1577). "The Steel Gla.s.s"; "The Tragedy of Iocaste."

=Thomas Sackville, Lord Buckhurst= (1536-1608). "The Induction to the Mirror for Magistrates"; "The Tragedy of Gorboduc."

=Edmund Spenser= (1552-1598). See biographical note, page 245.

=Sir Philip Sidney= (1554-1586). "Astrophel and Stella"; sonnets and short poems.

=Thomas Watson= (1557-1592). "The Hecatompathia or Pa.s.sionate Century of Love"; "Meliboeus"; "The Tears of Fancie."

=John Lyly= (1554-1606). Lyrical poems; "Alexander and Campaspe"; "Love's Metamorphosis."

=Robert Greene= (1560-1592). Dramas and lyrical poems.

=Christopher Marlowe= (1564-1593). Dramas and lyrical poems.

=Thomas Lodge= (1556-1625). Dramas and lyrical poems.

=William Warner= (1550-1609). "Albion's England"; "Pan, his Syrinx or Pipe."

=William Shakespeare= (1564-1616). See note, page 221.

=Samuel Daniel= (1562-1619). "History of the Civil Wars between the two Houses of York and Lancaster."

=Sir Walter Raleigh= (1552-1618). Short poems.

=George Chapman= (1559-1634). Translations of "Homer's Iliad" and "Homer's Odyssey."

=Michael Drayton= (1563-1631). "Polyolbion"; "The Barons' Wars"; "The Battle of Agincourt."

=Joseph Hall= (1574-1656). "Virgidemiarum"; satires.

=Sir John Davies= ( -1626). "Nosce Teipsum."

=John Donne= (1573-1631). Short poems.

William Shakespeare.

VENUS'S ADVICE TO ADONIS ON HUNTING.

[FROM "VENUS AND ADONIS."]

"Thou hadst been gone," quoth she, "sweet boy, ere this, But that thou told'st me thou wouldst hunt the boar.

O, be advised! thou know'st not what it is With javelin's point a churlish swine to gore, Whose tushes never sheathed he whetteth still, Like to a mortal butcher bent to kill.

"On his bow-back he hath a battle set Of bristly pikes, that ever threat his foes; His eyes, like glow-worms, shine when he doth fret; His snout digs sepulchres where'er he goes; Being moved, he strikes whate'er is in his way, And when he strikes his crooked tushes slay.

"His brawny sides, with hairy bristles arm'd, Are better proof than thy spear's point can enter; His short thick neck cannot be easily harm'd; Being ireful, on the lion he will venture: The th.o.r.n.y brambles and embracing bushes, As fearful of him, part, through whom he rushes.

"Alas, he nought esteems that face of thine, To which Love's eyes pay tributary gazes; Nor thy soft hands, sweet lips and crystal eyne, Whose full perfection all the world amazes; But having thee at vantage,--wondrous dread!

Would root these beauties as he roots the mead.

"O, let him keep his loathsome cabin still; Beauty hath nought to do with such foul fiends: Come not within his danger by thy will; They that thrive well take counsel of their friends.

When thou didst name the boar, not to dissemble, I fear'd thy fortune, and my joints did tremble.

"But if thou needs wilt hunt, be ruled by me; Uncouple at the timorous flying hare, Or at the fox which lives by subtlety, Or at the roe which no encounter dare: Pursue these fearful creatures o'er the downs, And on thy well-breathed horse keep with thy hounds.

"And when thou hast on foot the purblind hare, Mark the poor wretch, to overshoot his troubles How he outruns the wind and with what care He cranks and crosses with a thousand doubles: The many musets through the which he goes Are like a labyrinth to amaze his foes.

"Sometime he runs among a flock of sheep, To make the cunning hounds mistake their smell, And sometime where earth-delving conies keep, To stop the loud pursuers in their yell, And sometime sorteth with a herd of deer: Danger deviseth shifts; wit waits on fear:

"For there his smell with others being mingled, The hot scent-snuffing hounds are driven to doubt, Ceasing their clamorous cry till they have singled With much ado the cold fault cleanly out; Then do they spend their mouths: Echo replies, As if another chase were in the skies.

"By this, poor Wat, far off upon a hill, Stands on his hinder legs with listening ear, To hearken if his foes pursue him still: Anon their loud alarums he doth hear; And now his grief may be compared well To one sore sick that hears the pa.s.sing-bell.

"Then shalt thou see the dew-bedabbled wretch Turn, and return, indenting with the way; Each envious brier his weary legs doth scratch, Each shadow makes him stop, each murmur stay: For misery is trodden on by many, And being low never relieved by any."

A MORNING SONG FOR IMOGEN.

[FROM "CYMBELINE."]

Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With everything that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise: Arise, arise.

SIGH NO MORE, LADIES.

[FROM "MUCH ADO ABOUT NOTHING."]