as the seas.' Herrick gives us a glimpse of his own character Born I was to meet with age, I'll have nought to say to you; This light and genial temperament would enable the poet to ride out the storm in composure. About the time that he lost his vicarage, Herrick appears to have published his works. His Noble Numbers, or Pious Pieces, are dated 1647; his Hesperides, or the Works both Humane and Divine of Robert Herrick, Esquire,' in 1648. The clerical prefix to his name seems now to have been abandoned by the poet, and there are certainly many pieces in his second volume which would not become one ministering at the altar, or belonging to the sacred profession. Herrick lived in Westminster, and was supported or assisted by the wealthy royalists. He associated with the jovial spirits of the age. He quaffed the mighty bowl' with Ben Jonson, but could not, he tells us, thrive in frenzy,' like rare Ben, who seems to have excelled all his fellow-compotators in sallies of wild wit and high imaginations. The recollection of these brave translunary scenes' of the poets inspired the muse of Herrick in the following strain: : Ah Ben! Say how or when Made at the Sun, The Dog, the Triple Tun; Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine. My Ben! Or come again, Or send to us Thy wit's great overplus, 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. After the Restoration, Herrick was replaced in his Devonshire vicarage. How he was received by the 'rude salvages' of Dean Prior, or how he felt on quitting the gaieties of the metropolis, to resume his clerical duties and seclusion, is not recorded. He was now about seventy years of age, and was pro bably tired of canary sack and tavern jollities. He had an undoubted taste for the pleasures of a country life, if we may judge from his works, and the fondness with which he dwells on old English festivals and rural customs. Though his rhymes were sometimes wild, he says his life was chaste, and he repented of his errors:— For these my unbaptised rhymes, Writ in my wild unhallowed times, For every sentence, clause, and word, That's not inlaid with thee, O Lord! Forgive me, God, and blot cach line That one of all the rest shall be The poet should better have evinced the sincerity and depth of his contrition, by blotting out the unbaptised rhymes himself, or not reprinting them; but the vanity of the author probably triumphed over the penitence of the Christian. Gaiety was the natural element of Herrick. His muse was a goddess fair and free, that did not move happily in serious numbers. The time of the poet's death has not been ascertained, but he must have arrived at a ripe old age. many years after his death. They are now again in The poetical works of Herrick lay neglected for have been set to music, and are sung and quoted by esteem, especially his shorter lyrics, some of which all lovers of song. His verses, Cherry Ripe, and Gather the Rose-buds while ye may (though the sentiment and many of the expressions of the latter are taken from Spenser), possess a delicious mixture of playful fancy and natural feeling. Those To Blossoms, To Daffodils, and To Primroses, have a tinge of pathos that wins its way to the heart. They abound, like all Herrick's poems, in lively imagery and conceits; but the pensive moral feeling predominates, and we feel that the poet's smiles might as such delicate fancies and snatches of lyrical melody well be tears. Shakspeare and Jonson had scattered among their plays and masques-Milton's Comus and the Arcades had also been published-Carew and Suckling were before him-Herrick was, therefore, not without models of the highest excellence in this species of composition. There is, however, in his songs and anacreontics, an unforced gaiety and natural tenderness, that show he wrote chiefly from the impulses of his own cheerful and happy nature. The select beauty and picturesqueness of Herrick's language, when he is in his happiest vein, is worthy of his fine conceptions; and his versification is harmony itself. His verses bound and flow like some exquisite lively melody, that echoes nature, by wood and dell, and presents new beauties at every turn and winding. The strain is short, and sometimes fantastic; but the notes long linger in the mind, and take their place for ever in the memory. One or two words, such as 'gather the rose-buds,' call up a summer landscape, with youth, beauty, flowers, and music. This is, and ever must be, true poetry. To Blossoms. Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, What! were ye born to be An hour or half's delight, But you are lovely leaves, where we The Kiss-a Dialogue. 1. Among thy fancies tell me this: It is a creature born, and bred 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 check, 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. Ay, and wings, With thousand rare encolourings ; And as it flies, it gently sings, Chor.-Love honey yields, but never stings. To the Virgins, to make much of their Time. Gather the rose-buds, while ye may, The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun, The sooner will his race be run, That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But, being spent, the worse, and worst Time shall succeed the former. Be Twelfth-day queen for the night here. And let not a man then be seen here, A health to the king and the queen herc. And thus ye must do To make the wassail a swinger. Give them to the king And though with ale ye be wet here; As free from offence, As when ye innocent met here. The Country Life. Sweet country life, to such unknown, For well thou know'st 'tis not th' extent Is the wise master's feet and hands. 1 Amongst the sports proper to Twelfth Night in England was the partition of a cake with a bean and pea in it: the individuals who got the bean and pea were respectively king and queen for the evening. 9 A drink of warm ale, with roasted apples and spices in it. The term is a corruption from the Celtic. 3 Farm-labourers. The term is still used in Scotland. And smell'st the breath of great-eyed kine, On which the young men and maids meet Thy May-poles, too, with garland's graced ; And trace the hare in the treacherous snow: A Thanksgiving for his House. A little house, whose humble roof Where Thou, my chamber for to ward, Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep Who hither come, and freely get Like as my parlour, so my hall, A little buttery, and therein Which keeps my little loaf of bread Some brittle sticks of thorn or brier Close by whose living coal I sit, Lord, I confess, too, when I dine, There placed by Thee. Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent: Makes those, and my beloved beet, To be more sweet. 'Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth; And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink, Weigh me the fire; or canst thou find And taste thou them as saltless there, Tell me the motes, dusts, sands, and spears Cherry Ripe. Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, To Corinna, to go a Maying. Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn Each flower has wept, and bow'd toward the east, When as a thousand virgins on this day, Rise, and put on your foliage, and be seen To come forth, like the spring time, fresh and green, For jewels for your gown or hair; Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, Retires himself, or else stands still Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in praying; Come, my Corinna, come; and, coming, mark Made green, and trimm'd with trees; see how Or branch; each porch, each door, ere this, Made up of white thorn neatly interwove; And sin no more, as we have done, by staying, And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth, Many a jest told of the key's betraying This night, and locks pick'd ; yet w' are not a Maying. 1 Herrick here alludes to the multitudes which were to be seen roaming in the fields on May morning; he afterwards refers to the appearance of the towns and villages bedecked with evergreens. Come, let us go, while we are in our prime, Our life is short, and our days run And as a vapour, or a drop of rain 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. RICHARD LOVELACE. An Of the same class as Herrick, less buoyant or vigorous in natural power, and much less fortunate in his destiny, was RICHARD LOVELACE (1618-1658). This cavalier poet was well descended, being the son of Sir William Lovelace, knight. He was educated at Oxford, and afterwards presented at court. thony Wood describes him at the age of sixteen, ‘as 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 female sex.' Thus personally distinguished, and a royalist in principle, Lovelace was chosen by the county of Kent to deliver a petition to the House of Commons, praying that the king might be restored to his rights, and the government settled. The Long Parliament was then in the ascendant, and Lovelace was thrown into prison for his boldness. He was liberated on heavy bail, but spent his fortune in fruitless efforts to succour the royal cause. He afterwards served in the French army, and was wounded at Dunkirk. Returning in 1648, he was again imprisoned. To beguile the time of his confinement, he collected his poems, and published them in 1649, under the title of Lucasta: Odes, Sonnets, Songs, &c. &c. The general title was given them on account of the lady of his love,' Miss Lucy Sacheverell, whom he usually called Lux Casta. This was an unfortunate attachment; for the lady, hearing that Lovelace died of his wounds at Dunkirk, married another person. From this time the course of the poet was downward. The ascendant party did, indeed, release his person, when the death of the king had left them the less to fear from their opponents; but Lovelace was now penniless, and the reputation of a broken cavalier was no passport to better circumstances. It appears that, oppressed with want and melancholy, the gallant Lovelace fell into a consumption. Wood relates 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,' in one of which, situated in a miserable alley near Shoe Lane, he died in 1658. What a contrast to the gay and splendid scenes of his youth! Aubrey confirms the statement of Wood as to the reverse of fortune; but recent inquiries have rather tended to throw discredit on those pictures of the extreme misery of the poet. Destitute, however, he no doubt was, fallen from his high estate;' though not perhaps so low as to die an example of abject poverty and misery. The poetry of Lovelace, like his life, was very unequal. There is a spirit and nobleness in some of his verses and sentiments, that charms the reader, as much as his gallant bearing and fine person captivated the fair. In general, however, they are affected, obscure, and harsh. His taste was perverted by the fashion of the day-the affected wit, ridiculous gallantry, and boasted licen tiousness of the cavaliers. That Lovelace knew how to appreciate true taste and nature, may be seen from his lines on Lely's portrait of Charles I: See, what an humble bravery doth shine, So sacred a contempt that others show To this (o' the height of all the wheel) below; That mightiest monarchs by this shaded book May copy out their proudest, richest look. Lord Byron has been censured for a line in his Bride of Abydos, in which he says of his heroine The mind, the music breathing from her face. The noble poet vindicates the expression on the broad ground of its truth and appositeness. He does not seem to have been aware (as was pointed out by Sir Egerton Brydges) that Lovelace first employed the same illustration, in a song of Orpheus, lamenting the death of his wife : Oh, could you view the melody And music of her face, Song. Why should you swear I am forsworn, And 'twas last night I swore to thee Have I not lov'd thee much and long, I must all other beauties wrong, But I must search the black and fair, Like skilful mineralists that sound For treasure in unplough'd-up ground. Then, if when I have lov'd my round, Thou prov'st the pleasant she; With spoils of meaner beauties crown'd, I laden will return to thee, Even sated with variety. The Rose. Sweet, serene, sky-like flower, From thy long cloudy bed Shoot forth thy damask head. Vermilion ball that's given From lip to lip in heaven; Love's couch's coverlid; Haste, haste, to make her bed. See rosy is her bower, Her floor is all thy flower; Her bed a rosy nest, By a bed of roses prest. Song. Amarantha, sweet and fair, Oh, braid no more that shining hair! Let it fly, as unconfin'd, As its calm ravisher, the wind; |