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fastidiousness has been carried in the The whole poem is indeed so faninstance of a writer comparatively clful, and so replete with a peculiar modern. I am not much afraid lest kind of sprightly humour, that I am the generality of my readers should not without hopes of amusing my be subject to any such disgust. Our readers by an abstract of it. ignorance is a happy security from In this merry spring-tide, the God this danger; though I trust it will commands that his eyes may be unnot prevent us from being alive to bandaged, and looking round his cethe many beauties that will meet us lestial throne, sees all nations bendin the search we are about to en- ing under his sway, like a scion under

the wind; and the other deities themWe will begin with Marot; not selves, submitting to his power. But because his works are of very rare observing that Marot continued still occurrence, (for there have been refractory, he resolves to tame the many editions of them,) but because, rebel ; and taking an arrow out of though frequently spoken of, and his quiver, executes his purpose so even recommended as a model of effectually, as to render the unhappy elegant “ badinage” by Boileau, he poet an object of commiseration to is but little known amongst us ; all who have a heart capable of which indeed is not much to be pity. In order to assuage his sufferwondered at, when his own country- ings, Marot resolves on a far-off men seem to have almost lost sight journey in search of the goddess of him. “ Marot is much talked of, Ferme-amour, a pure and chaste but seldom read,” says one of their dame, whom Jupiter had sent upon critics. “ We do not read with earth, committing the government pleasure that which has need of a of loyal spirits to her care. A long dictionary to explain it. Almost all time did the Poet compass land and his expressions are antiquated.”_ sea, like a knight-errant, on this “ Villon and Marot, and some others, quest. Of all to whom he came he are satirical poets; and their epi- inquired whether she dwelt in their grams may be said to be the only land ; but of none did he gain any titles they have to celebrity in the tidings of her. At length he deterpresent day,” says another.f All this mines to go to the Temple Cupidique, may show the little taste the French in the hopes of finding her there; now have for their elder poets. How and setting out early in the morning, otherwise could they have overlooked has no difficulty in discovering his those exquisite sketches, the Temple way; for many a passing pilgrim of Cupid, and the Eclogue of Pan had sprinkled it with roses and and Robin, by Marot; the latter of branches of rosemary; and as he which is worthy the author of the advanced, he fell in with other pilFaerie Queene, I as the former is of grims who journeyed on, sighing and Chaucer ?

relating their sad haps. Joining their We might almost suppose our- company, he arrives with them at selves to be reading an imitation of the royal temple; where, in the enthe proem to the Canterbury Tales, closure that surrounded it, the sweet in the following verses with which breath of the west-wind, and Tityrus, the Temple of Cupid opens :

and the god Pan with his flocks and Sur le printemps que la belle Flora

herds, and the sound of pipes and Les champs couverts de diverse fleur a, flageolets, and of birds answering to E son amy Zephyrus les esvente,

them, soon refreshed his wearied Quand doucement en l'air souspire e vente. spirits.


M. Dussault, in a review of a Selection of Marot's Works, inserted in his Annales Littéraires, t. i. p. 198.

+ M. Avenel, one of the writers in the Lycée Français, t. ii. p. 106, an entertaining miscellany that lasted but a short time after the deccase of Charles Loyson, a young poet of considerable promise, who was a chief contributor to it. He died in the course of last year.

# Indeed he has closely copied it in the Shepheard's Kalendar, Ecl. 12.


Tous arbres sont en ce lieu verdoyans;
Petits ruisseaux y furent ondoyans,
Toujours faisans, au tour des prez herbus
Un doux murmure : et quand le cler Phebus
Avoit droit là ses beaux rayons espars,
Telle splendeur rendoit de toutes pars
Ce lieu divin, qu'aux humains bien sembloit

Que terre au ciel de beauté ressembloit. His heart assured him that this was the residence of Ferme-amour; and Hope led him onward to the delightful place. It seemed as if Jove had come from heaven on purpose to frame it; and there was wanting nothing but Adam and Eve to make one believe that it was the terrestrial paradise itself.

Over the portal he observes a scutcheon with the arms of Love engraved on it; and higher up the figure of Cupid himself, with his naked bow out-stretched and ready to discharge an arrow at the first comer. He now enters; and is welcomed by Bel-accueil, who takes him by his right hand, and leads him through a narrow path into the beautiful enclosure of which he was the first porter.

Le premier huis de toutes fleurs vermeilles
Estoit construiste, et de boutons yssans,
Signifiant que joyes non pareilles
Sont a jamais en ce lieu fleurissans :
The door was built up of all flowers red
And buds, that from their buttons issued,
Denoting well that joys without compare

For ever in that place y-blooming were. This was the barrier kept by Bel-accueil in his green robe; who day and night opens to true lovers and gracious ; and willingly enlists them under his banners; whilst he excludes (as reason is) all those who are such as the perfidious and disloyal Jason.

We now come to the great altar, which is a rock of that virtue, that every lover who would flee from it is drawn nearer, like steel to the magnet. The canopy is a cedar, which stretches so wide as to cover the altar, on which body, and heart, and goods, must be given up as an offering to Venus.

De Cupido le diademe
Est de roses un chapelet,
Que Venus cuellit elle meme
Dedans son jardin verdelet ;
Et sur le printemps nouvelet
Le transmit à son cher enfant
Qui de bon cæur le va coiffant ;
Puis donna pour ces roses belles
A sa mere un char triomphant
Conduit par douze colombelles.
Devant l'autel deux cypres singuliers
Je vey fleurir sons odeur embasmée :
Et me dit-on que c'etoient les pilliers
Du grand autel de haulte renommée.
Lors mille oiseaux d'une longue ramée,
Vindrent voler sur ces vertes courtines,
Prestz de chanter chansonettes divines.
Si demanday pourquoi là sont venus :
Mais on me dit, amy, ce sont matines,
Qu'ilz viennent dire en l'honneur de Venus.


On Cupid's brow for crown was set
Of roses a fair chapelet,
The which within her garden green
Were gather'd by Love's gracious queen,
And by her to her infant dear
Sent in the spring-time of the year.
These he with right good-will did don ;
And to his mother thereupon
A chariot gave, in triumph led
By turtles twelve all harnessed.
Before the altar saw I, blooming fair,

cypresses, embalm’d with odours rare.
And these, quoth they, are pillars that do bide
To stay this altar famed far and wide.
And then a thousand birds upon the wing
Amid those curtains green came fluttering,
Ready to sing their little songs divine.
And so I ask'd, why came they to that shrine?
And these, they said, are matins, friend; which they

In honour of Love's queen are come to say, Before the image of Cupid burned the brand of Distress, “ le brandon de Destresse,” with which Dido, Biblis, and Helen of Greece, were inflamed. Now, however, it served as a lamp to the temple.

The saints of either sex, who are invoked here, are Beau-parler, Bienceler, Bon-rapport, Grace, Marcy, Bien-servir, Bien-aymer, and others, without whose aid no pilgrim can succeed in overtaking the prey which be pursues in the Forest of Loves.

Chandelles flambans, ou esteintes,
Que tous amoureux pelerins
Portent devant tels saincts et sainctes,
Ce sont bouquets de romarins.

Les chantres, linotz, et serins,
Et rossignolz au gay courage,
Qui sur buissons de verd bocage
Du branches, en lieu de pulpitres,
Chantent le joly chant ramage,
Pour versets, respons, et epistres.

Les vitres sont de clair et fin crystal,
Ou peintes sont les gestes authentiques
De ceux qui ont jadis de cœur loyal
Bien observé d’Amour les loix antiques.
Torches quench'd or flaming high,
That all loving pilgrims bear
Before the saints that list their prayer,
Are posies made of rosemary.

Many a linnet and canary,
And many a gay nightingale,
Amid the green-wood's leafy shroud,
Instead of desks on branches smale,
For verse, response, and 'pistle loud,
Sit shrilling of their merry song:

The windows were of crystal clear,
On which old gestes depeinten are,
Of such as with true hearts did hold
The laws by Love ordain'd of old.

This reminds one of a line in Shakspeare's sonnets:

“ Bare ruin'd choirs where late the sweet birds sang.”

In secret tabernacles and little Genius, the arch-prlest, stands
shrines are deposited necklaces, ready to administer the vows to all
rings, crowns (coins), ducats, and who are desirous of professing. The
chains of gold; by which greater altars, whereon they are sworn, are
miracles are wrought in love than couches covered with sumptuous or-
even by the mighty saint Beau-parler naments: no candles are used day or
(Fine-talk) himself.

night; and the terms of their pro-
The vaults and arches are mar- fession are so clear, that novices
vellously interlaced with trellis-work know more than the most learned
of vines, from which the young buds clerks.
and grapes are seen depending: The masses for requiem are sere-

The bells are tabours, dulcimers, nadings; and the solemn words reharps, lutes, hoboes, flageolets, trum- peated for the deceased, as paterpets, and clarions; from which, when- nosters and avemaryes, are the gossoever they are sounded, there issues siping and prattle of women. The a chime so melodious, that there is sacred processions are the morrisno soldier, however fond of war, who dancing, and mumming, and antic would not quit lance and sabre to feats of amorous champions; their become a monk in this temple. consolings are to talk pair by pair, or

On the sick and infirm, who are to read the Ars Amandi for gospels ; recommended for charity, the ladies and their holy relics are the lips of bestow smiles, and kind looks, and their ladies. On all sides, says Marot, kisses, for alms. The preachers are I look round me and contemplate ; elderly matrons, who exhort their and in my life I think I never saw a younger sisters not to lose the flower temple so well fitted at all points, of their age; and many are the con- excepting one--and that was, that verts that are won over by this doc- there was no pix (paix) on the trine. The cemetery is a green wood; altar. Joy there is, and mourning full the walls, hedges and brakes; the of wrath; for one rest, ten travails ; crosses are fruit-trees; and the De and in brief, it would be hard to say Profundis, merry songs. Ovid, Masa whether it were more like Hell or ter Alain Chartier, Petrarch, and the Paradise: I know not what to comRomant of the Rose, serve for Mass- pare it to better than a rose encombook, Breviary, and Psalter; and passed with thorns; short pleasures the lessons chaunted are rondeaux, and long complainings. ballads, and virelays. Other manner After some other adventures in the of chaunts there are, that consist temple, he at last finds Ferme-amour only of cries, wailings, and com- in the choir between a great prince plaints. The little chapels, or ora- and an excellent lady, who were tories, are leafy chambers and branch- invested with the royal fleur-de-lys ing cabinets; labyrinths in woods and ducal ermines. Bel-accueil opens and gardens, where one loses oneself for him the entrance into the choir, while the green lasts; the wickets and he gladly enlists himself under are low bushes, and the pavement the standard of Ferme-amour; but all of green sward.

the play on the words, choeur The eau-benite (or holy-water) and cæur, on which the conclusion stood in a lake, called the lake of turns, cannot be preserved in Engtears, made from the weeping of lish. lovers. Nothing can grow near it; It

may be seen from this view of but every thing there is withered one of his poems how strong a rethroughout the year. The water- semblance Marot bears to Chaucer. sprinkle was a faded rose. As for He has the same liveliness of fancy; the incense that was burned within the same rapidity and distinctness of the temple, it was composed of pencil; the same archness; the same daisies, pinks, amaranths, roses, rose- disposition to satire: but he has all mary, red buttons, lavender, and these generally in a less degree. His every flower that casts a comfortable language does not approach much smell; but the marigold too (the nearer to the modern than old Geofflower of care,“ de la soucie") was frey's; though his age is so much amongst them:

less remote from ours.

Marot was
Voila qui mi trouble le sens.

contemporary with our writers in the

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time of Henry VIII.; and had they were to the nugæ canoræ of later
left any thing equal to this piece, or times.
to the Epistle of Maguelonne à son A passage in the last mentioned of
Amy Pierre de Provence, or to the these poems, descriptive of the re-
Hero and Leander of this writer, ception Hero gives her lover, after
many a lover of antique simplicity his first swimming across the Helles-
would have risen up amongst us to pont, appears to me to be a model of
show how superior such compositions ease and sweetness.

Elle embrassa d'amour et d'aise pleine
Son cher espoux quasi tout hors d'aleine,
Ayant encor ses blancs cheveux mouillez
Tous degouttans, et d'escume souillez.
Lors le mena dedans son cabinet ;
Et quand son corps eut essuyé bien net,
D'huile rosat bien odorant l'oignit,

Et de la mer la senteur estainguit.* Du Bellay, a poet who lived in Marot's time, considered his Eclogue OL the Birth of the Dauphin as one of his best productions. It is little more than a translation of the Pollio of Virgil.

His tale of the Lion and Rat opened the way for La Fontaine's excellence in that species of writing.

The epigrams, for which he is so much applauded, are often gross and licentious. I have selected one that is not open to this objection.

Plus ne suis ce que j'ay esté,
Et ne le sçaurois jamais estre.
Mon beau printemps et mon esté
Ont fait le sault par la fenestre.
Amour tu as esté mon maistre,
Je t'ay servi sur tous les Dieux.
O si je pouvois deux fois naistre,

Comme je te servirois mieux. The merit of this so much depends on the delicacy and happy turn of the expression that I am loth to venture it in English.

CLEMENT MAROT, whom I have thus endeavoured to introduce to the notice of my readers, was born at Cahors, in Quercy, in 1484. His father Jean, + a Norman, was also a poet of some celebrity; as appears from an epigram addressed by his son to Hugues Salel, another writer of whom it is intended to give some account in a future paper.

De Jan de Meun s'enfle le cours de Loire.
En maistre Alain Normandie prent gloire :

Et plaint encore mon arbre paternel. The Loire swells with pride at the name of Jean de Meun. Normandy glories in Master Alain (Alain Chartier), and still mourns for my paternal tree."

During the captivity of Francis I. in Spain, Clement was apprehended on a suspicion of heresy, and confined in the Châtelet at Paris, from whence

* It will be found on a comparison with the Greek poem of Musæus, that Marot has followed it very closely. I have not Marlow and Chapman's poem, lately re-edited with a pleasant preface, nor Mr. Elton's translation, to compare with this.

† Jean Marot's poems were republished at Paris, 1723, in two volumes ; together with those of Michel, who was, I think, the son of Clement.

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