She casting down her bashful eyes
Stood senseless then a space,

Yet what her tongueless love adjourn'd
Was extant in her face.

With that she dasht her on the lips,

So dyed double red:

Hard was the heart that gave the blow
Soft were those lips that bled,

When in the holy-land I pray'd

Even at the holy grave,

Forgive me God! a sigh for sin,

And three for love I gave.

Each spear that shall but cross thy helme,
Hath force to erase my heart:
But if thou bleed, of that thy blood

My fainting soul hath part,
With thee. I live, with thee I die,
With thee I lose or gain.

Methinks I see how churlish looks
Estrange thy cheerful face,

Methinks thy gestures, talk and gait,

Have chang'd their wonted grace:

Methinks thy sometimes nimble limbs

With armour now are lame:
Methinks I see how scars deform

Where swords before did maim:
I see thee faint with summer's heat,
And droop with winter's cold.

Albion's England.

That pleasing little poem, The Fishermen of Theocritus, probably first suggested to Sannazarius the idea of writing piscatory eclogues, who has been followed with much success by Phineas Fletcher and Brown. Whatever may be thought of the employment, as suited to the eclogue, of those who live on the sea-shore and subsist by catching the produce of the deep, it will readily be allowed that our rivers at least, fertilise the most rich and romantic parts of our island, and that they display to the fisher lingering upon their banks the most lovely scenery, such as mingling with the circumstances of his amusement, and the detail of appropriate incident, would furnish very delightful pictures, and in the genuine style of Bucolic poetry. Fletcher and Brown have in this manner rendered their eclogues truly interesting, and even Isaac Walton, though no poet, has in his Complete Angler introduced

some inimitably drawn pastoral scenes; what can be more exquisite than the following description.

"Turn out of the way a little, good scholar, towards yonder high honey-suckle hedge; there we'll sit and sing, whilst this shower falls so gently upon the teeming earth, and gives yet a sweeter smell to the lovely flowers that adorn these verdant meadows. Look, under the broad beech tree, I sat down, when I was last this way a fishing, and the birds in the adjoining grove seemed to have a friendly contention. with an echo, whose dead voice seemed to live, in a hollow tree, near to the brow of that primrose hill; there I sat viewing the silver streams glide silently towards their center, the tempestuous sea; yet sometimes opposed by rugged roots and pebble stones, which broke their waves and turned them into foam: and sometimes I beguiled time by viewing the harmless lambs, some leaping securely in the cool shade, whilst others sported themselves in the chearful sun; and saw others craving comfort from the swollen udders of their bleating dams. As I thus sat, these and other sights had so fully possest my soul with content, that

I thought, as the poet has happily exprest it,

I was for that time lifted above earth;

As I left this place and entered into the next field, a second pleasure entertained me; 'twas a handsome milk-maid, that had not yet attained so much age and wisdom as to load her mind with any fears of many things that will never be as too many men too often do; but she cast away all care and sang like a nightingale."*

In the pastoral song and ballad the moderns, and particularly the scotch and english, have greatly excelled; Rowe's despairing shepherd is the sweetest poem of the kind we have in England, and Shenstone's ballad in four parts, though not equal in merit to the former, has yet long and deservedly been a favorite with the public. In artless expression of passion, however, in truth of colouring, and navitè of diction, nothing can rival the Scotch pastoral songs; they originated in a country abounding in a rich assemblage of rural images; "smooth

* Walton's Complete Angler, 1st. Edition by Sir John Hawkins, p. 73.

and lofty hills," says Dr. Beattie, speaking of the southern provinces of Scotland, "covered with verdure; clear streams winding through. long and beautiful vallies; trees produced without culture, here straggling or single, and there crowding into little groves and bowers;with other circumstances peculiar to the districs I allude to, render them fit for pasturage, and favorable to romantic leisure and tender

passions. Several of the old Scotch songs take their names from the rivulets, villages, and hills, adjoining to the Tweed near Melrose; a region distinguished by many charming varieties of rural scenery, and which, whether we consider the face of the country, or the genius of the people, may properly enough be termed the Arcadia of Scotland. And all these songs are sweetly and powerfully expressive of love and tenderness, and other emotions. suited to the tranquility of pastoral life."* Robene and Makyn, Ettric Banks, Eubuchts Marion, and several other scotch pieces, are striking proofs of the Doctor's assertion.

To rouse the imagination by the charms of

* Beattie on Poetry and Music, p. 173.