"There's but a summer past; the golden sunne,
He hath but once his annual course o'er-run,
And lodg'd his fire-breathing steeds within
The lofty stables of cold Pisce's inne :

And fragrant Flora, dewie-breasted queene
Of hills and vallies, which we all have seene
Be-spread with grasse-greene carpets, intermixt
With pleasing flowers

*

*

Shee hath but once with this her train given place
To wint'ring Hyems, with his snow-white face."

The incidents of the poem, which are detailed with a prolixity which would exhaust the patience of any one but a reviewer, may be comprised in a very few words. The supposed narrator of the tale, in his travels is bewildered in

-"a desart place

Set thick with trees, whose lofty tops aspire
To kisse the clouds;

Spreading their branches with that large extent,
That from my eyes they hid the firmament;
Under their shades the vallies prostrate lay,
Where wolves and foxes did their gamboiles play:
No silly sheepe or lambes were ever seene
To browse or feed upon those plaines, though greene :
The labouring oxe, nor the milke-giving cow,
Did e'er graze there, nor hath the sharpe-edg'd plough
Beene ever knowne to furrowe up that land:
No house or cottage on that ground did stand;
'Twas unfrequented, not a tract was seene,
Of man or beast, 'twas all o'ergrowne with greene,
With thistles, thornes, and the scratching brier:
The boxe and holly, which withstand the ire
Of winter's rage, for they are alwayes seene
For to survive, clad in their robes of greene.
No noise I heard, no cry of coupled hounds.
Whose bawling throats doe make the woods resound
Their yelping clamour; all was quiet there :
No lusty keeper hollow'd in his deere ;
'Twas hush and silent, 'lesse some pretty rill,
Which murmuring, ran at foot of some tall hill,
Or else the whistlings that the wind did breath,
Which made a rushling 'mongst the trembling leafes.
No shepheard pip't, the whilst his flocks did graize;
No pretty birds did warble out sweet layes,

Unlesse 'twere such whose chirping notes did sound
Anthems of sorrow to the list'ning ground:
It seem'd to be the seate of pensive care,
Of melancholy, and of grim dispaire.
There mourning sate the harmlesse turtle-dove,
And sung sad dirges on her lifeless love."

The traveller, at last, reaches a stately but dismal mansion, where he is hospitably welcomed, and courteously entertained by Arnalte, the melancholy owner. The latter relates to his guest the cause of his voluntary seclusion in this desert place : he was a native of Thebes, and in viewing the funeral of " an eminent man, in Thebes' city known," became enamoured of the charms of his grieving daughter, Lucenda, who is thus delineated:

-" his daughter, who, alas! did seeme

Like faire fac'd Venus, love's cœlestiall queene,
When shee wore mourning for the timeless death

For shee with shreekes, and sad lamenting cryes,

In that abundant manner, as if all

The rainy showeres had beene forc'd to fall,
Trickling along her cheekes; which to my view
Seem'd like transparent drops of pearly dew
On fragrant roses, e'er the bright-fac'd sunne
Had kist them drye: teares did not only runne
From her bright cristall fountaines, for she tare
Her silken vestments, and her flaxe-like haire :
The Cypresse vaile, which her faire face did shrowd,
Like golden Phœbus in a watry cloud,

Shee rent in peeces, with her snow-white hands

Disheveled her curious breded bands:

The winds enamour'd

*

*

At the faire prospect of so rich a sight,
Breath'd forth their milder gales, and gently blew
Their fanning windes, by which her bright haire flew
In amourous dangling, frisling her faire tresses,
Which in meanders hung, and curled esses :

And like the surges of the rowling maine
They rise and fall, or as upon some plaine
Wee see the pretty rising hillockes stand,
Or as the furrowes of the plow'd up land;
These sunne-like tresses twin'd in artlesse knots,
Where in close ambush wanton Cupid lurkes,

She did unroote

*

*

Like polish'd ivory doth her fore-head shine;
Her soft silke tresses in meanders twine;

As sparkling diamonds shine her splendent eyes,
Or as bright stars, which twinkle in the skies;

Her nose well featur'd, of the handsom'st mould,
Not long, or peaked, signs that grace a scold:
Her cheekes resemble two fresh flowry banks
Where bright carnations grow in disperst rankes;
And in those cheekes the red and white discloses
Such pleasing glimpse, as lawne o'erspreading roses:
Her lips like rubies, which by art are joyn'd,
Doe sweetely close and friendly are combin'd;
And for their colour, they by farre exceede
The rosiate blood, which purple grapes doe bleed;
Who when they move, they presently doe shew

Of orient pearles, a well-ranged row:

Her organ-voyce it well may paralell

The sweete-tun'd notes of pretty Philomel;

After besieging this paragon for a long time with speeches and letters of an unmerciful length, which she relished as little as our readers would do were we to extract them, just as he began to entertain hopes of success, he is overwhelmed by the intelligence of her marriage with his friend Yerso, the confident of his love. Enraged at this deception, he challenges his successful rival to single combat before the king-his invitation is accepted-the combat commences with due formality.

our lances being burst,
Which flew to shivers, lying scatter'd round
Upon the verdant grasse and trampled ground.
Our staves thus broke, we quickly did betake
Us to our keen-edg'd swords, that they might make
Good what our speares had fail'd of their pretence:
Then fiercely driving, we did both commence

A fray so bloody, that the crimson gore
Did trickle downe upon the grasse all o'er,
Thund'ring our blowes with fury violent,
That through our armour they a passage rent,
To make a way unto our vital parts,
That unawares they might surprize our hearts.
We slic'd our shields, we clave our helmets bright,
And were so eager on our bloody fight,
That the spectators weary were to see
The combate last so long; as also we
Grew faint with striking and through losse of blood,
Which flowed from us like a purple flood.
But to be briefe, I gain'd the victory,
And Yerso vanquisht at my feet did lye."

The faithless Yerso expires on the spot, and the widowed Lucenda retires to a convent, in spite of the renewed courtship of the victor, who, inconsolable for her loss, forsakes his native city, and secludes himself in the desert place where he was found by the traveller. We shall conclude our notice of this very unequal production, with two descriptive extracts.

-" a morning which with ruddy lookes
Did drive dim mists from off the silver brookes,
As if Aurora, clad in purple gay,

Had chas'd blacke night, and brought on cheerefull day,
Or that bright Titan in the easterne streames
Began to bathe his fiery-flaming beames."

"The daie's great king, bright-ey'd Hyperion,
In golden triumph brightly shining runne
His wonted progress o'er and o'er againe
Himself to bathe in the coole westerne maine."

1

ART. V. Toxophilus, the Schole or Partitions of Shootinge, contayned in II Bookes. Written by Roger Ascham, 1544, and now newlye perused. Pleasaunt for all Gentlemen and Yomen of Englande. For theyr pastime to reade, and profitable for theyr use to folowe both in warre and peace. Anno 1571. Imprinted at London in Fletestreate, neare to Saint Dunstone's Churche, by Thomas Marshe.

Ascham is a great name in our national literature. He was one of the first founders of a true English style in prose composition, and one of the most respectable and useful of our scholars. He was amongst the first to reject the use of foreign words and idioms, a fashion, which in the reign of Henry the Eighth began to be so prevalent, that the authors of that day, by "usinge straunge wordes, as Latine, Frenche, and Italian, did make all thinges darke and harde." It required some virtue moreover in Ascham, attached as he was to the study of the learned languages, to abstain from mingling them with his English compositions, especially when the public taste countenanced such innovations. But Ascham's mind was too patriotic to permit him to think, that his native tongue could be improved by this admixture of foreign phrases, an opinion which he illustrates by this comparison; -" but if you put malvesye and sacke, redde wyne and white, ale and beere, and al in one pot, you shall make a drincke not easye to be knowen, nor yet holsome for the bodye." In obedience to the precept of Aristotle, to think like the wise, but to speak like the common people; Ascham set a successful example of a simple and pure taste in writing, and we question whether we do not owe more to him on this account, than even for the zeal which he displayed in the cultivation of the Greek language, during its infancy amongst us.

We admire the character of Roger Ascham on three accounts; first, he was a scholar by profession; secondly, he was a chess-player; and thirdly, he was an archer;-let us use his own word, a shooter. As a scholar, he was acute, learned, and laborious; attached to literature from his earliest years, and pursuing it with honour to himself and benefit to others, to the termination of his life. At an early age, he entered the university; and in his twenty-first year, when the alumni of our day are only about to enter on their academical education, he was diligently employed in expounding the Greek authors to his fellow students. His talents ensured him that moderate reward which is sufficient to satisfy the honest wishes of a man of letters; he became a fellow of a college; he received a remuneration for delivering a course of lectures on the study of Greek, there being, at that time, no professorship of that language; and to complete the measure of his prosperity, he was presented by his majesty with an ample salary of ten pounds a year. On the change of the national religion, his known attachment to Protestantism procured him favour at court; while his high character for learning and integrity, insured him protection during the reign of Mary. The honourable situation which he filled, as tutor to Elizabeth, speaks highly of his talents. The tutor and his royal pupil used occasionally to relax from the severity of their studies, and enjoy the luxury of a game at chess, "that admirable effort of the human mind," as Warton calls it; and when a less sedentary amusement was required,