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DUTCH POETRY AND ENGLISH

sance." 1 The simple truth is that Hooft is not completely at home in the Holland of his day; he is a Renaissance exile in a country that had in great measure refused to "receive" it; between him and his countrymen lay the Calvinistic theocracy, which he himself had largely repudiated, yet thereby cut irreparably the line of Dutch literary history and sadly reduced, in national value at least, his exquisite garnerings in the fields of Italy. Frankly, for Holland it is all an exotic growth — this dazzle of the sun, this gay, insouciant laughter, this frankly sensuous enjoyment of life:

"Wilt mij noch een kusgen geven Och mijn leven!

Jont mij noch een kusgen van u blije mont."

It is the abrogation of the intellectual, always to sport with Amaryllis in the shade":

"Amaryll de deken sacht

Van de macht,

Met zijn blaeuwe wolken buijen,

Maeckt de werelt sluimerblint

En de wintt Soeckt de maen in slaep te suijen."

In song after song we are asked to worship at the shrine of (a Dutch-like touch) Vrouw Venus:

"Voor 't al te schittrich licht,

Dat Venus, uit haer lampen Geblasen, heeft gesticht In uw hel aengesicht,

Hemel en Aerde swicht En afgrondt met haer dampen";

"Soo Venus schóón,

Aenschijn ten tóón.

Door 's Hemels blaeuw verscheenen,

Met vlechten blondt

1 "Uit Hooft's Lyriek," Introduction, p. 6.

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