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may beget such a gravity as diverts the music of verse.” Davenant died A.D. 1668.
In subject's bashfulness, whiling great deeds
Thus to his secret will aloud proceeds :
Or make her trumpet louder by my voice,
Proclaim the cause why thou art now my choice.
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. 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." Thus spake the king; and Rhodalind appear'd
Through publish'd love, with so much bashfulness, As young kings show, when by surprise o'erheard
Moaning to fav’rite ears a deep distress. For love is a distress, and would be hid
Like monarch's griefs, by which they bashful grow; And in that shame beholders they forbid ;
Since those blush most who most their blushes show. And Gondibert, with dying eyes, did grieve
At her vail'd love (a wound he cannot heal), As great minds mourn, who cannot then relieve
The virtuous, when through shame they want conceal. 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
Awhile, to hear her duke ; who thus replied : “ 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.
A king you are o'er subjects so, as wise
And noble husbands seem o'er loyal wives;
And brag to strangers of their happy lives.
Like summer trees, beneath your bounty's load ;
And cheerful duty serves) a giving God.”
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 : “Why should my storm your life's calm voyage vex.
Destroying wholly virtue's race in one ?
All in a single ruin were undone.
Your once-loved maid, excuse you, since I know That virtuous men forsake so willingly
Long-cherish'd life, because to heav'n they go.
procures, I still shall value the advancement high,
Not as the crown is hers, but she is yours.” Ere this high sorrow up to dying grew,
The duke the casket open'd, and from thence (Form'd like a heart) a cheerful em'rald drew;
Cheerful, as if the lively stone had sense.
Not ta’en from the Attic silver mine,
Did on the necks of Parthian ladies shine:
Nor taken from those rocks where Bactrians climb : But from the Scythian, and without a cloud;
Not sick at fire, nor languishing with time.
Progenitors, was to the loyal she
The nuptial pledge; and this I give to thee.
Seven centuries have pass’d, since it from bride
To bride did first succeed; and though 'tis known From ancient lore that gems much virtue hide,
And that the em'rald is the bridal' stone; Though much renown'd because it chastens loves,
And will, when worn by the neglected wife,
By faintness and a pale decay of life ;
Yet each compared to this does counsel keep
Or seems born blind, or feigns a dying sleep.
in all your kinder fears be sent To watch at court, if I deserve to die,
By making this to fade, and you lament." Had now an artful pencil Birtha drawn,
With grief all dark, then straight with joy all light,
A sudden break of beauty out of night.
Like nipping frost, did to her visage bring;
A rosy morn begin a sudden spring.
ABRAHAM COWLEY, the son of a grocer in London, was born A.D. 1618, and educated partly at Westminster School, and partly at Cambridge. From the University he was ejected during the great Rebellion; and following the queen to France, he devoted himself with persevering zeal to the royal cause. On his return to England he was imprisoned, and afterwards set free on bail. Till the Restoration he continued to live in England, without offering any further what must have proved an ineffectual opposition to the government. In consequence of this quiescence his former services and sacrifices met, on the accession of Charles the Second, no other return than that of neglect and contumely. Near the end of his life Cowley obtained a small competence, through the influence of Buckingham ; and settling at Chertsey, on the Thames, enjoyed for a short time what he had pronounced to be the best human happiness—"a small house in a large garden.” Cowley was one of the most learned among poets, as well as one of the most simple-hearted and amiable of men.
In spite of quaint conceits, and a versification often immelodious, his poetry has qualities both of thought and imagination which won for it the applause of Milton.
In a deep vision's intellectual scene,
Thou changeling! thou, bewitch'd with noise and show,
Thus spake the Muse, and spake it with a smile
Ah, wanton foe! dost thou upbraid
SPECIMEN STANZAS FROM THE
HYMN TO LIGHT."
Do all thy winged arrows fly?
Swiftness and Power by birth are thine: From thy great sire they came-thy sire, the Word Divine. Thou in the Moon's bright chariot, proud and gay,
Dost thy bright wood of stars survey ;
And all the year dost with thee bring