THE LOVERS.
The very name of the New World during the reign of Elizabeth, was
suggestive of boundless wealth, and the wildest hopes of gain. The
islands already visited by the adventurers of the period, were said to
be scenes of enchantment--a sort of demi-paradise, where the most lovely
Indian females wandered about in all the innocence of the golden age.
Such was the idea men entertained of the New World, as it was then
called, and in consequence, albeit those who had returned from this land
of promise, presented in their own worn appearance but small
encouragement to others to try fortune in their boasted region; still
the voyage, as it was designated _par excellence_, was in great repute
amongst the "rash, inconsiderate, and fiery voluntaries" of Elizabeth's
reign. And, under these circumstances, sea-faring men of all sorts, and
even those who had never beheld the sea, occasionally made up the file
as soldiers for the various expeditions in vogue. The hardships and
dangers these men encountered beneath the hot sun of the tropics at this
time; their endurance under difficulties, whilst exposed to privation in
their marches through unknown forests, defiles, and mountains, is
wonderful to contemplate. Nay, perhaps, the very difficulties to be
encountered, and the watery wastes to be traversed, even enhanced the
desire these desperadoes felt in undertaking the venture; added also to
this spirit of enterprise, and the prospect men behold in the sunny
distance, of lovely lands, and scenes of enchantment in the bright
islands they thought to find, there was in the breast of the Englishman
at this period a rankling and deep-seated hatred of the Spaniard--then
the stoutest soldier of the civilized world--a foe not only worthy in
that day of the Englishman's sword, but who bore away from him the palm
of soldiership, and, of whom, he felt in some sort jealous. The
Spaniard, at the same time, whilst he had been drilled into wonderful
efficiency by long conflict with the Moors, the French, and Italians,
surpassed all other men in the qualities which conquer kingdoms, even at
fearful odds.
The Spanish hidalgo still possessed all the chivalry of the crusader,
with augmented bigotry and superstition. Fighting was his element, and
greed of gold and religious fanaticism his stimulants. His pride was
beyond description. He was--
"The man of compliment, a most illustrious wight,
A man of fire, new words, fashion's own knight."
'Twas against soldiers of this stamp that such men us Drake were now
waging war. The stern hearts and iron fists of his sailors and
men-at-arms, were turned against wretches, whose cruel hearts had shewn
no mercy to the harmless Indian; and fierce, bloody, remorseless, was
the conflict when the Englishmen met the Don.
The great success of the Spaniard in both the Indies, too, was an
additional stimulant to the emulation of the English adventurers.
He was indeed considered a hero, who returned safe from the horrors of
murderous conflict, mid the sack and siege of town and settlement in the
tropics. His sun-burnt visage was gazed on with curiosity; and his
account also of hardships endured amidst swamp and thicket, together
with exaggerated circumstance of horrid animals, fearful reptiles, and
wonderous beings in human form, was listened to with awe and wonder.
The morning Clara had fixed on for her departure dawned brightly. Hill
and dale, and wood and park, were faintly gilded with the early morning
sun; she looked around, and sighed as she reflected, that perhaps for
the last time she beheld the domain of her ancestors.
As her party left the grounds of Shottery and took their way through the
village, she reined up her palfrey, and, with her female attendant,
remained a few minutes behind. She then turned her horse towards Anne
Hathaway's cottage, and, as the road ran close beside it, she resolved
to pass the dwelling of her rustic friend, and perhaps see her for a
moment and bid her again farewell. As she did so, she observed two
youths advancing along the road. They carried cross-bows in their hands,
and seemed bound for the woodlands.
"Is not the slighter of those youth's Anne's lover?" inquired Clara of
an attendant, as the young men entered the garden of old Hathaway's
cottage.
"It is, lady," said the attendant. "Yon handsome lad is William
Shakespeare."
"Listen!" said Clara; "he is awakening his mistress with a song." And as
the lady drew bridle under shelter of the tall trees beside the cottage,
they heard a beautiful voice accompanied by a sort of lute, singing
these _now_ well-known words.
"Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,
And Phoebus 'gins arise,
His steeds to water at those springs
On chalic'd flowers that lies;
And winking Mary-buds begin
To ope their golden eyes
With everything that pretty bin,
My lady, sweet, arise.
Arise, arise."[10]
[Footnote 10: "Cymbeline."]
The beauty of the verse, and the sweetness of the singer's voice,
completely fixed Clara to the spot; and, as she listened anxiously for
another verse, she heard the lattice open, and the voice of Anne join in
conversation with her lover. Clara felt extremely anxious again to see
one who had been the friend of Walter Arderne, and she determined to
accost the youth. When she rode round, however, to the front of the
cottage, he was gone on his way, and afterwards with his companion might
have been observed, concealed in the woods at Fulbrook. Together they
lay in the thick covert and watched a sequestered stag, a bolt from
Shakespear's cross-bow had wounded, and which he was again endeavouring
to gain a shot at. 'Twas his first poaching offence; and whilst he lay
thus crouching in the thick brake, and again sought to get near the
stag, his comrade, Dick Snare, kept watch somewhat aloof, lest the
keepers came upon them unawares.
Meantime slowly and sadly the maiden of high degree turned her horse's
head from the scenes of her childhood. She felt desolate amidst her
plenteous fields and domains, whilst the humble friend of her childhood,
the village companion, the poor cottager, seamed happy in all the world
could bestow worth coveting; and as Clara turned from the cottage, the
handsome Anne, unconscious of her near proximity, was intently perusing
some verses which Shakespeare had thrown in at her window as he
departed,--verses addressed to herself.
I.
"Would ye be taught, ye feather'd throng,
With love's sweet notes to grace your song,
To pierce the heart with thrilling lay,
Listen to mine, Anne Hathaway.
She hath a way to sing so clear,
Phoebus might, wondering, stop to hear;
To melt the sad, make blithe the gay,
And nature charm, Anne hath a way.
She hath a way,
Anne Hathaway,
To breathe delight, Anne Hathaway.
II.
"When Envy's breath and ranc'rous tooth
Do soil and bite fair worth and truth,
And merit to distress betray,
To soothe the heart, Anne hath a way;
She hath a way to chase despair,
To heal all grief, to cure all care,
Turn foulest night to fairest day,
Thou know'st, fond heart, Anne hath a way.
She hath a way,
Anne Hathaway,
To make grief bliss, Anne hath a way."