Of her, ye virgins! learn obedience, The sacred ceremonies there partake, The choristers the joyous anthems sing, That all the woods may answer, and their echo ring. "Behold whi she before the altar stands, Hearing the ly priest that to her speaks, And blesses her with his two happy hands, How red the roses flush up in her cheeks! And the pure snow, with goodly vermil stain, Like crimson dy'd in grain, That even the angels, which continually About the sacred altar do remain, Forget their service, and about her fly, Oft peeping in her face, that seems more fair The more they on it stare; But her sad eyes, still fast'ned on the ground, Are governed with goodly modesty, That suffers not one look to glance awry, Which may let in a little thought unsound. Why blush ye, Love! to give to me your hand, The pledge of all your band? "Now all is done: bring home the bride again, Bring home the triumph of our victory : Bring home with you the glory of her gain, With joyance bring her, and with jollity. Never had man more joyful day than this, Whom Heaven would heap with bliss. Make feast, therefore, now all this livelong day, This day for ever to me holy is; Pour out the wine without restraint or stay, Pour not by cups, but by the belly-full: Pour out to all that wull, And sprinkle all the posts and walls with wine, That they may sweat, and drunken be withal: Crown ye god Bacchus with a coronal, And Hymen also crown with wreaths of vine, And let the Graces dance unto the rest, For they can do it best, The whiles the maidens do their carol And leave likewise your former lays to sing; The woods no more shall answer, nor your echo ring. THE POWER OF POETRY TO ONE day I wrote her name upon the But came the waves and washed it away; Again I wrote it with a second hand, But came the tide, and made my pains his prey. Vain man! said she, that doth in vain assay A mortal thing so to immortalize, For I myself shall like to this decay, And eke my name be wiped out like wise. Not so, quoth I, let baser things devise To die in dust, but you shall live by fame: My verse your virtues rare shall eternize, And in the heavens write your glorious name, Where, when as Death shall all the world subdue, Our love shall live, and later life renew. progress. SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. 1554-1586. [PHILIP SIDNEY was the eldest son of the well-known Sir Henry Sidney, President of Wales and Lord Deputy of Ireland under Elizabeth, and through his mother, Lady Mary Dudley, grandson of the Duke of Northumberland executed in 1553, and nephew of Lord Leicester. He was born at Penshurst, Nov. 29, 1554; he entered Shrewsbury School, Oct. 17, 1564, on the same day as his friend and biographer, Fulke Greville, afterwards Lord Brooke; and in 1568 he was sent to Christ Church, Oxford. From May 1572 to May 1575 Sidney was abroad, in France, Germany, and Italy; sheltered in Sir Francis Walsingham's house in Paris on the night of St. Bartholomew, and spending a considerable time at Frankfort with Hubert Languet, the reformer, afterwards his constant correspondent. In 1575 he appeared at Elizabeth's Court, and took part in the Kenilworth In 1577 he was sent as English ambassador to Rodolph II., at Prague, returning the same year. He seems to have made acquaintance with Harvey and Spenser in 1578, and in 1580, while he was in retirement at Penshurst, after his letter of remonstrance to the Queen on the Anjou match, he and his sister, the well-known Countess of Pembroke, produced a joint poetical version of the Psalms, and the Arcadia was begun (published 1590). He returned to Court in the autumn of 1580, and the Astrophel and Stella sonnets (published 1591) probably date from the following year. The Apologie for Poetrie was written in or about 1581 (the first known edition is that of London, 1595). Sidney was knighted in the same year. In 1583 he married Frances, daughter of Sir Francis Walsingham, and was for the second time a member of Parliament. Nov., 1584, he was appointed governor of Flushing, and nearly two years later, on Sept. 22, 1586, received his fatal wound at the battle of Zutphen. A complete edition of Sidney's poems was published by the Rev. A. B. Grosart, London, 1877. SONNETS FROM ASTROPHEL I. LOVING in truth, and fain in verse my love to show. That she, dear she, might take some pleasure of my pain, Pleasure might cause her read, reading In I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe; Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain, Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flow Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sun-burn'd brain. But words came halting forth, wanting Then, even of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit? Are beauties there as proud as here they be? Do they above love to be lov'd, and yet Those lovers scorn whom that love did possess? Do they call virtue there ungratefulness? 32. Morpheus, the lively son of deadly Sleep, That never I with clos'd-up sense do lie, Vouchsafe, of all acquaintance, this to tell, Whence hast thou ivory, rubies, pearl, and gold, To show her skin, lips, teeth, and head so well? Fool! answers he; no Indes such treasures hold; But from thy heart, while my sire charmeth thee, Sweet Stella's image I do steal to me. |