In bearded majesty.”
We had intended to say something concerning the dexterous Walsingham,
the impetuous Oxford, the graceful Sackville, the all-accomplished
Sydney; concerning Essex, the ornament of the court and of the camp, the
model of chivalry, the munificent patron of genius, whom great virtues,
great courage, great talents, the favour of his sovereign, the love of
his countrymen, all that seemed to ensure a happy and glorious life, led
to an early and an ignominious death, concerning Raleigh, the soldier,
the sailor, the scholar, the courtier, the orator, the poet, the
historian, the philosopher, whom we picture to ourselves, sometimes
reviewing the Queen’s guard, sometimes giving chase to a Spanish
galleon, then answering the chiefs of the country party in the House of
Commons, then again murmuring one of his sweet love-songs too near the
ears of her Highness’s maids of honour, and soon after poring over the
Talmud, or collating Polybius with Livy. We had intended also to
say something concerning the literature of that splendid period, and
especially concerning those two incomparable men, the Prince of Poets,
and the Prince of Philosophers, who have made the Elizabethan age a more
glorious and important era in the history of the human mind than the
age of Pericles, of Augustus, or of Leo. But subjects so vast require a
space far larger than we can at present afford. We therefore stop here,
fearing that, if we proceed, our article may swell to a bulk exceeding
that of all other reviews, as much as Dr. Nares’s book exceeds the bulk
of all other histories.