Next was November; he full gross and fat

As fed with lard, and that right well might seem ;
For he had been a-fatting hogs of late,

That yet his brows with sweat did reek and steam,
And yet the season was full sharp and breem:1
In planting eke he took no small delight.
Whereon he rode not easy was to deem;
For it a dreadful Centaur was in sight,
The seed of Saturn and fair Nais, Chiron hight.2

And after him came next the chill December:
Yet he, through merry feasting which he made
And great bonfires, did not the cold remember;
His Saviour's birth his mind so much did glad.
Upon a shaggy-bearded Goat he rode,
The same wherewith Dan Jove in tender years,
They say, was nourished by the Idæan maid;
And in his hand a broad deep bowl he bears,
Of which he freely drinks an health to all his peers.

Then came old January, wrappèd well
In many weeds to keep the cold away;
Yet did he quake and quiver, like to quell,3
And blow his nails to warm them if he may ;
For they were numbed with holding all the day'
An hatchet keen, with which he fellèd wood
And from the trees did lop the needless spray :
Upon an huge great earth-pot stone he stood,

From whose wide mouth there flowèd forth the Roman flood.4

And lastly came cold February, sitting In an old waggon, for he could not ride, Drawn of two fishes, for the season fitting,

Which through the flood before did softly slide

And swim away: yet had he by his side

His plough and harness fit to till the ground,

And tools to prune the trees, before the pride

Of hasting Prime did make them burgeon round.

So passed the twelve Months forth, and their due places found.

1 Boisterous.

Book VII. Canto VII.

2 Called.

5 Spring.

3 Perish.

4 Aquarius, a sign of the Zodiac, was represented with a water-pot of stone, from which flowed the river Po. 6 To bud.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

(1552-1618.)

IN the pastoral poem of Colin Clout's Come Home Again
Spenser thus describes a visit paid to him at Kilcolman
Castle, in 1590, by his friend Sir Walter Raleigh :—

"One day, quoth he, I sat, as was my trade,
Under the foot of Mole, that mountain hoar,
Keeping my sheep amongst the cooly shade
Of the green alders, by the Mulla's shore.
There a strange shepherd chanced to find me out;
Whether allured with my pipe's delight,

Whose pleasing sound yshrillèd far about,
Or thither led by chance, I know not right:
Whom when I asked from what place he came,
And how he hight, himself he did yclepe
The Shepherd of the Ocean by name;
And said he came far from the main sea deep.
He, sitting me beside in that same shade,
Provoked me to play some pleasant fit;
And, when he heard the musick which I made,
He found himself full greatly pleased at it:
Yet, emuling1 my pipe, he took in hond
My pipe, before that emulèd of many,

And played thereon; for well that skill he conned ;2
Himself as skilful in that art as any.

He piped, I sung; and when he sung, I piped;
By change of turns, each making other merry ;
Neither envying other, nor envíed,

So pipèd we, until we both were weary.".

Of the verses which entitled Raleigh to be thus included among the poets of the day, with the curiously fitting epithet of "Shepherd of the Ocean," only a few authentic specimens remain. Scattered, in the first instance, anonymously in manuscripts or printed miscellanies, they were not systematically collected until 1715. The complete works of Raleigh, including the History of the World, written during his imprisonment in the Tower (1603-1615), and a number of prose 1 Emulating.

2 Knew.

treatises, one of which, called The Cabinet Council, was edited in 1658 by John Milton, were published at Oxford in eight 8vo volumes in 1829. This is the present standard edition. In the last of the eight Oxford octavos, and in less than forty pages of it, are contained the forty short poems on miscellaneous subjects attributed, with tolerable, certainty, to Raleigh. So small a quantity of verse cannot be regarded as adequately representing the man's genius and power in literature. His life was one of the busiest and fullest of results on record. From his youth he was a sailor, a warrior, and a courtier; but he was also a student. Aubrey relates that "he studied most in his sea voyages, when he carried always a trunk of books along with him, and had nothing to divert him." From the same source we learn that the companions of his youth "were boisterous blades, but generally those that had wit." The famous Mermaid Club, frequented by Shakespeare, Ben Jonson, and the other "wits" of the day, was founded by Raleigh; who, through his whole life, had a strong sympathy with literature and learning. His verses are vigorous and original, full of splendid courage and a proud impetuosity. The prevailing tone is one of scorn at the world's meanness; and the scraps of verse written in prison, shortly before his execution in 1618, are as brave and as scornful as any he had ever dashed from his pen in more fortunate days. It is, however, in his prose writings that we must look for the fullest evidence of Raleigh's genius, of his varied learning, and his intimate experience of life and men.

THE SHEPHERD TO HIS FLOWERS.

Sweet Violets, Love's paradise, that spread
Your gracious odours, which you couchèd 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 PILGRIM TO HEAVEN IN SEARCH OF JUSTICE,

Give me my scallop-shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon,
My scrip of joy, immortal diet,
My bottle of salvation,

My gown of glory, Hope's true gage,
And thus I'll take my pilgrimage!

Blood must be my body's balmer,

No other balm will here be given,
Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer,

Travels to the Land of Heaven,
Over all the silver mountains,
Where do spring those nectar fountains.

And I there will sweetly kiss
The happy bowl of peaceful bliss,
Drinking mine eternal fill,
Flowing on each milky hill.

My soul will be a-dry before;
But, after, it will thirst no more.

In that happy peaceful day,

More peaceful pilgrims I shall see ;
That have cast off their rags of clay,
And walk apparelled fresh, like me.
I'll take them first

To slake their thirst,

And then to taste of nectar suckets,
At those clear wells

Where sweetness dwells,

Drawn up by Saints in crystal buckets.

And, when our bottles, and all we,
Are filled with immortality,
Then those holy paths we'll travel,

Strewed with rubies thick as gravel:
Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire floors,
High walls of coral, and pearly doors.

From thence to Heaven's bribeless Hall,
Where no corrupted voices brawl,
No conscience molten unto gold,

No forged accuser bought or sold,
No cause deferred, no vain-spent journey,
For there Christ is the King's Attorney:

Who pleads for all without degrees,
And he hath angels,1 but no fees.
And, when the grand twelve million jury
Of our sins, with direful fury
'Gainst our souls black verdicts give,
Christ pleads His death, and then we live.

Be Thou my speaker, taintless pleader,
Unblotted lawyer, true proceeder!
Thou giv'st salvation even for alms,

Not with a bribèd lawyer's palms.

Then this is mine eternal plea

To him that made Heaven, Earth and Sea :-
'Seeing my flesh must die so soon,

And want a head to dine next noon,

Just at the stroke of death, my arms being spread,
Set on my soul an everlasting head:

So shall I ready, like a palmer fit,

Tread those blest paths shown in Thy holy writ.

Of death and judgment, heaven and hell,
Who oft doth think must needs die well.

1 A coin.

THE FAREWELL.2

Go, Soul, the body's guest,
Upon a thankless errand;

Fear not to touch the best,

The truth shall be thy warrant.
Go, since I needs must die,
And give them all the lie.

Go, tell the Court it glows

And shines like painted wood;

Go, tell the Church it shews

What's good, but does no good:

2 This poem exists in a MS. collection of poems in the British Museum, of the date 1596. It was printed with alterations in "Davison's Rhapsody" in 1608.