'To thee, that art the Summer's Nightingale, Thy sovereign goddess's most dear delight, Why do I send this rustic madrigal, That may thy tuneful ear unseason quite? _Thou, only fit this argument to write_, In whose high thoughts _pleasure hath built her bower_, And dainty love learn'd sweetly to indite. My rhymes, I know, unsavoury are and soure To taste the streams, which _like a golden showre_, Flow from thy fruitful head of thy love's praise. Fitter, perhaps, _to thunder martial stowre_,[Footnote] When thee so list thy _tuneful_ thoughts to raise, Yet _till that thou thy poem wilt make known_, Let thy fair Cynthia's praises be thus rudely shown.' [Footnote: 'Shine forth, thou Star of Poets, and with _rage_ _Or influence chide_, or _cheer_ the drooping stage.' BEN JONSON.] 'Of me,' says Raleigh, in a response to this obscure partner of his works and arts,--a response not less mysterious, till we have found the solution of it, for it is an enigma. 'Of me _no lines_ are loved, _no letters_ are of price, Of all that speak the English tongue, but those of _thy device_.' [It was a '_device_' that symbolised _all_. It was a _circle_ containing the alphabet, or the _A B C_, and the esoteric meaning of it was '_all_ in _each_,' or _all_ in _all_, the new doctrine of the _unity_ of science (the '_Ideas_' of the New '_Academe_'). That was the token-name under which a great Book of this Academy was issued.] It is to Sidney, Raleigh, and the Poet of the 'Faery-Queene,' and the rest of that courtly company of Poets, that the contemporary author in the Art of Poetry alludes, with a special commendation of Raleigh's vein, as the 'most lofty, insolent, and passionate,' when he says,' they have _writ_ excellently well, if their _doings_ could be found out and made public with the rest.' CHAPTER IV. RALEIGH'S SCHOOL, CONTINUED.--THE NEW ACADEMY. EXTRACT FROM A LATER CHAPTER OF RALEIGH'S LIFE. _Oliver_. Where will the old Duke live? _Charles_. They say _he is already_ in the forest of _Arden_, and a many merry men with him; and there they live like the old Robin Hood of England: they say many young gentlemen flock to him every day, and fleet the time carelessly as they did in the golden world. As You Like It. _Stephano_ [sings]. Flout 'em and skout'em; and skout'em and flout 'em, _Thought_ is free. _Cal_. That's not the tune. [Ariel _plays the tune on a tabor and pipe_.] _Ste_. What is this _same?_ _Trin_. This is the tune of our catch, played by--the picture of--_Nobody_. But all was not over with him in the old England yet--the present had still its chief tasks for him.