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An ugly creature, all in black,

Ran to her seat, and flang her down, Who rent her garments from her back,

And spoil'd her of her precious crown.

This crown he placed upon his head;

And, leaving her in doleful case, With swiftest pace away he fled ;

And darkness came in all the place.

Then, quoth my guide, “ Note well my talk,

“ And thou shalt hear this dream declared: 66 The wood, in which thou first didst walk,

66 Unto the world may be compared.

“ The roaring beasts plainly express

“ The sundry snares in which we fall : 66 This goal, is named Deep-distress,

" In which dame Virtue lies in thrall :

“ She is the wight which here within

“ So dolefully doth howl and cry: “ Her foe is called Deadly Sin,

“ That proffer'd her this villainy.

My name is Time, whom God hath sent
“ To warn thee of thy soul's decay:

“ In time, therefore, thy sins lament,

“ Lest time from thee be ta’en away.

As soon as he these words had said,

With swiftest pace away he flies ; And I thereat was so afraid,

That drowsy sleep forsook my eyes.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

This astonishing man, in whom almost every variety of talent,

and all the acquirements of science, were united with heroic courage, and the most ardent spirit of enterprise, is classed by Puttenham among those poets “ who have writ excellently “ well, if their doings could be found out and made pub“ lic.” These doings, however, have not been collected; and it must be confessed, that the authority on which some of the following specimens are assigned to this author, is

not quite satisfactory. Isaac Walton has informed us, that the reply to Marlowe's

Passionate Shepherd,” was made by Sir Walter Raleigh, “in his younger days;" and, as far as this poem is concerned, such testimony is certainly sufficient. But Mr.Warton observes, that this“ Reply," which is found in England's Helicon, is there subscribed “ Ignoto, Raleigh's constant signature;” and this latter assertion is denied by another very able critic, who contends that this signature was affixed by the publisher, who meant to express by it, his own ignorance of the author's name. Mr. Warton, however, had perhaps good reasons for his opinion, though he neglected to adduce them; and it is to be observed that in Mr. Steevens's copy of the first edition of the Helicon, the original signature was W. R.; the second subscription of Ignoto (which has been followed in the subsequent editions) being, rather aukwardly, pasted over it. That the fantastic denominations of Ignoto, Immerito, &c. were, like the devices of knights errant, inviolably preserved to the original occupant, is extremely doubtful; but it seems

scarcely worth while to reject even this slight designation of property, in cases where no other claim is brought forward.

THE SHEPHERD TO THE FLOWERS.

[From England's Helicon.]

Sweet violets, Love's Paradise, that spread
Your gracious odours, which you couched 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 DEFIANCE TO DISDAINFUL LOYE.

[From the same Collection.]

Now have I learn'd with much ado, at last,

By true disdain to kill desire;
This was the mark at which I shot so fast;

Unto this height I did aspire.
Proud love, now do thy worst! and spare not ;
For thee, and all thy shafts, I care not!

What hast thou left wherewith to move my mind ?

What life to quicken dead desire ?
I count thy words and oaths as light as wind,

I feel no heat in all thy fire.
Go! change thy bow, and get a stronger:
Go! break thy shafts, and buy thee longer !

In vain thou bait'st thy hooks with beauty's blaze,

In vain thy wanton eyes allure :
These are but toys to them that love to gaze:

I know what harm thy looks procure.
Some strange conceit must be devised,
Or those, and all thy arts, despised,

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