An Elegy, or Friend’s Passion for His Astrophil
Written upon the death of the Right
Honourable Sir Philip Sidney,
Knight, Lord Governor
of Flushing.
As then, no wind at all there blew,
No swelling cloud accloyed the air,
The sky, like grass of watchet hue,
Reflected Phœbus’ golden hair;
The garnished tree no pendant stirred,
No voice was heard of any bird.
There might you see the burly bear,
The lion king, the elephant.
The maiden unicorn was there,
So was Actæon’s horned plant:
And what of wild or tame are found,
Were couched in order on the ground.
Alcides’ speckled poplar tree;
The palm that monarchs do obtain;
With love juice stained, the mulberry,
The fruit that dews the poet’s brain;
And Phillis’ filbert there away
Compared with myrtle and the bay:
The tree that coffins doth adorn,
With stately height threat’ning the sky,
And for the bed of love forlorn,
The black and doleful ebony:
All in a circle compassed were
Like to an amphitheatre.
Upon the branches of those trees,
The air-winged people sat,
Distinguishèd in odd degrees;
One sort is this, another that.
Here Philomel that knows full well
What force and wit in love doth dwell.
The sky-bred eagle, royal bird,
Perched there upon an oak above;
The turtle by him never stirred,
Example of immortal love.
The swan that sings about to die;
Leaving Meander, stood thereby.
And that which was of wonder most,
The Phœnix left sweet Araby;
And on a cedar in this coast,
Built up her tomb of spicery.
As I conjecture by the same,
Prepared to take her dying flame.
In midst and centre of this plot,
I saw one grovelling on the grass;
A man or stone, I knew not what.
No stone; of man, the figure was.
And yet I could not count him one,
More than the image made of stone.
At length I might perceive him rear
His body on his elbows’ end:
Earthly and pale with ghastly cheer,
Upon his knees he upward tend;
Seeming like one in uncouth stound,
To be ascending out the ground.
A grievous sigh forthwith he throws,
As might have torn the vital strings;
Then down his cheeks the tears so flows
As doth the stream of many springs.
So thunder rends the cloud in twain,
And makes a passage for the rain.
Incontinent with trembling sound,
He woefully ‘gan to complain;
Such were the accents as might wound,
And tear a diamond rock in twain.
After his throbs did somewhat stay,
Thus heavily he ‘gan to say.
“O sun!” said he, seeing the sun,
“On wretched me, why dost thou shine?
My star is fallen, my comfort done;
Out is the apple of my eyen.
Shine upon those possess delight,
And let me live in endless night!”
“O grief! that liest upon my soul,
As heavy as a mount of lead;
The remnant of my life control,
Consort me quickly with the dead!
Half of this heart, this sprite and will,
Died in the breast of Astrophil.”
“And you compassionate of my woe,
Gentle birds, beasts, and shady trees!
I am assured ye long to know
What be the sorrows me aggrieves;
Listen ye then to what ensu’th,
And hear a tale of tears and ruth.”
“You knew, who knew not Astrophil?
(That I should live to say I knew,
And have not in possession still!)
Things known, permit me to renew:
Of him you know, his merit such,
I cannot say, you hear too much.”
“Within these woods of Arcady,
His chief delight and pleasure took:
And on the mountain Partheny,
Upon the crystal liquid brook,
The Muses met him every day;
That taught him sing, to write, and say.”
“When he descended down the mount,
His personage seemed most divine;
A thousand graces one might count
Upon his lovely cheerful eyen:
To hear him speak, and sweetly smile;
You were in Paradise the while.”
“A sweet attractive kind of grace;
A full assurance given by looks;
Continual comfort in a face,
The lineaments of Gospel books.
I trow that countenance cannot lie,
Whose thoughts are legible in the eye.”
“Was ever eye did see that face;
Was never ear did hear that tongue;
Was never mind did mind his grace;
That ever thought the travail long:
But eyes and ears and every thought,
Were with his sweet perfections caught.”
“O GOD! that such a worthy man,
In whom so rare deserts did reign;
Desired thus, must leave us then:
And we to wish for him in vain.
O could the stars that bred that wit,
In force no longer fixèd sit.”
“Then being filled with learned dew,
The Muses willèd him to love:
That instrument can aptly show,
How finely our conceits will move.
As Bacchus opes dissembled hearts,
So Love sets out our better parts.”
“Stella, a nymph within this wood,
Most rare, and rich of heavenly bliss;
The highest in his fancy stood,
And she could well demerit this.
’Tis likely, they acquainted soon:
He was a sun, and she a moon.”
“Our Astrophil did Stella love.
O Stella! vaunt of Astrophil!
Albeit thy graces gods may move;
Where wilt thou find an Astrophil?
The rose and lily have their prime;
And so hath beauty but a time,”
“Although thy beauty do exceed
In common sight of every eye;
Yet in his poesies when we read,
It is apparent more thereby.
He that hath love and judgment too,
Sees more than any others do.”
“Then Astrophil hath honoured thee.
For when thy body is extinct,
Thy graces shall eternal be.
And live by virtue of his ink.
For by his verses he doth give
To shortlived beauty aye to live.”
“Above all others this is he,
Which erst approvèd in his song
That love and honour might agree,
And that pure love will do no wrong.
Sweet saints! it is no sin nor blame
To love a man of virtuous name.”
“Did never love so sweetly breathe
In any mortal breast before?
Did never Muse inspire beneath,
A poet’s brain with finer store?
He wrote of love with high conceit;
And beauty reared above her height.”
“Then Pallas afterward attired
Our Astrophil with her device,
Whom in his armour heaven admired,
As of the nation of the skies:
He sparkled in his arms afar,
As he were dight with fiery stars.”
“The blaze whereof, when Mars beheld
(An envious eye doth see afar)
‘Such majesty,’ quoth he, ‘is seld.
Such majesty, my mart may mar.
Perhaps this may a suitor be
To set Mars by his deity.’”
“In this surmise, he made with speed
An iron can, wherein he put
The thunders that in clouds do breed;
The flame and bolt together shut,
With privy force burst out again;
And so our Astrophil was slain.”
His word, “was slain,” straightway did move,
And Nature’s inward life-strings twitch,
The sky immediately above,
Was dimmed with hideous clouds of pitch.
The wrastling winds, from out the ground
Filled all the air with rattling sound.
The bending trees expressed a groan,
And sighed the sorrow of his fall;
The forest beasts made ruthful moan;
The birds did tune their mourning call,
And Philomel for Astrophil,
Unto her notes, annexed a “phil.”
The turtle dove with tones of ruth,
Showed feeling passion of his death;
Methought she said “I tell thee truth,
Was never he that drew in breath,
Unto his love more trusty found,
Than he for whom our griefs abound.”
The swan that was in presence here,
Began his funeral dirge to sing;
“Good things,” quoth he, “may scarce appear;
But pass away with speedy wing.
This mortal life as death is tried,
And death gives life, and so he died.”
The general sorrow that was made
Among the creatures of kind,
Fired the Phœnix where she laid,
Her ashes flying with the wind.
So as I might with reason see
That such a Phœnix ne’er should be.
Haply, the cinders driven about,
May breed an offspring near that kind;
But hardly a peer to that, I doubt:
It cannot sink into my mind
That under branches e’er can be,
Of worth and value as the tree.
The eagle marked with piercing sight
The mournful habit of the place;
And parted thence with mounting flight,
To signify to Jove the case:
What sorrow Nature doth sustain,
For Astrophil, by Envy slain.
And while I followed with mine eye
The flight the eagle upward took;
All things did vanish by and by,
And disappearèd from my look.
The trees, beasts, birds and grove were gone:
So was the friend that made this moan.
This spectacle had firmly wrought
A deep compassion in my sprite;
My molten heart issued, methought,
In streams forth at mine eyes aright:
And here my pen is forced to shrink;
My tears discolour so mine ink.