Trees, herbs, and flowers, in rural fields that grow,
While thus I mourn, do you some silence show.

These beautiful stanzas bear a strong resemblance to the style of Michael Drayton, from whose writings Ward has taken the words of several of his Madrigals; but I do not find them amongst his works. They afford an unusual instance of a shepherd mourning for his own faithlessness, instead of that of his false love; the complaint is generally vice versa.

CCCXV.

Phillis the bright, when frankly she desired
Thirsis her sweetheart to have expired;
Sweet, thus she fell a crying,

Die, for I am a dying.

These words are from the Italian, and are to be found in Morley's Selection of Madrigals to four voices, 1597. I am astonished that Ward, who has shown so much good taste in his choice of poetry, should ever have set such nonsense. The music being beautiful and frequently sung at the Madrigal Society, I have thought myself bound to give the words a place.

CCCXVI.

Hope of my heart!

Oh! wherefore do the words

Which your sweet tongue affords,
No hope impart ?

But cruel without measure

To my eternal pain,

Still thunder forth disdain

On him, whose life depends upon your pleasure.

This is the second stanza of an Ode by Francis Davison, addressed to his mistress, wherein "Being by his absence "in Italy deprived of her looks, words, and gestures; he "desireth her to write unto him." The first stanza is as follows:

"My only star,

"Why, why, are your dear eyes,
“Wherein my life's peace lies,

"With me at war?

“Why to my ruin tending

"Do they still lighten woe

"On him, that loves you so:

"That all his thoughts in you have birth, and ending?"

The remainder is not worth transcribing.

CCCXVII.

Upon a bank with roses set about,

Where turtles oft sit joining bill to bill;
And gentle springs steal softly murm'ring out,
Washing the foot of pleasure's sacred hill.
There little Love sore wounded lies,

His bow and arrows broken:

Bedew'd with tears from Venus' eyes,

Oh! grievous to be spoken!

A portion of M. Drayton's Second Eclogue. Also printed

in England's Helicon, under the title of the Shepherd's Anthem.

No really sentimental love ditty would be considered complete without the introduction of turtle doves, “......................... mira là quel colombo "Con che dolce susurro lusignando,

"Bacia la sua compagna."

Tasso. (Aminta, Atto 1.)

The joining bill to bill is thus given by Joannes Secundus, (Basium 16.)

"Quales Chaoniæ garrula motibus

"Alternant tremulis rostra columbulæ."

Venus, by the way, was not always so tenderly disposed towards Cupid as to bedew him with tears, for she is described by Lucian, (Dial. Deor.) as complaining how rudely her son had used her; and although she threatened to break his bow and arrows, to clip his wings, and whipped him besides with her sandal, on that part of the body where schoolboys are wont to suffer punishment; yet all would not serve, he was so headstrong and unruly.

I wish Ward had included in his Madrigal the four following lines from the Eclogue above-mentioned:

"His hearse shall be a mournful cypress shade,"
"His dirge sad Philomela's sweetest lay:

"And

prayer shall constantly be made

"By pilgrim lovers passing by that way."

CCCXVIII.

Retire, my troubled soul; rest, and behold

Thy days of dolour, dangers manifold:

See, life is but a dream, whose best contenting,

Begun with hope,

Pursued with doubt,

Enjoy'd with fear-ends in repenting.

A homily would be rather out of character with this book, otherwise here is a text worthy of being treated by Jeremy Taylor. The bent of Ward's mind, if we may judge from the choice he has made of the words of most of his Madrigals, is towards melancholy; or, as the manager of a theatre would call it, the serious business. All his compositions appear to me to be beautiful, although I have heard them called dull and heavy by some people who have no more soul than a mahogany table, nor taste for any kind of music superior to a pot-house glee.

CCCXIX.

Oft have I tender'd tributary tears,
Mixed with grief and melancholy fears;
And sometimes frolic hope, sad woes beguiling,
Hath shin'd on my desires; but she from smiling
Of late so chang'd, my sorrow not resenting,*
Bids me despair, sigh, groan, and die lamenting.

CCCXX.

O divine Love, which so aloft can raise,
And lift the mind out of this earthly mire;
And doth inspire us with such glorious praise,
As with the heav'ns doth equal man's desire !

Who doth not help to deck thy holy shrine
With Venus' myrtle, and Apollo's tree?
Who will not say that thou art most divine,
At least confess a deity in thee?

From Drayton's Second Eclogue.

CCCXXI.

If the deep sighs of an afflicted breast
O'erwhelm'd with sorrow, or th' erected eyes

Of a poor wretch with miseries opprest,

For whose complaints tears never could suffice,
Have not the power your deities to move,

Who shall e'er look for succour from above?
From whom too long I tarried for relief,
Now ask but death, that only ends my grief.

There's not a grove that wonders not my woe,
There's not a river weeps not at my tale;
I hear the echoes, wand'ring to and fro,

Resound my grief thro' ev'ry hill and dale:
The birds and beasts all in their simple kind,
Lament for me;-no pity else I find.

And tears, I find, do bring no other good,
But as new show'rs increase the rising flood.

These very beautiful stanzas are from Drayton's Tenth Eclogue. The lines printed in italics are taken by Ward out of their proper order, which accounts for the ungrammatical construction of the first couplet.