XI. HARPALUS. AN ANCIENT ENGLISH PASTORAL. This beautiful poem, which is perhaps the first attempt at paftoral writing in our language, is preferved among the SONGS AND SONNETTES of the earl of Surrey, &c. 4to. 1574. in that part of the collection, which confifts of picces by UNCERTAIN AUCTOURS. Thefe poems were first publifhed in 1557, ten years after that accomplished nobleman fell a victim to the tyranny of Henry VIII: but it is prefumed most of them were compofed before the death of fir Thomas Wyatt in 1541. See Surrey's poems, 4to. fol. 19. 49. Tho' written perhaps near half a century before the SHEPHERD'S CALENDAR *, this will be found far fuperior te any of thofe Eclogues in natural unaffected fentiments, in fimplicity of ftyle, in easy flow of verfification, and all the beauties of pastoral poetry. Spenfer ought to have profited more by fo excellent a model. PHILLIDA was a faire maide, As fresh, as any flower; Whom Harpalus the heard-man praide To be his paramoure. But Phillida was al tò coye, How often woold the flowers twine? Of couflips and of culumbine? And al for Corin's fake. But Corin, he had hawkes to lure, Harpalus prevayled nought, His labour all was loft; For he was fartheft from her thought, Therefore wax he both pale and leane, And dry as clod of clay : His fleshe it was confumed cleane; His colour gone away. His beard it had not long be fhave; His heare hong al unkempt: A man moft fit even for the grave, Whom spiteful love had fhent. 20 25 36 10 His eyes were red, and all forwacht; His face befprent with teares: It seemed unhap had him long hatcht, 35 In middes of his dispaires. His clothes were blacke, and also bare; As one forlorne was hee; Upon his head alwaies he ware A wreathe of willowe tree. 40 His beaftes he kept upon the hill, And he fate in the dale; And thus with fighes and forrows fhrill, Corin he liveth carèleffe: He leapes among the leaves: My beaftes a while your foode refraine, O happie be ye, beaftès wilde, The hart he feedeth by the hinde : To him that loves her fo The ewe she hath by her the ramme : The calfe with many a lufty lambe Do feede their hunger full. But, wel-a-way! that nature wrought Thee, Phillida, fo faire: бо 65 7༠ 75 For I may fay that I have bought Thy beauty all tò deare. 80 What I fe therefore to shape my deathe To th' end that I may want my breathe: O Cupide, graunt this my request, Of Corin 'whoe' is carèleffe, That she may crave her fee: : As I have done in greate distresse, 95 But fince that I fhal die her flave; "Here lieth unhappy Harpalus 66 By cruell love now flaine: "Whom Phillida unjustly thus, "Hath murdred with difdaine." VOL. II. F 100 XII. ROBIN |