in the country but also the strange contrasts of the times," comments Dr. Stopford Brooke, "that eleven editions [of his works] were published between 1595 and 1609, at a time when the Venus and Adonis of Shakespeare led the way for a multitude of poems that sung of love and delight in England's glory." Such was once his popularity; and, although that may have lapsed for ever now, the critics are not alone in insisting upon Father Southwell's permanent place in our literature. His poetry, so strangely free from the glad, passionate earthliness of most Elizabethan lyrics, is full of quaint, fanciful grace—of the grace, too, that follows deep religious fervour. The hopes, the fears, the pathetic weariness of Catholics in those evil days, all entered into his work; these, and the tender mysticism which bound them like a spell to the Old Religion. Yet, when all is said, the man's life is in itself our choicest heritage—his life as poet, as priest, and at last, as martyr.
Robert Southwell's birth is usually placed somewhere in 1561; a year which saw two events memorable in English history—the arrival on Scottish shores of the young Mary Stuart, and Elizabeth's final break with the Papacy in her refusal to send envoys to the Council of Trent. He was the third son of Richard Southwell, head of a prominent Catholic family of Horsham St. Faith's, Norfolk; it is interesting also to note that his maternal grandmother was a Shelley, and of the same family which later gave birth to the "Skylark" poet. Robert's adventures seem to have begun in the very cradle, whence he was stolen by some wandering gypsies; but, as the theft was promptly discovered, it bore no serious consequence. Far more significant is the fact that at a
