crude conceits and unintelligible tortuosities of thought and rhyme. Much as he sings of love, he is, on the whole, a frigid writer, and has preserved purity at the expense of nature and fervour of passion. He was a star in the poetic horizon when stars were few, and owes it to darkness and to distance rather than to merit that his light still glimmers-it can hardly be said to shine-upon us; and we accept it not as poetry itself, but merely as containing in it the hope and promise of future and far superior song. Surrey's principal claim to consideration lies in his versification. He undoubtedly improved the mechanical part of our poetry. He found that in the last state of anarchy and disorganisation. Heroic verse, instead of being confined to ten syllables, was often expanded to eleven, twelve, and even fourteen. The results were languor and a sprawling motion. The variation of pauses, too, was entirely neglected. Surrey limited the heroic verse to ten syllables, and divided these into five equal Iambic feet. To prevent the monotony produced by the Iambic measure, he broke his lines by pauses interposed wherever he thought the harmony of the verse required them. He also employed, in general, simple and colloquial expressions, avoiding foreign idioms and far-fetched words. His introduction of a studied mode of involution into his periods is probably a less happy innovation. But he deserves credit, it has been said, when he "discountenanced altogether the French mode of laying an unnatural stress upon final syllables, and followed the obvious and common pronunciation of our language, carefully avoiding all double terminations, and using only those words for rhyme which were noble and harmonious, and such as the ear might dwell upon with pleasure." These are not great achievements, and were competent to one who had even less of the "vision and the Faculty Divine" than Surrey. But when we recollect the miracles of melody produced since by our Miltons, Drydens, Shelleys, and Coleridges, and that these are in part owing to the improvements introduced by Surrey, we feel that we owe him a debt of considerable gratitude as a mechanical artist, whatever we may think of his genius as a poet. EARL OF SURREY'S POETICAL WORKS. SONGS AND SONNETS. DESCRIPTION OF THE RESTLESS STATE OF A LOVER, WITH SUIT TO HIS LADY, TO RUE ON HIS DYING HEART. THE sun hath twice brought forth his tender green, Once have the winds the trees despoiled clean, What warmth, alas! may serve for to disarm The frozen heart, that mine in flame hath made? 10 What cold again is able to restore My fresh green years, that wither thus and fade? But Time, in time, reduceth a return : At hand, to melt; far off, in flame to burn. And like as time list to my cure apply, So doth each place my comfort clean refuse. All things alive, that see'th the heavens with eye, Save I, alas! against all others' use, And me withdraw from every haunted place, That day that I was tangled in the lace,2 But never yet the travail of my thought, Of better state could catch a cause to boast. For if I found, some time that I have sought, Those stars by whom I trusted of the port, My sails do fall, and I advance right nought; As anchor'd fast my spirits do all resort To stand agazed, and sink in more and more The deadly harm which she doth take in sport. Lo! if I seek, how I do find my sore! And if I flee, I carry with me still The venom'd shaft, which doth his force restore By haste of flight; and I may plain my fill Unto myself, unless this careful song 'Chere:' countenance, behaviour.-Lace: 'a snare. 19 30 40 50 Print in your heart some parcel of my tene,1 51 DESCRIPTION OF SPRING, WHEREIN EVERYTHING REnews, save ONLY THE LOVER. The turtle to her make3 hath told her tale: The hart hath hung his old head on the pale; The fishes flete with new repaired scale; The busy bee her honey now she mings ;6 Winter is worn that was the flowers' bale.7 And thus I see among these pleasant things Each care decays, and yet my sorrow springs ! DESCRIPTION OF THE RESTLESS STATE OF A LOVER. 1 WHEN youth had led me half the race That Cupid's scourge had made me run, I looked back to mete the place From whence my weary course begun. Tene: sorrow.-2 Soote :' sweet.-Make:' mate.-'Flete: float. 76 5 Smale:' small.—Mings:' mingles. - Bale:' destruction. 2 And then I saw how my desire 3 For when in sighs I spent the day, And could not cloak my grief with game,1 4 And when salt tears do bain2 my breast, Where Love his pleasant trains hath sown, Her beauty hath the fruits oppress'd, Ere that the buds were sprung and blown. 5 And when mine eyen did still pursue The flying chase of their request, Their greedy looks did oft renew The hidden wound within my breast. 6 When every look these cheeks might stain, By outward signs appeared plain, 7 But all too late Love learneth me To paint all kind of colours new, 8 And now the covert breast I claim, Game:' cheerfulness.-2 Bain' bathe. |