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diff --git a/9670.txt b/9670.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d6cab06 --- /dev/null +++ b/9670.txt @@ -0,0 +1,40150 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known +British Poets, Complete, by George Gilfillan + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets, Complete + +Author: George Gilfillan + +Posting Date: November 25, 2011 [EBook #9670] +Release Date: January, 2006 +First Posted: October 14, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LESS-KNOWN BRITISH POETS, COMPLETE *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Marc D'Hooghe and the PG +Online Distributed Proofreaders + + + + + + + + + + + +SPECIMENS WITH MEMOIRS OF THE LESS-KNOWN BRITISH POETS. + +With an Introductory Essay, + + +BY THE REV. GEORGE GILFILLAN. + + + +COMPLETE + + + + +VOL. I. + +M.DCCC.LX. + + + + +INTRODUCTORY ESSAY + + +We propose to introduce our 'Specimens' by a short Essay on the Origin +and Progress of English Poetry on to the days of Chaucer and of Gower. +Having called, in conjunction with many other critics, Chaucer 'the +Father of English Poetry,' to seek to go back further may seem like +pursuing antenatal researches. But while Chaucer was the sun, a certain +glimmering dawn had gone before him, and to reflect that, is the object +of the following pages. + + +Britain, when the Romans invaded it, was a barbarous country; and although +subjugated and long held by that people, they seem to have left it nearly +as uncultivated and illiterate as they found it. 'No magnificent remains,' +says Macaulay, 'of Latian porches and aqueducts are to be found in Britain. +No writer of British birth is to be reckoned among the masters of Latin +poetry and eloquence. It is not probable that the islanders were, at any +time, generally familiar with the tongue of their Italian rulers. From +the Atlantic to the vicinity of the Rhine the Latin has, during many +centuries, been predominant. It drove out the Celtic--it was not driven +out by the Teutonic--and it is at this day the basis of the French, +Spanish, and Portuguese languages. In our island the Latin appears never +to have superseded the old Gaelic speech, and could not stand its ground +before the German.' It was in the fifth century that that modification +of the German or Teutonic speech called the Anglo-Saxon was introduced +into this country. It soon asserted its superiority over the British +tongue, which seemed to retreat before it, reluctantly and proudly, like +a lion, into the mountain-fastnesses of Wales or to the rocky sea-beach +of Cornwall. The triumph was not completed all at once, but from the +beginning it was secure. The bards of Wales continued to sing, but their +strains resembled the mutterings of thunder among their own hills, only +half heard in the distant valleys, and exciting neither curiosity nor awe. +For five centuries, with the exception of some Latin words added by the +preachers of Christianity, the Anglo-Saxon language continued much as it +was when first introduced. Barbarous as the manners of the people were, +literature was by no means left without a witness. Its chief cultivators +were the monks and other religious persons, who spent their leisure in +multiplying books, either by original composition or by transcription, +including treatises on theology, historical chronicles, and a great +abundance and variety of poetical productions. These were written at first +exclusively in Latin, but occasionally, in process of time, in the Anglo- +Saxon tongue. The theology taught in them was, no doubt, crude and +corrupted, the history was stuffed with fables, and the poetry was rough +and bald in the extreme; but still they furnished a food fitted for the +awakening mind of the age. When the Christian religion reached Great +Britain, it brought necessarily with it an impulse to intellect as well +as to morality. So startling are the facts it relates, so broad and deep +the principles it lays down, so humane the spirit it inculcates, and so +ravishing the hopes it awakens, that, however disguised in superstition +and clouded by imperfect representation, it never fails to produce, in all +countries to which it comes, a resurrection of the nation's virtue, and a +revival, for a time at least, of the nation's political and intellectual +energy and genius. Hence we find the very earliest literary names in our +early annals are those of Christian missionaries. Such is said to have +been Gildas, a Briton, who lived in the first part of the sixth century, +and is the reputed author of a short history of Britain in Latin. Such was +the still more apocryphal Nennius, also called, till of late, the writer +of a small Latin historical work. Such was St Columbanus, who was born +in Ireland in 560; became a monk in the Irish monastery of Benchor; and +afterwards, at the head of twelve disciples, preached Christianity, in its +most ascetic form, in England and in France; founded in the latter country +various monasteries; and, when banished by Queen Brunehaut on account of +his stern inflexibility of character, went to Switzerland, and then to +Lombardy, proselytising the heathen, and defending, by his letters and +other writings, the peculiar tenets of the Irish Church in reference to +the time of the celebration of Easter and to the popular heresies of the +day. He died October 2, 615, in the monastery of Bobbio; and his religious +treatises and Latin poetry gave an undoubted impulse to the age's progress +in letters. + +About this period the better sort of Saxons, both clergy and laity, got +into the habit of visiting Rome; while Rome, in her turn, sent emissaries +to England. Thus, while the one insensibly imbibed new knowledge as well +as devotion from the great centre, the other brought with them to our +shores importations of books, including copies of such religious classics +as Josephus and Chrysostom, and of such literary classics as Homer. About +680, died Caedmon, a monk of Whitby, one of the first who composed in +Anglo-Saxon, and some of whose compositions are preserved. Strange and +myth-like stories are told by Bede about this remarkable natural genius. +He was originally a cow-herd. Partly from want of training, and partly +from bashfulness, when the harp was given him in the hall, and he was +asked, as all others were, to raise the voice of song, Caedmon had often +to abscond in confusion. On one occasion he had retired to the stable, +where he fell into a sound sleep. He dreamed that a stranger appeared to +him, and said, 'Caedmon, sing me something.' Caedmon replied that it was +his incapacity to sing which had brought him to take refuge in the stable. +'Nay,' said the stranger, 'but thou hast something to sing.' 'What shall I +sing?' rejoined Caedmon. 'Sing the Creation,' and thereupon he began to +pour out verses, which, when he awoke, he remembered, repeated, and to +which he added others as good. The first lines are, as translated into +English, the following:-- + + Now let us praise + The Guardian of heaven, + The might of the Creator + And his counsel-- + The Glory!--Father of men! + He first created, + For the children of men, + Heaven as a roof-- + The holy Creator! + Then the world-- + The Guardian of mankind! + The Eternal Lord! + Produced afterwards + The Earth for men-- + The Almighty Master!' + +Our readers all remember the well-known story of Coleridge falling asleep +over Purchas's 'Pilgrims'; how the poem of 'Kubla Khan' came rushing +from dreamland upon his soul; and how, when awakened, he wrote it down, +and found it to be, if not sense, something better--a glorious piece +of fantastic imagination. We knew a gentleman who, slumbering while in +a state of bad health, produced, in the course of a few hours, one or +two thousand rhymed lines, some of which he repeated in our hearing +afterwards, and which were full of point and poetry. We cannot see that +Caedmon's lines betray any weird inspiration; but when rehearsed the next +day to the Abbess Hilda, to whom the town-bailiff of Whitby conducted him, +she and a circle of learned men pronounced that he had received the gift +of song direct from heaven! They, after one or two other trials of his +powers, persuaded him to become a monk in the house of the Abbess, who +commanded him to transfer to verse the whole of the Scripture history. It +is said that he was constantly employed in repeating to himself what he +had heard; or, as one of his old biographers has it, 'like a clean animal +ruminating it, he turned it into most sweet verse.' In this way he wrote +or rather improvised a vast quantity of poetry, chiefly on religious +subjects. Thorpe, in his edition of this author, has preserved a speech +of Satan, bearing a striking resemblance to some parts of Milton:-- + + 'Boiled within him + His thought about his heart, + Hot was without him, + His due punishment. + "This narrow place is most unlike + That other that we formerly knew + High in heaven's kingdom, + Which my master bestowed on me, + Though we it, for the All-Powerful, + May not possess. + + * * * * * + + That is to me of sorrows the greatest, + That Adam, + Who was wrought of earth, + Shall possess + My strong seat; + That it shall be to him in delight, + And we endure this torment, + Misery in this hell. + + * * * * * + + Here is a vast fire, + Above and underneath. + Never did I see + A loathlier landscape. + The flame abateth not + Hot over hell. + Me hath the clasping of these rings, + This hard-polished band, + Impeded in my course, + Debarred me from my way. + My feet are bound, + My hands manacled; + Of these hell-doors are + The ways obstructed, + So that with aught I cannot + From these limb-bonds escape. + About me lie + Huge gratings + Of hard iron, + Forged with heat, + With which me God + Hath fastened by the neck. + Thus perceive I that he knoweth my mind, + And that he knew also, + The Lord of hosts, + That should us through Adam + Evil befall, + About the realm of heaven, + Where I had power of my hands."' + +Through these rude lines there flashes forth, like fire through a thick +dull grating, a powerful conception--one which Milton has borrowed and +developed--that of the Evil One feeling in his dark bosom jealousy at +young Man, almost overpowering his hatred to God; and another conception +still more striking, that of the devil's thorough conviction that all +his plans and thoughts are entirely known by his great Adversary, and +are counteracted before they are formed-- + + 'Thus perceive I that he knoweth my mind.' + +Compare this with Milton's lines-- + + 'So should I purchase dear + Short intermission, bought with double smart. + _This knows_ my Punisher; therefore as far + From granting he, as I from begging peace.' + +Caedmon saw, without being able fully to express, the complex idea of +Satan, as distracted between a thousand thoughts, all miserable--tossed +between a thousand winds, all hot as hell--'pale ire, envy, and despair' +struggling within him--fury at man overlapping anger at God--remorse and +reckless desperation wringing each other's miserable hands--a sense of +guilt which will not confess, a fear that will not quake, a sorrow that +will not weep, a respect for God which will not worship; and yet, +springing out of all these elements, a strange, proud joy, as though +the torrid soil of Pandemonium should flower, which makes 'the hell he +suffers seem a heaven,' compared to what his destiny might be were he +either plunged into a deeper abyss, or taken up unchanged to his former +abode of glory. This, in part at least, the monk of Whitby discerned; +but it was reserved for Milton to embody it in that tremendous figure +which has since continued to dwindle all the efforts of art, and to +haunt, like a reality, the human imagination. + +Passing over some interesting but subordinate Saxon writers, such as +Ceolfrid, Abbot of Wearmouth; Aldhelm, Abbot of Malmesbury; Felix of +Croyland; and Alcuine, King Egbert's librarian at York, we come to one +who himself formed an era in the history of our early literature--the +venerable Bede. This famous man was educated in the monastery of +Wearmouth, and there appears to have spent the whole of his quiet, +innocent, and studious life. He was the very sublimation of a book-worm. +One might fancy him becoming at last, as in the 'Metamorphoses' of Ovid, +one of the books, or rolls of vellum and parchment over which he con- +stantly pored. That he did not marry, or was given in marriage, we are +certain; but there is little evidence that he even ate or drank, walked +or slept. To read and to write seemed the 'be all and the end all' of +his existence. Important as well as numerous were his contributions +to literature. He translated from the Scriptures. He wrote religious +treatises, biographies, and commentaries upon portions of Holy Writ. +Besides his very valuable Ecclesiastical History, he composed various +pieces of Latin poetry. His works in all were forty-four in number: and +it is said that on the very day of his death (it took place in 735) he +was dictating to his amanuensis, and had just completed a book. His works +are wonderful for his time, and not the less interesting for a fine +cobweb of fable which is woven over parts of them, and which seems in +keeping with their venerable character. Thus, in speaking of the Magi who +visited the infant Redeemer, he is very particular in describing their +age, appearance, and offerings. Melchior, the first, was old, had gray +hair, and a long beard; and offered 'gold' to Christ, in, acknowledgment +of His sovereignty. Gaspar, the second, was young, and had no beard; +and he offered 'frankincense,' in recognition of our Lord's divinity. +Balthasar, the third, was of a dark complexion, had a large beard, and +offered 'myrrh' to our Saviour's humanity. We should, we confess, miss +such pleasant little myths in other old books besides Bede's Histories. +They seem appropriate to ancient works, as the beard is to the goat +or the hermit; and the truth that lies in them is not difficult to +eliminate. The next name of note in our literary annals is that of the +great Alfred. Surely if ever man was not only before his age, but before +'all ages,' it was he. A palm of the tropics growing on a naked Highland +mountain-side, or an English oak bending over one of the hot springs of +Hecla, were not a stranger or more preternatural sight than a man like +Alfred appearing in a century like the ninth. A thousand theories about +men being the creatures of their age, the products of circumstances, &c., +sink into abeyance beside the facts of his life; and we are driven to the +good old belief that to some men the 'inspiration of the Almighty giveth +understanding;' and that their wisdom, their genius, and their excellency +do not proceed from them-selves. On his deeds of valour and patriotism it +is not necessary to dwell. These form the popular and bepraised side of +his character, but they give a very inadequate idea of the whole. On one +occasion he visited the Danish camp--a king disguised as a harper; but +he was, all his life long, a harper disguised as a king. He was at once +a warrior, a legislator, an architect, a shipbuilder, a philosopher, +a scholar, and a poet. His great object, as avowed in his last will, +was to leave his people 'free as their own thoughts.' Hence he bent the +whole force of his mind, first, to defend them from foreign foes, by +encouraging the new naval strength he had himself established; and then +to cultivate their intellects, and make them, as well as their country, +worth defending. Let us quote the glowing words of Burke:--'He was +indefatigable in his endeavours to bring into England men of learning in +all branches from every part of Europe, and unbounded in his liberality +to them. He enacted by a law that every person possessed of two hides of +land should send their children to school until sixteen. He enterprised +even a greater design than that of forming the growing generation--to +instruct even the grown, enjoining all his sheriffs and other officers +immediately to apply themselves to learning, or to quit their offices. +Whatever trouble he took to extend the benefits of learning among his +subjects, he shewed the example himself, and applied to the cultivation +of his mind with unparalleled diligence and success. He could neither +read nor write at twelve years old, but he improved his time in such +a manner, that he became one of the most knowing men of his age, in +geometry, in philosophy, in architecture, and in music. He applied +himself to the improvement of his native language; he translated several +valuable works from Latin, and wrote a vast number of poems in the Saxon +tongue with a wonderful facility and happiness. He not only excelled in +the theory of the arts and sciences, but possessed a great mechanical +genius for the executive part. He improved the manner of shipbuilding, +introduced a more beautiful and commodious architecture, and even taught +his countrymen the art of making bricks; most of the buildings having +been of wood before his time--in a word, he comprehended in the greatness +of his mind the whole of government, and all its parts at once; and what +is most difficult to human frailty was at the same time sublime and +minute.' + +Some exaggeration must be allowed for in all this account of Alfred the +Great. But the fact that he left a stamp in his age so deep,--that +nothing except what was good and great has been ascribed to him,--that +the very fictions told of him are of such _vraisemblance_ and magnitude +as to FIT IN to nothing less than an extraordinary man,--and that, as +Burke says, 'whatever dark spots of human frailty may have adhered to +such a character, are entirely hid in the splendour of many shining +qualities and grand virtues, that throw a glory over the obscure period +in which he lived, and which is for no other reason worthy of our +knowledge,'--all proclaim his supremacy. Like many great men,--like +Julius Caesar, with his epilepsy--or Sir Walter Scott and Byron, with +their lameness--or Schleiermacher, with his deformed appearance,--a +physical infirmity beset Alfred most of his life, and at last carried +him off at a comparatively early age. This was a disease in his bowels, +which had long afflicted him, 'without interrupting his designs, or +souring his temper.' Nay, who can say that the constant presence of such +a memento of weakness and mortality did not operate as a strong, quiet +stimulus to do with his might what his hand found to do--to lower pride, +and to prompt to labour? If Saladin had had for his companion some such +faithful hound of sorrow, it would have saved him the ostentatious flag +stretched over his head, in the hour of wassail, with the inscription, +'Saladin, Saladin, king of kings! Saladin must die!' + +Alfred wrote little that was original, but he was a copious translator. +He rendered into the Anglo-Saxon tongue--which he sought to enrich with +the fatness of other soils--the historical works of Orosius and of Bede; +nay, it is said the Fables of Aesop, and the Psalms of David--desirous, +it would seem, to teach his people morality and religion, through the +fine medium, of fiction and poetry. + +Alfric, Archbishop of Canterbury, is the name of another important +contributor to Saxon literature. He wrote a grammar of his native +language, which procured him the name of the 'Grammarian,' besides a +collection of homilies, some theological treatises, and a translation +of the first seven books of the Old Testament. In imitation of Alfred, +he devoted all his energies to the instruction of the common people, +constantly writing in Anglo-Saxon, and avoiding as much as possible the +use of compound or obscure words. After him appeared Cynewulf, Bishop of +Winchester, Wulfstan, Archbishop of York, and others of some note. There +was also slowly piled up in the course of ages, and by a succession of +authors, that remarkable production, 'The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle.' This +is thought to have commenced soon after the reign of Alfred, and +continued till the times of Henry II. Previous, however, to the Norman +invasion, there had been a decided falling off in the learning of the +Saxons. This arose from various causes. Incessant wars tended to +conserve and increase the barbarism of the people. Various libraries +of value were destroyed by the incursions of the Danes. And not a few +bishops, and other ecclesiastical dignitaries, began to consider +learning as prejudicial to piety-and grammar and ungodliness were +thought akin. The effect of this upon the subordinate clergy was most +pernicious. In the tenth century, Oswald, Archbishop of Canterbury, +found the monks of his province so grossly ignorant, not only of +letters, but even of the canonical rules of their respective orders, +that he required to send to France for competent masters to give them +instruction. + +At length came the Conqueror, William, and one battle gave England to +the Normans, which had cost the Romans, the Saxons, and the Danes so +much time and blood to acquire. The people were not only conquered, but +cowed and crushed. England was as easily and effectually subdued as was +Ireland, sometime after, by Henry II. But while the Conquest was for a +season fatal to liberty, it was from the first favourable to every +species of literature, art, and poetry. 'The influence,' says Campbell, +'of the Norman Conquest upon the language of England was like that of a +great inundation, which at first buries the face of the landscape under +its waters, but which, at last subsiding, leaves behind it the elements +of new beauty and fertility. Its first effect was to degrade the Anglo- +Saxon tongue to the exclusive use of the inferior orders, and by the +transference of estates ecclesiastical benefices, and civil dignities to +Norman possessors, to give the French language, which had begun to +prevail at court from the time of Edward the Confessor, a more complete +predominance among the higher classes of society. The native gentry of +England were either driven into exile, or depressed into a state of +dependence on their conqueror, which habituated them to speak his +language. On the other hand, we received from the Normans the first +germs of romantic poetry; and our language was ultimately indebted to +them for a wealth and compass of expression which it probably would not +have otherwise possessed.' + +The Anglo-Saxon, however, held its place long among the lower orders, +and specimens of it, both in prose and verse, are found a century after +the Conquest. Gradually the Norman tongue began to amalgamate with it, +and the result was, the English. At what precise year our language might +be said to begin, it is impossible to determine. Throughout the whole of +the twelfth century, great changes were taking place in the grammatical +construction, as well as in the substance of the Anglo-Saxon. Some new +words were imported from the Norman, but, as Dr Johnson remarks, 'the +language was still more materially altered by the change of its sounds, +the cutting short of its syllables, and the softening down of its +terminations, and inflections of words.' Somewhere between 1180 and +1216, the majestic speech in which Shakspeare was to write 'Macbeth' +and 'King Lear,' Lord Bacon his 'Advancement of Learning,' Milton his +'Paradise Lost' and 'Areopagitica,' Burke his 'Reflections,' and Sir +Walter Scott the Waverley Novels, and whose rough, but manly accents +were to be spoken by at least a hundred million tongues, commenced its +career, and not since Homer, + + "on the Chian strand, + Beheld the Iliad and the Odyssee + Rise to the swelling of the voiceful sea," + +had a nobler era been marked in the history of literature. For here was +a tongue born which was destined to mate even with that of Greece in +richness and flexibility, to make the language of Cicero and Virgil seem +stiff and stilted in comparison, and, if not to vie with the French in +airy grace, or with the Italian in liquid music, to excel them far in +teeming resources and robust energy. Memorable and hallowed for ever be +the hour when the 'well of English undefiled' first sparkled to the day! + +Previous to this the chief of the poets, after the Conquest, were +Normans. The country whence that people came had for some time been +celebrated for poetry. France was, as to its poetic literature, divided +into two great sections--the Provencal and the Northern. The first was +like the country where it flourished--gay, flowery, and exuberant; it +swam in romance, and its rhymers delighted, when addressing large +audiences under the open skies of their delightful climate, to indulge +in compliment and fanfaronade, to sing of war, wine, and love. + +The Normans produced a race of simpler poets. That some of them were men +as well as singers, is proved by the fact that it was a bard named +Taillefer who first broke the English ranks at the battle of Hastings. +After him came Philippe de Thaun, who tried to set to song the science +of his day; Thorold, the author of a romance entitled 'Roland;' Samson +de Nauteuil, the translator of Solomon's Proverbs into French verse; +Geoffrey Gaimar, who wrote a Chronicle of the Saxon kings; and one +David, a minstrel of no little note and power in his day. But a more +remarkable writer succeeded, and his work, like Aaron's rod, swallowed +up all the productions of these clever but petty poets. This was Wace, +commonly called Maistre Wace, a native of Jersey. In 1160, or as some +say 1155, Wace finished his 'Brut d'Angleterre' which is in reality a +translation into French of Geoffrey of Monmouth, who wrote a History +of Britain from the imaginary Brutus of Troy down to Cadwallader in +689. Literature owes not a little to Wace's poem. He collected into +a permanent shape a number of traditions and legends--many of them +interesting--which had been floating through Europe, just as Macpherson +preserved in Ossian not a few real fragments of the songs of Selma. And, +as we shall see immediately, Wace's production became the basis of the +earliest of English poems. + +Maistre Wace is the author also of a History of the Normans, which he +calls 'Roman de Rou;' or, 'The Romance of Rollo.' He was a great favourite +with Henry II., who bestowed on him a canonry in the Cathedral of Bayeux. +Besides Wace, there flourished about the same time Benoit, who wrote a +History of the Dukes of Normandy; and Guernes, a churchman of Pont St +Maxence in Picardy, who wrote in verse a Life of St Thomas a Becket. + +At the beginning of the century following the Conquest, the chief authors, +such as Peter of Blois, John of Salisbury, Joseph of Exeter, and Geoffrey +of Monmouth, all wrote in Latin. Layamon, however, a priest of Ernesley- +upon-Severn, used the vernacular in a poem which, as we have already +hinted, was essentially a translation of Wace's 'Brut d'Angleterre.' The +most remarkable thing about Layamon's poem is the language in which it is +written-language in which you catch English in the very act of chipping +the Saxon shell, or, as Campbell happily remarks, 'the style of Layamon is +as nearly the intermediate state of the old and new languages as can be +found in any ancient specimen --something like the new insect stirring its +wings before it has shaken off the aurelia state.' + +Between Layamon and Robert of Gloucester a good many miscellaneous +strains--some of a satirical, others of an amatory, and others again of +a legendary and devout style--were produced. It was customary then for +minstrels, at the instance of the clergy, to sing on Sundays devotional +strains on the harp to the assembled multitudes. At public entertainments, +during week-days, gay ditties were common. One of these is extant, but +is too coarse for quotation. It is entitled 'The Land of Cokayne,' an +allegorical satire on the luxury and vice of the Church, given under the +description of an imaginary paradise, in which the nuns are represented +as houris, and the black and grey monks as their paramours. 'Richard of +Alemaine' is a ballad, composed by an adherent of Simon de Montfort, Earl +of Leicester, after the defeat of the Royal party at the battle of Lewes +in 1264. In the year after that battle the Royal cause rallied, and the +Earl of Warren and Sir Hugh Bigod returned from exile, and helped the King +in his victory. In the battle of Lewes, Richard, King of the Romans, his +brother Henry III., and Prince Edward, with many others of the Royal +party, were taken prisoners. +[Note: See 'Richard of Alemaine,' Percy's Reliques, vol. ii., p. 2.] + +The spirit and the allusions of this song shew that it was composed by +Leicester's party in the moment of their victory, and not after the +reaction which took place against their cause, and it must therefore +belong to the thirteenth century. To this period, too, probably belongs +a political satire, published by Ritson, and which Campbell thus charac- +terises:--'It is a ballad on the execution of the Scottish patriots, Sir +William Wallace and Sir Simon Frazer. The diction is as barbarous as we +should expect from a song of triumph on such a subject. It relates the +death and treatment of Wallace very minutely. The circumstance of his +being covered with a mock crown of laurel in Westminster Hall, which Stow +repeats, is there mentioned, and that of his legs being fastened with iron +fetters "_under his horse's wombe_" is told with savage exultation. The +piece was probably indited in the very year of the political murders which +it celebrates, certainly before 1314, as it mentions the skulking of +Robert Bruce, which, after the battle of Bannockburn, must have become +a jest out of season.' + +Campbell quotes a love-ditty of this period, which is not devoid of +merit:-- + + 'For her love I cark and cave, + For her love I droop and dare, + For her love my bliss is bare, + And all I wax wan. + + 'For her love in sleep I slake,[1] + For her love all night I wake, + For her love mourning I make + More than any man.' + +[1] 'In sleep I slake:' am deprived of sleep. + + +And another of a pastoral vein:-- + + 'When the nightingale singes the woods waxen green, + Leaf, grass, and blossom springs in Avril I ween, + And love is to my heart gone, with one spear so keen, + Night and day my blood it drinks, my heart doth me teen.' + +About a hundred years after Layamon (in 1280) appeared a poet not +dissimilar to him, named Robert of Gloucester. His surname is unknown, and +so are the particulars of his history. We know only that he was a monk of +Gloucester Abbey, that he lived in the reigns of Henry III. and Edward I., +and that he translated the Legends of Geoffrey of Monmouth, and continued +the History of England down to the time of Edward I. This work is wonder- +fully minute, and, generally speaking, accurate in its topography as well +as narrative, and was of service to Selden when he wrote his Notes to +Drayton's 'Polyolbion.' It is more valuable in this respect than as a +piece of imagination. + +He narrates the grandest events--such as the first crusaders bursting +into Asia, with a sword of fire hung in the firmament before them, and +beckoning them on their way--as coolly as he might the emigration of a +colony of ants. Yet, although there is little animation or poetry in his +general manner, he usually succeeds in riveting the reader's attention; +and the speeches he puts into the mouths of his heroes glow with at +least rhetorical fire. And as a critic truly remarks--'Injustice to the +ancient versifier, we should remember that he had still only a rude +language to employ, the speech of boors and burghers, which, though it +might possess a few songs and satires, could afford him no models of +heroic narration. In such an age the first occupant passes uninspired +over subjects which might kindle the highest enthusiasm in the poet of +a riper period, as the savage treads unconsciously in his deserts over +mines of incalculable value, without sagacity to discover or inplements +to explore them.' We give the following extracts from Robert of +Gloucester's poem:-- + + + THE SPOUTS AND SOLEMNITIES WHICH FOLLOWED KING ARTHUR'S CORONATION. + + The king was to his palace, tho the service was ydo,[1] + Yled with his meinie,[2] and the queen to her also. + For they held the old usages, that men with men were + By themselve, and women by themselve also there. + When they were each one yset, as it to their state become, + Kay, king of Anjou, a thousand knightes nome[3] + Of noble men, yclothed in ermine each one + Of one suit, and served at this noble feast anon. + Bedwer the botyler, king of Normandy, + Nome also in his half a fair company + Of one suit for to serve of the hotelery. + Before the queen it was also of all such courtesy, + For to tell all the nobley that there was ydo, + Though my tongue were of steel, me should nought dure thereto. + Women ne kept of no knight in druery,[4] + But he were in arms well yproved, and atte least thrye.[5] + That made, lo, the women the chaster life lead, + And the knights the stalwarder, and the better in their deed. + Soon after this noble meat, as right was of such tide, + The knights atyled them about in eache side, + In fields and in meadows to prove their bachlery,[6] + Some with lance, some with sword, without villany, + With playing at tables, other atte chekere,[7] + With casting, other with setting,[8] other in some other mannere. + And which so of any game had the mastery, + The king them of his giftes did large courtesy. + Up the alurs[9] of the castle the ladies then stood, + And beheld this noble game, and which knights were good. + All the three exte dayes[10] ylaste this nobley, + In halle's and in fieldes, of meat and eke of play. + These men come the fourth day before the kinge there, + And he gave them large gifts, ever as they worthy were. + Bishoprics and churches' clerks he gave some, + And castles and townes knights that were ycome. + +[1] 'Tho the service was ydo:' when the service was done. +[2] 'Meinie:' attendants. +[3] 'Nome': brought. +[4] 'Druery.' modesty, decorum. +[5] 'Thrye:' thrice. +[6] 'Bachlery:' chivalry, courage, or youth. +[7] 'Chekere:' chess. +[8] 'With casting, other with setting:' different ways of playing at +chess. +[9] 'Alurs:' walks made within the battlements of the castle. +[10] 'Exte dayes:' high, or chief days. + + +AN OLD TRADITION. + +It was a tradition invented by the old fablers that giants brought the +stones of Stonehenge from the most sequestered deserts of Africa, and +placed them in Ireland; that every stone was washed with juices of +herbs, and contained a medical power; and that Merlin, the magician, at +the request of King Arthur, transported them from Ireland, and erected +them in circles on the plain of Amesbury, as a sepulchral monument for +the Britons treacherously slain by Hengist. This fable is thus +delivered, without decoration, by Robert of Glocester:-- + + 'Sir king,' quoth Merlin then, 'such thinge's ywis + Ne be for to shew nought, but when great need is, + For if I said in bismare, other but it need were, + Soon from me he would wend, the ghost that doth me lere.'[1] + The king, then none other n'as, bid him some quaintise + Bethink about thilk cors that so noble were and wise.[2] + 'Sir King,' quoth Merlin then, 'if thou wilt here cast + In the honour of men, a work that ever shall ylast, + To the hill of Kylar[3] send in to Ireland, + After the noble stones that there habbet[4] long ystand; + That was the treche of giants,[5] for a quainte work there is + Of stones all with art ymade, in the world such none is. + Ne there n'is nothing that me should myd[6] strength adowne cast. + Stood they here, as they doth there, ever a woulde last.' + The king somdeal to-lygh[7], when he hearde this tale: + 'How might,' he said, 'such stones, so great and so fale,[8] + Be ybrought of so far land? And yet mist of were, + Me would ween that in this lande no stone to wonke n'ere.' + Sir king,' quoth Merlin, 'ne make nought an idle such laughing; + For it n'is an idle nought that I tell this tiding. + For in the farrest stude of Afric giants while fet [9] + These stones for medicine and in Ireland them set, + While they wonenden in Ireland to make their bathe's there, + There under for to bathe when they sick were. + For they would the stones wash and therein bathe ywis; + For is no stone there among that of great virtue n'is.' + The king and his counsel rode the stones for to fet, + And with great power of battle if any more them let. + Uther, the kinge's brother, that Ambrose hett[10] also, + In another name ychose was thereto, + And fifteen thousand men, this deede for to do, + And Merlin for his quaintise thither went also. + +[1] If I should say any thing out of wantonness or vanity, the spirit + which teaches me would immediately leave me. +[2] Bade him use his cunning, for the sake of the bodies of those noble +and wise Britons. +[3] 'Kylar:' Kildare. +[4] 'Habbet:' have. +[5] 'The treche of giants:' 'The dance of giants.' The name of this +collection of immense stones. +[6] 'Myd:' with. +[7] 'Somdeal to-lygh:' somewhat laughed. +[8] 'Fale:' many. +[9] Giants once brought them from the furthest part of Africa. +[10] 'Hett:' was called. + + + ARTHUR'S INTRIGUE WITH YGERNE. + + At the feast of Easter the king sent his sond,[1] + That they comen all to London the high men of this lond, + And the ladies all so good, to his noble feast wide, + For he shoulde crown here, for the high tide. + All the noble men of this land to the noble feast come, + And their wives and their daughtren with them many nome,[2] + This feast was noble enow, and nobliche ydo; + For many was the fair lady that ycome was thereto. + Ygerne, Gorloys' wife, was fairest of each one, + That was Countess of Cornewall, for so fair n'as there none. + The king beheld her fast enow, and his heart on her cast, + And thoughte, though he were wise, to do folly at last. + He made her semblant fair enow, to none other so great. + The earl n'as not therewith ypayed[3], when he it under get. + After meat he nome his wife myd[4] sturdy med enow, + And, without leave of the king, to his country drow. + The king sente to him then, to byleve[5] all night, + For he must of great counsel have some insight. + That was for nought. Would he not, the king sent yet his sond, + That he byleved at his parlement, for need of the lond. + The king was, when he n'olde not, anguyssous and wroth. + For despite he would a-wreak be he swore his oath, + But he come to amendement. His power atte last + He garked, and went forth to Cornewall fast. + Gorloys his castles a store all about. + In a strong castle he did his wife, for of her was all his doubt, + In another himself he was, for he n'olde nought, + If cas[6] come, that they were both to death ybrought. + The castle, that the earl in was, the king besieged fast, + For he might not his gins for shame to the other cast. + Then he was there seen not, and he spedde nought, + Ygerne, the countesse, so much was in his thought, + That he nuste none other wit, ne he ne might for shame + Tell it but a privy knight, Ulfyn was his name, + That he truste most to. And when the knight heard thia, + 'Sir,' he said, 'I ne can wit, what rede hereof is, + For the castle is so strong, that the lady is in, + For I ween all the land ne should it myd strengthe win. + For the sea goeth all about, but entry one there n'is, + And that is up on harde rocks, and so narrow way it is, + That there may go but one and one, that three men within + Might slay all the laud, ere they come therein. + And nought for then, if Merlin at the counsel were, + If any might, he couthe the best rede thee lere.'[7] + Merlin was soon of sent, pled it was him soon, + That he should the best rede say, what were to don. + Merlin was sorry enow for the kinge's folly, + And natheless, 'Sir king,' he said, 'there may to mast'ry, + The earl hath two men him near, Brithoel and Jordan. + I will make thyself, if thou wilt, through art that I can, + Have all the forme of the earl, as thou were right he, + And Olfyn as Jordan, and as Brithoel me.' + This art was all clean ydo, that all changed they were, + They three in the others' form, the solve as it were. + Against even he went forth, nuste[8] no man that cas; + To the castle they come right as it even was. + The porter ysaw his lord come, and his most privy twei, + With good heart he let his lord in, and his men bey. + The countess was glad enow, when her lord to her come + And either other in their arms myd great joy nome. + When they to bedde come, that so long a-two were, + With them was so great delight, that between them there + Begot was the best body, that ever was in this land, + King Arthur the noble man, that ever worthy understand. + When the king's men nuste amorrow, where he was become, + They fared as wodemen, and wend[9] he were ynome.[10] + They assaileden the castle, as it should adown anon, + They that within were, garked them each one, + And smote out in a full will, and fought myd there fone: + So that the earl was yslaw, and of his men many one, + And the castle was ynome, and the folk to-sprad there, + Yet, though they hadde all ydo, they ne found not the king there. + The tiding to the countess soon was ycome, + That her lord was yslaw, and the castle ynome. + And when the messenger him saw the earl, as him thought, + That he had so foul plow, full sore him of thought, + The countess made somedeal deol,[11] for no sothness they nuste. + The king, for to glad her, beclipt her and cust. + 'Dame,' he said,' no sixt thou well, that les it is all this: + Ne wo'st thou well I am alive. I will thee say how it is. + Out of the castle stillelich I went all in privity, + That none of mine men it nuste, for to speak with thee. + And when they mist me to-day, and nuste where I was, + They fareden right as giddy men, myd whom no rede n'as, + And foughte with the folk without, and have in this mannere + Ylore the castle and themselve, and well thou wo'st I am here. + And for my castle, that is ylore, sorry I am enow, + And for my men, that the king and his power slew. + And my power is to lute, therefore I dreade sore, + Leste the king us nyme[12] here, and sorrow that we were more. + Therefore I will, how so it be, wend against the king, + And make my peace with him, ere he us to shame bring.' + Forth he went, and het[13] his men if the king come, + That they shoulde him the castle yield, ere he with strength it nome. + So he come toward his men, his own form he nome, + And leaved the earl's form, and the king Uther become. + Sore him of thought the earle's death, and in other half he found + Joy in his heart, for the countess of spousehed was unbound, + When he had that he would, and paysed[14] with his son, + To the countess he went again, me let him in anon. + "What halt[15] it to tale longe? but they were set at one, + In great love long enow, when it n'olde other gon; + And had together this noble son, that in the world his pere n'as, + The king Arthur, and a daughter, Anne her name was. + +[1] 'Sond' message. +[2] 'Nome:' took. +[3] 'Ypayed:' satisfied. +[4] 'Myd:' with. +[5] 'Byleve:' stay. +[6] 'Cas:' chance. +[7] 'Lere:' teach. +[8] 'Nuste:' knew. +[9] 'Wend:' thought. +[10] 'Ynome:' taken. +[11] 'Deol:' grief. +[12] 'Nyme:' take. +[13] 'Het:' bade. +[14] 'Paysed:' made peace. +[15] 'Halt:' holdeth. + +The next name of note is Robert, commonly called De Brunne. His real name +was Robert Manning. He was born at Malton in Yorkshire; for some time +belonged to the house of Sixhill, a Gilbertine monastery in Yorkshire; +and afterwards became a member of Brunne or Browne, a priory of black +canons in the same county. When monastical writers became famous, they +were usually designated from the religious houses to which they belonged. +Thus it was with Matthew of Westminster, William of Malmesbury, and John +of Glastonbury--all received their appellations from their respective +monasteries. De Brunne's principal work is a Chronicle of the History of +England, in rhyme. It can in no way be considered an original production, +but is partly translated, and partly compiled from the writings of Maistre +Wace and Peter de Langtoft, which latter was a canon of Bridlington in +Yorkshire, of Norman origin, but born in England, and the author of an +entire History of his country in French verse, down to the end of the +reign of Edward I. Brunne's Chronicle seems to have been written about +the year 1303. We extract the Prologue, and two other passages:-- + + + THE PROLOGUE. + + 'Lordlinges that be now here, + If ye wille listen and lere, + All the story of England, + As Robert Mannyng written it fand, + And in English has it shewed, + Not for the leared but for the lewed;[1] + For those that on this land wonn + That the Latin ne Frankys conn,[2] + For to have solace and gamen + In fellowship when they sit samen, + And it is wisdom for to witten + The state of the land, and have it written, + "What manner of folk first it wan, + And of what kind it first began. + And good it is for many things, + For to hear the deeds of kings, + Whilk were fools, and whilk were wise, + And whilk of them couth[3] most quaintise; + And whilk did wrong, and whilk right, + And whilk maintained peace and fight. + Of their deedes shall be my saw, + In what time, and of what law, + I shall you from gre to gre,[4] + Since the time of Sir Noe: + From Noe unto Eneas, + And what betwixt them was, + And from Eneas till Brutus' time, + That kind he tells in this rhyme. + For Brutus to Cadwallader's, + The last Briton that this land lees. + All that kind and all the fruit + That come of Brutus that is the Brute; + And the right Brute is told no more + Than the Britons' time wore. + After the Britons the English camen, + The lordship of this land they nameu; + South and north, west and east, + That call men now the English gest. + When they first among the Britons, + That now are English then were Saxons, + Saxons English hight all oliche. + They arrived up at Sandwiche, + In the kings since Vortogerne + That the land would them not werne, &c. + One Master Wace the Frankes tells + The Brute all that the Latin spells, + From Eneas to Cadwallader, &c. + And right as Master Wace says, + I tell mine English the same ways,' &c. + +[1] 'Lowed:' ignorant. +[2] 'Conn:' know. +[3] 'Couth:' knew. +[4] 'Gre:' step. + + + KING VORTIGERN'S MEETING WITH PRINCESS KODWEN. + + Hengist that day did his might, + That all were glad, king and knight, + And as they were best in glading, + And wele cop schotin[1] knight and king, + Of chamber Rouewen so gent, + Before the king in hall she went. + A cup with wine she had in hand, + And her attire was well-farand.[2] + Before the king on knee set, + And in her language she him gret. + 'Lauerid[3] king, Wassail,' said she. + The king asked, what should be. + In that language the king ne couth.[4] + A knight the language lered[5] in youth. + Breg hight that knight, born Bretoun, + That lered the language of Sessoun.[6] + This Breg was the latimer,[7] + What she said told Vortager. + 'Sir,' Breg said, 'Rowen you greets, + And king calls and lord you leets.[8] + This is their custom and their gest, + When they are at the ale or feast. + Ilk man that louis quare him think, + Shall say Wosseil, and to him drink. + He that bidis shall say, Wassail, + The other shall say again, Drinkhail. + That says Wosseil drinks of the cup, + Kissing his fellow he gives it up. + Drinkheil, he says, and drinks thereof, + Kissing him in bourd and skof.'[9] + The king said, as the knight 'gan ken,[10] + Drinkheil, smiling on Rouewen. + Rouwen drank as her list, + And gave the king, sine[11] him kist. + There was the first wassail in deed, + And that first of fame gede.[12] + Of that wassail men told great tale, + And wassail when they were at ale, + And drinkheil to them that drank, + Thus was wassail tane[13] to thank. + Fele sithes[14] that maiden ying,[15] + Wassailed and kist the king. + Of body she was right avenant,[16] + Of fair colour, with sweet semblant.[17] + Her attire full well it seemed, + Mervelik[18] the king she quemid.[19] + Out of measure was he glad, + For of that maiden he were all mad. + Drunkenness the fiend wrought, + Of that paen[20] was all his thought. + A mischance that time him led, + He asked that paen for to wed. + Hengist wild not draw a lite,[21] + But granted him, alle so tite.[22] + And Hors his brother consented soon. + Her friendis said, it were to don. + They asked the king to give her Kent, + In douery to take of rent. + Upon that maiden his heart so cast, + That they asked the king made fast. + I ween the king took her that day, + And wedded her on paien's lay.[23] + Of priest was there no benison + No mass sungen, no orison. + In seisine he had her that night. + Of Kent he gave Hengist the right. + The earl that time, that Kent all held, + Sir Goragon, that had the sheld, + Of that gift no thing ne wist + To[24] he was cast out with[25] Hengist. + +[1] 'Schotin:' sending about the cups briskly. +[2] 'Well-farand:' very rich. +[3] 'Lauerid:' lord. +[4] 'Ne couth:' knew not. +[5] 'Lered:' learned. +[6] 'Sessoun:' Saxons. +[7] 'Latimer:' _for_ Latiner, or Latinier, an interpreter. +[8] 'Leets:' esteems. +[9] 'Skof:' sport, joke. +[10] 'Ken:' to signify. +[11] 'Sine:' then. +[12] 'Cede:' went. +[13] 'Tane:' taken. +[14] 'Sithes:' many times. +[15] 'Ying:' young. +[16] 'Avenant:' handsome. +[17] 'Semblant:' countenance. +[18] 'Mervelik:' marvellously. +[19] 'Quemid:' pleased. +[20] 'Paen:' pagan, heathen. +[21] 'Wild not draw a lite:' would not fly off a bit. +[22] 'Tite:' happeneth. +[23] 'On paien's lay:' in pagan's law; according to the heathenish +custom. +[24] 'To:' till. +[25] 'With:' by. + + + THE ATTACK OF RICHARD I. ON A CASTLE HELD BY THE SARACENS. + + The dikes were fulle wide that closed the castle about, + And deep on ilka side, with bankis high without. + Was there none entry that to the castle 'gan ligg,[1] + But a strait kauce;[2] at the end a draw-brig, + With great double chaines drawen over the gate, + And fifty armed swaines porters at that gate. + With slinges and mangonels they cast to king Richard, + Our Christians by parcels casted againward. + Ten sergeants of the best his targe 'gan him bear + That eager were and prest[3] to cover him and to were.[4] + Himself as a giant the chaines in two hew, + The targe was his warant,[5] that none till him threw. + Eight unto the gate with the targe they yede, + Fighting on a gate, under him they slew his steed, + Therefore ne would he cease, alone into the castele + Through them all would press; on foot fought he full wele. + And when he was within, and fought as a wild lion, + He fondred the Sarazins otuynne,[6] and fought as a dragon, + Without the Christians 'gan cry, 'Alas! Richard is taken;' + Then Normans were sorry, of countenance 'gan blaken, + To slay down and to' stroy never would they stint, + They left fordied[7] no noye,[8] ne for no wound no dint, + That in went all their press, maugre the Sarazins all, + And found Richard on dais fighting, and won the hall. + +[1] 'Ligg:' lying. +[2] 'Kauce:' causey. +[3] 'Prest:' ready. +[4] 'Were:' defend. +[5] 'Warant:' guard. +[6] 'He fondred the Sarazins otuynne:' he formed the Saracens into two +parties. +[7] 'Fordied:' undone. +[8] 'No noye:' annoy. + +Of De Brunne, Warton judiciously remarks--'Our author also translated +into English rhymes the treatise of Cardinal Bonaventura, his +contemporary, _De coena et passione Domini, et paenis S. Mariae +Virgins_. But I forbear to give more extracts from this writer, who +appears to have possessed much more industry than genius, and cannot at +present be read with much pleasure. Yet it should be remembered that +even such a writer as Robert de Brunne, uncouth and unpleasing as he +naturally seems, and chiefly employed in turning the theology of his age +into rhyme, contributed to form a style, to teach expression, and to +polish his native tongue. In the infancy of language and composition, +nothing is wanted but writers;--at that period even the most artless +have their use.' + +Here we may allude to the introduction of romantic fiction into English +poetry. This had, as we have seen, reigned in France. There troubadours +in Provence, and men more worthy of the name of poets in Normandy, had +long sung of Brutus, of Charlemagne, and of Rollo. And thence a class, +called sometimes Joculators, sometimes Jongleurs, and sometimes +Minstrels, issued, harp in hand, wandering to and fro, and singing tales +of chivalry and love, composed either by themselves, or by other poets +living or dead. (We refer our readers to our first volume of Percy's +'Reliques,' for a full account of this class, and of the poetry they +produced.) These wanderers reached England in due time and brought with +them compositions which found favour and excited emulation, or at least +imitation, in our vernacular genius. Hence came a great swarm of +romances, all more or less derived from the French, even when Saxon in +subject and style; such as 'Sir Tristrem,' (which Sir Walter Scott tried +in vain to prove to be written by the famous Thomas the Rhymer, of +Ercildoun, or Earlston, in Berwickshire, who died before 1299;) 'The +Life of Alexander the Great,' said to be written by Adam Davie, Marshall +of Stratford-le-Bow, who lived about 1312; 'King Horn,' which certainly +belongs to the latter part of the thirteenth century; 'The Squire of Low +Degree; 'Sir Guy;' 'Sir Degore;' 'The King of Tars;' 'King Robert of +Sicily;' 'La Mort d'Arthur;' 'Impodemon;' and, more lately, 'Sir Libius;' +'Sir Thopas;' 'Sir Isenbras;' 'Gawan and Gologras;' and 'Sir Bevis.' +Richard I. also formed the subject of a very popular romance. We give +extracts from it:-- + + +THE SOLDAN SALADIN SENDS KING RICHARD A HORSE. + + 'Thou sayst thy God is full of might: + Wilt thou grant with spear and shield, + To detryve the right in the field, + With helm, hauberk, and brandes bright, + On stronge steedes good and light, + Whether be of more power, + Thy God almight, or Jupiter? + And he sent rue to saye this + If thou wilt have an horse of his, + In all the lands that thou hast gone + Such ne thou sawest never none: + Favel of Cyprus, ne Lyard of Prys,[1] + Be not at need as he is; + And if thou wilt, this same day, + He shall be brought thee to assay.' + Richard answered, 'Thou sayest well + Such a horse, by Saint Michael, + I would have to ride upon.---- + Bid him send that horse to me, + And I shall assay what he be, + If he be trusty, withoute fail, + I keep none other to me in battail.' + The messengers then home went, + And told the Soldan in present, + That Richard in the field would come him unto: + The rich Soldan bade to come him unto + A noble clerk that coulde well conjure, + That was a master necromansour: + He commanded, as I you tell, + Thorough the fiende's might of hell, + Two strong fiende's of the air, + In likeness of two steedes fair, + Both like in hue and hair, + As men said that there were: + No man saw never none sich; + That one was a mare iliche, + That other a colt, a noble steed, + Where that he were in any mead, + (Were the knight never so bold.) + When the mare neigh wold, + (That him should hold against his will,) + But soon he woulde go her till, + And kneel down and suck his dame, + Therewith the Soldan with shame + Shoulde king Richard quell, + All this an angel 'gan him tell, + That to him came about midnight. + 'Awake,' he said, 'Goddis knight: + My Lord doth thee to understand + That thee shalt come an horse to land, + Fair it is, of body ypight, + To betray thee if the Soldan might; + On him to ride have thou no drede + For he thee helpe shall at need.' + +The angel gives king Richard several directions about managing this +infernal horse, and a general engagement ensuing, between the Christian +and Saracen armies, + + He leapt on horse when it was light; + Ere he in his saddle did leap + Of many thinges he took keep.-- + His men brought them that he bade, + A square tree of forty feet, + Before his saddle anon he it set, + Fast that they should it brase, &c. + Himself was richely begone, + From the crest right to the tone,[2] + He was covered wondrously wele + All with splentes of good steel, + And there above an hauberk. + A shaft he had of trusty werk, + Upon his shoulders a shield of steel, + With the libards[3] painted wele; + And helm he had of rich entaile, + Trusty and true was his ventaile: + Upon his crest a dove white, + Significant of the Holy Sprite, + Upon a cross the dove stood + Of gold ywrought rich and good, + God[4] himself, Mary and John, + As he was done the rood upon,[5] + In significance for whom he fought, + The spear-head forgat he nought, + Upon his shaft he would it have + Goddis name thereon was grave; + Now hearken what oath he sware, + Ere they to the battaile went there: + 'If it were so, that Richard might + Slay the Soldan in field with fight, + At our wille evereachone + He and his should gone + Into the city of Babylon; + And the king of Macedon + He should have under his hand; + And if the Soldan of that land + Might slay Richard in the field + With sword or speare under shield, + That Christian men shoulde go + Out of that land for evermo, + And the Saracens their will in wold.' + Quoth king Richard, 'Thereto I hold, + Thereto my glove, as I am knight.' + They be armed and ready dight: + King Richard to his saddle did leap, + Certes, who that would take keep + To see that sight it were sair; + Their steedes ranne with great ayre,[6] + All so hard as they might dyre,[7] + After their feete sprang out fire: + Tabors and trumpettes 'gan blow: + There men might see in a throw + How king Richard, that noble man, + Encountered with the Soldan, + The chief was tolde of Damas, + His trust upon his mare was, + And therefor, as the book[8] us tells, + His crupper hunge full of bells, + And his peytrel[9] and his arsowne[10] + Three mile men might hear the soun. + His mare neighed, his bells did ring, + For greate pride, without lesing, + A falcon brode[11] in hand he bare, + For he thought he woulde there + Have slain Richard with treasoun + When his colt should kneele down, + As a colt shoulde suck his dame, + And he was 'ware of that shame, + His ears with wax were stopped fast, + Therefore Richard was not aghast, + He struck the steed that under him went, + And gave the Soldan his death with a dent: + In his shielde verament + Was painted a serpent, + With the spear that Richard held + He bare him thorough under his sheld, + None of his armour might him last, + Bridle and peytrel all to-brast, + His girthes and his stirrups also, + His ruare to grounde wente tho; + Maugre her head, he made her seech + The ground, withoute more speech, + His feet toward the firmament, + Behinde him the spear outwent + There he fell dead on the green, + Richard smote the fiend with spurres keen, + And in the name of the Holy Ghost + He driveth into the heathen host, + And as soon as he was come, + Asunder he brake the sheltron,[12] + And all that ever afore him stode, + Horse and man to the grounde yode, + Twenty foot on either side. + When the king of France and his men wist + That the mast'ry had the Christian, + They waxed bold, and good heart took, + Steedes bestrode, and shaftes shook. + +[1] 'Favel of Cyprus, ne Lyard of Prys:' Favel of Cyprus, and Lyard of +Paris, horses of Kichard's. +[2] 'Tone:' toes. +[3] 'Libards:' leopards. +[4] 'God:' our Saviour. +[5] 'As he was done the rood upon:' as he died upon the cross. +[6] 'Ayre:' ire. +[7] 'Dyre:' dare. +[8] 'The book:' the French romance. +[9] 'Peytrel:' the breast-plate or breast-band of a horse. +[10] 'Arsowne:' saddle-bow. +[11] 'falcon brode:' F. bird. +[12] 'Sheltrou:' 'schiltron:' soldiers drawn up in a circle. + +From 'Sir Degore' we quote the description of a dragon, which Warton +thinks drawn by a master:-- + + + DEGORE AND THE DRAGON. + + Degore went forth his way, + Through a forest half a day: + He heard no man, nor sawe none, + Till it past the high none, + Then heard he great strokes fall, + That it made greate noise withal, + Full soone he thought that to see, + To weete what the strokes might be: + There was an earl, both stout and gay, + He was come there that same day, + For to hunt for a deer or a doe, + But his houndes were gone him fro. + Then was there a dragon great and grim, + Full of fire and also venim, + With a wide throat and tuskes great, + Upon that knight fast 'gan he beat. + And as a lion then was his feet, + His tail was long, and full unmeet: + Between his head and his tail + Was twenty-two foot withouten fail; + His body was like a wine tun, + He shone full bright against the sun: + His eyes were bright as any glass, + His scales were hard as any brass; + And thereto he was necked like a horse, + He bare his head up with great force: + The breath of his mouth that did out blow + As it had been a fire on lowe[1]. + He was to look on, as I you tell, + As it had been a fiend of hell. + Many a man he had shent, + And many a horse he had rent. + +[1] 'On lowe:' in flame. + +From Davie's supposed 'Life of Alexander' we extract a description of a +battle, which shews some energy of genius:-- + + + A BATTLE + + Alisander before is ryde, + And many gentle a knight him myde;[1] + As for to gather his meinie free, + He abideth under a tree: + Forty thousand of chivalry + He taketh in his company, + He dasheth him then fast forthward, + And the other cometh afterward. + He seeth his knightes in mischief, + He taketh it greatly a grief, + He takes Bultyphal[2] by the side, + So as a swallow he 'ginneth forth glide. + A duke of Persia soon he met, + And with his lance he him grett. + He pierceth his breny, cleaveth his shielde, + The hearte tokeneth the yrne; + The duke fell downe to the ground, + And starf[3] quickly in that stound: + Alisander aloud then said, + Other toll never I ne paid, + Yet ye shallen of mine pay, + Ere I go more assay. + Another lance in hand he hent, + Against the prince of Tyre he went + He ... him thorough the breast and thare + And out of saddle and crouthe him bare, + And I say for soothe thing + He brake his neck in the falling. + ... with muchel wonder, + Antiochus hadde him under, + And with sword would his heved[4] + From his body have yreaved: + He saw Alisander the goode gome, + Towards him swithe come, + He lete[5] his prey, and flew on horse, + For to save his owen corse: + Antiochus on steed leap, + Of none woundes ne took he keep, + And eke he had foure forde + All ymade with speares' ord.[6] + Tholomeus and all his felawen[7] + Of this succour so weren welfawen, + Alysander made a cry hardy, + 'Ore tost aby aby.' + Then the knightes of Achay + Jousted with them of Araby, + They of Rome with them of Mede, + Many land.... + Egypt jousted with them of Tyre, + Simple knights with riche sire: + There n'as foregift ne forbearing + Betweene vavasour[8] ne king; + Before men mighten and behind + Cunteck[9] seek and cunteck find. + With Persians foughten the Gregeys,[10] + There was cry and great honteys.[11] + They kidden[12] that they weren mice, + They broken speares all to slice. + There might knight find his pere, + There lost many his distrere:[13] + There was quick in little thraw,[14] + Many gentle knight yslaw: + Many arme, many heved[15] + Some from the body reaved: + Many gentle lavedy[16] + There lost quick her amy.[17] + There was many maim yled,[18] + Many fair pensel bebled:[19] + There was swordes liklaking,[20] + There was speares bathing, + Both kinges there sans doute + Be in dash'd with all their route, &c. + +[1] 'Myde:' with. +[2] 'Bultyphal:' Bucephalus. +[3] 'Starf:' died. +[4] 'Heved: head. +[5] 'Lete:' left. +[6] 'Ord:' point. +[7] 'Felawen;' fellows. +[7] 'Vavasour:' subject. +[8] 'Cunteck:' strife. +[9] 'Gregeys:' Greeks. +[10] 'Honteys:' shame. +[11] 'Kidden:' thought. +[12] 'Distrere:' horse. +[13] 'Little thraw:' short time. +[14] 'Heved:' head. +[15] 'Lavedy:' lady. +[16] 'Amy:' paramour. +[17] 'Yled:' led along, maimed. +[18] 'Many fair pensel bebled:' many a banner sprinkled with blood. +[19] 'Liklaking:' clashing. + +Davie was also the author of an original poem, entitled, 'Visions in +Verse,' and of the 'Battle of Jerusalem,' in which he versifies a French +romance. In this production Pilate is represented as challenging our +Lord to single combat! + +In 1349, died Richard Rollo, a hermit, and a verse-writer. He lived a +secluded life near the nunnery of Hampole in Yorkshire, and wrote a +number of devotional pieces, most of them very dull. In 1350, Lawrence +Minot produced some short narrative ballads on the victories of Edward +III., beginning with Halidon Hill, and ending with the siege of Guisnes +Castle. His works lay till the end of the last century obscure in a MS. +of the Cotton Collection, which was supposed to be a transcript of the +Works of Chaucer. On a spare leaf of the MS. there had been accidentally +written a name, probably that of its original possessor, 'Richard +Chawsir.' This the getter-up of the Cotton catalogue imagined to be the +name of Geoffrey Chaucer. Mr Tyrwhitt, while foraging for materials to +his edition of 'The Canterbury Tales,' accidentally found out who the +real writer was; and Ritson afterwards published Minot's ballads, which +are ten in number, written in the northern dialect, and in an alliterative +style, and with considerable spirit and liveliness. He has been called the +Tyrtaeus of his age. + +We come now to the immediate predecessor of Chaucer--Robert Langlande. +He was a secular priest, born at Mortimer's Cleobury, in Shropshire, +and educated at Oriel College, Oxford. He wrote, towards the end of the +fourteenth century, a very remarkable work, entitled, 'Visions of William +concerning Piers Plowman.' The general object of this poem is to denounce +the abuses of society, and to inculcate, upon both clergy and laity, their +respective duties. One William is represented as falling asleep among the +Malvern Hills, and sees in his dream a succession of visions, in which +great ingenuity, great boldness, and here and there a powerful vein of +poetry, are displayed. Truth is described as a magnificent tower, and +Falsehood as a deep dungeon. In one canto Religion descends, and gives +a long harangue about what should be the conduct of society and of +individuals. Bribery and Falsehood, in another part of the poem, seek a +marriage with each other, and make their way to the courts of justice, +where they find many friends. Some very whimsical passages are introduced. +The Power of Grace confers upon Piers Plowman, who stands for the +Christian Life, four stout oxen, to cultivate the field of Truth. These +are Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, the last of whom is described as the +gentlest of the team. She afterwards assigns him the like number of stots +or bullocks, to harrow what the evangelists had ploughed, and this new +horned team consists of Saint or Stot Ambrose, Stot Austin, Stot Gregory, +and Stot Jerome. + +Apart from its fantastic structure, 'Piers Plowman' was not only a sign +of the times, but did great service in its day. His voice rings like +that of Israel's minor prophets--like Nahum or Hosea--in a dark and +corrupt age. He proclaims liberal and independent sentiments, he attacks +slavery and superstition, and he predicts the doom of the Papacy as with +a thunder-knell. Chaucer must have felt roused to his share of the +reformatory work by the success of 'Piers Plowman;' Spenser is suspected +to have read and borrowed from him; and even Milton, in his description +of a lazar-house in 'Paradise Lost,' had him probably in his eye. (See +our last extract from 'Piers.') + +On account of the great merit and peculiarity of this work we proceed to +make rather copious extracts. + + + HUMAN LIFE. + + Then 'gan I to meten[1] a marvellous sweven,[2] + That I was in wilderness, I wist never where: + As I beheld into the east, on high to the sun, + I saw a tower on a loft, richly ymaked, + A deep dale beneath, a dungeon therein, + With deep ditches and dark, and dreadful of sight: + A fair field full of folk found I there between, + Of all manner men, the mean and the rich, + Working and wand'ring, as the world asketh; + Some put them to the plough, playeden full seld, + In setting and sowing swonken[3] full hard: + And some put them to pride, &c. + +[1] 'Meten:' dream. +[2] 'Sweven:' dream. +[3] 'Swonken:' toiled. + + + ALLEGORICAL PICTURES. + + Thus robed in russet, I roamed about + All a summer season, for to seek Dowell + And freyned[1] full oft, of folk that I met + If any wight wist where Dowell was at inn, + And what man he might be, of many man I asked; + Was never wight as I went, that me wysh[2] could + Where this lad lenged,[3] lesse or more, + Till it befell on a Friday, two friars I met + Masters of the Minors,[4] men of greate wit. + I halsed them hendely,[5] as I had learned, + And prayed them for charity, ere they passed further, + If they knew any court or country as they went + Where that Dowell dwelleth, do me to wit,[6] + For they be men on this mould, that most wide walk + And know countries and courts, and many kinnes[7] places, + Both princes' palaces, and poor menne's cotes, + And Dowell, and Doevil, where they dwell both. + 'Amongst us,' quoth the Minors, 'that man is dwelling + And ever hath as I hope, and ever shall hereafter.' + Contra, quod I, as a clerk, and cumsed to disputen, + And said them soothly, _Septies in die cadit justus_, + Seven sythes,[8] sayeth the book, sinneth the rightful, + And whoso sinneth, I say, doth evil as methinketh, + And Dowell and Doevil may not dwell together, + Ergo he is not alway among you friars; + He is other while elsewhere, to wyshen[9] the people. + 'I shall say thee, my son,' said the friar then, + 'How seven sithes the sadde[10] man on a day sinneth, + By a forvisne'[11] quod the friar, 'I shall thee fair shew; + Let bring a man in a boat, amid the broad water, + The wind and the water, and the boate wagging, + Make a man many time, to fall and to stand, + For stand he never so stiff, he stumbleth if he move, + And yet is he safe and sound, and so him behoveth, + For if he ne arise the rather, and raght[12] to the steer, + The wind would with the water the boat overthrow, + And then were his life lost through latches[13] of himself. + And thus it falleth,' quod the friar, 'by folk here on earth, + The water is lik'ned to the world, that waneth and waxeth, + The goods of this world are likened to the great waves + That as winds and weathers, walken about, + The boat is liken'd to our body, that brittle is of kind, + That through the flesh, and the fraile world + Sinneth the sadde man, a day seven times, + And deadly sin doeth he not, for Dowell him keepeth, + And that is Charity the champion, chief help against sin, + For he strengtheth man to stand, and stirreth man's soul, + And though thy body bow, as boate doth in water, + Aye is thy soule safe, but if thou wilt thyself + Do a deadly sin, and drenche[14] so thy soul, + God will suffer well thy sloth, if thyself liketh, + For he gave thee two years' gifts, to teme well thyself, + And that is wit and free-will, to every wight a portion, + To flying fowles, to fishes, and to beasts, + And man hath most thereof, and most is to blame + But if he work well therewith, as Dowell him teacheth.' + 'I have no kind knowing,' quoth I, 'to conceive all your wordes + And if I may live and look, I shall go learne better; + I beken[15] the Christ, that on the crosse died;' + And I said, 'The same save you from mischance, + And give you grace on this ground good me to worth.' + And thus I went wide where, walking mine one + By a wide wilderness, and by a woode's side, + Bliss of the birdes brought me on sleep, + And under a lind[16] on a land, leaned I a stound[17] + To lyth[18] the layes, those lovely fowles made, + Mirth of their mouthes made me there to sleep. + The marvellousest metelles mette[19] me then + That ever dreamed wight, in world as I went. + A much man as me thought, and like to myself, + Came and called me, by my kinde[20] name. + 'What art thou,' quod I then, 'thou that my name knowest?' + 'That thou wottest well,' quod he, 'and no wight better.' + 'Wot I what thou art?' Thought said he then, + 'I have sued[21] thee this seven years, see ye me no rather?' + 'Art thou Thought?' quoth I then, 'thou couldest me wyssh[22] + Where that Dowell dwelleth, and do me that to know.' + 'Dowell, and Dobetter, and Dobest the third,' quod he, + 'Are three fair virtues, and be not far to find, + Whoso is true of his tongue, and of his two handes, + And through his labour or his lod, his livelod winneth, + And is trusty of his tayling,[23] taketh but his own, + And is no drunkelow ne dedigious, Dowell him followeth; + Dobet doth right thus, and he doth much more, + He is as low as a lamb, and lovely of speech, + And helpeth all men, after that them needeth; + The bagges and the bigirdles, he hath to-broke them all, + That the earl avarous helde and his heires, + And thus to mammons many he hath made him friends, + And is run to religion, and hath rend'red[24] the Bible + And preached to the people Saint Paule's wordes, + _Libenter suffertis insipientes, cum sitis ipsi sapientes_. + + * * * * * + + And suffereth the unwise with you for to live, + And with glad will doth he good, for so God you hoteth.[25] + Dobest is above both, and beareth a bishop's cross + Is hooked on that one end to halye[26] men from hell; + A pike is on the potent[27] to pull down the wicked + That waiten any wickedness, Dowell to tene;[28] + And Dowell and Dobet amongst them have ordained + To crown one to be king, to rule them boeth, + That if Dowell and Dobet are against Dobest, + Then shall the king come, and cast them in irons, + And but if Dobest bid for them, they be there for ever. + Thus Dowell and Dobet, and Dobeste the third, + Crowned one to be king, to keepen them all, + And to rule the realme by their three wittes, + And none otherwise but as they three assented.' + I thanked Thought then, that he me thus taught, + And yet favoureth me not thy suging, I covet to learn + How Dowell, Dobest, and Dobetter do among the people. + 'But Wit can wish[29] thee,' quoth Thought, 'where they three dwell, + Else wot I none that can tell that now is alive.' + Thought and I thus, three dayes we yeden[30] + Disputing upon Dowell, daye after other. + And ere we were 'ware, with Wit 'gan we meet. + He was long and leane, like to none other, + Was no pride on his apparel, nor poverty neither; + Sad of his semblance, and of soft cheer; + I durst not move no matter, to make him to laugh, + But as I bade Thought then be mean between, + And put forth some purpose to prevent his wits, + What was Dowell from Dobet, and Dobest from them both? + Then Thought in that time said these wordes; + 'Whether Dowell, Dobet, and Dobest be in land, + Here is well would wit, if Wit could teach him, + And whether he be man or woman, this man fain would espy, + And work as they three would, this is his intent.' + 'Here Dowell dwelleth,' quod Wit, 'not a day hence, + In a castle that kind[31] made, of four kinds things; + Of earth and air is it made, mingled together + With wind and with water, witterly[32] enjoined; + Kinde hath closed therein, craftily withal, + A leman[33] that he loveth, like to himself, + Anima she hight, and Envy her hateth, + A proud pricker of France, _princeps hujus mundi_, + And would win her away with wiles and he might; + And Kind knoweth this well, and keepeth her the better. + And doth her with Sir Dowell is duke of these marches; + Dobet is her damosel, Sir Dowell's daughter, + To serve this lady lelly,[34] both late and rathe.[35] + Dobest is above both, a bishop's pere; + That he bids must be done; he ruleth them all. + Anima, that lady, is led by his learning, + And the constable of the castle, that keepeth all the watch, + Is a wise knight withal, Sir Inwit he hight, + And hath five fair sonnes by his first wife, + Sir Seewell and Saywell, and Hearwell-the-end, + Sir Workwell-with-thy-hand, a wight man of strength, + And Sir Godfray Gowell, great lordes forsooth. + These five be set to save this lady Anima, + Till Kind come or send, to save her for ever.' + 'What kind thing is Kind,' quod I, 'canst thou me tell?'-- + 'Kind,' quod Wit, 'is a creator of all kinds things, + Father and former of all that ever was maked, + And that is the great God that 'ginning had never, + Lord of life and of light, of bliss and of pain, + Angels and all thing are at his will, + And man is him most like, of mark and of shape, + For through the word that he spake, wexen forth beasts, + And made Adam, likest to himself one, + And Eve of his ribbe bone, without any mean, + For he was singular himself, and said _Faciamus_, + As who say more must hereto, than my worde one, + My might must helpe now with my speech, + Even as a lord should make letters, and he lacked parchment, + Though he could write never so well, if he had no pen, + The letters, for all his lordship, I 'lieve were never ymarked; + And so it seemeth by him, as the Bible telleth, + There he saide, _Dixit et facta sunt_. + He must work with his word, and his wit shew; + And in this manner was man made, by might of God Almighty, + With his word and his workmanship, and with life to last, + And thus God gave him a ghost[36] of the Godhead of heaven, + And of his great grace granted him bliss, + And that is life that aye shall last, to all our lineage after; + And that is the castle that Kinde made, Caro it hight, + And is as much to meane as man with a soul, + And that he wrought with work and with word both; + Through might of the majesty, man was ymaked. + Inwit and Allwits closed been therein, + For love of the lady Anima, that life is nempned.[37] + Over all in man's body, she walketh and wand'reth, + And in the heart is her home, and her most rest, + And Inwit is in the head, and to the hearte looketh, + What Anima is lief or loth,[38] he leadeth her at his will + Then had Wit a wife, was hote Dame Study, + That leve was of lere, and of liche boeth. + She was wonderly wrought, Wit me so teached, + And all staring, Dame Study sternely said; + 'Well art thou wise,' quoth she to Wit, 'any wisdoms to tell + To flatterers or to fooles, that frantic be of wits;' + And blamed him and banned him, and bade him be still, + With such wise wordes, to wysh any sots, + And said, '_Noli mittere_, man, _margaritae_, pearls, + Amonge hogges, that have hawes at will. + They do but drivel thereon, draff were them lever,[39] + Than all precious pearls that in paradise waxeth.[40] + I say it, by such,' quod she, 'that shew it by their works, + That them were lever[41] land and lordship on earth, + Or riches or rentes, and rest at their will, + Than all the sooth sawes that Solomon said ever. + Wisdom and wit now is not worth a kerse,[42] + But if it be carded with covetise, as clothers kemb their wool; + Whoso can contrive deceits, and conspire wrongs, + And lead forth a loveday,[43] to let with truth, + He that such craftes can is oft cleped to counsel, + They lead lords with lesings, and belieth truth. + Job the gentle in his gests greatly witnesseth + That wicked men wielden the wealth of this world; + The Psalter sayeth the same, by such as do evil; + _Ecce ipsi peccatores abundantes in seculo obtinuerunt divitias_. + Lo, saith holy lecture, which lords be these shrewes? + Thilke that God giveth most, least good they dealeth, + And most unkind be to that comen, that most chattel wieldeth.[44] + _Quae perfecisti destrutxerunt, justus autem, &c_. + Harlots for their harlotry may have of their goodes, + And japers and juggelers, and janglers of jestes, + And he that hath holy writ aye in his mouth, + And can tell of Tobie, and of the twelve apostles, + Or preach of the penance that Pilate falsely wrought + To Jesu the gentle, that Jewes to-draw: + Little is he loved that such a lesson sheweth; + Or daunten or draw forth, I do it on God himself, + But they that feign they fooles, and with fayting[45] liveth, + Against the lawe of our Lord, and lien on themself, + Spitten and spewen, and speak foule wordes, + Drinken and drivellen, and do men for to gape, + Liken men, and lie on them, and lendeth them no giftes, + They can[46] no more minstrelsy nor music men to glad, + Than Mundie, the miller, of _multa fecit Deus_. + Ne were their vile harlotry, have God my truth, + Shoulde never king nor knight, nor canon of Paul's + Give them to their yeare's gift, nor gift of a groat, + And mirth and minstrelsy amongst men is nought; + Lechery, losenchery,[47] and losels' tales, + Gluttony and great oaths, this mirth they loveth, + And if they carpen[48] of Christ, these clerkes and these lewed, + And they meet in their mirth, when minstrels be still, + When telleth they of the Trinity a tale or twain, + And bringeth forth a blade reason, and take Bernard to witness, + And put forth a presumption to prove the sooth, + Thus they drivel at their dais[49] the Deity to scorn, + And gnawen God to their gorge[50] when their guts fallen; + And the careful[51] may cry, and carpen at the gate, + Both a-hunger'd and a-thirst, and for chill[52] quake, + Is none to nymen[53] them near, his noyel[54] to amend, + But hunten him as a hound, and hoten[55] him go hence. + Little loveth he that Lord that lent him all that bliss, + That thus parteth with the poor; a parcel when him needeth + Ne were mercy in mean men, more than in rich; + Mendynauntes meatless[56] might go to bed. + God is much in the gorge of these greate masters, + And amonges mean men, his mercy and his workes, + And so sayeth the Psalter, I have seen it oft. + Clerks and other kinnes men carpen of God fast, + And have him much in the mouth, and meane men in heart; + Friars and faitours[57] have founden such questions + To please with the proud men, sith the pestilence time, + And preachen at St Paule's, for pure envy of clerks, + That folk is not firmed in the faith, nor free of their goods, + Nor sorry for their sinnes, so is pride waxen, + In religion, and in all the realm, amongst rich and poor; + That prayers have no power the pestilence to let, + And yet the wretches of this world are none 'ware by other, + Nor for dread of the death, withdraw not their pride, + Nor be plenteous to the poor, as pure charity would, + But in gains and in gluttony, forglote goods themself, + And breaketh not to the beggar, as the book teacheth. + And the more he winneth, and waxeth wealthy in riches, + And lordeth in landes, the less good he dealeth. + Tobie telleth ye not so, take heed, ye rich, + How the bible book of him beareth witness; + Whoso hath much, spend manly, so meaneth Tobit, + And whoso little wieldeth, rule him thereafter; + For we have no letter of our life, how long it shall endure. + Suche lessons lordes shoulde love to hear, + And how he might most meinie, manlich find; + Not to fare as a fiddeler, or a friar to seek feasts, + Homely at other men's houses, and haten their own. + Elenge[58] is the hall every day in the week; + There the lord nor the lady liketh not to sit, + Now hath each rich a rule[59] to eaten by themself + In a privy parlour, for poore men's sake, + Or in a chamber with a chimney, and leave the chief hall + That was made for meales men to eat in.'-- + And when that Wit was 'ware what Dame Study told, + He became so confuse he cunneth not look, + And as dumb as death, and drew him arear, + And for no carping I could after, nor kneeling to the earth + I might get no grain of his greate wits, + But all laughing he louted, and looked upon Study, + In sign that I shoulde beseechen her of grace, + And when I was 'ware of his will, to his wife I louted + And said, 'Mercie, madam, your man shall I worth + As long as I live both late and early, + For to worken your will, the while my life endureth, + With this that ye ken me kindly, to know to what is Dowell.' + 'For thy meekness, man,' quoth she, 'and for thy mild speech, + I shall ken thee to my cousin, that Clergy is hoten.[60] + He hath wedded a wife within these six moneths, + Is syb[61] to the seven arts, Scripture is her name; + They two as I hope, after my teaching, + Shall wishen thee Dowell, I dare undertake.' + Then was I as fain as fowl of fair morrow, + And gladder than the gleeman that gold hath to gift, + And asked her the highway where that Clergy[62] dwelt. + 'And tell me some token,' quoth I, 'for time is that I wend.' + 'Ask the highway,' quoth she, 'hence to suffer + Both well and woe, if that thou wilt learn; + And ride forth by riches, and rest thou not therein, + For if thou couplest ye therewith, to Clergy comest thou never, + And also the likorous land that Lechery hight, + Leave it on thy left half, a large mile and more, + Till thou come to a court, keep well thy tongue + From leasings and lyther[63] speech, and likorous drinkes, + Then shalt thou see Sobriety, and Simplicity of speech, + That each might be in his will, his wit to shew, + And thus shall ye come to Clergy that can many things; + Say him this sign, I set him to school, + And that I greet well his wife, for I wrote her many books, + And set her to Sapience, and to the Psalter glose; + Logic I learned her, and many other laws, + And all the unisons to music I made her to know; + Plato the poet, I put them first to book, + Aristotle and other more, to argue I taught, + Grammer for girles, I gard[64] first to write, + And beat them with a bales but if they would learn; + Of all kindes craftes I contrived tooles, + Of carpentry, of carvers, and compassed masons, + And learned them level and line, though I look dim; + And Theology hath tened[65] me seven score times; + The more I muse therein, the mistier it seemeth, + And the deeper I divine, the darker me it thinketh. + +[1] 'Freyned:' inquired. +[2] 'Wysh:' inform. +[3] 'Lenged:' lived. +[4] 'Minors:' the friars minors. +[5] 'Halsed them hendely:' saluted them kindly. +[6] 'Do me to wit:' make me to know. +[7] 'Kinnes:' sorts of. +[8] 'Sythes:' times. +[9] 'Wyshen:' inform, teach. +[10] 'Sadde:' sober, good. +[11] 'Forvisne:' similitude. +[12] 'Raght:' reach. +[13] 'Latches:' laziness. +[14] 'Drenche:' drown. +[15] 'Beken:' confess. +[16] 'Lind:' lime-tree. +[17] 'A stound:' a while. +[18] 'Lyth:' listen. +[19] 'Mette:' dreamed. +[20] 'Kinde:' own. +[21] 'Sued:' sought. +[22] 'Wyssh:' inform. +[23] 'Tayling:' dealing. +[24] 'Rend'red:' translated. +[25] 'Hoteth:' biddeth. +[26] 'Halve:' draw. +[27] 'Potent:' staff. +[28] 'Tene:' grieve. +[29] 'Wish:' inform. +[30] 'Yeden:' went. +[31] 'Kind:' nature. +[32] 'Witterly:' cunningly. +[33] 'Leman:' paramour. +[34] 'Lelly:' fair. +[35] 'Rathe:' early. +[36] 'Ghost:' spirit. +[37] 'Nempned:' named. +[38] 'Loth:' willing. +[39] 'Lever:' rather. +[40] 'Waxeth: grow. +[41] 'Them were lever:' they had rather. +[42] 'Kerse:' curse. +[43] 'Loveday:'lady. +[44] 'Wieldeth:' commands. +[45] 'Fayting:' deceiving. +[46] 'Can:' know. +[47] 'Losenchery:' lying. +[48] 'Carpen:' speak. +[49] 'Dais:' table. +[50] 'Gorge:' throat. +[51] 'Careful:' poor. +[52] 'Chill:' cold. +[53] 'Nymen:' take. +[54] 'Noye:' trouble. +[55] 'Hoten:' order. +[56] 'Mendynauntes meatless:' beggars supperless. +[57] 'Faitours:' idle fellows. +[58] 'Elenge:' strange, deserted. +[59] 'Rule:' custom. +[60] 'Hoten:' named. +[61] 'Syb:' mother. +[62] 'Clergy:' learning. +[63] 'Lyther:' wanton. +[64] 'Gard:' made. +[65] 'Tened:' grieved. + + + COVETOUSNESS. + + And then came Covetise; can I him no descrive, + So hungerly and hollow, so sternely he looked, + He was bittle-browed and baberlipped also; + With two bleared eyen as a blinde hag, + And as a leathern purse lolled his cheekes, + Well sider than his chin they shivered for cold: + And as a bondman of his bacon his beard was bidrauled, + With a hood on his head, and a lousy hat above. + And in a tawny tabard,[1] of twelve winter age, + Alle torn and baudy, and full of lice creeping; + But that if a louse could have leapen the better, + She had not walked on the welt, so was it threadbare. + 'I have been Covetise,' quoth this caitiff, + 'For sometime I served Symme at style, + And was his prentice plight, his profit to wait. + First I learned to lie, a leef other twain + Wickedly to weigh, was my first lesson: + To Wye and to Winchester I went to the fair + With many manner merchandise, as my master me hight.-- + Then drave I me among drapers my donet[2] to learn. + To draw the lyfer along, the longer it seemed + Among the rich rays,' &c. + +[1] 'Tabard:' a coat. +[2] 'Donet:' lesson. + + + THE PRELATES. + + And now is religion a rider, a roamer by the street, + A leader of lovedays,[1] and a loude[2] beggar, + A pricker on a palfrey from manor to manor, + An heap of houndes at his arse as he a lord were. + And if but his knave kneel, that shall his cope bring, + He loured on him, and asked who taught him courtesy. + +[1] 'Lovedays:' ladies. +[2] 'Loude:' lewd. + + + MERCY AND TRUTH. + + Out of the west coast, a wench, as methought, + Came walking in the way, to heavenward she looked; + Mercy hight that maide, a meek thing withal, + A full benign birde, and buxom of speech; + Her sister, as it seemed, came worthily walking, + Even out of the east, and westward she looked, + A full comely creature, Truth she hight, + For the virtue that her followed afeared was she never. + When these maidens met, Mercy and Truth, + Either asked other of this great marvel, + Of the din and of the darkness, &c. + + + NATURE, OR KIND, SENDING FORTH HIS DISEASES FROM THE PLANETS, AT + THE COMMAND OF CONSCIENCE, AND OF HIS ATTENDANTS, AGE AND DEATH. + + Kind Conscience then heard, and came out of the planets, + And sent forth his forriours, Fevers and Fluxes, + Coughes and Cardiacles, Crampes and Toothaches, + Rheumes, and Radgondes, and raynous Scalles, + Boiles, and Botches, and burning Agues, + Phreneses and foul Evil, foragers of Kind! + There was 'Harow! and Help! here cometh Kind, + With Death that is dreadful, to undo us all!' + The lord that liveth after lust then aloud cried. + _Age the hoar, he was in the va-ward, + And bare the banner before Death: by right he it claimed._ + Kinde came after, with many keene sores, + As Pocks and Pestilences, and much people shent. + So Kind through corruptions, killed full many: + Death came driving after, and all to dust pashed + Kings and Kaisers, knightes and popes. + Many a lovely lady, and leman of knights, + Swooned and swelted for sorrow of Death's dints. + Conscience, of his courtesy, to Kind he besought + To cease and sufire, and see where they would + Leave Pride privily, and be perfect Christian, + And Kind ceased then, to see the people amend. + + +'Piers Plowman' found many imitators. One wrote 'Piers the Plowman's +Crede;' another, 'The Plowman's Tale;' another, a poem on 'Alexander the +Great; 'another, on the 'Wars of the Jews;' and another, 'A Vision of +Death and Life,' extracts from all which may be found in Warton's +'History of English Poetry.' + +We close this preliminary essay by giving a very ancient hymn to the +Virgin, as a specimen of the once universally-prevalent alliterative +poetry. + + + I. + + Hail be you, Mary, mother and may, + Mild, and meek, and merciable; + Hail, folliche fruit of soothfast fay, + Against each strife steadfast and stable; + Hail, soothfast soul in each, a say, + Under the sun is none so able; + Hail, lodge that our Lord in lay, + The foremost that never was founden in fable; + Hail, true, truthful, and tretable, + Hail, chief ychosen of chastity, + Hail, homely, hendy, and amiable: + _To pray for us to thy Sone so free!_ AVE. + + + II. + + Hail, star that never stinteth light; + Hail, bush burning that never was brent; + Hail, rightful ruler of every right, + Shadow to shield that should be shent; + Hail, blessed be you blossom bright, + To truth and trust was thine intent; + Hail, maiden and mother, most of might, + Of all mischiefs an amendement; + Hail, spice sprung that never was spent; + Hail, throne of the Trinity; + Hail, scion that God us soon to sent, + _You pray for us thy Sone free!_ AVE. + + + III. + + Hail, heartily in holiness; + Hail, hope of help to high and low; + Hail, strength and stel of stableness; + Hail, window of heaven wowe; + Hail, reason of righteousness, + To each a caitiff comfort to know; + Hail, innocent of angerness, + Our takel, our tol, that we on trow; + Hail, friend to all that beoth forth flow; + Hail, light of love, and of beauty, + Hail, brighter than the blood on snow: + _You pray for us thy Sone free!_ AVE. + + + IV. + + Hail, maiden; hail, mother; hail, martyr trew; + Hail, kindly yknow confessour; + Hail, evenere of old law and new; + Hail, builder bold of Christe's bower; + Hail, rose highest of hyde and hue; + Of all fruite's fairest flower; + Hail, turtle trustiest and true, + Of all truth thou art treasour; + Hail, pured princess of paramour; + Hail, bloom of brere brightest of ble; + Hail, owner of earthly honour: + _You pray for us thy Sone so free!_ AVE, &c. + + + V. + + Hail, hendy; hail, holy emperess; + Hail, queen courteous, comely, and kind; + Hail, destroyer of every strife; + Hail, mender of every man's mind; + Hail, body that we ought to bless, + So faithful friend may never man find; + Hail, lever and lover of largeness, + Sweet and sweetest that never may swynde; + Hail, botenere[1] of every body blind; + Hail, borgun brightest of all bounty, + Hail, trewore then the wode bynd: + _You pray for us thy Sone so free!_ AVE. + + + VI. + + Hail, mother; hail, maiden; hail, heaven queen; + Hail, gatus of paradise; + Hail, star of the sea that ever is seen; + Hail, rich, royal, and righteous; + Hail, burde yblessed may you bene; + Hail, pearl of all perrie the pris; + Hail, shadow in each a shower shene; + Hail, fairer than that fleur-de-lis, + Hail, chere chosen that never n'as chis; + Hail, chief chamber of charity; + Hail, in woe that ever was wis: + _You pray for us thy Sone so free!_ AVE, &c. &c. + +[1] 'Botenere:' helper. + + + + +ADVERTISEMENT. + +It will be observed that, in the specimens given of the earlier poets, the +spelling has been modernised on the principle which has been so generally +approved in its application to the text of Chaucer and of Spenser. + +On a further examination of the material for 'Specimens and Memoirs of the +less-known British Poets,' it has been deemed advisable to devote three +volumes to this _resume_, and merely to give extracts from Cowley, instead +of following out the arrangement proposed when the issue for this year was +announced. In this space it has been found possible to present the reader +with specimens of almost all those authors whose writings were at any +period esteemed. The series will thus be rendered more perfect, and will +include the complete works of the authors whose entire writings are by +a general verdict regarded as worthy of preservation; together with +representations of the style, and brief notices of the poets who have, +during the progress of our literature, occupied a certain rank, but whose +popularity and importance have in a great measure passed. + +It is confidently hoped that the arrangements now made will give a +completeness to the First Division of the Library Edition of the British +Poets--from Chaucer to Cowper--which will be acceptable and satisfactory +to the general reader. + +Edinburgh, July 1860. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + * * * * * + +FIRST PERIOD. + +JOHN GOWER + The Chariot of the Sun + The Tale of the Coffers or Caskets, &c. + Of the Gratification which the Lover's Passion receives from + the Sense of Hearing + +JOHN BARBOUR + Apostrophe to Freedom + Death of Sir Henry de Bohun + +ANDREW WYNTOUN + +BLIND HARRY + Battle of Black-Earnside + The Death of Wallace + +JAMES I. OF SCOTLAND + Description of the King's Mistress + +JOHN THE CHAPLAIN--THOMAS OCCLEVE + +JOHN LYDGATE + Canace, condemned to Death by her Father Aeolus, sends to her guilty + Brother Macareus the last Testimony of her unhappy Passion + The London Lyckpenny + +HARDING, KAY, &c. + +ROBERT HENRYSON + Dinner given by the Town Mouse to the Country Mouse + The Garment of Good Ladies + +WILLIAM DUNBAR + The Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins through Hell + The Merle and Nightingale + +GAVIN DOUGLAS + Morning in May + +HAWES, BARCLAY, &c. + +SKELTON + To Miss Margaret Hussey + +SIR DAVID LYNDSAY + Meldrum's Duel with the English Champion Talbart + Supplication in Contemption of Side Tails + +THOMAS TUSSER + Directions for Cultivating a Hop-garden + Housewifely Physic + Moral Reflections on the Wind + +VAUX, EDWARDS, &c. + +GEORGE GASCOIGNE + Good-morrow + Good-night + +THOMAS SACKVILLE, LORD BUCKHURST AND EARL OF DORSET + Allegorical Characters from 'The Mirror of Magistrates' + Henry Duke of Buckingham in the Infernal Regions + +JOHN HARRINGTON + Sonnet on Isabella Markham + Verses on a most stony-hearted Maiden + +SIR PHILIP SIDNEY + To Sleep + Sonnets + +ROBERT SOUTHWELL + Look Home + The Image of Death + Love's Servile Lot + Times go by Turns + +THOMAS WATSON + The Nymphs to their May-Queen + Sonnet + +THOMAS TURBERVILLE + In praise of the renowned Lady Aime, Countess of Warwick + +UNKNOWN + Harpalus' Complaint of Phillida's Love bestowed on Corin, who loved + her not, and denied him that loved her + A Praise of his Lady + That all things sometime find Ease of their Pain, save only the Lover + From 'The Phoenix' Nest' + From the same + The Soul's Errand + + * * * * * + +SECOND PERIOD. + +FROM SPENSER TO DRYDEN. + +FRANCIS BEAUMONT + To Ben Jonson + On the Tombs in Westminster + An Epitaph + +SIR WALTER RALEIGH + The Country's Recreations + The Silent Lover + A Vision upon 'The Fairy Queen' + Love admits no Rival + +JOSHUA SYLVESTER + To Religion + On Man's Resemblance to God + The Chariot of the Sun + +RICHARD BARNFIELD + Address to the Nightingale + +ALEXANDER HUME + Thanks for a Summer's Day + +OTHER SCOTTISH POETS + +SAMUEL DANIEL + Richard II., the morning before his Murder in Pomfret Castle + Early Love + Selections from Sonnets + +SIR JOHN DAVIES + Introduction to the Poem on the Soul of Man + The Self-subsistence of the Soul + Spirituality of the Soul + +GILES FLETCHER + The Nativity + Song of Sorceress seeking to tempt Christ + Close of 'Christ's Victory and Triumph' + +JOHN DONNE + Holy Sonnets + The Progress of the Soul + +MICHAEL DRAYTON + Description of Morning + +EDWARD FAIRFAX + Rinaldo at Mount Olivet + +SIR HENRY WOTTON + Farewell to the Vanities of the World + A Meditation + +RICHARD CORBET + Dr Corbet's Journey into France + +BEN JONSON + Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke + The Picture of the Body + To Penshurst + To the Memory of my beloved Master, William Shakspeare, and what + he hath left us + On the Portrait of Shakspeare + +VERE, STORBER, &c + +THOMAS RANDOLPH + The Praise of Woman + To my Picture + To a Lady admiring herself in a Looking-glass + +ROBERT BURTON + On Melancholy + +THOMAS CAREW + Persuasions to Love + Song + To my Mistress sitting by a River's Side + Song + A Pastoral Dialogue + Song + +SIR JOHN SUCKLING + Song + A Ballad upon a Wedding + Song + +WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT + Love's Darts + On the Death of Sir Bevil Grenville + A Valediction + +WILLIAM BROWNE + Song + Song + Power of Genius over Envy + Evening + From 'Britannia's Pastorals' + A Descriptive Sketch + +WILLIAM ALEXANDER, EARL OF STIRLING + Sonnet + +WILLIAM DRUMMOND + The River of Forth Feasting + Sonnets + Spiritual Poems + +PHINEAS FLETCHER + Description of Parthenia + Instability of Human Greatness + Happiness of the Shepherd's Life + Marriage of Christ and the Church + + + * * * * * + + +SPECIMENS, WITH MEMOIRS, OF THE LESS-KNOWN BRITISH POETS. + + + + +JOHN GOWER + + +Very little is told us (as usual in the beginnings of a literature) of +the life and private history of Gower, and that little is not specially +authentic or clearly consistent with itself. His life consists mainly of +a series of suppositions, with one or two firm facts between--like a few +stepping-stones insulated in wide spaces of water. He is said to have +been born about the year 1325, and if so must have been a few years +older than Chaucer; whom he, however, outlived. He was a friend as well +as contemporary of that great poet, who, in the fifth book of his +'Troilus and Cresseide,' thus addresses him:-- + + 'O moral Gower, this booke I direct, + To thee and the philosophical Strood, + To vouchsafe where need is to correct, + Of your benignities and zeales good.' + +Gower, on the other hand, in his 'Confessio Amantis,' through the mouth +of Venus, speaks as follows of Chaucer:-- + + 'And greet well Chaucer when ye meet, + As my disciple and my poet; + For 'in the flower of his youth, + In sundry wise, as he well couth, + Of ditties and of songes glad, + The whiche for my sake he made, + The laud fulfill'd is over all,' &c. + +The place of Gower's birth has been the subject of much controversy. +Caxton asserts that he was a native of Wales. Leland, Bales, Pits, +Hollingshed, and Edmondson contend, on the other hand, that he belonged +to the Statenham family, in Yorkshire. In proof of this, a deed is +appealed to, which is preserved among the ancient records of the Marquis +of Stafford. To this deed, of which the local date is Statenham, and the +chronological 1346, one of the subscribing witnesses is _John Gower_ who +on the back of the deed is stated, in the handwriting of at least a +century later, to be '_Sr John Gower the Poet_'. Whatever may be thought +of this piece of evidence, 'the proud tradition,' adds Todd, who had +produced it, 'in the Marquis of Stafford's family has been, and still +is, that the poet was of Statenham; and who would not consider the +dignity of his genealogy augmented by enrolling among its worthies the +moral Gower?' + +From his will we know that he possessed the manor of Southwell, in the +county of Nottingham, and that of Multon, in the county of Suffolk. He +was thus a rich man, as well as probably a knight. The latter fact is +inferred from the circumstance of his effigies in the church of St Mary +Overies wearing a chaplet of roses, such as, says Francis Thynne, 'the +knyghtes in old time used, either of gold or other embroiderye, made +after the fashion of roses, one of the peculiar ornamentes of a knighte, +as well as his collar of S.S.S., his guilte sword and spurres. Which +chaplett or circle of roses was as well attributed to knyghtes, the +lowest degree of honor, as to the higher degrees of duke, erle, &c., +being knyghtes, for so I have seen John of Gaunte pictured in his +chaplett of roses; and King, Edwarde the Thirde gave his chaplett to +Eustace Rybamonte; only the difference was, that as they were of lower +degree, so had they fewer roses placed on their chaplett or cyrcle of +golde, one ornament deduced from the dukes crowne, which had the roses +upon the top of the cyrcle, when the knights had them only upon the +cyrcle or garlande itself.' + +It has been said that Gower as well as Chaucer studied in the Temple. +This, however, Thynne doubts, on the ground that 'it is most certeyn +to be gathered by cyrcumstances of recordes that the lawyers were not +in the Temple until towardes the latter parte of the reygne of Kinge +Edwarde the Thirde, at whiche tyme Chaucer was a grave manne, holden in +greate credyt and employed in embassye;' and when, of course, Gower, +being his senior, must have been 'graver' still. + +There is scarcely anything more to relate of the personal career of our +poet. In his elder days he became attached to the House of Lancaster, +under Thomas of Woodstock, as Chaucer did under John of Gaunt. It is +said that the two poets, who had been warm friends, at last quarrelled, +but obscurity rests on the cause, the circumstances, the duration, and +the consequences of the dispute. Gower, like some far greater bards, +--Milton for instance, and those whom Milton has commemorated, + + 'Blind Thamyris and blind Moeonides, + And Tiresiaa and Phineus, prophets old,'-- + +was sometime ere his death deprived of his sight, as we know on his own +authority. It appears from his will that he was still living in 1408, +having outlived Chaucer eight years. This will is a curious document. +It is that of a very rich and very superstitious Catholic, who leaves +bequests to churches, hospitals, to priors, sub-priors, and priests, +with the significant request '_ut orent pro me_'--a request which, for +the sake of the poor soul of the 'moral Gower,' was we trust devoutly +obeyed, although we are irresistibly reminded of the old rhyme, + + 'Pray for the soul of Gabriel John, + Who died in the year one thousand and one; + You may if you please, or let it alone, + For it's all one + To Gabriel John, + Who died in the year one thousand and one.' + +There is no mention of children in the will, and hence the assertion of +Edmondson, who, in his genealogical table of the Statenham family, says +that Thomas Gower, the governor of the castle of Mans in the times of +the Fifth and Sixth Henrys, was the only son of the poet, and that of +Glover, who, in his 'Visitation of Yorkshire,' describes Gower as +married to a lady named Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Edward Sadbowrughe, +Baron of the Exchequer, by whom he had five sons and three daughters, +must both fall to the ground. According to the will, Gower's wife's name +was Agnes, and he leaves to her L100 in legacy, besides his valuable +goods and the rents accruing from his aforesaid manors of Multon, in +Suffolk, and Southwell, in Nottinghamshire. His body was, according +to his own direction, buried in the monastery of St Mary Overies, in +Southwark, (afterwards the church of St Saviour,) where a monument, and +an effigies, too, were erected, with the roses of a knight girdling the +brow of one who was unquestionably a true, if not a great poet. + +In Warton's 'History of English Poetry,' and in the 'Illustrations of +the Lives and Writings of Gower and Chaucer' by Mr Todd, there will be +found ample and curious details about MS. poems by Gower, such as fifty +sonnets in French; a 'Panegyrick on Henry IV.,' half in Latin and half +in English, a short elegiac poem on the same subject, &c.; besides a +large work, entitled 'Speculum Meditantis,' a poem in French of a moral +cast; and 'Vox Clamantis,' consisting of seven books of Latin elegiacs, +and chiefly filled with a metrical account of the insurrections of the +Commons in the reign of Richard II. In the dedication of this latter +work to Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury, Gower speaks of his blindness +and his age. He says, 'Hanc epistolam subscriptam corde devoto misit +_senex et cecus_ Johannes Gower reverendissimo in Christo patri ac +domino suo precipuo domino Thome de Arundell, Cantuar. Archiepoe.' &c. +Warton proves that the 'Vox Clamantis' was written in the year 1397, by +a line in the Bodleian manuscript of the poem, 'Hos ego _bis deno_ +Ricardo regis in anno.' Richard II. began, it is well known, to reign in +the year 1377, when ten years of age, and, of course, the year 1397 was +the twentieth of his reign. It follows from this, that for eleven years +at least before his death Gower had been _senex et cecus_, helpless +through old age and blindness. + +The 'Confessio Amantis' is the only work of Gower's which is printed and +in English. The rest are still slumbering in MS.; and even although the +'Vox Clamantis' should put in a sleepy plea for the resurrection of +print, on the whole we are disposed to say, better for all parties that +it and the rest should slumber on. But the 'Confessio Amantis' is +altogether a remarkable production. It is said to have been written at +the command of Richard II., who, meeting our poet rowing on the Thames, +near London, took him on board the royal barge, and requested him to +_book some new thing_. It is an English poem, in eight books, and was +first printed by Caxton in the year 1483. The 'Speculum Meditantis,' +'Vox Clamantis,' and 'Confessio Amantis,' are, properly speaking, parts +of one great work, and are represented by three volumes upon Gower's +curious tomb in the old conventual church of St Mary Overies already +alluded to--a church, by the way, which the poet himself assisted in +rebuilding in the elegant shape which it retains to this day. + +The 'Confessio' is a large unwieldy collection of poetry and prose, +superstition and science, love and religion, allegory and historical +facts. It is crammed with all varieties of learning, and a perverse but +infinite ingenuity is shewn in the arrangement of its heterogeneous +materials. In one book the whole mysteries of the Hermetic philosophy +are expounded, and the wonders of alchymy dazzle us in every page. +In another, the poet scales the heights and sounds the depths of +Aristotelianism. From this we have extracted in the 'Specimens' a +glowing account of 'The Chariot of the Sun.' Throughout the work, tales +and stories of every description and degree of merit are interspersed. +These are principally derived from an old book called 'Pantheon; or, +Memoriae Seculorum,'--a kind of universal history, more studious of +effect than accuracy, in which the author ranges over the whole history +of the world, from the creation down to the year 1186. This was a +specimen of a kind of writing in which the Middle Ages abounded--namely, +chronicles, which gradually superseded the monkish legends, and for +a time eclipsed the classics themselves; a kind of writing hovering +between history and fiction, embracing the widest sweep, written in a +barbarous style, and swarming with falsehoods; but exciting, interesting, +and often instructive, and tending to kindle curiosity, and +create in the minds of their readers a love for literature. + +Besides chronicles, Gower had read many romances, and alludes to them +in various parts of his works. His 'Confessio Amantis' was apparently +written after Chaucer's 'Troilus and Cresseide,' and after 'The Flower +and the Leaf,' inasmuch as he speaks of the one and imitates the other +in that poem. That Chaucer had not, however, yet composed his 'Testament +of Love,' appears from the epilogue to the 'Confessio,' where Gower is +ordered by Venus, who expresses admiration of Chaucer for the early +devotion of his muse to her service, to say to him at the close-- + + 'Forthy, now in his daies old, + Thou shalt him tell this message, + That he upon his later age + To set an end of all his work, + As he which is mine owen clerk, + Do make his Testament of Love, + As thou hast done thy shrift above, + So that my court it may record'-- + +the 'shrift' being of course the 'Confessio Amantis.' In 'The Canterbury +Tales' there are several indications that Chaucer was indebted to Gower +--'The Man of Law's Tale' being borrowed from Gower's 'Constantia,' and +'The Wife of Bath's Tale' being founded on Gower's 'Florent.' + +After all, Gower cannot be classed with the greater bards. He sparkles +brightly chiefly from the depth of the darkness through which he shines. +He is more remarkable for extent than for depth, for solidity than for +splendour, for fuel than for fire, for learning than for genius. + + +THE CHARIOT OF THE SUN. + +Of golde glist'ring spoke and wheel +The Sun his cart hath fair and wele, +In which he sitteth, and is croned[1] +With bright stones environed: +Of which if that I speake shall, +There be before in special +Set in the front of his corone +Three stones, whiche no person +Hath upon earth; and the first is +By name cleped Leucachatis. +That other two cleped thus +Astroites and Ceraunus; +In his corone, and also behind, +By olde bookes as I find, +There be of worthy stones three, +Set each of them in his degree. +Whereof a crystal is that one, +Which that corone is set upon: +The second is an adamant: +The third is noble and evenant, +Which cleped is Idriades. +And over this yet natheless, +Upon the sides of the werk, +After the writing of the clerk, +There sitten five stones mo.[2] +The Smaragdine is one of tho,[3] +Jaspis, and Eltropius, +And Vendides, and Jacinctus. +Lo thus the corone is beset, +Whereof it shineth well the bet.[4] +And in such wise his light to spread, +Sits with his diadem on head, +The Sunne shining in his cart: +And for to lead him swith[5] and smart, +After the bright daye's law, +There be ordained for to draw, +Four horse his chare, and him withal, +Whereof the names tell I shall. +Eritheus the first is hote,[6] +The which is red, and shineth hot; +The second Acteos the bright; +Lampes the thirde courser hight; +And Philogens is the ferth, +That bringen light unto this earth, +And go so swift upon the heaven, +In four and twenty houres even, +The carte with the brighte sun +They drawen, so that over run +They have under the circles high, +All midde earth in such an hie.[7] + +And thus the sun is over all +The chief planet imperial, +Above him and beneath him three. +And thus between them runneth he, +As he that hath the middle place +Among the seven: and of his face +Be glad all earthly creatures, +And taken after the natures +Their ease and recreation. +And in his constellation +Who that is born in special, +Of good-will and of liberal +He shall be found in alle place, +And also stand in muchel grace +Toward the lordes for to serve, +And great profit and thank deserve. + +And over that it causeth yet +A man to be subtil of wit, +To work in gold, and to be wise +In everything, which is of prise.[8] +But for to speaken in what coast +Of all this earth he reigneth most, +As for wisdom it is in Greece, +Where is appropred thilk spece.[9] + +[1] 'Croned:' crowned. +[2] 'Mo:' more. +[3] 'Tho:' those. +[4] 'Bet:' better. +[5] 'Swith:' swift. +[6] 'Hot:' named. +[7] 'Hie:' haste. +[8] 'Prise:' value. +[9] 'Thilk spece:' that kind. + + +THE TALE OF THE COFFERS OR CASKETS, &c. + +In a chronique thus I read: +About a kinge, as must need, +There was of knightes and squiers +Great rout, and eke officers: +Some of long time him had served, +And thoughten that they have deserved +Advancement, and gone without: +And some also been of the rout, +That comen but a while agon, +And they advanced were anon. + +These olde men upon this thing, +So as they durst, against the king +Among themselves complainen oft: +But there is nothing said so soft, +That it ne cometh out at last: +The king it wist, anon as fast, +As he which was of high prudence: +He shope[1] therefore an evidence +Of them that 'plainen in the case +To know in whose default it was: +And all within his own intent, +That none more wiste what it meant. +Anon he let two coffers make, +Of one semblance, and of one make, +So like, that no life thilke throw,[2] +The one may from that other know: +They were into his chamber brought, +But no man wot why they be wrought, +And natheless the king hath bede +That they be set in privy stede,[3] +As he that was of wisdom sly; +When he thereto his time sih,[4] +All privily that none it wist, +His owne handes that one chest +Of fine gold, and of fine perrie,[5] +The which out of his treasury +Was take, anon he filled full; +That other coffer of straw and mull,[6] +With stones meynd[7] he fill'd also: +Thus be they full bothe two. +So that erliche[8] upon a day +He bade within, where he lay, +There should be before his bed +A board up set and faire spread: +And then he let the coffers fet[9] +Upon the board, and did them set, +He knew the names well of tho,[10] +The which against him grutched[11] so, +Both of his chamber, and of his hall, +Anon and sent for them all; +And saide to them in this wise: + +'There shall no man his hap despise: +I wot well ye have longe served, +And God wot what ye have deserved; +But if it is along[12] on me +Of that ye unadvanced be, +Or else if it be long on yow, +The soothe shall be proved now: +To stoppe with your evil word, +Lo! here two coffers on the board; +Choose which you list of bothe two; +And witteth well that one of tho +Is with treasure so full begon, +That if he happe thereupon +Ye shall be riche men for ever: +Now choose and take which you is lever,[13] +But be well 'ware ere that ye take, +For of that one I undertake +There is no manner good therein, +Whereof ye mighten profit win. +Now go together of one assent, +And taketh your advisement; +For but I you this day advance, +It stands upon your owne chance, +All only in default of grace; +So shall be shewed in this place +Upon you all well afine,[14] +That no defaulte shall be mine.' + +They kneelen all, and with one voice +The king they thanken of this choice: +And after that they up arise, +And go aside and them advise, +And at laste they accord +(Whereof their tale to record +To what issue they be fall) +A knight shall speake for them all: +He kneeleth down unto the king, +And saith that they upon this thing, +Or for to win, or for to lose, +Be all advised for to choose. + +Then took this knight a yard[15] in hand, +And go'th there as the coffers stand, +And with assent of every one +He lay'th his yarde upon one, +And saith the king[16] how thilke same +They chose in reguerdon[17] by name, +And pray'th him that they might it have. + +The king, which would his honour save, +When he had heard the common voice, +Hath granted them their owne choice, +And took them thereupon the key; +But for he woulde it were see +What good they have as they suppose, +He bade anon the coffer unclose, +Which was fulfill'd with straw and stones: +Thus be they served all at ones. + +This king then in the same stede, +Anon that other coffer undede, +Where as they sawen great riches, +Well more than they couthen [18] guess. + +'Lo!' saith the king, 'now may ye see +That there is no default in me; +Forthy[19] myself I will acquite, +And beareth ye your owne wite[20] +Of that fortune hath you refused.' + +Thus was this wise king excused: +And they left off their evil speech. +And mercy of their king beseech. + +[1] 'Shope:' contrived. +[2] 'Thilke throw:' at that time. +[3] 'Stede:' place. +[4] 'Sih:' saw. +[5] 'Perrie:' precious stones. +[6] 'Mull:' rubbish. +[7] 'Meynd:' mingled. +[8] 'Erlich:' early. +[9] 'Fet:' fetched. +[10] 'Tho:' those. +[11] 'Grutched:' murmured. +[12] 'Along:' because of. +[13] 'Lever:' preferable. +[14] 'Afine:' at last. +[15] 'Yard:' rod. +[16] 'Saith the king:' saith to the king. +[17] 'Reguerdon:' as their reward. +[18] 'Couthen:' could. +[19] 'Forthy:' therefore. +[20] 'Wite:' blame. + + +OF THE GRATIFICATION WHICH THE LOVERS PASSION RECEIVES +FROM THE SENSE OF HEARING. + +Right as mine eye with his look +Is to mine heart a lusty cook +Of love's foode delicate; +Right so mine ear in his estate, +Where as mine eye may nought serve, +Can well mine hearte's thank deserve; +And feeden him, from day to day, +With such dainties as he may. + +For thus it is that, over all +Where as I come in special, +I may hear of my lady price:[1] +I hear one say that she is wise; +Another saith that she is good; +And some men say of worthy blood +That she is come; and is also +So fair that nowhere is none so: +And some men praise her goodly chere.[2] +Thus everything that I may hear, +Which soundeth to my lady good, +Is to mine ear a lusty food. +And eke mine ear hath, over this, +A dainty feaste when so is +That I may hear herselve speak; +For then anon my fast I break +On suche wordes as she saith, +That full of truth and full of faith +They be, and of so good disport, +That to mine eare great comfort +They do, as they that be delices +For all the meats, and all the spices, +That any Lombard couthe[3] make, +Nor be so lusty for to take, +Nor so far forth restoratif, +(I say as for mine owne life,) +As be the wordes of her mouth +For as the windes of the south +Be most of alle debonaire;[4] +So, when her list to speake fair, +The virtue of her goodly speech +Is verily mine hearte's leech. + +And if it so befall among, +That she carol upon a song, +When I it hear, I am so fed, +That I am from myself so led +As though I were in Paradise; +For, certes, as to mine avis,[5] +When I hear of her voice the steven,[6] +Methink'th it is a bliss of heaven. + +And eke in other wise also, +Full ofte time it falleth so, +Mine care with a good pitance[7] +Is fed of reading of romance +Of Ydoine and of Amadas, +That whilom weren in my case; +And eke of other many a score, +That loveden long ere I was bore. +For when I of their loves read, +Mine eare with the tale I feed, +And with the lust of their histoire +Sometime I draw into memoire, +How sorrow may not ever last; +And so hope cometh in at last. + +[1] 'Price:' praise. +[2] 'Chere:' mien. +[3] 'Couthe:' knows to. +[4] 'Debonaire:' gentle. +[5] 'Avis:' opinion. +[6] 'Steven:' sound. +[7] 'Pitance:' allowance. + + + + +JOHN BARBOUR. + + +The facts known about this Scottish poet are only the following. He +seems to have been born about the year 1316, in, probably, the city of +Aberdeen. This is stated by Hume of Godscroft, by Dr Mackenzie, and +others, but is not thoroughly authenticated. Some think he was the son +of one Andrew Barbour, who possessed a tenement in Castle Street, +Aberdeen; and others, that he was related to one Robert Barbour, who, in +1309, received a charter of the lands of Craigie, in Forfarshire, from +King Robert the Bruce. These, however, are mere conjectures, founded +upon a similarity of name. It is clear, from Barbour's after rank in +the Church, that he had received a learned education, but whether in +Arbroath or Aberdeen is uncertain. We know, however, that a school of +divinity and canon law had existed at Aberdeen since the reign of +Alexander II., and it is conjectured that Barbour first studied there, +and then at Oxford. In the year 1357, he was undoubtedly Archdeacon of +Aberdeen, since we find him, under this title, nominated by the Bishop +of that diocese, one of the Commissioners appointed to meet in Edinburgh +to take measures to liberate King David, who had been captured at the +battle of Nevil's Cross, and detained from that date in England. It +seems evident, from the customs of the Roman Catholic Church, that he +must have been at least forty when he was created Archdeacon, and this +is a good reason for fixing his birth in the year 1316. + +In the same year, Barbour obtained permission from Edward III., at the +request of the Scottish King, to travel through England with three +scholars who were to study at Oxford, probably at Balliol College, which +had, a hundred years nearly before, been founded and endowed by the wife +of the famous John Balliol of Scotland. Some years afterwards, in +November 1364, he got permission to pass, accompanied by four horsemen, +through England, to pursue his studies at the same renowned university. +In the year 1365, we find another casual notice of our Scottish bard. A +passport has been found giving him permission from the King of England +to travel, in company with six horsemen, through that country on their +way to St Denis', and other sacred places. It is evident that this was +a religious pilgrimage on the part of Barbour and his companions. + +A most peripatetic poet; verily, he must have been; for we find another +safe-conduct, dated November 1368, granted by Edward to Barbour, +permitting him, to pass through England, with two servants and their +horses, on his way to France, for the purpose of pursuing his studies +there. Dr Jamieson (see his 'Life of Barbour') discovers the poet's name +in the list of Auditors of the Exchequer. + +Barbour has himself told us that he commenced his poem in the 'yer of +grace, a thousand thre hundyr sevynty and five,' when, of course, he +was in his sixtieth year, or, as he says, 'off hys eld sexty.' It is +supposed that David II.--who died in 1370--had urged Barbour to engage +in the work, which was not, however, completed till the fifth year of +his successor, Robert II., who gave our poet a pension on account of it. +This consisted of a sum of ten pounds Scots from the revenues of the +city of Aberdeen, and twenty shillings from the burgh mails. Mr James +Bruce, to whose interesting Life of Barbour, in his 'Eminent Men of +Aberdeen,' we are indebted for many of the facts in this narrative, +says, 'The latter of these sums was granted to him, not merely during +his own life, but to his assignees; and the Archdeacon bequeathed it to +the dean, canons, the chapter, and other ministers of the Cathedral of +Aberdeen, on condition that they should for ever celebrate a yearly mass +for his soul. At the Reformation, when it came to be discovered that +masses did no good to souls in the other world, it is probable that this +endowment reverted to the Crown.' + +Barbour also wrote a poem under what seems now the strange title, 'The +Brute.' This was in reality a metrical history of Scotland, commencing +with the fables concerning Brutus, or 'Brute,' who, according to ancient +legends, was the great-grandson of Aeneas--came over from Italy, the +land of his birth--landed at Totness, in Devonshire--destroyed the +giants who then inhabited Albion--called the island 'Britain' from his +own name, and became its first monarch. From this original fable, +Barbour is supposed to have wandered on through a hundred succeeding +stories of similar value, till he came down to his own day. There can be +little regret felt, therefore, that the book is totally lost. Wynton, in +his 'Chronicle,' refers to it in commendatory terms; but it cannot be +ascertained from his notices whether it was composed in Scotch or in +Latin. + +Barbour died about the beginning of the year 1396, eighty years of age. +Lord Hailes ascertained the time of his death from the Chartulary of +Aberdeen, where, under the date of 10th August 1398, mention is made of +'quondam Joh. Barber, Archidiaconus, Aberd., and where it is said that +he had died two years and a half before, namely, in 1396.' + +His great work, 'The Bruce,' or more fully, 'The History of Robert +Bruce, King of the Scots,' does not appear to have been printed till +1616 in Edinburgh. Between that date and the year 1790, when Pinkerton's +edition appeared, no less than twenty impressions were published, (the +principal being those of Edinburgh in 1620 and 1648; Glasgow, 1665; and +Edinburgh, 1670--all in black letter,) so popular immediately became the +poem. Pinkerton's edition is in three volumes, and has a preface, notes, +and a glossary, all of considerable value. The MS. was copied from a +volume in the Advocates' Library, of the date of 1489, which was in the +handwriting of one John Ramsay, believed to have been the prior of a +Carthusian monastery near Perth. Pinkerton first divided 'The Bruce' +into books. It had previously, like the long works of Naerius and +Ennius, the earliest Roman poets, consisted of one entire piece, woven +'from the top to the bottom without seam,' like the ancient simple +garments in Jewry. The late respectable and very learned Dr Jamieson, of +Nicolson Street United Secession Church, Edinburgh, well known as the +author of the 'Scottish Dictionary,' 'Hermes Scythicus,' &c., published, +in 1820, a more accurate edition of 'The Bruce,' along with Blind +Harry's 'Wallace,' in two quarto volumes. + +In strict chronology Barbour belongs to an earlier date than Chaucer, +having been born and having died a few years before him. But as the +first Scotch poet who has written anything of length, with the exception +of the author of the 'Romance of Sir Tristrem,' he claims a conspicuous +place in our 'Specimens.' He was singularly fortunate in the choice of +a subject. With the exception of Wallace, there is no name in Scottish +history that even yet calls up prouder associations than that of Robert +Bruce. The incidents in his history,--the escape he made from English +bondage to rescue his country from the same yoke; his rise refulgent +from the stroke which, in the cloisters of the Gray Friars, Dumfries, +laid the Red Comyn low; his daring to be crowned at Scone; his frequent +defeats; his lion-like retreat to the Hebrides, accompanied by one or +two friends, his wife meanwhile having been carried captive, three of +his brothers hanged, and himself supposed to be dead; the romantic +perils he survived, and the victories he gained amidst the mountains +where the deep waters of the river Awe are still telling of his name, +and the echoes of Ben Cruachan repeating the immortal sound; his sudden +reappearance on the west coast of Scotland, where, as he 'shook his +Carrick spear,' his country rose, kindling around him like heather on +flame; the awful suspense of the hour when it was announced that Edward +I., the tyrant of the Ragman's Roll, the murderer of Wallace, was +approaching with a mighty army to crush the revolt; the electrifying +news that he had died at Sark, as if struck by the breath of the fatal +Border, which he had reached, but could not overpass; the bloody +summer's day of Bannockburn, in which Edward II. was repelled, and the +gallant army of his father annihilated; the energy and wisdom of the +Bruce's civil administration after the victory; the less famous, but +noble battle of Byland, nine years after Bannockburn, in which he again +smote the foes of his country; and the recognition which at last he +procured, on the accession of Edward III., of the independence of +Scotland in 1329, himself dying the same year, his work done and his +glory for ever secured,--not to speak of the beautiful legends which +have clustered round his history like ivy round an ancestral tower--of +the spider on the wall, teaching him the lesson of perseverance, as he +lay in the barn sad and desponding in heart--of the strange signal-light +upon the shore near his maternal castle of Turnberry, which led him to +land, while + + 'Dark red the heaven above it glow'd, + Dark red the sea beneath it flow'd, + Red rose the rocks on ocean's brim, + In blood-red light her islets swim, + Wild screams the dazzled sea-fowl gave, + Dropp'd from their crags a plashing wave, + The deer to distant covert drew, + The blackcock deem'd it day, and crew;' + +and last, not least, the adventures of his gallant, unquenchable heart, +when, in the hand of Douglas,--meet casket for such a gem!--it marched +onwards, as it was wont to do, in conquering power, toward the Holy +Land;--all this has woven a garland round the brow of Bruce which every +civilised nation has delighted to honour, and given him besides a share +in the affections and the pride of his own land, with the joy of which +'no stranger can intermeddle.' + +Bruce has been fortunate in his laureates, consisting of three of +Scotland's greatest poets,--Barbour, Scott, and Burns. The last of these +has given us a glimpse of the patriot-king, revealing him on the brow of +Bannockburn as by a single flash of lightning. The second has, in 'The +Lord of the Isles,' seized and sung a few of the more romantic passages +of his history. But Barbour has, with unwearied fidelity and no small +force, described the whole incidents of Bruce's career, and reared to +his memory, not an insulated column, but a broad and deep-set temple of +poetry. + +Barbour's poem has always been admired for its strict accuracy of +statement, to which Bower, Wynton, Hailes, Pinkerton, Jamieson, and Sir +Walter Scott all bear testimony; for the picturesque force of its +natural descriptions; for its insight into character, and the lifelike +spirit of its individual sketches; for the martial vigour of its battle- +pictures; for the enthusiasm which he feels, and makes his reader feel, +for the valiant and wise, the sagacious and persevering, the bold, +merciful, and religious character of its hero, and for the piety which +pervades it, and proves that the author was not merely a churchman in +profession, but a Christian at heart. Its defects of rude rhythm, +irregular constructions, and obsolete phraseology, are those of its age; +but its beauties, its unflagging interest, and its fine poetic spirit, +are characteristic of the writer's own genius. + + +APOSTROPHE TO FREEDOM. + +Ah! freedom is a noble thing! +Freedom makes man to have liking! +Freedom all solace to man gives: +He lives at ease that freely lives! +A noble heart may have none ease, +Nor nought else that may him please, +If freedom fail; for free liking +Is yearned o'er all other thing. +Nay, he that aye has lived free, +May not know well the property, +The anger, nor the wretched doom, +That is coupled to foul thirldom. +But if he had assayed it, +Then all perquier[1] he should it wit: +And should think freedom more to prize +Than all the gold in world that is. + +[1] 'Perquier:' perfectly. + + +DEATH OF SIR HENRY DE BOHUN. + +And when the king wist that they were +In hale[1] battle, coming so near, +His battle gart[2] he well array. +He rode upon a little palfrey, +Laughed and jolly, arrayand +His battle, with an axe in hand. +And on his bassinet he bare +A hat of tyre above aye where; +And, thereupon, into tok'ning, +An high crown, that he was king. +And when Gloster and Hereford were +With their battle approaching near, +Before them all there came ridand, +With helm on head and spear in hand, +Sir Henry the Bohun, the worthy, +That was a wight knight, and a hardy, +And to the Earl of Hereford cousin; +Armed in armis good and fine; +Came on a steed a bowshot near, +Before all other that there were: +And knew the king, for that he saw +Him so range his men on raw,[3] +And by the crown that was set +Also upon his bassinet. +And toward him he went in hy.[4] +And the king so apertly[5] +Saw him come, forouth[6] all his feres,[7] +In hy till him the horse he steers. +And when Sir Henry saw the king +Come on, forouten[8] abasing, +To him he rode in full great hy. +He thought that he should well lightly +Win him, and have him at his will, +Since he him horsed saw so ill. +Sprent they samen into a lyng;[9] +Sir Henry miss'd the noble king; +And he that in his stirrups stood, +With the axe, that was hard and good, +With so great main, raucht[10] him a dint, +That neither hat nor helm might stint +The heavy dush that he him gave, +The head near to the harns[11] he clave. +The hand-axe shaft frushit[12] in two; +And he down to the yird[13] 'gan go +All flatlings, for him failed might. +This was the first stroke of the fight, +That was performed doughtily. +And when the king's men so stoutly +Saw him, right at the first meeting, +Forouten doubt or abasing, +Have slain a knight so at a straik, +Such hardment thereat 'gan they take, +That they come on right hardily. +When Englishmen saw them so stoutly +Come on, they had great abasing; +And specially for that the king +So smartly that good knight has slain, +That they withdrew them everilk ane, +And durst not one abide to fight: +So dread they for the king his might. +When that the king repaired was, +That gart his men all leave the chase, +The lordis of his company +Blamed him, as they durst, greatumly, +That be him put in aventure, +To meet so stith[14] a knight, and stour, +In such point as he then was seen. +For they said, well it might have been +Cause of their tynsal[15] everilk ane. +The king answer has made them nane, +But mainit[16] his hand-axe shaft so +Was with the stroke broken in two. + +[1] 'Hale:' whole. +[2] 'Gart:' caused. +[3] 'Haw:' row +[4] 'Hy:' haste +[5] 'Apertly:' openly, clearly. +[6] 'Forouth:' beyond. +[7] 'Feres:' companions. +[8] 'Forouten:' without. +[9] 'Sprent they samen into a lyng:' they sprang forward at once, + against each other, in a line. +[10] 'Raucht:' reached. +[11] 'Harns:' brains. +[12] 'Frushit:' broke. +[13] 'Yird:' earth. +[14] 'Stith:' strong. +[15] 'Tynsal:' destruction. +[16] 'Mainit:' lamented. + + + + +ANDREW WYNTOUN. + + +This author, who was prior of St Serf's monastery in Loch Leven, is the +author of what he calls 'An Orygynale Cronykil of Scotland.' It appeared +about the year 1420. It is much inferior to the work of Barbour in +poetry, but is full of historical information, anecdote, and legend. The +language is often sufficiently prosaic. Thus the poet begins to describe +the return of King David II. from his captivity, referred to above. + + 'Yet in prison was king Davy, + And when a lang time was gane bye, + Frae prison and perplexitie + To Berwick castle brought was he, + With the Earl of Northamptoun, + For to treat there of his ransoun; + Some lords of Scotland come there, + And als prelates that wisest were,' &c. + +Contemporary, or nearly so, with Wyntoun were several other Scottish +writers, such as one Hutcheon, of whom we know only that he is +designated of the 'Awle Ryall,' or of the Royal Hall or Palace, and that +he wrote a metrical romance, of which two cantos remain, called 'The +Gest of Arthur;' and another, named Clerk of Tranent, the author of a +romance, entitled 'The Adventures of Sir Gawain.' Of this latter also +two cantos only are extant. Although not perhaps deserving to have even +portions of them extracted, they contain a good deal of poetry. A +person, too, of the name of Holland, about whose history we have no +information, produced a satirical poem, called 'The Howlate,' written in +the allegorical form, and bearing some resemblance to 'Pierce Plowman's +Vision.' + + + + +BLIND HARRY. + + +Although there are diversities of opinion as to the exact time when this +blind minstrel flourished, we prefer alluding to him at this point, +where he stands in close proximity to Barbour, the author of a poem on +a subject so cognate to 'Wallace' as 'Bruce.' Nothing is known of Harry +but that he was blind from infancy, that he composed this poem, and +gained a subsistence by reciting or singing portions of it through the +country. Another Wandering Willie, (see 'Redgauntlet,') he 'passed like +night from land to land,' led by his own instincts, and wherever he met +with a congenial audience, he proceeded to chant portions of the noble +knight's achievements, his eyes the while twinkling, through their sad +setting of darkness, with enthusiasm, and often suffused with tears. +In some minds the conception of this blind wandering bard may awaken +ludicrous emotions, but to us it suggests a certain sublimity. Blind +Harry has powerfully described Wallace standing in the light and +shrinking from the ghost of Fawdoun, (see the 'Battle of Black- +Earnside,' in the 'Specimens,') but Harry himself seems walking in the +light of the ghost of Wallace, and it ministers to him, not terror, but +inspiration. Entering a cot at night, and asked for a tale, he begins, +in low tones, to recite that frightful apparition at Gaskhall, and the +aged men and the crones vie with the children in drawing near the 'ingle +bleeze,' as if in fire alone lay the refuge from + + 'Fawdoun, that ugly sire, + That haill hall he had set into a fire, + As to his sight, his OWN HEAD IN HIS HAND.' + +Arriving in a village at the hour of morning rest and refreshment, he +charms the swains by such words as + + 'The merry day sprang from the orient + With beams bright illuminate the Occident, + After Titan Phoebus upriseth fair, + High in the sphere the signs he made declare. + Zephyrus then began his morning course, + The sweet vapour thus from the ground resourse,' &c.-- + +and the simple villagers wonder at hearing these images from one who is +blind, not seeing the sun. As the leaves are rustling down from the +ruddy trees of late autumn, he sings to a little circle of wayside +wanderers-- + + 'The dark region appearing wonder fast, + In November, when October was past, + + * * * * * + + Good Wallace saw the night's messenger, + Phoebus had lost his fiery beams so clear; + Out of that wood they durst not turn that side + For adversours that in their way would hide.' + +And while on the verge of the December sky, the wintry sun is trembling +and about to set as if for ever, then is the Minstrel's voice heard +sobbing amidst the sobs of his hearers, as he tells how his hero's sun +went down while it was yet day. + + 'On Wednesday the false Southron furth brocht + To martyr him as they before had wrocht, + Of men in arms led him a full great rout, + With a bauld sprite guid Wallace blent about.' + +There can be little doubt that Blind Harry, during his lifetime, became +a favourite, nay, a power in the realm. Wherever he circulated, there +circulated the fame of Wallace; there, his deeds were recounted; there, +hatred of a foreign foe, and love to their native land, were inculcated +as first principles; and long after the Homer of Scotland had breathed +his last, and been consigned perhaps to some little kirkyard among the +uplands, his lays continued to live; and we know that such a man as +Burns (who read them in the modern paraphrase of William Hamilton of +Gilbertfield, a book which was, till within a somewhat recent period, +a household god in the libraries of the Scotch) derived from the old +singer much of 'that national prejudice which boiled in his breast till +the floodgates of life shut in eternal rest.' If Barbour, as we said, +was fortunate in his subject, still more was Blind Harry in his. The +interest felt in Wallace is of a deeper and warmer kind than that which +we feel in Bruce. Bruce was of royal blood; Wallace was from an ancient +but not wealthy family. Bruce stained his career by one great crime +--great in itself, but greater from the peculiar notions of the age +--the murder of Comyn in the sanctuary of Dumfries; on the character of +Wallace no similar imputation rests. Wallace initiated that plan of +guerilla warfare,--that fighting now on foot and now on the wing, now +with beak and now with talons, now with horns and now with hoofs,--which +Bruce had only to perfect. Wallace was unsuccessful, and was besides +treated by the King of England with revolting barbarity; while Bruce +became victorious: and, as we saw in our remarks on Chaucer, it is the +unfortunate brave who stamp themselves most forcibly on a nation's +heart, and it is the red letters, which tell of suffering and death, +which are with most difficulty erased from a nation's tablets. On Bruce +we look somewhat as we regard Washington,--a great, serene man, who, +after long reverses, nobly sustained, gained a notable national triumph; +to Wallace we feel, as the Italians do to Garibaldi, as a demon of +warlike power,--blending courage and clemency, enthusiasm and skill, +daring and determination, in proportions almost superhuman,--and we cry +with the poet, + + 'The sword that seem'd fit for archangel to wield, + Was light in his terrible hand.' + +We have often regretted that Sir Walter Scott, who, after all, has not +done full justice to Bruce in that very unequal and incondite poem 'The +Lord of the Isles,' had not bent his strength upon the Ulysses bow of +Wallace, and filled up that splendid sketch of a part of his history to +be found near the beginning of 'The Fair Maid of Perth.' As it is, after +all that a number of respectable writers, such as Miss Porter, Mrs +Hemans, Findlay, the late Mr Macpherson of Glasgow, and others, have +done--in prose or verse, in the novel, the poem, or the drama--to +illustrate the character and career of the Scottish hero, Blind Harry +remains his poet. + +It is necessary to notice that Harry derived, by his own account, many +of the facts of his narrative from a work by John Blair, a Benedictine +monk from Dundee, who acted as Wallace's chaplain, and seems to have +composed a life of him in Latin, which is lost. Besides these, he +doubtless mingled in the story a number of traditions--some true, and +some false--which he found floating through the country. His authority +in reference to certain disputed matters, such as Wallace's journey to +France, and his capture of the Red Rover, Thomas de Longueville, who +became his fast friend and fellow-soldier, was not long ago entirely +established by certain important documents brought to light by the +Maitland Club. It is probable that some other of his supposed +misstatements--always excepting his ghost-stories--may yet receive from +future researches the confirmation they as yet want. Blind Harry, living +about a century and a half after the era of Wallace, and at a time when +tradition was the chief literature, was not likely to be able to test +the evidence of many of the circumstances which he narrated; but he +seems to speak in good faith: and, after all, what Paley says is +unquestionably true as a general principle--'Men tell lies about minute +circumstantials, but they rarely invent.' + + +BATTLE OF BLACK-EARNSIDE. + +Kerlie beheld unto the bold Heroun, +Upon Fawdoun as he was looking down, +A subtil stroke upward him took that tide, +Under the cheeks the grounden sword gart[1] glide, +By the mail good, both halse[2] and his craig-bane[3] +In sunder strake; thus ended that chieftain, +To ground he fell, feil[4] folk about him throng, +'Treason,' they cried, 'traitors are us among.' +Kerlie, with that, fled out soon at a side, +His fellow Steven then thought no time to bide. +The fray was great, and fast away they yeed,[5] +Both toward Earn; thus 'scaped they that dread. +Butler for woe of weeping might not stint. +Thus recklessly this good knight have they tint.[6] +They deemed all that it was Wallace' men, +Or else himself, though they could not him ken; +'He is right near, we shall him have but[7] fail, +This feeble wood may little him avail.' +Forty there pass'd again to Saint Johnstoun, +With this dead corpse, to burying made it boune.[8] +Parted their men, syne[9] divers ways they rode, +A great power at Dupplin still there 'bode. +To Dalwryeth the Butler pass'd but let,[10] +At sundry fords the gate[11] they unbeset,[12] +To keep the wood while it was day they thought. +As Wallace thus in the thick forest sought, +For his two men in mind he had great pain, +He wist not well if they were ta'en or slain, +Or 'scaped haill[13] by any jeopardy. +Thirteen were left with him, no more had he; +In the Gaskhall their lodging have they ta'en. +Fire got they soon, but meat then had they nane; +Two sheep they took beside them of a fold, +Ordain'd to sup into that seemly hold: +Graithed[14] in haste some food for them to dight:[15] +So heard they blow rude horns upon height. +Two sent he forth to look what it might be; +They 'bode right long, and no tidings heard he, +But bousteous[16] noise so bryvely blowing fast; +So other two into the wood forth pass'd. +None came again, but bousteously can blaw, +Into great ire he sent them forth on raw.[17] +When that alone Wallace was leaved there, +The awful blast abounded meikle mare;[18] +Then trow'd he well they had his lodging seen; +His sword he drew of noble metal keen, +Syne forth he went whereat he heard the horn. +Without the door Fawdoun was him beforn, +As to his sight, his own head in his hand; +A cross he made when he saw him so stand. +At Wallace in the head he swakked[19] there, +And he in haste soon hint[20] it by the hair, +Syne out again at him he could it cast, +Into his heart he greatly was aghast. +Right well he trow'd that was no sprite of man, +It was some devil, that sic[21] malice began. +He wist no wale[22] there longer for to bide. +Up through the hall thus wight Wallace can glide, +To a close stair, the boards they rave[23] in twin,[24] +Fifteen foot large he lap out of that inn. +Up the water he suddenly could fare, +Again he blink'd what 'pearance he saw there, +He thought he saw Fawdoun, that ugly sire, +That haill[25] hall he had set into a fire; +A great rafter he had into his hand. +Wallace as then no longer would he stand. +Of his good men full great marvel had he, +How they were tint through his feil[26] fantasy. +Trust right well that all this was sooth indeed, +Suppose that it no point be of the creed. +Power they had with Lucifer that fell, +The time when he parted from heaven to hell. +By sic mischief if his men might be lost, +Drowned or slain among the English host; +Or what it was in likeness of Fawdoun, +Which brought his men to sudden confusion; +Or if the man ended in ill intent, +Some wicked sprite again for him present. +I cannot speak of sic divinity, +To clerks I will let all sic matters be: +But of Wallace, now forth I will you tell. +When he was won out of that peril fell, +Right glad was he that he had 'scaped sa,[27] +But for his men great mourning can he ma.[28] +Flait[29] by himself to the Maker above +Why he suffer'd he should sic paining prove. +He wist not well if that it was God's will; +Right or wrong his fortune to fulfil, +Had he pleas'd God, he trow'd it might not bo +He should him thole[30] in sic perplexity. +But great courage in his mind ever drave, +Of Englishmen thinking amends to have. +As he was thus walking by him alone +Upon Earnside, making a piteous moan, +Sir John Butler, to watch the fords right, +Out from his men of Wallace had a sight; +The mist again to the mountains was gone, +To him he rode, where that he made his moan. +On loud he speir'd,[31] 'What art thou walks that gate?' +'A true man, Sir, though my voyage be late; +Errands I pass from Down unto my lord, +Sir John Stewart, the right for to record, +In Down is now, newly come from the King.' +Then Butler said, 'This is a selcouth[32] thing, +You lied all out, you have been with Wallace, +I shall thee know, ere you come off this place;' +To him he start the courser wonder wight, +Drew out a sword, so made him for to light. +Above the knee good Wallace has him ta'en, +Through thigh and brawn in sunder strake the bane.[33] +Derfly[34] to dead the knight fell on the land. +Wallace the horse soon seized in his hand, +An ackward stroke syne took him in that stead, +His craig in two; thus was the Butler dead. +An Englishman saw their chieftain was slain, +A spear in rest he cast with all his main, +On Wallace drave, from the horse him to bear; +Warily he wrought, as worthy man in weir.[35] +The spear ho wan withouten more abode, +On horse he lap,[36] and through a great rout rode; +To Dalwryeth he knew the ford full well: +Before him came feil[37] stuffed[38] in fine steel. +He strake the first, but bade,[39] on the blasoun,[40] +Till horse and man both fleet[41] the water down. +Another soon down from his horse he bare, +Stamped to ground, and drown'd withouten mair.[42] +The third he hit in his harness of steel, +Throughout the cost,[43] the spear it brake some deal. +The great power then after him can ride. +He saw no waill[44] there longer for to bide. +His burnish'd brand braithly[45] in hand he bare, +Whom he hit right they follow'd him na mair.[46] +To stuff the chase feil freiks[47] follow'd fast, +But Wallace made the gayest aye aghast. +The muir he took, and through their power yede, +The horse was good, but yet he had great dread +For failing ere he wan unto a strength, +The chase was great, skail'd[48] over breadth and length, +Through strong danger they had him aye in sight. +At the Blackford there Wallace down can light, +His horse stuffed,[49] for way was deep and lang, +A large great mile wightly on foot could gang.[50] +Ere he was hors'd riders about him cast, +He saw full well long so he might not last. +Sad[51] men indeed upon him can renew, +With returning that night twenty he slew, +The fiercest aye rudely rebutted he, +Keeped his horse, and right wisely can flee, +Till that he came the mirkest[52] muir amang. +His horse gave over, and would no further gang. + +[1] 'Gart:' caused. +[2] 'Halse:' throat. +[3] 'Craig-bane:' neck-lone. +[4] 'Feil:' many. +[5] 'Yeed:' went. +[6] 'Tint:' lost. +[7] 'But:' without. +[8] 'Boune:' ready. +[9] 'Sync:' then. +[10] 'But let:' without impediment. +[11] 'Gate:' way. +[12] 'Unbeset:' surround. +[13] 'Haill:' wholly. +[14] 'Graithed:' prepared. +[15] 'Dight:' Make ready. +[16] 'Bousteous:' boisterous. +[17] 'On raw:' one after another. +[18] 'Meikle mare:' much more. +[19] 'Swakked:' pitched. +[20] 'Hint:' took. +[21] 'Sic:' such. +[22] 'Wale:' advantage. +[23] 'Rave:' split. +[24] 'Twin:' twain. +[25] 'Haill:'whole. +[26] 'Feil:' great. +[27] 'Sa:' so. +[28] 'Ma:' make. +[29] 'Flait:' chided. +[30] 'Thole:' suffer. +[31] 'Speir'd:' asked. +[32] 'Selcouth:' strange. +[33] 'Bane:' bone. +[34] 'Derfly:' Quickly. +[35] 'Weir:' war. +[36] 'Lap:' leaped. +[37] 'Feil:' many. +[38] 'Stuffed:' armed. +[39] 'But bade:' without delay. +[40] 'Blasoun:' dress over armour. +[41] 'Fleet:' float. +[42] 'Mair:' more. +[43] 'Cost:' side. +[44] 'Waill:' advantage. +[45] 'Braithly:' violently. +[46] 'Na mair:' no more. +[47] 'Feil freiks:' many fierce fellows. +[48] 'Skail'd:' spread. +[49] 'Stuffed:' blown. +[50] 'Gang:' go. +[51] 'Sad:' steady. +[52] 'Mirkest:' darkest. + + +THE DEATH OF WALLACE. + +On Wednesday the false Southron forth him brought +To martyr him, as they before had wrought.[1] +Of men in arms led him a full great rout. +With a bold sprite good Wallace blink'd about: +A priest he ask'd, for God that died on tree. +King Edward then commanded his clergy, +And said, 'I charge you, upon loss of life, +None be so bold yon tyrant for to shrive. +He has reign'd long in contrare my highness.' +A blithe bishop soon, present in that place; +Of Canterbury he then was righteous lord; +Against the king he made this right record, +And said, 'Myself shall hear his confessioun, +If I have might, in contrare of thy crown. +An[2] thou through force will stop me of this thing, +I vow to God, who is my righteous king, +That all England I shall her interdict, +And make it known thou art a heretic. +The sacrament of kirk I shall him give: +Syne[3] take thy choice, to starve[4] or let him live. +It were more 'vail, in worship of thy crown, +To keep such one in life in thy bandoun,[5] +Than all the land and good that thou hast reft, +But cowardice thee aye from honour dreft.[6] +Thou hast thy life rougin[7] in wrongous deed; +That shall be seen on thee, or on thy seed.' +The king gart[8] charge they should the bishop tae,[9] +But sad[10] lords counselled to let him gae. +All Englishmen said that his desire was right. +To Wallace then he raiked[11] in their sight, +And sadly heard his confession till an end: +Humbly to God his sprite he there commend, +Lowly him served with hearty devotion +Upon his knees, and said an orison. +A psalter-book Wallace had on him ever, +From his childhood from it would not dissever; +Better he trow'd in voyage[12] for to speed. +But then he was despoiled of his weed.[13] +This grace he ask'd at Lord Clifford, that knight, +To let him have his psalter-book in sight. +He gart a priest it open before him hold, +While they till him had done all that they would. +Steadfast he read for ought they did him there; +Foil[14] Southrons said that Wallace felt no sair.[15] +Good devotion so was his beginning, +Continued therewith, and fair was his ending; +Till speech and spirit at once all can fare +To lasting bliss, we trow, for eveermair. + +[1] 'Wrought:' contrived. +[2] 'An:' if. +[3] 'Syne:' then. +[4] 'Starve:' perish. +[5] 'Bandoun:' disposal. +[6] 'Dreft:' drove. +[7] 'Rougin:' spent. +[8] 'Gart:' caused. +[9] 'Tae:' take. +[10] 'Sad:' grave. +[11] 'Raiked:' walked. +[12] 'Voyage:' journey to heaven. +[13] 'Weed:' clothes. +[14] 'Feil:' many. +[15] 'Sair:' sore. + + + + +JAMES I. OF SCOTLAND. + + +Here we have a great ascent from our former subject of biography--from +Blind Harry to James I.--from a beggar to a king. But in the Palace of +Poetry there are 'many mansions,' and men of all ranks, climes, +characters, professions, and we had almost added _talents_, have been +welcome to inhabit there. For, even as in the House Beautiful, the weak +Ready-to-halt and the timid Much-afraid were as cheerfully received as +the strong Honest and the bold Valiant-for-truth; so Poetry has inspired +children, and seeming fools, and maniacs, and mendicants with the finest +breath of her spirit. The 'Fable-tree' Fontaine is as immortal as +Corneille; Christopher Smart's 'David' shall live as long as Milton's +'Paradise Lost;' and the rude epic of a blind wanderer, whose birth, +parentage, and period of death are all alike unknown, shall continue to +rank in interest with the productions of one who inherited that kingdom +of Scotland, the independence of which was bought by the successive +efforts and the blended blood of Wallace and Bruce. + +Let us now look for a moment at the history and the writings of this +'Royal Poet.' The name will suggest to all intelligent readers the title +of one of the most pleasing papers in Washington Irving's 'Sketch-book.' +James I. was the son of Robert III. of Scotland,--a character familiar +to all from the admirable 'Fair Maid of Perth,'--and of Annabella +Stewart. He was created Earl of Carrick; and after the miserable death +of the Duke of Rothesay, his elder brother, his father, apprehensive of +the further designs of Albany, determined to send James to France, to +find an asylum and receive his education in that friendly Court. On his +way, the vessel was captured off Flamborough Head by an English cruiser, +(the 13th of March 1405,) and the young prince, with his attendants, was +conveyed to London, and committed to the Tower. As there was a truce +between the two nations at the time, this was a flagrant outrage on the +law of nations, and has indelibly disgraced the memory of Henry IV., +who, when some one remonstrated with him on the injustice of the +detention, replied, with cool brutality, 'Had the Scots been grateful, +they ought to have sent the youth to me, for I understand French well.' +Here for nineteen years,--during the remainder of the life of Henry IV., +and the whole of the reign of Henry V.,--James continued. He was +educated, however, highly, according to the fashion of these times, +--instructed in the languages, as well as in music, painting, +architecture, horticulture, dancing, fencing, poetry, and other +accomplishments. Still it must have fretted his high spirit to be +passing his young life in prison, while without horses were stamping, +plumes glistening, trumpets sounding, tournaments waging, and echoes +from the great victories of Henry V. in France ringing around. One +sweetener of his solitude, however, he at length enjoyed. Having been +transferred from the Tower to Windsor Castle, he beheld one day from its +windows that beautiful vision he has described in 'The King's Quhair,' +(see 'Specimens.') This was Lady Jane or Joanna Beaufort, daughter of +the Earl of Somerset, niece of Richard II., and grand-daughter of John +of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster. She was a lady of great beauty and +accomplishments as well as of high rank, and James, even before he knew +her name, became deeply enamoured. The passion was returned, and their +mutual attachment had by and by an important bearing upon his prospects. + +In 1423, the Duke of Bedford being now the English Regent, the friends +of James renewed negotiations--often attempted before in vain--for his +return to his native land, where his father had been long dead, and +which, torn by factions and steeped in blood, was sorely needing his +presence. Commissioners from the two kingdoms met at Pontefract on the +12th of May 1423, when, in presence of the young King, and with his +consent, matters were arranged. The English coolly demanded L40,000 to +defray the expense of James's nurture and education, (as though a _bill_ +were handed in to a man who had been unjustly detained in prison on +a false charge, ere he left its walls,) insisted on the immediate +departure of the Scots from France, where a portion of them were +fighting in the French army, and procured the assent of the Scottish +Privy Council to the marriage of James with his beloved Jane Beaufort. +A truce, too, with Scotland was concluded for seven years. All this was +settled; and soon after, in the Church of St Mary Overies, Southwark, +so often alluded to in the 'Life of Gower,' the happy pair were wed. +It seemed a most auspicious event for both countries, and to augur +the substitution of permanent peace for casual and temporary truces. +To Lady Jane Beaufort it gave a crown, and a noble, gallant, and gifted +prince to share it withal. On James it bestowed a lady of great beauty, +who was regarded, too, with gratitude as having lightened the load of +his captivity, and been a sunshine in his shady place, and--least +consideration--who brought him a dowry of L10,000, which was, in fact, +a remission of the fourth part of his ransom. + +Attended by a magnificent retinue, the royal pair set out for Scotland. +They were met at Durham by three hundred of the principal nobility and +gentry, twenty-eight of whom were retained by the English as hostages +for the national faith. Arrived on his native soil, James, at Melrose +Abbey, gave his solemn assent on the Holy Gospels to the treaty; and +seldom have the Eildon Hills returned a louder and more joyous shout +of acclamation than now welcomed back to the kingdom of his fathers +the 'Royal Poet.' He proceeded to Edinburgh, where he celebrated Easter +with great pomp, and a month later, he and his queen were solemnly +crowned inthe Abbey Church at Scone. This was in 1424. He lived after +this only thirteen years; but the period of his reign has always been +thought a glorious interlude in the dark early history of Scotland. +He set himself, with considerable success, to curb the exorbitant +power of the nobles, sacrificing some of them, such as Albany, to his +just indignation. He passed many useful regulations in reference to +the coinage, the constitution, and the commerce of the country. He +suppressed with a strong hand some of the gangs of robbers and 'sorners' +which abounded, founding instead the order of Bedesmen or King's +Beggars, immortalised since in the character of Edie Ochiltree. He +stretched a strong hand over the refractory Highland chieftains. While +keeping at first on good terms with the English Court, he turned with a +fonder eye to the French as the ancient allies of Scotland, and in 1436 +gave his daughter Margaret in marriage to the Dauphin. This step roused +the jealousy of his southern neighbours, who tried even to intercept the +fleet that was conveying the bride across the Channel, whereupon James, +stung to fury, proclaimed war against England, and in August commenced +the siege of Roxburgh Castle. The castle, after being environed for +fifteen days, was about to fall into his hands, when the Queen suddenly +arrived in the camp, and communicated some information, probably +referring to a threatened conspiracy of the nobles, which induced him +to throw up the siege, disband his army, and return northward in haste. +This unexpected step probably retarded, but could not prevent the +dreadful purpose of death which had already been formed against the +King. + +In October 1436, he held his last Parliament in Edinburgh, in which, +amidst many other enactments, we find, curiously enough, a prefiguration +of the Forbes Mackenzie Act, in a decree that all taverns should be shut +at nine o'clock. In the end of the year he determined on retiring to +Perth, where (in the language of Gibbon, applied to Timour) 'he was +expected by the Angel of Death.' It is said that, when about to cross +the Frith of Forth, then called the Scottish Sea, a Highland woman, who +claimed the character of a prophetess, like Meg Merrilees in fiction, +met the cavalcade, and cried out, with a loud voice, 'My Lord the King, +if you pass this water you shall never return again alive;' but as she +was concluded to be mad or drunk, her warning was scorned. He betook +himself to the convent of the Black Friars, where Christmas was being +celebrated with great pomp and splendour. Meanwhile Robert Grahame, and +Walter, Earl of Athole, the King's own uncle, actuated, the former by +revenge on account of the resumption of some lands improperly granted +to his family, and the latter by a desire to succeed to the Crown, had +formed a plot against James's life. Several warnings, besides that of +the Highland seeress, the King received, but he heeded them not, and, +like most of the doomed, was in unnaturally high spirits, as if the +winding-sheet far up his breast had been a wedding-robe. + +It is the evening of the 20th of February 1437. James and his nobles and +ladies are seated at table till deep into the night, engaged in chess, +music, and song. Athole, like another Judas, has supped with them, and +gone out at a late hour. A tremendous knocking is heard at the gate. It +is the Highland prophetess, who, having followed the monarch to Perth, +is seeking to force her way into the room. The King tells her, through +his usher, that he cannot receive her to-night, but will hear her +tidings to-morrow. She retires reluctantly, murmuring that they will for +ever rue their refusal to admit her into the royal presence. About an +hour after this, James calls for the _Voidee_, or parting-cup, and the +company disperse. Sir Robert Stewart, the chamberlain, who is in the +confidence of the conspirators, is the last to retire, having previously +destroyed the locks and removed the bars of the doors of the royal bed- +chamber and the outer room adjoining. The King is standing before the +fire, in his night-gown and slippers, and talking gaily with the Queen +and her ladies, when torches are seen flashing up from the garden, and +the clash of arms and the sound of angry voices is heard from below. A +sense of the dread reality bursts on them in an instant. The Queen and +the ladies run to secure the door of the chamber, while James, seizing +the tongs, wrenches up one of the boards of the floor and takes refuge +in a vault beneath. This was wont to have an opening to the outer court, +but it had unfortunately been built up of late by his own orders. There, +under the replaced boards, cowers the King, while the Queen and her +women seek to barricade the door. One brave young lady, Catherine +Douglas, thrusts her beautiful arm into the staple from which the bolt +had been removed. It is broken in a moment, and she sinks back, to bear, +with her descendants--a family well known in Scotland--the name of +_Barlass_ ever since. The murderers, who had previously killed in the +passage one Walter Straiton, a page, rush in, with naked swords, +wounding the ladies, striking, and well-nigh killing the Queen, and +crying, with frantic imprecations, 'This is but a woman! Where is +James?' Finding him not in the chamber, they leave it, and disperse +through the neighbouring apartments in search. + +James, who had become wearied of his immurement, and thought the +assassins were gone, calls now on one of the ladies to aid him in coming +out of his place of concealment. But while this is being effected, one +of the murderers returns. The cry, 'Found, found,' rings through the +halls; and after a violent but unarmed resistance, the King is, with +circumstances of horrible barbarity, first mangled, then run through the +body, and then despatched with daggers. In vain he offers half his +kingdom for his life; and when he seeks a confessor from Grahame, the +ruffian replies, 'Thou shalt have no confessor but this sword.' It is +satisfactory to know that the Queen made her escape, and that the +criminals were punished, although the tortures they endured are such +as human nature shrinks from conceiving, and history with a shudder +records. + + * * * * * + +We turn with pleasure from King James's life and death to his poetry, +although there is so little of it that a sentence or two will suffice. +'The King's Quhair' is a poem conceived very much in the spirit, and +written in the style of Chaucer, whose works were favourites with James. +There is the same sympathy with nature, and the same perception of _its_ +relation to and unconscious sympathy with human feelings, and the same +luscious richness in the description, alike of the early beauties of +spring and of youthful feminine loveliness, although this seems more +natural in the young poet James than in the sexagenarian author of 'The +Canterbury Tales.' There is nothing even in Chaucer we think finer than +the picture of Lady Jane Beaufort in the garden, particularly in the +lines-- + + 'Or are ye god Cupidis own princess, + And comen are ye to loose me out of band? + Or are ye very Nature the goddess, + That have depainted with your heavenly hand + This garden full of flowers as they stand?' + +Or where, picturing his mistress, he cries-- + + 'And above all this there was, well I wot, + Beauty enough to make a world to dote.' + +Or where, describing a ruby on her bosom, he says-- + + 'That as a spark of low[1] so wantonly + Seemed burning upon her white throat.' + +[1] 'Low:' fire. + +Besides this precious little poem, King James is believed by some to +have written several poems on Scottish subjects, such as 'Christis Kirk +on the Green,' 'Peblis to the Play,' &c., but his claim to these is +uncertain. The first describes the mingled merrymaking and contest +common in the old rude marriages of Scotland, and, whether by James or +not, is full of burly, picturesque force. + +Take the Miller-- + + 'The Miller was of manly make, + To meet him was no mowes.[1] + There durst not tensome there him take, + So cowed he their powes.[2] + The bushment whole about him brake, + And bicker'd him with bows. + Then traitorously behind his back + They hack'd him on the boughs + Behind that day.' + +Or look at the following ill-paired pair-- + + 'Of all these maidens mild as mead, + Was none so jimp as Gillie. + As any rose her rude[3] was red-- + Her lire[4] like any lillie. + But yellow, yellow was her head, + And she of love so silly; + Though all her kin had sworn her dead, + She would have none but Willie, + Alone that day. + + 'She scorn'd Jock, and scripped at him, + And murgeon'd him with mocks-- + He would have loved her--she would not let him, + For all his yellow locks. + He cherisht her--she bade go chat him-- + She counted him not two clocks. + So shamefully his short jack[5] set him, + His legs were like two rocks, + Or rungs that day.' + +[1] 'Mowes:' joke. +[2] 'Powes:' heads. +[3] 'Rude:' complexion. +[4] 'Lire:' flesh, skill. +[5] 'Jack:' jacket. + +Our readers will perceive the resemblance, both in spirit and in form of +verse, between this old poem and the 'Holy Fair,' and other productions +of Burns. + +James, cut off in the prime of life, may almost be called the abortive +Alfred of Scotland. Had he lived, he might have made important +contributions to her literature as well as laws, and given her a +standing among the nations of Europe, which it took long ages, and even +an incorporation with England, to secure. As it is, he stands high on +the list of royal authors, and of those kings who, whether authors or +not, have felt that nations cannot live on bread alone, and who have +sought their intellectual culture as an object not inferior to their +physical comfort. It is not, perhaps, too much to say, that no man or +woman of genius has sate either on the Scotch or English throne since, +except Cromwell, to whom, however, the term 'genius,' in its common +sense, seems ludicrously inadequate. James V. had some of the erratic +qualities of the poetic tribe, but his claim to the songs--such as the +'Gaberlunzie Man'--which go under his name, is exceedingly doubtful. +James VI. was a pedant, without being a scholar--a rhymester, not a +poet. Of the rest we need not speak. Seldom has the sceptre become an +Aaron's rod, and flourished with the buds and blossoms of song. In our +annals there has been one, and but one 'Royal Poet.' + + +THE KING THUS DESCRIBES THE APPEARANCE OF HIS MISTRESS, +WHEN HE FIRST SAW HER FROM A WINDOW OF HIS PRISON +AT WINDSOR. + +X. + +The longe dayes and the nightes eke, +I would bewail my fortune in this wise, +For which, against distress comfort to seek, +My custom was, on mornes, for to rise +Early as day: O happy exercise! +By thee came I to joy out of torment; +But now to purpose of my first intent. + +XI. + +Bewailing in my chamber, thus alone, +Despaired of all joy and remedy, +For-tired of my thought, and woe begone; +And to the window 'gan I walk in hye,[1] +To see the world and folk that went forby; +As for the time (though I of mirthis food +Might have no more) to look it did me good. + +XII. + +Now was there made fast by the toweris wall +A garden fair; and in the corners set +An herbere[2] green; with wandis long and small +Railed about, and so with trees set +Was all the place, and hawthorn hedges knet, +That life was none [a] walking there forby +That might within scarce any wight espy. + + * * * * * + +XIV. + +And on the smalle greene twistis [3] sat +The little sweete nightingale, and sung, +So loud and clear the hymnis consecrate +Of love's use, now soft, now loud among,[4] +That all the gardens and the wallis rung +Right of their song; and on the couple next +Of their sweet harmony, and lo the text. + +XV. + +Worship, O ye that lovers be, this May! +For of your bliss the calends are begun; +And sing with us, 'Away! winter, away! +Come, summer, come, the sweet season and sun; +Awake for shame that have your heavens won; +And amorously lift up your heades all, +Thank love that list you to his mercy call. + + * * * * * + +XXI. + +And therewith cast I down mine eye again, +Where as I saw walking under the tower, +Full secretly new comen to her pleyne,[5] +The fairest and the freshest younge flower +That e'er I saw (methought) before that hour +For which sudden abate [6] anon astert [7] +The blood of all my body to my heart. + + * * * * * + +XXVII. + +Of her array the form if I shall write, +Toward her golden hair, and rich attire, +In fret-wise couched with pearlis white, +And greate balas[8] lemyng[9] as the fire; +With many an emerald and fair sapphire, +And on her head a chaplet fresh of hue, +Of plumes parted red, and white, and blue. + + * * * * * + +XXIX. + +About her neck, white as the fair amaille,[10] +A goodly chain of small orfeverie,[11] +Whereby there hang a ruby without fail +Like to a heart yshapen verily, +That as a spark of lowe[12] so wantonly +Seemed burning upon her white throat; +Now if there was good, perdie God it wrote. + +XXX. + +And for to walk that freshe Maye's morrow, +A hook she had upon her tissue white, +That goodlier had not been seen toforrow,[13] +As I suppose, and girt she, was a lite[14] +Thus halfling[15] loose for haste; to such delight +It was to see her youth in goodlihead, +That for rudeness to speak thereof I dread. + +XXXI. + +In her was youth, beauty with humble port, +Bounty, richess, and womanly feature: +(God better wot than my pen can report) +Wisdom, largess, estate, and cunning[16] sure, + + * * * * * + +In word, in deed, in shape and countenance, +That nature might no more her child advance. + +[1] 'Hye:' haste. +[2] 'Herbere:' herbary, or garden of simples. +[3] 'Twistis:' twigs. +[4] 'Among:' promiscuously. +[5] 'Pleyne:' sport. +[6] 'Sudden abate:' unexpected accident. +[7] 'Astert:' started back. +[8] 'Balas:' rubies. +[9] 'Lemyng:' burning. +[10] 'Amaille:' enamel. +[11] 'Orfeverie:' goldsmith's work. +[12] 'Lowe:' fire. +[13] 'Toforrow:' heretofore. +[14] 'Lite:' a little. +[15] 'Halfling:' half. +[16] 'Cunning:' knowledge. + + + + +JOHN THE CHAPLAIN--THOMAS OCCLEVE. + + +The first of these is the only versifier that can be assigned to England +in the reign of Henry IV. His name was John Walton, though he was +generally known as _Johannes Capellanus_ or 'John the Chaplain.' He was +canon of Oseney, and died sub-dean of York. He, in the year 1410, +translated Boethius' famous treatise, 'De Consolatione Philosophiae,' +into English verse. He is not known to have written anything original. +--Thomas Occleve appeared in the reign of Henry V., about 1420. Like +Chaucer and Gower, he was a student of municipal law, having attended +Chester's Inn, which stood on the site of the present Somerset House; +but although he trod in the footsteps of his celebrated predecessors, it +was with far feebler powers. His original pieces are contemptible, both +in subject and in execution. His best production is a translation of +'Egidius De Regimine Principum.' Warton, alluding to the period at which +these writers appeared, has the following oft-quoted observations: +--'I consider Chaucer as a genial day in an English spring. A brilliant +sun enlivens the face of nature with an unusual lustre; the sudden +appearance of cloudless skies, and the unexpected warmth of a tepid +atmosphere, after the gloom and the inclemencies of a tedious winter, +fill our hearts with the visionary prospect of a speedy summer, and we +fondly anticipate a long continuance of gentle gales and vernal serenity. +But winter returns with redoubled horrors; the clouds condense more +formidably than before, and those tender buds and early blossoms which +were called forth by the transient gleam of a temporary sunshine, are +nipped by frosts and torn by tempests.' These sentences are, after all, +rather pompous, and express, in the most verbose style of the _Rambler_, +the simple fact, that after Chaucer's death the ground lay fallow, and +that for a while in England (in Scotland it was otherwise) there were +few poets, and little poetry. + + + + +JOHN LYDGATE. + + +This copious and versatile writer flourished in the reign of Henry VI. +Warton affirms that he reached his highest point of eminence in 1430, +although some of his poems had appeared before. He was a monk of the +Benedictine Abbey at Bury, in Suffolk. He received his education at +Oxford; and when it was finished, he travelled through France and Italy, +mastering the languages and literature of both countries, and studying +their poets, particularly Dante, Boccaccio, and Alain Chartier. When he +returned, he opened a school in his monastery for teaching the sons of +the nobility composition and the art of versification. His acquirements +were, for the age, universal. He was a poet, a rhetorician, an astronomer, +a mathematician, a public disputant, and a theologian. He was born in +1370, ordained sub-deacon in 1389, deacon in 1393, and priest in 1397. +The time of his death is uncertain. His great patron was Humphrey, Duke +of Gloucester, to whom he complains sometimes of necessitous circumstances, +which were, perhaps, produced by indulgence, since he confesses himself to +be 'a lover of wine.' + +The great merit of Lydgate is his versatility. This Warton has happily +expressed in a few sentences, which we shall quote:-- + +'He moves with equal ease in every form of composition. His hymns and +his ballads have the same degree of merit; and whether his subject be +the life of a hermit or a hero, of Saint Austin or Guy, Earl of Warwick, +ludicrous or legendary, religious or romantic, a history or an allegory, +he writes with facility. His transitions were rapid, from works of the +most serious and laborious kind, to sallies of levity and pieces of +popular entertainment. His muse was of universal access; and he was not +only the poet of his monastery, but of the world in general. If a +disguising was intended by the Company of Goldsmiths, a mask before His +Majesty at Eltham, a May game for the sheriffs and aldermen of London, +a mumming before the Lord Mayor, a procession of pageants, from the +"Creation," for the Festival of Corpus Christi, or a carol for the +coronation, Lydgate was consulted, and gave the poetry.' + +Lydgate is, so far as we know, the first British bard who wrote for +hire. At the request of Whethamstede, the Abbot of St Alban's, he +translated a 'Life of St Alban' from Latin into English rhymes, and +received for the whole work one hundred shillings. His principal poems, +all founded on the works of other authors, are the 'Fall of Princes,' +the 'Siege of Thebes,' and the 'Destruction of Troy.' They are written +in a diffuse and verbose style, but are generally clear in sense, and +often very luxuriant in description. 'The London Lyckpenny' is a +fugitive poem, in which the author describes himself coming up to town +in search of legal redress for a wrong, and gives some curious +particulars of the condition of that city in the early part of the +fifteenth century. + + +CANACE, CONDEMNED TO DEATH BY HER FATHER AEOLUS, SENDS +TO HER GUILTY BROTHER MACAREUS THE LAST TESTIMONY OF +HER UNHAPPY PASSION. + +Out of her swoone when she did abraid,[1] +Knowing no mean but death in her distress, +To her brother full piteously she said, +'Cause of my sorrow, root of my heaviness, +That whilom were the source of my gladness, +When both our joys by will were so disposed, +Under one key our hearts to be enclosed.-- + + * * * * * + +This is mine end, I may it not astart;[2] +O brother mine, there is no more to say; +Lowly beseeching with mine whole heart +For to remember specially, I pray, +If it befall my little son to dey[3] +That thou mayst after some mind on us have, +Suffer us both be buried in one grave. +I hold him strictly 'tween my armes twain, +Thou and Nature laid on me this charge; +He, guiltless, muste with me suffer pain, +And, since thou art at freedom and at large, +Let kindness oure love not so discharge, +But have a mind, wherever that thou be, +Once on a day upon my child and me. +On thee and me dependeth the trespace +Touching our guilt and our great offence, +But, welaway! most angelic of face +Our childe, young in his pure innocence, +Shall against right suffer death's violence, +Tender of limbs, God wot, full guilteless +The goodly fair, that lieth here speechless. + +A mouth he has, but wordes hath he none; +Cannot complain, alas! for none outrage: +Nor grutcheth[4] not, but lies here all alone +Still as a lamb, most meek of his visage. +What heart of steel could do to him damage, +Or suffer him die, beholding the mannere +And look benign of his twain even clear.'-- + + * * * * * + +Writing her letter, awhapped[5] all in drede, +In her right hand her pen began to quake, +And a sharp sword to make her hearte bleed, +In her left hand her father hath her take, +And most her sorrow was for her childe's sake, +Upon whose face in her barme[6] sleeping +Full many a tear she wept in complaining. +After all this so as she stood and quoke, +Her child beholding mid of her paines' smart, +Without abode the sharpe sword she took, +And rove herselfe even to the heart; +Her child fell down, which mighte not astart, +Having no help to succour him nor save, +But in her blood theself began to bathe. + +[1] 'Abraid:' awake. +[2] 'Astart:' escape. +[3] 'Dey:' die. +[4] 'Grutcheth:' murmureth. +[5] 'Awhapped:' confounded. +[6] 'Barme:' lap. + + +THE LONDON LYCKPENNY. + +Within the hall, neither rich nor yet poor + Would do for me ought, although I should die: +Which seeing, I gat me out of the door, + Where Flemings began on me for to cry, + 'Master, what will you copen[1] or buy? +Fine felt hats? or spectacles to read? +Lay down your silver, and here you may speed. + +Then to Westminster gate I presently went, + When the sun was at high prime: +Cooks to me they took good intent,[2] + And proffered me bread, with ale and wine, + Ribs of beef, both fat and full fine; +A fair cloth they 'gan for to spread, +But, wanting money, I might not be sped. + +Then unto London I did me hie, + Of all the land it beareth the price; +'Hot peascods!' one began to cry, + 'Strawberry ripe, and cherries in the rise!'[3] + One bade me come near and buy some spice; +Pepper, and saffron they 'gan me beed;[4] +But, for lack of money, I might not speed. + +Then to the Cheap I 'gan me drawn, + Where much people I saw for to stand; +One offered me velvet, silk, and lawn, + Another he taketh me by the hand, + 'Here is Paris thread, the finest in the land!' +I never was used to such things, indeed; +And, wanting money, I might not speed. + +Then went I forth by London Stone, + Throughout all Canwick Street: +Drapers much cloth me offered anon; + Then comes me one cried 'Hot sheep's feet;' + One cried mackerel, rushes green, another 'gan greet,[5] +One bade me buy a hood to cover my head; +But, for want of money, I might not be sped. + +Then I hied me unto East-Cheap, + One cries ribs of beef, and many a pie; +Pewter pots they clattered on a heap; + There was harp, pipe, and minstrelsy; + Yea by cock! nay by cock! some began cry; +Some sung of Jenkin and Julian for their meed; +But, for lack of money, I might not speed. + +Then into Cornhill anon I yode,[6] + Where was much stolen gear among; +I saw where hung mine owne hood, + That I had lost among the throng; + To buy my own hood I thought it wrong: +I knew it well, as I did my creed; +But, for lack of money, I could not speed. + +The taverner took me by the sleeve, + 'Sir,' saith he, 'will you our wine assay?' +I answered, 'That can not much me grieve, + A penny can do no more than it may;' + I drank a pint, and for it did pay; +Yet, sore a-hungered from thence I yede,[7] +And, wanting money, I could not speed. + +[1] 'Copen:' _koopen_(Flem.) to buy. +[2] 'Took good intent:' took notice; paid attention. +[3] 'In the rise:' on the branch. +[4] 'Beed:' offer. +[5] 'Greet:' cry. +[6] 'Yode:' went. +[7] 'Yede:' went. + + + + +HARDING, KAY, &c. + + +John Harding flourished about the year 1403. He fought at the battle of +Shrewsbury on the Percy side. He is the author of a poem entitled 'The +Chronicle of England unto the Reign of King Edward the Fourth, in +Verse.' It has no poetic merit, and little interest, except to the +antiquary. In the reign of the above king we find the first mention of +a Poet Laureate. John Kay was appointed by Edward, when he returned from +Italy, Poet Laureate to the king, but has, perhaps fortunately for the +world, left behind him no poems. Would that the same had been the case +with some of his successors in the office! There is reason to believe, +that for nearly two centuries ere this date, there had existed in the +court a personage, entitled the King's Versifier, (versificator,) to +whom one hundred shillings a-year was the salary, and that the title +was, by and by, changed to that of Poet Laureate, _i.e._, Laurelled +Poet. It had long been customary in the universities to crown scholars +when they graduated with laurel, and Warton thinks that from these the +first poet laureates were selected, less for their general genius than +for their skill in Latin verse. Certainly the earliest of the Laureate +poems, such as those by Baston and Gulielmus, who acted as royal poets +to Richard I. and Edward II., and wrote, the one on Richard's Crusade, +and the other on Edward's Siege of Stirling Castle, are in Latin. So +too are the productions of Andrew Bernard, who was the Poet Laureate +successively to Henry VII. and Henry VIII. It was not till after the +Reformation had lessened the superstitious veneration for the Latin +tongue that the laureates began to write in English. It is almost a +pity, we are sometimes disposed to think, that, in reference to such +odes as those of Pye, Whitehead, Colley Cibber, and even some of +Southey's, the old practice had not continued; since thus, in the first +place, we might have had a chance of elegant Latinity, in the absence of +poetry and sense; and since, secondly, the deficiencies of the laureate +poems would have been disguised, from the general eye at least, under +the veil of an unknown tongue. It is curious to notice about this period +the uprise of two didactic poets, both writing on alchymy, the chemistry +of that day, and neither displaying a spark of genius. These are John +Norton and George Ripley, both renowned for learning and knowledge of +their beloved occult sciences. Their poems, that by Norton, entitled +'The Ordinal,' and that by Ripley, entitled 'The Compound of Alchemie,' +are dry and rugged treatises, done into indifferent verse. One rather +fine fancy occurs in the first of these. It is that of an alchymist who +projected a bridge of gold over the Thames, near London, crowned with +pinnacles of gold, which, being studded with carbuncles, should diffuse +a blaze of light in the dark! Alchymy has had other and nobler singers +than Ripley and Norton. It has, as Warton remarks, 'enriched the store- +house of Arabian romance with many magnificent imageries.' It is the +inspiration of two of the noblest romances in this or any language +--'St. Leon' and 'Zanoni.' And its idea, transfigured into a transcen- +dental form, gave light and life and fire, and the loftiest poetry, to +the eloquence of the lamented Samuel Brown, whose tongue, as he talked +on his favourite theme, seemed transmuted into gold; nay, whose lips, +like the touch of Midas, seemed to create the effects of alchymy upon +every subject they approached, and upon every heart over which they +wielded their sorcery. + +We pass now from this comparatively barren age in the history of English +poetry to a cluster of Scottish bards. The first of these is ROBERT +HENRYSON. He was schoolmaster at Dunfermline, and died some time before +1508. He is supposed by Lord Hailes to have been preceptor of youth in +the Benedictine convent in that place. He is the author of 'Robene and +Makyne,' a pastoral ballad of very considerable merit, and of which +Campbell says, somewhat too warmly, 'It is the first known pastoral,' +(he means in the Scottish language of course,) 'and one of the best, in +a dialect rich with the favours of the pastoral muse.' He wrote also a +sequel to Chaucer's 'Troilus and Cresseide' entitled 'The Testament of +Cresseide,' and thirteen Fables, of which copies, in MS., are preserved +in the Advocates' Library, Edinburgh. One of these, 'The Town and +Country Mouse,' tells that old story with considerable spirit and +humour. 'The Garment of Good Ladies' is an ingenious and beautiful +strain, written in that quaint style of allegorising which continued +popular as far down as the days of Cowley, and even later. + + +DINNER GIVEN BY THE TOWN MOUSE TO THE COUNTRY MOUSE. + +* * * Their harboury was ta'en +Into a spence,[1] where victual was plenty, +Both cheese and butter on long shelves right high, +With fish and flesh enough, both fresh and salt, +And pockis full of groats, both meal and malt. + +After, when they disposed were to dine, +Withouten grace they wuish[2] and went to meat, +On every dish that cookmen can divine, +Mutton and beef stricken out in telyies grit;[3] +A lorde's fare thus can they counterfeit, +Except one thing--they drank the water clear +Instead of wine, but yet they made good cheer. + +With blithe upcast and merry countenance, +The elder sister then spier'd[4] at her guest, +If that she thought by reason difference +Betwixt that chamber and her sairy[5] nest. +'Yea, dame,' quoth she, 'but how long will this last?' +'For evermore, I wait,[6] and longer too;' +'If that be true, ye are at ease,' quoth she. + +To eke the cheer, in plenty forth they brought +A plate of groatis and a dish of meal, +A threif[7] of cakes, I trow she spared them nought, +Abundantly about her for to deal. +Furmage full fine she brought instead of jeil, +A white candle out of a coffer staw,[8] +Instead of spice, to creish[9] their teeth witha'. + +Thus made they merry, till they might nae mair, +And, 'Hail, Yule, hail!' they cryit up on high; +But after joy oftentimes comes care, +And trouble after great prosperity. +Thus as they sat in all their jollity, +The spencer came with keyis in his hand, +Open'd the door, and them at dinner fand. + +They tarried not to wash, as I suppose, +But on to go, who might the foremost win: +The burgess had a hole, and in she goes, +Her sister had no place to hide her in; +To see that silly mouse it was great sin, +So desolate and wild of all good rede,[10] +For very fear she fell in swoon, near dead. + +Then as God would it fell in happy case, +The spencer had no leisure for to bide, +Neither to force, to seek, nor scare, nor chase, +But on he went and cast the door up-wide. +This burgess mouse his passage well has spied. +Out of her hole she came and cried on high, +'How, fair sister, cry peep, where'er thou be.' + +The rural mouse lay flatlings on the ground, +And for the death she was full dreadand, +For to her heart struck many woful stound, +As in a fever trembling foot and hand; +And when her sister in such plight her fand, +For very pity she began to greet, +Syne[11] comfort gave, with words as honey sweet. + +'Why lie ye thus? Rise up, my sister dear, +Come to your meat, this peril is o'erpast.' +The other answer'd with a heavy cheer, +'I may nought eat, so sore I am aghast. +Lever[12] I had this forty dayis fast, +With water kail, and green beans and peas, +Than all your feast with this dread and disease.' + +With fair 'treaty, yet gart she her arise; +To board they went, and on together sat, +But scantly had they drunken once or twice, +When in came Gib Hunter, our jolly cat, +And bade God speed. The burgess up then gat, +And to her hole she fled as fire of flint; +Bawdrons[13] the other by the back has hent.[14] + +From foot to foot he cast her to and frae, +Whiles up, whiles down, as cant[15] as any kid; +Whiles would he let her run under the strae[16] +Whiles would he wink and play with her buik-hid;[17] +Thus to the silly mouse great harm he did; +Till at the last, through fair fortune and hap, +Betwixt the dresser and the wall she crap.[18] + +Syne up in haste behind the panelling, +So high she clamb, that Gilbert might not get her, +And by the cluiks[19] craftily can hing, +Till he was gone, her cheer was all the better: +Syne down she lap, when there was none to let her; +Then on the burgess mouse loud could she cry, +'Farewell, sister, here I thy feast defy. + +Thy mangery is minget[20] all with care, +Thy guise is good, thy gane-full[21] sour as gall; +The fashion of thy feris is but fair, +So shall thou find hereafterward may fall. +I thank yon curtain, and yon parpane[22] wall, +Of my defence now from yon cruel beast; +Almighty God, keep me from such a feast! + +Were I into the place that I came frae, +For weal nor woe I should ne'er come again.' +With that she took her leave, and forth can gae, +Till through the corn, till through the plain. +When she was forth and free she was right fain, +And merrily linkit unto the muir, +I cannot tell how afterward she fure.[23] + +But I heard syne she passed to her den, +As warm as wool, suppose it was not grit, +Full beinly[24] stuffed was both butt and ben, +With peas and nuts, and beans, and rye and wheat; +Whene'er she liked, she had enough of meat, +In quiet and ease, withouten [any] dread, +But to her sister's feast no more she gaed. + + +[FROM THE MORAL.] + +Blessed be simple life, withouten dreid; +Blessed be sober feast in quiete; +Who has enough, of no more has he need, +Though it be little into quantity. +Great abundance, and blind prosperity, +Ofttimes make an evil conclusion; +The sweetest life, therefore, in this country, +Is of sickerness,[25] with small possession. + +[1] 'Spence:' pantry. +[2] 'Wuish:' washed. +[3] 'Telyies grit:' great pieces. +[4] 'Spier'd;' asked. +[5] 'Sairy:' sorry. +[6] 'Wait:' expect. +[7] 'Threif:' a set of twenty-four. +[8] 'Staw:' stole. +[9] 'Creish:' grease. +[10] 'rede:' counsel. +[11] 'Syne:' then. +[12] 'Lever:' rather. +[13] 'Bawdrons:' the cat. +[14] 'Hent:' seized. +[15] 'Cant:' lively. +[16] 'Strae:' straw. +[17] 'Buik-hid:' body. +[18] 'Crap:' crept. +[19] 'Cluiks:' claws. +[20] 'Minget:' mixed. +[21] 'Gane-full:' mouthful. +[22] 'Parpane:' partition. +[23] 'Fure:' went. +[24] 'Beinly:' snugly. +[25] 'Sickerness:' security. + + + +THE GARMENT OF GOOD LADIES. + +Would my good lady love me best, + And work after my will, +I should a garment goodliest + Gar[1] make her body till.[2] + +Of high honour should be her hood, + Upon her head to wear, +Garnish'd with governance, so good + No deeming[3] should her deir,[4] + +Her sark[5] should be her body next, + Of chastity so white: +With shame and dread together mixt, + The same should be perfite.[6] + +Her kirtle should be of clean constance, + Laced with lesum[7] love; +The mailies[8] of continuance, + For never to remove. + +Her gown should be of goodliness, + Well ribbon'd with renown; +Purfill'd[9] with pleasure in ilk[10] place, + Furred with fine fashioun. + +Her belt should be of benignity, + About her middle meet; +Her mantle of humility, + To thole[11] both wind and weet.[12] + +Her hat should be of fair having, + And her tippet of truth; +Her patelet of good pansing,[13] + Her hals-ribbon of ruth.[14] + +Her sleeves should be of esperance, + To keep her from despair; +Her gloves of good governance, + To hide her fingers fair. + +Her shoes should be of sickerness,[15] + In sign that she not slide; +Her hose of honesty, I guess, + I should for her provide. + +Would she put on this garment gay, + I durst swear by my seill,[16] +That she wore never green nor gray +That set[17] her half so weel. + +[1] 'Gar:' cause. +[2] 'Till:' to. +[3] 'Deeming:' opinion. +[4] 'Deir:' injure. +[5] 'Sark:' shift. +[6] 'Perfite:' perfect. +[7] 'Lesum:' lawful. +[8] 'Mailies:' eyelet-holes. +[9] 'Purfill'd:' fringed. +[10] 'Ilk:' each. +[11] 'Thole:' endure. +[12] 'Weet:': wet. +[13] 'Pansing:' thinking. +[14] 'Her hals-ribbon of ruth:' her neck-ribbon of pity. +[15] 'Sickerness:' firmness. +[16] 'Seill:' salvation. +[17] 'Set:' became. + + + + +WILLIAM DUNBAR + + +This was a man of the true and sovereign seed of genius. Sir Walter +Scott calls Dunbar 'a poet unrivalled by any--that Scotland has ever +produced.' We venture to call him the Dante of Scotland; nay, we +question if any English poet has surpassed 'The Dance of the Seven +Deadly Sins through Hell' in its peculiarly Dantesque qualities of +severe and purged grandeur; of deep sincerity, and in that air of moral +disappointment and sorrow, approaching despair, which distinguished the +sad-hearted lover of Beatrice, who might almost have exclaimed, with one +yet mightier than he in his misery and more miserable in his might, + + 'Where'er I am is Hell--myself am Hell.' + +Foster, in an entry in his journal, (we quote from memory,) says, 'I +have just seen the moon rising, and wish the impression to be eternal. +What a look she casts upon earth, like that of a celestial being who +loves our planet still, but has given up all hope of ever doing her any +good or seeing her become any better--so serene she seems in her settled +and unutterable sadness.' Such, we have often fancied, was the feeling +of the great Florentine toward the world, and which--pained, pitying, +yearning enthusiast that he was!--escaped irresistibly from those deep- +set eyes, that adamantine jaw, and that brow, wearing the laurel, proudly +yet painfully, as if it were a crown of everlasting fire! Dunbar was not +altogether a Dante, either in melancholy or in power, but his 'Dance' +reveals kindred moods, operating at times on a kindred genius. + +In Dante humour existed too, but ere it could come up from his deep +nature to the surface, it must freeze and stiffen into monumental scorn +--a laughter that seemed, while mocking at all things else, to mock at +its own mockery most of all. Aird speaks in his 'Demoniac,' of a smile +upon his hero's brow, + + 'Like the lightning of a hope about to DIE + For ever from the furrow'd brows of Hell's Eternity.' + +Dante's smile may rather be compared to the RISING of a false and self- +detected hope upon the lost brows where it is never to come to dawn, and +where, nevertheless, it remains for ever, like a smile carved upon +a sepulchre. Dunbar has a more joyous disposition than his Italian +prototype and master, and he indulges himself to the top of his bent, +but in a style (particularly in his 'Twa Married Women and the Widow,' +and in 'The Friars of Berwick,' which is not, however, quite certainly +his) too coarse and prurient for the taste of this age. + +'The Merle and the Nightingale' is one of the finest of Moelibean poems. +Beautiful is the contest between the two sweet singers as to whether the +love of man or the love of God be the nobler, and more beautiful still +their reconciliation, when + + 'Then sang they both with voices loud and clear, + The Merle sang, "Man, love God that has thee wrought." + The Nightingale sang, "Man, love the Lord most dear, + That thee and all this world made of nought." + The Merle said, "Love him that thy love has sought + From heaven to earth, and here took flesh and bone." + The Nightingale sang. "And with his death thee bought: + All love is lost, but upon him alone." + + _'Then flew these birds over the boughis sheen, + Singing of love among the leaves small.'_ + +William Dunbar is said to have been born about the year 1465. He +received his education at St Andrews, and took there the degree of M.A. +in 1479. He became then a friar of the Franciscan order, (Grey Friars,) +and in the exercise of his profession seems to have rambled over all +Scotland, England, and France, preaching, begging, and, according to his +own confession, cheating, lying, and cajoling. Yet if this kind of life +was not propitious, in his case, to morality, it must have been to the +development of the poetic faculty. It enabled him to see all varieties +of life and of scenery, although here and there, in his verses, you find +symptoms of that bitterness which is apt to arise in the heart of a +wanderer. He was subsequently employed by James IV. in some official +work connected with various foreign embassies, which led him to Spain, +Italy, and Germany, as well as England and France. This proves that he +was no less a man of business-capacity and habits than a poet. For these +services he, in 1500, received from the King a pension of ten pounds, +afterwards increased to twenty, and, in fine, to eighty. He is said to +have been employed in the negotiations preparatory to the marriage of +James with Margaret Tudor, daughter of Henry VII., which took place in +1503, and which our poet celebrated in his verses, 'The Thistle and the +Rose.' He continued ever afterwards in the Court, hovering in position +between a laureate and a court-fool, charming James with his witty +conversation as well as his verses, but refused the benefices for which +he petitioned, and gradually devoured by chagrin and disappointment. +Seldom has genius so great been placed in a falser position, and this +has given a querulous tinge to many of his poems. He seems to have died +about 1520. Even after his death, misfortune pursued him. His works +were, with the exception of two or three pieces, locked up in an obscure +MS. till the middle of last century. Since then, however, their fame has +been still increasing. In 1834, Mr David Laing, so favourably known as +one of our first antiquarians, published a complete and elaborate edition +of Dunbar's works; and in a newspaper this very day (May 23) we see another +edition announced, in a popular and modernised shape, of the poetry of this +great old Scottish _Makkar_. + + +THE DANCE OF THE SEVEN DEADLY SINS THROUGH HELL. + +I. + +Of Februar' the fifteenth night, +Full long before the dayis light, + I lay into a trance; +And then I saw both Heaven and Hell; +Methought among the fiendis fell, + Mahoun[1] gart[2] cry a Dance, +Of shrewis[3] that were never shrevin,[4] +Against the feast of Fastern's even, +To make their observance: +He bade gallants go graith[5] a guise,[6] +And cast up gamounts[7] in the skies, + As varlets do in France. + + +II. + * * * * * +Holy harlottis in hautane[8] wise, +Came in with many sundry guise, + But yet laugh'd never Mahoun, +Till priests came in with bare shaven necks, +Then all the fiends laugh'd and made gecks,[9] +Black-Belly and Bawsy-Broun.[10] + * * * * * + + +III. + +'Let's see,' quoth he, 'now who begins:' +With that the foul Seven Deadly Sins + Began to leap at anis.[11] +And first of all in dance was Pride, +With hair wyld[12] back, and bonnet on side, + Like to make wasty weanis;[13] +And round about him, as a wheel, +Hang all in rumples to the heel, + His kethat[14] for the nanis.[15] +Many proud trompour[16] with him tripped, +Through scalding fire aye as they skipped, + They girn'd[17] with hideous granis.[18] + + +IV. + +Then Ire came in with sturt[19] and strife, +His hand was aye upon his knife, + He brandish'd like a beir; +Boasters, braggers, and barganeris,[20] +After him passed into pairis,[21] + All bodin in feir of weir.[22] +In jackis, scripis, and bonnets of steel, +Their legs were chenyiet[23] to the heel, + Froward was their affeir,[24] +Some upon other with brands beft,[25] +Some jaggit[26] others to the heft[27] + With knives that sharp could shear. + + +V. + +Next in the dance follow'd Envy, +Fill'd full of feud and felony, + Hid malice and despite, +For privy hatred that traitor trembled; +Him follow'd many freik[28] dissembled, +With feigned wordis white. + And flatterers into men's faces, +And backbiters in secret places +To lie that had delight, + And rowneris[29] of false lesings;[30] +Alas, that courts of noble kings + Of them can never be quite![31] + + +VI. + +Next him in dance came Covetice, +Root of all evil and ground of vice, + That never could be content, +Caitiffs, wretches, and ockerars,[32] +Hood-pikes,[33] hoarders, and gatherers, + All with that warlock went. +Out of their throats they shot on other +Hot molten gold, methought, a fother,[34] + As fire-flaucht[35] most fervent; +Aye as they tumit[36] them of shot, +Fiends fill'd them new up to the throat + With gold of all kind prent.[37] + + +VII. + +Syne[38] Sweirness[39] at the second bidding +Came like a sow out of a midding,[40] + Full sleepy was his grunyie.[41] +Many sweir bumbard[42] belly-huddroun,[43] +Many slute daw[44] and sleepy duddroun,[45] + Him served aye with sounyie.[46] +He drew them forth into a chenyie,[47] +And Belial with a bridle-rennyie,[48] + Ever lash'd them on the lunyie.[49] +In dance they were so slow of feet +They gave them in the fire a heat, + And made them quicker of counyie.[50] + + +VIII. + +Then Lechery, that loathly corse, +Came bearing like a bagged horse,[51] + And Idleness did him lead; +There was with him an ugly sort[52] +And many stinking foul tramort,[53] + That had in sin been dead. +When they were enter'd in the dance, +They were full strange of countenance, + Like torches burning reid. + * * * * * + +IX. + +Then the foul monster Gluttony, +Of wame[54] insatiable and greedy, + To dance he did him dress; +Him followed many a foul drunkart +With can and collep, cop and quart,[55] + In surfeit and excess. +Full many a waistless wally-drag[56] +With wames unwieldable did forth drag, + In creish[57] that did incress; +Drink, aye they cried, with many a gape, +The fiends gave them hot lead to laip,[58] +Their leveray[59] was no less. + + +X. + * * * * * +No minstrels play'd to them but[60] doubt, +For gleemen there were holden out, + By day and eke by night, +Except a minstrel that slew a man; +So till his heritage he wan,[61] + And enter'd by brief of right. + * * * * * + +XI. + +Then cried Mahoun for a Highland padyane,[62] +Syne ran a fiend to fetch Mac Fadyane,[63] + Far northward in a nook, +By he the Correnoch had done shout,[64] +Ersch-men[65] so gather'd him about + In hell great room they took: +These termagants, with tag and tatter, +Full loud in Ersch began to clatter, + And roup[66] like raven and rook. +The devil so deaved[67] was with their yell, +That in the deepest pot of hell + He smored[68] them with smoke. + +[1] 'Mahoun:' the devil. +[2] 'Gart:' caused. +[3] 'Shrewis:' sinners. +[4] 'Shrevin:' confessed. +[5] 'Graith:' prepare. +[6] 'Guise:' masque. +[7] 'Gamounts:' dances. +[8] 'Hautane:' haughty. +[9] 'Gecks:' mocks. +[10] 'Black-Belly and Bawsy-Broun:' names of spirits. +[11] 'Anis:' once. +[12] 'Wyld:' combed. +[13] 'Wasty weanis:' wasteful children. +[14] 'Kethat:' cassock. +[15] 'Nanis:' nonce. +[16] 'Trompour:' impostor. +[17] 'Girn'd:' grinned. +[18] 'Granis:' groans. +[19] 'Sturt:' violence. +[20] 'Barganeris:' bullies. +[21] 'Into pairis:' in pairs. +[22] 'Bodin in feir of weir:' arrayed in trappings of war. +[23] 'Chenyiet:' covered with chain-mail. +[24] 'Affeir:' aspect. +[25] 'Beft:' struck. +[26] 'Jaggit:' stabbed. +[27] 'Heft:' hilt. +[28] 'Freik:' fellows. +[29] 'Rowneris:' whisperers. +[30] 'Lesings:' lies. +[31] 'Quite:' quit. +[32] 'Ockerars:' usurers. +[33] 'Hood-pikes:' misers. +[34] 'Fother:' quantity. +[35] 'Flaucht:' flake. +[36] 'Tumit:' emptied. +[37] 'Prent:' stamp. +[38] 'Syne:' then. +[39] 'Sweirness:' laziness. +[40] 'Midding:' dunghill. +[41] 'Grunyie:' grunt. +[42] 'Bumbard:' indolent. +[43] 'Belly-huddroun:' gluttonous sloven. +[44] 'Slute daw:' slovenly drab. +[45] 'Duddroun:' sloven. +[46] 'Sounyie:' care. +[47] 'Chenyie:' chain. +[48] 'Rennyie:' rein. +[49] 'Lunyie:' back. +[50] 'Counyie:' apprehension. +[51] 'Bagged horse:' stallion. +[52] 'Sort:' number. +[53] 'Tramort:' corpse. +[54] 'Wame:' belly. +[55] 'Can and collep, cop and quart:' different names of + drinking-vessels. +[56] 'Wally-drag:' sot. +[57] 'Creish:' grease. +[58] 'Laip:' lap. +[59] 'Leveray:' desire to drink. +[60] 'But:' without. +[61] 'Wan:' got. +[62] 'Padyane:' pageant. +[63] 'Mac Fadyane:' name of some Highland laird. +[64] 'By he the Correnoch had done shout:' by the time that he had + raised the Correnoch, or cry of help. +[65] 'Ersch-men:' Highlanders. +[66] 'Roup:' croak. +[67] 'Deaved:' deafened. +[68] 'Smored:' smothered. + + +THE MERLE AND NIGHTINGALE. + +In May, as that Aurora did upspring, +With crystal een[1] chasing the cluddes sable, +I heard a Merle[2] with merry notes sing +A song of love, with voice right comfortable, +Against the orient beamis, amiable, +Upon a blissful branch of laurel green; +This was her sentence, sweet and delectable, +'A lusty life in Love's service been.' + +Under this branch ran down a river bright, +Of balmy liquor, crystalline of hue, +Against the heavenly azure skyis light, +Where did upon the other side pursue +A Nightingale, with sugar'd notes new, +Whose angel feathers as the peacock shone; +This was her song, and of a sentence true, +'All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +With notes glad, and glorious harmony, +This joyful merle, so salust[3] she the day, +While rung the woodis of her melody, +Saying, 'Awake, ye lovers of this May; +Lo, fresh Flora has flourish'd every spray, +As nature, has her taught, the noble queen, +The fields be clothed in a new array; +A lusty life in Love's service been.' + +Ne'er sweeter noise was heard with living man, +Than made this merry gentle nightingale; +Her sound went with the river as it ran, +Out through the fresh and flourish'd lusty vale; +'O Merle!' quoth she, 'O fool! stint of thy tale, +For in thy song good sentence is there none, +For both is tint,[4] the time and the travail, +Of every love but upon God alone.' + +'Cease,' quoth the Merle, 'thy preaching, Nightingale: +Shall folk their youth spend into holiness? +Of young saintis, grow old fiendis, but[5] fable; +Fy, hypocrite, in yearis' tenderness, +Against the law of kind[6] thou goes express, +That crooked age makes one with youth serene, +Whom nature of conditions made diverse: +A lusty life in Love's service been.' + +The Nightingale said, 'Fool, remember thee, +That both in youth and eild,[7] and every hour, +The love of God most dear to man should be; +That him, of nought, wrought like his own figour, +And died himself, from death him to succour; +Oh, whether was kythit[8] there true love or none? +He is most true and steadfast paramour, +And love is lost but upon him alone.' + +The Merle said, 'Why put God so great beauty +In ladies, with such womanly having, +But if he would that they should loved be? +To love eke nature gave them inclining, +And He of nature that worker was and king, +Would nothing frustir[9] put, nor let be seen, +Into his creature of his own making; +A lusty life in Love's service been.' + +The Nightingale said, 'Not to that behoof +Put God such beauty in a lady's face, +That she should have the thank therefor or love, +But He, the worker, that put in her such grace; +Of beauty, bounty, riches, time, or space, +And every goodness that been to come or gone +The thank redounds to him in every place: +All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +'O Nightingale! it were a story nice, +That love should not depend on charity; +And, if that virtue contrar' be to vice, +Then love must be a virtue, as thinks me; +For, aye, to love envy must contrar' be: +God bade eke love thy neighbour from the spleen;[10] +And who than ladies sweeter neighbours be? +A lusty life in Love's service been.' + +The Nightingale said, 'Bird, why does thou rave? +Man may take in his lady such delight, +Him to forget that her such virtue gave, +And for his heaven receive her colour white: +Her golden tressed hairis redomite,[11] +Like to Apollo's beamis though they shone, +Should not him blind from love that is perfite; +All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +The Merle said, 'Love is cause of honour aye, +Love makis cowards manhood to purchase, +Love makis knightis hardy at essay, +Love makis wretches full of largeness, +Love makis sweir[12] folks full of business, +Love makis sluggards fresh and well beseen,[13] +Love changes vice in virtuous nobleness; +A lusty life in Love's service been.' + +The Nightingale said, 'True is the contrary; +Such frustis love it blindis men so far, +Into their minds it makis them to vary; +In false vain-glory they so drunken are, +Their wit is went, of woe they are not 'ware, +Till that all worship away be from them gone, +Fame, goods, and strength; wherefore well say I dare, +All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +Then said the Merle, 'Mine error I confess: +This frustis love is all but vanity: +Blind ignorance me gave such hardiness, +To argue so against the verity; +Wherefore I counsel every man that he +With love not in the fiendis net be tone,[14] +But love the love that did for his love die: +All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +Then sang they both with voices loud and clear, +The Merle sang, 'Man, love God that has thee wrought.' +The Nightingale sang, 'Man, love the Lord most dear, +That thee and all this world made of nought.' +The Merle said, 'Love him that thy love has sought +From heaven to earth, and here took flesh and bone.' +The Nightingale sang, 'And with his death thee bought: +All love is lost but upon him alone.' + +Then flew these birds over the boughis sheen, +Singing of love among the leaves small; +Whose eidant plead yet made my thoughtis grein,[15] +Both sleeping, waking, in rest and in travail; +Me to recomfort most it does avail, +Again for love, when love I can find none, +To think how sung this Merle and Nightingale; +'All love is lost but upon God alone.' + +[1] 'Een:' eyes. +[2] 'Merle:' blackbird. +[3] 'Salust:' saluted. +[4] 'Tint:' lost. +[5] 'But:' without. +[6] 'Kind:' nature. +[7] 'Eild:' age. +[8] 'Kythit:' shewn. +[9] 'Frustrir:' in vain. +[10] 'Spleen:' from the heart. +[11] 'Redomite:' bound, encircled. +[12] 'Sweir:' slothful. +[13] 'Well beseen:' of good appearance. +[14] 'Tone:' taken. +[15] 'Whose eidant plead yet made my thoughtis grein:' whose close + disputation made my thoughts yearn. + + + + +GAVIN DOUGLAS. + + +This eminent prelate was a younger son of Archibald, the fifth Earl of +Angus. He was born in Brechin about the year 1474. He studied at the +University of Paris. He became a churchman, and yet united with +attention to the duties of his calling great proficiency in polite +learning. In 1513 he finished a translation, into Scottish verse, of +Virgil's 'Aeneid,' which, considering the age, is an extraordinary +performance. It occupied him only sixteen months. The multitude of +obsolete terms, however, in which it abounds, renders it now, as a +whole, illegible. After passing through various subordinate offices, +such as the 'Provostship' of St Giles's, Edinburgh, and the 'Abbotship' +of Arbroath, he was at length appointed Bishop of Dunkeld. Dunkeld was +not then the paradise it has become, but Birnam hill and the other +mountains then, as now, stood round about it, the old Cathedral rose up +in mediaeval majesty, and the broad, smooth Tay flowed onward to the +ocean. And, doubtless, Douglas felt the poetic inspiration from it quite +as warmly as did Thomas Brown, when, three centuries afterwards, he set +up the staff of his summer rest at the beautiful Invar inn, and thence +delighted to diverge to the hundred scenes of enchantment which stretch +around. The good Bishop was an ardent politician as well as a poet, and +was driven, by his share in the troubles of the times, to flee from his +native land, and take refuge in the Court of Henry VIII. The King +received him kindly, and treated him with much liberality. In 1522 he +died at London of the plague, and was interred in the Savoy Church. +He was, according to Buchanan, about to proceed to Rome to vindicate +himself before the Pope against certain charges brought by his enemies. +Besides the translation of the 'Aeneid,' Douglas is the author of a long +poem entitled the 'Palace of Honour;' it is an allegory, describing +a large company making a pilgrimage to Honour's Palace. It bears +considerable resemblance to the 'Pilgrim's Progress,' and some suppose +that Bunyan had seen it before composing his allegory. 'King Hart' is +another production of our poet's, of considerable length and merit. It +gives, metaphorically, a view of human life. Perhaps his best pieces are +his 'Prologues,' affixed to each book of the 'Aeneid.' From them we have +selected 'Morning in May' as a specimen. The closing lines are fine. + + 'Welcome the lord of light, and lamp of day, + Welcome fosterer of tender herbis green, + Welcome quickener of flourish'd flowers sheen, + Welcome support of every root and vein, + Welcome comfort of all kind fruit and grain,' &c. + +Douglas must not be named with Dunbar in strength and grandeur of +genius. His power is more in expression than in conception, and hence +he has shone so much in translation. His version of the 'Aeneid' is the +first made of any classic into a British tongue, and is the worthy +progenitor of such minor miracles of poetical talent--all somewhat more +mechanical than inspired, and yet giving a real, though subordinate +glory to our literature-as Fairfax's 'Tasso,' Dryden's 'Virgil,' and +Pope's, Coper's, and Sotheby's 'Homer.' The fire in Douglas' original +verses is occasionally lost in smoke, and the meaning buried in flowery +verbiage. Still he was an honour alike to the Episcopal bench and the +Muse of Scotland. He was of amiable manners, gentle temperament, and a +noble and commanding appearance. + + +MORNING IN MAY. + +As fresh Aurore, to mighty Tithon spouse, +Ished of[1] her saffron bed and ivor' house, +In cram'sy clad and grained violate, +With sanguine cape, and selvage purpurate, +Unshet[2] the windows of her large hall, +Spread all with roses, and full of balm royal, +And eke the heavenly portis crystalline +Unwarps broad, the world to illumine; +The twinkling streamers of the orient +Shed purpour spraings,[3] with gold and azure ment;[4] +Eous, the steed, with ruby harness red, +Above the seas liftis forth his head, +Of colour sore,[5] and somedeal brown as berry, +For to alighten and glad our hemispery; +The flame out-bursten at the neisthirls,[6] +So fast Phaeton with the whip him whirls. * * +While shortly, with the blazing torch of day, +Abulyit[7] in his lemand[8] fresh array, +Forth of his palace royal ished Phoebus, +With golden crown and visage glorious, +Crisp hairs, bright as chrysolite or topaz; +For whose hue might none behold his face. * * +The aureate vanes of his throne soverain +With glittering glance o'erspread the oceane; +The large floodes, lemand all of light, +But with one blink of his supernal sight. +For to behold, it was a glore to see +The stabled windis, and the calmed sea, +The soft season, the firmament serene, +The loune[9] illuminate air and firth amene. * * +And lusty Flora did her bloomis spread +Under the feet of Phoebus' sulyart[10] steed; +The swarded soil embrode with selcouth[11] hues, +Wood and forest, obumbrate with bews.[12] * * +Towers, turrets, kirnals,[13] and pinnacles high, +Of kirks, castles, and ilk fair city, +Stood painted, every fane, phiol,[14] and stage,[15] +Upon the plain ground by their own umbrage. +Of Aeolus' north blasts having no dreid, +The soil spread her broad bosom on-breid; +The corn crops and the beir new-braird +With gladsome garment revesting the yerd.[16] * * +The prai[17] besprent with springing sprouts disperse +For caller humours[18] on the dewy night +Rendering some place the gerse-piles[19] their light; +As far as cattle the lang summer's day +Had in their pasture eat and nip away; +And blissful blossoms in the bloomed yerd, +Submit their heads to the young sun's safeguard. +Ivy-leaves rank o'erspread the barmkin wall; +The bloomed hawthorn clad his pikis all; +Forth of fresh bourgeons[20] the wine grapes ying[21] +Endlong the trellis did on twistis hing; +The loukit buttons on the gemmed trees +O'erspreading leaves of nature's tapestries; +Soft grassy verdure after balmy showers, +On curling stalkis smiling to their flowers. * * +The daisy did on-breid her crownal small, +And every flower unlapped in the dale. * * +Sere downis small on dentilion sprang. +The young green bloomed strawberry leaves amang; +Jimp jeryflowers thereon leaves unshet, +Fresh primrose and the purpour violet; * * +Heavenly lilies, with lockerand toppis white, +Open'd and shew their crestis redemite. * * +A paradise it seemed to draw near +These galyard gardens and each green herbere. +Most amiable wax the emerald meads; +Swarmis soughis throughout the respand reeds, +Over the lochis and the floodis gray, +Searching by kind a place where they should lay. +Phoebus' red fowl,[22] his cural crest can steer, +Oft stretching forth his heckle, crowing clear. +Amid the wortis and the rootis gent +Picking his meat in alleys where he went, +His wives Toppa and Partolet him by-- +A bird all-time that hauntis bigamy. +The painted powne[23] pacing with plumes gym, +Cast up his tail a proud pleasand wheel-rim, +Yshrouded in his feathering bright and sheen, +Shaping the print of Argus' hundred een. +Among the bowis of the olive twists, +Sere[24] small fowls, working crafty nests, +Endlong the hedges thick, and on rank aiks[25] +Ilk bird rejoicing with their mirthful makes. +In corners and clear fenestres[26] of glass, +Full busily Arachne weaving was, +To knit her nettis and her webbis sly, +Therewith to catch the little midge or fly. +So dusty powder upstours[27] in every street, +While corby gasped for the fervent heat. +Under the boughis bene[28] in lovely vales, +Within fermance and parkis close of pales, +The busteous buckis rakis forth on raw, +Herdis of hartis through the thick wood-shaw. +The young fawns following the dun does, +Kids, skipping through, runnis after roes. +In leisurs and on leais, little lambs +Full tait and trig sought bleating to their dams. +On salt streams wolk[29] Dorida and Thetis, +By running strandis, Nymphis and Naiadis, +Such as we clepe wenches and damasels, +In gersy[30] groves wandering by spring wells; +Of bloomed branches and flowers white and red, +Platting their lusty chaplets for their head. +Some sang ring-songes, dances, leids,[31] and rounds. +With voices shrill, while all thel dale resounds. +Whereso they walk into their carolling, +For amorous lays does all the rockis ring. +One sang, 'The ship sails over the salt faem, +Will bring the merchants and my leman hame.' +Some other sings, 'I will be blithe and light, +My heart is lent upon so goodly wight.'[32] +And thoughtful lovers rounis[33] to and fro, +To leis[34] their pain, and plain their jolly woe; +After their guise, now singing, now in sorrow, +With heartis pensive the long summer's morrow. +Some ballads list indite of his lady; +Some lives in hope; and some all utterly +Despaired is, and so quite out of grace, +His purgatory he finds in every place. * * +Dame Nature's minstrels, on that other part, +Their blissful lay intoning every art, * * +And all small fowlis singis on the spray, +Welcome the lord of light, and lamp of day, +Welcome fosterer of tender herbis green, +Welcome quickener of flourish'd flowers sheen, +Welcome support of every root and vein, +Welcome comfort of all kind fruit and grain, +Welcome the birdis' bield[35] upon the brier, +Welcome master and ruler of the year, +Welcome welfare of husbands at the ploughs, +Welcome repairer of woods, trees, and boughs, +Welcome depainter of the bloomed meads, +Welcome the life of every thing that spreads, +Welcome storer of all kind bestial, +Welcome be thy bright beamis, gladding all. * * + +[1] 'Ished of:' issued from. +[2] 'Unshet:' opened. +[3] 'Spraings:' streaks. +[4] 'Ment:' mingled. +[5] 'Sore:' yellowish brown. +[6] 'Neisthirls:' nostrils. +[7] 'Abulyit:' attired. +[8] 'Lemand:' glittering. +[9] 'Loune:' calm. +[10] 'Sulyart:' sultry. +[11] 'Selcouth:' uncommon. +[12] 'Bews:' boughs. +[13] 'Kirnals:' battlements. +[14] 'Phiol:' cupola. +[15] 'Stage:' storey. +[16] 'Yerd:' earth. +[17] 'Prai:' meadow. +[18] 'Caller humours:' cool vapours. +[19] 'Gerse:' grass. +[20] 'Bourgeons:' sprouts. +[21] 'Ying:' young. +[22] 'Red fowl:' the cook. +[23] 'Powne:' the peacock. +[24] 'Sere:' many. +[25] 'Aiks:' oaks. +[26] 'Fenestres:' windows. +[27] 'Upstours:' rises in clouds. +[28] 'Bene:' snug. +[29] 'Wolk:' walked. +[30] 'Gersy:' grassy. +[31] 'Leids:' lays. +[32] Songs then popular. +[33] 'Rounis:' whisper. +[34] 'Leis:' relieve. +[35] 'Bield:' shelter. + + + + +HAWES, BARCLAY, &c. + + +Stephen Hawes, a native of Suffolk, wrote about the close of the +fifteenth century. He studied at Oxford, and travelled much in France, +where he became a master of French and Italian poetry. King Henry VII., +struck with his conversation and the readiness with which he repeated +old English poets, especially Lydgate, created him groom of the privy +chamber. Hawes has written a number of poems, such as 'The Temple of +Glasse,' 'The Conversion of Swearers,' 'The Consolation of Lovers,' 'The +Pastime of Pleasure,' &c. Those who wish to see specimens of the strange +allegories and curious devices of thought in which it abounds, may find +them in Warton's 'History of English Poetry.' + +In that same valuable work we find an account of Alexander Barclay, author +of 'The Ship of Fools.' He was educated at Oriel College in Oxford, and +after travelling abroad, was appointed one of the priests or prebendaries +of the College of St Mary Ottery, in Devonshire--a parish famous in later +days for the birth of Coleridge. Barclay became afterwards a Benedictine +monk of Ely monastery; and at length a brother of the Order of St Francis, +at Canterbury. He died, a very old man, at Croydon, in Surrey, in the year +1552. His principal work, 'The Ship of Fools,' is a satire upon the vices +and absurdities of his age, and shews considerable wit and power of +sarcasm. + + + + +SKELTON. + + +John Skelton is the name of the next poet. He flourished in the earlier +part of the reign of Henry VIII. Having studied both at Oxford and +Cambridge, and been laureated at the former university in 1489, he was +promoted to the rectory of Diss or Dysse, in Norfolk. Some say he had +acted previously as tutor to Henry VIII. At Dysse he attracted attention +by satirical ballads against the mendicants, as well as by licences of +buffoonery in the pulpit. For these he was censured, and even, it is +said, suspended, by Nykke, Bishop of Norwich. Undaunted by this, he flew +at higher game--ventured to ridicule Cardinal Wolsey, then in his power, +and had to take refuge from the myrmidons of the prelate in Westminster +Abbey. There Abbot Islip kindly entertained and protected him till his +dying day. He breathed his last in the year 1529, and was buried in the +adjacent church of St Margaret's. + +Skelton as well as Barclay enjoyed considerable popularity in his own +age. Erasmus calls him 'Britannicarum literarum lumen et decus!' How +dark must have been the night in which such a Will-o'-wisp was mistaken +for a star! He has wit, indeed, and satirical observation; but his wit +is wilder than it is strong, and his satire is dashed with personality +and obscenity. His style, Campbell observes, is 'almost a texture of +slang phrases, patched with shreds of French and Latin.' His verses on +Margaret Hussey, which we have quoted, are in his happiest vein. The +following lines, too, on Cardinal Wolsey, are as true as they are +terse:-- + + 'Then in the Chamber of Stars + All matter there he mars. + Clapping his rod on the board, + No man dare speak a word. + For he hath all the saying, + Without any renaying. + He rolleth in his records; + He sayeth, How say ye, my Lords? + Is not my reason good? + Good even, good Robin Hood. + Some say, Yes; and some + Sit still, as they were dumb.' + +It is curious that Wolsey's enemies, in one of their charges against him +in the Parliament of 1529, have repeated, almost in the words of Skelton, +the same accusation. + + + TO MISTRESS MARGARET HUSSEY. + + Merry Margaret, + As midsummer flower, + Gentle as falcon, + Or hawk of the tower; + With solace and gladness, + Much mirth and no madness, + All good and no badness; + So joyously, + So maidenly, + So womanly, + Her demeaning, + In everything, + Far, far passing, + That I can indite, + Or suffice to write, + Of merry Margaret, + As midsummer flower, + Gentle as falcon, + Or hawk of the tower; + As patient and as still, + And as full of good-will, + As fair Isiphil, + Coliander, + Sweet Pomander, + Good Cassander; + Steadfast of thought, + Well made, well wrought. + Far may be sought, + Ere you can find + So courteous, so kind, + As merry Margaret, + This midsummer flower, + Gentle as falcon, + Or hawk of the tower. + + + + +SIR DAVID LYNDSAY. + + +Returning to Scotland, we find a Skelton of a higher order and a +brawnier make in Sir David Lyndsay, or, as our forefathers were wont +familiarly to denominate him, 'Davie Lyndsay.' Lyndsay was descended +from a noble family, a younger branch of Lyndsay of the Byres, and born +in 1490, probably at the Mount, the family-seat, near Cupar-Fife. He +entered the University of St Andrews in the year 1505, and four years +later left it to travel in Italy. He must, however, have returned to +Scotland before the 12th of October 1511, since we learn from the +records of the Lord Treasurer that he was presented with a quantity of +'blue and yellow taffety to be a playcoat for the play performed in the +King and Queen's presence in the Abbey of Holyrood.' On the 12th of +April 1512, Lyndsay, then twenty-two years of age, was appointed +gentleman-usher to James V., who had been born that very day. In his +poem called 'The Dream,' he reminds the King of his having borne him +in his arms ere he could walk; of having wrapped him up warmly in his +little bed; of having sung to him with his lute, danced before him to +make him laugh, and having carried him on his shoulders like a 'pedlar +his pack.' He continued to be page and companion to the King till 1524, +when, in consequence of the unprincipled machinations of the Queen- +mother--who was acting as Regent--he, as well as Bellenden, the learned +translator of Livy and Boece, was ejected from his office. When, however, +in 1528, the young King, by a noble effort, emancipated himself from the +thraldom of his mother and the Douglasses, Lyndsay wrote his 'Dream,' in +which, amidst much poetic or fantastic matter, he congratulates James on +his deliverance; reminds him, as aforesaid, of his early services; and +takes occasion to paint the evils the country had endured during his +minority, and to give him some bold and salutary advice as to his future +conduct. The next year (1529) he produced 'The Complaint,' a poem in +which he recurs to former themes, and remonstrates with great freedom +and severity against the treatment he had undergone. Here, too, the +religious reformer peeps out. He exhorts the King to compel the clergy +to attend to the duties of their office; to preach more earnestly; to +administer the sacraments according to the institution of Christ; and not +to deceive their people with superstitious pilgrimages, vain traditions, +and prayers to graven images, contrary to the written command of God. He +with quaint iron says, that if his Grace will lend him + + 'Of gold ane thousand pound or tway,' + +he will give him a sealed bond, obliging himself to repay the loan when +the Bass and the Isle of May are set upon Mount Sinai; or the Lomond +hills, near Falkland, are removed to Northumberland; or + + 'When kirkmen yairnis [desire] na dignity, + Nor wives na soveranitie.' + +Still finer the last lines of the poem. 'If not,' he says, 'my God + + 'Shall cause me stand content + With quiet life and sober rent, + And take me, in my latter age, + Unto my simple hermitage, + To spend the gear my elders won, + As did Diogenes in his tun.' + +This 'Complaint' proved successful, and in the next year (1530) Lyndsay +was appointed Lion King-at-Arms--an office of great dignity in these +days. The Lion was the chief judge of all matters connected with +heraldry in the realm; was also the official ambassador from his +sovereign to foreign countries; and was inaugurated in his office with +a pomp and circumstance little inferior to those of a royal coronation, +the King crowning him with his own hands, anointing him with wine +instead of oil, and putting on his head the Royal Crown of Scotland, +which he continued to wear till the close of the feast. It is of Lyndsay +in the full accoutrements of this office that Sir Walter Scott speaks in +his 'Marmion,' although he antedates by sixteen years the time when he +assumed it:-- + + 'He was a man of middle age, + In aspect manly, grave, and sage, + As on king's errand come; + But in the glances of his eye, + A penetrating, keen, and sly + Expression found its home-- + The flash of that satiric rage + Which, bursting on the early stage, + Branded the vices of the age, + And broke the keys of Rome. + On milk-white palfrey forth he paced; + His cap of maintenance was graced + With the proud heron-plume; + From his steed's shoulder, loin, and breast + Silk housings swept the ground, + With Scotland's arms, device, and crest + Embroider'd round and round. + The double treasure might you see, + First by Achaius borne, + The thistle and the fleur-de-lis, + And gallant unicorn. + So bright the king's armorial coat, + That scarce the dazzled eye could note; + In living colours, blazon'd brave, + The lion, which his title gave. + A train which well beseem'd his state, + But all unarm'd, around him wait; + Still is thy name in high account, + And still thy verse has charms, + Sir David Lyndsay of the Mount, + Lord Lion King-at-Arms.' + +Soon after this appointment, Lyndsay wrote 'The Complaint of the King's +Papingo,' in which, through the mouth of a dying parrot, he gives some +sharp counsel to the king, his courtiers and nobles, and administers +severe satirical chastisement to the corruptions of the clergy. It is an +exceedingly clever production, and has some beautiful poetry as well as +stinging sarcasm. Take the following address to Edinburgh, Stirling, +Linlithgow, and Falkland:-- + + Adieu, Edinburgh! thou high triumphant town, + Within whose bounds right blitheful have I been; + Of true merchandis, the rule of this region, + Most ready to receive court, king, and queen; + Thy policy and justice may be seen; + Were devotion, wisdom, and honesty, + And credence tint, they micht be found in thee. + + Adieu, fair Snawdoun! [Stirling] with thy towers hie, + Thy chapel-royal, park, and table round; + May, June, and July would I dwell in thee, + Were I a man to hear the birdis sound, + Which doth against the royal rock rebound. + Adieu, Lithgow! whose palace of pleasance + Meets not its peer in Portingale or France. + + Farewell, Falkland! the forteress of Fife, + Thy velvet park under the Lomond Law; + Sometime in thee I led a lusty life. + The fallow deer to see them raik on raw [walk in a row], + Caust men to come to thee, they have great awe, &c. + +In the year 1535, Lyndsay wrote his remarkable drama, 'The Satire of the +Three Estates'--Monarch, namely, Barons, and Clergy. It is made up in +nearly three equal parts of ingenuity, wit, and grossness. It is a drama, +and was acted several times--first, in 1535, at Cupar-Fife, on a large +green mound called Moot-hill; then, in 1539, in an open park near +Linlithgow, by the express desire of the king, who with all the ladies +of the Court attended the representation; then in the amphitheatre of +St Johnston in Perth; and in 1554, at Edinburgh, in the village of +Greenside, which skirted the northern base of the Calton Hill, in the +presence of the Queen Regent and an enormous concourse of spectators. +Its exhibition appears to have occupied nearly the whole day. In the +'Pictorial History of Scotland,' chapter xxiv., our readers will find a +full and able analysis with extracts of this extraordinary performance. +It is said to have done much good in opening the eyes of the people to +the evils of the Papacy, and in paving the way for the Reformation. + +In 1536 Sir David, in company with Sir John Campbell of Lundie, was sent +to the Court of France to demand in marriage for James V. a daughter of +the House of Vendome; but the King chose rather to take the matter in +his own hands, and, going over in person, wedded Magdalene, daughter of +Francis. She died two months after her arrival in Scotland, universally +regretted; and Lyndsay made the sad event the subject of a poem, +entitled 'Deploration of the Death of Queen Magdalene,' whom he +designates + + 'The flower of France, and comfort of Scotland.' + +When James subsequently married Mary of Guise, Sir David's ingenuity was +strained to the utmost in providing pageants, masques, and shows to +welcome her Majesty. For forty days in St Andrews, festivities continued; +and it was during this prolonged festival that the Lion King, as if sick +and satiated with vanities, wrote two poems, one entitled 'The Justing +between James Watson and John Barbour,' a dull satire on tournaments, &c., +and the other a somewhat cleverer piece, entitled 'Supplication directed +to the King's Grace in Contemptioun of Side Tails,' the long trains then +worn by the ladies. It met, we presume,with the fate of _Punch's_ sarcasms +against crinoline,--the 'phylacteries' would for a season, instead of +being lessened, be enlarged, till Fashion lifted up her omnipotent rod, +and told it to be otherwise. + +King James died prematurely on the 14th of December 1542, and Lyndsay +closed his eyes at Falkland, and mourned for him as a brother. From that +day forth he probably felt that there was 'less sunshine in the sky for +him.' In the troublous times which succeeded this, he had to retire for +a season from the Court, having become obnoxious to the rigid Papists on +account of his writings. After the death of Cardinal Beatoun he wrote +the tragedy of 'The Cardinal,' a poem in which the spectre of the +Cardinal is the spokesman, and which teems with good advice to all and +sundry. The execution, however, is not so felicitous as the plan. In +1548 Lyndsay went to Denmark to negotiate a free trade with Scotland. On +his return in 1550 he wrote his very pleasing and chivalric 'History of +Squire Meldrum,' founded on the actual adventures of William Meldrum, +the Laird of Cleish and Binns, a distinguished friend of the poet, who +had gained laurels as a warrior both in Scotland and in France. This +poem is, in a measure, an anticipation of the rhymed romances of Scott, +and is full of picturesque description and spirit-stirring adventure. In +1553 he completed his last and most elaborate work, which had occupied +him for years, entitled 'The Monarchic,' containing an account of the +most famous monarchies which have existed on earth, and carrying on the +history to the general judgment. From this date we almost entirely lose +sight of our poet. He seems to have retired into private life, and is +supposed to have died about the close of 1557. He was probably buried in +the family vault at Ceres, but no stone marks the spot. Dying without +issue, his estates passed to his brother Alexander, and were continued +in the possession of his descendants till the middle of last century. +They now belong to the Hopes of Rankeillour. The office of Lord Lion was +held by two of the poet's relatives successively--Sir David, his +nephew, who became Lion King in 1591, and his son-in-law, Sir Jerome +Lyndsay, who succeeded to it in 1621. + +Sir David Lyndsay, unlike most satirists, was a good, a blameless, and a +religious man. The occasional loftiness of his poetic vein, the breadth +of his humour, the purity of his purpose, and his strong reforming zeal +combined to make his poetry exceedingly popular in Scotland for a number +of ages, particularly among the lower orders. Scott introduces Andrew +Fairservice, in 'Rob Roy,' saying, in reference to Francis Osbaldistone's +poetical efforts, 'Gude help him! twa lines o' Davie Lyndsay wad ding a' +he ever clerkit,' and even still there are districts of the country where +his name is a household word. + + +MELDRUM'S DUEL WITH THE ENGLISH CHAMPION TALBART. + +Then clarions and trumpets blew, +And warriors many hither drew; +On every side came many man +To behold who the battle wan. +The field was in the meadow green, +Where every man might well be seen: +The heralds put them so in order, +That no man pass'd within the border, +Nor press'd to come within the green, +But heralds and the champions keen; +The order and the circumstance +Were long to put in remembrance. +When these two noble men of weir +Were well accoutred in their geir, +And in their handis strong burdouns,[1] +Then trumpets blew and clariouns, +And heralds cried high on height, +'Now let them go--God show the right.' + + * * * * * + +Then trumpets blew triumphantly, +And these two champions eagerly, +They spurr'd their horse with spear on breast, +Pertly[2] to prove their pith they press'd. +That round rink-room[3] was at utterance, +But Talbart's horse with a mischance +He outterit,[4] and to run was loth; +Whereof Talbart was wonder wroth. +The Squier forth his rink[5] he ran, +Commended well with every man, +And him discharged of his spear +Honestly, like a man of weir. + + * * * * * + +The trenchour[6] of the Squier's spear +Stuck still into Sir Talbart's geir; +Then every man into that stead[7] +Did all believe that he was dead. +The Squier leap'd right hastily +From his courser deliverly,[8] +And to Sir Talbart made support, +And humillie[9] did him comfort. +When Talbart saw into his shield +An otter in a silver field, +'This race,' said he, 'I sore may rue, +For I see well my dream was true; +Methought yon otter gart[10] me bleed, +And bore me backward from my steed; +But here I vow to God soverain, +That I shall never joust again.' +And sweetly to the Squier said, +'Thou know'st the cunning[11] that we made, +Which of us two should tyne[12] the field, +He should both horse and armour yield +To him that won, wherefore I will +My horse and harness give thee till.' +Then said the Squier, courteously, +'Brother, I thank you heartfully; +Of you, forsooth, nothing I crave, +For I have gotten that I would have.' + +[1] 'Burdouns:' spears. +[2] 'Pertly:' boldly. +[3] 'Rink-room:' course-room. +[4] 'Outterit:' swerved. +[5] 'Kink:' course. +[6] 'Trencliour:' head. +[7] 'Stead:' place. +[8] 'Deliverly:' actively. +[9] 'Humillie:' humbly. +[10] 'Gart:' made. +[11] 'Cunning:' agreement. +[12] 'Tyne:' lose. + + +SUPPLICATION IN CONTEMPTION OF SIDE TAILS,[1] (1538.) + +Sovereign, I mene[2] of these side tails, +Whilk through the dust and dubbes trails, +Three quarters lang behind their heels, +Express against all commonweals. +Though bishops, in their pontificals, +Have men for to bear up their tails, +For dignity of their office; +Right so a queen or an emprice; +Howbeit they use such gravity, +Conforming to their majesty, +Though their robe-royals be upborne, +I think it is a very scorn, +That every lady of the land +Should have her tail so side trailand; +Howbeit they be of high estate, +The queen they should not counterfeit. + +Wherever they go it may be seen +How kirk and causey they sweep clean. +The images into the kirk +May think of their side tailes irk;[3] +For when the weather be most fair, +The dust flies highest into the air, +And all their faces does begary, +If they could speak, they would them wary. * * +But I have most into despite +Poor claggocks[4] clad in raploch[5] white, +Whilk has scant two merks for their fees, +Will have two ells beneath their knees. +Kittock that cleckit[6] was yestreen, +The morn will counterfeit the queen. * * +In barn nor byre she will not bide, +Without her kirtle tail be side. +In burghs, wanton burgess wives +Who may have sidest tailes strives, +Well bordered with velvet fine, +But following them it is a pine: +In summer, when the streetes dries, +They raise the dust above the skies; +None may go near them at their ease, +Without they cover mouth and neese. * * +I think most pain after a rain, +To see them tucked up again; +Then when they step forth through the street, +Their faldings flaps about their feet; +They waste more cloth, within few years, +Nor would cleid[7] fifty score of freirs. * * +Of tails I will no more indite, +For dread some duddron[8] me despite: +Notwithstanding, I will conclude, +That of side tails can come no good, +Sider nor[9] may their ankles hide, +The remanent proceeds of pride, +And pride proceedis of the devil; +Thus alway they proceed of evil. + +Another fault, Sir, may be seen, +They hide their face all but the een; +When gentlemen bid them good-day, +Without reverence they slide away. * * +Without their faults be soon amended, +My flyting,[10] Sir, shall never be ended; +But would your grace my counsel take, +A proclamation ye should make, +Both through the land and burrowstowns, +To show their face and cut their gowns. +Women will say, This is no bourds,[11] +To write such vile and filthy words; +But would they cleanse their filthy tails, +Whilk over the mires and middings[12] trails, +Then should my writing cleansed be, +None other' mends they get of me. + +Quoth Lyndsay, in contempt of the side tails, +That duddrons[13] and duntibours[14] through the dubbes trails. + +[1] 'Side tails:' long skirts. +[2] 'Mene:' complain. +[3] 'Irk:' May feel annoyed. +[4] 'Claggocks:' draggle-tails. +[5] 'Raploch:' homespun. +[6] 'Cleckit:' born. +[7] 'Cleid:' clothe. +[8] 'Duddron:' slut. +[9] 'Nor:' than. +[10] 'Flyting:' scolding. +[11] 'Bourds:' jest. +[12] 'Middings:' dunghills. +[13] 'Duddrons:' sluts. +[14] 'Duntibours:' harlots. + + + + +THOMAS TUSSER. + + +Of Tusser we know only that he was horn in the year 1523, was well +educated, commenced life as a courtier under the patronage of Lord +Paget, but became a farmer, pursuing agriculture at Ratwood in Sussex, +Ipswich, Fairsted in Essex, Norwich, and other places; that he was not +successful, and had to betake himself to other occupations, such as +those of a chorister, fiddler, &c.; and that, finally, he died a poor +man in London in the year 1580. Tusser has left only one work, published +in 1557, entitled 'A Hundred Good Points of Husbandrie,' written in +simple but sometimes strong verse. It is our first, and not our worst +didactic poem. + + +DIRECTIONS FOR CULTIVATING A HOP-GARDEN. + +Whom fancy persuadeth, among other crops, +To have for his spending sufficient of hops, +Must willingly follow, of choices to choose, +Such lessons approved as skilful do use. + +Ground gravelly, sandy, and mixed with clay, +Is naughty for hops, any manner of way. +Or if it be mingled with rubbish and stone, +For dryness and barrenness let it alone. + +Choose soil for the hop of the rottenest mould, +Well dunged and wrought, as a garden-plot should; +Not far from the water, but not overflown, +This lesson, well noted, is meet to be known. + +The sun in the south, or else southly and west, +Is joy to the hop, as a welcomed guest; +But wind in the north, or else northerly east, +To the hop is as ill as a fray in a feast. + +Meet plot for a hop-yard once found as is told, +Make thereof account, as of jewel of gold; +Now dig it, and leave it, the sun for to burn, +And afterwards fence it, to serve for that turn. + +The hop for his profit I thus do exalt, +It strengtheneth drink, and it favoureth malt; +And being well brew'd, long kept it will last, +And drawing abide--if ye draw not too fast. + + +HOUSEWIFELY PHYSIC. + +Good housewife provides, ere a sickness do come, +Of sundry good things in her house to have some. +Good _aqua composita_, and vinegar tart, +Rose-water, and treacle, to comfort thine heart. +Cold herbs in her garden, for agues that burn, +That over-strong heat to good temper may turn. +White endive, and succory, with spinach enow; +All such with good pot-herbs, should follow the plough. +Get water of fumitory, liver to cool, +And others the like, or else lie like a fool. +Conserves of barbary, quinces, and such, +With sirops, that easeth the sickly so much. +Ask _Medicus'_ counsel, ere medicine ye take, +And honour that man for necessity's sake. +Though thousands hate physic, because of the cost, +Yet thousands it helpeth, that else should be lost. +Good broth, and good keeping, do much now and than: +Good diet, with wisdom, best comforteth man. +In health, to be stirring shall profit thee best; +In sickness, hate trouble; seek quiet and rest. +Remember thy soul; let no fancy prevail; +Make ready to God-ward; let faith never quail: +The sooner thyself thou submittest to God, +The sooner he ceaseth to scourge with his rod. + + +MORAL REFLECTIONS ON THE WIND. + +Though winds do rage, as winds were wood,[1] +And cause spring-tides to raise great flood; +And lofty ships leave anchor in mud, +Bereaving many of life and of blood: +Yet, true it is, as cow chews cud, +And trees, at spring, doth yield forth bud, +Except wind stands as never it stood, +It is an ill wind turns none to good. + +[1] 'Wood:' mad. + + + + +VAUX, EDWARDS, &c. + + +In Tottell's 'Miscellany,' the first of the sort in the English language, +published in 1557, although the names of many of the authors are not +given, the following writers are understood to have contributed:--Sir +Francis Bryan, a friend of Wyatt's, one of the principal ornaments of the +Court of Henry VIII., and who died, in 1548, Chief Justiciary of Ireland; +George Boleyn, Earl of Rochford, the amiable brother of the famous Anne +Boleyn, and who fell a victim to the insane jealousy of Henry, being +beheaded in 1536; and Lord Thomas Vaux, son of Nicholas Vaux, who died +in the latter end of Queen Mary's reign. In the same Miscellany is found +'Phillide and Harpalus,' the 'first true pastoral,' says Warton, 'in the +English language,' (see 'Specimens.') To it are annexed, too, a +collection of 'Songes, written by N. G.,' which means Nicholas Grimoald, +an Oxford man, renowned for his rhetorical lectures in Christ Church, +and for being, after Surrey, our first writer of blank verse, in the +modulation of which he excelled even Surrey. Henry himself, who was an +expert musician, is said also to have composed a book of sonnets and one +madrigal in praise of Anne Boleyn. In the same reign occur the names of +Borde, Bale, Bryan, Annesley, John Rastell, Wilfred Holme, and Charles +Bansley, all writers of minor and forgotten poems. John Heywood, called +the Epigrammatist, was of a somewhat higher order. He was the favourite +of Sir Thomas More and the pensioner of Henry VIII. He gained favour +partly through his conversational humour, and partly through his writings. +He is the author of various comedies; of six hundred epigrams, most of +them very poor; of a dialogue, in verse, containing all the proverbs then +afloat in the language; of an apologue, entitled 'The Spider and the Fly,' +&c. Heywood, who was a rigid Papist, left the kingdom after the decease +of Queen Mary, and died at Mechlin, in Brabant, in 1565. Warton has +preserved some specimens of Sir Thomas More's poetry, which do not add +much to our conception of his genius. In 1542, one Robert Vaughan wrote +an alliterative poem, entitled 'The Falcon and the Pie.' In 1521, 'The +Not-browne Maid,' (given by us in 'Percy's Reliques,') appeared in a +curious collection, called 'Arnolde's Chronicle, or Customs of London.' +In the same year Wynkyn de Worde printed a set of 'Christmas Carols,' and +in 1529 'A Treatise of Merlin, or his Prophecies in Verse.' In Henry's +days, too, there commences the long line of translators of the Psalms +into English metre, commencing with Thomas Sternhold, groom of the robes +to the King, who versified fifty-one psalms, which were published in 1549, +and with John Hopkins, a clergyman and schoolmaster in Suffolk, who added +fifty-eight more, and progressing with Whyttingham, Thomas Norton, (the +joint author, along with Lord Buckhurst, of the curious old tragedy of +'Gorboduc,') Robert Wisdome, William Hunnis, William Baldwyn, Parker, the +scholarly and celebrated Archbishop of Canterbury, &c. &c. Parker trans- +lated all the Psalms himself; and John Day published in 1562, and attached +to the Book of Common Prayer, the whole of Sternhold and Hopkins' 'Psalms, +with apt notes to sing them withall.' In Edward's reign appeared a very +different strain--the first drinking-song of merit in the language, 'Back +and sides go bare'--(see 'Specimens,' vol. 2.) This song occurs at the +opening of the second act of 'Gammer Gurton's Needle,' a comedy written +(by a 'Mr S.') and printed in 1551, and afterwards acted at Christ's +College in Cambridge. + +In the reign of Mary, flourished Richard Edwards, a man of no small +versatility of genius. He was a native of Somersetshire, was born about +1523, and died in 1566. He wrote two comedies, one entitled 'Damon and +Pythias,' and the other 'Palamon and Arcite,' both of which were acted +before Queen Elizabeth. He also contrived masques and wrote verses for +pageants, and is said to have been the first fiddler, the most elegant +sonnetteer, and the most amusing mimic of the Court. He is the author of +a pleasing poem, entitled 'Amantium irae,' and of some lines under the +title, 'He requesteth some friendly comfort, affirming his constancy.' +We quote a few of them:-- + + 'The mountains nigh, whose lofty tops do meet the haughty sky, + The craggy rock, that to the sea free passage doth deny, + The aged oak, that doth resist the force of blust'ring blast, + The pleasant herb, that everywhere a pleasant smell doth cast, + The lion's force, whose courage stout declares a prince-like might, + The eagle, that for worthiness is borne of kings in fight-- + Then these, I say, and thousands more, by tract of time decay, + And, like to time, do quite consume and fade from form to clay; + But my true heart and service vow'd shall last time out of mind, + And still remain, as thine by doom, as Cupid hath assign'd.' + +Edwards also contributed some beautiful things to the well-known old +collection, 'The Paradise of Dainty Devices.' + + + + +GEORGE GASCOIGNE. + + +Gascoigne was born in 1540, in Essex, of an ancient family. He was +educated at Cambridge, and entered at Gray's Inn, but was disinherited +by his father for extravagance, and betook himself to Holland, where +he obtained a commission from the Prince of Orange. After various +vicissitudes of fortune, being at one time taken prisoner by the +Spaniards, and at another receiving a reward from the Prince of three +hundred guilders above his pay for his brave conduct at the siege of +Middleburg, he returned to England. In 1575, he accompanied Queen +Elizabeth in one of her progresses, and wrote for her a mask, entitled +'The Princely Pleasures of Kenilworth.' He is said to have died at +Stamford in 1578. He is the author of two or three translated dramas, +such as 'The Supposes,' a comedy from Ariosto, and 'Jocasta,' a tragedy +from Euripides, besides some graceful and lively minor pieces, one or +two of which we append. + + +GOOD-MORROW. + +You that have spent the silent night + In sleep and quiet rest, +And joy to see the cheerful light + That riseth in the east; +Now clear your voice, now cheer your heart, + Come help me now to sing: +Each willing wight come, bear a part, + To praise the heavenly King. + +And you whom care in prison keeps, + Or sickness doth suppress, +Or secret sorrow breaks your sleeps, + Or dolours do distress; +Yet bear a part in doleful wise, + Yea, think it good accord, +And acceptable sacrifice, + Each sprite to praise the Lord. + +The dreadful night with darksomeness + Had overspread the light; +And sluggish sleep with drowsiness + Had overpress'd our might: +A glass wherein you may behold + Each storm that stops our breath, +Our bed the grave, our clothes like mould, + And sleep like dreadful death. + +Yet as this deadly night did last + But for a little space, +And heavenly day, now night is past, + Doth show his pleasant face: +So must we hope to see God's face, + At last in heaven on high, +When we have changed this mortal place + For immortality. + +And of such haps and heavenly joys + As then we hope to hold, +All earthly sights, and worldly toys, + Are tokens to behold. +The day is like the day of doom, + The sun, the Son of man; +The skies, the heavens; the earth, the tomb, + Wherein we rest till than. + +The rainbow bending in the sky, + Bedcck'd with sundry hues, +Is like the seat of God on high, + And seems to tell these news: +That as thereby He promised + To drown the world no more, +So by the blood which Christ hath shed, + He will our health restore. + +The misty clouds that fall sometime, + And overcast the skies, +Are like to troubles of our time, + Which do but dim our eyes. +But as such dews are dried up quite, + When Phoebus shows his face, +So are such fancies put to flight, + Where God doth guide by grace. + +The carrion crow, that loathsome beast, + Which cries against the rain, +Both for her hue, and for the rest, + The devil resembleth plain: +And as with guns we kill the crow, + For spoiling our relief, +The devil so must we o'erthrow, + With gunshot of belief. + +The little birds which sing so sweet, + Are like the angels' voice, +Which renders God His praises meet, + And teach[1] us to rejoice: +And as they more esteem that mirth, + Than dread the night's annoy, +So much we deem our days on earth + But hell to heavenly joy. + +Unto which joys for to attain, + God grant us all His grace, +And send us, after worldly pain, + In heaven to have a place, +When we may still enjoy that light, + Which never shall decay: +Lord, for thy mercy lend us might, + To see that joyful day. + +[1] 'Teach:' _for_ teacheth. + + +GOOD-NIGHT. + +When thou hast spent the ling'ring day + In pleasure and delight, +Or after toil and weary way, + Dost seek to rest at night; +Unto thy pains or pleasures past, + Add this one labour yet, +Ere sleep close up thine eyes too fast, + Do not thy God forget, + +But search within thy secret thoughts, + What deeds did thee befall, +And if thou find amiss in aught, + To God for mercy call. +Yea, though thou findest nought amiss + Which thou canst call to mind, +Yet evermore remember this, + There is the more behind: + +And think how well soe'er it be + That thou hast spent the day, +It came of God, and not of thee, + So to direct thy way. +Thus if thou try thy daily deeds, + And pleasure in this pain, +Thy life shall cleanse thy corn from weeds, + And thine shall be the gain: + +But if thy sinful, sluggish eye, + Will venture for to wink, +Before thy wading will may try + How far thy soul may sink, +Beware and wake,[1] for else thy bed, + Which soft and smooth is made, +May heap more harm upon thy head + Than blows of en'my's blade. + +Thus if this pain procure thine ease, + In bed as thou dost lie, +Perhaps it shall not God displease, + To sing thus soberly: +'I see that sleep is lent me here, + To ease my weary bones, +As death at last shall eke appear, + To ease my grievous groans. + +'My daily sports, my paunch full fed, + Have caused my drowsy eye, +As careless life, in quiet led, + Might cause my soul to die: +The stretching arms, the yawning breath, + Which I to bedward use, +Are patterns of the pangs of death, + When life will me refuse; + +'And of my bed each sundry part, + In shadows, doth resemble +The sundry shapes of death, whose dart + Shall make my flesh to tremble. +My bed it safe is, like the grave, + My sheets the winding-sheet, +My clothes the mould which I must have, + To cover me most meet. + +'The hungry fleas, which frisk so fresh, + To worms I can compare, +Which greedily shall gnaw my flesh, + And leave the bones full bare: +The waking cock that early crows, + To wear the night away, +Puts in my mind the trump that blows + Before the latter day. + +'And as I rise up lustily, + When sluggish sleep is past, +So hope I to rise joyfully, + To judgment at the last. +Thus will I wake, thus will I sleep, + Thus will I hope to rise, +Thus will I neither wail nor weep, + But sing in godly wise. + +'My bones shall in this bed remain + My soul in God shall trust, +By whom I hope to rise again + From, death and earthly dust.' + +[1] 'Wake:' watch. + + + + +THOMAS SACKVILLE, LORD BUCKHURST AND EARL OF DORSET. + + +This was a man of remarkable powers. He was the son of Sir Richard +Sackville, and born at Withyam, in Sussex, in 1527. He was educated and +became distinguished at both the universities. While a student of the +Inner Temple, he wrote, some say in conjunction with Thomas Norton, the +tragedy of 'Gorboduc,' which is probably the earliest original tragedy +in the English language. It was first played as part of a Christmas +entertainment by the young students, and subsequently before Queen +Elizabeth at Whitehall in 1561. Sackville was elected to Parliament when +thirty years of age. In the same year (1557) he formed the plan of a +magnificent poem, which, had he fully accomplished it, would have ranked +his name with Dante, Spenser, and Bunyan. This was his 'Mirrour for +Magistrates,' a poem intended to celebrate the chief of the illustrious +unfortunates in British history, such as King Richard II., Owen Glendower, +James I. of Scotland, Henry VI., Jack Cade, the Duke of Buckingham, &c., +in a series of legends, supposed to be spoken by the characters them- +selves, and with epilogues interspersed to connect the stories. The work +aspired to be the English 'Decameron' of doom, and the part of it extant +is truly called by Campbell 'a bold and gloomy landscape, on which the +sun never shines.' Sackville had coadjutors in the work, all men of +considerable mark, such as Skelton, Baldwyn, a learned ecclesiastic, and +Ferrers, a man of rank. The first edition of the 'Mirrour for Magistrates' +appeared in 1559, and was wholly composed by Baldwyn and Ferrers. In the +second, which was issued in 1563, appeared the 'Induction and Legend of +Henry Duke of Buckingham' from Sackville's own pen. He lays the scene in +hell, and descends there under the guidance of Sorrow. His pictures are +more condensed than those of Spenser, although less so than those of Dante, +and are often startling in their power, and deep, desolate grandeur. Take +this, for instance, of 'Old Age:'-- + + 'Crook-back'd he was, tooth-shaken, and blear-eyed, + Went on three feet, and sometime crept on four, + With old lame bones, that rattled by his side; + His scalp all piled, and he with eld forelore, + _His wither'd fist still knocking at Deaths door;_ + Fumbling and drivelling, as he draws his breath; + For brief--the shape and messenger of Death.' + +Politics diverted Sackville from poetry. This is deeply to be regretted, +as his poetic gift was of a very rare order. In 1566, on the death of his +father, he was promoted to the title of Lord Buckhurst. In the fourteenth +year of Elizabeth's reign he was employed by her in an embassy to Charles +IX. of France. In 1587 he went as an ambassador to the United Provinces. +He was subsequently made Knight of the Garter and Chancellor of Oxford. On +the death of Lord Burleigh he became Lord High Treasurer of England. In +March 1604 he was created Earl of Dorset by James I., but died suddenly +soon after, at the council table, of a disease of the brain. He was, as a +statesman, almost immaculate in reputation. Like Burke and Canning, in +later days, he carried taste and literary exactitude into his political +functions, and, on account of his eloquence, was called 'the Bell of the +Star-Chamber.' Even in that Augustan age of our history, and in that most +brilliantly intellectual Court, it may be doubted if, with the sole +exception of Lord Bacon, there was a man to be compared to Thomas +Sackville for genius. + + +ALLEGORICAL CHARACTERS FROM THE MIRROR FOR MAGISTRATES. + +And first, within the porch and jaws of hell, +Sat deep Remorse of Conscience, all besprent +With tears; and to herself oft would she tell +Her wretchedness, and, cursing, never stent +To sob and sigh, but ever thus lament +With thoughtful care; as she that, all in vain, +Would wear and waste continually in pain: + +Her eyes unsteadfast, rolling here and there, +Whirl'd on each place, as place that vengeance brought, +So was her mind continually in fear, +Toss'd and tormented with the tedious thought +Of those detested crimes which she had wrought; +With dreadful cheer, and looks thrown to the sky, +Wishing for death, and yet she could not die. + +Next saw we Dread, all trembling how he shook, +With foot uncertain, proffer'd here and there; +Benumb'd with speech; and, with a ghastly look, +Search'd every place, all pale and dead for fear, +His cap borne up with staring of his hair; +'Stoin'd and amaz'd at his own shade for dread, +And fearing greater dangers than was need. + +And next, within the entry of this lake, +Sat fell Revenge, gnashing her teeth for ire; +Devising means how she may vengeance take; +Never in rest, till she have her desire; +But frets within so far forth with the fire +Of wreaking flames, that now determines she +To die by death, or Veng'd by death to be. + +When fell Revenge, with bloody foul pretence, +Had show'd herself, as next in order set, +With trembling limbs we softly parted thence, +Till in our eyes another set we met; +When from my heart a sigh forthwith I fet, +Ruing, alas! upon the woeful plight +Of Misery, that next appear'd in sight: + +His face was lean, and some deal pined away +And eke his hands consumed to the bone; +But what his body was I cannot say, +For on his carcase raiment had he none, +Save clouts and patches pieced one by one; +With staff in hand, and scrip on shoulders cast, +His chief defence against the winter's blast: + +His food, for most, was wild fruits of the tree, +Unless sometime some crumbs fell to his share, +Which in his wallet long, God wot, kept he, +As on the which full daint'ly would he fare; +His drink, the running stream, his cup, the bare +Of his palm closed; his bed, the hard cold ground: +To this poor life was Misery ybound. + +Whose wretched state when we had well beheld, +With tender ruth on him, and on his feres, +In thoughtful cares forth then our pace we held; +And, by and by, another shape appears +Of greedy Care, still brushing up the briers; +His knuckles knob'd, his flesh deep dinted in +With tawed hands, and hard ytanned skin: + +The morrow gray no sooner hath begun +To spread his light e'en peeping in our eyes, +But he is up, and to his work yrun; +But let the night's black misty mantles rise, +And with foul dark never so much disguise +The fair bright day, yet ceaseth he no while, +But hath his candles to prolong his toil. + +By him lay heavy Sleep, the cousin of Death, +Flat on the ground, and still as any stone, +A very corpse, save yielding forth a breath; +Small keep took he, whom Fortune frowned on, +Or whom she lifted up into the throne +Of high renown, but, as a living death, +So dead alive, of life he drew the breath: + +The body's rest, the quiet of the heart, +The travel's ease, the still night's fere was he, +And of our life in earth the better part; +Riever of sight, and yet in whom we see +Things oft that [tyde] and oft that never be; +Without respect, esteeming equally +King Croesus' pomp and Irus' poverty. + +And next in order sad, Old Age we found: +His beard all hoar, his eyes hollow and blind; +With drooping cheer still poring on the ground, +As on the place where nature him assign'd +To rest, when that the sisters had untwined +His vital thread, and ended with their knife +The fleeting course of fast declining life: + +There heard we him with broke and hollow plaint. +Rue with himself his end approaching fast, +And all for nought his wretched mind torment +With sweet remembrance of his pleasures past. +And fresh delights of lusty youth forewaste; +Recounting which, how would he sob and shriek, +And to be young again of Jove beseek! + +But, an the cruel fates so fixed be +That time forepast cannot return again, +This one request of Jove yet prayed he +That in such wither'd plight, and wretched pain, +As eld, accompanied with her loathsome train, +Had brought on him, all were it woe and grief, +He might a while yet linger forth his life, + +And not so soon descend into the pit; +Where Death, when he the mortal corpse hath slain, +With reckless hand in grave doth cover it: +Thereafter never to enjoy again +The gladsome light, but, in the ground ylain, +In depth of darkness waste and wear to nought, +As he had ne'er into the world been brought: + +But who had seen him sobbing how he stood +Unto himself, and how he would bemoan +His youth forepast--as though it wrought him good +To talk of youth, all were his youth foregone-- +He would have mused, and marvell'd much whereon +This wretched Age should life desire so fain, +And knows full well life doth but length his pain: + +Crook-back'd he was, tooth-shaken, and blear-eyed; +Went on three feet, and sometime crept on four; +With old lame bones, that rattled by his side; +His scalp all piled,[1] and he with eld forelore, +His wither'd fist still knocking at death's door; +Fumbling, and drivelling, as he draws his breath; +For brief, the shape and messenger of Death. + +And fast by him pale Malady was placed: +Sore sick in bed, her colour all foregone; +Bereft of stomach, savour, and of taste, +Ne could she brook no meat but broths alone; +Her breath corrupt; her keepers every one +Abhorring her; her sickness past recure, +Detesting physic, and all physic's cure. + +But, oh, the doleful sight that then we see! +We turn'd our look, and on the other side +A grisly shape of Famine might we see: +With greedy looks, and gaping mouth, that cried +And roar'd for meat, as she should there have died; +Her body thin and bare as any bone, +Whereto was left nought but the case alone. + +And that, alas! was gnawen everywhere, +All full of holes; that I ne might refrain +From tears, to see how she her arms could tear, +And with her teeth gnash on the bones in vain, +When, all for nought, she fain would so sustain +Her starven corpse, that rather seem'd a shade +Than any substance of a creature made: + +Great was her force, whom stone-wall could not stay: +Her tearing nails snatching at all she saw; +With gaping jaws, that by no means ymay +Be satisfied from hunger of her maw, +But eats herself as she that hath no law; +Gnawing, alas! her carcase all in vain, +Where you may count each sinew, bone, and vein. + +On her while we thus firmly fix'd our eyes, +That bled for ruth of such a dreary sight, +Lo, suddenly she shriek'd in so huge wise +As made hell-gates to shiver with the might; +Wherewith, a dart we saw, how it did light +Right on her breast, and, therewithal, pale Death +Enthirling[2] it, to rieve her of her breath: + +And, by and by, a dumb dead corpse we saw, +Heavy and cold, the shape of Death aright, +That daunts all earthly creatures to his law, +Against whose force in vain it is to fight; +No peers, nor princes, nor no mortal wight, +No towns, nor realms, cities, nor strongest tower, +But all, perforce, must yield unto his power: + +His dart, anon, out of the corpse he took, +And in his hand (a dreadful sight to see) +With great triumph eftsoons the same he shook, +That most of all my fears affrayed me; +His body dight with nought but bones, pardy; +The naked shape of man there saw I plain, +All save the flesh, the sinew, and the vein. + +Lastly, stood War, in glittering arms yclad, +With visage grim, stern look, and blackly hued: +In his right hand a naked sword he had, +That to the hilts was all with blood imbrued; +And in his left (that kings and kingdoms rued) +Famine and fire he held, and therewithal +He razed towns, and threw down towers and all: + +Cities he sack'd, and realms (that whilom flower'd +In honour, glory, and rule, above the rest) +He overwhelm'd, and all their fame devour'd, +Consumed, destroy'd, wasted, and never ceased, +Till he their wealth, their name, and all oppress'd: +His face forhew'd with wounds; and by his side +There hung his targe, with gashes deep and wide. + +[1] 'Piled:' bare. +[2] 'Enthirling:' piercing. + + +HENRY DUKE OP BUCKINGHAM IN THE INFERNAL REGIONS. + +Then first came Henry Duke of Buckingham, +His cloak of black all piled,[1] and quite forlorn, +Wringing his hands, and Fortune oft doth blame, +Which of a duke had made him now her scorn; +With ghastly looks, as one in manner lorn, +Oft spread his arms, stretch'd hands he joins as fast +With rueful cheer, and vapour'd eyes upcast. + +His cloak he rent, his manly breast he beat; +His hair all torn, about the place it lain: +My heart so molt to see his grief so great, +As feelingly, methought, it dropp'd away: +His eyes they whirl'd about withouten stay: +With stormy sighs the place did so complain, +As if his heart at each had burst in twain. + +Thrice he began to tell his doleful tale, +And thrice the sighs did swallow up his voice; +At each of which he shrieked so withal, +As though the heavens rived with the noise; +Till at the last, recovering of his voice, +Supping the tears that all his breast berain'd, +On cruel Fortune weeping thus he plain'd. + +[1] 'Piled:' bare. + + + + +JOHN HARRINGTON. + + +Of Harrington we know only that he was born in 1534 and died in 1582; that +he was imprisoned in the Tower by Queen Mary for holding correspondence +with Elizabeth; and after the accession of the latter to the throne, was +favoured and promoted by her; and that he has written some pretty verses +of an amatory kind. + + +SONNET ON ISABELLA MARKHAM, + +WHEN I FIRST THOUGHT HER FAIR, AS SHE STOOD AT THE PRINCESS'S WINDOW, +IN GOODLY ATTIRE, AND TALKED TO DIVERS IN THE COURT-YARD. + +Whence comes my love? O heart, disclose; +It was from cheeks that shamed the rose, +From lips that spoil the ruby's praise, +From eyes that mock the diamond's blaze: +Whence comes my woe? as freely own; +Ah me! 'twas from a heart like stone. + +The blushing cheek speaks modest mind, +The lips befitting words most kind, +The eye does tempt to love's desire, +And seems to say, ''Tis Cupid's fire;' +Yet all so fair but speak my moan, +Since nought doth say the heart of stone. + +Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak +Sweet eye, sweet lip, sweet blushing cheek +Yet not a heart to save my pain; +O Venus, take thy gifts again; +Make not so fair to cause our moan, +Or make a heart that's like our own. + + +VERSES ON A MOST STONY-HEARTED MAIDEN WHO DID SORELY +BEGUILE THE NOBLE KNIGHT, MY TRUE FRIEND. + +I. + +Why didst thou raise such woeful wail, +And waste in briny tears thy days? +'Cause she that wont to flout and rail, +At last gave proof of woman's ways; +She did, in sooth, display the heart +That might have wrought thee greater smart. + +II. + +Why, thank her then, not weep or moan; +Let others guard their careless heart, +And praise the day that thus made known +The faithless hold on woman's art; +Their lips can gloze and gain such root, +That gentle youth hath hope of fruit. + +III. + +But, ere the blossom fair doth rise, +To shoot its sweetness o'er the taste, +Creepeth disdain in canker-wise, +And chilling scorn the fruit doth blast: +There is no hope of all our toil; +There is no fruit from such a soil. + +IV. + +Give o'er thy plaint, the danger's o'er; +She might have poison'd all thy life; +Such wayward mind had bred thee more +Of sorrow, had she proved thy wife: +Leave her to meet all hopeless meed, +And bless thyself that so art freed. + +V. + +No youth shall sue such one to win. +Unmark'd by all the shining fair, +Save for her pride and scorn, such sin +As heart of love can never bear; +Like leafless plant in blasted shade, +So liveth she--a barren maid. + + + + +SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. + + +All hail to Sidney!--the pink of chivalry--the hero of Zutphen--the author +of the 'Arcadia,'--the gifted, courteous, genial and noble-minded man! He +was born November 29, 1554, at Penshurst, Kent. His father's name was +Henry. He studied at Shrewsbury, at Trinity College, Cambridge, and at +Christ Church, Oxford. At the age of eighteen he set out on his travels, +and, in the course of three years, visited France, Flanders, Germany, +Hungary, and Italy. On his return he was introduced at Court, and became a +favourite with Queen Elizabeth, who sent him on an embassy to Germany. He +returned home, and shortly after had a quarrel at a tournament with Lord +Oxford. But for the interference of the Queen, a duel would have taken +place. Sidney was displeased at the issue of the affair, and retired, in +1580, to Wilton, in Wiltshire, where he wrote his famous 'Arcadia,'--that +true prose-poem, and a work which, with all its faults, no mere sulky and +spoiled child (as some have called him in the matter of this retreat) +could ever have produced. This production, written as an outflow of his +mind in its self-sought solitude, was never meant for publication, and did +not appear till after its author's death. As it was written partly for his +sister's amusement, he entitled it 'The Countess of Pembroke's Arcadia.' +In 1581, Sidney reappeared in Court, and distinguished himself in the +jousts and tournaments celebrated in honour of the Duke of Anjou; and on +the return of that prince to the Continent, he accompanied him to Antwerp. +In 1583 he received the honour of knighthood. He published about this time +a tract entitled 'The Defence of Poesy,' which abounds in the element the +praise of which it celebrates, and which is, besides, distinguished by +acuteness of argument and felicity of expression. In 1585 he was named one +of the candidates for the crown of Poland; but Queen Elizabeth, afraid of +'losing the jewel of her times,' prevented him from accepting this honour, +and prevented him also from accompanying Sir Francis Drake on an +expedition against the Spanish settlements in America. In the same year, +however, she made him Governor of Flushing, and subsequently General of +the Cavalry, under his uncle, the Earl of Leicester, who commanded the +troops sent to assist the oppressed Dutch Protestants against the +Spaniards. Here our hero greatly distinguished himself, particularly when +capturing, in 1586, the town of Axel. His career, however, was destined +to be short. On the 22d of September of the same year he accidentally +encountered a convoy of the enemy marching toward Zutphen. In the +engagement which followed, his party triumphed; but their brave commander +received a shot in the thigh, which shattered the bone. As he was carried +from the field, overcome with thirst, he called for water, but while about +to apply it to his lips, he saw a wounded soldier carried by who was +eagerly eyeing the cup. Sidney, perceiving this, instantly delivered to +him the water, saying, in words which would have made an ordinary man +immortal, but which give Sir Philip a twofold immortality, 'Thy necessity +is greater than mine.' He was carried to Arnheim, and lingered on till +October 17, when he died. He was only thirty-two years of age. His death +was an earthquake at home. All England wore mourning for him. Queen +Elizabeth ordered his remains to be carried to London, and to receive a +public funeral in St Paul's. He was identified with the land's Poetry, +Politeness, and Protestantism; and all who admired any of the three, +sorrowed for Sidney. + +Sidney's 'Sonnets and other Poems' contain much that is quaint, but also +much that is beautiful and true; yet they are the least poetical of his +works. His 'Arcadia' is a glorious unfinished and unpolished wilderness +of fancy. It is a vineyard, the scattered clusters of which are so heavy, +that, like the grapes of Eshcol of old, they must be carried on a staff. +Here is one of those rich clusters:-- + + 'There were hills, which garnished their proud heights with stately + trees; humble valleys, whose base estate seemed comforted with the + refreshing of silver rivers; meadows, enamelled with all sorts of + eye-pleasing flowers; thickets, which, being lined with most pleasant + shade, were witnessed so, too, by the cheerful disposition of many + well-tuned birds; each pasture stored with sheep, feeding with sober + security; while the pretty lambs, with bleating oratory, craved the + dams' comfort; _here a shepherd's boy, piping as though he should + never be old;_ there a young shepherdess, knitting and withal singing, + and it seemed that her voice comforted her hands to work, and her + hands kept time to her voice-music.' + +From 'The Defence of Poesy' we could cull, did space permit, a hundred +passages even superior to the above, full of dexterous reasoning, splendid +rhetoric, and subtle fancy, and substantiating all that has been said in +favour of Sir Philip Sidney's accomplishments, chivalric earnestness, and +richly-endowed genius. + + +TO SLEEP. + +FROM THE 'ARCADIA.' + +Come, Sleep, O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, +The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe; +The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, +The indifferent judge between the high and low. + +With shield of proof shield me from out the prease[1] +Of those fierce darts despair doth at me throw: +Oh, make in me those civil wars to cease! +I will good tribute pay if thou do so. + +Take thou of me smooth pillows, sweetest bed, +A chamber deaf to noise and blind to light, +A rosy garland and a weary head; +And if these things, as being thine by right, +Move not thy heavy grace, thou shalt in me +Livelier than elsewhere Stella's image see. + +[1] 'Prease:' press, throng. + + +SONNETS. + +I. + +Because I oft in dark abstracted guise +Seem most alone in greatest company, +With dearth of words, or answers quite awry +To them that would make speech of speech arise, +They deem, and of their doom the rumour flies, +That poison foul of bubbling Pride doth lie +So in my swelling breast, that only I +Fawn on myself, and others do despise. +Yet Pride, I think, doth not my soul possess, +Which looks too oft in his unflattering glass; +But one worse fault, Ambition, I confess, +That makes me oft my best friends overpass, +Unseen, unheard, while thought to highest place +Bends all his powers, even unto Stella's grace. + + +II. + +With how sad steps, O Moon! thou climb'st the skies, +How silently, and with how wan a face! +What! may it be, that even in heavenly place +That busy archer his sharp arrows tries? +Sure, if that long with love acquainted eyes +Can judge of love, thou feel'st a lover's case; +I read it in thy looks; thy languish'd grace, +To me that feel the like, thy state descries. +Then, even of fellowship, O Moon, tell me, +Is constant love deem'd there but want of wit? +Are beauties there as proud as here they be? +Do they above love to be loved, and yet +Those lovers scorn whom that love doth possess? +Do they call virtue there ungratefulness? + + +III. + +Having this day my horse, my hand, my lance +Guided so well, that I obtain'd the prize, +Both by the judgment of the English eyes, +And of some sent from that sweet enemy France; +Horsemen my skill in horsemanship advance; +Townfolks my strength; a daintier judge applies +His praise to sleight which from good use doth rise; +Some lucky wits impute it but to chance; +Others, because of both sides I do take +My blood from them who did excel in this, +Think nature me a man of arms did make. +How far they shot awry! the true cause is, +Stella look'd on, and from her heavenly face +Sent forth the beams which made so fair my race. + + +IV. + +In martial sports I had my cunning tried, +And yet to break more staves did me address; +While with the people's shouts, I must confess, +Youth, luck, and praise, even fill'd my veins with pride. +When Cupid, having me (his slave) descried +In Mars's livery, prancing in the press, +'What now, Sir Fool,' said he, 'I would no less. +Look here, I say.' I look'd, and Stella spied, +Who hard by made a window send forth light. +My heart then quaked, then dazzled were mine eyes; +One hand forgot to rule, th' other to fight; +Nor trumpet's sound I heard, nor friendly cries; +My foe came on, and beat the air for me, +Till that her blush taught me my shame to see. + + +V. + +Of all the kings that ever here did reign, +Edward named Fourth as first in praise I name; +Not for his fair outside, nor well-lined brain, +Although less gifts imp feathers oft on Fame: +Nor that he could, young-wise, wise-valiant, frame +His sire's revenge, join'd with a kingdom's gain, +And, gain'd by Mars, could yet mad Mars so tame, +That Balance weigh'd what Sword did late obtain: +Nor that he made the Flower-de-luce so 'fraid, +Though strongly hedged of bloody Lion's paws, +That witty Lewis to him a tribute paid. +Nor this, nor that, nor any such small cause-- +But only for this worthy knight durst prove +To lose his crown, rather than fail his love. + + +VI. + +O happy Thames, that didst my Stella bear! +I saw thee with full many a smiling line +Upon thy cheerful face joy's livery wear, +While those fair planets on thy streams did shine. +The boat for joy could not to dance forbear; +While wanton winds, with beauties so divine +Ravish'd, stay'd not, till in her golden hair +They did themselves (O sweetest prison!) twine: +And fain those Oeol's youth there would their stay +Have made; but, forced by Nature still to fly, +First did with puffing kiss those locks display. +She, so dishevell'd, blush'd. From window I, +With sight thereof, cried out, 'O fair disgrace; +Let Honour's self to thee grant highest place.' + + + + +ROBERT SOUTHWELL. + + +Robert Southwell was born in 1560, at St. Faith's, Norfolk. His parents +were Roman Catholics, and sent him when very young to be educated at the +English College of Douay, in Flanders. Thence he went to Borne, and when +sixteen years of age he joined the Society of the Jesuits--a strange bed +for the rearing of a poet. In 1585, he was appointed Prefect of Studies, +and was soon after despatched as a missionary of his order to England. +There, notwithstanding a law condemning to death all members of his +profession found in this country, he laboured on for eight years, +residing chiefly with Anne, Countess of Arundel, who died afterwards in +the Tower. In July 1592, Southwell was arrested in a gentleman's house +at Uxendon in Middlesex. He was thrust into a dungeon so filthy that +when he was brought out to be examined his clothes were covered with +vermin. This made his father--a man of good family--petition Queen +Elizabeth that if his son was guilty of anything deserving death he +might suffer it, but that, meanwhile, being a gentleman, he should be +treated as a gentleman. In consequence of this he was somewhat better +lodged, but continued for nearly three years strictly confined to +prison; and as the Queen's agents imagined that he was in the secret of +some conspiracies against the Government, he was put to the torture ten +times. In despair, he entreated to be brought to trial, whereupon Cecil +coolly remarked, 'that if he was in such haste to be hanged, he should +quickly have his desire.' On the 20th of February 1595, he was brought +to trial at King's Bench, and having confessed himself a Papist and a +Jesuit, he was condemned to death, and executed at Tyburn next day, with +all the nameless barbarities enjoined by the treason laws of these +unhappy times. He is believed to have borne all his sufferings with +unalterable serenity of mind and sweetness of temper. 'It is fitting,' +says Burke, 'that those made to suffer should suffer well.' And suffer +well throughout all his short life of sorrow, Southwell did. + +He was, undoubtedly, although in a false position, a true man, and a +true poet. To hope all things and believe all things, in reference to +a Jesuit, is a difficult task for Protestant charity. Yet what system +so vile but it has sometimes been gloriously misrepresented by its +votaries? Who that ever read Edward Irving's 'Preface to Ben Ezra'--that +modern Areopagitica--combining the essence of a hundred theological +treatises with the spirit and grandeur of a Pindaric or Homeric ode--has +forgot the pictures of Ben Ezra, or Lacunza the Jesuit? His work, 'The +Coming of the Messiah in Glory and Majesty,' Irving translated from +Spanish into his own noble English prose, and he describes the author as +a man of primitive manners, ardent piety, and enormous erudition, and +expresses a hope, long since we trust fulfilled, of meeting with the +'good old Jesuit' in a better world. To this probably small class of +exceptions to a general rule (it surely is no uncharity to say this, +since the annals of Jesuitism have confessedly been so stained with +falsehood, treachery, every insidious art, and every detestable crime) +seems to have belonged our poet. No proof was produced that he had any +connexion with the treacherous and bloody designs of his party, although +he had plied his priestly labours with unwearied assiduity. He was too +sincere-minded a man to have ever been admitted to the darker secrets of +the Jesuits. + +His verses are ingenious, simpler in style than was common in his time +--distinguished here by homely picturesqueness, and there by solemn +moralising. A shade of deep but serene and unrepining sadness, connected +partly with his position and partly with his foreseen destiny, (his +larger works were written in prison,) rests on the most of his poems. + + +LOOK HOME. + +Retired thoughts enjoy their own delights, + As beauty doth in self-beholding eye: +Man's mind a mirror is of heavenly sights, + A brief wherein all miracles summ'd lie; +Of fairest forms, and sweetest shapes the store, +Most graceful all, yet thought may grace them more. + +The mind a creature is, yet can create, + To nature's patterns adding higher skill +Of finest works; wit better could the state, + If force of wit had equal power of will. +Device of man in working hath no end; +What thought can think, another thought can mend. + +Man's soul of endless beauties image is, + Drawn by the work of endless skill and might: +This skilful might gave many sparks of bliss, + And, to discern this bliss, a native light, +To frame God's image as his worth required; +His might, his skill, his word and will conspired. + +All that he had, his image should present; + All that it should present, he could afford; +To that he could afford his will was bent; + His will was follow'd with performing word. +Let this suffice, by this conceive the rest, +He should, he could, he would, he did the best. + + +THE IMAGE OF DEATH. + +Before my face the picture hangs, + That daily should put me in mind +Of those cold names and bitter pangs + That shortly I am like to find; +But yet, alas! full little I +Do think hereon, that I must die. + +I often look upon a face + Most ugly, grisly, bare, and thin; +I often view the hollow place + Where eyes and nose had sometime been; +I see the bones across that lie, +Yet little think that I must die. + +I read the label underneath, + That telleth me whereto I must; +I see the sentence too, that saith, + 'Remember, man, thou art but dust.' +But yet, alas! how seldom I +Do think, indeed, that I must die! + +Continually at my bed's head + A hearse doth hang, which doth me tell +That I ere morning may be dead, + Though now I feel myself full well; +But yet, alas! for all this, I +Have little mind that I must die! + +The gown which I am used to wear, + The knife wherewith I cut my meat; +And eke that old and ancient chair, + Which is my only usual seat; +All these do tell me I must die, +And yet my life amend not I. + +My ancestors are turn'd to clay, + And many of my mates are gone; +My youngers daily drop away, + And can I think to 'scape alone? +No, no; I know that I must die, +And yet my life amend not I. + + * * * * * + +If none can 'scape Death's dreadful dart; + If rich and poor his beck obey; +If strong, if wise, if all do smart, + Then I to 'scape shall have no way: +Then grant me grace, O God! that I +My life may mend, since I must die. + + +LOVE'S SERVILE LOT. + +Love mistress is of many minds, + Yet few know whom they serve; +They reckon least how little hope + Their service doth deserve. + +The will she robbeth from the wit, + The sense from reason's lore; +She is delightful in the rind, + Corrupted in the core. + + * * * * * + +May never was the month of love; + For May is full of flowers: +But rather April, wet by kind; + For love is full of showers. + +With soothing words, inthralled souls + She chains in servile bands! +Her eye in silence hath a speech + Which eye best understands. + +Her little sweet hath many sours, + Short hap, immortal harms +Her loving looks are murdering darts, + Her songs bewitching charms. + +Like winter rose, and summer ice, + Her joys are still untimely; +Before her hope, behind remorse, + Fair first, in fine[1] unseemly. + +Plough not the seas, sow not the sands, + Leave off your idle pain; +Seek other mistress for your minds, + Love's service is in vain. + +[1] 'Fine:' end. + + +TIMES GO BY TURNS. + +The lopped tree in time may grow again, + Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower; +The sorriest wight may find release of pain, + The driest soil suck in some moistening shower: +Time goes by turns, and chances change by course, +From foul to fair, from better hap to worse. + +The sea of Fortune doth not ever flow; + She draws her favours to the lowest ebb: +Her tides have equal times to come and go; + Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web: +No joy so great but runneth to an end, +No hap so hard but may in fine amend. + +Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring, + Not endless night, yet not eternal day: +The saddest birds a season find to sing, + The roughest storm a calm may soon allay. +Thus, with succeeding turns, God tempereth all, +That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall. + +A chance may win that by mischance was lost; + That net that holds no great, takes little fish; +In some things all, in all things none are cross'd; + Few all they need, but none have all they wish. +Unmingled joys here to no man befall; +Who least, hath some; who most, hath never all. + + + + +THOMAS WATSON. + + +He was born in 1560, and died about 1592. All besides known certainly of +him is, that he was a native of London, and studied the common law, but +seems to have spent much of his time in the practice of rhyme. His +sonnets--one or two of which we subjoin--have considerable merit; but we +agree with Campbell in thinking that Stevens has surely overrated them +when he prefers them to Shakspeare's. + + +THE NYMPHS TO THEIR MAY-QUEEN. + +With fragrant flowers we strew the way, +And make this our chief holiday: +For though this clime was blest of yore, +Yet was it never proud before. +O beauteous queen of second Troy, +Accept of our unfeigned joy. + +Now the air is sweeter than sweet balm, +And satyrs dance about the palm; +Now earth with verdure newly dight, +Gives perfect signs of her delight: +O beauteous queen! + +Now birds record new harmony, +And trees do whistle melody: +And everything that nature breeds +Doth clad itself in pleasant weeds. + + +SONNET. + +Actaeon lost, in middle of his sport, +Both shape and life for looking but awry: +Diana was afraid he would report +What secrets he had seen in passing by. +To tell the truth, the self-same hurt have I, +By viewing her for whom I daily die; +I lose my wonted shape, in that my mind +Doth suffer wreck upon the stony rock +Of her disdain, who, contrary to kind, +Does bear a breast more hard than any stock; +And former form of limbs is changed quite +By cares in love, and want of due delight. +I leave my life, in that each secret thought +Which I conceive through wanton fond regard, +Doth make me say that life availeth nought, +Where service cannot have a due reward. +I dare not name the nymph that works my smart, +Though love hath graven her name within my heart. + + + + +THOMAS TURBERVILLE. + + +Of this author--Thomas Turberville--once famous in the reign of Queen +Elizabeth, but now almost totally forgotten, and whose works are +altogether omitted in most selections, we have preserved a little. He +was a voluminous author, having produced, besides many original pieces, +a translation of Ovid's Heroical Epistles, from which Warton has +selected a short specimen. + + +IN PRAISE OP THE RENOWNED LADY ANNE, COUNTESS OF +WARWICK. + +When Nature first in hand did take + The clay to frame this Countess' corse, +The earth a while she did forsake, + And was compell'd of very force, +With mould in hand, to flee to skies, +To end the work she did devise. + +The gods that then in council sate, + Were half-amazed, against their kind,[1] +To see so near the stool of state + Dame Nature stand, that was assign'd +Among her worldly imps[2] to wonne,[3] +As she until that day had done. + +First Jove began: 'What, daughter dear, + Hath made thee scorn thy father's will? +Why do I see thee, Nature, here, + That ought'st of duty to fulfil +Thy undertaken charge at home? +What makes thee thus abroad to roam? + +'Disdainful dame, how didst thou dare, + So reckless to depart the ground +That is allotted to thy share?' + And therewithal his godhead frown'd. +'I will,' quoth Nature, 'out of hand, +Declare the cause I fled the land. + +'I undertook of late a piece + Of clay a featured face to frame, +To match the courtly dames of Greece, + That for their beauty bear the name; +But, O good father, now I see +This work of mine it will not be. + +'Vicegerent, since you me assign'd + Below in earth, and gave me laws +On mortal wights, and will'd that kind + Should make and mar, as she saw cause: +Of right, I think, I may appeal, +And crave your help in this to deal.' + +When Jove saw how the case did stand, + And that the work was well begun, +He pray'd to have the helping hand + Of other gods till he had done: +With willing minds they all agreed, +And set upon the clay with speed. + +First Jove each limb did well dispose, + And makes a creature of the clay; +Next, Lady Venus she bestows + Her gallant gifts as best she may; +From face to foot, from top to toe, +She let no whit untouch'd to go. + +When Venus had done what she could + In making of her carcase brave, +Then Pallas thought she might be bold + Among the rest a share to have; +A passing wit she did convey +Into this passing piece of clay. + +Of Bacchus she no member had, + Save fingers fine and feat[4] to see; +Her head with hair Apollo clad, + That gods had thought it gold to be: +So glist'ring was the tress in sight +Of this new form'd and featured wight. + +Diana held her peace a space, + Until those other gods had done; +'At last,' quoth she, 'in Dian's chase + With bow in hand this nymph shall run; +And chief of all my noble train +I will this virgin entertain.' + +Then joyful Juno came and said, + 'Since you to her so friendly are, +I do appoint this noble maid + To match with Mars his peer for war; +She shall the Countess Warwick be, +And yield Diana's bow to me.' + +When to so good effect it came, + And every member had his grace, +There wanted nothing but a name: + By hap was Mercury then in place, +That said, 'I pray you all agree, +Pandora grant her name to be. + +'For since your godheads forged have + With one assent this noble dame, +And each to her a virtue gave, + This term agreeth to the same.' +The gods that heard Mercurius tell +This tale, did like it passing well. + +Report was summon'd then in haste, + And will'd to bring his trump in hand, +To blow therewith a sounding blast, + That might be heard through Brutus' land. +Pandora straight the trumpet blew, +That each this Countess Warwick knew. + +O seely[5] Nature, born to pain, + O woful, wretched kind (I say), +That to forsake the soil were fain + To make this Countess out of clay: +But, O most friendly gods, that wold, +Vouchsafe to set your hands to mould. + +[1] 'Kind:' nature. +[2] 'Imps:' children. +[3] 'Wonne:' dwell. +[4] 'Feat:' neat. +[5] 'Seely:' simple. + + + * * * * * + + +In reference to the Miscellaneous Pieces which close this period, we +need only say that the best of them is 'The Soul's Errand,' and that its +authorship is uncertain. It has, with very little evidence in any of the +cases, been ascribed to Sir Walter Raleigh, to Francis Davison, (author +of a compilation entitled 'A Poetical Rhapsody,' published in 1593, and +where 'The Soul's Errand' first appeared,) and to Joshua Sylvester, who +prints it in his volume of verses, with vile interpolations of his own. +Its outspoken energy and pithy language render it worthy of any of our +poets. + + +HARPALUS' COMPLAINT OF PHILLIDA'S LOVE BESTOWED ON CORIN, +WHO LOVED HER NOT, AND DENIED HIM THAT LOVED HER. + +1 Phillida was a fair maid, + As fresh as any flower; + Whom Harpalus the herdman pray'd + To be his paramour. + +2 Harpalus, and eke Corin, + Were herdmen both yfere:[1] + And Phillida would twist and spin, + And thereto sing full clear. + +3 But Phillida was all too coy + For Harpalus to win; + For Corin was her only joy, + Who forced[2] her not a pin. + +4 How often would she flowers twine, + How often garlands make + Of cowslips and of columbine, + And all for Conn's sake! + +5 But Corin he had hawks to lure, + And forced more the field: + Of lovers' law he took no cure; + For once he was beguiled. + +6 Harpalus prevailed nought, + His labour all was lost; + For he was furthest from her thought, + And yet he loved her most. + +7 Therefore was he both pale and lean, + And dry as clod of clay: + His flesh it was consumed clean; + His colour gone away. + +8 His beard it not long be shave; + His hair hung all unkempt: + A man most fit even for the grave, + Whom spiteful love had shent.[3] + +9 His eyes were red, and all forwacht;[4] + It seem'd unhap had him long hatcht, + His face besprent with tears: + In midst of his despairs. + +10 His clothes were black, and also bare; + As one forlorn was he; + Upon his head always he ware + A wreath of willow tree. + +11 His beasts he kept upon the hill, + And he sat in the dale; + And thus with sighs and sorrows shrill + He 'gan to tell his tale. + +12 'O Harpalus!' thus would he say; + Unhappiest under sun! + The cause of thine unhappy day + By love was first begun. + +13 'For thou went'st first by suit to seek + A tiger to make tame, + That sets not by thy love a leek, + But makes thy grief a game. + +14 'As easy it were for to convert + The frost into the flame; + As for to turn a froward hert, + Whom thou so fain wouldst frame. + +15 'Cerin he liveth careless: + He leaps among the leaves: + He eats the fruits of thy redress: + Thou reap'st, he takes the sheaves. + +16 'My beasts, a while your food refrain, + And hark your herdman's sound; + Whom spiteful love, alas! hath slain, + Through girt with many a wound, + +17 'O happy be ye, beastes wild, + That here your pasture takes: + I see that ye be not beguiled + Of these your faithful makes,[5] + +18 'The hart he feedeth by the hind: + The buck hard by the doe: + The turtle-dove is not unkind + To him that loves her so. + +19 'The ewe she hath by her the ram: + The young cow hath the bull: + The calf with many a lusty lamb + Do feed their hunger full. + +20 'But, well-a-way! that nature wrought + Thee, Phillida, so fair: + For I may say that I have bought + Thy beauty all too dear. + +21 'What reason is that cruelty + With, beauty should have part? + Or else that such great tyranny + Should dwell in woman's heart? + +22 'I see therefore to shape my death + She cruelly is prest,[6] + To the end that I may want my breath: + My days be at the best. + +23 'O Cupid, grant this my request, + And do not stop thine ears: + That she may feel within her breast + The pains of my despairs: + +24 'Of Corin that is careless, + That she may crave her fee: + As I have done in great distress, + That loved her faithfully. + +25 'But since that I shall die her slave, + Her slave, and eke her thrall, + Write you, my friends, upon my grave + This chance that is befall: + +26 '"Here lieth unhappy Harpalus, + By cruel love now slain: + Whom Phillida unjustly thus + Hath murder'd with disdain."' + +[1] 'Yfere' together. +[2] 'Forced' cared for. +[3] 'Shent:' spoiled. +[4] 'Forwacht:' from much watching. +[5] 'Makes:' mates. +[6] 'Prest:' ready. + + +A PRAISE OF HIS LADY. + +1 Give place, you ladies, and begone, + Boast not yourselves at all, + For here at hand approacheth one + Whose face will stain you all. + +2 The virtue of her lively looks + Excels the precious stone; + I wish to have none other books + To read or look upon. + +3 In each of her two crystal eyes + Smileth a naked boy; + It would you all in heart suffice + To see that lamp of joy. + +4 I think Nature hath lost the mould + Where she her shape did take; + Or else I doubt if Nature could + So fair a creature make. + +5 She may be well compared + Unto the phoenix kind, + Whose like was never seen nor heard, + That any man can find. + +6 In life she is Diana chaste, + In truth Penelope; + In word, and eke in deed, steadfast; + What will you more we say? + +7 If all the world were sought so far, + Who could find such a wight? + Her beauty twinkleth like a star + Within the frosty night. + +8 Her rosial colour comes and goes + "With such a comely grace, + More ruddier, too, than doth the rose, + Within her lively face." + +9 At Bacchus' feast none shall her meet, + Nor at no wanton play, + Nor gazing in an open street, + Nor gadding, as astray. + +10 The modest mirth that she doth use, + Is mix'd with shamefastness; + All vice she doth wholly refuse, + And hateth idleness. + +11 O Lord, it is a world to see + How virtue can repair, + And deck in her such honesty, + Whom Nature made so fair. + +12 Truly she doth as far exceed + Our women now-a-days, + As doth the gilliflower a wreed, + And more a thousand ways. + +13 How might I do to get a graff + Of this unspotted tree? + For all the rest are plain but chaff + Which seem good corn to be. + +14 This gift alone I shall her give, + When death doth what he can: + Her honest fame shall ever live + Within the mouth of man. + + +THAT ALL THINGS SOMETIME FIND EASE OF THEIR PAIN, +SAVE ONLY THE LOVER. + +1 I see there is no sort + Of things that live in grief, + Which at sometime may not resort + Where as they have relief. + +2 The stricken deer by kind + Of death that stands in awe, + For his recure an herb can find + The arrow to withdraw. + +3 The chased deer hath soil + To cool him in his heat; + The ass, after his weary toil. + In stable is up set. + +4 The coney hath its cave, + The little bird his nest, + From heat and cold themselves to save + At all times as they list. + +5 The owl, with feeble sight, + Lies lurking in the leaves, + The sparrow in the frosty night + May shroud her in the eaves. + +6 But woe to me, alas! + In sun nor yet in shade, + I cannot find a resting-place, + My burden to unlade. + +7 But day by day still bears + The burden on my back, + With weeping eyes and wat'ry tears, + To hold my hope aback. + +8 All things I see have place + Wherein they bow or bend, + Save this, alas! my woful case, + Which nowhere findeth end. + + +FROM 'THE PHOENIX' NEST.' + +O Night, O jealous Night, repugnant to my pleasure, +O Night so long desired, yet cross to my content, +There's none but only thou can guide me to my treasure, +Yet none but only thou that hindereth my intent. + +Sweet Night, withhold thy beams, withhold them till to-morrow, +Whose joy, in lack so long, a hell of torment breeds, +Sweet Night, sweet gentle Night, do not prolong my sorrow, +Desire is guide to me, and love no loadstar needs. + +Let sailors gaze on stars and moon so freshly shining, +Let them that miss the way be guided by the light, +I know my lady's bower, there needs no more divining, +Affection sees in dark, and love hath eyes by night. + +Dame Cynthia, couch a while; hold in thy horns for shining, +And glad not low'ring Night with thy too glorious rays; +But be she dim and dark, tempestuous and repining, +That in her spite my sport may work thy endless praise. + +And when my will is done, then, Cynthia, shine, good lady, +All other nights and days in honour of that night, +That happy, heavenly night, that night so dark and shady, +Wherein my love had eyes that lighted my delight. + + +FROM THE SAME. + +1 The gentle season of the year + Hath made my blooming branch appear, + And beautified the land with flowers; + The air doth savour with delight, + The heavens do smile to see the sight, + And yet mine eyes augment their showers. + +2 The meads are mantled all with green, + The trembling leaves have clothed the treen, + The birds with feathers new do sing; + But I, poor soul, whom wrong doth rack, + Attire myself in mourning black, + Whose leaf doth fall amidst his spring. + +3 And as you see the scarlet rose + In his sweet prime his buds disclose, + Whose hue is with the sun revived; + So, in the April of mine age, + My lively colours do assuage, + Because my sunshine is deprived. + +4 My heart, that wonted was of yore, + Light as the winds, abroad to soar + Amongst the buds, when beauty springs, + Now only hovers over you, + As doth the bird that's taken new, + And mourns when all her neighbours sings. + +5 When every man is bent to sport, + Then, pensive, I alone resort + Into some solitary walk, + As doth the doleful turtle-dove, + Who, having lost her faithful love, + Sits mourning on some wither'd stalk. + +6 There to myself I do recount + How far my woes my joys surmount, + How love requiteth me with hate, + How all my pleasures end in pain, + How hate doth say my hope is vain, + How fortune frowns upon my state. + +7 And in this mood, charged with despair, + With vapour'd sighs I dim the air, + And to the gods make this request, + That by the ending of my life, + I may have truce with this strange strife, + And bring my soul to better rest. + + +THE SOUL'S ERRAND. + +1 Go, Soul, the body's guest, + Upon a thankless errand, + Fear not to touch the best, + The truth shall be thy warrant; + Go, since I needs must die, + And give the world the lie. + +2 Go tell the Court it glows, + And shines like rotten wood; + Go, tell the Church it shows + What's good and doth no good; + If Church and Court reply, + Then give them both the lie. + +3 Tell potentates they live, + Acting by others' actions, + Not loved, unless they give, + Not strong, but by their factions; + If potentates reply, + Give potentates the lie. + +4 Tell men of high condition, + That rule affairs of state, + Their purpose is ambition, + Their practice only hate; + And if they once reply, + Then give them all the lie. + +5 Tell them that brave it most, + They beg for more by spending, + Who, in their greatest cost, + Seek nothing but commending; + And if they make reply, + Then give them all the lie. + +6 Tell Zeal it lacks devotion, + Tell Love it is but lust, + Tell Time it is but motion, + Tell Flesh it is but dust; + And wish them not reply, + For thou must give the lie. + +7 Tell Age it daily wasteth, + Tell Honour how it alters, + Tell Beauty how she blasteth, + Tell Favour how she falters; + And as they shall reply, + Give every one the lie. + +8 Tell Wit how much it wrangles + In treble points of niceness, + Tell Wisdom she entangles + Herself in overwiseness; + And when they do reply, + Straight give them both the lie. + +9 Tell Physic of her boldness, + Tell Skill it is pretension, + Tell Charity of coldness, + Tell Law it is contention; + And as they do reply, + So give them still the lie. + +10 Tell Fortune of her blindness, + Tell Nature of decay, + Tell Friendship of unkindness, + Tell Justice of delay; + And if they will reply, + Then give them all the lie. + +11 Tell Arts they have no soundness, + But vary by esteeming, + Tell Schools they want profoundness, + And stand too much on seeming; + If Arts and Schools reply, + Give Arts and Schools the lie. + +12 Tell Faith it's fled the city, + Tell how the country erreth, + Tell Manhood shakes off pity, + Tell Virtue least preferreth; + And if they do reply, + Spare not to give the lie. + +13 And when thou hast, as I + Commanded thee, done blabbing, + Although to give the lie + Deserves no less than stabbing; + Yet stab at thee who will, + No stab the Soul can kill. + + + * * * * * + + +SECOND PERIOD. + +FROM SPENSER TO DRYDEN. + + + + +FRANCIS BEAUMONT. + + +This remarkable man, from his intimate connexion with Fletcher, is better +known as a dramatist than as a poet. He was the son of Judge Beaumont, and +descended from an ancient family, which was settled at Grace Dieu in +Leicestershire. He was born in 1585-86, and educated at Cambridge. Thence +he passed to study in the Inner Temple, but seems to have preferred poetry +and the drama to law. He was married to the daughter of Sir Henry Isley of +Kent, who bore him two daughters. He died in his 30th year, and was buried +March 9, 1615-16, in St Benedict's Chapel, Westminster Abbey. More of his +connexion with Fletcher afterwards. + +After his death, his brother published a collection of his miscellaneous +pieces. We extract a few, of no little merit. His verses to Ben Jonson, +written before their author came to London, and first appended to a play +entitled 'Nice Valour,' are picturesque and interesting, as illustrating +the period. + + +TO BEN JONSON. + +The sun (which doth the greatest comfort bring +To absent friends, because the selfsame thing +They know, they see, however absent) is +Here, our best haymaker (forgive me this, +It is our country's style) in this warm shine +I lie, and dream of your full Mermaid wine. +Oh, we have water mix'd with claret lees, +Brink apt to bring in drier heresies +Than beer, good only for the sonnet's strain, +With fustian metaphors to stuff the brain, +So mix'd, that, given to the thirstiest one, +'Twill not prove alms, unless he have the stone. +I think, with one draught man's invention fades: +Two cups had quite spoil'd Homer's Iliades. +'Tis liquor that will find out Sutcliff's wit, +Lie where he will, and make him write worse yet; +Fill'd with such moisture in most grievous qualms, +Did Robert Wisdom write his singing psalms; +And so must I do this: And yet I think +It is a potion sent us down to drink, +By special Providence, keeps us from fights, +Makes us not laugh when we make legs to knights. +'Tis this that keeps our minds fit for our states, +A medicine to obey our magistrates: +For we do live more free than you; no hate, +No envy at one another's happy state, +Moves us; we are all equal: every whit +Of land that God gives men here is their wit, +If we consider fully, for our best +And gravest men will with his main house-jest +Scarce please you; we want subtilty to do +The city tricks, lie, hate, and flatter too: +Here are none that can bear a painted show, +Strike when you wink, and then lament the blow; +Who, like mills, set the right way for to grind, +Can make their gains alike with every wind; +Only some fellows with the subtlest pate, +Amongst us, may perchance equivocate +At selling of a horse, and that's the most. +Methinks the little wit I had is lost +Since I saw you; for wit is like a rest +Held up at tennis, which men do the best, +With the best gamesters: what things have we seen +Done at the Mermaid; heard words that have been +So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, +As if that every one from whence they came +Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, +And had resolved to live a fool the rest +Of his dull life: then when there had been thrown +Wit able enough to justify the town +For three days past; wit that might warrant be +For the whole city to talk foolishly +Till that were cancell'd; and when that was gone, +We left an air behind us, which alone +Was able to make the two next companies +Eight witty; though but downright fools were wise. +When I remember this, +* * * I needs must cry +I see my days of ballading grow nigh; +I can already riddle, and can sing +Catches, sell bargains, and I fear shall bring +Myself to speak the hardest words I find +Over as oft as any with one wind, +That takes no medicines, but thought of thee +Makes me remember all these things to be +The wit of our young men, fellows that show +No part of good, yet utter all they know, +Who, like trees of the garden, have growing souls. +Only strong Destiny, which all controls, +I hope hath left a better fate in store +For me, thy friend, than to live ever poor. +Banish'd unto this home: Fate once again +Bring me to thee, who canst make smooth and plain +The way of knowledge for me; and then I, +Who have no good but in thy company, +Protest it will my greatest comfort be, +To acknowledge all I have to flow from thee, +Ben; when these scenes are perfect, we'll taste wine; +I'll drink thy muse's health, thou shalt quaff mine. + + +ON THE TOMBS IN WESTMINSTER. + +Mortality, behold and fear, +What a charge of flesh is here! +Think how many royal bones +Sleep within these heap of stones: +Here they lie, had realms and lands, +Who now want strength to stir their hands; +Where, from their pulpits seal'd with dust, +They preach--in greatness is no trust. +Here's an acre sown indeed +With the richest, royal'st seed, +That the earth did e'er suck in +Since the first man died for sin: +Here the bones of birth have cried, +Though gods they were, as men they died: +Here are wands, ignoble things, +Dropp'd from the ruin'd sides of kings. +Here's a world of pomp and state +Buried in dust, once dead by fate. + + +AN EPITAPH. + +Here she lies, whose spotless fame +Invites a stone to learn her name: +The rigid Spartan that denied +An epitaph to all that died, +Unless for war, in charity +Would here vouchsafe an elegy. +She died a wife, but yet her mind, +Beyond virginity refined, +From lawless fire remain'd as free +As now from heat her ashes be: +Keep well this pawn, thou marble chest; +Till it be call'd for, let it rest; +For while this jewel here is set, +The grave is like a cabinet. + + + + +SIR WALTER RALEIGH. + + +The verses attributed to this illustrious man are few, and the +authenticity of some of them is doubtful. No one, however, who has +studied his career, or read his 'History of the World,' can deny him +the title of a great poet. + +We cannot be expected, in a work of the present kind, to enlarge on a +career so well known as that of Sir Walter Kaleigh. He was born in 1552, +at Hayes Farm, in Devonshire, and descended from an old family there. He +went early to Oxford, but finding its pursuits too tame for his active +and enterprising spirit, he left it, and became a soldier at seventeen. +For six years he fought on the Protestant side in France, besides serving +a campaign in the Netherlands. In 1579, he went a voyage, which proved +disastrous, to Newfoundland, in company with his half-brother, Sir +Humphrey Gilbert. There can be no doubt that this early apprenticeship +to war and navigation was of material service to the future explorer and +historian. In 1580, he fought in Ireland against the Earl of Desmond, +who had raised a rebellion there, and on one occasion is said to have +defended a ford of Shannon against a whole band of wild Irish rebels, +till the stream ran purple with their blood and his own. With the Lord- +Deputy, Lord Grey de Wilton, he got into a dispute, and to settle it came +over to England. Here high favour awaited him. His handsome appearance, +his graceful address, his ready wit and chivalric courtesy, dashed with +a fine poetic enthusiasm, (see them admirably pictured in 'Kenilworth,') +combined to exalt him in the estimation of Queen Elizabeth. On one +occasion he flung his rich plush cloak over a miry part of the way, that +she might pass on unsoiled. By this delicate piece of enacted flattery he +'spoiled a cloak and made a fortune.' The Queen sent him, along with some +other courtiers, to attend the Duke of Anjou, who had in vain solicited +her hand, back to the Netherlands. In 1584, he fitted two ships, and sent +them out for the discovery and settlement of those parts of North America +not already appropriated by Christian states, and the next year there +followed a fleet of seven ships under the command of Sir Richard +Grenville, Raleigh's kinsman. The attempt to colonise America at that +time failed, but two important things were transplanted through means of +the expedition from Virginia to Britain, namely, tobacco and the potato, +--the former of which has ever since been offered up in smoky sacrifice to +Raleigh's memory throughout the whole world, and the latter of which has +become the most valuable of all our vegetable esculents. Raleigh first +planted the potato in Ireland, a country of which it has long been the +principal food. A ludicrous story is told about this. It is said that he +had invited a number of his neighbours to an entertainment, in which the +new root was to form a prominent part, but when the feast began Raleigh +found, to his horror, that the servants had boiled the plums, a most +unsavoury mess, and immediately, we suppose, 'tabulae solvuntur risu.' +In 1584 the Queen had knighted him, and shortly after she granted him +certain lucrative monopolies, and an estate in Ireland, in addition to +one he had possessed for some years. In 1588, he was of material service +as one of Her Majesty's Council of War, formed to resist the Spanish +Armada, and as one of the volunteers who joined the English fleet with +ships of their own. Next year he accompanied a number of his countrymen +in an expedition, which had it in view to restore Don Antonio to the +throne of Portugal, of which the Spaniards had deprived him. On his +return he lost caste considerably, both with the Queen and country, by +taking bribes, and otherwise abusing the influence he had acquired at +Court. Yet, about this time, his active mind was projecting what he +called an 'Office of Address,'--a plan for facilitating the designs of +literary and scientific men, promoting intercourse between them, gaining, +in short, all those objects which are now secured by our literary +associations and philosophical societies. Raleigh was eminently a man +before his age, but, alas! his age was too far behind him. + +While visiting Ireland, after his expedition to Portugal, he contracted +an intimacy with Spenser. (See our 'Life of Spenser,' vol. ii.) In 1592, +he commanded a large naval expedition, destined to attack Panama and +intercept the Spanish Plate-fleet, but was recalled by the Queen, not, +however, till he had seized on an important prize, and, in common +parlance, had 'feathered his nest.' On his return he excited Her +Majesty's wrath, by an intrigue with Elizabeth Throgmorton, one of the +maids of honour, and, although Raleigh afterwards married her, the Queen +imprisoned both the offending parties for some months in the Tower. +Spenser is believed to allude to this in the 4th Book of his great poem. +(See vol. in. of our edition, p. 88.) Even after he was released from +the Tower, Raleigh had to leave the Court in disgrace; instead, however, +of wasting time in vain regrets, he undertook, at his own expense, an +expedition against Guiana, where he captured the city of San Joseph, and +which he occupied in the Queen's name. After his return he published an +account of his expedition, more distinguished by glowing eloquence than +by rigid regard to truth. In 1596, having in some measure regained the +Queen's favour, he was appointed to a command in the expedition against +Cadiz, under the Earl of Essex. In this, as well as in the expedition +against the Spanish Plate-fleet the next year, he won laurels, but was +unfortunate enough to excite the jealousy of his Commander-in-Chief. +When the favourite got into trouble, Raleigh eagerly joined in the hunt, +wrote a letter to Cecil urging him to the destruction of Essex, and +witnessed his execution from a window in the Armoury. This is +undoubtedly a deep blot on the escutcheon of our hero. + +Cecil had been glad of Raleigh's aid in ruining Essex, but he bore him +no good-will otherwise, and is said to have poisoned James, who now +succeeded to the English throne, against him. Assuredly the new King was +no friend of Raleigh's. Stimulated by Cecil, after first depriving him +of his office of Captain of the Guards, he brought him to trial for high +treason. He was accused of conspiring to establish Popery, to dethrone +the King, and to put the crown on the head of Arabella Stewart. Sir +Edward Coke, the Attorney-General, led the accusation, and disgraced +himself by heaping on Raleigh's head every foul epithet, calling him +'viper,' 'damnable atheist,' 'monster,' 'traitor,' 'spider of hell,' +&c., and by his violence, although to his own surprise, as he never +expected to gain his cause in full, he browbeat the jury to bring in a +verdict of high treason. + +Raleigh's defence was a masterpiece of temper, dignity, strength of +reasoning, and eloquence, and his enemies were ashamed of the decision +to which they had driven the jury. He was therefore reprieved, and +committed to the Tower, where his wife was allowed to bear him company, +and where his youngest son was born. His estates were, in general, +preserved to him, but Carr, the infamous minion of the King, under some +pretext of a flaw in the conveyance of it by Raleigh to his son, seized +upon his manor of Sherborne. In the Tower he continued for twelve years. +These years his industry and genius rendered the happiest probably of +his life. Immured in the + + 'towers of Julius, London's lasting shame, + By many a foul and midnight murder fed,' + +his winged soul soared away, like the dove of the Deluge, over the wild +ocean of the past. The Tower confined his body, but this great globe the +world seemed too little for the sweep of his spirit. To fill up the vast +void which a long imprisonment created around him, and to shew that his +powers retained all their elasticity, he projected a work on the largest +scale, and with the noblest purpose--'The History of the World.' In this +undertaking he found literary men ready to lend him their aid. A hundred +hands were generously stretched out to gather materials, and to bring +them to the captive in the Tower. Cart-loads of books were sent. One +Burrell, formerly his chaplain, assisted him in much of the critical and +chronological drudgery. Rugged Ben Jonson sent in a piece of rugged +writing on the Punic War, which Raleigh polished and set as a carved +stone in his magnificent temple. Some have, on this account, sought to +detract from the merit of the author. As if ever an architect could rear +a building without hodmen! But in Raleigh's case the hodmen were Titans. +'The best wits in England assisted him in his undertaking;' and what a +compliment was this to the strength and stature of the master-builder! + +This great work was never finished. The part completed comprehended only +the period from the Creation to the Downfall of the Macedonian Empire +--one hundred and seventy years before Christ. He tarries too long amidst +the misty and mythical ages which precede the dawn of history; his +speculations on the site of the original Paradise, on the Flood, &c., +are more ingenious than instructive; but his descriptions of the Greek +battles--his account of the rise of Rome--the extensive erudition, on +all subjects displayed in the book--the many acute, profound, and +eloquently-expressed observations which are sprinkled throughout--and +the style, massive, dignified, rich, and less involved in structure than +that of almost any of his contemporaries--shall always rank it amongst +the great literary treasures of the language. It was published in 1614. +Besides it, Raleigh was the author of various works, all full of +sagacious thought and brilliant imagery, such as 'The Advice to a Son on +the Choice of a Wife,' 'The Sceptic,' 'Maxims of State,' &c. At last he +was released by the advance of a large sum of money to Villiers, Duke of +Buckingham, James's favourite; and, to retrieve his fortunes, projected +another expedition to America. James granted him a patent, under the +Great Seal, for making a settlement in Guiana, but ungenerously did not +grant him a pardon for the sentence which had been passed on him for +treason. He set sail, 1617, in a ship built by himself, called the +_Destiny_, with eleven other vessels. Having reached the Orinoco, he +despatched a portion of his forces to attack the new Spanish settlement +of St Thomas. This was captured, with the loss of Raleigh's eldest son. +The expected plunder, however, proved of little value; and Sir Walter +having in vain attempted to induce his captains to attack other +settlements of the Spaniards, was compelled to return home--his golden +dreams dissolved, and his prophetic soul forewarning him of the doom +that awaited him on his native shores. In July 1618, he landed at +Plymouth; 'whence,' says Howell, in his 'Familiar Letters,' 'he thought +to make an escape, and some say he tampered with his body by physic to +make him look sickly, that he might be the more pitied, and permitted to +lie in his own house.' James was at this time seeking the hand of the +Infanta for his son Charles, and was naturally disposed to side with the +Spanish cause. He was, besides, stirred up by the Spanish ambassador, +Count Gondomar, who sent to desire an audience with His Majesty, and +said, that he had only one word to say to him. 'The King wondered what +could be delivered in one word, whereupon, when he came before him, he +said only, "Pirates! pirates! pirates!" and so departed.' + +Raleigh consequently was arrested and sent back to his old lodgings in +the Tower. He was not tried, as might have been expected, for the new +offence of waging war against a power then at amity with England, but +James, with consummate meanness and cruelty, determined to revive his +former sentence. He was brought before the King's Bench, where his old +enemy, Sir Edward Coke, now sat as Chief Justice, and officially +condemned him to death. His language, however, was considerably modified +to the prisoner. He said, 'I know you have been valiant and wise, and I +doubt not but you retain both these virtues, for now you shall have +occasion to use them. Your faith hath heretofore been questioned, but I +am resolved you are a good Christian; for your book, which is an +admirable work, doth testify as much. I would give you counsel, but I +know you can apply unto yourself far better than I can give you. Yet +will I (with the good neighbour in the Gospel, who, finding one in the +way wounded and distressed, poured oil into his wounds and refreshed +him) give unto you the oil of comfort, though, in respect that I am a +minister of the law, mixed with vinegar.' Such was Coke's comfort to the +brave and gifted man who stood untrembling before his bar. + +On the 26th of October 1618, the day after his condemnation, Raleigh was +beheaded. He met his fate with dignity and composure. Having addressed +the multitude in vindication of his conduct, he took up the axe, and +said to the sheriff, 'This is a sharp medicine, but a sound cure for all +diseases.' He told the executioner that he would give the signal by +lifting up his hand, and 'then,' he said, 'fear not, but strike home.' +He next laid himself down, but was asked by the executioner to alter the +position of the head. 'So the heart be right,' he replied, 'it is no +matter which way the head lies.' The headsman became uncertain and +tremulous when the signal was given, whereupon Ealeigh exclaimed, 'Why +dost thou not strike? Strike, man!' and by two blows that gallant, +witty, and richly-stored head was severed from the body. He was in his +sixty-fifth year. He had the night before composed the following verse:-- + + Even such is Time, that takes on trust + Our youth, our joys, our all we have, + And pays us but with age and dust; + Who in the dark and silent grave, + When we have wander'd all our ways, + Shuts up the story of our days.' + +Thus perished Sir Walter Raleigh. There has been ever one opinion as to +the breadth and brilliance of his genius. His powers were almost +universal in their range. He commented on Scripture with the ingenuity +of a Talmudist, and wrote love verses (see the lines in Campbell's +'Specimens,' entitled 'Dulcina') with the animus and graceful levity of +a Thomas Moore. He was deep at once in 'all the learning of the +Egyptians,' and in that of the Greeks and Romans. In his large mind lay +dreams of golden lands, which even Australia has not yet fully verified, +alongside of maxims of the most practical wisdom. He was learned in all +that had been; well-informed as to all that was; and speculative and +hopeful as to all that might be and was yet to be. Disgust at the +scholastic methods, blended with the adventurous character of his mind, +and perhaps also with some looseness of moral principle, led him at one +time to the brink of universal scepticism; but disappointment, sorrow, +and the solitude of the Tower, made him a sadder and wiser man, and he +returned to the verities of the Christian religion. The stains on his +character seem to have arisen chiefly from his position. He was, like +some greater and some smaller men of eminence, undoubtedly, to a certain +extent, a brilliant adventurer--a class to whom justice is seldom done, +and against whom every calumny is believed. He was a _novus homo_, in an +age of more than common aristocratic pretence; sprang, indeed, from an +ancient family, but possessing nothing himself, save his cloak, his +sword, his tact, and his genius. We all know how, in later times, such +spirits, kindred in many points to Raleigh, in some superior, and in +others inferior--as Burke, Sheridan, and Canning--were used, less for +their errors of temper or of life, than because they had gained immense +influence, not by birth or favour, but by the force of extraordinary +talent and no less remarkable address. Raleigh, however, was undoubtedly +imprudent in a high degree. He had once or twice outraged common +morality; his enemies were constantly accusing him of gasconading and of +'pride.' His success at first was too early and too easy, and hence a +reverse might have been anticipated as certain and as remarkable as his +rise had been. His fall ultimately is understood to have been +precipitated by the base complicity of James with the Spaniards, who +were informed by the King of Raleigh's motions in America, and prepared +to counteract them, as well as by the loud-sounding invectives and legal +lies of the unscrupulous instruments of his tyrannical power. With all +his faults and follies, (of 'crimes,' it has been justly said, Raleigh +can hardly be accused,) he stood high in that crowd of giants who +illustrated the reign of the Amazonian Queen. What an age it was! Bacon, +with still brighter powers, and far darker and meaner faults than +Raleigh, was sitting on the woolsack in body, while his spirit was +presiding over the half-born philosophies of the future, and beholding +the cold rod of Induction blossom in an after-day into the Aaronic +flowers and fruits of a magnificent science; Cecil was nodding out +wisdom or transcendental craft in the Cabinet; Sir Philip Sidney was +carrying the spirit of 'Arcadia' into the field of battle; Spenser was +dreaming his one beautiful lifelong Dream; and Shakspeare was holding up +his calm mirror to the heart of man and the universe of nature; while, +on the prow of the British vessel, carrying on those lofty spirits and +enterprises, there appeared a daring mariner, the Poet and 'Shepherd of +the Ocean,' with bright eye, sanguine countenance, step treading the +deck like a throne, and look contemplating the sunset, as if it were the +dawning, and the Evening, as if it were the Morning Star. It was the +hopeful and the brilliant Raleigh, who, while he 'opened up to Europe +the New World, was the historian of the Old.' Alas that this illustrious +'Marinere' was doomed to a life so troubled and a death so dreadful, and +that the glory of one of England's prodigies is for ever bound up with +the disgrace of one of England's and Scotland's princes! + + +THE COUNTRY'S RECREATIONS. + +1 Heart-tearing cares and quiv'ring fears, + Anxious sighs, untimely tears, + Fly, fly to courts, + Fly to fond worldling's sports; + Where strain'd sardonic smiles are glozing still, + And Grief is forced to laugh against her will; + Where mirth's but mummery, + And sorrows only real be. + +2 Fly from our country pastimes, fly, + Sad troop of human misery! + Come, serene looks, + Clear as the crystal brooks, + Or the pure azured heaven, that smiles to see + The rich attendance of our poverty. + Peace and a secure mind, + Which all men seek, we only find. + +3 Abused mortals, did you know + Where joy, heart's ease, and comforts grow, + You'd scorn proud towers, + And seek them in these bowers; + Where winds perhaps our woods may sometimes shake, + But blustering care could never tempest make, + Nor murmurs e'er come nigh us, + Saving of fountains that glide by us. + + * * * * * + +4 Blest silent groves! oh, may ye be + For ever mirth's best nursery! + May pure contents, + For ever pitch their tents + Upon these downs, these meads, these rocks, these mountains, + And peace still slumber by these purling fountains, + Which we may every year + Find when we come a-fishing here. + + +THE SILENT LOVER. + +1 Passions are liken'd best to floods and streams, + The shallow murmur, but the deep are dumb; + So when affection yields discourse, it seems + The bottom is but shallow whence they come; + They that are rich in words must needs discover + They are but poor in that which makes a lover. + +2 Wrong not, sweet mistress of my heart, + The merit of true passion, + With thinking that he feels no smart + That sues for no compassion. + +3 Since if my plaints were not t' approve + The conquest of thy beauty, + It comes not from defect of love, + But fear t' exceed my duty. + +4 For not knowing that I sue to serve + A saint of such perfection + As all desire, but none deserve + A place in her affection, + +5 I rather choose to want relief + Than venture the revealing; + Where glory recommends the grief, + Despair disdains the healing. + +6 Silence in love betrays more woe + Than words, though ne'er so witty; + A beggar that is dumb, you know, + May challenge double pity. + +7 Then wrong not, dearest to my heart, + My love for secret passion; + He smarteth most who hides his smart, + And sues for no compassion. + + +A VISION UPON 'THE FAIRY QUEEN.' + +Methought I saw the grave where Laura lay, +Within that temple where the vestal flame +Was wont to burn: and passing by that way +To see that buried dust of living fame, +Whose tomb fair Love and fairer Virtue kept, +All suddenly I saw the Fairy Queen, +At whose approach the soul of Petrarch wept; +And from thenceforth those Graces were not seen, +For they this Queen attended; in whose stead +Oblivion laid him down on Laura's hearse. +Hereat the hardest stones were seen to bleed, +And groans of buried ghosts the heavens did pierce, +Where Homer's sprite did tremble all for grief, +And cursed the access of that celestial thief. + + +LOVE ADMITS NO RIVAL. + +1 Shall I, like a hermit, dwell, + On a rock, or in a cell, + Calling home the smallest part + That is missing of my heart, + To bestow it where I may + Meet a rival every day? + If she undervalue me, + What care I how fair she be? + +2 Were her tresses angel gold, + If a stranger may be bold, + Unrebuked, unafraid, + To convert them to a braid, + And with little more ado + Work them into bracelets, too; + If the mine be grown so free, + What care I how rich it be? + +3 Were her hand as rich a prize + As her hairs, or precious eyes, + If she lay them out to take + Kisses, for good manners' sake, + And let every lover skip + From her hand unto her lip; + If she seem not chaste to me, + What care I how chaste she be? + +4 No; she must be perfect snow, + In effect as well as show; + Warming but as snow-balls do, + Not like fire, by burning too; + But when she by change hath got + To her heart a second lot, + Then if others share with me, + Farewell her, whate'er she be! + + + + +JOSHUA SYLVESTER. + + +Joshua Sylvester is the next in the list of our imperfectly-known, but +real poets. Very little is known of his history. He was a merchant- +adventurer, and died at Middleburg, aged fifty-five, in 1618. He is said +to have applied, in 1597, for the office of secretary to a trading +company in Stade, and to have been, on this occasion, patronised by +the Earl of Essex. He was at one time attached to the English Court as +a pensioner of Prince Henry. He is said to have been driven abroad by +the severity of his satires. He seems to have had a sweet flow of +conversational eloquence, and hence was called 'The Silver-tongued.' He +was an eminent linguist, and wrote his dedications in various languages. +He published a large volume of poems, very unequal in their value, and +inserted in it 'The Soul's Errand,' with interpolations, as we have seen, +which prove it not to be his own. His great work is the translation of +the 'Divine Weeks and Works' of the French poet, Du Bartas, which is a +marvellous medley of flatness and force--of childish weakness and soaring +genius--with more _seed poetry_ in it than any poem we remember, except +'Festus,' the chaos of a hundred poetic worlds. There can be little doubt +that Milton was familiar with this work in boyhood, and many remarkable +coincidences have been pointed out between it and 'Paradise Lost.' +Sylvester was a Puritan, and his publisher, Humphrey Lownes, who lived +in the same street with Milton's father, belonged to the same sect; and, +as Campbell remarks, 'it is easily to be conceived that Milton often +repaired to the shop of Lownes, and there met with the pious didactic +poem.' The work, therefore, some specimens of which we subjoin, is +interesting, both in itself, and as having been the _prima stamina_ of +the great masterpiece of English poetry. + + +TO RELIGION. + +1 Religion, O thou life of life, + How worldlings, that profane thee rife, + Can wrest thee to their appetites! + How princes, who thy power deny, + Pretend thee for their tyranny, + And people for their false delights! + +2 Under thy sacred name, all over, + The vicious all their vices cover; + The insolent their insolence, + The proud their pride, the false their fraud, + The thief his theft, her filth the bawd, + The impudent, their impudence. + +3 Ambition under thee aspires, + And Avarice under thee desires; + Sloth under thee her ease assumes, + Lux under thee all overflows, + Wrath under thee outrageous grows, + All evil under thee presumes. + +4 Religion, erst so venerable, + What art thou now but made a fable, + A holy mask on folly's brow, + Where under lies Dissimulation, + Lined with all abomination. + Sacred Religion, where art thou? + +5 Not in the church with Simony, + Not on the bench with Bribery, + Nor in the court with Machiavel, + Nor in the city with deceits, + Nor in the country with debates; + For what hath Heaven to do with Hell? + + +ON MAN'S RESEMBLANCE TO GOD. +(FROM DU BARTAS.) + +O complete creature! who the starry spheres +Canst make to move, who 'bove the heavenly bears +Extend'st thy power, who guidest with thy hand +The day's bright chariot, and the nightly brand: +This curious lust to imitate the best +And fairest works of the Almightiest, +By rare effects bears record of thy lineage +And high descent; and that his sacred image +Was in thy soul engraven, when first his Spirit, +The spring of life, did in thy limbs inspire it. +For, as his beauties are past all compare, +So is thy soul all beautiful and fair: +As he's immortal, and is never idle, +Thy soul's immortal, and can brook no bridle +Of sloth, to curb her busy intellect: +He ponders all; thou peizest[1] each effect: +And thy mature and settled sapience +Hath some alliance with his providence: +He works by reason, thou by rule: he's glory +Of the heavenly stages, thou of th' earthly story: +He's great High Priest, thou his great vicar here: +He's sovereign Prince, and thou his viceroy dear. + +For soon as ever he had framed thee, +Into thy hands he put this monarchy: +Made all the creatures know thee for their lord, +And come before thee of their own accord: +And gave thee power as master, to impose +Fit sense-full names unto the host that rows +In watery regions; and the wand'ring herds +Of forest people; and the painted birds: +Oh, too, too happy! had that fall of thine +Not cancell'd so the character divine. + +But, since our souls' now sin-obscured light +Shines through the lanthorn of our flesh so bright; +What sacred splendour will this star send forth, +When it shall shine without this vail of earth? +The Soul here lodged is like a man that dwells +In an ill air, annoy'd with noisome smells; +In an old house, open to wind and weather; +Never in health not half an hour together: +Or, almost, like a spider who, confined +In her web's centre, shakes with every wind; +Moves in an instant, if the buzzing fly +Stir but a string of her lawn canopy. + +[1] 'Peizest:' weighest. + + +THE CHARIOT OF THE SUN. + +Thou radiant coachman, running endless course, +Fountain of heat, of light the lively source, +Life of the world, lamp of this universe, +Heaven's richest gem: oh, teach me where my verse +May but begin thy praise: Alas! I fare +Much like to one that in the clouds doth stare +To count the quails, that with their shadow cover +The Italian sea, when soaring hither over, +Fain of a milder and more fruitful clime, +They come with us to pass the summer time: +No sooner he begins one shoal to sum, +But, more and more, still greater shoals do come, +Swarm upon swarm, that with their countless number +Break off his purpose, and his sense encumber. + +Day's glorious eye! even as a mighty king +About his country stately progressing, +Is compass'd round with dukes, earls, lords, and knights, +(Orderly marshall'd in their noble rites,) +Esquires and gentlemen, in courtly kind, +And then his guard before him and behind. +And there is nought in all his royal muster, +But to his greatness addeth grace and lustre: +So, while about the world thou ridest aye, +Which only lives through virtue of thy ray, +Six heavenly princes, mounted evermore, +Wait on thy coach, three behind, three before; +Besides the host of th' upper twinklers bright, +To whom, for pay, thou givest only light. +And, even as man (the little world of cares) +Within the middle of the body bears +His heart, the spring of life, which with proportion +Supplieth spirits to all, and every portion: +Even so, O Sun, thy golden chariot marches +Amid the six lamps of the six low arches +Which seele the world, that equally it might +Richly impart them beauty, force, and light. + +Praising thy heat, which subtilly doth pierce +The solid thickness of our universe: +Which in the earth's kidneys mercury doth burn, +And pallid sulphur to bright metal turn; +I do digress, to praise that light of thine, +Which if it should but one day cease to shine, +Th' unpurged air to water would resolve, +And water would the mountain tops involve. + +Scarce I begin to measure thy bright face +Whose greatness doth so oft earth's greatness pass, +And which still running the celestial ring, +Is seen and felt of every living thing; +But that fantastic'ly I change my theme +To sing the swiftness of thy tireless team, +To sing how, rising from the Indian wave, +Thou seem'st (O Titan) like a bridegroom brave, +Who, from his chamber early issuing out +In rich array, with rarest gems about, +With pleasant countenance and lovely face, +With golden tresses and attractive grace, +Cheers at his coming all the youthful throng +That for his presence earnestly did long, +Blessing the day, and with delightful glee, +Singing aloud his epithalamie. + + + + +RICHARD BARNFIELD. + + +Of him we only know that he published several poetical volumes between +1594 and 1598. We give one beautiful piece, 'To a Nightingale,' which +used to be attributed to Shakspeare. + + +ADDRESS TO THE NIGHTINGALE. + +As it fell upon a day, +In the merry month of May, +Sitting in a pleasant shade +Which a grove of myrtles made; +Beasts did leap, and birds did sing, +Trees did grow, and plants did spring; +Everything did banish moan, +Save the nightingale alone. +She, poor bird, as all forlorn, +Lean'd her breast up-till a thorn; +And there sung the dolefull'st ditty, +That to hear it was great pity. +'Fie, fie, fie,' now would she cry; +'Teru, teru,' by and by; +That, to hear her so complain, +Scarce I could from tears refrain; +For her griefs, so lively shown, +Made me think upon mine own. +Ah! (thought I) thou mourn'st in vain; +None takes pity on thy pain: +Senseless trees, they cannot hear thee, +Ruthless bears they will not cheer thee: +King Pandion he is dead; +All thy friends are lapp'd in lead; +All thy fellow-birds do sing, +Careless of thy sorrowing! +Whilst as fickle Fortune smiled, +Thou and I were both beguiled. +Every one that flatters thee +Is no friend in misery. +Words are easy, like the wind; +Faithful friends are hard to find. +Every man will be thy friend +Whilst thou hast wherewith to spend: +But, if store of crowns be scant, +No man will supply thy want. +If that one be prodigal, +Bountiful they will him call; +And with such-like flattering, +'Pity but he were a king.' +If he be addict to vice, +Quickly him they will entice; +But if Fortune once do frown, +Then farewell his great renown: +They that fawn'd on him before +Use his company no more. +He that is thy friend indeed, +He will help thee in thy need; +If thou sorrow, he will weep, +If thou wake, he cannot sleep: +Thus, of every grief in heart +He with thee doth bear a part. +These are certain signs to know +Faithful friend from flattering foe. + + + + +ALEXANDER HUME. + + +This Scottish poet was the second son of Patrick, fifth Baron of +Polwarth. He was born about the middle of the sixteenth century, and +died in 1609. He resided for some years, in the early part of his life, +in France. Returning home, he studied law, and then tried his fortune at +Court. Here he was eclipsed by a rival, named Montgomery; and after +assailing his rival, who rejoined, in verse, he became a clergyman in +disgust, and was settled in the parish of Logie. Here he darkened into +a sour and savage Calvinist, and uttered an exhortation to the youth of +Scotland to forego the admiration of classical heroes, and to read no +love-poetry save the 'Song of Solomon.' In another poetic walk, however, +that of natural description, Hume excelled, and we print with pleasure +some parts of his 'Summer's Day,' which our readers may compare with Mr +Aird's fine poem under the same title, and be convinced that the sky of +Scotland was as blue, and the grass as green, and Scottish eyes as quick +to perceive their beauty, in the sixteenth century as now. + + +THANKS FOR A SUMMER'S DAY. + +1 O perfect light which shade[1] away + The darkness from the light, + And set a ruler o'er the day, + Another o'er the night. + +2 Thy glory, when the day forth flies, + More vively does appear, + Nor[2] at mid-day unto our eyes + The shining sun is clear. + +3 The shadow of the earth anon + Removes and drawis by, + Syne[3] in the east, when it is gone, + Appears a clearer sky. + +4 Which soon perceive the little larks, + The lapwing, and the snipe, + And tune their song like Nature's clerks, + O'er meadow, muir, and stripe. + +5 But every bold nocturnal beast + No longer may abide, + They hie away both maist and least,[4] + Themselves in house to hide. + + * * * * * + +6 The golden globe incontinent + Sets up his shining head, + And o'er the earth and firmament + Displays his beams abroad.[5] + +7 For joy the birds with boulden[6] throats, + Against his visage sheen,[7] + Take up their kindly music notes + In woods and gardens green. + +8 Upbraids[8] the careful husbandman, + His corn and vines to see, + And every timeous[9] artisan + In booths works busily. + +9 The pastor quits the slothful sleep, + And passes forth with speed, + His little camow-nosed[10] sheep, + And rowting kye[11] to feed. + +10 The passenger, from perils sure, + Goes gladly forth the way, + Brief, every living creaeture + Takes comfort of the day. + + * * * * * + +11 The misty reek,[12] the clouds of rain + From tops of mountain skails,[13] + Clear are the highest hills and plain, + The vapours take the vales. + +12 Begaired[14] is the sapphire pend[15] + With spraings[16] of scarlet hue; + And preciously from end to end, + Damasked white and blue. + +13 The ample heaven, of fabric sure, + In clearness does surpass + The crystal and the silver, pure + As clearest polish'd glass. + +14 The time so tranquil is and clear, + That nowhere shall ye find, + Save on a high and barren hill, + The air of passing wind. + +15 All trees and simples, great and small, + That balmy leaf do bear, + Than they were painted on a wall, + No more they move or steir.[17] + +16 The rivers fresh, the caller[18] streams, + O'er rocks can swiftly rin,[19] + The water clear like crystal beams, + And makes a pleasant din. + + * * * * * + +17 Calm is the deep and purple sea, + Yea, smoother than the sand; + The waves, that woltering[20] wont to be, + Are stable like the land. + +18 So silent is the cessile air, + That every cry and call, + The hills and dales, and forest fair, + Again repeats them all. + +19 The clogged busy humming bees, + That never think to drown,[21] + On flowers and flourishes of trees, + Collect their liquor brown. + +20 The sun most like a speedy post + With ardent course ascends; + The beauty of our heavenly host + Up to our zenith tends. + + * * * * * + +21 The breathless flocks draw to the shade + And freshure[22] of their fauld;[23] + The startling nolt, as they were mad, + Run to the rivers cauld. + +22 The herds beneath some leafy trees, + Amidst the flowers they lie; + The stable ships upon the seas + Tend up their sails to dry. + +23 The hart, the hind, the fallow-deer, + Are tapish'd[24] at their rest; + The fowls and birds that made thee beare,[25] + Prepare their pretty nest. + +24 The rayons dure[26] descending down, + All kindle in a gleid;[27] + In city, nor in burrough town, + May none set forth their head. + +25 Back from the blue pavemented whun,[28] + And from ilk plaster wall, + The hot reflexing of the sun + Inflames the air and all. + +26 The labourers that timely rose, + All weary, faint, and weak, + For heat down to their houses goes, + Noon-meat and sleep to take. + +27 The caller[29] wine in cave is sought, + Men's brothing[30] breasts to cool; + The water cold and clear is brought, + And sallads steeped in ule.[31] + +28 With gilded eyes and open wings, + The cock his courage shows; + With claps of joy his breast he dings,[32] + And twenty times he crows. + +29 The dove with whistling wings so blue, + The winds can fast collect, + Her purple pens turn many a hue + Against the sun direct. + +30 Now noon is gone--gone is mid-day, + The heat does slake at last, + The sun descends down west away, + For three o'clock is past. + + * * * * * + +31 The rayons of the sun we see + Diminish in their strength, + The shade of every tower and tree + Extended is in length. + +32 Great is the calm, for everywhere + The wind is setting down, + The reek[33] throws up right in the air, + From every tower and town. + +33 The mavis and the philomeen,[34] + The starling whistles loud, + The cushats[35] on the branches green, + Full quietly they crood.[36] + +34 The gloamin[37] comes, the clay is spent, + The sun goes out of sight, + And painted is the occident + With purple sanguine bright. + + * * * * * + +35 The scarlet nor the golden thread, + Who would their beauty try, + Are nothing like the colour red + And beauty of the sky. + + * * * * * + +36 What pleasure then to walk and see, + Endlong[38] a river clear, + The perfect form of every tree + Within the deep appear. + +37 The salmon out of cruives[39] and creels[40] + Uphauled into scouts;[41] + The bells and circles on the weills,[42] + Through leaping of the trouts. + +38 O sure it were a seemly thing, + While all is still and calm, + The praise of God to play and sing + With trumpet and with shalm. + +39 Through all the land great is the gild[43] + Of rustic folks that cry; + Of bleating sheep, from they be fill'd, + Of calves and rowting kye. + +40 All labourers draw home at even, + And can to others say, + Thanks to the gracious God of heaven, + Who sent this summer day. + +[1] 'Shade:' for shaded. +[2] 'Nor:' than. +[3] 'Syne:' then. +[4] 'Maist and least:' largest and smallest. +[5] 'Abread:' abroad. +[6] 'Boulden:' emboldened. +[7] 'Sheen:' shining. +[8] 'Upbraids:' uprises. +[9] 'Timeous:' early. +[10]'Camow-nosed:' flat-nosed. +[11]'Rowting kye:' lowing kine. +[12]'Reek:' fog. +[13]'Skails:' dissipates. +[14]'Begaired:' dressed out. +[15]'Pend:' arch. +[16]'Spraings:' streaks. +[17] 'Steir:' stir. +[18] 'Caller:' cool. +[19] 'Rin:' run. +[20] 'Woltering:' tumbling. +[21] 'Drown:' drone, be idle. +[22] 'Freshure:' freshness. +[23] 'Fauld:' fold. +[24] 'Tapish'd:' stretched as on a carpet. +[25] 'Beare:' sound, music. +[26] 'Rayons dure:' hard or keen rays. +[27] 'Gleid:' fire. +[28] 'Whun:' whinstone. +[29] 'Caller:' cool. +[30] 'Brothing:' burning. +[31] 'Ule:' oil. +[32] 'Dings:' beats. +[33] 'Reek:' smoke. +[34] 'The mavis and the philomeen:' thrush and nightingale. +[35] 'Cushats:' wood-pigeons. +[36] 'Crood:' coo. +[37] 'Gloamin:' evening. +[38] 'Endlong:' along. +[39] 'Cruives:' cages for catching fish. +[40] 'Creels:' baskets. +[41] 'Scouts:' small boats or yawls. +[42] 'Weills:' eddies. +[43] 'Gild:' throng. + + + * * * * * + + +OTHER SCOTTISH POETS. + + +About the same time with Hume flourished two or three poets in Scotland +of considerable merit, such as Alexander Scott, author of satires and +amatory poems, and called sometimes the 'Scottish Anacreon;' Sir Richard +Maitland of Lethington, father of the famous Secretary Lethington, who, +in his advanced years, composed and dictated to his daughter a few moral +and conversational pieces, and who collected, besides, into a MS. which +bears his name, the productions of some of his contemporaries; and +Alexander Montgomery, author of an allegorical poem, entitled 'The +Cherry and the Slae.' + +The allegory is not well managed, but some of the natural descriptions +are sweet and striking. Take the two following stanzas as a specimen:-- + + 'The cushat croods, the corbie cries, + The cuckoo conks, the prattling pies + To geck there they begin; + The jargon of the jangling jays, + The cracking craws and keckling kays, + They deav'd me with their din; + The painted pawn, with Argus eyes, + Can on his May-cock call, + The turtle wails, on wither'd trees, + And Echo answers all. + Repeating, with greeting, + How fair Narcissus fell, + By lying, and spying + His shadow in the well. + + 'The air was sober, saft, and sweet, + Nae misty vapours, wind, nor weet, + But quiet, calm, and clear; + To foster Flora's fragrant flowers, + Whereon Apollo's paramours + Had trinkled mony a tear; + The which, like silver shakers, shined, + Embroidering Beauty's bed, + Wherewith their heavy heads declined, + In Maye's colours clad; + Some knopping, some dropping + Of balmy liquor sweet, + Excelling and smelling + Through Phoebus' wholesome heat.' + +The 'Cherry and the Slae' was familiar to Burns, who often, our readers +will observe, copied its form of verse. + + + + +SAMUEL DANIEL. + + +This ingenious person was born in 1562, near Taunton, in Somersetshire. +His father was a music-master. He was patronised by the noble family +of Pembroke, who probably also maintained him at college. He went to +Magdalene Hall, Oxford, in 1579; and after studying there, chiefly +history and poetry, for seven years, he left without a degree. When +twenty-three years of age, he translated Paulus Jovius' 'Discourse of +Rare Inventions.' He became tutor to Lady Anne Clifford, the elegant +and accomplished daughter of the Earl of Cumberland. She, at his death, +raised a monument to his memory, and recorded on it, with pride, that +she had been his pupil. After Spenser died, Daniel became a 'voluntary +laureat' to the Court, producing masques and pageants, but was soon +supplanted by 'rare Ben Jonson.' In 1603 he was appointed Master of the +Queen's Revels and Inspector of the Plays to be enacted by juvenile +performers. He was also promoted to be Gentleman Extraordinary and Groom +of the Chambers to the Queen. He was a varied and voluminous writer, +composing plays, miscellaneous poems, and prose compositions, including +a 'Defence of Rhyme' and a 'History of England,'--an honest, but somewhat +dry and dull production. While composing his works he resided in Old +Street, St Luke's, which was then thought a suburban residence; but he +was often in town, and mingled on intimate terms with Selden and +Shakspeare. When approaching sixty, he took a farm at Beckington, in +Somersetshire--his native shire--and died there in 1619. + +Daniel's Plays and History are now, as wholes, forgotten, although the +former contained some vigorous passages, such as Richard II.'s soliloquy +on the morning of his murder in Pomfret Castle. His smaller pieces and +his Sonnets shew no ordinary poetic powers. + + +RICHARD II., THE MORNING BEFORE HIS MURDER IN POMFRET CASTLE. + +Whether the soul receives intelligence, +By her near genius, of the body's end, +And so imparts a sadness to the sense, +Foregoing ruin, whereto it doth tend; +Or whether nature else hath conference +With profound sleep, and so doth warning send, +By prophetising dreams, what hurt is near, +And gives the heavv careful heart to fear:-- + +However, so it is, the now sad king, +Toss'd here and there his quiet to confound, +Feels a strange weight of sorrows gathering +Upon his trembling heart, and sees no ground; +Feels sudden terror bring cold shivering; +Lists not to eat, still muses, sleeps unsound; +His senses droop, his steady eyes unquick, +And much he ails, and yet he is not sick. + +The morning of that day which was his last, +After a weary rest, rising to pain, +Out at a little grate his eyes he cast +Upon those bordering hills and open plain, +Where others' liberty makes him complain +The more his own, and grieves his soul the more, +Conferring captive crowns with freedom poor. + +'O happy man,' saith he, 'that lo I see, +Grazing his cattle in those pleasant fields, +If he but knew his good. How blessed he +That feels not what affliction greatness yields! +Other than what he is he would not be, +Nor change his state with him that sceptre wields. +Thine, thine is that true life: that is to live, +To rest secure, and not rise up to grieve. + +'Thou sitt'st at home safe by thy quiet fire, +And hear'st of others' harms, but fearest none: +And there thou tell'st of kings, and who aspire, +Who fall, who rise, who triumph, who do moan. +Perhaps thou talk'st of me, and dost inquire +Of my restraint, why here I live alone, +And pitiest this my miserable fall; +For pity must have part--envy not all. + +'Thrice happy you that look as from the shore, +And have no venture in the wreck you see; +No interest, no occasion to deplore +Other men's travails, while yourselves sit free. +How much doth your sweet rest make us the more +To see our misery and what we be: +Whose blinded greatness, ever in turmoil, +Still seeking happy life, makes life a toil.' + + +EARLY LOVE. + +Ah, I remember well (and how can I +But evermore remember well?) when first +Our flame began, when scarce we knew what was +The flame we felt; when as we sat and sigh'd +And look'd upon each other, and conceived +Not what we ail'd, yet something we did ail, +And yet were well, and yet we were not well, +And what was our disease we could not tell. +Then would we kiss, then sigh, then look: and thus +In that first garden of our simpleness +We spent our childhood. But when years began +To reap the fruit of knowledge; ah, how then +Would she with sterner looks, with graver brow, +Check my presumption and my forwardness! +Yet still would give me flowers, still would show +What she would have me, yet not have me know. + + +SELECTIONS FROM SONNETS. + +I must not grieve, my love, whose eyes would read +Lines of delight, whereon her youth might smile; +Flowers have time before they come to seed, +And she is young, and now must sport the while. +And sport, sweet maid, in season of these years, +And learn to gather flowers before they wither; +And where the sweetest blossom first appears, +Let love and youth conduct thy pleasures thither, +Lighten forth smiles to clear the clouded air, +And calm the tempest which my sighs do raise: +Pity and smiles do best become the fair; +Pity and smiles must only yield thee praise. +Make me to say, when all my griefs are gone, +Happy the heart that sigh'd for such a one. + +Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair; +Her brow shades frown, although her eyes are sunny; +Her smiles are lightning, though her pride despair; +And her disdains are gall, her favours honey. +A modest maid, deck'd with a blush of honour, +Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and love; +The wonder of all eyes that look upon her: +Sacred on earth; design'd a saint above; +Chastity and Beauty, which are deadly foes, +Live reconciled friends within her brow; +And had she Pity to conjoin with those, +Then who had heard the plaints I utter now? +For had she not been fair, and thus unkind, +My muse had slept, and none had known my mind. + +Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night, +Brother to Death, in silent darkness born, +Relieve my anguish, and restore the light, +With dark forgetting of my care, return. +And let the day be time enough to mourn +The shipwreck of my ill-advised youth; +Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn, +Without the torments of the night's untruth. +Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires, +To model forth the passions of to-morrow; +Never let the rising sun prove you liars, +To add more grief, to aggravate my sorrow. +Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain, +And never wake to feel the day's disdain. + + + + +SIR JOHN DAVIES. + + +This knight, says Campbell, 'wrote, at twenty-five years of age, a poem +on the "Immortality of the Soul," and at fifty-two, when he was a judge +and a statesman, another on the "_Art of Dancing_." Well might the +teacher of that noble accomplishment, in Moliere's comedy, exclaim, "_La +philosophie est quelque chose--mais la danse!_" This, however, is more +pointed than correct, since the first of these poems was written in +1592, when the author was only twenty-two years of age, and the latter +appeared in 1599, when he was only twenty-nine. + +Tisbury, in Wiltshire, was the birthplace of this poet, and 1570 the +date of his birth. His father was a practising lawyer. John was expelled +from the Temple for beating one Richard Martyn, afterwards Recorder, but +was restored, and subsequently elected for Parliament. In 1592, as +aforesaid, appeared his poem, 'Nosce Teipsum; or, The Immortality of the +Soul.' Its fame soon travelled to Scotland; and when Davies, along with +Lord Hunsdon, visited that country, James received him most graciously +as the author of 'Nosce Teipsum.' His history became, for some time, a +list of promotions. He was appointed, in 1603, first Solicitor and then +Attorney-General in Ireland, was next made Sergeant, was then knighted, +then appointed King's Sergeant, next elected representative of the +county of Fermanagh, and, in fine, after a violent contest between the +Roman Catholic and Protestant parties, was chosen Speaker of the House +of Commons in the Protestant interest. While in Ireland he married +Eleanor, a daughter of Lord Audley, who turned out a raving prophetess, +and was sent, in 1649, to the Tower, and then to Bethlehem Hospital, by +the Revolutionary Government. In 1616, Sir John returned to England, +continued to practise as a barrister, sat in Parliament for Newcastle- +under-Lyne, and received a promise of being made Chief-Justice of +England; but was suddenly cut off by apoplexy in 1626. + +His poem on dancing, which was written in fifteen days, and left a +fragment, is a piece of beautiful, though somewhat extravagant fancy. +His 'Nosce Teipsum,' if it casts little new light, and rears no +demonstrative argument on the grand and difficult problem of +immortality, is full of ingenuity, and has many apt and memorable +similes. Feeling he happily likens to the + + 'subtle spider, which doth sit + In middle of her web, which spreadeth wide; + If aught do touch the utmost thread of it, + She feels it instantly on every side.' + +In answering an objection, 'Why, if souls continue to exist, do they not +return and bring us news of that strange world?' he replies-- + + 'But as Noah's pigeon, which return'd no more, + Did show she footing found, for all the flood, + So when good souls, departed through death's door, + Come not again, it shows their dwelling good.' + +The poem is interesting from the musical use he makes of the quatrain, +a form of verse in which Dryden afterwards wrote his 'Annus Mirabilis,' +and as one of the earliest philosophical poems in the language. It is +proverbially difficult to reason in verse, but Davies reasons, if not +always with conclusive result, always with energy and skill. + + +INTRODUCTION TO THE POEM ON THE SOUL OF MAN. + +1 The lights of heaven, which are the world's fair eyes, + Look down into the world, the world to see; + And as they turn or wander in the skies, + Survey all things that on this centre be. + +2 And yet the lights which in my tower do shine, + Mine eyes, which view all objects nigh and far, + Look not into this little world of mine, + Nor see my face, wherein they fixed are. + +3 Since Nature fails us in no needful thing, + Why want I means my inward self to see? + Which sight the knowledge of myself might bring, + Which to true wisdom is the first degree. + +4 That Power, which gave me eyes the world to view, + To view myself, infused an inward light, + Whereby my soul, as by a mirror true, + Of her own form may take a perfect sight. + +5 But as the sharpest eye discerneth nought, + Except the sunbeams in the air do shine; + So the best soul, with her reflecting thought, + Sees not herself without some light divine. + +6 O light, which mak'st the light which makes the day! + Which sett'st the eye without, and mind within, + Lighten my spirit with one clear heavenly ray, + Which now to view itself doth first begin. + +7 For her true form how can my spark discern, + Which, dim by nature, art did never clear, + When the great wits, of whom all skill we learn, + Are ignorant both what she is, and where? + +8 One thinks the soul is air; another fire; + Another blood, diffused about the heart; + Another saith, the elements conspire, + And to her essence each doth give a part. + +9 Musicians think our souls are harmonies; + Physicians hold that they complexions be; + Epicures make them swarms of atomies, + Which do by chance into our bodies flee. + +10 Some think one general soul fills every brain, + As the bright sun sheds light in every star; + And others think the name of soul is vain, + And that we only well-mix'd bodies are. + +11 In judgment of her substance thus they vary; + And thus they vary in judgment of her seat; + For some her chair up to the brain do carry, + Some thrust it down into the stomach's heat. + +12 Some place it in the root of life, the heart; + Some in the liver, fountain of the veins; + Some say, she's all in all, and all in every part; + Some say, she's not contain'd, but all contains. + +13 Thus these great clerks their little wisdom show, + While with their doctrines they at hazard play; + Tossing their light opinions to and fro, + To mock the lewd, as learn'd in this as they. + +14 For no crazed brain could ever yet propound, + Touching the soul, so vain and fond a thought; + But some among these masters have been found, + Which in their schools the selfsame thing have taught. + +15 God only wise, to punish pride of wit, + Among men's wits hath this confusion wrought, + As the proud tower whose points the clouds did hit, + By tongues' confusion was to ruin brought. + +16 But thou which didst man's soul of nothing make, + And when to nothing it was fallen again, + 'To make it new, the form of man didst take; + And, God with God, becam'st a man with men.' + +17 Thou that hast fashion'd twice this soul of ours, + So that she is by double title thine, + Thou only know'st her nature and her powers, + Her subtle form thou only canst define. + +18 To judge herself, she must herself transcend, + As greater circles comprehend the less; + But she wants power her own powers to extend, + As fetter'd men cannot their strength express. + +19 But thou bright morning Star, thou rising Sun, + Which in these later times hast brought to light + Those mysteries that, since the world begun, + Lay hid in darkness and eternal night: + +20 Thou, like the sun, dost with an equal ray + Into the palace and the cottage shine, + And show'st the soul, both to the clerk and lay, + By the clear lamp of oracle divine. + +21 This lamp, through all the regions of my brain, + Where my soul sits, doth spread such beams of grace, + As now, methinks, I do distinguish plain + Each subtle line of her immortal face. + +22 The soul a substance and a spirit is, + Which God himself doth in the body make, + Which makes the man; for every man from this + The nature of a man and name doth take. + +23 And though this spirit be to the body knit, + As an apt means her powers to exercise, + Which are life, motion, sense, and will, and wit, + Yet she survives, although the body dies. + + +THE SELF-SUBSISTENCE OF THE SOUL. + +1 She is a substance, and a real thing, + Which hath itself an actual working might, + Which neither from the senses' power doth spring, + Nor from the body's humours temper'd right. + +2 She is a vine, which doth no propping need, + To make her spread herself, or spring upright; + She is a star, whose beams do not proceed + From any sun, but from a native light. + +3 For when she sorts things present with things past, + And thereby things to come doth oft foresee; + When she doth doubt at first, and choose at last, + These acts her own,[1] without her body be. + +4 When of the dew, which the eye and ear do take, + From flowers abroad, and bring into the brain, + She doth within both wax and honey make: + This work is hers, this is her proper pain. + +5 When she from sundry acts, one skill doth draw; + Gathering from divers fights one art of war; + From many cases like, one rule of law; + These her collections, not the senses' are. + +6 When in the effects she doth the causes know; + And seeing the stream, thinks where the spring doth rise; + And seeing the branch, conceives the root below: + These things she views without the body's eyes. + +7 When she, without a Pegasus, doth fly + Swifter than lightning's fire from east to west; + About the centre, and above the sky, + She travels then, although the body rest. + +8 When all her works she formeth first within, + Proportions them, and sees their perfect end; + Ere she in act doth any part begin, + What instruments doth then the body lend? + +9 When without hands she doth thus castles build, + Sees without eyes, and without feet doth run; + When she digests the world, yet is not fill'd: + By her own powers these miracles are done. + +10 When she defines, argues, divides, compounds, + Considers virtue, vice, and general things; + And marrying divers principles and grounds, + Out of their match a true conclusion brings. + +11 These actions in her closet, all alone, + Retired within herself, she doth fulfil; + Use of her body's organs she hath none, + When she doth use the powers of wit and will. + +12 Yet in the body's prison so she lies, + As through the body's windows she must look, + Her divers powers of sense to exercise, + By gathering notes out of the world's great book. + +13 Nor can herself discourse or judge of ought, + But what the sense collects, and home doth bring; + And yet the powers of her discoursing thought, + From these collections is a diverse thing. + +14 For though our eyes can nought but colours see, + Yet colours give them not their power of sight; + So, though these fruits of sense her objects be, + Yet she discerns them by her proper light. + +15 The workman on his stuff his skill doth show, + And yet the stuff gives not the man his skill; + Kings their affairs do by their servants know, + But order them by their own royal will. + +16 So, though this cunning mistress, and this queen, + Doth, as her instruments, the senses use, + To know all things that are felt, heard, or seen; + Yet she herself doth only judge and choose. + +17 Even as a prudent emperor, that reigns + By sovereign title over sundry lands, + Borrows, in mean affairs, his subjects' pains, + Sees by their eyes, and writeth by their hands: + +18 But things of weight and consequence indeed, + Himself doth in his chamber then debate; + Where all his counsellors he doth exceed, + As far in judgment, as he doth in state. + +19 Or as the man whom princes do advance, + Upon their gracious mercy-seat to sit, + Doth common things of course and circumstance, + To the reports of common men commit: + +20 But when the cause itself must be decreed, + Himself in person in his proper court, + To grave and solemn hearing doth proceed, + Of every proof, and every by-report. + +21 Then, like God's angel, he pronounceth right, + And milk and honey from his tongue doth flow: + Happy are they that still are in his sight, + To reap the wisdom which his lips doth sow. + +22 Right so the soul, which is a lady free, + And doth the justice of her state maintain: + Because the senses ready servants be, + Attending nigh about her court, the brain: + +23 By them the forms of outward things she learns, + For they return unto the fantasy, + Whatever each of them abroad discerns, + And there enrol it for the mind to see. + +24 But when she sits to judge the good and ill, + And to discern betwixt the false and true, + She is not guided by the senses' skill, + But doth each thing in her own mirror view. + +25 Then she the senses checks, which oft do err, + And even against their false reports decrees; + And oft she doth condemn what they prefer; + For with a power above the sense she sees. + +26 Therefore no sense the precious joys conceives, + Which in her private contemplations be; + For then the ravish'd spirit the senses leaves, + Hath her own powers, and proper actions free. + +27 Her harmonies are sweet, and full of skill, + When on the body's instruments she plays; + But the proportions of the wit and will, + Those sweet accords are even the angels' lays. + +28 These tunes of reason are Amphion's lyre, + Wherewith he did the Theban city found: + These are the notes wherewith the heavenly choir, + The praise of Him which made the heaven doth sound. + +29 Then her self-being nature shines in this, + That she performs her noblest works alone: + 'The work, the touchstone of the nature is; + And by their operations things are known.' + +[1] That the soul hath a proper operation without the body. + + +SPIRITUALITY OF THE SOUL. + +1 But though this substance be the root of sense, + Sense knows her not, which doth but bodies know: + She is a spirit, and heavenly influence, + Which from the fountain of God's Spirit doth flow. + +2 She is a spirit, yet not like air or wind; + Nor like the spirits about the heart or brain; + Nor like those spirits which alchymists do find, + When they in everything seek gold in vain. + +3 For she all natures under heaven doth pass, + Being like those spirits, which God's bright face do see, + Or like Himself, whose image once she was, + Though now, alas! she scarce his shadow be. + +4 For of all forms, she holds the first degree, + That are to gross, material bodies knit; + Yet she herself is bodiless and free; + And, though confined, is almost infinite. + +5 Were she a body,[1] how could she remain + Within this body, which is less than she? + Or how could she the world's great shape contain, + And in our narrow breasts contained be? + +6 All bodies are confined within some place, + But she all place within herself confines: + All bodies have their measure and their space; + But who can draw the soul's dimensive lines? + +7 No body can at once two forms admit, + Except the one the other do deface; + But in the soul ten thousand forms do fit, + And none intrudes into her neighbour's place. + +8 All bodies are with other bodies fill'd, + But she receives both heaven and earth together: + Nor are their forms by rash encounter spill'd, + For there they stand, and neither toucheth either. + +9 Nor can her wide embracements filled be; + For they that most and greatest things embrace, + Enlarge thereby their mind's capacity, + As streams enlarged, enlarge the channel's space. + +10 All things received, do such proportion take, + As those things have, wherein they are received: + So little glasses little faces make, + And narrow webs on narrow frames are weaved. + +11 Then what vast body must we make the mind, + Wherein are men, beasts, trees, towns, seas, and lands; + And yet each thing a proper place doth find, + And each thing in the true proportion stands? + +12 Doubtless, this could not be, but that she turns + Bodies to spirits, by sublimation strange; + As fire converts to fire the things it burns: + As we our meats into our nature change. + +13 From their gross matter she abstracts the forms, + And draws a kind of quintessence from things, + Which to her proper nature she transforms, + To bear them light on her celestial wings. + +14 This doth she, when, from things particular, + She doth abstract the universal kinds, + Which bodiless and immaterial are, + And can be only lodged within our minds. + +15 And thus from divers accidents and acts, + Which do within her observation fall, + She goddesses and powers divine abstracts; + As nature, fortune, and the virtues all. + +16 Again; how can she several bodies know, + If in herself a body's form she bear? + How can a mirror sundry faces show, + If from all shapes and forms it be not clear? + +17 Nor could we by our eyes all colours learn, + Except our eyes were of all colours void; + Nor sundry tastes can any tongue discern, + Which is with gross and bitter humours cloy'd. + +18 Nor can a man of passions judge aright, + Except his mind be from all passions free: + Nor can a judge his office well acquit, + If he possess'd of either party be. + +19 If, lastly, this quick power a body were, + Were it as swift as in the wind or fire, + Whose atoms do the one down sideways bear, + And the other make in pyramids aspire; + +20 Her nimble body yet in time must move, + And not in instants through all places slide: + But she is nigh and far, beneath, above, + In point of time, which thought cannot divide; + +21 She's sent as soon to China as to Spain; + And thence returns as soon as she is sent: + She measures with one time, and with one pain. + An ell of silk, and heaven's wide-spreading tent. + +22 As then the soul a substance hath alone, + Besides the body in which she's confined; + So hath she not a body of her own, + But is a spirit, and immaterial mind. + +23 Since body and soul have such diversities, + Well might we muse how first their match began; + But that we learn, that He that spread the skies, + And fix'd the earth, first form'd the soul in man. + +24 This true Prometheus first made man of earth, + And shed in him a beam of heavenly fire; + Now in their mothers' wombs, before their birth, + Doth in all sons of men their souls inspire. + +25 And as Minerva is in fables said, + From Jove, without a mother, to proceed; + So our true Jove, without a mother's aid, + Doth daily millions of Minervas breed. + +[1] That it cannot be a body. + + + + +GILES FLETCHER. + + +Giles Fletcher was the younger brother of Phineas, and died twenty-three +years before him. He was a cousin of Fletcher the dramatist, and the son +of Dr Giles Fletcher, who was employed in many important missions in the +reign of Queen Elizabeth, and, among others, negotiated a commercial +treaty with Russia greatly in the favour of his own country. Giles is +supposed to have been born in 1588. He studied at Cambridge; published his +noble poem, 'Christ's Victory and Triumph,' in 1610, when he was twenty- +three years of age; was appointed to the living of Alderston, in Suffolk, +where he died, in 1623, at the early age of thirty-five, 'equally loved,' +says old Wood, 'of the Muses and the Graces.' + +The poem, in four cantos, entitled 'Christ's Victory and Triumph,' is one +of almost Miltonic magnificence. With a wing as easy as it is strong, he +soars to heaven, and fills the austere mouth of Justice and the golden +lips of Mercy with language worthy of both. He then stoops down on the +Wilderness of the Temptation, and paints the Saviour and Satan in colours +admirably contrasted, and which in their brightness and blackness can +never decay. Nor does he fear, in fine, to pierce the gloom of Calvary, +and to mingle his note with the harps of angels, saluting the Redeemer, as +He sprang from the grave, with the song, 'He is risen, He is risen--and +shall die no more.' The style is steeped in Spenser--equally mellifluous, +figurative, and majestic. In allegory the author of the 'Fairy Queen' is +hardly superior, and in the enthusiasm of devotion Fletcher surpasses him +far. From the great light, thus early kindled and early quenched, Milton +did not disdain to draw with his 'golden urn.' 'Paradise Regained' owes +much more than the suggestion of its subject to 'Christ's Victory;' and is +it too much to say that, had Fletcher lived, he might have shone in the +same constellation with the bard of the 'Paradise Lost?' The plan of our +'Specimens' permits only a few extracts. Let those who wish more, along +with a lengthened and glowing tribute to the author's genius, consult +_Blackwood_ for November 1835. The reading of a single sentence will +convince them that the author of the paper was Christopher North. + + +THE NATIVITY. + +I. + +Who can forget, never to be forgot, +The time, that all the world in slumber lies: +When, like the stars, the singing angels shot +To earth, and heaven awaked all his eyes, +To see another sun at midnight rise + On earth? was never sight of pareil fame: + For God before, man like himself did frame, +But God himself now like a mortal man became. + +II. + +A child he was, and had not learned to speak, +That with his word the world before did make: +His mother's arms him bore, he was so weak, +That with one hand the vaults of heaven could shake. +See how small room my infant Lord doth take, + Whom all the world is not enough to hold. + Who of his years, or of his age hath told? +Never such age so young, never a child so old. + +III + +And yet but newly he was infanted, +And yet already he was sought to die; +Yet scarcely born, already banished; +Not able yet to go, and forced to fly: +But scarcely fled away, when by and by, + The tyrant's sword with blood is all denied, + And Rachel, for her sons with fury wild, +Cries, O thou cruel king, and O my sweetest child! + +IV. + +Egypt his nurse became, where Nilus springs, +Who straight, to entertain the rising sun, +The hasty harvest in his bosom brings; +But now for drought the fields were all undone, +And now with waters all is overrun: + So fast the Cynthian mountains poured their snow, + When once they felt the sun so near them glow, +That Nilus Egypt lost, and to a sea did grow. + +V. + +The angels carolled loud their song of peace, +The cursed oracles were stricken dumb, +To see their shepherd, the poor shepherds press, +To see their king, the kingly sophics come, +And them to guide unto his Master's home, + A star comes dancing up the orient, + That springs for joy over the strawy tent, +Where gold, to make their prince a crown, they all present. + +VI. + +Young John, glad child, before he could be born, +Leapt in the womb, his joy to prophesy: +Old Anna, though with age all spent and worn, +Proclaims her Saviour to posterity: +And Simeon fast his dying notes doth ply. + Oh, how the blessed souls about him trace! + It is the fire of heaven thou dost embrace: +Sing, Simeon, sing; sing, Simeon, sing apace. + +VII. + +With that the mighty thunder dropt away +From God's unwary arm, now milder grown, +And melted into tears; as if to pray +For pardon, and for pity, it had known, +That should have been for sacred vengeance thrown: + There too the armies angelic devowed + Their former rage, and all to mercy bowed, +Their broken weapons at her feet they gladly strowed. + +VIII. + +Bring, bring, ye Graces, all your silver flaskets, +Painted with every choicest flower that grows, +That I may soon unflower your fragrant baskets, +To strow the fields with odours where he goes, +Let whatsoe'er he treads on be a rose. + So down she let her eyelids fall, to shine + Upon the rivers of bright Palestine, +Whose woods drop honey, and her rivers skip with wine. + + +SONG OF SORCERESS SEEKING TO TEMPT CHRIST. + +Love is the blossom where there blows +Everything that lives or grows: +Love doth make the heavens to move, +And the sun doth burn in love: +Love the strong and weak doth yoke, +And makes the ivy climb the oak; +Under whose shadows lions wild, +Softened by love, grow tame and mild: +Love no medicine can appease, +He burns the fishes in the seas; +Not all the skill his wounds can stench, +Not all the sea his fire can quench: +Love did make the bloody spear +Once a leafy coat to wear, +While in his leaves there shrouded lay +Sweet birds, for love, that sing and play: +And of all love's joyful flame, +I the bud, and blossom am. + Only bend thy knee to me, + The wooing shall thy winning be. + +See, see the flowers that below, +Now as fresh as morning blow, +And of all, the virgin rose, +That as bright Aurora shows: +How they all unleaved die, +Losing their virginity; +Like unto a summer-shade, +But now born, and now they fade. +Everything doth pass away, +There is danger in delay: +Come, come gather then the rose, +Gather it, ere it you lose. +All the sand of Tagus' shore +Into my bosom casts his ore; +All the valley's swimming corn +To my house is yearly borne: +Every grape of every vine +Is gladly bruised to make me wine. +While ten thousand kings, as proud, +To carry up my train have bowed, +And a world of ladies send me +In my chambers to attend me. +All the stars in heaven that shine, +And ten thousand more, are mine: + Only bend thy knee to me, + Thy wooing shall thy winning be. + + +CLOSE OF 'CHRIST'S VICTORY AND TRIUMPH.' + +I + +Here let my Lord hang up his conquering lance, +And bloody armour with late slaughter warm, +And looking down on his weak militants, +Behold his saints, midst of their hot alarm, +Hang all their golden hopes upon his arm. + And in this lower field dispacing wide, + Through windy thoughts, that would their sails misguide, +Anchor their fleshly ships fast in his wounded side. + +II. + +Here may the band, that now in triumph shines, +And that (before they were invested thus) +In earthly bodies carried heavenly minds, +Pitched round about in order glorious, +Their sunny tents, and houses luminous, + All their eternal day in songs employing, + Joying their end, without end of their joying, +While their Almighty Prince destruction is destroying. + +III. + +Full, yet without satiety, of that +Which whets and quiets greedy appetite, +Where never sun did rise, nor ever sat, +But one eternal day, and endless light +Gives time to those, whose time is infinite, + Speaking without thought, obtaining without fee, + Beholding him, whom never eye could see, +Magnifying him, that cannot greater be. + +IV. + +How can such joy as this want words to speak? +And yet what words can speak such joy as this? +Far from the world, that might their quiet break, +Here the glad souls the face of beauty kiss, +Poured out in pleasure, on their beds of bliss, + And drunk with nectar torrents, ever hold + Their eyes on him, whose graces manifold +The more they do behold, the more they would behold. + +V. + +Their sight drinks lovely fires in at their eyes, +Their brain sweet incense with fine breath accloys, +That on God's sweating altar burning lies; +Their hungry ears feed on the heavenly noise +That angels sing, to tell their untold joys; + Their understanding naked truth, their wills + The all, and self-sufficient goodness fills, +That nothing here is wanting, but the want of ills. + +VI. + +No sorrow now hangs clouding on their brow, +No bloodless malady empales their face, +No age drops on their hairs his silver snow, +No nakedness their bodies doth embase, +No poverty themselves, and theirs disgrace, + No fear of death the joy of life devours, + No unchaste sleep their precious time deflowers, +No loss, no grief, no change wait on their winged hours. + +VII. + +But now their naked bodies scorn the cold, +And from their eyes joy looks, and laughs at pain; +The infant wonders how he came so old, +And old man how he came so young again; +Still resting, though from sleep they still restrain; + Where all are rich, and yet no gold they owe; + And all are kings, and yet no subjects know; +All full, and yet no time on food they do bestow. + +VIII. + +For things that pass are past, and in this field +The indeficient spring no winter fears; +The trees together fruit and blossom yield, +The unfading lily leaves of silver bears, +And crimson rose a scarlet garment wears: + And all of these on the saints' bodies grow, + Not, as they wont, on baser earth below; +Three rivers here of milk, and wine, and honey flow. + +IX. + +About the holy city rolls a flood +Of molten crystal, like a sea of glass, +On which weak stream a strong foundation stood, +Of living diamonds the building was +That all things else, besides itself, did pass: + Her streets, instead of stones, the stars did pave, + And little pearls, for dust, it seemed to have, +On which soft-streaming manna, like pure snow, did wave. + +X. + +In midst of this city celestial, +Where the eternal temple should have rose, +Lightened the idea beatifical: +End and beginning of each thing that grows, +Whose self no end, nor yet beginning knows, + That hath no eyes to see, nor ears to hear; + Yet sees, and hears, and is all eye, all ear; +That nowhere is contained, and yet is everywhere. + +XI. + +Changer of all things, yet immutable; +Before, and after all, the first, and last: +That moving all is yet immoveable; +Great without quantity, in whose forecast, +Things past are present, things to come are past; + Swift without motion, to whose open eye + The hearts of wicked men unbreasted lie; +At once absent, and present to them, far, and nigh. + +XII. + +It is no flaming lustre, made of light; +No sweet consent, or well-timed harmony; +Ambrosia, for to feast the appetite: +Or flowery odour, mixed with spicery; +No soft embrace, or pleasure bodily: + And yet it is a kind of inward feast; + A harmony that sounds within the breast; +An odour, light, embrace, in which the soul doth rest. + +XIII. + +A heavenly feast no hunger can consume; +A light unseen, yet shines in every place; +A sound no time can steal; a sweet perfume +No winds can scatter; an entire embrace, +That no satiety can e'er unlace: + Ingraced into so high a favour, there + The saints, with their beau-peers, whole worlds outwear; +And things unseen do see, and things unheard do hear. + +XIV. + +Ye blessed souls, grown richer by your spoil, +Whose loss, though great, is cause of greater gains; +Here may your weary spirits rest from toil, +Spending your endless evening that remains, +Amongst those white flocks, and celestial trains, + That feed upon their Shepherd's eyes; and frame + That heavenly music of so wondrous fame, +Psalming aloud the holy honours of his name! + +XV. + +Had I a voice of steel to tune my song; +Were every verse as smooth as smoothest glass; +And every member turned to a tongue; +And every tongue were made of sounding brass: +Yet all that skill, and all this strength, alas! + Should it presume to adorn (were misadvised) + The place, where David hath new songs devised, +As in his burning throne he sits emparadised. + +XVI. + +Most happy prince, whose eyes those stars behold, +Treading ours underfeet, now mayst thou pour +That overflowing skill, wherewith of old +Thou wont'st to smooth rough speech; now mayst thou shower +Fresh streams of praise upon that holy bower, + Which well we heaven call, not that it rolls, + But that it is the heaven of our souls: +Most happy prince, whose sight so heavenly sight beholds! + +XVII. + +Ah, foolish shepherds! who were wont to esteem +Your God all rough, and shaggy-haired to be; +And yet far wiser shepherds than ye deem, +For who so poor (though who so rich) as he, +When sojourning with us in low degree, + He washed his flocks in Jordan's spotless tide; + And that his dear remembrance might abide, +Did to us come, and with us lived, and for us died? + +XVIII. + +But now such lively colours did embeam +His sparkling forehead; and such shining rays +Kindled his flaming locks, that down did stream +In curls along his neck, where sweetly plays +(Singing his wounds of love in sacred lays) + His dearest Spouse, Spouse of the dearest Lover, + Knitting a thousand knots over and over, +And dying still for love, but they her still recover. + +XIX. + +Fairest of fairs, that at his eyes doth dress +Her glorious face; those eyes, from whence are shed +Attractions infinite; where to express +His love, high God all heaven as captive leads, +And all the banners of his grace dispreads, + And in those windows doth his arms englaze, + And on those eyes, the angels all do gaze, +And from those eyes, the lights of heaven obtain their blaze. + +XX. + +But let the Kentish lad,[1] that lately taught +His oaten reed the trumpet's silver sound, +Young Thyrsilis; and for his music brought +The willing spheres from heaven, to lead around +The dancing nymphs and swains, that sung, and crowned + Eclecta's Hymen with ten thousand flowers + Of choicest praise; and hung her heavenly bowers +With saffron garlands, dressed for nuptial paramours. + +XXI. + +Let his shrill trumpet, with her silver blast, +Of fair Eclecta, and her spousal bed, +Be the sweet pipe, and smooth encomiast: +But my green muse, hiding her younger head, +Under old Camus' flaggy banks, that spread + Their willow locks abroad, and all the day + With their own watery shadows wanton play; +Dares not those high amours, and love-sick songs assay. + +XXII. + +Impotent words, weak lines, that strive in vain; + In vain, alas, to tell so heavenly sight! +So heavenly sight, as none can greater feign, + Feign what he can, that seems of greatest might: + Could any yet compare with Infinite? + Infinite sure those joys; my words but light; +Light is the palace where she dwells; oh, then, how bright! + +[1] The author of 'The Purple Island.' + + + + +JOHN DONNE. + + +John Donne was born in London, in the year 1573. He sprung from a +Catholic family, and his mother was related to Sir Thomas More and to +Heywood the epigrammatist. He was very early distinguished as a prodigy +of boyish acquirement, and was entered, when only eleven, of Harthall, +now Hertford College. He was designed for the law, but relinquished the +study when he reached nineteen. About the same time, having studied the +controversies between the Papists and Protestants, he deliberately went +over to the latter. He next accompanied the Earl of Essex to Cadiz, and +looked wistfully over the gulf dividing him from Jerusalem, with all its +holy memories, to which his heart had been translated from very boyhood. +He even meditated a journey to the Holy Land, but was discouraged by +reports as to the dangers of the way. On his return he was received by +the Lord Chancellor Ellesmere into his own house as his secretary. Here +he fell in love with Miss More, the daughter of Sir George More, Lord- +Lieutenant of the Tower, and the niece of the Chancellor. His passion +was returned, and the pair were imprudent enough to marry privately. +When the matter became known, the father-in-law became infuriated. He +prevailed on Lord Ellesmere to drive Donne out of his service, and had +him even for a short time imprisoned. Even when released he continued in +a pitiable plight, and but for the kindness of Sir Francis Wooley, a son +of Lady Ellesmere by a former marriage, who received the young couple +into his family and entertained them for years, they would have +perished. + +When Donne reached the age of thirty-four, Dr Merton, afterwards Bishop +of Durham, urged him to take orders, and offered him a benefice, which +he was generously to relinquish in his favour. Donne declined, on +account, he said, of some past errors of life, which, 'though repented +of and pardoned by God, might not be forgotten by men, and might cast +dishonour on the sacred office.' + +When Sir F. Wooley died, Sir Robert Drury became his next protector. +Donne attended him on an embassy to France, and his wife formed the +romantic purpose of accompanying her husband in the disguise of a page. +Here was a wife fit for a poet! In order to restrain her from her +purpose, he had to address to her some verses, commencing, + + 'By our strange and fatal interview.' + +Isaak Walton relates how the poet, one evening, as he sat alone in +Paris, saw his wife appearing to him in vision, with a dead infant in +her arms--a proof at once of the strength of his love and of his +imagination. This beloved and admirable woman died in 1617, a few days +after giving birth to her twelfth child, and Donne's grief approached +distraction. + +When he had reached the forty-second year of his age, our poet, at the +instance of King James, became a clergyman, and was successively +appointed Chaplain to the King, Lecturer to Lincoln's Inn, Dean of St +Dunstan's in the West, and Dean of St Paul's. In the pulpit he attracted +great attention, particularly from the more thoughtful and intelligent +of his auditors. He continued Dean of St Paul's till his death, which +took place in 1631, when he was approaching sixty. He died of consumption, +a disease which seldom cuts down a man so near his grand climacteric. + +'He was buried,' says Campbell, 'in St Paul's, where his figure yet +remains in the vault of St Faith's, carved from a painting, for which he +sat a few days' (it should be weeks) 'before his death, dressed in his +winding-sheet.' He kept this portrait constantly by his bedside to +remind him of his mortality. + +Donne's Sermons fill a large folio, with which we were familiar in +boyhood, but have not seen since. De Quincey says, alluding partly +to them, and partly to his poetry,--'Few writers have shewn a more +extraordinary compass of powers than Donne, for he combined--what no +other man has ever done--the last sublimation of dialectical subtlety +and address with the most impassioned majesty. Massy diamonds compose +the very substance of his poem on the 'Metempsychosis,'--thoughts and +descriptions which have the fervent and gloomy sublimity of Ezekiel or +Aeschylus; while a diamond-dust of rhetorical brilliances is strewed +over the whole of his occasional verses and his prose.' We beg leave +to differ, in some degree, from De Quincey in his estimate of the +'Metempsychosis,' or 'The Progress of the Soul,' although we have given +it entire. It has too many far-fetched conceits and obscure allegories, +although redeemed, we admit, by some very precious thoughts, such as + + 'This soul, to whom Luther and Mahomet were Prisons of flesh.' + +Or the following quaint picture of the apple in Eden-- + + 'Prince of the orchard, fair as dawning morn, + Fenced with the law, and ripe as soon as born.' + +Or this-- + + 'Nature hath no jail, though she hath law.' + +If our readers, however, can admire the account the poet gives of Abel +and his bitch, or see any resemblance to the severe and simple grandeur +of Aeschylus and Ezekiel in the description of the soul informing a +body, made of a '_female fish's sandy roe' 'newly leavened with the +male's jelly_,' we shall say no more. + +Donne, altogether, gives us the impression of a great genius ruined by +a false system. He is a charioteer run away with by his own pampered +steeds. He begins generally well, but long ere the close, quibbles, +conceits, and the temptation of shewing off recondite learning, prove +too strong for him, and he who commenced following a serene star, ends +pursuing a will-o'-wisp into a bottomless morass. Compare, for instance, +the ingenious nonsense which abounds in the middle and the close of his +'Progress of the Soul' with the dark, but magnificent stanzas which are +the first in the poem. + +In no writings in the language is there more spilt treasure--a more lavish +loss of beautiful, original, and striking things than in the poems of +Donne. Every second line, indeed, is either bad, or unintelligible, or +twisted into unnatural distortion, but even the worst passages discover a +great, though trammelled and tasteless mind; and we question if Dr Johnson +himself, who has, in his 'Life of Cowley,' criticised the school of poets +to which Donne belonged so severely, and in some points so justly, +possessed a tithe of the rich fancy, the sublime intuition, and the lofty +spirituality of Donne. How characteristic of the difference between these +two great men, that, while the one shrank from the slightest footprint of +death, Donne deliberately placed the image of his dead self before his +eyes, and became familiar with the shadow ere the grim reality arrived! + +Donne's Satires shew, in addition to the high ideal qualities, the rugged +versification, the fantastic paradox, and the perverted taste of their +author, great strength and clearness of judgment, and a deep, although +somewhat jaundiced, view of human nature. That there must have been +something morbid in the structure of his mind is proved by the fact that +he wrote an elaborate treatise, which was not published till after his +death, entitled, 'Biathanatos,' to prove that suicide was not necessarily +sinful. + + +HOLY SONNETS. + +I. + +Thou hast made me, and shall thy work decay? +Repair me now, for now mine end doth haste; +I run to death, and death meets me as fast, +And all my pleasures are like yesterday. +I dare not move my dim eyes any way; +Despair behind, and death before, doth cast +Such terror, and my feeble flesh doth waste +By sin in it, which it towards hell doth weigh, +Only thou art above, and when towards thee +By thy leave I can look, I rise again; +But our old subtle foe so tempteth me, +That not one hour myself I can sustain: +Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art, +And thou, like adamant, draw mine iron heart. + +II. + +As due by many titles, I resign +Myself to thee, O God! First I was made +By thee, and for thee; and when I was decayed +Thy blood bought that, the which before was thine. +I am thy son, made with thyself to shine, +Thy servant, whose pains thou hast still repaid, +Thy sheep, thine image; and, till I betrayed +Myself, a temple of thy Spirit divine. +Why doth the devil then usurp on me? +Why doth he steal, nay, ravish, that's thy right? +Except thou rise, and for thine own work fight, +Oh! I shall soon despair, when I shall see +That thou lov'st mankind well, yet wilt not choose me, +And Satan hates me, yet is loth to lose me. + +III. + +Oh! might these sighs and tears return again +Into my breast and eyes which I have spent, +That I might, in this holy discontent, +Mourn with some fruit, as I have mourned in vain! +In mine idolatry what showers of rain +Mine eyes did waste! what griefs my heart did rent! +That sufferance was my sin I now repent; +'Cause I did suffer, I must suffer pain. +The hydroptic drunkard, and night-scouting thief, +The itchy lecher, and self-tickling proud, +Have th' remembrance of past joys for relief +Of coming ills. To poor me is allow'd +No ease; for long yet vehement grief hath been +The effect and cause, the punishment and sin. + +IV. + +Oh! my black soul! now thou art summoned +By sickness, death's herald and champion, +Thou 'rt like a pilgrim which abroad hath done +Treason, and durst not turn to whence he is fled; +Or like a thief, which, till death's doom be read, +Wisheth himself delivered from prison; +But damn'd, and haul'd to execution, +Wisheth that still he might be imprisoned: +Yet grace, if thou repent, thou canst not lack; +But who shall give thee that grace to begin? +Oh! make thyself with holy mourning black, +And red with blushing, as thou art with sin; +Or wash thee in Christ's blood, which hath this might, +That, being red, it dyes red souls to white. + +V. + +I am a little world, made cunningly +Of elements and an angelic sprite; +But black sin hath betrayed to endless night +My world's both parts, and oh! both parts must die. +You, which beyond that heaven, which was most high, +Have found new spheres, and of new land can write, +Pour new seas in mine eyes, that so I might +Drown my world with my weeping earnestly, +Or wash it, if it must be drowned no more: +But oh! it must be burnt; alas! the fire +Of lust and envy burnt it heretofore, +And made it fouler; let their flames retire, +And burn me, O Lord! with a fiery zeal +Of thee and thy house, which doth in eating heal. + +VI. + +This is my play's last scene; here Heavens appoint +My pilgrimage's last mile; and my race, +Idly yet quickly run, hath this last pace, +My span's last inch, my minute's latest point, +And gluttonous Death will instantly unjoint +My body and soul, and I shall sleep a space: +But my ever-waking part shall see that face +Whose fear already shakes my every joint. +Then as my soul to heaven, her first seat, takes flight, +And earth-born body in the earth shall dwell, +So fall my sins, that all may have their right, +To where they're bred, and would press me to hell. +Impute me righteous; thus purged of evil, +For thus I leave the world, the flesh, the devil. + +VII. + +At the round earth's imagined corners blow +Your trumpets, angels! and arise, arise +From death, you numberless infinities +Of souls, and to your scattered bodies go, +All whom the flood did, and fire shall, overthrow; +All whom war, death, age, ague's tyrannies, +Despair, law, chance, hath slain; and you whose eyes +Shall behold God, and never taste death's woe. +But let them sleep, Lord! and me mourn a space; +For if above all these my sins abound, +'Tis late to ask abundance of thy grace +When we are there. Here on this holy ground +Teach me how to repent, for that's as good +As if thou hadst sealed my pardon with thy blood. + +VIII. + +If faithful souls be alike glorified +As angels, then my father's soul doth see, +And adds this even to full felicity, +That valiantly I hell's wide mouth o'erstride; +But if our minds to these souls be descried +By circumstances and by signs that be +Apparent in us not immediately, +How shall my mind's white truth by them be tried? +They see idolatrous lovers weep and mourn, +And style blasphemous conjurors to call +On Jesus' name, and pharisaical +Dissemblers feign devotion. Then turn, +O pensive soul! to God, for he knows best +Thy grief, for he put it into my breast. + +IX + +If poisonous minerals, and if that tree +Whose fruit threw death on (else immortal) us; +If lecherous goats, if serpents envious, +Cannot be damn'd, alas! why should I be? +Why should intent or reason, born in me, +Make sins, else equal, in me more heinous? +And mercy being easy and glorious +To God, in his stern wrath why threatens he? +But who am I that dare dispute with thee! +O God! oh, of thine only worthy blood, +And my tears, make a heavenly Lethean flood, +And drown in it my sins' black memory: +That thou remember them some claim as debt, +I think it mercy if thou wilt forget! + +X + +Death! be not proud, though some have called thee +Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; +For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow +Die not, poor Death! nor yet canst thou kill me. +From rest and sleep, which but thy picture be, +Much pleasure, then, from thee much more must flow; +And soonest our best men with thee do go, +Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. +Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, +And dost with poison, war, and sickness, dwell, +And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well, +And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou, then? +One short sleep past we wake eternally; +And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. + +XI. + +Spit in my face, you Jews, and pierce my side, +Buffet and scoff, scourge and crucify me, +For I have sinned, and sinned, and only he +Who could do no iniquity hath died, +But by my death cannot be satisfied +My sins, which pass the Jews' impiety: +They killed once an inglorious man, but I +Crucify him daily, being now glorified. +O let me then his strange love still admire. +Kings pardon, but he bore our punishment; +And Jacob came, clothed in vile harsh attire, +But to supplant, and with gainful intent: +God clothed himself in vile man's flesh, that so +He might be weak enough to surfer woe. + +XII. + +Why are we by all creatures waited on? +Why do the prodigal elements supply +Life and food to me, being more pure than I, +Simpler, and further from corruption? +Why brook'st thou, ignorant horse, subjection? +Why do you, bull and boar, so sillily +Dissemble weakness, and by one man's stroke die, +Whose whole kind you might swallow and feed upon? +Weaker I am, woe's me! and worse than you: +You have not sinned, nor need be timorous, +But wonder at a greater, for to us +Created nature doth these things subdue; +But their Creator, whom sin nor nature tied, +For us, his creatures and his foes, hath died. + +XIII. + +What if this present were the world's last night? +Mark in my heart, O Soul! where thou dost dwell, +The picture of Christ crucified, and tell +Whether his countenance can thee affright; +Tears in his eyes quench the amazing light; +Blood fills his frowns, which from his pierced head fell. +And can that tongue adjudge thee unto hell +Which prayed forgiveness for his foes' fierce spite? +No, no; but as in my idolatry +I said to all my profane mistresses, +Beauty of pity, foulness only is +A sign of rigour, so I say to thee: +To wicked spirits are horrid shapes assigned; +This beauteous form assumes a piteous mind. + +XIV. + +Batter my heart, three-person'd God, for you +As yet but knock; breathe, shine, and seek to mend, +That I may rise and stand, o'erthrow me, and bend +Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new. +I, like an usurped town, to another due, +Labour to admit you, but oh! to no end: +Reason, your viceroy in me, we should defend, +But is captived, and proves weak or untrue; +Yet dearly I love you, and would be loved fain, +But am betrothed unto your enemy. +Divorce me, untie, or break that knot again; +Take me to you, imprison me; for I, +Except you enthral me, never shall be free, +Nor ever chaste, except you ravish me. + +XV. + +Wilt thou love God as he thee? then digest, +My Soul! this wholesome meditation, +How God the Spirit, by angels waited on +In heaven, doth make his temple in thy breast. +The Father having begot a Son most blest, +And still begetting, (for he ne'er begun.) +Hath deigned to choose thee by adoption, +Co-heir to his glory, and Sabbath's endless rest: +And as a robbed man, which by search doth find +His stol'n stuff sold, must lose or buy 't again; +The Sun of glory came down and was slain, +Us, whom he had made, and Satan stole, to unbind. +'Twas much that man was made like God before, +But that God should be made like man much more. + +XVI. + +Father, part of his double interest +Unto thy kingdom thy Son gives to me; +His jointure in the knotty Trinity +He keeps, and gives to me his death's conquest. +This Lamb, whose death with life the world hath blest, +Was from the world's beginning slain, and he +Hath made two wills, which, with the legacy +Of his and thy kingdom, thy sons invest: +Yet such are these laws, that men argue yet +Whether a man those statutes can fulfil: +None doth; but thy all-healing grace and Spirit +Revive again what law and letter kill: +Thy law's abridgment and thy last command +Is all but love; oh, let this last will stand! + + +THE PROGRESS OF THE SOUL. + +I. + +I sing the progress of a deathless Soul, +Whom Fate, which God made, but doth not control, +Placed in most shapes. All times, before the law +Yoked us, and when, and since, in this I sing, +And the great World to his aged evening, +From infant morn through manly noon I draw: +What the gold Chaldee or silver Persian saw, +Greek brass, or Roman iron, 'tis in this one, +A work to outwear Seth's pillars, brick and stone, +And, Holy Writ excepted, made to yield to none. + +II + +Thee, Eye of Heaven, this great Soul envies not; +By thy male force is all we have begot. +In the first east thou now beginn'st to shine, +Suck'st early balm, and island spices there, +And wilt anon in thy loose-reined career +At Tagus, Po, Seine, Thames, and Danow, dine, +And see at night this western land of mine; +Yet hast thou not more nations seen than she +That before thee one day began to be, +And, thy frail light being quench'd, shall long, long outlive thee. + +III + +Nor holy Janus, in whose sovereign boat +The church and all the monarchies did float; +That swimming college and free hospital +Of all mankind, that cage and vivary +Of fowls and beasts, in whose womb Destiny +Us and our latest nephews did install, +(From thence are all derived that fill this all,) +Didst thou in that great stewardship embark +So diverse shapes into that floating park, +As have been moved and inform'd by this heavenly spark. + +IV. + +Great Destiny! the commissary of God! +Thou hast marked out a path and period +For everything; who, where we offspring took, +Our ways and ends seest at one instant: thou +Knot of all causes; thou whose changeless brow +Ne'er smiles nor frowns, oh! vouchsafe thou to look, +And shew my story in thy eternal book, +That (if my prayer be fit) I may understand +So much myself as to know with what hand, +How scant or liberal, this my life's race is spann'd. + +V. + +To my six lustres, almost now outwore, +Except thy book owe me so many more; +Except my legend be free from the lets +Of steep ambition, sleepy poverty, +Spirit-quenching sickness, dull captivity, +Distracting business, and from beauty's nets, +And all that calls from this and t'other's whets; +Oh! let me not launch out, but let me save +The expense of brain and spirit, that my grave +His right and due, a whole unwasted man, may have. + +VI. + +But if my days be long and good enough, +In vain this sea shall enlarge or enrough +Itself; for I will through the wave and foam, +And hold, in sad lone ways, a lively sprite, +Make my dark heavy poem light, and light: +For though through many straits and lands I roam, +I launch at Paradise, and sail towards home: +The course I there began shall here be stayed; +Sails hoisted there struck here, and anchors laid +In Thames which were at Tigris and Euphrates weighed. + +VII. + +For the great Soul which here amongst us now +Doth dwell, and moves that hand, and tongue, and brow, +Which, as the moon the sea, moves us, to hear +Whose story with long patience you will long, +(For 'tis the crown and last strain of my song;) +This Soul, to whom Luther and Mohammed were +Prisons of flesh; this Soul,--which oft did tear +And mend the wrecks of the empire, and late Rome, +And lived when every great change did come, +Had first in Paradise a low but fatal room. + +VIII. + +Yet no low room, nor then the greatest, less +If, as devout and sharp men fitly guess, +That cross, our joy and grief, (where nails did tie +That All, which always was all everywhere, +Which could not sin, and yet all sins did bear, +Which could not die, yet could not choose but die,) +Stood in the self-same room in Calvary +Where first grew the forbidden learned tree; +For on that tree hung in security +This Soul, made by the Maker's will from pulling free. + +IX. + +Prince of the orchard, fair as dawning morn, +Fenced with the law, and ripe as soon as born, +That apple grew which this soul did enlive, +Till the then climbing serpent, that now creeps +For that offence for which all mankind weeps, +Took it, and t' her, whom the first man did wive, +(Whom and her race only forbiddings drive,) +He gave it, she to her husband; both did eat: +So perished the eaters and the meat, +And we, for treason taints the blood, thence die and sweat. + +X. + +Man all at once was there by woman slain, +And one by one we're here slain o'er again +By them. The mother poison'd the well-head; +The daughters here corrupt us rivulets; +No smallness 'scapes, no greatness breaks, their nets: +She thrust us out, and by them we are led +Astray from turning to whence we are fled. +Were prisoners judges 't would seem rigorous; +She sinned, we bear: part of our pain is thus +To love them whose fault to this painful love yoked us. + +XI. + +So fast in us doth this corruption grow, +That now we dare ask why we should be so. +Would God (disputes the curious rebel) make +A law, and would not have it kept? or can +His creatures' will cross his? Of every man +For one will God (and be just) vengeance take? +Who sinned? 'twas not forbidden to the snake, +Nor her, who was not then made; nor is 't writ +That Adam cropt or knew the apple; yet +The worm, and she, and he, and we, endure for it. + +XII. + +But snatch me, heavenly Spirit! from this vain +Reck'ning their vanity; less is their gain +Than hazard still to meditate on ill, +Though with good mind; their reasons like those toys +Of glassy bubbles which the gamesome boys +Stretch to so nice a thinness through a quill, +That they themselves break, and do themselves spill. +Arguing is heretics' game, and exercise, +As wrestlers, perfects them. Not liberties +Of speech, but silence; hands, not tongues, and heresies. + +XIII. + +Just in that instant, when the serpent's gripe +Broke the slight veins and tender conduit-pipe +Through which this Soul from the tree's root did draw +Life and growth to this apple, fled away +This loose Soul, old, one and another day. +As lightning, which one scarce dare say he saw, +'Tis so soon gone (and better proof the law +Of sense than faith requires) swiftly she flew +To a dark and foggy plot; her her fates threw +There through the earth's pores, and in a plant housed her anew. + +XIV. + +The plant, thus abled, to itself did force +A place where no place was by Nature's course, +As air from water, water fleets away +From thicker bodies; by this root thronged so +His spungy confines gave him place to grow: +Just as in our streets, when the people stay +To see the prince, and so fill up the way +That weasels scarce could pass; when he comes near +They throng and cleave up, and a passage clear, +As if for that time their round bodies flatten'd were. + +XV. + +His right arm he thrust out towards the east, +Westward his left; the ends did themselves digest +Into ten lesser strings, these fingers were: +And, as a slumberer, stretching on his bed, +This way he this, and that way scattered +His other leg, which feet with toes upbear; +Grew on his middle part, the first day, hair. +To shew that in love's business he should still +A dealer be, and be used, well or ill: +His apples kindle, his leaves force of conception kill. + +XVI. + +A mouth, but dumb, he hath; blind eyes, deaf ears, +And to his shoulders dangle subtle hairs; +A young Colossus there he stands upright; +And, as that ground by him were conquered, +A lazy garland wears he on his head +Enchased with little fruits so red and bright, +That for them ye would call your love's lips white; +So of a lone unhaunted place possess'd, +Did this Soul's second inn, built by the guest, +This living buried man, this quiet mandrake, rest. + +XVII. + +No lustful woman came this plant to grieve, +But 'twas because there was none yet but Eve, +And she (with other purpose) killed it quite: +Her sin had now brought in infirmities, +And so her cradled child the moist-red eyes +Had never shut, nor slept, since it saw light: +Poppy she knew, she knew the mandrake's might, +And tore up both, and so cooled her child's blood. +Unvirtuous weeds might long unvexed have stood, +But he's short-lived that with his death can do most good. + +XVIII. + +To an unfettered Soul's quick nimble haste +Are falling stars and heart's thoughts but slow-paced, +Thinner than burnt air flies this Soul, and she, +Whom four new-coming and four parting suns +Had found, and left the mandrake's tenant, runs, +Thoughtless of change, when her firm destiny +Confined and enjailed her that seemed so free +Into a small blue shell, the which a poor +Warm bird o'erspread, and sat still evermore, +Till her enclosed child kicked, and picked itself a door. + +XIX. + +Out crept a sparrow, this Soul's moving inn, +On whose raw arms stiff feathers now begin, +As children's teeth through gums, to break with pain: +His flesh is jelly yet, and his bones threads; +All a new downy mantle overspreads: +A mouth he opes, which would as much contain +As his late house, and the first hour speaks plain, +And chirps aloud for meat: meat fit for men +His father steals for him, and so feeds then +One that within a month will beat him from his hen. + +XX. + +In this world's youth wise Nature did make haste, +Things ripened sooner, and did longer last: +Already this hot cock in bush and tree, +In field and tent, o'erflutters his next hen: +He asks her not who did so taste, nor when; +Nor if his sister or his niece she be, +Nor doth she pule for his inconstancy +If in her sight he change; nor doth refuse +The next that calls; both liberty do use. +Where store is of both kinds, both kinds may freely choose. + +XXI. + +Men, till they took laws, which made freedom less, +Their daughters and their sisters did ingress; +Till now unlawful, therefore ill, 'twas not; +So jolly, that it can move this Soul. Is +The body so free of his kindnesses, +That self-preserving it hath now forgot, +And slack'neth not the Soul's and body's knot, +Which temp'rance straitens? Freely on his she-friends +He blood and spirit, pith and marrow, spends; +Ill steward of himself, himself in three years ends. + +XXII. + +Else might he long have lived; man did not know +Of gummy blood which doth in holly grow, +How to make bird-lime, nor how to deceive, +With feigned calls, his nets, or enwrapping snare, +The free inhabitants of the pliant air. +Man to beget, and woman to conceive, +Asked not of roots, nor of cock-sparrows, leave; +Yet chooseth he, though none of these he fears, +Pleasantly three; then straitened twenty years +To live, and to increase his race himself outwears. + +XXIII. + +This coal with over-blowing quenched and dead, +The Soul from her too active organs fled +To a brook. A female fish's sandy roe +With the male's jelly newly leavened was; +For they had intertouched as they did pass, +And one of those small bodies, fitted so, +This Soul informed, and able it to row +Itself with finny oars, which she did fit, +Her scales seemed yet of parchment, and as yet +Perchance a fish, but by no name you could call it. + +XXIV. + +When goodly, like a ship in her full trim, +A swan so white, that you may unto him +Compare all whiteness, but himself to none, +Glided along, and as he glided watched, +And with his arched neck this poor fish catched: +It moved with state, as if to look upon +Low things it scorned; and yet before that one +Could think he sought it, he had swallowed clear +This and much such, and unblamed, devoured there +All but who too swift, too great, or well-armed, were. + +XXV. + +Now swam a prison in a prison put, +And now this Soul in double walls was shut, +Till melted with the swan's digestive fire +She left her house, the fish, and vapoured forth: +Fate not affording bodies of more worth +For her as yet, bids her again retire +To another fish, to any new desire +Made a new prey; for he that can to none +Resistance make, nor complaint, is sure gone; +Weakness invites, but silence feasts oppression. + +XXVI. + +Pace with the native stream this fish doth keep, +And journeys with her towards the glassy deep, +But oft retarded; once with a hidden net, +Though with great windows, (for when need first taught +These tricks to catch food, then they were not wrought +As now, with curious greediness, to let +None 'scape, but few and fit for use to get,) +As in this trap a ravenous pike was ta'en, +Who, though himself distress'd, would fain have slain +This wretch; so hardly are ill habits left again. + +XXVII. + +Here by her smallness she two deaths o'erpast, +Once innocence 'scaped, and left the oppressor fast; +The net through swam, she keeps the liquid path, +And whether she leap up sometimes to breathe +And suck in air, or find it underneath, +Or working parts like mills or limbecs hath, +To make the water thin, and air like faith, +Cares not, but safe the place she's come unto, +Where fresh with salt waves meet, and what to do +She knows not, but between both makes a board or two. + +XXVIII. + +So far from hiding her guests water is, +That she shews them in bigger quantities +Than they are. Thus her, doubtful of her way, +For game, and not for hunger, a sea-pie +Spied through his traitorous spectacle from high +The silly fish, where it disputing lay, +And to end her doubts and her, bears her away; +Exalted, she's but to the exalter's good, +(As are by great ones men which lowly stood;) +It's raised to be the raiser's instrument and food. + +XXIX. + +Is any kind subject to rape like fish? +Ill unto man they neither do nor wish; +Fishers they kill not, nor with noise awake; +They do not hunt, nor strive to make a prey +Of beasts, nor their young sons to bear away; +Fowls they pursue not, nor do undertake +To spoil the nests industrious birds do make; +Yet them all these unkind kinds feed upon; +To kill them is an occupation, +And laws make fasts and lents for their destruction. + +XXX. + +A sudden stiff land-wind in that self hour +To sea-ward forced this bird that did devour +The fish; he cares not, for with ease he flies, +Fat gluttony's best orator: at last, +So long he hath flown, and hath flown so fast, +That, leagues o'erpast at sea, now tired he lies, +And with his prey, that till then languished, dies: +The souls, no longer foes, two ways did err. +The fish I follow, and keep no calender +Of the other: he lives yet in some great officer. + +XXXI. + +Into an embryo fish our Soul is thrown, +And in due time thrown out again, and grown +To such vastness, as if unmanacled +From Greece Morea were, and that, by some +Earthquake unrooted, loose Morea swam; +Or seas from Afric's body had severed +And torn the Hopeful promontory's head: +This fish would seem these, and, when all hopes fail, +A great ship overset, or without sail, +Hulling, might (when this was a whelp) be like this whale. + +XXXII. + +At every stroke his brazen fins do take +More circles in the broken sea they make +Than cannons' voices when the air they tear: +His ribs are pillars, and his high-arched roof +Of bark, that blunts best steel, is thunder-proof: +Swim in him swallowed dolphins without fear, +And feel no sides, as if his vast womb were +Some inland sea; and ever, as he went, +He spouted rivers up, as if he meant +To join our seas with seas above the firmament. + +XXXIII. + +He hunts not fish, but, as an officer +Stays in his court, at his own net, and there +All suitors of all sorts themselves enthral; +So on his back lies this whale wantoning, +And in his gulf-like throat sucks every thing, +That passeth near. Fish chaseth fish, and all, +Flier and follower, in this whirlpool fall: +Oh! might not states of more equality +Consist? and is it of necessity +That thousand guiltless smalls to make one great must die? + +XXXIV. + +Now drinks he up seas, and he eats up flocks; +He jostles islands, and he shakes firm rocks: +Now in a roomful house this Soul doth float, +And, like a prince, she sends her faculties +To all her limbs, distant as provinces. +The sun hath twenty times both Crab and Goat +Parched, since first launched forth this living boat: +'Tis greatest now, and to destruction +Nearest; there's no pause at perfection; +Greatness a period hath, but hath no station. + +XXXV. + +Two little fishes, whom he never harmed, +Nor fed on their kind, two, not th'roughly armed +With hope that they could kill him, nor could do +Good to themselves by his death, (they did not eat +His flesh, nor suck those oils which thence outstreat,) +Conspired against him; and it might undo +The plot of all that the plotters were two, +But that they fishes were, and could not speak. +How shall a tyrant wise strong projects break, +If wretches can on them the common anger wreak? + +XXXVI. + +The flail-finned thresher and steel-beaked sword-fish +Only attempt to do what all do wish: +The thresher backs him, and to beat begins; +The sluggard whale leads to oppression, +And t' hide himself from shame and danger, down +Begins to sink: the sword-fish upwards spins, +And gores him with his beak; his staff-like fins +So well the one, his sword the other, plies, +That, now a scoff and prey, this tyrant dies, +And (his own dole) feeds with himself all companies. + +XXXVII. + +Who will revenge his death? or who will call +Those to account that thought and wrought his fall? +The heirs of slain kings we see are often so +Transported with the joy of what they get, +That they revenge and obsequies forget; +Nor will against such men the people go, +Because he's now dead to whom they should show +Love in that act. Some kings, by vice, being grown +So needy of subjects' love, that of their own +They think they lose if love be to the dead prince shown. + +XXXVIII. + +This soul, now free from prison and passion, +Hath yet a little indignation +That so small hammers should so soon down beat +So great a castle; and having for her house +Got the strait cloister of a wretched mouse, +(As basest men, that have not what to eat, +Nor enjoy ought, do far more hate the great +Than they who good reposed estates possess,) +This Soul, late taught that great things might by less +Be slain, to gallant mischief doth herself address. + +XXXIX. + +Nature's great masterpiece, an elephant, +(The only harmless great thing,) the giant +Of beasts, who thought none had to make him wise, +But to be just and thankful, both to offend, +(Yet Nature hath given him no knees to bend,) +Himself he up-props, on himself relies, +And, foe to none, suspects no enemies, +Still sleeping stood; vexed not his fantasy +Black dreams; like an unbent bow carelessly +His sinewy proboscis did remissly lie. + +XL. + +In which, as in a gallery, this mouse +Walked, and surveyed the rooms of this vast house, +And to the brain, the Soul's bed-chamber, went, +And gnawed the life-cords there: like a whole town +Clean undermined, the slain beast tumbled down: +With him the murderer dies, whom envy sent +To kill, not 'scape, (for only he that meant +To die did ever kill a man of better room,) +And thus he made his foe his prey and tomb: +Who cares not to turn back may any whither come. + +XLI. + +Next housed this Soul a wolf's yet unborn whelp, +Till the best midwife, Nature, gave it help +To issue: it could kill as soon as go. +Abel, as white and mild as his sheep were, +(Who, in that trade, of church and kingdoms there +Was the first type,) was still infested so +With this wolf, that it bred his loss and woe; +And yet his bitch, his sentinel, attends +The flock so near, so well warns and defends, +That the wolf, hopeless else, to corrupt her intends. + +XLII. + +He took a course, which since successfully +Great men have often taken, to espy +The counsels, or to break the plots, of foes; +To Abel's tent he stealeth in the dark, +On whose skirts the bitch slept: ere she could bark, +Attached her with strait gripes, yet he called those +Embracements of love: to love's work he goes, +Where deeds move more than words; nor doth she show, +Nor much resist, no needs he straiten so +His prey, for were she loose she would not bark nor go. + +XLIII. + +He hath engaged her; his she wholly bides; +Who not her own, none other's secrets hides. +If to the flock he come, and Abel there, +She feigns hoarse barkings, but she biteth not! +Her faith is quite, but not her love forgot. +At last a trap, of which some everywhere +Abel had placed, ends all his loss and fear +By the wolf's death; and now just time it was +That a quick Soul should give life to that mass +Of blood in Abel's bitch, and thither this did pass. + +XLIV. + +Some have their wives, their sisters some begot, +But in the lives of emperors you shall not +Read of a lust the which may equal this: +This wolf begot himself, and finished +What he began alive when he was dead. +Son to himself, and father too, he is +A riding lust, for which schoolmen would miss +A proper name. The whelp of both these lay +In Abel's tent, and with soft Moaba, +His sister, being young, it used to sport and play. + +XLV. + +He soon for her too harsh and churlish grew, +And Abel (the dam dead) would use this new +For the field; being of two kinds thus made, +He, as his dam, from sheep drove wolves away, +And, as his sire, he made them his own prey. +Five years he lived, and cozened with his trade, +Then, hopeless that his faults were hid, betrayed +Himself by flight, and by all followed, +From dogs a wolf, from wolves a dog, he fled, +And, like a spy, to both sides false, he perished. + +XLVI. + +It quickened next a toyful ape, and so +Gamesome it was, that it might freely go +From tent to tent, and with the children play: +His organs now so like theirs he doth find, +That why he cannot laugh and speak his mind +He wonders. Much with all, most he doth stay +With Adam's fifth daughter, Siphatecia; +Doth gaze on her, and where she passeth pass, +Gathers her fruits, and tumbles on the grass; +And, wisest of that kind, the first true lover was. + +XLVII. + +He was the first that more desired to have +One than another; first that e'er did crave +Love by mute signs, and had no power to speak; +First that could make love-faces, or could do +The vaulter's somersalts, or used to woo +With hoiting gambols, his own bones to break, +To make his mistress merry, or to wreak +Her anger on himself. Sins against kind +They easily do that can let feed their mind +With outward beauty; beauty they in boys and beasts do find. + +XLVIII. + +By this misled too low things men have proved, +And too high; beasts and angels have been loved: +This ape, though else th'rough vain, in this was wise; +He reached at things too high, but open way +There was, and he knew not she would say Nay. +His toys prevail not; likelier means he tries; +He gazeth on her face with tear-shot eyes, +And uplifts subtlely, with his russet paw, +Her kid-skin apron without fear or awe +Of Nature; Nature hath no jail, though she hath law. + +XLIX. + +First she was silly, and knew not what he meant: +That virtue, by his touches chafed and spent, +Succeeds an itchy warmth, that melts her quite; +She knew not first, nor cares not what he doth; +And willing half and more, more than half wrath, +She neither pulls nor pushes, but outright +Now cries, and now repents; when Thelemite, +Her brother, entered, and a great stone threw +After the ape, who thus prevented flew. +This house, thus battered down, the Soul possessed anew. + +L. + +And whether by this change she lose or win, +She comes out next where the ape would have gone in. +Adam and Eve had mingled bloods, and now, +Like chemic's equal fires, her temperate womb +Had stewed and formed it; and part did become +A spungy liver, that did richly allow, +Like a free conduit on a high hill's brow, +Life-keeping moisture unto every part; +Part hardened itself to a thicker heart, +Whose busy furnaces life's spirits do impart. + +LI. + +Another part became the well of sense, +The tender, well-armed feeling brain, from whence +Those sinew strings which do our bodies tie +Are ravelled out; and fast there by one end +Did this Soul limbs, these limbs a Soul attend; +And now they joined, keeping some quality +Of every past shape; she knew treachery, +Rapine, deceit, and lust, and ills enough +To be a woman: Themech she is now, +Sister and wife to Cain, Cain that first did plough. + +LII. + +Whoe'er thou beest that read'st this sullen writ, +Which just so much courts thee as thou dost it, +Let me arrest thy thoughts; wonder with me +Why ploughing, building, ruling, and the rest, +Or most of those arts whence our lives are blest, +By cursed Cain's race invented be, +And blest Seth vexed us with astronomy. +There's nothing simply good nor ill alone; +Of every quality Comparison +The only measure is, and judge Opinion. + + + + +MICHAEL DRAYTON, + + +The author of 'Polyolbion,' was born in the parish of Atherston, in +Warwickshire, about the year 1563. He was the son of a butcher, but +displayed such precocity that several persons of quality, such as Sir +Walter Aston and the Countess of Bedford, patronised him. In his +childhood he was eager to know what strange kind of beings poets were; +and on coming to Oxford, (if, indeed, he did study there,) is said to +have importuned his tutor to make him, if possible, a poet. He was +supported chiefly, through his life, by the Lady Bedford. He paid court, +without success, to King James. In 1593 (having long ere this become +that 'strange thing a poet') he published a collection of his Pastorals, +and afterwards his 'Barons' Wars' and 'England's Heroical Epistles,' +which are both rhymed histories. In 1612-13 he published the first part +of 'Polyolbion,' and in 1622 completed the work. In 1626 we hear of him +being styled Poet Laureate, but the title then implied neither royal +appointment, nor fee, nor, we presume, duty. In 1627 he published 'The +Battle of Agincourt,' 'The Court of Faerie,' and other poems; and, three +years later, a book called 'The Muses' Elysium.' He had at last found an +asylum in the family of the Earl of Dorset; whose noble lady, Lady Anne +Clifford, subsequently Countess of Pembroke, and who had been, we saw, +Daniel's pupil, after Drayton's death in 1631, erected him a monument, +with a gold-lettered inscription, in Westminster Abbey. + +The main pillar of Drayton's fame is 'Polyolbion,' which forms a poetical +description of England, in thirty songs or books, to which the learned +Camden appended notes. The learning and knowledge of this poem are exten- +sive, and many of the descriptions are true and spirited, but the space +of ground traversed is too large, and the form of versification is too +heavy, for so long a flight. Campbell justly remarks,--'On a general +survey, the mass of his poetry has no strength or sustaining spirit equal +to its bulk. There is a perpetual play of fancy on its surface; but the +impulses of passion, and the guidance of judgment, give it no strong +movements or consistent course.' + +Drayton eminently suits a 'Selection' such as ours, since his parts are +better than his whole. + + +DESCRIPTION OF MORNING. + +When Phoebus lifts his head out of the winter's wave, +No sooner doth the earth her flowery bosom brave, +At such time as the year brings on the pleasant spring, +But hunts-up to the morn the feather'd sylvans sing: +And in the lower grove, as on the rising knoll, +Upon the highest spray of every mounting pole, +Those choristers are perch'd with many a speckled breast. +Then from her burnish'd gate the goodly glitt'ring east +Gilds every lofty top, which late the humorous night +Bespangled had with pearl, to please the morning's sight: +On which the mirthful choirs, with their clear open throats, +Unto the joyful morn so strain their warbling notes, +That hills and valleys ring, and even the echoing air +Seems all composed of sounds, about them everywhere. +The throstle, with shrill sharps; as purposely he sung +T'awake the lustless sun, or chiding, that so long +He was in coming forth, that should the thickets thrill; +The woosel near at hand, that hath a golden bill; +As nature him had mark'd of purpose, t'let us see +That from all other birds his tunes should different be: +For, with their vocal sounds, they sing to pleasant May; +Upon his dulcet pipe the merle doth only play. +When in the lower brake, the nightingale hard by, +In such lamenting strains the joyful hours doth ply, +As though the other birds she to her tunes would draw, +And, but that nature (by her all-constraining law) +Each bird to her own kind this season doth invite, +They else, alone to hear that charmer of the night, +(The more to use their ears,) their voices sure would spare, +That moduleth her tunes so admirably rare, +As man to set in parts at first had learn'd of her. + +To Philomel the next, the linnet we prefer; +And by that warbling bird, the wood-lark place we then, +The red-sparrow, the nope, the redbreast, and the wren. +The yellow-pate; which though she hurt the blooming tree, +Yet scarce hath any bird a finer pipe than she. +And of these chanting fowls, the goldfinch not behind, +That hath so many sorts descending from her kind. +The tydy for her notes as delicate as they, +The laughing hecco, then the counterfeiting jay, +The softer with the shrill (some hid among the leaves, +Some in the taller trees, some in the lower greaves) +Thus sing away the morn, until the mounting sun +Through thick exhaled fogs his golden head hath run, +And through the twisted tops of our close covert creeps +To kiss the gentle shade, this while that sweetly sleeps. +And near to these our thicks, the wild and frightful herds, +Not hearing other noise but this of chattering birds, +Feed fairly on the lawns; both sorts of season'd deer: +Here walk the stately red, the freckled fallow there: +The bucks and lusty stags amongst the rascals strew'd, +As sometime gallant spirits amongst the multitude. + +Of all the beasts which we for our venerial name, +The hart among the rest, the hunter's noblest game: +Of which most princely chase since none did e'er report, +Or by description touch, to express that wondrous sport, +(Yet might have well beseem'd the ancients' nobler songs) +To our old Arden here, most fitly it belongs: +Yet shall she not invoke the muses to her aid; +But thee, Diana bright, a goddess and a maid: +In many a huge-grown wood, and many a shady grove, +Which oft hast borne thy bow (great huntress, used to rove) +At many a cruel beast, and with thy darts to pierce +The lion, panther, ounce, the bear, and tiger fierce; +And following thy fleet game, chaste mighty forest's queen, +With thy dishevell'd nymphs attired in youthful green, +About the lawns hast scour'd, and wastes both far and near, +Brave huntress; but no beast shall prove thy quarries here; +Save those the best of chase, the tall and lusty red, +The stag for goodly shape, and stateliness of head, +Is fitt'st to hunt at force. For whom, when with his hounds +The labouring hunter tufts the thick unbarbed grounds +Where harbour'd is the hart; there often from his feed +The dogs of him do find; or thorough skilful heed, +The huntsman by his slot, or breaking earth, perceives, +On entering of the thick by pressing of the greaves, +Where he had gone to lodge. Now when the hart doth hear +The often-bellowing hounds to vent his secret leir, +He rousing rusheth out, and through the brakes doth drive, +As though up by the roots the bushes he would rive. +And through the cumbrous thicks, as fearfully he makes, +He with his branched head the tender saplings shakes, +That sprinkling their moist pearl do seem for him to weep; +When after goes the cry, with yellings loud and deep, +That all the forest rings, and every neighbouring place: +And there is not a hound but falleth to the chase; +Rechating with his horn, which then the hunter cheers, +Whilst still the lusty stag his high-palm'd head upbears, +His body showing state, with unbent knees upright, +Expressing from all beasts, his courage in his flight. +But when the approaching foes still following he perceives, +That he his speed must trust, his usual walk he leaves: +And o'er the champain flies: which when the assembly find, +Each follows, as his horse were footed with the wind. +But being then imbost, the noble stately deer +When he hath gotten ground (the kennel cast arrear) +Doth beat the brooks and ponds for sweet refreshing soil: +That serving not, then proves if he his scent can foil, +And makes amongst the herds, and flocks of shag-wooled sheep, +Them frighting from the guard of those who had their keep. +But when as all his shifts his safety still denies, +Put quite out of his walk, the ways and fallows tries. +Whom when the ploughman meets, his team he letteth stand +To assail him with his goad: so with his hook in hand, +The shepherd him pursues, and to his dog doth hollo: +When, with tempestuous speed, the hounds and huntsmen follow; +Until the noble deer through toil bereaved of strength, +His long and sinewy legs then failing him at length, +The villages attempts, enraged, not giving way +To anything he meets now at his sad decay. +The cruel ravenous hounds and bloody hunters near, +This noblest beast of chase, that vainly doth but fear, +Some bank or quickset finds: to which his haunch opposed, +He turns upon his foes, that soon have him enclosed. +The churlish-throated hounds then holding him at bay, +And as their cruel fangs on his harsh skin they lay, +With his sharp-pointed head he dealeth deadly wounds. + +The hunter, coming in to help his wearied hounds, +He desperately assails; until oppress'd by force, +He who the mourner is to his own dying corse, +Upon the ruthless earth his precious tears lets fall. + + + + +EDWARD FAIRFAX. + + +Edward Fairfax was the second, some say the natural, son of Sir Thomas +Fairfax of Denton, in Yorkshire. The dates of his birth and of his death +are unknown, although he was living in 1631. While his brothers were +pursuing military glory in the field, Edward married early, and settled in +Fuystone, a place near Knaresborough Forest. Here he spent part of his +time in managing his elder brother, Lord Fairfax's property, and partly in +literary pursuits. He wrote a strange treatise on Demonology, a History of +Edward the Black Prince, which has never been printed, some poor Eclogues, +and a most beautiful translation of Tasso, which stamps him a true poet as +well as a benefactor to the English language, and on account of which +Collins calls him-- + +'Prevailing poet, whose undoubting mind + Believed the magic wonders which he sung.' + + +RINALDO AT MOUNT OLIVET. + +1 It was the time, when 'gainst the breaking day + Rebellious night yet strove, and still repined; + For in the east appear'd the morning gray, + And yet some lamps in Jove's high palace shined, + When to Mount Olivet he took his way, + And saw, as round about his eyes he twined, + Night's shadows hence, from thence the morning's shine; + This bright, that dark; that earthly, this divine: + +2 Thus to himself he thought: 'How many bright + And splendent lamps shine in heaven's temple high! + Day hath his golden sun, her moon the night, + Her fix'd and wandering stars the azure sky; + So framed all by their Creator's might, + That still they live and shine, and ne'er shall die, + Till, in a moment, with the last day's brand + They burn, and with them burn sea, air, and land.' + +3 Thus as he mused, to the top he went, + And there kneel'd down with reverence and fear; + His eyes upon heaven's eastern face he bent; + His thoughts above all heavens uplifted were-- + 'The sins and errors, which I now repent, + Of my unbridled youth, O Father dear, + Remember not, but let thy mercy fall, + And purge my faults and my offences all.' + +4 Thus prayed he; with purple wings up-flew + In golden weed the morning's lusty queen, + Begilding, with the radiant beams she threw, + His helm, his harness, and the mountain green: + Upon his breast and forehead gently blew + The air, that balm and nardus breathed unseen; + And o'er his head, let down from clearest skies, + A cloud of pure and precious dew there flies: + +5 The heavenly dew was on his garments spread, + To which compared, his clothes pale ashes seem, + And sprinkled so, that all that paleness fled, + And thence of purest white bright rays outstream: + So cheered are the flowers, late withered, + With the sweet comfort of the morning beam; + And so, return'd to youth, a serpent old + Adorns herself in new and native gold. + +6 The lovely whiteness of his changed weed + The prince perceived well and long admired; + Toward, the forest march'd he on with speed, + Resolved, as such adventures great required: + Thither he came, whence, shrinking back for dread + Of that strange desert's sight, the first retired; + But not to him fearful or loathsome made + That forest was, but sweet with pleasant shade. + +7 Forward he pass'd, and in the grove before + He heard a sound, that strange, sweet, pleasing was; + There roll'd a crystal brook with gentle roar, + There sigh'd the winds, as through the leaves they pass; + There did the nightingale her wrongs deplore, + There sung the swan, and singing died, alas! + There lute, harp, cittern, human voice, he heard, + And all these sounds one sound right well declared. + +8 A dreadful thunder-clap at last he heard, + The aged trees and plants well-nigh that rent, + Yet heard the nymphs and sirens afterward, + Birds, winds, and waters, sing with sweet consent; + Whereat amazed, he stay'd, and well prepared + For his defence, heedful and slow forth-went; + Nor in his way his passage ought withstood, + Except a quiet, still, transparent flood: + +9 On the green banks, which that fair stream inbound, + Flowers and odours sweetly smiled and smell'd, + Which reaching out his stretched arms around, + All the large desert in his bosom held, + And through the grove one channel passage found; + This in the wood, in that the forest dwell'd: + Trees clad the streams, streams green those trees aye made, + And so exchanged their moisture and their shade. + +10 The knight some way sought out the flood to pass, + And as he sought, a wondrous bridge appear'd; + A bridge of gold, a huge and mighty mass, + On arches great of that rich metal rear'd: + When through that golden way he enter'd was, + Down fell the bridge; swelled the stream, and wear'd + The work away, nor sign left, where it stood, + And of a river calm became a flood. + +11 He turn'd, amazed to see it troubled so, + Like sudden brooks, increased with molten snow; + The billows fierce, that tossed to and fro, + The whirlpools suck'd down to their bosoms low; + But on he went to search for wonders mo,[1] + Through the thick trees, there high and broad which grow; + And in that forest huge, and desert wide, + The more he sought, more wonders still he spied: + +12 Where'er he stepp'd, it seem'd the joyful ground + Renew'd the verdure of her flowery weed; + A fountain here, a well-spring there he found; + Here bud the roses, there the lilies spread: + The aged wood o'er and about him round + Flourish'd with blossoms new, new leaves, new seed; + And on the boughs and branches of those treen + The bark was soften'd, and renew'd the green. + +13 The manna on each leaf did pearled lie; + The honey stilled[2] from the tender rind: + Again he heard that wonderful harmony + Of songs and sweet complaints of lovers kind; + The human voices sung a treble high, + To which respond the birds, the streams, the wind; + But yet unseen those nymphs, those singers were, + Unseen the lutes, harps, viols which they bear. + +14 He look'd, he listen'd, yet his thoughts denied + To think that true which he did hear and see: + A myrtle in an ample plain he spied, + And thither by a beaten path went he; + The myrtle spread her mighty branches wide, + Higher than pine, or palm, or cypress tree, + And far above all other plants was seen + That forest's lady, and that desert's queen. + +15 Upon the tree his eyes Rinaldo bent, + And there a marvel great and strange began; + An aged oak beside him cleft and rent, + And from his fertile, hollow womb, forth ran, + Clad in rare weeds and strange habiliment, + A nymph, for age able to go to man; + An hundred plants beside, even in his sight, + Childed an hundred nymphs, so great, so dight.[3] + +16 Such as on stages play, such as we see + The dryads painted, whom wild satyrs love, + Whose arms half naked, locks untrussed be, + With buskins laced on their legs above, + And silken robes tuck'd short above their knee, + Such seem'd the sylvan daughters of this grove; + Save, that instead of shafts and bows of tree, + She bore a lute, a harp or cittern she; + +17 And wantonly they cast them in a ring, + And sung and danced to move his weaker sense, + Rinaldo round about environing, + As does its centre the circumference; + The tree they compass'd eke, and 'gan to sing, + That woods and streams admired their excellence-- + 'Welcome, dear Lord, welcome to this sweet grove, + Welcome, our lady's hope, welcome, her love! + +18 'Thou com'st to cure our princess, faint and sick + For love, for love of thee, faint, sick, distress'd; + Late black, late dreadful was this forest thick, + Fit dwelling for sad folk, with grief oppress'd; + See, with thy coming how the branches quick + Revived are, and in new blossoms dress'd!' + This was their song; and after from it went + First a sweet sound, and then the myrtle rent. + +19 If antique times admired Silenus old, + Who oft appear'd set on his lazy ass, + How would they wonder, if they had behold + Such sights, as from the myrtle high did pass! + Thence came a lady fair with locks of gold, + That like in shape, in face, and beauty was + To fair Armida; Rinald thinks he spies + Her gestures, smiles, and glances of her eyes: + +20 On him a sad and smiling look she cast, + Which twenty passions strange at once bewrays; + 'And art thou come,' quoth she, 'return'd at last' + To her, from whom but late thou ran'st thy ways? + Com'st thou to comfort me for sorrows past, + To ease my widow nights, and careful days? + Or comest thou to work me grief and harm? + Why nilt thou speak, why not thy face disarm? + +21 'Com'st thou a friend or foe? I did not frame + That golden bridge to entertain my foe; + Nor open'd flowers and fountains, as you came, + To welcome him with joy who brings me woe: + Put off thy helm: rejoice me with the flame + Of thy bright eyes, whence first my fires did grow; + Kiss me, embrace me; if you further venture, + Love keeps the gate, the fort is eath[4] to enter.' + +22 Thus as she woos, she rolls her rueful eyes + With piteous look, and changeth oft her chere,[5] + An hundred sighs from her false heart up-flies; + She sobs, she mourns, it is great ruth to hear: + The hardest breast sweet pity mollifies; + What stony heart resists a woman's tear? + But yet the knight, wise, wary, not unkind, + Drew forth his sword, and from her careless twined:[6] + +23 Towards the tree he march'd; she thither start, + Before him stepp'd, embraced the plant, and cried-- + 'Ah! never do me such a spiteful part, + To cut my tree, this forest's joy and pride; + Put up thy sword, else pierce therewith the heart + Of thy forsaken and despised Armide; + For through this breast, and through this heart, unkind, + To this fair tree thy sword shall passage find.' + +24 He lift his brand, nor cared, though oft she pray'd, + And she her form to other shape did change; + Such monsters huge, when men in dreams are laid, + Oft in their idle fancies roam and range: + Her body swell'd, her face obscure was made; + Vanish'd her garments rich, and vestures strange; + A giantess before him high she stands, + Arm'd, like Briareus, with an hundred hands. + +25 With fifty swords, and fifty targets bright, + She threaten'd death, she roar'd, she cried and fought; + Each other nymph, in armour likewise dight, + A Cyclops great became; he fear'd them nought, + But on the myrtle smote with all his might, + Which groan'd, like living souls, to death nigh brought; + The sky seem'd Pluto's court, the air seem'd hell, + Therein such monsters roar, such spirits yell: + +26 Lighten'd the heaven above, the earth below + Roared aloud; that thunder'd, and this shook: + Bluster'd the tempests strong; the whirlwinds blow; + The bitter storm drove hailstones in his look; + But yet his arm grew neither weak nor slow, + Nor of that fury heed or care he took, + Till low to earth the wounded tree down bended; + en fled the spirits all, the charms all ended. + +27 The heavens grew clear, the air wax'd calm and still, + The wood returned to its wonted state, + Of witchcrafts free, quite void of spirits ill, + Of horror full, but horror there innate: + He further tried, if ought withstood his will + To cut those trees, as did the charms of late, + And finding nought to stop him, smiled and said-- + 'O shadows vain! O fools, of shades afraid!' + +28 From thence home to the camp-ward turn'd the knight; + The hermit cried, upstarting from his seat, + 'Now of the wood the charms have lost their might; + The sprites are conquer'd, ended is the feat; + See where he comes!'--Array'd in glittering white + Appear'd the man, bold, stately, high, and great; + His eagle's silver wings to shine begun + With wondrous splendour 'gainst the golden sun. + +29 The camp received him with a joyful cry,-- + A cry, the hills and dales about that fill'd; + Then Godfrey welcomed him with honours high; + His glory quench'd all spite, all envy kill'd: + 'To yonder dreadful grove,' quoth he, 'went I, + And from the fearful wood, as me you will'd, + Have driven the sprites away; thither let be + Your people sent, the way is safe and free.' + +[1] 'Mo:' more. +[2] 'Stilled:' dropped. +[3] 'Dight:' aparelled. +[4] 'Eath:' easy. +[5] 'Chere:' expression. +[6] 'Twined:' separated. + + + + +SIR HENRY WOTTON + + +Was born in Kent, in 1568; educated at Winchester and Oxford; and, after +travelling on the Continent, became the Secretary of Essex, but had the +sagacity to foresee his downfall, and withdrew from the kingdom in time. +On his return he became a favourite of James I., who employed him to be +ambassador to Venice,--a post he held long, and occupied with great skill +and adroitness. Toward the end of his days, in order to gain the Provost- +ship of Eton, he took orders, and died in that situation, in 1639, in the +72d year of his age. His writings were published in 1651, under the title +of 'Reliquitae Wottonianae,' and Izaak Walton has written an entertaining +account of his life. His poetry has a few pleasing and smooth-flowing +passages; but perhaps the best thing recorded of him is his viva voce +account of an English ambassador, as 'an honest gentleman sent to LIE +abroad for the good of his country.' + + +FAREWELL TO THE VANITIES OF THE WORLD. + +1 Farewell, ye gilded follies! pleasing troubles; + Farewell, ye honour'd rags, ye glorious bubbles; + Fame's but a hollow echo, gold pure clay, + Honour the darling but of one short day, + Beauty, the eye's idol, but a damask'd skin, + State but a golden prison to live in + And torture free-born minds; embroider'd trains + Merely but pageants for proud swelling veins; + And blood, allied to greatness, is alone + Inherited, not purchased, nor our own. + Fame, honour, beauty, state, train, blood, and birth, + Are but the fading blossoms of the earth. + +2 I would be great, but that the sun doth still + Level his rays against the rising hill; + I would be high, but see the proudest oak + Most subject to the rending thunder-stroke; + I would be rich, but see men too unkind + Dig in the bowels of the richest mind; + I would be wise, but that I often see + The fox suspected while the ass goes free; + I would be fair, but see the fair and proud, + Like the bright sun, oft setting in a cloud; + I would be poor, but know the humble grass + Still trampled on by each unworthy ass; + Rich, hated; wise, suspected; scorn'd, if poor; + Great, fear'd; fair, tempted; high, still envied more. + I have wish'd all, but now I wish for neither + Great, high, rich, wise, nor fair--poor I'll be rather. + +3 Would the world now adopt me for her heir, + Would beauty's queen entitle me 'the fair,' + Fame speak me Fortune's minion, could I vie + Angels[1] with India; with a speaking eye + Command bare heads, bow'd knees, strike Justice dumb + As well as blind and lame, or give a tongue + To stones by epitaphs; be call'd great master + In the loose rhymes of every poetaster; + Could I be more than any man that lives, + Great, fair, rich, wise, all in superlatives: + Yet I more freely would these gifts resign, + Than ever fortune would have made them mine; + And hold one minute of this holy leisure + Beyond the riches of this empty pleasure. + +4 Welcome, pure thoughts! welcome, ye silent groves! + These guests, these courts, my soul most dearly loves. + Now the wing'd people of the sky shall sing + My cheerful anthems to the gladsome spring; + A prayer-book now shall be my looking-glass, + In which I will adore sweet Virtue's face; + Here dwell no hateful looks, no palace cares, + No broken vows dwell here, nor pale-faced fears: + Then here I'll sit, and sigh my hot love's folly, + And learn to affect a holy melancholy; + And if Contentment be a stranger then, + I'll ne'er look for it but in heaven again. + +[1] 'Angels:' a species of coin. + + +A MEDITATION. + +O thou great Power! in whom we move, + By whom we live, to whom we die, +Behold me through thy beams of love, + Whilst on this couch of tears I lie, +And cleanse my sordid soul within +By thy Christ's blood, the bath of sin. + +No hallow'd oils, no gums I need, + No new-born drams of purging fire; +One rosy drop from David's seed + Was worlds of seas to quench thine ire: +O precious ransom! which once paid, +That _Consummatum est_ was said. + +And said by him, that said no more, + But seal'd it with his sacred breath: +Thou then, that has dispurged our score, + And dying wert the death of death, +Be now, whilst on thy name we call, +Our life, our strength, our joy, our all! + + + + +RICHARD CORBET. + + +This witty and good-natured bishop was born in 1582. He was the son of +a gardener, who, however, had the honour to be known to and sung by Ben +Jonson. He was educated at Westminster and Oxford; and having received +orders, was made successively Bishop of Oxford and of Norwich. He was +a most facetious and rather too convivial person; and a collection of +anecdotes about him might be made, little inferior, in point of wit and +coarseness, to that famous one, once so popular in Scotland, relating to +the sayings and doings of George Buchanan. He is said, on one occasion, +to have aided an unfortunate ballad-singer in his professional duty by +arraying himself in his leathern jacket and vending the stock, being +possessed of a fine presence and a clear, full, ringing voice. +Occasionally doffing his clerical costume he adjourned with his chaplain, +Dr Lushington, to the wine-cellar, where care and ceremony were both +speedily drowned, the one of the pair exclaiming, 'Here's to thee, +Lushington,' and the other, 'Here's to thee, Corbet.' Men winked at +these irregularities, probably on the principle mentioned by Scott, in +reference to Prior Aymer, in 'Ivanhoe,'--'If Prior Aymer rode hard in +the chase, or remained late at the banquet, men only shrugged up their +shoulders by recollecting that the same irregularities were practised by +many of his brethren, who had no redeeming qualities whatsoever to atone +for them.' Corbet, on the other hand, was a kind as well as a convivial +--a warm-hearted as well as an eccentric man. He was tolerant to the +Puritans and sectaries; his attention to his duties was respectable; his +talents were of a high order, and he had in him a vein of genius of no +ordinary kind. He died in 1635, but his poems were not published till +1647. They are of various merit, and treat of various subjects. In his +'Journey to France,' you see the humorist, who, on one occasion, when the +country people were flocking to be confirmed, cried, 'Bear off there, or +I'll confirm ye with my staff.' In his lines to his son Vincent, we see, +notwithstanding all his foibles, the good man; and in his 'Farewell to +the Fairies' the fine and fanciful poet. + + +DR CORBET'S JOURNEY INTO FRANCE. + +1 I went from England into France, + Nor yet to learn to cringe nor dance, + Nor yet to ride nor fence; + Nor did I go like one of those + That do return with half a nose, + They carried from hence. + +2 But I to Paris rode along, + Much like John Dory in the song, + Upon a holy tide; + I on an ambling nag did jet, + (I trust he is not paid for yet,) + And spurr'd him on each side. + +3 And to St Denis fast we came, + To see the sights of Notre Dame, + (The man that shows them snuffles,) + Where who is apt for to believe, + May see our Lady's right-arm sleeve, + And eke her old pantofles; + +4 Her breast, her milk, her very gown + That she did wear in Bethlehem town, + When in the inn she lay; + Yet all the world knows that's a fable, + For so good clothes ne'er lay in stable, + Upon a lock of hay. + +5 No carpenter could by his trade + Gain so much coin as to have made + A gown of so rich stuff; + Yet they, poor souls, think, for their credit, + That they believe old Joseph did it, + 'Cause he deserved enough. + +6 There is one of the cross's nails, + Which whoso sees, his bonnet vails, + And, if he will, may kneel; + Some say 'twas false,'twas never so, + Yet, feeling it, thus much I know, + It is as true as steel. + +7 There is a Ianthorn which the Jews, + When Judas led them forth, did use, + It weighs my weight downright; + But to believe it, you must think + The Jews did put a candle in 't, + And then 'twas very light. + +8 There's one saint there hath lost his nose, + Another's head, but not his toes, + His elbow and his thumb; + But when that we had seen the rags, + We went to th' inn and took our nags, + And so away did come. + +9 We came to Paris, on the Seine, + 'Tis wondrous fair,'tis nothing clean, + 'Tis Europe's greatest town; + How strong it is I need not tell it, + For all the world may easily smell it, + That walk it up and down. + +10 There many strange things are to see, + The palace and great gallery, + The Place Royal doth excel, + The New Bridge, and the statutes there, + At Notre Dame St Q. Pater, + The steeple bears the bell. + +11 For learning the University, + And for old clothes the Frippery, + The house the queen did build. + St Innocence, whose earth devours + Dead corps in four-and-twenty hours, + And there the king was kill'd. + +12 The Bastille and St Denis Street, + The Shafflenist like London Fleet, + The Arsenal no toy; + But if you'll see the prettiest thing, + Go to the court and see the king-- + Oh, 'tis a hopeful boy! + +13 He is, of all his dukes and peers, + Reverenced for much wit at's years, + Nor must you think it much; + For he with little switch doth play, + And make fine dirty pies of clay, + Oh, never king made such! + +14 A bird that can but kill a fly, + Or prate, doth please his majesty, + Tis known to every one; + The Duke of Guise gave him a parrot, + And he had twenty cannons for it, + For his new galleon. + +15 Oh that I e'er might have the hap + To get the bird which in the map + Is call'd the Indian ruck! + I'd give it him, and hope to be + As rich as Guise or Livine, + Or else I had ill-luck. + +16 Birds round about his chamber stand, + And he them feeds with his own hand, + 'Tis his humility; + And if they do want anything, + They need but whistle for their king, + And he comes presently. + +17 But now, then, for these parts he must + Be enstyled Lewis the Just, + Great Henry's lawful heir; + When to his style to add more words, + They'd better call him King of Birds, + Than of the great Navarre. + +18 He hath besides a pretty quirk, + Taught him by nature, how to work + In iron with much ease; + Sometimes to the forge he goes, + There he knocks and there he blows, + And makes both locks and keys; + +19 Which puts a doubt in every one, + Whether he be Mars' or Vulcan's son, + Some few believe his mother; + But let them all say what they will, + I came resolved, and so think still, + As much the one as th' other. + +20 The people too dislike the youth, + Alleging reasons, for, in truth, + Mothers should honour'd be; + Yet others say, he loves her rather + As well as ere she loved her father, + And that's notoriously. + +21 His queen,[1] a pretty little wench, + Was born in Spain, speaks little French, + She's ne'er like to be mother; + For her incestuous house could not + Have children which were not begot + By uncle or by brother. + +22 Nor why should Lewis, being so just, + Content himself to take his lust + With his Lucina's mate, + And suffer his little pretty queen, + From all her race that yet hath been, + So to degenerate? + +23 'Twere charity for to be known + To love others' children as his own, + And why? it is no shame, + Unless that he would greater be + Than was his father Henery, + Who, men thought, did the same. + +[1] Anne of Austria. + + +FAREWELL TO THE FAIRIES. + +1 Farewell, rewards and fairies, + Good housewives now may say, + For now foul sluts in dairies + Do fare as well as they. + And though they sweep their hearths no less + Than maids were wont to do, + Yet who of late, for cleanliness, + Finds sixpence in her shoe? + +2 Lament, lament, old Abbeys, + The fairies lost command; + They did but change priests' babies, + But some have changed your land; + And all your children sprung from thence + Are now grown Puritans; + Who live as changelings ever since, + For love of your domains. + +3 At morning and at evening both, + You merry were and glad, + So little care of sleep or sloth + These pretty ladies had; + When Tom came home from labour, + Or Cis to milking rose, + Then merrily went their tabor, + And nimbly went their toes. + +4 Witness those rings and roundelays + Of theirs, which yet remain, + Were footed in Queen Mary's days + On many a grassy plain; + But since of late Elizabeth, + And later, James came in, + They never danced on any heath + As when the time hath been. + +5 By which we note the fairies + Were of the old profession, + Their songs were Ave-Maries, + Their dances were procession: + But now, alas! they all are dead, + Or gone beyond the seas; + Or further for religion fled, + Or else they take their ease. + +6 A tell-tale in their company + They never could endure, + And whoso kept not secretly + Their mirth, was punish'd sure; + It was a just and Christian deed, + To pinch such black and blue: + Oh, how the commonwealth doth need + Such justices as you! + + + + +BEN JONSON. + + +As 'rare Ben' chiefly shone as a dramatist, we need not recount at +length the events of his life. He was born in 1574; his father, who had +been a clergyman in Westminster, and was sprung from a Scotch family +in Annandale, having died before his birth. His mother marrying a +bricklayer, Ben was brought up to the same employment. Disliking this, +he enlisted in the army, and served with credit in the Low Countries. +When he came home, he entered St John's College, Cambridge; but his stay +there must have been short, since he is found in London at the age of +twenty, married, and acting on the stage. He began at the same time to +write dramas. He was unlucky enough to quarrel with and kill another +performer, for which he was committed to prison, but released without +a trial. He resumed his labours as a writer for the stage; but having +failed in the acting department, he forsook it for ever. His first hit +was, 'Every Man in his Humour,' a play enacted in 1598, Shakspeare being +one of the actors. His course afterwards was chequered. He quarrelled +with Marston and Dekker,--he was imprisoned for some reflections on the +Scottish nation in one of his comedies,--he was appointed in 1619 poet- +laureate, with a pension of 100 marks,--he made the same year a journey +to Scotland on foot, where he visited Drummond at Hawthornden, and they +seem to have mutually loathed each other,'--he fell into habits of +intemperance, and acquired, as he said himself, + + 'A mountain belly and a rocky face.' + +His favourite haunts were the Mermaid, and the Falcon Tavern, Southwark. +He was engaged in constant squabbles with his contemporaries, and died +at last, in 1637, in miserably poor circumstances. He was buried in +Westminster Abbey, under a square tablet, where one of his admirers +afterwards inscribed the words, + + 'O rare Ben Jonson!' + +Of his powers as a dramatist we need not speak, but present our readers +with some rough and racy specimens of his poetry. + + +EPITAPH ON THE COUNTESS OF PEMBROKE. + +Underneath this sable hearse +Lies the subject of all verse, +Sidney's sister, Pembroke's mother; +Death! ere thou hast slain another, +Learn'd and fair, and good as she, +Time shall throw a dart at thee! + + +THE PICTURE OF THE BODY. + +Sitting, and ready to be drawn, +What make these velvets, silks, and lawn, +Embroideries, feathers, fringes, lace, +Where every limb takes like a face? + +Send these suspected helps to aid +Some form defective, or decay'd; +This beauty, without falsehood fair, +Needs nought to clothe it but the air. + +Yet something to the painter's view, +Were fitly interposed; so new, +He shall, if he can understand, +Work by my fancy, with his hand. + +Draw first a cloud, all save her neck, +And, out of that, make day to break; +Till like her face it do appear, +And men may think all light rose there. + +Then let the beams of that disperse +The cloud, and show the universe; +But at such distance, as the eye +May rather yet adore, than spy. + + +TO PENSHURST. + +(FROM 'THE FOREST') + +Thou art not, Penshurst, built to envious show +Of touch or marble; nor canst boast a row +Of polish'd pillars, or a roof of gold: +Thou hast no lantern, whereof tales are told; +Or stair, or courts; but stand'st an ancient pile, +And these grudged at, are reverenced the while. +Thou joy'st in better marks of soil and air, +Of wood, of water; therein thou art fair. +Thou hast thy walks for health as well as sport; +Thy mount to which the dryads do resort, +Where Pan and Bacchus their high feasts have made +Beneath the broad beech, and the chestnut shade; +That taller tree which of a nut was set +At his great birth where all the Muses met. +There, in the writhed bark, are cut the names +Of many a Sylvan token with his flames. +And thence the ruddy Satyrs oft provoke +The lighter Fauns to reach thy Ladies' Oak. +Thy copse, too, named of Gamage, thou hast here +That never fails, to serve thee, season'd deer, +When thou would'st feast or exercise thy friends. +The lower land that to the river bends, +Thy sheep, thy bullocks, kine, and calves do feed: +The middle ground thy mares and horses breed. +Each bank doth yield thee conies, and the tops +Fertile of wood. Ashore, and Sidney's copse, +To crown thy open table doth provide +The purpled pheasant, with the speckled side: +The painted partridge lies in every field, +And, for thy mess, is willing to be kill'd. +And if the high-swollen Medway fail thy dish, +Thou hast thy ponds that pay thee tribute fish, +Fat, aged carps that run into thy net, +And pikes, now weary their own kind to eat, +As both the second draught or cast to stay, +Officiously, at first, themselves betray. +Bright eels that emulate them, and leap on land, +Before the fisher, or into his hand. +Thou hast thy orchard fruit, thy garden flowers, +Fresh as the air, and new as are the hours. +The early cherry with the later plum, +Fig, grape, and quince, each in his time doth come: +The blushing apricot and woolly peach +Hang on thy walls that every child may reach. +And though thy walls be of the country stone, +They're rear'd with no man's ruin, no man's groan; +There's none that dwell about them wish them down; +But all come in, the farmer and the clown, +And no one empty-handed, to salute +Thy lord and lady, though they have no suit. +Some bring a capon, some a rural cake, +Some nuts, some apples; some that think they make +The better cheeses, bring them, or else send +By their ripe daughters, whom they would commend +This way to husbands; and whose baskets bear +An emblem of themselves, in plum or pear. +But what can this (more than express their love) +Add to thy free provision, far above +The need of such? whose liberal board doth flow +With all that hospitality doth know! +Where comes no guest but is allow'd to eat +Without his fear, and of thy lord's own meat: +Where the same beer, and bread, and selfsame wine +That is his lordship's shall be also mine. +And I not fain to sit (as some this day +At great men's tables) and yet dine away. +Here no man tells my cups; nor, standing by, +A waiter doth my gluttony envy: +But gives me what I call, and lets me eat; +He knows below he shall find plenty of meat; +Thy tables hoard not up for the next day, +Nor, when I take my lodging, need I pray +For fire, or lights, or livery: all is there, +As if thou, then, wert mine, or I reign'd here. +There's nothing I can wish, for which I stay. +This found King James, when hunting late this way +With his brave son, the Prince; they saw thy fires +Shine bright on every hearth, as the desires +Of thy Penates had been set on flame +To entertain them; or the country came, +With all their zeal, to warm their welcome here. +What (great, I will not say, but) sudden cheer +Did'st thou then make them! and what praise was heap'd +On thy good lady then, who therein reap'd +The just reward of her high housewifery; +To have her linen, plate, and all things nigh, +When she was far; and not a room but drest +As if it had expected such a guest! +These, Penshurst, are thy praise, and yet not all; +Thy lady's noble, fruitful, chaste withal. +His children * * * + * * have been taught religion; thence +Their gentler spirits have suck'd innocence. +Each morn and even they are taught to pray, +With the whole household, and may, every day, +Head, in their virtuous parents' noble parts, +The mysteries of manners, arms, and arts. +Now, Penshurst, they that will proportion thee +With other edifices, when they see +Those proud ambitious heaps, and nothing else, +May say their lords have built, but thy lord dwells. + + +TO THE MEMORY OF MY BELOVED MASTER, WILLIAM SHAKSPEARE, +AND WHAT HE HATH LEFT US. + +To draw no envy, Shakspeare, on thy name, +Am I thus ample to thy book and fame; +While I confess thy writings to be such +As neither man nor Muse can praise too much, +'Tis true, and all men's suffrage. But these ways +Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise; +For silliest ignorance on these would light, +Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right; +Or blind affection, which doth ne'er advance +The truth, but gropes, and urges all by chance; +Or crafty malice might pretend this praise, +And think to ruin, where it seem'd to raise. +But thou art proof against them, and, indeed, +Above the ill fortune of them, or the need. +I therefore will begin: Soul of the age! +The applause, delight, the wonder of our stage! +My Shakspeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by +Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie +A little further off, to make thee room: +Thou art a monument without a tomb, +And art alive still, while thy book doth live, +And we have wits to read, and praise to give. +That I not mix thee so, my brain excuses, +I mean with great but disproportion'd Muses: +For if I thought my judgment were of years, +I should commit thee surely with thy peers, +And tell how far thou didst our Lyly outshine, +Or sporting Kyd or Marlow's mighty line, +And though thou had small Latin and less Greek, +From thence to honour thee I will not seek +For names; but call forth thund'ring Aeschylus, +Euripides, and Sophocles to us, +Pacuvius, Accius, him of Cordova dead, +To live again, to hear thy buskin tread, +And shake a stage: or when thy socks were on +Leave thee alone for the comparison +Of all, that insolent Greece or haughty Rome +Sent forth, or since did from their ashes come. +Triumph, my Britain, thou hast one to show, +To whom all scenes of Europe homage owe. +He was not of an age, but for all time! +And all the Muses still were in their prime, +When, like Apollo, he came forth to warm +Our ears, or like a Mercury, to charm! +Nature herself was proud of his designs, +And joy'd to wear the dressing of his lines, +Which were so richly spun, and woven so fit, +As, since, she will vouchsafe no other wit. +The merry Greek, tart Aristophanes, +Neat Terence, witty Plautus, now not please; +But antiquated and deserted lie, +As they were not of nature's family, +Yet must I not give nature all; thy art, +My gentle Shakspeare, must enjoy a part, +For though the poet's matter nature be, +His art doth give the fashion; and, that he +Who casts to write a living line, must sweat +(Such as thine are) and strike the second heat +Upon the Muses' anvil; turn the same, +And himself with it, that he thinks to frame; +Or for the laurel, he may gain a scorn; +For a good poet's made as well as born, +And such wert thou! Look how the father's face +Lives in his issue, even so the race +Of Shakspeare's mind and manners brightly shines +In his well-turned and true-filed lines; +In each of which he seems to shake a lance, +As brandish'd at the eyes of ignorance. +Sweet Swan of Avon! what a sight it were +To see thee in our water yet appear, +And make those flights upon the banks of Thames +That so did take Eliza and our James! +But stay, I see thee in the hemisphere +Advanced, and made a constellation there! +Shine forth, thou Star of Poets, and with rage, +Or influence, chide, or cheer the drooping stage, +Which since thy flight from hence hath mourn'd like night, +And despairs day, but for thy volume's light! + + +ON THE PORTRAIT OF SHAKSPEARE. + +(UNDER THE FRONTISPIECE TO THE FIRST EDITION OF HIS WORKS: 1623.) + +This figure that thou here seest put, +It was for gentle Shakspeare cut, +Wherein the graver had a strife +With nature, to outdo the life: +Oh, could he but have drawn his wit, +As well in brass, as he hath hit +His face; the print would then surpass +All that was ever writ in 'brass: +But since he cannot, reader, look +Not on his picture but his book. + + + + +VERE, STORRER, &c. + + +In the same age of fertile, seething mind which produced Jonson and the +rest of the Elizabethan giants, there flourished some minor poets, whose +names we merely chronicle: such as Edward Vere, Earl of Oxford, born +1534, and dying 1604, who travelled in Italy in his youth, and returned +the 'most accomplished coxcomb in Europe,' who sat as Grand Chamberlain +of England upon the trial of Mary Queen of Scots, and who has left, in +the 'Paradise of Dainty Devices,' some rather beautiful verses, entitled, +'Fancy and Desire;'--as Thomas Storrer, a student of Christ Church, Oxford, +and the author of a versified 'History of Cardinal Wolsey,' in three parts, +who died in 1604;--as William Warner, a native of Oxfordshire, born in +1558, who became an attorney of the Common Pleas in London, and died +suddenly in 1609, having made himself famous for a time by a poem, entitled +'Albion's England,' called by Campbell 'an enormous ballad on the history, +or rather the fables appendant to the history of England,' with some fine +touches, but heavy and prolix as a whole;--as Sir John Harrington, who was +the son of a poet and the favourite of Essex, who was created a Knight of +the Bath by James I., and who wrote some pointed epigrams and a miserable +translation of Ariosto, in which heeffectually tamed that wild Pegasus; +--as Henry Perrot, who collected, in 1613, a book of epigrams, entitled, +'Springes for Woodcocks;'--as Sir Thomas Overbury, whose dreadful and +mysterious fate, well known to all who read English history, excited such +a sympathy for him, that his poems, 'A Wife,' and 'The Choice of a Wife,' +passed through sixteen editions before the year 1653, although his prose +'Characters,' such as the exquisite and well-known 'Fair and Happy +Milkmaid,' are far better than his poetry;--as Samuel Rowlandes, a prolific +pamphleteer in the reigns of Elizabeth, James I., and Charles I., author +also of several plays and of a book of epigrams;--as Thomas Picke, who +belonged to the Middle Temple, and published, in 1631, a number of songs, +sonnets, and elegies;--as Henry Constable, born in 1568, and a well-known +sonneteer of his day;--as Nicholas Breton, author of some pretty pastorals, +who, it is conjectured, was born in 1555, and died in 1624;--and as Dr +Thomas Lodge, born in 1556, and who died in 1625, after translating +Josephus into English, and writing some tolerable poetical pieces. + + + + +THOMAS RANDOLPH. + + +This was a true poet, although his power comes forth principally in the +drama. He was born at Newnham, near Daventry, Northamptonshire, in 1605, +being the you of Lord Zouch's steward. He became a King's Scholar at +Westminster, and subsequently a Fellow in Trinity College, Cambridge. +Ben Jonson loved him, and he reciprocated the attachment. Whether from +natural tendency or in imitation of Jonson, who called him, as well as +Cartwright, his adopted son, he learned intemperate habits, and died, in +1634, at the age of twenty-nine. His death took place at the house of W. +Stafford, Esq. of Blatherwyke, in his native county, and he was buried +in the church beside, where Sir Christopher, afterwards Lord Hatton, +signalised the spot of his rest by a monument. He wrote five dramas, +which are imperfect and formal in plan, but written with considerable +power. Some of his miscellaneous poems discover feeling and genius. + + +THE PRAISE OF WOMAN. + +He is a parricide to his mother's name, +And with an impious hand murders her fame, +That wrongs the praise of women; that dares write +Libels on saints, or with foul ink requite +The milk they lent us! Better sex! command +To your defence my more religious hand, +At sword or pen; yours was the nobler birth, +For you of man were made, man but of earth-- +The sun of dust; and though your sin did breed +His fall, again you raised him in your seed. +Adam, in's sleep again full loss sustain'd, +That for one rib a better half regain'd, +Who, had he not your blest creation seen +In Paradise, an anchorite had been. +Why in this work did the creation rest, +But that Eternal Providence thought you best +Of all his six days' labour? Beasts should do +Homage to man, but man shall wait on you; +You are of comelier sight, of daintier touch, +A tender flesh, and colour bright, and such +As Parians see in marble; skin more fair, +More glorious head, and far more glorious hair; +Eyes full of grace and quickness; purer roses +Blush in your cheeks; a milder white composes +Your stately fronts; your breath, more sweet than his, +Breathes spice, and nectar drops at every kiss. + +* * * * * + +If, then, in bodies where the souls do dwell, +You better us, do then our souls excel? + +No. * * * * +Boast we of knowledge, you are more than we, +You were the first ventured to pluck the tree; +And that more rhetoric in your tongues do lie, +Let him dispute against that dares deny +Your least commands; and not persuaded be, +With Samson's strength and David's piety, +To be your willing captives. + + * * * * * + +Thus, perfect creatures, if detraction rise +Against your sex, dispute but with your eyes, +Your hand, your lip, your brow, there will be sent +So subtle and so strong an argument, +Will teach the stoic his affections too, +And call the cynic from his tub to woo. + + +TO MY PICTURE. + +When age hath made me what I am not now, +And every wrinkle tells me where the plough +Of Time hath furrow'd, when an ice shall flow +Through every vein, and all my head be snow; +When Death displays his coldness in my cheek, +And I, myself, in my own picture seek, +Not finding what I am, but what I was, +In doubt which to believe, this or my glass; +Yet though I alter, this remains the same +As it was drawn, retains the primitive frame, +And first complexion; here will still be seen, +Blood on the cheek, and down upon the chin: +Here the smooth brow will stay, the lively eye, +The ruddy lip, and hair of youthful dye. +Behold what frailty we in man may see, +Whose shadow is less given to change than he. + + +TO A LADY ADMIRING HERSELF IN A LOOKING-GLASS. + +Fair lady, when you see the grace +Of beauty in your looking-glass; +A stately forehead, smooth and high, +And full of princely majesty; +A sparkling eye, no gem so fair, +Whose lustre dims the Cyprian star; +A glorious cheek, divinely sweet, +Wherein both roses kindly meet; +A cherry lip that would entice +Even gods to kiss at any price; +You think no beauty is so rare +That with your shadow might compare; +That your reflection is alone +The thing that men must dote upon. +Madam, alas! your glass doth lie, +And you are much deceived; for I +A beauty know of richer grace,-- +(Sweet, be not angry,) 'tis your face. +Hence, then, oh, learn more mild to be, +And leave to lay your blame on me: +If me your real substance move, +When you so much your shadow love, +Wise Nature would not let your eye +Look on her own bright majesty; +Which, had you once but gazed upon, +You could, except yourself, love none: +What then you cannot love, let me, +That face I can, you cannot see. + +'Now you have what to love,' you'll say, +'What then is left for me, I pray?' +My face, sweet heart, if it please thee; +That which you can, I cannot see: +So either love shall gain his due, +Yours, sweet, in me, and mine in you. + + + + +ROBERT BURTON. + + +The great, though whimsical author of the 'Anatomy of Melancholy' was +born at Lindley, in Leicestershire, 1576, and educated at Christ Church, +Oxford. He became Rector of Seagrave, in his native shire. He was a man +of vast erudition, of integrity and benevolence, but his happiness, +like that of Burns, although in a less measure, 'was blasted _ab +origine_ by an incurable taint of hypochondria;' and although at times a +most delightful companion, at other times he was so miserable, even when +a young student at Oxford, that he had no resource but to go down to the +river-side, where the coarse jests of the bargemen threw him into fits +of laughter. This surely was a violent remedy, and one that must have +reacted into deeper depression. In 1621, he wrote and published, as a +safety-valve to his morbid feelings, his famous 'Anatomie of Melancholy, +by Democritus Junior.' It became instantly popular, and sold so well, +that the publisher is said to have made a fortune by it. Nothing more of +consequence is recorded of the author, who died in 1640. Although + + 'Melancholy mark'd him for her own,' + +she failed to kill him till he had passed his grand climacteric. He was +buried in Christ Church, with the following epitaph, said to have been +composed by himself:-- + + 'Paucis notus, paucioribus ignotus. + Hic jacet Democritus Junior, + Cui vitam pariter et mortem + Dedit _Melancholia_! + + 'Known [by name] to few, unknown [as the author of the "Anatomy"] + to fewer, here lies D. J., who owes his death [as a man] and his + life [as an author] to Melancholy.' + +His work is certainly a most curious and bewitching medley of thought, +information, wit, learning, personal interest, and poetic fancy. We all +know it was the only book which ever drew the lazy Johnson from his bed +an hour sooner than he wished to rise. The subject, like the flesh of +that 'melancholy' creature the hare, may be dry, but, as with that, an +astute cookery prevails to make it exceedingly piquant; the sauce is +better than the substance. Burton's melancholy is not, like Johnson's, +a deep, hopeless, 'inspissated gloom,' thickened by memories of remorse, +and lighted up by the lurid fires of feared perdition; it is not, like +Byron's, dashed with the demoniac element, and fretted into universal +misanthropy; it is not, like Foster's, the sad, fixed fascination of +a pure intelligence contemplating the darker side of things, as by a +necessity of nature, and ignoring, without denying, the existence of the +bright; nor is it, like that of the 'melancholy Jacques,' in 'As you +Like it,' a wild, woodland, fantastical habit of thought, as of one +living collaterally and aside to the world, and which often explodes +into laughter at itself and at all things else;--Burton's is a wide- +spread but tender shade, like twilight, diffused over the whole horizon +of his thought, and is nourished at times into a luxury, and at times +paraded as a peculiar possession. In his form of melancholy there are +pleasures as well as pains. 'Most pleasant it is,' he says, 'to such +as are to melancholy given, to lie in bed whole days and keep their +chambers; to walk alone in some solitary grove, betwixt wood and water, +by a brook-side, to meditate upon some delightsome and pleasant subject; +and a most incomparable delight it is so to melancholise and build +castles in the air.' Religious considerations have little to do with +Burton's melancholy, and remorse or fear apparently nothing. Hence his +book, although its theme be sadness, never shadows the spirit, but, on +the contrary, from his dark, Lethean poppies, his readers are made to +extract an element of joyful excitement, and the anatomy, and the cure, +of the evil, are one and the same. + +As a writer, Burton ranks, in some points, with Montaigne, and in others +with Sir Thomas Browne. He resembles the first in simplicity, _bonhommie_, +and miscellaneous learning, and the other in rambling manner, quaint +phraseology, and fantastic imagination. Neither of the three could be said +to write books, but they accumulated vast storehouses, whence thousands of +volumes might be, and have been compiled. There is nothing in Burton so +low as in many of the 'Essays' of Montaigne, but there is nothing so lofty +as in passages of Browne's 'Religio Medici' and 'Urn-Burial.' Burton has +been a favourite quarry to literary thieves, among whom Sterne, in his +'Tristram Shandy,' stands pre-eminent. To his 'Anatomy' he prefixes a poem, +a few stanzas of which we extract. + + +ON MELANCHOLY. + +1 When I go musing all alone, + Thinking of divers things foreknown, + When I build castles in the air, + Void of sorrow, void of fear, + Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet + Methinks the time runs very fleet. + All my joys to this are folly; + Nought so sweet as melancholy. + +2 When I go walking all alone, + Recounting what I have ill-done, + My thoughts on me then tyrannise, + Fear and sorrow me surprise; + Whether I tarry still, or go, + Methinks the time moves very slow. + All my griefs to this are jolly; + Nought so sad as melancholy. + +3 When to myself I act and smile, + With pleasing thoughts the time beguile, + By a brook-side or wood so green, + Unheard, unsought for, or unseen, + A thousand pleasures do me bless, + And crown my soul with happiness. + All my joys besides are folly; + None so sweet as melancholy. + +4 When I lie, sit, or walk alone, + I sigh, I grieve, making great moan; + In a dark grove or irksome den, + With discontents and furies then, + A thousand miseries at once + Mine heavy heart and soul ensconce. + All my griefs to this are jolly; + None so sour as melancholy. + +5 Methinks I hear, methinks I see + Sweet music, wondrous melody, + Towns, palaces, and cities, fine; + Here now, then there, the world is mine, + Rare beauties, gallant ladies shine, + Whate'er is lovely is divine. + All other joys to this are folly; + None so sweet as melancholy, + +6 Methinks I hear, methinks I see + Ghosts, goblins, fiends: my fantasy + Presents a thousand ugly shapes; + Headless bears, black men, and apes; + Doleful outcries and fearful sights + My sad and dismal soul affrights. + All my griefs to this are jolly; + None so damn'd as melancholy. + + + + +THOMAS CAREW. + + +This delectable versifier was born in 1589, in Gloucestershire, from an +old family in which he sprung. He was educated at Corpus Christi College, +Oxford, but neither matriculated nor took a degree. After finishing his +travels, he returned to England, and became soon highly distinguished, in +the Court of Charles I., for his manners, accomplishments, and wit. He +was appointed Gentleman of the Privy Chamber and Sewer in Ordinary to the +King. He spent the rest of his life as a gay and gallant courtier; and in +the intervals of pleasure produced some light but exquisite poetry. He is +said, ere his death, which took place in 1639, to have become very +devout, and bitterly to have deplored the licentiousness of some of his +verses. + +Indelicate choice of subject is often, in Carew, combined with great +delicacy of execution. No one touches dangerous themes with so light and +glove-guarded a hand. His pieces are all fugitive, but they suggest great +possibilities, which his mode of life and his premature removal did not +permit to be realised. Had he, at an earlier period, renounced, like +George Herbert, 'the painted pleasures of a court,' and, like Prospero, +dedicated himself to 'closeness,' with his marvellous facility of verse, +his laboured levity of style, and his nice exuberance of fancy, he might +have produced some work of Horatian merit and classic permanence. + + + + +PERSUASIONS TO LOVE. + +Think not, 'cause men flattering say, +Y'are fresh as April, sweet as May, +Bright as is the morning-star, +That you are so;--or though you are, +Be not therefore proud, and deem +All men unworthy your esteem: + + * * * * * + +Starve not yourself, because you may +Thereby make me pine away; +Nor let brittle beauty make +You your wiser thoughts forsake: +For that lovely face will fail; +Beauty's sweet, but beauty's frail; +'Tis sooner past, 'tis sooner done, +Than summer's rain, or winter's sun: +Most fleeting, when it is most dear; +'Tis gone, while we but say 'tis here. +These curious locks so aptly twined, +Whose every hair a soul doth bind, +Will change their auburn hue, and grow +White and cold as winter's snow. +That eye which now is Cupid's nest +Will prove his grave, and all the rest +Will follow; in the cheek, chin, nose, +Nor lily shall be found, nor rose; +And what will then become of all +Those, whom now you servants call? +Like swallows, when your summer's done +They'll fly, and seek some warmer sun. + + * * * * * + +The snake each year fresh skin resumes, +And eagles change their aged plumes; +The faded rose each spring receives +A fresh red tincture on her leaves; +But if your beauties once decay, +You never know a second May. +Oh, then be wise, and whilst your season +Affords you days for sport, do reason; +Spend not in vain your life's short hour, +But crop in time your beauty's flower: +Which will away, and doth together +Both bud and fade, both blow and wither. + + +SONG. + +Give me more love, or more disdain, + The torrid, or the frozen zone +Bring equal ease unto my pain; + The temperate affords me none; +Either extreme, of love or hate, +Is sweeter than a calm estate. + +Give me a storm; if it be love, + Like Danae in a golden shower, +I swim in pleasure; if it prove + Disdain, that torrent will devour +My vulture-hopes; and he's possess'd +Of heaven that's but from hell released: +Then crown my joys, or cure my pain; +Give me more love, or more disdain. + + +TO MY MISTRESS SITTING BY A RIVER'S SIDE. + +Mark how yon eddy steals away +From the rude stream into the bay; +There lock'd up safe, she doth divorce +Her waters from the channel's course, +And scorns the torrent that did bring +Her headlong from her native spring. +Now doth she with her new love play, +Whilst he runs murmuring away. +Mark how she courts the banks, whilst they +As amorously their arms display, +To embrace and clip her silver waves: +See how she strokes their sides, and craves +An entrance there, which they deny; +Whereat she frowns, threatening to fly +Home to her stream, and 'gins to swim +Backward, but from the channel's brim +Smiling returns into the creek, +With thousand dimples on her cheek. +Be thou this eddy, and I'll make +My breast thy shore, where thou shalt take +Secure repose, and never dream +Of the quite forsaken stream: +Let him to the wide ocean haste, +There lose his colour, name, and taste; +Thou shalt save all, and, safe from him, +Within these arms for ever swim. + + +SONG. + +If the quick spirits in your eye +Now languish, and anon must die; +If every sweet, and every grace, +Must fly from that forsaken face: + Then, Celia, let us reap our joys, + Ere time such goodly fruit destroys. + +Or, if that golden fleece must grow +For ever, free from aged snow; +If those bright suns must know no shade, +Nor your fresh beauties ever fade; +Then fear not, Celia, to bestow +What still being gather'd still must grow. + Thus, either Time his sickle brings + In vain, or else in vain his wings. + + +A PASTORAL DIALOGUE. + +SHEPHERD, NYMPH, CHORUS. + +_Shep._ This mossy bank they press'd. _Nym._That aged oak + Did canopy the happy pair + All night from the damp air. +_Cho._ Here let us sit, and sing the words they spoke, + Till the day-breaking their embraces broke. + +_Shep._ See, love, the blushes of the morn appear: + And now she hangs her pearly store + (Robb'd from the eastern shore) + I' th' cowslip's bell and rose's ear: + Sweet, I must stay no longer here. + +_Nym._ Those streaks of doubtful light usher not day, + But show my sun must set; no morn + Shall shine till thou return: + The yellow planets, and the gray + Dawn, shall attend thee on thy way. + +_Shep._ If thine eyes gild my paths, they may forbear + Their useless shine. _Nym._ My tears will quite + Extinguish their faint light. +_Shep._ Those drops will make their beams more clear, + Love's flames will shine in every tear. + +_Cho._ They kiss'd, and wept; and from their lips and eyes, + In a mix'd dew of briny sweet, + Their joys and sorrows meet; + But she cries out. _Nym._ Shepherd, arise, + The sun betrays us else to spies. + +_Shep._ The winged hours fly fast whilst we embrace; + But when we want their help to meet, + They move with leaden feet. +_Nym._ Then let us pinion time, and chase + The day for ever from this place. + +_Shep._ Hark! _Nym._ Ah me, stay! _Shep._ For ever _Nym._ No, arise; + We must be gone. _Shep._ My nest of spice + _Nym._ My soul. _Shep._ My paradise. +_Cho._ Neither could say farewell, but through their eyes +Grief interrupted speech with tears supplies. + + +SONG. + +Ask me no more where Jove bestows, +When June is past, the fading rose; +For in your beauties orient deep +These flowers, as in their causes, sleep. + +Ask me no more whither do stray +The golden atoms of the day; +For, in pure love, Heaven did prepare +Those powders to enrich your hair. + +Ask me no more whither doth haste +The nightingale, when May is past; +For in your sweet dividing throat +She winters, and keeps warm her note. + +Ask me no more, where those stars light, +That downwards fall in dead of night; +For in your eyes they sit, and there +Fixed become, as in their sphere. + +Ask me no more, if east or west +The phoenix builds her spicy nest; +For unto you at last she flies, +And in your fragrant bosom dies. + + + + +SIR JOHN SUCKLING. + + +This witty baronet was born in 1608. He was the son of the Comptroller +of the Household of Charles I. He was uncommonly precocious; at five is +said to have spoken Latin, and at sixteen had entered into the service +of Gustavus Adolphus, 'the lion of the North, and the bulwark of the +Protestant faith.' + +On his return to England, he was favoured by Charles, and became, in his +turn, a most enthusiastic supporter of the Royal cause; writing plays for +the amusement of the Court; and when the Civil War broke out, raising, at +his own expense of L1200, a regiment for the King, which is said to have +been distinguished only by its 'finery and cowardice.' When the Earl of +Strafford came into trouble, Suckling, along with some other cavaliers, +intrigued for his deliverance, was impeached by the House of Commons, +and had to flee to France. Here an early death awaited him. His servant +having robbed him, he drew on, in vehement haste, his boots, to pursue +the defaulter, when a rusty nail, or, some say, the blade of a knife, +which was concealed in one of them, pierced his heel. A mortification +ensued, and he died, in 1641, at thirty-three years of age. + +Suckling has written five plays, various poems, besides letters, +speeches, and tracts, which have all been collected into one thin volume. +They are of various merit; none, in fact, being worthy of print, or at +least of preservation, except one or two of his songs, and his 'Ballad +upon a Wedding'. This last is an admirable expression of what were his +principal qualities--_naivete_, sly humour, gay badinage, and a delicious +vein of fancy, coming out occasionally by stealth, even as in his own +exquisite lines about the bride, + + 'Her feet, beneath her petticoat, + Like _little mice, stole in and out_, + As if they fear'd the light.' + + +SONG. + +Why so pale and wan, fond lover! + Prithee why so pale? +Will, when looking well can't move her, + Looking ill prevail? + Prithee why so pale? + +Why so dull and mute, young sinner? + Prithee why so mute? +Will, when speaking well can't win her, + Saying nothing do 't? + Prithee why so mute? + +Quit, quit for shame! this will not move, + This cannot take her; +If of herself she will not love, + Nothing can make her-- + The devil take her! + + +A BALLAD UPON A WEDDING. + +1 I tell thee, Dick, where I have been, + Where I the rarest things have seen: + Oh, things without compare! + Such sights again cannot be found + In any place on English ground, + Be it at wake or fair. + +2 At Charing-Cross, hard by the way + Where we (thou know'st) do sell our hay, + There is a house with stairs: + And there did I see coming down + Such folks as are not in our town, + Vorty at least, in pairs. + +3 Amongst the rest, one pest'lent fine, + (His beard no bigger though than thine,) + Walk'd on before the rest: + Our landlord looks like nothing to him: + The king (God bless him)'twould undo him, + Should he go still so dress'd. + +4 At Course-a-park, without all doubt, + He should have first been taken out + By all the maids i' the town: + Though lusty Roger there had been, + Or little George upon the Green, + Or Vincent of the Crown. + +5 But wot you what? the youth was going + To make an end of all his wooing; + The parson for him staid: + Yet by his leave, for all his haste, + He did not so much wish all past + (Perchance) as did the maid. + +6 The maid--and thereby hangs a tale-- + For such a maid no Whitsun-ale + Could ever yet produce: + No grape that's kindly ripe could be + So round, so plump, so soft as she, + Nor half so full of juice. + +7 Her finger was so small, the ring + Would not stay on which they did bring, + It was too wide a peck: + And to say truth (for out it must) + It look'd like the great collar (just) + About our young colt's neck. + +8 Her feet, beneath her petticoat, + Like little mice, stole in and out, + As if they fear'd the light: + But oh! she dances such a way! + No sun upon an Easter-day + Is half so fine a sight. + +9 He would have kiss'd her once or twice, + But she would not, she was so nice, + She would not do 't in sight; + And then she look'd as who should say. + I will do what I list to-day; + And you shall do 't at night. + +10 Her cheeks so rare a white was on, + No daisy makes comparison, + (Who sees them is undone,) + For streaks of red were mingled there, + Such as are on a Katherine pear, + The side that's next the sun. + +11 Her lips were red, and one was thin, + Compared to that was next her chin; + Some bee had stung it newly. + But (Dick) her eyes so guard her face, + I durst no more upon them gaze, + Than on the sun in July. + +12 Her mouth so small, when she does speak, + Thou'dst swear her teeth her words did break, + That they might passage get; + But she so handled still the matter, + They came as good as ours, or better, + And are not spent a whit. + +13 If wishing should be any sin, + The parson himself had guilty been, + She look'd that day so purely: + And did the youth so oft the feat + At night, as some did in conceit, + It would have spoil'd him, surely. + +14 Passion o'me! how I run on! + There's that that would be thought upon, + I trow, beside the bride: + The business of the kitchen's great, + For it is fit that men should eat; + Nor was it there denied. + +15 Just in the nick the cook knock'd thrice, + And all the waiters in a trice + His summons did obey; + Each serving-man with dish in hand, + March'd boldly up, like our train'd band, + Presented and away. + +16 When all the meat was on the table, + What man of knife, or teeth, was able + To stay to be entreated? + And this the very reason was, + Before the parson could say grace, + The company were seated. + +17 Now hats fly off, and youths carouse; + Healths first go round, and then the house, + The bride's came thick and thick; + And when 'twas named another's health, + Perhaps he made it hers by stealth, + And who could help it, Dick? + +18 O' the sudden up they rise and dance; + Then sit again, and sigh and glance: + Then dance again and kiss. + Thus sev'ral ways the time did pass, + Whil'st every woman wish'd her place, + And every man wish'd his. + +19 By this time all were stol'n aside + To counsel and undress the bride; + But that he must not know; + But yet 'twas thought he guess'd her mind, + And did not mean to stay behind + Above an hour or so. + +20 When in he came (Dick), there she lay, + Like new-fall'n snow melting away, + 'Twas time, I trow, to part. + Kisses were now the only stay, + Which soon she gave, as who would say, + Good-bye, with all my heart. + +21 But just as heavens would have to cross it, + In came the bridemaids with the posset; + The bridegroom eat in spite; + For had he left the women to 't + It would have cost two hours to do 't, + Which were too much that night. + +22 At length the candle's out, and now + All that they had not done, they do! + What that is, who can tell? + But I believe it was no more + Than thou and I have done before + With Bridget and with Nell! + + +SONG. + +I pray thee send me back my heart, + Since I can not have thine, +For if from yours you will not part, + Why then shouldst thou have mine? + +Yet now I think on 't, let it lie, + To find it were in vain; +For thou'st a thief in either eye + Would steal it back again. + +Why should two hearts in one breast lie, + And yet not lodge together? +O love! where is thy sympathy, + If thus our breasts thou sever? + +But love is such a mystery, + I cannot find it out; +For when I think I'm best resolved, + I then am in most doubt. + +Then farewell care, and farewell woe, + I will no longer pine; +For I'll believe I have her heart + As much as she has mine. + + + + +WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT. + + +Cartwright was born in 1611, and was the son of an innkeeper--once a +gentleman--in Cirencester. He became a King's scholar at Westminster, +and afterwards took orders at Oxford, where he distinguished himself, +according to Wood, as a 'most florid and seraphic preacher.' One is +reminded of the description given of Jeremy Taylor, who, when he first +began to preach, by his 'young and florid beauty, and his sublime and +raised discourses, made men take him for an angel newly descended from +the climes of Paradise.' Cartwright was appointed, through his friend +Bishop Duppa, Succentor of the Church of Salisbury in 1642. He was one +of a council of war appointed by the University of Oxford, for providing +troops in the King's cause, to protect, or some said to overawe, the +Universities. He was imprisoned by the Parliamentary forces on account +of his zeal in the Royal cause, but soon liberated on bail. In 1643, +he was appointed Junior Proctor of his University, and also Reader in +Metaphysics. At this time he is said to have studied sixteen hours +a-day. This, however, seems to have weakened his constitution, and +rendered him an easy victim to what was called the camp-fever, then +prevalent in Oxford. He died December 23, 1643, aged thirty-two. The +King, then in Oxford, went into mourning for him. His works were +published in 1651, and to them were prefixed fifty copies of encomiastic +verses from the wits and poets of the time. They scarcely justify the +praises they have received, being somewhat crude and harsh, and all of +them occasional. His private character, his eloquence as a preacher, and +his zeal as a Royalist, seem to have supplemented his claims as a poet. +He enjoyed, too, in his earlier life, the friendship of Ben Jonson, who +used to say of him, 'My son Cartwright writes all like a man;' and such +a sentence from such an authority was at that time fame. + + +LOVE'S DARTS. + +1 Where is that learned wretch that knows + What are those darts the veil'd god throws? + Oh, let him tell me ere I die + When 'twas he saw or heard them fly; + Whether the sparrow's plumes, or dove's, + Wing them for various loves; + And whether gold or lead, + Quicken or dull the head: + I will anoint and keep them warm, + And make the weapons heal the harm. + +2 Fond that I am to ask! whoe'er + Did yet see thought? or silence hear? + Safe from the search of human eye + These arrows (as their ways are) fly: + The flights of angels part + Not air with so much art; + And snows on streams, we may + Say, louder fall than they. + So hopeless I must now endure, + And neither know the shaft nor cure. + +3 A sudden fire of blushes shed + To dye white paths with hasty red; + A glance's lightning swiftly thrown, + Or from a true or seeming frown; + A subtle taking smile + From passion, or from guile; + The spirit, life, and grace + Of motion, limbs, and face; + These misconceit entitles darts, + And tears the bleedings of our hearts. + +4 But as the feathers in the wing + Unblemish'd are, and no wounds bring, + And harmless twigs no bloodshed know, + Till art doth fit them for the bow; + So lights of flowing graces + Sparkling in several places, + Only adorn the parts, + Till that we make them darts; + Themselves are only twigs and quills: + We give them shape and force for ills. + +5 Beauty's our grief, but in the ore, + We mint, and stamp, and then adore: + Like heathen we the image crown, + And indiscreetly then fall down: + Those graces all were meant + Our joy, not discontent; + But with untaught desires + We turn those lights to fires, + Thus Nature's healing herbs we take, + And out of cures do poisons make. + + +ON THE DEATH OF SIR BEVIL GRENVILLE. + +Not to be wrought by malice, gain, or pride, +To a compliance with the thriving side; +Not to take arms for love of change, or spite, +But only to maintain afflicted right; +Not to die vainly in pursuit of fame, +Perversely seeking after voice and name; +Is to resolve, fight, die, as martyrs do, +And thus did he, soldier and martyr too. + + * * * * * + +When now the incensed legions proudly came +Down like a torrent without bank or dam: +When undeserved success urged on their force; +That thunder must come down to stop their course, +Or Grenville must step in; then Grenville stood, +And with himself opposed and check'd the flood. +Conquest or death was all his thought. So fire +Either o'ercomes, or doth itself expire: +His courage work'd like flames, cast heat about, +Here, there, on this, on that side, none gave out; +Not any pike on that renowned stand, +But took new force from his inspiring hand: +Soldier encouraged soldier, man urged man, +And he urged all; so much example can; +Hurt upon hurt, wound upon wound did call, +He was the butt, the mark, the aim of all: +His soul this while retired from cell to cell, +At last flew up from all, and then he fell. +But the devoted stand enraged more +From that his fate, plied hotter than before, +And proud to fall with him, sworn not to yield, +Each sought an honour'd grave, so gain'd the field. +Thus he being fallen, his action fought anew: +And the dead conquer'd, whiles the living slew. + +This was not nature's courage, not that thing +We valour call, which time and reason bring; +But a diviner fury, fierce and high, +Valour transported into ecstasy, +Which angels, looking on us from above, +Use to convey into the souls they love. +You now that boast the spirit, and its sway, +Shew us his second, and we'll give the day: +We know your politic axiom, lurk, or fly; +Ye cannot conquer, 'cause you dare not die: +And though you thank God that you lost none there, +'Cause they were such who lived not when they were; +Yet your great general (who doth rise and fall, +As his successes do, whom you dare call, +As fame unto you doth reports dispense, +Either a -------- or his excellence) +Howe'er he reigns now by unheard-of laws, +Could wish his fate together with his cause. + +And thou (blest soul) whose clear compacted fame, +As amber bodies keeps, preserves thy name, +Whose life affords what doth content both eyes, +Glory for people, substance for the wise, +Go laden up with spoils, possess that seat +To which the valiant, when they've done, retreat: +And when thou seest an happy period sent +To these distractions, and the storm quite spent, +Look down and say, I have my share in all, +Much good grew from my life, much from my fall. + + +A VALEDICTION. + +Bid me not go where neither suns nor showers +Do make or cherish flowers; +Where discontented things in sadness lie, +And Nature grieves as I. +When I am parted from those eyes, +From which my better day doth rise, +Though some propitious power +Should plant me in a bower, +Where amongst happy lovers I might see +How showers and sunbeams bring +One everlasting spring, +Nor would those fall, nor these shine forth to me; +Nature herself to him is lost, +Who loseth her he honours most. +Then, fairest, to my parting view display +Your graces all in one full day; +Whose blessed shapes I'll snatch and keep till when +I do return and view again: +So by this art fancy shall fortune cross, +And lovers live by thinking on their loss. + + + + +WILLIAM BROWNE. + + +This pastoral poet was born, in 1590, at Tavistock, in Devonshire, +a lovely part of a lovely county. He was educated at Oxford, and went +thence to the Inner Temple. He was at one time tutor to the Earl of +Carnarvon, and afterwards, when that nobleman perished in the battle of +Newbury, in 1643, he was patronised by the Earl of Pembroke, in whose +house he resided, and is even said to have become so rich that he +purchased an estate. In 1645 he died, at Ottery St Mary, the parish +where, in 1772, Coleridge was born. + +Browne began his poetical career early, and closed it soon. He published +the first part of 'Britannia's Pastorals' in 1613, the second in 1616; +shortly after, his 'Shepherd's Pipe;' and, in 1620, produced his 'Inner +Temple Masque' which was then enacted, but not printed till a hundred +and twenty years after the author's death, when Dr Farmer transcribed +it from a MS. of the Bodleian Library, and it appeared in Tom Davies' +edition of Browne's poems. Browne has no constructive power, and no +human interest in his pastorals, but he has an eye for nature, and we +quote from him some excellent specimens of descriptive poetry. + + +SONG. + +Gentle nymphs, be not refusing, +Love's neglect is Time's abusing, + They and beauty are but lent you; +Take the one, and keep the other: +Love keeps fresh what age doth smother, + Beauty gone, you will repent you. + +'Twill be said, when ye have proved, +Never swains more truly loved: + Oh, then, fly all nice behaviour! +Pity fain would (as her duty) +Be attending still on Beauty, + Let her not be out of favour. + + +SONG. + +1 Shall I tell you whom I love? + Hearken then a while to me, + And if such a woman move + As I now shall versify; + Be assured, 'tis she, or none, + That I love, and love alone. + +2 Nature did her so much right, + As she scorns the help of art. + In as many virtues dight + As e'er yet embraced a heart; + So much good so truly tried, + Some for less were deified. + +3 Wit she hath, without desire + To make known how much she hath; + And her anger flames no higher + Than may fitly sweeten wrath. + Full of pity as may be, + Though perhaps not so to me. + +4 Reason masters every sense, + And her virtues grace her birth: + Lovely as all excellence, + Modest in her most of mirth: + Likelihood enough to prove + Only worth could kindle love. + +5 Such she is: and if you know + Such a one as I have sung; + Be she brown, or fair, or so, + That she be but somewhile young; + Be assured, 'tis she, or none, + That I love, and love alone. + + +POWER OF GENIUS OVER ENVY. + +'Tis not the rancour of a canker'd heart +That can debase the excellence of art, +Nor great in titles makes our worth obey, +Since we have lines far more esteem'd than they. +For there is hidden in a poet's name +A spell that can command the wings of Fame, +And maugre all oblivion's hated birth +Begin their immortality on earth, +When he that 'gainst a muse with hate combines +May raise his tomb in vain to reach our lines. + + +EVENING. + +As in an evening when the gentle air +Breathes to the sullen night a soft repair, +I oft have sat on Thames' sweet bank to hear +My friend with his sweet touch to charm mine ear, +When he hath play'd (as well he can) some strain +That likes me, straight I ask the same again, +And he, as gladly granting, strikes it o'er +With some sweet relish was forgot before: +I would have been content, if he would play, +In that one strain to pass the night away; +But fearing much to do his patience wrong, +Unwillingly have ask'd some other song: +So in this differing key though I could well +A many hours but as few minutes tell, +Yet lest mine own delight might injure you +(Though both so soon) I take my song anew. + + +FROM 'BRITANNIA'S PASTORALS.' + +Between two rocks (immortal, without mother) +That stand as if outfacing one another, +There ran a creek up, intricate and blind, +As if the waters hid them from the wind, +Which never wash'd but at a higher tide +The frizzled cotes which do the mountains hide, +Where never gale was longer known to stay +Than from the smooth wave it had swept away +The new divorced leaves, that from each side +Left the thick boughs to dance out with the tide. +At further end the creek, a stately wood +Gave a kind shadow (to the brackish flood) +Made up of trees, not less kenn'd by each skiff +Than that sky-scaling peak of Teneriffe, +Upon whose tops the hernshew bred her young, +And hoary moss upon their branches hung; +Whose rugged rinds sufficient were to show, +Without their height, what time they 'gan to grow. +And if dry eld by wrinkled skin appears, +None could allot them less than Nestor's years. +As under their command the thronged creek +Ran lessen'd up. Here did the shepherd seek +Where he his little boat might safely hide, +Till it was fraught with what the world beside +Could not outvalue; nor give equal weight +Though in the time when Greece was at her height. + + * * * * * + +Yet that their happy voyage might not be +Without Time's shortener, heaven-taught melody, +(Music that lent feet to the stable woods, +And in their currents turn'd the mighty floods, +Sorrow's sweet nurse, yet keeping Joy alive, +Sad Discontent's most welcome corrosive, +The soul of art, best loved when love is by, +The kind inspirer of sweet poesy, +Least thou shouldst wanting be, when swans would fain +Have sung one song, and never sung again,) +The gentle shepherd, hasting to the shore, +Began this lay, and timed it with his oar: + +Nevermore let holy Dee + O'er other rivers brave, +Or boast how (in his jollity) + Kings row'd upon his wave. +But silent be, and ever know +That Neptune for my fare would row. + + * * * * * + +Swell then, gently swell, ye floods, + As proud of what ye bear, +And nymphs that in low coral woods + String pearls upon your hair, +Ascend; and tell if ere this day +A fairer prize was seen at sea. + +See the salmons leap and bound + To please us as we pass, +Each mermaid on the rocks around + Lets fall her brittle glass, +As they their beauties did despise +And loved no mirror but your eyes, + +Blow, but gently blow, fair wind, + From the forsaken shore, +And be as to the halcyon kind, + Till we have ferried o'er: +So mayst thou still have leave to blow, +And fan the way where she shall go. + + +A DESCRIPTIVE SKETCH. + +Oh, what a rapture have I gotten now! +That age of gold, this of the lovely brow, +Have drawn me from my song! I onward run, +(Clean from the end to which I first begun,) +But ye, the heavenly creatures of the West, +In whom the virtues and the graces rest, +Pardon! that I have run astray so long, +And grow so tedious in so rude a song. +If you yourselves should come to add one grace +Unto a pleasant grove or such like place, +Where, here, the curious cutting of a hedge, +There in a pond, the trimming of the sedge; +Here the fine setting of well-shaded trees, +The walks their mounting up by small degrees, +The gravel and the green so equal lie, +It, with the rest, draws on your lingering eye: +Here the sweet smells that do perfume the air, +Arising from the infinite repair +Of odoriferous buds, and herbs of price, +(As if it were another paradise,) +So please the smelling sense, that you are fain +Where last you walk'd to turn and walk again. +There the small birds with their harmonious notes +Sing to a spring that smileth as she floats: +For in her face a many dimples show, +And often skips as it did dancing go: +Here further down an over-arched alley +That from a hill goes winding in a valley, +You spy at end thereof a standing lake, +Where some ingenious artist strives to make +The water (brought in turning pipes of lead +Through birds of earth most lively fashioned) +To counterfeit and mock the sylvans all +In singing well their own set madrigal. +This with no small delight retains your ear, +And makes you think none blest but who live there. +Then in another place the fruits that be +In gallant clusters decking each good tree +Invite your hand to crop them from the stem, +And liking one, taste every sort of them: +Then to the arbours walk, then to the bowers, +Thence to the walks again, thence to the flowers, +Then to the birds, and to the clear spring thence, +Now pleasing one, and then another sense: +Here one walks oft, and yet anew begin'th, +As if it were some hidden labyrinth. + + + + +WILLIAM ALEXANDER, EARL OF STIRLING. + + +This eminent Scotchman was born in 1580. He travelled on the Continent +as tutor to the Duke of Argyle. After his return to Scotland, he fell in +love with a lady, whom he calls 'Aurora,' and to whom he addressed some +beautiful sonnets. She refused his hand, however, and he married the +daughter of Sir William Erskine. He repaired to the Court of James I., +and became a distinguished favourite, being appointed Gentleman Usher to +Charles I., and created a knight. He concocted a scheme for colonising +Nova Scotia, in which he was encouraged by both James and Charles; but +the difficulties seemed too formidable, and it was in consequence +dropped. Charles appointed him Lord-Lieutenant of Nova Scotia, and, in +1633, he created him Lord Stirling. Fifteen years (from 1626 to 1641) +our poet was Secretary of State for Scotland. These were the years +during which Laud was foolishly seeking to force his liturgy upon the +Presbyterians, but Stirling gained the praise of being moderate in his +share of the business. In the course of this time he contrived to amass +an ample fortune, and spent part of it in building a fine mansion in +Stirling, which is still, we believe, standing. He died in 1641. + +Besides his smaller pieces, Stirling wrote several tragedies, including +one on Julius Caesar; an heroic poem; a poem addressed to Prince Henry, +the son of James I.; another heroic poem, entitled 'Jonathan;' and a +poem, in twelve parts, on the 'Day of Judgment.' These are all +forgotten, and, notwithstanding vigorous parts, deserve to be forgotten; +but his little sonnets, which are, if not brilliant, true things, and +inspired by a true passion, may long survive. He was, on the whole, +rather a man of great talent than of genius. + + +SONNET. + +I swear, Aurora, by thy starry eyes, +And by those golden locks, whose lock none slips, +And by the coral of thy rosy lips, +And by the naked snows which beauty dyes; +I swear by all the jewels of thy mind, +Whose like yet never worldly treasure bought, +Thy solid judgment, and thy generous thought, + +Which in this darken'd age have clearly shined; +I swear by those, and by my spotless love, +And by my secret, yet most fervent fires, +That I have never nursed but chaste desires, +And such as modesty might well approve. +Then, since I love those virtuous parts in thee, +Shouldst thou not love this virtuous mind in me? + + + + +WILLIAM DRUMMOND. + + +A man of much finer gifts than Stirling, was the famous Drummond. He +was born, December 13, 1585, at Hawthornden, his father's estate, in +Mid- Lothian. It is one of the most beautiful spots, along the sides +of one of the fairest streams in all Scotland, and well fitted to be +the home of genius. He studied civil law for four years in France, but, +in 1611, the estate of Hawthornden became his own, and here he fixed his +residence, and applied himself to literature. At this time he courted, +and was upon the point of marrying, a lady named Cunningham, who died; +and the melancholy which preyed on his mind after this event, drove him +abroad in search of solace. He visited Italy, Germany, and France; and +during his eight years of residence on the Continent, used his time +well, conversing with the learned, admiring all that was admirable in +the scenery and the life of foreign lands, and collecting rare books and +manuscripts. He had, before his departure, published, first, a volume +of occasional poems; next, a moral treatise, in prose, entitled, 'The +Cypress Grove;' and then another work, in verse, 'The Flowers of Zion.' +Returned once more to Scotland, he retired to the seat of his brother- +in-law, Sir John Scott of Scotstarvet, and there wrote a 'History of +the Five James's of Scotland,' a book abounding in bombast and slavish +principles. When he returned to his own lovely Hawthornden, he met a +lady named Logan, of the house of Restalrig, whom he fancied to bear a +striking resemblance to his dead mistress. On that hint he spake, and +she became his wife. He proceeded to repair the house of Hawthornden, +and would have spent his days there in great peace, had it not been for +the distracted times. His politics were of the Royalist complexion; and +the party in power, belonging to the Presbyterians, used every method to +annoy him, compelling him, for instance, to furnish his quota of men and +arms to support the cause which he opposed. In 1619, Ben Jonson visited +him at Hawthornden. The pair were not well assorted. Brawny Ben and +dreaming Drummond seem, in the expressive coinage of De Quincey, to have +'interdespised;' and is not their feud, with all its circumstances, +recorded in the chronicles of the 'Quarrels of Authors' compiled by the +elder Disraeli? The death of a lady sent Drummond travelling over Europe +--the death of a King sent him away on a farther and a final journey. +His grief for the execution of Charles I. is said to have shortened his +days. At all events, in December of the year of the so-called +'Martyrdom,' (1649,) he breathed his last. + +He was a genuine poet as well as a brilliant humorist. His 'Polemo +Middinia,' a grotesque mixture of bad Latin and semi-Latinised Scotch, +has created, among many generations, inextinguishable laughter. His +'Wandering Muses; or, The River of Forth Feasting,' has some gorgeous +descriptions, particularly of Scotland's lakes and rivers, at a time +when + + 'She lay, like some unkenn'd of isle, + Ayont New Holland;' + +but his sonnets are unquestionably his finest productions. They breathe +a spirit of genuine poetry. Each one of them is a rose lightly wet +with the dew of tenderness, and one or two suggest irresistibly the +recollection of our Great Dramatist's sonnets, although we feel that +'a less than Shakspeare is here.' + + +THE RIVER OF FORTH FEASTING. + +A PANEGYRIC TO THE HIGH AND MIGHTY PRINCE JAMES, KING +Or GREAT BRITAIN, FRANCE, AND IRELAND. + +_To His Sacred Majesty._ + +If in this storm of joy and pompous throng, +This nymph (great king) doth come to thee so near +That thy harmonious ears her accents hear, +Give pardon to her hoarse and lowly song: +Fain would she trophies to thy virtues rear; +But for this stately task she is not strong, +And her defects her high attempts do wrong, +Yet as she could she makes thy worth appear. +So in a map is shown this flowery place; +So wrought in arras by a virgin's hand +With heaven and blazing stars doth Atlas stand, +So drawn by charcoal is Narcissus' face: + She like the morn may be to some bright sun, + The day to perfect that's by her begun. + + * * * * * + +What blustering noise now interrupts my sleep? +What echoing shouts thus cleave my crystal deep, +And seem to call me from my watery court? +What melody, what sounds of joy and sport, +Are convey'd hither from each neighbouring spring? +With what loud rumours do the mountains ring, +Which in unusual pomp on tiptoes stand, +And (full of wonder) overlook the land? +Whence come these glittering throngs, these meteors bright, +This golden people glancing in my sight? +Whence doth this praise, applause, and love arise, +What load-star eastward draweth thus all eyes? +Am I awake? or have some dreams conspired +To mock my sense with what I most desired? +View I that living face, see I those looks, +Which with delight were wont t'amaze my brooks? +Do I behold that worth, that man divine, +This age's glory, by these banks of mine? +Then find I true what long I wish'd in vain, +My much beloved prince is come again; +So unto them whose zenith is the pole, +When six black months are past, the sun doth roll: +So after tempest to sea-tossed wights +Fair Helen's brothers show their cheering lights: +So comes Arabia's wonder from her woods, +And far, far off is seen by Memphis' floods; +The feather'd Sylvans, cloud-like, by her fly, +And with triumphing plaudits beat the sky; +Nile marvels, Seraph's priests, entranced, rave, +And in Mydonian stone her shape engrave; +In lasting cedars they do mark the time +In which Apollo's bird came to their clime. +Let Mother Earth now deck'd with flowers be seen, +And sweet-breath'd zephyrs curl the meadows green, +Let heaven weep rubies in a crimson shower, +Such as on India's shores they use to pour: +Or with that golden storm the fields adorn, +Which Jove rain'd when his blue-eyed maid was born. +May never hours the web of day outweave, +May never night rise from her sable cave. +Swell proud, my billows, faint not to declare +Your joys as ample as their causes are: +For murmurs hoarse sound like Arion's harp, +Now delicately flat, now sweetly sharp; +And you, my nymphs, rise from your moist repair; +Strow all your springs and grots with lilies fair: +Some swiftest-footed, get them hence, and pray +Our floods and lakes come keep this holiday; +Whate'er beneath Albania's hills do run, +Which see the rising or the setting sun, +Which drink stern Grampius' mists, or Ochil's snows: +Stone-rolling Tay, Tyne tortoise-like that flows, +The pearly Don, the Dees, the fertile Spey, +Wild Neverne, which doth see our longest day; +Ness smoking sulphur, Leave with mountains crown'd, +Strange Lomond for his floating isles renown'd: +The Irish Rian, Ken, the silver Ayr, +The snaky Dun, the Ore with rushy hair, +The crystal-streaming Nid, loud-bellowing Clyde, +Tweed which no more our kingdoms shall divide; +Rank-swelling Annan, Lid with curled streams, +The Esks, the Solway, where they lose their names, +To every one proclaim our joys and feasts, +Our triumphs; bid all come and be our guests: +And as they meet in Neptune's azure hall, +Bid them bid sea-gods keep this festival; +This day shall by our currents be renown'd, +Our hills about shall still this day resound; +Nay, that our love more to this day appear, +Let us with it henceforth begin our year. +To virgins, flowers; to sunburnt earth, the rain; +To mariners, fair winds amidst the main; +Cool shades to pilgrims, which hot glances burn, +Are not so pleasing as thy blest return. +That day, dear prince, which robb'd us of thy sight, +(Day, no, but darkness and a dusky night,) +Did fill our breasts with sighs, our eyes with tears, +Turn'd minutes to sad months, sad months to years, +Trees left to flourish, meadows to bear flowers, +Brooks hid their heads within their sedgy bowers, +Fair Ceres cursed our fields with barren frost, +As if again she had her daughter lost: +The muses left our groves, and for sweet songs +Sat sadly silent, or did weep their wrongs. +You know it, meads; your murmuring woods it know, +Hill, dales, and caves, copartners of their woe; +And you it know, my streams, which from their een +Oft on your glass received their pearly brine; +O Naiads dear, (said they,) Napeas fair, +O nymphs of trees, nymphs which on hills repair! +Gone are those maiden glories, gone that state, +Which made all eyes admire our bliss of late. +As looks the heaven when never star appears, +But slow and weary shroud them in their spheres, +While Titon's wife embosom'd by him lies, +And world doth languish in a dreary guise: +As looks a garden of its beauty spoil'd, +As woods in winter by rough Boreas foil'd, +As portraits razed of colours used to be: +So look'd these abject bounds deprived of thee. + +While as my rills enjoy'd thy royal gleams, +They did not envy Tiber's haughty streams, +Nor wealthy Tagus with his golden ore, +Nor clear Hydaspes which on pearls doth roar, +Nor golden Gange that sees the sun new born, +Nor Achelous with his flowery horn, +Nor floods which near Elysian fields do fall: +For why? thy sight did serve to them for all. +No place there is so desert, so alone, +Even from the frozen to the torrid zone, +From flaming Hecla to great Quinsey's lake, +Which thy abode could not most happy make; +All those perfections which by bounteous Heaven +To divers worlds in divers times were given, +The starry senate pour'd at once on thee, +That thou exemplar mightst to others be. +Thy life was kept till the Three Sisters spun +Their threads of gold, and then it was begun. +With chequer'd clouds when skies do look most fair, +And no disordered blasts disturb the air, +When lilies do them deck in azure gowns; +And new-born roses blush with golden crowns, +To prove how calm we under thee should live, +What halcyonian days thy reign should give, +And to two flowery diadems thy right; +The heavens thee made a partner of the light. +Scarce wast thou born when, join'd in friendly bands, +Two mortal foes with other clasped hands; +With Virtue Fortune strove, which most should grace +Thy place for thee, thee for so high a place; +One vow'd thy sacred breast not to forsake, +The other on thee not to turn her back; +And that thou more her love's effects mightst feel, +For thee she left her globe, and broke her wheel. + +When years thee vigour gave, oh, then, how clear +Did smother'd sparkles in bright flames appear! +Amongst the woods to force the flying hart, +To pierce the mountain wolf with feather'd dart; +See falcons climb the clouds, the fox ensnare, +Outrun the wind-outrunning Doedale hare, +To breathe thy fiery steed on every plain, +And in meand'ring gyres him bring again, +The press thee making place, and vulgar things, +In Admiration's air, on Glory's wings; +Oh, thou far from the common pitch didst rise, +With thy designs to dazzle Envy's eyes: +Thou soughtst to know this All's eternal source, +Of ever-turning heaven the restless course, +Their fixed lamps, their lights which wandering run, +Whence moon her silver hath, his gold the sun; +If Fate there be or no, if planets can +By fierce aspects force the free will of man; +The light aspiring fire, the liquid air, +The flaming dragons, comets with red hair, +Heaven's tilting lances, artillery, and bow, +Loud-sounding trumpets, darts of hail and snow, +The roaring elements, with people dumb, +The earth with what conceived is in her womb. +What on her moves were set unto thy sight, +Till thou didst find their causes, essence, might. +But unto nought thou so thy mind didst strain, +As to be read in man, and learn to reign: +To know the weight and Atlas of a crown, +To spare the humble, proud ones tumble down. +When from those piercing cares which thrones invest, +As thorns the rose, thou wearied wouldst thee rest, +With lute in hand, full of celestial fire, +To the Pierian groves thou didst retire: +There garlanded with all Urania's flowers, +In sweeter lays than builded Thebes' towers, +Or them which charm'd the dolphins in the main, +Or which did call Eurydice again, +Thou sung'st away the hours, till from their sphere +Stars seem'd to shoot thy melody to hear. +The god with golden hair, the sister maids, +Did leave their Helicon, and Tempe's shades, +To see thine isle, here lost their native tongue, +And in thy world-divided language sung. + +Who of thine after age can count the deeds, +With all that Fame in Time's huge annals reads? +How, by example more than any law, +This people fierce thou didst to goodness draw; +How, while the neighbour world, toss'd by the Fates, +So many Phaetons had in their states, +Which turn'd to heedless flames their burnish'd thrones, +Thou, as ensphered, kept'st temperate thy zones; +In Afric shores the sands that ebb and flow, +The shady leaves on Arden's trees that grow, +He sure may count, with all the waves that meet +To wash the Mauritanian Atlas' feet. +Though crown'd thou wert not, nor a king by birth, +Thy worth deserves the richest crown on earth. +Search this half sphere, and the Antarctic ground, +Where is such wit and bounty to be found? +As into silent night, when near the Bear, +The virgin huntress shines at full most clear, +And strives to match her brother's golden light, +The host of stars doth vanish in her sight, +Arcturus dies; cool'd is the Lion's ire, +Po burns no more with Phaetontal fire: +Orion faints to see his arms grow black, +And that his flaming sword he now doth lack: +So Europe's lights, all bright in their degree, +Lose all their lustre parallel'd with thee; +By just descent thou from more kings dost shine, +Than many can name men in all their line: +What most they toil to find, and finding hold, +Thou scornest--orient gems, and flattering gold; +Esteeming treasure surer in men's breasts, +Than when immured with marble, closed in chests; +No stormy passions do disturb thy mind, +No mists of greatness ever could thee blind: +Who yet hath been so meek? thou life didst give +To them who did repine to see thee live; +What prince by goodness hath such kingdoms gain'd? +Who hath so long his people's peace maintain'd? +Their swords are turn'd to scythes, to coulters spears, +Some giant post their antique armour bears: +Now, where the wounded knight his life did bleed, +The wanton swain sits piping on a reed; +And where the cannon did Jove's thunder scorn, +The gaudy huntsman winds his shrill-tuned horn: +Her green locks Ceres doth to yellow dye, +The pilgrim safely in the shade doth lie, +Both Pan and Pales careless keep their flocks, +Seas have no dangers save the wind and rocks: +Thou art this isle's Palladium, neither can +(Whiles thou dost live) it be o'erthrown by man. + +Let others boast of blood and spoils of foes, +Fierce rapines, murders, Iliads of woes, +Of hated pomp, and trophies reared fair, +Gore-spangled ensigns streaming in the air, +Count how they make the Scythian them adore, +The Gaditan and soldier of Aurore. +Unhappy boasting! to enlarge their bounds, +That charge themselves with cares, their friends with wounds; +Who have no law to their ambitious will, +But, man-plagues, born are human blood to spill! +Thou a true victor art, sent from above +What others strain by force, to gain by love; +World-wandering Fame this praise to thee imparts, +To be the only monarch of all hearts. +They many fear who are of many fear'd, +And kingdoms got by wrongs, by wrongs are tear'd; +Such thrones as blood doth raise, blood throweth down, +No guard so sure as love unto a crown. + +Eye of our western world, Mars-daunting king, +With whose renown the earth's seven climates ring, +Thy deeds not only claim these diadems, +To which Thame, Liftey, Tay, subject their streams; +But to thy virtues rare, and gifts, is due +All that the planet of the year doth view; +Sure if the world above did want a prince, +The world above to it would take thee hence. + +That Murder, Rapine, Lust, are fled to hell, +And in their rooms with us the Graces dwell; +That honour more than riches men respect, +That worthiness than gold doth more effect, +That Piety unmasked shows her face, +That Innocency keeps with Power her place, +That long-exiled Astrea leaves the heaven, +And turneth right her sword, her weights holds even, +That the Saturnian world is come again, +Are wish'd effects of thy most happy reign. +That daily, Peace, Love, Truth, Delights increase, +And Discord, Hate, Fraud, with Incumbers, cease; +That men use strength not to shed others' blood, +But use their strength now to do others good; +That Fury is enchain'd, disarmed Wrath, +That (save by Nature's hand) there is no death; +That late grim foes like brothers other love, +That vultures prey not on the harmless dove, +That wolves with lambs do friendship entertain, +Are wish'd effects of thy most happy reign. +That towns increase, that ruin'd temples rise, +That their wind-moving vanes do kiss the skies; +That Ignorance and Sloth hence run away, +That buried Arts now rouse them to the day, +That Hyperion far beyond his bed +Doth see our lions ramp, our roses spread; +That Iber courts us, Tiber not us charms, +That Rhine with hence-brought beams his bosom warms; +That ill doth fear, and good doth us maintain, +Are wish'd effects of thy most happy reign. + +O Virtue's pattern, glory of our times, +Sent of past days to expiate the crimes, +Great king, but better far than thou art great, +Whom state not honours, but who honours state, +By wonder born, by wonder first install'd, +By wonder after to new kingdoms call'd; +Young, kept by wonder from home-bred alarms, +Old, saved by wonder from pale traitors' harms, +To be for this thy reign, which wonders brings, +A king of wonder, wonder unto kings. +If Pict, Dane, Norman, thy smooth yoke had seen, +Pict, Dane, and Norman had thy subjects been; +If Brutus knew the bliss thy rule doth give, +Even Brutus joy would under thee to live, +For thou thy people dost so dearly love, +That they a father, more than prince, thee prove. + +O days to be desired! Age happy thrice! +If you your heaven-sent good could duly prize; +But we (half palsy-sick) think never right +Of what we hold, till it be from our sight, +Prize only summer's sweet and musked breath, +When armed winters threaten us with death, +In pallid sickness do esteem of health, +And by sad poverty discern of wealth: +I see an age when, after some few years, +And revolutions of the slow-paced spheres, +These days shall be 'bove other far esteem'd, +And like Augustus' palmy reign be deem'd. +The names of Arthur, fabulous Paladines, +Graven in Time's surly brows, in wrinkled lines, +Of Henrys, Edwards, famous for their fights, +Their neighbour conquests, orders new of knights, +Shall by this prince's name be pass'd as far +As meteors are by the Idalian star. +If gray-hair'd Proteus' songs the truth not miss-- +And gray-hair'd Proteus oft a prophet is-- +There is a land hence distant many miles, +Outreaching fiction and Atlantic isles, +Which (homelings) from this little world we name, +That shall emblazon with strange rites his fame, +Shall rear him statues all of purest gold, +Such as men gave unto the gods of old, +Name by him temples, palaces, and towns, +With some great river, which their fields renowns: +This is that king who should make right each wrong, +Of whom the bards and mystic Sibyls sung, +The man long promised, by whose glorious reign +This isle should yet her ancient name regain, +And more of fortunate deserve the style, +Than those whose heavens with double summers smile. + +Run on, great prince, thy course in glory's way, +The end the life, the evening crowns the day; +Heap worth on worth, and strongly soar above +Those heights which made the world thee first to love; +Surmount thyself, and make thine actions past +Be but as gleams or lightnings of thy last, +Let them exceed those of thy younger time, +As far as autumn; doth the flowery prime. +Through this thy empire range, like world's bright eye, +That once each year surveys all earth and sky, +Now glances on the slow and resty Bears, +Then turns to dry the weeping Auster's tears, +Hurries to both the poles, and moveth even +In the figured circle of the heaven: +Oh, long, long haunt these bounds which by thy sight +Have now regain'd their former heat and light. +Here grow green woods, here silver brooks do glide, +Here meadows stretch them out with painted pride, +Embroidering all the banks, here hills aspire +To crown their heads with the ethereal fire, +Hills, bulwarks of our freedom, giant walls, +Which never friends did slight, nor sword made thralls: +Each circling flood to Thetis tribute pays, +Men here in health outlive old Nestor's days: +Grim Saturn yet amongst our rocks remains, +Bound in our caves, with many metall'd chains, +Bulls haunt our shade like Leda's lover white, +Which yet might breed Pesiphae delight, +Our flocks fair fleeces bear, with which for sport +Endymion of old the moon did court, +High-palmed harts amidst our forests run, +And, not impaled, the deep-mouth'd hounds do shun; +The rough-foot hare safe in our bushes shrouds, +And long-wing'd hawks do perch amidst our clouds. +The wanton wood-nymphs of the verdant spring, +Blue, golden, purple flowers shall to thee bring, +Pomona's fruits the Panisks, Thetis' girls, +The Thule's amber, with the ocean pearls; +The Tritons, herdsmen of the glassy field, +Shall give thee what far-distant shores can yield, +The Serean fleeces, Erythrean gems, +Vast Plata's silver, gold of Peru streams, +Antarctic parrots, Ethiopian plumes, +Sabasan odours, myrrh, and sweet perfumes: +And I myself, wrapt in a watchet gown +Of reeds and lilies, on mine head a crown, +Shall incense to thee burn, green altars raise, +And yearly sing due paeans to thy praise. + +Ah! why should Isis only see thee shine? +Is not thy Forth, as well as Isis, thine? +Though Isis vaunt she hath more wealth in store, +Let it suffice thy Forth doth love thee more: +Though she for beauty may compare with Seine, +For swans, and sea-nymphs with imperial Rhine, +Yet for the title may be claim'd in thee, +Nor she nor all the world can match with me. +Now when, by honour drawn, them shalt away +To her, already jealous of thy stay, +When in her amorous arms she doth thee fold, +And dries thy dewy hairs with hers of gold, +Much asking of thy fare, much of thy sport, +Much of thine absence, long, howe'er so short, +And chides, perhaps, thy coming to the north, +Loathe not to think on thy much-loving Forth: +Oh, love these bounds, where of thy royal stem +More than an hundred wore a diadem. +So ever gold and bays thy brows adorn, +So never time may see thy race outworn, +So of thine own still mayst thou be desired, +Of strangers fear'd, redoubted, and admired; +So Memory thee praise, so precious hours +May character thy name in starry flowers; +So may thy high exploits at last make even, +With earth thy empire, glory with the heaven. + + +SONNETS. + +I. + +I know that all beneath the moon decays, +And what by mortals in this world is brought, +In Time's great periods shall return to nought; +That fairest states have fatal nights and days; +I know that all the Muse's heavenly lays, +With toil of sp'rit, which are so dearly bought, +As idle sounds, of few, or none, are sought, +That there is nothing lighter than vain praise; +I know frail beauty like the purple flower, +To which one morn oft birth and death affords, +That love a jarring is of minds' accords, +Where sense and will envassal Reason's power; + Know what I list, all this can not me move, + But that, alas! I both must write and love. + +II. + +Ah me! and I am now the man whose muse +In happier times was wont to laugh at love, +And those who suffer'd that blind boy abuse +The noble gifts were given them from above. +What metamorphose strange is this I prove I +Myself now scarce I find myself to be, +And think no fable Circe's tyranny, +And all the tales are told of changed Jove; +Virtue hath taught with her philosophy +My mind into a better course to move: +Reason may chide her fill, and oft reprove +Affection's power, but what is that to me? + Who ever think, and never think on ought + But that bright cherubim which thralls my thought. + +III. + +How that vast heaven, entitled first, is roll'd, +If any glancing towers beyond it be, +And people living in eternity, +Or essence pure that doth this all uphold: +What motion have those fixed sparks of gold, +The wandering carbuncles which shine from high, +By sp'rits, or bodies crossways in the sky, +If they be turn'd, and mortal things behold; +How sun posts heaven about, how night's pale queen +With borrow'd beams looks on this hanging round, +What cause fair Iris hath, and monsters seen +In air's large field of light, and seas profound, + Did hold my wandering thoughts, when thy sweet eye + Bade me leave all, and only think on thee. + +IV. + +If cross'd with all mishaps be my poor life, +If one short day I never spent in mirth, +If my sp'rit with itself holds lasting strife, +If sorrow's death is but new sorrow's birth; +If this vain world be but a mournful stage, +Where slave-born man plays to the scoffing stars, +If youth be toss'd with love, with weakness age; +If knowledge serves to hold our thoughts in wars, +If Time can close the hundred mouths of Fame, +And make what's long since past, like that's to be; +If virtue only be an idle name, +If being born I was but born to die; + Why seek I to prolong these loathsome days? + The fairest rose in shortest time decays. + +V. + +Dear chorister, who from those shadows sends, +Ere that the blushing morn dare show her light, +Such sad, lamenting strains, that night attends, +Become all ear; stars stay to hear thy plight, +If one whose grief even reach of thought transcends, +Who ne'er, not in a dream, did taste delight, +May thee importune who like case pretends, +And seems to joy in woe, in woe's despite. +Tell me (so may thou fortune milder try, +And long, long sing) for what thou thus complains, +Since winter's gone, and sun in dappled sky, +Enamour'd, smiles on woods and flowery plains? + The bird, as if my questions did her move, + With trembling wings sigh'd forth, 'I love, I love.' + +VI. + +Sweet soul, which, in the April of thy years, +For to enrich the heaven mad'st poor this round, +And now, with flaming rays of glory crown'd, +Most blest abides above the sphere of spheres; +If heavenly laws, alas! have not thee bound +From looking to this globe that all upbears, +If ruth and pity there above be found, +Oh, deign to lend a look unto these tears, +Do not disdain, dear ghost, this sacrifice, +And though I raise not pillars to thy praise, +My offerings take, let this for me suffice, +My heart a living pyramid I raise: + And whilst kings' tombs with laurels flourish green, + Thine shall with myrtles and these flowers be seen. + + +SPIRITUAL POEMS. + +I. + +Look, how the flower which ling'ringly doth fade, +The morning's darling late, the summer's queen, +Spoil'd of that juice which kept it fresh and green, +As high as it did raise, bows low the head: +Right so the pleasures of my life being dead, +Or in their contraries but only seen, +With swifter speed declines than erst it spread, +And, blasted, scarce now shows what it hath been. +As doth the pilgrim, therefore, whom the night +By darkness would imprison on his way, +Think on thy home, my soul, and think aright, +Of what's yet left thee of life's wasting day; + Thy sun posts westward, passed is thy morn, + And twice it is not given thee to be born. + +II. + +The weary mariner so fast not flies +A howling tempest, harbour to attain; +Nor shepherd hastes, when frays of wolves arise, +So fast to fold, to save his bleating train, +As I, wing'd with contempt and just disdain, +Now fly the world, and what it most doth prize, +And sanctuary seek, free to remain +From wounds of abject times, and Envy's eyes. +To me this world did once seem sweet and fair, +While senses' light mind's prospective kept blind, +Now, like imagined landscape in the air, +And weeping rainbows, her best joys I find: + Or if aught here is had that praise should have, + It is a life obscure, and silent grave. + +III. + +The last and greatest herald of heaven's King, +Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild, +Among that savage brood the woods forth bring, +Which he more harmless found than man, and mild; +His food was locusts, and what there doth spring, +With honey that from virgin hives distill'd; +Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing +Made him appear, long since from earth exiled; +There burst he forth; 'All ye whose hopes rely +On God, with me amidst these deserts mourn; +Repent, repent, and from old errors turn!' +Who listen'd to his voice, obey'd his cry? + Only the echoes, which he made relent, + Rung from their flinty caves, 'Repent, repent!' + +IV. + +Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours +Of winters past or coming, void of care, +Well-pleased with delights which present are, +Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers: +To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bowers, +Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare, +And what dear gifts on thee he did not spare, +A stain to human sense in sin that lowers. +What soul can be so sick, which by thy songs, +Attired in sweetness, sweetly is not driven +Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites, and wrongs, +And lift a reverend eye and thought to heaven? + Sweet artless songster, thou my mind dost raise + To airs of spheres, yes, and to angels' lays. + +V. + +As when it happ'neth that some lovely town +Unto a barbarous besieger falls, +Who both by sword and flame himself installs, +And, shameless, it in tears and blood doth drown +Her beauty spoil'd, her citizens made thralls, +His spite yet cannot so her all throw down, +But that some statue, pillar of renown, +Yet lurks unmaim'd within her weeping walls: +So, after all the spoil, disgrace, and wreck, +That time, the world, and death, could bring combined, +Amidst that mass of ruins they did make, +Safe and all scarless yet remains my mind: + From this so high transcending rapture springs, + That I, all else defaced, not envy kings. + + + + +PHINEAS FLETCHER + +We have already spoken of Giles Fletcher, the brother of Phineas. Of +Phineas we know nothing except that he was born in 1584, educated at +Eton and Cambridge, became Rector at Hilgay, in Norfolk, where he +remained for twenty-nine years, surviving his brother; that he wrote +an account of the founders and learned men of his university; that in +1633, he published 'The Purple Island;' and that in 1650 he died. + +His 'Purple Island' (with which we first became acquainted in the +writings of James Hervey, author of the 'Meditations,' who was its +fervent admirer) is a curious, complex, and highly ingenious allegory, +forming an elaborate picture of _Man_, in his body and soul; and for +subtlety and infinite flexibility, both of fancy and verse, deserves +great praise, although it cannot, for a moment, be compared with his +brother's 'Christ's Victory and Triumph,' either in interest of subject +or in splendour of genius. + + +DESCRIPTION OF PARTHENIA. + + With her, her sister went, a warlike maid, + Parthenia, all in steel and gilded arms; + In needle's stead, a mighty spear she sway'd, + With which in bloody fields and fierce alarms, + The boldest champion she down would bear, + And like a thunderbolt wide passage tear, +Flinging all to the earth with her enchanted spear. + + Her goodly armour seem'd a garden green, + Where thousand spotless lilies freshly blew; + And on her shield the lone bird might be seen, + The Arabian bird, shining in colours new; + Itself unto itself was only mate; + Ever the same, but new in newer date: +And underneath was writ, 'Such is chaste single state.' + + Thus hid in arms she seem'd a goodly knight, + And fit for any warlike exercise: + But when she list lay down her armour bright, + And back resume her peaceful maiden's guise; + The fairest maid she was, that ever yet + Prison'd her locks within a golden net, +Or let them waving hang, with roses fair beset. + + Choice nymph! the crown of chaste Diana's train, + Thou beauty's lily, set in heavenly earth; + Thy fairs, unpattern'd, all perfection stain: + Sure heaven with curious pencil at thy birth + In thy rare face her own full picture drew: + It is a strong verse here to write, but true, +Hyperboles in others are but half thy due. + + Upon her forehead Love his trophies fits, + A thousand spoils in silver arch displaying: + And in the midst himself full proudly sits, + Himself in awful majesty arraying: + Upon her brows lies his bent ebon bow, + And ready shafts; deadly those weapons show; +Yet sweet the death appear'd, lovely that deadly blow. + + * * * * * + + A bed of lilies flower upon her cheek, + And in the midst was set a circling rose; + Whose sweet aspect would force Narcissus seek + New liveries, and fresher colours choose + To deck his beauteous head in snowy 'tire; + But all in vain: for who can hope t' aspire +To such a fair, which none attain, but all admire? + + Her ruby lips lock up from gazing sight + A troop of pearls, which march in goodly row: + But when she deigns those precious bones undight, + Soon heavenly notes from those divisions flow, + And with rare music charm the ravish'd ears, + Daunting bold thoughts, but cheering modest fears: +The spheres so only sing, so only charm the spheres. + + Yet all these stars which deck this beauteous sky + By force of th'inward sun both shine and move; + Throned in her heart sits love's high majesty; + In highest majesty the highest love. + As when a taper shines in glassy frame, + The sparkling crystal burns in glittering flame, +So does that brightest love brighten this lovely dame. + + +INSTABILITY OF HUMAN GREATNESS. + + Fond man, that looks on earth for happiness, + And here long seeks what here is never found! + For all our good we hold from Heaven by lease, + With many forfeits and conditions bound; + Nor can we pay the fine and rentage due: + Though now but writ and seal'd, and given anew, +Yet daily we it break, then daily must renew. + + Why shouldst thou here look for perpetual good, + At every loss against Heaven's face repining? + Do but behold where glorious cities stood, + With gilded tops, and silver turrets shining; + Where now the hart fearless of greyhound feeds, + And loving pelican in safety breeds; +Where screeching satyrs fill the people's empty steads. + + Where is the Assyrian lion's golden hide, + That all the East once grasp'd in lordly paw? + Where that great Persian bear, whose swelling pride + The lion's self tore out with ravenous jaw? + Or he which, 'twixt a lion and a pard, + Through all the world with nimble pinions fared, +And to his greedy whelps his conquer'd kingdoms shared? + + Hardly the place of such antiquity, + Or note of these great monarchies we find: + Only a fading verbal memory, + An empty name in writ is left behind: + But when this second life and glory fades, + And sinks at length in time's obscurer shades, +A second fall succeeds, and double death invades. + + That monstrous Beast, which nursed in Tiber's fen, + Did all the world with hideous shape affray; + That fill'd with costly spoil his gaping den, + And trod down all the rest to dust and clay: + His battering horns pull'd out by civil hands, + And iron teeth lie scatter'd on the sands; +Backed, bridled by a monk, with seven heads yoked stands. + + And that black Vulture,[1] which with deathful wing + O'ershadows half the earth, whose dismal sight + Frighten'd the Muses from their native spring, + Already stoops, and flags with weary flight: + Who then shall look for happiness beneath? + Where each new day proclaims chance, change, and death, +And life itself's as fleet as is the air we breathe. + +[1] 'Black Vulture:' the Turk. + + +HAPPINESS OF THE SHEPHERD'S LIFE. + + Thrice, oh, thrice happy, shepherd's life and state! + When courts are happiness, unhappy pawns! + His cottage low and safely humble gate + Shuts out proud Fortune, with her scorns and fawns + No feared treason breaks his quiet sleep: + Singing all day, his flocks he learns to keep; +Himself as innocent as are his simple sheep. + + No Serian worms he knows, that with their thread + Draw out their silken lives; nor silken pride: + His lambs' warm fleece well fits his little need, + Not in that proud Sidonian tineture dyed: + No empty hopes, no courtly fears him fright, + Nor begging wants his middle fortune bite; +But sweet content exiles both misery and spite. + + Instead of music, and base flattering tongues, + Which wait to first salute my lord's uprise, + The cheerful lark wakes him with early songs, + And birds' sweet whistling notes unlock his eyes: + In country plays is all the strife he uses, + Or sing, or dance unto the rural Muses, +And but in music's sports all difference refuses. + + His certain life, that never can deceive him, + Is full of thousand sweets, and rich content; + The smooth-leaved beeches in the field receive him + With coolest shades, till noontide rage is spent; + His life is neither toss'd in boisterous seas + Of troublous world, nor lost in slothful ease; +Pleased, and full blest he lives, when he his God can please. + + His bed of wool yields safe and quiet sleeps, + While by his side his faithful spouse hath place; + His little son into his bosom creeps, + The lively picture of his father's face: + Never his humble house nor state torment him; + Less he could like, if less his God had sent him; +And when he dies, green turfs, with grassy tomb, content him. + + +MARRIAGE OF CHRIST AND THE CHURCH. + + 'Ah, dearest Lord! does my rapt soul behold thee? + Am I awake, and sure I do not dream? + Do these thrice-blessed arms again enfold thee? + Too much delight makes true things feigned seem. + Thee, thee I see; thou, thou thus folded art: + For deep thy stamp is printed on my heart, +And thousand ne'er-felt joys stream in each melting part.' + + Thus with glad sorrow did she sweetly 'plain her, + Upon his neck a welcome load depending; + While he with equal joy did entertain her, + Herself, her champions, highly all commending: + So all in triumph to his palace went; + Whose work in narrow words may not be pent: +For boundless thought is less than is that glorious tent. + + There sweet delights, which know nor end nor measure; + No chance is there, nor eating times succeeding: + No wasteful spending can impair their treasure; + Pleasure full grown, yet ever freshly breeding: + Fulness of sweets excludes not more receiving; + The soul still big of joy, yet still conceiving; +Beyond slow tongue's report, beyond quick thought's perceiving. + + There are they gone; there will they ever bide; + Swimming in waves of joys and heavenly loves: + He still a bridegroom, she a gladsome bride; + Their hearts in love, like spheres still constant moving; + No change, no grief, no age can them befall; + Their bridal bed is in that heavenly hall, +Where all days are but one, and only one is all. + + And as in his state they thus in triumph ride, + The boys and damsels their just praises chant; + The boys the bridegroom sing, the maids the bride, + While all the hills glad hymens loudly vaunt: + Heaven's winged shoals, greeting this glorious spring, + Attune their higher notes, and hymens sing: +Each thought to pass, and each did pass thought's loftiest wing. + + Upon his lightning brow love proudly sitting + Flames out in power, shines out in majesty; + There all his lofty spoils and trophies fitting, + Displays the marks of highest Deity: + There full of strength in lordly arms he stands, + And every heart and every soul commands: +No heart, no soul, his strength and lordly force withstands. + + Upon her forehead thousand cheerful graces, + Seated on thrones of spotless ivory; + There gentle Love his armed hand unbraces; + His bow unbent disclaims all tyranny; + There by his play a thousand souls beguiles, + Persuading more by simple, modest smiles, +Than ever he could force by arms or crafty wiles. + + Upon her cheek doth Beauty's self implant + The freshest garden of her choicest flowers; + On which, if Envy might but glance askant, + Her eyes would swell, and burst, and melt in showers: + Thrice fairer both than ever fairest eyed; + Heaven never such a bridegroom yet descried; +Nor ever earth so fair, so undefiled a bride. + + Full of his Father shines his glorious face, + As far the sun surpassing in his light, + As doth the sun the earth with flaming blaze: + Sweet influence streams from his quickening sight: + His beams from nought did all this _All_ display; + And when to less than nought they fell away, +He soon restored again by his new orient ray. + + All heaven shines forth in her sweet face's frame: + Her seeing stars (which we miscall bright eyes) + More bright than is the morning's brightest flame, + More fruitful than the May-time Geminies: + These, back restore the timely summer's fire; + Those, springing thoughts in winter hearts inspire, +Inspiriting dead souls, and quickening warm desire. + + These two fair suns in heavenly spheres are placed, + Where in the centre joy triumphing sits: + Thus in all high perfections fully graced, + Her mid-day bliss no future night admits; + But in the mirrors of her Spouse's eyes + Her fairest self she dresses; there where lies +All sweets, a glorious beauty to emparadise. + + His locks like raven's plumes, or shining jet, + Fall down in curls along his ivory neck; + Within their circlets hundred graces set, + And with love-knots their comely hangings deck: + His mighty shoulders, like that giant swain, + All heaven and earth, and all in both sustain; +Yet knows no weariness, nor feels oppressing pain. + + Her amber hair like to the sunny ray, + With gold enamels fair the silver white; + There heavenly loves their pretty sportings play, + Firing their darts in that wide flaming light: + Her dainty neck, spread with that silver mould, + Where double beauty doth itself unfold, +In the own fair silver shines, and fairer borrow'd gold. + + His breast a rock of purest alabaster, + Where loves self-sailing, shipwreck'd, often sitteth. + Hers a twin-rock, unknown but to the shipmaster; + Which harbours him alone, all other splitteth. + Where better could her love than here have nested, + Or he his thoughts than here more sweetly feasted? +Then both their love and thoughts in each are ever rested. + + Run now, you shepherd swains; ah! run you thither, + Where this fair bridegroom leads the blessed way: + And haste, you lovely maids, haste you together + With this sweet bride, while yet the sunshine day + Guides your blind steps; while yet loud summons call, + That every wood and hill resounds withal, +Come, Hymen, Hymen, come, dress'd in thy golden pall. + + The sounding echo back the music flung, + While heavenly spheres unto the voices play'd. + But see! the day is ended with my song, + And sporting bathes with that fair ocean maid: + Stoop now thy wing, my muse, now stoop thee low: + Hence mayst thou freely play, and rest thee now; +While here I hang my pipe upon the willow bough. + + So up they rose, while all the shepherds' throng + With their loud pipes a country triumph blew, + And led their Thirsil home with joyful song: + Meantime the lovely nymphs, with garlands new + His locks in bay and honour'd palm-tree bound, + With lilies set, and hyacinths around, +And lord of all the year and their May sportings crown'd. + + +END OF VOL. I. + + + + + + +SPECIMENS WITH MEMOIRS OF THE LESS-KNOWN BRITISH POETS. + +With an Introductory Essay, + +By + +THE REV. GEORGE GILFILLAN. + +IN THREE VOLS. + +VOL. II. + + + + +CONTENTS + + +SECOND PERIOD--FROM SPENSER TO DRYDEN. +(CONTINUED.) + + +WILLIAM HABINGTON + Epistle addressed to the Honourable W. E. + To his Noblest Friend, J. C., Esq. + A Description of Castara + +JOSEPH HALL, BISHOP OF NORWICH + Satire I. + Satire VII. + +RICHARD LOVELACE + Song--To Althea, from Prison + Song + A Loose Saraband + +ROBERT HERRICK + Song + Cherry-Ripe + The Kiss: A Dialogue + To Daffodils + To Primroses + To Blossoms + Oberon's Palace + Oberon's Feast + The Mad Maid's Song + Corinna's going a-Maying + Jephthah's Daughter + The Country Life + +SIR RICHARD FANSHAWE + The Spring, a Sonnet--From the Spanish + +ABRAHAM COWLEY + The Chronicle, a Ballad + The Complaint + The Despair + Of Wit + Of Solitude + The Wish + Upon the Shortness of Man's Life + On the Praise of Poetry + The Motto--'Tentanda via est,' &c + Davideis-Book II + Life + The Plagues of Egypt + +GEORGE WITHER + From 'The Shepherd's Hunting' + The Shepherd's Resolution + The Steadfast Shepherd + From 'The Shepherd's Hunting' + +SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT + From 'Gondibert'--Canto II + From 'Gondibert'--Canto IV + + +DR HENRY KING + Sic Vita + Song + Life + +JOHN CHALKHILL + Arcadia + Thealma, a Deserted Shepherdess + Priestess of Diana + Thealma in Full Dress + Dwelling of the Witch Orandra + +CATHARINE PHILLIPS + The Inquiry + A Friend + +MARGARET, DUCHESS OF NEWCASTLE + Melancholy described by Mirth + Melancholy describing herself + +THOMAS STANLEY + Celia Singing + Speaking and Kissing + La Belle Confidante + The Loss + Note on Anacreon + +ANDREW MARVELL + The Emigrants + The Nymph complaining of the Death of her Fawn + On 'Paradise Lost' + Thoughts in a Garden + Satire on Holland + +IZAAK WALTON + The Angler's Wish + +JOHN WILMOT, EARL or ROCHESTER + Song + Song + +THE EARL OP ROSCOMMON + From 'An Essay on Translated Verse' + +CHARLES COTTON + Invitation to Izaak Walton + A Voyage to Ireland in Burlesque + +DR HENRY MORE + Opening of Second Part of 'Psychozoia' + Exordium of Third Part + Destruction and Renovation of all things + A Distempered Fancy + Soul compared to a Lantern + +WILLIAM CHAMBERLAYNE + Argalia taken Prisoner by the Turks + +HENRY VAUGHAN + On a Charnel-house + On Gombauld's 'Endymion' + Apostrophe to Fletcher the Dramatist + Picture of the Town + The Golden Age + Regeneration + Resurrection and Immortality + The Search + Isaac's Marriage + Man's Fall and Recovery + The Shower + Burial + Cheerfulness + The Passion + Rules and Lessons + Repentance + The Dawning + The Tempest + The World + The Constellation + Misery + Mount of Olives + Ascension-day + Cock-crowing + The Palm-tree + The Garland + Love-sick + Psalm civ + The Timber + The Jews + Palm-Sunday + Providence + St Mary Magdalene + The Rainbow + The Seed Growing Secretly (Mark iv. 26) + Childhood + Abel's Blood + Righteousness + Jacob's Pillow and Pillar + The Feast + The Waterfall + +DR JOSEPH BEAUMONT + Hell + Joseph's Dream + Paradise + Eve + To the Memory of his Wife + Imperial Borne Personified + End + +MISCELLANEOUS PIECES-- + +FROM ROBERT HEATH-- + What is Love? + Protest of Love + To Clarastella + +BY VARIOUS AUTHORS-- + My Mind to me a Kingdom is + The Old and Young Courtier + There is a Garden in her Face + Hallo, my Fancy + The Fairy Queen + + + * * * * * + + +SPECIMENS WITH MEMOIRS OF THE LESS-KNOWN BRITISH POETS. + + +SECOND PERIOD--FROM SPENSER TO DRYDEN. (CONTINUED.) + + + * * * * * + + +WILLIAM HABINGTON. + + +This poet might have been expected to have belonged to the 'Spasmodic +school,' judging by his parental antecedents. His father was accused of +having a share in Babington's conspiracy, but was released because he +was godson to Queen Elizabeth. Soon after, however, he was imprisoned a +second time, and condemned to death on the charge of having concealed +some of the Gunpowder-plot conspirators; but was pardoned through the +interest of Lord Morley. His uncle, however, was less fortunate, +suffering death for his complicity with Babington. The poet's mother, +the daughter of Lord Morley, was more loyal than her husband or his +brother, and is said to have written the celebrated letter to Lord +Monteagle, in consequence of which the execution of the Gunpowder-plot +was arrested. + +Our poet was born at Hindlip, Worcestershire, on the very day of the +discovery of the plot, 5th November 1605. The family were Papists, and +William was sent to St Omers to be educated. He was pressed to become +a Jesuit, but declined. On his return to England, his father became +preceptor to the poet. As he grew up, instead of displaying any taste +for 'treasons, stratagems, and spoils,' he chose the better part, and +lived a private and happy life. He fell in love with Lucia, daughter of +William Herbert, the first Lord Powis, and celebrated her in his long +and curious poem entitled 'Castara.' This lady he afterwards married, +and from her society appears to have derived much happiness. In 1634, +he published 'Castara.' He also, at different times, produced 'The Queen +of Arragon,' a tragedy; a History of Edward IV.; and 'Observations upon +History.' He died in 1654, (not as Southey, by a strange oversight, +says, 'when he had just completed his fortieth year,') forty-nine years +of age, and was buried in the family vault at Hindlip. + +'Castara' is not a consecutive poem, but consists of a great variety of +small pieces, in all sorts of style and rhythm, and of all varieties of +merit; many of them addressed to his mistress under the name of Castara, +and many to his friends; with reflective poems, elegies, and panegyrics, +intermingled with verses sacred to love. Habington is distinguished by +purity of tone if not of taste. He has many conceits, but no obscenities. +His love is as holy as it is ardent. He has, besides, a vein of sentiment +which sometimes approaches the moral sublime. To prove this, in addition +to the 'Selections' below, we copy some verses entitled-- + + +'NOX NOCTI INDICAT SCIENTIAM.'--_David_. + + When I survey the bright + Celestial sphere, +So rich with jewels hung, that Night +Doth like an Ethiop bride appear, + + My soul her wings doth spread, + And heavenward flies, +The Almighty's mysteries to read +In the large volume of the skies; + + For the bright firmament + Shoots forth no flame +So silent, but is eloquent +In speaking the Creator's name. + + No unregarded star + Contracts its light +Into so small a character, +Removed far from our human sight, + + But if we steadfast look, + We shall discern +In it, as in some holy book, +How man may heavenly knowledge learn. + + It tells the conqueror + That far-stretch'd power, +Which his proud dangers traffic for, +Is but the triumph of an hour; + + That, from the furthest North, + Some nation may, +Yet undiscover'd, issue forth, +And o'er his new-got conquest sway,-- + + Some nation, yet shut in + With hills of ice, +May be let out to scourge his sin +Till they shall equal him in vice; + + And then they likewise shall + Their ruin brave; +For, as yourselves, your empires fall, +_And every kingdom hath a grave_. + + Thus those celestial fires, + Though seeming mute, +The fallacy of our desires, +And all the pride of life, confute; + + For they have watch'd since first + The world had birth, +And found sin in itself accurst, +And nothing permanent on earth. + + +There is something to us particularly interesting in the history of this +poet. Even as it is pleasant to see the sides of a volcano covered with +verdure, and its mouth filled with flowers, so we like to find the +fierce elements, which were inherited by Habington from his fathers, +softened and subdued in him,--the blood of the conspirator mellowed into +that of the gentle bard, who derived all his inspiration from a pure +love and a mild and thoughtful religion. + + +EPISTLE ADDRESSED TO THE HONOURABLE W.E. + + He who is good is happy. Let the loud +Artillery of heaven break through a cloud, +And dart its thunder at him, he'll remain +Unmoved, and nobler comfort entertain, +In welcoming the approach of death, than Vice +E'er found in her fictitious paradise. +Time mocks our youth, and (while we number past +Delights, and raise our appetite to taste +Ensuing) brings us to unflatter'd age, +Where we are left to satisfy the rage +Of threat'ning death: pomp, beauty, wealth, and all +Our friendships, shrinking from the funeral. +The thought of this begets that brave disdain +With which thou view'st the world, and makes those vain +Treasures of fancy, serious fools so court, +And sweat to purchase, thy contempt or sport. +What should we covet here? Why interpose +A cloud 'twixt us and heaven? Kind Nature chose +Man's soul the exchequer where to hoard her wealth, +And lodge all her rich secrets; but by the stealth +Of her own vanity, we're left so poor, +The creature merely sensual knows more. +The learned halcyon, by her wisdom, finds +A gentle season, when the seas and winds +Are silenced by a calm, and then brings forth +The happy miracle of her rare birth, +Leaving with wonder all our arts possess'd, +That view the architecture of her nest. +Pride raiseth us 'bove justice. We bestow +Increase of knowledge on old minds, which grow +By age to dotage; while the sensitive +Part of the world in its first strength doth live. +Folly! what dost thou in thy power contain +Deserves our study? Merchants plough the main +And bring home th' Indies, yet aspire to more, +By avarice in the possession poor. +And yet that idol wealth we all admit +Into the soul's great temple; busy wit +Invents new orgies, fancy frames new rites +To show its superstition; anxious nights +Are watch'd to win its favour: while the beast +Content with nature's courtesy doth rest. +Let man then boast no more a soul, since he +Hath lost that great prerogative. But thee, +Whom fortune hath exempted from the herd +Of vulgar men, whom virtue hath preferr'd +Far higher than thy birth, I must commend, +Rich in the purchase of so sweet a friend. +And though my fate conducts me to the shade +Of humble quiet, my ambition paid +With safe content, while a pure virgin fame +Doth raise me trophies in Castara's name; +No thought of glory swelling me above +The hope of being famed for virtuous love; +Yet wish I thee, guided by the better stars, +To purchase unsafe honour in the wars, +Or envied smiles at court; for thy great race, +And merits, well may challenge the highest place. +Yet know, what busy path soe'er you tread +To greatness, you must sleep among the dead. + + +TO HIS NOBLEST FRIEND, J.C., ESQ. + +I hate the country's dirt and manners, yet +I love the silence; I embrace the wit +And courtship, flowing here in a full tide, +But loathe the expense, the vanity, and pride. +No place each way is happy. Here I hold +Commerce with some, who to my care unfold +(After a due oath minister'd) the height +And greatness of each star shines in the state, +The brightness, the eclipse, the influence. +With others I commune, who tell me whence +The torrent doth of foreign discord flow; +Relate each skirmish, battle, overthrow, +Soon as they happen; and by rote can tell +Those German towns, even puzzle me to spell. +The cross or prosperous fate of princes they +Ascribe to rashness, cunning, or delay; +And on each action comment, with more skill +Than upon Livy did old Machiavel. +O busy folly! why do I my brain +Perplex with the dull policies of Spain, +Or quick designs of France? Why not repair +To the pure innocence o' the country air, +And neighbour thee, dear friend? Who so dost give +Thy thoughts to worth and virtue, that to live +Blest, is to trace thy ways. There might not we +Arm against passion with philosophy; +And, by the aid of leisure, so control +Whate'er is earth in us, to grow all soul? +Knowledge doth ignorance engender, when +We study mysteries of other men, +And foreign plots. Do but in thy own shad +(Thy head upon some flow'ry pillow laid, +Kind Nature's housewifery,) contemplate all +His stratagems, who labours to enthrall +The world to his great master, and you'll find +Ambition mocks itself, and grasps the wind. +Not conquest makes us great. Blood is too dear +A price for glory. Honour doth appear +To statesmen like a vision in the night; +And, juggler-like, works o' the deluded sight. +The unbusied only wise: for no respect +Endangers them to error; they affect +Truth in her naked beauty, and behold +Man with an equal eye, not bright in gold, +Or tall in little; so much him they weigh +As virtue raiseth him above his clay. +Thus let us value things: and since we find +Time bend us toward death, let's in our mind +Create new youth, and arm against the rude +Assaults of age; that no dull solitude +O' the country dead our thoughts, nor busy care +O' the town make us to think, where now we are, +And whither we are bound. Time ne'er forgot +His journey, though his steps we number'd not. + + +A DESCRIPTION OF CASTARA. + +1 Like the violet which, alone, + Prospers in some happy shade, + My Castara lives unknown, + To no looser's eye betray'd, + For she's to herself untrue, + Who delights i' the public view. + +2 Such is her beauty, as no arts + Have enrich'd with borrow'd grace; + Her high birth no pride imparts, + For she blushes in her place. + Folly boasts a glorious blood, + She is noblest, being good. + +3 Cautious, she knew never yet + What a wanton courtship meant; + Nor speaks loud, to boast her wit; + In her silence eloquent: + Of herself survey she takes, + But 'tween men no difference makes. + +4 She obeys with speedy will + Her grave parents' wise commands; + And so innocent, that ill + She nor acts, nor understands: + Women's feet run still astray, + If once to ill they know the way. + +5 She sails by that rock, the court, + Where oft Honour splits her mast: + And retiredness thinks the port + Where her fame may anchor cast: + Virtue safely cannot sit, + Where vice is enthroned for wit. + +6 She holds that day's pleasure best, + Where sin waits not on delight; + Without mask, or ball, or feast, + Sweetly spends a winter's night: + O'er that darkness, whence is thrust + Prayer and sleep, oft governs lust. + +7 She her throne makes reason climb; + While wild passions captive lie: + And, each article of time, + Her pure thoughts to heaven fly: + All her vows religious be, + And her love she vows to me. + + + + +JOSEPH HALL, BISHOP OF NORWICH. + + +This distinguished man must not be confounded with John Hall, of whom +all we know is, that he was born at Durham in 1627,--that he was +educated at Cambridge, where he published a volume of poems,--that he +practised at the bar, and that he died in 1656, in his twenty-ninth +year. One specimen of John's verses we shall quote:-- + + +THE MORNING STAR. + +Still herald of the morn: whose ray +Being page and usher to the day, +Doth mourn behind the sun, before him play; +Who sett'st a golden signal ere +The dark retire, the lark appear; +The early cooks cry comfort, screech-owls fear; +Who wink'st while lovers plight their troth, +Then falls asleep, while they are both +To part without a more engaging oath: + Steal in a message to the eyes + Of Julia; tell her that she lies +Too long; thy lord, the Sun, will quickly rise. +Yet it is midnight still with me; +Nay, worse, unless that kinder she +Smile day, and in my zenith seated be, +I needs a calenture must shun, +And, like an Ethiopian, hate my sun. + + +John's more celebrated namesake, Joseph, was born at Bristowe Park, +parish of Ashby-de-la-Zouch, Leicestershire, in 1574. He studied and +took orders at Cambridge. He acted for some time as master of the school +of Tiverton, in Devonshire. It is said that the accidental preaching of +a sermon before Prince Henry first attracted attention to this eminent +divine. Promotion followed with a sure and steady course. He was chosen +to accompany King James to Scotland as one of his chaplains, and +subsequently attended the famous Synod of Dort as a representative of +the English Church. He had before this, while quite a young man, (in +1597,) published, under the title of 'Virgidemiarum,' his Satires. In +the year 1600 he produced a satirical fiction, entitled, 'Mundus alter +et idem;' in which, while pretending to describe a certain _terra +australis incognita_, he hits hard at the existent evils of the actual +world. Hall was subsequently created Bishop of Exeter, where he exposed +himself to obloquy by his mildness to the Puritans. 'Had,' Campbell +justly remarked, 'such conduct been, at this critical period, pursued by +the High Churchmen in general, the history of a bloody age might have +been changed into that of peace; but the violence of Laud prevailed over +the milder counsels of a Hall, an Usher, and a Corbet.' Yet Hall was a +zealous Episcopalian, and defended that form of government in a variety +of pamphlets. In the course of this controversy he carne in collision +with the mighty Milton himself, who, unable to deny the ability and +learning of his opponent, tried to cover him with a deluge of derision. + +Besides these pamphlets, the Bishop produced a number of Epistles +in prose, of Sermons, of Paraphrases, and a remarkable series of +'Occasional Meditations,' which became soon, and continue to be, +popular. + +Hall, who had in his early days struggled hard with narrow circumstances +and neglect, seemed to reach the climax of prosperity when he was, in +1641, created by the King Bishop of Norwich. But having, soon after, +unfortunately added his name to the Protest of the twelve prelates +against the authority of any laws which should be passed during their +compulsory absence from Parliament, he was thrown into the Tower, and +subsequently threatened with sequestration. After enduring great +privations, he at last was permitted to retire to Higham, near Norwich, +where, reduced to a very miserable allowance, he continued to labour as +a pastor, with unwearied assiduity, till, in 1656, death closed his +eyes, at the advanced age of eighty-two. Bishop Hall, if not fully +competent to mate with Milton, was nevertheless a giant, conspicuous +even in an age when giants were rife. He has been called the Christian +Seneca, from the pith and clear sententiousness of his prose style. His +'Meditations,' ranging over almost the whole compass of Scripture, as +well as an incredible variety of ordinary topics, are distinguished by +their fertile fancy, their glowing language, and by thought which, if +seldom profound, is never commonplace, and seems always the spontaneous +and easy outcome of the author's mind. In no form of composition does +excellence depend more on spontaneity than in the meditation. The ruin +of such writers as Hervey, and, to some extent, Boyle, has been, that +they seem to have set themselves elaborately and convulsively to extract +sentiment out of every object which met their eye. They seem to say, +'We will, and we must meditate, whether the objects be interesting or +not, and whether our own moods be propitious to the exercise, or the +reverse.' Hence have come exaggeration, extravagance, and that shape +of the ridiculous which mimics the sublime, and has been so admirably +exposed in Swift's 'Meditation on a Broomstick.' Hall's method is, in +general, the opposite of this. The objects on which he muses seem to +have sought him, and not he them. He surrounds himself with his thoughts +unconsciously, as one gathers burs and other herbage about him by the +mere act of walking in the woods. Sometimes, indeed, he is quaint and +fantastic, as in his meditation + + + 'UPON THE SIGHT OF TWO SNAILS.' + + 'There is much variety even in creatures of the same kind. See these + two snails: one hath a house, the other wants it; yet both are snails, + and it is a question whether case is the better; that which hath a + house hath more shelter, but that which wants it hath more freedom; + the privilege of that cover is but a burden--you see if it hath but a + stone to climb over with what stress it draws up that artificial load, + and if the passage proves strait finds no entrance, whereas the empty + snail makes no difference of way. Surely it is always an ease and + sometimes a happiness to have nothing. No man is so worthy of envy as + he that can be cheerful in want.' + +In a very different style he discourses + + 'UPON HEARING OF MUSIC BY NIGHT.' + + 'How sweetly doth this music sound in this dead season! In the daytime + it would not, it could not so much affect the ear. All harmonious + sounds are advanced by a silent darkness: thus it is with the glad + tidings of salvation. The gospel never sounds so sweet as in the night + of preservation or of our own private affliction--it is ever the same, + the difference is in our disposition to receive it. O God, whose praise + it is to give songs in the night, make my prosperity conscionable and + my crosses cheerful!' + +Hall fulfilled one test of lofty genius: he was in several departments +an originator. He first gave an example of epistolary composition in +prose,--an example the imitation of which has produced many of the most +interesting, instructive, and beautiful writings in the language. He +is our first popular author of Meditations and Contemplations, and a +large school has followed in his path--too often, in truth, _passibus +iniquis_. And he is unquestionably the father of British satire. It is +remarkable that all his satires were written in youth. Too often the +satirical spirit grows in authors with the advance of life; and it is a +pitiful sight, that of those who have passed the meridian of years and +reputation, grinning back in helpless mockery and toothless laughter +upon the brilliant way they have traversed, but to which they can return +no more. Hall, on the other hand, exhausted long ere he was thirty the +sarcastic material that was in him; and during the rest of his career, +wielded his powers with as much lenity as strength. + +Perhaps no satirist had a more thorough conception than our author of +what is the real mission of satire in the moral history of mankind; +--_that_ is, to shew vice its own image--to scourge impudent imposture +--to expose hypocrisy--to laugh down solemn quackery of every kind--to +create blushes on brazen brows and fears of scorn in hollow hearts--to +make iniquity, as ashamed, hide its face--to apply caustic, nay cautery, +to the sores of society--and to destroy sin by shewing both the ridicule +which attaches to its progress and the wretched consequences which are +its end. But various causes prevented him from fully realising his own +ideal, and thus becoming the best as well as the first of our satirical +poets. His style--imitated from Persius and Juvenal--is too elliptical, +and it becomes true of him as well as of Persius that his points are +often sheathed through the remoteness of his allusions and the perplexity +of his diction. He is very recondite in his images, and you are sometimes +reminded of one storming in English at a Hindoo--it is pointless fury, +boltless thunder. At other times the stream of his satiric vein flows +on with a blended clearness and energy, which has commanded the warm +encomium of Campbell, and which prompted the diligent study of Pope. +There is more courage required in attacking the follies than the vices of +an age, and Hall shews a peculiar daring when he derides the vulgar forms +of astrology and alchymy which were then prevalent, and the wretched +fustian which infected the language both of literature and the stage. +Whatever be the merits or defects of Hall's satires, the world is +indebted to him as the founder of a school which were itself sufficient +to cover British literature with glory, and which, in the course of ages, +has included such writers as Samuel Butler, with his keen sense of the +grotesque and ridiculous--his wit, unequalled in its abundance and +point--his vast assortment of ludicrous fancies and language--and his +form of versification, seemingly shaped by the Genius of Satire for his +own purposes, and resembling heroic rhyme broken off in the middle by +shouts of laughter;--Dryden, with the ease, the _animus_, and the +masterly force of his satirical dissections--the vein of humour which +is stealthily visible at times in the intervals of his wrathful mood +--and the occasional passing and profound touches, worthy of Juvenal, +and reminding one of the fires of Egypt, which ran along the ground, +scorching all things while they pursued their unabated speed;--the +spirit of satire, strong as death, and cruel as the grave, which became +incarnate in Swift;--Pope, with his minute and microscopic vision +of human infirmities, his polish, delicate strokes, damning hints, +and annihilating whispers, where 'more is meant than meets the ear;' +--Johnson, with his crushing contempt and sacrificial dignity of scorn; +--Cowper, with the tenderness of a lover combined in his verse with the +terrible indignation of an ancient prophet;--Wolcot, with his infinite +fund of coarse wit and humour;--Burns, with that strange mixture of jaw +and genius--the spirit of a _caird_ with that of a poet--which marked all +his satirical pieces;--Crabbe, with his caustic vein and sternly-literal +descriptions, behind which are seen, half-skulking from view, kindness, +pity, and love;--Byron, with the clever Billingsgate of his earlier, and +the more than Swiftian ferocity of his later satires;--and Moore, with +the smartness, sparkle, tiny splendour, and minikin speed of his witty +shafts. In comparison with even these masters of the art, the good Bishop +does not dwindle; and he challenges precedence over most of them in the +purpose, tact, and good sense which blend with the whole of his satiric +poetry. + + +SATIRE I. + +Time was, and that was term'd the time of gold, +When world and time were young, that now are old, +(When quiet Saturn sway'd the mace of lead, +And pride was yet unborn, and yet unbred;) +Time was, that whiles the autumn fall did last, +Our hungry sires gaped for the falling mast + Of the Dodonian oaks; +Could no unhusked acorn leave the tree, +But there was challenge made whose it might be; +And if some nice and liquorous appetite +Desired more dainty dish of rare delight, +They scaled the stored crab with clasped knee, +Till they had sated their delicious eye: +Or search'd the hopeful thicks of hedgy rows, +For briary berries, or haws, or sourer sloes: +Or when they meant to fare the fin'st of all, +They lick'd oak-leaves besprint with honey fall. +As for the thrice three-angled beech nutshell, +Or chestnut's armed husk, and hide kernel, +No squire durst touch, the law would not afford, +Kept for the court, and for the king's own board. +Their royal plate was clay, or wood, or stone; +The vulgar, save his hand, else he had none. +Their only cellar was the neighbour brook: +None did for better care, for better look. +Was then no plaining of the brewer's 'scape, +Nor greedy vintner mix'd the stained grape. +The king's pavilion was the grassy green, +Under safe shelter of the shady treen. +Under each bank men laid their limbs along, +Not wishing any ease, not fearing wrong: +Clad with their own, as they were made of old, +Not fearing shame, not feeling any cold. +But when by Ceres' huswifery and pain, +Men learn'd to bury the reviving grain, +And father Janus taught the new-found vine +Rise on the elm, with many a friendly twine: +And base desire bade men to delven low, +For needless metals, then 'gan mischief grow. +Then farewell, fairest age, the world's best days, +Thriving in all as it in age decays. +Then crept in pride, and peevish covetise, +And men grew greedy, discordous, and nice. +Now man, that erst hail-fellow was with beast, +Wox on to ween himself a god at least. +Nor aery fowl can take so high a flight, +Though she her daring wings in clouds have dight; +Nor fish can dive so deep in yielding sea, +Though Thetis' self should swear her safety; +Nor fearful beast can dig his cave so low, +As could he further than earth's centre go; +As that the air, the earth, or ocean, +Should shield them from the gorge of greedy man. +Hath utmost Ind ought better than his own? +Then utmost Ind is near, and rife to gone, +O nature! was the world ordain'd for nought +But fill man's maw, and feed man's idle thought? +Thy grandsire's words savour'd of thrifty leeks, +Or manly garlic; but thy furnace reeks +Hot steams of wine; and can aloof descry +The drunken draughts of sweet autumnitie. +They naked went; or clad in ruder hide, +Or home-spun russet, void of foreign pride: +But thou canst mask in garish gauderie +To suit a fool's far-fetched livery. +A French head join'd to neck Italian: +Thy thighs from Germany, and breast from Spain: +An Englishman in none, a fool in all: +Many in one, and one in several. +Then men were men; but now the greater part +Beasts are in life, and women are in heart. +Good Saturn self, that homely emperor, +In proudest pomp was not so clad of yore, +As is the under-groom of the ostlery, +Husbanding it in work-day yeomanry. +Lo! the long date of those expired days, +Which the inspired Merlin's word foresays; +When dunghill peasants shall be dight as kings, +Then one confusion another brings: +Then farewell, fairest age, the world's best days, +Thriving in ill, as it in age decays. + + +SATIRE VII. + +Seest thou how gaily my young master goes, +Vaunting himself upon his rising toes; +And pranks his hand upon his dagger's side, +And picks his glutted teeth since late noontide? +'Tis Ruffio: Trow'st thou where he dined to-day? +In sooth I saw him sit with Duke Humphray. +Many good welcomes, and much gratis cheer, +Keeps he for every straggling cavalier, +And open house, haunted with great resort; +Long service mix'd with musical disport. +Many fair younker with a feather'd crest, +Chooses much rather be his shot-free guest, +To fare so freely with so little cost, +Than stake his twelvepence to a meaner host. +Hadst thou not told me, I should surely say +He touch'd no meat of all this livelong day. +For sure methought, yet that was but a guess, +His eyes seem'd sunk for very hollowness; +But could he have (as I did it mistake) +So little in his purse, so much upon his back? +So nothing in his maw? yet seemeth by his belt, +That his gaunt gut no too much stuffing felt. +Seest thou how side it hangs beneath his hip? +Hunger and heavy iron makes girdles slip; +Yet for all that, how stiffly struts he by, +All trapped in the new-found bravery. +The nuns of new-won Calais his bonnet lent, +In lieu of their so kind a conquerment. +What needed he fetch that from furthest Spain. +His grandam could have lent with lesser pain? +Though he perhaps ne'er pass'd the English shore, +Yet fain would counted be a conqueror. +His hair, French-like, stares on his frighted head, +One lock, Amazon-like, dishevelled, +As if he meant to wear a native cord, +If chance his fates should him that bane afford. +All British bare upon the bristled skin, +Close notched is his beard both lip and chin; +His linen collar labyrinthian set, +Whose thousand double turnings never met: +His sleeves half hid with elbow pinionings, +As if he meant to fly with linen wings. +But when I look, and cast mine eyes below, +What monster meets mine eyes in human show? +So slender waist with such an abbot's loin, +Did never sober nature sure conjoin, +Lik'st a strawn scarecrow in the new-sown field, +Rear'd on some stick, the tender corn to shield; +Or if that semblance suit not every deal, +Like a broad shake-fork with a slender steel. +Despised nature, suit them once aright, +Their body to their coat, both now misdight. +Their body to their clothes might shapen be, +That nill their clothes shape to their body. +Meanwhile I wonder at so proud a back, +Whiles the empty guts loud rumblen for long lack: +The belly envieth the back's bright glee, +And murmurs at such inequality. +The back appears unto the partial eyne, +The plaintive belly pleads they bribed been: +And he, for want of better advocate, +Doth to the ear his injury relate. +The back, insulting o'er the belly's need, +Says, Thou thyself, I others' eyes must feed. +The maw, the guts, all inward parts complain +The back's great pride, and their own secret pain. +Ye witless gallants, I beshrew your hearts, +That sets such discord 'twixt agreeing parts, +Which never can be set at onement more, +Until the maw's wide mouth be stopt with store. + + + + +RICHARD LOVELACE. + + +This unlucky cavalier and bard was born in 1618. He was the son of Sir +William Lovelace, of Woolwich, in Kent. He was educated some say at +Oxford, and others at Cambridge--took a master's degree, and was +afterwards presented at Court. Anthony Wood thus describes his personal +appearance at the age of sixteen:--'He was the most amiable and +beautiful person that eye ever beheld,--a person also of innate modesty, +virtue, and courtly deportment, which made him then, but especially +after when he retired to the great city, much admired and adored by the +fair sex.' Soon after this, he was chosen by the county of Kent to +deliver a petition from the inhabitants to the House of Commons, praying +them to restore the King to his rights, and to settle the government. +Such offence was given by this to the Long Parliament, that Lovelace was +thrown into prison, and only liberated on heavy bail. His paternal +estate, which amounted to L500 a-year, was soon exhausted in his efforts +to promote the royal cause. In 1646, he formed a regiment for the +service of the King of France, became its colonel, and was wounded at +Dunkirk. Ere leaving England, he had formed a strong attachment to a +Miss Lucy Sacheverell, and had written much poetry in her praise, +designating her as _Lux-Casta_. Unfortunately, hearing a report that +Lovelace had died at Dunkirk of his wounds, she married another, so +that, on his return home in 1648, he met a deep disappointment; and to +complete his misery, the ruling powers cast him again into prison, where +he lay till the death of Charles. Like some other men of genius, he +beguiled his confinement by literary employment; and in 1649, he +published a book under the title of 'Lucasta,' consisting of odes, +sonnets, songs, and miscellaneous poems, most of which had been +previously composed. After the execution of the King, he was liberated; +but his funds were exhausted, his heart broken, and his constitution +probably injured. He gradually sunk; and Wood says that he became very +poor in body and purse, was the object of charity, 'went in ragged +clothes, and mostly lodged in obscure and dirty places.' Alas for the +Adonis of sixteen, the beloved of Lucasta, and the envied of all! Some +have doubted these stories about his extreme poverty; and one of his +biographers asserts, that his daughter and sole heir (but who, pray, was +his wife and her mother?) married the son of Lord Chief-Justice Coke, +and brought to her husband the estates of her father at Kingsdown, in +Kent. Aubrey however, corroborates the statements of Wood; and, at all +events, Lovelace seems to have died, in 1658, in a wretched alley near +Shoe Lane. + +There is not much to be said about his poetry. It may be compared to his +person--beautiful, but dressed in a stiff mode. We do not, in every +point, homologate the opinions of Prynne, as to the 'unloveliness of +love-locks;' but we do certainly look with a mixture of contempt and +pity on the self-imposed trammels of affectation in style and manner +which bound many of the poets of that period. The wits of Charles II. +were more disgustingly licentious; but their very carelessness saved +them from the conceits of their predecessors; and, while lowering the +tone of morality, they raised unwittingly the standard of taste. Some of +the songs of Lovelace, however, such as 'To Althea, from Prison,' are +exquisitely simple, as well as pure. Sir Egerton Brydges has found out +that Byron, in one of his be-praised paradoxical beauties, either +copied, or coincided with, our poet. In the 'Bride of Abydos' he says of +Zuleika-- + + 'The mind, the _music_ breathing from her face.' + +Lovelace had, long before, in the song of 'Orpheus Mourning for his +Wife,' employed the words-- + + 'Oh, could you view the melody + Of every grace, + And _music of her face_, + You'd drop a tear; + Seeing more harmony + In her bright eye + Than now you hear.' + +While many have praised, others have called this idea nonsense; +although, if we are permitted to speak of the harmony of the tones of a +cloud, why not of the harmony produced by the consenting lines of a +countenance, where every grace melts into another, and the various +features and expressions fluctuate into a fine whole? Whatever, whether +it be the beauty of the human face, or the quiet lustre of statuary, or +the mild glory of moonlight, gives the effects of music, and, like that +divine art, + + 'Pours on mortals a beautiful disdain,' + +may surely become music's metaphor and poetic analogy. + + +SONG. + +TO ALTHEA, FROM PRISON. + +1 When Love, with unconfined wings, + Hovers within my gates, + And my divine Althea brings + To whisper at my grates; + When I lie tangled in her hair, + And fetter'd to her eye, + The birds, that wanton in the air, + Know no such liberty. + +2 When flowing cups run swiftly round + With no allaying Thames, + Our careless heads with roses bound, + Our hearts with loyal flames; + When thirsty grief in wine we steep, + When healths and draughts go free, + Fishes, that tipple in the deep, + Know no such liberty. + +3 When, like committed linnets, I + With shriller throat shall sing + The sweetness, mercy, majesty, + And glories of my king;[1] + When I shall voice aloud how good + He is, how great should be, + Enlarged winds, that curl the flood, + Know no such liberty. + +4 Stone walls do not a prison make, + Nor iron bars a cage; + Minds innocent and quiet take + That for an hermitage. + If I have freedom in my love, + And in my soul am free, + Angels alone, that soar above, + Enjoy such liberty. + +[1] Charles I., in whose cause Lovelace was then in prison. + + +SONG. + +1 Amarantha, sweet and fair, + Forbear to braid that shining hair; + As my curious hand or eye, + Hovering round thee, let it fly: + +2 Let it fly as unconfined + As its ravisher, the wind, + Who has left his darling east, + To wanton o'er this spicy nest. + +3 Every tress must be confess'd + But neatly tangled at the best, + Like a clew of golden thread + Most excellently ravelled: + +4 Do not then wind up that light + In ribands, and o'ercloud the night; + Like the sun in his early ray, + But shake your head and scatter day. + + +A LOOSE SARABAND. + +1 Ah me! the little tyrant thief, + As once my heart was playing, + He snatch'd it up, and flew away, + Laughing at all my praying. + +2 Proud of his purchase, he surveys, + And curiously sounds it; + And though he sees it full of wounds, + Cruel, still on he wounds it. + +3 And now this heart is all his sport, + Which as a ball he boundeth, + From hand to hand, from breast to lip, + And all its rest confoundeth. + +4 Then as a top he sets it up, + And pitifully whips it; + Sometimes he clothes it gay and fine, + Then straight again he strips it. + +5 He cover'd it with false belief, + Which gloriously show'd it; + And for a morning cushionet + On's mother he bestow'd it. + +6 Each day with her small brazen stings + A thousand times she raced it; + But then at night, bright with her gems, + Once near her breast she placed it. + +7 Then warm it 'gan to throb and bleed, + She knew that smart, and grieved; + At length this poor condemned heart, + With these rich drugs reprieved. + +8 She wash'd the wound with a fresh tear, + Which my Lucasta dropped; + And in the sleeve silk of her hair + 'Twas hard bound up and wrapped. + +9 She probed it with her constancy, + And found no rancour nigh it; + Only the anger of her eye + Had wrought some proud flesh nigh it. + +10 Then press'd she hard in every vein, + Which from her kisses thrilled, + And with the balm heal'd all its pain + That from her hand distilled. + +11 But yet this heart avoids me still, + Will not by me be owned; + But, fled to its physician's breast, + There proudly sits enthroned. + + + + +ROBERT HERRICK. + + +This poet--a bird with tropical plumage, and norland sweetness of song +--was born in Cheapside, London, in 1591. His father, was an eminent +goldsmith. Herrick was sent to Cambridge; and having entered into holy +orders, and being patronised by the Earl of Exeter, he was, in 1629, +presented by Charles I. to the vicarage of Dean Prior, in Devonshire. +Here he resided for twenty years, till ejected by the civil war. He +seems all this time to have felt little relish either for his profession +or parishioners. In the former, the cast of his poems shews that he must +have been 'detained before the Lord;' and the latter he describes as a +'wild, amphibious race,' rude almost as 'salvages,' and 'churlish as the +seas.' When he quitted his charge, he became an author at the mature age +of fifty-six--publishing first, in 1647, his 'Noble Numbers; or, Pious +Pieces;' and next, in 1648, his 'Hesperides; or, Works both Human and +Divine of Robert Herrick, Esq.'--his ministerial prefix being now laid +aside. Some of these poems were sufficiently unclerical--being wild and +licentious in cast--although he himself alleges that his life was, +sexually at least, blameless. Till the Restoration he lived in Westminster, +supported by the rich among the Royalists, and keeping company with the +popular dramatists and poets. It would seem that he had been in the habit +of visiting London previously, while still acting as a clergyman, and had +become a boon companion of Ben Jonson. Hence his well-known lines-- + + 'Ah, Ben! + Say how or when + Shall we, thy guests, + Meet at those lyric feasts, + Made at the "Sun," + The "Dog," the "Triple Tun," + Where we such clusters had + As made us nobly wild, not mad? + And yet each verse of thine + Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine. + My Ben! + Or come again, + Or send to us, + Thy wit's great overplus. + But teach us yet + Wisely to husband it; + Lest we that talent spend, + And having once brought to an end + That precious stock, the store + Of such a wit, the world should have no more.' + + +With the Restoration, fortune began again to smile on our poet. He was +replaced in his old charge, and seems to have spent the rest of his life +quietly in the country, enjoying the fresh air and the old English +sports--'repenting at leisure moments,' as Shakspeare has it, of the +early pruriencies of his muse; or, as the same immortal bard says of +Falstaff, 'patching up his old body' for a better place. The date of his +death is not exactly ascertained; but he seems to have got considerably +to the shady side of seventy years of age. + +Herrick's poetry was for a long time little known, till worthy Nathan +Drake, in his 'Literary Hours,' performed to him, as to some others, +the part of a friendly resurrectionist. He may be called the English +Anacreon, and resembles the Greek poet, not only in graceful, lively, +and voluptuous elegance and richness, but also in that deeper sentiment +which often underlies the lighter surface of his verse. It is a great +mistake to suppose that Anacreon was a mere contented sensualist and +shallow songster of love and wine. Some of his odes shew that, if he +yielded to the destiny of being a Cicada, singing amidst the vines of +Bacchus, it was despair--the despair produced by a degraded age and a +bad religion--which reduced him to the necessity. He was by nature an +eagle; but he was an eagle in a sky where there was no sun. The cry of +a noble being, placed in the most untoward circumstances, is here and +there heard in his verses, and reminds you of the voice of one of the +transmuted victims of Circe, or of Ariel from that cloven pine, where he + + 'howl'd away twelve winters.' + +Herrick might be by constitution a voluptuary,--and he has unquestionably +degraded his genius in not a few of his rhymes,--but in him, as well as +in Anacreon, Horace, and Burns, there lay a better and a higher nature, +which the critics have ignored, because it has not found a frequent or +full utterance in his poetry. In proof that our author possessed profound +sentiment, mingling and sometimes half-lost in the loose, luxuriant +leafage of his imagery, we need only refer our readers to his 'Blossoms' +and his 'Daffodils.' Besides gaiety and gracefulness, his verse is +exceedingly musical--his lines not only move but dance. + + +SONG. + +1 Gather the rose-buds, while ye may, + Old Time is still a-flying; + And this same flower that smiles to-day + To-morrow will be dying. + +2 The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun, + The higher he's a-getting, + The sooner will his race be run, + And nearer he's to setting. + +3 The age is best which is the first, + When youth and blood are warmer; + But being spent, the worse and worst + Times, still succeed the former. + +4 Then be not coy, but use your time, + And, whilst ye may, go marry; + For having lost but once your prime, + You may for ever tarry. + + +CHERRY-RIPE. + +Cherry-ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry; +Full and fair ones; come, and buy! +If so be you ask me where +They do grow? I answer, there, +Where my Julia's lips do smile; +There's the land or cherry isle, +Whose plantations fully show, +All the year, where cherries grow. + + +THE KISS: A DIALOGUE. + +1. Among thy fancies, tell me this: + What is the thing we call a kiss?-- +2. I shall resolve ye what it is: + + It is a creature, born and bred + Between the lips, all cherry red; + By love and warm desires 'tis fed; +_Chor_.--And makes more soft the bridal bed: + +2. It is an active flame, that flies + First to the babies of the eyes, + And charms them there with lullabies; +_Chor_.--And stills the bride too when she cries: + +2. Then to the chin, the cheek, the ear, + It frisks and flies; now here, now there; + 'Tis now far off, and then 'tis near; +_Chor_.--And here, and there, and everywhere. + +1. Has it a speaking virtue?--2. Yes. +1. How speaks it, say?--2. Do you but this, + Part your join'd lips, then speaks your kiss; +_Chor_.--And this love's sweetest language is. + +1. Has it a body?--2. Aye, and wings, + With thousand rare encolourings; + And, as it flies, it gently sings, +_Chor_.--Love honey yields, but never stings. + + +TO DAFFODILS. + +1 Fair daffodils, we weep to see + You haste away so soon; + As yet the early-rising sun + Has not attain'd his noon: + Stay, stay + Until the hast'ning day + Has run + But to the even-song; + And, having pray'd together, we + Will go with you along! + +2 We have short time to stay, as you; + We have as short a spring, + As quick a growth to meet decay, + As you, or anything: + We die, + As your hours do; and dry + Away + Like to the summer's rain, + Or as the pearls of morning dew + Ne'er to be found again. + + +TO PRIMROSES. + +1 Why do ye weep, sweet babes? Can tears + Speak grief in you, + Who are but born + Just as the modest morn + Teem'd her refreshing dew? + Alas! you have not known that shower + That mars a flower; + Nor felt the unkind + Breath of a blasting wind; + Nor are ye worn with years; + Or warp'd, as we, + Who think it strange to see + Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, + To speak by tears before ye have a tongue. + +2 Speak, whimpering younglings; and make known + The reason why + Ye droop and weep. + Is it for want of sleep, + Or childish lullaby? + Or that ye have not seen as yet + The violet? + Or brought a kiss + From that sweetheart to this? + No, no; this sorrow shown + By your tears shed, + Would have this lecture read, + 'That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, + Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth.' + + +TO BLOSSOMS. + +1 Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, + Why do ye fall so fast? + Your date is not so past, + But you may stay yet here awhile + To blush and gently smile + And go at last. + +2 What, were ye born to be + An hour or half's delight, + And so to bid good night? + 'Tis pity Nature brought ye forth + Merely to show your worth, + And lose you quite. + +3 But you are lovely leaves, where we + May read how soon things have + Their end, though ne'er so brave: + And after they have shown their pride, + Like you, awhile, they glide + Into the grave. + + +OBERON'S PALACE. + + Thus to a grove +Sometimes devoted unto love, +Tinsell'd with twilight, he and they, +Led by the shine of snails, a way +Beat with their num'rous feet, which by +Many a neat perplexity, +Many a turn, and many a cross +Tract, they redeem a bank of moss, +Spongy and swelling, and far more +Soft than the finest Lemster ore, +Mildly disparkling like those fires +Which break from the enjewell'd tires +Of curious brides, or like those mites +Of candied dew in moony nights; +Upon this convex all the flowers +Nature begets by the sun and showers, +Are to a wild digestion brought; +As if Love's sampler here was wrought +Or Cytherea's ceston, which +All with temptation doth bewitch. +Sweet airs move here, and more divine +Made by the breath of great-eyed kine +Who, as they low, impearl with milk +The four-leaved grass, or moss-like silk. +The breath of monkeys, met to mix +With musk-flies, are the aromatics +Which cense this arch; and here and there, +And further off, and everywhere +Throughout that brave mosaic yard, +Those picks or diamonds in the card, +With pips of hearts, of club, and spade, +Are here most neatly interlaid. +Many a counter, many a die, +Half-rotten and without an eye, +Lies hereabout; and for to pave +The excellency of this cave, +Squirrels' and children's teeth, late shed, +Are neatly here inchequered +With brownest toadstones, and the gum +That shines upon the bluer plumb. + + * * * * * + + Art's +Wise hand enchasing here those warts +Which we to others from ourselves +Sell, and brought hither by the elves. +The tempting mole, stolen from the neck +Of some shy virgin, seems to deck +The holy entrance; where within +The room is hung with the blue skin +Of shifted snake, enfriezed throughout +With eyes of peacocks' trains, and trout-- +Flies' curious wings; and these among +Those silver pence, that cut the tongue +Of the red infant, neatly hung. +The glow-worm's eyes, the shining scales +Of silvery fish, wheat-straws, the snail's +Soft candlelight, the kitling's eyne, +Corrupted wood, serve here for shine; +No glaring light of broad-faced day, +Or other over-radiant ray +Ransacks this room, but what weak beams +Can make reflected from these gems, +And multiply; such is the light, +But ever doubtful, day or night. +By this quaint taper-light he winds +His errors up; and now he finds +His moon-tann'd Mab as somewhat sick, +And, love knows, tender as a chick. +Upon six plump dandelions high- +Rear'd lies her elvish majesty, +Whose woolly bubbles seem'd to drown +Her Mabship in obedient down. + + * * * * * + +And next to these two blankets, o'er- +Cast of the finest gossamer; +And then a rug of carded wool, +Which, sponge-like, drinking in the dull +Light of the moon, seem'd to comply, +Cloud-like, the dainty deity: +Thus soft she lies; and overhead +A spinner's circle is bespread +With cobweb curtains, from the roof +So neatly sunk, as that no proof +Of any tackling can declare +What gives it hanging in the air. + + * * * * * + +OBERON'S FEAST. + +Shapcot, to thee the fairy state +I with discretion dedicate; +Because thou prizest things that are +Curious and unfamiliar. +Take first the feast; these dishes gone, +We'll see the fairy court anon. + +A little mushroom table spread; +After short prayers, they set on bread, +A moon-parch'd grain of purest wheat, +With some small glittering grit, to eat +His choicest bits with; then in a trice +They make a feast less great than nice. +But, all this while his eye is served, +We must not think his ear was starved; +But there was in place, to stir +His spleen, the chirring grasshopper, +The merry cricket, puling fly, +The piping gnat, for minstrelsy. +And now we must imagine first +The elves present, to quench his thirst, +A pure seed-pearl of infant dew, +Brought and besweeten'd in a blue +And pregnant violet; which done, +His kitling eyes begin to run +Quite through the table, where he spies +The horns of pap'ry butterflies, +Of which he eats; and tastes a little +Of what we call the cuckoo's spittle: +A little furze-ball pudding stands +By, yet not blessed by his hands-- +That was too coarse; but then forthwith +He ventures boldly on the pith +Of sugar'd rush, and eats the sag +And well-bestrutted bee's sweet bag; +Gladding his palate with some store +Of emmets' eggs: what would he more +But beards of mice, a newt's stew'd thigh, +A bloated earwig, and a fly: +With the red-capp'd worm, that is shut +Within the concave of a nut, +Brown as his tooth; a little moth, +Late fatten'd in a piece of cloth; +With wither'd cherries; mandrakes' ears; +Moles' eyes; to these, the slain stag's tears; +The unctuous dewlaps of a snail; +The broke heart of a nightingale +O'ercome in music; with a wine +Ne'er ravish'd from the flatt'ring rine, +But gently press'd from the soft side +Of the most sweet and dainty bride, +Brought in a dainty daisy, which +He fully quaffs up to bewitch +His blood to height? This done, commended +Grace by his priest, the feast is ended. + + +THE MAD MAID'S SONG. + +1 Good-morrow to the day so fair; + Good-morning, sir, to you; + Good-morrow to mine own torn hair, + Bedabbled with the dew: + +2 Good-morning to this primrose too; + Good-morrow to each maid, + That will with flowers the tomb bestrew + Wherein my love is laid. + +3 Ah, woe is me; woe, woe is me! + Alack, and well-a-day! + For pity, sir, find out this bee + Which bore my love away. + +4 I'll seek him in your bonnet brave, + I'll seek him in your eyes; + Nay, now I think they've made his grave + I' th' bed of strawberries: + +5 I'll seek him there; I know ere this + The cold, cold earth doth shake him; + But I will go, or send a kiss + By you, sir, to awake him. + +6 Pray hurt him not; though he be dead, + He knows well who do love him, + And who with green turfs rear his head, + And who do rudely move him. + +7 He's soft and tender, pray take heed, + With bands of cowslips bind him, + And bring him home;--but 'tis decreed + That I shall never find him! + + +CORINNA'S GOING A-MAYING. + +1 Get up, get up for shame; the blooming morn + Upon her wings presents the god unshorn: + See how Aurora throws her fair + Fresh-quilted colours through the air: + Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see + The dew bespangling herb and tree: + Each flower has wept, and bow'd toward the east, + Above an hour since; yet you are not drest; + Nay, not so much as out of bed; + When all the birds have matins said, + And sung their thankful hymns; 'tis sin, + Nay, profanation, to keep in; + When as a thousand virgins on this day, + Spring sooner than the lark, to fetch in May! + +2 Rise and put on your foliage, and be seen + To come forth like the spring-time, fresh and green, + And sweet as Flora. Take no care + For jewels for your gown, or hair: + Fear not, the leaves will strew + Gems in abundance upon you: + Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, + Against you come, some orient pearls unwept: + Come and receive them, while the light + Hangs on the dew-locks of the night, + And Titan on the eastern hill + Retires himself, or else stands still + Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in praying; + Few beads are best, when once we go a-Maying! + +3 Come, my Corinna, come; and, coming, mark + How each field turns a street, each street a park + Made green, and trimm'd with trees; see how + Devotion gives each house a bough, + Or branch; each porch, each door, ere this + An ark, a tabernacle is + Made up of whitethorn newly interwove, + As if here were those cooler shades of love. + Can such delights be in the street + And open fields, and we not see't? + Come, we'll abroad; and let's obey + The proclamation made for May, + And sin no more, as we have done, by staying; + But, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying! + +4 There's not a budding boy or girl this day + But is got up, and gone to bring in May: + A deal of youth, ere this, is come + Back, and with whitethorn laden home: + Some have despatch'd their cakes and cream, + Before that we have left to dream; + And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth, + And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth: + Many a green gown has been given; + Many a kiss, both odd and even; + Many a glance too has been sent + From out the eye, love's firmament; + Many a jest told of the key's betraying + This night, and locks pick'd; yet we're not a-Maying! + +5 Come, let us go, while we are in our prime, + And take the harmless folly of the time: + We shall grow old apace, and die + Before we know our liberty: + Our life is short, and our days run + As fast away as does the sun: + And, as a vapour, or a drop of rain, + Once lost, can ne'er be found again, + So when or you, or I, are made + A fable, song, or fleeting shade, + All love, all liking, all delight + Lies drown'd with us in endless night. + Then, while time serves, and we are but decaying, + Come, my Corinna, come, let's go a-Maying! + + + +JEPHTHAH'S DAUGHTER. + +1 O thou, the wonder of all days! + O paragon and pearl of praise! + O Virgin Martyr! ever bless'd + Above the rest + Of all the maiden train! we come, + And bring fresh strewings to thy tomb. + +2 Thus, thus, and thus we compass round + Thy harmless and enchanted ground; + And, as we sing thy dirge, we will + The daffodil + And other flowers lay upon + The altar of our love, thy stone. + +3 Thou wonder of all maids! list here, + Of daughters all the dearest dear; + The eye of virgins, nay, the queen + Of this smooth green, + And all sweet meads, from whence we get + The primrose and the violet. + +4 Too soon, too dear did Jephthah buy, + By thy sad loss, our liberty: + His was the bond and cov'nant; yet + Thou paid'st the debt, + Lamented maid! He won the day, + But for the conquest thou didst pay. + +5 Thy father brought with him along + The olive branch and victor's song: + He slew the Ammonites, we know, + But to thy woe; + And, in the purchase of our peace, + The cure was worse than the disease. + +6 For which obedient zeal of thine, + We offer thee, before thy shrine, + Our sighs for storax, tears for wine; + And to make fine + And fresh thy hearse-cloth, we will here + Four times bestrew thee every year. + +7 Receive, for this thy praise, our tears; + Receive this offering of our hairs; + Receive these crystal vials, fill'd + With tears distill'd + From teeming eyes; to these we bring, + Each maid, her silver filleting, + +8 To gild thy tomb; besides, these cauls, + These laces, ribands, and these fauls, + These veils, wherewith we used to hide + The bashful bride, + When we conduct her to her groom: + All, all, we lay upon thy tomb. + +9 No more, no more, since thou art dead, + Shall we e'er bring coy brides to bed; + No more at yearly festivals + We cowslip balls + Or chains of columbines shall make + For this or that occasion's sake. + +10 No, no; our maiden pleasures be + Wrapt in a winding-sheet with thee; + 'Tis we are dead, though not i' th' grave, + Or if we have + One seed of life left,'tis to keep + A Lent for thee, to fast and weep. + +11 Sleep in thy peace, thy bed of spice, + And make this place all paradise: + May sweets grow here! and smoke from hence + Fat frankincense. + Let balm and cassia send their scent + From out thy maiden-monument. + +12 May no wolf howl or screech-owl stir + A wing upon thy sepulchre! + No boisterous winds or storms + To starve or wither + Thy soft, sweet earth! but, like a spring, + Love keep it ever flourishing. + +13 May all thy maids, at wonted hours, + Come forth to strew thy tomb with flowers: + May virgins, when they come to mourn, + Male-incense burn + Upon thine altar! then return + And leave thee sleeping in thy urn. + + +THE COUNTRY LIFE. + +Sweet country life, to such unknown +Whose lives are others', not their own! +But serving courts and cities, be +Less happy, less enjoying thee! +Thou never plough'st the ocean's foam +To seek and bring rough pepper home; +Nor to the Eastern Ind dost rove, +To bring from thence the scorched clove: +Nor, with the loss of thy loved rest, +Bring'st home the ingot from the West. +No: thy ambition's masterpiece +Flies no thought higher than a fleece; +Or how to pay thy hinds, and clear +All scores, and so to end the year; +But walk'st about thy own dear bounds, +Not envying others' larger grounds: +For well thou know'st, 'tis not the extent +Of land makes life, but sweet content. +When now the cock, the ploughman's horn, +Calls forth the lily-wristed morn, +Then to thy corn-fields thou dost go, +Which though well-soil'd, yet thou dost know +That the best compost for the lands +Is the wise master's feet and hands. +There at the plough thou find'st thy team, +With a hind whistling there to them; +And cheer'st them up by singing how +The kingdom's portion is the plough. +This done, then to th' enamell'd meads, +Thou go'st; and as thy foot there treads, +Thou seest a present godlike power +Imprinted in each herb and flower; +And smell'st the breath of great-eyed kine, +Sweet as the blossoms of the vine. +Here thou behold'st thy large sleek neat +Unto the dewlaps up in meat; +And, as thou look'st, the wanton steer, +The heifer, cow, and ox, draw near, +To make a pleasing pastime there. +These seen, thou go'st to view thy flocks +Of sheep, safe from the wolf and fox; +And find'st their bellies there as full +Of short sweet grass, as backs with wool; +And leav'st them as they feed and fill; +A shepherd piping on a hill. +For sports, for pageantry, and plays, +Thou hast thy eves and holidays; +On which the young men and maids meet, +To exercise their dancing feet; +Tripping the comely country round, +With daffodils and daisies crown'd. +Thy wakes, thy quintels, here thou hast; +Thy May-poles too, with garlands graced; +Thy morris-dance, thy Whitsun-ale, +Thy shearing feast, which never fail; +Thy harvest-home, thy wassail-bowl, +That's toss'd up after fox i' the hole; +Thy mummeries, thy Twelfth-night kings +And queens, thy Christmas revellings; +Thy nut-brown mirth, thy russet wit; +And no man pays too dear for it. +To these thou hast thy times to go, +And trace the hare in the treacherous snow; +Thy witty wiles to draw, and get +The lark into the trammel net; +Thou hast thy cockrood, and thy glade +To take the precious pheasant made; +Thy lime-twigs, snares, and pitfalls, then, +To catch the pilfering birds, not men. + +O happy life, if that their good +The husbandmen but understood! +Who all the day themselves do please, +And younglings, with such sports as these; +And, lying down, have nought to affright +Sweet sleep, that makes more short the night. + + + + +SIR RICHARD FANSHAWE. + + +This gallant knight was son to Sir Henry Fanshawe, who was Remembrancer +to the Irish Exchequer, and brother to Thomas Lord Fanshawe. He was born +at Ware, in Hertfordshire, in 1607-8. He became a vehement Royalist, and +acted for some time as Secretary to Prince Rupert, and was, in truth, a +kindred spirit, worthy of recording the orders of that fiery spirit--the +Murat of the Royal cause--to whom the dust of the _melee_ of battle was +the very breath of life. After the Restoration, Fanshawe was appointed +ambassador to Spain and Portugal. He acted in this capacity at Madrid in +1666. He had issued translations of the 'Lusiad' of Camoens, and the +'Pastor Fido' of Guarini. Along with the latter, which appeared in 1648, +he published some original poems of considerable merit. He holds +altogether a respectable, if not a very high place among our early +translators and minor poets. + + +THE SPRING, A SONNET. +FROM THE SPANISH. + +Those whiter lilies which the early morn + Seems to have newly woven of sleaved silk, +To which, on banks of wealthy Tagus born, + Gold was their cradle, liquid pearl their milk. + +These blushing roses, with whose virgin leaves + The wanton wind to sport himself presumes, +Whilst from their rifled wardrobe he receives + For his wings purple, for his breath perfumes. + +Both those and these my Caelia's pretty foot + Trod up; but if she should her face display, +And fragrant breast, they'd dry again to the root, + As with the blasting of the mid-day's ray; +And this soft wind, which both perfumes and cools, +Pass like the unregarded breath of fools. + + + + +ABRAHAM COWLEY. + + +The 'melancholy' and musical Cowley was born in London in the year 1618. +He was the posthumous son of a worthy grocer, who lived in Fleet Street, +near the end of Chancery Lane, and who is supposed, from the omission of +his name in the register of St Dunstan's parish, to have been a +Dissenter. His mother was left poor, but had a strong desire for her +son's education, and influence to get him admitted as a king's scholar +into Westminster. His mind was almost preternaturally precocious, and +received early a strong and peculiar stimulus. A copy of Spenser lay in +the window of his mother's apartment, and in it he delighted to read, +and became the devoted slave of poetry ever after. When only ten he +wrote 'The Tragical History of Pyramus and Thisbe,' and at twelve +'Constantia and Philetus.' Pope wrote a lampoon about the same age as +Cowley these romantic narratives; and we have seen a pretty good copy of +verses on Napoleon, written at the age of seven, by one of the most +distinguished rising poets of our own day. When fifteen (Johnson calls +it thirteen, but he and some other biographers were misled by the +portrait of the poet being, by mistake, marked thirteen) Cowley +published some of his early effusions, under the title of 'Poetical +Blossoms.' While at school he produced a comedy of a pastoral kind, +entitled, 'Love's Riddle,' but it was not published till he went to +Cambridge. To that university he proceeded in 1636, and two years after, +there appeared the above-mentioned comedy, with a poetical dedication to +Sir Kenelm Digby, one of the marvellous men of that age; and also +'Naufragium Joculare,' a comedy in Latin, inscribed to Dr Comber, master +of the college. When the Prince of Wales afterwards visited Cambridge, +the fertile Cowley got up the rough draft of another comedy, called 'The +Guardian,' which was repeated to His Royal Highness by the scholars. +This was afterwards, to the poet's great annoyance, printed during his +absence from the country. In 1643 he took his degree of A.M., and was, +the same year, through the prevailing influence of the Parliament, +ejected, with many others, from Cambridge. He took refuge in St John's +College, Oxford, where he published a satire, entitled 'The Puritan and +Papist,' and where, by his loyalty and genius, he gained the favour of +such distinguished courtiers as Lord Falkland. During this agitated +period he resided a good deal in the family of the Lord St Albans; and +when Oxford fell into the hands of the Parliament he followed the Queen +to Paris, and there acted as Secretary to the same noble lord. He +remained abroad about ten years, and during that period made various +journeys in the furtherance of the Royal cause, visiting Flanders, +Holland, Jersey, Scotland, &c. His chief employment, however, was +carrying on a correspondence in cipher between the King and the Queen. +Sprat says, 'he ciphered and deciphered with his own hand the greatest +part of the letters that passed between their Majesties, and managed a +vast intelligence in other parts, which, for some years together, took +up all his days and two or three nights every week.' This does not seem +employment very suitable to a man of genius. He seems, however, to have +found time for more congenial avocations; and, in 1647, he published his +'Mistress,' a work which seems to glow with amorous fire, although +Barnes relates of the author that he was never in love but once, and +then had not resolution to reveal his passion. And yet he wrote 'The +Chronicle,' from which we might infer that his heart was completely +tinder, and that his series of love attachments had been an infinite +one! + +In 1556, being of no more use in Paris, Cowley was sent back to England, +that 'under pretence of privacy and retirement he might take occasion of +giving notice of the posture of things in this nation.' For some time he +lay concealed in London, but was at length seized by mistake for another +gentleman of the Royal party; and being thus discovered, he was continued +in confinement, was several times examined, and ultimately succeeded, +although with some difficulty, in obtaining his liberation, Dr Scarborough +becoming his bail for a thousand pounds. In the same year he published a +collection of his poems, with a querulous preface, in which he expresses +a strong desire to 'retire to some of the American plantations, and to +forsake the world for ever.' Meanwhile he gave himself out as a physician +till the death of Cromwell, when he returned to France, resumed his former +occupation, and remained till the Restoration. In 1657 he was created +Doctor of Medicine at Oxford. Having studied botany to qualify himself for +his physician's degree, he was induced to publish in Latin some books on +plants, flowers, and trees. + +The Restoration brought him less advantage than he had anticipated. +Probably he expected too much, and had expressed his sanguine hopes in a +song of triumph on the occasion. He had been promised, both by Charles +I. and Charles II., the Mastership of the Savoy, (a forgotten sinecure +office;) but lost it, says Wood, 'by certain persons, enemies to the +Muses.' He brought on the stage at this time his old comedy of 'The +Guardian,' under the title of 'Cutter of Coleman Street;' but it was +thought a satire on the debauchery of the King's party, and was received +with coldness. Cowley, according to Dryden, 'received the news of his +ill success not with so much firmness as might have been expected from +so great a man.' There are few who, like Dr Johnson, have been able to +declare, after the rejection of a play or poem, that they felt 'like the +Monument.' Cowley not only entertained, but printed his dissatisfaction, +in the form of a poem called 'The Complaint,' which, like all selfish +complaints, attracted little sympathy or attention. In this he calls +himself the 'melancholy Cowley,' an epithet which has stuck to his +memory. + +He had always, according to his own statement, loved retirement. When he +was a young boy at school, instead of running about on holidays, and +playing with his fellows, he was wont to steal from them, and walk into +the fields alone with a book. This passion had been overlaid, but not +extinguished, during his public life; and now, swelled by disgust, it +came back upon him in great strength. He seems, too, if we can believe +Sprat, to have had an extraordinary attachment to Nature, as it 'was +God's;' to the whole 'compass of the creation, and all the wonderful +effects of the Divine wisdom.' At all events, he retired first to Barn +Elms, and then to Chertsey in Surrey. He had obtained, through Lord St +Albans and the Duke of Buckingham, the lease of some lands belonging to +the Queen, which brought him in an income of L300 a year. Here, then, +having, at the age of forty-two, reached the peaceful hermitage,' he set +himself with all his might to enjoy it. He cultivated his fields, and +renewed his botanical studies in his woods and garden. He wrote letters +to his friends, which are said to have been admirable, and might have +ranked with those of Gray and Cowper, but unfortunately they have not +been preserved. He renewed his intimacy with the Greek and Latin poets, +and he set himself to retouch the 'Davideis,' which he had begun in +early youth, but which he never lived to finish, and to compose his +beautiful prose essays. But he soon found that Chertsey, no more than +Paris, was Paradise. He had no wife nor children. He had sweet solitude, +but no one near him to whom to whisper 'how sweet this solitude is!' The +peasants were boors. His tenants would pay him no rent, and the cattle +of his neighbours devoured his meadows. He was troubled with rheums and +colds. He met a severe fall when he first came to Chertsey, of which he +says, half in jest and half in earnest--'What this signifies, or may +come to in time, God knows; if it be ominous, it can end in nothing less +than hanging.' Robert Hall said of Bishop Watson that he seemed to have +wedded political integrity in early life, and to have spent all the rest +of his days in quarrelling with his wife. So Cowley wedded his long- +sought-for bride, Solitude, and led a miserable life with her ever +after. Fortunately for him, if not for the world, his career soon came +to a close. + +One hot day in summer, he stayed too long among his labourers in the +meadows, and was seized with a cold, which, being neglected, carried him +off on the 28th of July 1667. He was not forty-nine years old. He died +at the Porch House, Chertsey, and his remains were buried with great +pomp near Chaucer and Spenser; and King Charles, who had neglected him +during life, pronounced his panegyric after death, declaring that 'Mr +Cowley had not left behind him a better man in England.' It was in +keeping with the character of Charles to make up for his deficiency in +action, by his felicity of phrase. + +If we may differ from such a high authority as 'Old Rowley,' we would +venture to doubt whether Cowley was the best--certainly he was not the +greatest--man then in England. Milton was alive, and the 'Paradise Lost' +appeared in the very year when the author of the 'Davideis' departed. +Cowley gives us the impression of having been an amiable and blameless, +rather than a good or great man. At all events, there was nothing +_active_ in his goodness, and his greatness could not be called +magnanimity. He was a scholar and a poet misplaced during early life; +and when he gained that retirement for which he sighed, he had, by his +habits of life, lost his capacity of relishing it. 'He that would enjoy +solitude,' it has been said, 'must either be a wild beast or a god;' and +Cowley was neither. How different his grounds of dissatisfaction with +the world from those of Milton! Cowley was wearied of ciphering, and his +'Cutter of Coleman Street' had been cut; that was nearly the whole +matter of his complaint; while Milton had fallen from being the second +man in England into poverty, blindness, contempt, danger, and the +disappointment of the most glorious hopes which ever heaved the bosom of +patriot or saint. + +We find the want of greatness which marked the man characterising the +poet. Infinite ingenuity, a charming flexibility and abundance of fancy, +a perception of remote analogies almost unrivalled, great command of +versification and language, learning without bounds, and an occasional +gracefulness and sparkling ease (as in 'The Chronicle') superior to even +Herrick or Suckling, are qualities that must be conceded to Cowley. But +the most of his writings are cold and glittering as the sun-smitten +glacier. He is seldom warm, except when he is proclaiming his own +merits, or bewailing his own misfortunes. Hence his 'Wish,' and even his +'Complaint,' are very pleasing and natural specimens of poetry. But his +'Pindaric Odes,' his 'Hymn to Light,' and most of his 'Davideis,' while +displaying great power, shew at least equal perversion, and are more +memorable for their faults than for their beauties. In the 'Davideis,' +he describes the attire of Gabriel in the spirit and language of a +tailor; and there is no path so sacred or so lofty but he must sow it +with conceits,--forced, false, and chilly. His 'Anacreontics,' on the +other hand, are in general felicitous in style and aerial in motion. And +in his Translations, although too free, he is uniformly graceful and +spirited; and his vast command of language and imagery enables him often +to improve his author--to gild the refined gold, to paint the lily, and +to throw a new perfume on the violet, of the Grecian and Roman masters. + +In prose, Cowley is uniformly excellent. The prefaces to his poems, +especially his defence of sacred song in the prefix to the 'Davideis,' +his short autobiography, the fragments of his letters which remain, and +his posthumous essays, are all distinguished by a rich simplicity of +style and by a copiousness of matter which excite in equal measure +delight and surprise. He had written, it appears, three books on the +Civil War, to the time of the battle of Newbury, which he destroyed. It +is a pity, perhaps, that he had not preserved and completed the work. +His intimacy with many of the leading characters and the secret springs +of that remarkable period,--his clear and solid judgment, always so +except when he was following the Daedalus Pindar upon waxen Icarian +wings, or competing with Dr Donne in the number of conceits which he +could stuff, like cloves, into his subject-matter,--and the bewitching +ease and elegance of his prose style, would have combined to render it +an important contribution to English history, and a worthy monument of +its author's highly-accomplished and diversified powers. + + +THE CHRONICLE, A BALLAD. + +1 Margarita first possess'd, + If I remember well, my breast, + Margarita first of all; + But when a while the wanton maid + With my restless heart had play'd, + Martha took the flying ball. + +2 Martha soon did it resign + To the beauteous Catharine: + Beauteous Catharine gave place + (Though loth and angry she to part + With the possession of my heart) + To Eliza's conquering face. + +3 Eliza till this hour might reign, + Had she not evil counsels ta'en: + Fundamental laws she broke + And still new favourites she chose, + Till up in arms my passions rose, + And cast away her yoke. + +4 Mary then, and gentle Anne, + Both to reign at once began; + Alternately they sway'd, + And sometimes Mary was the fair, + And sometimes Anne the crown did wear, + And sometimes both I obey'd. + +5 Another Mary then arose, + And did rigorous laws impose; + A mighty tyrant she! + Long, alas! should I have been + Under that iron-sceptred queen, + Had not Rebecca set me free. + +6 When fair Rebecca set me free, + 'Twas then a golden time with me: + But soon those pleasures fled; + For the gracious princess died + In her youth and beauty's pride, + And Judith reign'd in her stead. + +7 One month, three days, and half an hour, + Judith held the sovereign power: + Wondrous beautiful her face, + But so weak and small her wit, + That she to govern was unfit, + And so Susanna took her place. + +8 But when Isabella came, + Arm'd with a resistless flame, + And the artillery of her eye, + Whilst she proudly march'd about, + Greater conquests to find out, + She beat out Susan by the bye. + +9 But in her place I then obey'd + Black-eyed Bess, her viceroy made, + To whom ensued a vacancy. + Thousand worst passions then possess'd + The interregnum of my breast. + Bless me from such an anarchy! + +10 Gentle Henrietta then, + And a third Mary, next began: + Then Joan, and Jane, and Audria; + And then a pretty Thomasine, + And then another Catharine, + And then a long _et caetera_. + +11 But should I now to you relate + The strength and riches of their state, + The powder, patches, and the pins, + The ribands, jewels, and the rings, + The lace, the paint, and warlike things, + That make up all their magazines: + +12 If I should tell the politic arts + To take and keep men's hearts, + The letters, embassies, and spies, + The frowns, the smiles, and flatteries, + The quarrels, tears, and perjuries, + Numberless, nameless mysteries! + +13 And all the little lime-twigs laid + By Mach'avel the waiting-maid; + I more voluminous should grow + (Chiefly if I like them should tell + All change of weathers that befell) + Than Holinshed or Stow. + +14 But I will briefer with them be, + Since few of them were long with me. + An higher and a nobler strain + My present Emperess does claim, + Heleonora! first o' the name, + Whom God grant long to reign. + + +THE COMPLAINT. + +In a deep vision's intellectual scene, +Beneath a bower for sorrow made, +The uncomfortable shade +Of the black yew's unlucky green, +Mixed with the mourning willow's careful gray, +Where rev'rend Cam cuts out his famous way, +The melancholy Cowley lay; +And, lo! a Muse appeared to his closed sight +(The Muses oft in lands of vision play,) +Bodied, arrayed, and seen by an internal light: +A golden harp with silver strings she bore, +A wondrous hieroglyphic robe she wore, +In which all colours and all figures were +That Nature or that Fancy can create. +That Art can never imitate, +And with loose pride it wantoned in the air, +In such a dress, in such a well-clothed dream, +She used of old near fair Ismenus' stream +Pindar, her Theban favourite, to meet; +A crown was on her head, and wings were on her feet. + +She touched him with her harp and raised him from the ground; +The shaken strings melodiously resound. +'Art thou returned at last,' said she, +'To this forsaken place and me? +Thou prodigal! who didst so loosely waste +Of all thy youthful years the good estate; +Art thou returned here, to repent too late? +And gather husks of learning up at last, +Now the rich harvest-time of life is past, +And winter marches on so fast? +But when I meant to adopt thee for my son, +And did as learned a portion assign +As ever any of the mighty nine +Had to their dearest children done; +When I resolved to exalt thy anointed name +Among the spiritual lords of peaceful fame; +Thou changeling! thou, bewitch'd with noise and show, +Wouldst into courts and cities from me go; +Wouldst see the world abroad, and have a share +In all the follies and the tumults there; +Thou wouldst, forsooth, be something in a state, +And business thou wouldst find, and wouldst create: +Business! the frivolous pretence +Of human lusts, to shake off innocence; +Business! the grave impertinence; +Business! the thing which I of all things hate; +Business! the contradiction of thy fate. + +'Go, renegado! cast up thy account, +And see to what amount +Thy foolish gains by quitting me: +The sale of knowledge, fame, and liberty, +The fruits of thy unlearned apostasy. +Thou thoughtst, if once the public storm were past, +All thy remaining life should sunshine be: +Behold the public storm is spent at last, +The sovereign is tossed at sea no more, +And thou, with all the noble company, +Art got at last to shore: +But whilst thy fellow-voyagers I see, +All marched up to possess the promised land, +Thou still alone, alas! dost gaping stand, +Upon the naked beach, upon the barren sand. +As a fair morning of the blessed spring, +After a tedious, stormy night, +Such was the glorious entry of our king; +Enriching moisture dropped on every thing: +Plenty he sowed below, and cast about him light. +But then, alas! to thee alone +One of old Gideon's miracles was shown, +For every tree, and every hand around, +With pearly dew was crowned, +And upon all the quickened ground +The fruitful seed of heaven did brooding lie, +And nothing but the Muse's fleece was dry. +It did all other threats surpass, +When God to his own people said, +The men whom through long wanderings he had led, +That he would give them even a heaven of brass: +They looked up to that heaven in vain, +That bounteous heaven! which God did not restrain +Upon the most unjust to shine and rain. + +'The Rachel, for which twice seven years and more, +Thou didst with faith and labour serve, +And didst (if faith and labour can) deserve, +Though she contracted was to thee, +Given to another, thou didst see, who had store +Of fairer and of richer wives before, +And not a Loah left, thy recompense to be. +Go on, twice seven years more, thy fortune try, +Twice seven years more God in his bounty may +Give thee to fling away +Into the court's deceitful lottery: +But think how likely 'tis that thou, +With the dull work of thy unwieldy plough, +Shouldst in a hard and barren season thrive, +Shouldst even able be to live; +Thou! to whose share so little bread did fall +In the miraculous year, when manna rain'd on all.' + +Thus spake the Muse, and spake it with a smile, +That seemed at once to pity and revile: +And to her thus, raising his thoughtful head, +The melancholy Cowley said: +'Ah, wanton foe! dost thou upbraid +The ills which thou thyself hast made? +When in the cradle innocent I lay, +Thou, wicked spirit, stolest me away, +And my abused soul didst bear +Into thy new-found worlds, I know not where, +Thy golden Indies in the air; +And ever since I strive in vain +My ravished freedom to regain; +Still I rebel, still thou dost reign; +Lo, still in verse, against thee I complain. +There is a sort of stubborn weeds, +Which, if the earth but once it ever breeds, +No wholesome herb can near them thrive, +No useful plant can keep alive: +The foolish sports I did on thee bestow +Make all my art and labour fruitless now; +Where once such fairies dance, no grass doth ever grow. + +'When my new mind had no infusion known, +Thou gavest so deep a tincture of thine own, +That ever since I vainly try +To wash away the inherent dye: +Long work, perhaps, may spoil thy colours quite, +But never will reduce the native white. +To all the ports of honour and of gain +I often steer my course in vain; +Thy gale comes cross, and drives me back again, +Thou slacken'st all my nerves of industry, +By making them so oft to be +The tinkling strings of thy loose minstrelsy. +Whoever this world's happiness would see +Must as entirely cast off thee, +As they who only heaven desire +Do from the world retire. +This was my error, this my gross mistake, +Myself a demi-votary to make. +Thus with Sapphira and her husband's fate, +(A fault which I, like them, am taught too late,) +For all that I give up I nothing gain, +And perish for the part which I retain. +Teach me not then, O thou fallacious Muse! +The court and better king t' accuse; +The heaven under which I live is fair, +The fertile soil will a full harvest bear: +Thine, thine is all the barrenness, if thou +Makest me sit still and sing when I should plough. +When I but think how many a tedious year +Our patient sovereign did attend +His long misfortune's fatal end; +How cheerfully, and how exempt from fear, +On the Great Sovereign's will he did depend, +I ought to be accursed if I refuse +To wait on his, O thou fallacious Muse! +Kings have long hands, they say, and though I be +So distant, they may reach at length to me. +However, of all princes thou +Shouldst not reproach rewards for being small or slow; +Thou! who rewardest but with popular breath, +And that, too, after death!' + + +THE DESPAIR. + +1 Beneath this gloomy shade, + By Nature only for my sorrows made, + I'll spend this voice in cries, + In tears I'll waste these eyes, + By love so vainly fed; + So lust of old the deluge punished. + Ah, wretched youth, said I; + Ah, wretched youth! twice did I sadly cry; + Ah, wretched youth! the fields and floods reply. + +2 When thoughts of love I entertain, + I meet no words but Never, and In vain: + Never! alas! that dreadful name + Which fuels the infernal flame: + Never! my time to come must waste; + In vain! torments the present and the past: + In vain, in vain! said I, + In vain, in vain! twice did I sadly cry; + In vain, in vain! the fields and floods reply. + +3 No more shall fields or floods do so, + For I to shades more dark and silent go: + All this world's noise appears to me + A dull, ill-acted comedy: + No comfort to my wounded sight, + In the sun's busy and impert'nent light. + Then down I laid my head, + Down on cold earth, and for a while was dead, + And my freed soul to a strange somewhere fled. + +4 Ah, sottish soul! said I, + When back to its cage again I saw it fly: + Fool! to resume her broken chain, + And row her galley here again! + Fool! to that body to return, + Where it condemned and destined is to burn! + Once dead, how can it be + Death should a thing so pleasant seem to thee, + That thou shouldst come to live it o'er again in me? + + +OF WIT. + +1 Tell me, O tell! what kind of thing is Wit, + Thou who master art of it; + For the first matter loves variety less; + Less women love it, either in love or dress: + A thousand different shapes it bears, + Comely in thousand shapes appears: + Yonder we saw it plain, and here 'tis now, + Like spirits, in a place, we know not how. + +2 London, that vends of false ware so much store, + In no ware deceives us more: + For men, led by the colour and the shape, + Like Zeuxis' birds, fly to the painted grape. + Some things do through our judgment pass, + As through a multiplying-glass; + And sometimes, if the object be too far, + We take a falling meteor for a star. + +3 Hence 'tis a wit, that greatest word of fame, + Grows such a common name; + And wits by our creation they become, + Just so as tit'lar bishops made at Rome. + 'Tis not a tale, 'tis not a jest, + Admired with laughter at a feast, + Nor florid talk, which can that title gain; + The proofs of wit for ever must remain. + +4 'Tis not to force some lifeless verses meet + With their five gouty feet; + All everywhere, like man's, must be the soul, + And reason the inferior powers control. + Such were the numbers which could call + The stones into the Theban wall. + Such miracles are ceased; and now we see + No towns or houses raised by poetry. + +5 Yet 'tis not to adorn and gild each part; + That shows more cost than art. + Jewels at nose and lips but ill appear; + Rather than all things wit, let none be there. + Several lights will not be seen, + If there be nothing else between. + Men doubt, because they stand so thick i' the sky, + If those be stars which paint the galaxy. + +6 'Tis not when two like words make up one noise, + Jests for Dutch men and English boys; + In which who finds out wit, the same may see + In an'grams and acrostics poetry. + Much less can that have any place + At which a virgin hides her face; + Such dross the fire must purge away; 'tis just + The author blush there where the reader must. + +7 'Tis not such lines as almost crack the stage, + When Bajazet begins to rage: + Nor a tall met'phor in the bombast way, + Nor the dry chips of short-lunged Seneca: + Nor upon all things to obtrude + And force some old similitude. + What is it then, which, like the Power Divine, + We only can by negatives define? + +8 In a true piece of wit all things must be, + Yet all things there agree: + As in the ark, joined without force or strife, + All creatures dwelt, all creatures that had life. + Or as the primitive forms of all, + If we compare great things with small, + Which without discord or confusion lie, + In that strange mirror of the Deity. + + +OF SOLITUDE. + +1 Hail, old patrician trees, so great and good! + Hail, ye plebeian underwood! + Where the poetic birds rejoice, + And for their quiet nests and plenteous food + Pay with their grateful voice. + +2 Hail the poor Muse's richest manor-seat! + Ye country houses and retreat, + Which all the happy gods so love, + That for you oft they quit their bright and great + Metropolis above. + +3 Here Nature does a house for me erect, + Nature! the fairest architect, + Who those fond artists does despise + That can the fair and living trees neglect, + Yet the dead timber prize. + +4 Here let me, careless and unthoughtful lying, + Hear the soft winds above me flying, + With all their wanton boughs dispute, + And the more tuneful birds to both replying, + Nor be myself, too, mute. + +5 A silver stream shall roll his waters near, + Gilt with the sunbeams here and there, + On whose enamelled bank I'll walk, + And see how prettily they smile, + And hear how prettily they talk. + +6 Ah! wretched, and too solitary he, + Who loves not his own company! + He'll feel the weight of it many a day, + Unless he calls in sin or vanity + To help to bear it away. + +7 O Solitude! first state of humankind! + Which bless'd remained till man did find + Even his own helper's company: + As soon as two, alas! together joined, + The serpent made up three. + +8 Though God himself, through countless ages, thee + His sole companion chose to be, + Thee, sacred Solitude! alone, + Before the branchy head of number's tree + Sprang from the trunk of one; + +9 Thou (though men think thine an unactive part) + Dost break and tame the unruly heart, + Which else would know no settled pace, + Making it move, well managed by thy art, + With swiftness and with grace. + +10 Thou the faint beams of reason's scattered light + Dost, like a burning glass, unite, + Dost multiply the feeble heat, + And fortify the strength, till thou dost bright + And noble fires beget. + +11 Whilst this hard truth I teach, methinks I see + The monster London laugh at me; + I should at thee, too, foolish city! + If it were fit to laugh at misery; + But thy estate I pity. + +12 Let but thy wicked men from out thee go, + And all the fools that crowd thee so, + Even thou, who dost thy millions boast, + A village less than Islington wilt grow, + A solitude almost. + + +THE WISH. + +I. + +Lest the misjudging world should chance to say +I durst not but in secret murmurs pray, +To whisper in Jove's ear +How much I wish that funeral, +Or gape at such a great one's fall; +This let all ages hear, +And future times in my soul's picture see +What I abhor, what I desire to be. + +II. + +I would not be a Puritan, though he +Can preach two hours, and yet his sermon be +But half a quarter long; +Though from his old mechanic trade +By vision he's a pastor made, +His faith was grown so strong; +Nay, though he think to gain salvation +By calling the Pope the Whore of Babylon. + +III. + +I would not be a Schoolmaster, though to him +His rods no less than Consuls' fasces seem; +Though he in many a place, +Turns Lily oftener than his gowns, +Till at the last he makes the nouns +Fight with the verbs apace; +Nay, though he can, in a poetic heat, +Figures, born since, out of poor Virgil beat. + +IV. + +I would not be a Justice of Peace, though he +Can with equality divide the fee, +And stakes with his clerk draw; +Nay, though he sits upon the place +Of judgment, with a learned face +Intricate as the law; +And whilst he mulcts enormities demurely, +Breaks Priscian's head with sentences securely. + +V. + +I would not be a Courtier, though he +Makes his whole life the truest comedy; +Although he be a man +In whom the tailor's forming art, +And nimble barber, claim more part +Than Nature herself can; +Though, as he uses men, 'tis his intent +To put off Death too with a compliment. + +VI. + +From Lawyers' tongues, though they can spin with ease +The shortest cause into a paraphrase, +From Usurers' conscience +(For swallowing up young heirs so fast, +Without all doubt they'll choke at last) +Make me all innocence, +Good Heaven! and from thy eyes, O Justice! keep; +For though they be not blind, they're oft asleep. + +VII. + +From Singing-men's religion, who are +Always at church, just like the crows, 'cause there +They build themselves a nest; +From too much poetry, which shines +With gold in nothing but its lines, +Free, O you Powers! my breast; +And from astronomy, which in the skies +Finds fish and bulls, yet doth but tantalise. + +VIII. + +From your Court-madam's beauty, which doth carry +At morning May, at night a January; +From the grave City-brow +(For though it want an R, it has +The letter of Pythagoras) +Keep me, O Fortune! now, +And chines of beef innumerable send me, +Or from the stomach of the guard defend me. + +IX. + +This only grant me, that my means may lie +Too low for envy, for contempt too high. +Some honour I would have, +Not from great deeds, but good alone: +The unknown are better than ill known: +Rumour can ope the grave. +Acquaintance I would have, but when 't depends +Not from the number, but the choice of friends. + +X. + +Books should, not business, entertain the light, +And sleep, as undisturbed as death, the night. +My house a cottage more +Than palace, and should fitting be +For all my use, not luxury; +My garden, painted o'er +With Nature's hand, not Art's, that pleasure yield +Horace might envy in his Sabine field. + +XI. + +Thus would I double my life's fading space; +For he that runs it well twice runs his race; +And in this true delight, +These unbought sports, and happy state, +I would not fear, nor wish my fate, +But boldly say each night, +To-morrow let my sun his beams display, +Or in clouds hide them, I have lived to-day. + + +UPON THE SHORTNESS OF MAN'S LIFE. + +1 Mark that swift arrow, how it cuts the air, + How it outruns thy following eye! + Use all persuasions now, and try + If thou canst call it back, or stay it there. + That way it went, but thou shalt find + No track is left behind. + +2 Fool! 'tis thy life, and the fond archer thou. + Of all the time thou'st shot away, + I'll bid thee fetch but yesterday, + And it shall be too hard a task to do. + Besides repentance, what canst find + That it hath left behind? + +3 Our life is carried with too strong a tide, + A doubtful cloud our substance bears, + And is the horse of all our years: + Each day doth on a winged whirlwind ride. + We and our glass run out, and must + Both render up our dust. + +4 But his past life who without grief can see, + Who never thinks his end too near, + But says to Fame, Thou art mine heir; + That man extends life's natural brevity-- + This is, this is the only way + To outlive Nestor in a day. + + +ON THE PRAISE OF POETRY. + +'Tis not a pyramid of marble stone, +Though high as our ambition; +'Tis not a tomb cut out in brass, which can +Give life to the ashes of a man, +But verses only; they shall fresh appear, +Whilst there are men to read or hear, +When time shall make the lasting brass decay, +And eat the pyramid away, +Turning that monument wherein men trust +Their names, to what it keeps, poor dust; +Then shall the epitaph remain, and be +New graven in eternity. +Poets by death are conquered, but the wit +Of poets triumph over it. +What cannot verse? When Thracian Orpheus took +His lyre, and gently on it strook, +The learned stones came dancing all along, +And kept time to the charming song. +With artificial pace the warlike pine, +The elm and his wife, the ivy-twine, +With all the better trees which erst had stood +Unmoved, forsook their native wood. +The laurel to the poet's hand did bow, +Craving the honour of his brow; +And every loving arm embraced, and made +With their officious leaves a shade. +The beasts, too, strove his auditors to be, +Forgetting their old tyranny. +The fearful hart next to the lion came, +And wolf was shepherd to the lamb. +Nightingales, harmless Syrens of the air, +And Muses of the place, were there; +Who, when their little windpipes they had found +Unequal to so strange a sound, +O'ercome by art and grief, they did expire, +And fell upon the conquering lyre. +Happy, oh happy they! whose tomb might be, +Mausolus! envied by thee! + + +THE MOTTO. + +TENTANDA VIA EST, ETC. + +What shall I do to be for ever known, +And make the age to come my own? +I shall like beasts or common people die, +Unless you write my elegy; +Whilst others great by being born are grown, +Their mother's labour, not their own. +In this scale gold, in the other fame does lie; +The weight of that mounts this so high. +These men are Fortune's jewels, moulded bright, +Brought forth with their own fire and light. +If I, her vulgar stone, for either look, +Out of myself it must be strook. +Yet I must on: What sound is't strikes mine ear? +Sure I Fame's trumpet hear: +It sounds like the last trumpet, for it can +Raise up the buried man. +Unpass'd Alps stop me, but I'll cut through all, +And march, the Muse's Hannibal. +Hence, all the flattering vanities that lay +Nets of roses in the way; +Hence, the desire of honours or estate, +And all that is not above Fate; +Hence, Love himself, that tyrant of my days, +Which intercepts my coming praise. +Come, my best friends! my books! and lead me on, +'Tis time that I were gone. +Welcome, great Stagyrite! and teach me now +All I was born to know: +Thy scholar's victories thou dost far outdo; +He conquered th' earth, the whole world you, +Welcome, learn'd Cicero! whose bless'd tongue and wit +Preserves Rome's greatness yet; +Thou art the first of orators; only he +Who best can praise thee next must be. +Welcome the Mantuan swan! Virgil the wise, +Whose verse walks highest, but not flies; +Who brought green Poesy to her perfect age, +And made that art which was a rage. +Tell me, ye mighty Three! what shall I do +To be like one of you? +But you have climb'd the mountain's top, there sit +On the calm flourishing head of it, +And whilst, with wearied steps, we upward go, +See us and clouds below. + + +DAVIDEIS. + +BOOK II. + + THE CONTENTS. + + The friendship betwixt Jonathan and David; and, upon that occasion, + a digression concerning the nature of love. A discourse between + Jonathan and David, upon which the latter absents himself from court, + and the former goes thither to inform himself of Saul's resolution. + The feast of the New-moon; the manner of the celebration of it; and + therein a digression of the history of Abraham. Saul's speech upon + David's absence from the feast, and his anger against Jonathan. + David's resolution to fly away. He parts with Jonathan, and falls + asleep under a tree. A description of Fancy. An angel makes up a + vision in David's head. The vision itself; which is a prophecy of + all the succession of his race, till Christ's time, with their most + remarkable actions. At his awaking, Gabriel assumes a human shape, + and confirms to him the truth of his vision. + +But now the early birds began to call +The morning forth; up rose the sun and Saul: +Both, as men thought, rose fresh from sweet repose; +But both, alas! from restless labours rose: +For in Saul's breast Envy, the toilsome sin, +Had all that night active and tyrannous been: +She expelled all forms of kindness, virtue, grace, +Of the past day no footstep left, or trace; +The new-blown sparks of his old rage appear, +Nor could his love dwell longer with his fear. +So near a storm wise David would not stay, +Nor trust the glittering of a faithless day: +He saw the sun call in his beams apace, +And angry clouds march up into their place: +The sea itself smooths his rough brow awhile, +Flatt'ring the greedy merchant with a smile; +But he whose shipwrecked bark it drank before, +Sees the deceit, and knows it would have more. +Such is the sea, and such was Saul; +But Jonathan his son, and only good, +Was gentle as fair Jordan's useful flood; +Whose innocent stream, as it in silence goes, +Fresh honours and a sudden spring bestows +On both his banks, to every flower and tree; +The manner how lies hid, the effect we see: +But more than all, more than himself, he loved +The man whose worth his father's hatred moved; +For when the noble youth at Dammin stood, +Adorned with sweat, and painted gay with blood, +Jonathan pierced him through with greedy eye, +And understood the future majesty +Then destined in the glories of his look: +He saw, and straight was with amazement strook, +To see the strength, the feature, and the grace +Of his young limbs; he saw his comely face, +Where love and reverence so well-mingled were, +And head, already crowned with golden hair: +He saw what mildness his bold sp'rit did tame, +Gentler than light, yet powerful as a flame: +He saw his valour by their safety proved; +He saw all this, and as he saw, he loved. + +What art thou, Love! thou great mysterious thing? +From what hid stock does thy strange nature spring? +'Tis thou that movst the world through every part, +And holdst the vast frame close, that nothing start +From the due place and office first ordained; +By thee were all things made, and are sustained. +Sometimes we see thee fully, and can say +From hence thou tookst thy rise, and wentst that way; +But oftener the short beams of Reason's eye +See only there thou art, not how, nor why. +How is the loadstone, Nature's subtle pride, +By the rude iron woo'd, and made a bride? +How was the weapon wounded? what hid flame +The strong and conquering metal overcame? +Love (this world's grace) exalts his natural state; +He feels thee, Love! and feels no more his weight. +Ye learned heads whom ivy garlands grace, +Why does that twining plant the oak embrace? +The oak, for courtship most of all unfit, +And rough as are the winds that fight with it. +How does the absent pole the needle move? +How does his cold and ice beget hot love? +Which are the wings of lightness to ascend? +Or why does weight to the centre downwards bend? +Thus creatures void of life obey thy laws, +And seldom we, they never, know the cause. +In thy large state, life gives the next degree, +Where sense and good apparent places thee; +But thy chief palace is man's heart alone; +Here are thy triumphs and full glories shown: +Handsome desires, and rest, about thee flee, +Union, inheritance, zeal, and ecstasy, +With thousand joys, cluster around thine head, +O'er which a gall-less dove her wings does spread: +A gentle lamb, purer and whiter far +Than consciences of thine own martyrs are, +Lies at thy feet; and thy right hand does hold +The mystic sceptre of a cross of gold. +Thus dost thou sit (like men, ere sin had framed +A guilty blush) naked, but not ashamed. +What cause, then, did the fab'lous ancients find, +When first their superstition made thee blind? +'Twas they, alas! 'twas they who could not see, +When they mistook that monster, Lust, for thee. +Thou art a bright, but not consuming, flame; +Such in the amazed bush to Moses came, +When that, secure, its new-crown'd head did rear, +And chid the trembling branches' needless fear; +Thy darts are healthful gold, and downwards fall, +Soft as the feathers that they are fletched withal. +Such, and no other, were those secret darts +Which sweetly touched this noblest pair of hearts: +Still to one end they both so justly drew, +As courteous doves together yoked would do: +No weight of birth did on one side prevail; +Two twins less even lie in Nature's scale: +They mingled fates, and both in each did share; +They both were servants, they both princes were. +If any joy to one of them was sent, +It was most his to whom it least was meant; +And Fortune's malice betwixt both was cross'd, +For striking one, it wounded the other most. +Never did marriage such true union find, +Or men's desires with so glad violence bind; +For there is still some tincture left of sin, +And still the sex will needs be stealing in. +Those joys are full of dross, and thicker far; +These, without matter, clear and liquid are. +Such sacred love does heaven's bright spirits fill, +Where love is but to understand and will, +With swift and unseen motions such as we +Somewhat express in heighten'd charity. +O ye bless'd One! whose love on earth became +So pure, that still in heaven 'tis but the same! +There now ye sit, and with mix'd souls embrace, +Gazing upon great Love's mysterious face, +And pity this base world, where friendship's made +A bait for sin, or else at best a trade. +Ah, wondrous prince! who a true friend couldst be +When a crown flatter'd, and Saul threaten'd thee! +Who held'st him dear whose stars thy birth did cross, +And bought'st him nobly at a kingdom's loss! +Israel's bright sceptre far less glory brings, +There have been fewer friends on earth than kings. + +To this strong pitch their high affections flew, +Till Nature's self scarce looked on them as two. +Hither flies David for advice and aid, +As swift as love and danger could persuade; +As safe in Jonathan's trust his thoughts remain, +As when himself but dreams them o'er again. + +'My dearest lord! farewell,' said he, 'farewell; +Heaven bless the King; may no misfortune tell +The injustice of his hate when I am dead: +They're coming now; perhaps my guiltless head +Here, in your sight, must then a-bleeding lie, +And scarce your own stand safe for being nigh. +Think me not scared with death, howe'er 't appear; +I know thou canst not think so: it is a fear +From which thy love and Dammin speaks me free; +I've met him face to face, and ne'er could see +One terror in his looks to make me fly +When virtue bids me stand; but I would die +So as becomes my life, so as may prove +Saul's malice, and at least excuse your love.' + +He stopped, and spoke some passion with his eyes. +'Excellent friend!' the gallant prince replies; +'Thou hast so proved thy virtues, that they're known +To all good men, more than to each his own. +Who lives in Israel that can doubtful be +Of thy great actions? for he lives by thee. +Such is thy valour, and thy vast success, +That all things but thy loyalty are less; +And should my father at thy ruin aim, +'Twould wound as much his safety as his fame. +Think them not coming, then, to slay thee here, +But doubt mishaps as little as you fear; +For, by thy loving God, whoe'er design +Against thy life, must strike at it through mine, +But I my royal father must acquit +From such base guilt, or the low thought of it. +Think on his softness, when from death he freed +The faithless king of Am'lek's cursed seed; +Can he t' a friend, t' a son, so bloody grow, +He who even sinned but now to spare a foe? +Admit he could; but with what strength or art +Could he so long close and seal up his heart? +Such counsels jealous of themselves become, +And dare not fix without consent of some; +Few men so boldly ill great sins to do, +Till licensed and approved by others too. +No more (believe it) could he hide this from me, +Than I, had he discovered it, from thee.' + +Here they embraces join, and almost tears, +Till gentle David thus new-proved his fears: +'The praise you pleased, great prince! on me to spend, +Was all outspoken, when you styled me friend: +That name alone does dangerous glories bring, +And gives excuse to the envy of a king. +What did his spear, force, and dark plots, impart +But some eternal rancour in his heart? +Still does he glance the fortune of that day +When, drowned in his own blood, Goliath lay, +And covered half the plain; still hears the sound +How that vast monster fell, and strook the around: +The dance, and, David his ten thousand slew, +Still wound his sickly soul, and still are new. +Great acts t' ambitious princes treason grow, +So much they hate that safety which they owe. +Tyrants dread all whom they raise high in place; +From the good danger, from the bad disgrace. +They doubt the lords, mistrust the people's hate, +Till blood become a principle of state. +Secured not by their guards nor by their right, +But still they fear even more than they affright, +Pardon me, sir; your father's rough and stern; +His will too strong to bend, too proud to learn. +Remember, sir, the honey's deadly sting! +Think on that savage justice of the King, +When the same day that saw you do before +Things above man, should see you man no more. +'Tis true, the accursed Agag moved his ruth; +He pitied his tall limbs and comely youth; +Had seen, alas! the proof of Heaven's fierce hate, +And feared no mischief from his powerless fate; +Remember how the old seer came raging down, +And taught him boldly to suspect his crown. +Since then, his pride quakes at the Almighty's rod, +Nor dares he love the man beloved by God. +Hence his deep rage and trembling envy springs; +Nothing so wild as jealousy of kings. +Whom should he counsel ask, with whom advise, +Who reason and God's counsel does despise? +Whose headstrong will no law or conscience daunt, +Dares he not sin, do you think, without your grant? +Yes, if the truth of our fixed love he knew, +He would not doubt, believe it, to kill even you.' + +The prince is moved, and straight prepares to find +The deep resolves of his grieved father's mind. +The danger now appears, love can soon show it, +And force his stubborn piety to know it. +They agree that David should concealed abide, +Till his great friend had the Court's temper tried; +Till he had Saul's most sacred purpose found, +And searched the depth and rancour of his wound. + +'Twas the year's seventh-born moon; the solemn feast, +That with most noise its sacred mirth express'd. +From opening morn till night shuts in the day, +On trumpets and shrill horns the Levites play: +Whether by this in mystic type we see +The new-year's day of great eternity, +When the changed moon shall no more changes make, +And scattered death's by trumpets' sound awake; +Or that the law be kept in memory still, +Given with like noise on Sinai's shining hill; +Or that (as some men teach) it did arise +From faithful Abram's righteous sacrifice, +Who, whilst the ram on Isaac's fire did fry, +His horn with joyful tunes stood sounding by; +Obscure the cause, but God his will declared, +And all nice knowledge then with ease is spared. +At the third hour Saul to the hallowed tent, +'Midst a large train of priests and courtiers, went; +The sacred herd marched proud and softly by, +Too fat and gay to think their deaths so nigh. +Hard fate of beasts more innocent than we! +Prey to our luxury and our piety! +Whose guiltless blood on boards and altars spilt, +Serves both to make and expiate, too, our guilt! +Three bullocks of free neck, two gilded rams, +Two well-washed goats, and fourteen spotless lambs, +With the three vital fruits, wine, oil, and bread, +(Small fees to Heaven of all by which we're fed) +Are offered up: the hallowed flames arise, +And faithful prayers mount with them to the skies. +From thence the King to the utmost court is brought, +Where heavenly things an inspired prophet taught, +And from the sacred tent to his palace gates, +With glad kind shouts the assembly on him waits; +The cheerful horns before him loudly play, +And fresh-strewed flowers paint his triumphant way. +Thus in slow pace to the palace-hall they go, +Rich dressed for solemn luxury and show: +Ten pieces of bright tapestry hung the room, +The noblest work e'er stretched on Syrian loom, +For wealthy Adriel in proud Sidon wrought, +And given to Saul when Saul's best gift he sought, +The bright-eyed Merab; for that mindful day +No ornament so proper seemed as they. + +There all old Abram's story you might see, +And still some angel bore him company. +His painful but well-guided travels show +The fate of all his sons, the church below. +Here beauteous Sarah to great Pharaoh came; +He blushed with sudden passion, she with shame: +Troubled she seemed, and labouring in the strife, +'Twixt her own honour and her husband's life. +Here on a conquering host, that careless lay, +Drowned in the joys of their new-gotten prey, +The patriarch falls; well-mingled might you see +The confused marks of death and luxury. +In the next piece bless'd Salem's mystic king +Does sacred presents to the victor bring; +Like Him whose type he bears, his rights receives, +Strictly requires his due, yet freely gives: +Even in his port, his habit, and his face, +The mild and great, the priest and prince, had place. +Here all their starry host the heavens display; +And, lo! a heavenly youth, more fair than they, +Leads Abram forth; points upwards; 'Such,' said he, +'So bright and numberless thy seed shall be.' +Here he with God a new alliance makes, +And in his flesh the marks of homage takes: +Here he the three mysterious persons feasts, +Well paid with joyful tidings by his guests: +Here for the wicked town he prays, and near, +Scarce did the wicked town through flames appear: +And all his fate, and all his deeds, were wrought, +Since he from Ur to Ephron's cave was brought. +But none 'mongst all the forms drew then their eyes +Like faithful Abram's righteous sacrifice: +The sad old man mounts slowly to the place, +With Nature's power triumphant in his face +O'er the mind's courage; for, in spite of all, +From his swoln eyes resistless waters fall. +The innocent boy his cruel burden bore +With smiling looks, and sometimes walked before, +And sometimes turned to talk: above was made +The altar's fatal pile, and on it laid +The hope of mankind: patiently he lay, +And did his sire, as he his God, obey. +The mournful sire lifts up at last the knife, +And on one moment's string depends his life, +In whose young loins such brooding wonders lie. +A thousand sp'rits peeped from the affrighted sky, +Amazed at this strange scene, and almost fear'd, +For all those joyful prophecies they'd heard; +Till one leaped nimbly forth, by God's command, +Like lightning from a cloud, and stopped his hand. +The gentle sp'rit smiled kindly as he spoke; +New beams of joy through Abram's wonder broke +The angel points to a tuft of bushes near, +Where an entangled ram does half appear, +And struggles vainly with that fatal net, +Which, though but slightly wrought, was firmly set: +For, lo! anon, to this sad glory doomed, +The useful beast on Isaac's pile consumed; +Whilst on his horns the ransomed couple played, +And the glad boy danced to the tunes he made. + +Near this hall's end a shittim table stood, +Yet well-wrought plate strove to conceal the wood; +For from the foot a golden vine did sprout, +And cast his fruitful riches all about. +Well might that beauteous ore the grape express, +Which does weak man intoxicate no less. +Of the same wood the gilded beds were made, +And on them large embroidered carpets laid, +From Egypt, the rich shop of follies, brought; +But arts of pride all nations soon are taught. +Behold seven comely blooming youths appear, +And in their hands seven silver washpots bear, +Curled, and gay clad, the choicest sons that be +Of Gibeon's race, and slaves of high degree. +Seven beauteous maids marched softly in behind, +Bright scarves their clothes, their hair fresh garlands bind, +And whilst the princes wash, they on them shed +Rich ointments, which their costly odours spread +O'er the whole room; from their small prisons free, +With such glad haste through the wide air they flee. +The King was placed alone, and o'er his head +A well-wrought heaven of silk and gold was spread, +Azure the ground, the sun in gold shone bright, +But pierced the wandering clouds with silver light. +The right-hand bed the King's three sons did grace, +The third was Abner's, Adriel's, David's place: +And twelve large tables more were filled below, +With the prime men Saul's court and camp could show. +The palace did with mirth and music sound, +And the crowned goblets nimbly moved around: +But though bright joy in every guest did shine, +The plenty, state, music, and sprightful wine, +Were lost on Saul: an angry care did dwell +In his dark breast, and all gay forms expel. +David's unusual absence from the feast, +To his sick sp'rit did jealous thoughts suggest: +Long lay he still, nor drank, nor ate, nor spoke, +And thus at last his troubled silence broke. + +'Where can he be?' said he. 'It must be so.' +With that he paused awhile. 'Too well we know +His boundless pride: he grieves, and hates to see +The solemn triumphs of my court and me. +Believe me, friends! and trust what I can show +From thousand proofs; the ambitious David now +Does those vast things in his proud soul design, +That too much business give for mirth or wine. +He's kindling now, perhaps, rebellious fire +Among the tribes, and does even now conspire +Against my crown, and all our lives, whilst we +Are loth even to suspect what we might see. +By the Great Name 'tis true.' +With that he strook the board, and no man there, +But Jonathan, durst undertake to clear +The blameless prince: and scarce ten words he spoke, +When thus his speech the enraged tyrant broke: + +'Disloyal wretch! thy gentle mother's shame! +Whose cold, pale ghost even blushes at thy name! +Who fears lest her chaste bed should doubted be, +And her white fame stained by black deeds of thee! +Canst thou be mine? A crown sometimes does hire +Even sons against their parents to conspire; +But ne'er did story yet, or fable, tell +Of one so wild who, merely to rebel, +Quitted the unquestioned birthright of a throne, +And bought his father's ruin with his own. +Thou need'st not plead the ambitious youth's defence; +Thy crime clears his, and makes that innocence: +Nor can his foul ingratitude appear, +Whilst thy unnatural guilt is placed so near. +Is this that noble friendship you pretend? +Mine, thine own foe, and thy worst enemy's friend? +If thy low spirit can thy great birthright quit, +The thing's but just, so ill deserv'st thou it. +I, and thy brethren here, have no such mind, +Nor such prodigious worth in David find, +That we to him should our just rights resign, +Or think God's choice not made so well as thine. +Shame of thy house and tribe! hence from mine eye; +To thy false friend and servile master fly; +He's ere this time in arms expecting thee; +Haste, for those arms are raised to ruin me. +Thy sin that way will nobler much appear, +Than to remain his spy and agent here. +When I think this, Nature, by thee forsook, +Forsakes me too.' With that his spear he took +To strike at him: the mirth and music cease; +The guests all rise this sudden storm t' appease. +The prince his danger and his duty knew, +And low he bowed, and silently withdrew. + +To David straight, who in a forest nigh +Waits his advice, the royal friend does fly. +The sole advice, now, like the danger clear, +Was in some foreign land this storm t' outwear. +All marks of comely grief in both are seen, +And mournful kind discourses passed between. +Now generous tears their hasty tongues restrain; +Now they begin, and talk all o'er again: +A reverent oath of constant love they take, +And God's high name their dreaded witness make: +Not that at all their faiths could doubtful prove, +But 'twas the tedious zeal of endless love. +Thus, ere they part, they the short time bestow +In all the pomp friendship and grief could show. +And David now, with doubtful cares oppressed, +Beneath a shade borrows some little rest; +When by command divine thick mists arise, +And stop the sense, and close the conquered eyes. +There is a place which man most high doth rear, +The small world's heaven, where reason moves the sphere; +Here in a robe which does all colours show, +(The envy of birds, and the clouds' gaudy bow,) +Fancy, wild dame, with much lascivious pride, +By twin-chameleons drawn, does gaily ride: +Her coach there follows, and throngs round about +Of shapes and airy forms an endless rout. +A sea rolls on with harmless fury here; +Straight 'tis a field, and trees and herbs appear. +Here in a moment are vast armies made, +And a quick scene of war and blood displayed. +Here sparkling wines, and brighter maids come in, +The bawds for Sense, and lying baits of sin. +Some things arise of strange and quarrelling kind, +The forepart lion, and a snake behind. +Here golden mountains swell the covetous place, +And Centaurs ride themselves, a painted race. +Of these slight wonders Nature sees the store, +And only then accounts herself but poor. +Hither an angel comes in David's trance, +And finds them mingled in an antique dance; +Of all the numerous forms fit choice he takes, +And joins them wisely, and this vision makes. + +First, David there appears in kingly state, +Whilst the Twelve Tribes his dread commands await: +Straight to the wars with his joined strength he goes, +Settles new friends, and frights his ancient foes. +To Solima, Canaan's old head, they came, +(Since high in note, then not unknown to Fame,) +The blind and lame the undoubted wall defend, +And no new wounds or dangers apprehend. +The busy image of great Joab there +Disdains the mock, and teaches them to fear: +He climbs the airy walls, leaps raging down, +New-minted shapes of slaughter fill the town. +They curse the guards their mirth and bravery chose, +All of them now are slain, or made like those. +Far through an inward scene an army lay, +Which with full banners a fair Fish display. +From Sidon plains to happy Egypt's coast +They seem all met, a vast and warlike host. +Thither hastes David to his destined prey, +Honour and noble danger lead the way. +The conscious trees shook with a reverent fear +Their unblown tops: God walked before him there. +Slaughter the wearied Rephaims' bosom fills, +Dead corpse emboss the vale with little hills. +On the other side, Sophenes' mighty king +Numberless troops of the bless'd East does bring: +Twice are his men cut off, and chariots ta'en; +Damascus and rich Adad help in vain; +Here Nabathaean troops in battle stand, +With all the lusty youth of Syrian land; +Undaunted Joab rushes on with speed, +Gallantly mounted on his fiery steed; +He hews down all, and deals his deaths around; +The Syrians leave, or possess, dead, the ground. +On the other wing does brave Abishai ride, +Reeking in blood and dust: on every side +The perjured sons of Ammon quit the field; +Some basely die, and some more basely yield. +Through a thick wood the wretched Hanun flies, +And far more justly then fears Hebrew spies. +Moloch, their bloody god, thrusts out his head, +Grinning through a black cloud: him they'd long fed +In his seven chambers, and he still did eat +New-roasted babes, his dear delicious meat. +Again they rise, more angered and dismayed; +Euphrates and swift Tigris sends them aid: +In vain they send it, for again they're slain, +And feast the greedy birds on Healy plain. +Here Rabba with proud towers affronts the sky, +And round about great Joab's trenches lie: +They force the walls, and sack the helpless town; +On David's head shines Ammon's massy crown. +'Midst various torments the cursed race expires; +David himself his severe wrath admires. + +Next upon Israel's throne does bravely sit +A comely youth, endowed with wondrous wit: +Far, from the parched line, a royal dame, +To hear his tongue and boundless wisdom, came: +She carried back in her triumphant womb +The glorious stock of thousand kings to come. +Here brightest forms his pomp and wealth display; +Here they a temple's vast foundations lay; +A mighty work; and with fit glories filled, +For God to inhabit, and that King to build. +Some from the quarries hew out massy stone, +Some draw it up with cranes; some breathe and groan +In order o'er the anvil; some cut down +Tall cedars, the proud mountain's ancient crown; +Some carve the trunks, and breathing shapes bestow, +Giving the trees more life than when they grow. +But, oh! alas! what sudden cloud is spread +About this glorious King's eclipsed head? +It all his fame benights, and all his store, +Wrapping him round; and now he's seen no more. + +When straight his son appears at Sichem crown'd, +With young and heedless council circled round; +Unseemly object! but a falling state +Has always its own errors joined with Fate. +Ten tribes at once forsake the Jessian throne, +And bold Adoram at his message stone; +'Brethren of Israel!'--More he fain would say, +But a flint stopped his mouth, and speech in the way. +Here this fond king's disasters but begin; +He's destined to more shame by his father's sin. +Susac comes up, and under his command +A dreadful army from scorched Afric's sand, +As numberless as that: all is his prey; +The temple's sacred wealth they bear away; +Adrazar's shields and golden loss they take; +Even David in his dream does sweat and shake. +Thus fails this wretched prince; his loins appear +Of less weight now than Solomon's fingers were. + +Abijah next seeks Israel to regain, +And wash in seas of blood his father's stain. +Ne'er saw the aged sun so cruel sight; +Scarce saw he this, but hid his bashful light. +Nebat's cursed son fled with not half his men; +Where were his gods of Dan and Bethel then? +Yet could not this the fatal strife decide; +God punished one, but blessed not the other side. + +Asan, a just and virtuous prince, succeeds, +High raised by Fame for great and godly deeds: +He cut the solemn groves where idols stood, +And sacrificed the gods with their own wood. +He vanquished thus the proud weak powers of hell; +Before him next their doting servants fell: +So huge an host of Zerah's men he slew, +As made even that Arabia desert too. +Why feared he then the perjured Baasha's sight? +Or bought the dangerous aid of Syrian's might? +Conquest, Heaven's gift, cannot by man be sold; +Alas! what weakness trusts he? man and gold. + +Next Josaphat possessed the royal state; +A happy prince, well worthy of his fate: +His oft oblations on God's altar, made +With thousand flocks, and thousand herds, are paid, +Arabian tribute! What mad troops are those, +Those mighty troops that dare to be his foes? +He prays them dead; with mutual wounds they fall; +One fury brought, one fury slays them all. +Thus sits he still, and sees himself to win, +Never o'ercome but by his friend Ahab's sin; +On whose disguise Fates then did only look, +And had almost their God's command mistook: +Him from whose danger Heaven securely brings, +And for his sake too ripely wicked kings. +Their armies languish, burnt with thirst, at Seere, +Sighs all their cold, tears all their moisture there: +They fix their greedy eyes on the empty sky, +And fancy clouds, and so become more dry. +Elisha calls for waters from afar +To come; Elisha calls, and here they are. +In helmets they quaff round the welcome flood, +And the decrease repair with Moab's blood. +Jehoram next, and Ochoziah, throng +For Judah's sceptre; both shortlived too long. +A woman, too, from murder title claims; +Both with her sins and sex the crown she shames. +Proud, cursed woman! but her fall at last +To doubting men clears Heaven for what was past. +Joas at first does bright and glorious show; +In life's fresh morn his fame did early crow: +Fair was the promise of his dawning ray, +But prophet's angry blood o'ercast his day: +From thence his clouds, from thence his storms, begin, +It cries aloud, and twice lets Aram in. +So Amaziah lives, so ends his reign, +Both by their traitorous servants justly slain. +Edom at first dreads his victorious hand; +Before him thousand captives trembling stand. +Down a precipice, deep down he casts them all; +The mimic shapes in several postures fall: +But then (mad fool!) he does those gods adore, +Which when plucked down had worshipped him before. +Thus all his life to come is loss and shame: +No help from gods, who themselves helped not, came. + +All this Uzziah's strength and wit repairs, +Leaving a well-built greatness to his heirs; +Till leprous scurf, o'er his whole body cast, +Takes him at first from men, from earth at last. +As virtuous was his son, and happier far; +Buildings his peace, and trophies graced his war: +But Achaz heaps up sins, as if he meant +To make his worst forefathers innocent: +He burns his son at Hinnon, whilst around +The roaring child drums and loud trumpets sound: +This to the boy a barbarous mercy grew, +And snatched him from all miseries to ensue. +Here Peca comes, and hundred thousands fall; +Here Rezin marches up, and sweeps up all; +Till like a sea the great Belochus' son +Breaks upon both, and both does overrun. +The last of Adad's ancient stock is slain, +Israel captived, and rich Damascus ta'en; +All his wild rage to revenge Judah's wrong; +But woe to kingdoms that have friends too strong! + +Thus Hezekiah the torn empire took, +And Assur's king with his worse gods forsook; +Who to poor Judah worlds of nations brings, +There rages, utters vain and mighty things. +Some dream of triumphs, and exalted names, +Some of dear gold, and some of beauteous dames; +Whilst in the midst of their huge sleepy boast, +An angel scatters death through all the host. +The affrighted tyrant back to Babel hies, +There meets an end far worse than that he flies. +Here Hezekiah's life is almost done! +So good, and yet, alas! so short 'tis spun. +The end of the line was ravelled, weak, and old; +Time must go back, and afford better hold, +To tie a new thread to it of fifteen years. +'Tis done; the almighty power of prayer and tears! +Backward the sun, an unknown motion, went; +The stars gazed on, and wondered what he meant. +Manasses next (forgetful man!) begins, +Enslaved and sold to Ashur by his sins; +Till by the rod of learned Misery taught, +Home to his God and country both he's brought. +It taught not Ammon, nor his hardness brake, +He's made the example he refused to take. + +Yet from this root a goodly scion springs, +Josiah! best of men, as well as kings. +Down went the calves, with all their gold and cost; +The priests then truly grieved, Osiris lost. +These mad Egyptian rites till now remained; +Fools! they their worser thraldom still retained! +In his own fires Moloch to ashes fell, +And no more flames must have besides his hell. +Like end Astartes' horned image found, +And Baal's spired stone to dust was ground. +No more were men in female habit seen, +Or they in men's, by the lewd Syrian queen; +No lustful maids at Benos' temple sit, +And with their body's shame their marriage get. +The double Dagon neither nature saves, +Nor flies she back to the Erythraean waves. +The travelling sun sees gladly from on high +His chariots burn, and Nergal quenched lie. +The King's impartial anger lights on all, +From fly-blown Accaron to the thundering Baal. +Here David's joy unruly grows and bold, +Nor could sleep's silken chain its violence hold, +Had not the angel, to seal fast his eyes, +The humours stirred, and bid more mists arise; +When straight a chariot hurries swift away, +And in it good Josiah bleeding lay: +One hand's held up, one stops the wound; in vain +They both are used. Alas! he's slain, he's slain. + +Jehoias and Jehoiakim next appear; +Both urge that vengeance which before was near. +He in Egyptian fetters captive dies, +This by more courteous Anger murdered lies. +His son and brother next to bonds sustain, +Israel's now solemn and imperial chain. +Here's the last scene of this proud city's state; +All ills are met, tied in one knot of Fate. +Their endless slavery in this trial lay; +Great God had heaped up ages in one day: +Strong works around the walls the Chaldees build, +The town with grief and dreadful business filled: +To their carved gods the frantic women pray, +Gods which as near their ruin were as they: +At last in rushes the prevailing foe, +Does all the mischief of proud conquest show. +The wondering babes from mothers' breasts are rent, +And suffer ills they neither feared nor meant. +No silver reverence guards the stooping age, +No rule or method ties their boundless rage. +The glorious temple shines in flames all o'er, +Yet not so bright as in its gold before. +Nothing but fire or slaughter meets the eyes; +Nothing the ear but groans and dismal cries. +The walls and towers are levelled with the ground, +And scarce aught now of that vast city's found, +But shards and rubbish, which weak signs might keep, +Of forepast glory, and bid travellers weep. +Thus did triumphant Assur homewards pass, +And thus Jerus'lem left, Jerusalem that was! + +Thus Zedechia saw, and this not all; +Before his face his friends and children fall, +The sport of insolent victors: this he views, +A king and father once: ill Fate could use +His eyes no more to do their master spite; +All to be seen she took, and next his sight. +Thus a long death in prison he outwears, +Bereft of grief's last solace, even his tears. + +Then Jeconiah's son did foremost come, +And he who brought the captived nation home; +A row of Worthies in long order passed +O'er the short stage; of all old Joseph last. +Fair angels passed by next in seemly bands, +All gilt, with gilded baskets in their hands. +Some as they went the blue-eyed violets strew, +Some spotless lilies in loose order threw. +Some did the way with full-blown roses spread, +Their smell divine, and colour strangely red; +Not such as our dull gardens proudly wear, +Whom weather's taint, and wind's rude kisses tear. +Such, I believe, was the first rose's hue, +Which, at God's word, in beauteous Eden grew; +Queen of the flowers, which made that orchard gay, +The morning-blushes of the Spring's new day. + +With sober pace an heavenly maid walks in, +Her looks all fair, no sign of native sin +Through her whole body writ; immoderate grace +Spoke things far more than human in her face: +It casts a dusky gloom o'er all the flowers, +And with full beams their mingled light devours. +An angel straight broke from a shining cloud, +And pressed his wings, and with much reverence bowed; +Again he bowed, and grave approach he made, +And thus his sacred message sweetly said: + +'Hail! full of grace! thee the whole world shall call +Above all bless'd; thee, who shall bless them all. +Thy virgin womb in wondrous sort shall shroud +Jesus the God; (and then again he bowed) +Conception the great Spirit shall breathe on thee: +Hail thou! who must God's wife, God's mother be.' +With that his seeming form to heaven he reared, +(She low obeisance made) and disappeared. +Lo! a new star three Eastern sages see; +(For why should only earth a gainer be?) +They saw this Phosphor's infant light, and knew +It bravely ushered in a sun as new; +They hasted all this rising sun t' adore; +With them rich myrrh, and early spices, bore. +Wise men! no fitter gift your zeal could bring; +You'll in a noisome stable find your king. +Anon a thousand devils run roaring in; +Some with a dreadful smile deform'dly grin; +Some stamp their cloven paws, some frown, and tear +The gaping snakes from their black-knotted hair; +As if all grief, and all the rage of hell +Were doubled now, or that just now they fell: +But when the dreaded maid they entering saw, +All fled with trembling fear and silent awe: +In her chaste arms the Eternal Infant lies, +The Almighty Voice changed into feeble cries. +Heaven contained virgins oft, and will do more; +Never did virgin contain Heaven before. +Angels peep round to view this mystic thing, +And halleluiah round, all halleluiah sing. + +No longer could good David quiet bear +The unwieldy pleasure which o'erflowed him here: +It broke the fetter, and burst ope his eye; +Away the timorous Forms together fly. +Fixed with amaze he stood, and time must take, +To learn if yet he were at last awake. +Sometimes he thinks that Heaven this vision sent, +And ordered all the pageants as they went: +Sometimes that only 'twas wild Fancy's play, +The loose and scattered relics of the day. + +When Gabriel (no bless'd sp'rit more kind or fair) +Bodies and clothes himself with thickened air; +All like a comely youth in life's fresh bloom, +Rare workmanship, and wrought by heavenly loom! +He took for skin a cloud most soft and bright +That e'er the mid-day sun pierced through with light; +Upon his cheeks a lively blush he spread, +Washed from the morning beauty's deepest red; +A harmless flaming meteor shone for hair, +And fell adown his shoulders with loose care: +He cuts out a silk mantle from the skies. +Where the most sprightly azure please the eyes; +This he with starry vapours spangles all, +Took in their prime ere they grow ripe, and fall: +Of a new rainbow, ere it fret or fade, +The choicest piece took out, a scarf is made; +Small streaming clouds he does for wings display, +Not virtuous lovers' sighs more soft than they; +These he gilds o'er with the sun's richest rays, +Caught gliding o'er pure streams on which he plays. + +Thus dressed, the joyful Gabriel posts away, +And carries with him his own glorious day +Through the thick woods; the gloomy shades a while +Put on fresh, looks, and wonder why they smile; +The trembling serpents close and silent lie; +The birds obscene far from his passage fly; +A sudden spring waits on him as he goes, +Sudden as that which by creation rose. +Thus he appears to David; at first sight +All earth-bred fears and sorrows take their flight: +In rushes joy divine, and hope, and rest; +A sacred calm shines through his peaceful breast. +'Hail, man belov'd! from highest heaven,' said he. +'My mighty Master sends thee health by me. +The things thou saw'st are full of truth and light, +Shaped in the glass of the divine foresight. +Even now old Time is harnessing the Years +To go in order thus: hence, empty fears! +Thy fate's all white; from thy bless'd seed shall spring +The promised Shilo, the great mystic King. +Round the whole earth his dreaded Name shall sound. +And reach to worlds that must not yet be found: +The Southern clime him her sole Lord shall style, +Him all the North, even Albion's stubborn isle. +My fellow-servant, credit what I tell.' +Straight into shapeless air unseen he fell. + + +LIFE. + +'NASCENTES MORIMUR.'--_Manil_. + +1 We're ill by these grammarians used: + We are abused by words, grossly abused; + From the maternal tomb + To the grave's fruitful womb + We call here Life; but Life's a name + That nothing here can truly claim: + This wretched inn, where we scarce stay to bait, + We call our dwelling-place; + We call one step a race: + But angels in their full-enlightened state, + Angels who live, and know what 'tis to be, + Who all the nonsense of our language see, + Who speak things, and our words their ill-drawn picture scorn. + When we by a foolish figure say, + Behold an old man dead! then they + Speak properly, and cry, Behold a man-child born! + +2 My eyes are opened, and I see + Through the transparent fallacy: + Because we seem wisely to talk + Like men of business, and for business walk + From place to place, + And mighty voyages we take, + And mighty journeys seem to make + O'er sea and land, the little point that has no space; + Because we fight, and battles gain, + Some captives call, and say the rest are slain; + Because we heap up yellow earth, and so + Rich, valiant, wise, and virtuous seem to grow; + Because we draw a long nobility + From hieroglyphic proofs of heraldry, + And impudently talk of a posterity; + And, like Egyptian chroniclers, + Who write of twenty thousand years, + With maravedies make the account, + That single time might to a sum amount; + We grow at last by custom to believe + That really we live; + Whilst all these shadows that for things we take, + Are but the empty dreams which in death's sleep we make. + +3 But these fantastic errors of our dream + Lead us to solid wrong; + We pray God our friends' torments to prolong. + And wish uncharitably for them + To be as long a-dying as Methusalem. + The ripened soul longs from his prison to come, + But we would seal and sew up, if we could, the womb. + We seek to close and plaster up by art + The cracks and breaches of the extended shell, + And in that narrow cell + Would rudely force to dwell + The noble, vigorous bird already winged to part. + + +THE PLAGUES OF EGYPT. + +I. + +Is this thy bravery, Man! is this thy pride! +Rebel to God, and slave to all beside! +Captived by everything! and only free +To fly from thine own liberty! +All creatures, the Creator said, were thine; +No creature but might since say, Man is mine! +In black Egyptian slavery we lie, +And sweat and toil in the vain dru +Of tyrant Sin, +To which we trophies raise, and wear out all our breath +In building up the monuments of death. +We, the choice race, to God and angels kin! +In vain the prophets and apostles come +To call us home, +Home to the promised Canaan above, +Which does with nourishing milk and pleasant honey flow, +And even i' th' way to which we should be fed +With angels' tasteful bread: +But we, alas! the flesh-pots love; +We love the very leeks and sordid roots below. + +II. + +In vain we judgments feel, and wonders see; +In vain did God to descend hither deign, +He was his own Ambassador in vain, +Our Moses and our guide himself to be. +We will not let ourselves to go, +And with worse hardened hearts, do our own Pharaohs grow; +Ah! lest at last we perish so, +Think, stubborn Man! think of the Egyptian prince, +(Hard of belief and will, but not so hard as thou,) +Think with what dreadful proofs God did convince +The feeble arguments that human power could show; +Think what plagues attend on thee, +Who Moses' God dost now refuse more oft than Moses he. + +III. + +'If from some God you come,' said the proud king, +With half a smile and half a frown, +'But what God can to Egypt be unknown? +What sign, what powers, what credence do you bring?' +'Behold his seal! behold his hand!' +Cries Moses, and casts down the almighty wand: +The almighty wand scarce touched the earth, +When, with an undiscerned birth, +The almighty wand a serpent grew, +And his long half in painted folds behind him drew: +Upwards his threatening tail he threw, +Upwards he cast his threatening head, +He gaped and hissed aloud, +With flaming eyes surveyed the trembling crowd, +And, like a basilisk, almost looked the assembly dead: +Swift fled the amazed king, the guards before him fled. + +IV. + +Jannes and Jambres stopped their flight, +And with proud words allayed the affright. +'The God of slaves!' said they, 'how can he be +More powerful than their master's deity?' +And down they cast their rods, +And muttered secret sounds that charm the servile gods, +The evil spirits their charms obey, +And in a subtle cloud they snatch the rods away, +And serpents in their place the airy jugglers lay: +Serpents in Egypt's monstrous land +Were ready still at hand, +And all at the Old Serpent's first command: +And they, too, gaped, and they, too, hissed, +And they their threatening tails did twist; +But straight on both the Hebrew serpent flew, +Broke both their active backs, and both it slew, +And both almost at once devoured; +So much was overpowered +By God's miraculous creation +His servant Nature's slightly wrought and feeble generation. + +V. + +On the famed bank the prophets stood, +Touched with their rod, and wounded all the flood; +Flood now no more, but a long vein of putrid blood; +The helpless fish were found +In their strange current drowned; +The herbs and trees washed by the mortal tide +About it blushed and died: +The amazed crocodiles made haste to ground; +From their vast trunks the dropping gore they spied, +Thought it their own, and dreadfully aloud they cried: +Nor all thy priests, nor thou, +O King! couldst ever show +From whence thy wandering Nile begins his course; +Of this new Nile thou seest the sacred source, +And as thy land that does o'erflow, +Take heed lest this do so. +What plague more just could on thy waters fall? +The Hebrew infants' murder stains them all. +The kind, instructing punishment enjoy; +Whom the red river cannot mend, the Red Sea shall destroy. + +VI. + +The river yet gave one instruction more, +And from the rotting fish and unconcocted gore, +Which was but water just before, +A loathsome host was quickly made, +That scaled the banks, and with loud noise did all the country invade; +As Nilus when he quits his sacred bed, +(But like a friend he visits all the land +With welcome presents in his hand,) +So did this living tide the fields o'erspread. +In vain the alarmed country tries +To kill their noisome enemies, +From the unexhausted source still new recruits arise: +Nor does the earth these greedy troops suffice; +The towns and houses they possess, +The temples and the palaces, +Nor Pharaoh nor his gods they fear, +Both their importune croakings hear: +Unsatiate yet they mount up higher, +Where never sun-born frog durst to aspire, +And in the silken beds their slimy members place, +A luxury unknown before to all the watery race. + +VII. + +The water thus her wonders did produce, +But both were to no use: +As yet the sorcerer's mimic power served for excuse. +Try what the earth will do, said God, and lo! +They struck the earth a fertile blow, +And all the dust did straight to stir begin, +One would have thought some sudden wind had been, +But, lo! 'twas nimble life was got within! +And all the little springs did move, +And every dust did an armed vermin prove, +Of an unknown and new-created kind, +Such as the magic gods could neither make or find. +The wretched shameful foe allowed no rest +Either to man or beast; +Not Pharaoh from the unquiet plague could be, +With all his change of raiments, free; +The devils themselves confessed +This was God's hand; and 'twas but just +To punish thus man's pride, to punish dust with dust. + +VIII. + +Lo! the third element does his plagues prepare, +And swarming clouds of insects fill the air; +With sullen noise they take their flight, +And march in bodies infinite; +In vain 'tis day above, 'tis still beneath them night; +Of harmful flies the nations numberless +Composed this mighty army's spacious boast; +Of different manners, different languages, +And different habits, too, they wore, +And different arms they bore: +And some, like Scythians, lived on blood, +And some on green, and some on flowery food, +And Accaron, the airy prince, led on this various host. +Houses secure not men; the populous ill +Did all the houses fill: +The country all around, +Did with the cries of tortured cattle sound; +About the fields enraged they flew, +And wished the plague that was t' ensue. + +IX. + +From poisonous stars a mortal influence came, +(The mingled malice of their flame,) +A skilful angel did the ingredients take, +And with just hands the sad composure make, +And over all the land did the full viol shake. +Thirst, giddiness, faintness, and putrid heats, +And pining pains, and shivering sweats, +On all the cattle, all the beasts, did fall; +With deformed death the country's covered all. +The labouring ox drops down before the plough; +The crowned victims to the altar led +Sink, and prevent the lifted blow: +The generous horse from the full manger turns his head, +Does his loved floods and pastures scorn, +Hates the shrill trumpet and the horn, +Nor can his lifeless nostril please +With the once-ravishing smell of all his dappled mistresses; +The starving sheep refuse to feed, +They bleat their innocent souls out into air; +The faithful dogs lie gasping by them there; +The astonished shepherd weeps, and breaks his tuneful reed. + +X. + +Thus did the beasts for man's rebellion die; +God did on man a gentler medicine try, +And a disease for physic did apply. +Warm ashes from the furnace Moses took, +The sorcerers did with wonder on him look, +And smiled at the unaccustomed spell +Which no Egyptian rituals tell. +He flings the pregnant ashes through the air, +And speaks a mighty prayer, +Both which the minist'ring winds around all Egypt bear; +As gentle western blasts, with downy wings +Hatching the tender springs, +To the unborn buds with vital whispers say, +Ye living buds, why do ye stay? +The passionate buds break through the bark their way; +So wheresoe'er this tainted wind but blew, +Swelling pains and ulcers grew; +It from the body called all sleeping poisons out, +And to them added new; +A noisome spring of sores as thick as leaves did sprout. + +XI. + +Heaven itself is angry next; +Woe to man when Heaven is vexed; +With sullen brow it frowned, +And murmured first in an imperfect sound; +Till Moses, lifting up his hand, +Waves the expected signal of his wand, +And all the full-charged clouds in ranged squadrons move, +And fill the spacious plains above; +Through which the rolling thunder first does play, +And opens wide the tempest's noisy way: +And straight a stony shower +Of monstrous hail does downward pour, +Such as ne'er Winter yet brought forth, +From all her stormy magazines of the north: +It all the beasts and men abroad did slay, +O'er the defaced corpse, like monuments, lay; +The houses and strong-bodied trees it broke, +Nor asked aid from the thunder's stroke: +The thunder but for terror through it flew, +The hail alone the work could do. +The dismal lightnings all around, +Some flying through the air, some running on the ground, +Some swimming o'er the waters' face, +Filled with bright horror every place; +One would have thought, their dreadful day to have seen, +The very hail and rain itself had kindled been. + +XII. + +The infant corn, which yet did scarce appear, +Escaped this general massacre +Of every thing that grew, +And the well-stored Egyptian year +Began to clothe her fields and trees anew; +When, lo! a scorching wind from the burnt countries blew, +And endless legions with it drew +Of greedy locusts, who, where'er +With sounding wings they flew, +Left all the earth depopulate and bare, +As if Winter itself had marched by there, +Whate'er the sun and Nile +Gave with large bounty to the thankful soil, +The wretched pillagers bore away, +And the whole Summer was their prey; +Till Moses with a prayer, +Breathed forth a violent western wind, +Which all these living clouds did headlong bear +(No stragglers left behind) +Into the purple sea, and there bestow +On the luxurious fish a feast they ne'er did know. +With untaught joy Pharaoh the news does hear, +And little thinks their fate attends on him and his so near. + +XIII. + +What blindness and what darkness did there e'er +Like this undocile king's appear? +Whate'er but that which now does represent +And paint the crime out in the punishment? +From the deep baleful caves of hell below, +Where the old mother Night does grow, +Substantial Night, that does disclaim +Privation's empty name, +Through secret conduits monstrous shapes arose, +Such as the sun's whole force could not oppose; +They with a solid cloud +All heaven's eclipsed face did shroud; +Seemed with large wings spread o'er the sea and earth, +To brood up a new Chaos his deformed birth; +And every lamp, and every fire, +Did, at the dreadful sight, wink and expire, +To the empyrean source all streams of light seemed to retire. +The living men were in their standing houses buried, +But the long night no slumber knows, +But the short death finds no repose. +Ten thousand terrors through the darkness fled, +And ghosts complained, and spirits murmured, +And fancy's multiplying sight +Viewed all the scenes invisible of night. + +XIV. + +Of God's dreadful anger these +Were but the first light skirmishes; +The shock and bloody battle now begins, +The plenteous harvest of full-ripened sins. +It was the time when the still moon +Was mounted softly to her noon, +And dewy sleep, which from Night's secret springs arose, +Gently as Nile the land o'erflows; +When, lo! from the high countries of refined day, +The golden heaven without allay, +Whose dross, in the creation purged away, +Made up the sun's adulterate ray, +Michael, the warlike prince, does downwards fly, +Swift as the journeys of the sight, +Swift as the race of light, +And with his winged will cuts through the yielding sky. +He passed through many a star, and as he passed +Shone (like a star in them) more brightly there +Than they did in their sphere: +On a tall pyramid's pointed head he stopped at last, +And a mild look of sacred pity cast +Down on the sinful land where he was sent +To inflict the tardy punishment. +'Ah! yet,' said he, 'yet, stubborn King! repent, +Whilst thus unarmed I stand, +Ere the keen sword of God fill my commanded hand; +Suffer but yet thyself and thine to live. +Who would, alas! believe +That it for man,' said he, +'So hard to be forgiven should be, +And yet for God so easy to forgive!' + +XV. + +He spoke, and downwards flew, +And o'er his shining form a well-cut cloud he threw, +Made of the blackest fleece of night, +And close-wrought to keep in the powerful light; +Yet, wrought so fine, it hindered not his flight, +But through the key-holes and the chinks of doors, +And through the narrowest walks of crooked pores, +He passed more swift and free +Than in wide air the wanton swallows flee: +He took a pointed pestilence in his hand, +The spirits of thousand mortal poisons made +The strongly-tempered blade, +The sharpest sword that e'er was laid +Up in the magazines of God to scourge a wicked land: +Through Egypt's wicked land his march he took, +And as he marched the sacred first-born struck +Of every womb; none did he spare; +None from the meanest beast to Cenchre's purple heir. + +XVI. + +The swift approach of endless night +Breaks ope the wounded sleepers' rolling eyes; +They awake the rest with dying cries, +And darkness doubles the affright. +The mixed sounds of scattered deaths they hear, +And lose their parted souls 'twixt grief and fear. +Louder than all, the shrieking women's voice +Pierces this chaos of confused noise; +As brighter lightning cuts a way, +Clear and distinguished through the day: +With less complaints the Zoan temples sound +When the adored heifer's drowned, +And no true marked successor to be found: +While health, and strength, and gladness does possess +The festal Hebrew cottages; +The bless'd destroyer comes not there, +To interrupt the sacred cheer, +That new begins their well-reformed year. +Upon their doors he read and understood +God's protection writ in blood; +Well was he skilled i' th' character divine, +And though he passed by it in haste, +He bowed, and worshipped as he passed +The mighty mystery through its humble sign. + +XVII. + +The sword strikes now too deep and near, +Longer with its edge to play, +No diligence or cost they spare +To haste the Hebrews now away, +Pharaoh himself chides their delay; +So kind and bountiful is fear! +But, oh! the bounty which to fear we owe, +Is but like fire struck out of stone, +So hardly got, and quickly gone, +That it scarce outlives the blow. +Sorrow and fear soon quit the tyrant's breast, +Rage and revenge their place possess'd: +With a vast host of chariots and of horse, +And all his powerful kingdom's ready force, +The travelling nation he pursues, +Ten times o'ercome, he still the unequal war renews. +Filled with proud hopes, 'At least,' said he, +'The Egyptian gods, from Syrian magic free, +Will now revenge themselves and me; +Behold what passless rocks on either hand, +Like prison walls, about them stand! +Whilst the sea bounds their flight before, +And in our injured justice they must find +A far worse stop than rocks and seas behind; +Which shall with crimson gore +New paint the water's name, and double dye the shore.' + +XVIII. + +He spoke; and all his host +Approved with shouts the unhappy boast; +A bidden wind bore his vain words away, +And drowned them in the neighbouring sea. +No means to escape the faithless travellers spy, +And with degenerous fear to die, +Curse their new-gotten liberty: +But the great Guide well knew he led them right, +And saw a path hid yet from human sight: +He strikes the raging waves; the waves on either side +Unloose their close embraces, and divide, +And backwards press, as in some solemn show +The crowding people do, +(Though just before no space was seen,) +To let the admired triumph pass between. +The wondering army saw, on either hand, +The no less wondering waves like rocks of crystal stand. +They marched betwixt, and boldly trod +The secret paths of God: +And here and there, all scattered in their way, +The sea's old spoils and gaping fishes lay +Deserted on the sandy plain: +The sun did with astonishment behold +The inmost chambers of the opened main, +For whatsoe'er of old +By his own priests, the poets, has been said, +He never sunk till then into the Ocean's bed. + +XIX. + +Led cheerfully by a bright captain, Flame, +To the other shore at morning-dawn they came, +And saw behind the unguided foe +March disorderly and slow: +The prophet straight from the Idumean strand +Shakes his imperious wand; +The upper waves, that highest crowded lie, +The beckoning wand espy; +Straight their first right-hand files begin to move, +And with a murmuring wind +Give the word march to all behind; +The left-hand squadrons no less ready prove, +But with a joyful, louder noise, +Answer their distant fellows' voice, +And haste to meet them make, +As several troops do all at once a common signal take. +What tongue the amazement and the affright can tell, +Which on the Chamian army fell, +When on both sides they saw the roaring main +Broke loose from his invisible chain? +They saw the monstrous death and watery war +Come rolling down loud ruin from afar; +In vain some backward and some forwards fly +With helpless haste, in vain they cry +To their celestial beasts for aid; +In vain their guilty king they upbraid, +In vain on Moses he, and Moses' God, does call, +With a repentance true too late: +They're compassed round with a devouring fate +That draws, like a strong net, the mighty sea upon them all. + + + + +GEORGE WITHER + + +This remarkable man was born in Hampshire, at Bentworth, near Alton, in +1588. He was sent to Magdalene College, Oxford, but had hardly been +there till his father remanded him home to hold the plough--a reversal +of the case of Cincinnatus which did not please the aspiring spirit of +our poet. He took an early opportunity of breaking loose from this +occupation, and of going to London with the romantic intention of making +his fortune at Court. Finding that to rise at Court, flattery was +indispensable, and determined not to flatter, he, in 1613, published his +'Abuses Whipt and Stript,' for which he was committed for some months +to the Marshalsea. Here he wrote his beautiful poem, 'The Shepherd's +Hunting;' and is said to have gained his manumission by a satire to +the King, in which he defends his former writings. Soon after his +liberation, he published his 'Hymns and Songs of the Church,' a book +which embroiled him with the clergy, but procured him the favour of King +James, who encouraged him to finish a translation of the Psalms. He +travelled to the court of the Queen of Bohemia, (James's daughter,) in +fulfilment of a vow, and presented her with a copy of his completed +translation. + +In 1639, he was a captain of horse in the expedition against the Scotch. +When the Civil War broke out, he sold his estate to raise a troop of +horse on the Parliamentary side, and soon after was made a major. In +1642, he was appointed captain and commander of Farnham Castle, in +Surrey; but owing to some neglect or cowardice on his part, it was ceded +the same year to Sir William Waller. He was made prisoner by the +Royalists some time after this, and would have been put to death had not +Denham interfered, alleging that as long as Wither survived, he (Denham) +could not be accounted the worst poet in England. He was afterwards +appointed Cromwell's major-general of all the horse and foot in the +county of Surrey. He made money at this time by Royalist sequestrations, +but lost it all at the Restoration. He had, on the death of Cromwell, +hailed Richard with enthusiasm, and predicted him a happy reign; which +makes Campbell remark, 'He never but once in his life foreboded good, +and in that prophecy he was mistaken.' Wither was by no means pleased +with the loss of his fortune, and remonstrated bitterly; but for so +doing he was thrown into prison again. Here his mind continued as active +as ever, and he poured out treatises, poems, and satires--sometimes, +when pen and ink were denied him, inscribing his thoughts with red ochre +upon a trencher. After three years, he was, in 1663, released from +Newgate, under bond for good behaviour; and four years afterwards he +died in London. This was on the 2d of May 1667. He was buried between +the east door and the south end of the Savoy church, in the Strand. + +Wither was a man of real genius, but seems to have been partially +insane. His political zeal was a frenzy; and his religion was deeply +tinged with puritanic gloom. His 'Collection of Emblems' never became so +popular as those of Quarles, and are now nearly as much forgotten as his +satires, his psalms, and his controversial treatises. But his early +poems are delightful--full of elegant and playful fancy, ease of +language, and delicacy of sentiment. Some passages in 'The Shepherd's +Hunting,' and in the 'Address to Poetry,' resemble the style of Milton +in his 'L'Allegro' and 'Penseroso.' His 'Christmas' catches the full +spirit of that joyous carnival of Christian England. Altogether, it is +refreshing to turn from the gnarled oak of Wither's struggling and +unhappy life, to the beautiful flowers, nodding over it, of his poesy. + + +FROM 'THE SHEPHERD'S HUNTING.' + +See'st thou not, in clearest days, +Oft thick fogs could heavens raise? +And the vapours that do breathe +From the earth's gross womb beneath, +Seem they not with their black steams +To pollute the sun's bright beams, +And yet vanish into air, +Leaving it unblemished, fair? +So, my Willy, shall it be +With Detraction's breath and thee: +It shall never rise so high +As to stain thy poesy. +As that sun doth oft exhale +Vapours from each rotten vale; +Poesy so sometimes drains +Gross conceits from muddy brains; +Mists of envy, fogs of spite, +'Twixt men's judgments and her light; +But so much her power may do +That she can dissolve them too. +If thy verse do bravely tower, +As she makes wing, she gets power! +Yet the higher she doth soar, +She's affronted still the more: +Till she to the high'st hath past, +Then she rests with Fame at last. +Let nought therefore thee affright, +But make forward in thy flight: +For if I could match thy rhyme, +To the very stars I'd climb; +There begin again, and fly +Till I reached eternity. +But, alas! my Muse is slow; +For thy pace she flags too low. +Yes, the more's her hapless fate, +Her short wings were clipped of late; +And poor I, her fortune ruing, +Am myself put up a-muing. +But if I my cage can rid, +I'll fly where I never did. +And though for her sake I'm cross'd, +Though my best hopes I have lost, +And knew she would make my trouble +Ten times more than ten times double; +I would love and keep her too, +Spite of all the world could do. +For though banished from my flocks, +And confined within these rocks, +Here I waste away the light, +And consume the sullen night; +She doth for my comfort stay, +And keeps many cares away. +Though I miss the flowery fields, +With those sweets the springtide yields; +Though I may not see those groves, +Where the shepherds chant their loves, +And the lasses more excel +Than the sweet-voiced Philomel; +Though of all those pleasures past, +Nothing now remains at last, +But remembrance, poor relief, +That more makes than mends my grief: +She's my mind's companion still, +Maugre Envy's evil will: +Whence she should be driven too, +Were 't in mortals' power to do. +She doth tell me where to borrow +Comfort in the midst of sorrow; +Makes the desolatest place +To her presence be a grace, +And the blackest discontents +Be her fairest ornaments. +In my former days of bliss, +His divine skill taught me this, +That from everything I saw, +I could some invention draw; +And raise pleasure to her height +Through the meanest object's sight: +By the murmur of a spring, +Or the least bough's rustling; +By a daisy, whose leaves spread, +Shut when Titan goes to bed; +Or a shady bush or tree, +She could more infuse in me, +Than all Nature's beauties can, +In some other wiser man. +By her help I also now +Make this churlish place allow +Some things that may sweeten gladness +In the very gall of sadness: +The dull loneness, the black shade +That these hanging vaults have made, +The strange music of the waves, +Beating on these hollow caves, +This black den, which rocks emboss, +Overgrown with eldest moss; +The rude portals, that give light +More to terror than delight, +This my chamber of neglect, +Walled about with disrespect, +From all these, and this dull air, +A fit object for despair, +She hath taught me by her might +To draw comfort and delight. + +Therefore, then, best earthly bliss, +I will cherish thee for this! +Poesy, thou sweet'st content +That e'er Heaven to mortals lent; +Though they as a trifle leave thee, +Whose dull thoughts can not conceive thee, +Though thou be to them a scorn +That to nought but earth are born; +Let my life no longer be +Than I am in love with thee! +Though our wise ones call it madness, +Let me never taste of gladness +If I love not thy madd'st fits +Above all their greatest wits! +And though some, too seeming holy, +Do account thy raptures folly, +Thou dost teach me to contemn +What makes knaves and fools of them! + + +THE SHEPHERD'S RESOLUTION. + +1 Shall I, wasting in despair, + Die because a woman's fair? + Or make pale my cheeks with care, + 'Cause another's rosy are? + Be she fairer than the day, + Or the flowery meads in May; + If she be not so to me, + What care I how fair she be? + +2 Shall my foolish heart be pined, + 'Cause I see a woman kind? + Or a well-disposed nature + Joined with a lovely feature? + Be she meeker, kinder, than + The turtle-dove or pelican; + If she be not so to me, + What care I how kind she be? + +3 Shall a woman's virtues move + Me to perish for her love? + Or, her well-deservings known, + Make me quite forget mine own? + Be she with that goodness blest, + Which may merit name of Best; + If she be not such to me, + What care I how good she be? + +4 'Cause her fortune seems too high, + Shall I play the fool and die? + Those that bear a noble mind, + Where they want of riches find, + Think what with them they would do, + That without them dare to woo; + And, unless that mind I see, + What care I how great she be? + +5 Great, or good, or kind, or fair, + I will ne'er the more despair: + If she love me, this believe-- + I will die ere she shall grieve. + If she slight me when I woo, + I can scorn and let her go: + If she be not fit for me, + What care I for whom she be? + + +THE STEADFAST SHEPHERD. + +1 Hence away, thou Siren, leave me, + Pish! unclasp these wanton arms; + Sugared words can ne'er deceive me, + Though thou prove a thousand charms. + Fie, fie, forbear; + No common snare + Can ever my affection chain: + Thy painted baits, + And poor deceits, + Are all bestowed on me in vain. + +2 I'm no slave to such as you be; + Neither shall that snowy breast, + Rolling eye, and lip of ruby, + Ever rob me of my rest: + Go, go, display + Thy beauty's ray + To some more soon enamoured swain: + Those common wiles + Of sighs and smiles + Are all bestowed on me in vain. + +3 I have elsewhere vowed a duty; + Turn away thy tempting eye: + Show not me a painted beauty: + These impostures I defy: + My spirit loathes + Where gaudy clothes + And feigned oaths may love obtain: + I love her so, + Whose look swears No, + That all your labours will be vain. + +4 Can he prize the tainted posies + Which on every breast are worn, + That may pluck the virgin roses + From their never-touched thorn? + I can go rest + On her sweet breast + That is the pride of Cynthia's train: + Then stay thy tongue, + Thy mermaid song + Is all bestowed on me in vain. + +5 He's a fool that basely dallies, + Where each peasant mates with him: + Shall I haunt the thronged valleys, + Whilst there's noble hills to climb? + No, no, though clowns + Are scared with frowns, + I know the best can but disdain; + And those I'll prove: + So will thy love + Be all bestowed on me in vain. + +6 I do scorn to vow a duty + Where each lustful lad may woo; + Give me her whose sun-like beauty + Buzzards dare not soar unto: + She, she it is + Affords that bliss + For which I would refuse no pain: + But such as you, + Fond fools, adieu! + You seek to captive me in vain. + +7 Leave me then, you Siren, leave me: + Seek no more to work my harms: + Crafty wiles cannot deceive me, + Who am proof against your charms: + You labour may + To lead astray + The heart that constant shall remain; + And I the while + Will sit and smile + To see you spend your time in vain. + + +THE SHEPHERD'S HUNTING. + + ARGUMENT. + + Cuddy tells how all the swains + Pity Roget on the plains; + Who, requested, doth relate + The true cause of his estate; + Which broke off, because 'twas long, + They begin a three-man song. + + WILLY. CUDDY. ROGET. + +WILLY. + +Roget, thy old friend Cuddy here, and I, +Are come to visit thee in these thy bands, +Whilst both our flocks in an enclosure by +Do pick the thin grass from the fallowed lands. +He tells me thy restraint of liberty, +Each one throughout the country understands: + And there is not a gentle-natured lad, + On all these downs, but for thy sake is sad. + +CUDDY. + +Not thy acquaintance and thy friends alone +Pity thy close restraint, as friends should do: +But some that have but seen thee for thee moan: +Yea, many that did never see thee too. +Some deem thee in a fault, and most in none; +So divers ways do divers rumours go: + And at all meetings where our shepherds be, + Now the main news that's extant is of thee. + +ROGET. + +Why, this is somewhat yet: had I but kept +Sheep on the mountains till the day of doom, +My name should in obscurity have slept, +In brakes, in briars, shrubbed furze and broom. +Into the world's wide care it had not crept, +Nor in so many men's thoughts found a room: + But what cause of my sufferings do they know? + Good Cuddy, tell me how doth rumour go? + +CUDDY. + +Faith, 'tis uncertain; some speak this, some that: +Some dare say nought, yet seem to think a cause, +And many a one, prating he knows not what, +Comes out with proverbs and old ancient saws, +As if he thought thee guiltless, and yet not: +Then doth he speak half-sentences, then pause: + That what the most would say, we may suppose: + But what to say, the rumour is, none knows. + +ROGET. + +Nor care I greatly, for it skills not much +What the unsteady common-people deems; +His conscience doth not always feel least touch, +That blameless in the sight of others seems: +My cause is honest, and because 'tis such +I hold it so, and not for men's esteems: + If they speak justly well of me, I'm glad; + If falsely evil, it ne'er makes me sad. + +WILLY. + +I like that mind; but, Roget, you are quite +Beside the matter that I long to hear: +Remember what you promised yesternight, +You'd put us off with other talk, I fear; +Thou know'st that honest Cuddy's heart's upright, +And none but he, except myself, is near: + Come therefore, and betwixt us two relate, + The true occasion of thy present state. + +ROGET. + +My friends, I will; you know I am a swain, +That keep a poor flock here upon this plain: +Who, though it seems I could do nothing less, +Can make a song, and woo a shepherdess; +And not alone the fairest where I live +Have heard me sing, and favours deigned to give; +But though I say't, the noblest nymph of Thame, +Hath graced my verse unto my greater fame. +Yet being young, and not much seeking praise, +I was not noted out for shepherds' lays, +Nor feeding flocks, as you know others be: +For the delight that most possessed me +Was hunting foxes, wolves, and beasts of prey; +That spoil our folds, and bear our lambs away. +For this, as also for the love I bear +Unto my country, I laid by all care +Of gain, or of preferment, with desire +Only to keep that state I had entire, +And like a true-grown huntsman sought to speed +Myself with hounds of rare and choicest breed, +Whose names and natures ere I further go, +Because you are my friends, I'll let you know. +My first esteemed dog that I did find, +Was by descent of old Actaeon's kind; +A brach, which if I do not aim amiss, +For all the world is just like one of his: +She's named Love, and scarce yet knows her duty; +Her dam's my lady's pretty beagle Beauty, +I bred her up myself with wondrous charge, +Until she grew to be exceeding large, +And waxed so wanton that I did abhor it, +And put her out amongst my neighbours for it. +The next is Lust, a hound that's kept abroad, +'Mongst some of mine acquaintance, but a toad +Is not more loathsome: 'tis a cur will range +Extremely, and is ever full of mange; +And 'cause it is infectious, she's not wont +To come among the rest, but when they hunt. +Hate is the third, a hound both deep and long. +His sire is true or else supposed Wrong. +He'll have a snap at all that pass him by, +And yet pursues his game most eagerly. +With him goes Envy coupled, a lean cur, +And she'll hold out, hunt we ne'er so far: +She pineth much, and feedeth little too, +Yet stands and snarleth at the rest that do. +Then there's Revenge, a wondrous deep-mouthed dog, +So fleet, I'm fain to hunt him with a clog, +Yet many times he'll much outstrip his bounds, +And hunts not closely with the other hounds: +He'll venture on a lion in his ire; +Curst Choler was his dam, and Wrong his sire. +This Choler is a brach that's very old, +And spends her mouth too much to have it hold: +She's very testy, an unpleasing cur, +That bites the very stones, if they but stur: +Or when that ought but her displeasure moves, +She'll bite and snap at any one she loves: +But my quick-scented'st dog is Jealousy, +The truest of this breed's in Italy: +The dam of mine would hardly fill a glove, +It was a lady's little dog, called Love: +The sire, a poor deformed cur, named Fear, +As shagged and as rough as is a bear: +And yet the whelp turned after neither kind, +For he is very large, and near-hand blind; +At the first sight he hath a pretty colour, +But doth not seem so, when you view him fuller; +A vile suspicious beast, his looks are bad, +And I do fear in time he will grow mad. +To him I couple Avarice, still poor; +Yet she devours as much as twenty more: +A thousand horse she in her paunch can put, +Yet whine as if she had an empty gut: +And having gorged what might a land have found, +She'll catch for more, and hide it in the ground. +Ambition is a hound as greedy full; +But he for all the daintiest bits doth cull: +He scorns to lick up crumbs beneath the table, +He'll fetch 't from boards and shelves, if he be able: +Nay, he can climb if need be; and for that, +With him I hunt the martin and the cat: +And yet sometimes in mounting he's so quick, +He fetches falls are like to break his neck. +Fear is well-mouth'd, but subject to distrust; +A stranger cannot make him take a crust: +A little thing will soon his courage quail, +And 'twixt his legs he ever claps his tail; +With him Despair now often coupled goes, +Which by his roaring mouth each huntsman knows. +None hath a better mind unto the game, +But he gives off, and always seemeth lame. +My bloodhound Cruelty, as swift as wind, +Hunts to the death, and never comes behind; +Who but she's strapp'd and muzzled too withal, +Would eat her fellows, and the prey and all; +And yet she cares not much for any food, +Unless it be the purest harmless blood. +All these are kept abroad at charge of many, +They do not cost me in a year a penny. +But there's two couple of a middling size, +That seldom pass the sight of my own eyes. +Hope, on whose head I've laid my life to pawn; +Compassion, that on every one will fawn. +This would, when 'twas a whelp, with rabbits play +Or lambs, and let them go unhurt away: +Nay, now she is of growth, she'll now and then +Catch you a hare, and let her go again. +The two last, Joy and Sorrow, 'tis a wonder, +Can ne'er agree, nor ne'er bide far asunder. +Joy's ever wanton, and no order knows: +She'll run at larks, or stand and bark at crows. +Sorrow goes by her, and ne'er moves his eye; +Yet both do serve to help make up the cry. +Then comes behind all these to bear the base, +Two couple more of a far larger race, +Such wide-mouth'd trollops, that 'twould do you good +To hear their loud loud echoes tear the wood. +There's Vanity, who, by her gaudy hide, +May far away from all the rest be spied, +Though huge, yet quick, for she's now here, now there; +Nay, look about you, and she's everywhere: +Yet ever with the rest, and still in chase. +Right so, Inconstancy fills every place; +And yet so strange a fickle-natured hound, +Look for her, and she's nowhere to be found. +Weakness is no fair dog unto the eye, +And yet she hath her proper quality; +But there's Presumption, when he heat hath got, +He drowns the thunder and the cannon-shot: +And when at start he his full roaring makes, +The earth doth tremble, and the heaven shakes. +These were my dogs, ten couple just in all, +Whom by the name of Satyrs I do call: +Mad curs they be, and I can ne'er come nigh them, +But I'm in danger to be bitten by them. +Much pains I took, and spent days not a few, +To make them keep together, and hunt true: +Which yet I do suppose had never been, +But that I had a scourge to keep them in. +Now when that I this kennel first had got, +Out of my own demesnes I hunted not, +Save on these downs, or among yonder rocks, +After those beasts that spoiled our parish flocks; +Nor during that time was I ever wont +With all my kennel in one day to hunt: +Nor had done yet, but that this other year, +Some beasts of prey, that haunt the deserts here, +Did not alone for many nights together +Devour, sometime a lamb, sometime a wether, +And so disquiet many a poor man's herd, +But that of losing all they were afeard: +Yea, I among the rest did fare as bad, +Or rather worse, for the best ewes[1] I had +(Whose breed should be my means of life and gain) +Were in one evening by these monsters slain: +Which mischief I resolved to repay, +Or else grow desperate, and hunt all away; +For in a fury (such as you shall see +Huntsmen in missing of their sport will be) +I vowed a monster should not lurk about, +In all this province, but I'd find him out, +And thereupon, without respect or care, +How lame, how full, or how unfit they were, +In haste unkennell'd all my roaring crew, +Who were as mad as if my mind they knew, +And ere they trail'd a flight-shot, the fierce curs +Had roused a hart, and thorough brakes and furs +Follow'd at gaze so close, that Love and Fear +Got in together, so had surely there +Quite overthrown him, but that Hope thrust in +'Twixt both, and saved the pinching of his skin, +Whereby he 'scaped, till coursing o'erthwart, +Despair came in, and griped him to the heart: +I hallowed in the res'due to the fall, +And for an entrance, there I fleshed them all: +Which having done, I dipped my staff in blood, +And onward led my thunder to the wood; +Where what they did, I'll tell you out anon, +My keeper calls me, and I must be gone. +Go if you please a while, attend your flocks, +And when the sun is over yonder rocks, +Come to this cave again, where I will be, +If that my guardian so much favour me. +Yet if you please, let us three sing a strain, +Before you turn your sheep into the plain. + +WILLY. + +I am content. + +CUDDY. + + As well content am I. + +ROGET. + +Then, Will, begin, and we'll the rest supply. + + +SONG. + +WILLY. + + Shepherd, would these gates were ope, + Thou might'st take with us thy fortune. + +ROGET. + + No, I'll make this narrow scope, + Since my fate doth so importune + Means unto a wider hope. + +CUDDY. + + Would thy shepherdess were here, + Who belov'd, loves thee so dearly! + +ROGET. + + Not for both your flocks, I swear, + And the gain they yield you yearly, + Would I so much wrong my dear. + Yet to me, nor to this place, + Would she now be long a stranger; + She would hold it no disgrace, + (If she feared not more my danger,) + Where I am to show her face. + +WILLY. + + Shepherd, we would wish no harms, + But something that might content thee. + +ROGET. + + Wish me then within her arms, + And that wish will ne'er repent me, + If your wishes might prove charms. + +WILLY. + + Be thy prison her embrace, + Be thy air her sweetest breathing. + +CUDDY. + + Be thy prospect her fair face, + For each look a kiss bequeathing, + And appoint thyself the place. + +ROGET. + + Nay pray, hold there, for I should scantly then + Come meet you here this afternoon again: + But fare you well, since wishes have no power, + Let us depart, and keep the 'pointed hour. + +[1] 'Ewes:' hopes. + + + + +SIR WILLIAM DAVENANT, + + +The author of 'Gondibert,' was the son of a vintner in Oxford, and born +in February 1605. Gossip says--but says with her usual carelessness about +truth--that he was the son of no less a person than William Shakspeare, +who used, in his journeys between London and Stratford, to stop at the +Crown, an inn kept by Davenant's reputed father. This story is hinted at +by Wood, was told to Pope by Betterton the player, and believed by Malone, +but seems to be a piece of mere scandal. It is true that Davenant had a +great veneration for Shakspeare, and expressed it, when only ten years +old, in lines 'In remembrance of Master William Shakspeare,' beginning +thus:-- + + 'Beware, delighted poets, when you sing, + To welcome nature in the early spring, + Your numerous feet not tread + The banks of Avon, for each flower + (As it ne'er knew a sun or shower) + Hangs there the pensive head.' + +Southey says--'The father was a man of melancholy temperament, the mother +handsome and lively; and as Shakspeare used to put up at the house on his +journeys between Stratford and London, Davenant is said to have affected +the reputation of being Shakspeare's son. If he really did this, there +was a levity, or rather a want of feeling, in the boast, for which social +pleasantry, and the spirits which are induced by wine, afford but little +excuse.' + +He was entered at Lincoln College; he next became page to the Duchess of +Richmond; and we find him afterwards in the family of Fulk Greville, Lord +Brooke--famous as the friend of Sir Philip Sidney. He began to write for +the stage in 1628; and on the death of Ben Jonson he was made Poet Laureate +--to the disappointment of Thomas May, so much praised by Johnson and +others for his proficiency in Latin poetry, as displayed in his supplement +to Lucan's 'Pharsalia.' He became afterwards manager of Drury Lane; but +owing to his connexion with the intrigues of that unhappy period, he was +imprisoned in the Tower, and subsequently made his escape to France. On his +return to England, he distinguished himself greatly in the Royal cause; and +when that became desperate, he again took refuge in France, and wrote part +of his 'Gondibert.' He projected a scheme for carrying over a colony to +Virginia; but his vessel was seized by one of the Parliamentary ships--he +himself was conveyed a prisoner to Cowes Castle, in the Isle of Wight, and +thence to the Tower, preparatory to being tried by the High Commission. But +a giant hand, worthy of having saved him had he been Shakspeare's veritable +son, was now stretched forth to his rescue--the hand of Milton. In this +generous act Milton was seconded by Whitelocke, and by two aldermen of +York, to whom our poet had rendered some services. Liberated from the +Tower, Davenant was also permitted, through the influence of Whitelocke, +to open, in defiance of Puritanic prohibition, a kind of theatre at Rutland +House, and by enacting his own plays there, he managed to support himself +till the Restoration. He then, it is supposed, repaid to Milton his +friendly service, and shielded him from the wrath of the Court. From this +period Davenant continued to write for the stage--having received the +patent of the Duke's Theatre, in Lincoln's Inn--till his death. This event +took place on April 7, 1668. His last play, written in conjunction with +Dryden, was an alteration and pollution of Shakspeare's 'Tempest,' which +was more worthy of Trincula than of the authors of 'Absalom and Ahithophel' +and of 'Gondibert.' Supposing Davenant the son of Shakspeare, his act to +his father's masterpiece reminds us, in the excess of its filial impiety, +of Ham's conduct to Noah. + +'Gondibert' is a large and able, without being a great poem. It has the +incurable and indefensible defect of dulness. 'The line labours, and the +words move slow.' The story is interesting of itself, but is lost in the +labyrinthine details. It has many lines, and some highly and successfully +wrought passages; but as a whole we may say of it as Porson said of +certain better productions, 'It will be read when the works of Homer and +Virgil are forgotten--but _not till then_.' + + +FROM 'GONDIBERT'--CANTO II. + +THE ARGUMENT. + +The hunting which did yearly celebrate +The Lombards' glory, and the Vandals' fate: +The hunters praised; how true to love they are, +How calm in peace and tempest-like in war. +The stag is by the numerous chase subdued, +And straight his hunters are as hard pursued. + +1 Small are the seeds Fate does unheeded sow + Of slight beginnings to important ends; + Whilst wonder, which does best our reverence show + To Heaven, all reason's sight in gazing spends. + +2 For from a day's brief pleasure did proceed, + A day grown black in Lombard histories, + Such lasting griefs as thou shalt weep to read, + Though even thine own sad love had drained thine eyes. + +3 In a fair forest, near Verona's plain, + Fresh as if Nature's youth chose there a shade, + The Duke, with many lovers in his train, + Loyal and young, a solemn hunting made. + +4 Much was his train enlarged by their resort + Who much his grandsire loved, and hither came + To celebrate this day with annual sport, + On which by battle here he earned his fame, + +5 And many of these noble hunters bore + Command amongst the youth at Bergamo; + Whose fathers gathered here the wreaths they wore, + When in this forest they interred the foe. + +6 Count Hurgonil, a youth of high descent, + Was listed here, and in the story great; + He followed honour, when towards death it went; + Fierce in a charge, but temperate in retreat. + +7 His wondrous beauty, which the world approved, + He blushing hid, and now no more would own + (Since he the Duke's unequalled sister loved) + Than an old wreath when newly overthrown. + +8 And she, Orna the shy! did seem in life + So bashful too, to have her beauty shown, + As I may doubt her shade with Fame at strife, + That in these vicious times would make it known. + +9 Not less in public voice was Arnold here; + He that on Tuscan tombs his trophies raised; + And now Love's power so willingly did bear, + That even his arbitrary reign he praised. + +10 Laura, the Duke's fair niece, enthralled his heart, + Who was in court the public morning glass, + Where those, who would reduce nature to art, + Practised by dress the conquests of the face. + +11 And here was Hugo, whom Duke Gondibert + For stout and steadfast kindness did approve; + Of stature small, but was all over heart, + And, though unhappy, all that heart was love. + +12 In gentle sonnets he for Laura pined, + Soft as the murmurs of a weeping spring, + Which ruthless she did as those murmurs mind: + So, ere their death, sick swans unheeded sing. + +13 Yet, whilst she Arnold favoured, he so grieved, + As loyal subjects quietly bemoan + Their yoke, but raise no war to be relieved, + Nor through the envied fav'rite wound the throne. + +14 Young Goltho next these rivals we may name, + Whose manhood dawned early as summer light; + As sure and soon did his fair day proclaim, + And was no less the joy of public sight. + +15 If love's just power he did not early see, + Some small excuse we may his error give; + Since few, though learn'd, know yet blest love to be + That secret vital heat by which we live: + +16 But such it is; and though we may be thought + To have in childhood life, ere love we know, + Yet life is useless till by reason taught, + And love and reason up together grow. + +17 Nor more the old show they outlive their love, + If, when their love's decayed, some signs they give + Of life, because we see them pained and move, + Than snakes, long cut, by torment show they live. + +18 If we call living, life, when love is gone, + We then to souls, God's coin, vain reverence pay; + Since reason, which is love, and his best known + And current image, age has worn away. + +19 And I, that love and reason thus unite, + May, if I old philosophers control, + Confirm the new by some new poet's light, + Who, finding love, thinks he has found the soul. + +20 From Goltho, to whom love yet tasteless seemed, + We to ripe Tybalt are by order led; + Tybalt, who love and valour both esteemed, + And he alike from either's wounds had bled. + +21 Public his valour was, but not his love, + One filled the world, the other he contained; + Yet quietly alike in both did move, + Of that ne'er boasted, nor of this complained. + +22 With these, whose special names verse shall preserve, + Many to this recorded hunting came; + Whose worth authentic mention did deserve, + But from Time's deluge few are saved by Fame. + +23 New like a giant lover rose the sun + From the ocean queen, fine in his fires and great; + Seemed all the morn for show, for strength at noon, + As if last night she had not quenched his heat. + +24 And the sun's servants, who his rising wait, + His pensioners, for so all lovers are, + And all maintained by him at a high rate + With daily fire, now for the chase prepare. + +25 All were, like hunters, clad in cheerful green, + Young Nature's livery, and each at strife + Who most adorned in favours should be seen, + Wrought kindly by the lady of his life. + +26 These martial favours on their waists they wear, + On which, for now they conquest celebrate, + In an embroidered history appear + Like life, the vanquished in their fears and fate. + +27 And on these belts, wrought with their ladies' care, + Hung cimeters of Akon's trusty steel; + Goodly to see, and he who durst compare + Those ladies' eyes, might soon their temper feel. + +28 Cheered as the woods, where new-waked choirs they meet, + Are all; and now dispose their choice relays + Of horse and hounds, each like each other fleet; + Which best, when with themselves compared, we praise. + +29 To them old forest spies, the harbourers, + With haste approach, wet as still weeping night, + Or deer that mourn their growth of head with tears, + When the defenceless weight does hinder flight. + +30 And dogs, such whose cold secrecy was meant + By Nature for surprise, on these attend; + Wise, temperate lime-hounds that proclaim no scent, + Nor harb'ring will their mouths in boasting spend. + +31 Yet vainlier far than traitors boast their prize, + On which their vehemence vast rates does lay, + Since in that worth their treason's credit lies, + These harb'rers praise that which they now betray. + +32 Boast they have lodged a stag, that all the race + Outruns of Croton horse, or Rhegian hounds; + A stag made long since royal in the chase, + If kings can honour give by giving wounds. + +33 For Aribert had pierced him at a bay, + Yet 'scaped he by the vigour of his head; + And many a summer since has won the day, + And often left his Rhegian followers dead. + +34 His spacious beam, that even the rights outgrew, + From antler to his troch had all allowed, + By which his age the aged woodmen knew, + Who more than he were of that beauty proud. + +35 Now each relay a several station finds, + Ere the triumphant train the copse surrounds; + Relays of horse, long breathed as winter winds, + And their deep cannon-mouthed experienced hounds. + +36 The huntsmen, busily concerned in show, + As if the world were by this beast undone, + And they against him hired as Nature's foe, + In haste uncouple, and their hounds outrun. + +37 Now wind they a recheat, the roused deer's knell, + And through the forest all the beasts are awed; + Alarmed by Echo, Nature's sentinel, + Which shows that murderous man is come abroad. + +38 Tyrannic man! thy subjects' enemy! + And more through wantonness than need or hate, + From whom the winged to their coverts fly, + And to their dens even those that lay in wait. + +39 So this, the most successful of his kind, + Whose forehead's force oft his opposers pressed, + Whose swiftness left pursuers' shafts behind, + Is now of all the forest most distressed! + +40 The herd deny him shelter, as if taught + To know their safety is to yield him lost; + Which shows they want not the results of thought, + But speech, by which we ours for reason boast. + +41 We blush to see our politics in beasts, + Who many saved by this one sacrifice; + And since through blood they follow interests, + Like us when cruel should be counted wise. + +42 His rivals, that his fury used to fear + For his loved female, now his faintness shun; + But were his season hot, and she but near, + (O mighty love!) his hunters were undone. + +43 From thence, well blown, he comes to the relay, + Where man's famed reason proves but cowardice, + And only serves him meanly to betray; + Even for the flying, man in ambush lies. + +44 But now, as his last remedy to live, + (For every shift for life kind Nature makes, + Since life the utmost is which she can give,) + Cool Adice from the swoln bank he takes. + +45 But this fresh bath the dogs will make him leave, + Whom he sure-nosed as fasting tigers found; + Their scent no north-east wind could e'er deceive + Which drives the air, nor flocks that soil the ground. + +46 Swift here the fliers and pursuers seem; + The frighted fish swim from their Adice, + The dogs pursue the deer, he the fleet stream, + And that hastes too to the Adriatic sea. + +47 Refreshed thus in this fleeting element, + He up the steadfast shore did boldly rise; + And soon escaped their view, but not their scent, + That faithful guide, which even conducts their eyes. + +48 This frail relief was like short gales of breath, + Which oft at sea a long dead calm prepare; + Or like our curtains drawn at point of death, + When all our lungs are spent, to give us air. + +49 For on the shore the hunters him attend: + And whilst the chase grew warm as is the day, + (Which now from the hot zenith does descend,) + He is embossed, and wearied to a bay. + +50 The jewel, life, he must surrender here, + Which the world's mistress, Nature, does not give, + But like dropped favours suffers us to wear, + Such as by which pleased lovers think they live. + +51 Yet life he so esteems, that he allows + It all defence his force and rage can make; + And to the eager dogs such fury shows, + As their last blood some unrevenged forsake. + +52 But now the monarch murderer comes in, + Destructive man! whom Nature would not arm, + As when in madness mischief is foreseen, + We leave it weaponless for fear of harm. + +53 For she defenceless made him, that he might + Less readily offend; but art arms all, + From single strife makes us in numbers fight; + And by such art this royal stag did fall. + +54 He weeps till grief does even his murderers pierce; + Grief which so nobly through his anger strove, + That it deserved the dignity of verse, + And had it words, as humanly would move. + +55 Thrice from the ground his vanquished head he reared, + And with last looks his forest walks did view; + Where sixty summers he had ruled the herd, + And where sharp dittany now vainly grew: + +56 Whose hoary leaves no more his wounds shall heal; + For with a sigh (a blast of all his breath) + That viewless thing, called life, did from him steal, + And with their bugle-horns they wind his death. + +57 Then with their annual wanton sacrifice, + Taught by old custom, whose decrees are vain, + And we, like humorous antiquaries, that prize + Age, though deformed, they hasten to the plain. + +58 Thence homeward bend as westward as the sun, + Where Gondibert's allies proud feasts prepare, + That day to honour which his grandsire won; + Though feasts the eyes to funerals often are. + +59 One from the forest now approached their sight, + Who them did swiftly on the spur pursue; + One there still resident as day and night, + And known as the eldest oak which in it grew: + +60 Who, with his utmost breath advancing, cries, + (And such a vehemence no heart could feign,) + 'Away! happy the man that fastest flies! + Fly, famous Duke! fly with thy noble train!' + +61 The Duke replied: 'Though with thy fears disguised, + Thou dost my sire's old ranger's image bear, + And for thy kindness shalt not be despised; + Though counsels are but weak which come from fear. + +62 'Were dangers here, great as thy love can shape, + And love with fear can danger multiply, + Yet when by flight thou bidst us meanly 'scape, + Bid trees take wings, and rooted forests fly.' + +63 Then said the ranger: 'You are bravely lost!' + (And like high anger his complexion rose.) + 'As little know I fear as how to boast; + But shall attend you through your many foes. + +64 'See where in ambush mighty Oswald lay! + And see, from yonder lawn he moves apace, + With lances armed to intercept thy way, + Now thy sure steeds are wearied with the chase. + +65 'His purple banners you may there behold, + Which, proudly spread, the fatal raven bear; + And full five hundred I by rank have told, + Who in their gilded helms his colours wear.' + +66 The Duke this falling storm does now discern; + Bids little Hugo fly! but 'tis to view + The foe, and timely their first count'nance learn, + Whilst firm he in a square his hunters drew. + +67 And Hugo soon, light as his courser's heels, + Was in their faces troublesome as wind; + And like to it so wingedly he wheels, + No one could catch, what all with trouble find. + +68 But everywhere the leaders and the led + He temperately observed with a slow sight; + Judged by their looks how hopes and fears were fed, + And by their order their success in fight. + +69 Their number, 'mounting to the ranger's guess, + In three divisions evenly was disposed; + And that their enemies might judge it less, + It seemed one gross with all the spaces closed. + +70 The van fierce Oswald led, where Paradine + And manly Dargonet, both of his blood, + Outshined the noon, and their minds' stock within + Promised to make that outward glory good. + +71 The next, bold, but unlucky Hubert led, + Brother to Oswald, and no less allied + To the ambitions which his soul did wed; + Lowly without, but lined with costly pride. + +72 Most to himself his valour fatal was, + Whose glories oft to others dreadful were; + So comets, though supposed destruction's cause, + But waste themselves to make their gazers fear. + +73 And though his valour seldom did succeed, + His speech was such as could in storms persuade; + Sweet as the hopes on which starved lovers feed, + Breathed in the whispers of a yielding maid. + +74 The bloody Borgio did conduct the rear, + Whom sullen Vasco heedfully attends; + To all but to themselves they cruel were, + And to themselves chiefly by mischief friends. + +75 War, the world's art, nature to them became; + In camps begot, born, and in anger bred; + The living vexed till death, and then their fame, + Because even fame some life is to the dead. + +76 Cities, wise statesmen's folds for civil sheep, + They sacked, as painful shearers of the wise; + For they like careful wolves would lose their sleep, + When others' prosperous toils might be their prize. + +77 Hugo amongst these troops spied many more, + Who had, as brave destroyers, got renown; + And many forward wounds in boast they wore, + Which, if not well revenged, had ne'er been shown. + +78 Such the bold leaders of these lancers were, + Which of the Brescian veterans did consist; + Whose practised age might charge of armies bear, + And claim some rank in Fame's eternal list. + +79 Back to his Duke the dexterous Hugo flies, + What he observed he cheerfully declares; + With noble pride did what he liked despise; + For wounds he threatened whilst he praised their scars. + +80 Lord Arnold cried, 'Vain is the bugle-horn, + Where trumpets men to manly work invite! + That distant summons seems to say, in scorn, + We hunters may be hunted hard ere night.' + +81 'Those beasts are hunted hard that hard can fly,' + Replied aloud the noble Hurgonil; + 'But we, not used to flight, know best to die; + And those who know to die, know how to kill. + +82 'Victors through number never gained applause; + If they exceed our count in arms and men, + It is not just to think that odds, because + One lover equals any other ten.' + + +FROM 'GONDIBERT'--CANTO IV. + +1 The King, who never time nor power misspent + In subject's bashfulness, whiling great deeds + Like coward councils, who too late consent, + Thus to his secret will aloud proceeds: + +2 'If to thy fame, brave youth, I could add wings, + Or make her trumpet louder by my voice, + I would, as an example drawn for kings, + Proclaim the cause why thou art now my choice. + + * * * * * + +3 'For she is yours, as your adoption free; + And in that gift my remnant life I give; + But 'tis to you, brave youth! who now are she; + And she that heaven where secondly I live. + +4 'And richer than that crown, which shall be thine + When life's long progress I have gone with fame, + Take all her love; which scarce forbears to shine, + And own thee, through her virgin curtain, shame.' + +5 Thus spake the king; and Rhodalind appeared + Through published love, with so much bashfulness, + As young kings show, when by surprise o'erheard, + Moaning to favourite ears a deep distress. + +6 For love is a distress, and would be hid + Like monarchs' griefs, by which they bashful grow; + And in that shame beholders they forbid; + Since those blush most, who most their blushes show. + +7 And Gondibert, with dying eyes, did grieve + At her vailed love, a wound he cannot heal, + As great minds mourn, who cannot then relieve + The virtuous, when through shame they want conceal. + +8 And now cold Birtha's rosy looks decay; + Who in fear's frost had like her beauty died, + But that attendant hope persuades her stay + A while, to hear her Duke; who thus replied: + +9 'Victorious King! abroad your subjects are, + Like legates, safe; at home like altars free! + Even by your fame they conquer, as by war; + And by your laws safe from each other be. + +10 'A king you are o'er subjects so, as wise + And noble husbands seem o'er loyal wives; + Who claim not, yet confess their liberties, + And brag to strangers of their happy lives. + +11 'To foes a winter storm; whilst your friends bow, + Like summer trees, beneath your bounty's load; + To me, next him whom your great self, with low + And cheerful duty, serves, a giving God. + +12 'Since this is you, and Rhodalind, the light + By which her sex fled virtue find, is yours, + Your diamond, which tests of jealous sight, + The stroke, and fire, and Oisel's juice endures; + +13 'Since she so precious is, I shall appear + All counterfeit, of art's disguises made; + And never dare approach her lustre near, + Who scarce can hold my value in the shade. + +14 'Forgive me that I am not what I seem; + But falsely have dissembled an excess + Of all such virtues as you most esteem; + But now grow good but as I ills confess. + +15 'Far in ambition's fever am I gone! + Like raging flame aspiring is my love; + Like flame destructive too, and, like the sun, + Does round the world tow'rds change of objects move. + +16 'Nor is this now through virtuous shame confessed; + But Rhodalind does force my conjured fear, + As men whom evil spirits have possessed, + Tell all when saintly votaries appear. + +17 'When she will grace the bridal dignity, + It will be soon to all young monarchs known; + Who then by posting through the world will try + Who first can at her feet present his crown. + +18 'Then will Verona seem the inn of kings, + And Rhodalind shall at her palace gate + Smile, when great love these royal suitors brings; + Who for that smile would as for empire wait. + +19 'Amongst this ruling race she choice may take + For warmth of valour, coolness of the mind, + Eyes that in empire's drowsy calms can wake, + In storms look out, in darkness dangers find; + +20 'A prince who more enlarges power than lands, + Whose greatness is not what his map contains; + But thinks that his where he at full commands, + Not where his coin does pass, but power remains. + +21 'Who knows that power can never be too high; + When by the good possessed, for 'tis in them + The swelling Nile, from which though people fly, + They prosper most by rising of the stream. + +22 'Thus, princes, you should choose; and you will find, + Even he, since men are wolves, must civilise, + As light does tame some beasts of savage kind, + Himself yet more, by dwelling in your eyes.' + +23 Such was the Duke's reply; which did produce + Thoughts of a diverse shape through several ears: + His jealous rivals mourn at his excuse; + But Astragon it cures of all his fears, + +24 Birtha his praise of Rhodalind bewails; + And now her hope a weak physician seems; + For hope, the common comforter, prevails + Like common medicines, slowly in extremes. + +25 The King (secure in offered empire) takes + This forced excuse as troubled bashfulness, + And a disguise which sudden passion makes, + To hide more joy than prudence should express. + +26 And Rhodalind, who never loved before, + Nor could suspect his love was given away, + Thought not the treasure of his breast so poor, + But that it might his debts of honour pay. + +27 To hasten the rewards of his desert, + The King does to Verona him command; + And, kindness so imposed, not all his art + Can now instruct his duty to withstand. + +28 Yet whilst the King does now his time dispose + In seeing wonders, in this palace shown, + He would a parting kindness pay to those + Who of their wounds are yet not perfect grown. + +29 And by this fair pretence, whilst on the King + Lord Astragon through all the house attends, + Young Orgo does the Duke to Birtha bring, + Who thus her sorrows to his bosom sends: + +30 'Why should my storm your life's calm voyage vex? + Destroying wholly virtue's race in one: + So by the first of my unlucky sex, + All in a single ruin were undone. + +31 'Make heavenly Rhodalind your bride! whilst I, + Your once loved maid, excuse you, since I know + That virtuous men forsake so willingly + Long-cherished life, because to heaven they go. + +32 'Let me her servant be: a dignity, + Which if your pity in my fall procures, + I still shall value the advancement high, + Not as the crown is hers, but she is yours.' + +33 Ere this high sorrow up to dying grew, + The Duke the casket opened, and from thence, + Formed like a heart, a cheerful emerald drew; + Cheerful, as if the lively stone had sense. + +34 The thirtieth caract it had doubled twice; + Not taken from the Attic silver mine, + Nor from the brass, though such, of nobler price, + Did on the necks of Parthian ladies shine: + +35 Nor yet of those which make the Ethiop proud; + Nor taken from those rocks where Bactrians climb: + But from the Scythian, and without a cloud; + Not sick at fire, nor languishing with time. + +36 Then thus he spake: 'This, Birtha, from my male + Progenitors, was to the loyal she + On whose kind heart they did in love prevail, + The nuptial pledge, and this I give to thee: + +37 'Seven centuries have passed, since it from bride + To bride did first succeed; and though 'tis known + From ancient lore, that gems much virtue hide, + And that the emerald is the bridal stone: + +38 'Though much renowned because it chastens loves, + And will, when worn by the neglected wife, + Show when her absent lord disloyal proves, + By faintness, and a pale decay of life. + +39 'Though emeralds serve as spies to jealous brides, + Yet each compared to this does counsel keep; + Like a false stone, the husband's falsehood hides, + Or seems born blind, or feigns a dying sleep. + +40 'With this take Orgo, as a better spy, + Who may in all your kinder fears be sent + To watch at court, if I deserve to die + By making this to fade, and you lament.' + +41 Had now an artful pencil Birtha drawn, + With grief all dark, then straight with joy all light, + He must have fancied first, in early dawn, + A sudden break of beauty out of night. + +42 Or first he must have marked what paleness fear, + Like nipping frost, did to her visage bring; + Then think he sees, in a cold backward year, + A rosy morn begin a sudden spring. + +43 Her joys, too vast to be contained in speech, + Thus she a little spake: 'Why stoop you down, + My plighted lord, to lowly Birtha's reach, + Since Rhodalind would lift you to a crown? + +44 'Or why do I, when I this plight embrace, + Boldly aspire to take what you have given? + But that your virtue has with angels place, + And 'tis a virtue to aspire to heaven. + +45 'And as towards heaven all travel on their knees, + So I towards you, though love aspire, will move: + And were you crowned, what could you better please + Then awed obedience led by bolder love? + +46 'If I forget the depth from whence I rise, + Far from your bosom banished be my heart; + Or claim a right by beauty to your eyes; + Or proudly think my chastity desert. + +47 'But thus ascending from your humble maid + To be your plighted bride, and then your wife, + Will be a debt that shall be hourly paid, + Till time my duty cancel with my life. + +48 'And fruitfully, if heaven e'er make me bring + Your image to the world, you then my pride + No more shall blame than you can tax the spring + For boasting of those flowers she cannot hide. + +49 'Orgo I so receive as I am taught + By duty to esteem whate'er you love; + And hope the joy he in this jewel brought + Will luckier than his former triumphs prove. + +50 'For though but twice he has approached my sight, + He twice made haste to drown me in my tears: + But now I am above his planet's spite, + And as for sin beg pardon for my fears.' + +51 Thus spake she: and with fixed, continued sight + The Duke did all her bashful beauties view; + Then they with kisses sealed their sacred plight, + Like flowers, still sweeter as they thicker grew. + +52 Yet must these pleasures feel, though innocent, + The sickness of extremes, and cannot last; + For power, love's shunned impediment, has sent + To tell the Duke his monarch is in haste: + +53 And calls him to that triumph which he fears + So as a saint forgiven, whose breast does all + Heaven's joys contain, wisely loved pomp forbears, + Lest tempted nature should from blessings fall. + +54 He often takes his leave, with love's delay, + And bids her hope he with the King shall find, + By now appearing forward to obey, + A means to serve him less in Rhodalind. + +55 She weeping to her closet window hies, + Where she with tears doth Rhodalind survey; + As dying men, who grieve that they have eyes, + When they through curtains spy the rising day. + + + + +DR HENRY KING. + + +Of this poetical divine we know nothing, except that he was born in +1591, and died in 1669,--that he was chaplain to James I., and Bishop of +Chichester,--and that he indited some poetry as pious in design as it is +pretty in execution. + + +SIC VITA. + +Like to the falling of a star, +Or as the flights of eagles are; +Or like the fresh spring's gaudy hue, +Or silver drops of morning dew; +Or like a wind that chafes the flood, +Or bubbles which on water stood: +Even such is man, whose borrowed light +Is straight called in, and paid to-night. + +The wind blows out, the bubble dies; +The spring entombed in autumn lies; +The dew dries up, the star is shot: +The flight is past--and man forgot. + + +SONG. + +1 Dry those fair, those crystal eyes, + Which like growing fountains rise + To drown their banks! Grief's sullen brooks + Would better flow in furrowed looks: + Thy lovely face was never meant + To be the shore of discontent. + +2 Then clear those waterish stars again, + Which else portend a lasting rain; + Lest the clouds which settle there + Prolong my winter all the year, + And thy example others make + In love with sorrow, for thy sake. + + +LIFE. + +1 What is the existence of man's life + But open war or slumbered strife? + Where sickness to his sense presents + The combat of the elements, + And never feels a perfect peace + Till death's cold hand signs his release. + +2 It is a storm--where the hot blood + Outvies in rage the boiling flood: + And each loud passion of the mind + Is like a furious gust of wind, + Which beats the bark with many a wave, + Till he casts anchor in the grave. + +3 It is a flower--which buds, and grows, + And withers as the leaves disclose; + Whose spring and fall faint seasons keep, + Like fits of waking before sleep, + Then shrinks into that fatal mould + Where its first being was enrolled. + +4 It is a dream--whose seeming truth + Is moralised in age and youth; + Where all the comforts he can share + As wandering as his fancies are, + Till in a mist of dark decay + The dreamer vanish quite away. + +5 It is a dial--which points out + The sunset as it moves about; + And shadows out in lines of night + The subtle stages of Time's flight, + Till all-obscuring earth hath laid + His body in perpetual shade. + +6 It is a weary interlude-- + Which doth short joys, long woes, include: + The world the stage, the prologue tears; + The acts vain hopes and varied fears; + The scene shuts up with loss of breath, + And leaves no epilogue but Death! + + + + +JOHN CHALKHILL. + + +This author was of the age of Spenser, and is said to have been an +acquaintance and friend of that poet. It was not, however, till 1683 +that good old Izaak Walton published 'Thealma and Clearchus,' a pas- +toral romance, which, he stated, had been written long since by John +Chalkhill, Esq. He says of the author, 'that he was in his time a man +generally known, and as well beloved; for he was humble and obliging +in his behaviour--a gentleman, a scholar, very innocent and prudent, +and indeed his whole life was useful, quiet, and virtuous.' Some have +suspected that this production proceeded from the pen of Walton himself. +This, however, is rendered extremely unlikely--first, by the fact that +Walton, when he printed 'Thealma,' was ninety years of age; and, +secondly, by the difference in style and purpose between that poem and +Walton's avowed productions. The mind of Walton was quietly ingenious; +that of the author of 'Thealma' is adventurous and fantastic. Walton +loved 'the green pastures and the still waters' of the Present; the +other, the golden groves and ideal wildernesses of the Golden Age in +the Past. + +'Thealma and Clearchus' may be called an 'Arcadia' in rhyme. It +resembles that work of Sir Philip Sidney, not only in subject, but in +execution. Its plot is dark and puzzling, its descriptions are rich to +luxuriance, its narrative is tedious, and its characters are mere +shadows. But although a dream, it is a dream of genius, and brings +beautifully before our imagination that early period in the world's +history, in which poets and painters have taught us to believe, when the +heavens were nearer, the skies clearer, the fat of the earth richer, the +foam of the sea brighter, than in our degenerate days;--when shepherds, +reposing under broad, umbrageous oaks, saw, or thought they saw, in the +groves the shadow of angels, and on the mountain-summits the descending +footsteps of God. Chalkhill resembles, of all our modern poets, perhaps +Shelley most, in the ideality of his conception, the enthusiasm of his +spirit, and the unmitigated gorgeousness of his imagination. + + +ARCADIA. + + Arcadia, was of old, a state, +Subject to none but their own laws and fate; +Superior there was none, but what old age +And hoary hairs had raised; the wise and sage, +Whose gravity, when they are rich in years, +Begat a civil reverence more than fears +In the well-mannered people; at that day, +All was in common, every man bare sway +O'er his own family; the jars that rose +Were soon appeased by such grave men as those: +This mine and thine, that we so cavil for, +Was then not heard of; he that was most poor +Was rich in his content, and lived as free +As they whose flocks were greatest; nor did he +Envy his great abundance, nor the other +Disdain the low condition of his brother, +But lent him from his store to mend his state, +And with his love he quits him, thanks his fate; +And, taught by his example, seeks out such +As want his help, that they may do as much. +Their laws, e'en from their childhood, rich and poor +Had written in their hearts, by conning o'er +The legacies of good old men, whose memories +Outlive their monuments, the grave advice +They left behind in writing;--this was that +That made Arcadia then so blest a state; +Their wholesome laws had linked them so in one, +They lived in peace and sweet communion. +Peace brought forth plenty, plenty bred content, +And that crowned all their plans with merriment. +They had no foe, secure they lived in tents, +All was their own they had, they paid no rents; +Their sheep found clothing, earth provided food, +And labour dressed them as their wills thought good; +On unbought delicates their hunger fed, +And for their drink the swelling clusters bled; +The valleys rang with their delicious strains, +And pleasure revelled on those happy plains; +Content and labour gave them length of days, +And peace served in delight a thousand ways. + + +THEALMA, A DESERTED SHEPHERDESS. + +Scarce had the ploughman yoked his horned team, +And locked their traces to the crooked beam, +When fair Thealma, with a maiden scorn, +That day before her rise, outblushed the morn; +Scarce had the sun gilded the mountain-tops, +When forth she leads her tender ewes. + + * * * * * + +Down in a valley, 'twixt two rising hills, +From whence the dew in silver drops distils +To enrich the lowly plain, a river ran, +Hight Cygnus, (as some think, from Leda's swan +That there frequented;) gently on it glides, +And makes indentures in her crooked sides, +And with her silent murmurs rocks asleep +Her watery inmates; 'twas not very deep, +But clear as that Narcissus looked in, when +His self-love made him cease to live with men. +Close by the river was a thick-leafed grove, +Where swains of old sang stories of their love, +But unfrequented now since Colin died-- +Colin, that king of shepherds, and the pride +Of all Arcadia;--here Thealma used +To feed her milky droves; and as they browsed, +Under the friendly shadow of a beech +She sat her down; grief had tongue-tied her speech, +Her words were sighs and tears--dumb eloquence-- +Heard only by the sobs, and not the sense. +With folded arms she sat, as if she meant +To hug those woes which in her breast were pent; +Her looks were nailed to earth, that drank +Her tears with greediness, and seemed to thank +Her for those briny showers, and in lieu +Returns her flowery sweetness for her dew. + + * * * * * + +'O my Clearchus!' said she, and with tears +Embalms his name: 'oh, if the ghosts have ears, +Or souls departed condescend so low, +To sympathise with mortals in their woe, +Vouchsafe to lend a gentle ear to me, +Whose life is worse than death, since not with thee. +What privilege have they that are born great +Move than the meanest swain? The proud waves beat +With more impetuousness upon high lands, +Than on the flat and less-resisting strands: +The lofty cedar, and the knotty oak, +Are subject more unto the thunder-stroke, +Than the low shrubs that no such shocks endure; +Even their contempt doth make them live secure. +Had I been born the child of some poor swain, +Whose thoughts aspire no higher than the plain, +I had been happy then; t'have kept these sheep, +Had been a princely pleasure; quiet sleep +Had drowned my cares, or sweetened them with dreams: +Love and content had been my music's themes; +Or had Clearchus lived the life I lead, +I had been blest!' + + + PRIESTESS OF DIANA. + + Within a little silent grove hard by, + Upon a small ascent, he might espy + A stately chapel, richly gilt without, + Beset with shady sycamores about: + And ever and anon he might well hear + A sound of music steal in at his ear + As the wind gave it being; so sweet an air + Would strike a syren mute.-- + + * * * * * + +A hundred virgins there he might espy +Prostrate before a marble deity, +Which, by its portraiture, appeared to be +The image of Diana; on their knee +They tendered their devotions, with sweet airs, +Offering the incense of their praise and prayers. +Their garments all alike; beneath their paps +Buckled together with a silver claps, +And 'cross their snowy silken robes, they wore +An azure scarf, with stars embroidered o'er. +Their hair in curious tresses was knit up, +Crowned with a silver crescent on the top. +A silver bow their left hand held, their right, +For their defence, held a sharp-headed flight +Drawn from their broidered quiver, neatly tied +In silken cords, and fastened to their side. +Under their vestments, something short before, +White buskins, laced with ribanding, they wore. +It was a catching sight for a young eye, +That love had fired before. He might espy +One, whom the rest had sphere-like circled round, +Whose head was with a golden chaplet crowned. +He could not see her face, only his ear +Was blessed with the sweet sounds that came from her. + + +THEALMA IN FULL DRESS. + +----Tricked herself in all her best attire, +As if she meant this day to invite desire +To fall in love with her; her loose hair +Hung on her shoulders, sporting with the air; +Her brow a coronet of rosebuds crowned, +With loving woodbines' sweet embraces bound. +Two globe-like pearls were pendant to her ears, +And on her breast a costly gem she wears, +An adamant, in fashion like a heart, +Whereon Love sat, a-plucking out a dart, +With this same motto graven round about, +On a gold border, 'Sooner in than out.' +This gem Clearchus gave her, when, unknown, +At tilt his valour won her for his own. +Instead of bracelets on her wrists, she wore +A pair of golden shackles, chained before +Unto a silver ring, enamelled blue, +Whereon in golden letters to the view +This motto was presented, 'Bound, yet free,' +And in a true-love's knot, a T and C +Buckled it fast together; her silk gown +Of grassy green, in equal plaits hung down +Unto the earth; and as she went, the flowers, +Which she had broidered on it at spare hours, +Were wrought so to the life, they seemed to grow +In a green field; and as the wind did blow, +Sometimes a lily, then a rose, takes place, +And blushing seems to hide it in the grass: +And here and there good oats 'mong pearls she strew, +That seemed like spinning glow-worms in the dew. +Her sleeves were tinsel, wrought with leaves of green +In equal distance spangeled between, +And shadowed over with a thin lawn cloud, +Through which her workmanship more graceful showed. + + +DWELLING OF THE WITCH ORANDRA. + +Down in a gloomy valley, thick with shade, +Which two aspiring hanging rocks had made, +That shut out day, and barred the glorious sun +From prying into the actions there done; +Set full of box and cypress, poplar, yew, +And hateful elder that in thickets grew, +Among whose boughs the screech-owl and night-crow +Sadly recount their prophecies of woe, +Where leather-winged bats, that hate the light, +Fan the thick air, more sooty than the night. +The ground o'ergrown with weeds and bushy shrubs, +Where milky hedgehogs nurse their prickly cubs: +And here and there a mandrake grows, that strikes +The hearers dead with their loud fatal shrieks; +Under whose spreading leaves the ugly toad, +The adder, and the snake, make their abode. +Here dwelt Orandra; so the witch was hight, +And hither had she toiled him by a sleight: +She knew Anaxus was to go to court, +And, envying virtue, she made it her sport +To hinder him, sending her airy spies +Forth with delusion to entrap his eyes, +As would have fired a hermit's chill desires +Into a flame; his greedy eye admires +The more than human beauty of her face, +And much ado he had to shun the grace; +Conceit had shaped her out so like his love, +That he was once about in vain to prove +Whether 'twas his Clarinda, yea or no, +But he bethought him of his herb, and so +The shadow vanished; many a weary step +It led the prince, that pace with it still kept, +Until it brought him by a hellish power +Unto the entrance of Orandra's bower, +Where underneath an elder-tree he spied +His man Pandevius, pale and hollow-eyed; +Inquiring of the cunning witch what fate +Betid his master; they were newly sate +When his approach disturbed them; up she rose, +And toward Anaxus (envious hag) she goes; +Pandevius she had charmed into a maze, +And struck him mute, all he could do was gaze. +He called him by his name, but all in vain, +Echo returns 'Pandevius' back again; +Which made him wonder, when a sudden fear +Shook all his joints: she, cunning hag, drew near, +And smelling to his herb, he recollects +His wandering spirits, and with anger checks +His coward fears; resolved now to outdare +The worst of dangers, whatsoe'er they were; +He eyed her o'er and o'er, and still his eye +Found some addition to deformity. +An old decrepit hag she was, grown white +With frosty age, and withered with despite +And self-consuming hate; in furs yclad, +And on her head a thrummy cap she had. +Her knotty locks, like to Alecto's snakes, + +Hang down about her shoulders, which she shakes +Into disorder; on her furrowed brow +One might perceive Time had been long at plough. +Her eyes, like candle-snuffs, by age sunk quite +Into their sockets, yet like cats' eyes bright: +And in the darkest night like fire they shined, +The ever-open windows of her mind. +Her swarthy cheeks, Time, that all things consumes, +Had hollowed flat into her toothless gums. +Her hairy brows did meet above her nose, +That like an eagle's beak so crooked grows, +It well-nigh kissed her chin; thick bristled hair +Grew on her upper lip, and here and there +A rugged wart with grisly hairs behung; +Her breasts shrunk up, her nails and fingers long; +Her left leant on a staff, in her right hand +She always carried her enchanting wand. +Splay-footed, beyond nature, every part +So patternless deformed, 'twould puzzle art +To make her counterfeit; only her tongue, +Nature had that most exquisitely strung, +Her oily language came so smoothly from her, +And her quaint action did so well become her, +Her winning rhetoric met with no trips, +But chained the dull'st attention to her lips. +With greediness he heard, and though he strove +To shake her off, the more her words did move. +She wooed him to her cell, called him her son, +And with fair promises she quickly won +Him to her beck; or rather he, to try +What she could do, did willingly comply, +With her request. * * * +Her cell was hewn out of the marble rock +By more than human art; she did not knock, +The door stood always open, large and wide, +Grown o'er with woolly moss on either side, +And interwove with ivy's nattering twines, +Through which the carbuncle and diamond shines. +Not set by Art, but there by Nature sown +At the world's birth, so star-like bright they shone. +They served instead of tapers to give light +To the dark entry, where perpetual Night, +Friend to black deeds, and sire of Ignorance, +Shuts out all knowledge, lest her eye by chance +Might bring to light her follies: in they went, +The ground was strewed with flowers, whose sweet scent, +Mixed with the choice perfumes from India brought, +Intoxicates his brain, and quickly caught +His credulous sense; the walls were gilt, and set +With precious stones, and all the roof was fret +With a gold vine, whose straggling branches spread +All o'er the arch; the swelling grapes were red; +This Art had made of rubies, clustered so, +To the quick'st eye they more than seemed to grow; +About the wall lascivious pictures hung, +Such as were of loose Ovid sometimes sung. +On either side a crew of dwarfish elves +Held waxen tapers, taller than themselves: +Yet so well shaped unto their little stature, +So angel-like in face, so sweet in feature; +Their rich attire so differing; yet so well +Becoming her that wore it, none could tell +Which was the fairest, which the handsomest decked, +Or which of them desire would soon'st affect. +After a low salute they all 'gan sing, +And circle in the stranger in a ring. +Orandra to her charms was stepped aside, +Leaving her guest half won and wanton-eyed. +He had forgot his herb: cunning delight +Had so bewitched his ears, and bleared his sight, +And captivated all his senses so, +That he was not himself; nor did he know +What place he was in, or how he came there, +But greedily he feeds his eye and ear +With what would ruin him;-- + * * * * * + Next unto his view +She represents a banquet, ushered in +By such a shape as she was sure would win +His appetite to taste; so like she was +To his Clarinda, both in shape and face; +So voiced, so habited, of the same gait +And comely gesture; on her brow in state +Sat such a princely majesty, as he +Had noted in Clarinda; save that she +Had a more wanton eye, that here and there +Rolled up and down, not settling any where. +Down on the ground she falls his hand to kiss, +And with her tears bedews it; cold as ice +He felt her lips, that yet inflamed him so, +That he was all on fire the truth to know, +Whether she was the same she did appear, +Or whether some fantastic form it were, +Fashioned in his imagination +By his still working thoughts, so fixed upon +His loved Clarinda, that his fancy strove, +Even with her shadow, to express his love. + + + + +CATHARINE PHILLIPS. + + +Very little is known of the life of this lady-poet. She was born in +1631. Her maiden name was Fowler. She married James Phillips, Esq., of +the Priory of Cardigan. Her poems, published under the name of "Orinda," +were very popular in her lifetime, although it was said they were +published without her consent. She translated two of the tragedies of +Corneille, and left a volume of letters to Sir Charles Cotterell. These, +however, did not appear till after her death. She died of small-pox +--then a deadly disease--in 1664. She seems to have been a favourite +alike with the wits and the divines of her age. Jeremy Taylor addressed +to her his "Measures and Offices of Friendship;" Dryden praised her; and +Flatman and Cowley, besides imitating her poems while she was living, +paid rhymed tributes to her memory when dead. Her verses are never +commonplace, and always sensible, if they hardly attain to the measure +and the stature of lofty poetry, + + +THE INQUIRY. + +1 If we no old historian's name + Authentic will admit, + But think all said of friendship's fame + But poetry or wit; + Yet what's revered by minds so pure + Must be a bright idea sure. + +2 But as our immortality + By inward sense we find, + Judging that if it could not be, + It would not be designed: + So here how could such copies fall, + If there were no original? + +3 But if truth be in ancient song, + Or story we believe; + If the inspired and greater throng + Have scorned to deceive; + There have been hearts whose friendship gave + Them thoughts at once both soft and grave. + +4 Among that consecrated crew + Some more seraphic shade + Lend me a favourable clew, + Now mists my eyes invade. + Why, having filled the world with fame, + Left you so little of your flame? + +5 Why is't so difficult to see + Two bodies and one mind? + And why are those who else agree + So difficultly kind? + Hath Nature such fantastic art, + That she can vary every heart? + +6 Why are the bands of friendship tied + With so remiss a knot, + That by the most it is defied, + And by the most forgot? + Why do we step with so light sense + From friendship to indifference? + +7 If friendship sympathy impart, + Why this ill-shuffled game, + That heart can never meet with heart, + Or flame encounter flame? + What does this cruelty create? + Is't the intrigue of love or fate? + +8 Had friendship ne'er been known to men, + (The ghost at last confessed) + The world had then a stranger been + To all that heaven possessed. + But could it all be here acquired, + Not heaven itself would be desired. + + +A FRIEND. + +1 Love, nature's plot, this great creation's soul, + The being and the harmony of things, + Doth still preserve and propagate the whole, + From whence man's happiness and safety springs: + The earliest, whitest, blessed'st times did draw + From her alone their universal law. + +2 Friendship's an abstract of this noble flame, + 'Tis love refined and purged from all its dross, + The next to angels' love, if not the same, + As strong in passion is, though not so gross: + It antedates a glad eternity, + And is an heaven in epitome. + + * * * * * + +3 Essential honour must be in a friend, + Not such as every breath fans to and fro; + But born within, is its own judge and end, + And dares not sin though sure that none should know. + Where friendship's spoke, honesty's understood; + For none can be a friend that is not good. + + * * * * * + +4 Thick waters show no images of things; + Friends are each other's mirrors, and should be + Clearer than crystal or the mountain springs, + And free from clouds, design, or flattery. + For vulgar souls no part of friendship share; + Poets and friends are born to what they are. + + + + +MARGARET, DUCHESS OF NEWCASTLE. + + +This lady, if not more of a woman than Mrs Phillips, was considerably +more of a poet. She was born (probably) about 1625. She was the daughter +of Sir Charles Lucas, and became a maid-of-honour to Henrietta Maria. +Accompanying the Queen to France, she met with the Marquis, afterwards +Duke of Newcastle, and married him at Paris in 1645. They removed to +Antwerp, and there, in 1653, this lady published a volume, entitled +'Poems and Fancies.' The pair aided each other in their studies, and the +result was a number of enormous folios of poems, plays, speeches, and +philosophical disquisitions. These volumes were, we are told, great +favourites of Coleridge and Charles Lamb, for the sake, we presume, of +the wild sparks of insight and genius which break irresistibly through +the scholastic smoke and bewildered nonsense. When Charles II. was +restored, the Marquis and his wife returned to England, and spent their +life in great harmony. She died in 1673, leaving behind her some +beautiful fantasias, where the meaning is often finer than the music, +such as the 'Pastime and Recreation of Fairies in Fairy-land.' Her +poetry, particularly her contrasted pictures of Mirth and Melancholy, +present fine accumulations of imagery drawn direct from nature, and +shewn now in brightest sunshine, and now in softest moonlight, as the +change of her subject and her tone of feeling require. + + +MELANCHOLY DESCRIBED BY MIRTH. + +Her voice is low, and gives a hollow sound; +She hates the light, and is in darkness found; +Or sits with blinking lamps, or tapers small, +Which various shadows make against the wall. +She loves nought else but noise which discord makes, +As croaking frogs, whose dwelling is in lakes; +The raven's hoarse, the mandrake's hollow groan, +And shrieking owls which fly i' the night alone; +The tolling bell, which for the dead rings out; +A mill, where rushing waters run about; +The roaring winds, which shake the cedars tall, +Plough up the seas, and beat the rocks withal. +She loves to walk in the still moonshine night, +And in a thick dark grove she takes delight; +In hollow caves, thatched houses, and low cells, +She loves to live, and there alone she dwells. + + +MELANCHOLY DESCRIBING HERSELF. + +I dwell in groves that gilt are with the sun; +Sit on the banks by which clear waters run; +In summers hot, down in a shade I lie; +My music is the buzzing of a fly; +I walk in meadows, where grows fresh green grass; +In fields, where corn is high, I often pass; +Walk up the hills, where round I prospects see, +Some brushy woods, and some all champaigns be; +Returning back, I in fresh pastures go, +To hear how sheep do bleat, and cows do low; +In winter cold, when nipping frosts come on, +Then I do live in a small house alone; +Although 'tis plain, yet cleanly 'tis within, +Like to a soul that's pure, and clear from sin; +And there I dwell in quiet and still peace, +Not filled with cares how riches to increase; +I wish nor seek for vain and fruitless pleasures; +No riches are, but what the mind intreasures. +Thus am I solitary, live alone, +Yet better loved, the more that I am known; +And though my face ill-favoured at first sight, +After acquaintance, it will give delight. +Refuse me not, for I shall constant be; +Maintain your credit and your dignity. + + + + +THOMAS STANLEY. + + +Thomas Stanley, like Thomas Brown in later days, was both a philosopher +and a poet; but his philosophical reputation at the time eclipsed his +poetical. He was the only son of Sir Thomas Stanley of Camberlow Green, +in Hertfordshire, and was born in 1620. He received his education at +Pembroke College, Oxford; and after travelling for some years abroad, +he took up his abode in the Middle Temple. Here he seems to have spent +the rest of his life in patient and multifarious studies. He made +translations of some merit from Anacreon, Bion, Moschus, and the +'Kisses' of Secundus, as well as from Marino, Boscan, Tristan, and +Gongora. He wrote a work of great pretensions as a compilation, entitled +'The History of Philosophy,' containing the lives, opinions, actions, +and discourses of philosophers of every sect, of which he published the +first volume in 1655, and completed it in a fourth in 1662. It is rather +a vast collection of the materials for a history, than a history itself. +He is a Cudworth in magnitude and learning, but not in strength and +comprehension, and is destitute of precision and clearness of style. +Stanley also wrote some poems, which discover powers that might have +been better employed in original composition than in translation. +His style, rich of itself, is enriched to repletion by conceits, and +sometimes by voluptuous sentiments and language. He adds a new flush to +the cheek of Anacreon himself; and his grapes are so heavy, that not a +staff, but a wain were required to bear them. Stanley died in 1678. + + +CELIA SINGING. + +1 Roses in breathing forth their scent, + Or stars their borrowed ornament; + Nymphs in their watery sphere that move, + Or angels in their orbs above; + The winged chariot of the light, + Or the slow, silent wheels of night; + The shade which from the swifter sun + Doth in a swifter motion run, + Or souls that their eternal rest do keep, + Make far less noise than Celia's breath in sleep. + +2 But if the angel which inspires + This subtle flame with active fires, + Should mould this breath to words, and those + Into a harmony dispose, + The music of this heavenly sphere + Would steal each soul (in) at the ear, + And into plants and stones infuse + A life that cherubim would choose, + And with new powers invert the laws of fate, + Kill those that live, and dead things animate. + + +SPEAKING AND KISSING. + +1 The air which thy smooth voice doth break, + Into my soul like lightning flies; + My life retires while thou dost speak, + And thy soft breath its room supplies. + +2 Lost in this pleasing ecstasy, + I join my trembling lips to thine, + And back receive that life from thee + Which I so gladly did resign. + +3 Forbear, Platonic fools! t'inquire + What numbers do the soul compose; + No harmony can life inspire, + But that which from these accents flows. + + +LA BELLE CONFIDANTE. + +You earthly souls that court a wanton flame + Whose pale, weak influence +Can rise no higher than the humble name + And narrow laws of sense, +Learn, by our friendship, to create + An immaterial fire, +Whose brightness angels may admire, + But cannot emulate. +Sickness may fright the roses from her cheek, + Or make the lilies fade, +But all the subtle ways that death doth seek + Cannot my love invade. + + +THE LOSS. + +1 Yet ere I go, + Disdainful Beauty, thou shalt be + So wretched as to know + What joys thou fling'st away with me. + +2 A faith so bright, + As Time or Fortune could not rust; + So firm, that lovers might + Have read thy story in my dust, + +3 And crowned thy name + With laurel verdant as thy youth, + Whilst the shrill voice of Fame + Spread wide thy beauty and my truth. + +4 This thou hast lost, + For all true lovers, when they find + That my just aims were crossed, + Will speak thee lighter than the wind. + +5 And none will lay + Any oblation on thy shrine, + But such as would betray + Thy faith to faiths as false as thine. + +6 Yet, if thou choose + On such thy freedom to bestow, + Affection may excuse, + For love from sympathy doth flow. + + +NOTE ON ANACREON. + +Let's not rhyme the hours away; +Friends! we must no longer play: +Brisk Lyaeus--see!--invites +To more ravishing delights. +Let's give o'er this fool Apollo, +Nor his fiddle longer follow: +Fie upon his forked hill, +With his fiddlestick and quill; +And the Muses, though they're gamesome, +They are neither young nor handsome; +And their freaks in sober sadness +Are a mere poetic madness: +Pegasus is but a horse; +He that follows him is worse. +See, the rain soaks to the skin, +Make it rain as well within. +Wine, my boy; we'll sing and laugh, +All night revel, rant, and quaff; +Till the morn, stealing behind us, +At the table sleepless find us. +When our bones, alas! shall have +A cold lodging in the grave; +When swift Death shall overtake us, +We shall sleep and none can wake us. +Drink we then the juice o' the vine +Make our breasts Lyaeus' shrine; +Bacchus, our debauch beholding, +By thy image I am moulding, +Whilst my brains I do replenish +With this draught of unmixed Rhenish; +By thy full-branched ivy twine; +By this sparkling glass of wine; +By thy Thyrsus so renowned: +By the healths with which th' art crowned; +By the feasts which thou dost prize; +By thy numerous victories; +By the howls by Moenads made; +By this haut-gout carbonade; +By thy colours red and white; +By the tavern, thy delight; +By the sound thy orgies spread; +By the shine of noses red; +By thy table free for all; +By the jovial carnival; +By thy language cabalistic; +By thy cymbal, drum, and his stick; +By the tunes thy quart-pots strike up; +By thy sighs, the broken hiccup; +By thy mystic set of ranters; +By thy never-tamed panthers; +By this sweet, this fresh and free air; +By thy goat, as chaste as we are; +By thy fulsome Cretan lass; +By the old man on the ass; +By thy cousins in mixed shapes; +By the flower of fairest grapes; +By thy bisks famed far and wide; +By thy store of neats'-tongues dried; +By thy incense, Indian smoke; +By the joys thou dost provoke; +By this salt Westphalia gammon; +By these sausages that inflame one; +By thy tall majestic flagons; +By mass, tope, and thy flapdragons; +By this olive's unctuous savour; +By this orange, the wine's flavour; +By this cheese o'errun with mites; +By thy dearest favourites; +To thy frolic order call us, +Knights of the deep bowl install us; +And to show thyself divine, +Never let it want for wine. + + + + +ANDREW MARVELL. + + +This noble-minded patriot and poet, the friend of Milton, the Abdiel of a +dark and corrupt age,--'faithful found among the faithless, faithful only +he,'--was born in Hull in 1620. He was sent to Cambridge, and is said +there to have nearly fallen a victim to the proselytising Jesuits, who +enticed him to London. His father, however, a clergyman in Hull, went +in search of and brought him back to his university, where speedily, by +extensive culture and the vigorous exercise of his powerful faculties, +he emancipated himself for ever from the dominion, and the danger of the +dominion, of superstition and bigotry. We know little more about the early +days of our poet. When only twenty, he lost his father in remarkable +circumstances. In 1640, he had embarked on the Humber in company with a +youthful pair whom he was to marry at Barrow, in Lincolnshire. The weather +was calm; but Marvell, seized with a sudden presentiment of danger, threw +his staff ashore, and cried out, 'Ho for heaven!' A storm came on, and the +whole company perished. In consequence of this sad event, the gentleman, +whose daughter was to have been married, conceiving that the father had +sacrificed his life while performing an act of friendship, adopted young +Marvell as his son. Owing to this, he received a better education, and +was sent abroad to travel. It is said that at Rome he met and formed a +friendship with Milton, then engaged on his immortal continental tour. +We find Marvell next at Constantinople, as Secretary to the English +Embassy at that Court. We then lose sight of him till 1653, when he was +engaged by the Protector to superintend the education of a Mr Dutton at +Eton. For a year and a half after Cromwell's death, Marvell assisted +Milton as Latin Secretary to the Protector. Our readers are all familiar +with the print of Cromwell and Milton seated together at the council-table, +--the one the express image of active power and rugged grandeur, the other +of thoughtful majesty and ethereal grace. Marvell might have been added as +a third, and become the emblem of strong English sense and incorruptible +integrity. A letter of Milton's was, not long since, discovered, dated +February 1652, in which he speaks of Marvell as fitted, by his knowledge +of Latin and his experience of teaching, to be his assistant. He was not +appointed, however, till 1657. In 1660, he became member for Hull, and was +re-elected as long as he lived. He was absent, however, from England for +two years, in the beginning of the reign, in Germany and Holland. After- +wards he sought leave from his constituents to act as Ambassador's +Secretary to Lord Carlisle at the Northern Courts; but from the year 1665 +to his death, his attention to his parliamentary duties was unremitting. +He constantly corresponded with his constituents; and after the longest +sittings, he used to write out for their use a minute account of public +proceedings ere he went to bed, or took any refreshment. He was one of +the last members who received pay from the town he represented; (2s. +a-day was probably the sum;) and his constituents were wont, besides, to +send him barrels of ale as tokens of their regard. Marvell spoke little +in the House; but his heart and vote were always in the right place. Even +Prince Eupert continually consulted him, and was sometimes persuaded by +him to support the popular side; and King Charles having met him once in +private, was so delighted with his wit and agreeable manners, that he +thought him worth trying to bribe. He sent Lord Danby to offer him a mark +of his Majesty's consideration. Marvell, who was seated in a dingy room +up several flights of stairs, declined the proffer, and, it is said, +called his servant to witness that he had dined for three successive days +on the same shoulder of mutton, and was not likely, therefore, to care +for or need a bribe. When the Treasurer was gone, he had to send to a +friend to borrow a guinea. Although, a silent senator, Marvell was a +copious and popular writer. He attacked Bishop Parker for his slavish +principles, in a piece entitled 'The Rehearsal Transposed,' in which he +takes occasion to vindicate and panegyrise his old colleague Milton. His +anonymous 'Account of the Growth of Arbitrary Power and Popery in England' +excited a sensation, and a reward was offered for the apprehension of the +author and printer. Marvell had many of the elements of a first-rate +political pamphleteer. He had wit of a most pungent kind, great though +coarse fertility of fancy, and a spirit of independence that nothing could +subdue or damp. He was the undoubted ancestor of the Defoes, Swifts, +Steeles, Juniuses, and Burkes, in whom this kind of authorship reached its +perfection, ceased to be fugitive, and assumed classical rank. + +Marvell had been repeatedly threatened with assassination, and hence, +when he died suddenly on the 16th of August 1678, it was surmised that +he had been removed by poison. The Corporation of Hull voted a sum to +defray his funeral expenses, and for raising a monument to his memory; +but owing to the interference of the Court, through the rector of the +parish, this votive tablet was not at the time erected. He was buried in +St Giles-in-the-Fields. + +'Out of the strong came forth sweetness,' saith the Hebrew record. And +so from the sturdy Andrew Marvell have proceeded such soft and lovely +strains as 'The Emigrants,' 'The Nymph complaining for the Death of her +Fawn,' 'Young Love,' &c. The statue of Memnon became musical at the dawn; +and the stern patriot, whom no bribe could buy and no flattery melt, is +found sympathising in song with a boatful of banished Englishmen in the +remote Bermudas, and inditing 'Thoughts in a Garden,' from which you might +suppose that he had spent his life more with melons than with men, and was +better acquainted with the motions of a bee-hive than with the contests of +Parliament, and the distractions of a most distracted age. It was said +(not with thorough truth) of Milton, that he could cut out a Colossus from +a rock, but could not carve heads upon cherry-stones--a task which his +assistant may be said to have performed in his stead, in his small but +delectable copies of verse. + + +THE EMIGRANTS. + +1 Where the remote Bermudas ride, + In the ocean's bosom unespied, + From a small boat that rowed along, + The listening winds received this song. + +2 'What should we do but sing His praise + That led us through the watery maze, + Unto an isle so long unknown, + And yet far kinder than our own! + +3 'Where he the huge sea-monsters racks, + That lift the deep upon their backs; + He lands us on a grassy stage, + Safe from the storms and prelates' rage. + +4 'He gave us this eternal spring + Which here enamels everything, + And sends the fowls to us in care, + On daily visits through the air. + +5 'He hangs in shades the orange bright, + Like golden lamps in a green night: + * * * * * + And in these rocks for us did frame + A temple where to sound his name. + +6 'Oh, let our voice his praise exalt + Till it arrive at heaven's vault, + Which then perhaps rebounding may + Echo beyond the Mexique bay.' + +7 Thus sung they in the English boat, + A holy and a cheerful note; + And all the way, to guide their chime, + With falling oars they kept the time. + + +THE NYMPH COMPLAINING FOR THE DEATH OF HER FAWN. + +The wanton troopers riding by +Have shot my fawn, and it will die. +Ungentle men! they cannot thrive +Who killed thee. Thou ne'er didst alive +Them any harm; alas! nor could +Thy death to them do any good. +I'm sure I never wished them ill; +Nor do I for all this; nor will: +But, if my simple prayers may yet +Prevail with Heaven to forget +Thy murder, I will join my tears, +Rather than fail. But, O my fears! +It cannot die so. Heaven's King +Keeps register of every thing, +And nothing may we use in vain: +Even beasts must be with justice slain. + + * * * * * + +Inconstant Sylvio, when yet +I had not found him counterfeit, +One morning (I remember well) +Tied in this silver chain and bell, +Gave it to me: nay, and I know +What he said then: I'm sure I do. +Said he, 'Look how your huntsman here +Hath taught a fawn to hunt his deer.' +But Sylvio soon had me beguiled. +This waxed tame while he grew wild, +And, quite regardless of my smart, +Left me his fawn, but took his heart. +Thenceforth I set myself to play +My solitary time away +With this, and very well content +Could so my idle life have spent; +For it was full of sport, and light +Of foot and heart; and did invite +Me to its game; it seemed to bless +Itself in me. How could I less +Than love it? Oh, I cannot be +Unkind to a beast that loveth me! +Had it lived long, I do not know +Whether it too might have done so +As Sylvio did; his gifts might be +Perhaps as false, or more, than he. +But I am sure, for aught that I +Could in so short a time espy, +Thy love was far more better than +The love of false and cruel man. +With sweetest milk and sugar first +I it at my own fingers nursed; +And as it grew, so every day +It waxed more white and sweet than they: +It had so sweet a breath; and oft +I blushed to see its foot more soft +And white, shall I say, than my hand? +Nay, any lady's of the land. +It is a wondrous thing how fleet +'Twas on those little silver feet; +With what a pretty skipping grace +It oft would challenge me the race; +And when't had left me far away, +'Twould stay, and run again, and stay; +For it was nimbler much than hinds, +And trod as if on the four winds. +I have a garden of my own, +But so with roses overgrown, +And lilies, that you would it guess +To be a little wilderness, +And all the spring-time of the year +It only loved to be there. +Among the beds of lilies I +Have sought it oft where it should lie, +Yet could not, till itself would rise, +Find it, although before mine eyes; +For in the flaxen lilies' shade +It like a bank of lilies laid; +Upon the roses it would feed, +Until its lips e'en seemed to bleed; +And then to me 'twould boldly trip, +And print those roses on my lip. +But all its chief delight was still +On roses thus itself to fill, +And its pure virgin limbs to fold +In whitest sheets of lilies cold. +Had it lived long, it would have been +Lilies without, roses within. * * * + + +ON PARADISE LOST. + +When I beheld the poet blind, yet bold, +In slender book his vast design unfold, +Messiah crowned, God's reconciled decree, +Rebelling angels, the forbidden tree, +Heaven, Hell, Earth, Chaos, all; the argument +Held me a while misdoubting his intent, +That he would ruin (for I saw him strong) +The sacred truths to fable and old song; +(So Sampson groped the temple's posts in spite) +The world o'erwhelming to revenge his sight. + +Yet as I read, still growing less severe, +I liked his project, the success did fear; +Through that wild field how he his way should find, +O'er which lame Faith leads Understanding blind; +Lest he'd perplex the things he would explain, +And what was easy he should render vain. + +Or if a work so infinite be spanned, +Jealous I was that some less skilful hand +(Such as disquiet always what is well, +And, by ill imitating, would excel) +Might hence presume the whole creation's day +To change in scenes, and show it in a play. + +Pardon me, mighty poet, nor despise +My causeless, yet not impious, surmise. +But I am now convinced, and none will dare +Within thy labours to pretend a share. +Thou hast not missed one thought that could be fit. +And all that was improper dost omit; +So that no room is here for writers left, +But to detect their ignorance or theft. + +That majesty, which through thy work doth reign, +Draws the devout, deterring the profane. +And things divine thou treat'st of in such state +As them preserves, and thee, inviolate. +At once delight and horror on us seize, +Thou sing'st with so much gravity and ease; +And above human flight dost soar aloft +With plume so strong, so equal, and so soft. +The bird named from that Paradise you sing, +So never flags, but always keeps on wing. + +Where couldst thou words of such a compass find? +Whence furnish such a vast expanse of mind? +Just Heaven thee, like Tiresias, to requite, +Rewards with prophecy thy loss of sight. + +Well mightst thou scorn thy readers to allure +With tinkling rhyme, of thy own sense secure; +While the Town-Bays writes all the while and spells, +And like a pack-horse tires without his bells: +Their fancies like our bushy points appear; +The poets tag them, we for fashion wear. +I too, transported by the mode, offend, +And while I meant to praise thee, must commend. +Thy verse created, like thy theme, sublime, +In number, weight, and measure, needs not rhyme. + + +THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN. + +1 How vainly men themselves amaze, + To win the palm, the oak, or bays! + And their incessant labours see + Crowned from some single herb or tree, + Whose short and narrow-verged shade + Does prudently their toils upbraid; + While all the flowers and trees do close, + To weave the garlands of repose. + +2 Fair Quiet, have I found thee here, + And Innocence, thy sister dear? + Mistaken long, I sought you then + In busy companies of men. + Your sacred plants, if here below, + Only among the plants will grow. + Society is all but rude + To this delicious solitude. + +3 No white nor red was ever seen + So amorous as this lovely green. + Fond lovers, cruel as their flame, + Cut in these trees their mistress' name. + Little, alas, they know or heed, + How far these beauties her exceed! + Fair trees! where'er your barks I wound, + No name shall but your own be found. + +4 What wondrous life in this I lead! + Ripe apples drop about my head. + The luscious clusters of the vine + Upon my mouth do crush their wine. + The nectarine, and curious peach, + Into my hands themselves do reach. + Stumbling on melons as I pass, + Ensnared with flowers, I fall on grass. + +5 Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less + Withdraws into its happiness. + The mind, that ocean where each kind + Does straight its own resemblance find; + Yet it creates, transcending these, + Far other worlds and other seas; + Annihilating all that's made + To a green thought in a green shade. + +6 Here at the fountain's sliding foot, + Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, + Casting the body's vest aside, + My soul into the boughs does glide; + There, like a bird, it sits and sings, + Then whets and claps its silver wings, + And, till prepared for longer flight, + Waves in its plumes the various light. + +7 Such was the happy garden state, + While man there walked without a mate: + After a place so pure and sweet, + What other help could yet be meet! + But 'twas beyond a mortal's share + To wander solitary there: + Two paradises are in one, + To live in paradise alone. + +8 How well the skilful gard'ner drew + Of flowers and herbs this dial new! + Where, from above, the milder sun + Does through a fragrant zodiac run: + And, as it works, the industrious bee + Computes its time as well as we. + How could such sweet and wholesome hours + Be reckoned but with herbs and flowers? + + +SATIRE ON HOLLAND. + +Holland, that scarce deserves the name of land, +As but the offscouring of the British sand; +And so much earth as was contributed +By English pilots when they heaved the lead; +Or what by the ocean's slow alluvion fell, +Of shipwrecked cockle and the mussel-shell; +This indigested vomit of the sea +Fell to the Dutch by just propriety. +Glad then, as miners who have found the ore, +They, with mad labour, fished the land to shore: +And dived as desperately for each piece +Of earth, as if't had been of ambergris; +Collecting anxiously small loads of clay, +Less than what building swallows bear away; +Or than those pills which sordid beetles roll, +Transfusing into them their dunghill soul. +How did they rivet, with gigantic piles, +Thorough the centre their new-catched miles; +And to the stake a struggling country bound, +Where barking waves still bait the forced ground; +Building their watery Babel far more high +To reach the sea, than those to scale the sky. +Yet still his claim the injured Ocean laid, +And oft at leap-frog o'er their steeples played; +As if on purpose it on land had come +To show them what's their _mare liberum_. +A daily deluge over them does boil; +The earth and water play at level-coil. +The fish oft-times the burgher dispossessed, +And sat, not as a meat, but as a guest; +And oft the Tritons, and the sea-nymphs, saw +Whole shoals of Dutch served up for Cabillau; +Or, as they over the new level ranged, +For pickled herring, pickled heeren changed. +Nature, it seemed, ashamed of her mistake, +Would throw their land away at duck and drake, +Therefore necessity, that first made kings, +Something like government among them brings. +For, as with Pigmies, who best kills the crane, +Among the hungry he that treasures grain, +Among the blind the one-eyed blinkard reigns, +So rules among the drowned he that drains. +Not who first see the rising sun commands, +But who could first discern the rising lands. +Who best could know to pump an earth so leak, +Him they their lord, and country's father, speak. +To make a bank was a great plot of state; +Invent a shovel, and be a magistrate. +Hence some small dikegrave unperceived invades +The power, and grows, as 'twere, a king of spades; +But, for less envy some joined states endures, +Who look like a commission of the sewers: +For these half-anders, half-wet and half-dry, +Nor bear strict service, nor pure liberty. +'Tis probable religion, after this, +Came next in order; which they could not miss. +How could the Dutch but be converted, when +The apostles were so many fishermen? +Besides, the waters of themselves did rise, +And, as their land, so them did re-baptize; +Though herring for their God few voices missed, +And Poor-John to have been the Evangelist. +Faith, that could never twins conceive before, +Never so fertile, spawned upon this shore +More pregnant than their Marg'ret, that laid down +For Hands-in-Kelder of a whole Hans-Town. +Sure, when religion did itself embark, +And from the east would westward steer its ark, +It struck, and splitting on this unknown ground, +Each one thence pillaged the first piece he found: +Hence Amsterdam, Turk, Christian, Pagan, Jew, +Staple of sects, and mint of schism grew; +That bank of conscience, where not one so strange +Opinion, but finds credit, and exchange. +In vain for Catholics ourselves we bear: +The universal church is only there. * * * + + + + +IZAAK WALTON. + + +This amiable enemy of the finny tribe was born in Stafford, in August +1593. We hear of him first as settled in London, following the trade +of a sempster, or linen-draper, having a shop in the Royal Burse, in +Cornhill, which was 'seven feet and a half long, and five wide,' and +where he became possessed of a moderate fortune. He spent his leisure +time in fishing 'with honest Nat and R. Roe.' From the Royal Burse, he +removed to Fleet Street, where he had 'one half of a shop,' a hosier +occupying the other half. In 1632, he married Anne, the daughter of +Thomas Ken of Furnival's Inn, and sister of Dr Ken, the celebrated +Bishop of Bath and Wells. Through her and her kindred, he became +acquainted with many eminent men of the day. His wife, 'a woman of +remarkable prudence and primitive piety,' died long before him. He +retired from business in 1643, and lived, for forty years after, a life +of leisure and quiet enjoyment, spending much of his time in the houses +of his friends, and much of it by the still waters, which he so dearly +loved. Walton commenced his literary career by writing a Life of Dr +Donne, and followed with another of Sir Henry Wotton, prefixed to his +literary remains. In 1653 appeared his 'Complete Angler,' four editions +of which were called for before his decease. He wrote, in 1662, a Life +of Richard Hooker; in 1670, a Life of George Herbert; and, in 1678, a +Life of Bishop Sanderson--all distinguished by _naivete_ and heart. In +1680, he published an anonymous discourse on the 'Distempers of the +Times.' In 1683, he printed, as we have seen, Chalkhill's 'Thealma and +Clearchus;' and on the 15th of December in the same year, he died at +Winchester, while residing with his son-in-law, Dr Hawkins, Prebendary +of Winchester Cathedral. + +Walton is one of the most loveable of all authors. Your admiration of +him is always melting into affection. Red as his and is with the blood +of fish, you pant to grasp it and press it to yours. You go with him +to the fishing as you would with a bright-eyed boy, relishing his +simple-hearted enthusiasm, and leaning down to listen to his precocious +remarks, and to pat his curly head. It is the prevalence of the +childlike element which makes Walton's 'Angler' rank with Bunyan's +'Pilgrim,' 'Robinson Crusoe,' and White's 'Natural History of Selborne,' +as among the most delightful books in the language. Its descriptions of +nature, too, are so fresh, that you smell to them as to a green leaf. +Walton would not have been at home fishing in the Forth or Clyde, or in +such rivers as are found in Norway, the milk-blue Logen, or the grass- +green Rauma, uniting, with its rich mediation, Romsdale Horn to the +tremendous Witch-Peaks which lower on the opposite side of the valley; +--the waters of his own dear England, going softly and somewhat drowsily +on their path, are the sources of his inspiration, and seem to sound like +the echoes of his own subdued but gladsome spirit. Johnson defined angling +as a rod with a fish at one end, and a fool at the other; in Walton's +case, we may correct the expression to 'a rod with a fish at one end, and +a fine old fellow--the "ae best fellow in the world"--at the other'-- + + 'In wit a man, simplicity a child.' + +We have given a specimen of the verse he intersperses sparingly in a +book which _is itself a complete poem._ + + +THE ANGLER'S WISH. + +1 I in these flowery meads would be: + These crystal streams should solace me, + To whose harmonious bubbling noise + I with my angle would rejoice: + Sit here and see the turtle-dove + Court his chaste mate to acts of love: + +2 Or on that bank feel the west wind + Breathe health and plenty: please my mind + To see sweet dew-drops kiss these flowers, + And then washed off by April showers! + Here hear my Kenna sing a song, + There see a blackbird feed her young, + +3 Or a leverock build her nest: + Here give my weary spirits rest, + And raise my low-pitched thoughts above + Earth, or what poor mortals love; + Or, with my Bryan[1] and my book, + Loiter long days near Shawford brook: + +4 There sit by him and eat my meat, + There see the sun both rise and set, + There bid good morning to next day, + There meditate my time away, + And angle on, and beg to have + A quiet passage to the grave. + +[1] Probably his dog. + + + + +JOHN WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER + + +We hear of the Spirit of Evil on one occasion entering into swine, but, +if possible, a stranger sight is that of the Spirit of Poesy finding a +similar incarnation. Certainly the connexion of genius in the Earl of +Rochester with a life of the most degrading and desperate debauchery is +one of the chief marvels of this marvellous world. + +John Wilmot was the son of Henry, Lord Rochester, and was born April 10, +1647, at Ditchley in Oxfordshire. He was taught grammar at the school of +Burford. He then 'entered a nobleman' into Wadham College, when twelve +years old, and at 1661, when only fourteen, he was, in conjunction with +some others of rank, made M.A. by Lord Clarendon in person. Pursuing his +travels in France and Italy, he went in 1665 to sea with the Earl of +Sandwich, and distinguished himself at Bergen in an attack on the Dutch +fleet. Next year, while serving under Sir Edward Spragge, his commander +sent him in the heat of an engagement with a reproof to one of his +captains--a duty which Wilmot gallantly accomplished amidst a storm of +shot. With this early courage some of his biographers have contrasted +his subsequent reputation for cowardice, his slinking away out of +street-quarrels, his refusing to fight the Duke of Buckingham, &c. This +diversity at different periods may perhaps be accounted for on the +ground of the nervousness which continued dissipation produces, and +perhaps from his poetical temperament. A poet, we are persuaded, is +often the bravest, and often the most pusillanimous of men. Byron was +unquestionably in general a brave, almost a pugnacious man; and yet he +confesses that at certain times, had one proceeded to horsewhip him, +he would not have had the hardihood to resist. Shelley, who, in a +tremendous storm, behaved with dauntless heroism, and who would at any +time have acted on the example of his own character in 'Prometheus,' +who, in a shipwreck, + + 'gave an enemy + His plank, then plunged aside to die,' + +was yet subject to paroxysms of nervous horror, which made him perspire +and tremble like a spirit-seeing steed. Rochester had the same +temperament, and a similar creed, with these men, although inferior to +them both in _morale_ and in genius. + +His character was certainly very depraved. He told Burnet on his +deathbed that for five years he had not known the sensation of sobriety, +having been all that time either totally drunk, or mad through the dregs +of drunkenness. He on one occasion, while in this state, erected a stage +on Tower Hill, and addressed the mob as a naked mountebank. Even after +he became more temperate, he continued and even increased his +licentiousness--one devil went out, and seven entered in. He pursued low +amours in disguise; he practised occasionally as a quack doctor; and at +other times he retired to the country, and, like Byron, amused himself +by libelling all his acquaintances--every line in each libel being a +lie. Notwithstanding all this, he was a favourite with Charles II., who +made him one of the gentlemen of the bedchamber, and comptroller of +Woodstock Park. In his lucid intervals he recurred to his studies, wrote +occasional verses, read in French Boileau and in English Cowley, and is +called by Wood the best scholar among all the nobility. + +At last, ere he was thirty-one, the 'dreary old sort of feel,' and the +'rigid fibre and stiffening limbs,' of which Byron and Burns, when +scarcely older, complained, began to assail Rochester. He had exhausted +his capacity of enjoyment by excess, and had deprived himself of the +consolations of religion by infidelity. His unbelief was not like +Shelley's--the growth of his own mind, and the fruit of unbridled, +though earnest, speculation;--it was merely a drug which he snatched +from the laboratories of others to deaden his remorse, and enable him to +look with desperate calmness to the blotted Past and the lowering +Future. At this stage of his career, he became acquainted with Bishop +Burnet, who has recorded his conversion and edifying end in a book +which, says Johnson, 'the critic ought to read for its elegance, the +philosopher for its arguments, and the saint for its piety.' To this, +after Johnson's example, we refer our readers. Eochester died July 26, +1680, before he had completed his thirty-fourth year. He was married, +and left three daughters and a son named Charles, who did not long +survive his father. With him the male line ceased, and the title was +conferred on a younger son of Lord Clarendon. His poems appeared in the +year of his death, professing on the title-page to be printed at +Antwerp. They contain much that is spurious, but some productions that +are undoubtedly Rochester's. They are at the best, poor fragmentary +exhibitions of a vigorous, but undisciplined mind. His songs are rather +easy than lively. His imitations are distinguished by grace and spirit. +His 'Nothing' is a tissue of clever conceits, like gaudy weeds growing +on a sterile soil, but here and there contains a grand and gloomy image, +such as-- + + 'And rebel Light obscured thy reverend dusky face.' + +His 'Satire against Man' might be praised for its vigorous misanthropy, +but is chiefly copied from Boileau. + +Rochester may be signalised as the first thoroughly depraved and vicious +person, so far as we remember, who assumed the office of the satirist, +--the first, although not, alas! the last human imitator of 'Satan +accusing Sin.' Some satirists before him had been faulty characters, +while rather inconsistently assailing the faults of others; but here, +for the first time, was a man of no virtue, or belief in virtue whatever, +(his tenderness to his family, revealed in his letters, is just that of +the tiger fondling his cubs, and seeming, perhaps, to _them_ a 'much- +misrepresented character,') and whose life was one mass of wounds, +bruises, and putrefying sores,--a naked satyr who gloried in his shame, +--becoming a severe castigator of public morals and of private character. +Surely there was a gross anomaly implied in this, which far greater +genius than Rochester's could never have redeemed. + + +SONG. + +1 Too late, alas! I must confess, + You need not arts to move me; + Such charms by nature you possess, + 'Twere madness not to love ye. + +2 Then spare a heart you may surprise, + And give my tongue the glory + To boast, though my unfaithful eyes + Betray a tender story. + + +SONG. + +1 My dear mistress has a heart + Soft as those kind looks she gave me, + When with love's resistless art, + And her eyes, she did enslave me. + But her constancy's so weak, + She's so wild and apt to wander, + That my jealous heart would break + Should we live one day asunder. + +2 Melting joys about her move, + Killing pleasures, wounding blisses: + She can dress her eyes in love, + And her lips can warm with kisses. + Angels listen when she speaks, + She's my delight, all mankind's wonder; + But my jealous heart would break, + Should we live one day asunder. + + + + +THE EARL OF ROSCOMMON. + + +Wentworth Dillon, Earl of Roscommon, was the son of James Dillon and +Elizabeth Wentworth. She was the sister of the infamous Strafford, who +was at once uncle and godfather to our poet. In what exact year Dillon +was born is uncertain, but it was some time about 1633. His father had +been converted from Popery by Usher; and when the Irish Rebellion broke +out, Strafford, afraid of the fury of the Irish, sent for his godson, +and took him to his own seat in Yorkshire, where he was taught Latin +with great care. He was sent afterwards to Caen, where he studied under +Bochart. It is said that while playing extravagantly there at the +customary games of boys, he suddenly paused, became grave, and cried +out, 'My father is dead,' and that a fortnight after arrived tidings +from Ireland confirming his impression. Johnson is inclined to believe +this story, and we are more than inclined. Since the lexicographer's +day, many of what used to be called his 'superstitions' have been +established as certain facts, although their explanation is still +shrouded in darkness. Roscommon was then only ten years of age. + +From Caen he travelled to Italy, where he obtained a profound knowledge +of medals. At the Restoration he returned to England, where he was made +Captain of the Band of Pensioners, and subsequently Master of the Horse +to the Duchess of York. He became unfortunately addicted to gambling, +and, through this miserable habit, he got embroiled in endless quarrels, +as well as in pecuniary embarassments. + +Business compelled him to visit Ireland, where the Duke of Orrnond made +him Captain of the Guards. On his return to England in 1662, he married +the Lady Frances, daughter of the Earl of Burlington. By her he had no +issue. His second wife, whom he married in 1674, was Isabella, daughter +of Matthew Beynton of Barmister, in Yorkshire. + +Roscommon now began to meditate and execute literary projects. He +produced an 'Essay on Translated Verse,' (in 1681,) a translation of +Horace's 'Art of Poetry,' and other pieces. He projected, in conjunction +with his friend Dryden, a plan for refining our language and fixing its +standard, as if Time were not the great refiner, fixer, and enricher of +a tongue. While busy with these schemes and occupations, the troubles of +James II.'s reign commenced. Roscommon determined to retire to Rome, +saying, 'It is best to sit near the chimney when the chamber smokes.' +Death, however, prevented him from reaching the beloved and desired +focus of Roman Catholic darkness. He was assailed by gout, and an +ignorant French empiric, whom he consulted, contrived to drive the +disease into the bowels. Roscommon expired, uttering with great fervour +two lines from his own translation of the 'Dies Irae,'-- + + 'My God, my Father, and my Friend, + Do not forsake me in my end.' + +This was in 1684. He received a pompous interment in Westminster Abbey. + +Roscommon does not deserve the name of a great poet. He was a man of +varied accomplishments and exquisite taste rather than of genius. His +'Essay on Translated Verse' is a sound and sensible, not a profound and +brilliant production. In one point he went before his age. He praises +Milton's 'Paradise Lost,' although unfortunately he selects for encomium +the passage in the sixth book describing the angels fighting against +each other with fire-arms--a passage which most critics have considered +a blot upon the poem. + + +FROM "AN ESSAY ON TRANSLATED VERSE." + +Immodest words admit of no defence; +For want of decency is want of sense. +What moderate fop would rake the park or stews, +Who among troops of faultless nymphs may choose? +Variety of such is to be found: +Take then a subject proper to expound; +But moral, great, and worth a poet's voice; +For men of sense despise a trivial choice; +And such applause it must expect to meet, +As would some painter busy in a street, +To copy bulls and bears, and every sign +That calls the staring sots to nasty wine. + +Yet 'tis not all to have a subject good: +It must delight us when 'tis understood. +He that brings fulsome objects to my view, +As many old have done, and many new, +With nauseous images my fancy fills, +And all goes down like oxymel of squills. +Instruct the listening world how Maro sings +Of useful subjects and of lofty things. +These will such true, such bright ideas raise, +As merit gratitude, as well as praise: +But foul descriptions are offensive still, +Either for being like, or being ill: +For who, without a qualm, hath ever looked +On holy garbage, though by Homer cooked? +Whose railing heroes, and whose wounded gods +Make some suspect he snores, as well as nods. +But I offend--Virgil begins to frown, +And Horace looks with indignation down: +My blushing Muse with conscious fear retires, +And whom they like implicitly admires. + +On sure foundations let your fabric rise, +And with attractive majesty surprise; +Not by affected meretricious arts, +But strict harmonious symmetry of parts; +Which through the whole insensibly must pass, +With vital heat to animate the mass: +A pure, an active, an auspicious flame; +And bright as heaven, from whence the blessing came: +But few, oh! few souls, preordained by fate, +The race of gods, have reached that envied height. +No rebel Titan's sacrilegious crime, +By heaping hills on hills can hither climb: +The grizzly ferryman of hell denied +Aeneas entrance, till he knew his guide. +How justly then will impious mortals fall, +Whose pride would soar to heaven without a call! + +Pride, of all others the most dangerous fault, +Proceeds from want of sense, or want of thought. +The men who labour and digest things most, +Will be much apter to despond than boast: +For if your author be profoundly good, +'Twill cost you dear before he's understood. +How many ages since has Virgil writ! +How few are they who understand him yet! +Approach his altars with religious fear: +No vulgar deity inhabits there. +Heaven shakes not more at Jove's imperial nod, +Than poets should before their Mantuan god. +Hail, mighty Maro! may that sacred name +Kindle my breast with thy celestial flame, +Sublime ideas and apt words infuse; +The Muse instruct my voice, and thou inspire the Muse! + +What I have instanced only in the best, +Is, in proportion, true of all the rest. +Take pains the genuine meaning to explore! +There sweat, there strain: tug the laborious oar; +Search every comment that your care can find; +Some here, some there, may hit the poet's mind: +Yet be not blindly guided by the throng: +The multitude is always in the wrong. +When things appear unnatural or hard, +Consult your author, with himself compared. +Who knows what blessing Phoebus may bestow, +And future ages to your labour owe? +Such secrets are not easily found out; +But, once discovered, leave no room for doubt. + +Truth stamps conviction in your ravished breast; +And peace and joy attend the glorious guest. +Truth still is one; Truth is divinely bright; +No cloudy doubts obscure her native light; +While in your thoughts you find the least debase, +You may confound, but never can translate. +Your style will this through all disguises show; +For none explain more clearly than they know. +He only proves he understands a text, +Whose exposition leaves it unperplexed. +They who too faithfully on names insist, +Rather create than dissipate the mist; +And grow unjust by being over nice, +For superstitious virtue turns to vice. +Let Crassus' ghost and Labienus tell +How twice in Parthian plains their legions fell. +Since Rome hath been so jealous of her fame +That few know Pacorus' or Monaeses' name. + +Words in one language elegantly used, +Will hardly in another be excused; +And some that Rome admired in Caesar's time, +May neither suit our genius nor our clime. +The genuine sense, intelligibly told, +Shows a translator both discreet and bold. + +Excursions are inexpiably bad; +And 'tis much safer to leave out than add. +Abstruse and mystic thought you must express +With painful care, but seeming easiness; +For truth shines brightest through the plainest dress. +The Aenean Muse, when she appears in state, +Makes all Jove's thunder on her verses wait; +Yet writes sometimes as soft and moving things +As Venus speaks, or Philomela sings. +Your author always will the best advise, +Fall when he falls, and when he rises, rise. +Affected noise is the most wretched thing, +That to contempt can empty scribblers bring. +Vowels and accents, regularly placed, +On even syllables (and still the last) +Though gross innumerable faults abound, +In spite of nonsense, never fail of sound, +But this is meant of even verse alone, +As being most harmonious and most known: +For if you will unequal numbers try, +There accents on odd syllables must lie. +Whatever sister of the learned Nine +Does to your suit a willing ear incline, +Urge your success, deserve a lasting name, +She'll crown a grateful and a constant flame. +But if a wild uncertainty prevail, +And turn your veering heart with every gale, +You lose the fruit of all your former care, +For the sad prospect of a just despair. + +A quack, too scandalously mean to name, +Had, by man-midwifery, got wealth and fame; +As if Lucina had forgot her trade, +The labouring wife invokes his surer aid. +Well-seasoned bowls the gossip's spirits raise, +Who, while she guzzles, chats the doctor's praise; +And largely, what she wants in words, supplies, +With maudlin eloquence of trickling eyes. +But what a thoughtless animal is man! +How very active in his own trepan! +For, greedy of physicians' frequent fees, +From female mellow praise he takes degrees; +Struts in a new unlicensed gown, and then +From saving women falls to killing men. +Another such had left the nation thin, +In spite of all the children he brought in. +His pills as thick as hand grenadoes flew; +And where they fell, as certainly they slew: +His name struck everywhere as great a damp, +As Archimedes' through the Roman camp. +With this, the doctor's pride began to cool; +For smarting soundly may convince a fool. +But now repentance came too late for grace; +And meagre famine stared him in the face: +Fain would he to the wives be reconciled, +But found no husband left to own a child. +The friends, that got the brats, were poisoned too: +In this sad case, what could our vermin do? +Worried with debts, and past all hope of bail, +The unpitied wretch lies rotting in a jail: +And there, with basket-alms scarce kept alive, +Shows how mistaken talents ought to thrive. + +I pity, from my soul, unhappy men, +Compelled by want to prostitute their pen; +Who must, like lawyers, either starve or plead, +And follow, right or wrong, where guineas lead! +But you, Pompilian, wealthy, pampered heirs, +Who to your country owe your swords and cares, +Let no vain hope your easy mind seduce, +For rich ill poets are without excuse; +'Tis very dangerous tampering with the Muse, +The profit's small, and you have much to lose; +For though true wit adorns your birth or place, +Degenerate lines degrade the attainted race. +No poet any passion can excite, +But what they feel transport them when they write. +Have you been led through the Cumaean cave, +And heard the impatient maid divinely rave? +I hear her now; I see her rolling eyes; +And panting, 'Lo! the God, the God,' she cries: +With words not hers, and more than human sound, +She makes the obedient ghosts peep trembling through the ground. +But, though we must obey when Heaven commands, +And man in vain the sacred call withstands, +Beware what spirit rages in your breast; +For ten inspired, ten thousand are possess'd: +Thus make the proper use of each extreme, +And write with fury, but correct with phlegm. +As when the cheerful hours too freely pass, +And sparkling wine smiles in the tempting glass, +Your pulse advises, and begins to beat +Through every swelling vein a loud retreat: +So when a Muse propitiously invites, +Improve her favours, and indulge her flights; +But when you find that vigorous heat abate, +Leave off, and for another summons wait. +Before the radiant sun, a glimmering lamp, +Adulterate measures to the sterling stamp, +Appear not meaner than mere human lines, +Compared with those whose inspiration shines: +These, nervous, bold; those, languid and remiss; +There cold salutes; but here a lover's kiss. +Thus have I seen a rapid headlong tide, +With foaming waves the passive Saone divide; +Whose lazy waters without motion lay, +While he, with eager force, urged his impetuous way. + + + + +CHARLES COTTON. + + +Hearty, careless 'Charley Cotton' was born in 1630. His father, Sir +George Cotton, was improvident and intemperate in his latter days, and +left the poet an encumbered estate situated at Ashbourne, in Derbyshire, +near the river Dove. This place will recall the words quoted by O'Connell +in Parliament in reference to the present Lord Derby:-- + + 'Down thy fair banks, romantic Ashbourne, glides + The Derby dilly, with its six insides.' + +Charles studied at Cambridge; and after travelling abroad, married the +daughter of Sir Thomas Owthorp in Nottinghamshire, who does not appear +to have lived long. His extravagance keeping him poor, he was compelled +to eke out his means by translating works from the French and Italian, +including those of a spirit somewhat kindred to his own--Montaigne. At +the age of forty, he obtained a captain's commission in the army, and +went to Ireland. There he met with his second wife, Mary, Countess +Dowager of Ardglass, the widow of Lord Cornwall. She possessed a +jointure of L1500 a-year, secured, however, after marriage, from her +husband's imprudent and reckless management. He returned to his English +estate, where he became passionately fond of fishing,--intimate with +Izaak Walton, whom he invited in a poem, although now eighty-three years +old, to visit him in the country--and where he built a fishing-house, +with the initials of Izaak's name and his own united in ciphers over +the door; the walls, too, being painted with fishing scenes, and the +portraits of Cotton and Walton appearing upon the beaufet. Poor Charles +had a less fortunate career than his friend, dying insolvent at +Westminster in 1687. + +Careless gaiety and reckless extravagance, blended with heart, sense, +and sincerity, were the characteristics of Cotton as a man, and were, as +is usually the case, transferred to his poetry. He squandered his pence +and his powers with equal profusion. His travestie of the 'Aeneid' is +pronounced by Christopher North (who must have read it, however,) a +beastly book. Campbell says, with striking justice, of another of +Cotton's productions, 'His imitations of Lucian betray the grossest +misconception of humorous effect, when he attempts to burlesque that +which is ludicrous already.' It is like trying to turn the 'Tale of +a Tub' into ridicule. But Cotton's own vein, as exhibited in his +'Invitation to Walton,' his 'New Year,' and his 'Voyage to Ireland,' +(which anticipates in some measure the style of Anstey in the 'New Bath +Guide,') is very rich and varied, full of ease, picturesque spirit, and +humour, and stamps him a genuine, if not a great poet. + + +INVITATION TO IZAAK WALTON. + +1 Whilst in this cold and blustering clime, + Where bleak winds howl, and tempests roar, + We pass away the roughest time + Has been of many years before; + +2 Whilst from the most tempestuous nooks + The dullest blasts our peace invade, + And by great rains our smallest brooks + Are almost navigable made; + +3 Whilst all the ills are so improved + Of this dead quarter of the year, + That even you, so much beloved, + We would not now wish with us here: + +4 In this estate, I say, it is + Some comfort to us to suppose, + That in a better clime than this, + You, our dear friend, have more repose; + +5 And some delight to me the while, + Though Nature now does weep in rain, + To think that I have seen her smile, + And haply may I do again. + +6 If the all-ruling Power please + We live to see another May, + We'll recompense an age of these + Foul days in one fine fishing day. + +7 We then shall have a day or two, + Perhaps a week, wherein to try + What the best master's hand can do + With the most deadly killing fly. + +8 A day with not too bright a beam; + A warm, but not a scorching sun; + A southern gale to curl the stream; + And, master, half our work is done. + +9 Then, whilst behind some bush we wait + The scaly people to betray, + We'll prove it just, with treacherous bait, + To make the preying trout our prey; + +10 And think ourselves, in such an hour, + Happier than those, though not so high, + Who, like leviathans, devour + Of meaner men the smaller fry. + +11 This, my best friend, at my poor home, + Shall be our pastime and our theme; + But then--should you not deign to come, + You make all this a flattering dream. + + + +A VOYAGE TO IRELAND IN BURLESQUE. + +CANTO I. + +The lives of frail men are compared by the sages +Or unto short journeys, or pilgrimages, +As men to their inns do come sooner or later, +That is, to their ends, to be plain in my matter; +From whence when one dead is, it currently follows, +He has run his race, though his goal be the gallows; +And this 'tis, I fancy, sets folks so a-madding, +And makes men and women so eager of gadding; +Truth is, in my youth I was one of these people +Would have gone a great way to have seen a high steeple, +And though I was bred 'mongst the wonders o' th' Peak, +Would have thrown away money, and ventured my neck +To have seen a great hill, a rock, or a cave, +And thought there was nothing so pleasant and brave: +But at forty years old you may, if you please, +Think me wiser than run such errands as these; +Or had the same humour still run in my toes, +A voyage to Ireland I ne'er should have chose; +But to tell you the truth on 't, indeed it was neither +Improvement nor pleasure for which I went thither; +I know then you'll presently ask me for what? +Why, faith, it was that makes the old woman trot; +And therefore I think I'm not much to be blamed +If I went to the place whereof Nick was ashamed. + +O Coryate! thou traveller famed as Ulysses, +In such a stupendous labour as this is, +Come lend me the aids of thy hands and thy feet, +Though the first be pedantic, the other not sweet, +Yet both are so restless in peregrination, +They'll help both my journey, and eke my relation. + +'Twas now the most beautiful time of the year, +The days were now long, and the sky was now clear, +And May, that fair lady of splendid renown, +Had dressed herself fine, in her flowered tabby gown, +When about some two hours and an half after noon, +When it grew something late, though I thought it too soon, +With a pitiful voice, and a most heavy heart, +I tuned up my pipes to sing _'loth to depart;_' +The ditty concluded, I called for my horse, +And with a good pack did the jument endorse, +Till he groaned and he f----d under the burden, +For sorrow had made me a cumbersome lurden: +And now farewell, Dove, where I've caught such brave dishes +Of over-grown, golden, and silver-scaled fishes; +Thy trout and thy grayling may now feed securely, +I've left none behind me can take 'em so surely; +Feed on then, and breed on, until the next year, +But if I return I expect my arrear. + +By pacing and trotting betimes in the even, +Ere the sun had forsaken one half of the heaven, +We all at fair Congerton took up our inn, +Where the sign of a king kept a King and his queen: +But who do you think came to welcome me there'? +No worse a man, marry, than good master mayor, +With his staff of command, yet the man was not lame, +But he needed it more when he went, than he came; +After three or four hours of friendly potation, +We took leave each of other in courteous fashion, +When each one, to keep his brains fast in his head, +Put on a good nightcap, and straightway to bed. + +Next morn, having paid for boiled, roasted, and bacon, +And of sovereign hostess our leaves kindly taken, +(For her king, as 'twas rumoured, by late pouring down, +This morning had got a foul flaw in his crown,) +We mounted again, and full soberly riding, +Three miles we had rid ere we met with a biding; +But there, having over-night plied the tap well, +We now must needs water at a place called Holmes Chapel: +'A hay!' quoth the foremost, 'ho! who keeps the house?' +Which said, out an host comes as brisk as a louse; +His hair combed as sleek as a barber he'd been, +A cravat with black ribbon tied under his chin; +Though by what I saw in him, I straight 'gan to fear +That knot would be one day slipped under his ear. +Quoth he (with low conge), 'What lack you, my lord?' +'The best liquor,' quoth I, 'that the house will afford.' +'You shall straight,' quoth he; and then calls out, 'Mary? +Come quickly, and bring us a quart of Canary.' +'Hold, hold, my spruce host! for i' th' morning so early, +I never drink liquor but what's made of barley.' +Which words were scarce out, but, which made me admire, +My lordship was presently turned into 'squire: + +'Ale, 'squire, you mean?' quoth he nimbly again, +'What, must it be purled'--'No, I love it best plain.' +'Why, if you'll drink ale, sir, pray take my advice, +Here's the best ale i' th' land, if you'll go to the price; +Better, I sure am, ne'er blew out a stopple; +But then, in plain truth, it is sixpence a bottle.' +'Why, faith,' quoth I, 'friend, if your liquor be such, +For the best ale in England, it is not too much: +Let's have it, and quickly.'--'o sir! you may stay; +A pot in your pate is a mile in your way: +Come, bring out a bottle here presently, wife, +Of the best Cheshire hum he e'er drank in his life.' +Straight out comes the mistress in waistcoat of silk, +As clear as a milkmaid, as white as her milk, +With visage as oval and sleek as an egg, +As straight as an arrow, as right as my leg: +A curtsey she made, as demure as a sister, +I could not forbear, but alighted and kissed her: +Then ducking another, with most modest mien, +The first word she said was, 'Will 't please you walk in? +I thanked her; but told her, I then could not stay, +For the haste of my business did call me away. +She said, she was sorry it fell out so odd, +But if, when again I should travel that road, +I would stay there a night, she assured me the nation +Should nowhere afford better accommodation: +Meanwhile my spruce landlord has broken the cork, +And called for a bodkin, though he had a fork; +But I showed him a screw, which I told my brisk gull +A trepan was for bottles had broken their skull; +Which, as it was true, he believed without doubt, +But 'twas I that applied it, and pulled the cork out. +Bounce, quoth the bottle, the work being done, +It roared, and it smoked, like a new-fired gun; +But the shot missed us all, or else we'd been routed, +Which yet was a wonder, we were so about it. +Mine host poured and filled, till he could fill no fuller: +'Look here, sir,' quoth he, 'both for nap and for colour, +Sans bragging, I hate it, nor will I e'er do 't; +I defy Leek, and Lambhith, and Sandwich, to boot.' +By my troth, he said true, for I speak it with tears, +Though I have been a toss-pot these twenty good years, +And have drank so much liquor has made me a debtor, +In my days, that I know of, I never drank better: +We found it so good and we drank so profoundly, +That four good round shillings were whipt away roundly; +And then I conceived it was time to be jogging, +For our work had been done, had we stay'd t' other noggin. + +From thence we set forth with more metal and spright, +Our horses were empty, our coxcombs were light; +O'er Dellamore forest we, tantivy, posted, +Till our horses were basted as if they were roasted: +In truth, we pursued might have been by our haste, +And I think Sir George Booth did not gallop so fast, +Till about two o'clock after noon, God be blest, +We came, safe and sound, all to Chester i' th' west. + +And now in high time 'twas to call for some meat, +Though drinking does well, yet some time we must eat: +And i' faith we had victuals both plenty and good, +Where we all laid about us as if we were wood: +Go thy ways, Mistress Anderton, for a good woman, +Thy guests shall by thee ne'er be turned to a common; +And whoever of thy entertainment complains, +Let him lie with a drab, and be poxed for his pains. + +And here I must stop the career of my Muse, +The poor jade is weary, 'las! how should she choose? +And if I should further here spur on my course, +I should, questionless, tire both my wits and my horse: +To-night let us rest, for 'tis good Sunday's even, +To-morrow to church, and ask pardon of Heaven. +Thus far we our time spent, as here I have penned it, +An odd kind of life, and 'tis well if we mend it: +But to-morrow (God willing) we'll have t' other bout, +And better or worse be 't, for murder will out, +Our future adventures we'll lay down before ye, +For my Muse is deep sworn to use truth of the story. + + +CANTO II + +After seven hours' sleep, to commute for pains taken, +A man of himself, one would think, might awaken; +But riding, and drinking hard, were two such spells, +I doubt I'd slept on, but for jangling of bells, +Which, ringing to matins all over the town, +Made me leap out of bed, and put on my gown. +With intent (so God mend me) t' have gone to the choir, +When straight I perceived myself all on a fire; +For the two forenamed things had so heated my blood, +That a little phlebotomy would do me good: +I sent for chirurgeon, who came in a trice, +And swift to shed blood, needed not be called twice, +But tilted stiletto quite thorough the vein, +From whence issued out the ill humours amain; +When having twelve ounces, he bound up my arm, +And I gave him two Georges, which did him no harm: +But after my bleeding, I soon understood +It had cooled my devotion as well as my blood; +For I had no more mind to look on my psalter, +Than (saving your presence) I had to a halter; +But, like a most wicked and obstinate sinner, +Then sat in my chamber till folks came to dinner: +I dined with good stomach, and very good cheer, +With a very fine woman, and good ale and beer; +When myself having stuffed than a bagpipe more full, +I fell to my smoking until I grew dull; +And, therefore, to take a fine nap thought it best, +For when belly full is, bones would be at rest: +I tumbled me down on my bed like a swad, +Where, oh! the delicious dream that I had! +Till the bells, that had been my morning molesters, +Now waked me again, chiming all in to vespers: +With that starting up, for my man I did whistle, +And combed out and powdered my locks that were grizzle; +Had my clothes neatly brushed, and then put on my sword, +Resolved now to go and attend on the word. + +Thus tricked, and thus trim, to set forth I begin, +Neat and cleanly without, but scarce cleanly within; +For why, Heaven knows it, I long time had been +A most humble obedient servant to sin; +And now in devotion was even so proud, +I scorned forsooth to join prayer with the crowd; +For though courted by all the bells as I went, +I was deaf, and regarded not the compliment, +But to the cathedral still held on my pace, +As't were, scorning to kneel but in the best place. +I there made myself sure of good music at least, +But was something deceived, for 'twas none of the best: +But however I stay'd at the church's commanding +Till we came to the 'Peace passes all understanding,' +Which no sooner was ended, but whir and away, +Like boys in a school when they've leave got to play; +All save master mayor, who still gravely stays +Till the rest had made room for his worship and's mace: +Then he and his brethren in order appear, +I out of my stall, and fell into his rear; +For why, 'tis much safer appearing, no doubt, +In authority's tail, than the head of a rout. + +In this rev'rend order we marched from prayer; +The mace before me borne as well as the mayor; +Who looking behind him, and seeing most plain +A glorious gold belt in the rear of his train, +Made such a low conge, forgetting his place, +I was never so honoured before in my days: +But then off went my scalp-case, and down went my fist, +Till the pavement, too hard, by my knuckles was kissed; +By which, though thick-skulled, he must understand this, +That I was a most humble servant of his; +Which also so wonderful kindly he took, +(As I well perceived both b' his gesture and look,) +That to have me dogg'd home he straightway appointed, +Resolving, it seems, to be better acquainted. +I was scarce in my quarters, and set down on crupper, +But his man was there too, to invite me to supper: +I start up, and after most respective fashion +Gave his worship much thanks for his kind invitation; +But begged his excuse, for my stomach was small, +And I never did eat any supper at all; +But that after supper I would kiss his hands, +And would come to receive his worship's commands. +Sure no one will say, but a patron of slander, +That this was not pretty well for a Moorlander: +And since on such reasons to sup I refused, +I nothing did doubt to be holden excused; +But my quaint repartee had his worship possess'd +With so wonderful good a conceit of the rest, +That with mere impatience he hoped in his breeches +To see the fine fellow that made such fine speeches: +'Go, sirrah!' quoth he, 'get you to him again, +And will and require, in his Majesty's name, +That he come; and tell him, obey he were best, or +I'll teach him to know that he's now in West-Chester.' +The man, upon this, comes me running again, +But yet minced his message, and was not so plain; +Saying to me only, 'Good sir, I am sorry +To tell you my master has sent again for you; +And has such a longing to have you his guest, +That I, with these ears, heard him swear and protest, +He would neither say grace, nor sit down on his bum, +Nor open his napkin, until you do come.' +With that I perceived no excuse would avail, +And, seeing there was no defence for a flail, +I said I was ready master may'r to obey, +And therefore desired him to lead me the way. +We went, and ere Malkin could well lick her ear, +(For it but the next door was, forsooth) we were there; +Where lights being brought me, I mounted the stairs, +The worst I e'er saw in my life at a mayor's: +But everything else must be highly commended. +I there found his worship most nobly attended, +Besides such a supper as well did convince, +A may'r in his province to be a great prince; +As he sat in his chair, he did not much vary, +In state nor in face, from our eighth English Harry; +But whether his face was swelled up with fat, +Or puffed up with glory, I cannot tell that. +Being entered the chamber half length of a pike, +And cutting of faces exceedingly like +One of those little gentlemen brought from the Indies, +And screwing myself into conges and cringes, +By then I was half-way advanced in the room, +His worship most rev'rendly rose from his bum, +And with the more honour to grace and to greet me, +Advanced a whole step and a half for to meet me; +Where leisurely doffing a hat worth a tester, +He bade me most heartily welcome to Chester. +I thanked him in language the best I was able, +And so we forthwith sat us all down to table. + +Now here you must note, and 'tis worth observation, +That as his chair at one end o' th' table had station; +So sweet mistress may'ress, in just such another, +Like the fair queen of hearts, sat in state at the other; +By which I perceived, though it seemed a riddle, +The lower end of this must be just in the middle: +But perhaps 'tis a rule there, and one that would mind it +Amongst the town-statutes 'tis likely might find it. +But now into the pottage each deep his spoon claps, +As in truth one might safely for burning one's chaps, +When straight, with the look and the tone of a scold, +Mistress may'ress complained that the pottage was cold; +'And all 'long of your fiddle-faddle,' quoth she. +'Why, what then, Goody Two-Shoes, what if it be? +Hold you, if you can, your tittle-tattle,' quoth he. +I was glad she was snapped thus, and guessed by th' discourse, +The may'r, not the gray mare, was the better horse, +And yet for all that, there is reason to fear, +She submitted but out of respect to his year: +However 'twas well she had now so much grace, +Though not to the man, to submit to his place; +For had she proceeded, I verily thought +My turn would the next be, for I was in fault: +But this brush being past, we fell to our diet, +And every one there filled his belly in quiet. +Supper being ended, and things away taken, +Master mayor's curiosity 'gan to awaken; +Wherefore making me draw something nearer his chair, +He willed and required me there to declare +My country, my birth, my estate, and my parts, +And whether I was not a master of arts; +And eke what the business was had brought me thither, +With what I was going about now, and whither: +Giving me caution, no lie should escape me, +For if I should trip, he should certainly trap me. +I answered, my country was famed Staffordshire; +That in deeds, bills, and bonds, I was ever writ squire; +That of land I had both sorts, some good, and some evil, +But that a great part on't was pawned to the devil; +That as for my parts, they were such as he saw; +That, indeed, I had a small smatt'ring of law, +Which I lately had got more by practice than reading, +By sitting o' th' bench, whilst others were pleading; +But that arms I had ever more studied than arts, +And was now to a captain raised by my deserts; +That the business which led me through Palatine ground +Into Ireland was, whither now I was bound; +Where his worship's great favour I loud will proclaim, +And in all other places wherever I came. +He said, as to that, I might do what I list, +But that I was welcome, and gave me his fist; +When having my fingers made crack with his gripes, +He called to his man for some bottles and pipes. + +To trouble you here with a longer narration +Of the several parts of our confabulation, +Perhaps would be tedious; I'll therefore remit ye +Even to the most rev'rend records of the city, +Where, doubtless, the acts of the may'rs are recorded, +And if not more truly, yet much better worded. + +In short, then, we piped and we tippled Canary, +Till my watch pointed one in the circle horary; +When thinking it now was high time to depart, +His worship I thanked with a most grateful heart; +And because to great men presents are acceptable, +I presented the may'r, ere I rose from the table, +With a certain fantastical box and a stopper; +And he having kindly accepted my offer, +I took my fair leave, such my visage adorning, +And to bed, for I was to rise early i' th' morning. + + +CANTO III. + +The sun in the morning disclosed his light, +With complexion as ruddy as mine over night; +And o'er th' eastern mountains peeping up's head, +The casement being open, espied me in bed; +With his rays he so tickled my lids that I waked, +And was half ashamed, for I found myself naked; +But up I soon start, and was dressed in a trice, +And called for a draught of ale, sugar, and spice; +Which having turned off, I then call to pay, +And packing my nawls, whipt to horse, and away. +A guide I had got, who demanded great vails, +For conducting me over the mountains of Wales: +Twenty good shillings, which sure very large is; +Yet that would not serve, but I must bear his charges; +And yet for all that, rode astride on a beast, +The worst that e'er went on three legs, I protest: +It certainly was the most ugly of jades, +His hips and his rump made a right ace of spades; +His sides were two ladders, well spur-galled withal; +His neck was a helve, and his head was a mall; +For his colour, my pains and your trouble I'll spare, +For the creature was wholly denuded of hair; +And, except for two things, as bare as my nail, +A tuft of a mane, and a sprig of a tail; +And by these the true colour one can no more know, +Than by mouse-skins above stairs, the merkin below. +Now such as the beast was, even such was the rider, +With a head like a nutmeg, and legs like a spider; +A voice like a cricket, a look like a rat, +The brains of a goose, and the heart of a cat: +Even such was my guide and his beast; let them pass, +The one for a horse, and the other an ass. +But now with our horses, what sound and what rotten, +Down to the shore, you must know, we were gotten; +And there we were told, it concerned us to ride, +Unless we did mean to encounter the tide; +And then my guide lab'ring with heels and with hands, +With two up and one down, hopped over the sands, +Till his horse, finding the labour for three legs too sore, +Foaled out a new leg, and then he had four: +And now by plain dint of hard spurring and whipping, +Dry-shod we came where folks sometimes take shipping; +And where the salt sea, as the devil were in 't, +Came roaring t' have hindered our journey to Flint; +But we, by good luck, before him got thither, +He else would have carried us, no man knows whither. + +And now her in Wales is, Saint Taph be her speed, +Gott splutter her taste, some Welsh ale her had need; +For her ride in great haste, and * * +For fear of her being catched up by the fishes: +But the lord of Flint castle's no lord worth a louse, +For he keeps ne'er a drop of good drink in his house; +But in a small house near unto 't there was store +Of such ale as, thank God, I ne'er tasted before; +And surely the Welsh are not wise of their fuddle, +For this had the taste and complexion of puddle. +From thence then we marched, full as dry as we came, +My guide before prancing, his steed no more lame, +O'er hills and o'er valleys uncouth and uneven, +Until 'twixt the hours of twelve and eleven, +More hungry and thirsty than tongue can well tell, +We happily came to Saint Winifred's well: +I thought it the pool of Bethesda had been, +By the cripples lay there; but I went to my inn +To speak for some meat, for so stomach did motion, +Before I did further proceed in devotion: +I went into th' kitchen, where victuals I saw, +Both beef, veal, and mutton, but all on 't was raw; +And some on't alive, but soon went to slaughter, +For four chickens were slain by my dame and her daughter; +Of which to Saint Win. ere my vows I had paid, +They said I should find a rare fricasee made: +I thanked them, and straight to the well did repair, +Where some I found cursing, and others at prayer; +Some dressing, some stripping, some out and some in, +Some naked, where botches and boils might be seen; +Of which some were fevers of Venus I'm sure, +And therefore unfit for the virgin to cure: +But the fountain, in truth, is well worth the sight, +The beautiful virgin's own tears not more bright; +Nay, none but she ever shed such a tear, +Her conscience, her name, nor herself, were more clear. +In the bottom there lie certain stones that look white, +But streaked with pure red, as the morning with light, +Which they say is her blood, and so it may be, +But for that, let who shed it look to it for me. +Over the fountain a chapel there stands, +Which I wonder has 'scaped master Oliver's hands; +The floor's not ill paved, and the margin o' th' spring +Is inclosed with a certain octagonal ring; +From each angle of which a pillar does rise, +Of strength and of thickness enough to suffice +To support and uphold from falling to ground +A cupola wherewith the virgin is crowned. +Now 'twixt the two angles that fork to the north, +And where the cold nymph does her basin pour forth, +Under ground is a place where they bathe, as 'tis said, +And 'tis true, for I heard folks' teeth hack in their head; +For you are to know, that the rogues and the * * +Are not let to pollute the spring-head with their sores. +But one thing I chiefly admired in the place, +That a saint and a virgin endued with such grace, +Should yet be so wonderful kind a well-willer +To that whoring and filching trade of a miller, +As within a few paces to furnish the wheels +Of I cannot tell how many water-mills: +I've studied that point much, you cannot guess why, +But the virgin was, doubtless, more righteous than I. +And now for my welcome, four, five, or six lasses, +With as many crystalline liberal glasses, +Did all importune me to drink of the water +Of Saint Winifreda, good Thewith's fair daughter. +A while I was doubtful, and stood in a muse, +Not knowing, amidst all that choice, where to choose. +Till a pair of black eyes, darting full in my sight, +From the rest o' th' fair maidens did carry me quite; +I took the glass from her, and whip, off it went, +I half doubt I fancied a health to the saint: +But he was a great villain committed the slaughter, +For Saint Winifred made most delicate water. +I slipped a hard shilling into her soft hand, +Which had like to have made me the place have profaned; +And giving two more to the poor that were there, +Did, sharp as a hawk, to my quarters repair. + +My dinner was ready, and to it I fell, +I never ate better meat, that I can tell; +When having half dined, there comes in my host, +A catholic good, and a rare drunken toast; +This man, by his drinking, inflamed the scot, +And told me strange stories, which I have forgot; +But this I remember, 'twas much on's own life, +And one thing, that he had converted his wife. + +But now my guide told me, it time was to go, +For that to our beds we must both ride and row; +Wherefore calling to pay, and having accounted, +I soon was down-stairs, and as suddenly mounted: +On then we travelled, our guide still before, +Sometimes on three legs, and sometimes on four, +Coasting the sea, and over hills crawling, +Sometimes on all four, for fear we should fall in; +For underneath Neptune lay skulking to watch us, +And, had we but slipped once, was ready to catch us. +Thus in places of danger taking more heed, +And in safer travelling mending our speed: +Redland Castle and Abergoney we past, +And o'er against Connoway came at the last: +Just over against a castle there stood, +O' th' right hand the town, and o' th' left hand a wood; +'Twixt the wood and the castle they see at high water +The storm, the place makes it a dangerous matter; +And besides, upon such a steep rock it is founded, +As would break a man's neck, should he'scape being drowned: +Perhaps though in time one may make them to yield, +But 'tis prettiest Cob-castle e'er I beheld. + +The sun now was going t' unharness his steeds, +When the ferry-boat brasking her sides 'gainst the weeds, +Came in as good time as good time could be, +To give us a cast o'er an arm of the sea; +And bestowing our horses before and abaft, +O'er god Neptune's wide cod-piece gave us a waft; +Where scurvily landing at foot of the fort, +Within very few paces we entered the port, +Where another King's Head invited me down, +For indeed I have ever been true to the crown. + + + + +DR HENRY MORE. + + +This eminent man was the son of a gentleman of good family and estate +in Grantham, Lincolnshire. He was born in 1614. His father sent him to +study at Eton, and thence, in 1631, he repaired to Cambridge, where he +was destined to spend the most of his life. Philosophy attracted him +early, in preference to science or literature, and he became a follower +of Plato, so decided and enthusiastic as to gain for himself the title +of 'The Platonist' _par excellence_. In 1639, he graduated M.A.; and the +next year, he published the first part of 'Psychozoia; or, The Song of +the Soul,' containing a Christiano-Platonical account of Man and Life. +In preparing the materials of this poem, he had studied all the +principal Platonists and mystical writers, and is said to have read +himself almost to a shadow. And not only was his body emaciated, but +his mind was so overstrung, that he imagined himself to see spiritual +beings, to hear supernatural voices, and to converse, like Socrates, +with a particular genius. He thought, too, that his body 'exhaled the +perfume of violets!' Notwithstanding these little peculiarities, his +genius and his learning, the simplicity of his character, and the +innocence of his life, rendered him a general favourite; he was made +a fellow of his college, and became a tutor to various persons of +distinguished rank. One of these was Sir John Finch, whose sister, Lady +Conway, an enthusiast herself, brought More acquainted with the famous +John Baptist Van Helment, a man after whom, in the beginning of the +seventeenth century, the whole of Europe wondered. He was a follower and +imitator of Paracelsus, like him affected universal knowledge, aspired +to revolutionise the science of medicine, and died with the reputation +of one who, with great powers and acquirements, instead of becoming a +great man, ended as a brilliant pretender, and was rather an 'architect +of ruin' to the systems of others, than the founder of a solid fabric of +his own. More admired, of course, not the quackery, but the adventurous +boldness of Helment's genius, and his devotion to chemistry; which is +certainly the most spiritual of all the sciences, and must, especially +in its transcendental forms, have had a great charm for a Platonic +thinker. Our author was entirely devoted to study, and resisted every +inducement to leave what he called his 'Paradise' at Cambridge. His +friends once tried to decoy him into a bishopric, and got him the length +of Whitehall to kiss the king's hand on the occasion; but when he +understood their purpose, he refused to go a single step further. His +life was a long, learned, happy, and holy dream. He was of the most +benevolent disposition; and once observed to a friend, 'that he was +thought by some to have a soft head, but he thanked God he had a soft +heart.' In the heat of the Rebellion, the Republicans spared More, +although he had refused to take the Covenant. Campbell says of him, +'He corresponded with Descartes, was the friend of Cudworth, and, as a +divine and a moralist, was not only popular in his own time, but has +been mentioned with admiration both by Addison and Blair.' One is rather +amused at the latter clause. That a man of More's massive learning, +noble eloquence, and divine genius should need the testimony of a mere +elegant wordmonger like Blair, seems ludicrous enough; and Addison +himself, except in wit and humour, was not worthy to have untied the +shoelatchets of the old Platonist. We were first introduced to this +writer by good Dr John Brown, late of Broughton Place, Edinburgh, and +shall never forget hearing him, in his library, read some splendid +passages from More's work, in those deep, mellow, antique tones which +flavoured whatever he read, like the crust on old wine. His chief works +are, 'A Discourse on the Immortality of the Soul,' 'The Mystery of +Godliness,' 'The Mystery of Iniquity,' 'Divine Dialogues,' 'An Antidote +against Atheism,' 'Ethical and Metaphysical Manuals,' &c. In writing +such books, and pursuing the recondite studies of which they were the +fruit, More spent his life happily. In 1661, he became a Fellow of +the Royal Society. For twenty years after the Restoration, his works +are said to have sold better than any of their day--a curious and +unaccountable fact, considering the levity and licentiousness of the +period. In September 1687, the fine old spiritualist, aged seventy- +three, went away to that land of 'ideas' to which his heart had been +translated long before. + +More's prose writings give us, on the whole, a higher idea of his powers +than his poem. This is not exactly, as a recent critic calls it, 'dull +and tedious,' but it is in some parts prosaic, and in others obscure. +The gleams of fancy in it are genuine, but few and far between. But his +prose works constitute, like those of Cudworth, Charnock, Jeremy Taylor, +and John Scott, a vast old quarry, abounding both in blocks and in gems +--blocks of granite solidity, and gems of starry lustre. The peculiarity +of More is in that poetico-philosophic mist which, like the autumnal +gossamer, hangs in light and beautiful festoons over his thoughts, and +which suggests pleasing memories of Plato and the Alexandrian school. +Like all the followers of the Grecian sage, he dwells in a region of +'ideas,' which are to him the only realities, and are not cold, but +warm; he sees all things in Divine solution; the visible is lost in the +invisible, and nature retires before her God. Surely they are splendid +reveries those of the Platonic school; but it is sad to reflect that +they have not cast the slightest gleam of light on the dark, frightful, +faith-shattering mysteries which perplex all inquirers. The old shadows +of sin, death, damnation, evil, and hell, are found to darken the 'ideas' +of Plato's world quite as deeply as they do the actualities of this weary, +work-day earth, into which men have, for some inscrutable purpose, been +sent to be, on the whole, miserable,--so often to toil without compen- +sation, to suffer without benefit, and to hope without fulfilment. + + +OPENING OF SECOND PART OF 'PSYCHOZOIA.' + +1 Whatever man he be that dares to deem + True poets' skill to spring of earthly race, + I must him tell, that he doth mis-esteem + Their strange estate, and eke himself disgrace + By his rude ignorance. For there's no place + For forced labour, or slow industry, + Of flagging wits, in that high fiery chase; + So soon as of the Muse they quickened be, + At once they rise, and lively sing like lark in sky. + +2 Like to a meteor, whose material + Is low unwieldy earth, base unctuous slime, + Whose inward hidden parts ethereal + Lie close upwrapt in that dull sluggish fime, + Lie fast asleep, till at some fatal time + Great Phoebus' lamp has fired its inward sprite, + And then even of itself on high doth climb: + That erst was dark becomes all eye, all sight, + Bright star, that to the wise of future things gives light. + +3 Even so the weaker mind, that languid lies, + Knit up in rags of dirt, dark, cold, and blind, + So soon that purer flame of love unties + Her clogging chains, and doth her sprite unbind, + She soars aloft; for she herself doth find + Well plumed; so raised upon her spreaden wing, + She softly plays, and warbles in the wind, + And carols out her inward life and spring + Of overflowing joy, and of pure love doth sing. + + +EXORDIUM OF THIRD PART. + +1 Hence, hence, unhallowed ears, arid hearts more hard + Than winter clods fast froze with northern wind, + But most of all, foul tongue! I thee discard, + That blamest all that thy dark straitened mind + Cannot conceive: but that no blame thou find; + Whate'er my pregnant muse brings forth to light, + She'll not acknowledge to be of her kind, + Till eagle-like she turn them to the sight + Of the eternal Word, all decked with glory bright. + +2 Strange sights do straggle in my restless thoughts, + And lively forms with orient colours clad + Walk in my boundless mind, as men ybrought + Into some spacious room, who when they've had + A turn or two, go out, although unbade. + All these I see and know, but entertain + None to my friend but who's most sober sad; + Although, the time my roof doth them contain + Their presence doth possess me till they out again. + +3 And thus possessed, in silver trump I sound + Their guise, their shape, their gesture, and array; + But as in silver trumpet nought is found + When once the piercing sound is passed away, + (Though while the mighty blast therein did stay, + Its tearing noise so terribly did shrill, + That it the heavens did shake, and earth dismay,) + As empty I of what my flowing quill + In needless haste elsewhere, or here, may hap to spill. + +4 For 'tis of force, and not of a set will, + Nor dare my wary mind afford assent + To what is placed above all mortal skill; + But yet, our various thoughts to represent, + Each gentle wight will deem of good intent. + Wherefore, with leave the infinity I'll sing + Of time, of space; or without leave; I'm brent + With eager rage, my heart for joy doth spring, + And all my spirits move with pleasant trembeling. + +5 An inward triumph doth my soul upheave + And spread abroad through endless 'spersed air. + My nimble mind this clammy clod doth leave, + And lightly stepping on from star to star + Swifter than lightning, passeth wide and far, + Measuring the unbounded heavens and wasteful sky; + Nor aught she finds her passage to debar, + For still the azure orb as she draws nigh + Gives back, new stars appear, the world's walls 'fore her fly. + + +DESTRUCTION AND RENOVATION OF ALL THINGS. + +1 As the seas, + Boiling with swelling waves, aloft did rise, + And met with mighty showers and pouring rain + From heaven's spouts; so the broad flashing skies, + With brimstone thick and clouds of fiery bane, + Shall meet with raging Etna's and Vesuvius' flame. + +2 The burning bowels of this wasting ball + Shall gallup up great flakes of rolling fire, + And belch out pitchy flames, till over all + Having long raged, Vulcan himself shall tire, + And (the earth an ash-heap made) shall then expire: + Here Nature, laid asleep in her own urn, + With gentle rest right easily will respire, + Till to her pristine task she do return + As fresh as Phoenix young under the Arabian morn. + +3 Oh, happy they that then the first are born, + While yet the world is in her vernal pride; + For old corruption quite away is worn, + As metal pure so is her mould well tried. + Sweet dews, cool-breathing airs, and spaces wide + Of precious spicery, wafted with soft wind: + Fair comely bodies goodly beautified. + +4 For all the while her purged ashes rest, + These relics dry suck in the heavenly dew, + And roscid manna rains upon her breast, + And fills with sacred milk, sweet, fresh, and new, + Where all take life and doth the world renew; + And then renewed with pleasure be yfed. + A green, soft mantle doth her bosom strew + With fragrant herbs and flowers embellished, + Where without fault or shame all living creatures bed. + + +A DISTEMPERED FANCY. + +1 Then the wild fancy from her horrid womb + Will senden forth foul shapes. O dreadful sight! + Overgrown toads, fierce serpents, thence will come, + Red-scaled dragons, with deep burning light + In their hollow eye-pits: with these she must fight: + Then think herself ill wounded, sorely stung. + Old fulsome hags, with scabs and scurf bedight, + Foul tarry spittle tumbling with their tongue + On their raw leather lips, these near will to her clung, + +2 And lovingly salute against her will, + Closely embrace, and make her mad with woe: + She'd lever thousand times they did her kill, + Than force her such vile baseness undergo. + Anon some giant his huge self will show, + Gaping with mouth as vast as any cave, + With stony, staring eyes, and footing slow: + She surely deems him her live, walking grave, + From that dern hollow pit knows not herself to save. + +3 After a while, tossed on the ocean main, + A boundless sea she finds of misery; + The fiery snorts of the leviathan, + That makes the boiling waves before him fly, + She hears, she sees his blazing morn-bright eye: + If here she 'scape, deep gulfs and threatening rocks + Her frighted self do straightway terrify; + Steel-coloured clouds with rattling thunder knocks, + With these she is amazed, and thousand such-like mocks. + + +SOUL COMPARED TO A LANTERN. + +1 Like to a light fast locked in lantern dark, + Whereby by night our wary steps we guide + In slabby streets, and dirty channels mark, + Some weaker rays through the black top do glide, + And flusher streams perhaps from horny side. + But when we've passed the peril of the way, + Arrived at home, and laid that case aside, + The naked light how clearly doth it ray, + And spread its joyful beams as bright as summer's day. + +2 Even so, the soul, in this contracted state, + Confined to these strait instruments of sense, + More dull and narrowly doth operate. + At this hole hears, the sight must ray from thence, + Here tastes, there smells; but when she's gone from hence, + Like naked lamp, she is one shining sphere, + And round about has perfect cognoscence + Whate'er in her horizon doth appear: + She is one orb of sense, all eye, all airy ear. + + + + +WILLIAM CHAMBERLAYNE. + + +Chamberlayne was, during life, a poor man, and, till long after his +death, an unappreciated poet. He was a physician at Shaftesbury, +Dorsetshire; born in 1619, and died in 1689. He appears to have been +present among the Royalists at the battle of Newbury. He complains +bitterly of his narrow circumstances, and yet he lived to a long age. +He published, in 1658, a tragic comedy, entitled 'Love's Victory,' and +in 1659, 'Pharonnida,' a heroic poem. + +The latter is the main support of his literary reputation. It was +discovered to be good by Thomas Campbell, who might say, + + 'I was the first that ever burst + Into that silent sea.' + +Silent, however, it continues since, and can never be expected to be +thronged by visitors. The story is interesting, and many of the separate +thoughts, expressions, and passages are beautiful, as, for instance-- + + 'The scholar stews his catholic brains for food;' + +and this-- + + 'Harsh poverty, + That moth which frets the sacred robe of wit;' + +but the style is often elliptical and involved; the story meanders too +much, and is too long and intricate; and, on the whole, a few mutilated +fragments are all that are likely to remain of an original and highly +elaborate poem. + + +ARGALIA TAKEN PRISONER BY THE TURKS. + + * * The Turks had ought +Made desperate onslaughts on the isle, but brought +Nought back but wounds and infamy; but now, +Wearied with toil, they are resolved to bow +Their stubborn resolutions with the strength +Of not-to-be-resisted want: the length +Of the chronical disease extended had +To some few months, since to oppress the sad +But constant islanders, the army lay, +Circling their confines. Whilst this tedious stay +From battle rusts the soldier's valour in +His tainted cabin, there had often been, +With all variety of fortune, fought +Brave single combats, whose success had brought +Honour's unwithered laurels on the brow +Of either party; but the balance, now +Forced by the hand of a brave Turk, inclined +Wholly to them. Thrice had his valour shined +In victory's refulgent rays, thrice heard +The shouts of conquest; thrice on his lance appeared +The heads of noble Rhodians, which had struck +A general sorrow 'mongst the knights. All look +Who next the lists should enter; each desires +The task were his, but honour now requires +A spirit more than vulgar, or she dies +The next attempt, their valour's sacrifice; +To prop whose ruins, chosen by the free +Consent of all, Argalia comes to be +Their happy champion. Truce proclaimed, until +The combat ends, the expecting people fill +The spacious battlements; the Turks forsake +Their tents, of whom the city ladies take +A dreadful view, till a more noble sight +Diverts their looks; each part behold their knight +With various wishes, whilst in blood and sweat +They toil for victory. The conflict's heat +Raged in their veins, which honour more inflamed +Than burning calentures could do; both blamed +The feeble influence of their stars, that gave +No speedier conquest; each neglects to save +Himself, to seek advantage to offend +His eager foe * * * * +* * * But now so long +The Turks' proud champion had endured the strong +Assaults of the stout Christian, till his strength +Cooled, on the ground, with his blood--he fell at length, +Beneath his conquering sword. The barbarous crew +O' the villains that did at a distance view +Their champion's fall, all bands of truce forgot, +Running to succour him, begin a hot +And desperate combat with those knights that stand +To aid Argalia, by whose conquering hand +Whole squadrons of them fall, but here he spent +His mighty spirit in vain, their cannons rent +His scattered troops. + + * * * * * + +Argalia lies in chains, ordained to die +A sacrifice unto the cruelty +Of the fierce bashaw, whose loved favourite in +The combat late he slew; yet had not been +In that so much unhappy, had not he +That honoured then his sword with victory, +Half-brother to Janusa been, a bright +But cruel lady, whose refined delight +Her slave (though husband), Ammurat, durst not +Ruffle with discontent; wherefore, to cool that hot +Contention of her blood, which he foresaw +That heavy news would from her anger draw, +To quench with the brave Christian's death, he sent +Him living to her, that her anger, spent +In flaming torments, might not settle in +The dregs of discontent. Staying to win +Some Rhodian castles, all the prisoners were +Sent with a guard into Sardinia, there +To meet their wretched thraldom. From the rest +Argalia severed, soon hopes to be bless'd +With speedy death, though waited on by all +The hell-instructed torments that could fall +Within invention's reach; but he's not yet +Arrived to his period, his unmoved stars sit +Thus in their orbs secured. It was the use +Of the Turkish pride, which triumphs in the abuse +Of suffering Christians, once, before they take +The ornaments of nature off, to make +Their prisoners public to the view, that all +Might mock their miseries: this sight did call +Janusa to her palace-window, where, +Whilst she beholds them, love resolved to bear +Her ruin on her treacherous eye-beams, till +Her heart infected grew; their orbs did fill, +As the most pleasing object, with the sight +Of him whose sword opened a way for the flight +Of her loved brother's soul. + + + + +HENRY VAUGHAN. + + +Vaughan was torn in Wales, on the banks of the Uske, in Brecknockshire, +in 1614. His father was a gentleman, but, we presume, poor, as his son +was bred to a profession. Young Vaughan became first a lawyer, and then +a physician; and we suppose, had it not been for his advanced life, he +would have become latterly a clergyman, since he grew, when old, +exceedingly devout. In life, he was not fortunate, and we find him, like +Chamberlayne, complaining bitterly of the poverty of the poetical tribe. +In 1651, he published a volume of verse, in which nascent excellence +struggles with dim obscurities, like a young moon with heavy clouds. But +his 'Silex Scintillans,' or 'Sacred Poems,' produced in later life, +attests at once the depth of his devotion, and the truth and originality +of his genius. He died in 1695. + +Campbell, always prone to be rather severe on pious poets, and whose +taste, too, was finical at times, says of Vaughan--'He is one of the +harshest even of the inferior order of the school of conceit; but he has +some few scattered thoughts that meet the eye amidst his harsh pages, +like wild flowers on a barren heath.' Surely this is rather 'harsh' +judgment. At the same time, it is not a little laughable to find that +Campbell has himself appropriated one of these 'wild flowers.' In his +beautiful 'Rainbow,' he cries-- + + 'How came the world's gray fathers forth + To mark thy sacred sign!' + +Vaughan had said-- + + 'How bright wert thou, when Shem's admiring eye, + Thy burnished, flaming arch did first descry; + When Terah, Nahor, Haran, Abram, Lot, + The youthful world's gray fathers in one knot, + Did with intentive looks watch every hour + For thy new light, and trembled at each shower!' + +Indeed, all Campbell's 'Rainbow' is just a reflection of Vaughan's, and +reminds you of those faint, pale shadows of the heavenly bow you +sometimes see in the darkened and disarranged skies of spring. To steal +from, and then strike down the victim, is more suitable to robbers than +to poets. + +Perhaps the best criticism on Vaughan may be found in the title of his +own poems, 'Silex Scintillans.' He had a good deal of the dulness and +hardness of the flint about his mind, but the influence of poverty and +suffering,--for true it is that + + 'Wretched men + Are cradled into poetry by wrong; + They learn in suffering what they teach in song,'-- + +and latterly the power of a genuine, though somewhat narrow piety, +struck out glorious scintillations from the bare but rich rock. He ranks +with Crashaw, Quarles, and Herbert, as one of the best of our early +religious poets; like them in their faults, and superior to all of them +in refinement and beauty, if not in strength of genius. + + +ON A CHARNEL-HOUSE. + +Where are you, shoreless thoughts, vast-tentered[1] hope, +Ambitious dreams, aims of an endless scope, +Whose stretched excess runs on a string too high, +And on the rack of self-extension die? +Chameleons of state, air-mongering[2] band, +Whose breath, like gunpowder, blows up a land, +Come, see your dissolution, and weigh +What a loathed nothing you shall be one day. +As the elements by circulation pass +From one to the other, and that which first was +Is so again, so 'tis with you. The grave +And nature but complete: what the one gave, +The other takes. Think, then, that in this bed +There sleep the relics of as proud a head, +As stern and subtle as your own; that hath +Performed or forced as much; whose tempest-wrath +Hath levelled kings with slaves; and wisely, then, +Calm these high furies, and descend to men. +Thus Cyrus tamed the Macedon; a tomb +Checked him who thought the world too strait a room. +Have I obeyed the powers of a face, +A beauty, able to undo the race +Of easy man? I look but here, and straight +I am informed; the lovely counterfeit +Was but a smoother clay. That famished slave, +Beggared by wealth, who starves that he may save, +Brings hither but his sheet. Nay, the ostrich-man, +That feeds on steel and bullet, he that can +Outswear his lordship, and reply as tough +To a kind word, as if his tongue were buff, +Is chapfallen here: worms, without wit or fear, +Defy him now; death has disarmed the bear. +Thus could I run o'er all the piteous score +Of erring men, and having done, meet more. +Their shuffled wills, abortive, vain intents, +Fantastic humours, perilous ascents, +False, empty honours, traitorous delights, +And whatsoe'er a blind conceit invites,-- +But these, and more, which the weak vermins swell, +Are couched in this accumulative cell, +Which I could scatter; but the grudging sun +Calls home his beams, and warns me to be gone: +Day leaves me in a double night, and I +Must bid farewell to my sad library, +Yet with these notes. Henceforth with thought of thee +I'll season all succeeding jollity, +Yet damn not mirth, nor think too much is fit: +Excess hath no religion, nor wit; +But should wild blood swell to a lawless strain, +One check from thee shall channel it again. + +[1] Vast-tentered: extended. +[2] Air-mongering: dealing in air or unsubstantial visions. + + +ON GOMBAULD'S ENDYMION. + +I've read thy soul's fair night-piece, and have seen +The amours and courtship of the silent queen; +Her stolen descents to earth, and what did move her +To juggle first with heaven, then with a lover; +With Latmos' louder rescue, and, alas! +To find her out, a hue and cry in brass; +Thy journal of deep mysteries, and sad +Nocturnal pilgrimage; with thy dreams, clad +In fancies darker than thy cave; thy glass +Of sleepy draughts; and as thy soul did pass +In her calm voyage, what discourse she heard +Of spirits; what dark groves and ill-shaped guard +Ismena led thee through; with thy proud flight +O'er Periardes, and deep-musing night +Near fair Eurotas' banks; what solemn green +The neighbour shades wear; and what forms are seen +In their large bowers; with that sad path and seat +Which none but light-heeled nymphs and fairies beat, +Their solitary life, and how exempt +From common frailty, the severe contempt +They have of man, their privilege to live +A tree or fountain, and in that reprieve +What ages they consume: with the sad vale +Of Diophania; and the mournful tale +Of the bleeding, vocal myrtle:--these and more, +Thy richer thoughts, we are upon the score +To thy rare fancy for. Nor dost thou fall +From thy first majesty, or ought at all +Betray consumption. Thy full vigorous bays +Wear the same green, and scorn the lean decays +Of style or matter; just as I have known +Some crystal spring, that from the neighbour down +Derived her birth, in gentle murmurs steal +To the next vale, and proudly there reveal +Her streams in louder accents, adding still +More noise and waters to her channel, till +At last, swollen with increase, she glides along +The lawns and meadows, in a wanton throng +Of frothy billows, and in one great name +Swallows the tributary brooks' drowned fame. +Nor are they mere inventions, for we +In the same piece find scattered philosophy, +And hidden, dispersed truths, that folded lie +In the dark shades of deep allegory, +So neatly weaved, like arras, they descry +Fables with truth, fancy with history. +So that thou hast, in this thy curious mould, +Cast that commended mixture wished of old, +Which shall these contemplations render far +Less mutable, and lasting as their star; +And while there is a people, or a sun, +Endymion's story with the moon shall run. + + +APOSTROPHE TO FLETCHER THE DRAMATIST. + +I did believe, great Beaumont being dead, +Thy widowed muse slept on his flowery bed. +But I am richly cozened, and can see +Wit transmigrates--his spirit stayed with thee; +Which, doubly advantaged by thy single pen, +In life and death now treads the stage again. +And thus are we freed from that dearth of wit +Which starved the land, since into schisms split, +Wherein th' hast done so much, we must needs guess +Wit's last edition is now i' the press. +For thou hast drained invention, and he +That writes hereafter, doth but pillage thee. +But thou hast plots; and will not the Kirk strain +At the designs of such a tragic brain? +Will they themselves think safe, when they shall see +Thy most abominable policy? +Will not the Ears assemble, and think't fit +Their synod fast and pray against thy wit? +But they'll not tire in such an idle quest-- +Thou dost but kill and circumvent in jest; +And when thy angered muse swells to a blow, +Tis but for Field's or Swansteed's overthrow. +Yet shall these conquests of thy bays outlive +Their Scottish zeal, and compacts made to grieve +The peace of spirits; and when such deeds fail +Of their foul ends, a fair name is thy bail. +But, happy! thou ne'er saw'st these storms our air +Teemed with, even in thy time, though seeming fair. +Thy gentle soul, meant for the shade and ease +Withdrew betimes into the land of peace. +So, nested in some hospitable shore, +The hermit-angler, when the mid seas roar, +Packs up his lines, and ere the tempest raves, +Retires, and leaves his station to the waves. +Thus thou diedst almost with our peace; and we, +This breathing time, thy last fair issue see, +Which I think such, if needless ink not soil +So choice a muse, others are but thy foil; +This or that age may write, but never see +A wit that dares run parallel with thee. +True Ben must live; but bate him, and thou hast +Undone all future wits, and matched the past. + + +PICTURE OF THE TOWN. + +Abominable face of things!--here's noise +Of banged mortars, blue aprons, and boys, +Pigs, dogs, and drums; with the hoarse, hellish notes +Of politicly-deaf usurers' throats; +With new fine worships, and the old cast team +Of justices, vexed with the cough and phlegm. +'Midst these, the cross looks sad; and in the shire- +Hall furs of an old Saxon fox appear, +With brotherly rufts and beards, and a strange sight +Of high, monumental hats, ta'en at the fight +Of Eighty-eight; while every burgess foots +The mortal pavement in eternal boots. +Hadst thou been bachelor, I had soon divined +Thy close retirements, and monastic mind; +Perhaps some nymph had been to visit; or +The beauteous churl was to be waited for, +And, like the Greek, ere you the sport would miss, +You stayed and stroked the distaff for a kiss. + + * * * * * + +Why, two months hence, if thou continue thus, +Thy memory will scarce remain with us. +The drawers have forgot thee, and exclaim +They have not seen thee here since Charles' reign; +Or, if they mention thee, like some old man +That at each word inserts--Sir, as I can +Remember--so the cipherers puzzle me +With a dark, cloudy character of thee; +That, certes, I fear thou wilt be lost, and we +Must ask the fathers ere't be long for thee. +Come! leave this sullen state, and let not wine +And precious wit lie dead for want of thine. +Shall the dull market landlord, with his rout +Of sneaking tenants, dirtily swill out +This harmless liquor shall they knock and beat +For sack, only to talk of rye and wheat? +Oh, let not such preposterous tippling be; +In our metropolis, may I ne'er see +Such tavern sacrilege, nor lend a line +To weep the rapes and tragedy of wine! +Here lives that chemic quick-fire, which betrays +Fresh spirits to the blood, and warms our lays; +I have reserved, 'gainst thy approach, a cup, +That, were thy muse stark dead, should raise her up, +And teach her yet more charming words and skill, +Than ever Coelia, Chloris, Astrophil, +Or any of the threadbare names inspired +Poor rhyming lovers, with a mistress fired. +Come, then, and while the snow-icicle hangs +At the stiff thatch, and winter's frosty fangs +Benumb the year, blithe as of old, let us, +'Midst noise and war, of peace and mirth discuss. +This portion thou wert born for: why should we +Vex at the times' ridiculous misery? +An age that thus hath fooled itself, and will, +Spite of thy teeth and mine, persist so still. +Let's sit, then, at this fire, and while we steal +A revel in the town, let others seal, +Purchase, or cheat, and who can, let them pay, +Till those black deeds bring on a darksome day. +Innocent spenders we! A better use +Shall wear out our short lease, and leave th' obtuse +Rout to their husks: they and their bags, at best, +Have cares in earnest--we care for a jest. + + +THE GOLDEN AGE. + +Happy that first white age! when we +Lived by the earth's mere charity; +No soft luxurious diet then +Had effeminated men-- +No other meat nor wine had any +Than the coarse mast, or simple honey; +And, by the parents' care laid up, +Cheap berries did the children sup. +No pompous wear was in those days, +Of gummy silks, or scarlet baize. +Their beds were on some flowery brink, +And clear spring water was their drink. +The shady pine, in the sun's heat, +Was their cool and known retreat; +For then 'twas not cut down, but stood +The youth and glory of the wood. +The daring sailor with his slaves +Then had not cut the swelling waves, +Nor, for desire of foreign store, +Seen any but his native shore. +No stirring drum had scared that age, +Nor the shrill trumpet's active rage; +No wounds, by bitter hatred made, +With warm blood soiled the shining blade; +For how could hostile madness arm +An age of love to public harm, +When common justice none withstood, +Nor sought rewards for spilling blood? +Oh that at length our age would raise +Into the temper of those days! +But--worse than Aetna's fires!--debate +And avarice inflame our state. +Alas! who was it that first found +Gold hid of purpose under ground-- +That sought out pearls, and dived to find +Such precious perils for mankind? + + +REGENERATION. + +1 A ward, and still in bonds, one day + I stole abroad; + It was high spring, and all the way + Primrosed, and hung with shade; + Yet was it frost within, + And surly wind + Blasted my infant buds, and sin, + Like clouds, eclipsed my mind. + +2 Stormed thus, I straight perceived my spring + Mere stage and show, + My walk a monstrous, mountained thing, + Rough-cast with rocks and snow; + And as a pilgrim's eye, + Far from relief, + Measures the melancholy sky, + Then drops, and rains for grief, + +3 So sighed I upwards still; at last, + 'Twixt steps and falls, + I reached the pinnacle, where placed + I found a pair of scales; + I took them up, and laid + In the one late pains, + The other smoke and pleasures weighed, + But proved the heavier grains. + +4 With that some cried, Away; straight I + Obeyed, and led + Full east, a fair, fresh field could spy-- + Some called it Jacob's Bed-- + A virgin soil, which no + Rude feet e'er trod, + Where, since he stept there, only go + Prophets and friends of God. + +5 Here I reposed, but scarce well set, + A grove descried + Of stately height, whose branches met + And mixed on every side; + I entered, and, once in, + (Amazed to see 't;) + Found all was changed, and a new spring + Did all my senses greet. + +6 The unthrift sun shot vital gold + A thousand pieces, + And heaven its azure did unfold, + Chequered with snowy fleeces. + The air was all in spice, + And every bush + A garland wore; thus fed my eyes, + But all the ear lay hush. + +7 Only a little fountain lent + Some use for ears, + And on the dumb shades language spent, + The music of her tears; + I drew her near, and found + The cistern full + Of divers stones, some bright and round, + Others ill-shaped and dull. + +8 The first, (pray mark,) as quick as light + Danced through the flood; + But the last, more heavy than the night, + Nailed to the centre stood; + I wondered much, but tired + At last with thought, + My restless eye, that still desired, + As strange an object brought. + +9 It was a bank of flowers, where I descried + (Though 'twas mid-day) + Some fast asleep, others broad-eyed + And taking in the ray; + Here musing long I heard + A rushing wind, + Which still increased, but whence it stirred, + Nowhere I could not find. + +10 I turned me round, and to each shade + Despatched an eye, + To see if any leaf had made + Least motion or reply; + But while I, listening, sought + My mind to ease + By knowing where 'twas, or where not, + It whispered, 'Where I please.' + + 'Lord,' then said I, 'on me one breath, + And let me die before my death!' + +'Arise, O north, and come, thou south wind; and blow upon my garden, +that the spices thereof may flow out.'--CANT. iv. 16. + + +RESURRECTION AND IMMORTALITY. + +'By that new and living way, which he hath prepared for us, through the +veil, which is his flesh.'--HEB. x. 20. + +BODY. + +1 Oft have I seen, when that renewing breath + That binds and loosens death + Inspired a quickening power through the dead + Creatures abed, + Some drowrsy silk-worm creep + From that long sleep, + And in weak, infant hummings chime and knell + About her silent cell, + Until at last, full with the vital ray, + She winged away, + And, proud with life and sense, + Heaven's rich expense, + Esteemed (vain things!) of two whole elements + As mean, and span-extents. + Shall I then think such providence will be + Less friend to me, + Or that he can endure to be unjust + Who keeps his covenant even with our dust? + +SOUL + +2 Poor querulous handful! was't for this + I taught thee all that is? + Unbowelled nature, showed thee her recruits, + And change of suits, + And how of death we make + A mere mistake; + For no thing can-to nothing fall, but still + Incorporates by skill, + And then returns, and from the womb of things + Such treasure brings, + As pheenix-like renew'th + Both life and youth; + For a preserving spirit doth still pass + Untainted through this mass, + Which doth resolve, produce, and ripen all + That to it fall; + Nor are those births, which we + Thus suffering see, + Destroyed at all; but when time's restless wave + Their substance doth deprave, + And the more noble essence finds his house + Sickly and loose, + He, ever young, doth wing + Unto that spring + And source of spirits, where he takes his lot, + Till time no more shall rot + His passive cottage; which, (though laid aside,) + Like some spruce bride, + Shall one day rise, and, clothed with shining light, + All pure and bright, + Remarry to the soul, for'tis most plain + Thou only fall'st to be refined again. + +3 Then I that here saw darkly in a glass + But mists and shadows pass, + And, by their own weak shine, did search the springs + And course of things, + Shall with enlightened rays + Pierce all their ways; + And as thou saw'st, I in a thought could go + To heaven or earth below, + To read some star, or mineral, and in state + There often sate; + So shalt thou then with me, + Both winged and free, + Rove in that mighty and eternal light, + Where no rude shade or night + Shall dare approach us; we shall there no more + Watch stars, or pore + Through melancholy clouds, and say, + 'Would it were day!' + One everlasting Sabbath there shall run + Without succession, and without a sun. + +'But go thou thy way until the end be: for thou shalt rest, and stand +in thy lot at the end of the days.'--DAN. xii. 13. + + +THE SEARCH. + +'Tis now clear day: I see a rose +Bud in the bright east, and disclose +The pilgrim-sun. All night have I +Spent in a roving ecstasy +To find my Saviour. I have been +As far as Bethlehem, and have seen +His inn and cradle; being there +I met the wise men, asked them where +He might be found, or what star can +Now point him out, grown up a man? +To Egypt hence I fled, ran o'er +All her parched bosom to Nile's shore, +Her yearly nurse; came back, inquired +Amongst the doctors, and desired +To see the temple, but was shown +A little dust, and for the town +A heap of ashes, where, some said, +A small bright sparkle was abed, +Which would one day (beneath the pole) +Awake, and then refine the whole. + +Tired here, I came to Sychar, thence +To Jacob's well, bequeathed since +Unto his sons, where often they, +In those calm, golden evenings, lay +Watering their flocks, and having spent +Those white days, drove home to the tent +Their well-fleeced train; and here (O fate!) +I sit where once my Saviour sate. +The angry spring in bubbles swelled, +Which broke in sighs still, as they filled, +And whispered, Jesus had been there, +But Jacob's children would not hear. +Loth hence to part, at last I rise, +But with the fountain in mine eyes, +And here a fresh search is decreed: +He must be found where he did bleed. +I walk the garden, and there see +Ideas of his agony, +And moving anguishments, that set +His blest face in a bloody sweat; +I climbed the hill, perused the cross, +Hung with my gain, and his great loss: +Never did tree bear fruit like this, +Balsam of souls, the body's bliss. +But, O his grave! where I saw lent +(For he had none) a monument, +An undefiled, a new-hewed one, +But there was not the Corner-stone. +Sure then, said I, my quest is vain, +He'll not be found where he was slain; +So mild a Lamb can never be +'Midst so much blood and cruelty. +I'll to the wilderness, and can +Find beasts more merciful than man; +He lived there safe, 'twas his retreat +From the fierce Jew, and Herod's heat, +And forty days withstood the fell +And high temptations of hell; +With seraphim there talked he, +His Father's flaming ministry, +He heavened their walks, and with his eyes +Made those wild shades a paradise. +Thus was the desert sanctified +To be the refuge of his bride. +I'll thither then; see, it is day! +The sun's broke through to guide my way. + +But as I urged thus, and writ down +What pleasures should my journey crown, +What silent paths, what shades and cells, +Fair virgin-flowers and hallowed wells, +I should rove in, and rest my head +Where my dear Lord did often tread, +Sugaring all dangers with success, +Methought I heard one singing thus: + + +1 Leave, leave thy gadding thoughts; + Who pores + And spies + Still out of doors, + Descries + Within them nought. + +2 The skin and shell of things, + Though fair, + Are not + Thy wish nor prayer, + But got + By mere despair + Of wings. + +3 To rack old elements, + Or dust, + And say, + Sure here he must + Needs stay, + Is not the way, + Nor just. + +Search well another world; who studies this, +Travels in clouds, seeks manna where none is. + +'That they should seek the Lord, if haply they might feel after him, +and find him, though he be not far off from every one of us: for in +him we live, and move, and have our being.'--ACTS xvii. 27, 28. + + +ISAAC'S MARRIAGE. + +'And Isaac went out to pray in the field at the eventide, and he +lifted up his eyes, and saw, and, behold, the camels were coming.' +--GEN. xxiv. 63. + +Praying! and to be married! It was rare, +But now 'tis monstrous; and that pious care +Though of ourselves, is so much out of date, +That to renew't were to degenerate. +But thou a chosen sacrifice wert given, +And offered up so early unto Heaven, +Thy flames could not be out; religion was +Hayed into thee like beams into a glass; +Where, as thou grew'st, it multiplied, and shined +The sacred constellation of thy mind. + +But being for a bride, prayer was such +A decried course, sure it prevailed not much. +Hadst ne'er an oath nor compliment? thou wert +An odd, dull suitor; hadst thou but the art +Of these our days, thou couldst have coined thee twenty +New several oaths, and compliments, too, plenty. +O sad and wild excess! and happy those +White days, that durst no impious mirth expose: +When conscience by lewd use had not lost sense, +Nor bold-faced custom banished innocence! +Thou hadst no pompous train, nor antic crowd +Of young, gay swearers, with their needless, loud +Retinue; all was here smooth as thy bride, +And calm like her, or that mild evening-tide. +Yet hadst thou nobler guests: angels did wind +And rove about thee, guardians of thy mind; +These fetched thee home thy bride, and all the way +Advised thy servant what to do and say; +These taught him at the well, and thither brought +The chaste and lovely object of thy thought. +But here was ne'er a compliment, not one +Spruce, supple cringe, or studied look put on. +All was plain, modest truth: nor did she come +In rolls and curls, mincing and stately dumb; +But in a virgin's native blush and fears, +Fresh as those roses which the day-spring wears. +O sweet, divine simplicity! O grace +Beyond a curled lock or painted face! +A pitcher too she had, nor thought it much +To carry that, which some would scorn to touch; +With, which in mild, chaste language she did woo +To draw him drink, and for his camels too. + +And now thou knew'st her coming, it was time +To get thee wings on, and devoutly climb +Unto thy God; for marriage of all states +Makes most unhappy, or most fortunates. +This brought thee forth, where now thou didst undress +Thy soul, and with new pinions refresh +Her wearied wings, which, so restored, did fly +Above the stars, a track unknown and high; +And in her piercing flight perfumed the air, +Scattering the myrrh and incense of thy prayer. +So from Lahai-roi[1]'s well some spicy cloud, +Wooed by the sun, swells up to be his shroud, +And from her moist womb weeps a fragrant shower, +Which, scattered in a thousand pearls, each flower +And herb partakes; where having stood awhile, +And something cooled the parched and thirsty isle, +The thankful earth unlocks herself, and blends +A thousand odours, which, all mixed, she sends +Up in one cloud, and so returns the skies +That dew they lent, a breathing sacrifice. + +Thus soared thy soul, who, though young, didst inherit +Together with his blood thy father's spirit, +Whose active zeal and tried faith were to thee +Familiar ever since thy infancy. +Others were timed and trained up to't, but thou +Didst thy swift years in piety outgrow. +Age made them reverend and a snowy head, +But thou wert so, ere time his snow could shed. +Then who would truly limn thee out must paint +First a young patriarch, then a married saint. + +[1] 'Lahai-roi:' a well in the south country where Jacob dwelt, between +Kadesh and Bered; _Heb.,_ The well of him that liveth and seeth me. + + +MAN'S FALL AND RECOVERY. + +Farewell, you everlasting hills! I'm cast +Here under clouds, where storms and tempests blast + This sullied flower, +Robbed of your calm; nor can I ever make, +Transplanted thus, one leaf of his t'awake; + But every hour +He sleeps and droops; and in this drowsy state +Leaves me a slave to passions and my fate. + Besides I've lost +A train of lights, which in those sunshine days +Were my sure guides; and only with me stays, + Unto my cost, +One sullen beam, whose charge is to dispense +More punishment than knowledge to my sense. + Two thousand years +I sojourned thus. At last Jeshurun's king +Those famous tables did from Sinai bring. + These swelled my fears, +Guilts, trespasses, and all this inward awe; +For sin took strength and vigour from the law. + Yet have I found +A plenteous way, (thanks to that Holy One!) +To cancel all that e'er was writ in stone. + His saving wound +Wept blood that broke this adamant, and gave +To sinners confidence, life to the grave. + This makes me span +My fathers' journeys, and in one fair step +O'er all their pilgrimage and labours leap. + For God, made man, +Reduced the extent of works of faith; so made +Of their Red Sea a spring: I wash, they wade. + +'As by the offence of one the fault came on all men to condemnation; +so by the righteousness of one, the benefit abounded towards all men +to the justification of life.'--ROM. v. 18. + + +THE SHOWER. + +1 'Twas so; I saw thy birth. That drowsy lake + From her faint bosom breathed thee, the disease + Of her sick waters, and infectious ease. + But now at even, + Too gross for heaven, + Thou fall'st in tears, and weep'st for thy mistake. + +2 Ah! it is so with me; oft have I pressed + Heaven with a lazy breath; but fruitless this + Pierced not; love only can with quick access + Unlock the way, + When all else stray, + The smoke and exhalations of the breast. + +3 Yet if, as thou dost melt, and, with thy train + Of drops, make soft the earth, my eyes could weep + O'er my hard heart, that's bound up and asleep, + Perhaps at last, + Some such showers past, + My God would give a sunshine after rain. + + +BURIAL. + +1 O thou! the first-fruits of the dead, + And their dark bed, + When I am cast into that deep + And senseless sleep, + The wages of my sin, + O then, + Thou great Preserver of all men, + Watch o'er that loose + And empty house, + Which I sometime lived in! + +2 It is in truth a ruined piece, + Not worth thy eyes; + And scarce a room, but wind and rain + Beat through and stain + The seats and cells within; + Yet thou, + Led by thy love, wouldst stoop thus low, + And in this cot, + All filth and spot, + Didst with thy servant inn. + +3 And nothing can, I hourly see, + Drive thee from me. + Thou art the same, faithful and just, + In life or dust. + Though then, thus crumbed, I stray + In blasts, + Or exhalations, and wastes, + Beyond all eyes, + Yet thy love spies + That change, and knows thy clay. + +4 The world's thy box: how then, there tossed, + Can I be lost? + But the delay is all; Time now + Is old and slow; + His wings are dull and sickly. + Yet he + Thy servant is, and waits on thee. + Cut then the sum, + Lord, haste, Lord, come, + O come, Lord Jesus, quickly! + +'And not only they, but ourselves also, which have the first-fruits of +the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting for the adoption, to wit, the redemption of our body.'--ROM. viii. 23. + + +CHEERFULNESS. + +1 Lord, with what courage and delight + I do each thing, + When thy least breath sustains my wing! + I shine and move + Like those above, + And, with much gladness + Quitting sadness, + Make me fair days of every night. + +2 Affliction thus mere pleasure is; + And hap what will, + If thou be in't,'tis welcome still. + But since thy rays + In sunny days + Thou dost thus lend, + And freely spend, + Ah! what shall I return for this? + +3 Oh that I were all soul! that thou + Wouldst make each part + Of this poor sinful frame pure heart! + Then would I drown + My single one; + And to thy praise + A concert raise + Of hallelujahs here below. + + +THE PASSION. + +1 O my chief good! + My dear, dear God! + When thy blest blood + Did issue forth, forced by the rod, + What pain didst thou + Feel in each blow! + How didst thou weep, + And thyself steep + In thy own precious, saving tears! + What cruel smart + Did tear thy heart! + How didst thou groan it + In the spirit, + O thou whom my soul loves and fears! + +2 Most blessed Vine! + Whose juice so good + I feel as wine, + But thy fair branches felt as blood, + How wert thou pressed + To be my feast! + In what deep anguish + Didst thou languish! + What springs of sweat and blood did drown thee! + How in one path + Did the full wrath + Of thy great Father + Crowd and gather, + Doubling thy griefs, when none would own thee! + +3 How did the weight + Of all our sins, + And death unite + To wrench and rack thy blessed limbs! + How pale and bloody + Looked thy body! + How bruised and broke, + With every stroke! + How meek and patient was thy spirit! + How didst thou cry, + And groan on high, + 'Father, forgive, + And let them live! + I die to make my foes inherit!' + +4 O blessed Lamb! + That took'st my sin, + That took'st my shame, + How shall thy dust thy praises sing? + I would I were + One hearty tear! + One constant spring! + Then would I bring + Thee two small mites, and be at strife + Which should most vie, + My heart or eye, + Teaching my years + In smiles and tears + To weep, to sing, thy death, my life. + + +RULES AND LESSONS. + +1 When first thy eyes unvail, give thy soul leave + To do the like; our bodies but forerun + The spirit's duty. True hearts spread and heave + Unto their God, as flowers do to the sun. + Give him thy first thoughts then; so shalt thou keep + Him company all day, and in him sleep. + +2 Yet never sleep the sun up. Prayer should + Dawn with the day. There are set, awful hours + 'Twixt Heaven and us. The manna was not good + After sun-rising; far-day sullies flowers. + Rise to prevent the sun; sleep doth sins glut, + And heaven's gate opens when this world's is shut. + +3 Walk with thy fellow-creatures; note the hush + And whispers amongst them. There's not a spring + Or leaf but hath his morning-hymn. Each bush + And oak doth know I AM. Canst thou not sing? + Oh, leave thy cares and follies! go this way, + And thou art sure to prosper all the day. + +4 Serve God before the world; let him not go + Until thou hast a blessing; then resign + The whole unto him, and remember who + Prevailed by wrestling ere the sun did shine; + Pour oil upon the stones; weep for thy sin; + Then journey on, and have an eye to heaven. + +5 Mornings are mysteries; the first world's youth, + Man's resurrection and the future's bud + Shroud in their births; the crown of life, light, truth + Is styled their star, the stone, and hidden food. + Three blessings wait upon them, two of which + Should move. They make us holy, happy, rich. + +6 When the world's up, and every swarm abroad, + Keep thou thy temper; mix not with each clay; + Despatch necessities; life hath a load + Which must be carried on, and safely may. + Yet keep those cares without thee, let the heart + Be God's alone, and choose the better part. + +7 Through all thy actions, counsels, and discourse, + Let mildness and religion guide thee out; + If truth be thine, what needs a brutish force? + But what's not good and just ne'er go about. + Wrong not thy conscience for a rotten stick; + That gain is dreadful which makes spirits sick. + +8 To God, thy country, and thy friend be true; + If priest and people change, keep thou thy ground. + Who sells religion is a Judas Jew; + And, oaths once broke, the soul cannot be sound. + The perjurer's a devil let loose: what can + Tie up his hands that dares mock God and man? + +9 Seek not the same steps with the crowd; stick thou + To thy sure trot; a constant, humble mind + Is both his own joy, and his Maker's too; + Let folly dust it on, or lag behind. + A sweet self-privacy in a right soul + Outruns the earth, and lines the utmost pole. + +10 To all that seek thee bear an open heart; + Make not thy breast a labyrinth or trap; + If trials come, this will make good thy part, + For honesty is safe, come what can hap; + It is the good man's feast, the prince of flowers, + Which thrives in storms, and smells best after showers. + +11 Seal not thy eyes up from the poor, but give + Proportion to their merits, and thy purse; + Thou may'st in rags a mighty prince relieve, + Who, when thy sins call for't, can fence a curse. + Thou shalt not lose one mite. Though waters stray, + The bread we cast returns in fraughts one day. + +12 Spend not an hour so as to weep another, + For tears are not thine own; if thou giv'st words, + Dash not with them thy friend, nor Heaven; oh, smother + A viperous thought; some syllables are swords. + Unbitted tongues are in their penance double; + They shame their owners, and their hearers trouble. + +13 Injure not modest blood, while spirits rise + In judgment against lewdness; that's base wit + That voids but filth and stench. Hast thou no prize + But sickness or infection? stifle it. + Who makes his jest of sins, must be at least, + If not a very devil, worse than beast. + +14 Yet fly no friend, if he be such indeed; + But meet to quench his longings, and thy thirst; + Allow your joys, religion: that done, speed, + And bring the same man back thou wert at first. + Who so returns not, cannot pray aright, + But shuts his door, and leaves God out all night. + +15 To heighten thy devotions, and keep low + All mutinous thoughts, what business e'er thou hast, + Observe God in his works; here fountains flow, + Birds sing, beasts feed, fish leap, and the earth stands fast; + Above are restless motions, running lights, + Vast circling azure, giddy clouds, days, nights. + +16 When seasons change, then lay before thine eyes + His wondrous method; mark the various scenes + In heaven; hail, thunder, rainbows, snow, and ice, + Calms, tempests, light, and darkness, by his means; + Thou canst not miss his praise; each tree, herb, flower + Are shadows of his wisdom and his power. + +17 To meals when thou dost come, give him the praise + Whose arm supplied thee; take what may suffice, + And then be thankful; oh, admire his ways + Who fills the world's unemptied granaries! + A thankless feeder is a thief, his feast + A very robbery, and himself no guest. + +18 High-noon thus past, thy time decays; provide + Thee other thoughts; away with friends and mirth; + The sun now stoops, and hastes his beams to hide + Under the dark and melancholy earth. + All but preludes thy end. Thou art the man + Whose rise, height, and descent is but a span. + +19 Yet, set as he doth, and 'tis well. Have all + Thy beams home with thee: trim thy lamp, buy oil, + And then set forth; who is thus dressed, the fall + Furthers his glory, and gives death the foil. + Man is a summer's day; whose youth and fire + Cool to a glorious evening, and expire. + +20 When night comes, list[1] thy deeds; make plain the way + 'Twixt heaven and thee; block it not with delays; + But perfect all before thou sleep'st; then say + 'There's one sun more strung on my bead of days.' + What's good score up for joy; the bad, well scanned, + Wash off with tears, and get thy Master's hand. + +21 Thy accounts thus made, spend in the grave one hour + Before thy time; be not a stranger there, + Where thou may'st sleep whole ages; life's poor flower + Lasts not a night sometimes. Bad spirits fear + This conversation; but the good man lies + Entombed many days before he dies. + +22 Being laid, and dressed for sleep, close not thy eyes + Up with thy curtains; give thy soul the wing + In some good thoughts; so, when the day shall rise, + And thou unrak'st thy fire, those sparks will bring + New flames; besides where these lodge, vain heats mourn + And die; that bush where God is shall not burn. + +23 When thy nap's over, stir thy fire, and rake + In that dead age; one beam i' the dark outvies + Two in the day; then from the damps and ache + Of night shut up thy leaves; be chaste; God pries + Through thickest nights; though then the sun be far, + Do thou the works of day, and rise a star. + +24 Briefly, do as thou wouldst be done unto, + Love God, and love thy neighbour; watch and pray. + These are the words and works of life; this do, + And live; who doth not thus, hath lost heaven's way. + Oh, lose it not! look up, wilt change those lights + For chains of darkness and eternal nights? + +[1] 'List:' weigh. + + +REPENTANCE. + +Lord, since thou didst in this vile clay + That sacred ray, +Thy Spirit, plant, quickening the whole + With that one grain's infused wealth, +My forward flesh crept on, and subtly stole + Both growth and power; checking the health +And heat of thine. That little gate + And narrow way, by which to thee +The passage is, he termed a grate + And entrance to captivity; +Thy laws but nets, where some small birds, + And those but seldom too, were caught; +Thy promises but empty words, + Which none but children heard or taught. +This I believed: and though a friend + Came oft from far, and whispered, No; +Yet, that not sorting to my end, + I wholly listened to my foe. +Wherefore, pierced through with grief, my sad, + Seduced soul sighs up to thee; +To thee, who with true light art clad, + And seest all things just as they be. +Look from thy throne upon this roll + Of heavy sins, my high transgressions, +Which I confess with all my soul; + My God, accept of my confession! + It was last day, +Touched with the guilt of my own way, +I sat alone, and taking up, + The bitter cup, +Through all thy fair and various store, +Sought out what might outvie my score. + The blades of grass thy creatures feeding; + The trees, their leaves; the flowers, their seeding; + The dust, of which I am a part; + The stones, much softer than my heart; + The drops of rain, the sighs of wind, + The stars, to which I am stark blind; + The dew thy herbs drink up by night, + The beams they warm them at i' the light; + All that have signature or life + I summoned to decide this strife; + And lest I should lack for arrears, + A spring ran by, I told her tears; + But when these came unto the scale, + My sins alone outweighed them all. + O my dear God! my life, my love! + Most blessed Lamb! and mildest Dove! + Forgive your penitent offender, + And no more his sins remember; + Scatter these shades of death, and give + Light to my soul, that it may live; + Cut me not off for my transgressions, + Wilful rebellions, and suppressions; + But give them in those streams a part + Whose spring is in my Saviour's heart. + Lord, I confess the heinous score, + And pray I may do so no more; + Though then all sinners I exceed, + Oh, think on this, thy Son did bleed! + Oh, call to mind his wounds, his woes, + His agony, and bloody throes; + Then look on all that thou hast made, + And mark how they do fail and fade; + The heavens themselves, though fair and bright, + Are dark and unclean in thy sight; + How then, with thee, can man be holy, + Who dost thine angels charge with folly? + Oh, what am I, that I should breed + Figs on a thorn, flowers on a weed? + I am the gourd of sin and sorrow, + Growing o'er night, and gone to-morrow. + In all this round of life and death + Nothing's more vile than is my breath; + Profaneness on my tongue doth rest, + Defects and darkness in my breast; + Pollutions all my body wed, + And even my soul to thee is dead; + Only in him, on whom I feast, + Both soul and body are well dressed; + His pure perfection quits all score, + And fills the boxes of his poor; +He is the centre of long life and light; +I am but finite, he is infinite. +Oh, let thy justice then in him confine, +And through his merits make thy mercy mine! + + +THE DAWNING. + +Ah! what time wilt thou come? when shall that cry, + 'The Bridegroom's coming!' fill the skyl? + Shall it in the evening run + When our words and works are done? + Or will thy all-surprising light + Break at midnight, + When either sleep or some dark pleasure + Possesseth mad man without measure? + Or shall these early, fragrant hours + Unlock thy bowers, + And with their blush of light descry + Thy locks crowned with eternity? + Indeed, it is the only time + That with thy glory doth best chime; + All now are stirring, every field + Full hymns doth yield; + The whole creation shakes off night, + And for thy shadow looks the light; + Stars now vanish without number, + Sleepy planets set and slumber, + The pursy clouds disband and scatter, + All expect some sudden matter; + Not one beam triumphs, but from far + That morning-star. + + Oh, at what time soever thou, + Unknown to us, the heavens wilt bow, + And, with thy angels in the van, + Descend to judge poor careless man, + Grant I may not like puddle lie + In a corrupt security, + Where, if a traveller water crave, + He finds it dead, and in a grave. + But as this restless, vocal spring + All day and night doth run and sing, + And though here born, yet is acquainted + Elsewhere, and flowing keeps untainted; + So let me all my busy age + In thy free services engage; + And though, while here, of force I must + Have commerce sometimes with poor dust, + And in my flesh, though vile and low, + As this doth in her channel flow, + Yet let my course, my aim, my love, + And chief acquaintance be above; + So when that day and hour shall come + In which thyself will be the Sun, + Thou'lt find me dressed and on my way, + Watching the break of thy great day. + + +THE TEMPEST. + +1 How is man parcelled out! how every hour + Shows him himself, or something he should see! + This late, long heat may his instruction be; + And tempests have more in them than a shower. + + When nature on her bosom saw + Her infants die, + And all her flowers withered to straw, + Her breasts grown dry; + She made the earth, their nurse and tomb, + Sigh to the sky, + Till to those sighs, fetched from her womb, + Rain did reply; + So in the midst of all her fears + And faint requests, + Her earnest sighs procured her tears + And filled her breasts. + +2 Oh that man could do so! that he would hear + The world read to him! all the vast expense + In the creation shed and slaved to sense, + Makes up but lectures for his eye and ear. + +3 Sure mighty Love, foreseeing the descent + Of this poor creature, by a gracious art + Hid in these low things snares to gain his heart, + And laid surprises in each element. + +4 All things here show him heaven; waters that fall + Chide and fly up; mists of corruptest foam + Quit their first beds and mount; trees, herbs, flowers, all + Strive upwards still, and point him the way home. + +5 How do they cast off grossness? only earth + And man, like Issachar, in loads delight, + Water's refined to motion, air to light, + Fire to all three,[1] but man hath no such mirth. + +6 Plants in the root with earth do most comply, + Their leaves with water and humidity, + The flowers to air draw near and subtilty, + And seeds a kindred fire have with the sky. + +7 All have their keys and set ascents; but man + Though he knows these, and hath more of his own, + Sleeps at the ladder's foot; alas! what can + These new discoveries do, except they drown? + +8 Thus, grovelling in the shade and darkness, he + Sinks to a dead oblivion; and though all + He sees, like pyramids, shoot from this ball, + And lessening still, grow up invisibly, + +9 Yet hugs he still his dirt; the stuff he wears, + And painted trimming, takes down both his eyes; + Heaven hath less beauty than the dust he spies, + And money better music than the spheres. + +10 Life's but a blast; he knows it; what? shall straw + And bulrush-fetters temper his short hour? + Must he nor sip nor sing? grows ne'er a flower + To crown his temples? shall dreams be his law? + +11 O foolish man! how hast thou lost thy sight? + How is it that the sun to thee alone + Is grown thick darkness, and thy bread a stone? + Hath flesh no softness now? mid-day no light? + +12 Lord! thou didst put a soul here. If I must + Be broke again, for flints will give no fire + Without a steel, oh, let thy power clear + Thy gift once more, and grind this flint to dust! + +[1] 'All three:' light, motion, heat + + +THE WORLD. + +1 I saw eternity the other night, + Like a great ring of pure and endless light, + All calm, as it was bright; + And round beneath it, time, in hours, days, years, + Driven by the spheres, + Like a vast shadow moved, in which the world + And all her train were hurled. + The doting lover in his quaintest strain + Did there complain; + Near him, his lute, his fancy, and his flights, + Wit's sour delights; + With gloves, and knots, the silly snares of pleasure, + Yet his dear treasure, + All scattered lay, while he his eyes did pour + Upon a flower. + +2 The darksome statesman, hung with weights and woe, + Like a thick midnight fog, moved there so slow, + He did nor stay, nor go; + Condemning thoughts, like sad eclipses, scowl + Upon his soul, + And clouds of crying witnesses without + Pursued him with one shout. + Yet digged the mole, and, lest his ways be found, + Worked under ground, + Where he did clutch his prey. But one did see + That policy. + Churches and altars fed him; perjuries + Were gnats and flies; + It rained about him blood and tears; but he + Drank them as free. + +3 The fearful miser on a heap of rust + Sat pining all his life there, did scarce trust + His own hands with the dust, + Yet would not place one piece above, but lives + In fear of thieves. + Thousands there were as frantic as himself, + And hugged each one his pelf; + The downright epicure placed heaven in sense, + And scorned pretence; + While others, slipped into a wide excess, + Said little less; + The weaker sort slight, trivial wares enslave, + Who think them brave, + And poor, despised truth sat counting by + Their victory. + +4 Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing, + And sing and weep, soared up into the ring; + But most would use no wing. + 'O fools,' said I,'thus to prefer dark night + Before true light! + To live in grots and caves, and hate the day + Because it shows the way, + The way, which from this dead and dark abode + Leads up to God, + A way where you might tread the sun, and be + More bright than he!' + But, as I did their madness so discuss, + One whispered thus, + 'This ring the bridegroom did for none provide, + But for his bride.' + + +'All that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, +and the pride of life, is not of the Father, but is of the world. And +the world passeth away, and the lusts thereof; but he that doeth the +will of God abideth for ever.'--1 JOHN ii. 16, 17. + + +THE CONSTELLATION. + +1 Fair, ordered lights, whose motion without noise + Resembles those true joys, + Whose spring is on that hill where you do grow, + And we here taste sometimes below. + +2 With what exact obedience do you move, + Now beneath, and now above! + And in your vast progressions overlook + The darkest night and closest nook! + +3 Some nights I see you in the gladsome east, + Some others near the west, + And when I cannot see, yet do you shine, + And beat about your endless line. + +4 Silence and light and watchfulness with you + Attend and wind the clue; + No sleep nor sloth assails you, but poor man + Still either sleeps, or slips his span. + +5 He gropes beneath here, and with restless care, + First makes, then hugs a snare; + Adores dead dust, sets heart on corn and grass, + But seldom doth make heaven his glass. + +6 Music and mirth, if there be music here, + Take up and tune his ear; + These things are kin to him, and must be had; + Who kneels, or sighs a life, is mad. + +7 Perhaps some nights he'll watch with you, and peep + When it were best to sleep; + Dares know effects, and judge them long before, + When the herb he treads knows much, much more. + +8 But seeks he your obedience, order, light, + Your calm and well-trained flight? + Where, though the glory differ in each star, + Yet is there peace still and no war. + +9 Since placed by him, who calls you by your names, + And fixed there all your flames, + Without command you never acted ought, + And then you in your courses fought. + +10 But here, commissioned by a black self-will, + The sons the father kill, + The children chase the mother, and would heal + The wounds they give by crying zeal. + +11 Then cast her blood and tears upon thy book, + Where they for fashion look; + And, like that lamb, which had the dragon's voice, + Seem mild, but are known by their noise. + +12 Thus by our lusts disordered into wars, + Our guides prove wandering stars, + Which for these mists and black days were reserved, + What time we from our first love swerved. + +13 Yet oh, for his sake who sits now by thee + All crowned with victory, + So guide us through this darkness, that we may + Be more and more in love with day! + +14 Settle and fix our hearts, that we may move + In order, peace, and love; + And, taught obedience by thy whole creation, + Become an humble, holy nation! + +15 Give to thy spouse her perfect and pure dress, + Beauty and holiness; + And so repair these rents, that men may see + And say, 'Where God is, all agree.' + + +MISERY. + +Lord, bind me up, and let me lie +A prisoner to my liberty, +If such a state at all can be +As an impris'ment serving thee; +The wind, though gathered in thy fist, +Yet doth it blow still where it list, +And yet shouldst thou let go thy hold, +Those gusts might quarrel and grow bold. + +As waters here, headlong and loose, +The lower grounds still chase and choose, +Where spreading ail the way they seek +And search out every hole and creek; +So my spilt thoughts, winding from thee, +Take the down-road to vanity, +Where they all stray, and strive which shall +Find out the first and steepest fall. +I cheer their flow, giving supply +To what's already grown too high, +And having thus performed that part, +Feed on those vomits of my heart. +I break the fence my own hands made +Then lay that trespass in the shade; +Some fig-leaves still I do devise, +As if thou hadst not ears nor eyes. +Excess of friends, of words, and wine +Take up my day, while thou dost shine +All unregarded, and thy book +Hath not so much as one poor look. +If thou steal in amidst the mirth +And kindly tell me, I am earth, +I shut thee out, and let that slip; +Such music spoils good fellowship. +Thus wretched I and most unkind, +Exclude my dear God from my mind, +Exclude him thence, who of that cell +Would make a court, should he there dwell. +He goes, he yields; and troubled sore +His Holy Spirit grieves therefore; +The mighty God, the eternal King +Doth grieve for dust, and dust doth sing. +But I go on, haste to divest +Myself of reason, till oppressed +And buried in my surfeits, I +Prove my own shame and misery. +Next day I call and cry for thee +Who shouldst not then come near to me; +But now it is thy servant's pleasure, +Thou must and dost give him his measure. +Thou dost, thou com'st, and in a shower +Of healing sweets thyself dost pour +Into my wounds; and now thy grace +(I know it well) fills all the place; +I sit with thee by this new light, +And for that hour thou'rt my delight; +No man can more the world despise, +Or thy great mercies better prize. +I school my eyes, and strictly dwell +Within the circle of my cell; +That calm and silence are my joys, +Which to thy peace are but mere noise. +At length I feel my head to ache, +My fingers itch, and burn to take +Some new employment, I begin +To swell and foam and fret within: + 'The age, the present times are not + To snudge in and embrace a cot; + Action and blood now get the game, + Disdain treads on the peaceful name; + Who sits at home too bears a load + Greater than those that gad abroad.' +Thus do I make thy gifts given me +The only quarrellers with thee; +I'd loose those knots thy hands did tie, +Then would go travel, fight, or die. +Thousands of wild and waste infusions +Like waves beat on my resolutions; +As flames about their fuel run, +And work and wind till all be done, +So my fierce soul bustles about, +And never rests till all be out. +Thus wilded by a peevish heart, +Which in thy music bears no part, +I storm at thee, calling my peace +A lethargy, and mere disease; +Nay those bright beams shot from thy eyes +To calm me in these mutinies, +I style mere tempers, which take place +At some set times, but are thy grace. + +Such is man's life, and such is mine, +The worst of men, and yet still thine, +Still thine, thou know'st, and if not so, +Then give me over to my foe. +Yet since as easy 'tis for thee +To make man good as bid him be, +And with one glance, could he that gain, +To look him out of all his pain, +Oh, send me from thy holy hill +So much of strength as may fulfil +All thy delights, whate'er they be, +And sacred institutes in me! +Open my rocky heart, and fill +It with obedience to thy will; +Then seal it up, that as none see, +So none may enter there but thee. + +Oh, hear, my God! hear him, whose blood +Speaks more and better for my good! +Oh, let my cry come to thy throne! +My cry not poured with tears alone, +(For tears alone are often foul,) +But with the blood of all my soul; +With spirit-sighs, and earnest groans, +Faithful and most repenting moans, +With these I cry, and crying pine, +Till thou both mend, and make me thine. + + +MOUNT OF OLIVES. + +When first I saw true beauty, and thy joys, +Active as light, and calm without all noise, +Shined on my soul, I felt through all my powers +Such a rich air of sweets, as evening showers, +Fanned by a gentle gale, convey, and breathe +On some parched bank, crowned with a flowery wreath; +Odours, and myrrh, and balm in one rich flood +O'erran my heart, and spirited my blood; +My thoughts did swim in comforts, and mine eye +Confessed, 'The world did only paint and lie.' +And where before I did no safe course steer, +But wandered under tempests all the year; +Went bleak and bare in body as in mind, +And was blown through by every storm and wind, +I am so warmed now by this glance on me, +That 'midst all storms I feel a ray of thee. +So have I known some beauteous passage rise +In sudden flowers and arbours to my eyes, +And in the depth and dead of winter bring +To my cold thoughts a lively sense of spring. + +Thus fed by thee, who dost all beings nourish, +My withered leaves again look green and flourish; +I shine and shelter underneath thy wing, +Where, sick with love, I strive thy name to sing; +Thy glorious name! which grant I may so do, +That these may be thy praise, and my joy too! + + +ASCENSION-DAY. + +Lord Jesus! with what sweetness and delights, +Sure, holy hopes, high joys, and quickening flights, +Dost thou feed thine! O thou! the hand that lifts +To him who gives all good and perfect gifts, +Thy glorious, bright ascension, though removed +So many ages from me, is so proved +And by thy Spirit sealed to me, that I +Feel me a sharer in thy victory! + I soar and rise + Up to the skies, + Leaving the world their day; + And in my flight + For the true light + Go seeking all the way; +I greet thy sepulchre, salute thy grave, +That blest enclosure, where the angels gave +The first glad tidings of thy early light, +And resurrection from the earth and night, +I see that morning in thy convert's[1] tears, +Fresh as the dew, which but this dawning wears. +I smell her spices; and her ointment yields +As rich a scent as the now primrosed fields. +The day-star smiles, and light with the deceased +Now shines in all the chambers of the east. +What stirs, what posting intercourse and mirth +Of saints and angels glorify the earth? +What sighs, what whispers, busy stops and stays, +Private and holy talk, fill all the ways? +They pass as at the last great day, and run +In their white robes to seek the risen Sun; +I see them, hear them, mark their haste, and move +Amongst them, with them, winged with faith and love. +Thy forty days' more secret commerce here +After thy death and funeral, so clear +And indisputable, shows to my sight +As the sun doth, which to those days gave light. +I walk the fields of Bethany, which shine +All now as fresh as Eden, and as fine. +Such was the bright world on the first seventh day, +Before man brought forth sin, and sin decay; +When like a virgin clad in flowers and green +The pure earth sat, and the fair woods had seen +No frost, but flourished in that youthful vest +With which their great Creator had them dressed: +When heaven above them shined like molten glass, +While all the planets did unclouded pass; +And springs, like dissolved pearls, their streams did pour, +Ne'er marred with floods, nor angered with a shower. +With these fair thoughts I move in this fair place, +And the last steps of my mild Master trace. +I see him leading out his chosen train +All sad with tears, which like warm summer rain +In silent drops steal from their holy eyes, +Fixed lately on the cross, now on the skies. +And now, eternal Jesus! thou dost heave +Thy blessed hands to bless those thou dost leave. +The cloud doth now receive thee, and their sight +Having lost thee, behold two men in white! +Two and no more: 'What two attest is true,' +Was thine own answer to the stubborn Jew. +Come then, thou faithful Witness! come, dear Lord, +Upon the clouds again to judge this world! + +[1] 'Thy convert:' St Mary Magdalene. + + +COCK-CROWING. + +1 Father of lights! what sunny seed, + What glance of day hast thou confined + Into this bird? To all the breed + This busy ray thou hast assigned; + Their magnetism works all night, + And dreams of paradise and light. + +2 Their eyes watch for the morning hue, + Their little grain-expelling night + So shines and sings, as if it knew + The path unto the house of light. + It seems their candle, howe'er done, + Was tinned and lighted at the sun. + +3 If such a tincture, such a touch, + So firm a longing can empower, + Shall thy own image think it much + To watch for thy appearing hour? + If a mere blast so fill the sail, + Shall not the breath of God prevail? + +4 O thou immortal light and heat! + Whose hand so shines through all this frame, + That by the beauty of the seat, + We plainly see who made the same, + Seeing thy seed abides in me, + Dwell thou in it, and I in thee! + +5 To sleep without thee is to die; + Yea,'tis a death partakes of hell: + For where thou dost not close the eye + It never opens, I can tell. + In such a dark, Egyptian border, + The shades of death dwell, and disorder. + +6 If joys, and hopes, and earnest throes, + And hearts, whose pulse beats still for light, + Are given to birds; who, but thee, knows + A love-sick soul's exalted flight? + Can souls be tracked by any eye + But his, who gave them wings to fly? + +7 Only this veil which thou hast broke, + And must be broken yet in me, + This veil, I say, is all the cloak + And cloud which shadows me from thee. + This veil thy full-eyed love denies, + And only gleams and fractions spies. + +8 Oh, take it off! make no delay; + But brush me with thy light, that I + May shine unto a perfect day, + And warm me at thy glorious eye! + Oh, take it off! or till it flee, + Though with no lily, stay with me! + + +THE PALM-TREE. + +1 Dear friend, sit down, and bear awhile this shade, + As I have yours long since. This plant you see + So pressed and bowed, before sin did degrade + Both you and it, had equal liberty + +2 With other trees; but now, shut from the breath + And air of Eden, like a malcontent + It thrives nowhere. This makes these weights, like death + And sin, hang at him; for the more he's bent + +3 The more he grows. Celestial natures still + Aspire for home. This Solomon of old, + By flowers, and carvings, and mysterious skill + Of wings, and cherubims, and palms, foretold. + +4 This is the life which, hid above with Christ + In God, doth always (hidden) multiply, + And spring, and grow, a tree ne'er to be priced, + A tree whose fruit is immortality. + +5 Here spirits that have run their race, and fought, + And won the fight, and have not feared the frowns + Nor loved the smiles of greatness, but have wrought + Their Master's will, meet to receive their crowns. + +6 Here is the patience of the saints: this tree + Is watered by their tears, as flowers are fed + With dew by night; but One you cannot see + Sits here, and numbers all the tears they shed. + +7 Here is their faith too, which if you will keep + When we two part, I will a journey make + To pluck a garland hence while you do sleep, + And weave it for your head against you wake. + + +THE GARLAND. + +1 Thou, who dost flow and flourish here below, + To whom a falling star and nine days' glory, + Or some frail beauty, makes the bravest show, + Hark, and make use of this ensuing story. + + When first my youthful, sinful age + Grew master of my ways, + Appointing error for my page, + And darkness for my days; + I flung away, and with full cry + Of wild affections, rid + In post for pleasures, bent to try + All gamesters that would bid. + I played with fire, did counsel spurn, + Made life my common stake; + But never thought that fire would burn, + Or that a soul could ache. + Glorious deceptions, gilded mists, + False joys, fantastic flights, + Pieces of sackcloth with silk lists, + These were my prime delights. + I sought choice bowers, haunted the spring, + Culled flowers and made me posies; + Gave my fond humours their full wing, + And crowned my head with roses. + But at the height of this career + I met with a dead man, + Who, noting well my vain abear, + Thus unto me began: + 'Desist, fond fool, be not undone; + What thou hast cut to-day + Will fade at night, and with this sun + Quite vanish and decay.' + +2 Flowers gathered in this world, die here; if thou + Wouldst have a wreath that fades not, let them grow, + And grow for thee. Who spares them here, shall find + A garland, where comes neither rain nor wind. + + +LOVE-SICK. + +Jesus, my life! how shall I truly love thee! +Oh that thy Spirit would so strongly move me, +That thou wert pleased to shed thy grace so far +As to make man all pure love, flesh a star! +A star that would ne'er set, but ever rise, +So rise and run, as to outrun these skies, +These narrow skies (narrow to me) that bar, +So bar me in, that I am still at war, +At constant war with them. Oh, come, and rend +Or bow the heavens! Lord, bow them and descend, +And at thy presence make these mountains flow, +These mountains of cold ice in me! Thou art +Refining fire; oh, then, refine my heart, +My foul, foul heart! Thou art immortal heat; +Heat motion gives; then warm it, till it beat; +So beat for thee, till thou in mercy hear; +So hear, that thou must open; open to +A sinful wretch, a wretch that caused thy woe; +Thy woe, who caused his weal; so far his weal +That thou forgott'st thine own, for thou didst seal +Mine with thy blood, thy blood which makes thee mine, +Mine ever, ever; and me ever thine. + + +PSALM CIV. + +1 Up, O my soul, and bless the Lord! O God, + My God, how great, how very great art thou! + Honour and majesty have their abode + With thee, and crown thy brow. + +2 Thou cloth'st thyself with light as with a robe, + And the high, glorious heavens thy mighty hand + Doth spread like curtains round about this globe + Of air, and sea, and land. + +3 The beams of thy bright chambers thou dost lay + In the deep waters, which no eye can find; + The clouds thy chariots are, and thy pathway + The wings of the swift wind. + +4 In thy celestial, gladsome messages + Despatched to holy souls, sick with desire + And love of thee, each willing angel is + Thy minister in fire. + +5 Thy arm unmoveable for ever laid + And founded the firm earth; then with the deep + As with a vail thou hidd'st it; thy floods played + Above the mountains steep. + +6 At thy rebuke they fled, at the known voice + Of their Lord's thunder they retired apace: + Some up the mountains passed by secret ways, + Some downwards to their place. + +7 For thou to them a bound hast set, a bound + Which, though but sand, keeps in and curbs whole seas: + There all their fury, foam, and hideous sound, + Must languish and decrease. + +8 And as thy care bounds these, so thy rich love + Doth broach the earth; and lesser brooks lets forth, + Which run from hills to valleys, and improve + Their pleasure and their worth. + +9 These to the beasts of every field give drink; + There the wild asses swallow the cool spring: + And birds amongst the branches on their brink + Their dwellings have, and sing. + +10 Thou from thy upper springs above, from those + Chambers of rain, where heaven's large bottles lie, + Dost water the parched hills, whose breaches close, + Healed by the showers from high. + +11 Grass for the cattle, and herbs for man's use + Thou mak'st to grow; these, blessed by thee, the earth + Brings forth, with wine, oil, bread; all which infuse + To man's heart strength and mirth. + +12 Thou giv'st the trees their greenness, even to those + Cedars in Lebanon, in whose thick boughs + The birds their nests build; though the stork doth choose + The fir-trees for her house. + +13 To the wild goats the high hills serve for folds, + The rocks give conies a retiring place: + Above them the cool moon her known course holds, + And the sun runs his race. + +14 Thou makest darkness, and then comes the night, + In whose thick shades and silence each wild beast + Creeps forth, and, pinched for food, with scent and sight + Hunts in an eager quest. + +15 The lion's whelps, impatient of delay, + Roar in the covert of the woods, and seek + Their meat from thee, who dost appoint the prey, + And feed'st them all the week. + +16 This past, the sun shines on the earth; and they + Retire into their dens; man goes abroad + Unto his work, and at the close of day + Returns home with his load. + +17 O Lord my God, how many and how rare + Are thy great works! In wisdom hast thou made + Them all; and this the earth, and every blade + Of grass we tread declare. + +18 So doth the deep and wide sea, wherein are + Innumerable creeping things, both small + And great; there ships go, and the shipmen's fear, + The comely, spacious whale. + +19 These all upon thee wait, that thou mayst feed + Them in due season: what thou giv'st they take; + Thy bounteous open hand helps them at need, + And plenteous meals they make. + +20 When thou dost hide thy face, (thy face which keeps + All things in being,) they consume and mourn: + When thou withdraw'st their breath their vigour sleeps, + And they to dust return. + +21 Thou send'st thy Spirit forth, and they revive, + The frozen earth's dead face thou dost renew. + Thus thou thy glory through the world dost drive, + And to thy works art true. + +22 Thine eyes behold the earth, and the whole stage + Is moved and trembles, the hills melt and smoke + With thy least touch; lightnings and winds that rage + At thy rebuke are broke. + +23 Therefore as long as thou wilt give me breath + I will in songs to thy great name employ + That gift of thine, and to my day of death + Thou shalt be all my joy. + +24 I'll spice my thoughts with thee, and from thy word + Gather true comforts; but the wicked liver + Shall be consumed. O my soul, bless thy Lord! + Yea, bless thou him for ever! + + +THE TIMBER. + +1 Sure thou didst flourish once! and many springs, + Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers + Passed o'er thy head; many light hearts and wings, + Which now are dead, lodged in thy living bowers. + +2 And still a new succession sings and flies; + Fresh groves grow up, and their green branches shoot + Towards the old and still-enduring skies, + While the low violet thrives at their root. + +3 But thou, beneath the sad and heavy line + Of death, doth waste all senseless, cold, and dark; + Where not so much as dreams of light may shine, + Nor any thought of greenness, leaf, or bark. + +4 And yet, as if some deep hate and dissent, + Bred in thy growth betwixt high winds and thee, + Were still alive, thou dost great storms resent, + Before they come, and know'st how near they be. + +5 Else all at rest thou liest, and the fierce breath + Of tempests can no more disturb thy ease; + But this thy strange resentment after death + Means only those who broke in life thy peace. + +6 So murdered man, when lovely life is done, + And his blood freezed, keeps in the centre still + Some secret sense, which makes the dead blood run + At his approach that did the body kill. + +7 And is there any murderer worse than sin? + Or any storms more foul than a lewd life? + Or what resentient can work more within + Than true remorse, when with past sins at strife? + +8 He that hath left life's vain joys and vain care, + And truly hates to be detained on earth, + Hath got an house where many mansions are, + And keeps his soul unto eternal mirth. + +9 But though thus dead unto the world, and ceased + From sin, he walks a narrow, private way; + Yet grief and old wounds make him sore displeased, + And all his life a rainy, weeping day. + +10 For though he should forsake the world, and live + As mere a stranger as men long since dead; + Yet joy itself will make a right soul grieve + To think he should be so long vainly led. + +11 But as shades set off light, so tears and grief, + Though of themselves but a sad blubbered story, + By showing the sin great, show the relief + Far greater, and so speak my Saviour's glory. + +12 If my way lies through deserts and wild woods, + Where all the land with scorching heat is cursed; + Better the pools should flow with rain and floods + To fill my bottle, than I die with thirst. + +13 Blest showers they are, and streams sent from above; + Begetting virgins where they use to flow; + The trees of life no other waters love, + Than upper springs, and none else make them grow. + +14 But these chaste fountains flow not till we die. + Some drops may fall before; but a clear spring + And ever running, till we leave to fling + Dirt in her way, will keep above the sky. + +'He that is dead is freed from sin.'--ROM. vi. 7. + + +THE JEWS. + +1 When the fair year + Of your Deliverer comes, + And that long frost which now benumbs + Your hearts shall thaw; when angels here + Shall yet to man appear, + And familiarly confer + Beneath the oak and juniper; + When the bright Dove, + Which now these many, many springs + Hath kept above, + Shall with spread wings + Descend, and living waters flow + To make dry dust, and dead trees grow; + +2 Oh, then, that I + Might live, and see the olive bear + Her proper branches! which now lie + Scattered each where; + And, without root and sap, decay; + Cast by the husbandman away. + And sure it is not far! + For as your fast and foul decays, + Forerunning the bright morning star, + Did sadly note his healing rays + Would shine elsewhere, since you were blind, + And would be cross, when God was kind,-- + +3 So by all signs + Our fulness too is now come in; + And the same sun, which here declines + And sets, will few hours hence begin + To rise on you again, and look + Towards old Mamre and Eshcol's brook. + For surely he + Who loved the world so as to give + His only Son to make it free, + Whose Spirit too doth mourn and grieve + To see man lost, will for old love + From your dark hearts this veil remove. + +4 Faith sojourned first on earth in you, + You were the dear and chosen stock: + The arm of God, glorious and true, + Was first revealed to be your rock. + +5 You were the eldest child, and when + Your stony hearts despised love, + The youngest, even the Gentiles, then, + Were cheered your jealousy to move. + +6 Thus, righteous Father! dost thou deal + With brutish men; thy gifts go round + By turns, and timely, and so heal + The lost son by the newly found. + + +PALM-SUNDAY. + +1 Come, drop your branches, strew the way, + Plants of the day! + Whom sufferings make most green and gay. + The King of grief, the Man of sorrow, + Weeping still like the wet morrow, + Your shades and freshness comes to borrow. + +2 Put on, put on your best array; + Let the joyed road make holyday, + And flowers, that into fields do stray, + Or secret groves, keep the highway. + +3 Trees, flowers, and herbs; birds, beasts, and stones, + That since man fell expect with groans + To see the Lamb, come all at once, + Lift up your heads and leave your moans; + For here comes he + Whose death will be + Man's life, and your full liberty. + +4 Hark! how the children shrill and high + 'Hosanna' cry; + Their joys provoke the distant sky, + Where thrones and seraphim reply; + And their own angels shine and sing, + In a bright ring: + Such young, sweet mirth + Makes heaven and earth + Join in a joyful symphony. + +5 The harmless, young, and happy ass, + (Seen long before[1] this came to pass,) + Is in these joys a high partaker, + Ordained and made to bear his Maker. + +6 Dear Feast of Palms, of flowers and dew! + Whose fruitful dawn sheds hopes and lights; + Thy bright solemnities did shew + The third glad day through two sad nights. + +7 I'll get me up before the sun, + I'll cut me boughs off many a tree, + And all alone full early run + To gather flowers to welcome thee. + +8 Then, like the palm, though wronged I'll bear, + I will be still a child, still meek + As the poor ass which the proud jeer, + And only my dear Jesus seek. + +9 If I lose all, and must endure + The proverbed griefs of holy Job, + I care not, so I may secure + But one green branch and a white robe. + +[1] Zechariah ix. 9. + + +PROVIDENCE. + +1 Sacred and secret hand! + By whose assisting, swift command + The angel showed that holy well + Which freed poor Hagar from her fears, + And turned to smiles the begging tears + Of young, distressed Ishmael. + +2 How, in a mystic cloud, + Which doth thy strange, sure mercies shroud, + Dost thou convey man food and money, + Unseen by him till they arrive + Just at his mouth, that thankless hive, + Which kills thy bees, and eats thy honey! + +3 If I thy servant be, + Whose service makes even captives free, + A fish shall all my tribute pay, + The swift-winged raven shall bring me meat, + And I, like flowers, shall still go neat, + As if I knew no month but May. + +4 I will not fear what man + With all his plots and power can. + Bags that wax old may plundered be; + But none can sequester or let + A state that with the sun doth set, + And comes next morning fresh as he. + +5 Poor birds this doctrine sing, + And herbs which on dry hills do spring, + Or in the howling wilderness + Do know thy dewy morning hours, + And watch all night for mists or showers, + Then drink and praise thy bounteousness. + +6 May he for ever die + Who trusts not thee, but wretchedly + Hunts gold and wealth, and will not lend + Thy service nor his soul one day! + May his crown, like his hopes, be clay; + And what he saves may his foes spend! + +7 If all my portion here, + The measure given by thee each year, + Were by my causeless enemies + Usurped; it never should me grieve, + Who know how well thou canst relieve, + Whose hands are open as thine eyes. + +8 Great King of love and truth! + Who wouldst not hate my froward youth, + And wilt not leave me when grown old, + Gladly will I, like Pontic sheep, + Unto my wormwood diet keep, + Since thou hast made thy arm my fold. + + +ST MARY MAGDALENE. + +Dear, beauteous saint! more white than day, +When in his naked, pure array; +Fresher than morning-flowers, which shew, +As thou in tears dost, best in dew. +How art thou changed, how lively, fair, +Pleasing, and innocent an air, +Not tutored by thy glass, but free, +Native, and pure, shines now in thee! +But since thy beauty doth still keep +Bloomy and fresh, why dost thou weep? +This dusky state of sighs and tears +Durst not look on those smiling years, +When Magdal-castle was thy seat, +Where all was sumptuous, rare, and neat. +Why lies this hair despised now +Which once thy care and art did show? +Who then did dress the much-loved toy +In spires, globes, angry curls and coy, +Which with skilled negligence seemed shed +About thy curious, wild, young head? +Why is this rich, this pistic nard +Spilt, and the box quite broke and marred? +What pretty sullenness did haste +Thy easy hands to do this waste? +Why art thou humbled thus, and low +As earth thy lovely head dost bow? +Dear soul! thou knew'st flowers here on earth +At their Lord's footstool have their birth; +Therefore thy withered self in haste +Beneath his blest feet thou didst cast, +That at the root of this green tree +Thy great decays restored might be. +Thy curious vanities, and rare +Odorous ointments kept with care, +And dearly bought, when thou didst see +They could not cure nor comfort thee; +Like a wise, early penitent, +Thou sadly didst to him present, +Whose interceding, meek, and calm +Blood, is the world's all-healing balm. +This, this divine restorative +Called forth thy tears, which ran in live +And hasty drops, as if they had +(Their Lord so near) sense to be glad. +Learn, ladies, here the faithful cure +Makes beauty lasting, fresh, and pure; +Learn Mary's art of tears, and then +Say you have got the day from men. +Cheap, mighty art! her art of love, +Who loved much, and much more could move; +Her art! whose memory must last +Till truth through all the world be passed; +Till his abused, despised flame +Return to heaven, from whence it came, +And send a fire down, that shall bring +Destruction on his ruddy wing. +Her art! whose pensive, weeping eyes, +Were once sin's loose and tempting spies; +But now are fixed stars, whose light +Helps such dark stragglers to their sight. + +Self-boasting Pharisee! how blind +A judge wert thou, and how unkind! +It was impossible that thou, +Who wert all false, shouldst true grief know. +Is't just to judge her faithful tears +By that foul rheum thy false eye wears? +'This woman,' sayst thou, 'is a sinner!' +And sat there none such at thy dinner? +Go, leper, go! wash till thy flesh +Comes like a child's, spotless and fresh; +He is still leprous that still paints: +Who saint themselves, they are no saints. + + +THE RAINBOW. + +Still young and fine! but what is still in view +We slight as old and soiled, though fresh and new. +How bright wert thou, when Shem's admiring eye +Thy burnished, flaming arch did first descry! +When Terah, Nahor, Haran, Abram, Lot, +The youthful world's gray fathers in one knot, +Did with intentive looks watch every hour +For thy new light, and trembled at each shower! +When thou dost shine, darkness looks white and fair, +Forms turn to music, clouds to smiles and air: +Rain gently spends his honey-drops, and pours +Balm on the cleft earth, milk on grass and flowers. +Bright pledge of peace and sunshine! the sure tie +Of thy Lord's hand, the object[1] of his eye! +When I behold thee, though my light be dim, +Distant, and low, I can in thine see him, +Who looks upon thee from his glorious throne, +And minds the covenant 'twixt all and one. +O foul, deceitful men! my God doth keep +His promise still, but we break ours and sleep. +After the fall the first sin was in blood, +And drunkenness quickly did succeed the flood; +But since Christ died, (as if we did devise +To lose him too, as well as paradise,) +These two grand sins we join and act together, +Though blood and drunkenness make but foul, foul weather. +Water, though both heaven's windows and the deep +Full forty days o'er the drowned world did weep, +Could not reform us, and blood in despite, +Yea, God's own blood, we tread upon and slight. +So those bad daughters, which God saved from fire, +While Sodom yet did smoke, lay with their sire. + +Then, peaceful, signal bow, but in a cloud +Still lodged, where all thy unseen arrows shroud; +I will on thee as on a comet look, +A comet, the sad world's ill-boding book; +Thy light as luctual and stained with woes +I'll judge, where penal flames sit mixed and close. +For though some think thou shin'st but to restrain +Bold storms, and simply dost attend on rain; +Yet I know well, and so our sins require, +Thou dost but court cold rain, till rain turns fire. + +[1] Genesis ix. 16. + + +THE SEED GROWING SECRETLY. + +MARK IV. 26. + +1 If this world's friends might see but once + What some poor man may often feel, + Glory and gold and crowns and thrones + They would soon quit, and learn to kneel. + +2 My dew, my dew! my early love, + My soul's bright food, thy absence kills! + Hover not long, eternal Dove! + Life without thee is loose and spills. + +3 Something I had, which long ago + Did learn to suck and sip and taste; + But now grown sickly, sad, and slow, + Doth fret and wrangle, pine and waste. + +4 Oh, spread thy sacred wings, and shake + One living drop! one drop life keeps! + If pious griefs heaven's joys awake, + Oh, fill his bottle! thy child weeps! + +5 Slowly and sadly doth he grow, + And soon as left shrinks back to ill; + Oh, feed that life, which makes him blow + And spread and open to thy will! + +6 For thy eternal, living wells + None stained or withered shall come near: + A fresh, immortal green there dwells, + And spotless white is all the wear. + +7 Dear, secret greenness! nursed below + Tempests and winds and winter nights! + Vex not that but One sees thee grow, + That One made all these lesser lights. + +8 If those bright joys he singly sheds + On thee, were all met in one crown, + Both sun and stars would hide their heads; + And moons, though full, would get them down. + +9 Let glory be their bait whose minds + Are all too high for a low cell: + Though hawks can prey through storms and winds, + The poor bee in her hive must dwell. + +10 Glory, the crowd's cheap tinsel, still + To what most takes them is a drudge; + And they too oft take good for ill, + And thriving vice for virtue judge. + +11 What needs a conscience calm and bright + Within itself an outward test? + Who breaks his glass to take more light, + Makes way for storms into his rest. + +12 Then bless thy secret growth, nor catch + At noise, but thrive unseen and dumb; + Keep clean, bear fruit, earn life, and watch, + Till the white-winged reapers come! + + +CHILDHOOD. + +I cannot reach it; and my striving eye +Dazzles at it, as at eternity. + Were now that chronicle alive, +Those white designs which children drive, +And the thoughts of each harmless hour, +With their content too in my power, +Quickly would I make my path even, +And by mere playing go to heaven. + + Why should men love +A wolf more than a lamb or dove? +Or choose hell-fire and brimstone streams +Before bright stars and God's own beams? +Who kisseth thorns will hurt his face, +But flowers do both refresh and grace; +And sweetly living (fie on men!) +Are, when dead, medicinal then. +If seeing much should make staid eyes, +And long experience should make wise, +Since all that age doth teach is ill, +Why should I not love childhood still? +Why, if I see a rock or shelf, +Shall I from thence cast down myself, +Or by complying with the world, +From the same precipice be hurled? +Those observations are but foul, +Which make me wise to lose my soul. + +And yet the practice worldlings call +Business and weighty action all, +Checking the poor child for his play, +But gravely cast themselves away. + +Dear, harmless age! the short, swift span +Where weeping virtue parts with man; +Where love without lust dwells, and bends +What way we please without self-ends. + +An age of mysteries! which he +Must live twice that would God's face see; +Which angels guard, and with it play, +Angels! which foul men drive away. + +How do I study now, and scan +Thee more than ere I studied man, +And only see through a long night +Thy edges and thy bordering light! +Oh for thy centre and mid-day! +For sure that is the narrow way! + + +ABEL'S BLOOD. + +Sad, purple well! whose bubbling eye +Did first against a murderer cry; +Whose streams, still vocal, still complain + Of bloody Cain; +And now at evening are as red +As in the morning when first shed. + If single thou, +Though single voices are but low, +Couldst such a shrill and long cry rear +As speaks still in thy Maker's ear, +What thunders shall those men arraign +Who cannot count those they have slain, +Who bathe not in a shallow flood, +But in a deep, wide sea of blood-- +A sea whose loud waves cannot sleep, +But deep still calleth upon deep; +Whose urgent sound, like unto that +Of many waters, beateth at +The everlasting doors above, +Where souls behind the altar move, +And with one strong, incessant cry +Inquire 'How long?' of the Most High? + Almighty Judge! +At whose just laws no just men grudge; +Whose blessed, sweet commands do pour +Comforts and joys and hopes each hour +On those that keep them; oh, accept +Of his vowed heart, whom thou hast kept +From bloody men! and grant I may +That sworn memorial duly pay +To thy bright arm, which was my light +And leader through thick death and night! + Aye may that flood, +That proudly spilt and despised blood, +Speechless and calm as infants sleep! +Or if it watch, forgive and weep +For those that spilt it! May no cries +From the low earth to high heaven rise, +But what, like his whose blood peace brings, +Shall, when they rise, speak better things +Than Abel's doth! May Abel be +Still single heard, while these agree +With his mild blood in voice and will, +Who prayed for those that did him kill! + + +RIGHTEOUSNESS. + +1 Fair, solitary path! whose blessed shades + The old, white prophets planted first and dressed; + Leaving for us, whose goodness quickly fades, + A shelter all the way, and bowers to rest; + +2 Who is the man that walks in thee? who loves + Heaven's secret solitude, those fair abodes, + Where turtles build, and careless sparrows move, + Without to-morrow's evils and future loads? + +3 Who hath the upright heart, the single eye, + The clean, pure hand, which never meddled pitch? + Who sees invisibles, and doth comply + With hidden treasures that make truly rich? + +4 He that doth seek and love + The things above, + Whose spirit ever poor is, meek, and low; + Who simple still and wise, + Still homeward flies, + Quick to advance, and to retreat most slow. + +5 Whose acts, words, and pretence + Have all one sense, + One aim and end; who walks not by his sight; + Whose eyes are both put out, + And goes about + Guided by faith, not by exterior light. + +6 Who spills no blood, nor spreads + Thorns in the beds + Of the distressed, hasting their overthrow; + Making the time they had + Bitter and sad, + Like chronic pains, which surely kill, though slow. + +7 Who knows earth nothing hath + Worth love or wrath, + But in his Hope and Rock is ever glad. + Who seeks and follows peace, + When with the ease + And health of conscience it is to be had. + +8 Who bears his cross with joy, + And doth employ + His heart and tongue in prayers for his foes; + Who lends not to be paid, + And gives full aid + Without that bribe which usurers impose. + +9 Who never looks on man + Fearful and wan, + But firmly trusts in God; the great man's measure, + Though high and haughty, must + Be ta'en in dust; + But the good man is God's peculiar treasure. + +10 Who doth thus, and doth not + These good deeds blot + With bad, or with neglect; and heaps not wrath + By secret filth, nor feeds + Some snake, or weeds, + Cheating himself--That man walks in this path. + + +JACOB'S PILLOW AND PILLAR. + +I see the temple in thy pillar reared, +And that dread glory which thy children feared, +In mild, clear visions, without a frown, +Unto thy solitary self is shown. +'Tis number makes a schism: throngs are rude, +And God himself died by the multitude. +This made him put on clouds, and fire, and smoke; +Hence he in thunder to thy offspring spoke. +The small, still voice at some low cottage knocks, +But a strong wind must break thy lofty rocks. + +The first true worship of the world's great King +From private and selected hearts did spring; +But he most willing to save all mankind, +Enlarged that light, and to the bad was kind. +Hence catholic or universal came +A most fair notion, but a very name. +For this rich pearl, like some more common stone, +When once made public, is esteemed by none. +Man slights his Maker when familiar grown, +And sets up laws to pull his honour down. +This God foresaw: and when slain by the crowd, +Under that stately and mysterious cloud +Which his death scattered, he foretold the place +And form to serve him in should be true grace, +And the meek heart; not in a mount, nor at +Jerusalem, with blood of beasts and fat. +A heart is that dread place, that awful cell, +That secret ark, where the mild Dove doth dwell, +When the proud waters rage: when heathens rule +By God's permission, and man turns a mule, +This little Goshen, in the midst of night +And Satan's seat, in all her coasts hath light; +Yea, Bethel shall have tithes, saith Israel's stone, +And vows and visions, though her foes cry, None. +Thus is the solemn temple sunk again +Into a pillar, and concealed from men. +And glory be to his eternal name, +Who is contented that this holy flame +Shall lodge in such a narrow pit, till he +With his strong arm turns our captivity! + +But blessed Jacob, though thy sad distress +Was just the same with ours, and nothing less; +For thou a brother, and bloodthirsty too, + +Didst fly,[1] whose children wrought thy children's woe: +Yet thou in all thy solitude and grief, +On stones didst sleep, and found'st but cold relief; +Thou from the Day-star a long way didst stand, +And all that distance was law and command. +But we a healing Sun, by day and night, +Have our sure guardian and our leading light. +What thou didst hope for and believe we find +And feel, a Friend most ready, sure, and kind. +Thy pillow was but type and shade at best, +But we the substance have, and on him rest. + +[1] Obadiah 10; Amos i, 11. + + +THE FEAST. + +1 Oh, come away, + Make no delay, + Come while my heart is clean and steady! + While faith and grace + Adorn the place, + Making dust and ashes ready! + +2 No bliss here lent + Is permanent, + Such triumphs poor flesh cannot merit; + Short sips and sights + Endear delights: + Who seeks for more he would inherit. + +3 Come then, true bread, + Quickening the dead, + Whose eater shall not, cannot die! + Come, antedate + On me that state, + Which brings poor dust the victory. + +4 Aye victory, + Which from thine eye + Breaks as the day doth from the east, + When the spilt dew + Like tears doth shew + The sad world wept to be released. + +5 Spring up, O wine, + And springing shine + With some glad message from his heart, + Who did, when slain, + These means ordain + For me to have in him a part! + +6 Such a sure part + In his blest heart, + The well where living waters spring, + That, with it fed, + Poor dust, though dead, + Shall rise again, and live, and sing. + +7 O drink and bread, + Which strikes death dead, + The food of man's immortal being! + Under veils here + Thou art my cheer, + Present and sure without my seeing. + +8 How dost thou fly + And search and pry + Through all my parts, and, like a quick + And knowing lamp, + Hunt out each damp, + Whose shadow makes me sad or sick! + +9 O what high joys! + The turtle's voice + And songs I hear! O quickening showers + Of my Lord's blood, + You make rocks bud, + And crown dry hills with wells and flowers! + +10 For this true ease, + This healing peace, + For this [brief] taste of living glory, + My soul and all, + Kneel down and fall, + And sing his sad victorious story! + +11 O thorny crown, + More soft than down! + O painful cross, my bed of rest! + O spear, the key + Opening the way! + O thy worst state, my only best! + +12 O all thy griefs + Are my reliefs, + As all my sins thy sorrows were! + And what can I, + To this reply? + What, O God! but a silent tear? + +13 Some toil and sow + That wealth may flow, + And dress this earth for next year's meat: + But let me heed + Why thou didst bleed, + And what in the next world to eat. + +'Blessed are they which are called unto the marriage supper of the +Lamb.'--Rev. xix. 9. + + +THE WATERFALL. + +With what deep murmurs, through time's silent stealth, +Does thy transparent, cool, and watery wealth + Here flowing fall, + And chide and call, +As if his liquid, loose retinue staid +Lingering, and were of this steep place afraid; + The common pass, + Where, clear as glass, + All must descend, + Not to an end, +But quickened by this deep and rocky grave, +Rise to a longer course more bright and brave. + + Dear stream! dear bank! where often I + Have sat, and pleased my pensive eye; + Why, since each drop of thy quick store + Runs thither whence it flowed before, + Should poor souls fear a shade or night, + Who came (sure) from a sea of light? + Or, since those drops are all sent back + So sure to thee that none doth lack, + Why should frail flesh doubt any more + That what God takes he'll not restore? + + O useful element and clear! + My sacred wash and cleanser here; + My first consigner unto those + Fountains of life, where the Lamb goes! + What sublime truths and wholesome themes + Lodge in thy mystical, deep streams! + Such as dull man can never find, + Unless that Spirit lead his mind, + Which first upon thy face did move + And hatched all with his quickening love. + As this loud brook's incessant fall + In streaming rings re-stagnates all, + Which reach by course the bank, and then + Are no more seen: just so pass men. + O my invisible estate, + My glorious liberty, still late! + Thou art the channel my soul seeks, + Not this with cataracts and creeks. + + + + +DR JOSEPH BEAUMONT. + + +This writer, though little known, appears to us to stand as high almost +as any name in the present volume, and we are proud to reprint here some +considerable specimens of his magnificent poetry. + +Joseph Beaumont was sprung from a collateral branch of the ancient +family of the Beaumonts, that family from which sprung Sir John Beaumont, +the author of 'Bosworth Field,' and Francis Beaumont, the celebrated +dramatist. He was born at Hadleigh, in Suffolk. Of his early life nothing +is known. He received his education at Cambridge, where, during the Civil +War, he was fellow and tutor of Peterhouse. Ejected by the Republicans +from his offices, he retired to Hadleigh, and spent his time in the com- +position of his _magnum opus_, 'Psyche.' This poem appeared in 1648; and +in 1702, three years after the author's death, his son published a second +edition, with numerous corrections, and the addition of four cantos by the +author. Beaumont also wrote several minor pieces in English and Latin, a +controversial tract in reply to Henry More's 'Mystery of Godliness,' and +several theological works which are still in MS., according to a provision +in his will to that effect. Peace and perpetuity to their slumbers! + +After the Restoration, our author was not only reinstated in his former +situations, but received from his patron, Bishop Wren, several valuable +pieces of preferment besides. Afterwards, he exercised successively the +offices of Master of Jesus and of Peterhouse, and was King's Professor +of Divinity from 1670 to 1699. In the latter year he died. + +While praising the genius of Beaumont, we are far from commending his +'Psyche,' either as an artistic whole, or as a readable book. It is, +sooth to say, a dull allegory, in twenty-four immense cantos, studded +with the rarest beauties. It is considerably longer than the 'Faery +Queen,' nearly four times the length of the 'Paradise Lost,' and five or +six times as long as the 'Excursion.' To read it through now-a-days were +to perform a purgatorial penance. But the imagination and fancy are +Spenserian, his colouring is often Titianesque in gorgeousness, and his +pictures of shadows, abstractions, and all fantastic forms, are so +forcible as to seem to start from the canvas. In painting the beautiful, +his verse becomes careless and flowing as a loosened zone; in painting +the frightful and the infernal, his language, like his feeling, seems to +curdle and stiffen in horror, as where, speaking of Satan, he says-- + + 'His tawny teeth + Were ragged grown, by endless _gnashing at + The dismal riddle of his living death._' + +The 'Psyche' may be compared to a palace of Fairyland, where successive +doors fly open to the visitor--one revealing a banqueting-room filled +with the materials of exuberant mirth; another, an enchanted garden, +with streams stealing from grottos, and nymphs gliding through groves; +a third conducting you to a dungeon full of dead men's bones and all +uncleanness; a fourth, to a pit which seems the mouth of hell, and +whence cries of torture come up, shaking the smoke that ascendeth up for +ever and ever; and a fifth, to the open roof, over which the stars are +seen bending, and the far-off heavens are opening in glory; and of these +doors there is no end. We saw, when lately in Copenhagen, the famous +tower of the Trinity Church, remarkable for the grand view commanded +from the summit, and for the broad spiral ascent winding within it +almost to the top, up which it is said Peter the Great, in 1716, used to +drive himself and his Empress in a coach-and-four. It was curious to +feel ourselves ascending on a path nearly level, and without the +slightest perspiration or fatigue; and here, we thought, is the +desiderated 'royal road' to difficulties fairly found. Large poems +should be constructed on the same principle; their quiet, broad interest +should beguile their readers alike to their length and their loftiness. +It is exactly the reverse with 'Psyche.' But if any reader is wearied of +some of the extracts we have given, such as his verses on 'Eve,' on +'Paradise,' on 'End,' on 'The Death of his Wife,' and on 'Imperial +Rome,' we shall be very much disposed to question his capacity for +appreciating true poetry. + + +HELL. + +1 Hell's court is built deep in a gloomy vale, + High walled with strong damnation, moated round + With flaming brimstone: full against the hall + Roars a burnt bridge of brass: the yards abound + With all envenomed herbs and trees, more rank + And fruitless than on Asphaltite's bank. + +2 The gate, where Fire and Smoke the porters be, + Stands always ope with gaping greedy jaws. + Hither flocked all the states of misery; + As younger snakes, when their old serpent draws + Them by a summoning hiss, haste down her throat + Of patent poison their awed selves to shoot. + +3 The hall was roofed with everlasting pride, + Deep paved with despair, checkered with spite, + And hanged round with torments far and wide: + The front displayed a goodly-dreadful sight, + Great Satan's arms stamped on an iron shield, + A crowned dragon, gules, in sable field. + +4 There on's immortal throne of death they see + Their mounted lord; whose left hand proudly held + His globe, (for all the world he claims to be + His proper realm,) whose bloody right did wield + His mace, on which ten thousand serpents knit, + With restless madness gnawed themselves and it. + +5 His awful horns above his crown did rise, + And force his fiends to shrink in theirs: his face + Was triply-plated impudence: his eyes + Were hell reflected in a double glass, + Two comets staring in their bloody stream, + Two beacons boiling in their pitch and flame. + +6 His mouth in breadth vied with his palace gate + And conquered it in soot: his tawny teeth + Were ragged grown, by endless gnashing at + The dismal riddle of his living death: + His grizzly beard a singed confession made + What fiery breath through his black lips did trade. + +7 Which as he oped, the centre, on whose back + His chair of ever-fretting pain was set, + Frighted beside itself, began to quake: + Throughout all hell the barking hydras shut + Their awed mouths: the silent peers, in fear, + Hung down their tails, and on their lord did stare. + + +JOSEPH'S DREAM. + +1 When this last night had sealed up mine eyes, + And opened heaven's, whose countenance now was clear, + And trimmed with every star; on his soft wing + A nimble vision me did thither bring. + +2 Quite through the storehouse of the air I passed + Where choice of every weather treasured lies: + Here, rain is bottled up; there, hail is cast + In candied heaps: here, banks of snow do rise; + There, furnaces of lightning burn, and those + Long-bearded stars which light us to our woes. + +3 Hence towered I to a dainty world: the air + Was sweet and calm, and in my memory + Waked my serener mother's looks: this fair + Canaan now fled from my discerning eye; + The earth was shrunk so small, methought I read, + By that due prospect, what it was indeed. + +4 But then, arriving at an orb whose flames, + Like an unbounded ocean, flowed about, + Fool as I was, I quaked; till its kind beams + Gave me a harmless kiss. I little thought + Fire could have been so mild; but surely here + It rageth, 'cause we keep it from its sphere. + +5 There, reverend sire, it flamed, but with as sweet + An ardency as in your noble heart + That heavenly zeal doth burn, whose fostering heat + Makes you Heaven's living holocaust: no part + Of my dream's tender wing felt any harm; + Our journey, not the fire, did keep us warm. + +6 But here my guide, his wings' soft oars to spare, + On the moon's lower horn clasped hold, and whirled + Me up into a region as far, + In splendid worth, surmounting this low world + As in its place: for liquid crystal here + Was the tralucid matter of each sphere. + +7 The moon was kind, and, as we scoured by, + Showed us the deed whereby the great Creator + Instated her in that large monarchy + She holdeth over all the ocean's water: + To which a schedule was annexed, which o'er + All other humid bodies gives her power. + +8 Now complimental Mercury was come + To the quaint margin of his courtly sphere, + And bid us eloquent welcome to his home. + Scarce could we pass, so great a crowd was there + Of points and lines; and nimble Wit beside + Upon the back of thousand shapes did ride. + +9 Next Venus' face, heaven's joy and sweetest pride, + (Which brought again my mother to my mind,) + Into her region lured my ravished guide. + This strewed with youth, and smiles, and love we find; + And those all chaste: 'tis this foul world below + Adulterates what from thence doth spotless flow. + +10 Then rapt to Phoebus' orb, all paved with gold, + The rich reflection of his own aspect: + Most gladly there I would have stayed, and told + How many crowns and thorns his dwelling decked, + What life, what verdure, what heroic might, + What pearly spirits, what sons of active light. + +11 But I was hurried into Mars his sphere, + Where Envy, (oh, how cursed was its grim face!) + And Jealousy, and Fear, and Wrath, and War + Quarrelled, although in heaven, about their place. + Yea, engines there to vomit fire I saw, + Whose flame and thunder earth at length must know. + +12 Nay, in a corner, 'twas my hap to spy + Something which looked but frowardly on me: + And sure my watchful guide read in mine eye + My musing troubled sense; for straightway he, + Lest I should start and wake upon the fright, + Speeded from thence his seasonable flight. + +13 Welcome was Jupiter's dominion, where + Illustrious Mildness round about did flow; + Religion had built her temple there, + And sacred honours on its walks did grow: + No mitre ever priest's grave head shall crown, + Which in those mystic gardens was not sown. + +14 At length, we found old Saturn in his bed; + And much I wondered how, and he so dull, + Could climb thus high: his house was lumpish lead, + Of dark and solitary comers full; + Where Discontent and Sickness dwellers be, + Damned Melancholy and dead Lethargy. + +15 Hasting from hence into a boundless field, + Innumerable stars we marshalled found + In fair array: this earth did never yield + Such choice of flowery pride, when she had crowned + The plains of Shechem, where the gaudy Spring + Smiles on the beauties of each verdant thing. + + +PARADISE. + +1 Within, rose hills of spice and frankincense, + Which smiled upon the flowery vales below, + Where living crystal found a sweet pretence + With musical impatience to flow, + And delicately chide the gems beneath + Because no smoother they had paved its path. + +2 The nymphs which sported on this current's side + Were milky Thoughts, tralucid, pure Desires, + Soft turtles' Kisses, Looks of virgin brides, + Sweet Coolness which nor needs nor feareth fires, + Snowy Embraces, cheerly-sober Eyes, + Gentleness, Mildness, Ingenuities. + +3 The early gales knocked gently at the door + Of every flower, to bid the odours wake; + Which, catching in their softest arms, they bore + From bed to bed, and so returned them back + To their own lodgings, doubled by the blisses + They sipped from their delicious brethren's kisses. + +4 Upon the wings of those enamouring breaths + Refreshment, vigour, nimbleness attended; + Which, wheresoe'er they flew, cheered up their paths, + And with fresh airs of life all things befriended: + For Heaven's sweet Spirit deigned his breath to join + And make the powers of these blasts divine. + +5 The goodly trees' bent arms their nobler load + Of fruit which blest oppression overbore: + That orchard where the dragon warder stood, + For all its golden boughs, to this was poor, + To this, in which the greater serpent lay, + Though not to guard the trees, but to betray. + +6 Of fortitude there rose a stately row; + Here, of munificence a thickset grove; + There, of wise industry a quickset grew; + Here, flourished a dainty copse of love; + There, sprang up pleasant twigs of ready wit; + Here, larger trees of gravity were set, + +7 Here, temperance; and wide-spread justice there, + Under whose sheltering shadow piety, + Devotion, mildness, friendship planted were; + Next stood renown with head exalted high; + Then twined together plenty, fatness, peace. + O blessed place, where grew such things as these! + + +EVE. + +1 Her spacious, polished forehead was the fair + And lovely plain where gentle majesty + Walked in delicious state: her temples clear + Pomegranate fragments, which rejoiced to lie + In dainty ambush, and peep through their cover + Of amber-locks whose volume curled over. + +2 The fuller stream of her luxuriant hair + Poured down itself upon her ivory back: + In which soft flood ten thousand graces were + Sporting and dallying with every lock; + The rival winds for kisses fell to fight, + And raised a ruffling tempest of delight. + +3 Two princely arches, of most equal measures, + Held up the canopy above her eyes, + And opened to the heavens far richer treasures, + Than with their stars or sun e'er learn'd to rise: + Those beams can ravish but the body's sight, + These dazzle stoutest souls with mystic light. + +4 Two garrisons were these of conquering love; + Two founts of life, of spirit, of joy, of grace; + Two easts in one fair heaven, no more above, + But in the hemisphere of her own face; + Two thrones of gallantry; two shops of miracles; + Two shrines of deities; two silent oracles. + +5 For silence here could eloquently plead; + Here might the unseen soul be clearly read: + Though gentle humours their mild mixture made, + They proved a double burning-glass which shed + Those living flames which, with enlivening darts, + Shoot deaths of love into spectators' hearts. + +6 'Twixt these, an alabaster promontory + Sloped gently down to part each cheek from other; + Where white and red strove for the fairer glory, + Blending in sweet confusion together. + The rose and lily never joined were + In so divine a marriage as there. + +7 Couchant upon these precious cushionets + Were thousand beauties, and as many smiles, + Chaste blandishments, and modest cooling heats, + Harmless temptations, and honest guiles. + For heaven, though up betimes the maid to deck, + Ne'er made Aurora's cheeks so fair and sleek. + +8 Enamouring neatness, softness, pleasure, at + Her gracious mouth in full retinue stood; + For, next the eyes' bright glass, the soul at that + Takes most delight to look and walk abroad. + But at her lips two threads of scarlet lay, + Or two warm corals, to adorn the way,-- + +9 The precious way whereby her breath and tongue, + Her odours and her honey, travelled, + Which nicest critics would have judged among + Arabian or Hyblaean mountains bred. + Indeed, the richer Araby in her + Dear mouth and sweeter Hybla dwelling were. + +10 More gracefully its golden chapiter + No column of white marble e'er sustained + Than her round polished neck supported her + Illustrious head, which there in triumph reigned. + Yet neither would this pillar hardness know, + Nor suffer cold to dwell amongst its snow. + +11 Her blessed bosom moderately rose + With two soft mounts of lilies, whose fair top + A pair of pretty sister cherries chose, + And there their living crimson lifted up. + The milky countenance of the hills confessed + What kind of springs within had made their nest. + +12 So leggiadrous were her snowy hands + That pleasure moved as any finger stirred: + Her virgin waxen arms were precious bands + And chains of love: her waist itself did gird + With its own graceful slenderness, and tie + Up delicacy's best epitome. + +13 Fair politure walked all her body over, + And symmetry rejoiced in every part; + Soft and white sweetness was her native cover, + From every member beauty shot a dart: + From heaven to earth, from head to foot I mean, + No blemish could by envy's self be seen. + +14 This was the first-born queen of gallantry; + All gems compounded into one rich stone, + All sweets knit into one conspiracy; + A constellation of all stars in one; + Who, when she was presented to their view, + Both paradise and nature dazzled grew. + +15 Phoebus, who rode in glorious scorn's career + About the world, no sooner spied her face, + But fain he would have lingered, from his sphere + On this, though less, yet sweeter, heaven, to gaze + Till shame enforced him to lash on again, + And clearer wash him in the western main. + +16 The smiling air was tickled with his high + Prerogative of uncontrolled bliss, + Embracing with entirest liberty + A body soft, and sweet, and chaste as his. + All odorous gales that had but strength to stir + Came flocking in to beg perfumes of her. + +17 The marigold her garish love forgot, + And turned her homage to these fairer eyes; + All flowers looked up, and dutifully shot + Their wonder hither, whence they saw arise + Unparching courteous lustre, which instead + Of fire, soft joy's irradiations spread. + +18 The sturdiest trees, affected by her dear + Delightful presence, could not choose but melt + At their hard pith; whilst all the birds whose clear + Pipes tossed mirth about the branches, felt + The influence of her looks; for having let + Their song fall down, their eyes on her they set. + + +TO THE MEMORY OF HIS WIFE. + +1 Sweet soul, how goodly was the temple which + Heaven pleased to make thy earthly habitation! + Built all of graceful delicacy, rich + In symmetry, and of a dangerous fashion + For youthful eyes, had not the saint within + Governed the charms of her enamouring shrine. + +2 How happily compendious didst thou make + My study when I was the lines to draw + Of genuine beauty! never put to take + Long journeys was my fancy; still I saw + At home my copy, and I knew 'twould be + But beauty's wrong further to seek than thee. + +3 Full little knew the world (for I as yet + In studied silence hugged my secret bliss) + How facile was my Muse's task, when set + Virtue's and grace's features to express! + For whilst accomplished thou wert in my sight + I nothing had to do, but look and write. + +4 How sadly parted are those words; since I + Must now be writing, but no more can look! + Yet in my heart thy precious memory, + So deep is graved, that from this faithful book, + Truly transcribed, thy character shall shine; + Nor shall thy death devour what was divine. + +5 Hear then, O all soft-hearted turtles, hear + What you alone profoundly will resent: + A bird of your pure feather 'tis whom here + Her desolate mate remaineth to lament, + Whilst she is flown to meet her dearer love, + And sing among the winged choir above. + +6 Twelve times the glorious sovereign of day + Had made his progress, and in every inn + Whose golden signs through all his radiant way + So high are hung, as often lodged been, + Since in the sacred knot this noble she + Deigned to be tied to (then how happy) me. + +7 Tied, tied we were so intimately, that + We straight were sweetly lost in one another. + Thus when two notes in music's wedlock knit, + They in one concord blended are together: + For nothing now our life but music was; + Her soul the treble made, and mine the base. + +8 How at the needless question would she smile, + When asked what she desired or counted fit? + Still bidding me examine mine own will, + And read the surest answer ready writ. + So centred was her heart in mine, that she + Would own no wish, if first not wished by me. + +9 Delight was no such thing to her, if I + Relished it not: the palate of her pleasure + Carefully watched what mine could taste, and by + That standard her content resolved to measure. + By this rare art of sweetness did she prove + That though she joyed, yet all her joy was love. + +10 So was her grief: for wronged herself she held + If I were sad alone; her share, alas! + And more than so, in all my sorrows' field + She duly reaped: and here alone she was + Unjust to me. Ah! dear injustice, which + Mak'st me complain that I was loved too much! + + * * * * * + +11 She ne'er took post to keep an equal pace + Still with the newest modes, which swiftly run: + She never was perplexed to hear her lace + Accused for six months' old, when first put on: + She laid no watchful leaguers, costly vain, + Intelligence with fashions to maintain. + +12 On a pin's point she ne'er held consultation, + Nor at her glass's strict tribunal brought + Each plait to scrupulous examination: + Ashamed she was that Titan's coach about + Half heaven should sooner wheel, than she could pass + Through all the petty stages of her dress. + +13 No gadding itch e'er spurred her to delight + In needless sallies; none but civil care + Of friendly correspondence could invite + Her out of doors; unless she 'pointed were + By visitations from Heaven's hand, where she + Might make her own in tender sympathy. + +14 Abroad, she counted but her prison: home, + Home was the region of her liberty. + Abroad diverson thronged, and left no room + For zeal's set task, and virtue's business free: + Home was her less encumbered scene, though there + Angels and gods she knew spectators were. + + * * * * * + +15 This weaned her heart from things below, + And kindled it with strong desire to gain + Her hope's high aim. Life could no longer now + Flatter her love, or make her prayers refrain + From begging, yet with humble resignation, + To be dismissed from her mortal station. + +16 Oh, how she welcomed her courteous pain, + And languished with most serene content! + No paroxysms could make her once complain, + Nor suffered she her patience to be spent + Before her life; contriving thus to yield + To her disease, and yet not lose the field. + +17 This trying furnace wasted day by day + (What she herself had always counted dross) + Her mortal mansion, which so ruined lay, + That of the goodly fabric nothing was + Remaining now, but skin and bone; refined + Together were her body and her mind. + +18 At length the fatal hour--sad hour to me!-- + Released the longing soul: no ejulation + Tolled her knell; no dying agony + Frowned in her death; but in that lamb-like fashion + In which she lived ('O righteous heaven!' said I, + Who closed her dear eyes,) she had leave to die. + +19 O ever-precious soul! yet shall that flight + Of thine not snatch thee from thy wonted nest: + Here shalt thou dwell, here shalt thou live in spite + Of any death--here in this faithful breast. + Unworthy 'tis, I know, by being mine; + Yet nothing less, since long it has been thine. + +20 Accept thy dearer portraiture, which I + Have on my other Psyche fixed here; + Since her ideal beauties signify + The truth of thine: as for her spots, they are + Thy useful foil, and shall inservient be + But to enhance and more illustrate thee. + + +IMPERIAL ROME PERSONIFIED. + +1 Thus came the monster to his dearest place + On earth, a palace wondrous large and high, + Which on seven mountains' heads enthroned was; + Thus, by its sevenfold tumour, copying + The number of the horns which crowned its king. + +2 Of dead men's bones were all the exterior walls, + Raised to a fair but formidable height; + In answer to which strange materials, + A graff of dreadful depth and breadth + Upon the works, filled with a piteous flood + Of innocently-pure and holy blood. + +3 Those awful birds, whose joy is ravenous war, + Strong-taloned eagles, perched upon the head + Of every turret, took their prospect far + And wide about the world; and questioned + Each wind that travelled by, to know if they + Could tell them news of any bloody prey. + +4 The inner bulwarks, raised of shining brass, + With firmitude and pride were buttressed. + The gate of polished steel wide opened was + To entertain those throngs, who offered + Their slavish necks to take the yoke, and which + That city's tyrant did the world bewitch. + +5 For she had wisely ordered it to be + Gilded with Liberty's enchanting name; + Whence cheated nations, who before were free, + Into her flattering chains for freedom came. + Thus her strange conquests overtook the sun + Who rose and set in her dominion. + +6 But thick within the line erected were + Innumerable prisons, plated round + With massy iron and with jealous fear: + And in those forts of barbarism, profound + And miry dungeons, where contagious stink, + Cold, anguish, horror, had their dismal sink. + +7 In these, pressed down with chains of fretting brass, + Ten thousand innocent lambs did bleating lie; + Whose groans, reported by the hollow place, + Summoned compassion from the passers by; + Whom they, alas! no less relentless found, + Than was the brass which them to sorrow bound. + +8 For they designed for the shambles were + To feast the tyrant's greedy cruelty, + Who could be gratified with no fare + But such delight of savage luxury. + + +END. + +1 Sweet End, thou sea of satisfaction, which + The weary streams unto thy bosom tak'st; + The springs unto the spring thou first doth reach, + And, by thine inexhausted kindness, mak'st + Them fall so deep in love with thee, that through + All rocks and mountains to thy arms they flow. + +2 Thou art the centre, in whose close embrace, + From all the wild circumference, each line + Directly runs to find its resting-place: + Upon their swiftest wings, to perch on thine + Ennobling breast, which is their only butt, + The arrows of all high desires are shot. + +3 All labours pant and languish after thee, + Stretching their longest arms to catch their bliss; + Which in the way, how sweet soe'er it be, + They never find; and therefore on they press + Further and further, till desired thou, + Their only crown, meet'st their ambition's brow. + +4 With smiles the ploughman to the smiling spring + Returns not answer, but is jealous till + His patient hopes thy happy season bring + Unto their ripeness with his corn, and fill + His barns with plenteous sheaves, with joy his heart; + For thou, and none but thou, his harvest art. + +5 The no less sweating and industrious lover + Lays not his panting heart to rest upon + Kind looks and gracious promises, which hover + On love's outside, and may as soon be gone + As easily they came; but strives to see + His hopes and nuptials ratified by thee. + + 6 The traveller suspecteth every way, + Though they thick traced and fairly beaten be; + Nor is secure but that his leader may + Step into some mistake as well as he; + Or that his strength may fail him; till he win + Possession of thee, his wished inn. + + 7 Nobly besmeared with Olympic dust, + The hardy runner prosecutes his race + With obstinate celerity, in trust + That thou wilt wipe and glorify his face: + His prize's soul art thou, whose precious sake + Makes him those mighty pains with pleasure take. + + 8 The mariner will trust no winds, although + Upon his sails they blow fair flattery; + No tides which, with all fawning smoothness, flow + Can charm his fears into security; + He credits none but thee, who art his bay, + To which, through calms and storms, he hunts his way. + + 9 And so have I, cheered up with hopes at last + To double thee, endured a tedious sea; + Through public foaming tempests have I passed; + Through flattering calms of private suavity; + Through interrupting company's thick press; + And through the lake of mine own laziness: + +10 Through many sirens' charms, which me invited + To dance to ease's tunes, the tunes in fashion; + Through many cross, misgiving thoughts, which frighted + My jealous pen; and through the conjuration + Of ignorant and envious censures, which + Implacably against all poems itch: + +11 But chiefly those which venture in a way + That yet no Muse's feet have chose to trace; + Which trust that Psyche and her Jesus may + Adorn a verse with as becoming grace + As Venus and her son; that truth may be + A nobler theme than lies and vanity. + +12 Which broach no Aganippe's streams, but those + Where virgin souls without a blush may bathe; + Which dare the boisterous multitude oppose + With gentle numbers; which despise the wrath + Of galled sin; which think not fit to trace + Or Greek or Roman song with slavish pace. + +13 And seeing now I am in ken of thee, + The harbour which inflamed my desire, + And with this steady patience ballas'd[1] me + In my uneven road; I am on fire, + Till into thy embrace myself I throw, + And on the shore hang up my finished vow. + +[1] 'Ballas'd:' ballasted. + + + + +MISCELLANEOUS PIECES. + + +FROM ROBERT HEATH. + + +WHAT IS LOVE? + +1 Tis a child of fancy's getting, + Brought up between hope and fear, + Fed with smiles, grown by uniting + Strong, and so kept by desire: + 'Tis a perpetual vestal fire + Never dying, + Whose smoke like incense doth aspire, + Upwards flying. + +2 It is a soft magnetic stone, + Attracting hearts by sympathy, + Binding up close two souls in one, + Both discoursing secretly: + 'Tis the true Gordian knot, that ties + Yet ne'er unbinds, + Fixing thus two lovers' eyes, + As well as minds. + +3 Tis the spheres' heavenly harmony, + Where two skilful hands do strike; + And every sound expressively + Marries sweetly with the like: + 'Tis the world's everlasting chain + That all things tied, + And bid them, like the fixed wain, + Unmoved to bide. + + +PROTEST OF LOVE. + +When I thee all o'er do view +I all o'er must love thee too. +By that smooth forehead, where's expressed +The candour of thy peaceful breast, +By those fair twin-like stars that shine, +And by those apples of thine eyne: +By the lambkins and the kids +Playing 'bout thy fair eyelids: +By each peachy-blossomed cheek, +And thy satin skin, more sleek +And white than Flora's whitest lilies, +Or the maiden daffodillies: +By that ivory porch, thy nose: +By those double-blanched rows +Of teeth, as in pure coral set: +By each azure rivulet, +Running in thy temples, and +Those flowery meadows 'twixt them stand: +By each pearl-tipt ear by nature, as +On each a jewel pendent was: +By those lips all dewed with bliss, +Made happy in each other's kiss. + + +TO CLARASTELLA. + +Oh, those smooth, soft, and ruby lips, + * * * * * +Whose rosy and vermilion hue +Betrays the blushing thoughts in you: +Whose fragrant, aromatic breath +Would revive dying saints from death, +Whose siren-like, harmonious air +Speaks music and enchants the ear; +Who would not hang, and fixed there +Wish he might know no other sphere? +Oh for a charm to make the sun +Drunk, and forget his motion! +Oh that some palsy or lame gout +Would cramp old Time's diseased foot! +Or that I might or mould or clip +His speedy wings, whilst on her lip +I quench my thirsty appetite +With the life-honey dwells on it! + * * * * * +Then on his holy altar, I +Would sacrifice eternally, +Offering one long-continued mine +Of golden pleasures to thy shrine. + + + +BY VARIOUS AUTHORS. + + +MY MIND TO ME A KINGDOM IS. +(FROM BYRD'S 'PSALMS, SONNETS,' ETC. 1588.) + +1 My mind to me a kingdom is, + Such perfect joy therein I find, + That it excels all other bliss + That God or nature hath assigned: + Though much I want that most would have, + Yet still my mind forbids to crave. + +2 No princely port, nor wealthy store, + Nor force to win a victory; + No wily wit to salve a sore, + No shape to win a loving eye; + To none of these I yield as thrall, + For why, my mind despise them all. + +3 I see that plenty surfeits oft, + And hasty climbers soonest fall; + I see that such as are aloft, + Mishap doth threaten most of all; + These get with toil, and keep with fear: + Such cares my mind can never bear. + +4 I press to bear no haughty sway; + I wish no more than may suffice; + I do no more than well I may. + Look what I want, my mind supplies; + Lo, thus I triumph like a king, + My mind's content with anything. + +5 I laugh not at another's loss, + Nor grudge not at another's gain; + No worldly waves my mind can toss; + I brook that is another's bane; + I fear no foe, nor fawn on friend; + I loathe not life, nor dread mine end. + +6 My wealth is health and perfect ease, + And conscience clear my chief defence; + I never seek by bribes to please, + Nor by desert to give offence; + Thus do I live, thus will I die; + Would all do so as well as I! + + +THE OLD AND YOUNG COURTIER. + +1 An old song made by an aged old pate, + Of an old worshipful gentleman, who had a great estate, + That kept a brave old house at a bountiful rate, + And an old porter to relieve the poor at his gate: + Like an old courtier of the queen's, + And the queen's old courtier. + +2 With an old lady, whose anger one word assuages; + They every quarter paid their old servants their wages, + And never knew what belonged to coachmen, footmen, nor pages, + But kept twenty old fellows with blue coats and badges: + Like an old courtier, &c. + +3 With an old study filled full of learned old books, + With an old reverend chaplain, you might know him by his looks, + With an old buttery hatch worn quite off the hooks, + And an old kitchen, that maintained half-a-dozen old cooks: + Like an old courtier, &c. + +4 With an old hall, hung about with pikes, guns, and bows, + With old swords and bucklers, that had borne many shrewd blows, + And an old frieze coat, to cover his worship's trunk-hose, + And a cup of old sherry, to comfort his copper nose: + Like an old courtier, &c. + +5 With a good old fashion, when Christmas was come, + To call in all his old neighbours with bagpipe and drum, + With good cheer enough to furnish every old room, + And old liquor able to make a cat speak, and man dumb: + Like an old courtier, &c. + +6 With an old falconer, huntsmen, and a kennel of hounds, + That never hawked, nor hunted, but in his own grounds; + Who, like a wise man, kept himself within his own bounds, + And when he died, gave every child a thousand good pounds: + Like an old courtier, &c. + +7 But to his eldest son his house and lands he assigned, + Charging him in his will to keep the old bountiful mind, + To be good to his old tenants, and to his neighbours be kind: + But in the ensuing ditty you shall hear how he was inclined: + Like a young courtier of the king's, + And the king's young courtier. + +8 Like a flourishing young gallant, newly come to his land, + Who keeps a brace of painted madams at his command, + And takes up a thousand pounds upon his father's land, + And gets drunk in a tavern till he can neither go nor stand: + Like a young courtier, &c. + +9 With a newfangled lady, that is dainty, nice, and spare, + Who never knew what belonged to good housekeeping or care, + Who buys gaudy-coloured fans to play with wanton air, + And seven or eight different dressings of other women's hair: + Like a young courtier, &c. + +10 With a new-fashioned hall, built where the old one stood, + Hung round with new pictures that do the poor no good, + With a fine marble chimney, wherein burns neither coal nor wood, + And a new smooth shovel-board, whereon no victual ne'er stood: + Like a young courtier, &c. + +11 With a new study, stuffed full of pamphlets and plays, + And a new chaplain, that swears faster than he prays, + With a new buttery hatch, that opens once in four or five days, + And a new French cook, to devise fine kickshaws and toys: + Like a young courtier, &c. + +12 With a new fashion, when Christmas is drawing on, + On a new journey to London straight we all must begone, + And leave none to keep house, but our new porter John, + Who relieves the poor with a thump on the back with a stone: + Like a young courtier, &c. + +13 With a new gentleman usher, whose carriage is complete, + With a new coachman, footmen, and pages to carry up the meat, + With a waiting gentlewoman, whose dressing is very neat, + Who, when her lady has dined, lets the servants not eat: + Like a young courtier, &c. + +14 With new titles of honour, bought with his father's old gold, + For which sundry of his ancestors' old manors are sold; + And this is the course most of our new gallants hold, + Which makes that good housekeeping is now grown so cold + Among the young courtiers of the king, + Or the king's young courtiers. + + +THERE IS A GARDEN IN HER FACE. + +(FROM 'AN HOUR'S RECREATION IN MUSIC,' BY RICH. ALISON. 1606.) + +1 There is a garden in her face, + Where roses and white lilies grow; + A heavenly paradise is that place, + Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow; + There cherries grow that none may buy, + Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. + +2 Those cherries fairly do enclose + Of orient pearl a double row, + Which when her lovely laughter shows, + They look like rose-buds filled with snow: + Yet them no peer nor prince may buy, + Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. + +3 Her eyes like angels watch them still; + Her brows like bended bows do stand, + Threatening with piercing frowns to kill + All that approach with eye or hand + These sacred cherries to come nigh, + Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry. + + +HALLO, MY FANCY. + +1 In melancholic fancy, + Out of myself, + In the vulcan dancy, + All the world surveying, + Nowhere staying, + Just like a fairy elf; + Out o'er the tops of highest mountains skipping, + Out o'er the hills, the trees, and valleys tripping, + Out o'er the ocean seas, without an oar or shipping. + Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? + +2 Amidst the misty vapours, + Fain would I know + What doth cause the tapers; + Why the clouds benight us + And affright us, + While we travel here below. + Fain would I know what makes the roaring thunder, + And what these lightnings be that rend the clouds asunder, + And what these comets are on which we gaze and wonder. + Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? + +3 Fain would I know the reason + Why the little ant, + All the summer season, + Layeth up provision + On condition + To know no winter's want; + And how housewives, that are so good and painful, + Do unto their husbands prove so good and gainful; + And why the lazy drones to them do prove disdainful. + Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go 1 + +4 Ships, ships, I will descry you + Amidst the main; + I will come and try you + What you are protecting, + And projecting, + What's your end and aim. + One goes abroad for merchandise and trading, + Another stays to keep his country from invading, + A third is coming home with rich wealth of lading. + Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? + +5 When I look before me, + There I do behold + There's none that sees or knows me; + All the world's a-gadding, + Running madding; + None doth his station hold. + He that is below envieth him that riseth, + And he that is above, him that's below despiseth, + So every man his plot and counter-plot deviseth. + Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? + +6 Look, look, what bustling + Here I do espy; + Each another jostling, + Every one turmoiling, + The other spoiling, + As I did pass them by. + One sitteth musing in a dumpish passion, + Another hangs his head, because he's out of fashion, + A third is fully bent on sport and recreation. + Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? + +7 Amidst the foamy ocean, + Fain would I know + What doth cause the motion, + And returning + In its journeying, + And doth so seldom swerve! + And how these little fishes that swim beneath salt water, + Do never blind their eye; methinks it is a matter + An inch above the reach of old Erra Pater! + Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? + + +8 Fain would I be resolved + How things are done; + And where the bull was calved + Of bloody Phalaris, + And where the tailor is + That works to the man i' the moon! + Fain would I know how Cupid aims so rightly; + And how these little fairies do dance and leap so lightly; + And where fair Cynthia makes her ambles nightly. + Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go! + +9 In conceit like Phaeton, + I'll mount Phoebus' chair; + Having ne'er a hat on, + All my hair a-burning + In my journeying, + Hurrying through the air. + Fain would I hear his fiery horses neighing, + And see how they on foamy bits are playing; + All the stars and planets I will be surveying! + Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? + +10 Oh, from what ground of nature + Doth the pelican, + That self-devouring creature, + Prove so froward + And untoward, + Her vitals for to strain? + And why the subtle fox, while in death's wounds is lying, + Doth not lament his pangs by howling and by crying; + And why the milk-white swan doth sing when she's a-dying. + Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou got + +11 Fain would I conclude this, + At least make essay, + What similitude is; + Why fowls of a feather + Flock and fly together, + And lambs know beasts of prey: + How Nature's alchemists, these small laborious creatures, + Acknowledge still a prince in ordering their matters, + And suffer none to live, who slothing lose their features. + Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? + +12 I'm rapt with admiration, + When I do ruminate, + Men of an occupation, + How each one calls him brother, + Yet each envieth other, + And yet still intimate! + Yea, I admire to see some natures further sundered, + Than antipodes to us. Is it not to be wondered, + In myriads ye'll find, of one mind scarce a hundred! + Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? + +13 What multitude of notions + Doth perturb my pate, + Considering the motions, + How the heavens are preserved, + And this world served, + In moisture, light, and heat! + If one spirit sits the outmost circle turning, + Or one turns another continuing in journeying, + If rapid circles' motion be that which they call burning! + Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? + +14 Fain also would I prove this, + By considering + What that which you call love is: + Whether it be a folly + Or a melancholy, + Or some heroic thing! + Fain I'd have it proved, by one whom love hath wounded, + And fully upon one his desire hath founded, + Whom nothing else could please though the world were rounded. + Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? + +15 To know this world's centre, + Height, depth, breadth, and length, + Fain would I adventure + To search the hid attractions + Of magnetic actions, + And adamantic strength. + Fain would I know, if in some lofty mountain, + Where the moon sojourns, if there be trees or fountain; + If there be beasts of prey, or yet be fields to hunt in. + Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go? + +16 Fain would I have it tried + By experiment, + By none can be denied; + If in this bulk of nature, + There be voids less or greater, + Or all remains complete? + Fain would I know if beasts have any reason; + If falcons killing eagles do commit a treason; + If fear of winter's want makes swallows fly the season. + Hallo, my fancy, whither wilt thou go; + +17 Hallo, my fancy, hallo, + Stay, stay at home with me, + I can thee no longer follow, + For thou hast betrayed me, + And bewrayed me; + It is too much for thee. + Stay, stay at home with me; leave off thy lofty soaring; + Stay thou at home with me, and on thy books be poring; + For he that goes abroad, lays little up in storing: + Thou'rt welcome home, my fancy, welcome home to me. + + 'Alas, poor scholar! + Whither wilt thou go?' + or + 'Strange alterations which at this time be, + There's many did think they never should see.' + + +THE FAIRY QUEEN. + +1 Come, follow, follow me, + You, fairy elves that be; + Which circle on the green, + Come, follow Mab, your queen. + Hand in hand let's dance around, + For this place is fairy ground. + +2 When mortals are at rest, + And snoring in their nest; + Unheard and unespied, + Through keyholes we do glide; + Over tables, stools, and shelves, + We trip it with our fairy elves. + +3 And if the house be foul + With platter, dish, or bowl, + Up-stairs we nimbly creep, + And find the sluts asleep; + There we pinch their arms and thighs; + None escapes, nor none espies. + +4 But if the house be swept, + And from uncleanness kept, + We praise the household maid, + And duly she is paid; + For we use, before we go, + To drop a tester in her shoe. + +5 Upon a mushroom's head + Our tablecloth we spread; + A grain of rye or wheat + Is manchet which we eat; + Pearly drops of dew we drink, + In acorn cups filled to the brink. + +6 The brains of nightingales, + With unctuous fat of snails, + Between two cockles stewed, + Is meat that's easily chewed; + Tails of worms, and marrow of mice, + Do make a dish that's wondrous nice. + +7 The grasshopper, gnat, and fly, + Serve us for our minstrelsy; + Grace said, we dance a while, + And so the time beguile; + And if the moon doth hide her head, + The glow-worm lights us home to bed. + +8 On tops of dewy grass + So nimbly do we pass, + The young and tender stalk + Ne'er bends when we do walk; + Yet in the morning may be seen + Where we the night before have been. + +END OF VOL. II. + + + + + + +SPECIMENS WITH MEMOIRS OF THE LESS-KNOWN BRITISH POETS. + +With an Introductory Essay, + +By + +THE REV. GEORGE GILFILLAN. + +IN THREE VOLS. + +VOL. III. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +THIRD PERIOD--FROM DRYDEN TO COWPER. + + +SIR CHARLES SEDLEY + To a very young Lady + Song + +JOHN POMFRET + The Choice + +THE EARL OF DORSET + Song + +JOHN PHILIPS + The Splendid Shilling + +WALSH, GOULD, &c. + +SIR SAMUEL GARTH + The Dispensary + +SIR RICHARD BLACKMORE + Creation + +ELIJAH FENTON + An Ode to the Right Hon. John Lord Gower + +ROBERT CRAWFORD + The Bush aboon Traquair + +THOMAS TICKELL + To the Earl of Warwick, on the death of Mr Addison + +JAMES HAMMOND + Elegy XIII + +SEWELL, VANBRUGH, &c. + +RICHARD SAVAGE + The Bastard + +THOMAS WARTON THE ELDER + An American Love Ode + +JONATHAN SWIFT + Baucis and Philemon + On Poetry + On the Death of Dr Swift + A Character, Panegyric, and Description of the Legion-Club,1736 + +ISAAC WATTS + Few Happy Matches + The Sluggard + The Rose + A Cradle Hymn + Breathing toward the Heavenly Country + To the Rev. Mr John Howe + +AMBROSE PHILIPS + A Fragment of Sappho + +WILLIAM HAMILTON + The Braes of Yarrow + +ALLAN RAMSAY + Lochaber no more + Tho Last Time I came o'er the Moor + From 'The Gentle Shepherd'--Act I., Scene II. + +DODSLEY, BROWN, &c + +ISAAC HAWKINS BROWNE + Imitation of Thomson + Imitation of Pope + Imitation of Swift + +WILLIAM OLDYS + Song, occasioned by a Fly drinking out of a Cup of Ale + +ROBERT LLOYD + The Miseries of a Poet's Life + +HENRY CAREY + Sally in our Alley + +DAVID MALLETT + William and Margaret + The Birks of Invermay + +JAMES MERRICK + The Chameleon + +DR JAMES GRAINGER + Ode to Solitude + +MICHAEL BRUCE + To the Cuckoo + Elegy, written in Spring + +CHRISTOPHER SMART + Song to David + +THOMAS CHATTERTON + Bristowe Tragedy + Minstrel's Song + The Story of William Canynge + Kenrick + February, an Elegy + +LORD LYTTELTON + From the 'Monody' + +JOHN CUNNINGHAM + May-eve; or, Kate of Aberdeen + +ROBERT FERGUSSON + The Farmer's Ingle + +DR WALTER HARTE + +EDWARD LOVIBOND + The Tears of Old May-Day + +FRANCIS FAWKES + The Brown Jug + +JOHN LANGHORNE + From 'The Country Justice' + Gipsies + A Case where Mercy should have mitigated Justice + +SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE + The Lawyer's Farewell to his Muse + +JOHN SCOTT + Ode on hearing the Drum + The Tempestuous Evening + +ALEXANDER ROSS + Woo'd, and Married, and a' + The Rock an' the wee pickle Tow + +RICHARD GLOVER + From 'Leonidas,' Book XII + Admiral Hosier's Ghost + +WILLIAM WHITEHEAD + Variety + +WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE + Cumnor Hall + The Mariner's Wife + +LORD NUGENT + Ode to Mankind + +JOHN LOGAN + The Lovers + Written in a Visit to the Country in Autumn + Complaint of Nature + +THOMAS BLACKLOCK + The Author's Picture + Ode to Aurora, on Melissa's Birthday + +MISS ELLIOT AND MRS COCKBURN + The Flowers of the Forest + The Same + +SIR WILLIAM JONES + A Persian Song of Hafiz + +SAMUEL BISHOP + To Mrs Bishop + To the Same + +SUSANNA BLAMIRE + The Nabob + What Ails this Heart o' mine? + +JAMES MACPHERSON + Ossian's Address to the Sun + Desolation of Balclutha + Fingal and the Spirit of Loda + Address to the Moon + Fingal's Spirit-home + The Cave + +WILLIAM MASON + Epitaph on Mrs Mason + An Heroic Epistle to Sir William Chambers + +JOHN LOWE + Mary's Dream + +JOSEPH WARTON + Ode to Fancy + +MISCELLANEOUS + Song + Verses, copied from the Window of an obscure Lodging-house, in the + neighbourhood of London + The Old Bachelor + Careless Content + A Pastoral + Ode to a Tobacco-pipe + Away! let nought to Love displeasing + Richard Bentley's sole Poetical Composition + Lines addressed to Pope + +INDEX + + + + +SPECIMENS, WITH MEMOIRS, OF THE LESS-KNOWN BRITISH POETS. + + * * * * * + +THIRD PERIOD. + +FROM DRYDEN TO COWPER. + + * * * * * + + + +SIR CHARLES SEDLEY. + + +Sedley was one of those characters who exert a personal fascination over +their own age without leaving any works behind them to perpetuate the +charm to posterity. He was the son of Sir John Sedley of Aylesford, in +Kent, and was born in 1639. When the Restoration took place he repaired +to London, and plunged into all the licence of the time, shedding, +however, over the putrid pool the sheen of his wit, manners, and genius. +Charles was so delighted with him, that he is said to have asked him +whether he had not obtained a patent from Nature to be Apollo's viceroy. +He cracked jests, issued lampoons, wrote poems and plays, and, despite +some great blunders, was universally admired and loved. When his comedy +of 'Bellamira' was acted, the roof fell in, and a few, including the +author, were slightly injured. When a parasite told him that the fire of +the play had blown up the poet, house and all, Sedley replied, 'No; the +play was so heavy that it broke down the house, and buried the poet in +his own rubbish.' Latterly he sobered down, entered parliament, attended +closely to public business, and became a determined opponent of the +arbitrary measures of James II. To this he was stimulated by a personal +reason. James had seduced Sedley's daughter, and made her Countess of +Dorchester. 'For making my daughter a countess,' the father said, 'I +have helped to make his daughter' (Mary, Princess of Orange,) 'a queen.' +Sedley, thus talking, acting, and writing, lived on till he was sixty- +two years of age. He died in 1701. + +He has left nothing that the world can cherish, except such light and +graceful songs, sparkling rather with point than with poetry, as we +quote below. + + +TO A VERY YOUNG LADY. + +1 Ah, Chloris! that I now could sit + As unconcerned, as when + Your infant beauty could beget + No pleasure, nor no pain. + +2 When I the dawn used to admire, + And praised the coming day; + I little thought the growing fire + Must take my rest away. + +3 Your charms in harmless childhood lay, + Like metals in the mine, + Age from no face took more away, + Than youth concealed in thine. + +4 But as your charms insensibly + To their perfection pressed, + Fond Love as unperceived did fly, + And in my bosom rest. + +5 My passion with your beauty grew, + And Cupid at my heart, + Still as his mother favoured you, + Threw a new flaming dart. + +6 Each gloried in their wanton part, + To make a lover, he + Employed the utmost of his art, + To make a Beauty, she. + +7 Though now I slowly bend to love, + Uncertain of my fate, + If your fair self my chains approve, + I shall my freedom hate. + +8 Lovers, like dying men, may well + At first disordered be, + Since none alive can truly tell + What fortune they must see. + + +SONG. + +1 Love still has something of the sea, + From whence his mother rose; + No time his slaves from doubt can free, + Nor give their thoughts repose. + +2 They are becalmed in clearest days, + And in rough weather tossed; + They wither under cold delays, + Or are in tempests lost. + +3 One while they seem to touch the port, + Then straight into the main + Some angry wind, in cruel sport, + The vessel drives again. + +4 At first Disdain and Pride they fear, + Which if they chance to 'scape, + Rivals and Falsehood soon appear, + In a more cruel shape. + +5 By such degrees to joy they come, + And are so long withstood; + So slowly they receive the sum, + It hardly does them good. + +6 'Tis cruel to prolong a pain; + And to defer a joy, + Believe me, gentle Celemene, + Offends the winged boy. + +7 An hundred thousand oaths your fears, + Perhaps, would not remove; + And if I gazed a thousand years, + I could not deeper love. + + + + +JOHN POMFRET, + + +The author of the once popular 'Choice,' was born in 1667. He was the +son of the rector of Luton, in Bedfordshire, and, after attending +Queen's College, Cambridge, himself entered the Church. He became +minister of Malden, which is also situated in Bedfordshire, and there he +wrote and, in 1699, published a volume of poems, including some Pindaric +essays, in the style of Cowley and 'The Choice.' He might have risen +higher in his profession, but Dr Compton, Bishop of London, was +prejudiced against him on account of the following lines in the +'Choice:'-- + + 'And as I near approached the verge of life, + Some kind relation (for I'd have no wife) + Should take upon him all my worldly care, + Whilst I did for a better state prepare.' + +The words in the second line, coupled with a glowing description, in a +previous part of the poem, of his ideal of an 'obliging modest fair' +one, near whom he wished to live, led to the suspicion that he preferred +a mistress to a wife. In vain did he plead that he was actually a +married man. His suit for a better living made no progress, and while +dancing attendance on his patron in London he caught small-pox, and died +in 1703, in the thirty-sixth year of his age. + +His Pindaric odes, &c., are feeble spasms, and need not detain us. His +'Reason' shews considerable capacity and common sense. His 'Choice' +opens up a pleasing vista, down which our quiet ancestors delighted to +look, but by which few now can be attracted. We quote a portion of what +a biographer calls a 'modest' preface, which Pomfret prefixed to his +poems:--'To please every one would be a new thing, and to write so as to +please nobody would be as new; for even Quarles and Withers have their +admirers. It is not the multitude of applauses, but the good sense of +the applauders which establishes a valuable reputation; and if a Rymer +or a Congreve say it is well, he will not be at all solicitous how great +the majority be to the contrary.' How strangely are opinions now +altered! Rymer was some time ago characterised by Macaulay as the worst +critic that ever lived, and Quarles and Withers have now many admirers, +while 'The Choice' and its ill-fated author are nearly forgotten. + + +THE CHOICE. + +If Heaven the grateful liberty would give, +That I might choose my method how to live, +And all those hours propitious fate should lend, +In blissful ease and satisfaction spend, +Near some fair town I'd have a private seat, +Built uniform, not little, nor too great: +Better, if on a rising ground it stood, +On this side fields, on that a neighbouring wood. +It should within no other things contain, +But what are useful, necessary, plain: +Methinks 'tis nauseous, and I'd ne'er endure, +The needless pomp of gaudy furniture. +A little garden, grateful to the eye; +And a cool rivulet run murmuring by, +On whose delicious banks, a stately row +Of shady limes or sycamores should grow. +At the end of which a silent study placed, +Should be with all the noblest authors graced: +Horace and Virgil, in whose mighty lines +Immortal wit and solid learning shines; +Sharp Juvenal, and amorous Ovid too, +Who all the turns of love's soft passion knew; +He that with judgment reads his charming lines, +In which strong art with stronger nature joins, +Must grant his fancy does the best excel; +His thoughts so tender, and expressed so well; +With all those moderns, men of steady sense, +Esteemed for learning and for eloquence. +In some of these, as fancy should advise, +I'd always take my morning exercise; +For sure no minutes bring us more content, +Than those in pleasing, useful studies spent. +I'd have a clear and competent estate, +That I might live genteelly, but not great; +As much as I could moderately spend, +A little more sometimes t' oblige a friend. +Nor should the sons of poverty repine +Too much at fortune; they should taste of mine; +And all that objects of true pity were, +Should be relieved with what my wants could spare; +For that our Maker has too largely given, +Should be returned in gratitude to Heaven. + + + + +THE EARL OF DORSET. + + +This noble earl was rather a patron of poets than a poet, and possessed +more wit than genius. Charles Sackville was born on the 24th January +1637. He was descended directly from the famous Thomas, Lord Buckhurst. +He was educated under a private tutor, travelled in Italy, and returned +in time to witness the Restoration. In the first parliament thereafter, +he sat for East Grinstead, in Surrey, and might have distinguished +himself, had he not determined, in common with almost all the wits of +the time, to run a preliminary career of dissipation. What a proof of +the licentiousness of these times is to be found in the fact, that young +Lord Buckhurst, Sir Charles Sedley, and Sir Thomas Ogle were fined for +exposing themselves, drunk and naked, in indecent postures on the public +street! In 1665, the erratic energies of Buckhurst found a more +legitimate vent in the Dutch war. He attended the Duke of York in the +great sea-fight of the 3d June, in which Opdam, the Dutch admiral, was, +with all his crew, blown up. He is said to have composed the song, +quoted afterwards, 'To all you ladies now at land,' on the evening +before the battle, although Dr Johnson (who observes that seldom any +splendid story is wholly true) maintains that its composition cost him +a whole week, and that he only retouched it on that remarkable evening. +Buckhurst was soon after made a gentleman of the bed-chamber, and +despatched on short embassies to France. In 1674, his uncle, James +Cranfield, the Earl of Middlesex, died, and left him his estate, and +the next year the title, too, was conferred on him. In 1677, he became, +by the death of his father, Earl of Dorset, and inherited the family +estate. In 1684, his wife, whose name was Bagot, and by whom he had no +children, died, and he soon after married a daughter of the Earl of +Northampton, who is said to have been celebrated both for understanding +and beauty. Dorset was courted by James, but found it impossible to +coincide with his violent measures, and when the bishops were tried +at Westminster Hall, he, along with some other lords, appeared to +countenance them. He concurred with the Revolution settlement, and, +after William's accession, was created lord chamberlain of the +household, and received the Order of the Garter. His attendance on the +king, however, eventually cost him his life, for having been tossed with +him in an open boat on the coast of Holland for sixteen hours, in very +rough weather, he caught an illness from which he never recovered. On +19th January 1705-6, he died at Bath. + +During his life, Dorset was munificent in his kindness to such men of +genius as Prior and Dryden, who repaid him in the current coin of the +poor Parnassus of their day--gross adulation. He is now remembered +mainly for his spirited war-song, and for such pointed lines in his +satire on Edward Howard, the notorious author of 'British Princes,' as +the following:-- + + 'They lie, dear Ned, who say thy brain is barren, + When deep conceits, like maggots, breed in carrion; + Thy stumbling, foundered jade can trot as high + As any other Pegasus can fly. + So the dull eel moves nimbler in the mud + Than all the swift-finned racers of the flood. + As skilful divers to the bottom fall + Sooner than those who cannot swim at all, + So in this way of writing without thinking, + Thou hast a strange alacrity in sinking.' + +This last line has not only become proverbial, but forms the distinct +germ of 'The Dunciad.' + + +SONG. + +WRITTEN AT SEA, IN THE FIRST DUTCH WAR, 1665, +THE NIGHT BEFORE AN ENGAGEMENT. + +1 To all you ladies now at land, + We men at sea indite; + But first would have you understand + How hard it is to write; + The Muses now, and Neptune too, + We must implore to write to you, + With a fa, la, la, la, la. + +2 For though the Muses should prove kind, + And fill our empty brain; + Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind, + To wave the azure main, + Our paper, pen, and ink, and we, + Roll up and down our ships at sea. + With a fa, &c. + +3 Then if we write not by each post, + Think not we are unkind; + Nor yet conclude our ships are lost, + By Dutchmen, or by wind; + Our tears we'll send a speedier way, + The tide shall bring them twice a-day. + With a fa, &c. + +4 The king, with wonder and surprise, + Will swear the seas grow bold; + Because the tides will higher rise + Than e'er they used of old: + But let him know, it is our tears + Bring floods of grief to Whitehall stairs. + With a fa, &c. + +5 Should foggy Opdam chance to know + Our sad and dismal story, + The Dutch would scorn so weak a foe, + And quit their fort at Goree: + For what resistance can they find + From men who've left their hearts behind? + With a fa, &c. + +6 Let wind and weather do its worst, + Be you to us but kind; + Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse, + No sorrow we shall find: + 'Tis then no matter how things go, + Or who's our friend, or who's our foe. + With a fa, &c. + +7 To pass our tedious hours away, + We throw a merry main; + Or else at serious ombre play: + But why should we in vain + Each other's ruin thus pursue? + We were undone when we left you. + With a fa, &c. + +8 But now our fears tempestuous grow, + And cast our hopes away; + Whilst you, regardless of our woe, + Sit careless at a play: + Perhaps, permit some happier man + To kiss your hand, or flirt your fan. + With a fa, &c. + +9 When any mournful tune you hear, + That dies in every note, + As if it sighed with each man's care, + For being so remote, + Think how often love we've made + To you, when all those tunes were played. + With a fa, &c. + +10 In justice you can not refuse + To think of our distress, + When we for hopes of honour lose + Our certain happiness; + All those designs are but to prove + Ourselves more worthy of your love. + With a fa, &c. + +11 And now we've told you all our loves, + And likewise all our fears, + In hopes this declaration moves + Some pity from your tears; + Let's hear of no inconstancy, + We have too much of that at sea. + With a fa, la, la, la, la. + + + + +JOHN PHILIPS. + + +Bampton in Oxfordshire was the birthplace of this poet. He was born +on the 30th of December 1676. His father, Dr Stephen Philips, was +archdeacon of Salop, as well as minister of Bampton. John, after some +preliminary training at home, was sent to Winchester, where he +distinguished himself by diligence and good-nature, and enjoyed two +great luxuries,--the reading of Milton, and the having his head combed +by some one while he sat still and in rapture for hours together. This +pleasure he shared with Vossius, and with humbler persons of our +acquaintance; the combing of whose hair, they tell us, + + 'Dissolves them into ecstasies, + And brings all heaven before their eyes.' + +In 1694, he entered Christ Church, Cambridge. His intention was to +prosecute the study of medicine, and he took great delight in the +cognate pursuits of natural history and botany. His chief friend was +Edmund Smith, (Rag Smith, as he was generally called,) a kind of minor +Savage, well known in these times as the author of 'Phaedra and +Hippolytus,' and for his cureless dissipation. In 1703, Philips produced +'The Splendid Shilling,' which proved a hit, and seems to have diverted +his aspirations from the domains of Aesculapius to those of Apollo. +Bolingbroke sought him out, and employed him, after the battle of +Blenheim, to sing it in opposition to Addison, the laureate of the +Whigs. At the house of the magnificent but unprincipled St John, Philips +wrote his 'Blenheim,' which was published in 1705. The year after, his +'Cider,' a poem in two books, appeared, and was received with great +applause. Encouraged by this, he projected a poem on the Last Day, +which all who are aware of the difficulties of the subject, and the +limitations of the author's genius, must rejoice that he never wrote. +Consumption and asthma removed him prematurely on the 15th of February +1708, ere he had completed his thirty-third year. He was buried in +Hereford Cathedral, and Sir Simon Harcourt, afterwards Lord Chancellor, +erected a monument to his memory in Westminster Abbey. + +Bulwer somewhere records a story of John Martin in his early days. He +was, on one occasion, reduced to his last shilling. He had kept it, out +of a heap, from a partiality to its appearance. It was very bright. He +was compelled, at last, to part with it. He went out to a baker's shop +to purchase a loaf with his favourite shilling. He had got the loaf into +his hands, when the baker discovered that the shilling was a bad one, +and poor Martin had to resign the loaf, and take back his dear, bright, +bad shilling once more. Length of time and cold criticism in like manner +have reduced John Philips to his solitary 'Splendid Shilling.' But, +though bright, it is far from bad. It is one of the cleverest of +parodies, and is perpetrated against one of those colossal works which +the smiles of a thousand caricatures were unable to injure. No great or +good poem was ever hurt by its parody:--the 'Paradise Lost' was not by +'The Splendid Shilling'--'The Last Man' of Campbell was not by 'The Last +Man' of Hood--nor the 'Lines on the Burial of Sir John Moore' by their +witty, well-known caricature; and if 'The Vision of Judgment' by Southey +was laughed into oblivion by Byron's poem with the same title, it was +because Southey's original was neither good nor great. Philip's poem, +too, is the first of the kind; and surely we should be thankful to the +author of the earliest effort in a style which has created so much +innocent amusement. Dr Johnson speaks as if the pleasure arising from +such productions implied a malignant 'momentary triumph over that +grandeur which had hitherto held its captives in admiration.' We think, +on the contrary, that it springs from our deep interest in the original +production, making us alive to the strange resemblance the caricature +bears to it. It is our love that provokes our laughter, and hence the +admirers of the parodied poem are more delighted than its enemies. At +all events, it is by 'The Splendid Shilling' alone--and that principally +from its connexion with Milton's great work--that Philips is memorable. +His 'Cider' has soured with age, and the loud echo of his Blenheim +battle-piece has long since died away. + + +THE SPLENDID SHILLING. + + "... Sing, heavenly Muse! +Things unattempted yet, in prose or rhyme," +A Shilling, Breeches, and Chimeras dire. + +Happy the man who, void of cares and strife, +In silken or in leathern purse retains +A Splendid Shilling: he nor hears with pain +New oysters cried, nor sighs for cheerful ale; +But with his friends, when nightly mists arise, +To Juniper's Magpie or Town-Hall[1] repairs: +Where, mindful of the nymph whose wanton eye +Transfixed his soul and kindled amorous flames, +Chloe, or Phillis, he each circling glass +Wisheth her health, and joy, and equal love. +Meanwhile, he smokes, and laughs at merry tale, +Or pun ambiguous, or conundrum quaint. +But I, whom griping Penury surrounds, +And Hunger, sure attendant upon Want, +With scanty offals, and small acid tiff, +(Wretched repast!) my meagre corpse sustain: +Then solitary walk, or doze at home +In garret vile, and with a warming puff +Regale chilled fingers; or from tube as black +As winter-chimney, or well-polished jet, +Exhale mundungus, ill-perfuming scent! +Not blacker tube, nor of a shorter size, +Smokes Cambro-Briton (versed in pedigree, +Sprung from Cadwallader and Arthur, kings +Full famous in romantic tale) when he +O'er many a craggy hill and barren cliff, +Upon a cargo of famed Cestrian cheese, +High over-shadowing rides, with a design +To vend his wares, or at the Arvonian mart, +Or Maridunum, or the ancient town +Ycleped Brechinia, or where Vaga's stream +Encircles Ariconium, fruitful soil! +Whence flow nectareous wines, that well may vie +With Massic, Setin, or renowned Falern. + +Thus while my joyless minutes tedious flow, +With looks demure, and silent pace, a Dun, +Horrible monster! hated by gods and men, +To my aerial citadel ascends, +With vocal heel thrice thundering at my gate, +With hideous accent thrice he calls; I know +The voice ill-boding, and the solemn sound. +What should I do? or whither turn? Amazed, +Confounded, to the dark recess I fly +Of wood-hole; straight my bristling hairs erect +Through sudden fear; a chilly sweat bedews +My shuddering limbs, and, wonderful to tell! +My tongue forgets her faculty of speech; +So horrible he seems! His faded brow, +Entrenched with many a frown, and conic beard, +And spreading band, admired by modern saints, +Disastrous acts forebode; in his right hand +Long scrolls of paper solemnly he waves, +With characters and figures dire inscribed, +Grievous to mortal eyes; ye gods, avert +Such plagues from righteous men! Behind him stalks +Another monster, not unlike himself, +Sullen of aspect, by the vulgar called +A Catchpole, whose polluted hands the gods, +With force incredible, and magic charms, +Erst have endued; if he his ample palm +Should haply on ill-fated shoulder lay +Of debtor, straight his body, to the touch +Obsequious, as whilom knights were wont, +To some enchanted castle is conveyed, +Where gates impregnable, and coercive chains, +In durance strict detain him, till, in form +Of money, Pallas sets the captive free. + +Beware, ye Debtors! when ye walk, beware, +Be circumspect; oft with insidious ken +The caitiff eyes your steps aloof, and oft +Lies perdue in a nook or gloomy cave, +Prompt to enchant some inadvertent wretch +With his unhallowed touch. So (poets sing) +Grimalkin, to domestic vermin sworn +An everlasting foe, with watchful eye +Lies nightly brooding o'er a chinky gap, +Protending her fell claws, to thoughtless mice +Sure ruin. So her disembowelled web +Arachne, in a hall or kitchen, spreads +Obvious to vagrant flies: she secret stands +Within her woven cell; the humming prey, +Regardless of their fate, rush on the toils +Inextricable, nor will aught avail +Their arts, or arms, or shapes of lovely hue; +The wasp insidious, and the buzzing drone, +And butterfly, proud of expanded wings +Distinct with gold, entangled in her snares, +Useless resistance make: with eager strides, +She towering flies to her expected spoils; +Then, with envenomed jaws, the vital blood +Drinks of reluctant foes, and to her cave +Their bulky carcasses triumphant drags. + +So pass my days. But, when nocturnal shades +This world envelop, and the inclement air +Persuades men to repel benumbing frosts +With pleasant wines, and crackling blaze of wood; +Me lonely sitting, nor the glimmering light +Of make-weight candle, nor the joyous talk +Of loving friend, delights; distressed, forlorn, +Amidst the horrors of the tedious night, +Darkling I sigh, and feed with dismal thoughts +My anxious mind; or sometimes mournful verse +Indite, and sing of groves and myrtle shades, +Or desperate lady near a purling stream, +Or lover pendent on a willow-tree. +Meanwhile I labour with eternal drought, +And restless wish, and rave; my parched throat +Finds no relief, nor heavy eyes repose: +But if a slumber haply does invade +My weary limbs, my fancy's still awake, +Thoughtful of drink, and, eager, in a dream, +Tipples imaginary pots of ale, +In vain; awake I find the settled thirst +Still gnawing, and the pleasant phantom curse. + +Thus do I live, from pleasure quite debarred, +Nor taste the fruits that the sun's genial rays +Mature, john-apple, nor the downy peach, +Nor walnut in rough-furrowed coat secure, +Nor medlar, fruit delicious in decay; +Afflictions great! yet greater still remain: +My galligaskins, that have long withstood +The winter's fury, and encroaching frosts, +By time subdued (what will not time subdue!) +An horrid chasm disclosed with orifice +Wide, discontinuous; at which the winds +Eurus and Auster, and the dreadful force +Of Boreas, that congeals the Cronian waves, +Tumultuous enter with dire chilling blasts, +Portending agues. Thus a well-fraught ship, +Long sailed secure, or through the Aegean deep, +Or the Ionian, till cruising near +The Lilybean shore, with hideous crush +On Scylla, or Charybdis (dangerous rocks!) +She strikes rebounding; whence the shattered oak, +So fierce a shock unable to withstand, +Admits the sea; in at the gaping side +The crowding waves gush with impetuous rage, +Resistless, overwhelming; horrors seize +The mariners; Death in their eyes appears, +They stare, they lave, they pump, they swear, they pray; +Vain efforts! still the battering waves rush in, +Implacable, till, deluged by the foam, +The ship sinks foundering in the vast abyss. + +[1]'Magpie or Town-hall:' two noted alehouses at Oxford in 1700. + + + + +We may here mention a name or two of poets from whose verses we can +afford no extracts,--such as Walsh, called by Pope 'knowing Walsh,' +a man of some critical discernment, if not of much genius; Gould, a +domestic of the Earl of Dorset, and afterwards a schoolmaster, from whom +Campbell quotes one or two tolerable songs; and Dr Walter Pope, a man of +wit and knowledge, who was junior proctor of Oxford, one of the first +chosen fellows of the Royal Society, and who succeeded Sir Christopher +Wren as professor of astronomy in Gresham College. He is the author of +a comico-serious song of some merit, entitled 'The Old Man's Wish.' + + + + +SIR SAMUEL GARTH. + + +Of Garth little is known, save that he was an eminent physician, a +scholar, a man of benevolence, a keen Whig, and yet an admirer of old +Dryden, and a patron of young Pope--a friend of Addison, and the author +of the 'Dispensary.' The College of Physicians had instituted a +dispensary, for the purpose of furnishing the poor with medicines +gratis. This measure was opposed by the apothecaries, who had an obvious +interest in the sale of drugs; and to ridicule their selfishness Garth +wrote his poem, which is mock-heroic, in six cantos, copied in form from +the 'Lutrin,' and which, though ingenious and elaborate, seems now +tedious, and on the whole uninteresting. It appeared in 1696, and the +author died in 1718. We extract some of the opening lines of the first +canto of the poem. + + +THE DISPENSARY. + +Speak, goddess! since 'tis thou that best canst tell +How ancient leagues to modern discord fell; +And why physicans were so cautious grown +Of others' lives, and lavish of their own; +How by a journey to the Elysian plain +Peace triumphed, and old Time returned again. +Not far from that most celebrated place, +Where angry Justice shows her awful face; +Where little villains must submit to fate, +That great ones may enjoy the world in state; +There stands a dome, majestic to the sight, +And sumptuous arches bear its oval height; +A golden globe, placed high with artful skill, +Seems, to the distant sight, a gilded pill: +This pile was, by the pious patron's aim, +Raised for a use as noble as its frame; +Nor did the learn'd society decline +The propagation of that great design; +In all her mazes, nature's face they viewed, +And, as she disappeared, their search pursued. +Wrapped in the shade of night the goddess lies, +Yet to the learn'd unveils her dark disguise, +But shuns the gross access of vulgar eyes. +Now she unfolds the faint and dawning strife +Of infant atoms kindling into life; +How ductile matter new meanders takes, +And slender trains of twisting fibres makes; +And how the viscous seeks a closer tone, +By just degrees to harden into bone; +While the more loose flow from the vital urn, +And in full tides of purple streams return; +How lambent flames from life's bright lamps arise, +And dart in emanations through the eyes; +How from each sluice a gentle torrent pours, +To slake a feverish heat with ambient showers; +Whence their mechanic powers the spirits claim; +How great their force, how delicate their frame; +How the same nerves are fashioned to sustain +The greatest pleasure and the greatest pain; +Why bilious juice a golden light puts on, +And floods of chyle in silver currents run; +How the dim speck of entity began +To extend its recent form, and stretch to man; +To how minute an origin we owe +Young Ammon, Caesar, and the great Nassau; +Why paler looks impetuous rage proclaim, +And why chill virgins redden into flame; +Why envy oft transforms with wan disguise, +And why gay mirth sits smiling in the eyes; +All ice, why Lucrece; or Sempronia, fire; +Why Scarsdale rages to survive desire; +When Milo's vigour at the Olympic's shown, +Whence tropes to Finch, or impudence to Sloane; +How matter, by the varied shape of pores, +Or idiots frames, or solemn senators. + +Hence 'tis we wait the wondrous cause to find, +How body acts upon impassive mind; +How fumes of wine the thinking part can fire, +Past hopes revive, and present joys inspire; +Why our complexions oft our soul declare, +And how the passions in the features are; +How touch and harmony arise between +Corporeal figure, and a form unseen; +How quick their faculties the limbs fulfil, +And act at every summons of the will. +With mighty truths, mysterious to descry, +Which in the womb of distant causes lie. + +But now no grand inquiries are descried, +Mean faction reigns where knowledge should preside, +Feuds are increased, and learning laid aside. +Thus synods oft concern for faith conceal, +And for important nothings show a zeal: +The drooping sciences neglected pine, +And Paean's beams with fading lustre shine. +No readers here with hectic looks are found, +Nor eyes in rheum, through midnight watching, drowned; +The lonely edifice in sweats complains +That nothing there but sullen silence reigns. + +This place, so fit for undisturbed repose, +The god of sloth for his asylum chose; +Upon a couch of down in these abodes, +Supine with folded arms he thoughtless nods; +Indulging dreams his godhead lull to ease, +With murmurs of soft rills and whispering trees: +The poppy and each numbing plant dispense +Their drowsy virtue, and dull indolence; +No passions interrupt his easy reign, +No problems puzzle his lethargic brain; +But dark oblivion guards his peaceful bed, +And lazy fogs hang lingering o'er his head. + + + + +SIR RICHARD BLACKMORE. + + +Our next name is that of one who, like the former, was a knight, a +physician, and (in a manner) a poet. Blackmore was the son of Robert +Blackmore of Corsham, in Wiltshire, who is styled by Wood _gentleman_, +and is believed to have been an attorney. He took his degree of M.A. at +Oxford, in June 1676. He afterwards travelled, was made Doctor of Physic +at Padua, and, when he returned home, began to practise in London with +great success. In 1695, he tried his hand at poetry, producing an epic +entitled 'King Arthur,' which was followed by a series on 'King Alfred,' +'Queen Elizabeth,' 'Redemption,' 'The Creation,' &c. Some of these +productions were popular; one, 'The Creation,' has been highly praised +by Dr Johnson; but most of them were heavy. Matthew Henry has preserved +portions in his valuable Commentary. Blackmore, a man of excellent +character and of extensive medical practice, was yet the laughingstock +of the wits, perhaps as much for his piety as for his prosiness. Old, +rich, and highly respected, he died on the 8th of October 1729, while +some of his poetic persecutors came to a disgraceful or an early end. + +We quote the satire of John Gay, as one of the cleverest and best +conditioned, although one of the coarsest of the attacks made on poor +Sir Richard:-- + + +VERSES TO BE PLACED UNDER THE PICTURE OF SIR R. BLACKMORE, +CONTAINING A COMPLETE CATALOGUE OF HIS WORKS. + +See who ne'er was, nor will be half read, +Who first sang Arthur, then sang Alfred; +Praised great Eliza in God's anger, +Till all true Englishmen cried, Hang her; +Mauled human wit in one thick satire, +Next in three books spoiled human nature; +Undid Creation at a jerk, +And of Redemption made ---- work; +Then took his Muse at once, and dipt her +Full in the middle of the Scripture; +What wonders there the man grown old did, +Sternhold himself he out Sternholded; +Made David seem so mad and freakish, +All thought him just what thought King Achish; +No mortal read his Solomon +But judged Reboam his own son; +Moses he served as Moses Pharaoh, +And Deborah as she Sisera; +Made Jeremy full sore to cry, +And Job himself curse God and die. + +What punishment all this must follow? +Shall Arthur use him like King Tollo? +Shall David as Uriah slay him? +Or dext'rous Deborah Sisera him? +Or shall Eliza lay a plot +To treat him like her sister Scot? +No, none of these; Heaven save his life, +But send him, honest Job, thy wife! + + +CREATION. + +No more of courts, of triumphs, or of arms, +No more of valour's force, or beauty's charms; +The themes of vulgar lays, with just disdain, +I leave unsung, the flocks, the amorous swain, +The pleasures of the land, and terrors of the main. +How abject, how inglorious 'tis to lie +Grovelling in dust and darkness, when on high +Empires immense and rolling worlds of light, +To range their heavenly scenes the muse invite; +I meditate to soar above the skies, +To heights unknown, through ways untried, to rise; +I would the Eternal from his works assert, +And sing the wonders of creating art. +While I this unexampled task essay, +Pass awful gulfs, and beat my painful way, +Celestial Dove! divine assistance bring, +Sustain me on thy strong extended wing, +That I may reach the Almighty's sacred throne, +And make his causeless power, the cause of all things, known. +Thou dost the full extent of nature see, +And the wide realms of vast immensity; +Eternal Wisdom thou dost comprehend, +Rise to her heights, and to her depths descend; +The Father's sacred counsels thou canst tell, +Who in his bosom didst for ever dwell; +Thou on the deep's dark face, immortal Dove! +Thou with Almighty energy didst move +On the wild waves, incumbent didst display +Thy genial wings, and hatch primeval day. +Order from thee, from thee distinction came, +And all the beauties of the wondrous frame. +Hence stamped on nature we perfection find, +Fair as the idea in the Eternal Mind. +See, through this vast extended theatre +Of skill divine, what shining marks appear! +Creating power is all around expressed, +The God discovered, and his care confessed. +Nature's high birth her heavenly beauties show; +By every feature we the parent know. +The expanded spheres, amazing to the sight! +Magnificent with stars and globes of light, +The glorious orbs which heaven's bright host compose, +The imprisoned sea, that restless ebbs and flows, +The fluctuating fields of liquid air, +With all the curious meteors hovering there, +And the wide regions of the land, proclaim +The Power Divine, that raised the mighty frame. +What things soe'er are to an end referred, +And in their motions still that end regard, +Always the fitness of the means respect, +These as conducive choose, and those reject, +Must by a judgment foreign and unknown +Be guided to their end, or by their own; +For to design an end, and to pursue +That end by means, and have it still in view, +Demands a conscious, wise, reflecting cause, +Which freely moves, and acts by reason's laws; +That can deliberate, means elect, and find +Their due connexion with the end designed. +And since the world's wide frame does not include +A cause with such capacities endued, +Some other cause o'er nature must preside, +Which gave her birth, and does her motions guide; +And here behold the cause, which God we name, +The source of beings, and the mind supreme; +Whose perfect wisdom, and whose prudent care, +With one confederate voice unnumbered worlds declare. + + + + +ELIJAH FENTON. + + +This author, who was very much respected by his contemporaries, and who +translated a portion of the Odyssey in conjunction with Pope, was born +May 20, 1683, at Newcastle, in Staffordshire; studied at Cambridge, +which, owing to his nonjuring principles, he had to leave without a +degree; and passed part of his life as a schoolmaster, and part of it +as secretary to Charles, Earl of Orrery. By his tragedy of 'Mariamne' he +secured a moderate competence; and during his latter years, spent his +life comfortably as tutor in the house of Lady Trumbull. He died in +1730. His accomplishments were superior, and his character excellent. +Pope, who was indebted to him for the first, fourth, nineteenth, and +twentieth of the books of the Odyssey, mourns his loss in one of his +most sincere-seeming letters. Fenton edited Waller and Milton, wrote a +brief life of the latter poet,--with which most of our readers are +acquainted,--and indited some respectable verse. + + +AN ODE TO THE RIGHT HON. JOHN LORD GOWER. + +WRITTEN IN THE SPRING OF 1716. + +1 O'er Winter's long inclement sway, + At length the lusty Spring prevails; + And swift to meet the smiling May, + Is wafted by the western gales. + Around him dance the rosy Hours, + And damasking the ground with flowers, + With ambient sweets perfume the morn; + With shadowy verdure flourished high, + A sudden youth the groves enjoy; + Where Philomel laments forlorn. + +2 By her awaked, the woodland choir + To hail the coming god prepares; + And tempts me to resume the lyre, + Soft warbling to the vernal airs. + Yet once more, O ye Muses! deign + For me, the meanest of your train, + Unblamed to approach your blest retreat: + Where Horace wantons at your spring, + And Pindar sweeps a bolder string; + Whose notes the Aonian hills repeat. + +3 Or if invoked, where Thames's fruitful tides, + Slow through the vale in silver volumes play; + Now your own Phoebus o'er the month presides, + Gives love the night, and doubly gilds the day; + Thither, indulgent to my prayer, + Ye bright harmonious nymphs, repair, + To swell the notes I feebly raise: + So with aspiring ardours warmed + May Gower's propitious ear be charmed + To listen to my lays. + +4 Beneath the Pole on hills of snow, + Like Thracian Mars, the undaunted Swede[1] + To dint of sword defies the foe; + In fight unknowing to recede: + From Volga's banks, the imperious Czar + Leads forth his furry troops to war; + Fond of the softer southern sky: + The Soldan galls the Illyrian coast; + But soon, the miscreant Moony host + Before the Victor-Cross shall fly. + +5 But here, no clarion's shrilling note + The Muse's green retreat can pierce; + The grove, from noisy camps remote, + Is only vocal with my verse: + Here, winged with innocence and joy, + Let the soft hours that o'er me fly + Drop freedom, health, and gay desires: + While the bright Seine, to exalt the soul, + With sparkling plenty crowns the bowl, + And wit and social mirth inspires. + +6 Enamoured of the Seine, celestial fair, + (The blooming pride of Thetis' azure train,) + Bacchus, to win the nymph who caused his care, + Lashed his swift tigers to the Celtic plain: + There secret in her sapphire cell, + He with the Nais wont to dwell; + Leaving the nectared feasts of Jove: + And where her mazy waters flow + He gave the mantling vine to grow, + A trophy to his love. + +7 Shall man from Nature's sanction stray, + With blind opinion for his guide; + And, rebel to her rightful sway, + Leave all her beauties unenjoyed? + Fool! Time no change of motion knows; + With equal speed the torrent flows, + To sweep Fame, Power, and Wealth away: + The past is all by death possessed; + And frugal fate that guards the rest, + By giving, bids him live To-Day. + +8 O Gower! through all the destined space, + What breath the Powers allot to me + Shall sing the virtues of thy race, + United and complete in thee. + O flower of ancient English faith! + Pursue the unbeaten Patriot-path, + In which confirmed thy father shone: + The light his fair example gives, + Already from thy dawn receives + A lustre equal to its own. + +9 Honour's bright dome, on lasting columns reared, + Nor envy rusts, nor rolling years consume; + Loud Paeans echoing round the roof are heard + And clouds of incense all the void perfume. + There Phocion, Laelius, Capel, Hyde, + With Falkland seated near his side, + Fixed by the Muse, the temple grace; + Prophetic of thy happier fame, + She, to receive thy radiant name, + Selects a whiter space. + +[1] Charles XII. + + + +ROBERT CRAWFORD. + + +Robert Crawford, a Scotchman, is our next poet. Of him we know only that +he was the brother of Colonel Crawford of Achinames; that he assisted +Allan Ramsay in the 'Tea-Table Miscellany;' and was drowned when coming +from France in 1733. Besides the popular song, 'The Bush aboon Traquair,' +which we quote, Crawford wrote also a lyric, called 'Tweedside,' and some +verses, mentioned by Burns, to the old tune of 'Cowdenknowes.' + + +THE BUSH ABOON TRAQUAIR. + +1 Hear me, ye nymphs, and every swain, + I'll tell how Peggy grieves me; + Though thus I languish and complain, + Alas! she ne'er believes me. + My vows and sighs, like silent air, + Unheeded, never move her; + At the bonnie Bush aboon Traquair, + 'Twas there I first did love her. + +2 That day she smiled and made me glad, + No maid seemed ever kinder; + I thought myself the luckiest lad, + So sweetly there to find her; + I tried to soothe my amorous flame, + In words that I thought tender; + If more there passed, I'm not to blame-- + I meant not to offend her. + +3 Yet now she scornful flies the plain, + The fields we then frequented; + If e'er we meet she shows disdain, + She looks as ne'er acquainted. + The bonnie bush bloomed fair in May, + Its sweets I'll aye remember; + But now her frowns make it decay-- + It fades as in December. + +4 Ye rural powers, who hear my strains, + Why thus should Peggy grieve me? + Oh, make her partner in my pains, + Then let her smiles relieve me! + If not, my love will turn despair, + My passion no more tender; + I'll leave the Bush aboon Traquair-- + To lonely wilds I'll wander. + + + + +THOMAS TICKELL. + + +Tickell is now chiefly remembered from his connexion with Addison. He +was born in 1686, at Bridekirk, near Carlisle. In April 1701, he became +a member of Queen's College in Oxford. In 1708, he was made M.A., and +two years after was chosen Fellow. He held his Fellowship till 1726, +when, marrying in Dublin, he necessarily vacated it. He attracted +Addison's attention first by some elegant lines in praise of Rosamond, +and then by the 'Prospect of Peace,' a poem in which Tickell, although +called by Swift Whiggissimus, for once took the Tory side. This poem +Addison, in spite of its politics, praised highly in the _Spectator_, +which led to a lifelong friendship between them. Tickell commenced +contributing to the _Spectator_, among other things publishing there a +poem entitled the 'Royal Progress.' Some time after, he produced a +translation of the first book of the Iliad, which Addison declared to be +superior to Pope's. This led the latter to imagine that it was Addison's +own, although it is now, we believe, certain, from the MS., which still +exists, that it was a veritable production of Tickell's. When Addison +went to Ireland, as secretary to Lord Sunderland, Tickell accompanied +him, and was employed in public business. When Addison became Secretary +of State, he made Tickell Under-Secretary; and when he died, he left him +the charge of publishing his works, with an earnest recommendation to +the care of Craggs. Tickell faithfully performed the task, prefixing to +them an elegy on his departed friend, which is now his own chief title +to fame. In 1725, he was made secretary to the Lords-Justices of +Ireland, a place of great trust and honour, and which he retained till +his death. This event happened at Bath, in the year 1740. + +His genius was not strong, but elegant and refined, and appears, as we +have just stated, to best advantage in his lines on Addison's death, +which are warm with genuine love, tremulous with sincere sorrow, and +shine with a sober splendour, such as Addison's own exquisite taste +would have approved. + + +TO THE EARL OF WARWICK, ON THE DEATH OF MR ADDISON. + +If, dumb too long, the drooping muse hath stayed, +And left her debt to Addison unpaid, +Blame not her silence, Warwick, but bemoan, +And judge, oh judge, my bosom by your own. +What mourner ever felt poetic fires! +Slow comes the verse that real woe inspires: +Grief unaffected suits but ill with art, +Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart. + +Can I forget the dismal night that gave +My soul's best part for ever to the grave? +How silent did his old companions tread, +By midnight lamps, the mansions of the dead, +Through breathing statues, then unheeded things, +Through rows of warriors, and through walks of kings! +What awe did the slow solemn knell inspire; +The pealing organ, and the pausing choir; +The duties by the lawn-robed prelate paid: +And the last words that dust to dust conveyed! +While speechless o'er thy closing grave we bend, +Accept these tears, thou dear departed friend. +Oh, gone for ever! take this long adieu; +And sleep in peace, next thy loved Montague. +To strew fresh laurels, let the task be mine, +A frequent pilgrim at thy sacred shrine; +Mine with true sighs thy absence to bemoan, +And grave with faithful epitaphs thy stone. +If e'er from me thy loved memorial part, +May shame afflict this alienated heart; +Of thee forgetful if I form a song, +My lyre be broken, and untuned my tongue, +My grief be doubled from thy image free, +And mirth a torment, unchastised by thee! + +Oft let me range the gloomy aisles alone, +Sad luxury! to vulgar minds unknown, +Along the walls where speaking marbles show +What worthies form the hallowed mould belew; +Proud names, who once the reins of empire held; +In arms who triumphed, or in arts excelled; +Chiefs, graced with scars, and prodigal of blood; +Stern patriots, who for sacred freedom stood; +Just men, by whom impartial laws were given; +And saints, who taught and led the way to heaven; +Ne'er to these chambers, where the mighty rest, +Since their foundation came a nobler guest; +Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss conveyed +A fairer spirit or more welcome shade. + +In what new region, to the just assigned, +What new employments please the embodied mind? +A winged Virtue, through the ethereal sky, +From world to world unwearied does he fly? +Or curious trace the long laborious maze +Of Heaven's decrees, where wondering angels gaze? +Does he delight to hear bold seraphs tell +How Michael battled, and the dragon fell; +Or, mixed with milder cherubim, to glow +In hymns of love, not ill essayed below? +Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind, +A task well suited to thy gentle mind? +Oh! if sometimes thy spotless form descend, +To me thy aid, thou guardian genius, lend! +When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms, +When pain distresses, or when pleasure charms, +In silent whisperings purer thoughts impart, +And turn from ill a frail and feeble heart; +Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before, +Till bliss shall join, nor death can part us more. + +That awful form, which, so the heavens decree, +Must still be loved and still deplored by me, +In nightly visions seldom fails to rise, +Or, roused by fancy, meets my waking eyes. +If business calls, or crowded courts invite, +The unblemished statesman seems to strike my sight; +If in the stage I seek to soothe my care, +I meet his soul which breathes in Cato there; +If pensive to the rural shades I rove, +His shape o'ertakes me in the lonely grove; +'Twas there of just and good he reasoned strong, +Cleared some great truth, or raised some serious song: +There patient showed us the wise course to steer, +A candid censor, and a friend severe; +There taught us how to live; and (oh! too high +The price for knowledge,) taught us how to die. + +Thou hill, whose brow the antique structures grace, +Reared by bold chiefs of Warwick's noble race, +Why, once so loved, whene'er thy bower appears, +O'er my dim eyeballs glance the sudden tears? +How sweet were once thy prospects fresh and fair, +Thy sloping walks, and unpolluted air! +How sweet the glooms beneath thy aged trees, +Thy noontide shadow, and thy evening breeze! +His image thy forsaken bowers restore; +Thy walks and airy prospects charm no more; +No more the summer in thy glooms allayed, +Thy evening breezes, and thy noon-day shade. + +From other ills, however fortune frowned, +Some refuge in the Muse's art I found; +Reluctant now I touch the trembling string, +Bereft of him who taught me how to sing; +And these sad accents, murmured o'er his urn, +Betray that absence they attempt to mourn. +Oh! must I then (now fresh my bosom bleeds, +And Craggs in death to Addison succeeds,) +The verse, begun to one lost friend, prolong, +And weep a second in the unfinished song! + +These works divine, which, on his death-bed laid, +To thee, O Craggs! the expiring sage conveyed, +Great, but ill-omened, monument of fame, +Nor he survived to give, nor thou to claim. +Swift after him thy social spirit flies, +And close to his, how soon! thy coffin lies. +Blest pair! whose union future bards shall tell +In future tongues: each other's boast! farewell! +Farewell! whom, joined in fame, in friendship tried, +No chance could sever, nor the grave divide. + + + + +JAMES HAMMOND. + + +This elegiast was the second son of Anthony Hammond, a brother-in-law of +Sir Robert Walpole, and a man of some note in his day. He was born in +1710; educated at Westminster school; became equerry to the Prince of +Wales; fell in love with a lady named Dashwood, who rejected him, and +drove him to temporary derangement, and then to elegy-writing; entered +parliament for Truro, in Cornwall, in 1741; and died the next year. His +elegies were published after his death, and, although abounding in +pedantic allusions and frigid conceits, became very popular. + + +ELEGY XIII. + +He imagines himself married to Delia, and that, content with each other, +they are retired into the country. + +1 Let others boast their heaps of shining gold, + And view their fields, with waving plenty crowned, + Whom neighbouring foes in constant terror hold, + And trumpets break their slumbers, never sound: + +2 While calmly poor I trifle life away, + Enjoy sweet leisure by my cheerful fire, + No wanton hope my quiet shall betray, + But, cheaply blessed, I'll scorn each vain desire. + +3 With timely care I'll sow my little field, + And plant my orchard with its master's hand, + Nor blush to spread the hay, the hook to wield, + Or range my sheaves along the sunny land. + +4 If late at dusk, while carelessly I roam, + I meet a strolling kid, or bleating lamb, + Under my arm I'll bring the wanderer home, + And not a little chide its thoughtless dam. + +5 What joy to hear the tempest howl in vain, + And clasp a fearful mistress to my breast! + Or, lulled to slumber by the beating rain, + Secure and happy, sink at last to rest! + +6 Or, if the sun in flaming Leo ride, + By shady rivers indolently stray, + And with my Delia, walking side by side, + Hear how they murmur as they glide away! + +7 What joy to wind along the cool retreat, + To stop and gaze on Delia as I go! + To mingle sweet discourse with kisses sweet, + And teach my lovely scholar all I know! + +8 Thus pleased at heart, and not with fancy's dream, + In silent happiness I rest unknown; + Content with what I am, not what I seem, + I live for Delia and myself alone. + + * * * * * + +9 Hers be the care of all my little train, + While I with tender indolence am blest, + The favourite subject of her gentle reign, + By love alone distinguished from the rest. + +10 For her I'll yoke my oxen to the plough, + In gloomy forests tend my lonely flock; + For her, a goat-herd, climb the mountain's brow, + And sleep extended on the naked rock: + +11 Ah, what avails to press the stately bed, + And far from her 'midst tasteless grandeur weep, + By marble fountains lay the pensive head, + And, while they murmur, strive in vain to sleep! + +12 Delia alone can please, and never tire, + Exceed the paint of thought in true delight; + With her, enjoyment wakens new desire, + And equal rapture glows through every night: + +13 Beauty and worth in her alike contend, + To charm the fancy, and to fix the mind; + In her, my wife, my mistress, and my friend, + I taste the joys of sense and reason joined. + +14 On her I'll gaze, when others' loves are o'er, + And dying press her with my clay-cold hand-- + Thou weep'st already, as I were no more, + Nor can that gentle breast the thought withstand. + +15 Oh, when I die, my latest moments spare, + Nor let thy grief with sharper torments kill, + Wound not thy cheeks, nor hurt that flowing hair, + Though I am dead, my soul shall love thee still: + +16 Oh, quit the room, oh, quit the deathful bed, + Or thou wilt die, so tender is thy heart; + Oh, leave me, Delia, ere thou see me dead, + These weeping friends will do thy mournful part: + +17 Let them, extended on the decent bier, + Convey the corse in melancholy state, + Through all the village spread the tender tear, + While pitying maids our wondrous loves relate. + + + + +We may here mention Dr George Sewell, author of a Life of Sir Walter +Haleigh, a few papers in the _Spectator_, and some rather affecting +verses written on consumption, where he says, in reference to his +garden-- + + 'Thy narrow pride, thy fancied green, + (For vanity's in little seen,) + All must be left when death appears, + In spite of wishes, groans, and tears; + Not one of all thy plants that grow, + But rosemary, will with thee go;'-- + + +Sir John Vanbrugh, best known as an architect, but who also wrote +poetry;--Edward Ward (more commonly called Ned Ward), a poetical +publican, who wrote ten thick volumes, chiefly in Hudibrastic verse, +displaying a good deal of coarse cleverness;--Barton Booth, the famous +actor, author of a song which closes thus-- + + 'Love, and his sister fair, the Soul, + Twin-born, from heaven together came; + Love will the universe control, + When dying seasons lose their name. + Divine abodes shall own his power, + When time and death shall be no more;'-- + + +Oldmixon, one of the heroes of the 'Dunciad,' famous in his day as a +party historian;--Richard West, a youth of high promise, the friend of +Gray, and who died in his twenty-sixth year;--James Eyre Weekes, an +Irishman, author of a clever copy of love verses, called 'The Five +Traitors;'--Bramston, an Oxford man, who wrote a poem called 'The Man of +Taste;'--and William Meston, an Aberdonian, author of a set of burlesque +poems entitled 'Mother Grim's Tales.' + + + + +RICHARD SAVAGE. + + +The extreme excellence, fulness, and popularity of Johnson's Life of +Savage must excuse our doing more than mentioning the leading dates of +his history. He was the son of the Earl of Rivers and the Countess of +Macclesfield, and was born in London, 1698. His mother, who had begot +him in adultery after having openly avowed her criminality, in order to +obtain a divorce from her husband, placed the boy under the care of a +poor woman, who brought him up as her son. His maternal grandmother, +Lady Mason, however, took an interest him and placed him at a grammar +school at St Alban's. He was afterwards apprenticed to a shoemaker. On +the death of his nurse, he found some letters which led to the discovery +of his real parent. He applied to her, accordingly, to be acknowledged +as her son; but she repulsed his every advance, and persecuted him with +unrelenting barbarity. He found, however, some influential friends, such +as Steele, Fielding, Aaron Hill, Pope, and Lord Tyrconnell. He was, +however, his own worst enemy, and contracted habits of the most +irregular description. In a tavern brawl he killed one James Sinclair, +and was condemned to die; but, notwithstanding his mother's interference +to prevent the exercise of the royal clemency, he was pardoned by the +queen, who afterwards gave him a pension of L50 a-year. He supported +himself in a precarious way by writing poetical pieces. Lord Tyrconnell +took him for a while into his house, and allowed him L200 a-year, but he +soon quarrelled with him, and left. When the queen died he lost his +pension, but his friends made it up by an annuity to the same amount. He +went away to reside at Swansea, but on occasion of a visit he made to +Bristol he was arrested for a small debt, and in the prison he sickened, +and died on the 1st of August 1743. He was only forty-five years of age. + +After all, Savage, in Johnson's Life, is just a dung-fly preserved in +amber. His 'Bastard,' indeed, displays considerable powers, stung by a +consciousness of wrong into convulsive action; but his other works are +nearly worthless, and his life was that of a proud, passionate, selfish, +and infatuated fool, unredeemed by scarcely one trait of genuine +excellence in character. We love and admire, even while we deeply blame, +such men as Burns; but for Savage our feeling is a curious compost of +sympathy with his misfortunes, contempt for his folly, and abhorrence +for the ingratitude, licentiousness, and other coarse and savage sins +which characterised and prematurely destroyed him. + + +THE BASTARD. + +INSCRIBED, WITH ALL DUE REVERENCE, TO MRS BRETT, +ONCE COUNTESS OF MACCLESFIELD. + +In gayer hours, when high my fancy ran, +The Muse exulting, thus her lay began: +'Blest be the Bastard's birth! through wondrous ways, +He shines eccentric like a comet's blaze! +No sickly fruit of faint compliance he! +He! stamped in nature's mint of ecstasy! +He lives to build, not boast a generous race: +No tenth transmitter of a foolish face: +His daring hope no sire's example bounds; +His first-born lights no prejudice confounds. +He, kindling from within, requires no flame; +He glories in a Bastard's glowing name. + +'Born to himself, by no possession led, +In freedom fostered, and by fortune fed; +Nor guides, nor rules his sovereign choice control, +His body independent as his soul; +Loosed to the world's wide range, enjoined no aim, +Prescribed no duty, and assigned no name: +Nature's unbounded son, he stands alone, +His heart unbiased, and his mind his own. + +'O mother, yet no mother! 'tis to you +My thanks for such distinguished claims are due; +You, unenslaved to Nature's narrow laws, +Warm championess for freedom's sacred cause, +From all the dry devoirs of blood and line, +From ties maternal, moral, and divine, +Discharged my grasping soul; pushed me from shore, +And launched me into life without an oar. + +'What had I lost, if, conjugally kind, +By nature hating, yet by vows confined, +Untaught the matrimonial bonds to slight, +And coldly conscious of a husband's right, +You had faint-drawn me with a form alone, +A lawful lump of life by force your own! +Then, while your backward will retrenched desire, +And unconcurring spirits lent no fire, +I had been born your dull, domestic heir, +Load of your life, and motive of your care; +Perhaps been poorly rich, and meanly great, +The slave of pomp, a cipher in the state; +Lordly neglectful of a worth unknown, +And slumbering in a seat by chance my own. + +'Far nobler blessings wait the bastard's lot; +Conceived in rapture, and with fire begot! +Strong as necessity, he starts away, +Climbs against wrongs, and brightens into day.' +Thus unprophetic, lately misinspired, +I sung: gay fluttering hope my fancy fired: +Inly secure, through conscious scorn of ill, +Nor taught by wisdom how to balance will, +Rashly deceived, I saw no pits to shun, +But thought to purpose and to act were one; +Heedless what pointed cares pervert his way, +Whom caution arms not, and whom woes betray; +But now exposed, and shrinking from distress, +I fly to shelter while the tempests press; +My Muse to grief resigns the varying tone, +The raptures languish, and the numbers groan. + +O Memory! thou soul of joy and pain! +Thou actor of our passions o'er again! +Why didst thou aggravate the wretch's woe? +Why add continuous smart to every blow? +Few are my joys; alas! how soon forgot! +On that kind quarter thou invad'st me not; +While sharp and numberless my sorrows fall, +Yet thou repeat'st and multipli'st them all. + +Is chance a guilt? that my disastrous heart, +For mischief never meant; must ever smart? +Can self-defence be sin?--Ah, plead no more! +What though no purposed malice stained thee o'er? +Had Heaven befriended thy unhappy side, +Thou hadst not been provoked--or thou hadst died. + +Far be the guilt of homeshed blood from all +On whom, unsought, embroiling dangers fall! +Still the pale dead revives, and lives to me, +To me! through Pity's eye condemned to see. +Remembrance veils his rage, but swells his fate; +Grieved I forgive, and am grown cool too late. +Young, and unthoughtful then; who knows, one day, +What ripening virtues might have made their way? +He might have lived till folly died in shame, +Till kindling wisdom felt a thirst for fame. +He might perhaps his country's friend have proved; +Both happy, generous, candid, and beloved, +He might have saved some worth, now doomed to fall; +And I, perchance, in him, have murdered all. + +O fate of late repentance! always vain: +Thy remedies but lull undying pain. +Where shall my hope find rest?--No mother's care +Shielded my infant innocence with prayer: +No father's guardian hand my youth maintained, +Called forth my virtues, or from vice restrained. +Is it not thine to snatch some powerful arm, +First to advance, then screen from future harm? +Am I returned from death to live in pain? +Or would imperial Pity save in vain? +Distrust it not--What blame can mercy find, +Which gives at once a life, and rears a mind? + +Mother, miscalled, farewell--of soul severe, +This sad reflection yet may force one tear: +All I was wretched by to you I owed, +Alone from strangers every comfort flowed! + +Lost to the life you gave, your son no more, +And now adopted, who was doomed before; +New-born, I may a nobler mother claim, +But dare not whisper her immortal name; +Supremely lovely, and serenely great! +Majestic mother of a kneeling state! +Queen of a people's heart, who ne'er before +Agreed--yet now with one consent adore! +One contest yet remains in this desire, +Who most shall give applause, where all admire. + + + + +THOMAS WARTON THE ELDER. + + +The Wartons were a poetical race. The father of Thomas and Joseph, names +so intimately associated with English poetry, was himself a poet. He was +of Magdalene College in Oxford, vicar of Basingstoke and Cobham, and +twice chosen poetry professor. He was born in 1687, and died in 1745. +Besides the little American ode quoted below, we are tempted to give the +following + + +VERSES WRITTEN AFTER SEEING WINDSOR CASTLE. + +From beauteous Windsor's high and storied halls, +Where Edward's chiefs start from the glowing walls, +To my low cot, from ivory beds of state, +Pleased I return, unenvious of the great. +So the bee ranges o'er the varied scenes +Of corn, of heaths, of fallows, and of greens; +Pervades the thicket, soars above the hill, +Or murmurs to the meadow's murmuring rill; +Now haunts old hollowed oaks, deserted cells, +Now seeks the low vale-lily's silver bells; +Sips the warm fragrance of the greenhouse bowers, +And tastes the myrtle and the citron flowers;-- +At length returning to the wonted comb, +Prefers to all his little straw-built home. + +This seems sweet and simple poetry. + + +AN AMERICAN LOVE ODE. + +FROM THE SECOND VOLUME OF MONTAIGNE'S ESSAYS. + +Stay, stay, thou lovely, fearful snake, +Nor hide thee in yon darksome brake: +But let me oft thy charms review, +Thy glittering scales, and golden hue; +From these a chaplet shall be wove, +To grace the youth I dearest love. + +Then ages hence, when thou no more +Shalt creep along the sunny shore, +Thy copied beauties shall be seen; +Thy red and azure mixed with green, +In mimic folds thou shalt display;-- +Stay, lovely, fearful adder, stay. + + + + +JONATHAN SWIFT. + + +In contemplating the lives and works of the preceding poets in this +third volume of 'Specimens,' we have been impressed with a sense, if not +of their absolute, yet of their comparative mediocrity. Beside such +neglected giants as Henry More, Joseph Beaumont, and Andrew Marvell, the +Pomfrets, Sedleys, Blackmores, and Savages sink into insignificance. But +when we come to the name of Swift, we feel ourselves again approaching +an Alpine region. The air of a stern mountain-summit breathes chill +around our temples, and we feel that if we have no amiability to melt, +we have altitude at least to measure, and strange profound secrets of +nature, like the ravines of lofty hills, to explore. The men of the +sixteenth and seventeenth centuries may be compared to Lebanon, or +Snowdown, or Benlomond towering grandly over fertile valleys, on which +they smile--Swift to the tremendous Romsdale Horn in Norway, shedding +abroad, from a brow of four thousand feet high, what seems a scowl of +settled indignation, as if resolved not to rejoice even over the wide- +stretching deserts which, and nothing but which, it everlastingly +beholds. Mountains all of them, but what a difference between such a +mountain as Shakspeare, and such a mountain as Swift! + +Instead of going minutely over a path so long since trodden to mire as +the life of Swift, let us expend a page or two in seeking to form some +estimate of his character and genius. It is refreshing to come upon a +new thing in the world, even though it be a strange or even a bad thing; +and certainly, in any age and country, such a being as Swift must have +appeared an anomaly, not for his transcendent goodness, not for his +utter badness, but because the elements of good and evil were mixed in +him into a medley so astounding, and in proportions respectively so +large, yet unequal, that the analysis of the two seemed to many +competent only to the Great Chymist, Death, and that a sense of the +disproportion seems to have moved the man himself to inextinguishable +laughter,--a laughter which, radiating out of his own singular heart as +a centre, swept over the circumference of all beings within his reach, +and returned crying, 'Give, give,' as if he were demanding a universal +sphere for the exercise of the savage scorn which dwelt within him, and +as if he laughed not more 'consumedly' at others than he did at himself. + +Ere speaking of Swift as a man, let us say something about his genius. +That, like his character, was intensely peculiar. It was a compound of +infinite ingenuity, with very little poetical imagination--of gigantic +strength, with a propensity to incessant trifling--of passionate +purpose, with the clearest and coldest expression, as though a furnace +were fuelled with snow. A Brobdignagian by size, he was for ever toying +with Lilliputian slings and small craft. One of the most violent of +party men, and often fierce as a demoniac in temper, his favourite motto +was _Vive la bagatelle_. The creator of entire new worlds, we doubt if +his works contain more than two or three lines of genuine poetry. He may +be compared to one of the locusts of the Apocalypse, in that he had a +tail like unto a scorpion, and a sting in his tail; but his 'face is not +as the face of man, his hair is not as the hair of women, and on his +head there is no crown like gold.' All Swift's creations are more or +less disgusting. Not one of them is beautiful. His Lilliputians are +amazingly life-like, but compare them to Shakspeare's fairies, such +as Peaseblossom, Cobweb, and Mustardseed; his Brobdignagians are +excrescences like enormous warts; and his Yahoos might have been spawned +in the nightmare of a drunken butcher. The same coarseness characterises +his poems and his 'Tale of a Tub.' He might well, however, in his old +age, exclaim, in reference to the latter, 'Good God! what a genius I +had when I wrote that book!' It is the wildest, wittiest, wickedest, +wealthiest book of its size in the English language. Thoughts and +figures swarm in every corner of its pages, till you think of a +disturbed nest of angry ants, for all the figures and thoughts are black +and bitter. One would imagine the book to have issued from a mind that +had been gathering gall as well as sense in an antenatal state of being. + +Swift, in all his writings--sermons, political tracts, poems, and +fictions--is essentially a satirist. He consisted originally of three +principal parts,--sense, an intense feeling of the ludicrous, and +selfish passion; and these were sure, in certain circumstances, to +ferment into a spirit of satire, 'strong as death, and cruel as the +grave.' Born with not very much natural benevolence, with little purely +poetic feeling, with furious passions and unbounded ambition, he was +entirely dependent for his peace of mind upon success. Had he become, as +by his talents he was entitled to be, the prime minister of his day, he +would have figured as a greater tyrant in the cabinet than even Chatham. +But as he was prevented from being the first statesman, he became the +first satirist of his time. From vain efforts to grasp supremacy for +himself and his party, he retired growling to his Dublin den; and there, +as Haman thought scorn to lay his hand on Mordecai, but extended his +murderous purpose to all the people of the Jews,--and as Nero wished +that Rome had one neck, that he might destroy it at a blow,--so Swift +was stung by his personal disappointment to hurl out scorn at man and +suspicion at his Maker. It was not, it must be noticed, the evil which +was in man which excited his hatred and contempt; it was man himself. He +was not merely, as many are, disgusted with the selfish and malignant +elements which are mingled in man's nature and character, and disposed +to trace them to any cause save a Divine will, but he believed man to +be, as a whole, the work and child of the devil; and he told the +imaginary creator and creature to their face, what he thought the +truth,--'The devil is an ass.' His was the very madness of Manichaeism. +That heresy held that the devil was one of two aboriginal creative +powers, but Swift seemed to believe at times that he was the only God. +From a Yahoo man, it was difficult to avoid the inference of a demon +deity. It is very laughable to find writers in _Blackwood_ and elsewhere +striving to prove Swift a Christian, as if, whatever were his +professions, and however sincere he might be often in these, the whole +tendency of his writings, his perpetual and unlimited abuse of man's +body and soul, his denial of every human virtue, the filth he pours upon +every phase of human nature, and the doctrine he insinuates--that man +has fallen indeed, but fallen, not from the angel, but from the animal, +or, rather, is just a bungled brute,--were not enough to shew that +either his notions were grossly erroneous and perverted, or that he +himself deserved, like another Nebuchadnezzar, to be driven from men, +and to have a beast's heart given unto him. Sometimes he reminds us of +an impure angel, who has surprised man naked and asleep, looked at him +with microscopic eyes, ignored all his peculiar marks of fallen dignity +and incipient godhood, and in heartless rhymes reported accordingly. + +Swift belonged to the same school as Pope, although the feminine element +which was in the latter modified and mellowed his feelings. Pope was a +more successful and a happier man than Swift. He was much smaller, too, +in soul as well as in body, and his gall-organ was proportionably less. +Pope's feeling to humanity was a tiny malice; Swift's became, at length, +a black malignity. Pope always reminds us of an injured and pouting hero +of Lilliput, 'doing well to be angry' under the gourd of a pocket-flap, +or squealing out his griefs from the centre of an empty snuff-box; Swift +is a man, nay, monster of misanthropy. In minute and microscopic vision +of human infirmities, Pope excels even Swift; but then you always +conceive Swift leaning down a giant, though gnarled, stature to behold +them, while Pope is on their level, and has only to look straight before +him. Pope's wrath is always measured; Swift's, as in the 'Legion-Club' +is a whirlwind of 'black fire and horror,' in the breath of which no +flesh can live, and against which genius and virtue themselves furnish +no shield. + +After all, Swift might, perhaps, have put in the plea of Byron-- + + 'All my faults perchance thou knowest, + All my madness none can know.' + +There was a black spot of madness in his brain, and another black spot +in his heart; and the two at last met, and closed up his destiny in +night. Let human nature forgive its most determined and systematic +reviler, for the sake of the wretchedness in which he was involved all +his life long. He was born (in 1667) a posthumous child; he was brought +up an object of charity; he spent much of his youth in dependence; he +had to leave his Irish college without a degree; he was flattered with +hopes from King William and the Whigs, which were not fulfilled; he was +condemned to spend a great part of his life in Ireland, a country he +detested; he was involved--partly, no doubt, through his own blame--in +a succession of fruitless and miserable intrigues, alike of love and +politics; he was soured by want of success in England, and spoiled by +enormous popularity in Ireland; he was tried by a kind of religious +doubts, which would not go out to prayer or fasting; he was haunted by +the fear of the dreadful calamity which at last befell him; his senses +and his soul left him one by one; he became first giddy, then deaf, and +then mad; his madness was of the most terrible sort--it was a 'silent +rage;' for a year or two he lay dumb; and at last, on the 19th of +October 1745, + + 'Swift expired, a driveller and a show,' + +leaving his money to found a lunatic asylum, and his works as a many- +volumed legacy of curse to mankind. + +[Note: It has been asserted that there were circumstances in extenuation +of Swift's conduct, particularly in reference to the ladies whose names +were connected with his, which _cannot be publicly brought forward_.] + + +BAUCIS AND PHILEMON. + +In ancient times, as story tells, +The saints would often leave their cells, +And stroll about, but hide their quality, +To try good people's hospitality. + +It happened on a winter night, +As authors of the legend write, +Two brother-hermits, saints by trade, +Taking their tour in masquerade, +Disguised in tattered habits went +To a small village down in Kent, +Where, in the strollers' canting strain, +They begged from door to door in vain, +Tried every tone might pity win; +But not a soul would let them in. +Our wandering saints, in woful state, +Treated at this ungodly rate, +Having through all the village passed, +To a small cottage came at last, +Where dwelt a good old honest yeoman, +Called in the neighbourhood Philemon; +Who kindly did these saints invite +In his poor hut to pass the night; +And then the hospitable sire +Bid Goody Baucis mend the fire; +While he from out the chimney took +A flitch of bacon off the hook, +And freely from the fattest side +Cut out large slices to be fried; +Then stepped aside to fetch them drink, +Filled a large jug up to the brink, +And saw it fairly twice go round; +Yet (what is wonderful!) they found +'Twas still replenished to the top, +As if they ne'er had touched a drop. +The good old couple were amazed, +And often on each other gazed; +For both were frightened to the heart, +And just began to cry,--'What art!' +Then softly turned aside to view +Whether the lights were burning blue. +The gentle pilgrims, soon aware on 't, +Told them their calling, and their errand: +'Good folks, you need not be afraid, +We are but saints,' the hermits said; +'No hurt shall come to you or yours: +But for that pack of churlish boors, +Not fit to live on Christian ground, +They and their houses shall be drowned; +Whilst you shall see your cottage rise, +And grow a church before your eyes.' + +They scarce had spoke, when fair and soft +The roof began to mount aloft; +Aloft rose every beam and rafter; +The heavy wall climbed slowly after. + +The chimney widened, and grew higher, +Became a steeple with a spire. + +The kettle to the top was hoist, +And there stood fastened to a joist; +But with the upside down, to show +Its inclination for below; +In vain; for a superior force, +Applied at bottom, stops its course: +Doomed ever in suspense to dwell, +'Tis now no kettle, but a bell. + +A wooden jack, which had almost +Lost by disuse the art to roast, +A sudden alteration feels, +Increased by new intestine wheels; +And, what exalts the wonder more +The number made the motion slower; +The flier, though't had leaden feet, +Turned round so quick, you scarce could see 't; +But, slackened by some secret power, +Now hardly moves an inch an hour. +The jack and chimney, near allied, +Had never left each other's side: +The chimney to a steeple grown, +The jack would not be left alone; +But up against the steeple reared, +Became a clock, and still adhered; +And still its love to household cares, +By a shrill voice at noon declares, +Warning the cook-maid not to burn +That roast meat which it cannot turn. + +The groaning-chair began to crawl, +Like a huge snail, along the wall; +There stuck aloft in public view, +And with small change a pulpit grew. + +The porringers, that in a row +Hung high, and made a glittering show, +To a less noble substance changed, +Were now but leathern buckets ranged. + +The ballads, pasted on the wall, +Of Joan of France, and English Moll, +Fair Rosamond, and Robin Hood, +The little Children in the Wood, +Now seemed to look abundance better, +Improved in picture, size, and letter; +And, high in order placed, describe +The heraldry of every tribe. + +A bedstead, of the antique mode, +Compact of timber many a load, +Such as our ancestors did use, +Was metamorphosed into pews; +Which still their ancient nature keep, +By lodging folks disposed to sleep. + +The cottage, by such feats as these, +Grown to a church by just degrees; +The hermits then desired their host +To ask for what he fancied most. +Philemon, having paused a while, +Returned them thanks in homely style; +Then said, 'My house is grown so fine, +Methinks I still would call it mine; +I'm old, and fain would live at ease; +Make me the parson, if you please.' + +He spoke, and presently he feels +His grazier's coat fall down his heels: +He sees, yet hardly can believe, +About each arm a pudding-sleeve; +His waistcoat to a cassock grew, +And both assumed a sable hue; +But, being old, continued just +As threadbare, and as full of dust. +His talk was now of tithes and dues; +He smoked his pipe, and read the news; +Knew how to preach old sermons next, +Vamped in the preface and the text; +At christenings well could act his part, +And had the service all by heart; +Wished women might have children fast, +And thought whose sow had farrowed last; +Against Dissenters would repine, +And stood up firm for right divine; +Found his head filled with many a system; +But classic authors,--he ne'er missed 'em. + +Thus, having furbished up a parson, +Dame Baucis next they played their farce on; +Instead of home-spun coifs, were seen +Good pinners edged with colberteen; +Her petticoat, transformed apace, +Became black satin flounced with lace. +Plain 'Goody' would no longer down; +'Twas 'Madam' in her grogram gown. +Philemon was in great surprise, +And hardly could believe his eyes, +Amazed to see her look so prim; +And she admired as much at him. + +Thus happy in their change of life +Were several years this man and wife: +When on a day, which proved their last, +Discoursing on old stories past, +They went by chance, amidst their talk, +To the churchyard to take a walk; +When Baucis hastily cried out, +'My dear, I see your forehead sprout!' +'Sprout!' quoth the man; 'what's this you tell +I hope you don't believe me jealous! +But yet, methinks, I feel it true; +And, really, yours is budding too; +Nay, now I cannot stir my foot-- +It feels as if 'twere taking root.' + +Description would but tire my Muse; +In short, they both were turned to yews. + +Old Goodman Dobson of the green +Remembers he the trees has seen; +He'll talk of them from noon till night, +And goes with folks to show the sight; +On Sundays, after evening-prayer, +He gathers all the parish there, +Points out the place of either yew: +'Here Baucis, there Philemon grew; +Till once a parson of our town, +To mend his barn cut Baucis down. +At which 'tis hard to be believed +How much the other tree was grieved, +Grew scrubby, died atop, was stunted; +So the next parson stubbed and burnt it.' + + +ON POETRY. + +All human race would fain be wits, +And millions miss for one that hits. +Young's Universal Passion, pride, +Was never known to spread so wide. +Say, Britain, could you ever boast +Three poets in an age at most? +Our chilling climate hardly bears +A sprig of bays in fifty years; +While every fool his claim alleges, +As if it grew in common hedges. +What reason can there be assigned +For this perverseness in the mind? +Brutes find out where their talents lie: +A bear will not attempt to fly; +A foundered horse will oft debate +Before he tries a five-barred gate; +A dog by instinct turns aside, +Who sees the ditch too deep and wide;-- +But man we find the only creature, +Who, led by folly, combats nature; +Who, when she loudly cries, Forbear, +With obstinacy fixes there; +And, where his genius least inclines, +Absurdly bends his whole designs. + +Not empire to the rising sun +By valour, conduct, fortune won; +Not highest wisdom in debates +For framing laws to govern states; +Not skill in sciences profound +So large to grasp the circle round, +Such heavenly influence require, +As how to strike the Muse's lyre. + +Not beggar's brat on bulk begot; +Not bastard of a pedlar Scot; +Not boy brought up to cleaning shoes, +The spawn of Bridewell or the stews; +Not infants dropped, the spurious pledges +Of gipsies littering under hedges, +Are so disqualified by fate +To rise in church, or law, or state, +As he whom Phoebus in his ire +Hath blasted with poetic fire. +What hope of custom in the fair, +While not a soul demands your ware? +Where you have nothing to produce +For private life or public use? +Court, city, country, want you not; +You cannot bribe, betray, or plot. +For poets, law makes no provision; +The wealthy have you in derision; +Of state affairs you cannot smatter, +Are awkward when you try to flatter; +Your portion, taking Britain round, +Was just one annual hundred pound; +Now not so much as in remainder, +Since Gibber brought in an attainder, +For ever fixed by right divine, +(A monarch's right,) on Grub Street line. + +Poor starveling bard, how small thy gains! +How unproportioned to thy pains! +And here a simile comes pat in: +Though chickens take a month to fatten, +The guests in less than half an hour +Will more than half a score devour. +So, after toiling twenty days +To earn a stock of pence and praise, +Thy labours, grown the critic's prey, +Are swallowed o'er a dish of tea; +Gone to be never heard of more, +Gone where the chickens went before. +How shall a new attempter learn +Of different spirits to discern, +And how distinguish which is which, +The poet's vein, or scribbling itch? +Then hear an old experienced sinner +Instructing thus a young beginner: +Consult yourself; and if you find +A powerful impulse urge your mind, +Impartial judge within your breast +What subject you can manage best; +Whether your genius most inclines +To satire, praise, or humorous lines, +To elegies in mournful tone, +Or prologues sent from hand unknown; +Then, rising with Aurora's light, +The Muse invoked, sit down to write; +Blot out, correct, insert, refine, +Enlarge, diminish, interline; +Be mindful, when invention fails, +To scratch your head, and bite your nails. + +Your poem finished, next your care +Is needful to transcribe it fair. +In modern wit, all printed trash is +Set off with numerous breaks and dashes. + +To statesmen would you give a wipe, +You print it in italic type; +When letters are in vulgar shapes, +'Tis ten to one the wit escapes; +But when in capitals expressed, +The dullest reader smokes the jest; +Or else, perhaps, he may invent +A better than the poet meant; +As learned commentators view +In Homer, more than Homer knew. + +Your poem in its modish dress, +Correctly fitted for the press, +Convey by penny-post to Lintot; +But let no friend alive look into 't. +If Lintot thinks 'twill quit the cost, +You need not fear your labour lost: +And how agreeably surprised +Are you to see it advertised! +The hawker shows you one in print, +As fresh as farthings from a mint: +The product of your toil and sweating, +A bastard of your own begetting. + +Be sure at Will's the following day, +Lie snug, and hear what critics say; +And if you find the general vogue +Pronounces you a stupid rogue, +Damns all your thoughts as low and little, +Sit still, and swallow down your spittle; +Be silent as a politician, +For talking may beget suspicion; +Or praise the judgment of the town, +And help yourself to run it down; +Give up your fond paternal pride, +Nor argue on the weaker side; +For poems read without a name +We justly praise, or justly blame; +And critics have no partial views, +Except they know whom they abuse; +And since you ne'er provoked their spite, +Depend upon 't, their judgment's right. +But if you blab, you are undone: +Consider what a risk you run: +You lose your credit all at once; +The town will mark you for a dunce; +The vilest doggrel Grub Street sends +Will pass for yours with foes and friends; +And you must bear the whole disgrace, +Till some fresh blockhead takes your place. + +Your secret kept, your poem sunk, +And sent in quires to line a trunk, +If still you be disposed to rhyme, +Go try your hand a second time. +Again you fail: yet safe's the word; +Take courage, and attempt a third. +But just with care employ your thoughts, +Where critics marked your former faults; +The trivial turns, the borrowed wit, +The similes that nothing fit; +The cant which every fool repeats, +Town jests and coffee-house conceits; +Descriptions tedious, flat, and dry, +And introduced the Lord knows why: +Or where we find your fury set +Against the harmless alphabet; +On A's and B's your malice vent, +While readers wonder what you meant: +A public or a private robber, +A statesman, or a South-Sea jobber; +A prelate who no God believes; +A parliament, or den of thieves; +A pick-purse at the bar or bench; +A duchess, or a suburb wench: +Or oft, when epithets you link +In gaping lines to fill a chink; +Like stepping-stones to save a stride, +In streets where kennels are too wide; +Or like a heel-piece, to support +A cripple with one foot too short; +Or like a bridge, that joins a marish +To moorland of a different parish; +So have I seen ill-coupled hounds +Drag different ways in miry grounds; +So geographers in Afric maps +With savage pictures fill their gaps, +And o'er unhabitable downs +Place elephants, for want of towns. + +But though you miss your third essay, +You need not throw your pen away. +Lay now aside all thoughts of fame, +To spring more profitable game. +From party-merit seek support-- +The vilest verse thrives best at court. +And may you ever have the luck, +To rhyme almost as ill as Duck; +And though you never learnt to scan verse, +Come out with some lampoon on D'Anvers. +A pamphlet in Sir Bob's defence +Will never fail to bring in pence: +Nor be concerned about the sale-- +He pays his workmen on the nail. +Display the blessings of the nation, +And praise the whole administration: +Extol the bench of Bishops round; +Who at them rail, bid----confound: +To Bishop-haters answer thus, +(The only logic used by us,) +'What though they don't believe in----, +Deny them Protestants,--thou liest.' + +A prince, the moment he is crowned, +Inherits every virtue round, +As emblems of the sovereign power, +Like other baubles in the Tower; +Is generous, valiant, just, and wise, +And so continues till he dies: +His humble senate this professes +In all their speeches, votes, addresses. +But once you fix him in a tomb, +His virtues fade, his vices bloom, +And each perfection, wrong imputed, +Is fully at his death confuted. +The loads of poems in his praise +Ascending, make one funeral blaze. +As soon as you can hear his knell +This god on earth turns devil in hell; +And lo! his ministers of state, +Transformed to imps, his levee wait, +Where, in the scenes of endless woe, +They ply their former arts below; +And as they sail in Charon's boat, +Contrive to bribe the judge's vote; +To Cerberus they give a sop, +His triple-barking mouth to stop; +Or in the ivory gate of dreams +Project Excise and South-Sea schemes, +Or hire their party pamphleteers +To set Elysium by the ears. + +Then, poet, if you mean to thrive, +Employ your Muse on kings alive; +With prudence gather up a cluster +Of all the virtues you can muster, +Which, formed into a garland sweet, +Lay humbly at your monarch's feet, +Who, as the odours reach his throne, +Will smile and think them all his own; +For law and gospel both determine +All virtues lodge in royal ermine, +(I mean the oracles of both, +Who shall depose it upon oath.) +Your garland in the following reign, +Change but the names, will do again. + +But, if you think this trade too base, +(Which seldom is the dunce's case,) +Put on the critic's brow, and sit +At Will's the puny judge of wit. +A nod, a shrug, a scornful smile, +With caution used, may serve a while. +Proceed on further in your part, +Before you learn the terms of art; +For you can never be too far gone +In all our modern critics' jargon; +Then talk with more authentic face +Of unities, in time, and place; +Get scraps of Horace from your friends, +And have them at your fingers' ends; +Learn Aristotle's rules by rote, +And at all hazards boldly quote; +Judicious Rymer oft review, +Wise Dennis, and profound Bossu; +Read all the prefaces of Dryden-- +For these our critics much confide in, +(Though merely writ at first for filling, +To raise the volume's price a shilling.) + +A forward critic often dupes us +With sham quotations _Peri Hupsous_. +And if we have not read Longinus, +Will magisterially outshine us. +Then, lest with Greek he overrun ye, +Procure the book for love or money, +Translated from Boileau's translation, +And quote quotation on quotation. + +At Will's you hear a poem read, +Where Battus from the table-head, +Reclining on his elbow-chair, +Gives judgment with decisive air; +To whom the tribes of circling wits +As to an oracle submits. +He gives directions to the town, +To cry it up, or run it down; +Like courtiers, when they send a note, +Instructing members how to vote. +He sets the stamp of bad and good, +Though not a word he understood. +Your lesson learned, you'll be secure +To get the name of connoisseur: +And, when your merits once are known, +Procure disciples of your own. +For poets, (you can never want 'em,) +Spread through Augusta Trinobantum, +Computing by their pecks of coals, +Amount to just nine thousand souls. +These o'er their proper districts govern, +Of wit and humour judges sovereign. +In every street a city-bard +Rules, like an alderman, his ward; +His undisputed rights extend +Through all the lane, from end to end; +The neighbours round admire his shrewdness +For songs of loyalty and lewdness; +Outdone by none in rhyming well, +Although he never learned to spell. +Two bordering wits contend for glory; +And one is Whig, and one is Tory: +And this for epics claims the bays, +And that for elegiac lays: +Some famed for numbers soft and smooth, +By lovers spoke in Punch's booth; +And some as justly Fame extols +For lofty lines in Smithfield drolls. +Bavius in Wapping gains renown, +And Mavius reigns o'er Kentish-town; +Tigellius, placed in Phoebus' car, +From Ludgate shines to Temple-bar: +Harmonious Cibber entertains +The court with annual birth-day strains; +Whence Gay was banished in disgrace; +Where Pope will never show his face; +Where Young must torture his invention +To flatter knaves, or lose his pension. + +But these are not a thousandth part +Of jobbers in the poet's art; +Attending each his proper station, +And all in due subordination, +Through every alley to be found, +In garrets high, or under ground; +And when they join their pericranies, +Out skips a book of miscellanies. +Hobbes clearly proves that every creature +Lives in a state of war by nature; +The greater for the smallest watch, +But meddle seldom with their match. +A whale of moderate size will draw +A shoal of herrings down his maw; +A fox with geese his belly crams; +A wolf destroys a thousand lambs: +But search among the rhyming race, +The brave are worried by the base. +If on Parnassus' top you sit, +You rarely bite, are always bit. +Each poet of inferior size +On you shall rail and criticise, +And strive to tear you limb from limb; +While others do as much for him. + +The vermin only tease and pinch +Their foes superior by an inch: +So, naturalists observe, a flea +Hath smaller fleas that on him prey; +And these have smaller still to bite 'em, +And so proceed _ad infinitum_. +Thus every poet in his kind +Is bit by him that comes behind: +Who, though too little to be seen, +Can tease, and gall, and give the spleen; +Call dunces fools and sons of whores, +Lay Grub Street at each other's doors; +Extol the Greek and Roman masters, +And curse our modern poetasters; +Complain, as many an ancient bard did, +How genius is no more rewarded; +How wrong a taste prevails among us; +How much our ancestors out-sung us; +Can personate an awkward scorn +For those who are not poets born; +And all their brother-dunces lash, +Who crowd the press with hourly trash. + +O Grub Street! how do I bemoan thee, +Whose graceless children scorn to own thee! +Their filial piety forgot, +Deny their country like a Scot; +Though by their idiom and grimace, +They soon betray their native place. +Yet thou hast greater cause to be +Ashamed of them, than they of thee, +Degenerate from their ancient brood +Since first the court allowed them food. + +Remains a difficulty still, +To purchase fame by writing ill. +From Flecknoe down to Howard's time, +How few have reached the low sublime! +For when our high-born Howard died, +Blackmore alone his place supplied; +And lest a chasm should intervene, +When death had finished Blackmore's reign, +The leaden crown devolved to thee, +Great poet of the Hollow Tree. +But ah! how unsecure thy throne! +A thousand bards thy right disown; +They plot to turn, in factious zeal, +Duncenia to a commonweal; +And with rebellious arms pretend +An equal privilege to defend. + +In bulk there are not more degrees +From elephants to mites in cheese, +Than what a curious eye may trace +In creatures of the rhyming race. +From bad to worse, and worse, they fall; +But who can reach the worst of all? +For though in nature, depth and height +Are equally held infinite; +In poetry, the height we know; +'Tis only infinite below. +For instance, when you rashly think +No rhymer can like Welsted sink, +His merits balanced, you shall find +The laureate leaves him far behind; +Concannen, more aspiring bard, +Soars downwards deeper by a yard; +Smart Jemmy Moor with vigour drops; +The rest pursue as thick as hops. +With heads to point, the gulf they enter, +Linked perpendicular to the centre; +And, as their heels elated rise, +Their heads attempt the nether skies. + +Oh, what indignity and shame, +To prostitute the Muse's name, +By flattering kings, whom Heaven designed +The plagues and scourges of mankind; +Bred up in ignorance and sloth, +And every vice that nurses both. + +Fair Britain, in thy monarch blest, +Whose virtues bear the strictest test; +Whom never faction could bespatter, +Nor minister nor poet flatter; +What justice in rewarding merit! +What magnanimity of spirit! +What lineaments divine we trace +Through all his figure, mien, and face! +Though peace with olive bind his hands, +Confessed the conquering hero stands. +Hydaspes, Indus, and the Ganges, +Dread from his hand impending changes; +From him the Tartar and the Chinese, +Short by the knees, entreat for peace. +The comfort of his throne and bed, +A perfect goddess born and bred; +Appointed sovereign judge to sit +On learning, eloquence and wit. +Our eldest hope, divine Iuelus, +(Late, very late, oh, may he rule us!) +What early manhood has he shown, +Before his downy beard was grown! +Then think what wonders will be done, +By going on as he begun, +An heir for Britain to secure +As long as sun and moon endure. + +The remnant of the royal blood +Comes pouring on me like a flood: +Bright goddesses, in number five; +Duke William, sweetest prince alive! + +Now sings the minister of state, +Who shines alone without a mate. +Observe with what majestic port +This Atlas stands to prop the court, +Intent the public debts to pay, +Like prudent Fabius, by delay. +Thou great vicegerent of the king, +Thy praises every Muse shall sing! +In all affairs thou sole director, +Of wit and learning chief protector; +Though small the time thou hast to spare, +The church is thy peculiar care. +Of pious prelates what a stock +You choose, to rule the sable flock! +You raise the honour of your peerage, +Proud to attend you at the steerage; +You dignify the noble race, +Content yourself with humbler place. +Now learning, valour, virtue, sense, +To titles give the sole pretence. +St George beheld thee with delight +Vouchsafe to be an azure knight, +When on thy breasts and sides herculean +He fixed the star and string cerulean. + +Say, poet, in what other nation, +Shone ever such a constellation! +Attend, ye Popes, and Youngs, and Gays, +And tune your harps, and strew your bays: +Your panegyrics here provide; +You cannot err on flattery's side. +Above the stars exalt your style, +You still are low ten thousand mile. +On Louis all his bards bestowed +Of incense many a thousand load; +But Europe mortified his pride, +And swore the fawning rascals lied. +Yet what the world refused to Louis, +Applied to George, exactly true is. +Exactly true! invidious poet! +'Tis fifty thousand times below it. + +Translate me now some lines, if you can, +From Virgil, Martial, Ovid, Lucan. +They could all power in heaven divide, +And do no wrong on either side; +They teach you how to split a hair, +Give George and Jove an equal share. +Yet why should we be laced so strait? +I'll give my monarch butter weight; +And reason good, for many a year +Jove never intermeddled here: +Nor, though his priests be duly paid, +Did ever we desire his aid: +We now can better do without him, +Since Woolston gave us arms to rout him. + + +ON THE DEATH OF DR SWIFT. + + Occasioned by reading the following maxim in Rochefoucault, 'Dans + l'adversite de nos meilleurs amis, nous trouvons toujours quelque + chose qui ne nous deplait pas;'--'In the adversity of our best + friends, we always find something that doth not displease us.' + + As Rochefoucault his maxims drew + From nature, I believe them true: + +They argue no corrupted mind +In him; the fault is in mankind. + +This maxim more than all the rest +Is thought too base for human breast: +'In all distresses of our friends, +We first consult our private ends; +While nature, kindly bent to ease us, +Points out some circumstance to please us.' + +If this perhaps your patience move, +Let reason and experience prove. + +We all behold with envious eyes +Our equals raised above our size. +Who would not at a crowded show +Stand high himself, keep others low? +I love my friend as well as you: +But why should he obstruct my view? +Then let me have the higher post; +Suppose it but an inch at most. +If in a battle you should find +One, whom you love of all mankind, +Had some heroic action done, +A champion killed, or trophy won; +Rather than thus be over-topped, +Would you not wish his laurels cropped? +Dear honest Ned is in the gout, +Lies racked with pain, and you without: +How patiently you hear him groan! +How glad the case is not your own! + +What poet would not grieve to see +His brother write as well as he? +But, rather than they should excel, +Would wish his rivals all in hell? + +Her end when emulation misses, +She turns to envy, stings, and hisses: +The strongest friendship yields to pride, +Unless the odds be on our side. +Vain human-kind! fantastic race! +Thy various follies who can trace? +Self-love, ambition, envy, pride, +Their empire in our hearts divide. +Give others riches, power, and station, +'Tis all on me an usurpation. +I have no title to aspire; +Yet, when you sink, I seem the higher. +In Pope I cannot read a line, +But, with a sigh, I wish it mine: +When he can in one couplet fix +More sense than I can do in six, +It gives me such a jealous fit, +I cry, 'Pox take him and his wit!' +I grieve to be outdone by Gay +In my own humorous, biting way. +Arbuthnot is no more my friend, +Who dares to irony pretend, +Which I was born to introduce, +Refined at first, and showed its use. +St John, as well as Pultney, knows +That I had some repute for prose; +And, till they drove me out of date, +Could maul a minister of state. +If they have mortified my pride, +And made me throw my pen aside; +If with such talents Heaven hath blest 'em, +Have I not reason to detest 'em? + +To all my foes, dear Fortune, send +Thy gifts; but never to my friend: +I tamely can endure the first; +But this with envy makes me burst. + +Thus much may serve by way of proem; +Proceed we therefore to our poem. + +The time is not remote when I +Must by the course of nature die; +When, I foresee, my special friends +Will try to find their private ends: +And, though 'tis hardly understood +Which way my death can do them good, +Yet thus, methinks, I hear them speak: +'See how the Dean begins to break! +Poor gentleman, he droops apace! +You plainly find it in his face. +That old vertigo in his head +Will never leave him, till he's dead. +Besides, his memory decays: +He recollects not what he says; +He cannot call his friends to mind; +Forgets the place where last he dined; +Plies you with stories o'er and o'er; +He told them fifty times before. +How does he fancy we can sit +To hear his out-of-fashion wit? +But he takes up with younger folks, +Who for his wine will bear his jokes. +Faith! he must make his stories shorter, +Or change his comrades once a quarter: +In half the time he talks them round, +There must another set be found. + +'For poetry, he's past his prime: +He takes an hour to find a rhyme; +His fire is out, his wit decayed, +His fancy sunk, his Muse a jade. +I'd have him throw away his pen;-- +But there's no talking to some men!' + +And then their tenderness appears +By adding largely to my years: +'He's older than he would be reckoned, +And well remembers Charles the Second. +He hardly drinks a pint of wine; +And that, I doubt, is no good sign. +His stomach too begins to fail: +Last year we thought him strong and hale; +But now he's quite another thing: +I wish he may hold out till spring!' +They hug themselves, and reason thus: +'It is not yet so bad with us!' + +In such a case, they talk in tropes, +And by their fears express their hopes. +Some great misfortune to portend, +No enemy can match a friend. +With all the kindness they profess, +The merit of a lucky guess +(When daily how-d'ye's come of course, +And servants answer, 'Worse and worse!') +Would please them better, than to tell, +That, 'God be praised, the Dean is well.' +Then he who prophesied the best, +Approves his foresight to the rest: +'You know I always feared the worst, +And often told you so at first.' +He'd rather choose that I should die, +Than his predictions prove a lie. +Not one foretells I shall recover; +But all agree to give me over. + +Yet, should some neighbour feel a pain +Just in the parts where I complain; +How many a message would he send! +What hearty prayers that I should mend! +Inquire what regimen I kept; +What gave me ease, and how I slept; +And more lament when I was dead, +Than all the snivellers round my bed. + +My good companions, never fear; +For, though you may mistake a year, +Though your prognostics run too fast, +They must be verified at last. + +Behold the fatal day arrive! +'How is the Dean?'--'He's just alive.' +Now the departing prayer is read; +He hardly breathes--The Dean is dead. + +Before the passing-bell begun, +The news through half the town is run. +'Oh! may we all for death prepare! +What has he left? and who's his heir?' +'I know no more than what the news is; +'Tis all bequeathed to public uses.' +'To public uses! there's a whim! +What had the public done for him? +Mere envy, avarice, and pride: +He gave it all--but first he died. +And had the Dean, in all the nation, +No worthy friend, no poor relation? +So ready to do strangers good, +Forgetting his own flesh and blood!' + +Now Grub-Street wits are all employed; +With elegies the town is cloyed: +Some paragraph in every paper, +To curse the Dean, or bless the Drapier. +The doctors, tender of their fame, +Wisely on me lay all the blame. +'We must confess, his case was nice; +But he would never take advice. +Had he been ruled, for aught appears, +He might have lived these twenty years: +For, when we opened him, we found +That all his vital parts were sound.' + +From Dublin soon to London spread, +'Tis told at court, 'The Dean is dead.' +And Lady Suffolk, in the spleen, +Runs laughing up to tell the queen. +The queen, so gracious, mild, and good, +Cries, 'Is he gone!'tis time he should. +He's dead, you say; then let him rot. +I'm glad the medals were forgot. +I promised him, I own; but when? +I only was the princess then; +But now, as consort of the king, +You know,'tis quite another thing.' + +Now Chartres, at Sir Robert's levee, +Tells with a sneer the tidings heavy: +'Why, if he died without his shoes,' +Cries Bob, 'I'm sorry for the news: +Oh, were the wretch but living still, +And in his place my good friend Will! +Or had a mitre on his head, +Provided Bolingbroke were dead!' + +Now Curll his shop from rubbish drains: +Three genuine tomes of Swift's remains! +And then, to make them pass the glibber, +Revised by Tibbalds, Moore, and Cibber. +He'll treat me as he does my betters, +Publish my will, my life, my letters; +Revive the libels born to die: +Which Pope must bear, as well as I. + +Here shift the scene, to represent +How those I love my death lament. +Poor Pope will grieve a month, and Gay +A week, and Arbuthnot a day. + +St John himself will scarce forbear +To bite his pen, and drop a tear. +The rest will give a shrug, and cry, +'I'm sorry--but we all must die!' + +Indifference, clad in Wisdom's guise, +All fortitude of mind supplies: +For how can stony bowels melt +In those who never pity felt! +When we are lashed, they kiss the rod, +Resigning to the will of God. + +The fools, my juniors by a year, +Are tortured with suspense and fear; +Who wisely thought my age a screen, +When death approached, to stand between: +The screen removed, their hearts are trembling; +They mourn for me without dissembling. + +My female friends, whose tender hearts +Have better learned to act their parts, +Receive the news in doleful dumps: +'The Dean is dead: (Pray, what is trumps?) +Then, Lord have mercy on his soul! +(Ladies, I'll venture for the vole.) +Six Deans, they say, must bear the pall: +(I wish I knew what king to call.) +Madam, your husband will attend +The funeral of so good a friend.' +'No, madam, 'tis a shocking sight; +And he's engaged to-morrow night: +My Lady Club will take it ill, +If he should fail her at quadrille. +He loved the Dean--(I lead a heart)-- +But dearest friends, they say, must part. +His time was come; he ran his race; +We hope he's in a better place.' + +Why do we grieve that friends should die? +No loss more easy to supply. +One year is past; a different scene! +No further mention of the Dean, +Who now, alas! no more is missed, +Than if he never did exist. +Where's now the favourite of Apollo? +Departed:--and his works must follow; +Must undergo the common fate; +His kind of wit is out of date. + +Some country squire to Lintot goes, +Inquires for Swift in verse and prose. +Says Lintot, 'I have heard the name; +He died a year ago.'--'The same.' +He searches all the shop in vain. +'Sir, you may find them in Duck Lane: +I sent them, with a load of books, +Last Monday, to the pastry-cook's. +To fancy they could live a year! +I find you're but a stranger here. +The Dean was famous in his time, +And had a kind of knack at rhyme. +His way of writing now is past: +The town has got a better taste. +I keep no antiquated stuff; +But spick and span I have enough. +Pray, do but give me leave to show 'em: +Here's Colley Cibber's birthday poem. +This ode you never yet have seen, +By Stephen Duck, upon the queen. +Then here's a letter finely penned +Against the Craftsman and his friend: +It clearly shows that all reflection +On ministers is disaffection. +Next, here's Sir Robert's vindication, +And Mr Henley's last oration. +The hawkers have not got them yet; +Your honour please to buy a set? + +'Here's Wolston's tracts, the twelfth edition; +'Tis read by every politician: +The country-members, when in town, +To all their boroughs send them down: +You never met a thing so smart; +The courtiers have them all by heart: +Those maids of honour who can read, +Are taught to use them for their creed. +The reverend author's good intention +Hath been rewarded with a pension: +He doth an honour to his gown, +By bravely running priestcraft down: +He shows, as sure as God's in Gloucester, +That Moses was a grand impostor; +That all his miracles were cheats, +Performed as jugglers do their feats: +The church had never such a writer; +A shame he hath not got a mitre!' + +Suppose me dead; and then suppose +A club assembled at the Rose; +Where, from discourse of this and that, +I grow the subject of their chat. +And while they toss my name about, +With favour some, and some without; +One, quite indifferent in the cause, +My character impartial draws: + +'The Dean, if we believe report, +Was never ill received at court, +Although, ironically grave, +He shamed the fool, and lashed the knave; +To steal a hint was never known, +But what he writ was all his own.' + +'Sir, I have heard another story; +He was a most confounded Tory, +And grew, or he is much belied, +Extremely dull, before he died.' + +'Can we the Drapier then forget? +Is not our nation in his debt? +'Twas he that writ the Drapier's letters!'-- + +'He should have left them for his betters; +We had a hundred abler men, +Nor need depend upon his pen.-- +Say what you will about his reading, +You never can defend his breeding; +Who, in his satires running riot, +Could never leave the world in quiet; +Attacking, when he took the whim, +Court, city, camp,--all one to him.-- +But why would he, except he slobbered, +Offend our patriot, great Sir Robert, +Whose counsels aid the sovereign power +To save the nation every hour! +What scenes of evil he unravels +In satires, libels, lying travels, +Not sparing his own clergy cloth, +But eats into it, like a moth!' + +'Perhaps I may allow the Dean +Had too much satire in his vein, +And seemed determined not to starve it, +Because no age could more deserve it. +Yet malice never was his aim; +He lashed the vice, but spared the name. + +No individual could resent, +Where thousands equally were meant: +His satire points at no defect, +But what all mortals may correct; +For he abhorred the senseless tribe +Who call it humour when they gibe: +He spared a hump or crooked nose, +Whose owners set not up for beaux. +True genuine dulness moved his pity, +Unless it offered to be witty. +Those who their ignorance confessed +He ne'er offended with a jest; +But laughed to hear an idiot quote +A verse from Horace learned by rote. +Vice, if it e'er can be abashed, +Must be or ridiculed, or lashed. +If you resent it, who's to blame? +He neither knows you, nor your name. +Should vice expect to 'scape rebuke, +Because its owner is a dukel? +His friendships, still to few confined, +Were always of the middling kind; +No fools of rank, or mongrel breed, +Who fain would pass for lords indeed: +Where titles give no right or power, +And peerage is a withered flower; +He would have deemed it a disgrace, +If such a wretch had known his face. +On rural squires, that kingdom's bane, +He vented oft his wrath in vain: +* * * * * * * squires to market brought, +Who sell their souls and * * * * for nought. +The * * * * * * * * go joyful back, +To rob the church, their tenants rack; +Go snacks with * * * * * justices, +And keep the peace to pick up fees; +In every job to have a share, +A gaol or turnpike to repair; +And turn * * * * * * * to public roads +Commodious to their own abodes. + +'He never thought an honour done him, +Because a peer was proud to own him; +Would rather slip aside, and choose +To talk with wits in dirty shoes; +And scorn the tools with stars and garters, +So often seen caressing Chartres. +He never courted men in station, +Nor persons held in admiration; +Of no man's greatness was afraid, +Because he sought for no man's aid. +Though trusted long in great affairs, +He gave himself no haughty airs: +Without regarding private ends, +Spent all his credit for his friends; +And only chose the wise and good; +No flatterers; no allies in blood: +But succoured virtue in distress, +And seldom failed of good success; +As numbers in their hearts must own, +Who, but for him, had been unknown. + +'He kept with princes due decorum; +Yet never stood in awe before 'em. +He followed David's lesson just, +In princes never put his trust: +And, would you make him truly sour, +Provoke him with a slave in power. +The Irish senate if you named, +With what impatience he declaimed! +Fair LIBERTY was all his cry; +For her he stood prepared to die; +For her he boldly stood alone; +For her he oft exposed his own. +Two kingdoms, just as faction led, +Had set a price upon his head; +But not a traitor could be found, +To sell him for six hundred pound. + +'Had he but spared his tongue and pen, +He might have rose like other men: +But power was never in his thought, +And wealth he valued not a groat: +Ingratitude he often found, +And pitied those who meant to wound; +But kept the tenor of his mind, +To merit well of human-kind; +Nor made a sacrifice of those +Who still were true, to please his foes. +He laboured many a fruitless hour, +To reconcile his friends in power; +Saw mischief by a faction brewing, +While they pursued each other's ruin. +But, finding vain was all his care, +He left the court in mere despair. + +'And, oh! how short are human schemes! +Here ended all our golden dreams. +What St John's skill in state affairs, +What Ormond's valour, Oxford's cares, +To save their sinking country lent, +Was all destroyed by one event. +Too soon that precious life was ended, +On which alone our weal depended. +When up a dangerous faction starts, +With wrath and vengeance in their hearts; +By solemn league and covenant bound, +To ruin, slaughter, and confound; +To turn religion to a fable, +And make the government a Babel; +Pervert the laws, disgrace the gown, +Corrupt the senate, rob the crown; +To sacrifice old England's glory, +And make her infamous in story: +When such a tempest shook the land, +How could unguarded virtue stand! + +'With horror, grief, despair, the Dean +Beheld the dire destructive scene: +His friends in exile, or the Tower, +Himself within the frown of power; +Pursued by base envenomed pens, +Far to the land of S---- and fens; +A servile race in folly nursed, +Who truckle most, when treated worst. + +'By innocence and resolution, +He bore continual persecution; +While numbers to preferment rose, +Whose merit was to be his foes; +When even his own familiar friends, +Intent upon their private ends, +Like renegadoes now he feels, +Against him lifting up their heels. + +'The Dean did, by his pen, defeat +An infamous destructive cheat; +Taught fools their interest how to know, +And gave them arms to ward the blow. +Envy hath owned it was his doing, +To save that hapless land from ruin; +While they who at the steerage stood, +And reaped the profit, sought his blood. + +'To save them from their evil fate, +In him was held a crime of state. +A wicked monster on the bench, +Whose fury blood could never quench; +As vile and profligate a villain, +As modern Scroggs, or old Tressilian; +Who long all justice had discarded, +Nor feared he God, nor man regarded; +Vowed on the Dean his rage to vent, +And make him of his zeal repent: +But Heaven his innocence defends, +The grateful people stand his friends; +Not strains of law, nor judges' frown, +Nor topics brought to please the crown, +Nor witness hired, nor jury picked, +Prevail to bring him in convict. + +'In exile, with a steady heart, +He spent his life's declining part; +Where folly, pride, and faction sway, +Remote from St John, Pope, and Gay.' + +'Alas, poor Dean! his only scope +Was to be held a misanthrope. +This into general odium drew him, +Which if he liked, much good may't do him. +His zeal was not to lash our crimes, +But discontent against the times: +For, had we made him timely offers +To raise his post, or fill his coffers, +Perhaps he might have truckled down, +Like other brethren of his gown; +For party he would scarce have bled:-- +I say no more--because he's dead.-- +What writings has he left behind?' + +'I hear they're of a different kind: +A few in verse; but most in prose--' + +'Some high-flown pamphlets, I suppose:-- +All scribbled in the worst of times, +To palliate his friend Oxford's crimes; +To praise Queen Anne, nay more, defend her, +As never favouring the Pretender: +Or libels yet concealed from sight, +Against the court to show his spite: +Perhaps his travels, part the third; +A lie at every second word-- +Offensive to a loyal ear:-- +But--not one sermon, you may swear.' + +'He knew an hundred pleasing stories, +With all the turns of Whigs and Tories: +Was cheerful to his dying-day; +And friends would let him have his way. + +'As for his works in verse or prose, +I own myself no judge of those. +Nor can I tell what critics thought them; +But this I know, all people bought them, +As with a moral view designed, +To please and to reform mankind: +And, if he often missed his aim, +The world must own it to their shame, +The praise is his, and theirs the blame. +He gave the little wealth he had +To build a house for fools and mad; +To show, by one satiric touch, +No nation wanted it so much. +That kingdom he hath left his debtor, +I wish it soon may have a better. +And, since you dread no further lashes, +Methinks you may forgive his ashes.' + + +A CHARACTER, PANEGYRIC, AND DESCRIPTION OF THE +LEGION-CLUB. 1736. + +As I stroll the city, oft I +See a building large and lofty, +Not a bow-shot from the college; +Half the globe from sense and knowledge: +By the prudent architect, +Placed against the church direct, +Making good thy grandame's jest, +'Near the church'--you know the rest. + +Tell us what the pile contains? +Many a head that holds no brains. +These demoniacs let me dub +With the name of Legion-Club. +Such assemblies, you might swear, +Meet when butchers bait a bear; +Such a noise, and such haranguing, +When a brother thief is hanging: +Such a rout and such a rabble +Run to hear Jack-pudden gabble; +Such a crowd their ordure throws +On a far less villain's nose. + +Could I from the building's top +Hear the rattling thunder drop, +While the devil upon the roof +(If the devil be thunder-proof) +Should with poker fiery red +Crack the stones, and melt the lead; +Drive them down on every skull, +While the den of thieves is full; +Quite destroy the harpies' nest; +How might then our isle be blest! +For divines allow that God +Sometimes makes the devil his rod; +And the gospel will inform us, +He can punish sins enormous. + +Yet should Swift endow the schools, +For his lunatics and fools, +With a rood or two of land, +I allow the pile may stand. +You perhaps will ask me, Why so? +But it is with this proviso: +Since the house is like to last, +Let the royal grant be passed, +That the club have right to dwell +Each within his proper cell, +With a passage left to creep in, +And a hole above for peeping. +Let them when they once get in, +Sell the nation for a pin; +While they sit a-picking straws, +Let them rave at making laws; +While they never hold their tongue, +Let them dabble in their dung; +Let them form a grand committee, +How to plague and starve the city; +Let them stare, and storm, and frown, +When they see a clergy gown; +Let them, ere they crack a louse, +Call for the orders of the house; +Let them, with their gosling quills, +Scribble senseless heads of bills. +We may, while they strain their throats, +Wipe our a--s with their votes. +Let Sir Tom[1] that rampant ass, +Stuff his guts with flax and grass; +But, before the priest he fleeces, +Tear the Bible all to pieces: +At the parsons, Tom, halloo, boy, +Worthy offspring of a shoe-boy, +Footman, traitor, vile seducer, +Perjured rebel, bribed accuser, +Lay thy privilege aside, +Sprung from Papist regicide; +Fall a-working like a mole, +Raise the dirt about your hole. + +Come, assist me, muse obedient! +Let us try some new expedient; +Shift the scene for half an hour, +Time and place are in thy power. +Thither, gentle muse, conduct me; +I shall ask, and you instruct me. + +See the muse unbars the gate! +Hark, the monkeys, how they prate! + +All ye gods who rule the soul! +Styx, through hell whose waters roll! +Let me be allowed to tell +What I heard in yonder cell. + +Near the door an entrance gapes, +Crowded round with antic shapes, +Poverty, and Grief, and Care, +Causeless Joy, and true Despair; +Discord periwigged with snakes, +See the dreadful strides she takes! + +By this odious crew beset, +I began to rage and fret, +And resolved to break their pates, +Ere we entered at the gates; +Had not Clio in the nick +Whispered me, 'Lay down your stick.' +What, said I, is this the mad-house? +These, she answered, are but shadows, +Phantoms bodiless and vain, +Empty visions of the brain.' + +In the porch Briareus stands, +Shows a bribe in all his hands; +Briareus, the secretary, +But we mortals call him Carey. +When the rogues their country fleece, +They may hope for pence a-piece. + +Clio, who had been so wise +To put on a fool's disguise, +To bespeak some approbation, +And be thought a near relation, +When she saw three hundred brutes +All involved in wild disputes, +Roaring till their lungs were spent, +'Privilege of Parliament.' +Now a new misfortune feels, +Dreading to be laid by the heels. +Never durst the muse before +Enter that infernal door; +Clio, stifled with the smell, +Into spleen and vapours fell, +By the Stygian steams that flew +From the dire infectious crew. +Not the stench of Lake Avernus +Could have more offended her nose; +Had she flown but o'er the top, +She had felt her pinions drop, +And by exhalations dire, +Though a goddess, must expire. +In a fright she crept away; +Bravely I resolved to stay. + +When I saw the keeper frown, +Tipping him with half-a-crown, +Now, said I, we are alone, +Name your heroes one by one. + +Who is that hell-featured brawler? +Is it Satan? No,'tis Waller. +In what figure can a bard dress +Jack the grandson of Sir Hardress? +Honest keeper, drive him further, +In his looks are hell and murther; +See the scowling visage drop, +Just as when he murdered T----p. +Keeper, show me where to fix +On the puppy pair of Dicks; +By their lantern jaws and leathern, +You might swear they both are brethren: +Dick Fitzbaker, Dick the player, +Old acquaintance, are you there? +Dear companions, hug and kiss, +Toast Old Glorious in your piss: +Tie them, keeper, in a tether, +Let them starve and stink together; +Both are apt to be unruly, +Lash them daily, lash them duly; +Though 'tis hopeless to reclaim them, +Scorpion rods perhaps may tame them. + +Keeper, yon old dotard smoke, +Sweetly snoring in his cloak; +Who is he? 'Tis humdrum Wynne, +Half encompassed by his kin: +There observe the tribe of Bingham, +For he never fails to bring 'em; +While he sleeps the whole debate, +They submissive round him wait; +Yet would gladly see the hunks +In his grave, and search his trunks. +See, they gently twitch his coat, +Just to yawn and give his vote, +Always firm in his vocation, +For the court, against the nation. + +Those are A----s Jack and Bob, +First in every wicked job, +Son and brother to a queer +Brain-sick brute, they call a peer. +We must give them better quarter, +For their ancestor trod mortar, +And at H----th, to boast his fame, +On a chimney cut his name. + +There sit Clements, D----ks, and Harrison, +How they swagger from their garrison! +Such a triplet could you tell +Where to find on this side hell? +Harrison, D----ks, and Clements, +Keeper, see they have their payments; +Every mischief's in their hearts; +If they fail, 'tis want of parts. + +Bless us, Morgan! art thou there, man! +Bless mine eyes! art thou the chairman! +Chairman to yon damned committee! +Yet I look on thee with pity. +Dreadful sight! what! learned Morgan +Metamorphosed to a Gorgon? +For thy horrid looks I own, +Half convert me to a stone, +Hast thou been so long at school, +Now to turn a factious tool? +Alma Mater was thy mother, +Every young divine thy brother. +Thou a disobedient varlet, +Treat thy mother like a harlot! +Thou ungrateful to thy teachers, +Who are all grown reverend preachers! +Morgan, would it not surprise one! +Turn thy nourishment to poison! +When you walk among your books, +They reproach you with your looks. +Bind them fast, or from their shelves +They will come and right themselves; +Homer, Plutarch, Virgil, Flaccus, +All in arms prepare to back us. +Soon repent, or put to slaughter +Every Greek and Roman author. +Will you, in your faction's phrase, +Send the clergy all to graze, +And, to make your project pass, +Leave them not a blade of grass? +How I want thee, humorous Hogarth! +Thou, I hear, a pleasing rogue art, +Were but you and I acquainted, +Every monster should be painted: +You should try your graving-tools +On this odious group of fools: +Draw the beasts as I describe them +From their features, while I gibe them; +Draw them like; for I assure you, +You will need no _car'catura;_ +Draw them so, that we may trace +All the soul in every face. +Keeper, I must now retire, +You have done what I desire: +But I feel my spirits spent +With the noise, the sight, the scent. + +'Pray be patient; you shall find +Half the best are still behind: +You have hardly seen a score; +I can show two hundred more.' +Keeper, I have seen enough.-- +Taking then a pinch of snuff, +I concluded, looking round them, +'May their god, the devil, confound them. +Take them, Satan, as your due, +All except the Fifty-two.' + +[1] 'Sir Tom:' Sir Thomas Prendergrast, a privy councillor. + + + + +ISAAC WATTS. + + +We feel relieved, and so doubtless do our readers, in passing from the +dark tragic story of Swift, and his dubious and unhappy character, to +contemplate the useful career of a much smaller, but a much better man, +Isaac Watts. This admirable person was born at Southampton on the 17th +of July 1674. His father, of the same name, kept a boarding-school for +young gentlemen, and was a man of intelligence and piety. Isaac was the +eldest of nine children, and began early to display precocity of genius. +At four he commenced to study Latin at home, and afterwards, under one +Pinhorn, a clergyman, who kept the free-school at Southampton, he +learned Latin, Hebrew, and Greek. A subscription was proposed for +sending him to one of the great universities, but he preferred casting +in his lot with the Dissenters. He repaired accordingly, in 1690, to +an academy kept by the Rev. Thomas Rowe, whose son, we believe, became +the husband of the celebrated Elizabeth Rowe, the once popular author +of 'Letters from the Dead to the Living.' The Rowes belonged to the +Independent body. At this academy Watts began to write poetry, chiefly +in the Latin language, and in the then popular Pindaric measure. At the +age of twenty, he returned to his father's house, and spent two quiet +years in devotion, meditation, and study. He became next a tutor in the +family of Sir John Hartopp for five years. He was afterwards chosen +assistant to Dr Chauncey, and, after the Doctor's death, became his +successor. His health, however, failed, and, after getting an assistant +for a while, he was compelled to resign. In 1712, Sir Thomas Abney, a +benevolent gentleman of the neighbourhood, received Watts into his +house, where he continued during the rest of his life--all his wants +attended to, and his feeble frame so tenderly cared for that he lived +to the age of seventy-five. Sir Thomas died eight years after Dr Watts +entered his establishment, but the widow and daughters continued +unwearied in their attentions. Abney House was a mansion surrounded by +fine gardens and pleasure-grounds, where the Doctor became thoroughly +at home, and was wont to refresh his body and mind in the intervals +of study. He preached regularly to a congregation, and in the pulpit, +although his stature was low, not exceeding five feet, the excellence +of his matter, the easy flow of his language, and the propriety of his +pronunciation, rendered him very popular. In private he was exceedingly +kind to the poor and to children, giving to the former a third part +of his small income of L100 a-year, and writing for the other his +inimitable hymns. Besides these, he published a well-known treatise +on Logic, another on 'The Improvement of the Mind,' besides various +theological productions, amongst which his 'World to Come' has been +preeminently popular. In 1728, he received from Edinburgh and Aberdeen +an unsolicited diploma of Doctor of Divinity. As age advanced, he found +himself unable to discharge his ministerial duties, and offered to remit +his salary, but his congregation refused to accept his demission. On the +25th November 1748, quite worn out, but without suffering, this able and +worthy man expired. + +If to be eminently useful is to fulfil the highest purpose of humanity, +it was certainly fulfilled by Isaac Watts. His logical and other +treatises have served to brace the intellects, methodise the studies, +and concentrate the activities of thousands--we had nearly said of +millions of minds. This has given him an enviable distinction, but he +shone still more in that other province he so felicitously chose and +so successfully occupied--that of the hearts of the young. One of his +detractors called him 'Mother Watts.' He might have taken up this +epithet, and bound it as a crown unto him. We have heard of a pious +foreigner, possessed of imperfect English, who, in an agony of +supplication to God for some sick friend, said, 'O Fader, hear me! +O Mudder, hear me!' It struck us as one of the finest of stories, and +containing one of the most beautiful tributes to the Deity we ever +heard, recognising in Him a pity which not even a father, which only +a mother can feel. Like a tender mother does good Watts bend over the +little children, and secure that their first words of song shall be +those of simple, heartfelt trust in God, and of faith in their Elder +Brother. To create a little heaven in the nursery by hymns, and these +not mawkish or twaddling, but beautifully natural and exquisitely simple +breathings of piety and praise, was the high task to which Watts +consecrated, and by which he has immortalised, his genius. + + +FEW HAPPY MATCHES. + +1 Stay, mighty Love, and teach my song, + To whom thy sweetest joys belong, + And who the happy pairs, + Whose yielding hearts, and joining hands, + Find blessings twisted with their bands, + To soften all their cares. + +2 Not the wild herds of nymphs and swains + That thoughtless fly into thy chains, + As custom leads the way: + If there be bliss without design, + Ivies and oaks may grow and twine, + And be as blest as they. + +3 Not sordid souls of earthly mould + Who, drawn by kindred charms of gold, + To dull embraces move: + So two rich mountains of Peru + May rush to wealthy marriage too, + And make a world of love. + +4 Not the mad tribe that hell inspires + With wanton flames; those raging fires + The purer bliss destroy: + On Aetna's top let furies wed, + And sheets of lightning dress the bed, + To improve the burning joy. + +5 Nor the dull pairs whose marble forms + None of the melting passions warms + Can mingle hearts and hands: + Logs of green wood that quench the coals + Are married just like stoic souls, + With osiers for their bands. + +6 Not minds of melancholy strain, + Still silent, or that still complain, + Can the dear bondage bless: + As well may heavenly concerts spring + From two old lutes with ne'er a string, + Or none besides the bass. + +7 Nor can the soft enchantments hold + Two jarring souls of angry mould, + The rugged and the keen: + Samson's young foxes might as well + In bonds of cheerful wedlock dwell, + With firebrands tied between. + +8 Nor let the cruel fetters bind + A gentle to a savage mind, + For love abhors the sight: + Loose the fierce tiger from the deer, + For native rage and native fear + Rise and forbid delight. + +9 Two kindest souls alone must meet; + 'Tis friendship makes the bondage sweet, + And feeds their mutual loves: + Bright Venus on her rolling throne + Is drawn by gentlest birds alone, + And Cupids yoke the doves. + + +THE SLUGGARD. + +1 'Tis the voice of the sluggard; I heard him complain, + 'You have waked me too soon, I must slumber again.' + As the door on its hinges, so he on his bed, + Turns his sides, and his shoulders, and his heavy head. + +2 'A little more sleep, and a little more slumber;' + Thus he wastes half his days, and his hours without number; + And when he gets up, he sits folding his hands, + Or walks about sauntering, or trifling he stands. + +3 I passed by his garden, and saw the wild brier, + The thorn and thistle grew broader and higher; + The clothes that hang on him are turning to rags, + And his money still wastes till he starves or he begs. + +4 I made him a visit, still hoping to find + He had took better care for improving his mind; + He told me his dreams, talked of eating and drinking, + But he scarce reads his Bible, and never loves thinking. + +5 Said I then to my heart, 'Here's a lesson for me: + That man's but a picture of what I might be; + But thanks to my friends for their care in my breeding, + Who taught me betimes to love working and reading.' + + +THE ROSE. + +1 How fair is the rose! what a beautiful flower! + The glory of April and May! + But the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour, + And they wither and die in a day. + +2 Yet the rose has one powerful virtue to boast, + Above all the flowers of the field: + When its leaves are all dead, and fine colours are lost, + Still how sweet a perfume it will yield! + +3 So frail is the youth and the beauty of men, + Though they bloom and look gay like the rose: + But all our fond care to preserve them is vain; + Time kills them as fast as he goes. + +4 Then I'll not be proud of my youth or my beauty, + Since both of them wither and fade: + But gain a good name by well doing my duty; + This will scent, like a rose, when I'm dead. + + +A CRADLE HYMN. + +1 Hush! my dear, lie still and slumber, + Holy angels guard thy bed! + Heavenly blessings without number + Gently falling on thy head. + +2 Sleep, my babe; thy food and raiment, + House and home, thy friends provide; + All without thy care or payment, + All thy wants are well supplied. + +3 How much better thou'rt attended + Than the Son of God could be, + When from heaven he descended, + And became a child like thee! + +4 Soft and easy in thy cradle: + Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay, + When his birthplace was a stable, + And his softest bed was hay. + +5 Blessed babe! what glorious features, + Spotless fair, divinely bright! + Must he dwell with brutal creatures? + How could angels bear the sight? + +6 Was there nothing but a manger + Cursed sinners could afford, + To receive the heavenly Stranger! + Did they thus affront their Lord? + +7 Soft, my child, I did not chide thee, + Though my song might sound too hard; + This thy { mother[1] } sits beside thee, + { nurse that } + And her arms shall be thy guard. + +8 Yet to read the shameful story, + How the Jews abused their King, + How they served the Lord of glory, + Makes me angry while I sing. + +9 See the kinder shepherds round him, + Telling wonders from the sky! + Where they sought him, where they found him, + With his virgin mother by. + +10 See the lovely babe a-dressing; + Lovely infant, how he smiled! + When he wept, the mother's blessing + Soothed and hushed the holy child. + +11 Lo! he slumbers in his manger, + Where the horned oxen fed: + Peace, my darling, here's no danger, + Here's no ox a-near thy bed. + +12 'Twas to save thee, child, from dying, + Save my dear from burning flame, + Bitter groans, and endless crying, + That thy blest Redeemer came. + +13 Mayst thou live to know and fear him, + Trust and love him, all thy days; + Then go dwell for ever near him, + See his face, and sing his praise! + +14 I could give thee thousand kisses, + Hoping what I most desire; + Not a mother's fondest wishes + Can to greater joys aspire. + +[1] Here you may use the words, brother, sister, neighbour, friend. + + +BREATHING TOWARD THE HEAVENLY COUNTRY. + + The beauty of my native land + Immortal love inspires; + I burn, I burn with strong desires, + And sigh and wait the high command. + There glides the moon her shining way, + And shoots my heart through with a silver ray. + Upward my heart aspires: + A thousand lamps of golden light, + Hung high in vaulted azure, charm my sight, + And wink and beckon with their amorous fires. + O ye fair glories of my heavenly home, + Bright sentinels who guard my Father's court, + Where all the happy minds resort! + When will my Father's chariot come? + Must ye for ever walk the ethereal round, + For ever see the mourner lie + An exile of the sky, + A prisoner of the ground? + Descend, some shining servants from on high, + Build me a hasty tomb; + A grassy turf will raise my head; + The neighbouring lilies dress my bed, + And shed a sweet perfume. + Here I put off the chains of death, + My soul too long has worn: + Friends, I forbid one groaning breath, + Or tear to wet my urn. + Raphael, behold me all undressed; + Here gently lay this flesh to rest, + Then mount and lead the path unknown. +Swift I pursue thee, flaming guide, on pinions of my own. + + +TO THE REV. MR JOHN HOWE. + + Great man, permit the muse to climb, + And seat her at thy feet; + Bid her attempt a thought sublime, + And consecrate her wit. + I feel, I feel the attractive force + Of thy superior soul: + My chariot flies her upward course, + The wheels divinely roll. + Now let me chide the mean affairs + And mighty toil of men: + How they grow gray in trifling cares, + Or waste the motion of the spheres + Upon delights as vain! + A puff of honour fills the mind, + And yellow dust is solid good; + + Thus, like the ass of savage kind, + We snuff the breezes of the wind, + Or steal the serpent's food. + Could all the choirs + That charm the poles + But strike one doleful sound, + 'Twould be employed to mourn our souls, + Souls that were framed of sprightly fires, + In floods of folly drowned. +Souls made for glory seek a brutal joy; +How they disclaim their heavenly birth, +Melt their bright substance down to drossy earth, +And hate to be refined from that impure alloy. + + Oft has thy genius roused us hence + With elevated song, + Bid us renounce this world of sense, + Bid us divide the immortal prize + With the seraphic throng: + 'Knowledge and love make spirits blest, + Knowledge their food, and love their rest;' + But flesh, the unmanageable beast, + Resists the pity of thine eyes, + And music of thy tongue. + Then let the worms of grovelling mind + Round the short joys of earthly kind + In restless windings roam; + Howe hath an ample orb of soul, + Where shining worlds of knowledge roll, + Where love, the centre and the pole, + Completes the heaven at home. + + + + +AMBROSE PHILIPS. + + +This gentleman--remembered now chiefly as Pope's temporary rival--was +born in 1671, in Leicestershire; studied at Cambridge; and, being +a great Whig, was appointed by the government of George I. to be +Commissioner of the Collieries, and afterwards to some lucrative +appointments in Ireland. He was also made one of the Commissioners of +the Lottery. He was elected member for Armagh in the Irish House of +Commons. He returned home in 1748, and died the next year in his +lodgings at Vauxhall. + +His works are 'The Distressed Mother,' a tragedy translated from Racine, +and greatly praised in the _Spectator_; two deservedly forgotten plays, +'The Briton,' and 'Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester;' some miscellaneous +pieces, of which an epistle to the Earl of Dorset, dated Copenhagen, has +some very vivid lines; his Pastorals, which were commended by Tickell at +the expense of those of Pope, who took his revenge by damning them, not +with 'faint' but with fulsome and ironical praise, in the _Guardian_; +and the subjoined fragment from Sappho, which is, particularly in the +first stanza, melody itself. Some conjecture that it was touched up by +Addison. + + +A FRAGMENT OF SAPPHO. + +1 Blessed as the immortal gods is he, + The youth who fondly sits by thee, + And hears and sees thee all the while + Softly speak, and sweetly smile. + +2 'Twas this deprived my soul of rest, + And raised such tumults in my breast; + For while I gazed, in transport tossed, + My breath was gone, my voice was lost. + +3 My bosom glowed: the subtle flame + Ran quickly through my vital frame; + O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung, + My ears with hollow murmurs rung. + +4 In dewy damps my limbs were chilled, + My blood with gentle horrors thrilled; + My feeble pulse forgot to play, + I fainted, sunk, and died away. + + + + +WILLIAM HAMILTON. + + +William Hamilton, of Bangour, was born in Ayrshire in 1704. He was of +an ancient family, and mingled from the first in the most fashionable +circles. Ere he was twenty he wrote verses in Ramsay's 'Tea-Table +Miscellany.' In 1745, to the surprise of many, he joined the standard +of Prince Charles, and wrote a poem on the battle of Gladsmuir, or +Prestonpans. When the reverse of his party came, after many wanderings +and hair's-breadth escapes in the Highlands, he found refuge in France. +As he was a general favourite, and as much allowance was made for his +poetical temperament, a pardon was soon procured for him by his friends, +and he returned to his native country. His health, however, originally +delicate, had suffered by his Highland privations, and he was compelled +to seek the milder clime of Lyons, where he died in 1754. + +Hamilton was what is called a ladies'-man, but his attachments were not +deep, and he rather flirted than loved. A Scotch lady, who was annoyed +at his addresses, asked John Home how she could get rid of them. He, +knowing Hamilton well, advised her to appear to favour him. She acted on +the advice, and he immediately withdrew his suit. And yet his best poem +is a tale of love, and a tale, too, told with great simplicity and +pathos. We refer to his 'Braes of Yarrow,' the beauty of which we never +felt fully till we saw some time ago that lovely region, with its 'dowie +dens,'--its clear living stream,--Newark Castle, with its woods and +memories,--and the green wildernesses of silent hills which stretch on +all sides around; saw it, too, in that aspect of which Wordsworth sung +in the words-- + + 'The grace of forest charms decayed + And pastoral melancholy.' + +It is the highest praise we can bestow upon Hamilton's ballad that it +ranks in merit near Wordsworth's fine trinity of poems, 'Yarrow +Unvisited,' 'Yarrow Visited,' and 'Yarrow Revisited.' + + +THE BRAES OF YARROW. + +1 A. Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, + Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow! + Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, + And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow. + +2 B. Where gat ye that bonny bonny bride? + Where gat ye that winsome marrow? + A. I gat her where I darena weil be seen, + Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. + +3 Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny bride, + Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow! + Nor let thy heart lament to leave + Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. + +4 B. Why does she weep, thy bonny bonny bride? + Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow? + And why dare ye nae mair weil be seen, + Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow? + +5 A. Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, maun she weep, + Lang maun she weep with dule and sorrow, + And lang maun I nae mair weil be seen + Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. + +6 For she has tint her lover lover dear, + Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow, + And I hae slain the comeliest swain + That e'er poued birks on the Braes of Yarrow. + +7 Why runs thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, red? + Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow? + And why yon melancholious weeds + Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow? + +8 What's yonder floats on the rueful rueful flude? + What's yonder floats? O dule and sorrow! + Tis he, the comely swain I slew + Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow. + +9 Wash, oh wash his wounds his wounds in tears, + His wounds in tears with dule and sorrow, + And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds, + And lay him on the Braes of Yarrow. + +10 Then build, then build, ye sisters sisters sad, + Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow, + And weep around in waeful wise, + His helpless fate on the Braes of Yarrow. + +11 Curse ye, curse ye, his useless useless shield, + My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow, + The fatal spear that pierced his breast, + His comely breast, on the Braes of Yarrow. + +12 Did I not warn thee not to lue, + And warn from fight, but to my sorrow; + O'er rashly bauld a stronger arm + Thou met'st, and fell on the Braes of Yarrow. + +13 Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green grows the grass, + Yellow on Yarrow bank the gowan, + Fair hangs the apple frae the rock, + Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan. + +14 Flows Yarrow sweet? as sweet, as sweet flows Tweed, + As green its grass, its gowan as yellow, + As sweet smells on its braes the birk, + The apple frae the rock as mellow. + +15 Fair was thy love, fair fair indeed thy love + In flowery bands thou him didst fetter; + Though he was fair and weil beloved again, + Than me he never lued thee better. + +16 Busk ye then, busk, my bonny bonny bride, + Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow, + Busk ye, and lue me on the banks of Tweed, + And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow. + +17 C. How can I busk a bonny bonny bride, + How can I busk a winsome marrow, + How lue him on the banks of Tweed, + That slew my love on the Braes of Yarrow? + +18 O Yarrow fields! may never never rain + Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover, + For there was basely slain my love, + My love, as he had not been a lover. + +19 The boy put on his robes, his robes of green, + His purple vest, 'twas my ain sewin', + Ah! wretched me! I little little kenned + He was in these to meet his ruin. + +20 The boy took out his milk-white milk-white steed, + Unheedful of my dule and sorrow, + But e'er the to-fall of the night + He lay a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow. + +21 Much I rejoiced that waeful waeful day; + I sang, my voice the woods returning, + But lang ere night the spear was flown + That slew my love, and left me mourning. + +22 What can my barbarous barbarous father do, + But with his cruel rage pursue me? + My lover's blood is on thy spear, + How canst thou, barbarous man, then woo me? + +23 My happy sisters may be may be proud; + With cruel and ungentle scoffin', + May bid me seek on Yarrow Braes + My lover nailed in his coffin. + +24 My brother Douglas may upbraid, upbraid, + And strive with threatening words to move me; + My lover's blood is on thy spear, + How canst thou ever bid me love thee? + +25 Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of love, + With bridal sheets my body cover, + Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door, + Let in the expected husband lover. + +26 But who the expected husband husband is? + His hands, methinks, are bathed in slaughter. + Ah me! what ghastly spectre's yon, + Comes, in his pale shroud, bleeding after? + +27 Pale as he is, here lay him lay him down, + Oh, lay his cold head on my pillow! + Take aff take aff these bridal weeds, + And crown my careful head with willow. + +28 Pale though thou art, yet best yet best beloved; + Oh, could my warmth to life restore thee, + Ye'd lie all night between my breasts! + No youth lay ever there before thee. + +29 Pale pale, indeed, O lovely lovely youth; + Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter, + And lie all night between my breasts; + No youth shall ever lie there after. + +30 A. Return, return, O mournful mournful bride, + Return and dry thy useless sorrow: + Thy lover heeds nought of thy sighs, + He lies a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow. + + + + +ALLAN RAMSAY. + + +Crawford Muir, in Lanarkshire, was the birthplace of this true poet. His +father was manager of the Earl of Hopetoun's lead-mines. Allan was born +in 1686. His mother was Alice Bower, the daughter of an Englishman who +had emigrated from Derbyshire. His father died while his son was yet in +infancy; his mother married again in the same district; and young Allan +was educated at the parish school of Leadhills. At the age of fifteen, +he was sent to Edinburgh, and bound apprentice to a wig-maker there. +This trade, however, he left after finishing his term. He displayed +rather early a passion for literature, and made a little reputation by +some pieces of verse,--such as 'An Address to the Easy Club,' a convivial +society with which he was connected,--and a considerable time after by +a capital continuation of King James' 'Christis Kirk on the Green.' +In 1712, he married a writer's daughter, Christiana Ross, who was his +affectionate companion for thirty years. Soon after, he set up a +bookseller's shop opposite Niddry's Wynd, and in this capacity edited +and published two collections,--the one of songs, some of them his own, +entitled 'The Tea-Table Miscellany,' and the other of early Scottish +poems, entitled 'The Evergreen.' In 1725, he published 'The Gentle +Shepherd.' It was the expansion of one or two pastoral scenes which he +ad shewn to his delighted friends. The poem became instantly popular, +and was republished in London and Dublin, and widely circulated in the +colonies. Pope admired it. Gay, then in Scotland with his patrons the +Queensberry family, used to lounge into Ramsay's shop to get explanations +of its Scotch phrases to transmit to Twickenham, and to watch from the +window the notable characters whom Allan pointed out to him in the +Edinburgh Exchange. He now removed to a better shop, and set up for his +sign the heads of Ben Jonson and Drummond, who agreed better in figure +than they had done in reality at Hawthornden. He established the first +circulating library in Scotland. His shop became a centre of intelligence, +and Ramsay sat a Triton among the minnows of that rather mediocre day +--giving his little senate laws, and inditing verses, songs, and fables. +At forty-five--an age when Sir Walter Scott had scarcely commenced his +Waverley novels, and Dryden had by far his greatest works to produce +--honest Allan imagined his vein exhausted, and ceased to write, although +he lived and enjoyed life for nearly thirty years more. At last, after +having lost money and gained obloquy, in a vain attempt to found the +first theatre in Edinburgh, and after building for himself a curious +octagon-shaped house on the north side of the Castle Hill, which, while +he called it Ramsay Lodge, his enemies nicknamed 'The Goose-pie,' and +which, though altered, still, we believe, stands, under the name of +Ramsay Garden, the author of 'The Gentle Shepherd' breathed his last on +the 7th of January 1758. He died of a scurvy in the gums. His son became +a distinguished painter, intimate with Johnson, Burke, and the rest of +that splendid set, although now chiefly remembered from his connexion +with them and with his father. + +Allan Ramsay was a poet with very few of the usual poetical faults. He +had an eye for nature, but he had also an eye for the main chance. He +'kept his shop, and his shop kept him.' He might sing of intrigues, and +revels, and houses of indifferent reputation; but he was himself a +quiet, _canny_, domestic man, seen regularly at kirk and market. He had +a great reverence for the gentry, with whom he fancied himself, and +perhaps was, through the Dalhousie family, connected. He had a vast +opinion of himself; and between pride of blood, pride of genius, and +plenty of means, he was tolerably happy. How different from poor maudlin +Fergusson, or from that dark-browed, dark-eyed, impetuous being who was, +within a year of Ramsay's death, to appear upon the banks of Doon, +coming into the world to sing divinely, to act insanely, and prematurely +to die! + +A bard, in the highest use of the word, in which it approaches the +meaning of prophet, Ramsay was not, else he would not have ceased so +soon to sing. Whatever lyrical impulse was in him speedily wore itself +out, and left him to his milder mission as a broad reflector of Scottish +life--in its humbler, gentler, and better aspects. His 'Gentle Shepherd' +is a chapter of Scottish still-life; and, since the pastoral is +essentially the poetry of peace, the 'Gentle Shepherd' is the finest +pastoral in the world. No thunders roll among these solitary crags; no +lightnings affright these lasses among their _claes_ at Habbie's Howe; +the air is still and soft; the plaintive bleating of the sheep upon the +hills, the echoes of the city are distant and faintly heard, so that the +very sounds seem in unison and in league with silence. One thinks of +Shelley's isle 'mid the Aegean deep:-- + + 'It is an isle under Ionian skies, + Beautiful as the wreck of Paradise; + And for the harbours are not safe and good, + The land would have remained a solitude, + But for some pastoral people, native there, + Who from the Elysian clear and sunny air + Draw the last spirit of the age of gold, + Simple and generous, innocent and bold. + + * * * * * + + The winged storms, chanting their thunder psalm + To other lands, leave azure chasms of calm + Over this isle, or weep themselves in dew, + From whence the fields and woods ever renew + Their green and golden immortality.' + +Yet in the little circle of calm carved out by the magician of 'The +Gentle Shepherd' there is no insipidity. Lust is sternly excluded, but +love of the purest and warmest kind there breathes. The parade of +learning is not there; but strong common sense thinks, and robust and +manly eloquence declaims. Humour too is there, and many have laughed at +Mause and Baldy, whom all the frigid wit of 'Love for Love' and the +'School for Scandal' could only move to contempt or pity. A _denouement_ +of great skill is not wanting to stir the calm surface of the story by +the wind of surprise; the curtain falls over a group of innocent, +guileless, and happy hearts, and as we gaze at them we breathe the +prayer, that Scotland's peerage and Scotland's peasantry may always thus +be blended into one bond of mutual esteem, endearment, and excellence. +Well might Campbell say--'Like the poetry of Tasso and Ariosto, that of +the "Gentle Shepherd" is engraven on the memory of its native country. +Its verses have passed into proverbs, and it continues to be the delight +and solace of the peasantry whom it describes.' + +Ramsay has very slightly touched on the religion of his countrymen. This +is to be regretted; but if he had no sympathy with that, he, at least, +disdained to counterfeit it, and its poetical aspects have since been +adequately sung by other minstrels. + + +LOCHABER NO MORE. + +1 Farewell to Lochaber, and farewell, my Jean, +Where heartsome with thee I've mony day been; +For Lochaber no more, Lochaber no more, +We'll maybe return to Lochaber no more. +These tears that I shed they are a' for my dear, +And no for the dangers attending on weir; +Though borne on rough seas to a far bloody shore, +Maybe to return to Lochaber no more. + +2 Though hurricanes rise, and rise every wind, +They'll ne'er make a tempest like that in my mind; +Though loudest of thunder on louder waves roar, +That's naething like leaving my love on the shore. +To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pained; +By ease that's inglorious no fame can be gained; +And beauty and love's the reward of the brave, +And I must deserve it before I can crave. + +3 Then glory, my Jeany, maun plead my excuse; +Since honour commands me, how can I refuse? +Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee, +And without thy favour I'd better not be. +I gae then, my lass, to win honour and fame, +And if I should luck to come gloriously hame, +I'll bring a heart to thee with love running o'er, +And then I'll leave thee and Lochaber no more. + + +THE LAST TIME I CAME O'ER THE MOOR. + +1 The last time I came o'er the moor, + I left my love behind me; + Ye powers! what pain do I endure, + When soft ideas mind me! + Soon as the ruddy morn displayed + The beaming day ensuing, + I met betimes my lovely maid, + In fit retreats for wooing. + +2 Beneath the cooling shade we lay, + Gazing and chastely sporting; + We kissed and promised time away, + Till night spread her black curtain. + I pitied all beneath the skies, + E'en kings, when she was nigh me; + In raptures I beheld her eyes, + Which could but ill deny me. + +3 Should I be called where cannons roar, + Where mortal steel may wound me; + Or cast upon some foreign shore, + Where dangers may surround me; + Yet hopes again to see my love, + To feast on glowing kisses, + Shall make my cares at distance move, + In prospect of such blisses. + +4 In all my soul there's not one place + To let a rival enter; + Since she excels in every grace, + In her my love shall centre. + Sooner the seas shall cease to flow, + Their waves the Alps shall cover, + On Greenland ice shall roses grow, + Before I cease to love her. + +5 The next time I go o'er the moor, + She shall a lover find me; + And that my faith is firm and pure, + Though I left her behind me: + Then Hymen's sacred bonds shall chain + My heart to her fair bosom; + There, while my being does remain, + My love more fresh shall blossom. + + +FROM 'THE GENTLE SHEPHERD.' + +ACT I.--SCENE II. + +PROLOGUE. + +A flowrie howm[1] between twa verdant braes, +Where lasses used to wash and spread their claes,[2] +A trotting burnie wimpling through the ground, +Its channel peebles shining smooth and round: +Here view twa barefoot beauties clean and clear; +First please your eye, then gratify your ear; +While Jenny what she wishes discommends, +And Meg with better sense true love defends. + +PEGGY AND JENNY. + +_Jenny_. Come, Meg, let's fa' to wark upon this green, +This shining day will bleach our linen clean; +The water's clear, the lift[3] unclouded blue, +Will mak them like a lily wet with dew. + +_Peggy_. Gae farrer up the burn to Habbie's How, +Where a' that's sweet in spring and simmer grow: +Between twa birks, out o'er a little linn,[4] +The water fa's, and maks a singin' din: +A pool breast-deep, beneath as clear as glass, +Kisses with easy whirls the bordering grass. +We'll end our washing while the morning's cool, +And when the day grows het we'll to the pool, +There wash oursells; 'tis healthfu' now in May, +And sweetly caller on sae warm a day. + +_Jenny_. Daft lassie, when we're naked, what'll ye say, +Giff our twa herds come brattling down the brae, +And see us sae?--that jeering fellow, Pate, +Wad taunting say, 'Haith, lasses, ye're no blate.'[5] + +_Peggy_. We're far frae ony road, and out of sight; +The lads they're feeding far beyont the height; +But tell me now, dear Jenny, we're our lane, +What gars ye plague your wooer with disdain? +The neighbours a' tent this as well as I; +That Roger lo'es ye, yet ye carena by. +What ails ye at him? Troth, between us twa, +He's wordy you the best day e'er ye saw. + +_Jenny_. I dinna like him, Peggy, there's an end; +A herd mair sheepish yet I never kenn'd. +He kames his hair, indeed, and gaes right snug, +With ribbon-knots at his blue bonnet lug; +Whilk pensylie[6] he wears a thought a-jee,[7] +And spreads his garters diced beneath his knee. +He falds his owrelay[8] down his breast with care, +And few gangs trigger to the kirk or fair; +For a' that, he can neither sing nor say, +Except, 'How d'ye?--or, 'There's a bonny day.' + +_Peggy_. Ye dash the lad with constant slighting pride, +Hatred for love is unco sair to bide: +But ye'll repent ye, if his love grow cauld;-- +What like's a dorty[9] maiden when she's auld? +Like dawted wean[10] that tarrows at its meat,[11] +That for some feckless[12] whim will orp[13] and greet: +The lave laugh at it till the dinner's past, +And syne the fool thing is obliged to fast, +Or scart anither's leavings at the last. +Fy, Jenny! think, and dinna sit your time. + +_Jenny_. I never thought a single life a crime. + +_Peggy_. Nor I: but love in whispers lets us ken +That men were made for us, and we for men. + +_Jenny_. If Roger is my jo, he kens himsell, +For sic a tale I never heard him tell. +He glowers[14] and sighs, and I can guess the cause: +But wha's obliged to spell his hums and haws? +Whene'er he likes to tell his mind mair plain, +I'se tell him frankly ne'er to do't again. +They're fools that slavery like, and may be free; +The chiels may a' knit up themselves for me. + +_Peggy_. Be doing your ways: for me, I have a mind +To be as yielding as my Patie's kind. + +_Jenny_. Heh! lass, how can ye lo'e that rattleskull? +A very deil, that aye maun have his will! +We soon will hear what a poor fechtin' life +You twa will lead, sae soon's ye're man and wife. + +_Peggy_. I'll rin the risk; nor have I ony fear, +But rather think ilk langsome day a year, +Till I with pleasure mount my bridal-bed, +Where on my Patie's breast I'll lay my head. +There he may kiss as lang as kissing's good, +And what we do there's nane dare call it rude. +He's get his will; why no? 'tis good my part +To give him that, and he'll give me his heart. + +_Jenny_. He may indeed for ten or fifteen days +Mak meikle o' ye, with an unco fraise, +And daut ye baith afore fowk and your lane: +But soon as your newfangleness is gane, +He'll look upon you as his tether-stake, +And think he's tint his freedom for your sake. +Instead then of lang days of sweet delight, +Ae day be dumb, and a' the neist he'll flyte: +And maybe, in his barlichood's,[15] ne'er stick +To lend his loving wife a loundering lick. + +_Peggy_. Sic coarse-spun thoughts as that want pith to move +My settled mind; I'm o'er far gane in love. +Patie to me is dearer than my breath, +But want of him, I dread nae other skaith.[16] +There's nane of a' the herds that tread the green +Has sic a smile, or sic twa glancing een. +And then he speaks with sic a taking art, +His words they thirl like music through my heart. +How blithely can he sport, and gently rave, +And jest at little fears that fright the lave. +Ilk day that he's alane upon the hill, +He reads feil[17] books that teach him meikle skill; +He is--but what need I say that or this, +I'd spend a month to tell you what he is! +In a' he says or does there's sic a gate, +The rest seem coofs compared with my dear Pate; +His better sense will lang his love secure: +Ill-nature hefts in sauls are weak and poor. + +_Jenny._ Hey, 'bonnylass of Branksome!' or't be lang, +Your witty Pate will put you in a sang. +Oh, 'tis a pleasant thing to be a bride! +Syne whinging gets about your ingle-side, +Yelping for this or that with fasheous[18] din: +To mak them brats then ye maun toil and spin. +Ae wean fa's sick, and scads itself wi' brue,[19] +Ane breaks his shin, anither tines his shoe: +The 'Deil gaes o'er John Wabster:'[20] hame grows hell, +When Pate misca's ye waur than tongue can tell. + +_Peggy._ Yes, it's a heartsome thing to be a wife, +When round the ingle-edge young sprouts are rife. +Gif I'm sae happy, I shall have delight +To hear their little plaints, and keep them right. +Wow, Jenny! can there greater pleasure be, +Than see sic wee tots toolying at your knee; +When a' they ettle at, their greatest wish, +Is to be made of, and obtain a kiss? +Can there be toil in tenting day and night +The like of them, when loves makes care delight? + +_Jenny_. But poortith, Peggy, is the warst of a', +Gif o'er your heads ill chance should beggary draw: +There little love or canty cheer can come +Frae duddy doublets, and a pantry toom.[21] +Your nowt may die; the speat[22] may bear away +Frae aff the howms your dainty rucks of hay; +The thick-blawn wreaths of snaw, or blashy thows, +May smoor your wethers, and may rot your ewes; +A dyvour[23] buys your butter, woo', and cheese, +But, or the day of payment, breaks and flees; +With gloomin' brow the laird seeks in his rent, +'Tis no to gie, your merchant's to the bent; +His honour maunna want, he poinds your gear; +Syne driven frae house and hald, where will ye steer?-- +Dear Meg, be wise, and lead a single life; +Troth, it's nae mows[24] to be a married wife. + +_Peggy_. May sic ill luck befa' that silly she, +Wha has sic fears, for that was never me. +Let fowk bode weel, and strive to do their best; +Nae mair's required--let Heaven make out the rest. +I've heard my honest uncle aften say, +That lads should a' for wives that's vertuous pray; +For the maist thrifty man could never get +A well-stored room, unless his wife wad let: +Wherefore nocht shall be wanting on my part +To gather wealth to raise my shepherd's heart. +Whate'er he wins, I'll guide with canny care, +And win the vogue at market, tron, or fair, +For healsome, clean, cheap, and sufficient ware. +A flock of lambs, cheese, butter, and some woo', +Shall first be sald to pay the laird his due; +Syne a' behind's our ain.--Thus without fear, +With love and rowth[25] we through the warld will steer; +And when my Pate in bairns and gear grows rife, +He'll bless the day he gat me for his wife. + +_Jenny_. But what if some young giglet on the green, +With dimpled cheeks, and twa bewitching een, +Should gar your Patie think his half-worn Meg, +And her kenn'd kisses, hardly worth a feg? + +_Peggy_. Nae mair of that:--dear Jenny, to be free, +There's some men constanter in love than we: +Nor is the ferly great, when Nature kind +Has blest them with solidity of mind; +They'll reason calmly, and with kindness smile, +When our short passions wad our peace beguile: +Sae, whensoe'er they slight their maiks[26]at hame, +'Tis ten to ane their wives are maist to blame. +Then I'll employ with pleasure a' my art +To keep him cheerfu', and secure his heart. +At even, when he comes weary frae the hill, +I'll have a' things made ready to his will: +In winter, when he toils through wind and rain, +A bleezing ingle, and a clean hearth-stane: +And soon as he flings by his plaid and staff, +The seething-pot's be ready to take aff; +Clean hag-abag[27] I'll spread upon his board, +And serve him with the best we can afford: +Good-humour and white bigonets[28] shall be +Guards to my face, to keep his love for me. + +_Jenny_. A dish of married love right soon grows cauld, +And dozins[29] down to nane, as fowk grow auld. + +_Peggy_. But we'll grow auld together, and ne'er find +The loss of youth, when love grows on the mind. +Bairns and their bairns make sure a firmer tie, +Than aught in love the like of us can spy. +See yon twa elms that grow up side by side, +Suppose them some years syne bridegroom and bride; +Nearer and nearer ilka year they've pressed, +Till wide their spreading branches are increased, +And in their mixture now are fully blessed: +This shields the other frae the eastlin' blast; +That in return defends it frae the wast. +Sic as stand single, (a state sae liked by you,) +Beneath ilk storm frae every airt[30] maun bow. + +_Jenny_. I've done,--I yield, dear lassie; I maun yield, +Your better sense has fairly won the field. +With the assistance of a little fae +Lies dern'd within my breast this mony a day. + +_Peggy_. Alake, poor pris'ner!--Jenny, that's no fair, +That ye'll no let the wee thing take the air: +Haste, let him out; we'll tent as well's we can, +Gif he be Bauldy's, or poor Roger's man. + +_Jenny_. Anither time's as good; for see the sun +Is right far up, and we're not yet begun +To freath the graith: if canker'd Madge, our aunt, +Come up the burn, she'll gie's a wicked rant; +But when we've done, I'll tell you a' my mind; +For this seems true--nae lass can be unkind. + +[_Exeunt_. + +[1] Howm: holm. +[2] Claes: clothes. +[3] 'Lift:' sky. +[4] 'Linn:' a waterfall. +[5] 'Blate:' bashful. +[6] 'Pensylie:' sprucely. +[7] 'A-jee:' to one side. +[8] 'Owrelay:' cravat. +[9] 'Dorty:' pettish. +[10] 'Dawted wean:' spoiled child. +[11] 'Tarrows at its meat:' refuses its food. +[12] 'Feckless:' silly. +[13] 'Orp:' fret. +[14] 'Glowers:' stares. +[15] 'Barlichoods:' cross-moods. +[16] 'Skaith:' harm. +[17] 'Feil:' many. +[18] 'Fasheous:' troublesome. +[19] 'Scads itself wi' brue:' scalds itself with broth. +[20] 'Deil gaes o'er John Wabster:' all goes wrong. +[21] 'Toom:' empty. +[22] 'Speat:' land-flood. +[23] 'A dyvour:' bankrupt. +[24] 'Mows:' jest. +[25] 'Rowth:' plenty. +[26] 'Maiks:' mates. +[27] 'Hag-abag:' huckaback. +[28] 'White bigonets:' linen caps or coifs. +[29] 'Dozins:' dwindles. +[30] 'Airt:' quarter. + + + + +We come now to another cluster of minor poets,--such as Robert Dodsley, +who rose, partly through Pope's influence, from a footman to be a +respectable bookseller, and who, by the verses entitled 'The Parting +Kiss,'-- + + 'One fond kiss before we part, + Drop a tear and bid adieu; + Though we sever, my fond heart, + Till we meet, shall pant for you,' &c.-- + +seems to have suggested to Burns his 'Ae fond kiss, and then we sever;' +--John Brown, author of certain tragedies and other works, including the +once famous 'Estimate of the Manners and Principles of Modern Times,' of +which Cowper says-- + + 'The inestimable Estimate of Brown + Rose like a paper kite and charmed the town; + But measures planned and executed well + Shifted the wind that raised it, and it fell:' + +and who went mad and died by his own hands;--John Gilbert Cooper, author +of a fine song to his wife, one stanza of which has often been quoted:-- + + 'And when with envy Time transported + Shall think to rob us of our joys; + You'll in your girls again be courted, + And I'll go wooing in my boys;'-- + +Cuthbert Shaw, an unfortunate author of the Savage type, who wrote an +affecting monody on the death of his wife;--Thomas Scott, author of +'Lyric Poems, Devotional and Moral: London, 1773;'--Edward Thompson, a +native of Hull, and author of some tolerable sea-songs;--Henry Headley, +a young man of uncommon talents, a pupil of Dr Parr in Norwich, who, +when only twenty-one, published 'Select Beauties of the Ancient English +Poets,' accompanied by critical remarks discovering rare ripeness of mind +for his years, who wrote poetry too, but was seized with consumption, and +died at twenty-two;--Nathaniel Cotton, the physician, under whose care, +at St Alban's, Cowper for a time was;--William Hayward Roberts, author of +'Judah Restored,' a poem of much ambition and considerable merit;--John +Bampfylde, who went mad, and died in that state, after having published, +when young, some sweet sonnets, of which the following is one:-- + + 'Cold is the senseless heart that never strove + With the mild tumult of a real flame; + Rugged the breast that music cannot tame, + Nor youth's enlivening graces teach to love + The pathless vale, the long-forsaken grove, + The rocky cave that bears the fair one's name, + With ivy mantled o'er. For empty fame + Let him amidst the rabble toil, or rove + In search of plunder far to western clime. + Give me to waste the hours in amorous play + With Delia, beauteous maid, and build the rhyme, + Praising her flowing hair, her snowy arms, + And all that prodigality of charms, + Formed to enslave my heart, and grace my lay;'-- + +Lord Chesterfield, who wrote some lines on 'Beau Nash's Picture at full +length, between the Busts of Newton and Pope at Bath,' of which this is +the last stanza-- + + 'The picture placed the busts between, + Adds to the thought much strength; + Wisdom and Wit are little seen, + But Folly's at full length;'-- + +Thomas Penrose, who is more memorable as a warrior than as a poet, +having fought against Buenos Ayres, as well as having written some +elegant war-verses;--Edward Moore, a contributor to the _World_;--Sir +John Henry Moore, a youth of promise, who died in his twenty-fifth year, +leaving behind him such songs as the following:-- + + 'Cease to blame my melancholy, + Though with sighs and folded arms + I muse with silence on her charms; + Censure not--I know 'tis folly; + Yet these mournful thoughts possessing, + Such delights I find in grief + That, could heaven afford relief, + My fond heart would scorn the blessing;'-- + +the Rev. Richard Jago, a friend of Shenstone's, and author of a pleasing +fable entitled 'Labour and Genius;'--Henry Brooke, better known for a +novel, once much in vogue, called 'The Fool of Quality,' than for his +elaborate poem entitled 'Universal Beauty,' which formed a prototype of +Darwin's 'Botanic Garden,' but did not enjoy that poem's fame;--George +Alexander Stevens, a comic actor, lecturer on 'heads,' and writer of +some poems, novels, and Bacchanalian songs:--and, in fine, Mrs Greville, +whose 'Prayer for Indifference' displays considerable genius. We quote +some stanzas:-- + + 'I ask no kind return in love, + No tempting charm to please; + Far from the heart such gifts remove + That sighs for peace and ease. + + 'Nor ease, nor peace, that heart can know + That, like the needle true, + Turns at the touch of joy and woe, + But, turning, trembles too. + + 'Far as distress the soul can wound, + 'Tis pain in each degree; + 'Tis bliss but to a certain bound-- + Beyond, is agony. + + 'Then take this treacherous sense of mine, + Which dooms me still to smart, + Which pleasure can to pain refine, + To pain new pangs impart. + + 'Oh, haste to shed the sovereign balm, + My shattered nerves new string, + And for my guest, serenely calm, + The nymph Indifference bring.' + + + + +ISAAC HAWKINS BROWNE. + + +This writer was born at Burton-on-Trent, in 1705. He was educated at +Westminster and Cambridge, and studied law at Lincoln's Inn. He was a +man of fortune, and sat in two parliaments for Wenlock, in Shropshire. +He died in 1760. His imitations of authors are clever and amusing, and +seem to have got their hint from 'The Splendid Shilling,' and to have +given it to the 'Rejected Addresses.' + + +IMITATION OF THOMSON. + +----Prorumpit ad aethera nubem +Turbine, fumantem piceo. VIRG. + + +O thou, matured by glad Hesperian suns, +Tobacco, fountain pure of limpid truth, +That looks the very soul; whence pouring thought +Swarms all the mind; absorpt is yellow care, +And at each puff imagination burns: +Flash on thy bard, and with exalting fires +Touch the mysterious lip that chants thy praise +In strains to mortal sons of earth unknown. +Behold an engine, wrought from tawny mines +Of ductile clay, with plastic virtue formed, +And glazed magnific o'er, I grasp, I fill. +From Paetotheke with pungent powers perfumed, +Itself one tortoise all, where shines imbibed +Each parent ray; then rudely rammed, illume +With the red touch of zeal-enkindling sheet, +Marked with Gibsonian lore; forth issue clouds +Thought-thrilling, thirst-inciting clouds around, +And many-mining fires; I all the while, +Lolling at ease, inhale the breezy balm. +But chief, when Bacchus wont with thee to join, +In genial strife and orthodoxal ale, +Stream life and joy into the Muse's bowl. +Oh, be thou still my great inspirer, thou +My Muse; oh, fan me with thy zephyrs boon, +While I, in clouded tabernacle shrined, +Burst forth all oracle and mystic song. + + +IMITATION OF POPE. + + --Solis ad ortus +Vanescit fumus. LUCAN. + +Blest leaf! whose aromatic gales dispense +To Templars modesty, to parsons sense: +So raptured priests, at famed Dodona's shrine, +Drank inspiration from the steam divine. +Poison that cures, a vapour that affords +Content, more solid than the smile of lords: +Rest to the weary, to the hungry food, +The last kind refuge of the wise and good. +Inspired by thee, dull cits adjust the scale +Of Europe's peace, when other statesmen fail. +By thee protected, and thy sister, beer, +Poets rejoice, nor think the bailiff near. +Nor less the critic owns thy genial aid, +While supperless he plies the piddling trade. +What though to love and soft delights a foe, +By ladies hated, hated by the beau, +Yet social freedom, long to courts unknown, +Fair health, fair truth, and virtue are thy own. +Come to thy poet, come with healing wings, +And let me taste thee unexcised by kings. + + +IMITATION OF SWIFT. + +Ex fumo dare lucem.--HOR. + +Boy! bring an ounce of Freeman's best, +And bid the vicar be my guest: +Let all be placed in manner due, +A pot wherein to spit or spew, +And London Journal, and Free-Briton, +Of use to light a pipe or * * + + * * * * * + +This village, unmolested yet +By troopers, shall be my retreat: +Who cannot flatter, bribe, betray; +Who cannot write or vote for * * * +Far from the vermin of the town, +Here let me rather live, my own, +Doze o'er a pipe, whose vapour bland +In sweet oblivion lulls the land; +Of all which at Vienna passes, +As ignorant as * * Brass is: +And scorning rascals to caress, +Extol the days of good Queen Bess, +When first tobacco blessed our isle, +Then think of other queens--and smile. + +Come, jovial pipe, and bring along +Midnight revelry and song; +The merry catch, the madrigal, +That echoes sweet in City Hall; +The parson's pun, the smutty tale +Of country justice o'er his ale. +I ask not what the French are doing, +Or Spain, to compass Britain's ruin: + Britons, if undone, can go + Where tobacco loves to grow. + + + + +WILLIAM OLDYS. + + +Oldys was born in 1696, and died in 1761. He was a very diligent +collector of antiquarian materials, and the author of a Life of Raleigh. +He was intimate with Captain Grose, Burns' friend, who used to rally him +on his inordinate thirst for ale, although, if we believe Burns, it was +paralleled by Grose's liking for port. The following Anacreontic is +characteristic:-- + + +SONG, OCCASIONED BY A FLY DRINKING OUT OF A CUP OF ALE. + +Busy, curious, thirsty fly, +Drink with me, and drink as I; +Freely welcome to my cup, +Couldst thou sip and sip it up. +Make the most of life you may-- +Life is short, and wears away. + +Both alike are, mine and thine, +Hastening quick to their decline: +Thine's a summer, mine no more, +Though repeated to threescore; +Threescore summers, when they're gone, +Will appear as short as one. + + + + +ROBERT LLOYD. + + +Robert Lloyd was born in London in 1733. He was the son of one of the +under-masters of Westminster School. He went to Cambridge, where he +became distinguished for his talents and notorious for his dissipation. +He became an usher under his father, but soon tired of the drudgery, and +commenced professional author. He published a poem called 'The Actor,' +which attracted attention, and was the precursor of 'The Rosciad.' He +wrote for periodicals, produced some theatrical pieces of no great +merit, and edited the _St James' Magazine_. This failed, and Lloyd, +involved in pecuniary distresses, was cast into the Fleet. Here he was +deserted by all his boon companions except Churchill, to whose sister he +was attached, and who allowed him a guinea a-week and a servant, besides +promoting a subscription for his benefit. When the news of Churchill's +death arrived, Lloyd was seated at dinner; he became instantly sick, +cried out 'Poor Charles! I shall follow him soon,' and died in a few +weeks. Churchill's sister, a woman of excellent abilities, waited on +Lloyd during his illness, and died soon after him of a broken heart. +This was in 1764. + +Lloyd was a minor Churchill. He had not his brawny force, but he had +more than his liveliness of wit, and was a much better-conditioned man, +and more temperate in his satire. Cowper knew, loved, admired, and in +some of his verses imitated, Robert Lloyd. + + +THE MISERIES OF A POET'S LIFE. + +The harlot Muse, so passing gay, +Bewitches only to betray. +Though for a while with easy air +She smooths the rugged brow of care, +And laps the mind in flowery dreams, +With Fancy's transitory gleams; +Fond of the nothings she bestows, +We wake at last to real woes. +Through every age, in every place, +Consider well the poet's case; +By turns protected and caressed, +Defamed, dependent, and distressed. +The joke of wits, the bane of slaves, +The curse of fools, the butt of knaves; +Too proud to stoop for servile ends, +To lacquey rogues or flatter friends; +With prodigality to give, +Too careless of the means to live; +The bubble fame intent to gain, +And yet too lazy to maintain; +He quits the world he never prized, +Pitied by few, by more despised, +And, lost to friends, oppressed by foes, +Sinks to the nothing whence he rose. + +O glorious trade! for wit's a trade, +Where men are ruined more than made! +Let crazy Lee, neglected Gay, +The shabby Otway, Dryden gray, +Those tuneful servants of the Nine, +(Not that I blend their names with mine,) +Repeat their lives, their works, their fame. +And teach the world some useful shame. + + + + +HENRY CAREY. + + +Of Carey, the author of the popular song, 'Sally in our Alley,' we know +only that he was a professional musician, composing the air as well as +the words of 'Sally,' and that in 1763 he died by his own hands. + + +SALLY IN OUR ALLEY. + +1 Of all the girls that are so smart, + There's none like pretty Sally; + She is the darling of my heart, + And she lives in our alley. + There is no lady in the land + Is half so sweet as Sally: + She is the darling of my heart, + And she lives in our alley. + +2 Her father he makes cabbage-nets, + And through the streets does cry 'em; + Her mother she sells laces long, + To such as please to buy 'em: + But sure such folks could ne'er beget + So sweet a girl as Sally! + She is the darling of my heart, + And she lives in our alley. + +3 When she is by, I leave my work, + (I love her so sincerely,) + My master comes like any Turk, + And bangs me most severely: + But, let him bang his belly full, + I'll bear it all for Sally; + She is the darling of my heart, + And she lives in our alley. + +4 Of all the days that's in the week, + I dearly love but one day; + And that's the day that comes betwixt + A Saturday and Monday; + For then I'm dressed all in my best, + To walk abroad with Sally; + She is the darling of my heart, + And she lives in our alley. + +5 My master carries me to church, + And often am I blamed, + Because I leave him in the lurch, + As soon as text is named: + I leave the church in sermon time, + And slink away to Sally; + She is the darling of my heart, + And she lives in our alley. + +6 When Christmas comes about again, + O then I shall have money; + I'll hoard it up, and box it all, + I'll give it to my honey: + I would it were ten thousand pounds, + I'd give it all to Sally; + She is the darling of my heart, + And she lives in our alley. + +7 My master, and the neighbours all, + Make game of me and Sally; + And, but for her, I'd better be + A slave, and row a galley: + But when my seven long years are out, + O then I'll marry Sally, + O then we'll wed, and then we'll bed, + But not in our alley. + + + + +DAVID MALLETT. + + +David Mallett was the son of a small innkeeper in Crieff, Perthshire, +where he was born in the year 1700. Crieff, as many of our readers know, +is situated on the western side of a hill, and commands a most varied and +beautiful prospect, including Drummond Castle, with its solemn shadowy +woods, and the Ochils, on the south,--Ochtertyre, one of the loveliest +spots in Scotland, and the gorge of Glenturrett, on the north,--and the +bold dark hills which surround the romantic village of Comrie, on the +west. Crieff is now a place of considerable note, and forms a centre +of summer attraction to multitudes; but at the commencement of the +eighteenth century it must have been a miserable hamlet. _Malloch_ was +originally the name of the poet, and the name is still common in that +part of Perthshire. David attended the college of Aberdeen, and became, +afterwards, an unsalaried tutor in the family of Mr Home of Dreghorn, +near Edinburgh. We find him next in the Duke of Montrose's family, with +a salary of L30 per annum. In 1723, he accompanied his pupils to London, +and changed his name to Mallett, as more euphonious. Next year, he +produced his pretty ballad of 'William and Margaret,' and published it +in Aaron Hill's 'Plain Dealer.' This served as an introduction to the +literary society of the metropolis, including such names as Young and +Pope. In 1733, he disgraced himself by a satire on the greatest man then +living, the venerable Richard Bentley. Mallett was one of those mean +creatures who always worship a rising, and turn their backs on a setting +sun. By his very considerable talents, his management, and his address, +he soon rose in the world. He was appointed under-secretary to the Prince +of Wales, with a salary of L200 a-year. In conjunction with Thomson, to +whom he was really kind, he wrote in 1740, 'The Masque of Alfred,' in +honour of the birthday of the Princess Augusta. His first wife, of whom +nothing is recorded, having died, he married the daughter of Lord +Carlisle's steward, who brought him a fortune of L10,000. Both she and +Mallett himself gave themselves out as Deists. This was partly owing to +his intimacy with Bolingbroke, to gratify whom, he heaped abuse upon Pope +in a preface to 'The Patriot-King,' and was rewarded by Bolingbroke +leaving him the whole of his works and MSS. These he afterwards +published, and exposed himself to the vengeful sarcasm of Johnson, who +said that Bolingbroke was a scoundrel and a coward;--a scoundrel, to +charge a blunderbuss against Christianity; and a coward, because he durst +not fire it himself, but left a shilling to a beggarly Scotsman to draw +the trigger after his death. Mallett ranked himself among the +calumniators and, as it proved, murderers of Admiral Byng. He wrote a +Life of Lord Bacon, in which, it was said, he forgot that Bacon was a +philosopher, and would probably, when he came to write the Life of +Marlborough, forget that he was a general. This Life of Bacon is now +utterly forgotten. We happened to read it in our early days, and thought +it a very contemptible performance. The Duchess of Marlborough left L1000 +in her will between Glover and Mallett to write a Life of her husband. +Glover threw up his share of the work, and Mallett engaged to perform the +whole, to which, besides, he was stimulated by a pension from the second +Duke of Marlborough. He got the money, but when he died it was found that +he had not written a line of the work. In his latter days he held the +lucrative office of Keeper of the Book of Entries for the port of London. +He died on the 2lst April 1765. + +Mallett is, on the whole, no credit to Scotland. He was a bad, mean, +insincere, and unprincipled man, whose success was procured by despicable +and dastardly arts. He had doubtless some genius, and his 'Birks of +Invermay,' and 'William and Margaret,' shall preserve his name after his +clumsy imitation of Thomson, called 'The Excursion,' and his long, +rambling 'Amyntor and Theodora;' have been forgotten. + + +WILLIAM AND MARGARET. + +1 'Twas at the silent, solemn hour + When night and morning meet; + In glided Margaret's grimly ghost, + And stood at William's feet. + +2 Her face was like an April-morn, + Clad in a wintry cloud; + And clay-cold was her lily hand, + That held her sable shroud. + +3 So shall the fairest face appear, + When youth and years are flown: + Such is the robe that kings must wear, + When death has reft their crown. + +4 Her bloom was like the springing flower, + That sips the silver dew; + The rose was budded in her cheek, + Just opening to the view. + +5 But love had, like the canker-worm, + Consumed her early prime: + The rose grew pale, and left her cheek; + She died before her time. + +6 'Awake!' she cried, 'thy true love calls, + Come from her midnight-grave; + Now let thy pity hear the maid, + Thy love refused to save. + +7 'This is the dumb and dreary hour, + When injured ghosts complain; + When yawning graves give up their dead, + To haunt the faithless swain. + +8 'Bethink thee, William, of thy fault, + Thy pledge and broken oath! + And give me back my maiden-vow, + And give me back my troth. + +9 'Why did you promise love to me, + And not that promise keep? + Why did you swear my eyes were bright, + Yet leave those eyes to weep? + +10 'How could you say my face was fair, + And yet that face forsake? + How could you win my virgin-heart, + Yet leave that heart to break? + +11 'Why did you say my lip was sweet, + And made the scarlet pale? + And why did I, young witless maid! + Believe the flattering tale? + +12 'That face, alas! no more is fair, + Those lips no longer red: + Dark are my eyes, now closed in death, + And every charm is fled. + +13 'The hungry worm my sister is; + This winding-sheet I wear: + And cold and weary lasts our night, + Till that last morn appear. + +14 'But, hark! the cock has warned me hence; + A long and late adieu! + Come, see, false man, how low she lies, + Who died for love of you.' + +15 The lark sung loud; the morning smiled, + With beams of rosy red: + Pale William quaked in every limb, + And raving left his bed. + +16 He hied him to the fatal place + Where Margaret's body lay; + And stretched him on the green-grass turf, + That wrapped her breathless clay. + +17 And thrice he called on Margaret's name. + And thrice he wept full sore; + Then laid his cheek to her cold grave, + And word spake never more! + + + +THE BIRKS OF INVERMAY. + +The smiling morn, the breathing spring, +Invite the tunefu' birds to sing; +And, while they warble from the spray, +Love melts the universal lay. +Let us, Amanda, timely wise, +Like them, improve the hour that flies; +And in soft raptures waste the day, +Among the birks of Invermay. + +For soon the winter of the year, +And age, life's winter, will appear; +At this thy living bloom will fade, +As that will strip the verdant shade. +Our taste of pleasure then is o'er, +The feathered songsters are no more; +And when they drop and we decay, +Adieu the birks of Invermay! + + + + +JAMES MERRICK. + + +Merrick was a clergyman, as well as a writer of verse. He was born in +1720, and became a Fellow of Trinity College, Oxford, where Lord North +was one of his pupils. He took orders, but owing to incessant pains in +the head, could not perform duty. He died in 1769. His works are a +translation of Tryphiodorus, done at twenty, a version of the Psalms, a +collection of Hymns, and a few miscellaneous pieces, one good specimen +of which we subjoin. + + +THE CHAMELEON. + +Oft has it been my lot to mark +A proud, conceited, talking spark, +With eyes that hardly served at most +To guard their master 'gainst a post; +Yet round the world the blade has been, +To see whatever could be seen. +Returning from his finished tour, +Grown ten times perter than before; +Whatever word you chance to drop, +The travelled fool your mouth will stop: +'Sir, if my judgment you'll allow-- +I've seen--and sure I ought to know.'-- +So begs you'd pay a due submission, +And acquiesce in his decision. + +Two travellers of such a cast, +As o'er Arabia's wilds they passed, +And on their way, in friendly chat, +Now talked of this, and then of that; +Discoursed a while, 'mongst other matter, +Of the chameleon's form and nature. +'A stranger animal,' cries one, +'Sure never lived beneath the sun: +A lizard's body lean and long, +A fish's head, a serpent's tongue, +Its foot with triple claw disjoined; +And what a length of tail behind! +How slow its pace! and then its hue-- +Who ever saw so fine a blue?' + +'Hold there,' the other quick replies, +''Tis green, I saw it with these eyes, +As late with open mouth it lay, +And warmed it in the sunny ray; +Stretched at its ease the beast I viewed, +And saw it eat the air for food.' + +'I've seen it, sir, as well as you, +And must again affirm it blue; +At leisure I the beast surveyed +Extended in the cooling shade.' + +''Tis green, 'tis green, sir, I assure ye.' +'Green!' cries the other in a fury: +'Why, sir, d' ye think I've lost my eyes?' +''Twere no great loss,' the friend replies; +'For if they always serve you thus, +You'll find them but of little use.' + +So high at last the contest rose, +From words they almost came to blows: +When luckily came by a third; +To him the question they referred: +And begged he'd tell them, if he knew, +Whether the thing was green or blue. + +'Sirs,' cries the umpire, 'cease your pother; +The creature's neither one nor t' other. +I caught the animal last night, +And viewed it o'er by candle-light: +I marked it well, 'twas black as jet-- +You stare--but sirs, I've got it yet, +And can produce it.'--'Pray, sir, do; +I'll lay my life the thing is blue.' +'And I'll be sworn, that when you've seen +The reptile, you'll pronounce him green.' + +'Well, then, at once to ease the doubt,' +Replies the man, 'I'll turn him out: +And when before your eyes I've set him, +If you don't find him black, I'll eat him.' + +He said; and full before their sight +Produced the beast, and lo!--'twas white. +Both stared, the man looked wondrous wise-- +'My children,' the chameleon cries, +(Then first the creature found a tongue,) +'You all are right, and all are wrong: +When next you talk of what you view, +Think others see as well as you: +Nor wonder if you find that none +Prefers your eyesight to his own.' + + + + +DR JAMES GRAINGER. + + +This writer possessed some true imagination, although his claim to +immortality lies in the narrow compass of one poem--his 'Ode to +Solitude.' Little is known of his personal history. He was born in 1721 +--belonging to a gentleman's family in Cumberland. He studied medicine, +and was for some time a surgeon connected with the army. When the peace +came, he established himself in London as a medical practitioner. In +1755, he published his 'Solitude,' which found many admirers, including +Dr Johnson, who pronounced its opening lines 'very noble.' He afterwards +indited several other pieces, wrote a translation of Tibullus, and +became one of the critical staff of the _Monthly Review_. He was unable, +however, through all these labours to secure a competence, and, in 1759, +he sought the West Indies. In St Christopher's he commenced practising +as a physician, and married the Governor's daughter, who brought him a +fortune. He wrote a poem entitled 'The Sugar-cane.' This was sent over +to London in MS., and was read at Sir Joshua Reynold's table to a +literary coterie, who, according to Boswell, all burst out into a laugh +when, after much blank-verse pomp, the poet began a new paragraph thus-- + + 'Now, Muse, let's sing of _rats_! + +And what increased the ridicule was, that one of the company, slily +overlooking the reader, found that the word had been originally 'mice,' +but had been changed to rats as more dignified. + +Boswell goes on to record Johnson's opinion of Grainger. He said, 'He +was an agreeable man, a man that would do any good that was in his +power.' His translation of Tibullus was very well done, but 'The Sugar- +cane, a Poem,' did not please him. 'What could he make of a Sugar-cane? +one might as well write "The Parsley-bed, a Poem," or "The Cabbage +Garden, a Poem."' Boswell--'You must then _pickle_ your cabbage with the +_sal Atticum_.' Johnson--'One could say a great deal about cabbage. The +poem might begin with the advantages of civilised society over a rude +state, exemplified by the Scotch, who had no cabbages till Oliver +Cromwell's soldiers introduced them, and one might thus shew how arts +are propagated by conquest, as they were by the Roman arms.' Cabbage, by +the way, in a metaphorical sense, might furnish a very good subject for +a literary _satire_. + +Grainger died of the fever of the country in 1767. Bishop Percy +corroborates Johnson's character of him as a man. He says, 'He was not +only a man of genius and learning, but had many excellent virtues, being +one of the most generous, friendly, benevolent men I ever knew.' + +Grainger in some points reminds us of Dyer. Dyer staked his reputation +on 'The Fleece;' but it is his lesser poem, 'Grongar Hill,' which +preserves his name; that fine effusion has survived the laboured work. +And so Grainger's 'Solitude' has supplanted the stately 'Sugar-cane.' +The scenery of the West Indies had to wait till its real poet appeared +in the author of 'Paul and Virginia.' Grainger was hardly able to cope +with the strange and gorgeous contrasts it presents of cliffs and crags, +like those of Iceland, with vegetation rich as that of the fairest parts +of India, and of splendid sunshine, with tempests of such tremendous +fury that, but for their brief continuance, no property could be secure, +and no life could be safe. + +The commencement of the 'Ode to Solitude' is fine, but the closing part +becomes tedious. In the middle of the poem there is a tumult of +personifications, some of them felicitous and others forced. + + 'Sage Reflection, bent with years,' +may pass, but + 'Conscious Virtue, void of fears,' +is poor. + 'Halcyon Peace on moss reclined,' +is a picture; + 'Retrospect that scans the mind,' +is nothing; + 'Health that snuffs the morning air,' +is a living image; but what sense is there in + 'Full-eyed Truth, with bosom bare?' +and how poor his + 'Laughter in loud peals that breaks,' +to Milton's + 'Laughter, holding both his sides!' +The paragraph, however, commencing + 'With you roses brighter bloom,' +and closing with + 'The bournless macrocosm's thine,' +is very spirited, and, along with the opening lines, proves +Grainger a poet. + + +ODE TO SOLITUDE. + +O solitude, romantic maid! +Whether by nodding towers you tread, +Or haunt the desert's trackless gloom, +Or hover o'er the yawning tomb, +Or climb the Andes' clifted side, +Or by the Nile's coy source abide, +Or starting from your half-year's sleep +From Hecla view the thawing deep, +Or, at the purple dawn of day, +Tadmor's marble wastes survey, +You, recluse, again I woo, +And again your steps pursue. + +Plumed Conceit himself surveying, +Folly with her shadow playing, +Purse-proud, elbowing Insolence, +Bloated empiric, puffed Pretence, +Noise that through a trumpet speaks, +Laughter in loud peals that breaks, +Intrusion with a fopling's face, +Ignorant of time and place, +Sparks of fire Dissension blowing, +Ductile, court-bred Flattery, bowing, +Restraint's stiff neck, Grimace's leer, +Squint-eyed Censure's artful sneer, +Ambition's buskins, steeped in blood, +Fly thy presence, Solitude. + +Sage Reflection, bent with years, +Conscious Virtue, void of fears, +Muffled Silence, wood-nymph shy, +Meditation's piercing eye, +Halcyon Peace on moss reclined, +Retrospect that scans the mind, +Rapt, earth-gazing Reverie, +Blushing, artless Modesty, +Health that snuffs the morning air, +Full-eyed Truth, with bosom bare, +Inspiration, Nature's child, +Seek the solitary wild. + +You, with the tragic muse retired, +The wise Euripides inspired, +You taught the sadly-pleasing air +That Athens saved from ruins bare. +You gave the Cean's tears to flow, +And unlocked the springs of woe; +You penned what exiled Naso thought, +And poured the melancholy note. +With Petrarch o'er Vaucluse you strayed, +When death snatched his long-loved maid; +You taught the rocks her loss to mourn, +Ye strewed with flowers her virgin urn. +And late in Hagley you were seen, +With bloodshot eyes, and sombre mien, +Hymen his yellow vestment tore, +And Dirge a wreath of cypress wore. +But chief your own the solemn lay +That wept Narcissa young and gay, +Darkness clapped her sable wing, +While you touched the mournful string, +Anguish left the pathless wild, +Grim-faced Melancholy smiled, +Drowsy Midnight ceased to yawn, +The starry host put back the dawn, +Aside their harps even seraphs flung +To hear thy sweet Complaint, O Young! +When all nature's hushed asleep, +Nor Love nor Guilt their vigils keep, +Soft you leave your caverned den, +And wander o'er the works of men; +But when Phosphor brings the dawn +By her dappled coursers drawn, +Again you to the wild retreat +And the early huntsman meet, +Where as you pensive pace along, +You catch the distant shepherd's song, +Or brush from herbs the pearly dew, +Or the rising primrose view. +Devotion lends her heaven-plumed wings, +You mount, and nature with you sings. +But when mid-day fervours glow, +To upland airy shades you go, +Where never sunburnt woodman came, +Nor sportsman chased the timid game; +And there beneath an oak reclined, +With drowsy waterfalls behind, +You sink to rest. +Till the tuneful bird of night +From the neighbouring poplar's height +Wake you with her solemn strain, +And teach pleased Echo to complain. + +With you roses brighter bloom, +Sweeter every sweet perfume, +Purer every fountain flows, +Stronger every wilding grows. +Let those toil for gold who please, +Or for fame renounce their ease. +What is fame? an empty bubble. +Gold? a transient shining trouble. +Let them for their country bleed, +What was Sidney's, Raleigh's meed? +Man's not worth a moment's pain, +Base, ungrateful, fickle, vain. +Then let me, sequestered fair, +To your sibyl grot repair; +On yon hanging cliff it stands, +Scooped by nature's salvage hands, +Bosomed in the gloomy shade +Of cypress not with age decayed. +Where the owl still-hooting sits, +Where the bat incessant flits, +There in loftier strains I'll sing +Whence the changing seasons spring, +Tell how storms deform the skies, +Whence the waves subside and rise, +Trace the comet's blazing tail, +Weigh the planets in a scale; +Bend, great God, before thy shrine, +The bournless macrocosm's thine. + * * * * * + + + + +MICHAEL BRUCE. + + +We refer our readers to Dr Mackelvie's well-known and very able Life of +poor Bruce, for his full story, and for the evidence on which his claim +to the 'Cuckoo' is rested. Apart from external evidence, we think that +poem more characteristic of Bruce's genius than of Logan's, and have +therefore ranked it under Bruce's name. + +Bruce was born on the 27th of March 1746, at Kinnesswood, parish of +Portmoak, county of Kinross. His father was a weaver, and Michael was +the fifth of a family of eight children. + +Poor as his parents were, they were intelligent, religious, and most +conscientious in the discharge of their duties to their children. In the +summer months Michael was sent out to herd cattle; and one loves to +imagine the young poet wrapt in his plaid, under a whin-bush, while the +storm was blowing,--or gazing at the rainbow from the summit of a +fence,--or admiring at Lochleven and its old ruined castle,--or weaving +around the form of some little maiden, herding in a neighbouring field +--some 'Jeanie Morrison'--one of those webs of romantic early love which +are beautiful and evanescent as the gossamer, but how exquisitely +relished while they last! Say not, with one of his biographers, that his +'education was retarded by this employment;' he was receiving in these +solitary fields a kind of education which no school and no college could +furnish; nay, who knows but, as he saw the cuckoo winging her way from +one deep woodland recess to another, or heard her dull, divine monotone +coming from the heart of the forest, the germ of that exquisite strain, +'least in the kingdom' of the heaven of poetry in size, but immortal in +its smallness, was sown in his mind? In winter he went to school, and +profited there so much, that at fifteen (not a very early period, after +all, for a Scotch student beginning his curriculum--in our day twelve +was not an uncommon age) he was judged fit for going to college. And +just in time a windfall came across the path of our poet, the mention of +which may make many of our readers smile. This was a legacy which was +left his father by a relative, amounting to 200 merks, or L11, 2s.6d. +With this munificent sum in his pocket, Bruce was sent to study at +Edinburgh College. Here he became distinguished by his attainments, and +particularly his taste and poetic powers; and here, too, he became +acquainted with John Logan, afterwards his biographer. After spending +three sessions at college, supported by his parents and other friends, +he returned to the country, and taught a school at Gairney Bridge (a +place famous for the first meeting of the first presbytery of the +Seceders) for L11 of salary. Thence he removed to Foresthill, near +Alloa, where a damp school-room, poverty, and hard labour in teaching, +united to injure his health and depress his spirits. At Foresthill he +wrote his poem 'Lochleven,' which discovers no small descriptive power. +Consumption began now to make its appearance, and he returned to the +cottage of his parents, where he wrote his 'Elegy on Spring,' in which +he refers with dignified pathos to his approaching dissolution. On the +5th of July 1767, this remarkable youth died, aged twenty-one years and +three months. His Bible was found on his pillow, marked at the words, +Jer. xxii. 10, 'Weep ye not for the dead, neither bemoan him: but weep +sore for him that goeth away: for he shall return no more, nor see his +native country.' + +Lord Craig wrote some time afterwards an affecting paper in the _Mirror_, +recording the fate, and commending the genius of Bruce. John Logan, in +1770, published his poems. In the year 1807, the kind-hearted Principal +Baird published an edition of the poems for the behoof of Bruce's mother, +then an aged widow. And in 1837, Dr William Mackelvie, Balgedie, Kinross- +shire, published what may be considered the standard Life of this poet, +along with a complete edition of his Works. + +It is impossible from so small a segment of a circle as Bruce's life +describes, to infer with any certainty the whole. So far as we can judge +from the fragments left, his power was rather in the beautiful, than in +the sublime or in the strong. The lines on Spring, from the words 'Now +spring returns' to the close, form a continuous stream of pensive +loveliness. How sweetly he sings in the shadow of death! Nor let us too +severely blame his allusion to the old Pagan mythology, in the words-- + + 'I hear the helpless wail, the shriek of woe, + I see the muddy wave, the dreary shore;' + +remembering that he was still a mere student, and not recovered from +that fine intoxication in which classical literature drenches a young +imaginative soul, and that at last we find him 'resting in the hopes of +an eternal day.' 'Lochleven' is the spent echo of the 'Seasons,' although, +as we said before, its descriptions possess considerable merit. His 'Last +Day' is more ambitious than successful. If we grant the 'Cuckoo' to be +his, as we are inclined decidedly to do, it is a sure title to fame, +being one of the sweetest little poems in any language. Shakspeare would +have been proud of the verse-- + + 'Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, + Thy sky is ever clear; + Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, + No winter in thy year.' + +Bruce has not, however, it has always appeared to us, caught so well as +Wordsworth the differentia of the cuckoo,--its invisible, shadowy, +shifting, supernatural character--heard, but seldom seen--its note so +limited and almost unearthly:-- + + 'O Cuckoo, shall I call thee bird, + Or but a _wandering voice_?' + +How fine this conception of a separated voice--'The viewless spirit of a +_lonely_ sound,' plaining in the woods as if seeking for some incarnation +it cannot find, and saddening the spring groves by a note so contradictory +to the genius of the season. In reference to the note of the cuckoo we +find the following remarks among the fragments from the commonplace-book +of Dr Thomas Brown, printed by Dr Welsh:--'The name of the cuckoo has +generally been considered as a very pure instance of imitative harmony. +But in giving that name, we have most unjustly defrauded the poor bird of +a portion of its very small variety of sound. The second syllable is not +a mere echo of the first; it is the sound reversed, like the reading of +a sotadic line; and to preserve the strictness of the imitation we should +give it the name of Ook-koo.' _This_ is the prose of the cuckoo after its +poetry. + + +TO THE CUCKOO. + +1 Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove! + The messenger of spring! + Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat, + And woods thy welcome sing. + +2 Soon as the daisy decks the green, + Thy certain voice we hear; + Hast thou a star to guide thy path, + Or mark the rolling year? + +3 Delightful visitant! with thee + I hail the time of flowers, + And hear the sound of music sweet, + From birds among the bowers. + +4 The school-boy, wandering through the wood + To pull the primrose gay, + Starts thy curious voice to hear, + And imitates the lay. + +5 What time the pea puts on the bloom, + Thou fli'st thy vocal vale, + An annual guest in other lands, + Another spring to hail. + +6 Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, + Thy sky is ever clear; + Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, + No winter in thy year. + +7 Oh, could I fly, I'd fly with thee! + We'd make with joyful wing + Our annual visit o'er the globe, + Attendants on the spring. + + +ELEGY, WRITTEN IN SPRING. + +1 'Tis past: the North has spent his rage; + Stern Winter now resigns the lengthening day; + The stormy howlings of the winds assuage, + And warm o'er ether western breezes play. + +2 Of genial heat and cheerful light the source, + From southern climes, beneath another sky, + The sun, returning, wheels his golden course: + Before his beams all noxious vapours fly. + +3 Far to the North grim Winter draws his train, + To his own clime, to Zembla's frozen shore; + Where, throned on ice, he holds eternal reign, + Where whirlwinds madden, and where tempests roar. + +4 Loosed from the bonds of frost, the verdant ground + Again puts on her robe of cheerful green, + Again puts forth her flowers, and all around, + Smiling, the cheerful face of Spring is seen. + +5 Behold! the trees new-deck their withered boughs; + Their ample leaves, the hospitable plane, + The taper elm, and lofty ash disclose; + The blooming hawthorn variegates the scene. + +6 The lily of the vale, of flowers the queen, + Puts on the robe she neither sewed nor spun: + The birds on ground, or on the branches green, + Hop to and fro, and glitter in the sun. + +7 Soon as o'er eastern hills the morning peers, + From her low nest the tufted lark upsprings; + And cheerful singing, up the air she steers; + Still high she mounts, still loud and sweet she sings. + +8 On the green furze, clothed o'er with golden blooms + That fill the air with fragrance all around, + The linnet sits, and tricks his glossy plumes, + While o'er the wild his broken notes resound. + +9 While the sun journeys down the western sky, + Along the green sward, marked with Roman mound, + Beneath the blithesome shepherd's watchful eye, + The cheerful lambkins dance and frisk around. + +10 Now is the time for those who wisdom love, + Who love to walk in Virtue's flowery road, + Along the lovely paths of Spring to rove, + And follow Nature up to Nature's God. + +11 Thus Zoroaster studied Nature's laws; + Thus Socrates, the wisest of mankind; + Thus heaven-taught Plato traced the Almighty cause, + And left the wondering multitude behind. + +12 Thus Ashley gathered academic bays; + Thus gentle Thomson, as the seasons roll, + Taught them to sing the great Creator's praise, + And bear their poet's name from pole to pole. + +13 Thus have I walked along the dewy lawn; + My frequent foot the blooming wild hath worn: + Before the lark I've sung the beauteous dawn, + And gathered health from all the gales of morn. + +14 And even when Winter chilled the aged year, + I wandered lonely o'er the hoary plain: + Though frosty Boreas warned me to forbear, + Boreas, with all his tempests, warned in vain. + +15 Then sleep my nights, and quiet blessed my days; + I feared no loss, my mind was all my store; + No anxious wishes e'er disturbed my ease; + Heaven gave content and health--I asked no more. + +16 Now Spring returns: but not to me returns + The vernal joy my better years have known; + Dim in my breast life's dying taper burns, + And all the joys of life with health are flown. + +17 Starting and shivering in the inconstant wind, + Meagre and pale, the ghost of what I was, + Beneath some blasted tree I lie reclined, + And count the silent moments as they pass: + +18 The winged moments, whose unstaying speed + No art can stop, or in their course arrest; + Whose flight shall shortly count me with the dead, + And lay me down at peace with them at rest. + +19 Oft morning-dreams presage approaching fate; + And morning-dreams, as poets tell, are true. + Led by pale ghosts, I enter Death's dark gate, + And bid the realms of light and life adieu. + +20 I hear the helpless wail, the shriek of woe; + I see the muddy wave, the dreary shore, + The sluggish streams that slowly creep below, + Which mortals visit, and return no more. + +21 Farewell, ye blooming fields! ye cheerful plains! + Enough for me the churchyard's lonely mound, + Where Melancholy with still Silence reigns, + And the rank grass waves o'er the cheerless ground. + +22 There let me wander at the shut of eve, + When sleep sits dewy on the labourer's eyes: + The world and all its busy follies leave, + And talk of wisdom where my Daphnis lies. + +23 There let me sleep forgotten in the clay, + When death shall shut these weary, aching eyes; + Rest in the hopes of an eternal day, + Till the long night is gone, and the last morn arise. + + + + +CHRISTOPHER SMART. + + +We hear of 'Single-speech Hamilton.' We have now to say something of +'Single-poem Smart,' the author of one of the grandest bursts of +devotional and poetical feeling in the English language--the 'Song to +David.' This poor unfortunate was born at Shipbourne, Kent, in 1722. +His father was steward to Lord Barnard, who, after his death, continued +his patronage to the son, who was then eleven years of age. The Duchess +of Cleveland, through Lord Barnard's influence, bestowed on Christopher +an allowance of L40 a-year. With this he went to Pembroke Hall, Cam- +bridge, in 1739; was in 1745 elected a Fellow of Pembroke, and in 1747 +took his degree of M.A. At college, Smart began to display that reckless +dissipation which led afterwards to such melancholy consequences. He +studied hard, however, at intervals; wrote poetry both in Latin and +English; produced a comedy called a 'Trip to Cambridge; or, The Grateful +Fair,' which was acted in the hall of Pembroke College; and, in spite of +his vices and follies, was popular on account of his agreeable manners +and amiable dispositions. Having become acquainted with Newberry, +the benevolent, red-nosed bookseller commemorated in 'The Vicar of +Wakefield,'--for whom he wrote some trifles,--he married his step- +daughter, Miss Carnan, in the year 1753. He now removed to London, and +became an author to trade. He wrote a clever satire, entitled 'The +Hilliad,' against Sir John Hill, who had attacked him in an underhand +manner. He translated the fables of Phaedrus into verse,--Horace into +prose ('Smart's Horace' used to be a great favourite, under the rose, +with schoolboys); made an indifferent version of the Psalms and +Paraphrases, and a good one, at a former period, of Pope's 'Ode on St +Cecilia's Day,' with which that poet professed himself highly pleased. +He was employed on a monthly publication called _The Universal Visitor_. +We find Johnson giving the following account of this matter in Boswell's +Life:--'Old Gardner, the bookseller, employed Rolt and Smart to write a +monthly miscellany called _The Universal Visitor_.' There was a formal +written contract. They were bound to write nothing else,--they were to +have, I think, a third of the profits of the sixpenny pamphlet, and the +contract was for ninety-nine years. I wrote for some months in _The +Universal Visitor_ for poor Smart, while he was mad, not then knowing +the terms on which he was engaged to write, and thinking I was doing him +good. I hoped his wits would soon return to him. Mine returned to me, and +I wrote in _The Universal Visitor_ no longer.' + +Smart at last was called to pay the penalty of his blended labour and +dissipation. In 1763 he was shut up in a madhouse. His derangement had +exhibited itself in a religious way: he insisted upon people kneeling +down along with him in the street and praying. During his confinement, +writing materials were denied him, and he used to write his poetical +pieces with a key on the wainscot. Thus, 'scrabbling,' like his own hero, +on the wall, he produced his immortal 'Song to David.' He became by and +by sane; but, returning to his old habits, got into debt, and died in the +King's Bench prison, after a short illness, in 1770. + +The 'Song to David' has been well called one of the greatest curiosities +of literature. It ranks in this point with the tragedies written by Lee, +and the sermons and prayers uttered by Hall in a similar melancholy state +of mind. In these cases, as well as in Smart's, the thin partition +between genius and madness was broken down in thunder,--the thunder of a +higher poetry than perhaps they were capable of even conceiving in their +saner moments. Lee produced in that state--which was, indeed, nearly his +normal one--some glorious extravagancies. Hall's sermons, monologised +and overheard in the madhouse, are said to have transcended all that he +preached in his healthier moods. And, assuredly, the other poems by Smart +scarcely furnish a point of comparison with the towering and sustained +loftiness of some parts of the 'Song to David.' Nor is it loftiness +alone,--although the last three stanzas are absolute inspiration, and +you see the waters of Castalia tossed by a heavenly wind to the very +summit of Parnassus,--but there are innumerable exquisite beauties and +subtleties, dropt as if by the hand of rich haste, in every corner of +the poem. Witness his description of David's muse, as a + + 'Blest light, still gaining on the gloom, + The more _than Michal of his bloom_, + The _Abishag of his age_! + +The account of David's object-- + + 'To further knowledge, silence vice, + And plant perpetual paradise, + When _God had calmed the world_.' + +Of David's Sabbath-- + + ''Twas then his thoughts self-conquest pruned, + And heavenly melancholy tuned, + To bless and bear the rest.' + +One of David's themes-- + + 'The multitudinous abyss, + Where secrecy remains in bliss, + And wisdom hides her skill.' + +And, not to multiply instances to repletion, this stanza about gems-- + + 'Of gems--their virtue and their price, + Which, hid in earth from man's device, + Their _darts of lustre sheath_; + The jasper of the master's stamp, + The topaz blazing like a lamp, + Among the mines beneath.' + +Incoherence and extravagance we find here and there; but it is not the +flutter of weakness, it is the fury of power: from the very stumble of +the rushing steed, sparks are kindled. And, even as Baretti, when he +read the _Rambler_, in Italy, thought within himself, If such are the +lighter productions of the English mind, what must be the grander and +sterner efforts of its genius? and formed, consequently, a strong desire +to visit that country; so might he have reasoned, If such poems as +'David' issue from England's very madhouses, what must be the writings +of its saner and nobler poetic souls? and thus might he, from the +parallax of a Smart, have been able to rise toward the ideal altitudes +of a Shakspeare or a Milton. Indeed, there are portions of the 'Song to +David,' which a Milton or a Shakspeare has never surpassed. The blaze of +the meteor often eclipses the light of + + 'The loftiest star of unascended heaven, + Pinnacled dim in the intense inane.' + + +SONG TO DAVID. + +1 O thou, that sitt'st upon a throne, + With harp of high, majestic tone, + To praise the King of kings: + And voice of heaven, ascending, swell, + Which, while its deeper notes excel, + Clear as a clarion rings: + +2 To bless each valley, grove, and coast, + And charm the cherubs to the post + Of gratitude in throngs; + To keep the days on Zion's Mount, + And send the year to his account, + With dances and with songs: + +3 O servant of God's holiest charge, + The minister of praise at large, + Which thou mayst now receive; + From thy blest mansion hail and hear, + From topmost eminence appear + To this the wreath I weave. + +4 Great, valiant, pious, good, and clean, + Sublime, contemplative, serene, + Strong, constant, pleasant, wise! + Bright effluence of exceeding grace; + Best man! the swiftness and the race, + The peril and the prize! + +5 Great--from the lustre of his crown, + From Samuel's horn, and God's renown, + Which is the people's voice; + For all the host, from rear to van, + Applauded and embraced the man-- + The man of God's own choice. + +6 Valiant--the word, and up he rose; + The fight--he triumphed o'er the foes + Whom God's just laws abhor; + And, armed in gallant faith, he took + Against the boaster, from the brook, + The weapons of the war. + +7 Pious--magnificent and grand, + 'Twas he the famous temple planned, + (The seraph in his soul:) + Foremost to give the Lord his dues, + Foremost to bless the welcome news, + And foremost to condole. + +8 Good--from Jehudah's genuine vein, + From God's best nature, good in grain, + His aspect and his heart: + To pity, to forgive, to save, + Witness En-gedi's conscious cave, + And Shimei's blunted dart. + +9 Clean--if perpetual prayer be pure, + And love, which could itself inure + To fasting and to fear-- + Clean in his gestures, hands, and feet, + To smite the lyre, the dance complete, + To play the sword and spear. + +10 Sublime--invention ever young, + Of vast conception, towering tongue, + To God the eternal theme; + Notes from yon exaltations caught, + Unrivalled royalty of thought, + O'er meaner strains supreme. + +11 Contemplative--on God to fix + His musings, and above the six + The Sabbath-day he blessed; + 'Twas then his thoughts self-conquest pruned, + And heavenly melancholy tuned, + To bless and bear the rest. + +12 Serene--to sow the seeds of peace, + Remembering when he watched the fleece, + How sweetly Kidron purled-- + To further knowledge, silence vice, + And plant perpetual paradise, + When God had calmed the world. + +13 Strong--in the Lord, who could defy + Satan, and all his powers that lie + In sempiternal night; + And hell, and horror, and despair + Were as the lion and the bear + To his undaunted might. + +14 Constant--in love to God, the Truth, + Age, manhood, infancy, and youth; + To Jonathan his friend + Constant, beyond the verge of death; + And Ziba, and Mephibosheth, + His endless fame attend. + +15 Pleasant--and various as the year; + Man, soul, and angel without peer, + Priest, champion, sage, and boy; + In armour or in ephod clad, + His pomp, his piety was glad; + Majestic was his joy. + +16 Wise--in recovery from his fall, + Whence rose his eminence o'er all, + Of all the most reviled; + The light of Israel in his ways, + Wise are his precepts, prayer, and praise, + And counsel to his child. + +17 His muse, bright angel of his verse, + Gives balm for all the thorns that pierce, + For all the pangs that rage; + Blest light, still gaining on the gloom, + The more than Michal of his bloom, + The Abishag of his age. + +18 He sang of God--the mighty source + Of all things--the stupendous force + On which all strength depends; + From whose right arm, beneath whose eyes, + All period, power, and enterprise + Commences, reigns, and ends. + +19 Angels--their ministry and meed, + Which to and fro with blessings speed, + Or with their citterns wait; + Where Michael, with his millions, bows, + Where dwells the seraph and his spouse, + The cherub and her mate. + +20 Of man--the semblance and effect + Of God and love--the saint elect + For infinite applause-- + To rule the land, and briny broad, + To be laborious in his laud, + And heroes in his cause. + +21 The world--the clustering spheres he made, + The glorious light, the soothing shade, + Dale, champaign, grove, and hill; + The multitudinous abyss, + Where secrecy remains in bliss, + And wisdom hides her skill. + +22 Trees, plants, and flowers--of virtuous root; + Gem yielding blossom, yielding fruit, + Choice gums and precious balm; + Bless ye the nosegay in the vale, + And with the sweetness of the gale + Enrich the thankful psalm. + +23 Of fowl--even every beak and wing + Which cheer the winter, hail the spring, + That live in peace, or prey; + They that make music, or that mock, + The quail, the brave domestic cock, + The raven, swan, and jay. + +24 Of fishes--every size and shape, + Which nature frames of light escape, + Devouring man to shun: + The shells are in the wealthy deep, + The shoals upon the surface leap, + And love the glancing sun. + +25 Of beasts--the beaver plods his task; + While the sleek tigers roll and bask, + Nor yet the shades arouse; + Her cave the mining coney scoops; + Where o'er the mead the mountain stoops, + The kids exult and browse. + +26 Of gems--their virtue and their price, + Which, hid in earth from man's device, + Their darts of lustre sheath; + The jasper of the master's stamp, + The topaz blazing like a lamp, + Among the mines beneath. + +27 Blest was the tenderness he felt, + When to his graceful harp he knelt, + And did for audience call; + When Satan with his hand he quelled, + And in serene suspense he held + The frantic throes of Saul. + +28 His furious foes no more maligned + As he such melody divined, + And sense and soul detained; + Now striking strong, now soothing soft, + He sent the godly sounds aloft, + Or in delight refrained. + +29 When up to heaven his thoughts he piled, + From fervent lips fair Michal smiled, + As blush to blush she stood; + And chose herself the queen, and gave + Her utmost from her heart--'so brave, + And plays his hymns so good.' + +30 The pillars of the Lord are seven, + Which stand from earth to topmost heaven; + His wisdom drew the plan; + His Word accomplished the design, + From brightest gem to deepest mine, + From Christ enthroned to man. + +31 Alpha, the cause of causes, first + In station, fountain, whence the burst + Of light and blaze of day; + Whence bold attempt, and brave advance, + Have motion, life, and ordinance, + And heaven itself its stay. + +32 Gamma supports the glorious arch + On which angelic legions march, + And is with sapphires paved; + Thence the fleet clouds are sent adrift, + And thence the painted folds that lift + The crimson veil, are waved. + +33 Eta with living sculpture breathes, + With verdant carvings, flowery wreathes + Of never-wasting bloom; + In strong relief his goodly base + All instruments of labour grace, + The trowel, spade, and loom. + +34 Next Theta stands to the supreme-- + Who formed in number, sign, and scheme, + The illustrious lights that are; + And one addressed his saffron robe, + And one, clad in a silver globe, + Held rule with every star. + +35 Iota's tuned to choral hymns + Of those that fly, while he that swims + In thankful safety lurks; + And foot, and chapiter, and niche, + The various histories enrich + Of God's recorded works. + +36 Sigma presents the social droves + With him that solitary roves, + And man of all the chief; + Fair on whose face, and stately frame, + Did God impress his hallowed name, + For ocular belief. + +37 Omega! greatest and the best, + Stands sacred to the day of rest, + For gratitude and thought; + Which blessed the world upon his pole, + And gave the universe his goal, + And closed the infernal draught. + +38 O David, scholar of the Lord! + Such is thy science, whence reward, + And infinite degree; + O strength, O sweetness, lasting ripe! + God's harp thy symbol, and thy type + The lion and the bee! + +39 There is but One who ne'er rebelled, + But One by passion unimpelled, + By pleasures unenticed; + He from himself his semblance sent, + Grand object of his own content, + And saw the God in Christ. + +40 Tell them, I Am, Jehovah said + To Moses; while earth heard in dread, + And, smitten to the heart, + At once above, beneath, around, + All nature, without voice or sound, + Replied, O Lord, Thou Art. + +41 Thou art--to give and to confirm, + For each his talent and his term; + All flesh thy bounties share: + Thou shalt not call thy brother fool; + The porches of the Christian school + Are meekness, peace, and prayer. + +42 Open and naked of offence, + Man's made of mercy, soul, and sense: + God armed the snail and wilk; + Be good to him that pulls thy plough; + Due food and care, due rest allow + For her that yields thee milk. + +43 Rise up before the hoary head, + And God's benign commandment dread, + Which says thou shalt not die: + 'Not as I will, but as thou wilt,' + Prayed He, whose conscience knew no guilt; + With whose blessed pattern vie. + +44 Use all thy passions!--love is thine, + And joy and jealousy divine; + Thine hope's eternal fort, + And care thy leisure to disturb, + With fear concupiscence to curb, + And rapture to transport. + +45 Act simply, as occasion asks; + Put mellow wine in seasoned casks; + Till not with ass and bull: + Remember thy baptismal bond; + Keep from commixtures foul and fond, + Nor work thy flax with wool. + +46 Distribute; pay the Lord his tithe, + And make the widow's heart-strings blithe; + Resort with those that weep: + As you from all and each expect, + For all and each thy love direct, + And render as you reap. + +47 The slander and its bearer spurn, + And propagating praise sojourn + To make thy welcome last; + Turn from old Adam to the New: + By hope futurity pursue: + Look upwards to the past. + +48 Control thine eye, salute success, + Honour the wiser, happier bless, + And for thy neighbour feel; + Grutch not of mammon and his leaven, + Work emulation up to heaven + By knowledge and by zeal. + +49 O David, highest in the list + Of worthies, on God's ways insist, + The genuine word repeat! + Vain are the documents of men, + And vain the flourish of the pen + That keeps the fool's conceit. + +50 Praise above all--for praise prevails; + Heap up the measure, load the scales, + And good to goodness add: + The generous soul her Saviour aids, + But peevish obloquy degrades; + The Lord is great and glad. + +51 For Adoration all the ranks + Of angels yield eternal thanks, + And David in the midst; + With God's good poor, which, last and least + In man's esteem, thou to thy feast, + O blessed bridegroom, bidst. + +52 For Adoration seasons change, + And order, truth, and beauty range, + Adjust, attract, and fill: + The grass the polyanthus checks; + And polished porphyry reflects, + By the descending rill. + +53 Rich almonds colour to the prime + For Adoration; tendrils climb, + And fruit-trees pledge their gems; + And Ivis, with her gorgeous vest, + Builds for her eggs her cunning nest, + And bell-flowers bow their stems. + +54 With vinous syrup cedars spout; + From rocks pure honey gushing out, + For Adoration springs: + All scenes of painting crowd the map + Of nature; to the mermaid's pap + The scaled infant clings. + +55 The spotted ounce and playsome cubs + Run rustling 'mongst the flowering shrubs, + And lizards feed the moss; + For Adoration beasts embark, + While waves upholding halcyon's ark + No longer roar and toss. + +56 While Israel sits beneath his fig, + With coral root and amber sprig + The weaned adventurer sports; + Where to the palm the jasmine cleaves, + For Adoration 'mong the leaves + The gale his peace reports. + +57 Increasing days their reign exalt, + Nor in the pink and mottled vault + The opposing spirits tilt; + And by the coasting reader spied, + The silverlings and crusions glide + For Adoration gilt. + +58 For Adoration ripening canes, + And cocoa's purest milk detains + The western pilgrim's staff; + Where rain in clasping boughs enclosed, + And vines with oranges disposed, + Embower the social laugh. + +59 Now labour his reward receives, + For Adoration counts his sheaves + To peace, her bounteous prince; + The nect'rine his strong tint imbibes, + And apples of ten thousand tribes, + And quick peculiar quince. + +60 The wealthy crops of whitening rice + 'Mongst thyine woods and groves of spice, + For Adoration grow; + And, marshalled in the fenced land, + The peaches and pomegranates stand, + Where wild carnations blow. + +61 The laurels with the winter strive; + The crocus burnishes alive + Upon the snow-clad earth: + For Adoration myrtles stay + To keep the garden from dismay, + And bless the sight from dearth. + +62 The pheasant shows his pompous neck; + And ermine, jealous of a speck, + With fear eludes offence: + The sable, with his glossy pride, + For Adoration is descried, + Where frosts the waves condense. + +63 The cheerful holly, pensive yew, + And holy thorn, their trim renew; + The squirrel hoards his nuts: + All creatures batten o'er their stores, + And careful nature all her doors + For Adoration shuts. + +64 For Adoration, David's Psalms + Lift up the heart to deeds of alms; + And he, who kneels and chants, + Prevails his passions to control, + Finds meat and medicine to the soul, + Which for translation pants. + +65 For Adoration, beyond match, + The scholar bullfinch aims to catch + The soft flute's ivory touch; + And, careless, on the hazel spray + The daring redbreast keeps at bay + The damsel's greedy clutch. + +66 For Adoration, in the skies, + The Lord's philosopher espies + The dog, the ram, and rose; + The planets' ring, Orion's sword; + Nor is his greatness less adored + In the vile worm that glows. + +67 For Adoration, on the strings + The western breezes work their wings, + The captive ear to soothe-- + Hark! 'tis a voice--how still, and small-- + That makes the cataracts to fall, + Or bids the sea be smooth! + +68 For Adoration, incense comes + From bezoar, and Arabian gums, + And from the civet's fur: + But as for prayer, or e'er it faints, + Far better is the breath of saints + Than galbanum or myrrh. + +69 For Adoration, from the down + Of damsons to the anana's crown, + God sends to tempt the taste; + And while the luscious zest invites + The sense, that in the scene delights, + Commands desire be chaste. + +70 For Adoration, all the paths + Of grace are open, all the baths + Of purity refresh; + And all the rays of glory beam + To deck the man of God's esteem, + Who triumphs o'er the flesh. + +71 For Adoration, in the dome + Of Christ, the sparrows find a home; + And on his olives perch: + The swallow also dwells with thee, + O man of God's humility, + Within his Saviour's church. + +72 Sweet is the dew that falls betimes, + And drops upon the leafy limes; + Sweet Hermon's fragrant air: + Sweet is the lily's silver bell, + And sweet the wakeful tapers' smell + That watch for early prayer. + +73 Sweet the young nurse, with love intense, + Which smiles o'er sleeping innocence; + Sweet when the lost arrive: + Sweet the musician's ardour beats, + While his vague mind's in quest of sweets, + The choicest flowers to hive. + +74 Sweeter, in all the strains of love, + The language of thy turtle-dove, + Paired to thy swelling chord; + Sweeter, with every grace endued, + The glory of thy gratitude, + Respired unto the Lord. + +75 Strong is the horse upon his speed; + Strong in pursuit the rapid glede, + Which makes at once his game: + Strong the tall ostrich on the ground; + Strong through the turbulent profound + Shoots xiphias to his aim. + +76 Strong is the lion--like a coal + His eyeball--like a bastion's mole + His chest against the foes: + Strong the gier-eagle on his sail, + Strong against tide the enormous whale + Emerges as he goes. + +77 But stronger still in earth and air, + And in the sea the man of prayer, + And far beneath the tide: + And in the seat to faith assigned, + Where ask is have, where seek is find, + Where knock is open wide. + +78 Beauteous the fleet before the gale; + Beauteous the multitudes in mail, + Ranked arms, and crested heads; + Beauteous the garden's umbrage mild. + Walk, water, meditated wild, + And all the bloomy beds. + +79 Beauteous the moon full on the lawn; + And beauteous when the veil's withdrawn, + The virgin to her spouse: + Beauteous the temple, decked and filled, + When to the heaven of heavens they build + Their heart-directed vows. + +80 Beauteous, yea beauteous more than these, + The Shepherd King upon his knees, + For his momentous trust; + With wish of infinite conceit, + For man, beast, mute, the small and great, + And prostrate dust to dust. + +81 Precious the bounteous widow's mite; + And precious, for extreme delight, + The largess from the churl: + Precious the ruby's blushing blaze, + And alba's blest imperial rays, + And pure cerulean pearl. + +82 Precious the penitential tear; + And precious is the sigh sincere; + Acceptable to God: + And precious are the winning flowers, + In gladsome Israel's feast of bowers, + Bound on the hallowed sod. + +83 More precious that diviner part + Of David, even the Lord's own heart, + Great, beautiful, and new: + In all things where it was intent, + In all extremes, in each event, + Proof--answering true to true. + +84 Glorious the sun in mid career; + Glorious the assembled fires appear; + Glorious the comet's train: + Glorious the trumpet and alarm; + Glorious the Almighty's stretched-out arm; + Glorious the enraptured main: + +85 Glorious the northern lights astream; + Glorious the song, when God's the theme; + Glorious the thunder's roar: + Glorious hosannah from the den; + Glorious the catholic amen; + Glorious the martyr's gore: + +86 Glorious--more glorious is the crown + Of Him that brought salvation down, + By meekness called thy Son; + Thou that stupendous truth believed, + And now the matchless deed's achieved, + Determined, Dared, and Done. + + + + +THOMAS CHATTERTON. + + +The history of this 'marvellous boy' is familiar to all the readers of +English poetry, and requires only a cursory treatment here. Thomas +Chatterton was born in Bristol, November 20, 1752. His father, a teacher +in the free-school there, had died before his birth, and he was sent to +be educated at a charity-school. He first learned to read from a black- +letter Bible. At the age of fourteen, he was put apprentice to an +attorney; a situation which, however uncongenial, left him ample leisure +for pursuing his private studies. In an unlucky hour, some evil genius +seemed to have whispered to this extra-ordinary youth,--'Do not find or +force, but forge thy way to renown; the other paths to the summit of the +hill are worn and common-place; try a new and dangerous course, the +rather as I forewarn thee that thy time is short.' When, accordingly, +the new bridge at Bristol was finished in October 1768, Chatterton sent +to a newspaper a fictitious account of the opening of the old bridge, +alleging in a note that he had found the principal part of the +description in an ancient MS. And having thus fairly begun to work the +mint of forgery, it was amazing what a number of false coins he threw +off, and with what perfect ease and mastery! Ancient poems, pretending +to have been written four hundred and fifty years before; fragments of +sermons on the Holy Spirit, dated from the fifteenth century; accounts +of all the churches of Bristol as they had appeared three hundred years +before; with drawings and descriptions of the castle--most of them +professing to be drawn from the writings of 'ane gode prieste, Thomas +Rowley'--issued in thick succession from this wonderful, and, to use +the Shakspearean word in a twofold sense, 'forgetive' brain. He next +ventured to send to Horace Walpole, who was employed on a History of +British Painters, an account of eminent 'Carvellers and Peyneters,' who, +according to him, once flourished in Bristol. These labours he plied in +secret, and with the utmost enthusiasm. He used to write by the light of +the moon, deeming that there was a special inspiration in the rays of +that planet, and reminding one of poor Nat Lee inditing his insane +tragedies in his asylum under the same weird lustre. On Sabbaths he was +wont to stroll away into the country around Bristol, which is very +beautiful, and to draw sketches of those objects which impressed his +imagination. He often lay down on the meadows near St Mary's Redcliffe +Church, admiring the ancient edifice; and some years ago we saw a +chamber near the summit of that edifice where he used to sit and write, +his 'eye in a fine frenzy rolling,' and where we could imagine him, when +a moonless night fell, composing his wild Runic lays by the light of a +candle burning in a human skull. It was actually in one of the rooms of +this church that some ancient chests had been deposited, including one +called the 'Coffre of Mr Canynge,' an eminent merchant in Bristol, who +had rebuilt the church in the reign of Edward IV. This coffer had been +broken up by public authority in 1727, and some valuable deeds had been +taken out. Besides these, they contained various MSS., some of which +Chatterton's father, whose uncle was sexton of the church, had carried +off and used as covers to the copy-books of his scholars. This furnished +a hint to Chatterton's inventive genius. He gave out that among these +parchments he had found many productions of Mr Canynge's, and of the +aforesaid Thomas Rowley's, a priest of the fifteenth century, and a +friend of Canynge's. Chatterton had become a contributor to a periodical +of the day called _The Town and Country Magazine_, and to it from time +to time he sent these poems. A keen controversy arose as to their +genuineness. Horace Walpole shewed some of them, which Chatterton had +sent him, to Gray and Mason, who were deemed, justly, first-rate +authorities on antiquarian matters, and who at once pronounced them +forgeries. It is deeply to be regretted that these men, perceiving, as +they must have done, the great merit of these productions, had not made +more particular inquiries about them, and tried to help and save the +poet. Walpole, to say the least of it, treated him coldly, telling him, +when he had discovered the forgery, to attend to his own business, and +keeping some of his MSS. in his hands, till an indignant letter from the +author compelled him to restore them. + +Chatterton now determined to go to London. His three years' apprenticeship +had expired, and there was in Bristol no further field for his aspiring +genius. He found instant employment among the booksellers, and procured +an introduction to Beckford, the patriot mayor, who tried to get him +engaged upon the Opposition side in politics. Our capricious and +unprincipled poet, however, declared that he was a poor author that could +not write on both sides; and although his leanings were to the popular +party, yet on the death of Beckford he addressed a letter to Lord North +in support of his administration. He had projected some large works, such +as a History of England and a History of London, and wrote flaming +letters to his mother and sisters about his prospects, enclosing them at +the same time small remittances of money. But his bright hopes were soon +overcast. Instead of a prominent political character, he found himself a +mere bookseller's hack. To this his poverty no more than his will would +consent, for though that was great it was equalled by his pride. His life +in the country had been regular, although his religious principles were +loose; but in town, misery drove him to intemperance, and intemperance, +in its reaction, to remorse and a desperate tampering with the thought, + + 'There is one remedy for all.' + +At last, after a vain attempt to obtain an appointment as a surgeon's +mate to Africa, he made up his mind to suicide. A guinea had been sent +him by a gentleman, which he declined. Mrs Angel, his landlady, knowing +him to be in want, the day before his death offered him his dinner, but +this also he spurned; and, on the 25th of August 1770, having first +destroyed all his papers, he swallowed arsenic, and was found dead in +his bed. + +He was buried in a shell in the burial-place of Shoe-Lane Workhouse. +He was aged seventeen years nine months and a few days. Alas for + + 'The sleepless soul that perished in his pride!' + +Chatterton, had he lived, would, perhaps, have become a powerful poet, +or a powerful character of some kind. But we must now view him chiefly +as a prodigy. Some have treated his power as unnatural--resembling a +huge hydrocephalic head, the magnitude of which implies disease, +ultimate weakness, and early death. Others maintain that, apart from the +extraordinary elements that undoubtedly characterised Chatterton, and +constituted him a premature and prodigious birth intellectually, there +was also in parts of his poems evidence of a healthy vigour which only +needed favourable circumstances to develop into transcendent excellence. +Hazlitt, holding with the one of these opinions, cries, 'If Chatterton +had had a great work to do by living, he would have lived!' Others +retort on the critic, 'On the same principle, why did Keats, whom you +rate so high, perish so early?' The question altogether is nugatory, +seeing it can never be settled. Suffice it that these songs and rhymes +of Chatterton have great beauties, apart from the age and position of +their author. There may at times be madness, but there is method in it. +The flight of the rhapsody is ever upheld by the strength of the wing, +and while the reading discovered is enormous for a boy, the depth of +feeling exhibited is equally extraordinary; and the clear, firm judgment +which did not characterise his conduct, forms the root and the trunk of +much of his poetry. It was said of his eyes that it seemed as if fire +rolled under them; and it rolls still, and shall ever roll, below many +of his verses. + + +BRISTOWE TRAGEDY. + +1 The feathered songster, chanticleer, + Hath wound his bugle-horn, + And told the early villager + The coming of the morn. + +2 King Edward saw the ruddy streaks + Of light eclipse the gray, + And heard the raven's croaking throat + Proclaim the fated day. + +3 'Thou'rt right,' quoth he, 'for by the God + That sits enthroned on high! + Charles Bawdin and his fellows twain + To-day shall surely die.' + +4 Then with a jug of nappy ale + His knights did on him wait; + 'Go tell the traitor that to-day + He leaves this mortal state.' + +5 Sir Canterlone then bended low, + With heart brimful of woe; + He journeyed to the castle-gate, + And to Sir Charles did go. + +6 But when he came, his children twain, + And eke his loving wife, + With briny tears did wet the floor, + For good Sir Charles' life. + +7 'O good Sir Charles!' said Canterlone, + 'Bad tidings I do bring.' + 'Speak boldly, man,' said brave Sir Charles; + 'What says the traitor king?' + +8 'I grieve to tell; before that sun + Doth from the heaven fly, + He hath upon his honour sworn, + That thou shalt surely die.' + +9 'We all must die,' quoth brave Sir Charles; + 'Of that I'm not afeard; + What boots to live a little space? + Thank Jesus, I'm prepared: + +10 'But tell thy king, for mine he's not, + I'd sooner die to-day + Than live his slave, as many are, + Though I should live for aye.' + +11 Then Canterlone he did go out, + To tell the mayor straight + To get all things in readiness + For good Sir Charles' fate. + +12 Then Master Canynge sought the king, + And fell down on his knee; + 'I'm come,' quoth he, 'unto your Grace + To move your clemency.' + +13 'Then,' quoth the king, 'your tale speak out; + You have been much our friend; + Whatever your request may be, + We will to it attend.' + +14 'My noble liege! all my request + Is for a noble knight, + Who, though perhaps he has done wrong, + He thought it still was right: + +15 'He has a spouse and children twain-- + All ruined are for aye, + If that you are resolved to let + Charles Bawdin die to-day.' + +16 'Speak not of such a traitor vile,' + The king in fury said; + 'Before the evening star doth shine, + Bawdin shall lose his head: + +17 'Justice does loudly for him call, + And he shall have his meed; + Speak, Master Canynge! what thing else + At present do you need?' + +18 'My noble liege!' good Canynge said, + 'Leave justice to our God, + And lay the iron rule aside;-- + Be thine the olive rod. + +19 'Was God to search our hearts and reins, + The best were sinners great; + Christ's vicar only knows no sin, + In all this mortal state. + +20 'Let mercy rule thine infant reign; + 'Twill fix thy crown full sure; + From race to race thy family + All sovereigns shall endure: + +21 'But if with blood and slaughter thou + Begin thy infant reign, + Thy crown upon thy children's brow + Will never long remain.' + +22 'Canynge, away! this traitor vile + Has scorned my power and me; + How canst thou then for such a man + Entreat my clemency?' + +23 'My noble liege! the truly brave + Will valorous actions prize; + Respect a brave and noble mind, + Although in enemies.' + +24 'Canynge, away! By God in heaven, + That did me being give, + I will not taste a bit of bread + While this Sir Charles doth live. + +25 'By Mary, and all saints in heaven, + This sun shall be his last.'-- + Then Canynge dropped a briny tear, + And from the presence passed. + +26 With heart brimful of gnawing grief, + He to Sir Charles did go, + And sat him down upon a stool, + And tears began to flow. + +27 'We all must die,' quoth brave Sir Charles; + 'What boots it how or when? + Death is the sure, the certain fate + Of all us mortal men. + +28 'Say why, my friend, thy honest soul + Runs over at thine eye? + Is it for my most welcome doom + That thou dost child-like cry?' + +29 Quoth godly Canynge, 'I do weep, + That thou so soon must die, + And leave thy sons and helpless wife; + 'Tis this that wets mine eye.' + +30 'Then dry the tears that out thine eye + From godly fountains spring; + Death I despise, and all the power + Of Edward, traitor king. + +31 'When through the tyrant's welcome means + I shall resign my life, + The God I serve will soon provide + For both my sons and wife. + +32 'Before I saw the lightsome sun, + This was appointed me;-- + Shall mortal man repine or grudge + What God ordains to be? + +33 'How oft in battle have I stood, + When thousands died around; + When smoking streams of crimson blood + Imbrued the fattened ground? + +34 'How did I know that every dart, + That cut the airy way, + Might not find passage to my heart, + And close mine eyes for aye? + +35 'And shall I now from fear of death + Look wan and be dismayed? + No! from my heart fly childish fear, + Be all the man displayed. + +36 'Ah, godlike Henry! God forefend + And guard thee and thy son, + If 'tis his will; but if 'tis not, + Why, then his will be done. + +37 'My honest friend, my fault has been + To serve God and my prince; + And that I no timeserver am, + My death will soon convince. + +38 'In London city was I born, + Of parents of great note; + My father did a noble arms + Emblazon on his coat: + +39 'I make no doubt that he is gone + 'Where soon I hope to go; + Where we for ever shall be blest, + From out the reach of woe. + +40 'He taught me justice and the laws + With pity to unite; + And likewise taught me how to know + The wrong cause from the right: + +41 'He taught me with a prudent hand + To feed the hungry poor; + Nor let my servants drive away + The hungry from my door: + +42 'And none can say but all my life + I have his counsel kept, + And summed the actions of each day + Each night before I slept. + +43 'I have a spouse; go ask of her + If I denied her bed; + I have a king, and none can lay + Black treason on my head. + +44 'In Lent, and on the holy eve, + From flesh I did refrain; + Why should I then appear dismayed + To leave this world of pain? + +45 'No, hapless Henry! I rejoice + I shall not see thy death; + Most willingly in thy just cause + Do I resign my breath. + +46 'O fickle people, ruined land! + Thou wilt know peace no moe; + While Richard's sons exalt themselves, + Thy brooks with blood will flow. + +47 'Say, were ye tired of godly peace, + And godly Henry's reign, + That you did change your easy days + For those of blood and pain? + +48 'What though I on a sledge be drawn, + And mangled by a hind? + I do defy the traitor's power,-- + He cannot harm my mind! + +49 'What though uphoisted on a pole, + My limbs shall rot in air, + And no rich monument of brass + Charles Bawdin's name shall bear? + +50 'Yet in the holy book above, + Which time can't eat away, + There, with the servants of the Lord, + My name shall live for aye. + +51 'Then welcome death! for life eterne + I leave this mortal life: + Farewell, vain world! and all that's dear, + My sons and loving wife! + +52 'Now death as welcome to me comes + As e'er the month of May; + Nor would I even wish to live, + With my dear wife to stay.' + +53 Quoth Canynge, ''Tis a goodly thing + To be prepared to die; + And from this world of pain and grief + To God in heaven to fly.' + +54 And now the bell began to toll, + And clarions to sound; + Sir Charles he heard the horses' feet + A-prancing on the ground: + +55 And just before the officers + His loving wife came in, + Weeping unfeigned tears of woe, + With loud and dismal din. + +56 'Sweet Florence! now, I pray, forbear; + In quiet let me die; + Pray God that every Christian soul + May look on death as I. + +57 'Sweet Florence! why those briny tears? + They wash my soul away, + And almost make me wish for life, + With thee, sweet dame, to stay. + +58 ''Tis but a journey I shall go + Unto the land of bliss; + Now, as a proof of husband's love, + Receive this holy kiss.' + +59 Then Florence, faltering in her say, + Trembling these words she spoke,-- + 'Ah, cruel Edward! bloody king! + My heart is well-nigh broke. + +60 'Ah, sweet Sir Charles! why wilt thou go + Without thy loving wife? + The cruel axe that cuts thy neck + Shall also end my life.' + +61 And now the officers came in + To bring Sir Charles away, + Who turned to his loving wife, + And thus to her did say: + +62 'I go to life, and not to death; + Trust thou in God above, + And teach thy sons to fear the Lord, + And in their hearts him love: + +63 'Teach them to run the noble race + That I their father run; + Florence! should death thee take--adieu!-- + Ye officers, lead on.' + +64 Then Florence raved as any mad, + And did her tresses tear;-- + 'Oh, stay, my husband, lord, and life!'-- + Sir Charles then dropped a tear;-- + +65 Till tired out with raving loud, + She fell upon the floor: + Sir Charles exerted all his might, + And marched from out the door. + +66 Upon a sledge he mounted then, + With looks full brave and sweet; + Looks that did show no more concern + Than any in the street. + +67 Before him went the council-men, + In scarlet robes and gold, + And tassels spangling in the sun, + Much glorious to behold: + +68 The friars of St Augustine next + Appeared to the sight, + All clad in homely russet weeds + Of godly monkish plight: + +69 In different parts a godly psalm + Most sweetly they did chaunt; + Behind their backs six minstrels came, + Who tuned the strong bataunt. + +70 Then five-and-twenty archers came; + Each one the bow did bend, + From rescue of King Henry's friends + Sir Charles for to defend. + +71 Bold as a lion came Sir Charles, + Drawn on a cloth-laid sled + By two black steeds, in trappings white, + With plumes upon their head. + +72 Behind him five-and-twenty more + Of archers strong and stout, + With bended bow each one in hand, + Marched in goodly rout: + +73 Saint James's friars marched next, + Each one his part did chaunt; + Behind their backs six minstrels came + Who tuned the strong bataunt: + +74 Then came the mayor and aldermen, + In cloth of scarlet decked; + And their attending men, each one + Like eastern princes tricked: + +75 And after them a multitude + Of citizens did throng; + The windows were all full of heads, + As he did pass along. + +76 And when he came to the high cross, + Sir Charles did turn and say,-- + 'O Thou that savest man from sin, + Wash my soul clean this day!' + +77 At the great minster window sat + The king in mickle state, + To see Charles Bawdin go along + To his most welcome fate. + +78 Soon as the sledge drew nigh enough + That Edward he might hear, + The brave Sir Charles he did stand up, + And thus his words declare: + +79 'Thou seest me, Edward! traitor vile! + Exposed to infamy; + But be assured, disloyal man! + I'm greater now than thee. + +80 'By foul proceedings, murder, blood, + Thou wearest now a crown; + And hast appointed me to die, + By power not thine own. + +81 'Thou thinkest I shall die to-day; + I have been dead till now, + And soon shall live to wear a crown + For ever on my brow: + +82 'Whilst thou, perhaps, for some few years + Shall rule this fickle land, + To let them know how wide the rule + 'Twixt king and tyrant hand: + +83 'Thy power unjust, thou traitor slave! + Shall fall on thy own head'---- + From out of hearing of the king + Departed then the sled. + +84 King Edward's soul rushed to his face, + He turned his head away, + And to his brother Gloucester + He thus did speak and say: + +85 'To him that so much dreaded death + No ghastly terrors bring, + Behold the man! he spake the truth, + He's greater than a king!' + +86 'So let him die!' Duke Richard said; + 'And may each of our foes + Bend down their necks to bloody axe, + And feed the carrion crows!' + +87 And now the horses gently drew + Sir Charles up the high hill; + The axe did glisten in the sun, + His precious blood to spill. + +88 Sir Charles did up the scaffold go, + As up a gilded car + Of victory, by valorous chiefs, + Gained in the bloody war: + +89 And to the people he did say,-- + 'Behold, you see me die, + For serving loyally my king, + My king most rightfully. + +90 'As long as Edward rules this land, + No quiet you will know; + Your sons and husbands shall be slain, + And brooks with blood shall flow. + +91 'You leave your good and lawful king + When in adversity; + Like me unto the true cause stick, + And for the true cause die.' + +92 Then he with priests, upon his knees, + A prayer to God did make, + Beseeching him unto himself + His parting soul to take. + +93 Then, kneeling down, he laid his head + Most seemly on the block; + Which from his body fair at once + The able headsman stroke: + +94 And out the blood began to flow, + And round the scaffold twine; + And tears, enough to wash't away, + Did flow from each man's eyne. + +95 The bloody axe his body fair + Into four quarters cut; + And every part, likewise his head, + Upon a pole was put. + +96 One part did rot on Kinwulph-hill, + One on the minster-tower, + And one from off the castle-gate + The crowen did devour: + +97 The other on Saint Paul's good gate, + A dreary spectacle; + His head was placed on the high cross, + In high street most nobile. + +98 Thus was the end of Bawdin's fate;-- + God prosper long our king, + And grant he may, with Bawdin's soul, + In heaven God's mercy sing! + + + +MINSTREL'S SONG. + +1 O! sing unto my roundelay, + O! drop the briny tear with me; + Dance no more at holy-day, + Like a running river be: + My love is dead, + Gone to his death-bed, + All under the willow-tree. + +2 Black his cryne[1] as the winter night, + White his rode[2] as the summer snow, + Red his face as the morning light, + Cold he lies in the grave below: + My love is dead, + Gone to his death-bed, + All under the willow-tree. + +3 Sweet his tongue as the throstle's note, + Quick in dance as thought can be, + Deft his tabour, cudgel stout; + O! he lies by the willow-tree: + My love is dead, + Gone to his death-bed, + All under the willow-tree. + +4 Hark! the raven flaps his wing, + In the briared dell below; + Hark! the death-owl loud doth sing + To the night-mares as they go: + My love is dead, + Gone to his death-bed, + All under the willow-tree. + +5 See! the white moon shines on high; + Whiter is my true love's shroud, + Whiter than the morning sky, + Whiter than the evening cloud: + My love is dead, + Gone to his death-bed, + All under the willow-tree. + +6 Here upon my true love's grave, + Shall the barren flowers be laid, + Not one holy saint to save + All the celness of a maid: + My love is dead, + Gone to his death-bed, + All under the willow-tree. + +7 With my hands I'll dent[3] the briars + Round his holy corse to gree;[4] + Ouphant[5] fairy, light your fires-- + Here my body still shall be: + My love is dead, + Gone to his death-bed, + All under the willow-tree. + +8 Come, with acorn-cup and thorn, + Drain my hearte's-blood away; + Life and all its goods I scorn, + Dance by night, or feast by day: + My love is dead, + Gone to his death-bed, + All under the willow-tree. + +9 Water-witches, crowned with reytes,[6] + Bear me to your lethal tide. + 'I die! I come! my true love waits!' + Thus the damsel spake, and died. + +[1] 'Cryne:' hair. +[2] 'Rode:' complexion. +[3] 'Dent:' fix. +[4] 'Gree:' grow. +[5] 'Ouphant:' elfish. +[6] 'Reytes:' water-flags. + + +THE STORY OF WILLIAM CANYNGE. + +1 Anent a brooklet as I lay reclined, + Listening to hear the water glide along, + Minding how thorough the green meads it twined, + Whilst the caves responsed its muttering song, + At distant rising Avon to he sped, + Amenged[1] with rising hills did show its head; + +2 Engarlanded with crowns of osier-weeds + And wraytes[2] of alders of a bercie scent, + And sticking out with cloud-agested reeds, + The hoary Avon showed dire semblament, + Whilst blatant Severn, from Sabrina cleped, + Boars flemie o'er the sandes that she heaped. + +3 These eyne-gears swithin[3] bringeth to my thought + Of hardy champions knowen to the flood, + How on the banks thereof brave Aelle fought, + Aelle descended from Merce kingly blood, + Warder of Bristol town and castle stede, + Who ever and anon made Danes to bleed. + +4 Methought such doughty men must have a sprite + Dight in the armour brace that Michael bore, + When he with Satan, king of Hell, did fight, + And earth was drenched in a sea of gore; + Or, soon as they did see the worlde's light, + Fate had wrote down, 'This man is born to fight.' + +5 Aelle, I said, or else my mind did say, + Why is thy actions left so spare in story? + Were I to dispone, there should liven aye, + In earth and heaven's rolls thy tale of glory; + Thy acts so doughty should for aye abide, + And by their test all after acts be tried. + +6 Next holy Wareburghus filled my mind, + As fair a saint as any town can boast, + Or be the earth with light or mirk ywrynde,[4] + I see his image walking through the coast: + Fitz-Hardynge, Bithrickus, and twenty moe, + In vision 'fore my fantasy did go. + +7 Thus all my wandering faitour[5] thinking strayed, + And each digne[6] builder dequaced on my mind, + When from the distant stream arose a maid, + Whose gentle tresses moved not to the wind; + Like to the silver moon in frosty night, + The damoiselle did come so blithe and sweet. + +8 No broidered mantle of a scarlet hue, + No shoe-pikes plaited o'er with riband gear, + No costly robes of woaden blue, + Nought of a dress, but beauty did she wear; + Naked she was, and looked sweet of youth, + All did bewrayen that her name was Truth. + +9 The easy ringlets of her nut-brown hair + What ne a man should see did sweetly hide, + Which on her milk-white bodykin so fair + Did show like brown streams fouling the white tide, + Or veins of brown hue in a marble cuarr,[7] + Which by the traveller is kenned from far. + +10 Astounded mickle there I silent lay, + Still scauncing wondrous at the walking sight; + My senses forgard,[8] nor could run away, + But was not forstraught[9] when she did alight + Anigh to me, dressed up in naked view, + Which might in some lascivious thoughts abrew. + +11 But I did not once think of wanton thought; + For well I minded what by vow I hete, + And in my pocket had a crochee[10] brought; + Which in the blossom would such sins anete; + I looked with eyes as pure as angels do, + And did the every thought of foul eschew. + +12 With sweet semblate, and an angel's grace, + She 'gan to lecture from her gentle breast; + For Truth's own wordes is her minde's face, + False oratories she did aye detest: + Sweetness was in each word she did ywreene, + Though she strove not to make that sweetness seen. + +13 She said, 'My manner of appearing here + My name and slighted myndruch may thee tell; + I'm Truth, that did descend from heaven-were, + Goulers and courtiers do not know me well; + Thy inmost thoughts, thy labouring brain I saw, + And from thy gentle dream will thee adawe.[11] + +14 Full many champions, and men of lore, + Painters and carvellers[12] have gained good name, + But there's a Canynge to increase the store, + A Canynge who shall buy up all their fame. + Take thou my power, and see in child and man + What true nobility in Canynge ran.' + +15 As when a bordelier[13] on easy bed, + Tired with the labours maynt[14] of sultry day, + In sleepe's bosom lays his weary head, + So, senses sunk to rest, my body lay; + Eftsoons my sprite, from earthly bands untied, + Emerged in flanched air with Truth aside. + +16 Straight was I carried back to times of yore, + Whilst Canynge swathed yet in fleshly bed, + And saw all actions which had been before, + And all the scroll of fate unravelled; + And when the fate-marked babe had come to sight, + I saw him eager gasping after light. + +17 In all his shepen gambols and child's play, + In every merry-making, fair, or wake, + I knew a purple light of wisdom's ray; + He eat down learning with a wastle cake. + As wise as any of the aldermen, + He'd wit enough to make a mayor at ten. + +18 As the dulce[15] downy barbe began to gre, + So was the well thighte texture of his lore + Each day enheedynge mockler[16] for to be, + Great in his counsel for the days he bore. + All tongues, all carols did unto him sing, + Wond'ring at one so wise, and yet so ying.[17] + +19 Increasing in the years of mortal life, + And hasting to his journey unto heaven, + He thought it proper for to choose a wife, + And use the sexes for the purpose given. + He then was youth of comely semelikede, + And he had made a maiden's heart to bleed. + +20 He had a father (Jesus rest his soul!) + Who loved money, as his cherished joy; + He had a brother (happy man be's dole!) + In mind and body his own father's boy: + What then could Canynge wishen as a part + To give to her who had made exchange of heart? + +21 But lands and castle tenures, gold and bighes,[18] + And hoards of silver rusted in the ent,[19] + Canynge and his fair sweet did that despise, + To change of truly love was their content; + They lived together in a house adigne,[20] + Of good sendaument commily and fine. + +22 But soon his brother and his sire did die, + And left to William states and renting-rolls, + And at his will his brother John supply. + He gave a chauntry to redeem their souls; + And put his brother into such a trade, + That he Lord Mayor of London town was made. + +23 Eftsoons his morning turned to gloomy night; + His dame, his second self, gave up her breath, + Seeking for eterne life and endless light, + And slew good Canynge; sad mistake of Death! + So have I seen a flower in summer-time + Trod down and broke and wither in its prime. + +24 Near Redcliff Church (oh, work of hand of Heaven! + Where Canynge showeth as an instrument) + Was to my bismarde eyesight newly given; + 'Tis past to blazon it to good content. + You that would fain the festive building see + Repair to Redcliff, and contented be. + +25 I saw the myndbruch of his notte soul + When Edward menaced a second wife; + I saw what Pheryons in his mind did roll: + Now fixed from second dames, a priest for life, + This is the man of men, the vision spoke; + Then bell for even-song my senses woke. + +[1] 'Amenged:' mixed. +[2] 'Wraytes:' flags. +[3] 'Swithin:' quickly. +[4] 'Ywrynde:' covered. +[5] 'Faitour:' vagrant. +[6] 'Digne:' worthy. +[7] 'Cuarr:' quarry. +[8] 'Forgard:' lose. +[9] 'Forstraught:' distracted. +[10] 'A crochee:' a cross. +[11] 'Adawe:' awake. +[12] 'Carvellers:' sculptors. +[13] 'A bordelier:' a cottager. +[14] 'Maynt:' many. +[15] 'Dulce:' sweet. +[16] 'Mockler:' more. +[17] 'Ying:' young. +[18] 'Bighes:' jewels. +[19] 'Ent:' bag. +[20] 'Adigne:' worthy. + + +KENRICK. + +TRANSLATED FROM THE SAXON. + +When winter yelled through the leafless grove; when the black waves +rode over the roaring winds, and the dark-brown clouds hid the face of +the sun; when the silver brook stood still, and snow environed the top +of the lofty mountain; when the flowers appeared not in the blasted +fields, and the boughs of the leafless trees bent with the loads of +ice; when the howling of the wolf affrighted the darkly glimmering +light of the western sky; Kenrick, terrible as the tempest, young as +the snake of the valley, strong as the mountain of the slain; his +armour shining like the stars in the dark night, when the moon is +veiled in sable, and the blasting winds howl over the wide plain; his +shield like the black rock, prepared himself for war. + +Ceolwolf of the high mountain, who viewed the first rays of the +morning star, swift as the flying deer, strong as the young oak, +fierce as an evening wolf, drew his sword; glittering like the blue +vapours in the valley of Horso; terrible as the red lightning, +bursting from the dark-brown clouds; his swift bark rode over the +foaming waves, like the wind in the tempest; the arches fell at his +blow, and he wrapped the towers in flames: he followed Kenrick, like +a wolf roaming for prey. + +Centwin of the vale arose, he seized the massy spear; terrible was his +voice, great was his strength; he hurled the rocks into the sea, and +broke the strong oaks of the forest. Slow in the race as the minutes +of impatience. His spear, like the fury of a thunderbolt, swept down +whole armies; his enemies melted before him, like the stones of hail +at the approach of the sun. + +Awake, O Eldulph! thou that sleepest on the white mountain, with the +fairest of women. No more pursue the dark-brown wolf: arise from the +mossy bank of the falling waters; let thy garments be stained in +blood, and the streams of life discolour thy girdle; let thy flowing +hair be hid in a helmet, and thy beauteous countenance be writhed into +terror. + +Egward, keeper of the barks, arise like the roaring waves of the sea: +pursue the black companies of the enemy. + +Ye Saxons, who live in the air and glide over the stars, act like +yourselves. + +Like the murmuring voice of the Severn, swelled with rain, the Saxons +moved along; like a blazing star the sword of Kenrick shone among the +Britons; Tenyan bled at his feet; like the red lightning of heaven he +burnt up the ranks of his enemy. + +Centwin raged like a wild boar. Tatward sported in blood; armies +melted at his stroke. Eldulph was a flaming vapour; destruction sat +upon his sword. Ceolwolf was drenched in gore, but fell like a rock +before the sword of Mervin. + +Egward pursued the slayer of his friend; the blood of Mervin smoked on +his hand. + +Like the rage of a tempest was the noise of the battle; like the +roaring of the torrent, gushing from the brow of the lofty mountain. + +The Britons fled, like a black cloud dropping hail, flying before the +howling winds. + +Ye virgins! arise and welcome back the pursuers; deck their brows with +chaplets of jewels; spread the branches of the oak beneath their feet. +Kenrick is returned from the war, the clotted gore hangs terrible upon +his crooked sword, like the noxious vapours on the black rock; his +knees are red with the gore of the foe. + +Ye sons of the song, sound the instruments of music; ye virgins, dance +around him. + +Costan of the lake, arise, take thy harp from the willow, sing the +praise of Kenrick, to the sweet sound of the white waves sinking to +the foundation of the black rock. + +Rejoice, O ye Saxons! Kenrick is victorious. + + +FEBRUARY, AN ELEGY. + +1 Begin, my muse, the imitative lay, + Aeonian doxies, sound the thrumming string; + Attempt no number of the plaintive Gray; + Let me like midnight cats, or Collins, sing. + +2 If in the trammels of the doleful line, + The bounding hail or drilling rain descend; + Come, brooding Melancholy, power divine, + And every unformed mass of words amend. + +3 Now the rough Goat withdraws his curling horns, + And the cold Waterer twirls his circling mop: + Swift sudden anguish darts through altering corns, + And the spruce mercer trembles in his shop. + +4 Now infant authors, maddening for renown, + Extend the plume, and hum about the stage, + Procure a benefit, amuse the town, + And proudly glitter in a title-page. + +5 Now, wrapped in ninefold fur, his squeamish Grace + Defies the fury of the howling storm; + And whilst the tempest whistles round his face, + Exults to find his mantled carcase warm. + +6 Now rumbling coaches furious drive along, + Full of the majesty of city dames, + Whose jewels, sparkling in the gaudy throng, + Raise strange emotions and invidious flames. + +7 Now Merit, happy in the calm of place, + To mortals as a Highlander appears, + And conscious of the excellence of lace, + With spreading frogs and gleaming spangles glares: + +8 Whilst Envy, on a tripod seated nigh, + In form a shoe-boy, daubs the valued fruit, + And darting lightnings from his vengeful eye, + Raves about Wilkes, and politics, and Bute. + +9 Now Barry, taller than a grenadier, + Dwindles into a stripling of eighteen; + Or sabled in Othello breaks the ear, + Exerts his voice, and totters to the scene. + +10 Now Foote, a looking-glass for all mankind, + Applies his wax to personal defects; + But leaves untouched the image of the mind;-- + His art no mental quality reflects. + +11 Now Drury's potent king extorts applause, + And pit, box, gallery, echo, 'How divine!' + Whilst, versed in all the drama's mystic laws, + His graceful action saves the wooden line. + +12 Now--but what further can the muses sing? + Now dropping particles of water fall; + Now vapours riding on the north wind's wing, + With transitory darkness shadows all. + +13 Alas! how joyless the descriptive theme, + When sorrow on the writer's quiet preys; + And like a mouse in Cheshire cheese supreme, + Devours the substance of the lessening bays. + +14 Come, February, lend thy darkest sky, + There teach the wintered muse with clouds to soar: + Come, February, lift the number high; + Let the sharp strain like wind through alleys roar. + +15 Ye channels, wandering through the spacious street, + In hollow murmurs roll the dirt along, + With inundations wet the sabled feet, + Whilst gouts, responsive, join the elegiac song. + +16 Ye damsels fair, whose silver voices shrill + Sound through meandering folds of Echo's horn; + Let the sweet cry of liberty be still, + No more let smoking cakes awake the morn. + +17 O Winter! put away thy snowy pride; + O Spring! neglect the cowslip and the bell; + O Summer! throw thy pears and plums aside; + O Autumn! bid the grape with poison swell. + +18 The pensioned muse of Johnson is no more! + Drowned in a butt of wine his genius lies. + Earth! Ocean! Heaven! the wondrous loss deplore, + The dregs of nature with her glory dies. + +19 What iron Stoic can suppress the tear! + What sour reviewer read with vacant eye! + What bard but decks his literary bier!-- + Alas! I cannot sing--I howl--I cry! + + + + +LORD LYTTELTON. + + +Dr Johnson said once of Chesterfield, 'I thought him a lord among wits, +but I find him to be only a wit among lords.' And so we may say of Lord +Lyttelton, 'He is a poet among lords, if not a lord among poets.' He was +the son of Sir Thomas Lyttelton, of Hagley in Worcestershire, and was +born in 1709. He went to Eton and Oxford, where he distinguished himself. +Having gone the usual grand tour, he entered Parliament, and became an +opponent of Sir Robert Walpole. He was made secretary to the Prince of +Wales, and was in this capacity useful to Mallett and Thomson. In 1741, +he married Lucy Fortescue, of Devonshire, who died five years afterwards. +Lyttelton grieved sincerely for her, and wrote his affecting 'Monody' on +the subject. When his party triumphed, he was created a Lord of the +Treasury, and afterwards Chancellor of the Exchequer, with a peerage. He +employed much of his leisure in literary composition, writing a good +little book on the Conversion of St Paul, a laboured History of Henry II., +and some verses, including the stanza in the 'Castle of Indolence' +describing Thomson-- + + 'A bard there dwelt, more fat than bard beseems,' &c.-- + +and a very spirited prologue to Thomson's 'Coriolanus,' which was written +after that author's death, and says of him, + + --'His chaste muse employed her heaven-taught lyre + None but the noblest passions to inspire: + Not one immoral, one corrupted thought, + _One line which, dying he could wish to blot_.' + +Lyttelton himself died August 22, 1773, aged sixty-four. His History is +now little read. It took him, it is said, thirty years to write it, and +he employed another man to point it--a fact recalling what is told of +Macaulay, that he sent the first volume of his 'History of England' to +Lord Jeffrey, who overlooked the punctuation and criticised the style. +Of a series of Dialogues issued by this writer, Dr Johnson remarked, +with his usual pointed severity, 'Here is a man telling the world what +the world had all his life been telling him.' His 'Monody' expresses +real grief in an artificial style, but has some stanzas as natural in +the expression as they are pathetic in the feeling. + + +FROM THE 'MONODY.' + +At length escaped from every human eye, + From every duty, every care, +That in my mournful thoughts might claim a share, +Or force my tears their flowing stream to dry; +Beneath the gloom of this embowering shade, +This lone retreat, for tender sorrow made, +I now may give my burdened heart relief, + And pour forth all my stores of grief; +Of grief surpassing every other woe, +Far as the purest bliss, the happiest love + Can on the ennobled mind bestow, + Exceeds the vulgar joys that move +Our gross desires, inelegant and low. + + * * * * * + + In vain I look around + O'er all the well-known ground, +My Lucy's wonted footsteps to descry; + Where oft we used to walk, + Where oft in tender talk +We saw the summer sun go down the sky; + Nor by yon fountain's side, + Nor where its waters glide +Along the valley, can she now be found: +In all the wide-stretched prospect's ample bound + No more my mournful eye + Can aught of her espy, +But the sad sacred earth where her dear relics lie. + + * * * * * + +Sweet babes, who, like the little playful fawns, +Were wont to trip along these verdant lawns + By your delighted mother's side: + Who now your infant steps shall guide? +Ah! where is now the hand whose tender care +To every virtue would have formed your youth, +And strewed with flowers the thorny ways of truth? + O loss beyond repair! + O wretched father! left alone, +To weep their dire misfortune and thy own: +How shall thy weakened mind, oppressed with woe, + And drooping o'er thy Lucy's grave, +Perform the duties that you doubly owe! + Now she, alas! is gone, +From folly and from vice their helpless age to save? + + * * * * * + + O best of wives! O dearer far to me + Than when thy virgin charms + Were yielded to my arms: + How can my soul endure the loss of thee? + How in the world, to me a desert grown, + Abandoned and alone, + Without my sweet companion can I live? + Without thy lovely smile, + The dear reward of every virtuous toil, + What pleasures now can palled ambition give? + Even the delightful sense of well-earned praise, +Unshared by thee, no more my lifeless thoughts could raise. + + For my distracted mind + What succour can I find? + On whom for consolation shall I call? + Support me, every friend; + Your kind assistance lend, + To bear the weight of this oppressive woe. + Alas! each friend of mine, + My dear departed love, so much was thine, + That none has any comfort to bestow. + My books, the best relief + In every other grief, + Are now with your idea saddened all: + Each favourite author we together read +My tortured memory wounds, and speaks of Lucy dead. + + We were the happiest pair of human kind; + The rolling year its varying course performed, + And back returned again; + Another and another smiling came, + And saw our happiness unchanged remain: + Still in her golden chain + Harmonious concord did our wishes bind: + Our studies, pleasures, taste, the same. + O fatal, fatal stroke, + That all this pleasing fabric love had raised + Of rare felicity, + On which even wanton vice with envy gazed, + And every scheme of bliss our hearts had formed, + With soothing hope, for many a future day, + In one sad moment broke!-- + Yet, O my soul, thy rising murmurs stay; + Nor dare the all-wise Disposer to arraign, + Or against his supreme decree + With impious grief complain; + That all thy full-blown joys at once should fade, +Was his most righteous will--and be that will obeyed. + + + + +JOHN CUNNINGHAM. + + +We know very little of the history of this pleasing poet. He was born in +1729, the son of a wine-cooper in Dublin. At the age of seventeen he +wrote a farce; entitled 'Love in a Mist,' and shortly after came to +Britain as an actor. He was for a long time a performer in Digges' +company in Edinburgh, and subsequently resided in Newcastle-upon-Tyne. +Here he seems to have fallen into distressed circumstances, and was +supported by a benevolent printer, at whose house he died in 1773. His +poetry is distinguished by a charming simplicity. This characterises +'Kate of Aberdeen,' given below, and also his 'Content: a Pastoral,' in +which he says allegorically-- + + 'Her air was so modest, her aspect so meek, + So simple yet sweet were her charms! + I kissed the ripe roses that glowed on her cheek, + And locked the dear maid in my arms. + + 'Now jocund together we tend a few sheep, + And if, by yon prattler, the stream, + Reclined on her bosom, I sink into sleep, + Her image still softens my dream.' + + +MAY-EVE; OR, KATE OF ABERDEEN. + +1 The silver moon's enamoured beam + Steals softly through the night, + To wanton with the winding stream, + And kiss reflected light. + To beds of state go, balmy sleep, + (Tis where you've seldom been,) + May's vigil whilst the shepherds keep + With Kate of Aberdeen. + +2 Upon the green the virgins wait, + In rosy chaplets gay, + Till Morn unbar her golden gate, + And give the promised May. + Methinks I hear the maids declare, + The promised May, when seen, + Not half so fragrant, half so fair, + As Kate of Aberdeen. + +3 Strike up the tabor's boldest notes, + We'll rouse the nodding grove; + The nested birds shall raise their throats, + And hail the maid I love: + And see--the matin lark mistakes, + He quits the tufted green: + Fond bird! 'tis not the morning breaks, + 'Tis Kate of Aberdeen. + +4 Now lightsome o'er the level mead, + Where midnight fairies rove, + Like them the jocund dance we'll lead, + Or tune the reed to love: + For see the rosy May draws nigh; + She claims a virgin queen! + And hark, the happy shepherds cry, + 'Tis Kate of Aberdeen. + + + + +ROBERT FERGUSSON. + + +This unfortunate Scottish bard was born in Edinburgh on the 17th (some +say the 5th) of October 1751. His father, who had been an accountant to +the British Linen Company's Bank, died early, leaving a widow and four +children. Robert spent six years at the grammar schools of Edinburgh and +Dundee, went for a short period to Edinburgh College, and then, having +obtained a bursary, to St Andrews, where he continued till his seven- +teenth year. He was at first designed for the ministry of the Scottish +Church. He distinguished himself at college for his mathematical +knowledge, and became a favourite of Dr Wilkie, Professor of Natural +Philosophy, on whose death he wrote an elegy. He early discovered a +passion for poetry, and collected materials for a tragedy on the subject +of Sir William Wallace, which he never finished. He once thought of +studying medicine, but had neither patience nor funds for the needful +preliminary studies. He went away to reside with a rich uncle, named +John Forbes, in the north, near Aberdeen. This person, however, and poor +Fergusson unfortunately quarrelled; and, after residing some months in +his house, he left it in disgust, and with a few shillings in his pocket +proceeded southwards. He travelled on foot, and such was the effect of +his vexation and fatigue, that when he reached his mother's house he fell +into a severe fit of illness. + +He became, on his recovery, a copying-clerk in a solicitor's, and +afterwards in a sheriff-clerk's office, and began to contribute to +_Ruddiman's Weekly Magazine_. We remember in boyhood reading some odd +volumes of this production, the general matter in which was inconceivably +poor, relieved only by Fergusson's racy little Scottish poems. His +evenings were spent chiefly in the tavern, amidst the gay and dissipated +youth of the metropolis, to whom he was the 'wit, songster, and mimic.' +That his convivial powers were extraordinary, is proved by the fact of +one of his contemporaries, who survived to be a correspondent of Burns, +doubting if even he equalled the fascination of Fergusson's converse. +Dissipation gradually stole in upon him, in spite of resolutions dictated +by remorse. In 1773, he collected his poems into a volume, which was +warmly received, but brought him, it is believed, little pecuniary +benefit. At last, under the pressure of poverty, toil, and intemperance, +his reason gave way, and he was by a stratagem removed to an asylum. +Here, when he found himself and became aware of his situation, he uttered +a dismal shriek, and cast a wild and startled look around his cell. The +history of his confinement was very similar to that of Nat Lee and +Christopher Smart. For instance, a story is told of him which is an exact +duplicate of one recorded of Lee. He was writing by the light of the +moon, when a thin cloud crossed its disk. 'Jupiter, snuff the moon,' +roared the impatient poet. The cloud thickened, and entirely darkened the +light. 'Thou stupid god,' he exclaimed, 'thou hast snuffed it out.' By +and by he became calmer, and had some affecting interviews with his +mother and sister. A removal to his mother's house was even contemplated, +but his constitution was exhausted, and on the 16th of October 1774, poor +Fergusson breathed his last. It is interesting to know that the New +Testament was his favourite companion in his cell. A little after his +death arrived a letter from an old friend, a Mr Burnet, who had made a +fortune in the East Indies, wishing him to come out to India, and +enclosing a remittance of L100 to defray the expenses of the journey. + +Thus in his twenty-fourth year perished Robert Fergusson. He was buried +in the Canongate churchyard, where Burns afterwards erected a monument to +his memory, with an inscription which is familiar to most of our readers. + +Burns in one of his poems attributes to Fergusson 'glorious pairts.' He +was certainly a youth of remarkable powers, although 'pairts' rather +than high genius seems to express his calibre, he can hardly be said to +sing, and he never soars. His best poems, such as 'The Farmer's Ingle,' +are just lively daguerreotypes of the life he saw around him--there is +nothing ideal or lofty in any of them. His 'ingle-bleeze' burns low +compared to that which in 'The Cottar's Saturday Night' springs up aloft +to heaven, like the tongue of an altar-fire. He stuffs his poems, too, +with Scotch to a degree which renders them too rich for even, a Scotch- +man's taste, and as repulsive as a haggis to that of an Englishman. On +the whole, Fergusson's best claim to fame arises from the influence he +exerted on the far higher genius of Burns, who seems, strangely enough, +to have preferred him to Allan Ramsay. + + +THE FARMER'S INGLE. + +Et multo imprimis hilarans couvivia Baccho, +Ante locum, si frigus erit.--VIRG. + +1 Whan gloamin gray out owre the welkin keeks;[1] + Whan Batio ca's his owsen[2] to the byre; + Whan Thrasher John, sair dung,[3] his barn-door steeks,[4] + An' lusty lasses at the dightin'[5] tire; + What bangs fu' leal[6] the e'enin's coming cauld, + An' gars[7] snaw-tappit Winter freeze in vain; + Gars dowie mortals look baith blithe an' bauld, + Nor fley'd[8] wi' a' the poortith o' the plain; + Begin, my Muse! and chant in hamely strain. + +2 Frae the big stack, weel winnow't on the hill, + Wi' divots theekit[9] frae the weet an' drift, + Sods, peats, and heathery turfs the chimley[10] fill, + An' gar their thickening smeek[11] salute the lift. + The gudeman, new come hame, is blithe to find, + Whan he out owre the hallan[12] flings his een, + That ilka turn is handled to his mind; + That a' his housie looks sae cosh[13] an' clean; + For cleanly house lo'es he, though e'er sae mean. + +3 Weel kens the gudewife, that the pleughs require + A heartsome meltith,[14] an' refreshin' synd[15] + O' nappy liquor, owre a bleezin' fire: + Sair wark an' poortith downa[16] weel be joined. + Wi' butter'd bannocks now the girdle[17] reeks; + I' the far nook the bowie[18] briskly reams; + The readied kail[19]stands by the chimley cheeks, + An' haud the riggin' het wi' welcome streams, + Whilk than the daintiest kitchen[20]nicer seems. + +4 Frae this, lat gentler gabs[21] a lesson lear: + Wad they to labouring lend an eident[22]hand, + They'd rax fell strang upo' the simplest fare, + Nor find their stamacks ever at a stand. + Fu' hale an' healthy wad they pass the day; + At night, in calmest slumbers dose fu' sound; + Nor doctor need their weary life to spae,[23] + Nor drogs their noddle and their sense confound, + Till death slip sleely on, an' gie the hindmost wound. + +5 On siccan food has mony a doughty deed + By Caledonia's ancestors been done; + By this did mony a wight fu' weirlike bleed + In brulzies[24]frae the dawn to set o' sun. + 'Twas this that braced their gardies[25] stiff an' strang; + That bent the deadly yew in ancient days; + Laid Denmark's daring sons on yird[26] alang; + Garr'd Scottish thristles bang the Roman bays; + For near our crest their heads they dought na raise. + +6 The couthy cracks[27] begin whan supper's owre; + The cheering bicker[28] gars them glibly gash[29] + O' Simmer's showery blinks, an Winter's sour, + Whase floods did erst their mailins' produce hash.[30] + 'Bout kirk an' market eke their tales gae on; + How Jock woo'd Jenny here to be his bride; + An' there, how Marion, for a bastard son, + Upo' the cutty-stool was forced to ride; + The waefu' scauld o' our Mess John to bide. + +7 The fient a cheep[31]'s amang the bairnies now; + For a' their anger's wi' their hunger gane: + Aye maun the childer, wi' a fastin' mou, + Grumble an' greet, an' mak an unco maen.[32] + In rangles[33] round, before the ingle's low, + Frae gudame's[34] mouth auld-warld tales they hear, + O' warlocks loupin round the wirrikow:[35] + O' ghaists, that wine[36] in glen an kirkyard drear, + Whilk touzles a' their tap, an' gars them shake wi' fear! + +8 For weel she trows that fiends an' fairies be + Sent frae the deil to fleetch[37] us to our ill; + That kye hae tint[38] their milk wi' evil ee; + An' corn been scowder'd[39] on the glowin' kiln. + O mock nae this, my friends! but rather mourn, + Ye in life's brawest spring wi' reason clear; + Wi' eild[40] our idle fancies a' return, + And dim our dolefu' days wi' bairnly[41] fear; + The mind's aye cradled whan the grave is near. + +9 Yet Thrift, industrious, bides her latest days, + Though Age her sair-dow'd front wi' runcles wave; + Yet frae the russet lap the spindle plays; + Her e'enin stent[42] reels she as weel's the lave.[43] + On some feast-day, the wee things buskit braw, + Shall heese her heart up wi' a silent joy, + Fu' cadgie that her head was up an' saw + Her ain spun cleedin' on a darlin' oy;[44] + Careless though death should mak the feast her foy.[45] + +10 In its auld lerroch[46] yet the deas[47] remains, + Where the gudeman aft streeks[48] him at his ease; + A warm and canny lean for weary banes + O' labourers doylt upo' the wintry leas. + Round him will baudrins[49] an' the collie come, + To wag their tail, and cast a thankfu' ee, + To him wha kindly flings them mony a crumb + O' kebbuck[50] whang'd, an' dainty fadge[51] to prie;[52] + This a' the boon they crave, an' a' the fee. + +11 Frae him the lads their mornin' counsel tak: + What stacks he wants to thrash; what rigs to till; + How big a birn[53] maun lie on bassie's[54] back, + For meal an' mu'ter[55] to the thirlin' mill. + Neist, the gudewife her hirelin' damsels bids + Glower through the byre, an' see the hawkies[56] bound; + Tak tent, case Crummy tak her wonted tids,[57] + An' ca' the laiglen's[58] treasure on the ground; + Whilk spills a kebbuck nice, or yellow pound. + + +12 Then a' the house for sleep begin to green,[59] + Their joints to slack frae industry a while; + The leaden god fa's heavy on their een, + An hafflins steeks them frae their daily toil: + The cruizy,[60] too, can only blink and bleer; + The reistit ingle's done the maist it dow; + Tacksman an' cottar eke to bed maun steer, + Upo' the cod[61] to clear their drumly pow,[62] + Till waukened by the dawnin's ruddy glow. + +13 Peace to the husbandman, an' a' his tribe, + Whase care fells a' our wants frae year to year! + Lang may his sock[63] and cou'ter turn the gleyb,[64] + An' banks o' corn bend down wi' laded ear! + May Scotia's simmers aye look gay an' green; + Her yellow ha'rsts frae scowry blasts decreed! + May a' her tenants sit fu' snug an' bien,[65] + Frae the hard grip o' ails, and poortith freed; + An' a lang lasting train o' peacefu' hours succeed! + +[1] 'Keeks:' peeps. +[2] 'Owsen:' oxen. +[3] 'Sair dung:' fatigued. +[4] 'Steeks:' shuts. +[5] 'Dightin':' winnowing. +[6] 'What bangs fu' leal:' what shuts out most comfortably. +[7] 'Gars:' makes. +[8] 'Fley'd:' frightened. +[9] 'Wi' divots theekit:' thatched with turf. +[10] 'Chimley:' chimney. +[11] 'Smeek:' smoke. +[12] 'Hallan:' the inner wall of a cottage. +[13] 'Cosh:' comfortable. +[14] 'Meltith:' meal. +[15] 'Synd:' drink. +[16] 'Downa:' should not. +[17] 'Girdle:' a flat iron for toasting cakes. +[18] 'Bowie:' beer-barrel. +[19] 'Kail:' broth with greens. +[20] 'Kitchen:' anything eaten with bread. +[21] 'Gabs:' palates. +[22] 'Eident:' assidious. +[23] 'Spae:' fortell. +[24] 'Brulzies:' contests. +[25] 'Gardies:' arms. +[26] 'Yird:' earth. +[27] 'Cracks:' pleasant talk. +[28] 'Bicker:' the cup. +[29] 'gash:' debat. +[30] 'Their mailins' produce hash:' destroy the produce of their farms. +[31] 'The fient a cheep:' not a whimper. +[32] 'Maen:' moan. +[33] 'Rangles:' circles. +[34] 'Gudame's:' grandame. +[35] 'Wirrikow:' scare-crow. +[36] 'Win:' abide. +[37] 'Fleetch:' entice. +[38] 'Tint:' lost. +[39] 'Scowder'd:' scorched. +[40] 'Eild:' age. +[41] 'Bairnly:' childish. +[42] 'Stent:' task. +[43] 'Lave:' the rest. +[44] 'Oy:' grand child. +[45] 'Her foy:' her farewell entertainment. +[46] 'Lerroch:'corner. +[47] 'Deas:' bench. +[48] 'Streeks:' stretches. +[49] 'Baudrins:' the cat. +[50] 'Kebbuck:' cheese. +[51] 'Fadge:' loaf. +[52] 'To prie:' to taste. +[53] 'Birn:' burden. +[54] 'Bassie:' the horse. +[55] 'Mu'ter:' the miller's perquisite. +[56] 'Hawkies:'cows. +[57] 'Tids:' fits. +[58] 'The laiglen: 'the milk-pail. +[59] 'To green:' to long. +[60] 'The cruizy:' the lamp. +[61] 'Cod:' pillow. +[62] 'Drumly pow:' thick heads. +[63] 'Sock:' ploughshare. +[64] 'Gleyb:' soil. +[65] 'Bien: 'comfortable. + + + + +DR WALTER HARTE. + + +Campbell, in his 'Specimens,' devotes a large portion of space to Dr +Walter Harte, and has quoted profusely from a poem of his entitled +'Eulogius.' We may give some of the best lines here:-- + + 'This spot for dwelling fit Eulogius chose, + And in a month a decent homestall rose, + Something between a cottage and a cell; + Yet virtue here could sleep, and peace could dwell. + + 'The site was neither granted him nor given; + 'Twas Nature's, and the ground-rent due to Heaven. + + Wife he had none, nor had he love to spare,-- + An aged mother wanted all his care. + They thanked their Maker for a pittance sent, + Supped on a turnip, slept upon content.' + +Again, of a neighbouring matron, who died leaving Eulogius money-- + + 'This matron, whitened with good works and age, + Approached the Sabbath of her pilgrimage; + Her spirit to himself the Almighty drew, + _Breathed on the alembic, and exhaled the dew_.' + +And once more-- + + 'Who but Eulogius now exults for joy? + New thoughts, new hopes, new views his mind employ; + Pride pushed forth buds at every branching shoot, + And virtue shrank almost beneath the root. + High raised on fortune's hill, new Alps he spies, + O'ershoots the valley which beneath him lies, + Forgets the depths between, and travels with his eyes.' + + + + +EDWARD LOVIBOND. + + +Hampton in Middlesex was the birthplace of our next poet, Edward Lovibond. +He was a gentleman of fortune, who chiefly employed his time in rural +occupations. He became a director of the East India Company. He helped his +friend Moore in conducting the periodical called _The World_, to which he +contributed several papers, including the very pleasing poem entitled +'The Tears of Old May-Day.' He died in 1775. + + +THE TEARS OF OLD MAY-DAY. + +WRITTEN ON THE REFORMATION OF THE CALENDAR IN 1754. + +1 Led by the jocund train of vernal hours + And vernal airs, uprose the gentle May; + Blushing she rose, and blushing rose the flowers + That sprung spontaneous in her genial ray. + +2 Her locks with heaven's ambrosial dews were bright, + And amorous zephyrs fluttered on her breast: + With every shifting gleam of morning light, + The colours shifted of her rainbow vest. + +3 Imperial ensigns graced her smiling form, + A golden key and golden wand she bore; + This charms to peace each sullen eastern storm, + And that unlocks the summer's copious store. + +4 Onward in conscious majesty she came, + The grateful honours of mankind to taste: + To gather fairest wreaths of future fame, + And blend fresh triumphs with her glories past. + +5 Vain hope! no more in choral bands unite + Her virgin votaries, and at early dawn, + Sacred to May and love's mysterious rite, + Brush the light dew-drops from the spangled lawn. + +6 To her no more Augusta's wealthy pride + Pours the full tribute from Potosi's mine: + Nor fresh-blown garlands village maids provide, + A purer offering at her rustic shrine. + +7 No more the Maypole's verdant height around + To valour's games the ambitious youth advance; + No merry bells and tabor's sprightlier sound + Wake the loud carol, and the sportive dance. + +8 Sudden in pensive sadness drooped her head, + Faint on her cheeks the blushing crimson died-- + 'O chaste victorious triumphs! whither fled? + My maiden honours, whither gone?' she cried. + +9 Ah! once to fame and bright dominion born, + The earth and smiling ocean saw me rise, + With time coeval and the star of morn, + The first, the fairest daughter of the skies. + +10 Then, when at Heaven's prolific mandate sprung + The radiant beam of new-created day, + Celestial harps, to airs of triumph strung, + Hailed the glad dawn, and angels called me May. + +11 Space in her empty regions heard the sound, + And hills, and dales, and rocks, and valleys rung; + The sun exulted in his glorious round, + And shouting planets in their courses sung. + +12 For ever then I led the constant year; + Saw youth, and joy, and love's enchanting wiles; + Saw the mild graces in my train appear, + And infant beauty brighten in my smiles. + +13 No winter frowned. In sweet embrace allied, + Three sister seasons danced the eternal green; + And Spring's retiring softness gently vied + With Autumn's blush, and Summer's lofty mien. + +14 Too soon, when man profaned the blessings given, + And vengeance armed to blot a guilty age, + With bright Astrea to my native heaven + I fled, and flying saw the deluge rage; + +15 Saw bursting clouds eclipse the noontide beams, + While sounding billows from the mountains rolled, + With bitter waves polluting all my streams, + My nectared streams, that flowed on sands of gold. + +16 Then vanished many a sea-girt isle and grove, + Their forests floating on the watery plain: + Then, famed for arts and laws derived from Jove, + My Atalantis sunk beneath the main. + +17 No longer bloomed primeval Eden's bowers, + Nor guardian dragons watched the Hesperian steep: + With all their fountains, fragrant fruits and flowers, + Torn from the continent to glut the deep. + +18 No more to dwell in sylvan scenes I deigned, + Yet oft descending to the languid earth, + With quickening powers the fainting mass sustained, + And waked her slumbering atoms into birth. + +19 And every echo taught my raptured name, + And every virgin breathed her amorous vows, + And precious wreaths of rich immortal fame, + Showered by the Muses, crowned my lofty brows. + +20 But chief in Europe, and in Europe's pride, + My Albion's favoured realms, I rose adored; + And poured my wealth, to other climes denied; + From Amalthea's horn with plenty stored. + +21 Ah me! for now a younger rival claims + My ravished honours, and to her belong + My choral dances, and victorious games, + To her my garlands and triumphal song. + +22 O say what yet untasted beauties flow, + What purer joys await her gentler reign? + Do lilies fairer, violets sweeter blow? + And warbles Philomel a softer strain? + +23 Do morning suns in ruddier glory rise? + Does evening fan her with serener gales? + Do clouds drop fatness from the wealthier skies, + Or wantons plenty in her happier vales? + +24 Ah! no: the blunted beams of dawning light + Skirt the pale orient with uncertain day; + And Cynthia, riding on the car of night, + Through clouds embattled faintly wings her way. + +25 Pale, immature, the blighted verdure springs, + Nor mounting juices feed the swelling flower; + Mute all the groves, nor Philomela sings + When silence listens at the midnight hour. + +26 Nor wonder, man, that Nature's bashful face, + And opening charms, her rude embraces fear: + Is she not sprung from April's wayward race, + The sickly daughter of the unripened year? + +27 With showers and sunshine in her fickle eyes, + With hollow smiles proclaiming treacherous peace, + With blushes, harbouring, in their thin disguise, + The blasts that riot on the Spring's increase? + +28 Is this the fair invested with my spoil + By Europe's laws, and senates' stern command? + Ungenerous Europe! let me fly thy soil, + And waft my treasures to a grateful land; + +29 Again revive, on Asia's drooping shore, + My Daphne's groves, or Lycia's ancient plain; + Again to Afric's sultry sands restore + Embowering shades, and Lybian Ammon's fane: + +30 Or haste to northern Zembla's savage coast, + There hush to silence elemental strife; + Brood o'er the regions of eternal frost, + And swell her barren womb with heat and life. + +31 Then Britain--Here she ceased. Indignant grief, + And parting pangs, her faltering tongue suppressed: + Veiled in an amber cloud she sought relief, + And tears and silent anguish told the rest. + + + + +FRANCIS FAWKES. + + +This 'learned and jovial parson,' as Campbell calls him, was born in 1721, +in Yorkshire. He studied at Cambridge, and became curate at Croydon, in +Surrey. Here he obtained the friendship of Archbishop Herring, and was by +him appointed vicar of Orpington in Kent, a situation which he ultimately +exchanged for the rectory of Hayes, in the same county. He translated +various minor Greek poets, including Anacreon, Sappho, Bion and Moschus, +Theocritus, &c. He died in 1777. His 'Brown Jug' breathes some of the +spirit of the first of these writers, and two or three lines of it were +once quoted triumphantly in Parliament by Sheil, while charging Peel, we +think it was, with appropriating arguments from Bishop Philpotts--'Harry +of Exeter.' + + 'Dear Tom, this brown jug that now foams with mild ale, + Was once Toby Philpotts,' &c. + + +THE BROWN JUG. + +1 Dear Tom, this brown jug that now foams with mild ale, + (In which I will drink to sweet Nan of the Vale,) + Was once Toby Fillpot, a thirsty old soul + As e'er drank a bottle, or fathomed a bowl; + In boosing about 'twas his praise to excel, + And among jolly topers lie bore off the bell. + +2 It chanced as in dog-days he sat at his ease + In his flower-woven arbour as gay as you please, + With a friend and a pipe puffing sorrows away, + And with honest old stingo was soaking his clay, + His breath-doors of life on a sudden were shut, + And he died full as big as a Dorchester butt. + +3 His body, when long in the ground it had lain, + And time into clay had resolved it again, + A potter found out in its covert so snug, + And with part of fat Toby he formed this brown jug + Now sacred to friendship, and mirth, and mild ale; + So here's to my lovely sweet Nan of the Vale. + + + + +JOHN LANGHORNE. + + +This poetical divine was born in 1735, at Kirkby Steven, in Westmoreland. +Left fatherless at four years old, his mother fulfilled her double charge +of duty with great tenderness and assiduity. He was educated at Appleby, +and subsequently became assistant at the free-school of Wakefield, took +deacon's orders, and gave promise, although very young, of becoming a +popular preacher. After various vicissitudes of life and fortune, and +publishing a number of works in prose and verse, Langhorne repaired to +London, and obtained, in 1764, the curacy and lectureship of St John's, +Clerkenwell. He soon afterwards became assistant-preacher in Lincoln's +Inn Chapel, where he had a very intellectual audience to address, and +bore a somewhat trying ordeal with complete success. He continued for a +number of years in London, maintaining his reputation both as a preacher +and writer. His most popular works were the 'Letters of Theodosius and +Constantia,' and a translation of Plutarch's Lives, which Wrangham +afterwards corrected and improved, and which is still standard. He was +twice married, and survived both his wives. He obtained the living of +Blagden in Somersetshire, and in addition to it, in 1777, a prebend in +the Cathedral of Wells. He died in 1779, aged only forty-four; his death, +it is supposed, being accelerated by intemperance, although it does not +seem to have been of a gross or aggravated description. Langhorne, an +amiable man, and highly popular as well as warmly beloved in his day, +survives now in memory chiefly through his Plutarch's Lives, and through +a few lines in his 'Country Justice,' which are immortalised by the well- +known story of Scott's interview with Burns. Campbell puts in a plea +besides for his 'Owen of Carron,' but the plea, being founded on early +reading, is partial, and has not been responded to by the public. + + +FROM 'THE COUNTRY JUSTICE.' + +The social laws from insult to protect, +To cherish peace, to cultivate respect; +The rich from wanton cruelty restrain, +To smooth the bed of penury and pain; +The hapless vagrant to his rest restore, +The maze of fraud, the haunts of theft explore; +The thoughtless maiden, when subdued by art, +To aid, and bring her rover to her heart; +Wild riot's voice with dignity to quell, +Forbid unpeaceful passions to rebel, +Wrest from revenge the meditated harm, +For this fair Justice raised her sacred arm; +For this the rural magistrate, of yore, +Thy honours, Edward, to his mansion bore. + +Oft, where old Air in conscious glory sails, +On silver waves that flow through smiling vales; +In Harewood's groves, where long my youth was laid, +Unseen beneath their ancient world of shade; +With many a group of antique columns crowned, +In Gothic guise such, mansion have I found. + +Nor lightly deem, ye apes of modern race, +Ye cits that sore bedizen nature's face, +Of the more manly structures here ye view; +They rose for greatness that ye never knew! +Ye reptile cits, that oft have moved my spleen +With Venus and the Graces on your green! +Let Plutus, growling o'er his ill-got wealth, +Let Mercury, the thriving god of stealth, +The shopman, Janus, with his double looks, +Rise on your mounts, and perch upon your books! +But spare my Venus, spare each sister Grace, +Ye cits, that sore bedizen nature's face! + +Ye royal architects, whose antic taste +Would lay the realms of sense and nature waste; +Forgot, whenever from her steps ye stray, +That folly only points each other way; +Here, though your eye no courtly creature sees, +Snakes on the ground, or monkeys in the trees; +Yet let not too severe a censure fall +On the plain precincts of the ancient hall. + +For though no sight your childish fancy meets, +Of Thibet's dogs, or China's paroquets; +Though apes, asps, lizards, things without a tail, +And all the tribes of foreign monsters fail; +Here shall ye sigh to see, with rust o'ergrown, +The iron griffin and the sphinx of stone; +And mourn, neglected in their waste abodes, +Fire-breathing drakes, and water-spouting gods. + +Long have these mighty monsters known disgrace, +Yet still some trophies hold their ancient place; +Where, round the hall, the oak's high surbase rears +The field-day triumphs of two hundred years. + +The enormous antlers here recall the day +That saw the forest monarch forced away; +Who, many a flood, and many a mountain passed, +Not finding those, nor deeming these the last, +O'er floods, o'er mountains yet prepared to fly, +Long ere the death-drop filled his failing eye! + +Here famed for cunning, and in crimes grown old, +Hangs his gray brush, the felon of the fold. +Oft as the rent-feast swells the midnight cheer, +The maudlin farmer kens him o'er his beer, +And tells his old, traditionary tale, +Though known to every tenant of the vale. + +Here, where of old the festal ox has fed, +Marked with his weight, the mighty horns are spread: +Some ox, O Marshall, for a board like thine, +Where the vast master with the vast sirloin +Vied in round magnitude--Respect I bear +To thee, though oft the ruin of the chair. + +These, and such antique tokens that record +The manly spirit, and the bounteous board, +Me more delight than all the gewgaw train, +The whims and zigzags of a modern brain, +More than all Asia's marmosets to view, +Grin, frisk, and water in the walks of Kew. + +Through these fair valleys, stranger, hast thou strayed, +By any chance, to visit Harewood's shade, +And seen with lionest, antiquated air, +In the plain hall the magistratial chair? +There Herbert sat--The love of human kind, +Pure light of truth, and temperance of mind, +In the free eye the featured soul displayed, +Honour's strong beam, and Mercy's melting shade: +Justice that, in the rigid paths of law, +Would still some drops from Pity's fountain draw, +Bend o'er her urn with many a generous fear, +Ere his firm seal should force one orphan's tear; +Fair equity, and reason scorning art, +And all the sober virtues of the heart-- +These sat with Herbert, these shall best avail +Where statutes order, or where statutes fail. + +Be this, ye rural magistrates, your plan: +Firm be your justice, but be friends to man. + +He whom the mighty master of this ball +We fondly deem, or farcically call, +To own the patriarch's truth, however loth, +Holds but a mansion crushed before the moth. + +Frail in his genius, in his heart too frail, +Born but to err, and erring to bewail, +Shalt thou his faults with eye severe explore, +And give to life one human weakness more? + +Still mark if vice or nature prompts the deed; +Still mark the strong temptation and the need: +On pressing want, on famine's powerful call, +At least more lenient let thy justice fall. + +For him who, lost to every hope of life, +Has long with fortune held unequal strife, +Known to no human love, no human care, +The friendless, homeless object of despair; +For the poor vagrant feel, while he complains, +Nor from sad freedom send to sadder chains. +Alike, if folly or misfortune brought +Those last of woes his evil days have wrought; +Believe with social mercy and with me, +Folly's misfortune in the first degree. + +Perhaps on some inhospitable shore +The houseless wretch a widowed parent bore; +Who then, no more by golden prospects led, +Of the poor Indian begged a leafy bed. +Cold on Canadian hills, or Minden's plain, +Perhaps that parent mourned her soldier slain; +Bent o'er her babe, her eye dissolved in dew, +The big drops mingling with the milk he drew, +Gave the sad presage of his future years, +The child of misery, baptized in tears! + + +GIPSIES. + +FROM THE SAME. + +The gipsy-race my pity rarely move; +Yet their strong thirst of liberty I love: +Not Wilkes, our Freedom's holy martyr, more; +Nor his firm phalanx of the common shore. + +For this in Norwood's patrimonial groves +The tawny father with his offspring roves; +When summer suns lead slow the sultry day, +In mossy caves, where welling waters play, +Fanned by each gale that cools the fervid sky, +With this in ragged luxury they lie. +Oft at the sun the dusky elfins strain +The sable eye, then snugging, sleep again; +Oft as the dews of cooler evening fall, +For their prophetic mother's mantle call. + +Far other cares that wandering mother wait, +The mouth, and oft the minister of fate! +From her to hear, in evening's friendly shade, +Of future fortune, flies the village-maid, +Draws her long-hoarded copper from its hold, +And rusty halfpence purchase hopes of gold. + +But, ah! ye maids, beware the gipsy's lures! +She opens not the womb of time, but yours. +Oft has her hands the hapless Marian wrung, +Marian, whom Gay in sweetest strains has sung! +The parson's maid--sore cause had she to rue +The gipsy's tongue; the parson's daughter too. +Long had that anxious daughter sighed to know +What Vellum's sprucy clerk, the valley's beau, +Meant by those glances which at church he stole, +Her father nodding to the psalm's slow drawl; +Long had she sighed; at length a prophet came, +By many a sure prediction known to fame, +To Marian known, and all she told, for true: +She knew the future, for the past she knew. + + +A CASE WHERE MERCY SHOULD HAVE MITIGATED JUSTICE. + +FROM THE SAME. + +Unnumbered objects ask thy honest care, +Beside the orphan's tear, the widow's prayer: +Far as thy power can save, thy bounty bless, +Unnumbered evils call for thy redress. + +Seest thou afar yon solitary thorn, +Whose aged limbs the heath's wild winds have torn? +While yet to cheer the homeward shepherd's eye, +A few seem straggling in the evening sky! +Not many suns have hastened down the day, +Or blushing moons immersed in clouds their way, +Since there, a scene that stained their sacred light, +With horror stopped a felon in his flight; +A babe just born that signs of life expressed, +Lay naked o'er the mother's lifeless breast. +The pitying robber, conscious that, pursued, +He had no time to waste, yet stood and viewed; +To the next cot the trembling infant bore, +And gave a part of what he stole before; +Nor known to him the wretches were, nor dear, +He felt as man, and dropped a human tear. + +Far other treatment she who breathless lay, +Found from a viler animal of prey. + +Worn with long toil on many a painful road, +That toil increased by nature's growing load, +When evening brought the friendly hour of rest, +And all the mother thronged about her breast, +The ruffian officer opposed her stay, +And, cruel, bore her in her pangs away, +So far beyond the town's last limits drove, +That to return were hopeless, had she strove; +Abandoned there, with famine, pain, and cold, +And anguish, she expired,--The rest I've told. + +'Now let me swear. For by my soul's last sigh, +That thief shall live, that overseer shall die.' + +Too late!--his life the generous robber paid, +Lost by that pity which his steps delayed! +No soul-discerning Mansfield sat to hear, +No Hertford bore his prayer to mercy's ear; +No liberal justice first assigned the gaol, +Or urged, as Camplin would have urged, his tale. + + + + +SIR WILLIAM BLACKSTONE. + + +This is not the place for writing the life of the great lawyer whose +awful wig has been singed by the sarcasm of Junius. He was born in +London in 1723, and died in 1780. He had early coquetted with poetry, +but on entering the Middle Temple he bade a 'Farewell to his Muse' in +the verses subjoined. So far as lucre was concerned, he chose the better +part, and rose gradually on the ladder of law to be a knight and a judge +in the Court of Common Pleas. It has been conjectured, from some notes +on Shakspeare published by Stevens, that Sir William continued till the +end of his days to hold occasional flirtations with his old flame. + + +THE LAWYER'S FAREWELL TO HIS MUSE. + +As, by some tyrant's stern command, +A wretch forsakes his native land, +In foreign climes condemned to roam +An endless exile from his home; +Pensive he treads the destined way, +And dreads to go, nor dares to stay; +Till on some neighbouring mountain's brow +He stops, and turns his eyes below; +There, melting at the well-known view, +Drops a last tear, and bids adieu: +So I, thus doomed from thee to part, +Gay queen of Fancy, and of Art, +Reluctant move, with doubtful mind +Oft stop, and often look behind. + +Companion of my tender age, +Serenely gay, and sweetly sage, +How blithesome were we wont to rove +By verdant hill, or shady grove, +Where fervent bees, with humming voice, +Around the honeyed oak rejoice, +And aged elms with awful bend +In long cathedral walks extend! +Lulled by the lapse of gliding floods, +Cheered by the warbling of the woods, +How blessed my days, my thoughts how free, +In sweet society with thee! +Then all was joyous, all was young, +And years unheeded rolled along: +But now the pleasing dream is o'er, +These scenes must charm me now no more. +Lost to the fields, and torn from you,-- +Farewell!--a long, a last adieu. +Me wrangling courts, and stubborn law, +To smoke, and crowds, and cities draw: +There selfish faction rules the day, +And pride and avarice throng the way; +Diseases taint the murky air, +And midnight conflagrations glare; +Loose Revelry and Riot bold +In frighted streets their orgies hold; +Or, where in silence all is drowned, +Fell Murder walks his lonely round; +No room for peace, no room for you, +Adieu, celestial nymph, adieu! + +Shakspeare no more, thy sylvan son, +Nor all the art of Addison, +Pope's heaven-strung lyre, nor Waller's ease, +Nor Milton's mighty self, must please: +Instead of these a formal band, +In furs and coifs, around me stand; +With sounds uncouth and accents dry, +That grate the soul of harmony, +Each pedant sage unlocks his store +Of mystic, dark, discordant lore; +And points with tottering hand the ways +That lead me to the thorny maze. + +There, in a winding close retreat, +Is Justice doomed to fix her seat; +There, fenced by bulwarks of the law, +She keeps the wondering world in awe; +And there, from vulgar sight retired, +Like eastern queens, is more admired. + +Oh, let me pierce the sacred shade +Where dwells the venerable maid! +There humbly mark, with reverent awe, +The guardian of Britannia's law; +Unfold with joy her sacred page, +The united boast of many an age; +Where mixed, yet uniform, appears +The wisdom of a thousand years. +In that pure spring the bottom view, +Clear, deep, and regularly true; +And other doctrines thence imbibe +Than lurk within the sordid scribe; +Observe how parts with parts unite +In one harmonious rule of right; +See countless wheels distinctly tend +By various laws to one great end: +While mighty Alfred's piercing soul +Pervades, and regulates the whole. + +Then welcome business, welcome strife, +Welcome the cares, the thorns of life, +The visage wan, the poreblind sight, +The toil by day, the lamp at night, +The tedious forms, the solemn prate, +The pert dispute, the dull debate, +The drowsy bench, the babbling Hall, +For thee, fair Justice, welcome all! +Thus though my noon of life be passed, +Yet let my setting sun, at last, +Find out the still, the rural cell, +Where sage Retirement loves to dwell! +There let me taste the homefelt bliss. +Of innocence and inward peace; +Untainted by the guilty bribe; +Uncursed amid the harpy tribe; +No orphan's cry to wound my ear; +My honour and my conscience clear; +Thus may I calmly meet my end, +Thus to the grave in peace descend. + + + + +JOHN SCOTT. + + +This poet is generally known as 'Scott of Amwell.' This arises from the +fact that his father, a draper in Southwark, where John was born in +1730, retired ten years afterwards to Amwell. He had never been +inoculated with the small-pox, and such was his dread of the disease, +and that of his family, that for twenty years, although within twenty +miles of London, he never visited it. His parents, who belonged to the +amiable sect of Quakers, sent him to a day-school at Ware, but that too +he left upon the first alarm of infection. At seventeen, although his +education was much neglected, he began to relish reading, and was +materially assisted in his studies by a neighbour of the name of +Frogley, a master bricklayer, who, though somewhat illiterate, admired +poetry. Scott sent his first essays to the _Gentleman's Magazine_, and +in his thirtieth year published four elegies, which met with a kind +reception, although Dr Johnson said only of them, 'They are very well, +but such as twenty people might write.' He produced afterwards 'The +Garden,' 'Amwell,' and other poems, besides some rather narrow 'Critical +Essays on the English Poets.' When thirty-six years of age, he submitted +to inoculation, and henceforward visited London frequently, and became +acquainted with Dr Johnson, Sir William Jones, Mrs Montague, and other +eminent characters. He was a very active promoter of local improvements, +and diligent in cultivating his grounds and garden. He was twice +married, his first wife being a daughter of his friend Frogley. He died +in 1783, not of that disease which he so 'greatly feared,' but of a +putrid fever, at Radcliff. One note of his, entitled 'Ode on Hearing the +Drum,' still reverberates on the ear of poetic readers. Wordsworth has +imitated it in his 'Andrew Jones.' Sir Walter makes Rachel Geddes say, +in 'Redgauntlet,' alluding to books of verse, 'Some of our people do +indeed hold that every writer who is not with us is against us, but +brother Joshua is mitigated in his opinions, and correspondeth with our +friend John Scott of Amwell, who hath himself constructed verses well +approved of even in the world.' + + +ODE ON HEARING THE DRUM. + +1 I hate that drum's discordant sound, + Parading round, and round, and round: + To thoughtless youth it pleasure yields, + And lures from cities and from fields, + To sell their liberty for charms + Of tawdry lace, and glittering arms; + And when ambition's voice commands, + To march, and fight, and fall, in foreign lands. + +2 I hate that drum's discordant sound, + Parading round, and round, and round: + To me it talks of ravaged plains, + And burning towns, and ruined swains, + And mangled limbs, and dying groans, + And widows' tears, and orphans' moans; + And all that misery's hand bestows, + To fill the catalogue of human woes. + + +THE TEMPESTUOUS EVENING. + +AN ODE. + +1 There's grandeur in this sounding storm, + That drives the hurrying clouds along, + That on each other seem to throng, + And mix in many a varied form; + While, bursting now and then between, + The moon's dim misty orb is seen, + And casts faint glimpses on the green. + +2 Beneath the blast the forests bend, + And thick the branchy ruin lies, + And wide the shower of foliage flies; + The lake's black waves in tumult blend, + Revolving o'er and o'er and o'er, + And foaming on the rocky shore, + Whose caverns echo to their roar. + +3 The sight sublime enrapts my thought, + And swift along the past it strays, + And much of strange event surveys, + What history's faithful tongue has taught, + Or fancy formed, whose plastic skill + The page with fabled change can fill + Of ill to good, or good to ill. + +4 But can my soul the scene enjoy, + That rends another's breast with pain? + O hapless he, who, near the main, + Now sees its billowy rage destroy! + Beholds the foundering bark descend, + Nor knows but what its fate may end + The moments of his dearest friend! + + + + +ALEXANDER ROSS. + + +Of this fine old Scottish poet we regret that we can tell our readers so +little. He was born in 1698, became parish schoolmaster at Lochlee in +Angusshire, and published, by the advice of Dr Beattie, in 1768, a +volume entitled 'Helenore; or, The Fortunate Shepherdess: a Pastoral Tale +in the Scottish Dialect; along with a few Songs.' Some of these latter, +such as 'Woo'd, and Married, and a',' became very popular. Beattie loved +the 'good-humoured, social, happy old man,' who was 'passing rich' on +twenty pounds a-year, and wrote in the _Aberdeen Journal_ a poetical +letter in the Scotch language to promote the sale of his poem. Ross died +in 1784, about eighty-six years old, and is buried in a churchyard at the +east end of the loch. + +Lochlee is a very solitary and romantic spot. The road to it from the +low country, or Howe of the Mearns, conducts us through a winding, +unequal, but very interesting glen, which, after bearing at its foot +many patches of corn, yellowing amidst thick green copsewood and birch +trees, fades and darkens gradually into a stern, woodless, and rocky +defile, which emerges on a solitary loch, lying 'dern and dreary' amidst +silent hills. It is one of those lakes which divide the distance between +the loch and the tarn, being two miles in length and one in breadth. The +hills, which are stony and savage, sink directly down upon its brink. +A house or two are all the dwellings in view. The celebrated Thomas +Guthrie dearly loves this lake, lives beside it for months at a time, +and is often seen rowing his lonely boat in the midst of it, by sunlight +and by moonlight too. On the west, one bold, sword-like summit, Craig +Macskeldie by name, cuts the air, and relieves the monotony of the other +mountains. Fit rest has Ross found in that calm, rural burying-place, +beside 'the rude forefathers of the hamlet,' with short, sweet, flower- +sprinkled grass covering his dust, the low voice of the lake sounding +a few yards from his cold ear, and a plain gravestone uniting with his +native mountains to form his memorial. 'Fortunate Shepherd,' (shall we +call him?) to have obtained a grave so intensely characteristic of a +Scottish poet! + + +WOO'D, AND MARRIED, AND A'. + +1 The bride cam' out o' the byre, + And, O, as she dighted her cheeks! + 'Sirs, I'm to be married the night, + And have neither blankets nor sheets; + Have neither blankets nor sheets, + Nor scarce a coverlet too; + The bride that has a' thing to borrow, + Has e'en right muckle ado.' + Woo'd, and married, and a', + Married, and woo'd, and a'! + And was she nae very weel off, + That was woo'd, and married, and a'? + +2 Out spake the bride's father, + As he cam' in frae the pleugh: + 'O, haud your tongue my dochter, + And ye'se get gear eneugh; + The stirk stands i' the tether, + And our braw bawsint yade, + Will carry ye hame your corn-- + What wad ye be at, ye jade?' + +3 Out spake the bride's mither: + 'What deil needs a' this pride? + I had nae a plack in my pouch + That night I was a bride; + My gown was linsey-woolsey, + And ne'er a sark ava; + And ye hae ribbons and buskins, + Mae than ane or twa.' + * * * * * + +4 Out spake the bride's brither, + As he cam' in wi' the kye: + 'Poor Willie wad ne'er hae ta'en ye, + Had he kent ye as weel as I; + For ye're baith proud and saucy, + And no for a poor man's wife; + Gin I canna get a better, + I'se ne'er tak ane i' my life.' + * * * * * + + +THE ROCK AN' THE WEE PICKLE TOW. + +1 There was an auld wife had a wee pickle tow, + And she wad gae try the spinnin' o't; + But lootin' her doun, her rock took a-lowe, + And that was an ill beginnin' o't. + She spat on 't, she flat on 't, and tramped on its pate, + But a' she could do it wad ha'e its ain gate; + At last she sat down on't and bitterly grat, + For e'er ha'in' tried the spinnin' o't. + +2 Foul fa' them that ever advised me to spin, + It minds me o' the beginnin' o't; + I weel might ha'e ended as I had begun, + And never ha'e tried the spinnin' o't. + But she's a wise wife wha kens her ain weird, + I thought ance a day it wad never be spier'd, + How let ye the lowe tak' the rock by the beard, + When ye gaed to try the spinnin' o't? + +3 The spinnin', the spinnin', it gars my heart sab + To think on the ill beginnin' o't; + I took't in my head to mak' me a wab, + And that was the first beginnin' o't. + But had I nine daughters, as I ha'e but three, + The safest and soundest advice I wad gi'e, + That they wad frae spinnin' aye keep their heads free, + For fear o' an ill beginnin' o't. + +4 But if they, in spite o' my counsel, wad run + The dreary, sad task o' the spinnin' o't; + Let them find a lown seat by the light o' the sun, + And syne venture on the beginnin' o't. + For wha's done as I've done, alake and awowe! + To busk up a rock at the cheek o' a lowe; + They'll say that I had little wit in my pow-- + O the muckle black deil tak' the spinnin' o't. + + + + +RICHARD GLOVER. + + +Glover was a man so remarkable as to be thought capable of having written +the letters of Junius, although no one now almost names his name or reads +his poetry. He was the son of a Hamburgh merchant in London, and born +(1712) in St Martin's Lane, Cannon Street. He was educated at a private +school in Surrey, but being designed for trade, was never sent to a +university, yet by his own exertions he became an excellent classical +scholar. At sixteen he wrote a poem to the memory of Sir Isaac Newton, +and at twenty-five produced nine books of his 'Leonidas.' Partly through +its own merits, partly through its liberal political sentiments, and +partly through the influence of Lord Cobham, to whom it was inscribed, +and the praise of Fielding and Chatham, it became very popular. In 1739, +he produced a poem entitled 'London; or, The Progress of Commerce,' and a +spirited ballad entitled 'Admiral Hosier's Ghost,' which we have given, +both designed to rouse the national spirit against the Spaniards. + +Glover was a merchant, and very highly esteemed among his commercial +brethren, although at one time unfortunate in business. When forced by +his failure to seek retirement, he produced a tragedy on the subject of +Boadicea, which ran the usual nine nights, although it has long since +ceased to be acted or read. In his later years his affairs improved; he +returned again to public life, was elected to Parliament, and approved +himself a painstaking and popular M.P. In 1770, he enlarged his +'Leonidas' from nine books to twelve, and afterwards wrote a sequel to +it, entitled 'The Athenais.' Glover spent his closing years in opulent +retirement, enjoying the intimacy and respect of the most eminent men of +the day, and died in 1785. + +'Leonidas' may be called the epic of the eighteenth century, and betrays +the artificial genius of its age. The poet rises to his flight like a +heavy heron--not a hawk or eagle. Passages in it are good, but the effect +of the whole is dulness. It reminds you of Cowper's 'Homer,' in which all +is accurate, but all is cold, and where even the sound of battle lulls +to slumber--or of Edwin Atherstone's 'Fall of Nineveh,' where you are +fatigued with uniform pomp, and the story struggles and staggers under a +load of words. Thomson exclaimed when he heard of the work of Glover, 'He +write an epic, who never saw a mountain!' And there was justice in the +remark. The success of 'Leonidas' was probably one cause of the swarm of +epics which appeared in the close of the eighteenth and the beginning of +the nineteenth century.--Cottle himself being, according to De Quincey, +'the author of four epic poems, _and_ a new kind of blacking.' Their day +seems now for ever at an end. + + +FROM BOOK XII + + Song of the Priestess of the Muses to the chosen band after their + return from the inroad into the Persian camp, on the night before + the Battle of Thermopylae. + +Back to the pass in gentle march he leads +The embattled warriors. They, behind the shrubs, +Where Medon sent such numbers to the shades, +In ambush lie. The tempest is o'erblown. +Soft breezes only from the Malian wave +O'er each grim face, besmeared with smoke and gore, +Their cool refreshment breathe. The healing gale, +A crystal rill near Oeta's verdant feet, +Dispel the languor from their harassed nerves, +Fresh braced by strength returning. O'er their heads +Lo! in full blaze of majesty appears +Melissa, bearing in her hand divine +The eternal guardian of illustrious deeds, +The sweet Phoebean lyre. Her graceful train +Of white-robed virgins, seated on a range +Half down the cliff, o'ershadowing the Greeks, +All with concordant strings, and accents clear, +A torrent pour of melody, and swell +A high, triumphal, solemn dirge of praise, +Anticipating fame. Of endless joys +In blessed Elysium was the song. Go, meet +Lycurgus, Solon, and Zaleucus sage, +Let them salute the children of their laws. +Meet Homer, Orpheus, and the Ascraean bard, +Who with a spirit, by ambrosial food +Refined, and more exalted, shall contend +Your splendid fate to warble through the bowers +Of amaranth and myrtle ever young, +Like your renown. Your ashes we will cull. +In yonder fane deposited, your urns, +Dear to the Muses, shall our lays inspire. +Whatever offerings, genius, science, art +Can dedicate to virtue, shall be yours, +The gifts of all the Muses, to transmit +You on the enlivened canvas, marble, brass, +In wisdom's volume, in the poet's song, +In every tongue, through every age and clime, +You of this earth the brightest flowers, not cropt, +Transplanted only to immortal bloom +Of praise with men, of happiness with gods. + + + +ADMIRAL HOSIER'S GHOST. + +ON THE TAKING OF PORTO-BELLO FROM THE SPANIARDS +BY ADMIRAL VERNON--Nov. 22, 1739. + +1 As near Porto-Bello lying + On the gently swelling flood, + At midnight with streamers flying, + Our triumphant navy rode: + There while Vernon sat all-glorious + From the Spaniards' late defeat; + And his crews, with shouts victorious, + Drank success to England's fleet: + +2 On a sudden shrilly sounding, + Hideous yells and shrieks were heard; + Then each heart with fear confounding, + A sad troop of ghosts appeared, + All in dreary hammocks shrouded, + Which for winding-sheets they wore, + And with looks by sorrow clouded, + Frowning on that hostile shore. + +3 On them gleamed the moon's wan lustre, + When the shade of Hosier brave + His pale bands was seen to muster, + Rising from their watery grave: + O'er the glimmering wave he hied him, + Where the Burford[1] reared her sail, + With three thousand ghosts beside him, + And in groans did Vernon hail: + +4 'Heed, O heed, our fatal story, + I am Hosier's injured ghost, + You, who now have purchased glory + At this place where I was lost; + Though in Porto-Bello's ruin + You now triumph free from fears, + When you think on our undoing, + You will mix your joy with tears. + +5 'See these mournful spectres, sweeping + Ghastly o'er this hated wave, + Whose wan cheeks are stained with weeping; + These were English captains brave: + Mark those numbers pale and horrid, + Those were once my sailors bold, + Lo! each hangs his drooping forehead, + While his dismal tale is told. + +6 'I, by twenty sail attended, + Did this Spanish town affright: + Nothing then its wealth defended + But my orders not to fight: + Oh! that in this rolling ocean + I had cast them with disdain, + And obeyed my heart's warm motion, + To have quelled the pride of Spain. + +7 'For resistance I could fear none, + But with twenty ships had done + What thou, brave and happy Vernon, + Hast achieved with six alone. + Then the Bastimentos never + Had our foul dishonour seen, + Nor the sea the sad receiver + Of this gallant train had been. + +8 'Thus, like thee, proud Spain dismaying, + And her galleons leading home, + Though condemned for disobeying, + I had met a traitor's doom; + To have fallen, my country crying, + He has played an English part, + Had been better far than dying + Of a grieved and broken heart. + +9 'Unrepining at thy glory, + Thy successful arms we hail; + But remember our sad story, + And let Hosier's wrongs prevail. + Sent in this foul clime to languish, + Think what thousands fell in vain, + Wasted with disease and anguish, + Not in glorious battle slain. + +10 'Hence, with all my train attending + From their oozy tombs below, + Through the hoary foam ascending, + Here I feed my constant woe: + Here the Bastimentos viewing, + We recall our shameful doom, + And our plaintive cries renewing, + Wander through the midnight gloom. + +11 'O'er these waves for ever mourning + Shall we roam deprived of rest, + If to Britain's shores returning, + You neglect my just request. + After this proud foe subduing, + When your patriot friends you see, + Think on vengeance for my ruin, + And for England shamed in me.' + +[1] 'The Burford:' Admiral Vernon's ship. + + + + +WILLIAM WHITEHEAD. + + +There was also a Paul Whitehead, who wrote a satire entitled 'Manners,' +which is highly praised by Boswell, and mentioned contemptuously by +Campbell, and who lives in the couplet of Churchill-- + + 'May I (can worse disgrace on manhood fall?) + Be born a Whitehead, and baptized a Paul.' + +William Whitehead was the son of a baker in Cambridge, was born in 1715, +and studied first at Winchester, and then in Clare Hall, in his own +city. He became tutor to the son of the Earl of Jersey, wrote one or two +poor plays, and in 1757, on the death of Colley Cibber, was appointed +Poet-Laureate--the office having previously been refused by Gray. This +roused against him a large class of those 'beings capable of envying +even a poet-laureate,' to use Gray's expression, and especially the +wrath of Churchill, then the man-mountain of satiric literature, who, in +his 'Ghost,' says-- + + 'But he who in the laureate chair, + By grace, not merit, planted there, + In awkward pomp is seen to sit, + And by his patent proves his wit,' &c. + +To these attacks Whitehead, who was a good-natured and modest man, made +no reply. In his latter years the Laureate resided in the family of Lord +Jersey, and died in 1785. His poem called 'Variety' is light and pleasant, +and deserves a niche in our 'Specimens.' + + +VARIETY. + +A TALE FOR MARRIED PEOPLE. + +A gentle maid, of rural breeding, +By Nature first, and then by reading, +Was filled with all those soft sensations +Which we restrain in near relations, +Lest future husbands should be jealous, +And think their wives too fond of fellows. + +The morning sun beheld her rove +A nymph, or goddess of the grove! +At eve she paced the dewy lawn, +And called each clown she saw, a faun! +Then, scudding homeward, locked her door, +And turned some copious volume o'er. +For much she read; and chiefly those +Great authors, who in verse, or prose, +Or something betwixt both, unwind +The secret springs which move the mind. +These much she read; and thought she knew +The human heart's minutest clue; +Yet shrewd observers still declare, +(To show how shrewd observers are,) +Though plays, which breathed heroic flame, +And novels, in profusion, came, +Imported fresh-and-fresh from France, +She only read the heart's romance. + +The world, no doubt, was well enough +To smooth the manners of the rough; +Might please the giddy and the vain, +Those tinselled slaves of folly's train: +But, for her part, the truest taste +She found was in retirement placed, +Where, as in verse it sweetly flows, +'On every thorn instruction grows.' + +Not that she wished to 'be alone,' +As some affected prudes have done; +She knew it was decreed on high +We should 'increase and multiply;' +And therefore, if kind Fate would grant +Her fondest wish, her only want, +A cottage with the man she loved +Was what her gentle heart approved; +In some delightful solitude +Where step profane might ne'er intrude; +But Hymen guard the sacred ground, +And virtuous Cupids hover round. +Not such as flutter on a fan +Round Crete's vile bull, or Leda's swan, +(Who scatter myrtles, scatter roses, +And hold their fingers to their noses,) +But simpering, mild, and innocent, +As angels on a monument. + +Fate heard her prayer: a lover came, +Who felt, like her, the innoxious flame; +One who had trod, as well as she, +The flowery paths of poesy; +Had warmed himself with Milton's heat, +Could every line of Pope repeat, +Or chant in Shenstone's tender strains, +'The lover's hopes,' 'the lover's pains.' + +Attentive to the charmer's tongue, +With him she thought no evening long; +With him she sauntered half the day; +And sometimes, in a laughing way, +Ran o'er the catalogue by rote +Of who might marry, and who not; +'Consider, sir, we're near relations--' +'I hope so in our inclinations.'-- +In short, she looked, she blushed consent; +He grasped her hand, to church they went; +And every matron that was there, +With tongue so voluble and supple, +Said for her part, she must declare, +She never saw a finer couple. +halcyon days! 'Twas Nature's reign, +'Twas Tempe's vale, and Enna's plain, +The fields assumed unusual bloom, +And every zephyr breathed perfume, +The laughing sun with genial beams +Danced lightly on the exulting streams; +And the pale regent of the night +In dewy softness shed delight. +'Twas transport not to be expressed; +'Twas Paradise!--But mark the rest. + +Two smiling springs had waked the flowers +That paint the meads, or fringe the bowers, +(Ye lovers, lend your wondering ears, +Who count by months, and not by years,) +Two smiling springs had chaplets wove +To crown their solitude, and love: +When lo, they find, they can't tell how, +Their walks are not so pleasant now. +The seasons sure were changed; the place +Had, somehow, got a different face. +Some blast had struck the cheerful scene; +The lawns, the woods, were not so green. +The purling rill, which murmured by, +And once was liquid harmony, +Became a sluggish, reedy pool: +The days grew hot, the evenings cool. +The moon, with all the starry reign, +Were melancholy's silent train. +And then the tedious winter night-- +They could not read by candle-light. + +Full oft, unknowing why they did, +They called in adventitious aid. +A faithful, favourite dog ('twas thus +With Tobit and Telemachus) +Amused their steps; and for a while +They viewed his gambols with a smile. +The kitten too was comical, +She played so oddly with her tail, +Or in the glass was pleased to find +Another cat, and peeped behind. + +A courteous neighbour at the door +Was deemed intrusive noise no more. +For rural visits, now and then, +Are right, as men must live with men. +Then cousin Jenny, fresh from town, + +A new recruit, a dear delight! +Made many a heavy hour go down, +At morn, at noon, at eve, at night: +Sure they could hear her jokes for ever, +She was so sprightly, and so clever! + +Yet neighbours were not quite the thing; +What joy, alas! could converse bring +With awkward creatures bred at home?-- +The dog grew dull, or troublesome. +The cat had spoiled the kitten's merit, +And, with her youth, had lost her spirit. +And jokes repeated o'er and o'er, +Had quite exhausted Jenny's store. +--'And then, my dear, I can't abide +This always sauntering side by side.' +'Enough!' he cries, 'the reason's plain: +For causes never rack your brain. +Our neighbours are like other folks, +Skip's playful tricks, and Jenny's jokes, +Are still delightful, still would please, +Were we, my dear, ourselves at ease. +Look round, with an impartial eye, +On yonder fields, on yonder sky; +The azure cope, the flowers below, +With all their wonted colours glow. +The rill still murmurs; and the moon +Shines, as she did, a softer sun. +No change has made the seasons fail, +No comet brushed us with his tail. +The scene's the same, the same the weather-- +We live, my dear, too much together.' + +Agreed. A rich old uncle dies, +And added wealth the means supplies. +With eager haste to town they flew, +Where all must please, for all was new. + +But here, by strict poetic laws, +Description claims its proper pause. + +The rosy morn had raised her head +From old Tithonus' saffron bed; +And embryo sunbeams from the east, +Half-choked, were struggling through the mist, +When forth advanced the gilded chaise; +The village crowded round to gaze. +The pert postilion, now promoted +From driving plough, and neatly booted, +His jacket, cap, and baldric on, +(As greater folks than he have done,) +Looked round; and, with a coxcomb air, +Smacked loud his lash. The happy pair +Bowed graceful, from a separate door, +And Jenny, from the stool before. + +Roll swift, ye wheels! to willing eyes +New objects every moment rise. +Each carriage passing on the road, +From the broad waggon's ponderous load +To the light car, where mounted high +The giddy driver seems to fly, +Were themes for harmless satire fit, +And gave fresh force to Jenny's wit. +Whate'er occurred, 'twas all delightful, +No noise was harsh, no danger frightful. +The dash and splash through thick and thin, +The hairbreadth 'scapes, the bustling inn, +(Where well-bred landlords were so ready +To welcome in the 'squire and lady,) +Dirt, dust, and sun, they bore with ease, +Determined to be pleased, and please. + +Now nearer town, and all agog, +They know dear London by its fog. +Bridges they cross, through lanes they wind, +Leave Hounslow's dangerous heath behind, +Through Brentford win a passage free +By roaring, 'Wilkes and Liberty!' +At Knightsbridge bless the shortening way, +Where Bays's troops in ambush lay, +O'er Piccadilly's pavement glide, +With palaces to grace its side, +Till Bond Street with its lamps a-blaze +Concludes the journey of three days. + +Why should we paint, in tedious song, +How every day, and all day long, +They drove at first with curious haste +Through Lud's vast town; or, as they passed +'Midst risings, fallings, and repairs +Of streets on streets, and squares on squares, +Describe how strong their wonder grew +At buildings--and at builders too? + +Scarce less astonishment arose +At architects more fair than those-- +Who built as high, as widely spread +The enormous loads that clothed their head. +For British dames new follies love, +And, if they can't invent, improve. +Some with erect pagodas vie, +Some nod, like Pisa's tower, awry, +Medusa's snakes, with Pallas' crest, +Convolved, contorted, and compressed; +With intermingling trees, and flowers, +And corn, and grass, and shepherd's bowers, +Stage above stage the turrets run, +Like pendent groves of Babylon, +Till nodding from the topmost wall +Otranto's plumes envelop all! +Whilst the black ewes, who owned the hair, +Feed harmless on, in pastures fair, +Unconscious that their tails perfume, +In scented curls, the drawing-room. + +When Night her murky pinions spread, +And sober folks retire to bed, +To every public place they flew, +Where Jenny told them who was who. +Money was always at command, +And tripped with pleasure hand in hand. +Money was equipage, was show, +Gallini's, Almack's, and Soho; +The _passe-partout_ through every vein +Of dissipation's hydra reign. + +O London, thou prolific source, +Parent of vice, and folly's nurse! +Fruitful as Nile, thy copious springs +Spawn hourly births--and all with stings: +But happiest far the he, or she, + +I know not which, that livelier dunce +Who first contrived the coterie, + +To crush domestic bliss at once. +Then grinned, no doubt, amidst the dames, +As Nero fiddled to the flames. + +Of thee, Pantheon, let me speak +With reverence, though in numbers weak; +Thy beauties satire's frown beguile, +We spare the follies for the pile. +Flounced, furbelowed, and tricked for show, +With lamps above, and lamps below, +Thy charms even modern taste defied, +They could not spoil thee, though they tried. + +Ah, pity that Time's hasty wings +Must sweep thee off with vulgar things! +Let architects of humbler name +On frail materials build their fame, +Their noblest works the world might want, +Wyatt should build in adamant. + +But what are these to scenes which lie +Secreted from the vulgar eye, +And baffle all the powers of song?-- +A brazen throat, an iron tongue, +(Which poets wish for, when at length +Their subject soars above their strength,) +Would shun the task. Our humbler Muse, +Who only reads the public news +And idly utters what she gleans +From chronicles and magazines, +Recoiling feels her feeble fires, +And blushing to her shades retires, +Alas! she knows not how to treat +The finer follies of the great, +Where even, Democritus, thy sneer +Were vain as Heraclitus' tear. + +Suffice it that by just degrees +They reached all heights, and rose with ease; +(For beauty wins its way, uncalled, +And ready dupes are ne'er black-balled.) +Each gambling dame she knew, and he +Knew every shark of quality; +From the grave cautious few who live +On thoughtless youth, and living thrive, +To the light train who mimic France, +And the soft sons of _nonchalance_. +While Jenny, now no more of use, +Excuse succeeding to excuse, +Grew piqued, and prudently withdrew +To shilling whist, and chicken loo. + +Advanced to fashion's wavering head, +They now, where once they followed, led. +Devised new systems of delight, +A-bed all day, and up all night, +In different circles reigned supreme. +Wives copied her, and husbands him; +Till so divinely life ran on, +So separate, so quite _bon-ton_, +That meeting in a public place, +They scarcely knew each other's face. + +At last they met, by his desire, +A _tete-a-tete_ across the fire; +Looked in each other's face awhile, +With half a tear, and half a smile. +The ruddy health, which wont to grace +With manly glow his rural face, +Now scarce retained its faintest streak; +So sallow was his leathern cheek. +She lank, and pale, and hollow-eyed, +With rouge had striven in vain to hide +What once was beauty, and repair +The rapine of the midnight air. + +Silence is eloquence, 'tis said. +Both wished to speak, both hung the head. +At length it burst.----''Tis time,' he cries, +'When tired of folly, to be wise. +Are you too tired?'--then checked a groan. +She wept consent, and he went on: + +'How delicate the married life! +You love your husband, I my wife! +Not even satiety could tame, +Nor dissipation quench the flame. + +'True to the bias of our kind, +'Tis happiness we wish to find. +In rural scenes retired we sought +In vain the dear, delicious draught, +Though blest with love's indulgent store, +We found we wanted something more. +'Twas company, 'twas friends to share +The bliss we languished to declare. +'Twas social converse, change of scene, +To soothe the sullen hour of spleen; +Short absences to wake desire, +And sweet regrets to fan the fire. + +'We left the lonesome place; and found, +In dissipation's giddy round, +A thousand novelties to wake +The springs of life and not to break. +As, from the nest not wandering far, +In light excursions through the air, +The feathered tenants of the grove +Around in mazy circles move, +Sip the cool springs that murmuring flow, +Or taste the blossom on the bough. +We sported freely with the rest; +And still, returning to the nest, +In easy mirth we chatted o'er +The trifles of the day before. + +'Behold us now, dissolving quite +In the full ocean of delight; +In pleasures every hour employ, +Immersed in all the world calls joy; +Our affluence easing the expense +Of splendour and magnificence; +Our company, the exalted set +Of all that's gay, and all that's great: +Nor happy yet!--and where's the wonder!-- +We live, my dear, too much asunder.' + +The moral of my tale is this, +Variety's the soul of bless; +But such variety alone +As makes our home the more our own. +As from the heart's impelling power +The life-blood pours its genial store; +Though taking each a various way, +The active streams meandering play +Through every artery, every vein, +All to the heart return again; +From thence resume their new career, +But still return and centre there: +So real happiness below +Must from the heart sincerely flow; +Nor, listening to the syren's song, +Must stray too far, or rest too long. +All human pleasures thither tend; +Must there begin, and there must end; +Must there recruit their languid force, +And gain fresh vigour from their source. + + + + +WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE. + + +This poet was born in Langholm, Dumfriesshire, in 1734. His father was +minister of the parish, but removed to Edinburgh, where William, after +attending the High School, became clerk to a brewery, and ultimately +a partner in the concern. In this he failed, however; and in 1764 he +repaired to London to prosecute literature. Lord Lyttelton became his +patron, although he did him so little service in a secular point of +view, that Mickle was fain to accept the situation of corrector to the +Clarendon Press at Oxford. Here he published his 'Pollio,' his 'Concubine,' +--a poem in the manner of Spenser, very sweetly and musically written, +which became popular,--and in 1771 the first canto of a translation of +the 'Lusiad' of Camoens. This translation, which he completed in 1775, +was published by subscription, and at once increased his fortune and +established his fame. He had resigned his office of corrector of the +press, and was residing with Mr Tomkins, a farmer at Foresthill, near +Oxford. In 1779, he went out to Portugal as secretary to Commodore +Johnstone, and, as the translator of Camoens, was received with much +distinction. On his return with a little money, he married Mr Tomkins' +daughter, who had a little more, and took up his permanent residence at +Foresthill, where he died of a short illness in 1788. + +His translation of the 'Lusiad' is understood to be too free and flowery, +and the translator stands in the relation to Camoens which Pope does to +Homer. 'Cumnor Hall' has suggested to Scott his brilliant romance of +'Kenilworth,' and is a garland worthy of being bound up in the beautiful +locks of Amy Robsart for evermore. 'Are ye sure the news is true?' is a +song true to the very soul of Scottish and of general nature, and worthy, +as Burns says, of 'the first poet.' + + +CUMNOR HALL. + +1 The dews of summer night did fall, + The moon, sweet regent of the sky, + Silvered the walls of Cumnor Hall, + And many an oak that grew thereby. + +2 Now nought was heard beneath the skies, + The sounds of busy life were still, + Save an unhappy lady's sighs, + That issued from that lonely pile. + +3 'Leicester,' she cried, 'is this thy love + That thou so oft hast sworn to me, + To leave me in this lonely grove, + Immured in shameful privity? + +4 'No more thou com'st, with lover's speed, + Thy once beloved bride to see; + But be she alive, or be she dead, + I fear, stern Earl,'s the same to thee. + +5 'Not so the usage I received + When happy in my father's hall; + No faithless husband then me grieved, + No chilling fears did me appal. + +6 'I rose up with the cheerful morn, + No lark so blithe, no flower more gay; + And, like the bird that haunts the thorn, + So merrily sung the livelong day. + +7 'If that my beauty is but small, + Among court ladies all despised, + Why didst thou rend it from that hall, + Where, scornful Earl, it well was prized? + +8 'And when you first to me made suit, + How fair I was, you oft would say! + And, proud of conquest, plucked the fruit, + Then left the blossom to decay. + +9 'Yes! now neglected and despised, + The rose is pale, the lily's dead; + But he that once their charms so prized, + Is sure the cause those charms are fled. + +10 'For know, when sickening grief doth prey, + And tender love's repaid with scorn, + The sweetest beauty will decay: + What floweret can endure the storm? + +11 'At court, I'm told, is beauty's throne, + Where every lady's passing rare, + That eastern flowers, that shame the sun, + Are not so glowing, not so fair. + +12 'Then, Earl, why didst thou leave the beds + Where roses and where lilies vie, + To seek a primrose, whose pale shades + Must sicken when those gauds are by? + +13 ''Mong rural beauties I was one; + Among the fields wild-flowers are fair; + Some country swain might me have won, + And thought my passing beauty rare. + +14 'But, Leicester, or I much am wrong, + It is not beauty lures thy vows; + Rather ambition's gilded crown + Makes thee forget thy humble spouse. + +15 'Then, Leicester, why, again I plead, + The injured surely may repine, + Why didst thou wed a country maid, + When some fair princess might be thine? + +16 'Why didst thou praise my humble charms, + And, oh! then leave them to decay? + Why didst thou win me to thy arms, + Then leave me to mourn the livelong day? + +17 'The village maidens of the plain + Salute me lowly as they go: + Envious they mark my silken train, + Nor think a countess can have woe. + +18 'The simple nymphs! they little know + How far more happy's their estate; + To smile for joy, than sigh for woe; + To be content, than to be great. + +19 'How far less blessed am I than them, + Daily to pine and waste with care! + Like the poor plant, that, from its stem + Divided, feels the chilling air. + +20 'Nor, cruel Earl! can I enjoy + The humble charms of solitude; + Your minions proud my peace destroy, + By sullen frowns, or pratings rude. + +21 'Last night, as sad I chanced to stray, + The village death-bell smote my ear; + They winked aside, and seemed to say, + "Countess, prepare--thy end is near." + +22 'And now, while happy peasants sleep, + Here I sit lonely and forlorn; + No one to soothe me as I weep, + Save Philomel on yonder thorn. + +23 'My spirits flag, my hopes decay; + Still that dread death-bell smites my ear; + And many a body seems to say, + "Countess, prepare--thy end is near."' + +24 Thus sore and sad that lady grieved + In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear; + And many a heartfelt sigh she heaved, + And let fall many a bitter tear. + +25 And ere the dawn of day appeared, + In Cumnor Hall, so lone and drear, + Full many a piercing scream was heard, + And many a cry of mortal fear. + +26 The death-bell thrice was heard to ring, + An aerial voice was heard to call, + And thrice the raven flapped his wing + Around the towers of Cumnor Hall. + +27 The mastiff howled at village door, + The oaks were shattered on the green; + Woe was the hour, for never more + That hapless Countess e'er was seen. + +28 And in that manor, now no more + Is cheerful feast or sprightly ball; + For ever since that dreary hour + Have spirits haunted Cumnor Hall. + +29 The village maids, with fearful glance, + Avoid the ancient moss-grown wall; + Nor never lead the merry dance + Among the groves of Cumnor Hall. + +30 Full many a traveller has sighed, + And pensive wept the Countess' fall, + As wandering onwards they've espied + The haunted towers of Cumnor Hall. + + + +THE MARINER'S WIFE. + +1 But are ye sure the news is true? + And are ye sure he's weel? + Is this a time to think o' wark? + Ye jauds, fling by your wheel. + For there's nae luck about the house, + There's nae luck at a', + There's nae luck about the house, + When our gudeman's awa. + +2 Is this a time to think o' wark, + When Colin's at the door? + Rax down my cloak--I'll to the quay, + And see him come ashore. + +3 Rise up and mak a clean fireside, + Put on the mickle pat; + Gie little Kate her cotton goun, + And Jock his Sunday's coat. + +4 And mak their shoon as black as slaes, + Their stocking white as snaw; + It's a' to pleasure our gudeman-- + He likes to see them braw. + +5 There are twa hens into the crib, + Hae fed this month and mair; + Mak haste and thraw their necks about, + That Colin weel may fare. + +6 My Turkey slippers I'll put on, + My stocking pearl blue-- + It's a' to pleasure our gudeman, + For he's baith leal and true. + +7 Sae sweet his voice, sae smooth his tongue; + His breath's like caller air; + His very fit has music in't, + As he comes up the stair. + +8 And will I see his face again? + And will I hear him speak? + I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought: + In troth I'm like to greet. + + + + +LORD NUGENT. + + +Robert Craggs, afterwards created Lord Nugent, was an Irishman, a younger +son of Michael Nugent, by the daughter of Robert, Lord Trimlestown, and +born in 1709. He was in 1741 elected M.P. for St Mawes, in Cornwall, and +became in 1747 comptroller to the Prince of Wales' household. He after- +wards made peace with the Court, and received various promotions and +marks of favour besides the peerage. In 1739, he published anonymously +a volume of poems possessing considerable merit. He was converted from +Popery, and wrote some vigorous verses on the occasion. Unfortunately, +however, he relapsed, and again celebrated the event in a very weak poem, +entitled 'Faith.' He died in 1788. Although a man of decided talent, as +his 'Ode to Mankind' proves, Nugent does not stand very high either in +the catalogue of Irish patriots or of 'royal and noble authors.' + + +ODE TO MANKIND. + +1 Is there, or do the schoolmen dream? + Is there on earth a power supreme, + The delegate of Heaven, + To whom an uncontrolled command, + In every realm o'er sea and land, + By special grace is given? + +2 Then say, what signs this god proclaim? + Dwells he amidst the diamond's flame, + A throne his hallowed shrine? + The borrowed pomp, the armed array, + Want, fear, and impotence, betray + Strange proofs of power divine! + +3 If service due from human kind, + To men in slothful ease reclined, + Can form a sovereign's claim: + Hail, monarchs! ye, whom Heaven ordains, + Our toils unshared, to share our gains, + Ye idiots, blind and lame! + +4 Superior virtue, wisdom, might, + Create and mark the ruler's right, + So reason must conclude: + Then thine it is, to whom belong + The wise, the virtuous, and the strong, + Thrice sacred multitude! + +5 In thee, vast All! are these contained, + For thee are those, thy parts ordained, + So nature's systems roll: + The sceptre's thine, if such there be; + If none there is, then thou art free, + Great monarch! mighty whole! + +6 Let the proud tyrant rest his cause + On faith, prescription, force, or laws, + An host's or senate's voice! + His voice affirms thy stronger due, + Who for the many made the few, + And gave the species choice. + +7 Unsanctified by thy command, + Unowned by thee, the sceptred hand + The trembling slave may bind; + But loose from nature's moral ties, + The oath by force imposed belies + The unassenting mind. + +8 Thy will's thy rule, thy good its end; + You punish only to defend + What parent nature gave: + And he who dares her gifts invade, + By nature's oldest law is made + Thy victim or thy slave. + +9 Thus reason founds the just degree + On universal liberty, + Not private rights resigned: + Through various nature's wide extent, + No private beings e'er were meant + To hurt the general kind. + +10 Thee justice guides, thee right maintains, + The oppressor's wrongs, the pilferer's gains, + Thy injured weal impair. + Thy warmest passions soon subside, + Nor partial envy, hate, nor pride, + Thy tempered counsels share. + +11 Each instance of thy vengeful rage, + Collected from each clime and age, + Though malice swell the sum, + Would seem a spotless scanty scroll, + Compared with Marius' bloody roll, + Or Sylla's hippodrome. + +12 But thine has been imputed blame, + The unworthy few assume thy name, + The rabble weak and loud; + Or those who on thy ruins feast, + The lord, the lawyer, and the priest; + A more ignoble crowd. + +13 Avails it thee, if one devours, + Or lesser spoilers share his powers, + While both thy claim oppose? + Monsters who wore thy sullied crown, + Tyrants who pulled those monsters down, + Alike to thee were foes. + +14 Far other shone fair Freedom's band, + Far other was the immortal stand, + When Hampden fought for thee: + They snatched from rapine's gripe thy spoils, + The fruits and prize of glorious toils, + Of arts and industry. + +15 On thee yet foams the preacher's rage, + On thee fierce frowns the historian's page, + A false apostate train: + Tears stream adown the martyr's tomb; + Unpitied in their harder doom, + Thy thousands strow the plain. + +16 These had no charms to please the sense, + No graceful port, no eloquence, + To win the Muse's throng: + Unknown, unsung, unmarked they lie; + But Caesar's fate o'ercasts the sky, + And Nature mourns his wrong. + +17 Thy foes, a frontless band, invade; + Thy friends afford a timid aid, + And yield up half the right. + Even Locke beams forth a mingled ray, + Afraid to pour the flood of day + On man's too feeble sight. + +18 Hence are the motley systems framed, + Of right transferred, of power reclaimed; + Distinctions weak and vain. + Wise nature mocks the wrangling herd; + For unreclaimed, and untransferred, + Her powers and rights remain. + +19 While law the royal agent moves, + The instrument thy choice approves, + We bow through him to you. + But change, or cease the inspiring choice, + The sovereign sinks a private voice, + Alike in one, or few! + +20 Shall then the wretch, whose dastard heart + Shrinks at a tyrant's nobler part, + And only dares betray; + With reptile wiles, alas! prevail, + Where force, and rage, and priestcraft fail, + To pilfer power away? + +21 Oh! shall the bought, and buying tribe, + The slaves who take, and deal the bribe, + A people's claims enjoy! + So Indian murderers hope to gain + The powers and virtues of the slain, + Of wretches they destroy. + +22 'Avert it, Heaven! you love the brave, + You hate the treacherous, willing slave, + The self-devoted head; + Nor shall an hireling's voice convey + That sacred prize to lawless sway, + For which a nation bled.' + +23 Vain prayer, the coward's weak resource! + Directing reason, active force, + Propitious Heaven bestows. + But ne'er shall flame the thundering sky, + To aid the trembling herd that fly + Before their weaker foes. + +24 In names there dwell no magic charms, + The British virtues, British arms + Unloosed our fathers' band: + Say, Greece and Rome! if these should fail, + What names, what ancestors avail, + To save a sinking land? + +25 Far, far from us such ills shall be, + Mankind shall boast one nation free, + One monarch truly great: + Whose title speaks a people's choice, + Whose sovereign will a people's voice, + Whose strength a prosperous state. + + + + +JOHN LOGAN. + + +John Logan was born in the year 1748. He was the son of a farmer at +Soutra, in the parish of Fala, Mid-Lothian. He was educated for the +church at Edinburgh, where he became intimate with Robertson, afterwards +the historian. So, at least, Campbell asserts; but he strangely calls him +a student of the same standing, whereas, in fact, Robertson saw light in +1721, and had been a settled minister five years before Logan was born. +After finishing his studies, he became tutor in the family of Mr Sinclair +of Ulbster, and the late well-known Sir John Sinclair was one of his +pupils. When licensed to preach, Logan became popular, and was in his +twenty-fifth year appointed one of the ministers of South Leith. In 1781, +he read in Edinburgh a course of lectures on the Philosophy of History, +and in 1782, he printed one of them, on the Government of Asia. In the +same year he published a volume of poems, which were well received. In +1783, he wrote a tragedy called 'Runnymede,' which was, owing to some +imagined incendiary matter, prohibited from being acted on the London +boards, but which was produced on the Edinburgh stage, and afterwards +published. This, along with some alleged irregularities of conduct on the +part of Logan, tended to alienate his flock, and he was induced to retire +on a small annuity. He betook himself to London, where, in conjunction +with the Rev. Mr Thomson,--who had left the parish of Monzievaird, in +Perthshire, owing to a scandal,--he wrote for the _English Review_, and +was employed to defend Warren Hastings. This he did in an able manner, +although a well-known story describes him as listening to Sheridan, on +the Oude case, with intense interest, and exclaiming, after the first +hour, 'This is mere declamation without proof'--after the next two, 'This +is a man of extraordinary powers'--and ere the close of the matchless +oration, 'Of all the monsters in history, Warren Hastings is the vilest.' +Logan died in the year 1788, in his lodgings, Marlborough Street. His +sermons were published shortly after his death, and if parts of them are, +as is alleged, pilfered from a Swiss divine, (George Joachim Zollikofer,) +they have not remained exclusively with the thief, since no sermons have +been so often reproduced in Scottish pulpits as the elegant orations +issued under the name of Logan. + +We have already declined to enter on the controversy about 'The Cuckoo,' +intimating, however, our belief, founded partly upon Logan's unscrupulous +character and partly on internal evidence, that it was originally written +by Bruce, but probably polished to its present perfection by Logan, whose +other writings give us rather the impression of a man of varied +accomplishments and excellent taste, than of deep feeling or original +genius. If Logan were not the author of 'The Cuckoo,' there was a special +baseness connected with the fact, that when Burke sought him out in +Edinburgh, solely from his admiration of that poem, he owned the soft and +false impeachment, and rolled as a sweet morsel praise from the greatest +man of the age, which he knew was the rightful due of another. + + + +THE LOVERS. + +1 _Har_. 'Tis midnight dark: 'tis silence deep, + My father's house is hushed in sleep; + In dreams the lover meets his bride, + She sees her lover at her side; + The mourner's voice is now suppressed, + A while the weary are at rest: + 'Tis midnight dark; 'tis silence deep; + I only wake, and wake to weep. + +2 The window's drawn, the ladder waits, + I spy no watchman at the gates; + No tread re-echoes through the hall, + No shadow moves along the wall. + I am alone. 'Tis dreary night, + Oh, come, thou partner of my flight! + Shield me from darkness, from alarms; + Oh, take me trembling to thine arms! + +3 The dog howls dismal in the heath, + The raven croaks the dirge of death; + Ah me! disaster's in the sound! + The terrors of the night are round; + A sad mischance my fears forebode, + The demon of the dark's abroad, + And lures, with apparition dire, + The night-struck man through flood and fire. + +4 The owlet screams ill-boding sounds, + The spirit walks unholy rounds; + The wizard's hour eclipsing rolls; + The shades of hell usurp the poles; + The moon retires; the heaven departs. + From opening earth a spectre starts: + My spirit dies--Away, my fears! + My love, my life, my lord, appears! + +5 _Hen_. I come, I come, my love! my life! + And, nature's dearest name, my wife! + Long have I loved thee; long have sought: + And dangers braved, and battles fought; + In this embrace our evils end; + From this our better days ascend; + The year of suffering now is o'er, + At last we meet to part no more! + +6 My lovely bride! my consort, come! + The rapid chariot rolls thee home. + _Har_. I fear to go----I dare not stay. + Look back.----I dare not look that way. + _Hen_. No evil ever shall betide + My love, while I am at her side. + Lo! thy protector and thy friend, + The arms that fold thee will defend. + +7 _Har_. Still beats my bosom with alarms: + I tremble while I'm in thy arms! + What will impassioned lovers do? + What have I done--to follow you? + I leave a father torn with fears; + I leave a mother bathed in tears; + A brother, girding on his sword, + Against my life, against my lord. + +8 Now, without father, mother, friend, + On thee my future days depend; + Wilt thou, for ever true to love, + A father, mother, brother, prove? + O Henry!----to thy arms I fall, + My friend! my husband! and my all! + Alas! what hazards may I run? + Shouldst thou forsake me--I'm undone. + +9 _Hen_. My Harriet, dissipate thy fears, + And let a husband wipe thy tears; + For ever joined our fates combine, + And I am yours, and you are mine. + The fires the firmament that rend, + On this devoted head descend, + If e'er in thought from thee I rove, + Or love thee less than now I love! + +10 Although our fathers have been foes, + From hatred stronger love arose; + From adverse briars that threatening stood, + And threw a horror o'er the wood, + Two lovely roses met on high, + Transplanted to a better sky; + And, grafted in one stock, they grow. + In union spring, in beauty blow. + +11 _Har_. My heart believes my love; but still + My boding mind presages ill: + For luckless ever was our love, + Dark as the sky that hung above. + While we embraced, we shook with fears, + And with our kisses mingled tears; + We met with murmurs and with sighs, + And parted still with watery eyes. + +12 An unforeseen and fatal hand + Crossed all the measures love had planned; + Intrusion marred the tender hour, + A demon started in the bower; + If, like the past, the future run, + And my dark day is but begun, + What clouds may hang above my head? + What tears may I have yet to shed? + +13 _Hen_. Oh, do not wound that gentle breast, + Nor sink, with fancied ills oppressed; + For softness, sweetness, all, thou art, + And love is virtue in thy heart. + That bosom ne'er shall heave again + But to the poet's tender strain; + And never more these eyes o'erflow + But for a hapless lover's woe. + +14 Long on the ocean tempest-tossed, + At last we gain the happy coast; + And safe recount upon the shore + Our sufferings past, and dangers o'er: + Past scenes, the woes we wept erewhile, + Will make our future minutes smile: + When sudden joy from sorrow springs, + How the heart thrills through all its strings! + +15 _Har_. My father's castle springs to sight; + Ye towers that gave me to the light! + O hills! O vales! where I have played; + Ye woods, that wrap me in your shade! + O scenes I've often wandered o'er! + O scenes I shall behold no more! + I take a long, last, lingering view: + Adieu! my native land, adieu! + +16 O father, mother, brother dear! + O names still uttered with a tear! + Upon whose knees I've sat and smiled, + Whose griefs my blandishments beguiled; + Whom I forsake in sorrows old, + Whom I shall never more behold! + Farewell, my friends, a long farewell, + Till time shall toll the funeral knell. + +17 _Hen_. Thy friends, thy father's house resign; + My friends, my house, my all is thine: + Awake, arise, my wedded wife, + To higher thoughts, and happier life! + For thee the marriage feast is spread, + For thee the virgins deck the bed; + The star of Venus shines above, + And all thy future life is love. + +18 They rise, the dear domestic hours! + The May of love unfolds her flowers; + Youth, beauty, pleasure spread the feast, + And friendship sits a constant guest; + In cheerful peace the morn ascends, + In wine and love the evening ends; + At distance grandeur sheds a ray, + To gild the evening of our day. + +19 Connubial love has dearer names, + And finer ties, and sweeter claims, + Than e'er unwedded hearts can feel, + Than wedded hearts can e'er reveal; + Pure as the charities above, + Rise the sweet sympathies of love; + And closer cords than those of life + Unite the husband to the wife. + +20 Like cherubs new come from the skies, + Henries and Harriets round us rise; + And playing wanton in the hall, + With accent sweet their parents call; + To your fair images I run, + You clasp the husband in the son; + Oh, how the mother's heart will bound! + Oh, how the father's joy be crowned! + + +WRITTEN IN A VISIT TO THE COUNTRY IN AUTUMN. + +1 'Tis past! no more the Summer blooms! + Ascending in the rear, + Behold congenial Autumn comes, + The Sabbath of the year! + What time thy holy whispers breathe, + The pensive evening shade beneath, + And twilight consecrates the floods; + While nature strips her garment gay, + And wears the vesture of decay, + Oh, let me wander through the sounding woods! + +2 Ah! well-known streams!--ah! wonted groves, + Still pictured in my mind! + Oh! sacred scene of youthful loves, + Whose image lives behind! + While sad I ponder on the past, + The joys that must no longer last; + The wild-flower strown on Summer's bier + The dying music of the grove, + And the last elegies of love, + Dissolve the soul, and draw the tender tear! + +3 Alas! the hospitable hall, + Where youth and friendship played, + Wide to the winds a ruined wall + Projects a death-like shade! + The charm is vanished from the vales; + No voice with virgin-whisper hails + A stranger to his native bowers: + No more Arcadian mountains bloom, + Nor Enna valleys breathe perfume; + The fancied Eden fades with all its flowers! + +4 Companions of the youthful scene, + Endeared from earliest days! + With whom I sported on the green, + Or roved the woodland maze! + Long exiled from your native clime, + Or by the thunder-stroke of time + Snatched to the shadows of despair; + I hear your voices in the wind, + Your forms in every walk I find; + I stretch my arms: ye vanish into air! + +5 My steps, when innocent and young, + These fairy paths pursued; + And wandering o'er the wild, I sung + My fancies to the wood. + I mourned the linnet-lover's fate, + Or turtle from her murdered mate, + Condemned the widowed hours to wail: + Or while the mournful vision rose, + I sought to weep for imaged woes, + Nor real life believed a tragic tale! + +6 Alas! misfortune's cloud unkind + May summer soon o'ercast! + And cruel fate's untimely wind + All human beauty blast! + The wrath of nature smites our bowers, + And promised fruits and cherished flowers, + The hopes of life in embryo sweeps; + Pale o'er the ruins of his prime, + And desolate before his time, + In silence sad the mourner walks and weeps! + +7 Relentless power! whose fated stroke + O'er wretched man prevails! + Ha! love's eternal chain is broke, + And friendship's covenant fails! + Upbraiding forms! a moment's ease-- + O memory! how shall I appease + The bleeding shade, the unlaid ghost? + What charm can bind the gushing eye, + What voice console the incessant sigh, + And everlasting longings for the lost? + +8 Yet not unwelcome waves the wood + That hides me in its gloom, + While lost in melancholy mood + I muse upon the tomb. + Their chequered leaves the branches shed; + Whirling in eddies o'er my head, + They sadly sigh that Winter's near: + The warning voice I hear behind, + That shakes the wood without a wind, + And solemn sounds the death-bell of the year. + +9 Nor will I court Lethean streams, + The sorrowing sense to steep; + Nor drink oblivion of the themes + On which I love to weep. + Belated oft by fabled rill, + While nightly o'er the hallowed hill + Aerial music seems to mourn; + I'll listen Autumn's closing strain; + Then woo the walks of youth again, + And pour my sorrows o'er the untimely urn! + + +COMPLAINT OF NATURE. + +1 Few are thy days and full of woe, + O man of woman born! + Thy doom is written, dust thou art, + And shalt to dust return. + +2 Determined are the days that fly + Successive o'er thy head; + The numbered hour is on the wing + That lays thee with the dead. + +3 Alas! the little day of life + Is shorter than a span; + Yet black with thousand hidden ills + To miserable man. + +4 Gay is thy morning, flattering hope + Thy sprightly step attends; + But soon the tempest howls behind, + And the dark night descends. + +5 Before its splendid hour the cloud + Comes o'er the beam of light; + A pilgrim in a weary land, + Man tarries but a night. + +6 Behold, sad emblem of thy state! + The flowers that paint the field; + Or trees that crown the mountain's brow, + And boughs and blossoms yield. + +7 When chill the blast of Winter blows, + Away the Summer flies, + The flowers resign their sunny robes, + And all their beauty dies. + +8 Nipt by the year the forest fades; + And shaking to the wind, + The leaves toss to and fro, and streak + The wilderness behind. + +9 The Winter past, reviving flowers + Anew shall paint the plain, + The woods shall hear the voice of Spring, + And flourish green again. + +10 But man departs this earthly scene, + Ah! never to return! + No second Spring shall e'er revive + The ashes of the urn. + +11 The inexorable doors of death + What hand can e'er unfold? + Who from the cerements of the tomb + Can raise the human mould? + +12 The mighty flood that rolls along + Its torrents to the main, + The waters lost can ne'er recall + From that abyss again. + +13 The days, the years, the ages, dark + Descending down to night, + Can never, never be redeemed + Back to the gates of light. + +14 So man departs the living scene, + To night's perpetual gloom; + The voice of morning ne'er shall break + The slumbers of the tomb. + +15 Where are our fathers? Whither gone + The mighty men of old? + The patriarchs, prophets, princes, kings, + In sacred books enrolled? + +16 Gone to the resting-place of man, + The everlasting home, + Where ages past have gone before, + Where future ages come, + +17 Thus nature poured the wail of woe, + And urged her earnest cry; + Her voice, in agony extreme, + Ascended to the sky. + +18 The Almighty heard: then from his throne + In majesty he rose; + And from the heaven, that opened wide, + His voice in mercy flows: + +19 'When mortal man resigns his breath, + And falls a clod of clay, + The soul immortal wings its flight + To never-setting day. + +20 'Prepared of old for wicked men + The bed of torment lies; + The just shall enter into bliss + Immortal in the skies.' + + + + +THOMAS BLACKLOCK. + + +The amiable Dr Blacklock deserves praise for his character and for his +conduct under very peculiar circumstances, much more than for his +poetry. He was born at Annan, where his father was a bricklayer, in +1721. When about six months old, he lost his eyesight by small-pox. His +father used to read to him, especially poetry, and through the kindness +of friends he acquired some knowledge of the Latin tongue. His father +having been accidentally killed when Thomas was nineteen, it might +have fared hard with him, but Dr Stevenson, an eminent medical man +in Edinburgh, who had seen some verses composed by the blind youth, +took him to the capital, sent him to college to study divinity, and +encouraged him to write and to publish poetry. His volume, to which +was prefixed an account of the author, by Professor Spence of Oxford, +attracted much attention. Blacklock was licensed to preach in 1759, and +three years afterwards was married to a Miss Johnstone of Dumfries, an +exemplary but plain-looking lady, whose beauty her husband was wont to +praise so warmly that his friends were thankful that his infirmity was +never removed, and thought how justly Cupid had been painted blind. He +was even, through the influence of the Earl of Selkirk, appointed to the +parish of Kirkcudbright, but the parishioners opposed his induction on +the plea of his want of sight, and, in consideration of a small annuity, +he withdrew his claims. He finally settled down in Edinburgh, where he +supported himself chiefly by keeping young gentlemen as boarders in his +house. His chief amusements were poetry and music. His conduct to (1786) +and correspondence with Burns are too well known to require to be +noticed at length here. He published a paper of no small merit in the +'Encyclopaedia Britannica' on Blindness, and is the author of a work +entitled 'Paraclesis; or, Consolations of Religion,'--which surely none +require more than the blind. He died of a nervous fever on the 7th of +July 1791, so far fortunate that he did not live to see the ruin of his +immortal _protege_. + +Blacklock was a most amiable, genial, and benevolent being. He was +sometimes subject to melancholy--_un_like many of the blind, and one +especially, whom we name not, but who, still living, bears a striking +resemblance to Blacklock in fineness of mind, warmth of heart, and high- +toned piety, but who is cheerful as the day. As to his poetry, it is +undoubtedly wonderful, considering the circumstances of its production, +if not _per se_. Dr Johnson says to Boswell,--'As Blacklock had the +misfortune to be blind, we may be absolutely sure that the passages in +his poems descriptive of visible objects are combinations of what he +remembered of the works of other writers who could see. That foolish +fellow Spence has laboured to explain philosophically how Blacklock may +have done, by his own faculties, what it is impossible he should do. The +solution, as I have given it, is plain. Suppose I know a man to be so +lame that he is absolutely incapable to move himself, and I find him in a +different room from that in which I left him, shall I puzzle myself with +idle conjectures that perhaps his nerves have, by some unknown change, +all at once become effective? No, sir; it is clear how he got into a +different room--he was CARRIED.' + +Perhaps there is a fallacy in this somewhat dogmatic statement. Perhaps +the blind are not so utterly dark but they may have certain dim +_simulacra_ of external objects before their eyes and minds. Apart from +this, however, Blacklock's poetry endures only from its connexion with +the author's misfortune, and from the fact that through the gloom he +groped greatly to find and give the burning hand of the peasant poet the +squeeze of a kindred spirit,--kindred, we mean, in feeling and heart, +although very far removed in strength of intellect and genius. + + +THE AUTHOR'S PICTURE. + +While in my matchless graces wrapt I stand, +And touch each feature with a trembling hand; +Deign, lovely self! with art and nature's pride, +To mix the colours, and the pencil guide. + +Self is the grand pursuit of half mankind; +How vast a crowd by self, like me, are blind! +By self the fop in magic colours shown, +Though, scorned by every eye, delights his own: +When age and wrinkles seize the conquering maid, +Self, not the glass, reflects the flattering shade. +Then, wonder-working self! begin the lay; +Thy charms to others as to me display. + +Straight is my person, but of little size; +Lean are my cheeks, and hollow are my eyes; +My youthful down is, like my talents, rare; +Politely distant stands each single hair. +My voice too rough to charm a lady's ear; +So smooth, a child may listen without fear; +Not formed in cadence soft and warbling lays, +To soothe the fair through pleasure's wanton ways. +My form so fine, so regular, so new, +My port so manly, and so fresh my hue; +Oft, as I meet the crowd, they laughing say, +'See, see _Memento Mori_ cross the way.' +The ravished Proserpine at last, we know, +Grew fondly jealous of her sable beau; +But, thanks to nature! none from me need fly; +One heart the devil could wound--so cannot I. + +Yet, though my person fearless may be seen, +There is some danger in my graceful mien: +For, as some vessel tossed by wind and tide, +Bounds o'er the waves and rocks from side to side; +In just vibration thus I always move: +This who can view and not be forced to love? + +Hail! charming self! by whose propitious aid +My form in all its glory stands displayed: +Be present still; with inspiration kind, +Let the same faithful colours paint the mind. + +Like all mankind, with vanity I'm blessed, +Conscious of wit I never yet possessed. +To strong desires my heart an easy prey, +Oft feels their force, but never owns their sway. +This hour, perhaps, as death I hate my foe; +The next, I wonder why I should do so. +Though poor, the rich I view with careless eye; +Scorn a vain oath, and hate a serious lie. +I ne'er for satire torture common sense; +Nor show my wit at God's nor man's expense. +Harmless I live, unknowing and unknown; +Wish well to all, and yet do good to none. +Unmerited contempt I hate to bear; +Yet on my faults, like others, am severe. +Dishonest flames my bosom never fire; +The bad I pity, and the good admire; +Fond of the Muse, to her devote my days, +And scribble--not for pudding, but for praise. + +These careless lines, if any virgin hears, +Perhaps, in pity to my joyless years, +She may consent a generous flame to own, +And I no longer sigh the nights alone. +But should the fair, affected, vain, or nice, +Scream with the fears inspired by frogs or mice; +Cry, 'Save us, Heaven! a spectre, not a man!' +Her hartshorn snatch or interpose her fan: +If I my tender overture repeat; +Oh! may my vows her kind reception meet! +May she new graces on my form bestow, +And with tall honours dignify my brow! + + +ODE TO AURORA, ON MELISSA'S BIRTHDAY. + +Of time and nature eldest born, +Emerge, thou rosy-fingered morn, +Emerge, in purest dress arrayed, +And chase from heaven night's envious shade, +That I once more may, pleased, survey, +And hail Melissa's natal day. +Of time and nature eldest born, +Emerge, thou rosy-fingered morn; +In order at the eastern gate +The hours to draw thy chariot wait; +Whilst zephyr, on his balmy wings +Mild nature's fragrant tribute brings, +With odours sweet to strew thy way, +And grace the bland revolving day. + +But as thou leadst the radiant sphere, +That gilds its birth, and marks the year, +And as his stronger glories rise, +Diffused around the expanded skies, +Till clothed with beams serenely bright, +All heaven's vast concave flames with light; +So, when, through life's protracted day, +Melissa still pursues her way, +Her virtues with thy splendour vie, +Increasing to the mental eye: +Though less conspicuous, not less dear, +Long may they Bion's prospect cheer; +So shall his heart no more repine, +Blessed with her rays, though robbed of thine. + + + + +MISS ELLIOT AND MRS COCKBURN. + + +Here we find two ladies amicably united in the composition of one of +Scotland's finest songs, the 'Flowers of the Forest.' Miss Jane Elliot of +Minto, sister of Sir Gilbert Elliot of Minto, wrote the first and the +finest of the two versions. Mrs Cockburn, the author of the second, was a +remarkable person. Her maiden name was Alicia Rutherford, and she was the +daughter of Mr Rutherford of Fernilee, in Selkirkshire. She married Mr +Patrick Cockburn, a younger son of Adam Cockburn of Ormiston, Lord +Justice-Clerk of Scotland. She became prominent in the literary circles +of Edinburgh, and an intimate friend of David Hume, with whom she carried +on a long and serious correspondence on religious subjects, in which it +is understood the philosopher opened up his whole heart, but which is +unfortunately lost. Mrs Cockburn, who was born in 1714, lived to 1794, +and saw and proclaimed the wonderful promise of Walter Scott. She wrote +a great deal, but the 'Flowers of the Forest' is the only one of her +effusions that has been published. A ludicrous story is told of her son, +who was a dissipated youth, returning one night drunk, while a large +party of _savans_ was assembled in the house, and locking himself up in +the room in which their coats and hats were deposited. Nothing would +rouse him; and the company had to depart in the best substitutes they +could find for their ordinary habiliments,--Hume (characteristically) in +a dreadnought, Monboddo in an old shabby hat, &c.--the echoes of the +midnight Potterrow resounding to their laughter at their own odd figures. +It is believed that Mrs Cockburn's song was really occasioned by the +bankruptcy of a number of gentlemen in Selkirkshire, although she chose +to throw the new matter of lamentation into the old mould of song. + + +THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST. + +BY MISS JANE ELLIOT. + +1 I've heard the lilting at our yowe-milking, + Lasses a-lilting before the dawn of day; + But now they are moaning on ilka green loaning-- + The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. + +2 At buchts, in the morning, nae blithe lads are scorning, + The lasses are lonely, and dowie, and wae; + Nae daffin', nae gabbin', but sighing and sabbing, + Ilk ane lifts her leglen and hies her away. + +3 In hairst, at the shearing, nae youths now are jeering, + The bandsters are lyart, and runkled, and gray; + At fair, or at preaching, nae wooing, nae fleeching-- + The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. + +4 At e'en, at the gloaming, nae swankies are roaming + 'Bout stacks wi' the lasses at bogle to play; + But ilk ane sits drearie, lamenting her dearie-- + The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. + +5 Dule and wae for the order, sent our lads to the Border! + The English, for ance, by guile wan the day; + The Flowers of the Forest, that foucht aye the foremost, + The prime o' our land, are cauld in the clay. + +6 We hear nae mair lilting at our yowe-milking, + Women and bairns are heartless and wae; + Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning-- + The Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. + + +THE FLOWERS OF THE FOREST. + +BY MRS COCKBURN. + +1 I've seen the smiling + Of Fortune beguiling; +I've felt all its favours, and found its decay: + Sweet was its blessing, + Kind its caressing; +But now 'tis fled--fled far away. + +2 I've seen the forest + Adorned the foremost +With flowers of the fairest most pleasant and gay; + Sae bonnie was their blooming! + Their scent the air perfuming! +But now they are withered and weeded away. + +3 I've seen the morning + With gold the hills adorning, +And loud tempest storming before the mid-day. + I've seen Tweed's silver streams, + Shining in the sunny beams, +Grow drumly and dark as he rowed on his way. + +4 Oh, fickle Fortune, + Why this cruel sporting? +Oh, why still perplex us, poor sons of a day? + Nae mair your smiles can cheer me, + Nae mair your frowns can fear me; +For the Flowers of the Forest are a' wede away. + + + + +SIR WILLIAM JONES. + + +This extraordinary person, the 'Justinian of India,' the master of +twenty-eight languages, who into the short space of forty-eight years +(he was born in 1746, and died 27th of April 1794) compressed such a +vast quantity of study and labour, is also the author of two volumes +of poetry, of unequal merit. We quote the best thing in the book. + + +A PERSIAN SONG OF HAFIZ. + +1 Sweet maid, if thou wouldst charm my sight, + And bid these arms thy neck enfold; + That rosy cheek, that lily hand, + Would give thy poet more delight + Than all Bokhara's vaunted gold, + Than all the gems of Samarcand. + +2 Boy, let yon liquid ruby flow, + And bid thy pensive heart be glad, + Whate'er the frowning zealots say: + Tell them, their Eden cannot show + A stream so clear as Rocnabad, + A bower so sweet as Mosellay. + +3 Oh! when these fair perfidious maids, + Whose eyes our secret haunts infest, + Their dear destructive charms display, + Each glance my tender breast invades, + And robs my wounded soul of rest, + As Tartars seize their destined prey. + +4 In vain with love our bosoms glow: + Can all our tears, can all our sighs, + New lustre to those charms impart? + Can cheeks, where living roses blow, + Where nature spreads her richest dyes, + Require the borrowed gloss of art? + +5 Speak not of fate: ah! change the theme, + And talk of odours, talk of wine, + Talk of the flowers that round us bloom: + 'Tis all a cloud, 'tis all a dream; + To love and joy thy thoughts confine, + Nor hope to pierce the sacred gloom. + +6 Beauty has such resistless power, + That even the chaste Egyptian dame + Sighed for the blooming Hebrew boy: + For her how fatal was the hour, + When to the banks of Nilus came + A youth so lovely and so coy! + +7 But, ah! sweet maid, my counsel hear, + (Youth should attend when those advise + Whom long experience renders sage): + While music charms the ravished ear, + While sparkling cups delight our eyes, + Be gay; and scorn the frowns of age. + +8 What cruel answer have I heard? + And yet, by Heaven, I love thee still: + Can aught be cruel from thy lip? + Yet say, how fell that bitter word + From lips which streams of sweetness fill, + Which nought but drops of honey sip? + +9 Go boldly forth, my simple lay, + Whose accents flow with artless ease, + Like orient pearls at random strung: + Thy notes are sweet, the damsels say; + But, oh! far sweeter, if they please + The nymph for whom these notes are sung. + + + + +SAMUEL BISHOP. + + +This gentleman was born in 1731, and died in 1795. He was an English +clergyman, master of Merchant Tailors' School, London, and author of a +volume of Latin pieces, entitled 'Feriae Poeticae,' and of various other +poetical pieces. We give some verses to his wife, from which it appears +that he remained an ardent lover long after having become a husband. + + +TO MRS BISHOP, + +WITH A PRESENT OF A KNIFE. + +'A knife,' dear girl, 'cuts love,' they say! +Mere modish love, perhaps it may-- +For any tool, of any kind, +Can separate--what was never joined. + +The knife, that cuts our love in two, +Will have much tougher work to do; +Must cut your softness, truth, and spirit, +Down to the vulgar size of merit; +To level yours, with modern taste, +Must cut a world of sense to waste; +And from your single beauty's store, +Clip what would dizen out a score. + +That self-same blade from me must sever +Sensation, judgment, sight, for ever: +All memory of endearments past, +All hope of comforts long to last; +All that makes fourteen years with you, +A summer, and a short one too; +All that affection feels and fears, +When hours without you seem like years. + +Till that be done, and I'd as soon +Believe this knife will chip the moon, +Accept my present, undeterred, +And leave their proverbs to the herd. + +If in a kiss--delicious treat!-- +Your lips acknowledge the receipt, +Love, fond of such substantial fare, +And proud to play the glutton there, +'All thoughts of cutting will disdain, +Save only--'cut and come again.' + + +TO THE SAME, + +ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF HER WEDDING-DAY, WHICH +WAS ALSO HER BIRTH-DAY, WITH A RING. + +'Thee, Mary, with this ring I wed'-- +So, fourteen years ago, I said.---- +Behold another ring!--'For what?' +'To wed thee o'er again?'--Why not? + +With that first ring I married youth, +Grace, beauty, innocence, and truth; +Taste long admired, sense long revered, +And all my Molly then appeared. +If she, by merit since disclosed, +Prove twice the woman I supposed, +I plead that double merit now, +To justify a double vow. + +Here then to-day, with faith as sure, +With ardour as intense, as pure, +As when, amidst the rites divine, +I took thy troth, and plighted mine, +To thee, sweet girl, my second ring +A token and a pledge I bring: +With this I wed, till death us part, +Thy riper virtues to my heart; +Those virtues which, before untried, +The wife has added to the bride: +Those virtues, whose progressive claim, +Endearing wedlock's very name, +My soul enjoys, my song approves, +For conscience' sake, as well as love's. + +And why? They show me every hour, +Honour's high thought, Affection's power, +Discretion's deed, sound Judgment's sentence, +And teach me all things--but repentance. + + + + +SUSANNA BLAMIRE. + + +This lady was born at Cardew Hall, near Carlisle, and remained there +from the date of her birth (1747) till she was twenty years of age, when +she accompanied her sister--who had married Colonel Graham of Duchray, +Perthshire--to Scotland, and continued there some years. She became +enamoured of Scottish music and poetry, and thus qualified herself for +writing such sweet lyrics as 'The Nabob,' and 'What ails this heart o' +mine?' On her return to Cumberland she wrote several pieces illustrative +of Cumbrian manners. She died unmarried in 1794. Her poetical pieces, +some of which had been floating through the country in the form of +popular songs, were collected by Mr Patrick Maxwell, and published in +1842. The two we have quoted rank with those of Lady Nairne in nature +and pathos. + + +THE NABOB. + +1 When silent time, wi' lightly foot, + Had trod on thirty years, + I sought again my native land + Wi' mony hopes and fears. + Wha kens gin the dear friends I left + May still continue mine? + Or gin I e'er again shall taste + The joys I left langsyne? + +2 As I drew near my ancient pile, + My heart beat a' the way; + Ilk place I passed seemed yet to speak + O' some dear former day; + Those days that followed me afar, + Those happy days o' mine, + Whilk made me think the present joys + A' naething to langsyne! + +3 The ivied tower now met my eye, + Where minstrels used to blaw; + Nae friend stepped forth wi' open hand, + Nae weel-kenned face I saw; + Till Donald tottered to the door, + Wham I left in his prime, + And grat to see the lad return + He bore about langsyne. + +4 I ran to ilka dear friend's room, + As if to find them there, + I knew where ilk ane used to sit, + And hang o'er mony a chair; + Till soft remembrance throw a veil + Across these een o' mine, + I closed the door, and sobbed aloud, + To think on auld langsyne! + +5 Some pensy chiels, a new-sprung race, + Wad next their welcome pay, + Wha shuddered at my Gothic wa's, + And wished my groves away. + 'Cut, cut,' they cried, 'those aged elms, + Lay low yon mournfu' pine.' + Na! na! our fathers' names grow there, + Memorials o' langsyne. + +6 To wean me frae these waefu' thoughts, + They took me to the town; + But sair on ilka weel-kenned face + I missed the youthfu' bloom. + At balls they pointed to a nymph + Wham a' declared divine; + But sure her mother's blushing cheeks + Were fairer far langsyne! + +7 In vain I sought in music's sound + To find that magic art, + Which oft in Scotland's ancient lays + Has thrilled through a' my heart. + The sang had mony an artfu' turn; + My ear confessed 'twas fine; + But missed the simple melody + I listened to langsyne. + +8 Ye sons to comrades o' my youth, + Forgie an auld man's spleen, + Wha' midst your gayest scenes still mourns + The days he ance has seen. + When time has passed and seasons fled, + Your hearts will feel like mine; + And aye the sang will maist delight + That minds ye o' langsyne! + + +WHAT AILS THIS HEART O' MINE? + +1 What ails this heart o' mine? + What ails this watery ee? + What gars me a' turn pale as death + When I tak leave o' thee? + When thou art far awa', + Thou'lt dearer grow to me; + But change o' place and change o' folk + May gar thy fancy jee. + +2 When I gae out at e'en, + Or walk at morning air, + Ilk rustling bush will seem to say + I used to meet thee there. + Then I'll sit down and cry, + And live aneath the tree, + And when a leaf fa's i' my lap, + I'll ca't a word frae thee. + +3 I'll hie me to the bower + That thou wi' roses tied, + And where wi' mony a blushing bud + I strove myself to hide. + I'll doat on ilka spot + Where I ha'e been wi' thee; + And ca' to mind some kindly word + By ilka burn and tree. + + + + +JAMES MACPHERSON. + + +Now we come to one who, with all his faults, was not only a real, but a +great poet. The events of his life need not detain us long. He was born +at Kingussie, Inverness-shire, in 1738, and educated at Aberdeen. At +twenty he published a very juvenile production in verse, called 'The +Highlandman: a Heroic Poem, in six cantos.' He taught for some time the +school of Ruthven, near his native place, and became afterwards tutor +in the family of Graham of Balgowan. While attending a scion of this +family--afterwards Lord Lynedoch--at Moffat Wells, Macpherson became +acquainted with Home, the author of 'Douglas,' and shewed to him some +fragments of Gaelic poetry, translated by himself. Home was delighted +with these specimens, and the consequence was, that our poet, under the +patronage of Home, Blair, Adam Fergusson, and Dr Carlyle, (the once +famous 'Jupiter Carlyle,' minister of Inveresk--called 'Jupiter' because +he used to sit to sculptors for their statues of 'Father Jove,' and +declared by Sir Walter Scott to have been the 'grandest demigod he ever +saw,') published, in a small volume of sixty pages, his 'Fragments of +Ancient Poetry, translated from the Gaelic or Erse language.' This +_brochure_ became popular, and Macpherson was provided with a purse to +go to the Highlands to collect additional pieces. The result was, in +1762, 'Fingal: an Epic Poem;' and, in the next year, 'Temora,' another +epic poem. Their sale was prodigious, and the effect not equalled till, +twenty-four years later, the poems of Burns appeared. He realised L1200 +by these productions. In 1764 he accompanied Governor Johnston to +Pensacola as his secretary, but quarrelled with him, and returned to +London. Here he became a professional pamphleteer, always taking the +ministerial side, and diversifying these labours by publishing a +translation of Homer, in the style of his Ossian, which, as Coleridge +says of another production, was 'damned unanimously.' Our readers are +familiar with his row with Dr Johnson, who, when threatened with +personal chastisement for his obstinate and fierce incredulity in the +matter of Ossian, thus wrote the author:-- + +'To Mr JAMES MACPHERSON. + +'I received your foolish and impudent letter. Any violence offered me +I shall do the best to repel, and what I cannot do for myself, the law +shall do for me. I hope I shall not be deterred from detecting what I +think a cheat by the menaces of a ruffian. + +'What would you have me to retract? I thought your book an imposture. I +think it an imposture still. For this opinion I have given my reasons to +the public, which I dare you to refute. Your rage I defy. Your abilities, +since your Homer, are not so formidable, and what I hear of your morals +inclines me to pay regard, not to what you shall say, but to what you +shall prove. You may print this if you will. + +'SAM. JOHNSON.' + +Nothing daunted by this, and a hundred other similar rebuffs; Macpherson, +like Mallett before him, but with twenty times his abilities, pursued +his peculiar course. He was appointed agent for the Nabob of Arcot, +and became M.P. for Carnelford. In this way he speedily accumulated a +handsome fortune, and in 1789, while still a youngish man, he retired to +his native parish, where he bought the estate of Raitts, and founded a +splendid villa, called Belleville, where, in ease and affluence, he spent +his remaining days. Surviving Johnson, his ablest opponent, by twelve +years, he died on the 17th of February 1796, in the full view of Ossian's +country. One of his daughters became his heir, and another was the first +wife of Sir David Brewster. Macpherson in his will ordered that his body +should be buried in Westminster Abbey, and left a sum of money to erect a +monument to him near Belleville. He lies, accordingly, in Poets' Corner, +and a marble obelisk to his memory may be seen near Kingussie, in the +centre of some trees. + +There is nothing new that is true, or true that is new, to be said about +the questions connected with Ossian's Poems. That Macpherson is the sole +author is a theory now as generally abandoned as the other, which held +that he was simply a free translator of the old bard. To the real +fragments of Ossian, which he found in the Highlands, he acted very much +as he did to the ancient property of Raitts, in his own native parish. +This he purchased in its crude state, and beautified into a mountain +paradise. He changed, however, its name into Belleville, and it had been +better if he had behaved in a similar way with the poems, and published +them as, with some little groundwork from another, the veritable writings +of James Macpherson, Esq. The ablest opponent of his living reputation +was, as we said, Johnson; and the ablest enemy of his posthumous fame has +been Macaulay. We are at a loss to understand _his_ animosity to the +author of Ossian. Were the Macphersons and Macaulays ever at feud, and +did the historian lose his great-great-grandmother in some onslaught made +on the Hebrides by the progenitors of the pseudo-Ossian? Macpherson as +a man we respect not, and we are persuaded that the greater part of +Ossian's Poems can be traced no further than his teeming brain. Nor are +we careful to defend his poetry from the common charges of monotony, +affectation, and fustian. But we deem Macaulay grossly unjust in his +treatment of Macpherson's genius and its results, and can fortify our +judgment by that of Sir Walter Scott and Professor Wilson, two men as far +superior to the historian in knowledge of the Highlands and of Highland +song, and in genuine poetic taste, as they were confessedly in original +imagination. The former says, 'Macpherson was certainly a man of high +talents, and his poetic powers are honourable to his country.' Wilson, in +an admirable paper in _Blackwood_ for November 1839, while admitting many +faults in Ossian, eloquently proclaims the presence in his strains of +much of the purest, most pathetic, and most sublime poetry, instancing +the 'Address to the Sun' as equal to anything in Homer or Milton. Both +these great writers have paid Macpherson a higher compliment still,--they +have imitated him, and the speeches of Allan Macaulay (a far greater +genius than his namesake), Ranald MacEagh, and Elspeth MacTavish, in the +'Waverley Novels,' and such, articles by Christopher North as 'Cottages,' +'Hints for the Holidays,' and a 'Glance at Selby's Ornithology,' are all +coloured by familiarity and fellow-feeling with Ossian's style. Best of +all, the Highlanders as a nation have accepted Ossian as their bard; he +is as much the poet of Morven as Burns of Coila, and it is as hopeless to +dislodge the one from the Highland as the other from the Lowland heart. +The true way to learn to appreciate Ossian's poetry is not to hurry, as +Macaulay seems to have done, in a steamer from Glasgow to Oban, and +thence to Ballachulish, and thence through Glencoe, (mistaking a fine +lake for a 'sullen pool' on his way, and ignoring altogether its peculiar +features of grandeur,) and thence to Inverness or Edinburgh; but it is to +live for years--as Macpherson did while writing Ossian, and Wilson also +did to some extent--under the shadow of the mountains,--to wander through +lonely moors amidst drenching mists and rains,--to hold trysts with +thunder-storms on the summit of savage hills,--to bathe after nightfall +in dreary tarns,--to lie over the ledge and dip one's fingers in the +spray of cataracts,--to plough a solitary path into the heart of forests, +and to sleep and dream for hours amidst their sunless glades,--to meet +on twilight hills the apparition of the winter moon rising over snowy +wastes,--to descend by her ghastly light precipices where the eagles +are sleeping,--and, returning home, to be haunted by night-visions of +mightier mountains, wilder desolations, and giddier descents;--experience +somewhat like this is necessary to form a true 'Child of the Mist,' and +to give the full capacity for sharing in or appreciating the shadowy, +solitary, pensive, and magnificent spirit which tabernacles in Ossian's +poetry. + +Never, at least, can we forget how, in our boyhood, while feeling, but +quite unable to express, the emotions which were suggested by the bold +shapes of mountains resting against the stars, mirrored from below in +lakes and wild torrents, and quaking sometimes in concert with the +quaking couch of the half-slumbering earthquake, the poems of Ossian +served to give our thoughts an expression which they could not otherwise +have found--how they at once strengthened and consolidated enthusiasm, +and are now regarded with feelings which, wreathed around earliest +memories and the strongest fibres of the heart, no criticism can ever +weaken or destroy. + + +OSSIAN'S ADDRESS TO THE SUN. + +I feel the sun, O Malvina!--leave me to my rest. Perhaps +they may come to my dreams; I think I hear a feeble voice! +The beam of heaven delights to shine on the grave of +Carthon: I feel it warm around. + +O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my +fathers! Whence are thy beams, O sun! thy everlasting light? +Thou comest forth in thy awful beauty; the stars hide +themselves in the sky; the moon, cold and pale, sinks in the +western wave; but thou thyself movest alone. Who can be a +companion of thy course? The oaks of the mountains fall; the +mountains themselves decay with years; the ocean shrinks and +grows again; the moon herself is lost in heaven, but thou +art for ever the same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy +course. When the world is dark with tempests, when thunder +rolls and lightning flies, thou lookest in thy beauty from +the clouds, and laughest at the storm. But to Ossian thou +lookest in vain, for he beholds thy beams no more; whether +thy yellow hair flows on the eastern clouds, or thou +tremblest at the gates of the west. But thou art perhaps, +like me, for a season; thy years will have an end. Thou +shalt sleep in thy clouds careless of the voice of the +morning. Exult then, O sun, in the strength of thy youth! +Age is dark and unlovely; it is like the glimmering light of +the moon when it shines through broken clouds, and the mist +is on the hills: the blast of the north is on the plain; the +traveller shrinks in the midst of his journey. + + +DESOLATION OF BALCLUTHA. + +I have seen the walls of Balclutha, but they were desolate. +The fire had resounded in the halls; and the voice of the +people is heard no more. The stream of Clutha was removed +from its place by the fall of the walls. The thistle shook +there its lonely head; the moss whistled to the wind. The +fox looked out from the windows; the rank grass of the wall +waved round its head. Desolate is the dwelling of Moina; +silence is in the house of her fathers. Raise the song of +mourning, O bards! over the land of strangers. They have but +fallen before us: for one day we must fall. Why dost thou +build the hall, son of the winged days? Thou lookest from +thy towers to-day: yet a few years, and the blast of the +desert comes; it howls in thy empty court, and whistles +round thy half-worn shield. And let the blast of the desert +come! we shall be renowned in our day! The mark of my arm +shall be in battle; my name in the song of bards. Raise the +song, send round the shell: let joy be heard in my hall. +When thou, sun of heaven, shalt fail! if thou shalt fail, +thou mighty light! if thy brightness is but for a season, +like Fingal, our fame shall survive thy beams. Such was the +song of Fingal in the day of his joy. + + +FINGAL AND THE SPIRIT OF LODA. + +Night came down on the sea; Roma's bay received the ship. A +rock bends along the coast with all its echoing wood. On the +top is the circle of Loda, the mossy stone of power! A +narrow plain spreads beneath, covered with grass and aged +trees, which the midnight winds, in their wrath, had torn +from the shaggy rock. The blue course of a stream is there! +the lonely blast of ocean pursues the thistle's beard. The +flame of three oaks arose: the feast is spread around: but +the soul of the king is sad, for Carric-thura's chief +distressed. + +The wan, cold moon, rose in the east; sleep descended on the +youths! Their blue helmets glitter to the beam; the fading +fire decays. But sleep did not rest on the king: he rose in +the midst of his arms, and slowly ascended the hill, to +behold the flame of Sarno's tower. + +The flame was dim and distant, the moon hid her red face in +the east. A blast came from the mountain, on its wings was +the spirit of Loda. He came to his place in his terrors, and +shook his dusky spear. His eyes appear like flames in his +dark face; his voice is like distant thunder. Fingal +advanced his spear in night, and raised his voice on high. + +Son of night, retire: call thy winds, and fly! Why dost thou +come to my presence, with thy shadowy arms? Do I fear thy +gloomy form, spirit of dismal Loda? Weak is thy shield of +clouds: feeble is that meteor, thy sword! The blast rolls +them together; and thou thyself art lost. Fly from my +presence, son of night! Call thy winds, and fly! + +Dost thou force me from my place? replied the hollow voice. +The people bend before me. I turn the battle in the field of +the brave. I look on the nations, and they vanish: my +nostrils pour the blast of death. I come abroad on the +winds: the tempests are before my face. But my dwelling is +calm, above the clouds; the fields of my rest are pleasant. + +Dwell in thy pleasant fields, said the king; let Comhal's +son be forgot. Do my steps ascend, from my hills, into thy +peaceful plains? Do I meet thee, with a spear, on thy cloud, +spirit of dismal Loda? Why then dost thou frown on me? Why +shake thine airy spear? Thou frownest in vain: I never fled +from the mighty in war. And shall the sons of the wind +frighten the king of Morven? No: he knows the weakness of +their arms! + +Fly to thy land, replied the form: receive the wind, and +fly! The blasts are in the hollow of my hand: the course of +the storm is mine. The king of Sora is my son, he bends at +the storm of my power. His battle is around Carric-thura; +and he will prevail! Fly to thy land, son of Comhal, or feel +my flaming wrath! + +He lifted high his shadowy spear! He bent forward his +dreadful height. Fingal, advancing, drew his sword; the +blade of dark-brown Luno. The gleaming path of the steel +winds through the gloomy ghost. The form fell shapeless into +air, like a column of smoke, which the staff of the boy +disturbs, as it rises from the half-extinguished furnace. + +The spirit of Loda shrieked, as, rolled into himself, he +rose on the wind. Inistore shook at the sound, the waves +heard it on the deep. They stopped in their course with +fear: the friends of Fingal started at once, and took their +heavy spears. They missed the king; they rose in rage; all +their arms resound! + + +ADDRESS TO THE MOON. + +Daughter of heaven, fair art thou! the silence of thy face +is pleasant! Thou comest forth in loveliness. The stars +attend thy blue course in the east. The clouds rejoice in +thy presence, O moon! they brighten their dark-brown sides. +Who is like thee in heaven, light of the silent night? The +stars are ashamed in thy presence. They turn away their +sparkling eyes. Whither dost thou retire from thy course, +when the darkness of thy countenance grows? hast thou thy +hall, like Ossian? dwellest thou in the shadow of grief? +have thy sisters fallen from heaven? are they who rejoiced +with thee at night no more? Yes, they have fallen, fair +light! and thou dost often retire to mourn. But thou thyself +shalt fail one night, and leave thy blue path in heaven. The +stars will then lift their heads: they, who were ashamed in +thy presence, will rejoice. Thou art now clothed with thy +brightness. Look from thy gates in the sky. Burst the cloud, +O wind! that the daughter of night may look forth! that the +shaggy mountains may brighten, and the ocean roll its white +waves in light. + + +FINGAL'S SPIRIT-HOME. + +His friends sit around the king, on mist! They hear the +songs of Ullin: he strikes the half-viewless harp. He raises +the feeble voice. The lesser heroes, with a thousand +meteors, light the airy hall. Malvina rises in the midst; a +blush is on her cheek. She beholds the unknown faces of her +fathers. She turns aside her humid eyes. 'Art thou come so +soon?' said Fingal, 'daughter of generous Toscar. Sadness +dwells in the halls of Lutha. My aged son is sad! I hear the +breeze of Cona, that was wont to lift thy heavy locks. It +comes to the hall, but thou art not there. Its voice is +mournful among the arms of thy fathers! Go, with thy +rustling wing, O breeze! sigh on Malvina's tomb. It rises +yonder beneath the rock, at the blue stream of Lutha. The +maids are departed to their place. Thou alone, O breeze, +mournest there!' + + +THE CAVE. + +1 The wind is up, the field is bare, + Some hermit lead me to his cell, + Where Contemplation, lonely fair, + With blessed content has chose to dwell. + +2 Behold! it opens to my sight, + Dark in the rock, beside the flood; + Dry fern around obstructs the light; + The winds above it move the wood. + +3 Reflected in the lake, I see + The downward mountains and the skies, + The flying bird, the waving tree, + The goats that on the hill arise. + +4 The gray-cloaked herd[1] drives on the cow; + The slow-paced fowler walks the heath; + A freckled pointer scours the brow; + A musing shepherd stands beneath. + +5 Curved o'er the ruin of an oak, + The woodman lifts his axe on high; + The hills re-echo to the stroke; + I see--I see the shivers fly! + +6 Some rural maid, with apron full, + Brings fuel to the homely flame; + I see the smoky columns roll, + And, through the chinky hut, the beam. + +7 Beside a stone o'ergrown with moss, + Two well-met hunters talk at ease; + Three panting dogs beside repose; + One bleeding deer is stretched on grass. + +8 A lake at distance spreads to sight, + Skirted with shady forests round; + In midst, an island's rocky height + Sustains a ruin, once renowned. + +9 One tree bends o'er the naked walls; + Two broad-winged eagles hover nigh; + By intervals a fragment falls, + As blows the blast along the sky. + +10 The rough-spun hinds the pinnace guide + With labouring oars along the flood; + An angler, bending o'er the tide, + Hangs from the boat the insidious wood. + +11 Beside the flood, beneath the rocks, + On grassy bank, two lovers lean; + Bend on each other amorous looks, + And seem to laugh and kiss between. + +12 The wind is rustling in the oak; + They seem to hear the tread of feet; + They start, they rise, look round the rock; + Again they smile, again they meet. + +13 But see! the gray mist from the lake + Ascends upon the shady hills; + Dark storms the murmuring forests shake, + Rain beats around a hundred rills. + +14 To Damon's homely hut I fly; + I see it smoking on the plain; + When storms are past and fair the sky, + I'll often seek my cave again. + +[1] 'Herd': neat-herd. + + + + +WILLIAM MASON. + + +This gentleman is now nearly forgotten, except as the friend, biographer, +and literary executor of Gray. He was born in 1725, and died in 1797. +His tragedies, 'Elfrida' and 'Caractacus,' are spirited declamations +in dramatic form, not dramas. His odes have the turgidity without the +grandeur of Gray's. His 'English Garden' is too long and too formal. His +Life of Gray was an admirable innovation on the form of biography then +prevalent, interspersing, as it does, journals and letters with mere +narrative. Mason was a royal chaplain, held the living of Ashton, and +was precentor of York Cathedral. We quote the best of his minor poems. + + +EPITAPH ON MRS MASON, +IN THE CATHEDRAL OF BRISTOL. + +1 Take, holy earth! all that my soul holds dear: + Take that best gift which Heaven so lately gave: + To Bristol's fount I bore with trembling care + Her faded form; she bowed to taste the wave, + And died. Does youth, does beauty, read the line? + Does sympathetic fear their breasts alarm? + Speak, dead Maria! breathe a strain divine: + Even from the grave thou shalt have power to charm. + +2 Bid them be chaste, be innocent, like thee; + Bid them in duty's sphere as meekly move; + And if so fair, from vanity as free; + As firm in friendship, and as fond in love; + Tell them, though 'tis an awful thing to die, + ('Twas even to thee,) yet the dread path once trod, + Heaven lifts its everlasting portals high, + And bids 'the pure in heart behold their God.' + + +AN HEROIC EPISTLE TO SIR WILLIAM CHAMBERS, KNIGHT, +COMPTROLLER-GENERAL OF HIS MAJESTY'S WORKS, ETC. + +Knight of the Polar Star! by fortune placed +To shine the Cynosure of British taste; +Whose orb collects in one refulgent view +The scattered glories of Chinese virtu; +And spreads their lustre in so broad a blaze, +That kings themselves are dazzled while they gaze: +Oh, let the Muse attend thy march sublime, +And, with thy prose, caparison her rhyme; +Teach her, like thee, to gild her splendid song, +With scenes of Yven-Ming, and sayings of Li-Tsong; +Like thee to scorn dame Nature's simple fence; +Leap each ha-ha of truth and common sense; +And proudly rising in her bold career, +Demand attention from the gracious ear +Of him, whom we and all the world admit, +Patron supreme of science, taste, and wit. +Does envy doubt? Witness, ye chosen train, +Who breathe the sweets of his Saturnian reign; +Witness, ye Hills, ye Johnsons, Scots, Shebbeares, +Hark to my call, for some of you have ears. +Let David Hume, from the remotest north, +In see-saw sceptic scruples hint his worth; +David, who there supinely deigns to lie +The fattest hog of Epicurus' sty; +Though drunk with Gallic wine, and Gallic praise, +David shall bless Old England's halcyon days; +The mighty Home, bemired in prose so long, +Again shall stalk upon the stilts of song: +While bold Mac-Ossian, wont in ghosts to deal, +Bids candid Smollett from his coffin steal; +Bids Mallock quit his sweet Elysian rest, +Sunk in his St John's philosophic breast, +And, like old Orpheus, make some strong effort +To come from Hell, and warble Truth at Court. +There was a time, 'in Esher's peaceful grove, +When Kent and Nature vied for Pelham's love,' +That Pope beheld them with auspicious smile, +And owned that beauty blest their mutual toil. +Mistaken bard! could such a pair design +Scenes fit to live in thy immortal line? +Hadst thou been born in this enlightened day, +Felt, as we feel, taste's oriental ray, +Thy satire sure had given them both a stab, +Called Kent a driveller, and the nymph a drab. +For what is Nature? Ring her changes round, +Her three flat notes are water, plants, and ground; +Prolong the peal, yet, spite of all your clatter, +The tedious chime is still ground, plants, and water. +So, when some John his dull invention racks, +To rival Boodle's dinners, or Almack's; +Three uncouth legs of mutton shock our eyes, +Three roasted geese, three buttered apple-pies. +Come, then, prolific Art, and with thee bring +The charms that rise from thy exhaustless spring; +To Richmond come, for see, untutored Browne +Destroys those wonders which were once thy own. +Lo, from his melon-ground the peasant slave +Has rudely rushed, and levelled Merlin's cave; +Knocked down the waxen wizard, seized his wand, +Transformed to lawn what late was fairy-land; +And marred, with impious hand, each sweet design +Of Stephen Duck, and good Queen Caroline. +Haste, bid yon livelong terrace re-ascend, +Replace each vista, straighten every bend; +Shut out the Thames; shall that ignoble thing +Approach the presence of great Ocean's king? +No! let barbaric glories feast his eyes, +August pagodas round his palace rise, +And finished Richmond open to his view, +'A work to wonder at, perhaps a Kew.' +Nor rest we here, but, at our magic call, +Monkeys shall climb our trees, and lizards crawl; +Huge dogs of Tibet bark in yonder grove, +Here parrots prate, there cats make cruel love; +In some fair island will we turn to grass +(With the queen's leave) her elephant and ass. +Giants from Africa shall guard the glades, +Where hiss our snakes, where sport our Tartar maids; +Or, wanting these, from Charlotte Hayes we bring +Damsels, alike adroit to sport and sting. +Now to our lawns of dalliance and delight, +Join we the groves of horror and affright; +This to achieve no foreign aids we try,-- +Thy gibbets, Bagshot! shall our wants supply; +Hounslow, whose heath sublimer terror fills, +Shall with her gibbets lend her powder-mills. +Here, too, O king of vengeance, in thy fane, +Tremendous Wilkes shall rattle his gold chain; +And round that fane, on many a Tyburn tree, +Hang fragments dire of Newgate-history; +On this shall Holland's dying speech be read, +Here Bute's confession, and his wooden head: +While all the minor plunderers of the age, +(Too numerous far for this contracted page,) +The Rigbys, Calcrafts, Dysons, Bradshaws there, +In straw-stuffed effigy, shall kick the air. +But say, ye powers, who come when fancy calls, +Where shall our mimic London rear her walls? +That eastern feature, Art must next produce, +Though not for present yet for future use, +Our sons some slave of greatness may behold, +Cast in the genuine Asiatic mould: +Who of three realms shall condescend to know +No more than he can spy from Windsor's brow; +For him, that blessing of a better time, +The Muse shall deal a while in brick and lime; +Surpass the bold [Greek: ADELPHI] in design, +And o'er the Thames fling one stupendous line +Of marble arches, in a bridge, that cuts +From Richmond Ferry slant to Brentford Butts. +Brentford with London's charms will we adorn; +Brentford, the bishopric of Parson Horne. +There, at one glance, the royal eye shall meet +Each varied beauty of St James's Street; +Stout Talbot there shall ply with hackney chair, +And patriot Betty fix her fruit-shop there. +Like distant thunder, now the coach of state +Rolls o'er the bridge, that groans beneath its weight. +The court hath crossed the stream; the sports begin; +Now Noel preaches of rebellion's sin: +And as the powers of his strong pathos rise, +Lo, brazen tears fall from Sir Fletcher's eyes. +While skulking round the pews, that babe of grace, +Who ne'er before at sermon showed his face, +See Jemmy Twitcher shambles; stop! stop thief! +He's stolen the Earl of Denbigh's handkerchief, +Let Barrington arrest him in mock fury, +And Mansfield hang the knave without a jury. +But hark, the voice of battle shouts from far, +The Jews and Maccaronis are at war: +The Jews prevail, and, thundering from the stocks, +They seize, they bind, they circumcise Charles Fox. +Fair Schwellenbergen smiles the sport to see, +And all the maids of honour cry 'Te! He!' +Be these the rural pastimes that attend +Great Brunswick's leisure: these shall best unbend +His royal mind, whene'er from state withdrawn, +He treads the velvet of his Richmond lawn; +These shall prolong his Asiatic dream, +Though Europe's balance trembles on its beam. +And thou, Sir William! while thy plastic hand +Creates each wonder which thy bard has planned, +While, as thy art commands, obsequious rise +Whate'er can please, or frighten, or surprise, +Oh, let that bard his knight's protection claim, +And share, like faithful Sancho, Quixote's fame. + + + + +JOHN LOWE. + + +The author of 'Mary's Dream' was born in 1750, at Kenmore, Galloway, and +was the son of a gardener. He became a student of divinity, and acted +as tutor in the family of a Mr McGhie of Airds. A daughter of Mr McGhie +was attached to a gentleman named Miller, a surgeon at sea, and on the +occasion of his death Lowe wrote his beautiful 'Mary's Dream,' the +exquisite simplicity and music of the first stanza of which has often +been admired. Lowe was betrothed to a sister of 'Mary,' but having +emigrated to America, he married another, fell into dissipated habits, +and died in a miserable plight at Fredericksburgh in 1798. He wrote many +other pieces, but none equal to 'Mary's Dream.' + + +MARY'S DREAM. + +1 The moon had climbed the highest hill + Which rises o'er the source of Dee, + And from the eastern summit shed + Her silver light on tower and tree; + When Mary laid her down to sleep, + Her thoughts on Sandy far at sea, + When, soft and low, a voice was heard, + Saying, 'Mary, weep no more for me!' + +2 She from her pillow gently raised + Her head, to ask who there might be, + And saw young Sandy shivering stand, + With visage pale, and hollow ee. + 'O Mary dear, cold is my clay; + It lies beneath a stormy sea. + Far, far from thee I sleep in death; + So, Mary, weep no more for me! + +3 'Three stormy nights and stormy days + We tossed upon the raging main; + And long we strove our bark to save, + But all our striving was in vain. + Even then, when horror chilled my blood, + My heart was filled with love for thee: + The storm is past, and I at rest; + So, Mary, weep no more for me! + +4 'O maiden dear, thyself prepare; + We soon shall meet upon that shore, + Where love is free from doubt and care, + And thou and I shall part no more!' + Loud crowed the cock, the shadow fled, + No more of Sandy could she see; + But soft the passing spirit said, + 'Sweet Mary, weep no more for me!' + + + + +JOSEPH WARTON. + + +This accomplished critic and poet was born in 1722. He was son to the +Vicar of Basingstoke, and brother to Thomas Warton. (See a former volume +for his life.) Joseph was educated at Winchester College, and became +intimate there with William Collins. He wrote when quite young some +poetry in the _Gentleman's Magazine_. He was in due time removed to Oriel +College, where he composed two poems, entitled 'The Enthusiast,' and 'The +Dying Indian.' In 1744, he took the degree of Bachelor of Arts at Oxford, +and was ordained to his father's curacy at Basingstoke. He went thence +to Chelsea, but did not remain there long, owing to some disagreement +with his parishioners, and returned to Basingstoke. In 1746, he published +a volume of Odes, and in the preface expressed his hope that it might +be successful as an attempt to bring poetry back from the didactic and +satirical taste of the age, to the truer channels of fancy and description. +The motive of this attempt was, however, more praiseworthy than its success +was conspicuous. + +In 1748, Warton was presented by the Duke of Bolton to the rectory of +Winslade, and he straightway married a Miss Daman, to whom he had for +some time been attached. In the same year he began, and in 1753 he +finished and printed, an edition of Virgil in English and Latin. Of this +large, elaborate work, Warton himself supplied only the life of Virgil, +with three essays on pastoral, didactic, and epic poetry, and a poetical +version of the Eclogues and the Georgics, more correct but less spirited +than Dryden's. He adopted Pitt's version of the Aeneid, and his friends +furnished some of the dissertations, notes, &c. Shortly after, he +contributed twenty-four excellent papers, including some striking +allegories, and some good criticisms on Shakspeare, to the _Adventurer_. +In 1754, he was appointed to the living of Tunworth, and the next year +was elected second master of Winchester School. Soon after this he +published anonymously 'An Essay on the Writings and Genius of Pope,' +which, whether because he failed in convincing the public that his +estimate of Pope was the correct one, or because he stood in awe of +Warburton, he did not complete or reprint for twenty-six years. It is a +somewhat gossiping book, but full of information and interest. + +In May 1766, he was made head-master of Winchester. In 1768, he lost his +wife, and next year married a Miss Nicholas of Winchester. In 1782, he +was promoted, through Bishop Lowth, to a prebend's post in St Paul's, and +to the living of Thorley, which he exchanged for that of Wickham. Other +livings dropped in upon him, and in 1793 he resigned the mastership of +Winchester, and went to reside at Wickham. Here he employed himself in +preparing an edition of Pope, which he published in 1797. In 1800 he +died. + +Warton, like his brother, did good service in resisting the literary +despotism of Pope, and in directing the attention of the public to the +forgotten treasures of old English poetry. He was a man of extensive +learning, a very fair and candid, as well as acute critic, and his 'Ode +to Fancy' proves him to have possessed no ordinary genius. + + +ODE TO FANCY. + +O parent of each lovely Muse, +Thy spirit o'er my soul diffuse, +O'er all my artless songs preside, +My footsteps to thy temple guide, +To offer at thy turf-built shrine, +In golden cups no costly wine, +No murdered fatling of the flock, +But flowers and honey from the rock. +O nymph with loosely-flowing hair, +With buskined leg, and bosom bare, +Thy waist with myrtle-girdle bound, +Thy brows with Indian feathers crowned, +Waving in thy snowy hand +An all-commanding magic wand, +Of power to bid fresh gardens blow, +'Mid cheerless Lapland's barren snow, +Whose rapid wings thy flight convey +Through air, and over earth and sea, +While the vast various landscape lies +Conspicuous to thy piercing eyes. +O lover of the desert, hail! +Say, in what deep and pathless vale, +Or on what hoary mountain's side, +'Mid fall of waters, you reside, +'Mid broken rocks, a rugged scene, +With green and grassy dales between, +'Mid forests dark of aged oak, +Ne'er echoing with the woodman's stroke, +Where never human art appeared, +Nor even one straw-roofed cot was reared, +Where Nature seems to sit alone, +Majestic on a craggy throne; +Tell me the path, sweet wanderer, tell, +To thy unknown sequestered cell, +Where woodbines cluster round the door, +Where shells and moss o'erlay the floor, +And on whose top a hawthorn blows, +Amid whose thickly-woven boughs +Some nightingale still builds her nest, +Each evening warbling thee to rest: +Then lay me by the haunted stream, +Rapt in some wild, poetic dream, +In converse while methinks I rove +With Spenser through a fairy grove; +Till, suddenly awaked, I hear +Strange whispered music in my ear, +And my glad soul in bliss is drowned +By the sweetly-soothing sound! +Me, goddess, by the right hand lead +Sometimes through the yellow mead, +Where Joy and white-robed Peace resort, +And Venus keeps her festive court; +Where Mirth and Youth each evening meet, +And lightly trip with nimble feet, +Nodding their lily-crowned heads, +Where Laughter rose-lipped Hebe leads; +Where Echo walks steep hills among, +Listening to the shepherd's song: +Yet not these flowery fields of joy +Can long my pensive mind employ; +Haste, Fancy, from the scenes of folly, +To meet the matron Melancholy, +Goddess of the tearful eye, +That loves to fold her arms, and sigh; +Let us with silent footsteps go +To charnels and the house of woe, +To Gothic churches, vaults, and tombs, +Where each sad night some virgin comes, +With throbbing breast, and faded cheek, +Her promised bridegroom's urn to seek; +Or to some abbey's mouldering towers, +Where, to avoid cold wintry showers, +The naked beggar shivering lies, +While whistling tempests round her rise, +And trembles lest the tottering wall +Should on her sleeping infants fall. +Now let us louder strike the lyre, +For my heart glows with martial fire,-- +I feel, I feel, with sudden heat, +My big tumultuous bosom beat; +The trumpet's clangours pierce my ear, +A thousand widows' shrieks I hear, +Give me another horse, I cry, +Lo! the base Gallic squadrons fly; +Whence is this rage?--what spirit, say, +To battle hurries me away? +'Tis Fancy, in her fiery car, +Transports me to the thickest war, +There whirls me o'er the hills of slain, +Where Tumult and Destruction reign; +Where, mad with pain, the wounded steed +Tramples the dying and the dead; +Where giant Terror stalks around, +With sullen joy surveys the ground, +And, pointing to the ensanguined field, +Shakes his dreadful gorgon shield! +Oh, guide me from this horrid scene, +To high-arched walks and alleys green, +Which lovely Laura seeks, to shun +The fervours of the mid-day sun; +The pangs of absence, oh, remove! +For thou canst place me near my love, +Canst fold in visionary bliss, +And let me think I steal a kiss, +While her ruby lips dispense +Luscious nectar's quintessence! +When young-eyed Spring profusely throws +From her green lap the pink and rose, +When the soft turtle of the dale +To Summer tells her tender tale; +When Autumn cooling caverns seeks, +And stains with wine his jolly cheeks; +When Winter, like poor pilgrim old, +Shakes his silver beard with cold; +At every season let my ear +Thy solemn whispers, Fancy, hear. +O warm, enthusiastic maid, +Without thy powerful, vital aid, +That breathes an energy divine, +That gives a soul to every line, +Ne'er may I strive with lips profane +To utter an unhallowed strain, +Nor dare to touch the sacred string, +Save when with smiles thou bidst me sing. +Oh, hear our prayer! oh, hither come +From thy lamented Shakspeare's tomb, +On which thou lovest to sit at eve, +Musing o'er thy darling's grave; +O queen of numbers, once again +Animate some chosen swain, +Who, filled with unexhausted fire, +May boldly smite the sounding lyre, +Who with some new unequalled song +May rise above the rhyming throng, +O'er all our listening passions reign, +O'erwhelm our souls with joy and pain, +With terror shake, and pity move, +Rouse with revenge, or melt with love; +Oh, deign to attend his evening walk, +With him in groves and grottoes talk; +Teach him to scorn with frigid art +Feebly to touch the enraptured heart; +Like lightning, let his mighty verse +The bosom's inmost foldings pierce; +With native beauties win applause +Beyond cold critics' studied laws; +Oh, let each Muse's fame increase! +Oh, bid Britannia rival Greece! + + + + +MISCELLANEOUS. + + +SONG. + +FROM 'THE SHAMROCK, OR HIBERNIAN CROSSES.' DUBLIN, 1772. + +1 Belinda's sparkling eyes and wit + Do various passions raise; + And, like the lightning, yield a bright, + But momentary blaze. + +2 Eliza's milder, gentler sway, + Her conquests fairly won, + Shall last till life and time decay, + Eternal as the sun. + +3 Thus the wild flood with deafening roar + Bursts dreadful from on high; + But soon its empty rage is o'er, + And leaves the channel dry: + +4 While the pure stream, which still and slow + Its gentler current brings, + Through every change of time shall flow + With unexhausted springs. + + +VERSES, + +COPIED FROM THE WINDOW OF AN OBSCURE LODGING-HOUSE, +IN THE NEIGHBOURHOOD OF LONDON. + +Stranger! whoe'er thou art, whose restless mind, +Like me within these walls is cribbed, confined; +Learn how each want that heaves our mutual sigh +A woman's soft solicitudes supply. +From her white breast retreat all rude alarms, +Or fly the magic circle of her arms; +While souls exchanged alternate grace acquire, +And passions catch from passion's glorious fire: +What though to deck this roof no arts combine, +Such forms as rival every fair but mine; +No nodding plumes, our humble couch above, +Proclaim each triumph of unbounded love; +No silver lamp with sculptured Cupids gay, +O'er yielding beauty pours its midnight ray; +Yet Fanny's charms could Time's slow flight beguile, +Soothe every care, and make each dungeon smile: +In her, what kings, what saints have wished, is given, +Her heart is empire, and her love is heaven. + + +THE OLD BACHELOR. + +AFTER THE MANNER OF SPENSER. + +1 In Phoebus' region while some bards there be + That sing of battles, and the trumpet's roar; + Yet these, I ween, more powerful bards than me, + Above my ken, on eagle pinions soar! + Haply a scene of meaner view to scan, + Beneath their laurelled praise my verse may give, + To trace the features of unnoticed man; + Deeds, else forgotten, in the verse may live! + Her lore, mayhap, instructive sense may teach, + From weeds of humbler growth within my lowly reach. + +2 A wight there was, who single and alone + Had crept from vigorous youth to waning age, + Nor e'er was worth, nor e'er was beauty known + His heart to captive, or his thought engage: + Some feeble joyaunce, though his conscious mind + Might female worth or beauty give to wear, + Yet to the nobler sex he held confined + The genuine graces of the soul sincere, + And well could show with saw or proverb quaint + All semblance woman's soul, and all her beauty paint. + +3 In plain attire this wight apparelled was, + (For much he conned of frugal lore and knew,) + Nor, till some day of larger note might cause, + From iron-bound chest his better garb he drew: + But when the Sabbath-day might challenge more, + Or feast, or birthday, should it chance to be, + A glossy suit devoid of stain he wore, + And gold his buttons glanced so fair to see, + Gold clasped his shoon, by maiden brushed so sheen, + And his rough beard he shaved, and donned his linen clean. + +4 But in his common garb a coat he wore, + A faithful coat that long its lord had known, + That once was black, but now was black no more, + Attinged by various colours not its own. + All from his nostrils was the front embrowned, + And down the back ran many a greasy line, + While, here and there, his social moments owned + The generous signet of the purple wine. + Brown o'er the bent of eld his wig appeared, + Like fox's trailing tail by hunters sore affeared. + +5 One only maid he had, like turtle true, + But not like turtle gentle, soft, and kind; + For many a time her tongue bewrayed the shrew, + And in meet words unpacked her peevish mind. + Ne formed was she to raise the soft desire + That stirs the tingling blood in youthful vein, + Ne formed was she to light the tender fire, + By many a bard is sung in many a strain: + Hooked was her nose, and countless wrinkles told + What no man durst to her, I ween, that she was old. + +6 When the clock told the wonted hour was come + When from his nightly cups the wight withdrew, + Eight patient would she watch his wending home, + His feet she heard, and soon the bolt she drew. + If long his time was past, and leaden sleep + O'er her tired eyelids 'gan his reign to stretch, + Oft would she curse that men such hours should keep, + And many a saw 'gainst drunkenness would preach; + Haply if potent gin had armed her tongue, + All on the reeling wight a thundering peal she rung. + +7 For though, the blooming queen of Cyprus' isle + O'er her cold bosom long had ceased to reign, + On that cold bosom still could Bacchus smile, + Such beverage to own if Bacchus deign: + For wine she prized not much, for stronger drink + Its medicine, oft a cholic-pain will call, + And for the medicine's sake, might envy think, + Oft would a cholic-pain her bowels enthral; + Yet much the proffer did she loathe, and say + No dram might maiden taste, and often answered nay. + +8 So as in single animals he joyed, + One cat, and eke one dog, his bounty fed; + The first the cate-devouring mice destroyed, + Thieves heard the last, and from his threshold fled: + All in the sunbeams basked the lazy cat, + Her mottled length in couchant posture laid; + On one accustomed chair while Pompey sat, + And loud he barked should Puss his right invade. + The human pair oft marked them as they lay, + And haply sometimes thought like cat and dog were they. + +9 A room he had that faced the southern ray, + Where oft he walked to set his thoughts in tune, + Pensive he paced its length an hour or tway, + All to the music of his creeking shoon. + And at the end a darkling closet stood, + Where books he kept of old research and new, + In seemly order ranged on shelves of wood, + And rusty nails and phials not a few: + Thilk place a wooden box beseemeth well, + And papers squared and trimmed for use unmeet to tell. + +10 For still in form he placed his chief delight, + Nor lightly broke his old accustomed rule, + And much uncourteous would he hold the wight + That e'er displaced a table, chair, or stool; + And oft in meet array their ranks he placed, + And oft with careful eye their ranks reviewed; + For novel forms, though much those forms had graced, + Himself and maiden-minister eschewed: + One path he trod, nor ever would decline + A hair's unmeasured breadth from off the even line. + +11 A Club select there was, where various talk + On various chapters passed the lingering hour, + And thither oft he bent his evening walk, + And warmed to mirth by wine's enlivening power. + And oft on politics the preachments ran, + If a pipe lent its thought-begetting fume: + And oft important matters would they scan, + And deep in council fix a nation's doom: + And oft they chuckled loud at jest or jeer, + Or bawdy tale the most, thilk much they loved to hear. + +12 For men like him they were of like consort, + Thilk much the honest muse must needs condemn, + Who made of women's wiles their wanton sport, + And blessed their stars that kept the curse from them! + No honest love they knew, no melting smile + That shoots the transports to the throbbing heart! + Thilk knew they not but in a harlot's guile + Lascivious smiling through the mask of art: + And so of women deemed they as they knew, + And from a Demon's traits an Angel's picture drew. + +13 But most abhorred they hymeneal rites, + And boasted oft the freedom of their fate: + Nor 'vailed, as they opined, its best delights + Those ills to balance that on wedlock wait; + And often would they tell of henpecked fool + Snubbed by the hard behest of sour-eyed dame. + And vowed no tongue-armed woman's freakish rule + Their mirth should quail, or damp their generous flame: + Then pledged their hands, and tossed their bumpers o'er, + And Io! Bacchus! sung, and owned no other power. + +14 If e'er a doubt of softer kind arose + Within some breast of less obdurate frame, + Lo! where its hideous form a phantom shows + Full in his view, and Cuckold is its name. + Him Scorn attended with a glance askew, + And Scorpion Shame for delicts not his own, + Her painted bubbles while Suspicion blew, + And vexed the region round the Cupid's throne: + 'Far be from us,' they cried, 'the treacherous bane, + Far be the dimply guile, and far the flowery chain!' + + +CARELESS CONTENT. + +1 I am content, I do not care, + Wag as it will the world for me; + When fuss and fret was all my fare, + It got no ground as I could see: + So when away my caring went, + I counted cost, and was content. + +2 With more of thanks and less of thought, + I strive to make my matters meet; + To seek what ancient sages sought, + Physic and food in sour and sweet: + To take what passes in good part, + And keep the hiccups from the heart. + +3 With good and gentle-humoured hearts, + I choose to chat where'er I come, + Whate'er the subject be that starts; + But if I get among the glum, + I hold my tongue to tell the truth, + And keep my breath to cool my broth. + +4 For chance or change of peace or pain, + For Fortune's favour or her frown, + For lack or glut, for loss or gain, + I never dodge, nor up nor down: + But swing what way the ship shall swim, + Or tack about with equal trim. + +5 I suit not where I shall not speed, + Nor trace the turn of every tide; + If simple sense will not succeed, + I make no bustling, but abide: + For shining wealth, or scaring woe, + I force no friend, I fear no foe. + +6 Of ups and downs, of ins and outs, + Of they're i' the wrong, and we're i' the right, + I shun the rancours and the routs; + And wishing well to every wight, + Whatever turn the matter takes, + I deem it all but ducks and drakes. + +7 With whom I feast I do not fawn, + Nor if the folks should flout me, faint; + If wonted welcome be withdrawn, + I cook no kind of a complaint: + With none disposed to disagree, + But like them best who best like me. + +8 Not that I rate myself the rule + How all my betters should behave + But fame shall find me no man's fool, + Nor to a set of men a slave: + I love a friendship free and frank, + And hate to hang upon a hank. + +9 Fond of a true and trusty tie, + I never loose where'er I link; + Though if a business budges by, + I talk thereon just as I think; + My word, my work, my heart, my hand, + Still on a side together stand. + +10 If names or notions make a noise, + Whatever hap the question hath, + The point impartially I poise, + And read or write, but without wrath; + For should I burn, or break my brains, + Pray, who will pay me for my pains? + +11 I love my neighbour as myself, + Myself like him too, by his leave; + Nor to his pleasure, power, or pelf, + Came I to crouch, as I conceive: + Dame Nature doubtless has designed + A man the monarch of his mind. + +12 Now taste and try this temper, sirs, + Mood it and brood it in your breast; + Or if ye ween, for worldly stirs, + That man does right to mar his rest, + Let me be deft, and debonair, + I am content, I do not care. + + +A PASTORAL. + +1 My time, O ye Muses, was happily spent, + When Phoebe went with me wherever I went; + Ten thousand sweet pleasures I felt in my breast: + Sure never fond shepherd like Colin was blest! + But now she is gone, and has left me behind, + What a marvellous change on a sudden I find! + When things were as fine as could possibly be, + I thought 'twas the Spring; but alas! it was she. + +2 With such a companion to tend a few sheep, + To rise up and play, or to lie down and sleep: + I was so good-humoured, so cheerful and gay, + My heart was as light as a feather all day; + But now I so cross and so peevish am grown, + So strangely uneasy, as never was known. + My fair one is gone, and my joys are all drowned, + And my heart--I am sure it weighs more than a pound. + +3 The fountain that wont to run sweetly along, + And dance to soft murmurs the pebbles among; + Thou know'st, little Cupid, if Phoebe was there, + 'Twas pleasure to look at, 'twas music to hear: + But now she is absent, I walk by its side, + And still, as it murmurs, do nothing but chide; + Must you be so cheerful, while I go in pain? + Peace there with your bubbling, and hear me complain. + +4 My lambkins around me would oftentimes play, + And Phoebe and I were as joyful as they; + How pleasant their sporting, how happy their time, + When Spring, Love, and Beauty, were all in their prime! + But now, in their frolics when by me they pass, + I fling at their fleeces a handful of grass: + Be still, then, I cry, for it makes me quite mad, + To see you so merry while I am so sad. + +5 My dog I was ever well pleased to see + Come wagging his tail to my fair one and me; + And Phoebe was pleased too, and to my dog said, + 'Come hither, poor fellow;' and patted his head. + But now, when he's fawning, I with a sour look + Cry 'Sirrah;' and give him a blow with my crook: + And I'll give him another; for why should not Tray + Be as dull as his master, when Phoebe's away? + +6 When walking with Phoebe, what sights have I seen, + How fair was the flower, how fresh was the green! + What a lovely appearance the trees and the shade, + The corn-fields and hedges, and everything made! + But now she has left me, though all are still there, + They none of them now so delightful appear: + 'Twas nought but the magic, I find, of her eyes, + Made so many beautiful prospects arise. + +7 Sweet music went with us both all the wood through, + The lark, linnet, throstle, and nightingale too; + Winds over us whispered, flocks by us did bleat, + And chirp went the grasshopper under our feet. + But now she is absent, though still they sing on, + The woods are but lonely, the melody's gone: + Her voice in the concert, as now I have found, + Gave everything else its agreeable sound. + +8 Rose, what is become of thy delicate hue? + And where is the violet's beautiful blue? + Does ought of its sweetness the blossom beguile? + That meadow, those daisies, why do they not smile? + Ah! rivals, I see what it was that you dressed, + And made yourselves fine for--a place in her breast: + You put on your colours to pleasure her eye, + To be plucked by her hand, on her bosom to die. + +9 How slowly Time creeps till my Phoebe return! + While amidst the soft zephyr's cool breezes I burn: + Methinks, if I knew whereabouts he would tread, + I could breathe on his wings, and 'twould melt down the lead. + Fly swifter, ye minutes, bring hither my dear, + And rest so much longer for't when she is here. + Ah, Colin! old Time is full of delay, + Nor will budge one foot faster for all thou canst say. + +10 Will no pitying power, that hears me complain, + Or cure my disquiet, or soften my pain? + To be cured, thou must, Colin, thy passion remove; + But what swain is so silly to live without love! + No, deity, bid the dear nymph to return, + For ne'er was poor shepherd so sadly forlorn. + Ah! what shall I do? I shall die with despair; + Take heed, all ye swains, how ye part with your fair. + + +ODE TO A TOBACCO-PIPE. + +Little tube of mighty power, +Charmer of an idle hour, +Object of my warm desire, +Lip of wax and eye of fire; +And thy snowy taper waist, +With my finger gently braced; +And thy pretty swelling crest, +With my little stopper pressed; +And the sweetest bliss of blisses, +Breathing from thy balmy kisses. +Happy thrice, and thrice again, +Happiest he of happy men; +Who when again the night returns, +When again the taper burns, +When again the cricket's gay, +(Little cricket full of play,) +Can afford his tube to feed +With the fragrant Indian weed: +Pleasure for a nose divine, +Incense of the god of wine. +Happy thrice, and thrice again, +Happiest he of happy men. + + +AWAY! LET NOUGHT TO LOVE DISPLEASING. + +1 Away! let nought to love displeasing, + My Winifreda, move your care; + Let nought delay the heavenly blessing, + Nor squeamish pride, nor gloomy fear. + +2 What though no grants of royal donors, + With pompous titles grace our blood; + We'll shine in more substantial honours, + And, to be noble, we'll be good. + +3 Our name while virtue thus we tender, + Will sweetly sound where'er 'tis spoke; + And all the great ones, they shall wonder + How they respect such little folk. + +4 What though, from fortune's lavish bounty, + No mighty treasures we possess; + We'll find, within our pittance, plenty, + And be content without excess. + +5 Still shall each kind returning season + Sufficient for our wishes give; + For we will live a life of reason, + And that's the only life to live. + +6 Through youth and age, in love excelling, + We'll hand in hand together tread; + Sweet-smiling peace shall crown our dwelling, + And babes, sweet-smiling babes, our bed. + +7 How should I love the pretty creatures, + While round my knees they fondly clung! + To see them look their mother's features, + To hear them lisp their mother's tongue! + +8 And when with envy Time transported, + Shall think to rob us of our joys; + You'll in your girls again be courted, + And I'll go wooing in my boys. + + +RICHARD BENTLEY'S SOLE POETICAL COMPOSITION. + +1 Who strives to mount Parnassus' hill, + And thence poetic laurels bring, + Must first acquire due force and skill, + Must fly with swan's or eagle's wing. + +2 Who Nature's treasures would explore, + Her mysteries and arcana know, + Must high as lofty Newton soar, + Must stoop as delving Woodward low. + +3 Who studies ancient laws and rites, + Tongues, arts, and arms, and history; + Must drudge, like Selden, days and nights, + And in the endless labour die. + +4 Who travels in religious jars, + (Truth mixed with error, shades with rays,) + Like Whiston, wanting pyx or stars, + In ocean wide or sinks or strays. + +5 But grant our hero's hope, long toil + And comprehensive genius crown, + All sciences, all arts his spoil, + Yet what reward, or what renown? + +6 Envy, innate in vulgar souls, + Envy steps in and stops his rise; + Envy with poisoned tarnish fouls + His lustre, and his worth decries. + +7 He lives inglorious or in want, + To college and old books confined: + Instead of learned, he's called pedant; + Dunces advanced, he's left behind: + Yet left content, a genuine Stoic he, + Great without patron, rich without South Sea. + + +LINES ADDRESSED TO POPE.[1] + +1 While malice, Pope, denies thy page + Its own celestial fire; + While critics and while bards in rage + Admiring, won't admire: + +2 While wayward pens thy worth assail, + And envious tongues decry; + These times, though many a friend bewail, + These times bewail not I. + +3 But when the world's loud praise is thine, + And spleen no more shall blame; + When with thy Homer thou shalt shine + In one unclouded fame: + +4 When none shall rail, and every lay + Devote a wreath to thee; + That day (for come it will) that day + Shall I lament to see. + +[1] Written by one Lewis, a schoolmaster, and highly commended by +Johnson.--_See_ Boswell. + + + +THE END. + + + + +INDEX + + VOL. +A Ballad upon a Wedding, SUCKLING, i. +Abel's Blood, VAUGHAN, ii. +A Character, Panegyric, and Description of the + Legion Club, SWIFT, iii. +A Cradle Hymn, WATTS, iii. +Address to the Nightingale, BARNFIELD, i. +A Description of Castara, HABINGTON, ii. +A Distempered Fancy, MORE, ii. +Admiral Hosier's Ghost, GLOVER, iii. +Address to the Moon, MACPHERSON, iii. +A Friend, PHILLIPS, ii. +A Fragment of Sappho, PHILIPS, iii. +Allegorical Characters from 'The Mirror for +Magistrates,' SACKVILLE, i. +ALEXANDER, WILLIAM, EARL OF STIRLING, i. +A Loose Saraband, LOVELACE, ii. +A Meditation, WOTTON, i. +An Epitaph, BEAUMONT, i. +An Heroic Epistle to Sir William Chambers, MASON, iii. +An Ode to the Right Hon. Lord Gower, FENTON, iii. +An American Love Ode, WARTON THE ELDER, iii. +Apostrophe to Freedom, BARBOUR, i. +A Praise to his Lady, ANONYMOUS, i. +A Pastoral Dialogue, CAREW, i. +A Pastoral, iii. +Apostrophe to Fletcher the Dramatist, VAUGHAN, ii. +A Persian Song of Hafiz, JONES, iii. +Arcadia, CHALKHILL, ii. +Argalia taken Prisoner by the Turks, CHAMBERLAYNE, ii. +Ascension-Day, VAUGHAN, ii. +A Vision upon the "Fairy Queen," RALEIGH, i. +A Valediction, BROWNE, i. +A Voyage to Ireland in Burlesque, COTTON, ii. +Away! Let nought to Love Displeasing, iii. + +BAMPFYLDE, JOHN, iii. +BARBOUR, JOHN, i. +BARCLAY, ALEXANDER i. +BARNFIELD, RICHARD i. +Battle of Black Earnside BLIND HARRY, i. +Baucis and Philemon SWIFT, iii. +BEAUMONT, FRANCIS i. +BEAUMONT, DR JOSEPH ii. +BISHOP, SAMUEL iii. +BLACKMORE, SIR RICHARD iii. +BLACKSTONE, SIR WILLIAM iii. +BLACKLOCK, THOMAS iii. +BLAMIRE, SUSANNA iii. +BLIND HARRY i. +Breathing toward the Heavenly Country WATTS, iii. +Bristowe Tragedy CHATTERTON, iii. +BROWN, JOHN iii. +BROWNE, ISAAC HAWKINS iii. +BROWNE, WILLIAM i. +BROOKE, HENRY iii. +BRUCE, MICHAEL iii. +BURTON, ROBERT i. +Burial VAUGHAN, ii. +BOOTH, BARTON iii. +BRAMSTON iii. + +Canace Condemned to Death by her Father LYDGATE, i. +Careless Content iii. +CAREW, THOMAS i. +CARTWRIGHT, WILLIAM i. +CAREY, HENRY iii. +Celia Singing STANLEY, ii. +CHALKHILL, JOHN ii. +CHAMBERLAYNE, WILLIAM ii. +CHATTERTON, THOMAS iii. +Cherry Ripe HERRICK, ii. +Cheerfulness VAUGHAN, ii. +CHESTERFIELD, LORD iii. +Childhood VAUGHAN, ii. +Close of 'Christ's Victory and Triumph' FLETCHER, i. +Cock-crowing VAUGHAN, ii. +COCKBURN, MRS iii. +Complaint of Nature LOGAN, iii. +CORBET, RICHARD i. +Corinna's Going a-Maying HERRICK, ii. +COOPER, JOHN GILBERT iii. +COTTON, CHARLES ii. +COTTON, NATHANIEL iii. +COWLEY, ABRAHAM ii. +CRAWFORD, ROBERT iii. +Creation, BLACKMORE, iii. +Cumnor Hall, MICKLE, iii. +CUNNINGHAM, JOHN, iii. + +DANIEL, SAMUEL, i. +DAVIES, SIR JOHN, i. +Davideis--Book II., COWLEY, ii. +DAVENANT, SIR WILLIAM, ii. +Description of King's Mistress, JAMES I., i. +Death of Sir Henry de Bohun, BARBOUR, i. +Description of Morning, DRAYTON, i. +Description of Parthenia, FLETCHER, i. +Destruction and Renovation of all Things, DR H. MORE, ii. +Desolation of Balclutha, MACPHERSON, iii. +Dinner given by the Town Mouse to the Country + Mouse, HENRYSON, i. +Directions for Cultivating a Hop Garden, TUSSER, i. +DODSLEY, ROBERT, iii. +DONNE, JOHN, i. +DOUGLAS, GAVIN, i. +DRAYTON, MICHAEL, i. +DRUMMOND, WILLIAM, i. +DU BARTAS, i. +DUNBAR, WILLIAM, i. +Dwelling of the Witch Orandra, CHALKHILL, ii. + +Early Love, DANIEL, i. +EDWARDS, RICHARD, i. +Elegy XIII., HAMMOND, iii. +Elegy written in Spring, BRUCE, iii. +ELLIOT, Miss JANE, iii. +End, DR BEAUMONT, ii. +Epitaph on the Countess of Pembroke, JONSON, i. +Epistle addressed to the Honourable W. E. HABINGTON, ii. +Epitaph on Mrs Mason, MASON, iii. +Evening, BROWNE, i. +Eve, DR BEAUMONT, ii. +Exordium of Third Part of 'Pyschozoia', DR H. MORE, ii. + +FAIRFAX, EDWARD, i. +Farewell to the Vanities of the World, WOTTON, i. +FANSHAWE, SIR RICHARD, ii. +FAWKES, FRANCIS, iii. +FENTON, ELIJAH, iii. +Few Happy Matches, WATTS, iii. +February--an Elegy, CHATTERTON, iii. +FERGUSSON, ROBERT, iii. +Fingal and the Spirit of Loda, MACPHERSON, iii. +Fingal's Spirit-Home, MACPHERSON, iii. +FLETCHER, GILES +FLETCHER, PHINEAS +From 'The Phoenix' Nest' ANONYMOUS, i. +From the Same ANONYMOUS, i. +From 'Britannia's Pastorals' W. BROWNE, i. +From 'The Shepherd's Hunting' WITHER, i. +From the Same WITHER, ii. +From 'Gondibert,' Canto II. DAVENANT, ii. +From 'Gondibert,' Canto IV. DAVENANT, ii. +From 'An Essay on Translated Verse' EARL OF ROSCOMMON, ii. +From 'The Gentle Shepherd,' Act I., Scene II. RAMSAY, iii. +From 'The Monody' LYTTELTON, iii. +From 'The Country Justice' LANGHORNE, iii. +From the Same LANGHORNE, iii. +From 'Leonidas,' Book XII. GLOVER, iii. + +GARTH, SIR SAMUEL iii. +GASCOIGNE, GEORGE i. +Gipsies--From 'The Country Justice' LANGHORNE, iii. +GLOVER, RICHARD iii. +Good-morrow GASCOIGNE, i. +Good-night GASCOIGNE, i. +GOULD iii. +GOWER, JOHN i. +Gratification which the Lover's Passion receives + from the Sense of Hearing GOWER, i. +GRAINGER, DR JAMES iii. +GREVILLE, MRS iii. + +HABINGTON, WILLIAM ii. +HALL, JOSEPH, BISHOP OF NORWICH ii. +Hallo, my Fancy ii. +HAMMOND, JAMES iii. +HAMILTON, WILLIAM iii. +Happiness of the Shepherd's Life P. FLETCHER, i. +HARDING, JOHN i. +HARRINGTON, JOHN i. +Harpalus' Complaint of Phillida's Love + bestowed on Corin i. +HARTE, DR WALTER iii. +HAWES, STEPHEN i. +HENRYSON, ROBERT i. +Henry, Duke of Buckingham, in the Infernal + Regions T. SACKVILLE, i. +HERRICK, ROBERT ii. +Hell DR J. BEAUMONT, ii. +HEATH, ROBERT ii. +HEADLEY, HENRY iii. +Holy Sonnets, DONNE, i. +Housewifely Physic, TUSSER, i. +HUME, ALEXANDER, i. + +Image of Death, SOUTHWELL, i. +Imperial Rome Personified, DR BEAUMONT, ii. +Imitation of Thomson, ISAAC BROWNE, iii. +Imitation of Pope, ISAAC BBOWNE, iii. +Imitation of Swift, ISAAC BROWNE, iii. +Instability of Human Greatness, P. FLETCHER, i. +Introduction to the Poem on the Soul of Man, DAVIES, i. +Invitation to Izaak Walton, COTTON, ii. +In praise of the renowned Lady Anne, Countess + of Warwick, TURBERVILLE, i. +Isaac's Marriage, VAUGHAN, ii. + +JAGO, REV. RICHARD, iii. +JAMES I. OF SCOTLAND, i. +Jacob's Pillow and Pillar, VAUGHAN, ii. +Jephthah's Daughter, HERRICK, ii. +JOHN THE CHAPLAIN, i. +JONSON, BEN, i. +JONES, SIR WILLIAM, iii. +Joseph's Dream, DE BEAUMONT, ii. +Journey into France, CORBET, i. + +KAY, JOHN, i. +Kenrick--translated from the Saxon, CHATTERTON, iii. +KING, DE HENRY, ii. + +La Belle Confidante, STANLEY, ii. +LANGHORNE, JOHN, iii. +Life, COWLEY, ii. +Life, KING, ii. +Lines addressed to Pope, LEWIS, iii. +LLOYD, ROBERT, iii. +Lochaber no more, RAMSAY, iii. +LOGAN, JOHN, iii. +London Lyckpenny, The LYDGATE, i. +Look Home, SOUTHWELL, i. +Love's Servile Lot, SOUTHWELL, i. +Love admits no Rival, RALEIGH, i. +Love's Darts, CARTWRIGHT, i. +LOVELACE, RICHARD, ii. +Love-Sick, VAUGHAN, ii. +LOVIBOND, EDWARD, iii. +LOWE, JOHN, iii. +LYDGATE, JOHN, i. +LYNDSAY, SIR DAVID, i. +LYTTELTON, LORD, iii. + +MACPHERSON, JAMES iii. +MAITLAND, SIR RICHARD, OF LETHINGTON i. +MALLETT, DAVID iii. +Man's Fall and Recovery VAUGHAN, ii. +Marriage of Christ and the Church P. FLETCHER, i. +MARGARET, DUCHESS OF NEWCASTLE ii. +Mary's Dream LOWE, iii. +MARVELL, ANDREW ii. +MASON, WILLIAM iii. +May-Eve; or, Kate of Aberdeen CUNNINGHAM, iii. +Meldrum's Duel with the English Champion + Talbert LYNDSAY, i. +Melancholy described by Mirth DUCHESS OF NEWCASTLE, ii. +Melancholy describing herself DUCHESS OF NEWCASTLE, ii. +MERRICK, JAMES iii. +MESTON, WILLIAM iii. +MICKLE, WILLIAM JULIUS iii. +Misery VAUGHAN, ii. +MONTGOMERY, ALEXANDER i. +MOORE, EDWARD iii. +MOORE, SIR JOHN HENRY iii. +MORE, DR HENRY ii. +Morning in May DOUGLAS, i. +Moral Reflections on the Wind TUSSER, i. +Mount of Olives VAUGHAN, ii. +My Mind to me a Kingdom is ii. + +Note on Anacreon STANLEY ii. +NUGENT, LORD (ROBERT CRAGGS) iii. + +Oberon's Palace HERRICK, ii. +Oberon's Feast HERRICK, ii. +OCCLEVE, THOMAS i. +Ode to Solitude GRAINGER, iii. +Ode on hearing the Drum JOHN SCOTT, iii. +Ode to Mankind NUGENT, iii. +Ode to Aurora BLACKLOCK, iii. +Ode to Fancy JOSEPH WARTON, iii. +Ode to a Tobacco-pipe iii. +Of Wit COWLEY, ii. +Of Solitude COWLEY, ii. +OLDYS, WILLIAM iii. +On Tombs in Westminster BEAUMONT, i. +On Man's Resemblance to God DU BARTAS, i. +On the Portrait of Shakspeare JONSON, i. +On Melancholy BURTON, i. +On the Death of Sir Bevil Granville CARTWRIGHT, i. +On the Praise of Poetry COWLEY, ii. +On Paradise Lost MARVELL, ii. +Love's Servile Lot, SOUTHWELL, i. + +On a Charnel-house, VAUGHAN, ii. +On Gombauld's 'Endymion,' VAUGHAN, ii. +On Poetry, SWIFT, iii. +On the Death of Dr Swift, SWIFT, iii. +Opening of Second Part of 'Psychozoia,' DR MORE, ii. +Ossian's Address to the Sun, MACPHERSON, iii. + +Palm-Sunday, VAUGHAN, ii. +Paradise, DR BEAUMONT, ii. +PENROSE, THOMAS, iii. +Persuasions to Love, CAREW, i. +PHILIPS, AMBROSE, iii. +PHILIPS, JOHN, iii. +PHILLIPS, CATHERINE, ii. +Picture of the Town, VAUGHAN, ii. +POMFRET, JOHN, iii. +POPE, DR WALTER, iii. +Power of Genius over Envy, W. BROWNE, i. +Priestess of Diana, CHALKHILL, ii. +Protest of Love, HEATH, ii. +Providence, VAUGHAN, ii. +Psalm CIV., VAUGHAN, ii. + +RALEIGH, SIR WALTER, i. +RAMSAY, ALLAN, iii. +RANDOLPH, THOMAS, i. +Regeneration, VAUGHAN, ii. +Repentance, VAUGHAN, ii. +Resurrection and Immortality, VAUGHAN, ii. +Richard II. the Morning before his Murder + in Pomfret Castle, DANIEL, i. +Richard Bentley's Sole Poetical Composition, iii. +Righteousness, VAUGHAN, ii. +Rinaldo at Mount Olivet, FAIRFAX, i. +ROBERTS, WILLIAM HAYWARD, iii. +ROSCOMMON, THE EARL OF, ii. +ROSS, ALEXANDER, iii. +Rules and Lessons, VAUGHAN, ii. + +SACKVILLE, THOMAS, LORD BUCKHURST AND EARL OF DORSET, i. +SACKVILLE, CHARLES, EARL OF DORSET, iii. +Sally in our Alley, CAREY, iii. +Satire I., HALL, ii. +Satire VII., HALL, ii. +Satire on Holland, MARVELL, ii. +SAVAGE, RICHARD, iii. +SCOTT, JOHN, iii. +SCOTT, THOMAS, iii. +Selections from Sonnets, DANIEL, i. +SEDLEY, SIR CHARLES, iii. +SEWELL, DR GEORGE, iii. +SHAW, CUTHBERT, iii. +Sic Vita, KING, ii. +SIDNEY, SIR PHILIP, i. +SKELTON, JOHN, i. +SMART, CHRISTOPHER, iii. +Song of Sorceress seeking to Tempt + Jesus, G. FLETCHER, i. +Song, CAREW, i. +Song, CAREW, i. +Song, CAREW, i. +Song, SUCKLING, i. +Song, SUCKLING, i. +Song, W. BROWNE, i. +Song, W. BROWNE, i. +Song to Althea from Prison, LOVELACE, ii. +Song, LOVELACE, ii. +Song, HERRICK, ii. +Song, KING, ii. +Song, WILMOT, ii. +Song, WILMOT, ii. +Song, C. SACKVILLE, iii. +Song, SEDLEY, iii. +Song to David, SMART, iii. +Song, ANONYMOUS, iii. +Sonnet on Isabella Markham, HARRINGTON, i. +Sonnet, WATSON, i. +Sonnet, ALEXANDER, i. +Sonnets, SIDNEY, i. +Sonnets, DRUMMOND, i. +Soul compared to a Lantern, DR H. MORE, ii. +SOUTHWELL, EGBERT, i. +Spiritual Poems, DRUMMOND, i. +Spirituality of the Soul, DAVIES, i. +St Mary Magdalene, VAUGHAN, ii. +STANLEY, THOMAS, ii. +STEVENS, GEORGE ALEXANDER, iii. +STORRER, THOMAS, i. +SUCKLING, SIR JOHN, i. +Supplication in Contemption of Side-tails, LYNDSAY, i. +SYLVESTER, JOSHUA, i. +SWIFT, JONATHAN, iii. +SCOTT, ALEXANDER, i. + +That all things sometimes find Ease of their + Pain save only the Lover, UNKNOWN, i. +Thanks for a Summer's Day, HUME, i. +The Angler's Wish, WALTON, ii. +The Author's Picture BLACKLOCK, iii. +The Birks of Invermay MALLETT, iii. +The Bastard SAVAGE, iii. +The Braes of Yarrow HAMILTON, iii. +The Bush aboon Traquair CRAWFORD, iii. +The Brown Jug FAWKES, iii. +The Cave MACPHERSON, iii. +The Choice POMFRET, iii. +The Chameleon MERRICK, iii. +The Chariot of the Sun DU BARTAS, i. +The Chariot of the Sun GOWER, i. +The Chronicle: A Ballad COWLEY, ii. +The Country's Recreations RALEIGH, i. +The Country Life HERRICK, ii. +The Complaint COWLEY, ii. +The Constellation VAUGHAN, ii. +The Dance of the Seven Deadly Sins through Hell DUNBAR, i. +The Dawning VAUGHAN, ii. +The Death of Wallace BLIND HARRY, i. +The Despair COWLEY, ii. +The Dispensary GARTH, iii. +The Emigrants MARVELL, ii. +The Farmer's Ingle FERGUSSON, iii. +The Feast VAUGHAN, ii. +The Flowers of the Forest MISS ELLIOT, iii. +The Same MRS COCKBURN, iii. +The Fairy Queen ii. +The Garland VAUGHAN, ii. +The Garment of Good Ladies HENRYSON, i. +The Golden Age VAUGHAN, ii. +The Inquiry C. PHILLIPS, ii. +The Jews VAUGHAN, ii. +The Kiss: A Dialogue HERRICK, ii. +The Lawyer's Farewell to his Muse BLACKSTONE, iii. +The Last Time I came o'er the Moor RAMSAY, iii. +The Loss STANLEY, ii. +The Lovers LOGAN, iii. +The Mad Maid's Song HERRICK, ii. +The Mariner's Wife MICKLE, iii. +The Merle and the Nightingale DUNBAR, i. +The Miseries of a Poet's Life LLOYD, iii. +The Motto--'Tentanda via est,' &c. COWLEY, ii. +The Nativity G. FLETCHER, i. +The Nabob BLAMIRE, iii. +The Nymph complaining of the Death of her Fawn MARVELL, ii. +The Nymphs to their May Queen WATSON, i. +The Old Bachelor, ANONYMOUS, iii. +The Old and Young Courtier, ii. +The Palm-Tree, VAUGHAN, ii. +The Passion, VAUGHAN, ii. +The Picture of the Body, JONSON, i. +The Plagues of Egypt, COWLEY, ii. +The Praise of Woman, RANDOLPH, i. +The Progress of the Soul, DONNE, i. +The Rainbow, VAUGHAN, ii. +The River Forth Feasting, DRUMMOND, i. +The Rock an' the wee pickle Tow, A. ROSS, iii. +The Rose, WATTS, iii. +The Seed growing secretly (Mark iv. 26), VAUGHAN, ii. +The Search, VAUGHAN, ii. +The Self-subsistence of the Soul, DAVIES, i. +The Shepherd's Resolution, WITHER, ii. +The Steadfast Shepherd, WITHER, ii. +The Silent Lover, RALEIGH, i. +The Sluggard, WATTS, iii. +The Shower, VAUGHAN, ii. +The Story of William Canynge, CHATTERTON, iii. +The Splendid Shilling, J. PHILIPS, iii. +The Spring: A Sonnet from the Spanish, FANSHAWE, ii. +The Tale of the Coffers or Caskets, &c., GOWER, i. +The Tears of Old May-day, LOVIBOND, iii. +The Tempest, VAUGHAN, ii. +The Tempestuous Evening: An Ode, J. SCOTT, iii. +The Timber, VAUGHAN, ii. +The Waterfall, VAUGHAN, ii. +The Wish, COWLEY, ii. +The World, VAUGHAN, ii. +Thealma: A Deserted Shepherdess, CHALKHILL, ii. +Thealma in Full Dress, CHALKHILL, ii. +There is a Garden in her Face, ii. +TICKELL, THOMAS, iii. +Times go by Turns, SOUTHWELL, i. +THOMPSON, EDWARD, iii. +Thoughts in a Garden, MARVELL, ii. +To a Lady admiring herself in a + Looking-glass, RANDOLPH, i. +To a very young Lady, SEDLEY, iii. +To Ben Jonson, BEAUMONT, i. +To Blossoms, HERRICK, ii. +To Clarastella, HEATH, ii. +To Daffodils, HERRICK, ii. +To his noblest Friend, J. C., Esq., HABINGTON, ii. +To my Mistress, sitting by a River's side, CAREW, i. +To my Picture, RANDOLPH, i. +To Mrs Bishop, BISHOP, iii. +To the Same BISHOP, iii. +To Penshurst JONSON, i. +To Primroses HERRICK, ii. +To Religion SYLVESTER, i. +To the Cuckoo BRUCE, iii. +To the Rev. J. Howe WATTS, iii. +To the Memory of my beloved Master, William + Shakspeare, and what he left us JONSON, i. +To the Memory of his Wife DR BEAUMONT, ii. +To the Earl of Warwick on the Death of Mr + Addison TICKELL, iii. +TUSSER, THOMAS i. +TURBERVILLE, THOMAS i. + +UNKNOWN i. +Upon the Shortness of Man's Life COWLEY, ii. + +VANBRUGH, SIR JOHN iii. +Variety WHITEHEAD, iii. +VAUX, THOMAS, LORD i. +VAUGHAN, HENRY ii. +VERE, EDWARD i. +Verses on a most stony-hearted Maiden HARRINGTON, i. +Verses written after seeing Windsor Castle T. WARTON, iii. +Verses ANONYMOUS, iii. + +WALSH iii. +WALTON, IZAAK ii. +WARD, EDWARD iii. +WARTON, THOMAS, THE ELDER iii. +WARTON, JOSEPH iii. +WATSON, THOMAS i. +WATTS, ISAAC iii. +WEEKES, JAMES EYRE iii. +WEST, RICHARD iii. +What is Love? HEATH, ii. +What Ails this Heart o' mine? BLAMIRE, iii. +WHITEHEAD, WILLIAM iii. +WILMOT, JOHN, EARL OF ROCHESTER ii. +William and Margaret MALLETT, iii. +WITHER, GEORGE ii. +Woo'd, and Married, and a' A. ROSS, iii. +WOTTON, SIR HENRY i. +Written on a Visit to the Country in Autumn LOGAN, iii. +WYNTOUN, ANDREW i. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Specimens with Memoirs of the +Less-known British Poets, Complete, by George Gilfillan + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LESS-KNOWN BRITISH POETS, COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 9670.txt or 9670.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/9/6/7/9670/ + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Marc D'Hooghe and the PG +Online Distributed Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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