Nymphs of the forest, in whose arms I lay
Nurs'd in soft slumbers from my natal day,

Now that my weary way is past,

Desert me not; but as ye favouring smiled,
And weaved a cradle for me when a child,

Oh weep, and weave my bier at last.

The song at the beginning of the Bergeries and Masquerades is exceedingly sprightly and gracious. I will add another, which, though scarce less animated, is in a graver style.

Las que nous sommes miserables,
D'estre serves dessous les loix
Des hommes legers et muables
Plus que fueillage des bois.
Les pensers des hommes ressemblent
A l'air, aux vents, et aux saisons;
Et aux girouettes qui tremblent
Inconstamment sur les maisons.
Leur amour est ferme et constante
Comme la mer grosse de flots,
Qui bruit, qui court, qui se tourmente
Et jamais n'arreste en repos.

Diverses Amours, Chanson, p. 570.

Alas! how hard a lot have we,

That live the slaves of men's decrees,

As full of vain inconstancy

As are the leaves on forest trees.

L

The thoughts of men, they still resemble
The air, the winds, the changeful year,
And the light vanes that ever veer
On our house-tops, and veering tremble.
Their love no stay or firmness hath,
No more than billows of the sea,

That roar, and run, and in their wrath
Torment themselves continually.

His verses on Marriage, and his Adieu to Poland, prove that he could be at times sarcastic.

At p. 596, we find a sonnet on the Bergerie of Remy Belleau; and at p. 631, another on the death of the same poet.

There are commendatory verses on Desportes himself, by the Cardinal du Perron at p. 243, and by Bertaut at p. 306; and in one of the elegies to his memory, at the end of this volume, with the signature, J. de Montereul, (of whom I find no mention elsewhere,) he is thus described :—

Il estoit franc, ouvert, bon, liberal, et doux;
Des Muses le sejour, sa table ouverte a tous
Chacun jour se bordoit d'une sçavante trope
Des plus rares esprits, l'eslite de l'Europe.

Open he was, frank, liberal, and kind;
And at his table, every Muse combined
To greet all comers, and each day did sit
Those throughout Europe famousest for wit.

Philippe Desportes was born at Chartres, in 1546; and died at his Abbey of Bonport, in Normandy, on the fifth of October, 1606. Charles IX. presented him with eight thousand crowns for his poem of Rodomont; and for one of his sonnets, he was remunerated with the Abbey of Tiron. It was a piping time for the Muses. Of the wealth, which thus flowed in upon him, he was as generous as his eulogist has described him. Almost all the contemporary poets were his friends; and those amongst them who stood in need of his assistance, did not seek it in vain.

JEAN BERTAUT.

THE edition of Bertaut's poems, which I met with in the old French library, was entitled, Recueil des Oeuvres Poetiques de J. Bertaut, Abbé d'Aunay, et premier Aumonier de la Royne. Seconde edition. Paris, 1605. The reader will not expect much imagination in copies of verses written on such subjects as The Conversion of the King, The Reduction of Amiens, A Discourse presented to the King on his going to Picardy to fight against the Spaniard, A Discourse to the King on the Conference held at Fontainebleau; and there is about as much poetry in them as in those by Waller, Dryden, and Addison,

on similar occasions. The poem on the death of Ronsard, (though it has much mythological trifling about Proteus, and Nereus, and Thetis, and Jupiter, and Mercury in the shape of the Cardinal du Perron) becomes exceedingly interesting towards the conclusion, where Bertaut expresses his affection for the departed poet, and the zeal which he had early felt to imitate him :

Je n'avois pas seize ans quand la premiere flame
Dont la Muse m'eprit s'alluma dans mon ame:
Car deslors un desir d'eviter le trespas
M'excita de te suivre et marcher en tes pas;
Me rendit d'un humeur pensive et solitaire,
Et fist qu'en dedaignant les soucis du vulgaire,
Mon âge que fleury ne faisoit qu'arriver
Aux mois de son printemps desir tint de l'Hyver.
Depuis venant à voir les beaux vers de Desportes,
Que l'Amour et la Muse ornerent en tant de sortes,
Ce desir s'augmenta, mon ame presumant
D'aller facilement sa douceur exprimant.

Fol qui n'advisay pas que la divine grace

Qui va cachant son art d'un art qui tout surpasse,
N'a rien si difficile à se voir exprimer

Que la facilité qui le fait estimer!

Lors à toy revenant, et croyant que la peine
De t'oser imiter ne seroit pas si vaine,

Je te prins pour patron, mais je peu moins encor
Avec mes vers de cuivre egaler les tiens d'or.

Si bien que pour jamais ma simple outrecuidance,
En gardant son desir, perdit son esperance.
Alors vos escrits seuls me chargerent les mains:
Seuls je vous estimay l'ornement des humains:
A toute heure, en tous lieux, je senty vostre image
Devant mes yeux errante exciter mon courage:
Je reveray vos noms, reveray vos hostels,
Comme les temples saints vouez aux immortels,
Voyant la palme Grecque en vos mains reverdie:
Bref je vous adoray (s'il faut qu'ainsi je die);
Tant de vostre eloquence enchanté je devins,
Comme des dieux humains ou des hommes divins.
Il est vrai que l'eclair de la vive lumiere
Qu'espandoit vostre gloire en ma foible paupiere,
M'eblouissant la veue au lieu de m'eclairer,
M'eust fait de vostre suite à la fin retirer,
Rebuté pour jamais des rives de Permesse,
Si de mon jeune espoir confirmant la promesse,
Vous n'eussiez mon courage à poursuivre incité,
Me redonnant le coeur que vous m'aviez osté.

Toy principalement belle e genereuse ame,
Dont le juste regret tout le coeur nous entame,
Qui voyant mon destin me vouer aux neuf soeurs,
Me promis quelques fruits de mes premieres fleurs,
M'excitas de monter apres toy sur Parnasse,
Et m'en donnas l'exemple aussi bien que l'audace,
Me disant que Clion m'apperceut d'un bon oeil,
Lors que mon premier jour veit les rais du soleil:
Qu'il me falloit oser, que pour longuement vivre,
Il falloit longuement mourir dessus le livre :