And forth they pass, with pleasure forward led,

Joying to hear the birds' sweet harmony,

Which therein shrouded from the tempest dread,

Seem'd in their song to scorn the cruel sky.

Much can they praise the trees so straight and high,

The sailing pine, the cedar proud and tall,

The vine-prop elm, the poplar never dry,

The builder oak, sole king of forests all,

The aspin good for staves, the cypress funeral.

The laurel, meed of mighty conquerors

And poets sage, the fir that weepeth still,

The willow, worn of forlorn paramours,

The yew obedient to the bender's will,
The birch for shafts, the sallow for the mill,
The myrrh sweet bleeding in the bitter wound,
The warlike beech, the ash, for nothing ill,
The fruitful olive, and the plantain round,

The carver holme, the maple seldom inward sound:

Led with delight, they thus beguile the way,

Until the blustering storm is overblown,

When weening to return, whence they did stray,
They cannot find that path which first was shown,
But wander to and fro in ways unknown,

Furthest from end then, when they nearest ween,

That makes them doubt their wits be not their own:

So many paths, so many turnings seen,

That which of them to take, in divers doubts they been.

LIKE as a ship, that through the ocean wide,
By conduct of some star, doth make her way,
Whenas a storm hath dimm'd her trusty guide
Out of her course doth wander far astray;
So I, whose star, that wont with her bright ray
Me to direct, with clouds is overcast,
Do wander now, in darkness and dismay,
Through hidden perils round about me plast:
Yet hope I well that, when this storm is past,

My Helice, the lodestar of my life,
Will shine again, and look on me at last,
With lovely light to clear my cloudy grief.
Till then I wander careful, comfortless,

In secret sorrow and sad pensiveness.

THE SHEPHERD'S COMMENDATION OF

HIS NYMPH.

BY EDWARD VERE, EARL OF OXFORD.

[EDWARD VERE, EARL OF OXFORD, was born about the year 1534. and after having been educated in Cambridge, spent some time on the Continent, from which he returned a perfect coxcomb. He took an active part in the destruction of the Spanish Armada, and sat on the trial of Mary, Queen of Scots. His poems, which are full of conceits, have never been collected. He died in 1604.]

WHAT shepherd can express

The favour of her face?

To whom in this distress

I do appeal for grace;

A thousand Cupids fly
About her gentle eye;

From which each throws a dart

That kindleth soft sweet fire

Within my sighing heart;

Possessed by desire,

No sweeter life I try

Than in her love to die.

Compares not with her white,

Whose hairs are all sunbeams.

So bright my nymph doth shine

As day unto my eyne.

With this there is a red,

Exceeds the damask rose :

Which in her cheeks is spread

Where every favour grows;

In sky there is no star

But she surmounts it far.

When Phoebus from the bed

Of Thetis doth arise,

The morning blushing red,

In fair carnation wise;

He shows in my nymph's face,

As queen of every grace.

This pleasant lily white,

This taint of roseate red,

This Cynthia's silver light,

This sweet fair Dea spread,

These sunbeams in mine eye,

These beauties make me die.