THE GHOST OF CREUSA.

[From The Aeneid.]

How Eneas socht his spous, all the cost,
And how to him apperis hir grete gost.

To Priamus palice eftir socht I than,
An syne onto the temple fast I ran:
Quhar, at the porchis or closter of Juno,

Than all bot waist, thocht it was girth1, stude tho
Phenix and dour Vlixes, wardanes tway,
For to observe and keip the spreith 2 or pray:
Thiddir in ane heip was gaderit precius geir,
Riches of Troy, and wther jewellis seir
Reft from all partis; and, of templis brynt,
Of massy gold the veschale war furth hynt
From the goddis, and goldin tabillis all,
With precius vestmentis of spuilze triumphall :
The 3ing childring 3, and frayit matrounis eik,
Stude all on raw, with mony peteous screik
About the tresour quhymperand woundir sair.
And I also my self so bald wox thair,

3

That I durst schaw my voce in the dirk nycht,
And cleip and cry fast throw the stretis on hycht
Full dolorouslie, Creusa! Creusa!

Agane, feil sise, in vane I callit swa 5,

Throw howsis and the citie quhar I 3oid,

6

But outhir rest or resoun, as I war woid;

Quhill that the figour of Creusa and gost,

8

Of far mair statur than air quhen scho was lost,
Before me, catife, hir seikand, apperit thair.
Abaisit I wolx, and widdersyns start my hair,
Speik mycht I nocht, the voce in my hals9
Than sche, belife, on this wise to me spak,

sa stak.

young children. 8 in extraordinary

With sic wourdis my thochtis to assuage:
O my suete spous, into sa furious raige
Quhat helpis thus thi selfin to turment?
This chance is nocht, but goddis willis went1;
Nor it is nocht [a] lefull thing, quod sche,
Fra hyne Creuse thou turs away with the,
Nor the hie governour of the hevin abufe is
Will suffir it so to be; bot the behufis
From thens to wend full far into exile,

2

And our the braid see saile full mony a myle,
Or thou cum to the land Hesperia,

Quhar, with soft cours, Tybris of Lidia

Rynnis throw the riche feildis of peple stout.

Thair is grete substaunce ordanit the, but dowt,

3

Thair sall thou haue ane realme, thair sall thou ryng3,
And wed to spous the dochtir of a kyng.
Thy weping and thi teris do away,
Quhilk thou makis for thi luifit Crewsay:
For I, the nece of mychty Dardanus,
And guide dochtir vnto the blissit Venus,
Of Mirmidonis the realme sall neuir behald,
Nor 3it the land of Dolopes so bald,
Nor go to serve na matroun Gregioun ;
Bot the grete moder of goddis ilk one
In thir cuntreis withhaldis me for evir.
Adew, fair weile, for ay we man dissevir!
Thou be guide frend, luif wele, and keip fra skaith
Our a 3ong sone, is comoun till ws baith.

Quhen this was spokin, away fra me she glaid,
Left me weping and feil wordis wald haue said:
For sche sa lichtlie wanyst in the air,
That with myne armes thrise I pressit thair
About the hals hir for to haue bilappit,

And thryse all wais my handis togiddir clappit ;
The figour fled as lycht wynd, or son beyme,
Or mast liklie a waverand sweving or dreyme.

1

the way of the gods' will.

2 draw.

3 reign.

Sum wtheris better can thair causis pleid;
Sum bene mair crafty in ane wthir steid,
With rewlis and with mesouris by and by
For til excers the art of geometry;

And sum moir subtel to discrive and prent
The sternis movingis and the hevynis went':
Bot thow, Romane, remember, as lord and syre,
To rewle the pepill vndir thyne impyre ;
Thir sall thi craftis be at 2 weil may seme,
The paix to modyfy and eik manteme,
To pardoun all cumis 30ldin and recreant,
And prowd rabellis in batale for to dant.

STEPHEN HAWES.

[Of STEPHEN HAWES little is known beyond the facts that he was a native of Suffolk, that he was educated at Oxford, had travelled in France, and was Groom of the Privy Chamber to Henry VII. We can gather also that he was alive in January 1520-21, and that he was dead in 1530. He was the author of several minor poems which are treasured by collectors, but are of no literary value. It is a proof of the carelessness of those who have dealt with Hawes, that they have assigned to him The Temple of Glasse, though Hawes has himself expressly stated (Pastime of Pleasure, canto xiv.) that Lydgate was the author. Hawes' great work is The Pastime of Pleasure, or the Historie of Graunde Amoure and La Belle Pucel, written in or about 1506, and first printed in 1509. It is an allegorical poem describing the education and history of one Grande Amoure, who learns in the Tower of Doctrine and in the Tower of Chivalry those accomplishments which are necessary to constitute a perfect knight worthy of a perfect love-La Belle Pucel. His career through the world is then delineated-his combats with monsters, his strange adventures, his marriage, his death, his fame. The poem is dedicated, with an elaborate apology for its deficiencies, to Henry VII, and terminates with another apology 'unto all Poets' on the same grounds.]

Hawes belongs to the Provençal School. His model and master was, as he is constantly reiterating, Lydgate, though he was well acquainted with the works of Chaucer, whose comic vein he occasionally affects, with the verses of Gower, and with the narrative poetry of France and Italy. His poem is elaborately allegorical, though the allegory is not alway easy to follow in detail, and is obviously much impeded with extraneous matter. The style has little of the fluency of Lydgate, and none of his vigour; the picturesqueness and brilliance which are characteristic of Chaucer are not less characteristic of Chaucer's Scotch disciples who were Hawes' contemporaries. The narrative, though by no means lacking incident, and by no means unenlivened with beauties both of sentiment and expression, too often stagnates in

prolix discussions, and wants as a rule life and variety. The composition is often loose and feeble, the vocabulary is singularly limited, and bad taste is conspicuous in every canto. But Hawes, with all his faults, is a true poet. He has a sweet simplicity, a pensive gentle air, a subdued cheerfulness about him which have a strange charm at this distance of dissimilar time. Though the hand of the artist is not firm, and the colouring sometimes too sober, his pictures are very graphic. Take one out of many :—

'The way was troublous and ey nothyng playne,
Tyll at the last I came into a dale,

Beholdyng Phoebus declinying lowe and pale.
With my greyhoundes, in the fayre twylight
I sate me downe.'

His verse is sometimes harsh, but it often breathes a plaintive
music, and has a weirdly beautiful rhythm which falls on the
ear like the echo of a vanished world,' and seems to transport us
back to the dim cloister of some old mediaeval abbey.
such stanza we give :-

'O mortall folke you may beholde and see
Howe I lye here, sometime a mighty knight,
The end of joye and all prosperite

Is death at last, thorough his course and mighte,
After the daye there cometh the darke nighte,
For though the daye be never so long,

At last the belle ringeth to evensong."

One

That couplet alone should suffice for immortality. We may claim also for this neglected poet complete originality at an age when English poetry at least had degenerated into mere translations, into feeble narratives, or into sickly imitations of Chaucer. But there are two other interesting points connected with The Pastime of Pleasure. It marks with singular precision a great epoch in our literature. It is the last expiring echo of Mediaevalism; it is the first articulate prophecy of the Renaissance. It is the link between The Canterbury Tales and The Faery Queen. Hawes is in poetry what Philippe de Commines is in prose: he belongs to the old world and he breathes its atmosphere-he belongs also to the new, for its first rays are falling on him. connects the two. The weeds of a time sad and sombre indeed hang about him, but Hope is the refrain of his song.

He