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III 25juill. Histoire universelle o'Aqr. Annuaire- Bulletin, t. Chroniques de J. Froissart, t. VIII, V" partie. Journal de Nicolas de Baye, t. II 20 avril Annuaire-Bulletin, t. Le Jouvbncel, par Jean de Bueil, t. II 6 avril Histoire xiniverselle d'Agr. III 20 juin Histoire universelle d'Agr. Lettres de Louis XI, t. IV 30juill. Chronique d'A. Chronoqraphia rbqum Fhancorum, t. Histoire universelle d'Aqr. Histoire universelle d'Aor. V 25 mars Annuaire-Bolletin, t. Chronooraphia regum Francorum, t. II 15 avril Histoire de Gaston IV, comte de Poix, t.

Annuairb-Bdllbtin, t. I 15 mars Journal de Jean db Rote, t. Annuairb-Bulletin, t. V 20juill. Histoire db Gaston IV, comte de Foix, t. Chronique de Richard Lescot 25 mars Journal de Jean de Roye, t. II 20 juin Ghronooraphia rboum Francorum, t. III 20 nor. Journal db Jkan Barrillon, l. Annuairb-Bollbtin, t. VI 20janv. I 20 mars I 20 HOV. Chronique d'Antonio Morosini, t. I 30 nov. II 20 mai II 5 juillet XI 15 oct. Journal de Jean Barrillon, t.

VII 30 avril II 20juill. POUR servir a l'hist. III 15 avril III 15 nov. Chronique de Pbrceval db Cagny 15 janv. IV 15 janv. Journal de Jean Valuer, t. IV 15 mai Annuairb-Bullbtin, t. Chroniqob db Jean Lb Bel, t. VI 15 OCl. Lettres de Loois XI, t. IX 15 mars V 20 nov. Chronique de Gilles Le Muisit 15 janv. Chronique de Jean le Bel, t. II 1" oct. I et II. I 15 oct. II 1" avril III 15 janv. I 10 mai III 15 mars III 15 sept. Lettres dx Louis XI, t. XI 10 mars XL VI.

II Paris, Champion. Etat des impressions : Annuaire-Bulletin de Pas de changement. IL Pas de changement. Grandes Chroniques de France. Lettres de Louis XL T. Correspondance de Vivonne. Journal de Fauquembergue. XXV, p. XXVI, p. Fillet et U. Chevalier chanoines. Valence, impr. Petit in-8, xxvii p. Bayonne, impr. Folt- zer. In-8, ciii p. Paris, veuve Poussielgue. In-8, 8 p.

Le Mans, impr. Paris, E. La Provence dans le recueil des dessins originaux de Pascal Goste. In-8, 15 p. Paris, Impr. Dom J. In-8, viii p. Paris, veuve Ch. In-8, CLXxxv p. Vesoul, impr. Petit iii-8, 14 p. Vals-les-Bains, impr. In-8, 56 p. Paris, L. In-8, vi p. Paris, H. In, ix p. In-8, iv p. Paris, A. In-8, xii p. Versailles, L. In-8, 6 p. Nogent-le-Rotrou, impr. In-8, 51 p. In-8, 27 p. Picard et fils. In-8, xxiv p. Sainte Bathilde, reine des Francs; histoire politique et religieuse. Petit in-8, x p. Paris, P. In-8, ii p.

Paris, Jouve. In-8, 47 p. Poitiers, impr. Biais et Roy. In-4, p. Paris, Klincksieck. Arrondissement d'Amiens, cantons d'Amiens, Boves et Gonty. Archives municipales de Bordeaux. Volume IV. In-4, viii p. Bordeaux, impr. In-8, 66 p. Paris, Vie et Amat. Cham- pion. In-8, 22 p. Gaen, H. Extrait du Bulletin monumental. In-8, 64 p. Saint-Brieuc, R. Figaro et ses devanciers; avec la collaboration de M.

In, viii p. In, p. Tarbes, impr. In-8, p. Aix, V. Legras et G'". In-8, 23 p. Petit in-4, 18 p. Rouen, impr. Evreux, impr. In-8, ix p. Paris, J. Dela- vaud. La Rochelle. Saint- Germain-en-Laye. Feuilles H et 12 en pla- cards.


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Lettres de Louis XI. Le Conseil, sur le rapport de M. Lecestre nous signale parmi les papiers du P. Sur la proposition de M. Sur l'invitation de M. De mercatoribus Caraerae apostolicae saeculo xiii. Rennes, impr. Les origines de la domination ange- vine en Italie. In-8, cliii p.

Picard fils.

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Petit in-8, 26 p. I, XLVi p. II, p. In, 41 p. Rennes, L. In-8, 37 p. La Rochelle, impr. Extrait de la Revue de Saintonge et d'Aunis. In-4, 82 p. In-S, 67 p. Turenne en Alsace; campagne de In-8, xix p. Nancy, Berger-Levrault. In-8, 62 p.

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Lille, impr. In-8, 14 p. In-8, 36 p. Lons-le-Saunier, impr. Abbeville, impr. Caillet, avec une introduction et des notes. In, xxxvii p. Paris, Nouvelle librairie nationale, 85, rue de Rennes. Archives histo- riques du Maine. In-8, xxvii p. In-8, 19 p. Extrait de la Revue historique. Petit in-8, 12 p. Lyon, Royer, 10, rue Lanterne.

In-8, 20 p. L In-8, ni p. Reims, impr. Jeanne d'Arc, 4, rue des Fusiliers. III et IV. III, vin p. IV, xiii p. Lons-le-Saunier, A. Gey et L. In-8, Paris, Picard. IV, par A. Inventaire sommaire des Archives municipales. II, par G. On compose la suite. In, 64 p. In-4, xi p. Senlis, impr. Extrait du Bulletin historique et philologique. In-8, 11 p. Angers, G. L'incendie de Rennes en In-8, 11p. Histoire de la Normandie. In-8, 16 p. Lyon, L. Buen; Paris, A. Picard et iSls. La commune de Bures. In-8, 24 p.

In-8, 35 p. In-8, 50 p. Abbeville, F. Petit in-8, 19 p. Montpellier, impr. Paris, veuve G. Les inondations du bassin de la Seine Petit in-4, 61 p. Paris, chez l'auteur, 90, avenue Niel. In-8, x p. Roanne, impr. In-8, 57 p. In-8, xxv p. Paris, Picard. Annecy, impr. Extrait do la Revue savoisienne. L'amiral d'Estaing In-S, 48 p. Les lettres de cachet. Ballade du sacre de Reims 17 juil- let In-8, 10 p. In-8, Lxxix p. In-8, 95 p. Essai historique sur Villevoques Loiret. In-8, 31 p. Fontainebleau, impr. Histoire de l'abbaye Sainte-Groix de Bordeaux. Petit in-8, iii p. Lefebvre d'Orval et la guerre de succession d'Espagne en Flandre.

In-8, 39 p. Lille, impr Lefeb vre-Ducrocq. Extrait de la Revue du Nord. In-8, 71 p. Saint-Germain-en- Laye. Atlas 30 planches in-fol. Paris, G. Extrait de la Revue Mabillon. Petit in-8, 96 p. In-8, iii-8p. II6, xx p. Paris, Beau- chesne. Anatole France. Le vieux Berck. Vaillant-Carmann, 8, rue Saint-Adalbert. Saint-Pol, impr. Extrait de l'Abeille de la Ternoise. La coutume de Montberaud In-8, 32 p. Toulouse, E. Essai d'un armoriai quercinois. In-8, 84 p. Rouen, Lestringant.

Marie Stuart. Paris, Nilsson. In-8, 44 p. Reims, Impr. Extrait de la Revue de Champagne. In-8, 63 p. Saints Donatien et Rogatien. In, 32 p. Grand in-4, p. Paris, impr. In, 96 p. Paris, B. In, xiv p. Les conclusions de ce rapport, approuvant la gestion et les comptes de M. Picot, dont les pouvoirs expiraient en , M. Henry Cochin; En remplacement de M. Roland Delachenal; En remplacement de M. Discours de M. Tous vous avez connu M. Tous vous avez subi le charme de ses causeries, la douceur de son regard, la bienveillance de son accueil. Quand M. Jules Simon. Quand on a connu M.

Le notariat revendique comme un des siens M. Les i rincipaux ouvrages de M. I, seul paru , etc. Perrin du Lac et M. Perrin du Lac, une vic- time de la politique. La longue existence de M. Rapport de M. En , le retard ne portait plus que sur deux volumes. Quand, en , le Conseil, sur un rapport de M. Que de fines remarques! Paul Marichal, par M. Enfin M. Impression de six volumes Les Censeurs : De Barral-Montferrat. Delaborde, P.

Michel-Perret, J. Mandrot, t. En ces critiques circonstances, qu'allait faire le nouveau roi? De Beaucourt, Hist. VI, p. Copie moderne. Copie du xv s. Instruction en date de Milan, 27 mai , Bibl. Copie contemporaine. Mais alors il se montre plus cordial encore, s'il se peut.

Et, quant au fait d'Asti, S. Lorsque S. Je lui fis voir qu'en dessous j'avais encore une cape de camelot. Autographe, 2. Friends of learning and sensual pleasure, They seek the silence and the horror of darkness; Erebus would have used them as his gloomy steeds: If their pride could let them stoop to bondage. When they dream, they assume the noble attitudes Of the mighty sphinxes stretched out in solitude, Who seem to fall into a sleep of endless dreams;. Their fertile loins are full of magic sparks, And particles of gold, like fine grains of sand, Spangle dimly their mystic eyes.

As you can see, many of the equivalent lines between the translations have barely a word in common. We can also see how the different translators have different priorities. In capturing the sense so faithfully, though, he has completely abandoned the form: his poem has neither rhyme nor rhythm, and no more sound-patterning within its lines than might occur by chance. Dillon goes even further in imitating the form.

Trevien strikes a good compromise between all these positions. Perec translates the poem from French into… French, but a very particular variety of French. The trick is simple to grasp, but oh so difficult to pull off. Over to Perec:. The autobiographical novel is about the terrible family secret Philippe uncovers during his childhood. The story begins with his unusual quirk, as a child, of having not an imaginary friend, but an imaginary brother:. Plus beau, plus fort. You had to take my word for it when I served up this tale to people I met on holiday or casual acquaintances.

I had a brother. Stronger, more handsome. A glorious, invisible older brother. The free adaptation makes the show more interesting for people who already know the book, as it leaves us guessing which parts of the original story will make it into the programme. Our first impression of him on TV could hardly have been further from the novel. Here it is in the original French:. He drew Kitty to him. There was no way to resist, resistance would make so much noise. Therefore Kitty surrendered. Later, he will mockingly inform Milady of the earlier deception after seducing her in his own name with the lights on.

We are, of course, dealing with a nineteenth-century depiction of seventeenth-century social mores, so we must be careful to bear in mind the historical context when we judge things from our own twenty-first century perspective. She has good reason. So here it comes. At any rate, the Dumas adaptation looks exciting, as you can see above, with plenty of cape-swishing, sword-fighting, smouldering looks and death-defying leaps. Plus one element that is markedly more prevalent than in the book itself: gunfire.

In the mids, when the story is set, the Mousquetaires are the household guard of the French king, Louis XIII, an elite force trained for the battlefield as well as for the protection of the monarch and his family in peacetime. By the s they were not quite as cumbersome as the Spanish originals, which needed to have their barrels supported on a forked stick, but they were still pretty unwieldy devices. Lots of sword-fighting, but no muskets in sight. The first principle of good narrative is to stick to the subject; the second, to carry the audience along in a series of small surprises—satisfying expectation and going just a little beyond.

If it were necessary to read fifty pages before enjoying Chaucer, though the sum of eventual enjoyment were as great as it now is, Chaucer would never be read. We master small difficulties line by line because our recompense comes line by line. Moreover, it is as certain as can be that we read Chaucer to-day more easily than our fathers read him one hundred, two hundred, three hundred years ago. And I make haste to add that the credit of this does not belong to the philologists. The Elizabethans, from Spenser onward, found Chaucer distressingly archaic.

When Sir Francis Kynaston, temp. Charles I. And from Dryden's time to Wordsworth's he was an "uncouthe unkiste" barbarian, full of wit, but only tolerable in polite paraphrase. Chaucer himself seems to have foreboded this, towards the close of his "Troilus and Criseyde," when he addresses his "litel book"— "And for there is so great diversitee In English, and in wryting of our tonge, So preye I God that noon miswryte thee, Ne thee mismetre for defaute of tonge.

And red wher-so thou be, or elles songe, That thou be understoude I God beseche! He is speaking of Hector's death:— "And whan that he was slayn in this manere, His lighte goost ful blisfully it went Up to the holownesse of the seventh spere In convers leting every element; And ther he saugh, with ful avysement, The erratik starres, herkening armonye With sownes ful of hevenish melodye.

And forth he wente, shortly for to telle, Ther as Mercurie sorted him to dwelle Not the editors, who point out very properly that it is a close translation from Boccaccio's "Teseide," xi. The information is valuable, as far as it goes; but what it fails to explain is just the marvel of the passage—viz. To whom, besides Chaucer himself, do we owe this? For while Chaucer has remained substantially the same, apparently we have an aptitude that our grandfathers and great-grandfathers had not.

The answer surely is: We owe it to our nineteenth century poets, and particularly to Tennyson, Swinburne, and William Morris. Years ago Mr. Horne said most acutely that the principle of Chaucer's rhythm is "inseparable from a full and fair exercise of the genius of our language in versification.

The rhythms of Skelton, of Surrey, and Wyatt, were produced on alien and narrower lines. Revived by Shakespeare and the later Elizabethans, it fell into contempt again until Cowper once more began to claim freedom for English rhythm, and after him Coleridge, and the despised Leigh Hunt. But never has its full liberty been so triumphantly asserted as by the three poets I have named above. If we are at home as we read Chaucer, it is because they have instructed us in the liberty which Chaucer divined as the only true way.

Edited, from numerous manuscripts, by the Rev. Walter W. Skeat, Litt. In six volumes. Oxford: At the Clarendon Press. Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. Edited, with Notes and Introduction, by Alfred W. Reprinted with a Note about the Book, by Arthur L. London: Privately Printed by Arthur L. Humphreys, of , Piccadilly. I was about to congratulate Mr. It was first published in as The Passionate Pilgrims. At London. Printed for W. Jaggard, and are to be sold by W. Leake, at the Greyhound in Paules Churchyard.

This, of course, was disingenuous. Some of the numbers were by Shakespeare: but the authorship of some remains doubtful to this day, and others the enterprising Jaggard had boldly conveyed from Marlowe, Richard Barnefield, and Bartholomew Griffin. In short, to adapt a famous line upon a famous lexicon, "the best part was Shakespeare, the rest was not.

Swinburne, in his latest volume of Essays, calls him an "infamous pirate, liar, and thief. Humphreys remarks, less vivaciously, that "He was not careful and prudent, or he would not have attached the name of Shakespeare to a volume which was only partly by the bard—that was his crime. Had Jaggard foreseen the tantrums and contradictions he caused some commentators—Mr. One might as plausibly justify a forger on the ground that, had he foreseen the indignation of the prosecuting counsel, he would doubtless have saved his reputation by forbearing to forge.

But before constructing a better defence, let us hear the whole tale of the alleged misdeeds. Of the second edition of The Passionate Pilgrim no copy exists. Nothing whatever is known of it, and the whole edition may have been but an ideal construction of Jaggard's sportive fancy. But in appeared The Passionate Pilgrime, or certaine amorous Sonnets between Venus and Adonis, newly corrected and augmented. The third edition. Printed by W. These "two Love Epistles" were really by Thomas Heywood. This title-page was very quickly cancelled, and Shakespeare's name omitted.

Humphrey's Hypothesis. These are the bare facts. Now observe how they appear when set forth by Mr. Humphreys:— "Shakespeare, who, when the first edition was issued, was aged thirty-five, acted his part as a great man very well, for he with dignity took no notice of the error on the title-page of the first edition, attributing to him poems which he had never written. But when Jaggard went on sinning, and the third edition appeared under Shakespeare's name solely , though it had poems by Thomas Heywood, and others as well, Jaggard was promptly pulled up by both Shakespeare and Heywood.

Upon this the publisher appears very properly to have printed a new title-page, omitting the name of Shakespeare. Humphreys has no right to state this as an ascertained fact. In the first edition he was wrongly credited with pieces that belonged to Marlowe, Barnefield, Griffin, and some authors unknown. In the third he was credited with these and some pieces by Heywood as well. In the name of common logic I ask why, if it were "dignified" to say nothing in the case of Marlowe and Barnefield, it suddenly became right and proper to protest in the case of Heywood?

But 3 what right have we to assume that Shakespeare "took no notice of the error on the title-page of the first edition"? We know this only—that if he protested, he did not prevail as far as the first edition was concerned. That edition may have been already exhausted. It is even possible that he did prevail in the matter of the second edition, and that Jaggard reverted to his old courses in the third. I don't for a moment suppose this was the case. I merely suggest that where so many hypotheses will fit the scanty data known, it is best to lay down no particular hypothesis as fact.

For I imagine that anyone can, in five minutes, fit up an hypothesis quite as valuable as Mr. Here is one which at least has the merit of not making Shakespeare look a fool:—W. Jaggard, publisher, comes to William Shakespeare, poet, with the information that he intends to bring out a small miscellany of verse. If the poet has an unconsidered trifle or so to spare, Jaggard will not mind giving a few shillings for them.

Jaggard pays his money, and departs with the verses. When the miscellany appears, Shakespeare finds his name alone upon the title-page, and remonstrates. But, of the defrauded ones, Marlowe is dead; Barnefield has retired to live the life of a country gentleman in Shropshire; Griffin dwells in Coventry where he died, three years later. These are the men injured; and if they cannot, or will not, move in the business, Shakespeare whose case at law would be more difficult can hardly be expected to.

So he contents himself with strong expressions at The Mermaid. But in Jaggard repeats his offence, and is indiscreet enough to add Heywood to the list of the spoiled. Heywood lives in London, on the spot; and Shakespeare, now retired to Stratford, is of more importance than he was in Armed with Shakespeare's authority Heywood goes to Jaggard and threatens; and the publisher gives way. Whatever our hypothesis, we cannot maintain that Jaggard behaved well.

On the other hand, it were foolish to judge his offence as if the man had committed it the day before yesterday. Conscience in matters of literary copyright has been a plant of slow growth. But a year or two ago respectable citizens of the United States were publishing our books "free of authorial expenses," and even corrected our imperfect works without consulting us. We must admit that Jaggard acted up to Luther's maxim, " Pecca fortiter.

But to speak of him as one would speak of a similar offender in this New Year of Grace is simply to forfeit one's claim to an historical sense. The Book. What further palliation can we find? Swinburne calls the book "a worthless little volume of stolen and mutilated poetry, patched up and padded out with dirty and dreary doggrel, under the senseless and preposterous title of The Passionate Pilgrim. Humphreys maintains that "Jaggard, at any rate, had very good taste. This is partly seen in the choice of a title.

Few books have so charming a name as The Passionate Pilgrim. It is a perfect title. Jaggard also set up a good precedent, for this collection was published a year before England's Helicon , and, of course, very many years before any authorized collection of Shakespeare's 'Poems' was issued. Swinburne is right. It has little relevance to the verses in the volume.

On the other hand, as a portly and attractive mouthful of syllables The Passionate Pilgrim can hardly be surpassed. If not "a perfect title," it is surely "a charming name. Humphreys' contention that Jaggard "set up a good precedent" and produced a "forerunner" of English anthologies becomes absurd when we remember that Tottel's Miscellany was published in June, just forty-two years before The Passionate Pilgrim , and had reached an eighth edition by ; that The Paradise of Dainty Devices appeared in ; A Gorgeous Gallery of Gallant Inventions in ; A Handfull of Pleasant Delights in ; and The Phoenix' Nest in Almost as wide of the mark is Mr.

Swinburne's description of the volume as "worthless. Of these, five are undoubtedly by Shakespeare. A sixth Crabbed age and youth , if not by Shakespeare, is one of the loveliest lyrics in the language, and I for my part could give it to no other man. Note also that but for Jaggard's enterprise this jewel had been irrevocably lost to us, since it is known only through The Passionate Pilgrim. Marlowe's Live with me and be my love , and Barnefield's As it fell upon a day , make numbers seven and eight. And I imagine that even Mr.

Swinburne cannot afford to scorn Sweet rose, fair flower, untimely pluck'd, soon vaded —which again only occurs in The Passionate Pilgrim. These nine numbers, with The Phoenix and the Turtle , make up more than half the book. Among the rest we have the pretty and respectable lyrics, If music and sweet poetry agree; Good night, good rest; Lord, how mine eyes throw gazes to the east. When as thine eye hath chose the dame , and the gay little song, It was a Lording's daughter.

There remain the Venus and Adonis sonnets and My flocks feed not. Swinburne may call these "dirty and dreary doggrel," an he list, with no more risk than of being held a somewhat over-anxious moralist. But to call the whole book worthless is mere abuse of words. It is true, nevertheless, that one of the only two copies existing of the first edition was bought for three halfpence.

Shakespeare's Lyrics. In their re-issue of The Aldine Poets , Messrs. The new binding is far more pleasing than the old; and in some cases, where the notes and introductory memoirs had fallen out of date, new editors have been set to work, with satisfactory results. It is therefore no small disappointment to find that the latest volume, "The Poems of Shakespeare," is but a reprint from stereotyped plates of the Rev. Alexander Dyce's text, notes and memoir. The Rev. Now, of the Rev. Alexander Dyce it may be fearlessly asserted that his criticism is not for all time.

Even had he been less prone to accept the word of John Payne Collier for gospel; even had Shakespearian criticism made no perceptible advance during the last quarter of a century, yet there is that in the Rev. Alexander Dyce's treatment of his poet which would warn us to pause before accepting his word as final. It had been as well, in a work of this sort, to include all the songs; but he gives us a selection only, and an uncommonly bad selection. I have tried in vain to discover a single principle of taste underlying it.

On what principle, for instance, can a man include the song "Come away, come away, death" from Twelfth Night , and omit "O mistress mine, where are you roaming? Or what but stark insensibility can explain the omission of "Take, O take those lips away," and the bridal song "Roses, their sharp spines being gone," that opens The Two Noble Kinsmen? But stay: the Rev. Alexander Dyce may attribute this last pair to Fletcher. We are, therefore, left to conclude that Dyce thought it unworthy of a place in his collection.

In a footnote to the Memoir he says: "The title-page of the first edition of Fletcher's Two Noble Kinsmen attributes the play partly to Shakespeare; I do not think our poet had any share in its composition; but I must add that Mr. Lamb a great authority in such matters inclines to a different opinion. Lamb" and the Rev. Alexander Dyce hold opposite opinions, it need not be difficult to choose. And surely, if internal evidence count for anything at all, the lines "Maiden pinks, of odour faint, Daisies smell-less, yet most quaint, And sweet thyme true. Nor is it any detraction from Fletcher to take this view.

Shakespeare himself has left songs hardly finer than Fletcher wrote at his best—hardly finer, for instance, than that magnificent pair from Valentinian. Only the note of Shakespeare happens to be different from the note of Fletcher: and it is Shakespeare's note—the note of "The cowslips tall her pensioners be" also omitted by the inscrutable Dyce and of "When daisies pied, and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver-white, And cuckoo buds of yellow hue Do paint the meadows with delight Nor is the accent of finality conspicuous in such passages as this from the Memoir:— "Wright had heard that Shakespeare 'was a much better poet than player'; and Rowe tells us that soon after his admission into the company, he became distinguished, 'if not as an extraordinary actor, yet as an excellent writer.

The public owes Messrs. A purchaser who finds several of these books to his mind, and is thereby induced to embark upon the purchase of the entire series, must feel a natural resentment if succeeding volumes drop below the implied standard. He cannot go back: and to omit the offending volumes is to spoil his set. And I contend that the action taken by Messrs. Nor can anyone who knows how much the industry and enthusiasm of Dyce did, in his day, for the study of Shakespeare, do more than urge that while, viewed historically, Dyce's criticism is entirely respectable, it happens to be a trifle belated in the year The points of difference between him and Charles Lamb are perhaps too obvious to need indication; but we may sum them up by saying that whereas Lamb, being a genius, belongs to all time, Dyce, being but an industrious person, belongs to a period.

Works (3,911)

It was a period of rapid development, no doubt—how rapid we may learn for ourselves by the easy process of taking down Volume V. Steevens on the merits of these poems must not be omitted. Had Shakespeare produced no other works than these, his name would have reached us with as little celebrity as time has conferred upon that of Thomas Watson, an older and much more elegant sonnetteer. Still, it cannot be denied that there are many scattered beauties among his Sonnets, and in the Rape of Lucrece; enough, it is hoped, to justify their admission into the present collection, especially as the Songs, etc.

And yet it was the criticism proper to its time. They were the right opinions for Chalmers; as Dyce's were the right opinions for Dyce: and if, as we hope, ours is a larger appreciation of Shakespeare, we probably hold it by no merit of our own, but as the common possession of our generation, derived through the chastening experiences of our grandfathers.

That, however, is no reason why we should not insist on having such editions of Shakespeare as fulfil our requirements, and refuse to study Dyce except as an historical figure. It is an unwise generation that declines to take all its inheritance. I have heard once or twice of late that English poets in the future will set themselves to express emotions more complex and subtle than have ever yet been treated in poetry. I shall be extremely glad, of course, if this happen in my time. But at present I incline to rejoice rather in an assured inheritance, and, when I hear talk of this kind, to say over to myself one particular sonnet which for mere subtlety of thought seems to me unbeaten by anything that I can select from the poetry of this century:— Thy bosom is endeared of all hearts Which I by lacking have supposed dead; And there reigns Love and all Love's loving parts, And all those friends which I thought buried.

How many a holy and obsequious Tear Hath dear religious love stol'n from mine eye, As interest of the dead, which now appear But things remov'd that hidden in thee lie! Thou art the grave where buried love doth live, Hung with the trophies of my lovers gone, Who all their parts of me to thee did give; That due of many now is thine alone!

Their images I lov'd I view in thee, And thou, all they, hast all the all of me. Linton proposed "With harebell slim": although if we must read "harebell" or "harebells," "dim" would be a pretty and proper word for the][color of that flower. The conjecture takes some little plausibility from Shakespeare's elsewhere linking primrose and harebell together: "Thou shalt not lack The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor The azured harebell, like thy veins I have always suspected, however, that there should be a semicolon after "Ver," and that "Merry springtime's harbinger, with her bells dim," refers to a totally different flower—the snowdrop, to wit.

And I have lately learnt from Dr. Grosart, who has carefully examined the edition the only early one , that the text actually gives a semicolon. The snowdrop may very well come after the primrose in this song, which altogether ignores the process of the seasons. Samuel Daniel. The writings of Samuel Daniel and the circumstances of his life are of course well enough known to all serious students of English poetry. And, though I cannot speak on this point with any certainty, I imagine that our younger singers hold to the tradition of all their fathers, and that Daniel still renidet in angulo of their affections, as one who in his day did very much, though quietly, to train the growth of English verse; and proved himself, in everything he wrote, an artist to the bottom of his conscience.

As certainly as Spenser, he was a "poet's poet" while he lived. A couple of pages might be filled almost offhand with the genuine compliments of his contemporaries, and he will probably remain a "poet's poet" as long as poets write in English. But the average reader of culture—the person who is honestly moved by good poetry and goes from time to time to his bookshelves for an antidote to the common cares and trivialities of this life—seems to neglect Daniel almost utterly. I judge from the wretched insufficiency of his editions. It is very hard to obtain anything beyond the two small volumes published in an imperfect collection , and a volume of selections edited by Mr.

John Morris and published by a Bath bookseller in ; and even these are only to be picked up here and there. I find it significant, too, that in Mr. Palgrave's Golden Treasury Daniel is represented by one sonnet only, and that by no means his best. This neglect will appear the more singular to anyone who has observed how apt is the person whom I have called the "average reader of culture" to be drawn to the perusal of an author's works by some attractive idiosyncrasy in the author's private life or character.

Lamb is a staring instance of this attraction. How we all love Lamb, to be sure! Though he rejected it and called out upon it, "gentle" remains Lamb's constant epithet. And, curiously enough, in the gentleness and dignified melancholy of his life, Daniel stands nearer to Lamb than any other English writer, with the possible exception of Scott. His circumstances were less gloomily picturesque.

But I defy any feeling man to read the scanty narrative of Daniel's life and think of him thereafter without sympathy and respect. Anthony Wood tells us that he came "of a wealthy family;" Fuller that "his father was a master of music. His first book—a translation of Paola Giovio's treatise on Emblems—appeared in , when he was about twenty-two.

In or he was travelling in Italy, probably with a pupil, and no doubt busy with those studies that finally made him the first Italian scholar of his time. In he published his "Sonnets to Delia," which at once made his reputation; in his "Complaint of Rosamond" and "Tragedy of Cleopatra;" and in four books of his "Civil Wars. It is certain, however, that Daniel was a favorite at Elizabeth's Court, and in some way partook of her bounty.

In he was appointed tutor to the Lady Anne Clifford, a little girl of about eleven, daughter of Margaret, Countess of Cumberland; and his services were gratefully remembered by mother and daughter during his life and after. But Daniel seems to have tired of living in great houses as private tutor to the young.

The next year, when presenting his works to Sir Thomas Egerton, he writes:—"Such hath been my misery that whilst I should have written the actions of men, I have been constrained to bide with children, and, contrary to mine own spirit, put out of that sense which nature had made my part. Now there is but one answer to this—that a man of really strong spirit does not suffer himself to be "put out of that sense which nature had made my part.

Such a timidity and such a distrust often accompany very exquisite faculties: indeed, they may be said to imply a certain exquisiteness of feeling. But they explain why, of the two contemporaries, the robust Ben Jonson is to-day a living figure in most men's conception of those times, while Samuel Daniel is rather a fleeting ghost. And his self-distrust was even then recognized as well as his exquisiteness. He is indeed "well-languaged Daniel," "sweet honey-dropping Daniel," "Rosamund's trumpeter, sweet as the nightingale," revered and admired by all his compeers.

But the note of apprehension was also sounded, not only by an unknown contributor to that rare collection of epigrams, Skialetheia, or the Shadow of Truth. Yet doth his trembling Muse but lowly fly, As daring not too rashly mount on height ; And doth her tender plumes as yet but try In love's soft lays, and looser thoughts delight. Then rouse thy feathers quickly, Daniel, And to what course thou please thyself advance; But most, meseems, thy accent will excel In tragic plaints and passionate mischance. Now it has been often pointed out that considerable writers fall into two classes— 1 those who begin, having something to say, and are from the first rather occupied with their matter than with the manner of expressing it; and 2 those who begin with the love of expression and intent to be artists in words, and come through expression to profound thought.

It is fashionable just now, for some reason or another, to account Class 1 as the more respectable; a judgment to which, considering that Shakespeare and Milton belonged undeniably to Class 2, I refuse to assent. The question, however, is not to be argued here. I have only to point out in this place that the early work of all poets in Class 2 is largely imitative.

Virgil was imitative, Keats was imitative—to name but a couple of sufficiently striking examples. And Daniel, who belongs to this class, was also imitative. But for a poet of this class to reach the heights of song, there must come a time when out of imitation he forms a genuine style of his own, and loses no mental fertility in the transformation.

This, if I may use the metaphor, is the mauvais pas in the ascent of Parnassus: and here Daniel broke down. He did indeed acquire a style of his own; but the effort exhausted him. He was no longer prolific; his ardor had gone: and his innate self-distrustfulness made him quick to recognize his sterility. Soon after the accession of James I.

He had thus a snug position at Court, and might have been happy, had it been another Court. But in nothing was the accession of James more apparent than in the almost instantaneous blasting of the taste, manners, and serious grace that had marked the Court of Elizabeth. The Court of James was a Court of bad taste, bad manners, and no grace whatever: and Daniel—"the remnant of another time," as he calls himself—looked wistfully back upon the days of Elizabeth.

Although the stronger constitutions shall Wear out th' infection of distemper'd days In this way it happened that Daniel, whom at the outset his contemporaries had praised with wide consent, and who never wrote a loose or unscholarly line, came to pen, in the dedicatory epistle prefixed to his tragedy of "Philotas," these words—perhaps the most pathetic ever uttered by an artist upon his work: "And therefore since I have outlived the date Of former grace, acceptance and delight.

I would my lines, late born beyond the fate Of her [A] spent line, had never come to light; So had I not been tax'd for wishing well, Nor now mistaken by the censuring Stage, Nor in my fame and reputation fell, Which I esteem more than what all the age Or the earth can give. But years hath done this wrong, To make me write too much, and live too long.

I said just now that Daniel had done much, though quietly, to train the growth of English verse. He not only stood up successfully for its natural development at a time when the clever but less largely informed Campion and others threatened it with fantastic changes. He probably did as much as Waller to introduce polish of line into our poetry. Turn to the famous "Ulysses and the Siren," and read. Can anyone tell me of English verses that run more smoothly off the tongue, or with a more temperate grace? I must be won that cannot win, Yet lost were I not won; For beauty hath created been T'undo or be undone.

To speak yet more familiarly, it looks as if any fool could turn off lines like these. Let the fool try. And yet to how many anthologies do we not turn in vain for "Ulysses and the Siren"; or for the exquisite spring song, beginning— "Now each creature joys the other, Passing happy days and hours; One bird reports unto another In the fall of silver showers William Browne of Tavistock.

It has been objected to the author of Britannia's Pastorals that their perusal sends you to sleep. It had been subtler criticism, as well as more amiable, to observe that you can wake up again and, starting anew at the precise point where you dropped off, continue the perusal with as much pleasure as ever, neither ashamed of your somnolence nor imputing it as a fault to the poet. For William Browne is perhaps the easiest figure in our literature.

He lived easily, he wrote easily, and no doubt he died easily. He no more expected to be read through at a sitting than he tried to write all the story of Marina at a sitting. He took up his pen and composed: when he felt tired he went off to bed, like a sensible man: and when you are tired of reading he expects you to be sensible and do the same. A placid life. He was born at Tavistock, in Devon, about the year ; and after the manner of mild and sensible men cherished a particular love for his birth-place to the end of his days.

His first wife died when he was twenty-three or twenty-four. He took his second courtship quietly and leisurely, marrying the lady at length in , after a wooing of thirteen years. Bullen, his latest biographer, "to have acquired in some way a modest competence, which secured him immunity from the troubles that weighed so heavily on men of letters.

More than four years before this marriage he had returned to Exeter College, as tutor to the young Robert Dormer, who in due time became Earl of Carnarvon and was killed in Newbury fight. By his fellow-collegians—as by everybody with whom he came into contact—he was highly beloved and esteemed, and in the public Register of the University is styled, "vir omni humana literarum et bonarum artium cognitione instructus.

He was familiarly received at Wilton, the home of the Herberts. After his second marriage he moved to Dorking and there settled. He died in or before the year In the letters of administration granted to his widow November, he is described as "late of Dorking, in the county of Surrey, Esquire. A William Browne was buried at Tavistock on March 27th, This may or may not have been our author.

Bullen,—"Surely few poets have had a more tranquil journey to the Elysian Fields. As with his life, so with his poetry—he went about it quietly, contentedly. He learned his art, as he confesses, from Spenser and Sidney; and he took it over ready-made, with all the conventions and pastoral stock-in-trade—swains languishing for hard-hearted nymphs, nymphs languishing for hard-hearted swains; sheep-cotes, rustic dances, junketings, anadems, and true-love knots; monsters invented for the perpetual menace of chastity; chastity undergoing the most surprising perils, but always saved in the nick of time, if not by an opportune shepherd, then by an equally opportune river-god or earthquake; episodes innumerable, branching off from the main stem of the narrative at the most critical point, and luxuriating in endless ramifications.

Beauty, eluding unwelcome embraces, is never too hotly pressed to dally with an engaging simile or choose the most agreeable words for depicting her tribulation. Why indeed should she hurry? It is all a polite and pleasant make-believe; and when Marina and Doridon are tired, they stand aside and watch the side couples, Fida and Remond, and get their breath again for the next figure.

D'Artagnan enamorado by Roger Nimier

As for the finish of the tale, there is no finish. The narrator will stop when he is tired; just then and no sooner. What became of Marina after Triton rolled away the stone and released her from the Cave of Famine? I am sure I don't know. Does this mean that I am greatly interested in her? Not in the least. I am quite content to hear no more about her. Let us have the lamentations of Celadyne for a change—though "for a change" is much too strong an expression.

The author is quite able to invent more adventures for Marina, if he chooses to, by the hour together. If he does not choose to, well and good. Was the composition of Britannia's Pastorals then, a useless or inconsiderable feat? Not at all: since to read them is to taste a mild but continuous pleasure. Each man that lives, according to his power, On what he loves bestows an idle hour. Instead of hounds that make the wooded hills Talk in a hundred voices to the rills, I like the pleasing cadence of a line Struck by the consort of the sacred Nine.

In lieu of hawks Indeed, unless it be Wither, there is no poet of the time who practised his art with such entire cheerfulness: though Wither's satisfaction had a deeper note, as when he says of his Muse— "Her true beauty leaves behind Apprehensions in the mind, Of more sweetness than all art Or inventions can impart; Thoughts too deep to be express'd, And too strong to be suppressed. It seems to have been left to Wither to discover that poetry was a present possession as well as a rich reversion, and that the muse had promise of both lives—of this, and of that which was to come.

He, at least, had no doubt of the Muse as an earthly companion. As for posthumous fame, Browne confides to us his aspirations in that matter also:— "And Time may be so kind to these weak lines To keep my name enroll'd past his that shines In gilded marble, or in brazen leaves: Since verse preserves, when stone and brass deceives.

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Or if as worthless Time not lets it live To those full days which others' Muses give, Yet I am sure I shall be heard and sung Of most severest eld and kinder young Beyond my days; and maugre Envy's strife, Add to my name some hours beyond my life. If the casual reader but remember Browne as a poet who had the honor to supply Keats with inspiration, [A] there will always be others, and enough of them, to prize his ambling Muse for her own qualities. A Note on his Name. Even as there is an M alike in Macedon and Monmouth, so Thomas Carew and I have a common grievance—that our names are constantly mispronounced.

It is their own fault, of course; on the face of it they ought to rhyme with "few" and "vouch. Had I dreamed then of becoming a subject for poetry, I had pointed out—as I do now—for the benefit of all intending bards, that I do not legitimately rhyme with "vouch" so liable is human judgment to err, even in trifles , unless they pronounce it "vooch," which is awkward. I believe, indeed speaking as one who has never had occasion to own a Rhyming Dictionary , that the number of English words consonant with my name is exceedingly small; but leave the difficulty to the ingenious Dr.

Alexander H. Japp, LL. As it is not my intention to reply with a set of verses upon Dr. Japp, it seems superfluous to inquire if his name should be pronounced as it is spelt. But Carew's case is rather important; and it is really odd that his latest and most learned editor, the Rev. Ebsworth, should fall into the old error.