And such as came to shore were beaten with despair. The Medway's silver streams that wont so still to slide, Were troubled now and wroth; whose hidden hollow caves Along his banks, with fog then shrouded from man's eye, Aye "PHILIP" did resound, aye "PHILIP" they did cry. His nymphs were seen no more, though custom still it craves, With hair spread to the wind, themselves to bathe or sport; Or with the hook or net, barefooted wantonly The pleasant dainty fish to entangle or deceive. The shepherds left their wonted places of resort, Their bagpipes now were still, their lovely merry lays Were quite forgot; and now their flocks, men might perceive To wander and to stray, all carelessly neglect: And in the stead of mirth and pleasure, nights and days Nought else was to be heard, but woes, complaints and moan. But thou, O blessèd soul! dost haply not respect These tears we shed, though full of loving pure affect; Having affixt thine eyes on that most glorious throne, Where full of majesty, the high Creator reigns. In whose bright shining face thy joys are all complete, Whose love kindles thy sprite, where happy always one, Thou liv'st in bliss that earthly passion never stains; Where from the purest spring the sacred nectar sweet Is thy continual drink: where thou dost gather now Of well-employed life, th'estimable gains. There VENUS on thee smiles, APOLLO gives thee place; And MARS in reverent wise doth to thy virtue bow, And decks his fiery sphere, to do thee honour most. In highest part whereof, thy valour for to grace, A chair of gold he sets to thee, and there doth tell Thy noble acts arew; whereby even they that boast Themselves of ancient fame, as PYRRHUS, HANNIBAL, SCIPIO and CÆSAR, with the rest that did excel In martial prowess; high thy glory do admire. All hail! therefore, O worthy PHILIP immortal! The flower of SIDNEY'S race, the honour of thy name. Whose worthy praise to sing, my Muses not aspire. But sorrowful and sad these tears to thee let fall: Yet wish their verses might so far and wide thy fame Extend, that ENVY'S rage nor time might end the same. [Illustration] [Illustration] _A pastoral Eclogue upon the death of Sir PHILIP SIDNEY, Knight, &c._ =Lycon.= =Colin.=