Where strained sardonic smiles are glozing still, Fly from our country pastimes! fly, Come, serene looks, Clear as the crystal brooks, Or the pure azured heaven, that smiles to see Peace, and a secure mind, Which all men seek, we only find. Abused mortals! did you know Where joy, heart's ease, and comforts grow, You'd scorn proud towers, And seek them in these bowers, Where winds sometimes our woods perhaps may shake, But blustering care could never tempest make, Saving of fountains that glide by us. Here's no fantastic mask, nor dance Nor wars are seen, "Complete Angler," p. 309, edit. Nicolas, as "doubtless made either by (Sir H. Wotton) or by a lover of angling." An anonymous copy in "Tixall Poetry," p. 297, as "Rusticatio Religiosi in Vacantiis." Claimed without authority for Sir W. Raleigh by Brydges and the Oxford editors. Two harmless lambs are butting one the other; Which done, both bleating run, each to his mother: And wounds are never found, Save what the ploughshare gives the ground. Here are no false entrapping baits, The fond credulity Of silly fish, which, worldling-like, still look The birds, for prize of their sweet song. Go! let the diving negro seek For gems hid in some forlorn creek; We all pearls scorn, Save what the dewy morn Congeals upon each little spire of grass, Which careless shepherds beat down as they pass; And gold ne'er here appears, Save what the yellow Ceres bears. Blest, silent groves! O may ye be For ever mirth's best nursery! May pure contents For ever pitch their tents Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, these mountains, And peace still slumber by these purling fountains! Which we may every year Find when we come a-fishing here. IGNOTO. XVII. A FAREWELL TO THE VANITIES OF THE WORLD.1 (Author uncertain.) AREWELL, ye gilded follies, pleasing troubles! Farewell, ye honoured rags, ye glorious bubbles! Fame's but a hollow echo; gold pure clay; ; And torture free-born minds; embroidered trains Fame, honour, beauty, state, train, blood, and birth, 1 Walton's "Complete Angler," p. 311, edit. Nicolas; in the first two editions as 66 some say written by Dr. D.," but afterwards as 66 some say written by Sir Harry Wotton." In MS. Ashm. 38 it is entitled "Doctor Donn's Valediction to the world." In "Wit's Interpreter," 1671, p. 269, it is ascribed to Sir Kenelm Digby. Sir H. Nicolas, without any authority that I know of, says that "these verses are also said to have been written by Sir W. Raleigh, when a prisoner in the Tower, shortly before his execution." Archbishop Sancroft gives them anonymously with the title, "An hermit in an arbour, with a prayer-book in his hand, his foot spurning a globe, thus speaketh;" MS. Tann. 465, fol. 59. I would be great, but that the sun doth still I would be high, but see the proudest oak more: I have wished all, but now I wish for neither, Would the world now adopt me for her heir; Command bare heads, bowed knees, strike Justice dumb, As well as blind and lame; or give a tongue Beyond the riches of this empty pleasure. Welcome, pure thoughts! welcome, ye silent groves! These guests, these courts, my soul most dearly loves : Now the winged people of the sky shall sing XVIII. IMITATIO HORATIANE ODES IX. “DONEC GRATUS ERAM TIBI."—LIB. III. A DIALOGUE BETWIXT GOD AND THE SOUL.1 (Author unknown.) Soul. HILST my soul's eye beheld no light, sight, To me the world's greatest King Seemed but some little vulgar thing. "Rel. Wotton." Raleigh by Brydges. Claimed without authority for Sir W. |