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Et ces roses icy,

Ces vermeillettes roses
Tout freschement écloses
Et ces œilletz aussi.

De vostre doulce halaine
Eventez ceste plaine,
Eventez ce sejour:

Ce pendant que j'ahanne1
A mon blé que je vanne
A la chaleur du jour.

XII

Heureux qui, comme Ulysse...

(Regrets, XXXI., 1559)

Heureux qui, comme Ulysse, a fait un beau voyage,
Ou comme cestuy-là qui conquit la toison,

Et puis est retourné, plein d'usage et raison,
Vivre entre ses parens le reste de son aage!

Quand revoiroy-je, helas! de mon petit village
Fumer la cheminée? Et en quelle saison
Revoiroy-je le clos de ma pauvre maison,
Qui m'est une province, et beaucoup davantage?

Plus me plaist le sejour qu'ont basty mes ayeulx
Que des palais romains le front audacieux;
Plus que le marbre dur me plaist l'ardoise fine;

Plus mon Loyre 2 gaulois que le Tybre latin;
Plus mon petit Lyré que le mont Palatin,
Et plus que l'air marin la doulceur angevine.

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THE life of "Ronsart," as the name was spelled originally, was, like his poetry, essentially aristocratic. He left the Collège de Navarre to become page to the Dauphin, and at the age of thirteen accompanied James V. and Madeleine of France to Scotland, where he spent two years, after which he lived at the French Court till, at the age of eighteen, deafness dashed his hopes of preferment.

Then he chose the scholar's life, and for five years studied Greek under the great teacher, Dorat. With a fellow-student, du Bellay (see p. 23), he wrote the manifesto which appeared in 1549 (see Introduction, p. 3), and then began to publish specimens of the new poetry.

During the next fifteen years, spent partly at Court and partly at home in Touraine, Ronsard lived in the blaze of fame. After the death of his benefactor Charles IX. in 1574, he spent his declining days in the quiet of his country home among his roses.

No poet ever reached before his death such glory as Ronsard. Kings and queens treated him as their equal. Mary of Scotland and Elizabeth of England loaded him with admiration and honours, and Charles IX. was said to have addressed him a sonnet with the famous couplet:

Tous deux également nous portons des couronnes;
Mais, roi, je la reçus; poète, tu la donnes.

Ronsard's poetic work falls into four periods: 1550-54 (Pindaric Odes); 1554-60 (Anacreontic inspiration); 156074 (Court poems); 1574-84 (Sonnets pour Hélène); of these periods the second and fourth are the best. His greatness as a lyric poet lies in his evident sincerity, his feeling for the fragility of human life and beauty, his fondness for bird, beast and flower; he is the "poet of the roses." His chief faults are his tendency to diffuseness, fortunately

checked by the sonnet-form, undue imitation of the Ancients and Petrarch, and a certain monotony of subject and treatment, Carpe diem—and the roses once again!

EXTRACTS

XIII. A dirge for Marie, frankly Pagan in inspiration.

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XIV. Gather ye rosebuds while ye may."

XV. A miniature drama, with the accustomed moral.

XVI. An invocation to the forest, near Ronsard's home, where he found early inspiration. Despite his stay in Scotland, he has no eye for nature in the modern sense; his interest is in the mythological denizens of the forest.

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XVII. In death all are equal.

XVIII. The hospitable old hawthorn with its motley guests.

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XIX. Homage to the ladies who inspired, very differently Ronsard's poems: "Cassandre (Mlle. du Pré, c. 1541); Marie du Pin (c. 1550); and Hélène de Surgères (c., 1575).

XX. Youth and beauty will not last for ever, but the fame of Ronsard will.

XIII Comme on void sur la branche...

(Amours, II. iv.)

Comme on void sur la branche au mois de may
En sa belle jeunesse, en sa premiere fleur,

Rendre le ciel jaloux de sa vive couleur,

la rose

Quand l'aube de ses pleurs au poinct du jour l'arrose,

La Grace dans sa fueille et l'Amour se repose,
Embasmant les jardins et les arbres d'odeur;
Mais, batue ou de pluye ou d'excessive ardeur,
Languissante, elle meurt, fueille à fueille déclose.

Ainsi, en ta premiere et jeune nouveauté,
Quand la terre et le ciel honoroient ta beauté,
La Parque t'a tuée, et cendre tu reposes.

XIV

XV

Pour obseques reçoy mes larmes et mes pleurs,
Ce vase plein de laict, ce pannier plein de fleurs,
A fin que, vif et mort, ton corps ne soit que roses.

Je vous envoye un bouquet...

(Amours, Pièces retranchées)

Je vous envoye un bouquet que ma main
Vient de trier de ces fleurs épanies;
Qui1 ne les eust à ce vespre cueillies,
Cheutes à terre elles fussent demain.

Cela vous soit un exemple certain

Que vos beautez, bien qu'elles soient fleuries,
En
peu de temps seront toutes flaitries,

Et comme fleurs, periront tout soudain.

Le temps s'en va, le temps s'en va, ma dame;
Las! le temps non, mais nous nous en-allons,
Et tost serons estendus sous la lame.

Et des amours desquelles nous parlons,
Quand serons morts, n'en sera plus nouvelle.
Pour ce aymez-moy ce pendant qu'estes belle.

A Cassandre

(Odes, I. xvii.)

Mignonne, allons voir si la rose
Qui ce matin avoit desclose
Sa robe de pourpre au soleil
A point perdu ceste vesprée
Les plis de sa robe pourprée,
Et son teint au vostre pareil.

1 si l'on.

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