But thou thereon didst only breathe And sent'st it back to me: Since when it grows and smells, I swear, Not of itself, but thee. Egla. Here she was wont to go! and here! and here! And where she went the flowers took thickest root, This delightful pastoral on the story of Robin Hood and Maid Marian is unhappily unfinished. Scarcely half is written, and even that wants the author's last touches. 66 SPEECH OF MAIA, IN THE PENATES." If every pleasure were distilled Of every flower in every field, And all that Hybla's hives do yield, And spice that from Panchaia comes, But if you please to come again, The acclamations at your crown. All this, and more than I have gift of saying, May vows, so you will oft come here a Maying. EPITAPH ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE. Underneath this sable hearse Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother; Death, ere thou hast slain another After all we take leave of him, transcribing yet another exquisite song, and echoing our first words, "O rare Ben Jonson !" FROM THE MASQUE OF 66 THE GIPSIES METAMORPHOSED." To the old, long life and treasure ; To the young, all health and pleasure; With eternal grace, And the soul to be loved at leisure. To the witty, all clear mirrors ; A secure delight; To the jealous his own false terrors. XX. FASHIONABLE POETS. WILLIAM ROBERT SPENCER. A SCHOOL-DAY ANECDOTE. GRANDSON of two dukes, nursed in the very lap of fashion, and coming into life at the time of all others when wit and fancy, and the lighter graces of poetry, were most cordially welcomed by the higher circlesat a time when the star of Sheridan was still in the ascendant, and that of Moore just appearing on the horizon-William Spencer may be regarded as much the representative of a class, as John Clare, or Robert Burns. The style of his verse eminently airy, polished, and graceful, as well as his personal qualities, combined to render him the idol of that society which, by common consent, we are content to call the best. His varied accomplishments enlivened a country-house, his brilliant wit formed the delight of a dinner-table; while his singular charm of manner, and perhaps of character, gave a permanency to his social success by converting the admirers of an evening into friends for life. With all these genial triumphs, however, we cannot look over the little volume of graceful verse, which is all that now remains of so splendid a reputation, without feeling that the author was born for better, higher, more enduring purposes; that the charming trifler, whose verses forty years ago every lady knew by heart, and which are now well-nigh forgotten, ought not to have wasted his high endowments in wreathing garlands for festivals-ought not, above all, to have gone on from youth to age, leading the melancholy life which is all holiday. Nevertheless we must accept these verses for such as they are, just as we admire unquestioning the wing of a butterfly, or the petal of a flower; and in their kind they are exquisite. Look at the fancy and the finish of these stanzas ! In the next extract there is an unexpected touch of sentiment mixed with its playfulness that is singularly captivating. * Very sweetly mated with one of the sweetest old Irish airs, "The Yellow Horse." |