At length men used charms, Thus women welcom'd woe, A jealous hell, a painted show, Hey down a down, did Dian sing, DULCINA. As at noon Dulcina rested The nymph he prays; whereto she says, But in vain she did conjure him To depart her presence so, Having a thousand tongues to allure him, And but one to bid him go; RALEIGH'S SONGS. When lips invite, and eyes delight, And cheeks as fresh as rose in June, Persuade delay, what boots to say, Forego me now, come to me soon! But what promise or profession Or for the sight of lingering night, SHALL I, LIKE A HERMIT. SHALL I, like a hermit, dwell Calling home the smallest part If she undervalues me, What care I how fair she be. Were her tresses angel gold; To convert them to a braid, 27 And, with little more ado, If the mine be grown so free, Were her hands as rich a prize If she seem not chaste to me, No, she must be perfect snow, Then, if others share with me, The three foregoing Ballads are by SIR WALTER RALEIGH, whose chequered and eventful life is too well known, to require in this place, any comments of ours. His poetical works, although the meanest of his literary productions, are pure and classical; while his lyrics, were they generally known, would merit insertion in any collection. He was born at Haye's Farm in Devonshire, in 1552; and died upon the scaffold in 1618. See his "Last Hours," by D'Israeli. JOHN HARRINGTON. 29 WHENCE COMES MY LOVE. WHENCE Comes my love? O heart disclose! The blushing cheek speaks modest mind, The eye does tempt to love's desire, Why thus my love, so kind, bespeak Sweet lip, sweet eye, sweet blushing cheek, O Venus! take thy gifts again; Make not so fair, to cause our moan, Or make a heart that's like our own. The above is "A Sonnet made on Isabella Markham, when I first thought her fair, as she stood at the Princess's window, in goodly attire, and talked to divers in the Court-yard," from a M. S. of JOHN HARRINGTON's, dated 1564, and inserted into the Nugæ Antiquæ. This John Harrington, Esq. says Ellis, was father to the above mentioned Sir John. In the reign of Queen Mary, he was imprisoned for having espoused the cause of Elizabeth, who rewarded his attention, by the reversion of a grant of lands at Kelston, near Bath. He was born in 1534, and died in 1582. His love verses, says Campbell, possess an elegance and terseness more modern by a hundred years, than others of his contemporaries. ROSALIND'S MADRIGAL. LOVE in my bosom, like a bee, Doth suck his sweet, Now with his wings he plays with me, Now with his feet; Within mine eyes he makes his nest, His bed amidst my tender breast, My kisses are his daily feast, And yet he robs me of my rest: Ah! wanton, will ye! And if I sleep, then pierceth he With pretty slight, And makes his pillow of my knee, The live long night; Strike I the lute, he tunes the string; He music plays, if I but sing; He lends me every lovely thing Yet cruel, he my heart doth sting: Else I, with roses every day, Will whip you hence; And bind ye when ye long to play, For your offence; I'll shut my eyes to keep you in, I'll make you fast it for your sin, I'll count your power not worth a pin— Helas! what hereby shall I win, If he gainsay me! |