Pierre de, a French poet, was born at the castle of Poissonnière in Vendômois in 1524. He was descended of a noble family, and was educated at Paris in the college of Navarre. Academical pursuits not suiting his genius, he left college, and became page to the Duke of Orleans, who resigned him to James Stuart, King of Scots. Ronsard continued in Scotland with the Scottish king upwards of two years, and afterwards went to France, where he was employed by the Duke of Orleans in several negotiations. He accompanied Lazare Baif to the Diet of Spires. Having from the conversation of this learned man imbibed a passion for the belles-lettres, he studied the Greek language with Baif’s son under Daurat. It is reported of Ronsard that his practice was to study till two o’clock in the morning, and when he went to bed, to awaken Baif, who resumed his place. The Muses possessed in his eyes an infinity of charms; and he cultivated them with such success that he acquired the appellation of the “Prince of Poets” of his time. Henry II., Francis II., Charles IX., and Henry III. loaded him with favours. Having gained the first prize of the Jeux Floraux, they thought the reward promised below the merit of the work and the reputation of the poet. The city of Toulouse caused a Minerva of massy silver of considerable value to be made and sent to him. This present was accompanied with a decree, declaring him “The French Poet,” by way of distinction. Ronsard afterwards made a present of his Minerva to Henry II., and this monarch appeared as much elated with this mark of the poet’s esteem for him as the poet himself could have been had he received the present from his sovereign. Mary, the beautiful and unfortunate Queen of Scots, who was equally sensible of his merit with the Toulonese, gave him a rich set of table-plate.

He wrote hymns, odes, a poem called the Franciade, eclogues, epigrams, sonnets, &c. In his odes he takes bombast for poetical raptures. He wishes to imitate Pindar; and by labouring too much for lofty expressions, he loses himself in a cloud of words. He is obscure and harsh to the last degree; faults which he might easily have avoided by studying the works of Marot. But what could be expected from a man who had so little taste that he called Marot’s works, “a dunghill, from which rich grains of gold, by industrious working, might be picked.” He has, however, some pieces not destitute of real merit; and there Roof.