a maiden asslep.
the forlorn shepherd’s complaint.
an unpublished poem, from sidney.
it may be necessary to bespeak the indulgent consideration of the reader, for the appearance of the following curiosity in such a work. the truth is, the pages of the comic annual naturally present to me the most obvious means of making the poem known; betides, as it were, offering personal security for my own belief in its authenticity. and, considering my literary credit as so pledged, i do not hesitate to affirm that i think the effusion in question may confidently be referred to sidney: and
[pg 465]
even—on the internal evidence of its pastoral character—to the arcadia. the verses have never till now appeared in print. the lover of old english poetry would vainly hunt for it in any edition extant of the works of sir philip; and, probably, the family records and remains at penshurst might be searched to as little purpose for a copy in ms. from the extreme quaintness of the original, which would have required the help of a glossary to render it generally intelligible, i have thought it advisable to translate many of the phrases into more current language; but scrupulously preserving the sense of the text. enough of the peculiar style, however, still remains, to aid in forming a judgment of the author’s æra. as for the apparent incongruity of the double vocation ascribed to the tuneful swain in the poem, besides abundant classical evidence that the corydons of ancient times were often, also, heroes, or warriors, or adventurers, we have the positive contemporary testimony of modern travellers, that in those very pastures where the scene is laid, it is at this day the practice to entrust the charge of the flocks to personages who have formerly been engaged in the same perilous career as the “forlorn shepherd.” his lament, it will be seen, is full of regrets and stealing tears for the stirring times of auld lang syne.
the forlorn shepherd’s complaint.
“vell! here i am—no matter how it suits,
a-keeping company with them dumb brutes,
old park vos no bad judge—confound his vig!
of vot vood break the sperrit of a prig!
“the like of me, to come to new sow wales
to go a-tagging arter vethers’ tails
and valk in herbage as delights the flock,
but stinks of sweet herbs vorser nor the dock!
[pg 466]
“to go to set this solitary job
to von whose vork vos alvay in a mob!
it’s out of all our lines, for sure i am
jack shepherd even never kep a lamb!”
