"Night and her ugly subjects thou dost fright,

And sleep, the lazy owl of night;

Ashamed and fearful to appear,

They skreen their horrid shapes with the black hemisphere.

"With 'em there hastes, and wildly takes th' alarm,
Of painted dreams a busy swarm;

At the first opening of thine eye,
The various clusters break, the antick atoms fly.

"The guilty serpents, and obscener beasts,
Creep, conscious, to their secret rests:
Nature to thee does reverence pay,

Ill omens, and ill sights remove out of thy way. "At thy appearance, grief itself is said

To shake his wings, and rouse his head :
And cloudy care has often took

A gentle beamy smile reflected from thy look.
"At thy appearance, fear itself grows bold;
Thy sunshine melts away his cold.
Encouraged at the sight of thee,

To the cheek colour comes, and firmness to the knee.

"Ev'n Lust, the master of a hard'ned face,

Blushes, if thou be'st in the place;

To darkness' curtains he retires,

In sympathizing night he rolls his smoaky fires. "When, goddess, thou lift'st up thy wak'ned head, Out of the morning's purple bed,

Thy quire of birds about thee play,
And all thy joyful world salutes the rising day.
"The ghosts, and monster-spirits, that did presume,
A body's priv'lege to assume,

Vanish again invisibly,

And bodies gain again their visibility.

"All the world's brav'ry that delights our eyes Is but thy sev'ral liveries:

Thou the rich dye on them bestow'st,

Thy nimble pencil paints this landskip as thou goest.

"A crimson garment in the rose thou wear'st; A crown of studded gold thou bear'st.

The virgin lillies in their white

Are clad but with the lawn of almost naked light.

"The violet, Spring's little infant, stands

Girt in thy purple swadling-bands:

On the fair tulip thou dost dote,

Thou cloath'st it in a gay and party-colour'd coat.

"With flame condens'd thou dost thy jewels fix, And solid colours in it mix:

Flora herself envies to see

Flowers fairer than her own, and durable as she.

"Ah, goddess! would thou could'st thy hand withhold, And be less liberal to gold;

Did thou less value to it give,

Of how much care (alas!) might'st thou poor man relieve! "To me the sun is more delightful far,

And all fair days much fairer are.

But few, ah! wondrous few, there be,
Who do not gold prefer, O goddess! ev'n to thee.
"Through the soft ways of heav'n, and air, and sea,
Which open all their pores to thee;

Like a clear river thou dost glide,

And with thy living streams through the close channels slide. "But where firm bodies thy free course oppose,

Gently thy source the land o'erflows;

Takes there possession, and does make

Of colours mingled, light, a thick and standing lake.

"But the vast ocean of unbounded day

In th' empyréan heaven does stay.

Thy rivers, lakes, and springs below

From thence took first their rise, thither at last must flow." In joyous abandonment, or exuberant gaiety, Cowley has few equals; in such moments his whole soul appears in a holiday suit. We meet with nothing but light-hearted pleasure and delights, which thought or care enter not to disturb. The warmth of his feelings carries him so rapidly forward, that he forgets "to write like a gentleman :" the consequence is, that he writes like a man. We quote, for example, "The Chronicle," which, though celebrated, is probably unknown to a great many of our readers. "Margarita first possest,

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.

"Martha soon did it resign

To the beauteous Catherine.
Beauteous Catherine gave place
(Though loth and angry she to part
With the possession of my heart)
To Elisa's conquering face.
"Elisa till this hour might reign,
Had she not evil counsels ta'en,

VOL. I.-PART III.

BB

Fundamental laws she broke, And still new favourites she chose, Till up in arms my passions rose, And cast away her yoke.

"Mary then, and gentle Ann,

Both to reign at once began:
Alternately they sway'd,

And sometimes Mary was the fair,
And sometimes Ann the crown did wear,
And sometimes both I obey'd.

"Another Mary then arose,

And did rigorous laws impose.
A mighty tyrant she!

Long, alas! should I have been
Under that iron-scepter'd queen,
Had not Rebecca set me free.

"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 reigned in her stead.

"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.

"But when Isabella came,

Arm'd with a resistless flame,
And th' artillery of her eye,

Whilst she proudly march'd about,
Greater conquests to find out,

She beat out Susan by the bye.

"But in her place I then obey'd

Black-ey'd 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 pretty Thomasine,

And then another Katharine,

And then a long et cætera.

"But should I now to you relate

The strength and riches of their state,
The powder, patches, and the pins,
The ribbands, jewels, and the rings,
The lace, the paint, and warlike things
That make up all their magazines:

"If I should tell the politic arts

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 Holinshead or Stow..

"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' th' name,

Whom God grant long to reign!"

In the same airy and agreeable strain is composed The Inconstant, one of the very few poems that is good for any thing in The Mistress.

"I never yet could see that face

Which had no dart for me;
From fifteen years to fifty's space,
They all victorious be.

Love, thou'rt a devil, if I may call thee one;
For sure in me thy name is legion.

"Colour or shape, good limbs or face,

Goodness or wit, in all I find:

In motion or in speech, a grace;
If all fail, yet 'tis womankind.
And I'm so weak, the pistol need not be
Double or treble charged to murder me.

"If tall, the name of proper slays;

If fair, she's pleasant as the light;
If low, her prettiness does please;

If black, what lover loves not night?
If yellow-hair'd, I love, lest it should be
Th' excuse to others for not loving me.

"The fat, like plenty, fills my heart,

The lean with love makes me too so.
If straight, her body's Cupid's dart
To me; if crooked, 'tis his bow.

Nay, age itself does me to rage incline,
And strength to women gives, as well as wine.

"Just half as large as Charity

My richly landed love's become;
And judged aright is Constancy,
Though it take up a larger room:

Him, who loves always one, why should they call
More constant, than the man loves always all.

"Thus with unwearied wings I flee

Through all Love's gardens and his fields;
And, like the wise industrious bee,
No weed but honey to me yields!

Honey still spent this diligence still supplies,
Though I return not home with laden thighs.

"My soul at first, indeed, did prove
Of pretty strength against a dart,
Till I this habit got of love;

But my consumed and wasted heart,
Once burnt to tinder with a strong desire,
Since that by every spark is set on fire."

In the poem called The Wish, to which Cowley refers in the essay "Of Myself," we find more natural thought more naturally expressed than in the rest of his amatory poetry, which is as cold and lifeless as can be conceived.

"Well then; I now do plainly see This busy world and I shall ne'er agree; The very honey of all earthly joy

Does of all meats the soonest cloy.

And they (methinks) deserve my pity,

Who for it can endure the stings,
The crowd, and buz, and murmurings
Of this great hive, the city.

"Ah! yet, ere I descend to th' grave,
May I a small house, and large garden have,
And a few friends, and many books, both true,
Both wise, and both delightful too!

And since love ne'er will from me flee,

A mistress moderately fair,

And good as guardian angels are,

Only belov'd, and loving me!

"Oh fountains! when in you

shall I

Myself, eas'd of unpeaceful thoughts espy?