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‘Poets,' he says, “are scarce thought freemen of their Above the subtle foldings of the sky,
Where their vast court the mother-waters keep,
There is a place, deep, wondrous deep below,
Which genuine Night and Horror does o'erflow:
No bound controls the unwearied space but hell,
Here no dear glimpse of the sun's lovely face
Strikes through the solid darkness of the place; Long did the Muses banish'd slaves abide,
No dawning morn does her kind red display;
One slight weak beam would here be thought the day;
Here Lucifer, the mighty captive, reigns,
Once general of a gilded host of sprites,
But down like lightning which him struck he came,
And roar'd at his first plunge into the flame.
Myriads of spirits fell wounded round him there;
Rivers of flaming brimstone, which before
No hiss of snakes, no clank of chains was known,
The souls amidst their tortures durst not groan.
In imitation of Horace's Ode, Lib. i. Od. 5.
To whom now, Pyrrha, art thou kind ! And I myself a Catholic will be,
To what heart-ravish'd lover So far, at least, great saint, to pray to thee.
Dost thou thy golden lock unbind, Hail bard triumphant, and some care bestow
Thy hidden sweets discover, On us the poets militant below,
And, with large bounty, open set
All the bright stores of thy rich cabinet ?
Ah, simple youth ! how oft will he
Of thy chang'd faith complain ! Thou from low earth in nobler flames didst rise,
And his own fortunes find to be And, like Elijah, mount alive the skies !
So airy and so vain;
Of so cameleon-like a hue,
That still their colour changes with it too!
How oft, alas ! will he admire Sleep on! Rest, quiet as thy conscience, take,
The blackness of the skies; For though thou sleep'st thyself, thy God's awake.
Trembling to hear the winds sound higher,
And see the billows rise ! * Mr Crashaw died of a fever at Loretto, being newly chosen
Poor unexperienc'd he, canon of that church.
Who ne'er, alas, had been before at sea !
H' enjoys thy calmy sunshine now,
And no breath stirring hears; In the clear heaven of thy brow
No smallest cloud appears.
He sees thee gentle, fair, and gay, And trusts the faithless April of thy May. Unhappy! thrice unhappy he,
T' whom thou untried dost shine! But there's no danger now for me,
Since o'er Loretto's shrine,
In witness of the shipwreck past, My consecrated vessel hangs at last.
Anacreontics. Or some copies of yerses translated paraphrastically out of
The Resurrection. Begin the song, and strike the living lyre ! Lo, how the years to come, a numerous and well-fitted
quire, All hand in hand do decently advance, And to my song with smooth and equal measures
The wise example of the heav'nly lark,
When dead to arise,
The Shortness of Life and Uncertainty of Riches.
Does of all meats the soonest cloy.
And they, methinks, deserve my pity,
Of this great hive, the city.
Ah! yet ere I descend to th’ grave,
Both wise, and both delightful too!
And since love ne'er will from me flec,
Only belov’d, and loving me!
Oh fountains : when in you shall I
The happy tenant of your shade?
Here's the spring-head of Pleasure's flood, Where all the riches lie, that she
Has coin'd and stamp'd for good.
Pride and ambition here
And nought but Echo flatter.
The gods, when they descended hither
That 'tis the way too thither.
How happy here should I,
In deserts solitude.
I should have then this only fear,
And so make a city here.
Margarita first possest,
If I remember well, my breast.
Margarita first of all;
Martha took the flying ball.
To the beauteous Catherine.
Beauteous Catherine gave place
To Eliza's conquering face.
Had she not evil counsels ta’en;
Fundamental laws she broke,
And cast away her yoke.
Both to reign at once began :
Alternately they sway'd;
Another Mary then arose,
And did rigorous laws impose ;
A mighty tyrant she !
Had not Rebecca set me free.
'Twas then a golden time with me.
But soon those pleasures fled;
And Judith reigned in her stead.
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. But when Isabella came,
Arm'd with a resistless flame,
And th' artillery of her eye, Whilst she proudly march'd about, Grcater conquests to find out,
She beat out Susan by the bye. But in her place I then obey'd
Black-eyed Bess, her viceroy maid,
To whom ensued a vacancy. Thousand worse passions then possest The interregnum of my breast :
Bless me from such an anarchy! Gentle Henrietta then,
And a third Mary next began,
Then Joan, and Jane, and Audria,
And then a long 'et cetera.'
The strength and riches of their state,
The powder, patches, and the pins,
That make up all their magazines :
To take and keep men's hearts;
The letters, embassies, and spies, The frowns, and smiles, and flatteries, The quarrels, tears, and perjuries,
Numberless, nameless mysteries; And all the little lime-twigs laid
By Machiavel, 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. But I will briefer with them be,
Since few of them were long with me.
A higher and a nobler strain My present emperess does claim, Heleonora, first o'th' name,
Whom God grant long to reign!
Did on the very border stand
Ode on the Death of Mr William Harvey.
By something liker death possest. My eyes with tears did uncommanded flow,
And on my soul hung the dull weight
Of some intolerable fate. What bell was that? Ah me! too much I know. My sweet companion, and my gentle peer, Why hast thou left me thus unkindly here, Thy end for ever, and my life to moan?
O thou hast left me all alone! Thy soul and body, when death's agony
Besieged around thy noble heart,
Did not with more reluctance part Than I, my dearest friend, do part from thee. My dearest friend, would I had died for thee! Life and this world henceforth will tedious be. Nor shall I know hereafter what to do,
If once ny griefs prove tedious too. Silent and sad I walk about all day,
As sullen ghosts stalk speechless by
Where their hid treasures lie;
By friendship given of old to fame.
Whom the kind youth preferred to me;
And ev’n in that we did agree,
Wonder'd at us from above.
But search of deep philosophy,
Wit, eloquence, and poetry; Arts which I lov’d, for they, my friend, were thine. Ye fields of Cambridge, our dear Cambridge, say, Have ye not seen us walking every day? Was there a tree about, which did not know
The love betwixt us two? Henceforth, ye gentle trees, for ever fade;
Or your sad branches thicker join,
And into darksome shades combine; Dark as the grave wherein my friend is laid.
[Lord Bacon.) [From · Ode to the Royal Society.'] From these and all long errors of the way, In which our wandering predecessors went, And like th' old Hebrews many years did stray In deserts but of small extent, Bacon, like Moses, led us forth at last; The barren wilderness he pass'd
His mirth was the pure spirits of various wit, Thus health and strength he to a third age enjoys,
And sees a long posterity of boys.
The voyage, life, is longest made at home.
HENRY VAUGHAN (1614–1695) published in 1651
a volume of miscellaneous poems, evincing considerWith as much zeal, devotion, piety,
able strength and originality of thought and copious He always liv'd as other saints do die;
imagery, though tinged with a gloomy sectarianism Still with his soul severe account he kept,
and marred by crabbed rhymes. Mr Campbell Weeping all debts out ere he slept.
scarcely does justice to Vaughan, in styling him Then down in peace and innocence he lay,
one of the harshest even of the inferior order of the Like the sun's laborious light,
school of conceit,' though he admits that he has Which still in water sets at night,
some few scattered thoughts that meet our eye Unsullied with his journey of the day.
amidst his harsh pages, like wild flowers on a barren
heath. As a sacred poet, Vaughan has an intenWondrous young man, why wert thou made so good, sity of feeling only inferior to Crashaw. He was a To be snatcht hence ere better understood ?
Welslıman (born in Brecknockshire), and had a dash Snatcht before half enough of thee was seen !
of Celtic enthusiasm. He first followed the profesThou ripe, and yet thy life but green! sion of the law, but afterwards adopted that of a Nor could thy friends take their last sad farewell, physician. He does not seem to have attained to a But danger and infectious death,
competence in either, for he complains much of the Maliciously seized on that breath
proverbial poverty and suffering of poetsWhere life, spirit, pleasure, always used to dwell.
As they were merely thrown upon the stage,
The mirth of fools, and legends of the age.
In his latter days Vaughan grew deeply serious and Here, stranger, in this humble nest,
devout, and published a volume of religious poetry, Here Cowley sleeps; here lies,
containing his happiest effusions. The poet was not Scaped all the toils that life molest,
without hopes of renown, and he wished the river of And its superfluous joys.
his native vale to share in the distinctionHere, in no sordid poverty,
When I am laid to rest hard by thy streams, And no inglorious ease,
And my sun sets where first it sprang in beams, He braves the world, and can defy
I'll leave behind me such a large kind light
As shall redeem thee from oblivious night,
And in these vows which (living yet) I pay,
Shed such a precious and enduring ray, *Light lie that earth,' good stranger, pray,
As shall from age to age thy fair name lead
Till rivers leave to run, and men to read !
Early Rising and Prayer.
[From 'Silex Scintillans, or Sacred Poems. ] Be his warm ashes crown'd !
When first thy eyes unveil, 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 : Happy the man who his whole time doth bound
Give him thy first thoughts then, so shalt thou keep Within the enclosure of his little ground.
Him company all day, and in him sleep. Happy the man whom the same humble place (The hereditary cottage of his race)
Yet never sleep the sun up; prayer should From his first rising infancy has known,
Dawn with the day: there are set awful hours And by degrees sees gently bending down,
'Twixt heaven and us; the manna was not good With natural propension, to that earth
After sun-rising ; far day sullies flowers : Which both preserv'd his life, and gave him birth. Rise to prevent the sun ; sleep doth sins glut, Him no false distant lights, by fortune set,
And heaven's gate opens when the world's is shut. Could ever into foolish wanderings get.
Walk with thy fellow-creatures; note the hush He never dangers either saw or fear'd :
And whisperings amongst them. Not a spring The dreadful storms at sea he never heard.
Or leaf but hath his morning hymn; each bush He never heard the shrill alarms of war,
And oak doth know I AM. Canst thou not sing! Or the worse noises of the lawyers' bar.
O leave thy cares and follies! Go this way,
And thou art sure to prosper all the day.
Serve God before the world ; let him not go
Until thou hast a blessing ; then resign He measures time by land-marks, and has found
The whole unto him, and remember who For the whole day the dial of his ground.
Prevail'd by wrestling ere the sun did shine; A neighbouring wood, born with himself, he sees,
Pour oil upon the stones, weep for thy sin, And loves his old contemporary trees.
Then journey on, and have an eye to heav'n. He has only heard of near Verona's name,
Mornings are mysteries ; the first, the world's youth, And knows it, like the Indies, but by fame;
Man's resurrection, and the future's bud, Does with a like concernment notice take
Shroud in their births; the crown of life, light, truth, Of the Red Sea, and of Benacus' lake.
Is styled their star; the stone and hidden food :