Part 18

Ah, where were ye this while, his shepherd peers? To whom alive was nought so dear as he. And ye fair maids, the matches of his years! Which in his grace, did boast you most to be? And where were ye, when he of you had need, To stop his wound that wondrously did bleed?

Ah, wretched boy! the shape of drearihead! And sad ensample of man's sudden end! Full little faileth, but thou shalt be dead; Unpitied, unplained of foe or friend: Whilst none is nigh, thine eyelids up to close; And kiss thy lips like faded leaves of rose.

A sort of shepherds suing of the chase, As they the forest rangèd on a day; By fate or fortune came unto the place, Whereas the luckless boy yet bleeding lay. Yet bleeding lay, and yet would still have bled, Had not good hap those shepherds thither led.

They stopped his wound--too late to stop, it was, And in their arms then softly did him rear: Tho, as he willed, unto his lovèd lass, His dearest love, him dolefully did bear. The doleful'st bier that ever man did see Was ASTROPHEL, but dearest unto me.

She, when she saw her love in such a plight, With curdled blood and filthy gore deformed; That wont to be with flowers and garlands dight, And her dear favours dearly well adorned. Her face, the fairest face that eye might see, She likewise did deform, like him to be.

Her yellow locks that shone so bright and long, As sunny beams in fairest summer's day; She fiercely tore: and with outrageous wrong, From her red cheeks, the roses rent away. And her fair breast, the treasury of joy; She spoiled thereof, and fillèd with annoy.

His pallid face, impicturèd with death; She bathèd oft with tears and drièd oft: And with sweet kisses, sucked the wasting breath Out of his lips, like lilies pale and soft. And oft she called to him, who answered nought; But only by his looks did tell his thought.

The rest of her impatient regret And piteous moan, the which she for him made; No tongue can tell, nor any forth can set: But he whose heart, like sorrow did invade. At last, when pain his vital powers had spent, His wasted life her weary lodge forewent.

Which when she saw, she stayèd not a whit, But after him, did make untimely haste: Forthwith her ghost out of her corps did flit, And followed her mate, like turtle chaste. To prove that death, their hearts cannot divide; Which living were in love so firmly tied.

The gods, which all things see, this same beheld. And pitying this pair of lovers true; Transformèd them, there lying on the field, Into one flower that is both red and blue. It first grows red, and then to blue doth fade; Like ASTROPHEL, which thereinto was made.

And in the midst thereof a star appears, As fairly formed as any star in sky; Resembling STELLA in her freshest years, Forth darting beams of beauty from her eyes: And all the day it standeth full of dew, Which is the tears that from her eyes did flow.

That herb of some, "Starlight" is called by name; Of others _Penthia_, though not so well: But thou wherever thou dost find the same, From this day forth do call it _Astrophel_. And whensoever thou it up dost take; Do pluck it softly, for that shepherd's sake.

Hereof when tidings far abroad did pass, The shepherds all which lovèd him full dear-- And sure, full dear of all he lovèd was-- Did thither flock to see what they did hear. And when that piteous spectacle they viewed, The same with bitter tears they all bedewed.

And every one did make exceeding moan, With inward anguish and great grief opprest; And every one did weep and wail and moan, And means devised to show his sorrow best. That from that hour since first on grassy green, Shepherds kept sheep; was not like mourning seen.

But first his sister that CLORINDA hight, The gentlest shepherdess that lives this day; And most resembling both in shape and sprite, Her brother dear, began this doleful lay. Which lest I mar the sweetness of the verse, In sort as she it sung, I will rehearse.

"Aye me! to whom shall I, my case complain, That may compassion my impatient grief? Or where shall I unfold my inward pain That my enriven heart may find relief? Shall I unto the heavenly powers it show, Or unto earthly men that dwell below?"

"To heavens! Ah, they, alas, the authors were And workers of my unremèdied woe; For they foresee what to us happens here, And they foresaw, yet suffered this be so. From them comes good, from them comes also ill; That which they made, who can them warn to spill?"

"To men! Ah, they, alas, like wretched be And subject to the heaven's ordinance; Bound to abide whatever they decree, Their best redress, is their best sufferance. How then can they, like wretched, comfort me? The which no less, need comforted to be."

"Then to myself, will I my sorrow mourn, Sith none alive like sorrowful remains; And to myself, my plaints shall back return, To pay their usury with doubled pains. The woods, the hills, the rivers shall resound The mournful accent of my sorrow's ground."

"Woods, hills and rivers now are desolate; Sith he is gone the which them all did grace: And all the fields do wail their widow-state; Sith death, their fairest flower did late deface. The fairest flower in field that ever grew, Was ASTROPHEL: that 'was,' we all may rue."

"What cruel hand of cursèd foe unknown, Hath cropped the stalk which bore so fair a flower? Untimely cropped, before it well were grown, And clean defacèd in untimely hour. Great loss to all that ever him see, Great loss to all, but greatest loss to me."

"Break now your garlands, O ye shepherds' lasses! Sith the fair flower, which them adorned, is gone: The flower, which them adorned, is gone to ashes, Never again let lass put garland on. Instead of garland, wear sad cypress now; And bitter elder, broken from the bough."

"Ne ever sing the love-lays which he made; Whoever made such lays of love as he? Ne ever read the riddles, which he said Unto yourselves, to make you merry glee. Your merry glee is now laid all abed, Your merry-maker now, alas! is dead."

"Death! the devourer of all world's delight, Hath robbèd you, and reft from me my joy; Both you and me and all the world, he quite Hath robbed of joyance; and left sad annoy. Joy of the world! and shepherds' pride was he: Shepherds hope never, like again to see."

"Oh, Death! that hast us of such riches reft, Tell us at least, What hast thou with it done? What is become of him, whose flower here left; Is but the shadow of his likeness gone. Scarce like the shadow of that which he was: Nought like, but that he, like a shade, did pass."

"But that immortal spirit, which was deckt With all the dowries of celestial grace; By sovereign choice from th' heavenly quires select, And lineally derived from angels' race: O what is now of it become aread? Aye me! can so divine a thing be dead?"

"Ah, no! It is not dead, nor can it die; But lives for aye in blissful Paradise: Where like a new-born babe it soft doth lie In bed of lilies, wrapped in tender wise: And compassed all about with roses sweet, And dainty violets from head to feet."

"There, thousand birds, all of celestial brood, To him do sweetly carol day and night; And with strange notes, of him well understood, Lull him asleep in angelic delight: Whilst in sweet dream, to him presented be Immortal beauties, which no eye may see."

"But he them sees, and takes exceeding pleasure Of their divine aspects, appearing plain; And kindling love in him above all measure Sweet love, still joyous, never feeling pain. For what so goodly form he there doth see, He may enjoy, from jealous rancour free."

"There liveth he in everlasting bliss, Sweet spirit! never fearing more to die: Ne dreading harm from any foes of his, Ne fearing savage beast's more cruelty. Whilst we here, wretches! wail his private lack; And with vain vows do often call him back."

"But live thou there still happy, happy spirit! And give us leave, thee here thus to lament: Not thee, that dost thy heaven's joy inherit; But our own selves, that here in dole are drent. Thus do we weep and wail, and wear our eyes, Mourning in others, our own miseries."

* * * * *

Which when she ended had, another swain, Of gentle wit and dainty sweet device; Whom ASTROPHEL full dear did entertain Whilst here he lived, and held in passing price: Hight THESTYLIS, began his mournful tourn, And made the Muses in his song to mourn.

And after him, full many other moe, As every one in order loved him best; 'Gan dight themselves t'express their inward woe With doleful lays unto the tune addrest. The which I here in order will rehearse, As fittest flowers to deck his mournful hearse.

_The mourning Muse of_ THESTYLIS.

Come forth ye nymphs! come forth! forsake your watery bowers! Forsake your mossy caves; and help me to lament. Help me to tune my doleful notes to gurgling sound Of Liffey's tumbling streams. Come let salt tears of ours, Mix with his waters fresh. O come let one consent Join us to mourn with wailful plaints the deadly wound Which fatal clap hath made, decreed by higher powers; The dreary day in which they have from us yrent The noblest plant that might from East to West be found. Mourn! mourn great PHILIP'S fall! mourn we his woeful end, Whom spiteful death hath plucked untimely from the tree; While yet his years in flower did promise worthy fruit. Ah, dreadful MARS! why didst thou not thy knight defend? What wrathful mood, what fault of ours hath moved thee, Of such a shining light to leave us destitute? Thou with benign aspect sometime didst us behold. Thou hast in Britons' valour ta'en delight of old, And with thy presence oft vouchsafed to attribute Fame and renown to us, for glorious martial deeds: But now their ireful beams have chilled our hearts with cold. Thou hast estranged thyself and deignest not our land: Far off to others now, thy favour, honour breeds; And high disdain doth cause thee shun our clime, I fear. For hadst thou not been wroth, or that time near at hand; Thou wouldst have heard the cry that woeful England made: Eke Zealand's piteous plaints, and Holland's toren hair Would haply have appeased thy divine angry mind. Thou shouldst have seen the trees refuse to yield their shade And wailing to let fall the honour of their head, And birds in mournful tunes lamenting in their kind. Up from his tomb, the mighty CORINEUS rose, Who cursing oft the fates that this mishap had bred, His hoary locks he tare, calling the heavens unkind. The Thames was heard to roar, the Rhine, and eke the Meuse, The Scheldt, the Danow self this great mischance did rue: With torment and with grief, their fountains pure and clear Were troubled; and with swelling floods declared their woes. The Muses comfortless, the nymphs with pallid hue; The sylvan gods likewise came running far and near; And all, with hearts bedewed, and eyes cast up on high, "O help! O help, ye gods!" they ghastly 'gan to cry, "O change the cruel fate of this so rare a wight And grant that nature's course may measure out his age!" The beasts their food forsook, and trembling fearfully, Each sought his cave or den. This cry did them so fright. Out from amid the waves, by storm then stirred to rage, This cry did cause to rise th'old father OCEAN hoar, Who grave with eld, and full of majesty in sight, Spake in this wise, "Refrain," quoth he, "your tears and plaints! Cease these your idle words! Make vain requests no more! No humble speech nor moan may move the fixèd stint Of destiny or death. Such is His will that paints The earth with colours fresh, the darkest skies with store Of starry lights: and though your tears a heart of flint Might tender make; yet nought herein will they prevail." Whiles thus he said, the noble Knight, who 'gan to feel His vital force to faint, and death with cruel dint Of direful dart his mortal body to assail: With eyes lift up to heaven, and courage frank as steel; With cheerful face where valour lively was exprest, But humble mind, he said, "O LORD! if ought this frail And earthly carcass have Thy service sought t'advance; If my desire have been still to relieve th'opprest; If Justice to maintain, that valour I have spent Which Thou me gav'st; or if henceforth I might advance Thy name, Thy truth: then spare me, LORD! if Thou think best; Forbear these unripe years! But if Thy will be bent, If that prefixèd time be come which Thou hast set: Through pure and fervent faith, I hope now to be placed In th'everlasting bliss; which with Thy precious blood Thou purchase didst for us." With that a sigh he fet, And straight a cloudy mist his senses overcast. His lips waxed pale and wan, like damask rose's bud Cast from the stalk; or like in field to purple flower Which languisheth, being shred by culter as it past. A trembling chilly cold ran through their veins, which were With eyes brimful of tears to see his fatal hour: Whose blustering sighs at first their sorrow did declare; Next, murmuring ensued; at last they not forbear Plain outcries; all against the heavens that enviously Deprived us of a sprite so perfect and so rare. The sun his lightsome beams did shroud, and hide his face For grief; whereby the earth feared night eternally: The mountains eachwhere shook, the rivers turned their streams; And th'air 'gan winter-like to rage and fret apace: And grisly ghosts by night were seen; and fiery gleams Amid the clouds with claps of thunder, that did seem To rent the skies; and made both man and beast afraid: The birds of ill presage this luckless chance foretold By dernful noise; and dogs with howling made man deem Some mischief was at hand: for such they do esteem As tokens of mishap; and so have done of old. Ah, that thou hadst but heard his lovely STELLA plain Her grievous loss, or seen her heavy mourning cheer; Whilst she, with woe oppressed, her sorrows did unfold. Her hair hung loose neglect about her shoulders twain: And from those two bright stars to him sometime so dear, Her heart sent drops of pearl; which fell in foison down 'Twixt lily and the rose. She wrung her hands with pain And piteously 'gan say, "My true and faithful pheer! Alas, and woe is me! why should my fortune frown On me thus frowardly to rob me of my joy? What cruel envious hand hath taken thee away; And with thee, my content, my comfort and my stay? Thou only wast the ease of trouble and annoy: When they did me assail, in thee my hopes did rest. Alas, what now is left but grief that night and day Afflicts this woeful life, and with continual rage Torments ten thousand ways my miserable breast? O greedy envious heaven! what needed thee to have Enriched with such a jewel this unhappy age; To take it back again so soon? Alas, when shall Mine eyes see ought that may content them, since thy grave My only treasure hides, the joy of my poor heart? As here with thee on earth I lived, even so equal Methinks it were, with thee in heaven I did abide: And as our troubles all, we here on earth did part; So reason would that there, of thy most happy state I had my share. Alas, if thou my trusty guide Were wont to be: how canst thou leave me thus alone In darkness and astray; weak, weary, desolate, Plunged in a world of woe--refusing for to take Me with thee, to the place of rest where thou art gone?" This said, she held her peace, for sorrow tied her tongue: And instead of more words, seemed that her eyes a lake Of tears had been, they flowed so plenteously therefrom: And with her sobs and sighs th'air round about her rung. If VENUS when she wailed her dear ADONIS slain, Ought moved in thy fierce heart, compassion of her woe: His noble sister's plaints, her sighs and tears emong; Would sure have made thee mild, and inly rue her pain. AURORA half so fair, herself did never show; When from old TITHON'S bed, she weeping did arise. The blinded archer-boy, like lark in shower of rain, Sat bathing of his wings, and glad the time did spend Under those crystal drops which fell from her fair eyes; And at their brightest beams him proined in lovely wise. Yet sorry for her grief, which he could not amend; The gentle boy 'gan wipe her eyes, and clear those lights: Those lights through which his glory and his conquests shine. The Graces tuckt her hair, which hung like threads of gold Along her ivory breast, the treasure of delights. All things with her to weep, it seemèd did incline; The trees, the hills, the dales, the caves, the stones so cold. The air did help them mourn, with dark clouds, rain and mist; Forbearing many a day to clear itself again: Which made them eftsoons fear the days of PYRRHA should Of creatures spoil the earth, their fatal threads untwist. For PHŒBUS' gladsome rays were wishèd for in vain, And with her quivering light LATONA'S daughter fair; And Charles' Wain eke refused to be the shipman's guide. On NEPTUNE, war was made by ÆOLUS and his train. Who letting loose the winds, tost and tormented th'air, So that on every coast, men shipwreck did abide, Or else were swallowed up in open sea with waves: And such as came to shore were beaten with despair. The Medway's silver streams that wont so still to slide, Were troubled now and wroth; whose hidden hollow caves Along his banks, with fog then shrouded from man's eye, Aye "PHILIP" did resound, aye "PHILIP" they did cry. His nymphs were seen no more, though custom still it craves, With hair spread to the wind, themselves to bathe or sport; Or with the hook or net, barefooted wantonly The pleasant dainty fish to entangle or deceive. The shepherds left their wonted places of resort, Their bagpipes now were still, their lovely merry lays Were quite forgot; and now their flocks, men might perceive To wander and to stray, all carelessly neglect: And in the stead of mirth and pleasure, nights and days Nought else was to be heard, but woes, complaints and moan. But thou, O blessèd soul! dost haply not respect These tears we shed, though full of loving pure affect; Having affixt thine eyes on that most glorious throne, Where full of majesty, the high Creator reigns. In whose bright shining face thy joys are all complete, Whose love kindles thy sprite, where happy always one, Thou liv'st in bliss that earthly passion never stains; Where from the purest spring the sacred nectar sweet Is thy continual drink: where thou dost gather now Of well-employed life, th'estimable gains. There VENUS on thee smiles, APOLLO gives thee place; And MARS in reverent wise doth to thy virtue bow, And decks his fiery sphere, to do thee honour most. In highest part whereof, thy valour for to grace, A chair of gold he sets to thee, and there doth tell Thy noble acts arew; whereby even they that boast Themselves of ancient fame, as PYRRHUS, HANNIBAL, SCIPIO and CÆSAR, with the rest that did excel In martial prowess; high thy glory do admire. All hail! therefore, O worthy PHILIP immortal! The flower of SIDNEY'S race, the honour of thy name. Whose worthy praise to sing, my Muses not aspire. But sorrowful and sad these tears to thee let fall: Yet wish their verses might so far and wide thy fame Extend, that ENVY'S rage nor time might end the same.

_A pastoral Eclogue upon the death of Sir PHILIP SIDNEY, Knight, &c._

=Lycon.= =Colin.=

=Lycon.= [Illustration] COLIN! well fits thy sad cheer this sad stound, This woeful stound, wherein all things complain This great mishap, this grievous loss of ours. Hear'st thou the Orown? How with hollow sound He slides away, and murmuring doth plain, And seems to say unto the fading flowers Along his banks, unto the barèd trees; PHILLISIDES is dead. Up, jolly swain! Thou that with skill canst tune a doleful lay; Help him to mourn! My heart with grief doth freeze; Hoarse is my voice with crying, else a part Sure would I bear, though rude: but as I may, With sobs and sighs I second will thy song; And so express the sorrows of my heart.

=Colin.= Ah LYCON! LYCON! what need skill to teach A grievèd mind pour forth his plaints? How long Hath the poor turtle gone to school, weenest thou, To learn to mourn her lost make? No, no, each Creature by nature can tell how to wail. Seest not these flocks; how sad they wander now? Seemeth their leader's bell, their bleating tunes In doleful sound. Like him, not one doth fail, With hanging head to show a heavy cheer. What bird, I pray thee, hast thou seen that prunes Himself of late? Did any cheerful note Come to thine ears, or gladsome sight appear Unto thine eyes, since that same fatal hour? Hath not the air put on his mourning coat, And testified his grief with flowing tears? Sith then, it seemeth each thing to his power, Doth us invite to make a sad consort: Come let us join our mournful song with theirs! Grief will indite, and sorrow will enforce Thy voice; and ECHO will our words report.

=Lycon.= Though my rude rhymes, ill with thy verses frame, That others far excel: yet will I force Myself to answer thee the best I can; And honour my base words with his high name. But if my plaints annoy thee where thou sit In secret shade or cave; vouchsafe, O PAN! To pardon me; and hear this hard constraint With patience, while I sing; and pity it. And eke ye rural Muses, that do dwell In these wild woods: if ever piteous plaint We did indite, or taught a woeful mind With words of pure affect, his grief to tell; Instruct me now! Now COLIN then go on; And I will follow thee, though far behind.