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 filed; 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, Greater 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 my 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 shade, 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 To him my muse made haste with every strain, Whilst it was new, and warm yet from the brain. He lov'd my worthless rhymes, and like a friend Would find out something to commend. Hence now, my muse, thou canst not me delight; Be this my latest verse, With which I now adorn his hearse; And this my grief, without thy help shall write. 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. rich help of books he always took, HENRY VAUGHAN. HENRY VAUGHAN (1614–1695) published in 1651 & volume of miscellaneous poems, evincing considerWith as much zeal, devotion, piety, able strength and originality of thought and copious He always lir'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 hini 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 ? Welshman (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 Where life, spirit, pleasure, always used to dwell. proverbial poverty and suffering of poets 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, He braves the world, and can defy And my sun sets where first it sprang in beams, I'll leave behind me such a large kind light Its frowns and flatteries. 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 : Give him thy first thoughts then, so shalt thou keep 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 feard : 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, 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 hear'n. He has only heard of near Verona's name, Momings 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 Sca, and of Benacus' lake. Is styled their star; the stone and hidden food : II. Three blessings wait upon them, one of which Of frothy billows, and in one great name The Rainbow. (From the same.) Still young and fine, but what is still in view We slight as old and soil'd, though fresh and new. How bright wert thou when Shem's admiring eye Thy burnish'd flaming arch did first descry ; When Zerah, 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 of his eye! When I behold thee, though my light be dim, Distinct, and low, I can in thine see him, Who looks upon thee from his glorious throne, And minds the covenant betwixt all and One. THOMAS STANLEY. THOMAS STANLEY, the learned editor of Æschylus, and author of a History of Philosophy, appears early in this period as a poet, having published a volume of his verses in 1651. The only son of Sir Thomas Stanley, knight, of Camberlow-Green, in Hertfordshire, he was educated at Pembroke college, Oxford; spent part of his youth in travelling; and afterwards lived in the Middle Temple. His poems, whether original or translated, are remarkable for a rich style of thought and expression, though deformed to some extent by the conceits of his age. The Story of Endymion. of • Endymion.') The Tomb. 'When, cruel fair one, I am slain By thy disdain, And, as a trophy of thy scorn, To some old tomb am borne, Thy fetters must their power bequeath To those of Death; To see my tomb, And (as a victor) proud, Press near my shade, Conceal my dust, Dumb and forgotten, lie, The pride of all thy victory Will sleep with me; And they who should attest thy glory, Will, or forget, or not believe this story. Then to increase thy triumph, let me rest, Since by thine eye slain, buried in thy breast. The Exequies. Of Fortune or Disdain, And soften the relentless stones, No verse, Nor peaceful requiem sing, The sacred silence that dwells here. Yet strew Such offerings as you have The Loss. So wretched as to know A faith so bright, So firm, that lovers might wn'd thy name With laurel verdant as thy youth, Whilst the shrill voice of Fame This thou hast lost, That my just aims were crost, And none will lay But such as would betray Yet, if thou choose Affection may excuse, See, the rain soaks to the skin, Note on Anacreon. (The following piece is a translation by Stanley from a poem by St Amant, in which that writer had employed his utmost genius to expand and enforce one of the over-free sentiments of the bard of Teios.] Let's not rhyme the hours away; Note to Moschus. [Stanley here translates a poem of Marino, in which that writer had in his eye the second idyl of Moschus] Along the mead Europa walks, To choose the fairest of its gems, She weaves in fragrant diadems. The common people of the field, Homage as to their goddess yield. Which to the queen shall first present The votive offering of their scent. 320 When deathless Amaranth, this strife, on seeing one of his pieces, that when men are Greedy by dying to decide, young, and have little else to do, they may vent the Begs she would her green thread of life, overflowings of their fancy in that way; but when As love's fair destiny, divide. they are thought fit for more serious employPliant Acanthus now the vine ments, if they still persisted in that course, it looked And ivy enviously beholds, as if they minded not the way to any better.' The Wishing her odorous arms might twine poet stood corrected and bridled in his muse. In About this fair in such strict folds. 1648 Denham conveyed the Duke of York to France, and resided in that country some time. His estate The Violet, by her foot opprest, was sold by the Long Parliament; but the RestoraDoth from that touch enamour'd rise, tion revived his fallen dignity and fortunes. He But, losing straight what made her blest, was made surveyor of the king's buildings, and a Hangs down her head, looks pale, and dies. knight of the bath. In domestic life the poet does Clitia, to new devotion won, not seem to have been happy. He had freed him. Doth now her former faith deny, self from his early excesses and follies, but an unforSees in her face a double sun, tunate marriage darkened his closing years, which And glories in apostacy. were unhappily visited by insanity. He recovered, The Gillyflower, which mocks the skies, to receive the congratulations of Butler, his fellow(The meadow's painted rainbow) seeks poet, and to commemorate the death of Cowley, in A brighter lustre from her eyes, one of his happiest effusions. And richer scarlet from her cheeks. Cooper's Hill, the poem by which Denham is now best known, consists of between three and four hunThe jocund flower-de-luce appears, dred lines, written in the heroic couplet. The deBecause neglected, discontent; scriptions are interspersed with sentimental digresThe morning furnish'd her with tears; sions, suggested by the objects around—the river Her sighs expiring odours vent. Thames, a ruined abbey, Windsor forest, and the Narcissus in her eyes, once more, field of Runnymede. The view from Cooper's Hill Seems his own beauty to admire ; is rich and luxuriant, but the muse of Denham was In water not so clear before, more reflective than descriptive. Dr Johnson assigns As represented now in fire. to this poet the praise of being the author of a The Crocus, who would gladly claim species of composition that may be denominated A privilege above the rest, local poetry, of which the fundamental subject is Begs with his triple tongue of flame, some particular landscape, to be poetically described, To be transplanted to her breast. with the addition of such embellishments as may be supplied by historical retrospection or incidental The Hyacinth, in whose pale leaves meditation. Ben Jonson's fine poem on Penshurst The hand of Nature writ his fate, may dispute the palm of originality on this point With a glad smile his sigh deceives with the Cooper's Hill,' but Jonson could not have In hopes to be more fortunate. written with such correctness, or with such intense His head the drowsy Poppy rais'd, and pointed expression, as Denham. The versificaAwak’d by this approaching morn, tion of this poet is generally smooth and flowing, And view'd her purple light amaz’d, but he had no pretensions to the genius of Cowley, Though his, alas ! was but her scorn. or to the depth and delicacy of feeling possessed by None of this aromatic crowd, the old dramatists, or the poets of the Elizabethan period. But for their kind death humbly call, He reasoned fluently in verse, without glaring faults of style, and hence obtained the approCourting her hand, like martyrs proud, bation of Dr Johnson far above his deserts. Denham By so divine a fate to fall. could not, like his contemporary, Chamberlayne, The royal maid th' applause disdains have described the beauty of a summer morningOf vulgar flowers, and only chose The bashful glory of the plains, The morning hath not lost her virgin blush, How full of heaven this solitude appears, This healthful comfort of the happy swain ; Who from his hard but peaceful bed roused up, Guarded by amorous winds, and wears In's morning exercise saluted is By a full quire of feather'd choristers, Wedding their notes to the enamour'd air ! Here nature in her unaffected dress SIR JOAN DENHAM (1615–1668) was the son of the Plaited with valleys, and emboss'd with hills chief baron of exchequer in Ireland, but was educated Enchas'd with silver streams, and fring'd with woods, at Oxford, then the chief resort of all the poetical Sits lovely in her native russet.* and high-spirited cavaliers. Denham was wild and Chamberlayne is comparatively unknown, and has dissolute in his youth, and squandered away great never been included in any edition of the poets, yet part of his patrimony at the gaming-table. He was every reader of taste or sensibility must feel that the made governor of Farnham castle by Charles I.; above picture far transcends the cold sketches of | and after the monarch had been delivered into the Denham, and is imbued with a poetical spirit to which hands of the army, his secret correspondence was he was a stranger. “That Sir John Denham began a partly carried on by Denham, who was furnished reformation in our verse,' says Southey, 'is one of with nine several ciphers for the purpose. Charles the most groundless assertions that ever obtained had a respect for literature, as well as the arts; and belief in literature. More thought and more skill Milton records of him that he made Shakspeare's had been exercised before his time in the construcplays the closet-companion of his solitude. It would tion of English metre than he ever bestowed on the appear, however, that the king wished to keep poetry apart from state affairs : for he told Denham, * Chamberlayne's 'Love's Victory.' 321 21 |