Of the manners of the New World, however, or of its magnificent scenery, his “Age of Gold in the Woods of Eriphile” shows no trace. It was printed at Madrid, in 1608, and might have been written, if its author had never been in any other city. But it is not without merit. The poetry with which it abounds is generally of the Italian school, but is much better than can be found in most of these doubtful romances; and its prose, though sometimes affected, is oftener sweet and flowing. Probably nothing in the nine eclogues--as its divisions are unsuitably called--is connected with either the history or the scandal of the times; and if this be the case, we have, perhaps, an explanation of the fact that it was less regarded by those contemporary with its publication than were similar works of inferior merit. But whatever may have been the cause, it was long overlooked; no second edition of it being demanded till 1821, when it received the rare honor of being published anew by the Spanish Academy.[77] [77] The prefatory notice to this edition contains all that is known of Balbuena. The very next year after the first appearance of “The Age of Gold,” Christóval Suarez de Figueroa, a native of Valladolid, a jurist and a soldier, published his “Constant Amaryllis, in Four Discourses,” crowded, like all its predecessors, with short poems, and, like most of them, claiming to tell a tale not a little of which was true.[78] Its author, who lived a great deal in Italy, was already known by an excellent translation of Guarini’s “Pastor Fido,”[79] and published, at different times afterwards, several original works which enjoyed much reputation.[80] [78] There was an edition with a French translation in 1614, but the best is that of Madrid, 1781, 8vo. [79] It was first printed, I believe, at Naples, in 1602, but was improved in the edition at Valencia, 1609, 12mo, pp. 278, from which I transcribe the opening of Act III.:-- O primavera, juventud del año, Nueva madre de flores, De nuevas yervezillas y d’ amores, Tu buelves, mas contigo No buelven los serenos Y aventurosos dias de mis gustos; Tu buelves, sí, tu buelves, Mas contigo no torna Sino la remembrança Miserable y doliente De mi caro tesoro ya perdido. p. 94. This passage is so nearly word for word, that it is not worth while to copy the Italian, and yet its fluency and ease are admirable.