he was soon after removed to the Tower, and thence to the scaffold on Tower Hill, where he was beheaded on the nineteenth of January 1547, not yet having attained the thirty-first year of his age. Surrey's attainments for the time at which he lived, were unusually great. He was entirely familiar with the Latin, the French, the Italian, and the Spanish languages, and also with all the gentlemanly accomplishments of the age. His poetry is distinguished for its flowing melody, correctness of style, and purity of expression: he has the honor also to have been the first writer of English narrative blank verse in the language. The gentle and melancholy pathos of his manner is well exemplified in the following verses, which he wrote during his confinement in Windsor Castle, when about to yield his life a sacrifice to tyrannical caprice. They are so beautiful as to hold a permanent place among the finest poetical productions in the language. The noble poet is recounting the pleasure there enjoyed in former days: A PRISONER IN WINDSOR CASTLE. As proud Windsor? where, in lust and joy, Where each sweet place returns a taste full sour! The large green courts where we were wont to hove,' With eyes cast up into the Maiden Tower, And easy sighs such as folks draw in love. The stately seats, the ladies bright of hue; The dances short, long tales of great delight, With silver drops the mead yet spread for ruth, The secret groves which oft we made resound, 1 Hover, loiter. 2 A lover tied the sleeve of his mistress on the head of his horse. The wild forest, the clothed holts with green, With reins availed' and swiftly breathed horse; Where we did chase the fearful hart of force. The wide vales, eke, that harboured us each night, The secret thoughts imparted with such trust, And with this thought the blood forsakes the face, O place of bliss! renewer of my woes, Give me accounts, where is my noble fere;2 Echo, alas! that doth my sorrow rue, Beturns thereto a hollow sound of plaint. To this sweet poem we add the following stanzas on SIR THOMAS WYATT, the contemporary and intimate friend of the Earl of Surrey, was born at Arlington Castle in Kent 1503. His family was respectable but not distinguished; and as he early evinced more than ordinary talents, his education soon became a matter of parental solicitude. In 1518, he entered St. John's College, Cambridge, but eventually left that seat of learning to enjoy the superior advantages in classical studies that the university of Oxford at that time afforded. Wyatt was graduated at the latter institution in 1523, immediately after which he turned his attention to the careful study of modern languages; and before he had reached the twenty-fourth year of his age, he was critically familiar with the French, the Italian, and the Spanish. To these intellectual attainments he added all those personal accomplishments for which the Earl of Surrey was so much celebrated; and it was not surprising, therefore, that he should have become, almost immediately after he was presented at court, a recipient of royal confidence and favor. Wyatt was knighted by Henry the Eighth, and for a number of years almost constantly employed by that monarch upon foreign embassies. He thus enjoyed the opportunity of commingling with the more refined courts and courtiers of the continent. In 1541, he was ordered by the king to repair to Falmouth, there to meet the ambassador of Charles the Fifth of Spain, and conduct him to the English court. Anxious to execute this mission with the greatest possible celerity, he overheated himself on the way, and thus brought on a fever of which he soon after died, being in the thirty-ninth year of his age. The traits of similarity in genius and character between Wyatt and the Earl of Surrey were so striking that a learned critic has, in contemplating them, indulged in the following strain :- They were men whose minds may be said to have been cast in the same mould; for they differ only in those minuter shades of character which must always exist in human nature. In their love of virtue, and their instinctive hatred and contempt of vice; in their freedom from personal jealousy; in their thirst after knowledge and intellectual improvement; in nice observation of nature, promptitude to action, intrepidity, and fondness for romantic enterprise; in magnificence and liberality; in generous support of others, and high-spirited neglect of themselves; in constancy and friendship, and tender susceptibility of affections of a still warmer nature, and in every thing connected with sentiment and principle, they were one and the same; but when these qualities branch out into particulars, they will be found in some respects to differ. . . . . In Wyatt's complaints, we hear a strain of manly grief which commands attention; and we listen to it with respect for the sake of him that suffers. Surrey's distress is painted in such natural terms, that we make it our own, and recognize in his sorrows, emotions which we are conscious of having felt ourselves.' The Songs and Sonnets of Wyatt, though somewhat conceited, are not * Dr. Nott. without refinement, and a very considerable share of poetic feeling; and he has the honor to be the first writer who attempted to turn the Psalms of David into English metre. His poems were originally published in 1565, along with those of the Earl of Surrey; and from this copy we select the following songs, and the stanza which follows them :— THE LOVER'S LUTE CAN NOT BE BLAMED, THOUGH IT SING OF HIS LADY'S UNKINDNESS. Blame not my Lute! for he must sound Of this or that as liketh me; For lack of wit the Lute is bound To give such tunes as pleaseth me; My Lute, alas! doth not offend, Though that perforce he must agree To sound such tunes as I intend To sing to them that heareth me; My Lute and strings may not deny, But wreak thyself some other way; Spite asketh spite, and changing change, Blame but thyself that hath misdone, And well deserved to have blame; Change thou thy way, so evil begone, And then my Lute shall sound that same; But if till then my fingers play By thy desert their wonted way, Blame not my Lute! Farewell! unknown; for though thou break Blame not my Lute! THE RE-CURED LOVER EXULTETH IN HIS FREEDOM, AND VOWETH TO REMAIN FREE UNTIL DEATH. I am as I am, and so will I be; But how that I am none knoweth truly. I lead my life indifferently; And though folks judge full diversely, I am as I am, and so will I die. I do not rejoice, nor yet complain, Both mirth and sadness I do refrain, And use the means since folks will feign; Divers do judge as they do trow, But since judgers do thus decay, For I am as I am, whosoever say nay. Who judges well, will God them send; Yet some there be that take delight, Praying you all, that this do read, Ye know no more than afore ye knew, Yet I am as I am, whatever ensue. And from this mind I will not flee, But to you all that misjudge me, I do protest as ye may see, That I am as I am, and so will be. THAT PLEASURE IS MIXED WITH EVERY PAIN. Venomous thorns that are so sharp and keen, Poison is also put in medicine, And unto man his health doth oft renew. |