under every disappointment. Even as early as 1595-6, at the height of his proud and vigorous manhood, he could write, in words which remind us of the very expressions of this fragment: “It is true that, as my errors were great, so they have yielded very grievous effects; and if aught might have been deserved in former times to have counterpoised any part of [my] offences, the fruit thereof (as it seemeth) was long before fallen from the tree, and the dead stock only remained. I did, therefore, even in the winter of my life, undertake these travels," &c. (Epistle dedicatory to the Discovery of Guiana, 1596.) Through a great part of the piece it might be doubted whether the queen was really dead, or only dead to him; i. e. whether the whole were not a mere exaggeration of some earlier disappointment. Such a notion seems to be incompatible with the express words of several passages; but we cannot suppose that the death of the queen was long past at the date of his writing, or the mere lapse of time and change of circumstance would have forced him to appear in a larger and nobler character than the conventional part of a disappointed suitor.

Between fiction and figure, and the obscurity which hangs over an unfinished work, it is not easy to carry out any safe biographical interpretation. He begins by saying that his joys "died when first” his "fancy erred" (p. 32); apparently one of those phrases by which he described his boldness in seeking another mistress than the queen. If this is correct, the point of departure in the poem is not later than 1592. At all events

it is clear that the definite period of " twelve years entire," which he "wasted in this war; twelve years of" his "most happy younger days" (p. 36), must be reckoned from the beginning of his court favour, about 1580, which brings us to the same year, 1592, for its close. From that great check he had now passed, he tells us, into a state of hopelessness, which he describes under a variety of images; amongst which, the complaint that he has now 66 no feeding flocks, no shepherd's company" (p. 33), reminds us of the days when he talked of Cynthia and her flock with Spenser, under "the green alders by the Mulla's shore.' When he tells us that the " memory of the queen, "more strong than were ten thousand ships of war," had nearly brought him back from his voyage towards "new worlds in search of gold, and praise, and glory (p. 34), we are reminded that, on his Panama expedition in 1592, she sent after him a more potent summons than her "memory," in the shape of a recall. The images of warmth lingering in the corpse, and heat in winter, and motion in the arrested wheel, are meant to illustrate the tenacity of hope which made him write on, even "in the dust," after his disgrace; and the reality mingles with the figure when he speaks, in almost the very language of the preface to his History, of the cheerless work of beginning, by the fading light of life's evening, "to write the story of all ages past" (p. 36). The distraction which he describes on p. 37 could be paralleled from his correspondence. "The tokens hung on breast and kindly worn (p. 41), may

b

formed then a secondary object, my treatment of the question was, in many respects, imperfect; and Raleigh's later biographers and critics, however meritorious on many higher grounds, have continued to repeat the old mistakes, of treating as doubtful some of his best authenticated and most characteristic poems, while quoting as genuine, without a word of warning, the mere waifs and strays of Elizabethan literature, which a zealous collector had swept together under his name.

One is unwilling to let a youthful work remain unfinished, or to feel that any labour has been wasted by being left incomplete. I thought it worth while, therefore, to devote a summer's vacation to the renewal of long-suspended researches among those printed and manuscript miscellanies of the Elizabethan period which are preserved in our great public libraries; and I have thus enabled myself to go over the subject afresh, and more completely, in the present volume, in which Raleigh takes the lead. The authentication of his poetry has been carefully revised and extended; and while I have excluded all the unauthenticated poems from that division of the volume which bears his name, I have been able to include many genuine pieces which had found no previous place among his writings.

I hope it will be thought that the careful sifting to which his poems have been now subjected has caused them to bear a far more distinct witness to the features of his marked yet varied character. At all events it ought to have the effect of giving more point and decisiveness to arguments rested

on internal evidence. In this respect, Raleigh's critics have scarcely been fortunate. Mr. Tytler, for instance, thought the lines on Gascoigne's Steel Glass" below his other pieces," and unlikely to have "flowed from the same sweet vein which produced the answer to Marlowe's Passionate Shepherd." But surely Raleigh's "vein" was far more frequently sententious than "sweet." Other writers have judged more correctly in accepting the lines as an excellent specimen of his balanced, "censure." grave, judicial "The style is his," says Mr. Kingsley; "solid, stately, epigrammatic." Again, Mr. Hallam said that "The Lie" (called also "The Soul's Errand") had been ascribed to Raleigh "without evidence, and, we may add, without probability." Perhaps the "probability" is more apparent now that conclusive "evidence" has been found. The poem seems to me to be a typical expression of Raleigh's character; his vigour, his scorn, his haughty directness. Assume it to have been written at some moment of disgust and disappointment, and it will be seen to breathe in every line the pride with which he was always ready to confront his adversaries; yet the despondency with which he cried out, even during his first short imprisonment, that now at last his heart was broken; spes et fortuna valete! "Do with me now, therefore, what you list. I am more weary of life than they are desirous I should perish." (Edwards, ii. 52; July, 1592.)

As is often the case with men of high courage and really sanguine temperament, Raleigh's thoughts were perpetually saddened by the anticipation of

the end. No small portion of his verses might have been written, as is actually said of several pieces, "the night before his death." Dismissing this tradition, except in the one case where it seems to be at once strong and probable, we shall find grounds for supposing that he marked each crisis of his history by writing some short poem, in which the vanity of life is proclaimed, under an aspect suited to his circumstances and age. His first slight check occurred in 1589, when he went to visit Spenser in Ireland; and more seriously a little later, when his secret marriage, or its discreditable preliminaries, sent him to the Tower. "The Lie," with its proud, indignant brevity, would then exactly express his angry temper. "The Pilgrimage" belongs more naturally to a time when he was smarting under the rudeness of the king's attorney at his trial in 1603. Viewed by the light of that unrighteous prosecution, the grotesque imagery which disturbs its solemn aspirations may remind us of the more galling of the annoyances from which he knew that death would set him free. The few lines, "Even such is time," mark the calm reality of the now certain doom; they express the thoughts appropriate for the night now known to be indeed the last, when no room remained for bitterness or anger, in the contemplation of immediate and inevitable death.

The "Continuation of Cynthia" must have been written very early in his long imprisonment, which lasted from December 1603 to March 1616; and again in 1618 from August to October. The handwriting resembles that of some papers