SONG OF STEINMAR ITH the graceful corn upspringing, Sweet May-dews the herbage laving, All things beautiful and bright, She is one in whom I find All things fair and bright combined. Solace me, then, sweetest! - be With the light clouds on the gale. Steer me on to happiness! Thou, in whom my soul confideth, So my lady solace me. Translation of Edgar Taylor. M SONG OF THE "MARNER » ARIA! Virgin! mother! comforter Of sinners! queen of saints in heaven that are! A brightness that outshines its living rays; Triumphant host, their joyful praises pour; There thousand years than days more short appear, SONG OF CONRAD VON WÜRZBURG EE how from the meadows pass SEE Brilliant flowers and verdant grass; All their hues now they lose: o'er them hung, Now their sallow branches fail: Nor for lily nor rose sighs he, He to whom winter's gloom brings delight: He forgets the altered year; Sweetly glide at eventide the moments bright. For his lady's love he deems Little he the swain esteems Not possessing that best blessing-love's delight. Translation of Edgar Taylor. F SONG OF JOHANN HADLOUB AR as I journey from my lady fair, I have a messenger who quickly goes, Morning, and noon, and at the evening's close: Well may he be, who, from my heart of hearts, 'Tis every thought I form that doth pursue Ah! would that there My wearied self had leave to follow too! Translation of Edgar Taylor. IZAAK WALTON (1593-1683) BY HENRY VAN DYKE F THE life of Master Izaak Walton, angler, author, and linendraper, but little is known, and all to his credit. In a life so sparingly diversified with events, the biographer is divided in his mind between regret that the material for narration is so small, and gratitude that the picture of a good man's character and peaceful occupation stands out so clear practice it to friendliness; and there are no closer or more lasting companionships than such as are formed beside flowing streams by men who "study to be quiet and go a-fishing." And this Walton did, as we know from his own testimony. He turned from the hooks and eyes of his shop to cast the hook for the nimble trout or the sluggish chub, in the waters of the Lea, or of the New River, with such cheerful comrades as honest Nat. and R. Roe; "but they are gone," he adds, "and with them most of my pleasant hours, even as a shadow that passeth away and returns not." In 1626 he married Rachel Floud, a great-great-nięce of Archbishop Cranmer. She died in 1640, leaving a child who survived her but two years. In 1643, about the beginning of the Civil War,-which he deplored and reprobated with as much bitterness as was possible to a man of his gentle disposition,- he retired from business with a modest fortune, and purchased a small estate near his native town, in the heart of rural England and in the neighborhood of good fishing. Here he lived in peace and quietness, passing much of his time as a welcome visitor in the families of eminent clergymen; "of whom," says the gossipy old chronicler Anthony Wood, "he was much beloved." About 1646 he married again; the bride being a lady of discreet age, not less than thirty-five years, and a stepsister of Thomas Ken, who afterwards became the beloved Bishop of Bath and Wells, and the honored author of the 'Evening Hymn,' with many other pieces of sacred poetry. This is the lady who is spoken of so pleasantly as "Kenna" in "The Angler's Wish,' Walton's best poem. She died in 1662, leaving two children: a son, Izaak Walton Jr., who lived a useful, tranquil life and died unmarried; and a daughter who became the wife of the Rev. Dr. William Hawkins, a prebendary in the Church of Winchester, in whose house Walton died. With such close and constant associations among the clergy, it was but natural that Walton's first essay in literature should have an ecclesiastical flavor. It was The Life of Dr. John Donne,' prefixed to the sermons of that noted divine and difficult poet, which were published in 1640, while Walton was still keeping shop in London. The brief biography was a very remarkable piece of work for an untried author; and gave evidence of a hand that, however it may have acquired its skill, was able to modulate the harmonies of English prose, with a rare and gentle charm, to a familiar tune,—the praise of piety and benevolence and humbleness, and yet with such fresh and simple turns of humor and tenderness as delight the heart while they satisfy the judgment. Walton speaks, in the preface to this 'Life,' of his "artless pencil." But in truth it was the ars celare artem that belonged to him. His |