"Ah! no; he is not dead, nor can he die;
But lives for aye in blissful Paradise.
"There liveth he in everlasting bliss,
Sweet spirit! never fearing more to die;
Nor dreading harm from any foes of his,
Nor fearing savage beasts' more cruelty.
Whilst we here, wretches, wail his private lack,
And with vain vows do often call him back."
Of the life of the Countess of Pembroke subsequently to the death of her brother there is not much to be gleaned. Her chief immediate care was to complete and prepare for publication the manuscripts left by him. This labour of love she doubtless found to be one of sweet melancholy, which served, if anything could do, to endear still more his memory. It is stated that Sir Philip, on his death-bed, expressed a desire that the Arcadia should be committed to the flames. But, with a greater regard for his reputation than a simple compliance with his desire would have evinced, his sister lovingly undertook the task of revising, correcting, and completing this work. How much we are indebted to the pruning and shaping of the gentler hand we do not know. She carefully removed all blemishes, which, though not uncommon in the literature of the time, could not but offend her more refined sense of delicacy. It is, indeed, probable that the share of the sister in the romance is much larger than has been commonly supposed. In an address prefixed to some earlier editions it is said: "It moved that noble lady, to whose honour consecrated, to whose protection it was committed, to take in hand the wiping away those spots wherewith the beauties thereof were unworthily blemished. But as often repairing a ruinous house, the mending of some old part occasioneth the making of some new, so here her honourable labour began in correcting the faults, indeed in supplying the defects; by view of what was ill done, guided to the consideration of what was not done. Which part, with what advice entered into, most by her doing, all by her directing, if they may be entreated not to divine, which are unfurnished of means to discern, the rest, it is hoped, will favourably censure." "It is now," adds the writer, "by more than one interest, the Countess of Pembroke's 'Arcadia,' done, as it was, for her, as it is, by her. Neither shall these pains be the last (if no unexpected accident cut off her determination) which the everlasting love of her excellent brother will make her consecrate to his memory."