XII. HARPALUS.

AN ANCIENT ENGLISH PASTORAL.

THIS beautiful poem, which is perhaps the first attempt at pastoral writing in our language, is preserved among the Songs and Sonnettes of the Earl of Surrey, etc., 4to, in that part of the collection which consists of pieces by uncertain auctours. These poems were first published in 1557, ten years after that accomplished nobleman fell a victim to the tyranny of Henry VIII.; but it is presumed most of them were composed before the death of Sir Thomas Wyatt in 1541.

Though written perhaps near half a century before the Shepherd's Calendar,* this will be found far superior to any of those eclogues, in natural unaffected sentiments, in simplicity of style, in easy flow of versification, and all other beauties of pastoral poetry. Spenser ought to have profited more by so excellent a model.

XIII. ROBIN AND MAKYNE.

AN ANCIENT SCOTTISH PASTORAL.

MR. ROBERT HENRYSON (to whom we are indebted for this poem) appears to so much advantage among the writers of eclogue, that we are sorry we can give little other account of him besides what is contained in the following eloge, written by W. Dunbar, a Scottish poet, who lived about the middle of the 16th century:

"In Dumferling, he [Death] hath tane Broun,

With gude Mr. Robert Henryson."

Indeed, some little further insight into the history of this Scottish bard is gained from the title prefixed to some of his poems preserved in the British Museum, viz.: "The morall Fabillis of Esop, compylit be Maister Robert Henrisoun, scolmaister of Dunfermling, 1571." Harleian MSS. 3865, § 1.

The poem as it here stands has been revised and amended by Allan Ramsay, from whose Ever-green it is chiefly printed.

XIV. GENTLE HERDSMAN, TELL TO ME.

DIALOGUE BETWEEN A PILGRIM AND HERDSMAN.

THE scene of this beautiful old ballad is laid near Walsingham, in Norfolk, where was anciently an image of the Virgin Mary, famous over all Europe for the numerous pilgrimages made to it, and the great riches it possessed. Erasmus has given a very exact and humorous description of the devotions practised there in his time.

This poem is printed from a copy in the Editor's folio MS. which had greatly suffered by the hand of time; but vestiges of several of the lines remaining, some conjectural supplements have been attempted, which, for greater exactness, are in this one ballad distinguished by italics.

GENTLE heardsman, tell to me,
Of curtesy I thee pray,
Unto the towne of Walsingham
Which is the right and ready way.
"Unto the towne of Walsingham

The way is hard for to be gon;
And verry crooked are those pathes
For you to find out all alone."

Weere the miles doubled thrise,

And the way never soe ill,

Itt were not enough for mine offence;

"

Itt is soe grievous and soe ill.

'Thy yeeares are young, thy face is faire, Thy witts are weake, thy thoughts are greene;

Time hath not given thee leave, as yett,

For to committ so great a sinne."

Yes, heardsman, yes, soe woldest thou say,
If thou knewest soe much as I ;
My witts, and thoughts, and all the rest,
Have well deserved for to dye.

I am not what I seeme to bee,
My clothes and sexe doe differ farr:
I am a woman, woe is me!

Born to greeffe and irksome care.
For my beloved, and well-beloved,

My wayward cruelty could kill:

And though my teares will nought avail,

Most dearely I bewail him still.

He was the flower of noble wights,

None ever more sincere colde bee;
Of comely mien and shape hee was,
And tenderlye hee loved mee.

When thus I saw he loved me well,
I grewe so proude his paine to see,
That I, who did not know myselfe,
Thought scorne of such a youth as hee.

And grew soe coy and nice to please,
As women's lookes are often soe,
He might not kisse, nor hand forsooth,
Unlesse I willed him soe to doe.

Thus being wearyed with delaye

To see I pittyed not his greeffe,
He gott him to a secrett place,

And there he dyed without releeffe.

And for his sake these weeds I weare,
And sacriffice my tender age;
And every day Ile begg my bread,
To undergoe this pilgrimage.

Thus every day I fast and pray,
And ever will doe till I dye;
And gett me to some secrett place,
For soe did hee, and soe will I.