Stuarts, include few compositions so beautiful as Marlowe's "Passionate Shepherd to his Love," and Sir Walter Raleigh's "Reply." The shepherds of that race of lyrists were, with few exceptions, merely stage shepherds in the usual theatrical costume, and the shepherdesses were "ladies of quality," dressed up for the occasion. Even Shakspeare himself, who touched or borrowed nothing that he did not improve, could make little of this kind of composition. It was not true to nature; and yet it continued in that decline of literary taste which began, in the reign of Charles the Second, to have charms for writers, readers, and singers.

Such ditties as the following had far more vitality than merit:

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By a murmuring stream a fair shepherdess lay,

Be so kind, O ye nymphs,' I oft heard her say,

"Tell Strephon I die, if he passes this way,

And that love is the cause of my mourning.

False shepherds, that tell me of beauty and charms,
You deceive me, for Strephon's cold heart never warms;
Yet bring me the swain, let me die in his arms,

Oh! Strephon's the cause of my mourning.'"

At last, according to the most popular of all the pastorals, the nymph died, and Strephon came by:

"Her eyes were scarce closed when her Strephon came by,

He thought she'd been sleeping, and softly drew nigh;

But finding her breathless, Oh, heavens!' he did cry,

Ah, Chloris! the cause of my mourning.'"

Ultimately, Strephon himself, smitten with remorse, fell down by her side, and died:

"On her cold snowy breast he lean'd down his head,

And expired, the poor Strephon, with mourning."

The satire of Pope, and the verses of the Lady of Quality, (which we have previously quoted in our remarks prefacing the "Songs of the Affections") did not produce much effect in putting a stop to this affectation, and the age persisted in looking with favour upon pastoral love songs, in which all lovers were represented as shepherds and shepherdesses, billing and cooing amid their sheep, by the side of purling brooks. Corydon wept among

his flocks because Chloe or Phoebe was cruel, and Chloe called upon echo to repeat the name of Corydon-the falsest of shepherds and of men. The pastoral mania lasted for a considerable time; and traces of it are to be found in the popular songs of the last half of the eighteenth and the commencement of the present century, when it finally went out, much to the gratification of all lovers of true poetry.

The rural songs, that make no attempt at describing the loves and sorrows of Strephon and the Amyntas, and the other masquerading shepherds are of a higher class than these. The pleasures and enjoyments of a country life have always been, and always will be, themes for song; and descriptions of natural scenery, intermingled with those sentiments and feelings which they naturally prompt-gaiety to the gay, and sadness to the sad-will ever inspire the true lyrist. The songs of a succeeding age, like those which charmed our forefathers and which charm ourselves, must draw largely from this source; and the banishment of wine as a subject of lyric eulogy, and of paganism as a subject of illustration for modern thought and feeling, will increase the number of those purer compositions, which the present age has begun to insist upon, and which the next will insist upon more strongly.

THE PASSIONATE SHEPHERD TO HIS LOVE.
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE, born 15-, died 1593.

COME live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That vallies, groves, and hills and fields,
The woods or steepy mountains yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls,
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers and a kirtle,
Embroidered o'er with leaves of myrtle.

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold.

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs;
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing,
For thy delight, each May morning;
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.

THE NYMPH'S REPLY.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH, born 1552, died 1618.
Ir all the world and love were young,
And truth on every Shepherd's tongue,
These pleasures might my passion move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.

But fading flowers in every field,
To winter floods their treasures yield;
A honey'd tongue, a heart of gall,
Is Fancy's spring, but Sorrow's fall.

Thy gown, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Are all soon wither'd, broke, forgotten,
In Folly ripe, in Reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw, and ivy-buds,
Thy coral clasps, and amber studs,
Can me with no enticements move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.

But could Youth last, could Love still breed
Had Joy no date, had Age no need;
Then those delights my mind might move,
To live with thee, and be thy love.

Originally printed with the signature of "Ignoto."

PHILLIS THE FAIR.

NICHOLAS BRETON, born 1555, died 16—

ON a hill there grows a flower,
Fair befall the dainty sweet!
By that flower, there is a bower
Where the heavenly muses meet.

In that bower there is a chair,

Fringed all about with gold, Where doth sit the fairest fair, That ever eye did yet behold.

It is Phillis, fair and bright,

She that is the shepherd's joy, She that Venus did despite,

And did blind her little boy.

Who would not that face admire?

Who would not this saint adore? Who would not this sight desire?

Though he thought to see no more. Thou that art the shepherd's queen, Look upon thy love-sick swain;

By thy comfort have been seen,

Dead men brought to life again.

PHILLIDA AND CORYDON.

NICHOLAS BRETON.

In the merry month of May,
In a morn by break of day,
With a troop of damsels playing
Forth-'I went-forsooth a maying,

When anon by a wood side,
Where as May was in his pride
I espied all alone,

Phillida and Corydon.

Much ado there was, GoD wot;
He would love and she would not.

She said, never man was true;
He says, none was false to you,