There were sundry poets who were also translators. Of these, Edward Fairfax, of the same family as Lord Fairfax, was the most distinguished. He translated with singular vigour and poetic feeling Tasso's "Jerusalem Delivered." It is still referred to with intense pleasure by the lovers of our old poetry. Joshua Sylvester--who wrote like King James against tobacco, but in verse, "Tobacco Battered"--translated, amongst other things, "The Divine Weeks and Works" of the French poet Du Bartas. Sir Richard Fanshawe translated the "Lusiad," by the Portuguese poet Camoens. Fanshawe, moreover, translated the "Pastor Fido" of Guarini, from the Italian, the "Odes" of Horace, the fourth book of the "Æneid," and the "Love for Love's Sake," of the Spaniard Mendoza. Fanshawe seemed to have a peculiar taste for the European languages derived from the Latin as for the Latin itself; thus he translated from Roman, Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian poets, and from all with much taste and elegance. Sir John Denham was a popular poet of the time, and his "Cooper's Hill" is still retained in our collections, and finds readers amongst admirers of descriptive poetry. Writers of much more sterling poetry were Sir John Davies, Drummond of Hawthornden, Bishop Hall, and Donne. Sir John Davies was long Attorney-General, and Chief-Justice of the King's Bench at the time of his death (_b._, 1570; _d._, 1626). He is author of a poem on dancing called the "Orchestra," but his great work is his "_Nosce Teipsum_," or "Know Thyself," a work which treats on human knowledge and the immortality of the soul. It is written in quatrains, or four-lined stanzas, and is one of the finest philosophical poems in the language as it was one of the first. There are a life and feeling in the poem which make it always fresh, like the waters of a pure and deep fountain. Speaking of the soul, he says:-- "Yet under heaven she cannot light on aught, That with her heavenly nature doth agree; She cannot rest, she cannot fix her thought, She cannot in this world contented be. "For who did ever yet in honour, wealth, Or pleasure of the sense, contentment find? Who ever ceased to wish when he had wealth, Or, having wisdom, was not vexed in mind? "Then as a bee which among weeds doth fall, Which seem sweet flowers with lustre fresh and gay, She lights on that and this and tasteth all, But pleased with none, doth rise and soar away." [Illustration: HAWTHORNDEN IN 1773. (_After an Etching by John Clerk of Eldin._)]