THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES

 
 BATAVIAN ANTHOLOGY.
 
 ' Op, Bilderdijken ! op ! bedwingt dien toon niet langer, 
 
 Gij, Feithen van mijne eeuw. op u allecn nog grootsch ! 
 Op, Helmers, staaf or.ze eer, stoutmoedig, vurig zanger! 
 Vervul dien dubblcn pligt, oorspronkelijke Loots ! 
 
 Voor raij, gcwend aan zachter kwelen, 
 "k Wil langer huislijk heil noch kindschgekozel spelen, 
 Maar tintlen van den gloed, die door uw aadren ziedt ; 
 Voor mij, ik wil, in stouter noten, 
 Mijn krachten met mijn moed vergrooten, 
 En staarnlen, waar gij zingt, den weerklauk van uw lied." 
 
 TOLLENS.
 
 BATAVIAN ANTHOLOGY; 
 
 OR, 
 
 SPECIMENS 
 
 OF THE 
 
 DUTCH POETS; 
 
 WITH REMARKS ON THE POETICAL LITERATURE AND 
 LANGUAGE OF THE NETHERLANDS, 
 
 TO THE END OF 
 
 THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 
 BY 
 
 JOHN BOWRING, 
 
 Honorary Correspondent of the Royal Institute of the Netherlands, !jc. 
 AND 
 
 HARRY S. VAN DYK. 
 
 " Bloeit, Hollands taal en poezij ! " 
 DA COSTA. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR TAYLOR AND HESSEY, 
 
 93, FLEET STREET, 
 
 AND 15, WATERLOO-PLACE, PALL MALL. 
 1824.
 
 FHINTFI) BY RICHARD TAYLOR, SHOE LAVE.
 
 -pr 
 
 BILDERDYK, FEITH, DA COSTA, AND 
 DE CLERCQ. 
 
 YE know us not and yet we seem to hold 
 Hallow'd communion with your spirits, even 
 As though ye had thrown off earth's mantle cold, 
 And walk'd, bright angels, in the fields of heaven. 
 
 Yes ! we have heard your voices, and have striven 
 In the far echoes of our songs t' unfold 
 The music of your land. With names of old, 
 Which memory has from blank oblivion riven, 
 
 We would wreathe names as fair. The mighty sea, 
 On which the muse puts forth her timid sail, 
 Still widens still invites for poetry 
 
 Is one embracing bond of sympathy, 
 Which, when the tempests and the tides prevail, 
 Gives peace, and promise of security. 
 
 In this sad world, where the eternal jar 
 Of passion, interest, discord and debate, 
 Questions of policy and faith and state, 
 Tear up die virtues, with the affections war, 
 
 'Tis sweet to mingle thoughts with those afar, 
 Who are beyond the reach of selfish hate ; 
 Who shine and smile, like the fair morning star, 
 Above the valley's mist : to consecrate 
 
 At that proud altar-shrine, that towers sublime 
 'Midst all the storms and all the wrecks of time, 
 Whose holy flame burns on and as it burns, 
 
 All that is base to light and beauty turns, 
 Our words and wills : for man should be man's friend, 
 Love the pervading law and bliss the end. 
 
 A3 
 
 492065 
 
 LIBRARY
 
 NOTICE. 
 
 * 
 
 THE present volume, as its title-page ex- 
 presses, brings the Literature of Holland only 
 down to the time of BROEKHUIZEN. We hope 
 it will be soon followed by a continuation to 
 our own days, than which no prouder period of 
 literature has a place in the rolls of time. 
 
 We owe much to our Dutch friends for the 
 encouragement they have given, and the in- 
 formation they have communicated: and we 
 cannot refrain from recording our obligations to 
 DE CLERCQ, DA COSTA, BILDERDYK, SIEGEN- 
 BEEK, and DELANGE. We might mention other 
 names, but fear we should be accused of parad- 
 ing the objects of our gratitude. 
 
 It has not been possible, in a work of such 
 narrow limits, to give specimens of all the Poets
 
 of Holland ; but we have deemed it fit to make 
 out a tolerably complete list of those who have 
 obtained any considerable reputation, whom we 
 have not been able otherwise to notice, down to 
 the end of the seventeenth century. In another 
 volume we propose to publish Translations of 
 the modern Poets, among whom many take a 
 high stand for the intellectual power, grace and 
 beauty of their works. 
 
 THIRTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 Willem Utenhoven. 
 
 Calfstaf. 
 
 Noijdekijn. 
 
 Clais van Brechten. 
 
 And the anonymous Au- 
 thors of the 
 Crudenboec and 
 Karel en Elegast. 
 
 FOURTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 Lodewijk van Velthem. | Niclaes de Klerck. 
 
 FIFTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 Anthonis de Rouere. 
 The Author of the Siege 
 of Troy. 
 
 Andries de Smit. 
 Dirk van Munster. 
 Lambertus Goetman.
 
 IX 
 
 SIXTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 Matthijs Casteleijn. 
 Cornells van Ghistele. 
 Colijn van Rijssele. 
 Edewaerd de Deene. 
 Jan Frui tiers. 
 Dirk Volkert Coornhert. 
 Carel van Mander. 
 Petrus Dathenus. 
 
 Philip van Marnix. 
 Jan Babtist Houwaert. 
 Peeter Heijns. 
 Zacharias Heijns. 
 Roemer Visscher. 
 Henrik Laurens Spieg- 
 hel. 
 
 SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 Samuel Coster. 
 Jan van der Veen. 
 Jan Six. 
 Francis Martijn. 
 Hendrik Bruno. 
 Rixtel. 
 Jan Zoet. 
 Van der Burg. 
 Jacob Revius. 
 Anthonij de Huibert. 
 Adriaan Hoffer. 
 Hieronijmus Sweers. 
 Jan van Someren. 
 Pieter de Groot. 
 Johannes Vollenhove. 
 Samuel Hoogstraaten. 
 Joachim Oudaen. 
 Andries Pels. 
 
 Joan Pluijmer. 
 Arnold Monen. 
 Pieter Verhoek. 
 Willem Focquenbroch. 
 Herman Dullaert. 
 Dirck Buijsero. 
 Petrus Francius. 
 Laurens Bake. 
 Ludolf Smids. 
 Jan de Regt. 
 Francois Halma. 
 David van Hoogstraaten. 
 Katharina Leskailje. 
 Jan Luiken. 
 Lucas Rotgans. 
 Kasper Brandt. 
 Johannes Brandt. 
 Jan BaptistaWellekens.
 
 ERRATA. 
 
 Page 57, line i5,/or deliverer read true lover 
 
 115, last line,/or his Speelsmate read one of his odes 
 
 148, line 11, for furnisht read furnish'd 
 
 i l~, fur undeckt read undeck'd 
 
 150, line 20,for his read His 
 
 20O, after 2d verse insert
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Pag* 
 
 Jacob van Maerlant 21 
 
 Melis Stoke ; 25 
 
 Jan van Helu Thomas of Ghesaert Heijnric van Hol- 
 land 26 
 
 Lodewijk van Velthem 29 
 
 Claes Willems Jan or Willem de Weert van Ypren 
 
 Jacop Vilt 3O 
 
 The brothers Grimm 32 
 
 Jan van den Dale 37 
 
 Anna Byns 39 
 
 Jan Fruitiers Dirk Coornhert 44 
 
 Petrus Dathenus Philip van Marnix Jan Babtist Hou- 
 waert Peeler Heyns Zacharias Heyns Roemer 
 
 Visscher Hendrik Spieghel 46 
 
 Pieter Cornells Hooft 53 
 
 Maria Tesselschade Visscher 67 
 
 Jacob Cats 71 
 
 Laurens Reael 81 
 
 Gerbrand Brederode 85 
 
 Daniel Heins 101 
 
 Kasper van Baerle 1O5 
 
 Huig de Groot 1O9 
 
 Dirk Rafael Kamphuyzen 113 
 
 Joost van den Vondel 125 
 
 Constantijn Huijgens .... 153
 
 Xll 
 
 Jeremias de Decker 165 
 
 Daniel Joncktijs 183 
 
 Jan Vos . 187 
 
 Jan Krull 191 
 
 Jacob Westerbaen 1 95 
 
 Reinier Anslo 201 
 
 Jan de Brune 2O5 
 
 Gerard Brandt 209 
 
 Thomas Arents 219 
 
 Joannes Antonides van der Goes 223 
 
 Jan van Broekhuizen 233
 
 POETICAL LITERATURE 
 
 OF 
 
 THE NETHERLANDS. 
 
 THERE is a country almost within sight of the 
 shores of our island, whose literature is less 
 known to us than that of Persia or Hindostan : 
 a country, too, distinguished for its civilization, 
 and its important contributions to the mass of 
 human knowledge 1 . Its language claims a close 
 kindred with our own ; and its government has 
 been generally such as to excite the sympathies 
 of an English spirit It is indeed most strange, 
 that while the Poets of Germany have found 
 hundreds of admirers and thousands of critics, 
 those of a land nearer in position more allied 
 by habit and by history with our thoughts and 
 
 1 We owe to the Dutch the discovery of the arts of Printing 
 and Oil Painting: we owe to them the Microscope and the 
 Pendulum, 
 
 B
 
 2 POETICAL LITERATURE 
 
 recollections should have been passed-by un- 
 noticed. It would be as soon expected to hear 
 the birds of the East filling our woods and val- 
 leys with their songs, as to find the Batavian 
 minstrels in our libraries or our drawing-rooms. 
 And it would appear as if they had been ex- 
 cluded after a fair estimate of their claims, so 
 absolute has been the sentence of condemna- 
 tion *; yet there are many among them whose 
 reputation is as firmly established, though not so 
 widely diffused, as that of the most renowned 
 among the sons of fame. But Vender himself, 
 ingenious, emphatic and sublime, as he is, has 
 never found an interpreter, perhaps scarcely ever 
 even a reader, in England. 
 
 Classics, painters, men of science such names 
 as Erasmus, Grotius, Lipsius, and Boerhaave 
 fill the pages of the literary history of the Ne- 
 therlands; and it would be strange indeed if these 
 pages were quite deserted by the sons of song. 
 
 1 The Dutch have not so neglected the poetical literature of 
 England. Da Costa's translations from Lord Byron are worthy 
 of both. We have just seen a version of Mrs. Barbauld's beau- 
 tiful hymns by Mr. J. T. Lange, preserving all the simplicity, 
 the elegance, harmony, and beauty of the original.
 
 OF THE NETHERLANDS. 3 
 
 Events the most extraordinary, and characters 
 the most original and sublime, arrest the atten- 
 tion in the varied but interesting history of Hol- 
 land. Nothing can be more imposingly tragic 
 than the story of the old Barneveldt and of the 
 hapless De Witts. The struggles in favour of 
 civil and religious freedom, and their triumphant 
 results the proud march of the Batavian repub- 
 lic in increasing influence and dignity every 
 thing seems to have conspired to give interest to 
 a literature and a language which have hitherto 
 scarcely penetrated beyond their own natural and 
 narrow bounds. The land that gave birth to a 
 Laurence Coster 1 to him who created the 
 means by which knowledge and civilization were 
 conveyed through half the world cannot be 
 neglected in days like these. The country of 
 Rubens and Vandyk, of Rembrandt and Ruys- 
 daal, and a hundred besides " whose glory is 
 
 1 The claim of Holland to the invention of Printing has been 
 established beyond the reach of controversy by Mr. J. Koning's 
 learned work. The 4th centenary of this all-important disco- 
 very was celebrated at Haarlem on the 10th and llth July, 
 1823 ; and a deputation of printers crossed the Atlantic to at- 
 tend and honour the festival. 
 
 B2
 
 4 POETICAL LITERATURE 
 
 gone forth to the ends of the earth," has chil- 
 dren too of the elder, the diviner art In Holland 
 the seeds of poetical genius have been scattered 
 in Holland they have budded and blossomed 
 they have been brightened by the dew of natural 
 feeling they have been shone on by the sun of 
 enthusiasm : they are fair they are fragrant,- 
 and we have ventured to gather and transplant 
 them to our own flower-garden. 
 
 Nor, among the claims of Holland to the at- 
 tention of mankind, should it be forgotten that 
 it was the country in which Haller and Linnaeus 
 and Descartes pursued their studies and formed 
 their characters. 
 
 Many causes have contributed to the neglect 
 of the Dutch writers; and some of those causes 
 have no doubt had their origin in a false estimate 
 of the character of the people, and in their own 
 inattention to their language and literature. A 
 more potent cause, however, has been a real ig- 
 norance of the existence of any thing that could 
 put in its claim to the name of Belgian Poetry ; 
 and convinced as we are that long arrears are 
 due for our indifference or disregard, we would 
 entreat those whom our little volume may fail to
 
 OF THE NETHERLANDS. 5 
 
 convince, not to cast aside the originals as worth- 
 less and intrusive, even should our version of them 
 appear unattractive. " Tardi ingenii est rivulos 
 consectari, forties rerum non videre." 
 
 The language of Holland, the purest of all 
 the Gothic dialects, almost exclusively confined 
 to those whose pursuits are hi the main most un- 
 friendly to literature for the absorbing thirst of 
 wealth soon destroys every other ambition has 
 been made the subject of scorn and contempt, 
 not by those who know it, but by those to whom 
 it is wholly unknown 
 
 " Homine imperito nunquam quidquam injustius : " 
 
 and wisdom, at one entrance, has been " quite 
 shut out" by the influence of a ridicule first 
 awakened by presumption, and afterwards re- 
 peated by bold and credulous ignorance. A work 
 of some literary pretensions has been found to 
 pour out its vial of contumely on the " long-suf- 
 fering translator" who shall enter upon that work 
 which has occupied our thoughts and our cares; 
 while, with a scornful and pedantic sneer, the 
 critic the British critic 1 adds: " We once 
 
 1 British Critic for April 1821, p. 444.
 
 6 POETICAL LITERATURE 
 
 saw a volume of Dutch poetry on the shelves of 
 an emeritus Dutch skipper; and it was a transla- 
 tion of // Pastor Fido /3pexsxexs, xoa, xoa." 
 With a disposition and an ability to add some- 
 thing, however small, to the stock of knowledge, 
 the mind is chilled and paralysed by the certainty 
 that the pride of animadversion can only be sa- 
 tisfied by sacrificing the timid adventurer. The 
 criticism that instructs, even though it instruct 
 severely, is most salutary and most valuable. It 
 is of the criticism that insults, and while it insults 
 informs not, that we have a right to complain. 
 
 The belief then, that a work which shall trace 
 the origin and progress of Dutch Poetical Lite- 
 rature will find acceptance in England, has led 
 to the present publication. The affinity between 
 the Dutch or Flemish language and our own l 
 
 1 Take as a specimen the old Dutch proverb 
 cQcnn oe tetfn fc in nnt man 
 310 oe tops'fjciu in He fean. 
 
 In English (if it be necessary to translate it) 
 
 When the wine is in the man 
 Is the wisdom in the can. 
 
 Many words that have now become obsolete may likewise be 
 adduced: viz. Baken, bacon ; ege,edge; cnive, knife ; moulde, 
 mould, &c. &c.
 
 OF THE NETHERLANDS. 7 
 
 must, we imagine, be an additional cause of 
 sympathy. Some interest will be felt in noting 
 the agreement and following the divergency 
 of idioms originating in a common source, and 
 moulded by circumstances into a different form 
 and character: more just and more definite 
 ideas will necessarily be the reward of inquiring 
 curiosity. The Dutch is one of the interesting 
 branches growing from the great Teutonic stock, 
 and preserving far more of the original character 
 than the rest of the same family. It is less known 
 too, and has in consequence been less acted on 
 by foreign criticism. Modern times have re- 
 stored it to its pristine vigour ; and the patriotic 
 spirit which resisted the encroachments of the 
 Gallic tongue, has allied itself to the re-awak- 
 ened love and cultivation of literature which has 
 thrown its lustre over modern times. The ser- 
 vices of SIEGENBEEK, BiLDERDUK, and other 
 restorers of their native language, can scarcely 
 be appreciated by a stranger. But the character 
 of the Dutch tongue has been hitherto strangely 
 misunderstood. It is not soft and musical but 
 it is sonorous and emphatic : it has not the beau- 
 ties of the voweled idioms of die South but it
 
 8 POETICAL LITERATURE 
 
 has beauties they can never possess ; and especi- 
 ally in the variety and grace of its diminutives 
 (a quality in which our own language is singu- 
 larly deficient), it may be compared with the 
 richest among them 1 . Languages have their 
 distinguishing attributes; and the characteristics 
 of one are often wholly incompatible with the 
 peculiarities of another. Similar sounds cannot, 
 in fact, express hatred and attachment rage and 
 tranquillity -jealousy and confiding affection. 
 The lover does not serenade his mistress with a 
 trumpet, nor can an army be led to battle 
 
 " To the lascivious pleasing of a lute." 
 
 For the expression of vehement, disturbed and 
 distracting passion, the Spanish language, for 
 example, is wholly unqualified ; yet it is admi- 
 rably adapted to give utterance to solemn and 
 supported dignity. The Dutch is distinguished 
 by its strength. It is not a graceless combina- 
 tion of harsh and discordant sounds the dull, 
 
 1 The French language has been deprived of much of its 
 pristine beauty by the loss of its diminutives, such as enfantelet, 
 ueiUet, bracelet, which so frequently occur in the old Gallic Poets 
 down to the 16th century.
 
 OF THE NETHERLANDS. 9 
 
 monotonous and clashing cymbal of languages : 
 it rather resembles a well-regulated overture, in 
 which the louder instruments take a principal 
 share, yet their part is appropriate and sustained. 
 The orthography adopted by the Dutch is not 
 very attractive to the eye; yet the following spe- 
 cimens, if read by any one who is master of the 
 language, will, we are assured, be deemed ad- 
 mirable proofs of sympathy between sound and 
 sense. The first is HELMER'S description of 
 Python, in his poem of Apollo : 
 
 " Een schubbig vel bedekt zijn' rug, een hoorn is 't wapen 
 Van zijn afgrijslijk hoofd ; hy slaakt een naar gehuil, 
 Het gansche land verstomt bij zijn afschuwlijk brullen : 
 Zijn klaauw doorwroet den grond, gedrogtlijk wringt zijn 
 
 staart 
 
 Zich, als een ratelslang, in vreesselijke krullen, 
 En stalen vinnen zijn om 't koopren lijf geschaard. 
 Neen ! de Acheron zag nooit een monster zoo afschuwlijk ! 
 De vrucht sterft in het zaad door d'adem van 't gedrogt. 
 De Razernijen met heur toortsen zijn min gruwlijk, 
 Dan 't monster daar het loert van uit zijn zwarte krocht." 
 
 A scaly skin his back adorned, a horn the weapon 
 Of his tremendous head ; he raised a dreadful howl, 
 And struck the whole land dumb with the terrific thunder : 
 His claws tore up the ground, he dragged his hideous train 
 B 5
 
 10 POETICAL LITERATURE 
 
 Even like a rattle-snake in frightful twists coil'd under, 
 And fins of steel were bristled round his trunk : the reign 
 Of Acheron never saw a monster so prodigious. 
 The fruit died in the seed whene'er his breath was nigh ; 
 The hated furies, with their torches, are less hideous 
 Than that foul monster when his prey was in his eye. 
 
 So VONDEL'S lines to Salmasius, the calumnia- 
 tor of Hugo Grotius : 
 
 " O Farizeeusche grijns, met schijngeloof vernist, 
 Die 't groote lijk vervolght ook in zijn tweede kist; 
 Gij Helhont, past het u dien Herkles na te bassen, 
 Te steuren op 't autaer den Fenix in zijn assen, 
 Den mont van't Hollantsch Recht, bij Themis zelf beweent? 
 Zoo knaegh uw tanden stomp aen 't heilige gebeent." 
 
 O Pharisaic sneer, with seeming praise o'erspread, 
 Following his noble form when crumbling midst the dead ; 
 Thou hell-hound ! dar'st thou bark at Hercules nor falter 
 Altho' the Phoenix lies in ashes on the altar, 
 The mouth of Holland's law, whom Themis' self bemoans ? 
 Then wear thy teeth away upon his hallow'd bones. 
 
 Nor till the following verses are deemed unmu- 
 sical shall we be disposed to allow that the Dutch 
 is wholly wanting in melody and sweetness : 
 
 " Klaarc, wat heeft 'er uw hartjen verlept, 
 Dat het verdrietjes in vroolijkheidt schept,
 
 OF THE NETHERLANDS. 
 
 En t'aller tijdt even beneepen, verdort, 
 
 Gelijk als een bloempjen, dat dauwetjen schorl ? 
 
 Knelt het van vrijers niet om uwe deur ? 
 Moogh je niet gaan niet te kust* en te keur ? 
 En doe je niet branden, en blaaken, en braen, 
 Al, waar't u op lust een lonkjen te slaan ? 
 
 Anders en speelt 'er het windetje niet, 
 Op elzetakken, en leuterigh riet, 
 Als : lustighjes, lustighjes. Lustighjes, gaat 
 Het watertje, doar 't tegen 't walletje slant. 
 
 Ziet d'openhartige bloemetjes staan, 
 
 Die u, tot alle blijgeestigheidt, raen. 
 
 Zelf 't zonnetje wenscht' u wel beter te moe ; 
 
 En werpt u een liefTelijk oogelijn toe. 
 
 Maar zoo ze kunnen, door al hun vermaan, 
 Niet stecken met vreughd uw zinnetjes aan, 
 Ik leg u te maaken aan 't schreijen de bron, 
 De boomen, de bloemen, de zuivere zon." 
 
 HOOFT. 
 
 Clara ! come tell me what withers thy heart, 
 
 That even enjoyments but sorrow impart, 
 
 And say why it thus like a fiow'ret decays 
 
 To which morn lends no dews and bright noontide no rays? 
 
 Come not fond lovers adoring thee still ? 
 
 Dost thou not wander or rest at thy will ? 
 
 And do not thy glances, wherever they fall, 
 
 With mildness delight and with splendour enthrall !
 
 12 POETICAL LITERATURE 
 
 Zephyr breathes pleasantly over the meads, 
 Playing thro' alders and talking to reeds, 
 All merrily, merrily. Merrily goes 
 The wavelet that on to its summer bank flows. 
 
 See ! yon sweet blossoms, now opening gay, 
 Bid thee be cheerful and smiling as they ; 
 The sun, too, invites thy young heart to be free, 
 And casts down his loveliest glance upon thee. 
 
 But, oh ! if in vain they would chase for a while 
 
 Thy griefs, and awaken joy's slumbering smile, 
 
 Command the gay sun and the waters to join, 
 
 And the trees and the flow'rets, their bright tears to thine. 
 
 Lachjes, lonkjes, toverlusjes, 
 Kneepjes, wenkjes, zachte kusjes ; 
 Kusjes geurig als muskaat, 
 Zoet als versche honigraat;" &c. 
 
 1 1 KK.M. VAN DEN BURG. 
 
 Laughs and glances, charming blisses, 
 Pressings, nods, and gentle kisses ; 
 Kisses sweet as honey dew, 
 Fragrant as the nutmeg too, &c. 
 
 Moe gewandelt, moe geseeten, 
 Moe gedronken, moe gegeeten, 
 Moe te gast gaen alle daegh, 
 Bij de vrienden in den Haegh,
 
 OF THE NETHERLANDS. 13 
 
 Raeckt' ik weder op mijn Huisje 
 In mijn Ockenburger Kluisje, 
 Daar ik nu voor tijdverdrijf 
 Dese rijmpjes aen u schrijf." 
 
 JACOB WESTERBAEN. 
 
 Tir'd with wandering, tir'd with sitting, 
 Tir'd of drinking, tir'd of eating, 
 Tir'd of every busy plague, 
 Feasting visiting the Hague, 
 Here again I've found a dwelling, 
 My poor Ockenburger cell in, 
 Where I now, to pass the time, 
 Write you this my simple rhyme. 
 
 The Dutch is, as we have said, one of the 
 purest and least understood descendants of the 
 Gothic root. It may be studied in its perfection 
 in that beautiful and emphatic version of the 
 Bible, which owes its existence to the Synod of 
 1618 19. To the expression of devout and 
 dignified emotion it is peculiarly adapted. 
 
 This language, concentrated within the nar- 
 row circle of the Northern Netherlands, was for 
 many centuries the representative of Christian 
 feeling ; but remained unknown and unobserved 
 in other parts of Europe : for while Europe re-
 
 14- POETICAL LITERATURE 
 
 ceived with welcoming gratitude that torrent of 
 ancient erudition conveyed in the purest latinity 
 which poured from the academies and schools, 
 the native streams that refreshed and invigorated 
 Holland itself were wholly disregarded. 
 
 It has been usual to assert the superiority of 
 languages in which polysyllabic very much pre- 
 ponderate over monosyllabic words. The for- 
 mer have, undoubtedly, the advantage in ex- 
 pressing the more tender emotions ; but they are 
 immeasurably below the latter in force and energy 
 and passion. 
 
 The essential character of the Poetry of Hol- 
 land that which marks it in every age and in 
 all its varieties is a high tone of religious feel- 
 ing, a sublimity borrowed from devout associa- 
 tions, and especially from the sacred writings. 
 
 VONDEL gave a permanent influence to this 
 Christian spirit; and though a decided and deep 
 tinge of Catholicism is spread over his works, yet 
 he every where inculcates, and every where dis- 
 plays, an eloquent and reverential sense of the 
 presence and the providence of the Divinity. 
 CATS is not less the poet of religion : and even 
 through the 18th century, at which period the
 
 OF THE NETHERLANDS. 15 
 
 poetical literature of Holland seems most to 
 have declined, a serious and sober and pious 
 spirit marks every writer to whom any portion 
 of power or of praise belongs. That spirit is 
 obvious in the writings of those of the present 
 day who have re-awakened the energies of 
 their distinguished precursors. The intellec- 
 tual powers, the varied erudition of BILDER- 
 DIJK, are not more remarkable than the purity 
 of his life and the warmth of his benevolent affec- 
 tions ; and many who, like DA COSTA and DE 
 CLERCQ, are proud to call him their master, 
 breathe the same spirit of habitual devotion. 
 
 Though the origin of all languages is hi some 
 measure lost in obscurity, yet the history of that 
 of the Netherlands may be traced to the thir- 
 teenth century at least, about the middle of 
 which the public decrees and the civil acts were 
 first written in the language of the country ' ; but 
 
 1 It was then generally called the Flemish language ; partly 
 because the Flemish provinces were at that time predominant, 
 from their great prosperity ; and partly, that the old Flemish 
 writers paid more attention to the genders, and observed a 
 greater purity of diction. The Brabant most resembled the 
 Flemish idiom. The Batavian or Dutch was, on the contrary,
 
 16 POETICAL LITERATURE 
 
 according to EMMIUS, De Agro Frisitf, p. 265 
 268, it was not brought into general use until 
 the year 1298. The most ancient public docu- 
 ment extant is an ordinance issued by King 
 William, Earl of Holland and Zealand, to the 
 citizens of Walcheren, on the eleventh day of 
 March 1254s 1 HUYDECOPER refers to a writ- 
 ing which he supposes to have been executed in 
 1 1 90 : but Van LELYVELD considers it to be of 
 more modern date. Several other manuscripts 
 have excited much attention; although we believe 
 
 more forcible and grave. This distinction continued until the 
 end of the 15th century; they then lost their distinguishing 
 characteristics, and became alike impure and weak. They re- 
 mained in this fallen state until after the Spanish disturbances, 
 when the Dutch language so far surpassed the Flemish, both 
 in purity and force, that the latter became entirely superseded, 
 and never recovered its former influence and importance. 
 The progress of commerce in the Low Countries began at 
 this period to produce its influence on the Dutch tongue. 
 Commerce is one of the nurses of language in its infancy ; and, 
 in proportion as it is itself raised or depressed, raises or de- 
 presses the spirit of independence and research, on which the 
 greatness of a nation and the purity of its language so evidently 
 depend. 
 
 1 Historia Critica Comitatus HoUandlee et Zeelandue.tam. 
 ii. par. ii. p. 6546.
 
 OF THE NETHERLANDS. 17 
 
 that the attempt to trace their origin to an earlier 
 period has been unsuccessful, with the exception, 
 perhaps, of one, bearing the title " Een Epistel 
 tot den XI dusent magheden CHRISTl" which 
 IJPEIJ supposes to have been written in 1183. 
 Before this period a monkish Latin was the only 
 tongue cultivated for the purposes of literature. 
 In Holland, as in all other parts of Europe, the 
 vernacular dialects were too much despised to 
 be made the medium of communication between 
 men of letters. They were, indeed, generally too 
 confined in their extent to be advantageously or 
 conveniently employed. Some advantages no 
 doubt resulted from the almost universal use of 
 the Latin language 1 corrupt and disjointed as 
 it had become for it was the commonly-under- 
 stood means of intercourse between the learned 
 of all European nations ; and, as nothing con- 
 nected with literature had obtained currency in 
 
 1 The Dutch have been always celebrated, and they still de- 
 serve to be celebrated, for the pure latinity of many of their 
 writers ; and in our own times Meerman, Cras, Van Lennep, 
 and others, may be quoted as the legitimate heirs of classical 
 fame.
 
 18 POETICAL LITERATURE 
 
 any other dress, those few countries in our quar- 
 ter of the globe where that language had not pe- 
 netrated, remained shrouded beneath the mantle 
 of darkness or of barbarism. Whatever may exist 
 of the ancient poetry of such nations however 
 sublime or touching its conceptions however 
 energetic, however harmonious, its expressions- 
 is no proof of any thing like an advanced state 
 of civilization. If " song is but the eloquence 
 of truth," its beauty and its perfection are inde- 
 pendent of the mental culture of the poet; for the 
 truths it celebrates are the inspirations of na- 
 ture, not the developments of art. The bards 
 of other days might possibly have sung " more 
 cunningly" in more enlightened ages, but not 
 more sweetly or more touchingly : and perhaps 
 many a harp, whose melodious vibrations have 
 been echoed and re-echoed by the voices of suc- 
 cessive centuries, would have been hung on the 
 willows, and have remained silent, had civiliza- 
 tion, with its hundred allurements, been allowed 
 to distract or to divide the attention and the ge- 
 nius of its master. Little natural poetry can exist 
 in a country which employs a language not its
 
 OF THE NETHERLANDS. 19 
 
 own for the purposes of literature. Strong ideas 
 and intense feelings may be communicated in a 
 foreign tongue, but 
 
 " Thoughts that voluntary move 
 Harmonious numbers," 
 
 which is, in truth, the most simple and the 
 most beautiful definition of poetry, can only be 
 conveyed by the language in which we think. 
 Biscay, for instance, whose inhabitants have for 
 ages employed the Castilian instead of their own 
 tongue, for the written communication of their 
 thoughts, has as yet produced no poet 1 ; and over 
 the whole surface of the middle ages we find 
 scarcely one illustrious poetical name of which 
 the cause referred to was probably the mainly- 
 influencing one. 
 
 We wish to premise here, that we are not the 
 critics but the historians of Dutch poetry, which 
 constitutes in fact the earliest literature of the 
 Netherlands. We do not always quote because 
 
 1 And so they are attacked by an old Romancero : 
 
 De entendimento corto 
 Biscayno en los conceptos.
 
 20 POETRY OF THE NETHERLANDS. 
 
 we admire, but because we wish to describe. 
 Such was the birth, we say, and such the growth, 
 of the Muse of Holland. It would be easy to 
 judge harshly, but we deem it better to represent 
 silently.
 
 THIRTEENTH AND FOURTEENTH 
 CENTURIES. 
 
 FROM 
 
 JACOB VAN MAERLANT 
 
 TO 
 
 LAMBERTUS GOETMANN.
 
 JACOB VAN MAERLANT 
 
 TO 
 
 LAMBERTUS GOETMANN. 
 
 Sacoti tan QBaerlam Die QaOrt 
 
 net 2>ietj5cT)er S3 trfjtercn algaoet. 
 
 J ACOB VAN MAERLANT, born at Damme 1 in Flanders 
 A D. 1235, is honoured with the title of Father of the 
 Poets of the Netherlands. He was distinguished as a 
 philosopher and as an orator, and appears to have 
 held the office of public Secretary to his native place. 
 What particularly entitles him to distinction is his 
 having been a layman a layman renowned for his 
 taste and learning even in his own day, when reading 
 was almost wholly confined to the clergy. He trans- 
 lated into Dutch rhyme the Historia Scholastica of 
 
 1 Van Wyn supposes he was born at Maerlant, a small place 
 in Holland.
 
 24 VAN MAERLANT. [1200- 
 
 PETER COMESTOR l : Flowers of Nature (Der Natuere 
 Bloemej from ALBERT'S 2 Liber Rerum: BONAVEN- 
 TURA'S Life of Francis : Beauties of dristotle, of which 
 he quaintly says, 
 
 39e#e irtoemen fcefcien toi 
 
 <Cr! uten Satme in ietjSche fcroc&t 
 
 Site 2tri#t0ttte# ioeften. 8 
 
 His most appreciated productions are Wapen Mar- 
 tijn, Verkeerde Martijn, and his Historic Mirror 
 (Spiegel Historiael), two parts of which were pub- 
 lished by Clignett and Steenwinkel. It is an imita- 
 tion of the Speculum Historiale of VINCENTIUS BEL- 
 LOVACENSIS, and is rather flowing and agreeable. He 
 introduces many excellent thoughts from the ancients, 
 especially from SENECA, as for example : 
 
 toen en .IHanne toerre 
 4^u Mibe te ie#en tfi nu trre: 
 afle bine ^pn on0e#talie. 
 e? fei broet te rate, 
 
 1 A learned Frenchman of the 12th century, who, from his 
 scriptural argumentative powers, was reported to have eaten up 
 the Bible. 
 * Of Cologne. 
 
 8 All these beauties haue we soughte, 
 And out of Latin to Dutche broughte, 
 From the bookes of Aristotle.
 
 -14-00.] VAN MAERLANT. 25 
 
 >ic toe werelt tnrrrcn (aet, 
 
 C'n emitter blttoet in enen stact. ' 
 
 We quote his apology, so illustrative both of the 
 poet and of the language of that early period, for the 
 frequent recurrence of Flemish words in his verses. 
 CnDc, onttmt ic CHaminc ten, 
 .iTJct 0oetoer fjerrc iibbic fccn, 
 On- bit Dictsdje stiffen iesen, 
 5? .it si minis genadicb ujcsnt ; 
 CnOi- (cscu sire in somicf) UJOOIT, 
 at in fier Tanli e^ ongeboort, 
 moet cm tie rime souhcn 
 tongbe in bouften.' 
 
 MELIS STOKE lived towards the end of the 13th 
 century. His Poetic Chronicle (Rijmchronijk) was 
 
 1 When joye to sudden griefe giues place, 
 'Tis woman's weaknesse man's disgrace: 
 For earthlie thinges arc euer changing. 
 Thus he is wise, whose harte unranging 
 Lets the worlde roule as it wille, 
 And is unmoued and stedfaste stillc. 
 
 * Imitated in the style of Chaucer by a friend : 
 
 For I am Flemysh, I yow beseche 
 Of youre curtesye, al and eche, 
 That shal thys Doche chaunce peruse, 
 Unto me nat youre grace refuse ; 
 And yf ye fynden any worde 
 In youre countrey that ys unherde, 
 Thynketh that clerkys for her ryme 
 Taken a faultie worde somtyme. 
 
 C
 
 26 JAN VAN HELU. [1200- 
 
 published in 159 \, and again in 1772, with introduc- 
 tory and explanatory observations. His Address to 
 William the Third contains some good lines. 
 
 JAN VAN HELU, THOMAS of GHESAERT, and HEIJN- 
 RIC VAN HOLLAND, are the only other Poets of the 13th 
 century entitled to mention, and they none of them 
 improved on the poetry of MAERLANT. Of the first 
 of these the following lines are worth preserving : 
 
 bat bie 
 
 moebe 0eja0et jgn, 
 Qerfceiben #pieten enbe #tueert, 
 n\$tit bron0en #i, tmtterueert, 
 3Ie0ftetr l>ie 'vCraSantre toeber, 
 SDat #i tocn ben ^erto0fte nebet 
 (9Tta>ee or^en onber fetm 
 
 These extracts are rather to be considered as curio- 
 sities than as subjects for critical severity. VAN MAEK- 
 LANT'S are the first developments 2 of the germ of na- 
 
 1 As the furious boare, pursued 
 By the daring hunter rude, 
 Teares the earth, and, raging loudlie, 
 Rushes on the hunter proudlie, 
 So the fierce Brabanter then 
 Driues the Hertoch back agen, 
 Under him two horses stagger. 
 
 * He makes mention of Willem Utenhoven, Calfstaf, Noij-
 
 -1400.] CHAMBERS OF RHETORIC. 27 
 
 tional poetry, and, however defective in imageiy and 
 rugged in rhyme, entitle their author to our attention, 
 as they have obtained for him the gratitude of his 
 countrymen. He aspired to knowledge, to its attain- 
 ment and to its communication, when it was an almost 
 forbidden possession. The stream of literature has 
 rolled on, gathering in its progress a thousand con- 
 tributing rivulets : let not the humble and remote 
 spring be forgotten, whence it originally flowed. 
 
 It is a singular fact, that the means which were em- 
 ployed in the 14th century for the advancement of the 
 language and its literature, became in the highest de- 
 gree instrumental to its degradation. We allude to 
 the foundation of the Chambers of Rhetoric, which 
 took place towards the end of this era. The degene- 
 racy of the language may mainly be attributed to the 
 wandering orators (sprekers), who, being called to the 
 courts of princes, or admitted though uninvited, re- 
 hearsed, for money, the miserable doggrel produced by 
 themselves or others. These people afterwards formed 
 themselves, in Flanders and Brabant, into literary so- 
 cieties, which were known by the name of Chambers of 
 Rhetoricians (Kamersder Rhetorijkers or Rederijkers) , 
 and which offered prizes to the most meritorious poets. 
 
 dekijn, and Clais van Brechten; but none of their writings have 
 come down to us. 
 
 c2
 
 28 CHAMBERS OF RHETORIC. [1200- 
 
 The first Chambers appear to have been founded at 
 Dixmuiden and Antwerp: at the former place in 1394, 
 and at the latter in 1400. These societies were formed 
 in imitation of the French, who began to institute them 
 about the middle of the 14th century, under the name 
 of Colleges de Rhetorique. The example of Flanders 
 was speedily followed by Zealand and Holland. In 
 1430 there was a Chamber at Middelburg ; in 1433, 
 at Flaardingen ; in 1434, at Nieuwkerk; and in 1437, 
 at Gouda. Even insignificant Dutch villages had their 
 Chambers, Among others, one was founded in the 
 Lier in the year 1480. In the remaining provinces 
 they met with less encouragement. They existed, 
 however, at Utrecht, Amersfoort, Leeuwaarden, and 
 Hasselt. The purity of the language was completely 
 undermined by the rhyming self-called Rhetoricians, 
 and their abandoned courses brought Poetry itself into 
 disrepute. All distinction of genders was nearly 
 abandoned 5 the original abundance of words ran 
 waste ; and that which was left, became completely 
 overwhelmed by a torrent of barbarous terms. 
 
 This century, therefore, introduced no improvement 
 on the age that preceded it. Versification was almost 
 exclusively appropriated to purposes wholly unworthy 
 of it to the dry details of chronicled and other unin- 
 teresting events. At this period, however, the inroads 
 of the Flemings produced a considerable change in
 
 -HOO.] LODEWIJK VAN VELTHEM. 29 
 
 the language. The violent party spirit and civil dis- 
 sensions of this epoch had vent in something fiercer 
 than the vehemence of poetry : besides that the poetry 
 excited by temporary circumstances, if to such it were 
 applied, was scarcely likely to live after the events 
 which had given it a passing interest. Many Latin 
 words were introduced about this time, and their effect 
 is singularly abrupt and unpleasing. 
 
 JDeug ! iTot gat tc DoTprteen mogen, 
 
 is a line of LODEWIJK VAN VELTHEM, a Brabant priest. 
 An anonymous poet of this century has, notwithstand- 
 ing, some merit. Take as an example a verse from the 
 Dietsche Doctrinal : 
 
 t, ftat <Tloe0'teren fn 
 HUT en connen geuen 
 .Utoer bie reintebeit in 't fterte foeeft, 
 Weet, bat tie feeilicbTihe keft. 
 IDant ^?oD oueraT ts, 
 ^>a macf) men, UeiS #pt o6ewe#, 
 ^3ot> bicnen oueraT, 
 <Op stratcn, op fccrfl&e en Dal. ' 
 
 1 Know that holinesse keepes her throne 
 Not in cloysters or temples alone. 
 The temple where she loues to dwelle 
 Is a pure spirit's secrete celle.
 
 SO CLAES WILLEMS. [1200- 
 
 CLAES WILLEMS is the only other poet of this cen- 
 tury who is entitled to notice ; but few of his produc- 
 tions deserve translation. 
 
 Almost as barren is the fifteenth century as that 
 which preceded it. Till some master-genius breaks 
 through the trammels which minds of the common 
 mould consent to wear, because they have long worn 
 them, there is little to encourage inquiries, or to 
 give excitement to attention. William the Sixth de- 
 spised the country over which he reigned : but Poets 
 found protectors, though poetry seems to have been 
 little benefited by them, under Charles the Bold and 
 Philip the Handsome : and the Kamers der Rederijken 
 did something to interest, though not to improve, the 
 taste of the age. 
 
 JAN or WILLEM DE WEERT VAN YPREN wrote a 
 work at the commencement of this century, entitled 
 The New Doctrinal, or Mirror of Sins, copied princi- 
 pally from the Latin, and possessing as few claims to 
 poetical merit as to originality. 
 
 JACOP VILT, a goldsmith at Bruges in Flanders, 
 translated Boethius ; but his work does not deserve 
 particular mention. 
 
 God is aboue us euerie where : 
 This be our counsel, this our care, 
 To serve Him stille with praises meete 
 On hillc, or vallie, or crowded streete.
 
 -1400.] POETRY OF ROMANCE. 31 
 
 About this time another translation of Boethius ', by 
 an anonymous writer, appeared. The following lines 
 afford a favourable specimen of his versification : 
 
 3CI fcebfan at &c#e (dieren) bjnerjjcfoen aerb 
 &P eitn noc&tan al ncbertoam 
 De memaebe aTteen fceift t&ooft gfceretfen 
 Onumrt sa( frcm tie aerbe ujescn. 1 ' 
 
 IT would be unwarrantable to pass over this epoch 
 without some reference to that romantic yet simple 
 poetry which exists in such a variety of forms, and 
 has been preserved by the tenacity of undying tradi- 
 tion through all the Teutonic dialects ; more especi- 
 ally since an acquaintance with these first awakened 
 
 1 Boethius was one of the favourite writers of the middle ages. 
 He is often referred to by the Troubadours and Provengal poets, 
 and was translated again and again into most of the languages 
 of Europe. In England there was a translation by the un- 
 equalled Alfred ; another by Chaucer ; and another, of a later 
 date. Sem Tob, a Hebrew-Spanish poet of the 15th century, 
 ranks him with Homer, Virgil, and Dante, as one of the great 
 lights of former days. 
 
 * With different natures brutes are founde, 
 But all looke clown warde to the grounde : 
 Man man alone his heade upreareth, 
 Unworthie of him the earthe appeareth. 
 
 Lib. v. metr. 5.
 
 32 POETRY OF ROMANCE. 
 
 a spirit of literature in the Netherlands. The Ama- 
 tory Verses long current in Provence and Languedoc, 
 and the Romances of Chivalry from the North, excited 
 attention and challenged emulation. The aged of 
 those days delighted to listen to these tuneful me- 
 morials. Youth gathered from them incitement to 
 deeds of glory and of virtue ; and the maiden learnt 
 them by heart whilst conning her breviary. The uni- 
 versality of some of the fables of Romance is one of 
 the most curious facts of literary history. The Knights 
 of the Round Table have been celebrated in almost 
 every dialect of Europe, and even beyond its boun- 
 daries. The Reyntje de Vos, so well known to the 
 people of the middle age, was translated into Dutch 
 at a very early period. The brothers GRIMM have 
 given several specimens of old Dutch poetical ro- 
 mance in their UHtteut0Che SaJaciDJt; and perhaps 
 the very affinity of these fabulous histories to others 
 which have reached us by different channels, will give 
 them a keener relish. 
 
 THE HUNTER FROM GREECE. 
 
 A HUNTER went a-hunting into the forest wide, 
 And nought he found to hunt but a man whose arms 
 were tied.
 
 POETRY OF ROMANCE. 33 
 
 " Hunter," quoth he, " a woman is roaming in the 
 
 grove, 
 And to your joyous youth-tide a deadly bane shall 
 
 prove." 
 " What ! should I fear a woman who never fear'd 
 
 a man ?" 
 Then to him, while yet speaking, the cruel woman 
 
 ran. 
 She seized his arms and grasp'd his horse's reins, and 
 
 hied 
 Full seventy miles, ascending with him the mountain's 
 
 side. 
 The mountains they were lofty, the valleys deep and 
 
 low, 
 
 Two sucklings dead one turning upon a spit he saw, 
 " And am I doom'd to perish, as I these perish see ? 
 Then may I curse my fortune that I a Greek should 
 
 be." 
 " What ! are you then from Greece ? for my husband 
 
 is a Greek ; 
 And tell me of your parents perchance I know them 
 
 speak." 
 " But should I name them, they may to you be all 
 
 unknown : 
 
 My father is the monarch of Greece, and I his son ; 
 And Margaret his consort my mother too is she ; 
 You well may know their titles, and they my parents be." 
 c 5
 
 34 POETRY OF ROMANCE. 
 
 " The monarch of the Grecians a comely man and 
 
 gay 
 But should you ne'er grow taller, what boots your life, 
 
 I pray ?" 
 " Why should I not grow taller ? I but eleven years 
 
 have seen ; 
 I hope I shall grow taller than trees in the forest 
 
 green." 
 " How hope you to grow taller than trees in the forest 
 
 green ? 
 
 I have a maiden-daughter, a young and graceful queen, 
 And on her head she weareth a crown of pearls so fine ; 
 But not e'en wooing monarchs should have that daugh- 
 ter mine. 
 
 Upon her breast she beareth a lily and a sword, 
 And even hell's black tenants all tremble at her word." 
 " You boast so of your daughter, I wish she'd cross my 
 
 way, 
 
 I'd steal her kisses slily, and bid her a good day." 
 " I have a little courser that's swifter than the wind, 
 I'll lend it to you slily go seek the maiden find." 
 Then bravely on the courser gallop'd the hunter lad ; 
 " Farewell ! black hag, farewell ! for your daughter is 
 
 too bad." 
 
 " O had I, as this morning, you in my clutches back, 
 You dared not then have call'd me you dared not 
 
 call me ' black.' "
 
 POETRY OF ROMANCE. 35 
 
 She struck the tree in fury with a club-stick which she 
 
 took, 
 Till the trees in the green-wood trembled, and all the 
 
 green leaves shook. 
 
 The poets delighted to sing the disappointments of 
 the malevolent purposes of those imps, or fiend-like 
 spirits, whose encounters with mortals so frequently 
 formed the subject of their fanciful creations. 
 
 THE FETTERED NIGHTINGALE. 
 
 Now I will speed to the Eastern land, for there my 
 
 sweet love dwells, 
 Over hill and over valley, far over the heather, for 
 
 there my sweet love dwells : 
 And two fair trees are standing at the gates of my 
 
 sweet love, 
 One bears the fragrant nutmeg, and one the fragrant 
 
 clove. 
 The nutmegs were so round, and the cloves they smelt 
 
 so sweet, 
 1 thought a knight would court me, and but a mean 
 
 man meet.
 
 36 POETRY OF ROMANCE. 
 
 The maiden by the hand, by her snow-white hand he 
 led, 
 
 And they travel'd far away to where a couch was 
 spread ; 
 
 And there they lay concealed through the loving live- 
 long night, 
 
 From evening to the morning till broke the gay day- 
 light j 
 
 And the sun is gone to rest, and the stars are shining 
 clear, 
 
 I fain would hide me now in an orchard with my dear; 
 
 And none should enter then my orchard's deep alcove, 
 
 But the proud nightingale that carols high above. 
 
 We'll chain the nightingale his head unto his feet, 
 
 And he no more shall chatter of lovers when they meet. 
 
 I'm not less faithful now, although in fetters bound, 
 
 And still will chatter on of two sweet lovers' wound. 
 
 Here is all the natural feeling without the exagge- 
 ration of the best epoch of the Troubadour poetry.
 
 POETRY OF ROMANCE. 37 
 
 THE KNIGHT AND HIS SQUIRE. 
 
 A KNIGHT and his Esquire did stray Santio l 
 
 In the narrow path and the gloomy way, Non weder 
 
 So quoth the Knight " Yon tree do thou Santio 
 
 Climb bring the turtle from the bough." Non weder 
 
 " Sir Knight, I dare not ; for the tree Santio 
 
 Is far too light to carry me." Non weder 
 
 The Knight grew grave and stern : and he Santio 
 
 Mounted himself the waving tree. Non weder 
 
 " My master is fallen dead below Santio 
 
 Where are my well-earned wages now ?" Non weder 
 
 " Your well earned-wages ! get you all Santio 
 
 Chariots and steeds are in the stall." Non weder 
 
 ' Chariots and steeds I seek not after, Santio 
 
 But I will have the youngest daughter." Non weder 
 
 The Squire is now a Knight ; and still Santio 
 
 Drives steeds and chariots at his will. Non weder 
 
 We pass over JAN VAN DKN DALE. His writings 
 were popular in his day, and obtained for him splendid 
 
 1 The chorus of this Romance is 
 
 Santio 
 
 Non weder de kneder de koorde sante jante 
 Iko, kantiko di kandelaar sti.
 
 38 POETRY OF ROMANCE. 
 
 marks of attention from his countrymen. ANTHONIS 
 DE RUERE of Bruges and ANDRIES DE SMIT or SMET 
 are sufficiently noticed by the introduction of their 
 names. DIRK VAN MUNSTER wrote the Christian 
 Mirror, and LAMBERTUS GOETMAN the Mirror of 
 Youth. Each did something to advance the progress 
 of literature, by improving on the poets who had pre- 
 ceded them.
 
 FIFTEENTH AND SIXTEENTH CENTURIES. 
 
 ANNA BYNS 
 
 HENDRIK SPIEGHEL.
 
 FROM 
 
 ANNA BYNS 
 
 TO 
 
 HENDRIK SPIEGHEL. 
 
 roETRY, the most interesting form in which the sub- 
 limer passions are expressed and developed, is some- 
 times a slowly-working but a most important agent 
 of improvement. It becomes often a condensation of 
 the national will, and is the rapid conductor of sym- 
 pathy from one class of society to another, from its 
 aptitude for communicating thoughts and feelings. 
 Those great changes, which had become necessities, 
 soon reckoned among their advocates the enlightened 
 men who marked the course of the " mighty stream 
 of tendency;" and amidst the discussions and the 
 disturbances of the 16th century, literature in Holland 
 gathered new strength, and re-acted upon the public 
 mind with increasing activity. While the political 
 liberties of the Netherlands began to dawn again, and 
 religious inquiry opened a wide field of freedom and 
 of virtue, knowledge, which is, in fact, but another 
 word for truth, spread widely her benignant and en- 
 couraging influences. The extraordinary and impetu-
 
 42 POETRY OF THE 16TH CENTURY. [1400- 
 
 ous character of Luther had shaken the tottering pil- 
 lars of authority and usurpation ; while Erasmus ' 
 though ambiguous in his policy, and wavering in his 
 will had opened the flood-gates of inquiry by his 
 translation of the Scriptures. The atrocious edicts, 
 by which the Emperor Charles (in 1529) doomed the 
 supporters of the Reformation to death, the men to 
 be put to the sword the women to be buried alive, 
 gave new enthusiasm to the persecuted, and reflected 
 infinite disgrace on the persecutors : for persecution 
 is a suicidal principle ; its lance soon turns towards 
 itself. It is remarkable that the presence of the Spa- 
 niards, who were at this period the models of classic 
 writing, and whose works were frequently printed at 
 Antwerp, the Hague, and other parts of the Nether- 
 lands, should not have produced a more decided influ- 
 ence on Dutch literature : but the benefits the Spa- 
 niards conferred could not but be forgotten in the 
 wrongs they inflicted. 
 
 1 The cordial friendship existing between Erasmus, Sir Tho- 
 mas More, and Juan Luis Vives men of different nations and 
 language, and each probably the most renowned of his con- 
 temporary countrymen a friendship founded on intellectual 
 superiority, on mutual respect and sympathy, is one of the most 
 remarkable events of this period. On a life of either of these 
 individuals almost all that is interesting in the history and lite- 
 rature of this time might be grounded.
 
 -1600.] ANNA BYNS. 43 
 
 The number of reformers increased from day to day ; 
 and these times of anarchy and bloodshed produced 
 many gifted poetical characters. Among these was 
 ANNA BYNS. She was inimical to the Reformation, 
 and directed her talents principally against its pro- 
 gress. These lines will convey some idea of her 
 powers : 
 
 1 SEE'ST thou the sun and moon's transparent beam, 
 The fair stars thickly sprinkled o'er the sky ? 
 They're rays, which from the Eternal's fountain stream. 
 Then turn thy contemplative gaze on high, 
 Praise the pure light, whence these their light obtain, 
 Whose heavenly power is in the sun -rays seen. 
 It wakes from earth's dark tomb the buried grain, 
 And decks with flowers the hills and valleys green, 
 So that no painter could convey, I ween, 
 Such magic colouring and variety ; 
 
 1 Siet ghy sonne en mane claer van ghestichte, 
 En de sterren dichte aen den hemel staen, 
 Ten zyn maer straelen van den eeuwigen lichte : 
 Dus wilt u ghesichte in "t hoogste slaan : 
 Pryst om't licht, daer deze haer licht af ontfaen, 
 Wiens godlycke kracht schynt in der sonnestraelen, 
 Die alle groeysel doet uyt er eerden gaan, 
 Sou dat gheen schilder en sou connen ghemaelcn 
 Sou schoonen coleuren, oft soo menigherhande :
 
 44 JAN FRUJTJERS. [1400- 
 
 Then, reasoning beings, if ye would not err, 
 Make nature nature's God's interpreter ; 
 Though nought, however fair, by land or sea 
 With the Creator's beauty can be rated, 
 Yet think, while gazing on their brilliancy, 
 How wondrous He, who all those works created. 
 
 JAN FHUITIERS was master of Requests to the Prince 
 of Holland, and a zealous reformer. He wrote several 
 works both in rhyme and prose. Among the former 
 was one entitled " Ecclesias tints, or The wise Sayings 
 of Jesus the son of Syrach. 
 
 DIRK COORNHERT was born at Amsterdam in the 
 year 1522. In 1562 he was secretary to the town of 
 Haarlem, and two years afterwards to the Burgo- 
 masters of that place. In 1572 he was private secre- 
 tary to the States of Holland. His general style was 
 pure, but the subjoined extract proves that it was not 
 always so. The thought, however, though not well ex- 
 pressed, is too pleasing to be lost. 
 
 Dus, redelycke menschen, hoort myn verhalen, 
 
 Soeck in de creaturen (wilt gy niet dwalen) 
 
 Den Schepper met uwen relycken verstande ; 
 
 Want siet gy yet schoons te water, te lande, 
 
 't Mach by de schoonheyt des Scheppers luttel drepen : 
 
 Dus seght oft denckt uyter liefsten brande, 
 
 Och hoe schoon moet by zyn die 't al heeft gheschepen !
 
 -1600.] DIRK COORNHERT. 45 
 
 I 
 
 1 MAIDEN ! sweet maiden ! when thou art near, 
 Though the stars on the face of the sky appear, 
 It is light around as the day can be. 
 But, maiden ! sweet maiden ! when thou'rt away, 
 Though the sun be emitting his loveliest ray, 
 All is darkness, and gloom, and night to me. 
 Then of what avail is the sun or the shade, 
 Since my day and my night by thee are made ? 
 
 He greatly distinguished himself by his upright and 
 intrepid conduct ; and from the verses written by him, 
 whilst persecuted and imprisoned, these are perhaps 
 worth quoting : 
 
 a WHAT 's the world's liberty to him whose soul is 
 
 firmly bound 
 With numberless and deadly sins that fetter it 
 
 around ? 
 
 1 Meysjen als ick u mach wesen ontrent, 
 Al stonden de sterren aen het firmament, 
 Soo is, als dagh, den Hemel klaer:- 
 Maar als ick van u moot sijn absent, 
 Al scheen die son nog soo excellent, 
 Soo is het nacht voor myn eenpaer. 
 Wat baet my dan der sonnen kracht, 
 Als ghy my maecht dagh ende nacht ? 
 
 * Wat baet hen's werelts vryheyt diens ziel is gebonden 
 Met duysent aenclevende dootlycke sonden ?
 
 4-6 ROEMER VISSCHER. [1400- 
 
 What 's the world's thraldom to the soul which in itself 
 is free ? 
 
 Nought ! with his master's bonds he stands more pri- 
 vileged,, more great, 
 
 Than many a golden -fetter 'd fool with outward pomp 
 elate ; 
 
 For chains grace virtue,, while they bring deep shame 
 on tyranny. 
 
 Coornhert did much towards purifying the language 
 of his predecessors. 
 
 Merely mentioning PETRUS DATHENUS, PHILIP 
 VAN MARNIX, JAN BABTIST HOUWAERT, PEETER 
 HEYNS, and ZACHARIAS HEYNS, son of the latter, 
 who far surpassed his father, we come to ROEMER 
 VISSCHER, and HENDRIK SPIEGHEL, son of Laurens 
 Spieghel. The former gained from his countrymen 
 the title of Dutch Martial. We give a short speci- 
 men : 
 
 1 O wealth ! thou mother of evil fate, 
 Wife of falsest treachery, 
 
 Wat scha' et ook de rycke ziel dees lichaems bandcn ? 
 Niet ! hy pronckt met zyn meesters cluysters eerlyck, 
 Meer dan menigh zot met ketens van gout begeerlyck, 
 Der vromen boeyens eeren him den vanger tot schanden. 
 
 1 O ryckdom, moeder van alle quaet, 
 Wyf van valsche verradery,
 
 -1600.] HENDRIK SPIEGHEL 47 
 
 Daughter of care, sister of hate, 
 Nurse of all iniquity j 
 Having thee, pale fears surround us, 
 And, without thee, sorrows wound us. 
 
 Spieghel was born at Amsterdam in 1549, and had 
 the advantages of a classical education. The follow- 
 ing is one of his descriptions : 
 
 1 The cold and dreary night, clad in its raven-robe, 
 With all the stars retires, as morning wakes the globe ; 
 Earth's orbit is approach'd, and gladden'd with the 
 
 sight 
 Of rays, whose fertile warmth proceeds from heaven's 
 
 great light, 
 Which leaves the barren Ram with Taurus now to 
 
 reign, 
 And decks the northern zone with shady leaves again. 
 
 Dochter van sorgh, suster van haet, 
 Voester van alle schelmery, 
 U te hebben dat doet vreesen 
 En niet te hebben droevigh wesen. 
 
 1 De kouwe nare nacht met duistcrheid omhanghen 
 En sterren weken al des uchtens rode wanghen, 
 Ons aarden kreis ghenaakt het wenschelyk ghezicht 
 Der st ralfii groeyzaam-heet des hemels groote licht : 
 Dat Het d'onvruchtbaar Ram, om in den Stiff te stieren, 
 En 't noorde-gordel weer met lover-schauw te cieren.
 
 4-8 HENDRIK SPIEGHEL. [14-00- 
 
 His style is harsh and encumbered with epithets -, 
 but his compositions are characterized by devout feel- 
 ings and singular strength. These lines are a curious 
 specimen of affinity between Dutch and English : 
 
 Parnassus is too wide : here is no Helicon 
 
 But downs, wood and beck, one air, one self-same 
 sun, 
 
 This water, this land, beck, field, stream, and wood- 
 goddesses 
 
 With mightless love we heartily admire. 1 
 
 THE Sixteenth Century unquestionably improved on 
 the age. that preceded it ; but that improvement was 
 the natural advance of literature with civilization ; a 
 slow but a decided progress ; during which no very 
 extraordinary or pre-eminent genius had appeared, 
 
 1 Parnassus is te wijd : hier is geen Helicon 
 Maar duinen, bosch en beck, een lucht, een zelfde zon, 
 Dit water, dit land, beek, feld, stroom en boomgodinnen, 
 Met maghteloose liefd wy hartelijk beminnen. 
 
 Hartspiegel i. 127130.
 
 -1600.] HOOFT AND VONDEL. 49 
 
 sufficient in himself to exalt or to form the era. Calm 
 anticipation might well expect a brilliant futurity. But 
 with the commencement of the seventeenth century, 
 a succession of writers appeared, whose talents and 
 learning laid the foundation and reared the edifice of 
 national literature in Holland. 
 
 This is in truth an epoch which arrests the atten- 
 tion by its extraordinary splendour, a splendour burst- 
 ing forth from comparative darkness, not through the 
 gradual awakening of a gentle twilight, but sud- 
 denly blazing into light and day. 
 
 The latter part of this century, however, by no 
 means answered the expectations that were so natu- 
 rally excited by the commencement, especially as re- 
 gards the drama. Originality was lost sight of, and 
 translations from the French became every day more 
 frequent. The fine natural tragedies of HOOFT and 
 VONDEL found more eulogists than imitators ; more 
 who coolly admired the model than copied the master. 
 The passion for foreign novelties, a passion which 
 has been at all times the bane of national literature, 
 chilled the efforts of native genius, and withered all 
 the buds of thought, and all the expansions of imagi- 
 nation. HOOFT and VONDEL formed their dramas on 
 the Greek model, introduced the ancient chorus, and 
 rigidly preserved the unities. The chorus became in 
 some sort a constituent part of the Dutch drama, and 
 D
 
 50 SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. [1600- 
 
 is even now always preserved when the tragedies of 
 their old writers are represented j and it would assur- 
 edly be an injustice to the audience and to the authors 
 themselves, were it omitted ; for, however opinions 
 may differ respecting its utility or good taste, we can- 
 not willingly dispense with the host of beauties which 
 the tragic writers of Holland have often imparted to 
 it. But one circumstance must not be omitted : over 
 this period an anti-English spirit is almost universally 
 spread. The malevolent feelings excited by inter- 
 national war, which, while it encourages all the fierce 
 and unruly passions, blunts and destroys the gentler 
 and the nobler, have tinged the literature of Holland 
 with the expression of an eloquent and a bitter hatred 
 against our country. We shall not inquire how little 
 of it was deserved by our ancestors, nor how much of 
 it may be excused or even applauded. It is enough 
 to say that ill-will produces a re-action of ill-will, and 
 that triumph is dearly purchased at the price of mi- 
 sery. 
 
 This century is not celebrated for its poets only. 
 It had its heroes in De Ruiter and Van Tromp : its 
 statesmen in Barneveldt and the De Wits. Its learned 
 writers are Huig de Groot (Grotius), Daniel and Ni- 
 colaus Heins (Heinsius), P. Schryver (Scriverius), 
 Salmas (Salmasius), John Frederick Gronov (Grono- 
 vius), Casper van Baerle (Barlaeus), John Vos (Vos-
 
 -1700.] SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 51 
 
 sius) ', and many other eminent classics. Its men of 
 science Leoninus, Aldegonde, and Dousa. For its 
 painters it had Rubens, Vandyk, Rembrandt, Miere- 
 velt, the Teniers, the Van de Veldes, Jordaans, Kuyp, 
 the Ostades, Gerard Douw, Mieris, John and Philip 
 Wouvermans, Metsu, Berchem, Paul Potter, Pynaker, 
 the Ruysdaels, Van Huysem, Wynants, Steen : and 
 during this period the universities at Groningen 8 , 
 Utrecht 3 , and Gelderland 4 , and the celebrated school* 
 at Amsterdam were established 6 . 
 
 " The age of which we speak/' says the learned 
 Professor Siegenbeek, " and more especially the ear- 
 lier part of it, was in every point of view so glorious 
 to the Dutch nation, that it would be difficult to dis- 
 cover, in the history of any other people, a period of 
 such resplendent fame and greatness." 
 
 The return of HOOFT from Italy, whence he brought 
 back the charms of the Ausonian muses, and intro- 
 duced the regularity and refinement of the southern 
 schools, laid the foundation of a new and better era 
 of poetry. From this time too the prose of Holland 
 
 1 Of whom Vondel said : 
 
 " Al wat in boeken steekt is in zyn brein gevaren." 
 Whatever is anchored in books floated about in his brain. 
 
 * 1614. 1636. * 1648. 5 1629. 
 
 The university of Leyden was founded in 1574. 
 
 02
 
 52 SEVENTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 became remarkably vigorous and energetic ; and the 
 whole tone of Dutch literature was elevated, not only 
 by the rapid improvement of the language, but by 
 that literary and inquiring spirit whose influence 
 spread itself over many generations.
 
 PIETER CORNELIS HOOFT, 
 
 BORN 1581 DIED 164-7.
 
 HOOFDIUM quisquis studet aemulari 
 Belga ceratis ope Da-dalea 
 
 Nititm pennis 
 
 BARLJECS. 
 
 Zoo ooit uw pen zich eer of duur belooft 
 
 Begin toch niets in 't Neerduitsch zonder HOOFT. 
 
 JOH. VOLLENHOVE. 
 
 Het sonne-licke HOOFT 
 Dat de sterkste sterren dooft. 
 
 HUTGENS. 
 
 Under a beautiful engraving of HOOFT, belonging 
 to Mr. S. P. Denning of the Dulwich gallery, are the 
 following lines : 
 
 Draagt achting voor dit beeld, gy jongen en gy ouden ; 
 Het is de Ridder HOOFT : waar moet men hem voor houden : 
 O wyzen, meldt het my indien gy hier niet suft, 
 Voor eerlyker van harte, of kloeker van vernuft ? 
 
 R. HUYDECOPER.
 
 PIETER CORNELIS HOOFT, 
 
 BORN 1581 DIED 1647. 
 
 A IETER CORNELIS HOOFT was born at Amsterdam 
 on the 1 6th of March, 1581. At the age of 1 9 he was 
 already a member of the " Amsterdamsche Kamer 
 in Liefde Bloeijende," which was entirely distinct 
 from, and far more celebrated than, the other literary 
 societies of that period. His earliest productions were 
 not distinguished by any of that sweetness of versifi- 
 cation and occasional force which afterwards lent such 
 charms both to his prose works and poetry. He went 
 to France and Italy, and gave the first promise of an 
 improved style and more cultivated taste, in a poetical 
 epistle, written at Florence, to the members of the 
 " Amsterdamsche Kamer." He appears to have made 
 the Greek, Latin, and Italian writers his peculiar 
 study. By reading the latter he was first taught to 
 impart that melody to his own language of which it 
 had not hitherto been deemed susceptible. To no 
 man, indeed, is Dutch literature more indebted than 
 to HOOFT. He refined the versification of his age, 
 without divesting it of its vigour. His mind had
 
 56 PIETER CORNELIS HOOFT. [1581- 
 
 drunk deeply at the founts of knowledge, and his 
 productions are always harmonious and often sublime. 
 The great VONDEL, who was too truly noble to be 
 jealous of his fame, calls him 
 
 " Of Holland's poets most illustrious head 1 ." 
 
 It is difficult to decide whether HOOFT or VONDEL 
 was most honoured by this eulogium. 
 
 His " History of the Netherlands" affords perhaps 
 the best specimen of Dutch prose. He died on the 
 21st of May, in the year 1647. 
 
 His Granida is one of the most beautiful specimens 
 of harmony in the Dutch language j and the critics of 
 Holland are fond of contrasting the flowing music of 
 HOOFT with the harsh and cumbrous diction of 
 SPIEGEL, his forerunner. The original of the follow- 
 ing lines (Sc. i. of the Granida) deserves every eu- 
 logy for its poetical grace : 
 
 Het vinnigh straalen van de son 
 Ontschuil ik in't boschaadje. 
 
 I'LL hie me to the forest now, 
 The sun shines bright in glory ; 
 
 And of our courtship every bough 
 Perchance may tell the story. 
 
 1 " Dat Doorluchtig HOOFT der Hollandsche Poeten." 
 Hooft, Anglice Head.
 
 -1647.] PIETER CORNELIS HOOFT. 57 
 
 Our courtship ? No ! Our courtship ? Yes ! 
 
 There's folly in believing j 
 For of a hundred youths, I guess 
 
 (O shame !) they're all deceiving. 
 
 A gaysome swain is wandering still, 
 
 New pleasures seeking ever j 
 And longer than his wanton will 
 
 His love endureth never. 
 
 My heart beats hard against my breast, 
 
 So hard can I confide now ? 
 No ! confidence might break my rest, 
 
 And faith will not be tried now. 
 
 Oft in the crowd we trip and fall, 
 
 And who escape are fewest : 
 I hear my own deliverer call 
 
 Of all the true the truest. 
 
 But, silly maiden ! look around, 
 And see thy cherish'd treasure ; 
 
 Who rests or tarries never found 
 And ne'er deserved a pleasure. 
 
 Should he disclose his love to me 
 
 Whilst in this forest straying, 
 Were there a tongue in every tree, 
 
 What might they not be saying !
 
 58 PIETER CORNELIS HOOFT. [1581- 
 
 HOOFT'S Geraardt van Velzen and his Baeto served 
 as the groundwork of the Dutch drama. The Spa- 
 niards had introduced a taste for the stage ; but the 
 Castilian tongue does not appear to have been gene- 
 rally understood : while BREDERO and S. COSTER po- 
 pularised the language and the tragic poetry of Hol- 
 land. HOOFT'S anacreontics have scarcely less merit 
 than his plays. 
 
 GUPID once in peevish pet 
 Cried to Venus " They are wet 
 He has drench'd my strings in tears j 
 All my quiver have I shot 
 Wasted all they pierce him not, 
 And his heart of stone appears." 
 
 " Listen, silly boy !" she said : 
 " Steal a lock from Doris' head j 
 When thy arrows miss refrain ! 
 Waste not, trifling rogue, thy strength 
 Wait and watch ! Be sure at length 
 Cupid shall his victory gain." 
 
 So he runs where Doris dresses, 
 
 But he dared not steal her tresses ; 
 
 For a straggling hair or two 
 
 Softly he implores the fair : 
 
 Bends his bow " The shaft is here 
 
 He has pierced me through and through."
 
 -164-7.] PIETER CORNELIS HOOFT. 59 
 
 Naare nacht van benauwde drie jaaren. 
 
 THREE long years have o'erwhelm'd me in sadness, 
 
 Since the sun veil'd his vision of gladness : 
 Sorrow be banish'd for sorrow is dreary j 
 Sorrow and gloom but outweary the weary. 
 
 In my heart I perceive the day breaking, 
 
 I cannot resist its awaking. 
 
 On my brow a new sun is arisen, 
 
 And bright is its glance o'er my prison $ 
 Gaily and grandly it sparkles about me, 
 Flowingly shines it within and without me : 
 
 Why, why should dejection disarm me 
 
 My fears or my fancies alarm me ? 
 
 Laughing light, lovely life, in the heaven 
 
 Of thy forehead is virtue engraven ; 
 Thy red coral lips, when they breathe an assenting, 
 To me are a dawn which Apollo is painting. 
 
 Thy eyes drive the gloom with their sparkling 
 
 Where sadness and folly sit darkling. 
 
 Lovely eyes then the beauties have bound them, 
 And scatter'd their shadows around them j 
 Stars, in whose twinklings the virtues and graces, 
 Sweetness and meekness, all hold their high-places : 
 But the brightest of stars is but twilight 
 Compared with that beautiful eye-light.
 
 60 PIETER CORNELIS HOOFT. [1581- 
 
 Fragrant mouth All the flow'rs spring is wreathing 
 Are dull to the sweets thou art breathing ; 
 The charms of thy song might summon the spirit 
 To sit on the ears all-enchanted to hear it : 
 What marvel then if in its kisses 
 My soul is overwhelm 'd with sweet blisses ? 
 
 O how blest, how divine the employment, 
 How heavenly, how high the enjoyment ! 
 Delicate lips and soft amorous glances, 
 Kindling and quenching and fanning sweet fancies, 
 Now, now to my heart's centre rushing, 
 And now through my veins they are gushing. 
 
 Dazzling eyes that but laugh at our ruin, 
 
 Nor think of the wrongs ye are doing ; 
 Fountains of gladness and beacons of glory, 
 How do ye scatter the dark mists before ye ; 
 
 Can my weakness your tyranny bridle ? 
 
 O no ! all resistance is idle. 
 
 Ah ! my soul ! ah ! my soul is submitted ; 
 
 Thy lips thy sweet lips they are fitted 
 With a kiss to dissolve into joy and affection 
 The dreamings of hope and of gay recollection, 
 
 And sure never triumph was purer, 
 
 And sure never triumph was surer.
 
 -1647.] PIETER CORNELIS HOOFT. 61 
 
 I am bound to your beauty completely, 
 I am fetter'd and fasten'd so sweetly ; 
 
 And bless'd are the tones and the looks and the mind 
 too 
 
 Which my senses control and my heart is inclined to : 
 While virtue, the holiest and brightest, 
 Has fasten'd love's fetters the tightest. 
 
 CHORUS OF WOMEN. 
 
 (From die Tragedy of Baeto.) 
 
 WAS ever human heart so hard, 
 'Gainst sympathy's bright glances barr'd, 
 When miseries, such as ours, oppress 
 Poor woman's wretched helplessness ? 
 Ah ! he who sees this struggling band, 
 Sad exiles from their father-land, 
 And sees them, with unalter'd eye, 
 Borne down by grief and misery, 
 Is sterner than the ocean-rock 
 That stands unmoved by tempest shock : 
 And he who pities not our woe, 
 To some devouring brute must owe 
 Existence not to man : no tear 
 Will e'er bedew his cheeks. For here
 
 62 PIETER CORNELIS HOOFT. [1581- 
 
 The pregnant female creeps distress'd, 
 Her crying infant on her breast, 
 While fears pervade her shuddering frame 
 For husband child for life and fame, 
 Where'er the slightest whisper falls. 
 And here the helpless widow crawls ; 
 Or childless, or child-fostering, still 
 Each thinks her own the greater ill. 
 Here the betroth'd young maid, who loves 
 With all her heart's best passion, roves ; 
 Before her bridegroom's restless eye, 
 That sees its fondest visions fly. 
 Here roams the inexperienced fair 
 With trembling steps : the orphan heir 
 Before his guardians walks, afraid. 
 And here go forth, with staffs to aid, 
 The aged men, who ne'er as slaves 
 Would pass to their unheeded graves ; 
 For though the frame may wither'd be, 
 Still blooms the heart of Liberty. 
 Here parents from their children sever, 
 Bound to their king by oath for ever : 
 The brother quits his sister's side, 
 And friends from long-tried friends divide ; 
 The burgher leaves his home to fate ; 
 The lord his post ; the prince his state ;
 
 -164>7.] PIETER CORNELIS HOOFT. 63 
 
 And drags his infant son along, 
 
 A sufferer wrong'd who did no wrong, 
 
 Too young for crime. We wept (but ought 
 
 Rather to triumph in the thought !) 
 
 We wept the brave, who sank beneath 
 
 The foeman's arms to glorious death 
 
 Without remorse without a fear. 
 
 Thrice happy heroes ! whom a spear, 
 
 With iron point, or wooden stave 
 
 Has driven from life and whom the grave 
 
 Has shelter'd from all future woe. 
 
 Ye never knew, and cannot know, 
 
 How sad the choice, how great the pains, 
 
 Of banishment or slavery's chains; 
 
 We move within a circle, where 
 
 Is nought save suffering, grief, and care ; 
 
 Frighted, fright-scattering even on those 
 
 Our friends who should have stemm'd our foes. 
 
 The versification of the following is, in the original, 
 remarkably smooth and flowing : 
 
 Zal nemmerineer gebeuren my dan, naa deze stondt. 
 
 OH ! must I then surrender the sweets I dearly prize, 
 The blisses of thy lips, love, the friendship of thine eyes, 
 The blisses of thy lips, love of thy lips, love r
 
 64- PIETER CORNELIS HOOFT. [1581- 
 
 The blisses of thy lips, love the friendship of thine 
 
 eyes ! 
 
 The favour of thy bosom that open'd to my sighs, 
 The favour of thy bosom, of thy bosom ? 
 
 Yet I shall be for ever thy willing slave and true ; 
 But oh ! my wilder'd senses ! how shall I govern you ? 
 But oh ! my wilder'd senses wilder'd senses. 
 
 They all may vanish quickly, and wander from me far, 
 Now they have lost thee, dearest ! their light their 
 
 guiding-star ; 
 Now they have lost thee, dearest ! lost thee, dearest ! 
 
 The fair one's tears descended she strove in vain to 
 
 speak, 
 The drops that love had cherish' d fell down on either 
 
 cheek 5 
 The drops that love had cherish'd, love had cherish'd. 
 
 The soothing tears of pity, which more than smiles 
 
 impart, 
 
 Even in his deepest misery, gave solace to his heart, 
 Even in his deepest misery, deepest misery. 
 
 Dame Venus* with her bright star now look'd out 
 
 from above, 
 
 And saw this gentle courtsh ip with wonder and with love. 
 And saw this gentle courtship, gentle courtship. 
 
 * Vrouw Venus.
 
 -164-7.] PIETER CORNELIS HOOFT. 65 
 
 " And since the glittering tear-drops such influence 
 
 own," she cried, 
 
 " Why is the power of weeping unto the gods denied ? 
 Why is the power of weeping, power of weeping V 
 
 The tender tears descended. The goddess came be- 
 neath, 
 
 " Hold ! rather would I trample upon my rosy wreath. 
 Hold ! rather would I trample, would I trample." 
 
 And, fearing lest some footstep might injure them, she 
 
 stole 
 
 And caught the living tear-drops within a rose's bowl. 
 And caught the living tear-drops, living tear-drops. 
 
 " Oh ! what are all my roses, or what my chaplet fair ? 
 Bright pearls I now can fashion beyond the world's 
 
 compare. 
 Bright pearls I now can fashion, now can fashion." 
 
 As soon as this was spoken, her tears as pearls appear, 
 Which she with gold pierc'd lightly, and hung in either 
 
 ear. 
 Which she with gold pierc'd lightly, gold pierc'd 
 
 lightly. 
 
 When Venus in her mirror thus saw herself array'd, 
 She wanted neither garlands nor talismanic aid. 
 She wanted neither garlands, neither garlands.
 
 66 PIETER CORNELIS HOOFT. 
 
 ADDRESS TO SLEEP. 
 
 Is Death, which has been branded as a curse, 
 Too fair a guest to visit one abhorr'd ? 
 Then art thou welcome in my fearful need, 
 Care-soothing Sleep, thou relative of Death, 
 Who now alone canst still my inward grief; 
 Protector of the wrung and tortured heart, 
 Who to the weary frame and woe-worn mind 
 Bring'st the full goblet of Oblivion's sweets. 
 Oh ! that illusion would so fill my brain, 
 That the frame's rest might from the spirit keep 
 Those dreadful images, which are impress'd, 
 By the departed anguish of the day, 
 On the weak judgment! 
 
 Geraardt van Velzen, p. 491,
 
 MARIA TESSELSCHADE VISSCHER.
 
 O TESSELA ! leeft van Goden gekust, 
 Die al de vijf sinnen kunt geven haer lust. 
 
 RASPER VAX BAERLE.
 
 MARIA TESSELSCHADE VISSCHER. 
 
 TESSELSCHADE VISSCHER lived at the time 
 of HOOFT, who seems to have been her model. Her 
 writings are unaffected and spirited. She translated 
 the Jerusalem Delivered of Tasso. 
 
 She addressed the original of the following verses 
 to a musical friend : 
 
 Prijst vrij de Nachtegael. 
 
 PRIZE thou the Nightingale 
 Who soothes thee with his tale, 
 And wakes the woods around ; 
 A singing feather he a wing'd and wandering sound : 
 
 Whose tender carolling 
 Sets all ears listening 
 Unto that living lyre 
 Whence flow the airy notes his ecstasies inspire : 
 
 Whose shrill capricious song 
 Breathes like a flute along, 
 With many a careless tone, 
 Music of thousand tongues formed by one tongue alone.
 
 70 MARIA TESSELSCHADE VISSCHER. 
 
 O charming creature rare, 
 Can aught with thee compare ? 
 Thou art all song ; thy breast 
 
 Thrills for one month o' the year is tranquil all the 
 rest. 
 
 Thee wondrous we may call 
 Most wondrous this of all, 
 That such a tiny throat 
 Should wake so wide a sound, and pour so loud a note. 
 
 Her sister ANNA, who was her contemporary, gained 
 great credit by her writings, which, however, although 
 easy and graceful in point of versification, were gene- 
 rally on inferior and every-day subjects, and had less 
 of the poetry of thought than those of the former.
 
 JACOB CATS. 
 
 BORN 1577 DIED 1660.
 
 Attached to an old Edition of Cats's work is the 
 following curious Acrostic : 
 
 I ngenii dotes raras mirabitur illi C 
 
 A rdua mens tanti, queis nobis docta camoen A 
 
 C urabit studio vigilanti emblemata rara u T 
 
 O mnes sic superet, Musarum gratia vel quei S 
 
 B landa favet : merito tollunt ad sidera doct I 
 
 U ndique : perge tuo tot vates vincere vers U 
 
 S olus eos inter Phcebus velut ipse sedebi S. 
 
 O CATS, als Dichter meer dan al wie u verachten ; 
 Gy wien de dank behoort der laatste nageslachten, 
 A an wien ik (wie "t ook zij, die op uw eerkroon smaalt) 
 Ook zelfs mijn lauwren dank aan Pindus voet behaalt. 
 
 BlLDERDYK. 
 
 Geen ding was voor sijn oog zoo kleyn 
 Oft ging hem tot het innig breyn, 
 Geen dit of dat geen boere-schuyt 
 Of hy en trock er voordeel uyt. 
 
 FEITH.
 
 JACOB CATS. 
 
 J ACOB CATS, less the poet of imagination than of 
 truth ; less the inciter to deeds of heroism and subli- 
 mity than the gentle adviser to acts of virtue and en- 
 joyments of innocence j less capable of awaking the 
 impulses of the fancy than of calling into exertion the 
 dormant energies of reason and morality, was born 
 at Brouwershaven, a small town in Zealand, in the 
 year 1577. He was well versed in the ancient and 
 modern languages, and as celebrated for the purity of 
 his life as remarkable for the sound sense and virtuous 
 tendency of his writings. He possessed an admirable 
 knowledge of men and manners, a correct judgment, 
 and a striking simplicity of language ; indeed, it is a 
 question whether he did not indulge too freely in his 
 love for unvarnished matters of fact. The " foreign aid 
 of ornament," skilfully employed, might have set off to 
 advantage that earnest and interesting zeal in favour 
 of truth and piety, which is so prominent in his works. 
 But there is, notwithstanding, something so hearty 
 in his unsophisticated style, something so touching in 
 his simplicity, and something so frank and noble in
 
 74 JACOB CATS. [1577- 
 
 his precepts, that we can scarcely regret his having 
 given them to us unchanged by refinement and un- 
 adorned by art. 
 
 CATS had all VONDEL'S devotion, kindled at a purer 
 and a simpler altar. His wisdom was vast, and all 
 attuned to religious principle ; his habits were those 
 of sublime and aspiring contemplation ; and his poetry 
 is such as a prophet would give utterance to. He was 
 the poet of the people. In his verses they found their 
 duties recorded, and seeming to derive additional au- 
 thority from the solemn and emphatic dress they wore. 
 He is every where original, and often sublime. 
 
 He died in 1660. 
 
 CUPID LOST AND CRIED. 
 
 Het weeligh boefje, Venus-kint. 
 
 THE Child of Venus, wanton, wild, 
 
 The slyest rogue that ever smiled, 
 
 Had lately stray'd where ? who shall guess ? 
 
 His mother pined in sad distress ; 
 
 She calls the boy ; she sighs, complains, 
 But still no news of Cupid gains : 
 For though her sorrow grew apace 
 None knew the urchin's resting-place;
 
 -1660.] JACOB CATS. 75 
 
 She therefore vow'd the boy should be 
 Cried o'er the country speedily : 
 " If there be any who can tell 
 Where little Cupid 's wont to dwell, 
 A fit reward he shall enjoy 
 If he track out the truant boy j 
 His recompense a fragrant kiss 
 From Venus' ruby mouth of bliss j 
 But he who firmly holds the knave 
 Shall yet a sweeter guerdon have. 
 And lest ye should mistake the wight, 
 List to his form described aright : 
 He is a little wayward thing, 
 That's panoplied on fiery wing ; 
 Two pinions, like a swan, he carries, 
 And never for an instant tarries, 
 But now is here and now is there, 
 And couples many a curious pair. 
 His eyes like two bright stars are glowing, 
 And ever sidelong glances throwing : 
 He bears about a crafty bow, 
 And wounds before the wounded know : 
 His dart, though gilt to please the view, 
 Is dipp'd in bitter venom too : 
 His body, though 'tis bare to sight, 
 Has overthrown full many a knight : 
 
 E2
 
 76 JACOB CATS. [1577- 
 
 His living torch, though mean and small, 
 
 Oft makes the hardiest warrior fall 5 
 
 The highest dames with cares invades, 
 
 And spares not even the tenderest maids ; 
 
 Nay, what is worse than all the rest, 
 
 He sometimes wounds his mother's breast. 
 
 If such an urchin should be found, 
 Proclaim the joyous news around ; 
 And should the boy attempt to fly, 
 O seize him, seize him daringly. 
 But if you have the child at last, 
 Be careful that you hold him fast, 
 Or else the roving bird he '11 play, 
 And vanish in thin air away : 
 And if he seem to pine and grieve, 
 You must not heed him nor believe 
 Nor trust his tears and feign'd distress, 
 His winning glance and bland caress ; 
 But watch his cheek when dimples wreathe it, 
 And think that evil lurks beneath it j 
 For under his pretended smile 
 Are veil'd the deepest craft and guile. 
 If he a kiss should oft'er, shun 
 The proffer'd gift, or be undone ; 
 His ruby lips thy heart would sentence 
 To brief delight, but long repentance :
 
 -1660.] JACOB CATS. 77 
 
 But if the cunning boy will give 
 His dart to you Oh ! ne'er receive, 
 If you would hope for blissful years, 
 The present that so fair appears : 
 It is no pledge of love but shame 
 And danger and destroying flame. 
 Then, friends to speak with brevity 
 This wholesome warning take from me : 
 Let those who seize the wily ranger 
 Be on their guard 'gainst many a danger j 
 For, if they venture too securely, 
 Misfortunes will assail them surely } 
 And if they trust the boy in aught, 
 The catchers will themselves be caught." 
 
 Daer is weleer een beelt geweest. 
 
 WE read in books of ancient lore, 
 An image stood in days of yore, 
 Which, when the sun with splendour dight 
 Cast on its lips his golden light, 
 Those lips gave back a silver sound, 
 Which fill'd for hours the waste around : 
 But when again the living blaze 
 Withdrew its music-waking rays,
 
 78 JACOB CATS. [1577- 
 
 Or passing clouds its splendour veil'd, 
 Or evening shades its face conceal'd, 
 This image stood all silent there, 
 Nor lent one whisper to the air. 
 This was of old And even now, 
 The man who lives in fortune's glow 
 Bears off the palm of sense and knowledge 
 In town and country, court and college j 
 And all assert nem. con. whatever 
 Comes from his mouth is vastly clever : 
 But when the glowing sun retires, 
 His reign is o'er, and dimm'd his fires j 
 And all his praise like vapour flies, 
 For who e'er calls a poor man wise ? 
 
 Wanneer het klim de boom onwangt. 
 
 WHEN ivy twines around a tree, 
 And o'er the boughs hangs verdantly, 
 Or on the bark, however rough, 
 It seems indeed polite enough ; 
 And (judging from external things) 
 We deem it there in friendship clings j 
 But where our weak and mortal eyes 
 Attain not hidden treachery lies :
 
 -1660.] JACOB CATS. 79 
 
 Tis there it brings decay unseen, 
 While all without seems bright and green ; 
 So that the tree which flourished fair, 
 Before its time grows old and bare j 
 Then, like a barren log of wood, 
 It stands in lifeless solitude, 
 For treachery drags it to its doom, 
 Which gives but blight yet promised bloom. 
 Thou, whom the powerful Fates have hurl'd 
 'Midst this huge forest call'd the world, 
 Know, that not all are friends whose faces 
 Are habited in courteous graces ; 
 But think, that 'neath the sweetest smile 
 Oft lurk self-interest, hate, and guile 5 
 Or, that some gay and playful joke 
 Is Spite's dark sheath, or Envy's cloak. 
 Then love not each who offers thee, 
 In seeming truth, his amity; 
 But first take heed, and weigh with care, 
 Ere he thy love and favour share ; 
 For those who friends too lightly choose, 
 Soon friends and all besides may lose.
 
 80 JACOB CATS. 
 
 \ 
 
 Die voor den bliksem vreest, of voor onstuymig weder. 
 
 WHO flies the madden'd storm, or fears the lightning's 
 
 ire, 
 Should lurk in life's low vale, nor to proud heights 
 
 aspire. 
 
 The lowly roof may stand by the fierce bolt unriven 
 When the loud tempest sends its mandate through 
 
 the heaven, 
 And shakes the stubborn rocks that lift their heads on 
 
 high, 
 
 Braving with granite crowns the blue and lofty sky ; 
 It strikes the mighty tower, the monarch's citadel, 
 But spares the clay-built shed, where peace and meek- 
 ness dwell. 
 
 Oh ! happy, happy he, whose generous soul can rise 
 Above the dross of wealth, or pomp, or vanities 
 Scorn splendour, pleasure, fame ; and say with honest 
 
 pride, 
 I have ye not indeed, but yet am satisfied.
 
 LAURENS REAEL. 
 
 BORN 1583 DIED 1637. 
 
 r.S
 
 Een Febus op de Her, een Tifus op de baren. 
 
 JAN Vos.
 
 LAURENS REAEL. 
 
 REAEL was born at Amsterdam, and be- 
 came justly celebrated for his many acquirements. 
 He was a knight, and governor-general of India. As 
 vice-admiral and ambassador he is also well known 
 and esteemed. JAN Vos calls him 
 
 A Phoebus on the lyre, a Tiphys on the waves. 
 He died in 1637. 
 
 Moghte ick nu mijn krans van roosen. 
 
 1 WILL twine a wreath of roses 
 
 Round my shepherd's flowing hair ; 
 
 And the world will then declare 
 That the wreath my love discloses : 
 
 Should there still remain a doubt, 
 
 With my lips I'll blot it out. 
 
 By his gentle flock surrounded, 
 Oft his cheerful pipe he plays 
 Yet if any damsel strays 
 
 Tow'rds him O I am confounded 
 With the spirit-withering fear, 
 Lest that maid those tones should hear.
 
 84 LAURENS REAEL. 
 
 Oft I think the Fates would bless me 
 Were I to a lambkin changed, 
 Then, whilst I with others ranged, 
 
 My own shepherd would caress me : 
 When his gentle flock I see, 
 With them I would ever be. 
 
 Gentle flock, my every feeling 
 Let the youthful shepherd know ; 
 Vernal shades, disclose my woe ; 
 
 Trees, be all my love revealing : 
 Yet my own tale 1 would tell 
 To the swain I love so well. 
 
 Winds, that summer's fragrance rifle, 
 Tell him all that ye have heard 
 Tell him freely word for word, 
 
 That my sorrows he may stifle : 
 Give my love, in sweetest tone, 
 And in lieu demand his own.
 
 GERBRAND BREDERODE. 
 
 BORN 1585 DIED 1618. 
 
 /ntic
 
 In Editionem Poematum nobilisnimi Bataui Po'etce GERBRANDI 
 BREDERODII. 
 
 Roma sibi placuit divina capta Foesi, 
 
 Dtun placet argutis Accius illecebris ; 
 Aut rediviva suis ardentia Pergama flammis, 
 
 Quasque gravis veterum digna cothurnus habet ; 
 Aut tristes elegi, aut satyra? mordentia verba, 
 
 Aut festivus amor, compositive sales. 
 Quid sibi non placeat Batavum caput Amstelodamum 
 
 Ilia peregrines jactat, at ilia suum. 
 Adde ; quod innumeri vix prasstitere Poetae, 
 
 Unus sacra jocos tristia laeta dedit. 
 
 HOOFT. 
 
 Hier rust Brero been gereist 
 Daer de boot geen veergelt eischt 
 Van den geeste die met zijn kluchten 
 Holp aan 't lachen al die zuchten. 
 
 VONDEL.
 
 GERBRAND BREDERODE. 
 
 (JERBRAXD BREDERODE was born at Amsterdam on 
 the 16th March, 1585. His works, during his life- 
 time, were held in great esteem 5 but they have of late 
 years been comparatively neglected by his country- 
 men. 
 
 Whether this arises from his occasional want of 
 polish, or from a change in public opinion, or from 
 both of these causes combined, is now difficult to de- 
 termine. Yet it appears to us that he has been rather 
 unfairly treated. Even JERONIMO DE VRIES, in his 
 Proeve eener Geschiedenis der Nederduitsche Dicfit- 
 kunde, (Specimen of a History of Dutch Poetical 
 Literature,) although generally the most lenient of 
 critics, has, we think, barely done him justice. Bre- 
 derode had not, it is true, the imagination, and ener- 
 gy, and sublimity of HOOFT and VONDEL, and others 
 of his contemporaries j but he possessed abundant 
 natural feeling, an almost feminine sensibility, and, 
 in most instances, an easy and harmonious flow of
 
 88 GERBRAND BREDERODE. [1585- 
 
 versification. Nor, although living in the golden age 
 of Dutch literature, did he ever abandon his origi- 
 nality of thought and expression, and condescend to 
 be the mere imitator of even the most splendid models 
 which his country has produced. It should also be 
 borne in mind, that he was an utter stranger to the 
 learned languages, and that he died when only thirty- 
 three years of age. 
 
 He was principally celebrated for his comedies, into 
 which he introduced the language of the lower classes 
 of Amsterdam with great effect. It is said that he 
 often attended the fish-market and similar places, to 
 collect materials for his various pieces. This is ap- 
 parent in his Moortje and his Spaanschen Brabander, 
 His poems were published at Amsterdam in 1622, 
 by Cornells van der Plasse, under the titles of Het 
 fioertigh Liedt-Boeck (Facetious Song-Book) ; De 
 Groote Bron der Minnen (The Great Fountain of 
 Love) j and Aendachtigh Liedt-Boeck (Meditative 
 Song-Book). 
 
 The first edition, published at Leyden by Covert 
 Basson, was followed by a pirated one at Amsterdam. 
 To the latter he thus alludes in the Preface to his 
 Boertigh Liedt-Boeck : 
 
 " Next appeared a spurious edition at Amsterdam, 
 containing among other things lev/d and lascivious
 
 -1618.] GERBRAND BREDERODE. 89 
 
 verses, which I, of course, gained the credit of having 
 written ; but the honour that was thus conferred upon 
 me, and the gratitude that I owe to these my bene- 
 factors, I shall take an opportunity of acknowledging 
 in a manner that they will remember. For truly all 
 pure-hearted and generous persons will now pause ere 
 they publish any work, however creditable to their 
 feelings and morality, seeing unlawfulness has risen 
 to such a pitch, that any individual may give his dis- 
 gusting obscenities to the world under the cloak of 
 another's name." 
 
 BREDEBODE died on the 23d of August, 1618. 
 
 Nu dobbert myn liefje op de zee 
 
 Op de woelende springhende baaren. 
 
 Groote Bron der Afinnen, p. 10. 
 
 MY love is now floating away from me 
 
 On the waves that in chorus are sounding, 
 As they rise from the vast and foaming sea, 
 O'er whose bosom his ship is bounding. 
 Sail on, sail on, with breezes fair, 
 And never from thy memory tear 
 The girl whose home is there.
 
 90 GERBRAND BREDERODE. [1585- 
 
 Oh ! if two eyes like the sun were mine, 
 
 Which might gaze o'er the world for ever j 
 Or could I beguile one grief of thine, 
 I would follow and leave thee never. 
 
 Though maiden shame restrains my will, 
 Though parted by rising wave and hill, 
 My soul is with thee still. 
 
 And though I have not the Athenian's l art, 
 
 Which through air was his love's protection ; 
 Yet, would but this earthly clay depart, 
 With the guiding star of affection 
 
 My soul should lead the wanderer on. 
 With thee it goes with thee 'tis gone 
 Each thought is thine alone. 
 
 Were the voice of Stentor mine, for aye 
 
 Should that voice be heard beside thee ; 
 But, alas ! no words can force their way 
 Through the gather'd clouds that hide thee : 
 Yet though between us oceans roar, 
 My heart beyond all space will soar, 
 And speak with thine once more. 
 
 1 Dzedalus.
 
 -1618.] GERBRAND BREDERODE. 91 
 
 Were Medea's magic skill my own, 
 
 Not an adverse wind should alarm thee ; 
 In his caves I would strike rude ^olus down, 
 That no breath might escape to harm thee : 
 Or steal from him a gentle gale, 
 To waft thee on, and never fail 
 Thy widely-spreading sail. 
 
 The winds and the waters of the sea, 
 
 The fix'd poles and the bright stars peeping 
 Are dearer now than all else to me, 
 
 Since my love light life are in their keeping. 
 O merciful Gods who o'er us move ! 
 O Rulers of all around above 
 Protect and shield my love ! 
 
 Thy pensive bride is weeping alone, 
 And tearing her hair asunder : 
 Yes ! thy turtle-dove doth nought but moan 
 Now the surges and tempests thunder. 
 
 Thou loved-one ! loved-one ! while apart, 
 What anguish fills her sorrowing heart 
 Who lives but where thou art ! 
 
 My love is now floating away from me 
 On the waves that so loudly are sounding, 
 
 As they rise from the vast and foaming sea 
 O'er whose bosom his ship is bounding.
 
 92 GERBRAND BREDERODE. [1585- 
 
 Sail on, sail on, with breezes fair, 
 
 And never from thy memory tear 
 
 The girl whose home is there. 
 
 Moy Aeltjen is't soo liacst vergheten, 
 Myn lang vervolg van dagh en nacht. 
 
 Groote Bron der Minnen, p. 13. 
 
 CANST thou so soon unkindly sever 
 
 My long, long suit from memory ? 
 The precious time now lost for ever, 
 
 The vanish'd moments pass'd with thee, 
 
 In friendliness, in love's caress, 
 In happiness, and converse free from guile, 
 From night till morning, and 'neath twilight's smile. 
 
 A father's rage and friends' derision 
 
 For thee I 've borne, when thou wert kind j 
 
 But they fled by me as a vision 
 
 That fades and leaves no trace behind. 
 Oh ! thus I deem'd, when fondly beam'd, 
 
 And purely gleam'd, those brilliant eyes, whose ray 
 
 Huth made me linger near thee through the day.
 
 -1618.] GERBRAND BREDERODE. 93 
 
 How oft those tender hands I've taken, 
 
 And drawn them to my breast, whose flame 
 
 Seem'd, at their gentle touch, to waken 
 
 To feelings I dared scarcely name ! 
 
 I wish'd to wear a lattice there 
 
 Of crystal clear or purest glass, that well 
 
 Thou mightst behold what tongue could never tell. 
 
 Oh ! could the heart within me glowing 
 
 E'er from its cell have been removed, 
 I had not shrunk that heart bestowing 
 
 On thee, whom I so warmly loved : 
 
 So long'd to wed, so cherished. 
 Ah ! who could dread that thou wouldst wanton be, 
 And so inconstant in thy love to me ! 
 
 Another youth has stoln my treasure, 
 
 And placed himself upon the throne 
 Where late I reign 'd, supreme in pleasure, 
 
 And weakly thought it all my own. 
 
 What causes now that chilling brow ? 
 Or where didst thou such evil counsel gain, 
 As thus to pride and glory in my pain ? 
 
 What thoughts, too painful to be spoken, 
 
 Hath falsehood for thy soul prepared, 
 When thou survey'st each true-love token, 
 
 And think'st of joys together shared !
 
 94 GERBRAND BREDERODE. [1585- 
 
 Of vows we made beneath the shade, 
 And kisses paid by my fond lips to thine, 
 And given back with murmur'd sigh to mine ! 
 
 Bethink thee of those hours of wooing, 
 Of words that seem'd the breath of truth, 
 
 The Eden thou hast made a ruin, 
 My wither'd hopes and blighted youth ! 
 It wonders me that thou shouldst be 
 
 So calm and free, nor dread the rage that burns 
 
 Within the heart where love to malice turns. 
 
 Away away accurs'd deceiver ! 
 
 With tears delude the eyes and brain 
 Of him, the fond the weak believer 
 
 Who follows now thy fickle train. 
 
 That senseless hind (to whom thou'rt kind 
 Not for his mind, but for his treasured ore) 
 Disturbs me not farewell ! we meet no more. 
 
 Al waert dat mijn, de Godt Jupijn. 
 
 Groote Bron der Minnen, p. 56. 
 
 IF all were mine that Jove divine 
 
 Or other gods could proffer, 
 Of pomp or show, or dazzling glow, 
 
 I would not take their offer,
 
 -1618.] GERBRAND BREDERODE. 95 
 
 If I must thee surrender, 
 In payment for their splendour. 
 No ! I would seek the gods, and say, 
 Tis dearer far on earth to stray, 
 With heart and soul by anguish riven, 
 
 And bow'd by poverty and care, 
 Than seek at once your promised heaven, 
 And dwell without my Ibved-one there. 
 
 Should they display unbounded sway 
 
 O'er all these kingly regions, 
 And give to me dominion free 
 
 O'er lands and mighty legions j 
 My heart the gift would treasure, 
 To rule them all at pleasure, 
 Not for riches, nor for land, 
 Not for station, nor command, 
 Nor for sceptres, crowns, nor power, 
 
 Nor for all the world is worth, 
 But that I on thee might shower 
 
 Every gift from heaven or earth. 
 
 I would decree that all should be 
 
 Observant to revere thee, 
 With bended knee, submissively, 
 
 Though princes kings stood near thee.
 
 96 GERBUAND BREDERODE. [1585- 
 
 Courts should their glories lend thee, 
 And empresses attend thee, 
 And queens upon thy steps should wait, 
 And pay their tribute to thy state 
 In low and humble duty; 
 
 And place thee on a royal seat, 
 Deck'd, as well becomes thy beauty, 
 With splendour and adornment meet. 
 
 An ivory throne should be thine own, 
 
 With ornaments the rarest j 
 A cloth of red thy floor o'erspread, 
 
 To kiss thy footsteps, fairest ! 
 
 And sweetest flowers be wreathing, 
 And round thee fondly breathing; 
 And by thy influence I would prove 
 How I esteem thy virtues, love ! 
 How thy truth and goodness sway'd me, 
 
 More than all my store of gold, 
 More than thousands that obey'd me, 
 
 More than the giant world could hold. 
 
 But these I know thou canst forgo, 
 For pride has never found thee, 
 
 And I possess more wealthiness 
 Than all the courtiers round me.
 
 -1618.] GERBRAND BREDERODE. 9? 
 
 If riches they inherit, 
 
 I have them too in spirit : 
 
 And thou dost know as well as I, 
 
 That truer greatness deigns to lie 
 
 'Neath a garment worn and tatter'd, 
 
 Than e'er adorn'd a narrow mind j 
 And that treasures oft are scatter'd 
 
 For the basest of our kind. 
 
 Adieu schoonheden preuts vol sachte tooveryen. 
 
 Groote Bron der Minnen, p. 47. 
 
 ADIEU ! thou proud but lovely one, whose all-surpass- 
 ing charms 
 
 Allured me on to hope for rest and bliss within thine 
 arms; 
 
 No feign'd, no fickle love is mine by dying thou 
 shalt see 
 
 I rather bear the shock of death than parting's misery. 
 
 Adieu ! the heavenly lineaments that cause my swift 
 
 decay j 
 My tears have gush'd, my tears have flow'd, to wash 
 
 love's stain away ; 
 
 F
 
 98 GERBRAND BREDERODE. [1585- 
 
 The ungrateful drops desert me now ; but sorrow will 
 
 not fly : 
 Yet, since thou wishest death to me, 'twill be a joy 
 
 to die. 
 
 Adieu ! thou fragrant blushing mouth, within whose 
 
 ruby cell 
 
 Two rows of fair inhabitants in pearly whiteness dwell, 
 Whence issue notes of blissfulness, whilst mine are of 
 
 despair, 
 Which makes me feel this last farewell more hard than 
 
 death to bear. 
 
 Adieu ! the fairy hands, that bound with bonds which 
 
 could not sever, 
 My hands and heart, and life and soul, and speech 
 
 and thought for ever : 
 For these I gave to slavery's chains, when I was blest 
 
 and free, 
 And thus I yield, with this adieu, my life itself to thee. 
 
 Adieu ! the soft bewitching voice, that feelingly imparts 
 A joyous sense of ecstasy to cold and joyless hearts. 
 Ah ! how could passion fond as mine so unrelenting 
 
 prove, 
 That I should rather sigh for death than part with her 
 
 I love ?
 
 -1618.] GERBRAND BREDERODE. 99 
 
 Adieu ! the graceful ivory neck, more fair than win- 
 ter's snow ; 
 
 Since I must perish in my youth, some pity yet bestow, 
 
 And sepulchre beneath thy breast the heart so keenly 
 tried, 
 
 Then thou wilt know how tranquilly how blissfully 
 I died. 
 
 Al ben ic schoo Liefjc niet machtig rijck. 
 
 Boertigh Liedt-Boeck, p. 108. 
 
 THOUGH treasures unbounded are not my share 
 1 still am as rich as others are ; 
 
 I care not for gold, 
 
 I care not for gold, 
 The mind may the choicest of treasures hold. 
 
 I leave to the miser his joyless hoards, 
 
 To Ambition the bliss that command affords, 
 
 And ask not, my fair ! 
 
 And ask not, my fair ! 
 King's sceptre, or robes, or crown to bear. 
 
 For peace and the noblest enjoyments dwell 
 
 In the breast which contentment has made its cell, 
 
 And not in vain wealth, 
 
 And not in vain wealth, 
 Which cheats its master of rest by stealth. 
 
 F2
 
 100 GERBRAND BREDERODE. 
 
 And therefore my dearest pleasure I find, 
 Sweet girl ! in the charms of thy lovely mind, 
 
 And thy matchless soul, 
 
 And thy matchless soul, 
 Which bends the world to its bright control. 
 
 EPIGRAM. 
 
 Wist een dvvaes, dat hij waer zot. 
 
 COULD fools but feel their want of sense, 
 And strive to earn intelligence, 
 They would be wiser for their pains ; 
 But 'tis the bane of folly ever 
 To think itself supremely clever, 
 And thus the fool a fool remains.
 
 DANIEL HEINS. 
 
 BORN 1580 DIED 1655.
 
 Hij dringt zijn toonen door, bij elk geslacht herboren, 
 Tot ieder volk, tot elken tijd. 
 
 TOLLENS.
 
 DANIEL HEINS. 
 
 DANIEL HEINSIUS was born at Ghent about the year 
 1580. He studied at Middelburg, Franeker, and 
 Leyden, in which last place he afterwards was chosen 
 professor. He became also historian to the king of 
 Sweden, received from the Venetians the order of 
 St. Mark, and was secretary to the Synod at Dordt. 
 He is justly celebrated both for his Dutch and Latin 
 poetry. 
 
 His Ode De Contemptu Mortis has an European 
 reputation, and his " Song to Bacchus," written in the 
 spirit and the style of the hymns of ancient poetry, is 
 a purely classical production. There is more of ele- 
 gance, however, than of energy in his writings. In 
 Scriverius' collection of Dutch Poemata is a Hymn to 
 Jesus Christ which merits distinction. 
 
 Aldaar de Hemel streckt en daer de Wolcken drijven. 
 
 WHERE'ER the free clouds rove, or heaven extends, 
 Our dwellings shall be blest, while on our friends
 
 104 DANIEL HEINS. 
 
 No slavery-fetters hang, that land 's our own 
 Where freedom reigns and fetters are unknown. 
 The bird may cleave with joyous wing the air, 
 The steed o'er moor and plain his rider bear, 
 The mule beneath his charge may patient be ; 
 But man was born, was born for liberty.
 
 KASPER VAN BAERLE. 
 
 BORN 1584 DIED 164-8.
 
 Een Geleerde, die, door smaak en liefde tot Zanggodinnen 
 gedreven, lust tot de letteren overal verspreidde, en, raijns 
 oordeels, niet minder nut gedaan heeft, dan zijn meer diepge- 
 
 leerde ambtgenoot Vossius. 
 
 JERONIMO DE VRIES.
 
 KASPER VAN BAERLE. 
 
 IYASPER VAN BAERLE (better known by the name of 
 GASPARDUSBARL^US), although not so deeply-learned 
 as HEINSIUS, contributed greatly to aid the progress 
 of literature in Holland. He possessed, too, amiable 
 feelings, nobleness of character, and a highly-culti- 
 vated mind. Like HEINSIUS, he devoted himself more 
 to the composition of Latin than of Dutch poetry ; but 
 in the latter he was by no means unsuccessful. In a 
 company of friends, where TESSELSCHADE VISSCHER 
 surprised them with a curiously-wreathed festoon of 
 harvest flowers, he thanked her with the following 
 
 IMPROMPTU. 
 
 Geluckige Sale, daer *t Weentjen in spoockt. 
 
 BLEST chamber, fair haunt of the soul-winning maid, 
 Where cares never enter nor sorrows invade ! 
 Oh ! who o'er thy circle such magic has flung, 
 And makes thee so fragrant, and lovely, and young ? 
 Has Flora descended from Juno's gay court ? 
 Does Pales does Ceres too, hither resort ? 
 Did Hebe this bright summer garland enwreathe 
 This garland, whose blossoms such fragrancy breathe \
 
 108 RASPER VAN BAERLE. 
 
 Has Pomona here blended, with exquisite power, 
 
 The green of the leaf and the red of the flower ? 
 
 No ! they were nor by gods nor by goddesses found ; 
 
 Who meet in a circle and whisper around, 
 
 " We must cherish the growth of a garland, entwin'd 
 
 By one who sways envy itself with her mind." 
 
 " I see," exclaim'd Ceres, " my stalk and my corn j" 
 
 " I hear," said Pomona, " my leaves gently mourn :" 
 
 " 1 scent," echoed Flora, " the flower I love best, 
 
 That draws from the east the bright sun to the west." 
 
 " I feel," cried Juventa, " my apples are round j" 
 
 " 1 taste," exclaim'd Pales, " my plums are all sound ;" 
 
 " It is Tessela's wreath," says the poet " 'tis her's, 
 
 Who on age, youth and greenness and beauty confers." 
 
 Fair Tessela ! thee may the gods cherish still, 
 Who all the five senses canst charm at thy will. 
 
 BARLJSUS has the following curious passage on the 
 language of Holland : 
 
 " What then do we Netherlander speak ? Words 
 from a foreign tongue : we are but a collected crowd, 
 of feline origin, driven by a strange fatality to these 
 mouths of the Rhine. Why, since the mighty de- 
 scendants of Romulus here pitched their tents, choose 
 we not rather the holy language of the Romans?"
 
 HUIG DE GROOT. 
 
 BOEN 1583 DIED 1645.
 
 O Delf bcnij geen Maas den grooten Rotterdammer, 
 
 DE GROOT is ruim zoo groot. Dees poogde Hollands jammer ; 
 
 Te stuiten door zijn raadt: maar tweedragts oor bleef doof. 
 
 Men scheurde veel te licht om liefdeloos geloof. 
 
 Indien zijn P'enixgeest verdeelt waar onder zeven, 
 
 't Vereenigt Nederlandt waar onverdeelt gebleven. 
 
 G. BRANDT.
 
 HUIG DE GROOT. 
 
 1 J.UIG DE GROOT (commonly known by the name of 
 HuGoGnoTius) was born at Delft on the 10th of April, 
 1583. When he was only fifteen years old, Henry 
 the Fourth called him the wonder of Holland : at 
 eighteen he obtained, as a Latin poet, a distinguished 
 reputation. Of his classical attainments and general 
 knowledge we need scarcely speak ; they are every 
 where felt and allowed. His very name calls up all 
 that the imagination can conceive of greatness and 
 true fame. His most elaborate poem in the Dutch 
 language Bewijs van den waeren Godtsdienst (Evi- 
 dence of the true Religion) was written during his 
 confinement at Loevestijn, in the year 1611. He laid 
 the groundwork of that attention to religious duties 
 which is so universal in Holland. The authority of 
 his great name always associated with Christianity 
 with peace with literature with freedom and suffer- 
 ing and virtue has ever been a bulwark of truth 
 and morals. Holland is at this moment disturbed by 
 a renewal of the controversy in which GROTIUS and 
 BARNEVELDT took the leading part j and it would 
 seem as if the better cause had the weaker advocates. 
 The modest epitaph which GROTIUS wrote for himself 
 covers his remains at Delft :
 
 112 HUIG DE GROOT. 
 
 GROTIUS hie HUGO est, Batavum captivus et exul, 
 Legatus regni, Suecia magna, tui. 
 
 His poetical works in his native language seem 
 hardly worthy of his astonishing reputation. His son 
 PIETER DE GROOT was a more successful Dutch poet 
 than his illustrious father. A single specimen may be 
 allowed to intrude, if it were only that it is the pro- 
 duction of HUGO GROTIUS. It is the Dedication of 
 the religious poem which we have mentioned. 
 
 Neemt niet onwaerdig aen dit werkstuk mijner handen. 
 
 RECEIVE not with disdain this product from my hand, 
 O mart of all the world ! O flower of Netherland ! 
 Fair Holland ! Let this live, tho' I may not, with thee ; 
 My bosom's queen ! I show e'en now how fervently 
 I've loved thee through all change thy good and evil 
 
 days 
 
 And love, and still will love, till life itself decays. 
 If here be aught on which thou mayst a thought bestow, 
 Thank Him without whose aid no good from man can 
 
 flow. 
 
 If errors meet thy view, remember kindly then 
 What gathering clouds obscure the feeble eyes of men ; 
 And rather spare than blame this humble work of mine, 
 And think " Alas ! 'twas made 'twas made at Lou- 
 
 vesteijn." ' 
 
 1 Louvesteijn was the place of confinement whence his wife 
 liberated him.
 
 DIRK RAFAEL KAMPHUYZEN. 
 
 BORN 1586 DIED 1626.
 
 Mijn ziel vereert, bemint den menschenvriend, 
 
 Die al zijn waar geluk, in 's Heiland's grootheid vindt. 
 
 BELLAMY.
 
 DIRK RAFAEL KAMPHUYZEN. 
 
 DIRK RAFAEL KAMPHUYZEN was born at Gorkum in 
 1586. While at the university of Leyden, he re- 
 ceived instruction from the renowned Arminius, whose 
 doctrines he embraced. He wrote " Edifying Poems," 
 and a " Paraphrase of the Psalms," and died 9th July 
 1626, after having suffered severe privations and ba- 
 nishment. 
 
 KAMPHUYZEN'S religious poetry is superior to any 
 which preceded it. There is a pure and earnest feel- 
 ing throughout an intense conviction of truth, and 
 an elevated devotion. His May-Morning is one of the 
 most popular productions of the Dutch poets j its har- 
 monious versification and its simplicity have made it 
 the common source of consolation in distress. A line 
 in his Speelsmate (Playmate) is also habitually quoted : 
 
 'Tis wel goedheyts fonteyn, 'tis wel al wat gy doet 
 Fountain of goodness Thou and all Thou dost is well.
 
 116 DIRK RAFAEL KAMPHUYZEN. [1586- 
 
 Gy die uyt 's werelds droom ontwaakt. 
 
 YE who from worldly dreams awake, 
 And that bright path of glory take, 
 Which leads, O God ! to light and Thee, 
 By patience and true piety ; 
 And lo th 1 inheritance which is 
 Eternity of life and bliss : 
 Ye fainting souls, who onward tend, 
 And strive but not unto the end, 
 
 Accept this verse, and deign to scan 
 The precepts of your fellow-man ; 
 Precepts whose influence well might sway 
 Your every act in Virtue's way, 
 And help through life's irriguous course 
 Those precepts of sublimer force, 
 Deduced from God's unerring word, 
 That oft, yet ne'er too oft, is heard. 
 
 What spur requires the willing steed ? 
 The docile no incitement need : 
 The purest is the mightiest fire, 
 And flames, when stirr'd, to heaven aspire. 
 The counsel 's good that warns from ill : 
 If good it plant 'tis better still. 
 Great though the soul's endowments be, 
 The soul knows no satiety.
 
 -1626.] DIRK RAFAEL KAMPHUYZEN. 117 
 
 A knowledge of God's holy Son 
 
 Has taught you worldly thoughts to shun : 
 
 The sin, to which your hearts were tied, 
 
 And, by a stubborn will, allied, 
 
 Your souls reject with grief and shame 
 
 Yes ! shudder at the very name ; 
 
 And see its baneful venom stain 
 
 Your fellow-men with silent pain. 
 
 Ye Folly's heavy chain have broke, 
 And wear Religion's milder yoke ; 
 And ye have left the giddy way, 
 Where ye were idly wont to stray 5 
 And now no longer seek to ken 
 The blinded path of blinded men ; 
 But seize with willing hand the plough : 
 'Tis much yet not enough I trow. 
 
 'Tis not enough in life's steep track, 
 Where halting is but going back ; 
 Wliere virtue still must virtue lead, 
 And quickly stop unless it speed : 
 Where soul and body must be clean 
 Of every stain and every sin : 
 So virtuous zeal shall claim renown, 
 While perseverance wins the crown.
 
 118 DIRK RAFAEL KAMPHUYZEN. [1586- 
 
 The stubborn will must be subdued, 
 Lest it should lead us far from good : 
 Self-love engenders tardiness, 
 And courage flies from keen distress : 
 Dejection makes us tardier still, 
 And thus (for ill 's the step to ill) 
 The dreamer still dreams on and all 
 Who stumble on their journey, fall. 
 
 We slide from good to ill at first, 
 From ill to worse from worse to worst : 
 So good to good will lead the way 
 One virtue is another's stay : 
 Politeness flows from nurtured sense j 
 From active deeds experience ; 
 Experience virtuous firmness lends, 
 And virtuous firmness bliss attends ; 
 
 This bliss a nearer taste can give 
 Of pleasures that for ever live ; 
 The nearer taste, a stronger flight 
 Towards a life of endless light ; 
 The stronger flight, a nobler deed, 
 A new attempt, increasing speed, 
 And (spite of evil-fortune's blast) 
 A brave endurance to the last.
 
 -1626.] DIRK RAFAEL KAMPHUYZEN. 119 
 
 Here many a lesson is convey'd, 
 That, being for the godless made, 
 Ne'er touches those to good inclin'd, 
 Yet still may fix the virtuous mind : 
 All that renown to truth imparts 
 Is changeless joy to pious hearts ; 
 And whatsoever truth displays, 
 Contributes to its fame and praise. 
 
 MAY-MORNING. 
 
 Wat is de Meester wijs en goed. 
 
 WHAT love, what wisdom God displays 
 
 On earth and sea and sky, 
 Where all that fades and all that stays 
 
 Proclaim his majesty ! 
 
 He o'er the world by day, by night 
 Still watches and still wakes ; 
 
 And, kindly varying each delight, 
 The sweet yet sweeter makes. 
 
 Now barren Winter flies the globe, 
 And Spring resumes her reign -, 
 
 And Earth casts down her gloomy robe, 
 And Joy laughs out again.
 
 120 DIRK RAFAEL KAMPHUYZEN. '[1586- 
 
 And Nature wears her fairer dress 
 
 Where Winter lately frown'd, 
 While the Creator's loveliness 
 
 Bursts through the clouds around. 
 
 Tis May ! whose fragrant breath and dyes 
 
 So far o'er earth are gone, 
 That memory all her charms supplies, 
 
 Ere she herself comes on. 
 
 'Tis May ! that loveliest of the year, 
 
 Who with fresh beauty glows ; 
 The air is sweet, the sun beams clear, 
 
 The wished-for zephyr blows. 
 
 At peaceful night the gentle dew 
 
 Descends on field and wood, 
 While nature smiles serenely through, 
 
 In silent gratitude. 
 
 The earth with varied flowers is dight, 
 
 The bees with honey pass, 
 The larks chirp gaily and alight 
 
 Upon the new-born grass. 
 
 The bud its infant blossom yields, 
 
 The tree its leaves displays, 
 While on the crimson clover fields 
 
 The tranquil cattle graze.
 
 -1626.] DIRK RAFAEL KAMPHUYZEN. 121 
 
 The busy insect tribes are blest, 
 And murmuring thoughts are still, 
 
 Save man's whose bosom knows no rest 
 A slave to stubborn will. 
 
 Yes ! man, in whom few virtues glow, 
 
 On guilty pleasures bent, 
 
 To others and himself a foe, 
 
 Destroys his own content. 
 
 To life vain life, which quickly ends, 
 
 As Autumn's withering leaf, 
 And of itself to sorrow tends, 
 
 He adds ideal grief. 
 
 The ox is slaughter'd slight the thrills 
 
 That wait his parting breath ; 
 But man, by self-inflicted ills, 
 
 Dies many times ere death. 
 
 Oh ! blest would be through every stage 
 
 Man's fleeting life on earth, 
 Were he, when stain'd with vice, more sage 
 
 Had he, when sage, more worth. 
 
 Ah ! were the human race but wise, 
 
 And would they reason well, 
 That earth would be a paradise 
 
 Which folly makes a hell.
 
 122 DIRK RAFAEL KAMPHUYZEN. [1586- 
 
 PSALM CXXXIII. 
 
 Heeft yemand lust sijn oogen te vermeyden. 
 
 IF there be one whose thoughts delight to wander 
 In pleasure's fields, where love's bright streams mean- 
 der} 
 
 If there be one who longs to find 
 Where all the purer blisses are enshrin'd, 
 A happy resting-place of virtuous worth, 
 
 A blessed Paradise on earth, 
 
 Let him survey the joy-conferring union 
 
 Of brothers who are bound in fond communion, 
 
 And not by force of blood alone, 
 But by their mutual sympathies are known, 
 And every heart and every mind relies 
 
 Upon fraternal kindred ties. 
 
 Oh ! blest abode, where love is ever vernal, 
 Where tranquil peace and concord are eternal, 
 
 Where none usurp the highest claim, 
 But each with pride asserts the other's fame j 
 Oh ! what are all earth's joys compared to thee 
 
 Fraternal unanimity?
 
 -1626.] DIRK RAFAEL KAMPHUYZEN. 123 
 
 E'en as the ointment whose sweet odours blended 
 From Aaron's head upon his beard descended ; 
 
 Which hung awhile in fragrance there, 
 Bedewing every individual hair, 
 And falling thence, with rich perfume ran o'er 
 
 The holy garb the prophet wore : 
 
 So doth the unity that lives with brothers 
 Share its best blessings and its joys with others, 
 
 And makes them seem as if one frame 
 Contain'd their minds, and they were form'd the same, 
 And spreads its sweetest breath o'er every part, 
 
 Until it penetrates the heart. 
 
 E'en as the dew, that at the break of morning 
 All nature with its beauty is adorning, 
 
 And flows from Hermon calm and still, 
 And bathes the tender grass on Zion's hill, 
 And to the young and withering herb resigns 
 
 The drops for which it pines : 
 
 So are fraternal peace and concord ever 
 
 The cherishers, without whose guidance never 
 
 Would sainted quiet seek the breast 
 The life, the soul of unmolested rest j 
 The antidote to sorrow and distress, 
 
 And prop of human happiness. 
 o2
 
 DIRK RAFAEL KAMPHUYZEN. 
 
 Ah ! happy they whom genial concord blesses : 
 Pleasure for them reserves her fond caresses, 
 
 And joys to mark the fabric rare, 
 On virtue founded, stand unshaken there -, 
 Whence vanish all the passions that destroy 
 
 Tranquillity and inward joy. 
 
 Who practise good are in themselves rewarded, 
 For their own deeds lie in their hearts recorded ; 
 
 And thus fraternal love, when bound 
 By virtue, is with its own blisses crown'd, 
 And tastes in sweetness that itself bestows, 
 
 What use, what power from concord flows. 
 
 God in his boundless mercy joys to meet it ; 
 His promises of future blessings greet it, 
 
 And fixt prosperity, which brings 
 Long life, and ease, beneath its shadowing wings, 
 And joy and fortune that remain sublime 
 
 Beyond all distance, change, and time.
 
 JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. 
 
 BORN 1587 DIED 1679.
 
 Yondeli ! Batavse decus et laus prima camcence ! 
 Fontis inexbaustum flumcn Appollinei. 
 
 BARLJEUS. 
 
 Ja, hier, hier worde uw roem verheven 
 
 Bataafsche Maro en Pindaar ! 
 Hier, waar door 't edelst vuur gedreven 
 
 Ecn vaderlandsche dichtrenschaar 
 Hunne offers voor Apol doet branden 
 Zijn tempel, met vereende handen 
 
 Bij Batoos neven grootscher sticht ; 
 Daar aller glans bij uwen luister 
 O Neerlands zon ! verzinkt in 't duister 
 
 Gelijk de maan bij Febus licht. 
 
 SlEGENBEEK. 
 
 Zie VONDEL, de eer van Neerlands streken 
 
 Verheven, edel, grootsch en stout, 
 Op de oever van zijn graf, hier smeken 
 
 Met ongedekten hoofd om 't sober onderhoud. 
 
 ANON.
 
 JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. 
 
 J COST VAN DEN VONDEL was born at Keulen in 1587, 
 but was removed in infancy to Amsterdam by his pa- 
 rents. At the early age of 13 he is said to have been 
 flatteringly noticed by HOOFT. His education, how- 
 ever, was much neglected, as he did not commence a 
 course of study until he was more than twenty-six 
 years of age : but his perseverance and inexhaustible 
 application surmounted every difficulty j and by as- 
 sociating with such men as Vossius and BARLSUS, 
 HOOFT and GROTIUS, he improved himself not only 
 in the manner of expressing his thoughts, but even 
 in the action of thinking. He acquired a very ex- 
 tensive general knowledge, and as a poet has never 
 been rivalled in Holland. His Tragedies are, per- 
 haps, the grandest specimens of Dutch literature. 
 His Satires are indicative of the period in which he 
 lived full of force and energy and spirit, without that 
 delicacy of expression which the refinement of the pre- 
 sent day exacts. His Epigrams have a similar cha- 
 racter. His " Lucifer" is the most splendid and in- 
 spired poem in the language, and has often been com- 
 pared with our Milton's Paradise Lost. l 
 
 1 See an interesting paper in Siegenbeek's Museum, entitled 
 " Vergelijking van Vondel en Milton."
 
 128 JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. [1587- 
 
 VONDKI/S character was deeply imbued with reli- 
 gious enthusiasm. From the Bible he took almost all 
 the subjects of his tragedies : yet his mind had little 
 fixedness of principle. He wrote eagerly in favour of 
 Arminianism ; and afterwards, like many a continental 
 poet, embraced Catholicism, and became the zealous 
 advocate of the papal usurpation. His sincerity can- 
 not be suspected ; nor let it be forgotten that the 
 gorgeous machinery of the church of Rome has some- 
 thing wherewith to awe and much wherewith to at- 
 tract the imagination of the enthusiast. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Waer wert oprechter trou. 
 (From the Gysbrecht van Aemstel.) 
 
 WHAT sweeter brighter bliss 
 Can charm a world like this. 
 Than sympathy's communion ; 
 Two spirits mingling in their purest glow, 
 And bound in firmest union 
 In love, joy, woe ! 
 
 The heart-encircling bond, 
 Which binds the mother fond 
 To the sweet child, that sleepeth 
 Upon the bosom whence he drinks his food 
 So close around that heart his spirit creepeth 
 It binds the blood.
 
 -1679.] JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. 129 
 
 But there 's a firmer band, . 
 
 When mortals hand in hand, 
 Whom joy nor grief can sever, 
 Tread the long paths of years secure, 
 Led on by sacred peace and virtue ever 
 As nature pure. 
 
 Tis then that love's control 
 Commingles soul with soul, 
 Spirit to spirit gathers 
 A love that 's stronger even than fate, 
 
 'Tis like an effluence from the eternal Father's, 
 So bright so great ! 
 
 It cannot be subdued, 
 It is the noblest good 
 That nature's hand has given : 
 'Tis like a well-cemented wall 
 
 That boldly rears its front to heaven, 
 And suffers all. 
 
 If thou have seen the love 
 Of the fond turtle dove, 
 On the dry branch bewailing 
 Her absent mate in mournful song, 
 Pouring her sorrow unavailing 
 Her whole life long : 
 05
 
 130 JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. [1587- 
 
 So Aemstel's fair She stood 
 And melted like a flood 
 To tears ; her race was scatter'd, 
 Her subjects and her city razed, 
 And all in blood and darkness shatter'd, 
 E'en while she gazed. 
 
 O God ! disperse the gloom, 
 Lead her tired spirit home 
 From this dark path of sadness j 
 For hope and peace stretch out their hands, 
 And bid her look in joy and gladness 
 Where Aemstel stands. 
 
 CHORUS OF ANGELS. 
 
 Wie is het, die soo hoogh gezeten. 
 (From Lucifer.) 
 
 WHO sits above heaven's heights sublime, 
 
 Yet fills the grave's profoundest place, 
 Beyond eternity, or time, 
 
 Or the vast round of viewless space : 
 Who on Himself alone depends 
 
 Immortal glorious but unseen- 
 And in His mighty being blends 
 
 What rolls around or flows within.
 
 -1679.] JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. 131 
 
 Of all we know not all we know 
 
 Prime source and origin a sea, 
 Whose waters pour'd on earth below 
 
 Wake blessing's brightest radiancy. 
 His power love wisdom, first exalted 
 
 And waken'd from oblivion's birth 
 Yon starry arch yon palace, vaulted 
 
 Yon heaven of heavens to smile on earth. 
 From His resplendent majesty 
 
 We shade us 'neath our sheltering wings, 
 While awe-inspired and tremblingly 
 
 We praise the glorious King of kings, 
 With sight and sense confused and dim ; 
 
 O name describe the Lord of lords, 
 The seraphs' praise shall hallow Him ; 
 
 Or is the theme too vast for words ? 
 
 RESPONSE. 
 
 Tis GOD ! who pours the living glow 
 
 Of light, creation's fountain-head : 
 Forgive the praise too mean and low 
 
 Or from the living or the dead. 
 
 No tongue Thy peerless name hath spoken, 
 No space can hold that awful name ; 
 
 The aspiring spirit's wing is broken ; 
 Thou wilt be, wert, and art the same !
 
 132 JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. [1587- 
 
 Language is dumb Imagination, 
 
 Knowledge, and Science, helpless fall ; 
 They are irreverent profanation, 
 
 And thou, O God ! art all in all. 
 How vain on such a thought to dwell ! 
 
 Who knows Thee Thee the All-unknown ": 
 Can angels be thy oracle, 
 
 Who art who art Thyself alone ? 
 None none can trace Thy course sublime, 
 
 For none can catch a ray from Thee, 
 The splendour and the source of time 
 
 The Eternal of eternity. 
 Thy light of light out-pour'd conveys 
 
 Salvation in its flight elysian, 
 Brighter than e'en Thy mercy's rays ; 
 
 But vainly would our feeble vision 
 Aspire to Thee. From day to day 
 
 Age steals on us but meets Thee never : 
 Thy power is life's support and stay 
 
 We praise Thee sing Thee, Lord ! for ever. 
 Holy holy holy ! Praise 
 
 Praise be His in every land ; 
 Safety in His presence stays 
 
 Sacred is His high command !
 
 -1679.] JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. 133 
 
 ADAM AND EVE'S ALTERNATE HYMN. 
 
 (From the Tragedy of Adam in Banishment.) 
 
 Daer rijst het alverquickend licht 
 
 ADAH. 
 
 THE all-quickening light is rolling there, 
 
 Which bids the shadowy forms emerge 
 
 From yon horizon's furthest verge, 
 And flit across earth's bosom fair : 
 The song of birds salutes the day 
 
 A song whose chorus soars to Him 
 
 Who pours on all his blessing's beam, 
 And wakes the universal lay. 
 Come, let us join that choral song 3 
 
 Come, let our voices blend with theirs ; 
 
 And as their praises float along 
 We'll pour the incense of our prayers. 
 I'll lead the grateful hymn, my love ! 
 
 And thou a sweeter strain shall bring ; 
 
 How shall we celebrate how sing 
 The Spirit blest that reigns above ! 
 
 EVE. 
 
 Yes ! Let us sing of God the spring, 
 
 The source of all we feel and see ; 
 
 What theme can be so blest as He- 
 Director liie-sustainer king !
 
 134- JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. [1587- 
 
 Lift, lift, my love ! thy thoughts on high ; 
 I'll follow their sublimest flight, 
 And hill and wood and valley bright 
 
 Shall to the joyous hymn reply. 
 
 O Father ! we approach Thy throne, 
 Who bidd'st the glorious sun arise : 
 All-good, Almighty, and All-wise ! 
 
 Great source of all things God alone ! 
 
 We see Thee, brighter than the rays 
 Of the bright sun : we see Thee shine, 
 As in a fountain's face divine j 
 
 We see Thee endless fount of days : 
 
 We see Thee, who our frames hast brought, 
 With one swift word, from senseless clay- 
 Waked with one glance of heavenly ray, 
 
 Our never-dying souls from nought. 
 
 Those souls Thou lightedst with the spark 
 Of Thy pure fire and gracious still 
 Gav'st immortality free will, 
 
 And language not involved, nor dark. 
 
 EVE. 
 
 God God be praised ! who form'd us thus , 
 He was, and is, and shall endure : 
 Pure He shall make all nature pure, 
 
 And fix his dwelling here with us.
 
 -1679.] JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. 135 
 
 What sweeter thought what stronger token 
 
 Than that his everlasting hand 
 
 Body and soul in holy band 
 Hath bound that never shall be broken ! 
 
 "fis He whose kind and generous care 
 This lovely garden's range hath planted, 
 Where nought that charms desire is wanted, 
 
 And joy 's a guest immortal here. 
 
 The fount of life whence waters living 
 O'erspreading all the garden flow 
 Bright flowers upon their borders grow, 
 
 While to the trees life's food they're giving. 
 
 Here blooms the life-imparting tree, 
 Whose fruit, just hid in silvery leaves, 
 Makes man a spirit, and retrieves 
 
 His weakness and satiety. 
 
 The dews from morning's vault that fall, 
 Are honeyed manna on our tongue : 
 Shall not his hallow'd praise be sung, 
 
 Whom nature sings the Source of all ? 
 
 O blest be He who blessings pours ! 
 Who fills the heart with tenderness, 
 And with his richest gifts will bless 
 
 He wondrous whom our tongue adores.
 
 136 JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. [1587- 
 
 A full, o'erflowing horn of good 
 Upon our Eden he has shower'd, 
 And peace and hope and joy embower'd 
 
 In its sweet silent solitude. 
 
 Yes ! now I feel the charm divine, 
 Yes ! now I feel the bliss, the pride, 
 To press thee, dearest ! to my side, 
 
 And join my early vows to thine. 
 
 A unity in love cemented, 
 
 Blest by thy presence and by thee 
 Gilded with smiles and purity, 
 
 May make my exiled soul contented. 
 
 O sister daughter fairest bride, 
 What shall I call thee ? Paradise 
 Has million flowers that smiling rise 
 
 To kiss thy feet well satisfied. 
 
 KVJE. 
 
 Love ! one shall be our will, and one 
 Our fate, from the first dawn of day, 
 When the bright sun begins his way, 
 
 To when his weary course is done. 
 
 Peace, tenderness, and joy a shrine 
 Sacred to cheerful love and praise 
 To Him, the Lord of ceaseless days, 
 
 Who blended thy fond heart with mine.
 
 -1679.] JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. 137 
 
 CHRISTIAN PATIENCE. 
 
 't Gekruist gedult vint nergens stoe. 
 
 POOR Patience finds no rest, save where 
 Wild ocean to the storm lies bare : 
 She sits, with chattering teeth, alone 
 Half-naked, on a cold rough stone, 
 O'er which the angry waters spring ; 
 While tempest-clouds their mantles fling 
 O'er the faint stars, and leave no ray 
 Of sparkling light to cheer her way. 
 Or if a transient beam is brightening, 
 'Tis but the blasting fire of lightning, 
 When from the dark dense clouds the flash 
 Heralds the thunder's horrid crash. 
 Around her, from the troubled sand, 
 There bursts a monstrous flare-eyed band, 
 That hang upon the shaken cliff, 
 Like ghosts but see a nearing skiff 
 Speed o'er the surge Hope smiles again 
 Her course is changed that hope was vain. 
 Yet bore she seeming friends even there j 
 Ah ! cold unloving hearts they were : 
 One pitying cry was heard " Lay to ! " 
 Till startled at the threatening view 
 Of death, they shout " Hold off ! " nor brave 
 The dread memento of the grave !
 
 138 JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. [1587- 
 
 And what is left ? for torturing grief 
 What stay what solace what relief ? 
 A taintless conscience sole estate 
 The spirit owns when desolate. 
 A treasure suffering virtue bears, 
 Which gilds with smiles her deepest tears ; 
 And, though no Comfort hails her none 
 Still meekly says " God's will be done ! " 
 
 TO GEERAERT VOSSIUS, 
 
 ON THE LOSS OF HIS SON. 
 Wat treurtge, hooghgeleerde Vos. 
 
 WHY mourn'st thou, Vossius ! why has pain 
 Its furrows to thy pale brow given ? 
 Seek not to hold thy son from heaven ! 
 
 'Tis heaven that draws resign him then. 
 
 Yes ! banish every futile tear, 
 
 And offer to its Source above, 
 
 In gratitude and humble love, 
 The choicest of thy treasures here. 
 
 We murmur if the bark should strand ; 
 But not when, richly laden, she 
 Comes from the wild and raging sea, 
 
 Within a haven safe to land.
 
 -1679.] JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. 139 
 
 We murmur if the balm be shed ; 
 Yes ! murmur for the odour's sake : 
 But not whene'er the glass may break, 
 
 If that which fill'd it be not fled. 
 
 He strives in vain who seeks to stay 
 The bounding waters in their course, 
 When hurl'd from rocks with giant force, 
 
 Towards some calm and spacious bay. 
 
 Thus turns the earthly globe ; though o'er 
 
 His infant's corse a father mourn, 
 
 Or child bedew its parents' urn, 
 Death passes neither house nor door. 
 
 Death, nor for gay and blooming youth 
 
 Nor peevish age, his stroke defers ; 
 
 He chains the lips of orators, 
 Nor cares for wisdom, worth, or truth. 
 
 Blest is the mind that, fix'd and free, 
 To wanton pleasures scorns to yield, 
 And wards, as with a pliant shield, 
 
 The arrows of adversity.
 
 140 JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. [1587- 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 (From Gysbrecht van Aemstel.} 
 O Kersnacht, schooner dan de dagen. 
 
 O NIGHT ! far lovelier than the day ! 
 How can Herodes bear the ray, 
 
 Whose consecrated, hallow'd glows 
 Rich splendour o'er this darkness spread ? 
 To reason's call his pride is dead ; 
 
 Her voice his heart no longer knows. 
 
 By slaughter of the guiltless, he 
 Would raise up guilt and tyranny. 
 
 He bids a loud lament awake 
 In Bethlehem and o'er the plain, 
 And Rachel's spirit rise again, 
 
 To haunt the desolate field and brake. 
 
 Now wandering east, now wandering west, 
 For her, lone mother, where is rest, 
 
 Now that her children are no more ? 
 Now that she sees them blood-stain'd lie, 
 Even at their births condemn'd to die, 
 
 And swords unnumber'd red with gore '. 
 
 She sees the milk, no nurture bringing, 
 Unto their lifeless pale lips clinging,
 
 -1679.] JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. 141 
 
 Torn from their mother's breast but late ; 
 She marks the stagnant tears reclining, 
 Like dew, upon their cold cheeks shining 
 
 Poor victims of a ruthless fate. 
 
 The brows now pallid, dimm'd and fading, 
 Those closed and joyless eyes are shading, 
 
 Whose rays pure lustre once had given, 
 Like stars 5 and with their playful light, 
 Ere cover'd with death's cloud of night, 
 
 Transform'd the visage to a heaven. 
 
 Vain are description's feeble powers 
 To number all the infant flowers, 
 
 Which faded died when scarcely born, 
 Before their opening leaves could greet 
 The wooing air with fragrance sweet, 
 
 Or drink the earliest dew of morn ! 
 
 So falls the corn beneath the sickle, 
 So shake the leaves, when tempests fickle 
 Awake the mountain's voice from thrall : 
 What can result from blind Ambition, 
 When raging with some dark suspicion ! 
 What bard so vile to mourn its fall !
 
 14-2 JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. [1587- 
 
 Then, Rachel, haunt not spots once cherish'd ; 
 Thy children even as martyrs perish'd : 
 
 Those first-loved fruits that sprang from thee, 
 From which thy heart was doom'd to sever, 
 In praise of God, shall bloom for ever, 
 
 Unhurt untouch'd by tyranny. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 (From Palamedes.') 
 Het dun gezaeit gestarnt verschiet. 
 
 THE thinly-sprinkled stars surrender 
 To early dawn their dying splendour ; 
 The shades of night are dim and far, 
 And now before the morning-star 
 The heavenly legions disappear : 
 The constellation's l charioteer 
 No longer in the darkness burns, 
 But backward his bright courser turns. 
 Now golden Titan, from the sea. 
 With azure steeds comes gloriously, 
 And shines o'er woods and dells and downs, 
 And soaring Ida's leafy crowns. 
 
 1 Ursa major.
 
 -1679.] JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. 143 
 
 O sweetly-welcome break of morn ! 
 
 Thou dost with happiness adorn 
 
 The heart of him who cheerily 
 
 Contentedly unwearily 
 
 Surveys whatever nature gives, 
 
 What beauty in her presence lives, 
 
 And wanders oft the banks along 
 
 Of some sweet stream with murmuring song. 
 
 Oh ! more than regal is his lot, 
 
 Who, in some blest secluded spot, 
 
 Remote from crowded cares and fears, 
 
 His loved his cherish'd dwelling rears ! 
 
 For empty praises never pining, 
 
 His wishes to his cot confining, 
 
 And listening to each cheerful bird 
 
 Whose animating song is heard : 
 
 When morning dews, which zephyr's sigh 
 
 Has wafted, on the roses lie, 
 
 Whose leaves beneath the pearl-drops bend ; 
 
 When thousand rich perfumes ascend, 
 
 And thousand hues adorn the bowers, 
 
 And form a rainbow of sweet flowers, 
 
 Or bridal robe for Iris made 
 
 From every bud in sun or shade. 
 
 Contented there to plant or set, 
 
 Or snare the birds with crafty net ;
 
 144- JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. [1586- 
 
 To grasp his bending rod, and wander 
 Beside the banks where waves meander, 
 And thence their fluttering tenants take ; 
 Or, rising ere the sun's awake, 
 Prepare his steed, and scour the grounds 
 And chase the hare with swift-paced hounds ; 
 Or ride beneath the noon -tide rays 
 Through peaceful glens and silent ways, 
 Which wind like Cretan labyrinth : 
 Or where the purple hyacinth 
 Is glowing on its bed ; or where 
 The meads red-speckled daisies bear. 
 Whilst maidens milk the grazing cow, 
 And peasants toil behind the plough, 
 Or reap the crops beneath their feet, 
 Or sow luxuriant flax or wheat. 
 Here flourishes the waving corn, 
 Encircled by the wounding thorn : 
 There glides a bark by meadows green, 
 And there the village smoke is seen : 
 And there a castle meets the view, 
 Half-fading in the distance blue. 
 How hard, how wretched is his doom 
 Whom sorrows follow to the tomb, 
 And whom, from morn till quiet eve, 
 Distresses pain and troubles grieve,
 
 -1679.] JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. 145 
 
 And cares oppress ; for these await 
 The slave, who in a restless state 
 Would bid the form of concord flee, 
 And call his object liberty. 
 He finds his actions all pursued 
 By envy or ingratitude : 
 The robe is honouring, I confess, 
 The cushion has its stateliness ; 
 But, oh ! they are a burthen too ! 
 And pains spring up, for ever new, 
 Beneath the roof which errors stain, 
 And where the strife is who shall reign. 
 
 But he who lives in rural ease 
 Avoids the cares that torture these : 
 No golden chalices invite 
 To quaff the deadly aconite j 
 Nor dreads he secret foes, who lurk 
 Behind the throne with coward dirk 
 Assassin-friends whose murderous blow 
 Lays all the pride of greatness low. 
 No fears his even life annoy, 
 Nor feels he pride, nor finds he joy 
 In popularity that brings 
 A fickle pleasure, and then stings. 
 He is not roused at night from bed. 
 With weary eyes and giddy head ;
 
 146 JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. [1587- 
 
 At morn no long petitions vex him, 
 Nor scrutinizing looks perplex him : 
 He has no joy in others' cares ; 
 He bears and while he bears, forbears j 
 And from the world he oft retreats 
 Where learning's gentle smiles he meets : 
 He heeds not priestcraft's ban or praise, 
 But scorns the deep anathemas 
 Which he, who in his blindness errs, 
 Receives from these God's messengers ! 
 
 Near rocks where danger ever lies, 
 Through storms of evil auguries 
 Proceeding from calumnious throats, 
 The exhausted Palamedes floats : 
 And shipwreck'd he must be at last, 
 If Neptune do not kindly cast 
 Protection round him, and appease 
 With trident-sway these foaming seas.
 
 -1679.] JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. 147 
 
 CHORUS OF BATAVIAN WOMEN. 
 
 ( From the Batavian Brothers.) 
 Geluckigh leefden wij. 
 
 STROPHE. 
 
 OURS was a happy lot, 
 Ere foreign tyrants brought 
 The servile iron yoke, which bound 
 Our necks with humbling slavery to the ground. 
 Once all was confidence and peace j the just 
 Might to his neighbour trust : 
 The common plough turn'd up the common land, 
 And nature scatter'd joy with liberal hand. 
 The humble cot of clay 
 
 Kept the thick shower, the wind, and hail away : 
 Upon the frugal board 
 No luxuries were stored ; 
 But 'neath a forest tree the table stood 
 A simple plank unpolished and rude : 
 Our feasts the wild game of the wood, 
 And curds and cheese our daily food. 
 Man, in his early virtues blest, 
 Slept satisfied on woman's breast, 
 Who, modest and confiding, saw 
 In him her lord, and love, and law. 
 H 2
 
 14-8 JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. [1587- 
 
 Then was the stranger and the neighbour, each, 
 Welcomed with cordial thoughts and honest speech j 
 
 And days flow'd cheerful on, as days should flow 
 
 Unmoved by distant or domestic woe. 
 
 ANTISTROPHE. 
 
 Then was no value set on silver things, 
 
 Nor golden stores, nor coin, nor dazzling rings j 
 
 They barter'd what they had, for what they wanted, 
 
 And sought no foreign shores, but planted 
 Their own low dwellings in their mother land ; 
 Raised all by their own hand, 
 
 And furnisht with whatever man requires 
 
 For his moderate desires. 
 They had no proud adornings were not gilt 
 Nor sculptured nor in crowded cities built j 
 
 But in wide scatter'd villages they spread 
 
 Where stand no friendly lamps above the head : 
 Rough and undeckt the simple cot, 
 With the rich show of pomp encumber'd not. 
 
 As when in decorated piles are seen 
 
 The bright fruits peeping through the foliage green ; 
 Bark of the trees and hides of cattle cover 
 The lowly hut when storms rage fiercely over j 
 
 Man had not learnt the use of stone 
 
 Tiles and cement were all unknown
 
 -1679.] JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. 1*9 
 
 Some place of shelter dug dark dreary far, 
 For the dread hour of danger or of war, 
 
 When the stray-pirate broke on the serene 
 
 And cheerful quiet of that early scene. 
 
 STKOPHE. 
 
 No usurer, then, with avarice' burning thirst, 
 
 His fellow men had curst ; 
 
 The coarse-wove flax, the unwrought fleece alone, 
 On the half-naked sturdy limbs were thrown : 
 The daughters married late 
 To a laborious fate ; 
 
 And to their husbands bore a healthy race, 
 To take their fathers' place. 
 
 If e'er dispute or discord dared intrude, 
 
 'Twas soon, by wisdom's voice, subdued ; 
 The wisest then was called to reign, 
 The bravest did the victory gain : 
 
 The proud were made to feel 
 
 They must submit them to the general weal ; 
 For to the proud and high a given way 
 Was mark'd, that thence they might not stray; 
 
 And thus was freedom kept alive. 
 
 Rulers were taught to strive 
 For subjects' happiness and subjects brought 
 The cheerful tribute of obedient thought ;
 
 150 JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. [1587- 
 
 And 'twas indeed a glorious sight, 
 
 To see them wave their weapons bright : 
 
 No venal bands, the murderous hordes of fame ; 
 
 But freedom's sons all armed in freedom's name. 
 
 ANTISTROPHE. 
 
 No judge out-dealing justice in his hate, 
 
 Nor in his favour Wisdom's train sedate 
 Of books, and proud philosophy, 
 And stately speech, could never needed be, 
 
 While they for virtue's counsellings might look 
 
 On Nature's open book, 
 
 Where bright and free the Godhead's glory falls : 
 Not on the imprisoning walls 
 
 Of temples for their temple was the wood 
 
 The heavens its arch its aisles were solitude. 
 And then they sang the praise 
 Of heroes, and the seers of older days : 
 
 They never dared to pry 
 
 Into the mysteries of the Deity 3 
 They never weigh'd His schemes, nor judged His will 
 But saw his works, and loved and praised Him still 
 
 Obey'd in awe kept pure their hearts within, 
 
 For this they knew God hates and scourges sin : 
 Some dreams of future bliss were theirs, 
 To gild their joys and chase their cares ;
 
 -1679.] JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. 151 
 
 And thus they dwelt, and thus they died, 
 
 With guardian-freedom at their side, 
 The happy tenants of a happy soil 
 Till came the cruel stranger to despoil. 
 
 EPODE. 
 
 But, oh ! that blessed time is past j 
 
 The strangers now possess our land ; 
 Batavia is subdued at last 
 
 Batavia fetter'd, ruin'd, bann'd ! 
 Yes ! honour, truth have taken flight 
 
 To seats sublimer, thrones more pure. 
 Look, Julius ! from thy throne of light, 
 
 See what thy Holland's sons endure ; 
 Thy children still are proud to claim 
 
 Their Roman blood, their source from thee ; 
 Friends, brothers, comrades bear the name 
 
 Desert them not in misery ! 
 Terror and power and cruel wrong 
 
 Have a free people's bliss undone ; 
 Too harsh their sway their rule too long. 
 
 Arouse thee from thy cloudy throne j 
 And if thou hate disgrace and crime, 
 
 Recall, recall departed time.
 
 152 JOOST VAN DEN VONDEL. 
 
 Konstantijntje 't zaligh Kijntje. 
 
 INFANT fairest beauty rarest 
 
 Who repairest from above ; 
 Whose sweet smiling, woe-beguiling, 
 
 Lights us with a heavenly love. 
 Mother ! mourn not I return not 
 
 Wherefore learn not to be blest ? 
 Heaven's my home now, where I roam now- 
 
 I an angel, and at rest. 
 Why distress thee ? Still I'll bless thee 
 
 Still caress thee, though I'm fled ; 
 Cheer life's dullness pour heaven's fullness 
 
 Of bright glory on thy head. 
 Leave behind thee thoughts that bind thee 
 
 Dreams that blind thee in their glare : 
 Look before thee, round thee, o'er thee 
 
 Heaven invites thee I am there !
 
 CONSTANTIJN HUIJGENS. 
 
 BORN 1596 DIED 1687. 
 
 a 5
 
 Gestoffeerde Galerijen 
 Vol van kunst en wetenschap. 
 
 Bloemhof mild van geur, 
 Rijk door zijn verscheidenheden 
 Van gedaante en levend kleur. 
 
 VONDEL.
 
 CONSTANTIJN HUIJGENS. 
 
 CvONSTANTUN HuiJGENS, the friend Of HOOFT, CATS, 
 
 and VONDEL, secretary to three princes of Nassau in 
 succession, knight and lord of Zuijlichem, and ac- 
 countant to the Prince of Orange, was born at the 
 Hague in 1596. He was acquainted with almost all 
 the living as well as the dead languages, and possessed 
 a fund of general knowledge. He has been frequently 
 compared to Voltaire for the extent of his erudition 
 and the shrewdness of his mind. His son was the in- 
 ventor of the pendulum. 
 
 HUIJGENS sometimes condescended to petty con- 
 ceits. He had Petrarch's authority : 
 
 Rotta e 1* aha Colonna e '1 verde Lauro. 
 
 So HUIJGENS, whose wife was called STERRE (Star). 
 
 My STAR is clad in gloom, 
 And a white cloud hangs damply on her cheeks.
 
 156 CONSTANTIJN HUIJGENS. [1596- 
 
 A KING. 
 
 Hij is een' menigte besloten in een' kroon. 
 
 HE 's a crown 'd multitude his doom is hard ; 
 
 Servant to each, a slave without reward : 
 
 The state's tall roof on which the tempests fall ; 
 
 The reckoning book that bears the debts of all : 
 
 He borrows little, yet is forced to pay 
 
 The most usurious interest day by day : 
 
 A fetter'd freeman an imploring lord 
 
 A ruling suppliant a rhyming word : 
 
 A lightning-flash that breaks all bonds asunder, 
 
 And spares what yields a cloud that speaks in thnnder : 
 
 A sun in darkness and in day that smites, 
 
 A plague that on the whirlwind's storm alights : 
 
 A lesser God a rudder to impel, 
 
 Targe for ingratitude, and flattery's bell ; 
 
 In fortune praised in sorrow shunn'd ; his lot 
 
 To be adored deserted and forgot. 
 
 His wish a thousand hurry to fulfill) 
 
 His will is law his law is all men's will : 
 
 His breath is choked by sweetly-sounding lies, 
 
 And seeming mirth, and cheating flatteries, 
 
 Which ever waft truth's accents from his ear ; 
 
 And if perchance its music he should hear, 
 
 They break its force, and through the crooked way 
 
 Of their delusions flatter and betray.
 
 -1687.] CONSTANTIJN HUIJGENS. 157 
 
 He knows no love its smiles are all forbidden j 
 
 He has no friend thus virtue's charms are hidden ; 
 
 All round is self the proud no friends possess j 
 
 Life is with them but scorn and heartlessness : 
 
 He is a suitor forced by fear to wed, 
 
 And wooes the daughter, though the sire he dread, 
 
 In this far less than even the lowest slave 
 
 That fells the tree or cleaves the rising wave. 
 
 His friends are foes when tried Corruption flies 
 
 O'er his disorder'd country when he dies. 
 
 If long success from virtue's path entice, 
 
 They will not blend their honour with his vice, 
 
 But rather shed their tears in that swift stream 
 
 Against whose might their might is as a dream. 
 
 His days are not his own, for smiles and sorrow 
 
 Visit him each : the eventide, the morrow 
 
 Deny him rest sleep's influence steals not o'er him : 
 
 Wearied he lives, and joy retreats before him. 
 
 Beneath care's sickle all his flowers decay j 
 
 His sparkling cup in dullness sinks away. 
 
 His son on tiptoe stands to seize the crown, 
 
 Which a few years of woes shall tumble down. 
 
 O gilded thistle ! why should mortals crave thec, 
 
 Who art but bitter medicine when they have thee ! 
 
 Or why aspire to state ne'er long possest 
 
 By dangers ever circled, and no rest !
 
 158 CONSTANT/UN HUIJGENS. [1596- 
 
 Maer de Vroegh-tijd is verloopen. 
 SWIFTLY is the morn-tide fleeting, 
 
 On my willing muse I'll call, 
 For the sun is now retreating 
 
 To his golden southern hall : 
 Morning's crowds are all departed 
 
 From the thickly-peopled street ; 
 All the city's walks deserted, 
 
 Shady solitudes to greet. 
 
 But by thee I'll not be driven, 
 
 Fiercely shining lamp on high 
 Measurer of our days from heaven 
 
 Year-disposer glorious eye ; 
 Mist-absorber spring-returner 
 
 Day-prolonger summer's mate ; 
 Beast-annoyer visage-burner 
 
 Fair-one's spoiler maiden's hate ; 
 
 Cloud-disperser darkness-breaker 
 
 Moon -surpriser starlight-thief; 
 Torch-conductor shadow-maker 
 
 Rogue-discoverer eyes' relief ; 
 Linen -bleacher noiseless stroller 
 
 All-observer gilding all ; 
 Dust-disturber planet-roller 
 
 Traveller's friend, and day-break's call ;
 
 -1687.] CONSTANTIJN HUIJGENS. 159 
 
 Let thy flashes be directed 
 
 To the waste, from me aloof: 
 1 am from their heat protected 
 
 By my sheltering linden-roof. 
 When thy Dog-star, first appearing, 
 
 Casts around his scorching eye, 
 Here, no more his anger fearing, 
 
 Him I call, and him defy. 
 
 Yes ! let all the mists, exhaling 
 
 From the marshes, meet and blend ; 
 Let them all, at once assailing, 
 
 In one giant mass descend. 
 Still at rest, and uncomplaining, 
 
 Nor of aught that falls afraid, 
 Cool in heat, and when 'tis raining 
 
 Dry beneath my linden-shade. 
 
 Oh ! how often have I spoken 
 
 Of the zephyr's fragrant sigh, 
 (Which through playful leaves has broken, 
 
 And in murmurs glided by 
 For the love of summer pining,) 
 
 Doubting whether I might be 
 On the cool green's breast reclining, 
 
 Or a gale of greenery.
 
 160 CONSTANTIJN HUIJGENS. [1596- 
 
 " Frigid Chloris ! marble-hearted ! " 
 
 (Late I heard a lover mourn, 
 Who with quenchless passion smarted, 
 
 Hopeless of a kind return) 
 " Chloris, whom I love sincerely, 
 
 And for whom I sigh and pray, 
 Truth to thee was bought more dearly 
 Than thou ever canst repay. 
 
 " Has the fierce and weakening power 
 
 Of the exhausting summer-heat 
 Made thee oft-times seek the bower, 
 
 And the linden's cool retreat ? 
 Hast thou here so soft been shaded 
 
 By the foliage which it bears, 
 And in peacefulness evaded 
 
 All the noontide's fretful cares, 
 
 " Thinking never of the anguish, 
 
 Thinking never of the throes, 
 He must feel, whose heart must languish 
 
 'Neath a flame that always glows ? 
 He need never fear the splendour 
 
 Of a sun in distant skies, 
 But he must at once surrender 
 
 To thy near and brilliant eyes :
 
 -1687.] CONSTANTIJN HUIJGENS. 161 
 
 " To thy brilliant eyes, whose glances 
 
 Led me when a thoughtless boy 3 
 Causes of my feverish trances, 
 
 And my terror and my joy. 
 Eyes ! which kill your faithful lover 
 
 With your hot and poisonous ray, 
 Will ye ne'er to her discover 
 
 How I waste and pine away ? 
 
 " Through the crystal jet that sways me, 
 
 May my Chloris never see 
 That one gentle sigh might raise me 
 
 From the depths of misery : 
 Misery uncontrol'd unbounded 
 
 Only sway'd when she is near j 
 Depth of mystery never sounded ! 
 
 Mystery she alone can clear." 
 
 Of his love (he could not quell it), 
 
 Of her coldness more he said, 
 But I have no time to tell it, 
 
 Caution'd by the evening's shade. 
 Suitors ! would you learn the history 
 
 Which my muse would fain conceal, 
 In your bosoms read the mystery 
 
 All its pains and pleasures feel !
 
 162 CONSTANT/UN HUIJGENS. [1596- 
 
 Sun and flocks have homeward wended, 
 
 Wrapt in shade is every bough ; 
 Dews and darkness have descended, 
 
 Maidens' charms are equal now. 
 Equal are all cheeks in flushes, 
 
 Eyes alike in beauty share ; 
 Equal is each lip in blushes, 
 
 Every mouth is just as fair. 
 
 TO THE DIRECTORS OF AMSTERDAM, 
 
 IN THEIR NEW STADTHOUSE. 
 Doorluchte stichteren \an 's werelts achtste wonder. 
 
 ILLUSTRIOUS men ! who bade the world's eighth won- 
 der rise, 
 
 Lifting its crown of stone sublimely to the skies ; 
 
 Whose splendid walls are rear'd by skill's unerring 
 hand, 
 
 To Use, the end, the source of all that 's rich and grand ; 
 
 May God, who gave you power to mingle good with 
 show, 
 
 Within that stately pile his favouring smiles bestow, 
 
 That ye to all the world may prove what men ye are ; 
 
 And peace be ever there and misery banish'd far.
 
 -1687.] CONSTANTIJN HUIJGENS. 163 
 
 But if it be ordain'd, when years have roll'd away, 
 That e'en these marble walls must crumble and decay ; 
 And if it be by Heav'n, in future times, decreed, 
 That to your wondrous work another must succeed, 
 May God, your fathers' God may God, your chil- 
 dren's father, 
 Beneath his shadowing wings those children kindly 
 
 gather, 
 And give them an abode, when ye from earth have 
 
 past, 
 As much excelling this, as this excels the last ! 
 
 GENEROUS THANKS. 
 
 Gierige Gijs had zich over gesorghd. 
 
 OXCK afflicted with fancies, a miserly elf 
 
 In a moment of trouble suspended himself : 
 
 And a second or two would have ended the clown ; 
 
 When his servant came in, and with speed cut him 
 
 down. 
 
 But as soon as the miser could give his words scope ; 
 He said, " Tom, I thank you ; but pay for the rope."
 
 164 CONSTANTIJN HUIJGENS. 
 
 ON PETER'S POETRY. 
 
 Schrijft Pieter altemet een veers. 
 
 WHEN Peter condescends to write, 
 His verse deserves to see the light. 
 If any further you inquire, 
 I mean the candle or the fire. 
 
 EPIGRAM. 
 
 Sij liegen 't die verkkeren. 
 
 THEY know full well the lying art, 
 Who say that Derrick has no heart : 
 In dangers, sir, of every kind 
 
 He feels it lives it ne'er dissembles ; 
 And at the smallest breath of wind, 
 
 E'en as the poplar's leaves, it trembles.
 
 JEREMIAS DE DECKER. 
 
 BORN 1610 DIED 1666.
 
 Geest en verstant, die twee eigentlijke punten, waerop des 
 menschen bequaemheit bestaet, en welker een zonder den ande- 
 ren te hebben, slechts een half gelukkigen uitmaekt, blinken 
 alomme zoo heerlijk, en met zoo veele aenlokkende sieraden 
 in zijne werken uit, dat geene jaren, noch bitze haet en nijt van 
 ruekeloze onwetenheid, dezelve in kleinachtinge hebben konnen 
 brengen, ofte in het toekomende omverrewerpen zullen, maer 
 zoo lange de Nederduitsche Poezij eenige achtbaerheit behout, 
 om de kraght en eigenschap zijner ongemeene uitdrukkingen, 
 de verwondering en goetkeuring van alle brave vernuften 
 weghdragen zullen. 
 
 VAN NIBEK.
 
 JEREMIAS DE DECKER. 
 
 tJ F.RKMIAS DE DECKER was born at Dordrecht in 1610. 
 His poems are to this day justly esteemed by his coun- 
 trymen for beauty of thought combined with elegance 
 of expression, learning without pedantry, and harmo- 
 nious versification free from feebleness and pueri- 
 lity. Feeling intense and romantic feeling is the 
 peculiar characteristic of his writings, as it appears to 
 have been of his heart ; to whose virtues many of his 
 contemporaries have paid tribute. He diligently stu- 
 died both ancient and modern works, and it is said 
 composed for his own use a Dutch grammar, in order 
 that he might reflect before he wrote, and not sacrifice 
 to inadvertency, metre and methodical propriety. His 
 translations are striking and correct. The Lof der 
 Geldzucht (Praise of Avarice), the most extended of 
 his works, contains a treasure of learning and know- 
 ledge of the world: his Goede Vrljdag of het Lijden 
 van JCZHS (Good Friday,, or the Sufferings of Jesus), 
 is distinguished by its solemnity of conception, and 
 by the lyric harmony of its execution. But it is in his 
 Birth-day and Bridal Songs and Elegies that he most
 
 168 JEREMIAS DE DECKER. [1610- 
 
 excels. They affect by their very simplicity. In them 
 there is not a line, a phrase, scarcely a word, that can 
 be omitted or improved. His Morgenstond (Morning) 
 and Lente (Spring) are characterized by the same ex- 
 cellencies. 
 
 He died in 1666. 
 
 THE TOO-EARLY-OPENING FLOWER. 
 
 Teer bloemeken, sie wat ghij doet. 
 
 NOT yet, frail flower ! thy charms unclose ; 
 
 Too soon thou ventur'st forth again ; 
 
 For April has its winter-rain, 
 And tempest-clouds, and nipping snows. 
 Too quickly thou uprear'st thy head ; 
 
 The northern wind may reach thee still, 
 
 And injure nay, for ever kill 
 Thy charming white and lovely red. 
 And thou perchance too late wilt sigh, 
 
 That at the first approach of spring 
 
 Thou mad'st thy bud unfold its wing, 
 And show its blush to every eye ; 
 For March a faithless smile discloses. 
 
 If thou wouldst bloom securely here, 
 
 Let Phoebus first o'ertake the steer : 
 Thou'rt like the seaman, who reposes
 
 -1666.] JEREMIAS DE DECKER. 169 
 
 On one fair day one favouring wind, 
 "Weighs anchor, and the future braves : 
 
 But sighs, when on the ocean waves, 
 For that calm port he leaves behind, 
 As with an anxious eye he sees 
 
 His shatter'd hull and shiver'd sail 
 
 Borne at the mercy of the gale 
 Wherever winds and waters please j 
 And deems, as he is sinking fast 
 
 The sands and brine and foam beneath, 
 
 That every wave contains a death, 
 That every plunge will be his last. 
 Thou'rt like the courtier, who, elate 
 
 When greeted first by favour's ray, 
 
 Begins to make a grand display : 
 But, ah ! it is a fickle state. 
 A court is like a garden-shade j 
 
 The courtiers and the flowers that rise 
 
 Too suddenly, 'neath changeful skies, 
 Oft sink into the dust and fade. 
 In short, we all are like thy flower, 
 
 And ever, both in weal and woe, 
 
 With strange perverseness, we bestow 
 Our thoughts on time's swift-fleeting hour. 
 And 'tis the same with those who pine. 
 
 And deem that grief will never flee, 
 
 And those who, bred in luxury, 
 Think the gay sun will always shine.
 
 170 JEREMIAS DE DECKER. [1626- 
 
 For every joy brings sorrow too, 
 
 And even grief may herald mirth ; 
 
 And God has mingled life on earth 
 With bitterness and honey-dew. 
 Thus winter follows summer's bloom, 
 
 And verdant summer winter's blight ; 
 
 Thus reign by turns the day and night ; 
 Change is the universal doom. 
 Then, floweret ! when thy charms have fled, 
 
 All wither'd by a fate unkind, 
 
 Call wisdom's proverb to thy mind 
 Soon green, soon gray soon ripe, soon dead. 
 
 " PAUCISSIMA CUPIENS DEO PROXIMUS." 
 
 Het goud verguld de deugd, "t verciert des wyzen leven. 
 
 GOLD may gild virtue and adorn the wise : 
 
 And who of sense and goodness makes his boast, 
 
 May towards the Eternal Fount of Kindness rise ; 
 But who wants least resembles God the most.
 
 -1666.] JEREMTAS DE DECKER. 171 
 
 TO A BROTHER WHO DIED AT BATAVIA. 
 
 O zaligh ghij die ons verdriet. 
 
 BLESSED ! though misery-causing, thou ! 
 Who seest not our domestic woe, 
 And hear'st not our funereal plaint ; 
 But slumberest on thy bed of rest, 
 Stretch'd in the furthest orient, 
 With Java's sands upon thy breast ! 
 
 Did I not tell thee, broken-hearted, 
 
 Thy doom sad doom ! when last we parted ? 
 
 Did I not paint the dangers' near ? 
 
 Tell thee what misery would be mine, 
 
 To leave a father's solemn bier, 
 
 With tottering steps to weep o'er thine ? 
 
 Long absence brought thee to my sight, 
 
 In fiery flashes lightning bright 
 
 But that the thunder might not shock thee, 
 
 Death to his bosom gather'd thee ; 
 
 And now no more the wild winds rock thee, 
 
 And rages now no more the sea. 
 
 When Fortune smiled, he neither bow'd 
 To luxury, nor waxed vain and proud ; 
 He was too wise on childish toys 
 To fix a heart unstain'd by guile, 
 i2
 
 172 JEREMIAS DE DECKER. [1626 
 
 Or give to earthly griefs or joys 
 The useless tear, the idle smile. 
 
 Upright in all of lips sincere ; 
 Of open hand disposed to cheer 
 The suppliant, and assist the poor ; 
 Willing to lend and pleased to pay ; 
 And still subduing, more and more, 
 The natural frailties of our way. 
 
 A father, tutor'd to submit 
 
 To all that Heaven deem'd right and fit, 
 
 And with a tranquil spirit say, 
 
 While far above earth's changes rais'd, 
 
 " The Lord has given He takes away, 
 
 And be his name for ever prais'd." 
 
 His country's government he ever 
 Cheerfully served, but flattered never : 
 So fully bent in every thought 
 Upon his nation's interest, he 
 From every side instruction brought, 
 And knowledge, like the Athenian bee. 
 
 A father such as this a friend 
 And brother have I seen descend 
 Smitten by death : beneath him years 
 Hollow'd the tomb's descent ; and slow
 
 -1666.] JEREMIAS DE DECKER. 113 
 
 And silent down the vale of tears 
 He sank to where he sleeps below. 
 
 The mouth which words of mirth supplied, 
 At morning's dawn and eventide, 
 Truth gather'd from the immortal book, 
 Is still for ever : it shall slake 
 Its thirst no more in Eden's brook, 
 Nor Zion's sweet refreshment take. 
 
 But ah ! we are driven by distress 
 
 From bitterness to bitterness j 
 
 For scarce had sorrow o'er thee strew'd 
 
 The dews of sympathy, ere pain 
 
 Brought all its busy multitude 
 
 Of griefs and woes to wound again : 
 
 And of our house (O fatal day !) 
 Bore chief and honour both away : 
 The wheel was stopp'd on which it turn'd, 
 And we, a desolate race, were left 
 Alone and hopeless there we mourn'd 
 Him, whom remorseless death had reft. 
 
 A father ! who in wisdom guided 
 
 The love that in his love confided : 
 
 A father ! who, upon our heart, 
 
 And in our blood, Heaven's laws did write ;
 
 174 JEBEMIAS DE DECKER. [1626- 
 
 And taught us never to depart 
 
 From virtue's way befall what might. 
 
 A father ! temperate, wise and brave, 
 Who, when the whirlwind and the wave 
 Beat on his bark, could seize the helm, 
 And, spite of storm and stream, convey 
 To port while billows overwhelm 
 A thousand ships that round him lay. 
 
 Those lips, alas ! we loved so well, 
 Whence no ungentle accents fell 
 No thoughts but virtue have I seen 
 Parch'd with a black pestiferous hue, 
 And mark'd the dry and up-scorched skin 
 Just spotted with a feverish dew. 
 
 That tongue which oft with us hath poured 
 The song of joy and oft adored 
 That voice which taught us wisdom's word, 
 And Heaven's admonitory will 
 In gently breathing tones I heard 
 And gentler yet and then 'twas still.
 
 -1666.] JEREMIAS DE DECKER. 175 
 
 That bright and noble countenance, 
 Which gleam'd with truth in ev'ry glance, 
 And made us love it 'twas so fair 
 And so attractive soon was wan 
 And gloom and darkness nestled there : 
 'Twas pale and sunk and woe-begone. 
 
 1 saw him sink and day by day 
 
 I mark'd the progress of decay : 
 
 His old and venerable head 
 
 Dropp'd and his smiles were dimm'd : at last 
 
 The death-mist on his crown was spread, 
 
 And our sun's glory veil'd and past. 
 
 I saw his hands grow stiff and cold, 
 Long used our honour to uphold : 
 His limbs, that long had borne the weight 
 Of many a care, then tottering shook, 
 As on he moved with trembling gait, 
 And tow'rds the tomb his path- way took. 
 
 And then I saw his corpse convey'd 
 Down to death's lonely paths of shade, 
 Where gloom and dull oblivion reign. 
 Even now even now that scene I view 
 How could I seek the light again 
 How ! mourn I not my sorrows too ?
 
 176 JEREMIAS DE DECKER. [1626- 
 
 How valueless is life to me ! 
 
 It seems impossible to be. 
 
 To talk of life when those are gone 
 
 Who gave us life is false and vain : 
 
 O yes ! I have a heart of stone 
 
 For he is gone, and I remain. 
 
 O ! noble branch of Montpensier, 
 His name shall be to memory dear, 
 And in Fame's brightest archives stored $ 
 For not alone his tears he gave, 
 But with his tears his being poured, 
 An offering on his father's grave. 
 
 Alas ! alas ! sad heart of mine, 
 Were such a glorious privilege thine, 
 It were indeed a blissful doom ! 
 No ! not a father's cheek to see 
 Damp with the cold dews of the tomb, 
 And mingling with mortality. 
 
 But fain with him, in silence deep, 
 Shelter 'd from all my woes I'd sleep, 
 Where, from life's sad and darksome cares, 
 Beneath the damp and gloomy ground, 
 My soul his bed of silence shares 
 With peace and solitude around.
 
 -1666.] JEREMIAS DE DECKER. 1<77 
 
 So freed and far from misery's power, 
 And fears and hopes, the hastening hour 
 Glides now no more away in pain, 
 Nor weary nights in sleepless thought ; 
 But ah ! the lovely dream is vain 
 My shaken heart deserves it not. 
 
 See, brother ! thou didst leave thy home, 
 And woes like these, far off to roam ; 
 Yet other woes pursued thee there ; 
 And even across the Indian seas, 
 Sorrow and darkness and despair 
 Told their sad tales and miseries. 
 
 But thou hast 'scaped the worst thy bed 
 From woe's loud storm hath screen'd thy head : 
 , Thou shouldst have borne thy share, but now 
 Thou art above the reach of woe j 
 And I (a wretched being!) bow, 
 And cry as I was wont to do : 
 
 Blessed, though misery-causing thou 
 Who seest not all our sorrows now, 
 And hear'st not our funereal plaint j 
 But slumberest on thy bed of rest, 
 Stretch'd in the furthest orient, 
 With Java's sands upon thy breast ! 
 i 5
 
 178 JEREMIAS DE DECKER. [1626- 
 
 We conclude the notice of DE DECKER with a few 
 Stanzas from his affecting Ode to his Mother : 
 
 Dal ghy vertoont in uw gelaet. 
 
 OH ! none will deem it a disgrace, 
 
 Or ever with reproaches sting thee, 
 That thy fair brow should bear the trace 
 
 Of all the inward griefs that wring thee : 
 Without the sun the pallid moon 
 Would lose her gayest lustre soon : 
 Then who, when wife and husband sever, 
 
 Would marvel that her eyes are dim, 
 Since he is her bright sun for ever, 
 
 And she a gentle moon to him ! 
 
 The sun that cheer'd thy life has faded ; 
 
 'Tis time for thee to mourn and sigh ; 
 Thy light and splendour now are shaded, 
 
 In dust thy crown and honour lie : 
 And, ah ! thy house, that flourished fair, 
 Seems visited by thy despair, 
 And mourns like some abode deserted, 
 
 Or headless trunk in mute decay, 
 A land whose ruler has departed, 
 
 A world, whose sun has pass'd away.
 
 1666.] JEREMIAS DE DECKER. 179 
 
 'Tis meet that for a season thou 
 
 Shouldst pour the tribute of thy sorrow ; 
 But endless tears, a cheerless brow, 
 
 And woes that hope no joyous morrow, 
 Are trifling vain though sprung from love 
 And sinful to thy God above. 
 And if my father's spirit, reigning 
 
 Beyond the earth, can see our grief, 
 Thy never-ceasing, lone complaining 
 
 Will bring him misery not relief. 
 
 Too deep for tears the pangs we feel 
 
 For he is gone beyond recalling : 
 But, hark ! what murmur'd accents steal, 
 
 What voice upon my ear is falling, 
 And through my mournful spirit flies, 
 AM if it came from yonder skies ? 
 Oh ! can it be my father speaking, 
 
 In pity to thy widow'd lot, 
 To soothe the heart that now is breaking ? 
 
 It is ! it is ! dost hear it not ? 
 
 I feel his accents from above, 
 
 Through heart and soul and senses creeping 
 " My wife ! " he cries, " my sorrowing love ! 
 
 Oh ! why give way to endless weeping.
 
 180 JEREMIAS DE DECKER. [1626- 
 
 And to despair in weakness bow ! 
 
 Oh ! blam'st thou Heaven, because it now 
 
 Has open'd Eden's glorious portal ; 
 
 Think'st thou that death could pardon me ? 
 Ah ! no j all all on earth is mortal, 
 
 And fades into eternity. 
 
 I lie in safety and at rest, v' 3 
 
 And nought that 1 behold displeases ; 
 I hear no accents that molest, 
 
 E'en when the North with tempest-breezes 
 Sweeps in its fury o'er the deep, 
 And wakes the ocean from its sleep ; 
 Or when the thunder-cloud is scowling, 
 
 Or lightning rages from the west, 
 I fear not for the tempest's howling, 
 
 But lie in safety and at rest. 
 
 The journey of my life is o'er, 
 
 From earthly chains has Heav'n unbound me, 
 And punishment and shame no more 
 
 Can cast their torturing influence round me. 
 And dost thou, dearest ! weep for me, 
 And dost thou mourn that I should be 
 No more on earth ? And art thou sighing 
 
 That I in peace have left a life 
 Which is but one long scene of dying, 
 
 Anxiety, and worrying strife ?
 
 -1666.] JEREMIAS DE DECKER. 181 
 
 Whilst here that brighten'd visage glows, 
 
 From which, whene'er my eyes retrace it, 
 A stream of joy and luxury flows 
 
 Too vast for language to embrace it. 
 Here I approach with forehead bright, 
 The majesty of endless light ; 
 Light; whose eternal beam is dwelling 
 
 Where mortal eye can see no way ; 
 Light the gay sun as much excelling, 
 
 As he excels morn's faintest ray. 
 
 Ye men ! who wear delusion's chain, 
 
 What madness hath your judgments riven ? 
 Could you a transient glance obtain 
 
 Of all we see and feel in heaven, 
 All earth's delights would seem but care 
 Its glory mist its bliss despair ; 
 Its splendours slavish melancholy; 
 
 Its princely mansions loathsome sties; 
 Its greatest wisdom merest folly; 
 
 And all its riches vanities ! 
 
 Then, dearest, be the pomp and state 
 Of earth's vain world for ever slighted, 
 
 And ask of God that still our fate 
 May be above again united.
 
 182 JEREMIAS DE DECKER. 
 
 We'll join the bridal scene once more 
 
 A bridal not like ours of yore 
 
 Earthly and weak, nor long remaining ; 
 
 But heavenly, firm, and without end. 
 Be comforted, and cease complaining, 
 
 And deem all good that God may send." 
 
 LEARNING AND WISDOM. 
 
 Het weten is wel schoon, maar doen gaet boven weten. 
 
 To know is good, I own to do is better still -. 
 
 Him who knows much and well call learned if you 
 
 will; 
 
 But there are seasons oft when he shall win the prize, 
 And wear it proudly too whose deeds, not words, are 
 
 " IN UTRAQUE FORTUNA PROBUS." 
 
 't Zy dat ons 't los Geluk nu medeloop, nu tegen. 
 
 WE are upon life's tide now fair, now foul the sea 
 Now flows now ebbs. Ebbing and flowing, each 
 May food for virtues give, and wisdom's lesson teach : 
 Patience in grief in joy, sobriety.
 
 DANIEL JONCKTIJS. 
 
 BORN DIED 1654?.
 
 Op hem sloeg liefdeboeijensmeder 
 Een vonk, door eenen klap der veder 
 Van zijn gevaarlijk toortslicht neer. 
 
 FORTMAN.
 
 DANIEL JONCKTIJS. 
 
 DANIEL JONCKTIJS was born at Dordrecht at the 
 commencement of the 1 7th century. As an amatory 
 writer he is thought highly of by his countrymen, 
 though he is encumbered with quaint conceits. He 
 practised physic, and died at Rotterdam in 1 654. 
 
 THE ROSE AND ROSALINE. 
 
 Wanneer mijn purper bloosje blcijckt. 
 THE ROSE. 
 
 WHENE'ER my purple blushes die, 
 My stalk to earth turns droopingly, 
 My tender bud, by slow degrees, 
 Unfolds its leaves to summer's breeze, 
 Till nipping wind, or burning sun, 
 Bids it decay, as I had done : 
 Yet let the spring chase winter's gloom, 
 And I am still in youth and bloom. 
 But, Rosaline, whene'er thy spring 
 Has o'er thee ceas'd its bloom to fling, 
 All hope is gone a winter drear 
 And winter's killing frost are near :
 
 186 DANIEL JONKTIJS. 
 
 The radiance of thine eye, that darts 
 Through other eyes to other hearts ; 
 Thy coral-lip, like damask rose, 
 The lustre of thy cheek, that glows, 
 Once gone, nor summer-sun nor rain 
 Can bring their beauty back again. 
 
 ROSALINE. 
 
 When once thy leaves are dry and pale, 
 O what shall vernal dews avail ? 
 When once thy stalk is snapp'd in vain 
 We seek the smiling flower again. 
 Although another wakening spring 
 A gem as beautiful may bring, 
 Yet who shall say, when call'd to die 
 When brightness leaves my closing eye ; 
 Oh ! who shall say the earth will see 
 Another maiden like to me ? 
 
 THE ROSE. 
 
 If hurrying time can ne'er restore 
 Youth's fleeting gifts when youth is o'er ; 
 If every day their brightness flies 
 Oh ! why Heaven's better gifts despise ? 
 Let not their holier lustre fade 
 Be they enjoy'd thou gentle maid ! 
 For who shall gaze on eyes like thine, 
 When thou and those bright eyes decline ?
 
 JAN VOS. 
 
 BORN 1620 DIED 1662.
 
 Die in stilheidt leidt zijn leven, 
 
 Met een eerlijk kleedt bedekt; 
 Meer vergeten, dan verheven, 
 Door geen quaden lust gedreven, 
 
 Niet benijdt, noch niet begekt ; 
 ***** 
 
 Die, met zijn beroep te vreden, 
 
 Kan betomen zijnen wensch, 
 Die zijn tochten heeft besneden 
 Niet naer lusten, maer naer reden, 
 
 Die is een gelukkig mensch. 
 
 P. DE GROOT.
 
 JAN VOS. 
 
 JAN Vos was born at Amsterdam about the year 
 1620. His birth seems to have been obscure, and 
 his education necessarily limited. Had it been pro- 
 perly cultivated, there is little doubt that he would 
 have disputed the palm with the best writers of his 
 time. He was a labouring glass-maker. His Epi- 
 grams (Puntdichten) are pointed ; and generally his 
 poetry is shrewd and vigorous. His Dramatic pieces 
 overflow with excess of passion. He died in 1 662. 
 
 LAURA. 
 
 TO HER ARTIST. 
 Maal Laura met een speer, zij zal Minerf gelijken. 
 
 ARM Laura with a spear Minerva she shall be 
 If bending o'er a bow the goddess of the chase 
 
 Give her a golden staff a Juno thou shalt see- 
 An apple let her seize and Venus thou canst trace.
 
 190 JAN VOS. 
 
 Yet, hold ! my Laura needs from goddesses no arms, 
 Whom we to her compare are greater than before. 
 
 Yes ! they who all subdue are conquer'd by her charms ; 
 But place her in the fields, and nature asks no more. 
 
 From clouds the sun-light ne'er obtains its dazzling 
 blaze 
 
 What in itself is fair requires no borrow'd rays. 
 
 EPIGRAM 
 
 ON A HUMP-BACKED POET. 
 Flip roemt zich meester van de Dichters in hot sticht. 
 
 HE calls himself the prince of bards, and swears 
 He'll pull Parnassus down about the ears 
 Of doubters let them all beware, or rue it ; 
 He bears Parnassus on his back to do it.
 
 JAN KRULL. 
 
 BORN 1602 DIED 1644.
 
 Ook rast gij met als menig zanger 
 
 Die zijn voldragen chaos langer 
 
 Niet houden kan, maar barst, indien hij zwijgen moet, 
 
 Gij spreekt bedaard en toch met dichterlijken gloed. 
 
 LOOTS. 
 
 Overal vindt men bewijzen van eenen wel niet hoog, maar 
 zacht en liefelijk gestemden geest. 
 
 JERONIMO DE VRIES.
 
 JAN KRULL. 
 
 JAN KRULL followed, in all his poetical writings, the 
 style of CATS. His Pampiere Wereld (in 4 vols.) 
 contains a variety of productions pastoral, allego- 
 rical, and didactic. He belonged to the lowest ranks 
 of society, and was originally a labouring blacksmith. 
 He wrote with ease, and his verses are smooth and 
 flowing. Of his history little is known. 
 
 LINES 
 
 WRITTEN UNDER A STATUE REPRESENTING CUPID 
 WITH A FLAMING TORCH REVERSED. 
 
 I let bovenst staet omlaegli, bet laeghts comt op gesprongen. 
 
 THE flaming torch to earth's cold breast the child of 
 Venus turns, 
 
 Which when he most essays to quench it most in- 
 tensely burns. 
 
 K
 
 194- JAN KRULL. 
 
 Tis ever thus with those who seek to change love's 
 
 soaring course, 
 The greater the constraint they use, the greater is its 
 
 force : 
 So 'tis throughout the world, where love is most op- 
 
 press'd and bound, 
 E'en there its mightiest influence, its greatest strength 
 
 is found. 
 
 't Is met het wereldsch zoo gesteld. 
 
 ALL worldly things to change must yield, 
 As the sweet floweret of the field : 
 To-day it lifts its starry head, 
 To-morrow strews the meadow dead : 
 To-day it stands in light and pride, 
 But droops in dust ere morrow's tide, 
 And is before another day 
 In storms and darkness swept away.
 
 JACOB WESTERBAEN. 
 
 BORN 1599 DIED 1670. 
 
 K 2
 
 Ick vorder eijgentlijck een leven, 
 Sodanich als't geleerde blad 
 Des wijzen WESTERBAEN het vat, 
 In alle wetenschap bedreven, 
 
 P. DE GROOT.
 
 JACOB WESTERBAEN. 
 
 JACOB WESTERBAEN, born in 1599, was a knight, 
 and Lord of Brantwijck, Gijblant, &c. ; yet, although 
 of exalted rank and renowned for his learning, he 
 chose rather to pass his days in quiet and retirement, 
 than sacrifice to the wishes of the great his religious 
 and political feelings. He practised medicine in the 
 early part of his life. He was a disciple of Episcopius, 
 and remained true to the doctrines of his master. He 
 enjoyed the friendship of CATS, VAN BAERLK, Huu- 
 GKNS, DE DECKER and BRANDT, and was the stre- 
 nuous defender of OLDEN BARNEVELDT, DE GROOT, 
 and other great but unfortunate statesmen. His 
 works are contained in three volumes, of which the 
 moral and humorous epigrams have obtained consi- 
 derable renown. He died about the year 1670 at 
 his country seat, Ockenburg, which he has made the 
 subject of one of his poems (see p. 13). 
 
 Denkct nict dat den lieven geur. 
 
 THINK not that the dear perfume 
 And the bloom
 
 198 JACOB WESTERBAEN. [1599- 
 
 Of those cheeks, divinely glowing, 
 Ever shall remain to thee 
 
 While there be 
 None for whom those flowers are blowing. 
 
 By the eglantine be taught 
 
 How 'tis sought 
 
 For its bloom and fragrance only : 
 Is not all its beauty past 
 
 When at last 
 On the stem 'tis hanging lonely ? 
 
 Maidens are like garden bowers ' 
 
 Fill'd with flowers, 
 
 Which are spring-time's choicest treasure ; 
 While the budding leaves they bear 
 
 Flourish there, 
 They will be a source of pleasure. 
 
 1 In this aod the subsequent verse, the author appears to 
 have had Catullus's Carmen Nuptiale in his mind, although he 
 has, in a delicate and masterly manner, varied the idea : 
 
 " Ut flos in septis secretus nascitur hortis, 
 Ignotus pecori, nullo contusus aratro, 
 Quern mulcent aura-, firmat sol, educat imber : 
 Multi ilium pueri, multae optavere puellae : 
 Idem cum tenui carptus defloruit ungui, 
 Nulli ilium pueri, nullae optavere puellae : 
 Sic virgo, dum intacta manet, dum cara suis est. 
 Cum castum amisit polluto corpore florem, 
 Nee pueris jucunda manet, nee cara puellis."
 
 -1670.] JACOB WESTERBAEN. 199 
 
 But whene'er the lovely spring 
 
 Spreads her wing, 
 And the rose's charms have fleeted ; 
 Nor those lately-valued flowers, 
 
 Nor the bowers, 
 Shall with former praise be greeted. 
 
 While Love's beam in woman's eyes 
 
 Fondly lies, 
 
 All the heart's best feelings telling, 
 Love will come, (a welcome guest !) 
 
 And her breast 
 Be his own ecstatic dwelling. 
 
 But when envious Time takes arms 
 
 'Gainst her charms, 
 All her youthful graces spurning, 
 Love, who courted beauty's ray, 
 
 Steals away, 
 Never thinking of returning. 
 
 Maidens ! who man's suit deride, 
 
 And whose pride 
 
 Scorns the hearts that bow before ye, 
 From my song this lesson learn : 
 
 Be not stern 
 To the Lovers who adore ye.
 
 200 JACOB WESTERBAEN. 
 
 Gelijk een roosje teer. 
 E'EN as a tender rose, 
 
 To which the Spring gives birth, 
 Falls when the north wind blows, 
 
 And withers on the earth : 
 So, when her eye-light throws its glances brightly 
 
 through me, 
 I sink o'erwhelm'd and gloomy. 
 
 E'en as the herb by day 
 
 Its green leaf downwards turns, 
 What time the sun's fierce ray 
 
 Upon it fiercely burns ; 
 So 'neath the quenchless fire, that from her eyes is 
 
 shining, 
 1 feel myself declining. 
 
 My courage is subdued 
 
 By sorrow's mighty thrill, 
 And so in solitude 
 
 I linger sadly still ; 
 While her sweet witcheries cast their magic influence 
 
 round me, 
 And in their chains have bound me. 
 
 Rijck wil noch rijcker zijn. 
 WEALTH would be wealthier still, and aye to gold 
 
 aspires. 
 Wealth ! wouldst thou wealthier be : diminish thy 
 
 desires.
 
 REINIER ANSLO. 
 
 BOIIN 1622 DIED 1669. 
 
 K :.
 
 Het schijnt dat veel haer landt, waerin zij zijn geboren, 
 En hare moedertael niet gaerne sien noch liooren. 
 
 Een man in zijnen tijd algemeen beroemd, en door VONDF.L 
 geprezen om zijne sierlijke netheid. 
 
 JERONIMO DE VRIES.
 
 REINIER ANSLO. 
 
 ANSLO'S birth place was Amsterdam. He travelled 
 to Italy in 1649, where he adopted the Catholic reli- 
 gion, which he professed to the day of his death. His 
 Plague of Naples is a production of singular vigour, 
 and crowded with all the frightful imagery of its awful 
 subject. He died at Perugia. 
 
 Waar zullen wij ons nu verscbuilen. 
 
 WHERE shall we hide us he pursuing ? 
 What darksome cave, what gloomy ruin ? 
 It matters not distress and fear 
 Are every where. 
 
 Who now can shield us from the fury 
 That seems upon our steps to hurry ? 
 Our brow exudes a frozen sweat 
 On hearing it. 
 
 List to that scream ! that broken crying ! 
 Could not the death-gasp hush that sighing ? 
 Are these the fruits of promis'd peace ? 
 O wretchedness !
 
 204 REINIER ANSLO. 
 
 Even as a careless shepherd sleeping, 
 Forgetful of the flocks he 's keeping, 
 Is smitten by the lightning's breath, 
 The bolt of death : 
 
 E'en as the growing mountain-current 
 Pours down the vales its giant torrent, 
 And sweeps the thoughtless flocks away 
 That slumbering lay : 
 
 So were we roused so woe descended 
 Before the bridal feast was ended, 
 And sleep hung heavy followed there 
 By blank despair. 
 
 Helaas! wat is de heerschappij. 
 
 ALAS ! and what is majesty . 
 
 But care ? what care but slavery ? 
 
 And slavery's chain what free-born spirit 
 
 Will bend its humbled neck to wear it ? 
 
 Kings deem, poor fools ! the royal sun 
 Envies the brightness of their throne, 
 And, as he rolls, has glory borrowed 
 From their far more resplendent forehead. 
 
 They know not that in caverns dark 
 Decaying wood emits a spark ; 
 Nor see that eyes and hearts benighted 
 Are dazzled and deceived not lighted.
 
 JAN DE BRUNE. 
 
 BORN 1585 DIED 1658.
 
 Zoo vliegt een Bij om honig uit 
 Op Hybla, rijk van geur en kruid. 
 
 Poor.
 
 JAN DE BRUNE. 
 
 J AN DE BRUNE, otherwise called JOHANNES JUNI- 
 ANUS BRUN.BUS. He filled several public situations, 
 and at last reached the highest, being made a state- 
 pensioner of Zealand. A small collection of his poems 
 was published at Amsterdam, in 1639, under the title 
 of Veirzjes (Minor Poems), which were lauded by 
 Vossius and P. GROTIUS. 
 
 t 
 
 'k Lag zieltogend uijtgestreckt. 
 
 I LAY in gasping agonies, 
 
 And my eyes 
 
 Were covered by a cloud of death ; 
 It seemed as if my spirit hung 
 
 On my tongue, 
 About to vanish with my breath ; 
 
 When Laura, smiling fondness, came, 
 
 And, with shame, 
 Offered her delightful lip, 
 Her sweet lip, to which the bee 
 
 Well might flee, 
 Fragrant honey there to sip.
 
 208 JAN DE BRUNE. 
 
 Enraptur'd with the sudden bliss 
 
 Which her kiss 
 
 Gave my heart, when bowed by pain, 
 Instantly I felt a light, 
 
 Pure and bright, 
 Kindle new existence then. 
 
 Oh ! may heaven grant once more that I 
 
 Thus may lie ! 
 
 The pangs of death I'd undergo, 
 If lips as blooming and as dear 
 
 Were but near, 
 To cure me with their honey so.
 
 GERARD BRANDT. 
 
 BORN 1626 DIED 1685.
 
 Dees heeft natuur te baat, 
 Het zij hij schrijft op maat, of zonder maat. 
 
 ANSLO.
 
 GERARD BRANDT. 
 
 (JERARD BRANDT, born at Amsterdam in 1626, was 
 intended to pursue the business of his father, who was 
 a watchmaker ; but the love of song had taken pos- 
 session of his mind, and caused him, in his 17th year, 
 to turn his thoughts to that difficult but in those days 
 much-esteemed branch of literature the Tragic 
 Drama. A piece entitled The Dissembling Torquatus 
 (the scene of which is laid at Rome, without, however, 
 any other adherence to history, or even to the original 
 names ', ) was pronounced by VAN BAERLE to be a 
 work of no ordinary power, and one which would have 
 reflected much honour on the writer, even though it 
 
 1 Van Kampen observes" There is in this piece a re- 
 markable resemblance to Hamlet : Shakspeare has drawn from 
 an old northern tradition preserved by Saxo Grammaticus : 
 Brandt's idea seems to be entirely original. Torquatus is at 
 Athens (just as Hamlet at Wittenberg) pursuing his studies, 
 while his father (Manlius) is murdered at Rome by his own 
 brother (Noron), who espouses the widow (Plaucina.) Who 
 does not here immediately recognise Claudius, Gertrude, and
 
 212 GERARD BRANDT. [1626- 
 
 had been composed at a more mature age. We must 
 not, however, disguise that VAN BAERLE took an un- 
 common interest in him, and after some time gave 
 
 the murdered king, of Shakspeare? Torquatus says, too. at 
 the commencement : 
 
 ' O Hemel zaegt gij ooit rampsaeliger dan mij ? 
 Trouwloose, onsaelige oom, verrader ! hoe dorst gij 
 Mijn strijdb're vader te vermoorden, en mijn' moeder 
 Misbruiken tot uw boel ?' 
 
 Hast thou, O Heaven ! e'er seen a wretch like me ? 
 Perfidious, joyless uncle, traitorous slave ! 
 How daredst thou thus my warlike father slay, 
 And stain my mother's fame ? 
 
 " Yet again. The ghost of Manlius appears to his son, and 
 incites him to avenge his death. Torquatus feigns madness, 
 like Hamlet. The object of his affections (Juliana) is also 
 introduced. But the most striking point of resemblance is in 
 the scene where the heroes of both tragedies reproach their 
 guilty mothers. 
 
 " ' Nor on, being sore afraid of his nephew, cunningly introduces 
 his wife (Plaucina) in a chamber where Torquatus is, after having 
 concealed one of his counsellors under a couch for the purjmse of 
 hearing whether he would openly avow his suspicions to his mother. 
 Torquatus, aware of this, suddenly dispatches him, and rejyroachcs 
 his mother for her immodesty, who, having vindicated herself, pro- 
 mises to be faithful. 'Contents of the Piece. 
 
 " Here is in fact a repetition of the scene where Poloniuu, 
 behind the arras, falls by Hamlet's sword, and the queen suffers
 
 -1685.] GERARD BRANDT. 213 
 
 him his daughter Susannah in marriage ; BRANDT 
 having for her sake abandoned his trade, and made 
 
 the taunts and upbraidings of her son. Parts of the language 
 have a striking coincidence : 
 
 TORQUATUS. 
 
 ' Naek mij niet met de mondt die d' overspeelder kust, 
 Sla d* oogen neer van schaemt, die de vervloekte lust 
 Van Noron prikkelden. 
 
 Wellustige Vorstin ! ga, streel uw dwingelant.' 
 Approach me not with thine adulterous lips ; 
 For very shame bend down the eyes that fired 
 The accursed Noron's lust. 
 
 Lascivious queen ! 
 Go go caress thy tyrant. 
 
 HAMLET. 
 
 ' O shame ! where is thy blush ? rebellious heat, 
 If thou canst mutiny in a matron's bones, 
 To flaming youth let virtue be as wax. 
 Do not look on me.' 
 
 PI.AUCINA. 
 
 ' Eij swijg, o Hemel ! ach, wat moet ik hier al hooren? 
 'K schrik voor mijn schaduw self.' 
 
 For heaven's sake cease ! Ah ! what must I not hear? 
 I start at mine own shadow. 
 
 GERTRUDE. 
 
 O Hamlet ! speak no more, 
 Thou turn'st mine eyes into my very soul.' 
 
 " The catastrophe is certainly quite different. Torquatus tri- 
 umphs by means of Juliana ; who, however, being dishonoured
 
 214 . GERARD BRANDT. [1626- 
 
 himself competent, by four years of study, to give 
 lessons in Theology. He afterwards became minister 
 of the Remonstrants at Nieuwkoop, Hoorn, and Am- 
 sterdam. He was greatly privileged in his children, 
 several of whom obtained a considerable literary re- 
 putation. 
 
 TO SUSANNAH VAN BAERLE, 
 
 ON HER BIRTH-DAY. 
 Wacht niet dat ik hier uw handen. 
 
 THINK not I shall deck thy hands 
 
 With a silken ribband gay 
 
 On thy happy natal day ; 
 For I know thou hat'st the bands, 
 
 by Noron, like Lucretia destroys herself. The disastrous end 
 of Hamlet is well known. Still the resemblance is sufficiently 
 forcible to justify the question, Whether Brandt was ac- 
 quainted with Shakspeare, and consequently whether the know- 
 ledge of English literature about the middle of the 17th cen- 
 tury was more universal than is generally supposed ? We (adds 
 Van Kampen) believe this not to have been the case, at least 
 not when Brandt wrote this tragedy. We might more easily 
 imagine this of Huijgens, although even he, who understood 
 and translated some English poets of mediocrity, does not once 
 mention the incomparable poet of Hamlet and Macbeth."
 
 -1685.] GERARD BRANDT. 215 
 
 Yes, the show of slavery. 
 Nor expect a wreath from me ; 
 
 For the colours on thy cheek, 
 
 And thy breath of fragrance (ne'er 
 Flowers gave forth a breath so fair) 
 
 Of themselves thy wreath can make. 
 But the pure, the virtuous truth 
 Of thine undissembling youth, 
 
 Even far better garlands owns. 
 
 Virtues are the noblest crowns. 
 
 MICHAEL DE RUITER. 
 
 Ob cives servatos. 
 Aanschouw den Helt ! der staten rechterbant ! 
 
 BEHOLD the hero ! he whose mighty hand 
 From bondage sav'd his sinking fatherland ; 
 And made two powerful kingdoms in one year 
 Thrice strike their flags and leave the ocean clear 
 His God's vicegerent on the boundless sea, 
 And harbinger of peace and liberty.
 
 216 GERARD BRANDT. [1626- 
 
 EP1TAPH ON JACOB TAURINUS. 
 
 Had Kerk en Staat haar strijt, de Waarheid vond ook helden. 
 
 HAD Church and State their strife, Truth had its cham- 
 pions too, 
 
 And he was one. To him a thousand wreaths are due. 
 
 But hate was sure too mild. What deeds had Tauryn 
 done 
 
 Freedom of thought proclaim'd his country's free- 
 dom won ; 
 
 His post unswerving fill'd his Christian faith main- 
 tain'd ; 
 
 From him all weakness fled with him all justice 
 reign 'd ; 
 
 They call'd him heretic they drove him from his land, 
 
 But God looks on and holds the balance in his hand. 
 
 EPITAPH ON KORTENAAR. 
 
 De held der Maas, verminkt aan oog en regterhand. 
 
 THE hero of the Maese, with shatter'd eye and hand, 
 
 Directs the rudder still and saves his fatherland ; 
 
 Him, Kortenaar the great dread of his country's 
 foes 
 
 The opener of the Sound these funeral stones en- 
 close.
 
 1685.] GERARD BRANDT. 217 
 
 FERNANDO ALVAREZ DE TOLEDO, 
 
 DUKE OF ALVA. 
 Maal Alva, Neerlandts roe, met verf van gal en bloet. 
 
 PAINT Alva, Holland's scourge, in gall and gore 
 Hard-hearted bitter to portray him more 
 Bring in the hundreds he to scaffolds sent ; 
 The thousands driven to death or banishment ! 
 
 HUGO DE GROOT. 
 
 O Delf, benij geen' Maas den grooten Rottcrdammer. 
 
 DELF ! ' envy not the Maese let her Erasmus claim : 
 De Groot is great as he his glorious end and aim 
 Were Holland's happiness j but Discord would not 
 
 heed, 
 
 And unity was lost in difference of creed. 
 Could Holland's provinces have shared his noble mind, 
 United Netherland had still remain'd combin'd. 
 
 1 Delft was the birth-place of Grotius. 
 L
 
 218 GERARD BRANDT. 
 
 LAMORAAL, 
 
 EAllL OF EGMONT. 
 Dit 's Egmont, dien de nijdt van Alva help van kant. 
 
 HERE Egmont lies ! who fell through Alva's hate 
 The shield of Netherland the brave the great ! 
 Who made proud France twice bow the trembling knee, 
 While at his fall fell right and liberty.
 
 THOMAS ARENTS.
 
 toontjens die op donzen vlerkjens zweven. 
 
 BlLDUDUK.
 
 THOMAS ARENTS. 
 
 THOMAS ARENTS wrote in an easy and flowing style, 
 and would without doubt have attained great eminence 
 as an amatory poet, had his talents not been confined, 
 and his genius shackled, by the strict and unnatural 
 rules of a Society* called Nil volentibus arduum, of 
 which he was a member. He attempted to defend it 
 against the attacks of ANTONIDES and JOAN PLUIJMKR, 
 who were justly incensed at the restrictions to which 
 poetry, especially the poetry of the drama, became 
 subjected ; and considered the Society in the light of 
 a literary inquisition. 
 
 Als ik mijn Laura kusschen magh. 
 
 1 'D envy not the Gods' delight, 
 If I might kiss my Laura dearest ; 
 
 Her eye to me is far more bright 
 Than sun or moon when shining clearest. 
 
 Founded by ANDRIES PELS, a poet of this period.
 
 222 THOMAS ARENTS. 
 
 Let Phoebus with Aurora toy 
 
 When morning's blush on earth reposes ; 
 For me 'twill be diviner joy 
 
 To kiss my Laura's cheek of roses. 
 
 To Jove I leave his Juno's charms ; 
 
 Let Bacchus still remain with Flora 3 
 Let Mars exult in war and arms, 
 
 I 'd rather be with thee, my Laura.
 
 JOANNES ANTONIDES VAN DER 
 GOES. 
 
 BORN 164-7 DIED 1684.
 
 Zo is de Geest, zo eel, zo groot, 
 Antonides, de Prins der dichtren, doot ! 
 Dat helder licht van Neerlant uitgeschenen ; 
 En als een rook, uit ons gezicht verdwenen ! 
 O neen, ik mis. Hij rijst ter grafzerke uit, 
 En leeft op nieuws, gelijk een groene spruit, 
 Of Fenix, uit zijn eigen asch geboren, 
 En laat zich weer, gelijk voorhenen, horen. 
 
 Dar zie ik beni 
 
 FRANCIUS.
 
 JOANNES ANTONIDES VAN DER 
 GOES. 
 
 J CANNES ANTONIDES VAN DER GOES may be con- 
 sidered among the very first writers of his country. 
 His Bellone aan band (Bellona bound), and his Tra- 
 gedy, Trazil of overrompelt Sina, a Chinese Drama, 
 brought him at an early age into notice and esteem. 
 There is sometimes a careless looseness in his writ- 
 ings j but this is scarcely to be wondered at, as he was 
 only nineteen when his first productions obtained for 
 him the eloquent applauses of the most distinguished 
 men of his day. The venerable VONDEL called him his 
 son, and said that he should have been proud to have 
 produced the Bellone aan band. Thus encouraged, he 
 produced his admirable poem Ystroom (River Y), which 
 VONDEL, HUIJGENS, FRANCIUS, VOLLENHOVE, and 
 many others, honoured with the highest eulogies. 
 Though sometimes his luxuriant fancy becomes exag- 
 gerated and extravagant, yet this poem has many ner- 
 vous and pictorial beauties, striking Episodes, and a 
 peculiar harmony and richness of language through- 
 
 L5
 
 226 ANTONIDES VAN DER GOES. [1647- 
 
 out. He obtained at Utrecht the degree of Doctor of 
 Medicine, and practised with success, but did not live 
 long enough to enjoy the fruits of his industry, as he 
 died at the age of 37 years. His poems possess the 
 boldness and energy of VONDEL, but less care and 
 precision faults which a maturer age would most pro- 
 bably have taught him to correct. With him the na- 
 tional Drama of Holland was extinguished, and the 
 French stage, introduced by Catherine Lescaille and 
 Andries Pels, obtained permanent influence. 
 
 ANTONIDES was born at Der Goes in 1 647, and died 
 in 1684. 
 
 OVERTHROW OF THE TURKS 
 
 BY VICE-ADMIRAL WILLEM JOSEPH. 
 
 Nec flammas superant undae. 
 Algiers, het bloedig roofschavot. 
 
 ALGIERS, that on the midland sea 
 Rules o'er her bloody pirate-horde, 
 
 Sees now her crown in jeopardy, 
 And drops her cruel robber sword.
 
 -1684-.] ANTONIDES VAN DER GOES. 227 
 
 The coast of Barbary terrified, 
 
 Trembles beneath the conquerors' sway ; 
 
 Our heroes on her waters ride, 
 
 While the fierce bandits in dismay, 
 
 And mad with plunder and with ire, 
 
 Are smother'd in a sea of fire. 
 
 Thrice had the sun from th' orient verge 
 
 Into his golden chariot sprung j 
 From the rain-clouds his rays emerge, 
 
 With brightest glory round him flung : 
 The northern winds are rous'd the Turk 
 
 Is borne along ; in vain he tries, 
 While terrors in his bosom lurk, 
 
 To 'scape our glance : in vain he flies. 
 He may not fly for he is bound 
 In his pursuers' toils around. 
 
 Ye rapine vultures of the sea. 
 
 Haste, haste before the storm and stream ; 
 Stretch out your pinions now, and be 
 
 The fearful flying flock ye seem. 
 No ! ye shall not escape for we 
 
 Have hemm'd you in on every side ; 
 Your crescent now looks mournfully, 
 
 And fain her paling horns would hide. 
 But no ! but no ! ye shall be driven 
 From earth and ocean as from heaven.
 
 228 ANTONIDES VAN DER GOES. [1647- 
 
 No ! terror shakes the Afric strand, 
 
 The Moor perceives his glory wane ; 
 The madman glares with fiery brand, 
 
 As glares the heaven above the main ; 
 The cannons rattle to the wind, 
 
 Black noisome vapours from the waves 
 The bright-eyed sun with darkness blind j 
 
 And echo shouts from Nereus' caves, 
 As if, with rage and strength immortal, 
 Salmoneus shook hell's brazen portal. 
 
 How should they stand against the free 
 
 The free the brave whom Ocean's pride 
 Hath lov'd to crown with victory, 
 
 Yet victory never satisfied ? 
 The Amstel's thunders roar around, 
 
 While the barbarians clamour'd loud, 
 And, scatter'd on their native ground, 
 
 The base retire before the proud ; 
 While their sea- standards, riven and torn, 
 Are but the noisy tempest's scorn. 
 
 There twice three ships submit them led 
 By their commander Ocean 's freed 
 
 From its old tyrants and in dread, 
 On the wide waters when they bleed,
 
 -1684.] ANTONIDES VAN DER GOES. 229 
 
 From that inhospitable shore 
 
 Upon the mingled flame and smoke 
 
 Looks the heart-agitated Moor, 
 
 Whose power is lost, and riven his yoke : 
 
 He stamps and curses as he sees 
 
 How his fear-stricken brother flees. 
 
 O, ye have earn'd a noble meed, 
 
 Brave Christian heroes ! the reward 
 Of virtue ; Gratitude shall speed 
 
 Your future course ; ye have unbarr'd 
 The prison doors of many a slave, 
 
 Whom heathen power had bound and these 
 In memory's shrines your names shall have, 
 
 And this shall be your stainless praise 
 Leaving sweet thoughts as seamen ride 
 From land to land o'er favouring tide. 
 
 TO MATILDA, 
 
 ON THE DEATH OF HER SISTER. 
 Wat schreitge beijde uwe oogen uiL 
 
 SAY, why should grief bedim thine eyes, 
 And fill thy breast with torturing sighs ? 
 Why o'er thy cheeks, in beauty glowing, 
 The silvery dew of tears is flowing ?
 
 230 ANTONIDES VAN DER GOES. [164>7- 
 
 Matilda, in thy youthful bloom, 
 
 With passions bound by reason's chain, 
 
 Why dost thou mourn thy sister's doom 
 And wish her soul on earth again ? 
 
 Her sorrows and her tears are o'er 
 
 She hears thy bursfing sighs no more. 
 
 But when her form decay'd, and went 
 
 To seek its native element, 
 
 And be the dust that it had been, 
 
 Thy pity cheer'd Death's gloomy scene : 
 
 Fair Barbara, thy bosom's dove, 
 
 Beheld, with eyes that smil'd in dying, 
 The tokens of thy stainless love ; 
 
 For thou, in heart and spirit sighing, 
 Didst share a sister's dying pain, 
 Nor breathed one tone of sorrow vain. 
 
 From earthly dust for ever freed 
 She sits in heaven, (while blest indeed 
 The cherubs come around in crowds,) 
 And presses with her feet the clouds. 
 Now seems to her the world beneath 
 
 A little speck or bounded prison, 
 And from this brief and transient death 
 
 E'en as a Phrenix she has risen, 
 To dwell within the azure sky, 
 And revel there eternally.
 
 -1684-.] ANTONIDES VAN DER GOES. 231 
 
 Ah ! there, where changeless joys abound, 
 Our home, our real home, is found. 
 But here we 're toss'd with hurried motion 
 Upon the world's tempestuous ocean ; 
 Now borne by tide or ebb along, 
 
 Now buried in the hissing foam, 
 We see the waves around us throng 
 
 Without a haven or a home. 
 Think of her bliss, remov'd to be 
 From peril to security ! 
 
 Be all that thou hast been recall 
 Thy energies of mind from thrall, 
 Those energies that so adorn thee, 
 And far above thy sex have borne thee, 
 And made thee noblest of thy kind : 
 
 Be patient, maid ! and seek to gather, 
 Whilst sorrow's weight is on thy mind, 
 
 True wisdom from thy God and Father ; 
 And think, in misery's hour, that she 
 Has but prepar'd the way for thee.
 
 232 ANTONIDES VAN DER GOES. 
 
 EPITAPH 
 
 ON A DOUBTING PHILOSOPHER. 
 Tree zagtjes, wandelaar, neen, tree vrijmoedig aen. 
 TREAD gently, traveller ; but no no 
 
 You need not care a whit about it, 
 Though he should hear you come or go, 
 
 I '11 lay my very life he'll doubt it. 
 
 EPITAPH 
 
 ON THE NAVAL WARRIOR JAN VAN AEMSTEL. 
 De grafworm maerle vrij het koud gebeent tot stof. 
 
 THOUGH the vile grave-worm waste to nought 
 
 The bones that withering lie : 
 His virtues live, and fill the world 
 
 With praise that cannot die. 
 
 EPITAPH 
 
 ON CORNELIS VAN ALDEWERELD. 
 Vertrouw op jeugd noch frisse leen. 
 
 OH ! place in youth and strength no trust, 
 He both could boast who here is laid ; 
 
 Yet they have pass'd, and he is dust : 
 The loveliest flow'rets soonest fade.
 
 JAN VAN BROEKHUIZEN. 
 
 BORN 1649 DIED 1707.
 
 Geen edel hart versmaadt de gouden minneboeijen. 
 
 Poor. 
 
 Die nimmer vlamt op ijdlen lof, 
 
 En zijne lusten met zijn' hof 
 
 Bepaelt, en indrinckt met zijne ooren 
 
 Den vogelzang. VONDKI,.
 
 JAN VAN BROEKHUIZEN. 
 
 1 HIS author is better known by his latinized name 
 BROEKHUSIUS. His philological writings and edi- 
 tion of Catullus, TibuUus and Propertius have consi- 
 derable merit. The renowned Adrian Junius was his 
 classical instructor. He practised medicine when 
 young, which he abandoned for a military life, and 
 died in retirement at the beginning of the last cen- 
 tury. 
 
 Als ik uw blozend mondje druk. 
 
 WHENE'ER thy mouth is prest to mine, 
 
 And when my heart upon thy breast reposes, 
 Whene'er I pluck the fragrant roses 
 That hang in fondness round those lips of thine, 
 It brings, dear girl, no grief to me, 
 To think I gave up liberty for thee. 
 Then, then, my soul floats on a stream of blisses, 
 Till it has won 
 The gentle kisses 
 That it lives upon.
 
 236 JAN VAN BROEKHUIZEN. [164>9- 
 
 But when on those bright orbs I gaze, 
 
 Those orbs whose lustre o'er my spirit glances 
 And blissfully my heart entrances 
 With the divine effulgence of their rays ; 
 Then mourn my lips, then mourn my eyes, 
 And each complains o' the other's luxuries. 
 My lips are envious of the eye's sweet pleasure, 
 And the eye would sip 
 Ambrosial treasure 
 Like the luscious lip. 
 
 Then think, Clorinda, what distress, 
 What grief my tender heart would visit, 
 If e'er another should solicit 
 The charms which I alone would fain possess ! 
 Whene'er we sport in dalliance sweet, 
 My eyes will scarce allow our lips to meet. 
 My lips are angry when the eye in glory 
 Looks from its throne, 
 And tells a story 
 Sweeter than their own.
 
 -1707.] JAN VAN BROEKHUIZEN. 237 
 
 ELEGIAC STANZAS. 
 
 Gedachten vruchteloos van welgemeende min. 
 
 FRUITLESS remembrances of well-intended love, 
 That lured my guileless heart and stole its joys 
 awayj 
 
 Ah ! wring my soul no more : despair is now above 
 The reach of thy base arts, thy false and fickle sway. 
 
 Ah ! wring my sou no more : but wouldst thou give 
 
 me rest, 
 And soothe my every pang, that power within thee 
 
 lies. 
 Then chase, I prithee chase the sighs that swell my 
 
 breast, 
 The murmurs on my lips, the tears within my eyes. 
 
 Have I then been by thee in every hope betray'd ? 
 
 Must I from peace and joy for ever, ever part ? 
 And am I doom'd to find my dearest visions fade, 
 
 And had 1 but thy vows another thy false heart ? 
 
 Alas ! it is too true ; farewell to peace and rest ! 
 
 Farewell, ye glowing charms, whose lustre still I 
 
 prize ! 
 For you, for you I die, with sighs in my fond breast, 
 
 And murmurs on my lips, and tears within my eyes.
 
 238 JAN VAN BROEKHUIZEN. 1649- 
 
 Ik zugt, ik klaag. ik ween. 
 
 I SIGH, lament and moan, 
 
 Whene'er I am alone ; 
 And oh, my eyes in bitterness complain, 
 Which dared to gaze on her who caus'd my pain. 
 At day-break, and when night draws nigh, 
 Clorinda still dwells in my memory. 
 Yes ! there the lovely image is enshrin'd, 
 Whose power I feel for ever in my mind. 
 
 My dreams are never free 
 
 From this sad slavery . 
 All other thoughts love in oblivion drowns, 
 My heart throbs fluttering, fearful of her frowns ; 
 Her eye of light, her lip of rose, 
 Her dulcet voice, her cheeks, where beauty glows, 
 Are snares which lure the bosom that relies, 
 And wound the soul that trusts them through the eyes. 
 
 Then go, my eyes, and crave 
 
 Some pity for her slave : 
 But let your mission unobtrusive be, 
 Your language temper'd with humility. 
 She will not scorn the heart that brings 
 Its love to her, and round her mercy clings. 
 But if she do not listen to your pray'r, 
 Despise her heart self-love alone is there.
 
 -1707.] JAN VAN BROEKHUIZEN. 239 
 
 SONNET. 
 
 In over Rijnse lugt bij daken onbekent. 
 
 BEYOND the Rhine, in solitudes and snows, 
 
 Through every starless night and cheerless day 
 
 I muse, and waste myself in thought away; 
 
 And breathe my sighs to where the Amstel flows. 
 
 My spring of life is hastening to its close, 
 
 The sun of youth emits its latest ray, 
 
 While grief asserts its most ungentle sway. 
 
 And toils I bear, but toils without repose. 
 
 But, oh ! my past enjoyment, life and light ! 
 
 How soon would sorrow take its hurried flight, 
 
 And every thought that pains my breast depart, 
 
 If thou wert present when my spirits pine ; 
 
 For thou wouldst bring with those sweet eyes of thine, 
 
 A summer in the land a heaven within my heart. 
 
 De morgenstondt, gehult met straalen. 
 
 THE morning hour, its brightness spreading, 
 In more than common lustre rose; 
 And o'er day's portals sparkling snows 
 
 And corals, gems of gold was shedding.
 
 240 JAN VAN BROEKHUIZEN. [1649- 
 
 Tbe moon grew paler paler yet, 
 And night, her gloomy face averting, 
 Roll'd slowly up her misty curtain, 
 
 And star by star in twilight set. 
 
 Closed are the thousand eyes of heaven, 
 And light shines brighter forth from one ; 
 And lo ! the bee comes forth alone, 
 
 To rob the rose and thyme till even. 
 
 The lordly lion wakes the wood 
 
 With mighty roar his eye-ball flashes ; 
 He shakes his mane, his tail he lashes ; 
 
 His loud voice breaks the solitude. 
 
 Away, thou monarch, brave, unshaken ; 
 
 Endymion, when he hears thy cries, 
 
 Far from the woods in terror flies, 
 And leaves his old abode forsaken. 
 
 He finds his mistress on the mead, 
 
 Who, where the shady boughs are twining, 
 Upon the green sward is reclining, 
 
 And counts the flocks that round her feed. 
 
 How gaily comes that maiden straying, 
 Before the sheep, that fawn and play ; 
 All light and smiles, like dawning day, 
 
 When o'er the ocean's bosom playing.
 
 -1707.] JAN VAN BROEKHUIZEN. 24-1 
 
 The lambkin, youthful as the grass, 
 As white as snow, as soft as roses, 
 Now at her tarrying feet reposes, 
 
 And now beside her loves to pass. 
 
 The feather'd choir, with songs of pleasure, 
 
 Salute the sun, whose glowing ray 
 
 Is shining on their plumage gay, 
 And glads their thousand-chorus measure. 
 
 What art can equal the sweet notes 
 Of their wild lays in grief and sadness ? 
 What hand can wake such tones of gladness 
 
 As flow from their untutored throats ? 
 
 The peasant, with the dawn beginning, 
 Now yokes the oxen to the ploughs, 
 And peasant-girls, with laughing brows, 
 
 Sing gay and cheerily while spinning. 
 
 A varied sound, and fitful light, 
 
 On dreams and silence are encroaching j 
 The sun in glory is approaching 
 
 To wake to day the slumbering night. 
 
 The lover, who with passion smarted, 
 And sigh'd his soul at Chloris' feet, 
 Starts when he finds the night's deceit, 
 
 And Chloris with his dream departed. 
 
 M
 
 24-2 JAN VAN BROEKHUIZEN. 
 
 The busy smith, with naked arms, 
 
 Whom sparks and blasts and flames environ, 
 
 Beats sturdily the glowing iron, 
 Which the loud-hissing water warms. 
 
 Come, let us rise and wander, dear one, 
 Our taper's flame is faint and dead, 
 The morning ray is on our bed ; 
 
 Come, let us rise and wander, fair one ! 
 
 Come, rouse, beloved ! let us rove 
 Where 'neath our welcom'd steps are growing 
 Roses and lilies, fair and glowing 
 
 As these upon thy cheeks, my love ! 
 
 THE END. 
 
 PRINTED BY RICHARD TAYLOR, 
 SHOE-LANK.
 
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