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through all the windings of romantic love, plots, The spangled curtains of the sky, within escapes, and adventures, more time is required than Whose boundless orbs the circling planets spin the author's busy age could afford-We need hardly Those threads of time upon whose strength rely wonder that Chamberlavne was an unsuccessful The pond'rous burdens of mortality. poet. His works were almost totally forgotten, till, An adamantine world she sees, more pure, in our own day, an author no less remarkable for More glorious far than this-fram'd to endure the beauty of his original compositions than for his The shock of dooms-day's darts. literary research and sound criticism, Mr Campbell,

Chamberlayne, like Milton, was fond of describing in huis.Specimens of the Poets,' in 1819, by quoting the charms of morning. We have copied one paslargely from ‘Pharonnida,' and pointing out the rich breadth and variety of its scenes,' and the power and sage in the previous notice of Denham, and numepathos of its characters and situations, drew attention to the passion, imagery, purity of sentimient,

Like atoms of the rainbow fluttering round, and tenderness of description, which lay, “like are interspersed throughout his works. For exmetals in the mine,' in the neglected volume of ampleChamberlayne. We cannot, however, suppose that

Where every bough the works of this poet can ever be popular; his

Maintain’d a feather'd chorister to sing beauties are marred by infelicity of execution :

Soft panegyrics, and the rude wings bring though not deficient in the genius of a poet, he had

Into a murmuring slumber, whilst the calm little of the skill of the artist. The heroic couplet

Morn on each leaf did hang her liquid balm, then wandered at will, sometimes into a wilderness

With an intent, before the next sun's birth, of sweets,' but at other times into tediousness, man

To drop it in those wounds, which the cleft earth Derism, and absurdity. The sense was not com

Receiv'd from last day's beams. pressed by the form of the verse, or by any correct rules of metrical harmony. Chamberlayne also Of virgin purity he says, with singular beauty of laboured under the disadvantage of his story being expressionlong and intricate, and his style such-from the prolonged tenderness and pathos of his scenes—as

The inorning pearls, could not be appreciated except on a careful and

Dropt in the lily's spotless bosom, are

Less chastely cool, ere the meridian sun attentive perusal. Denham was patent to all-short,

Hath kiss'd them into heat. sententious, and perspicuous.

The dissatisfaction of the poet with his obscure In a grave narrative passage of Pharonnida,' he and neglected situation, depressed by poverty, stops to note the beauties of the morningbreaks out in the following passage descriptive of a

The glad birds had sung rich simpleton :

A lullaby to night, the lark was fled, How purblind is the world, that such a monster,

On dropping wings, up from his dewy bed, In a few dirty acres swaddled, must

To fan them in the rising sunbeams.
Be mounted, in opinion's empty scale,
Abore the noblest virtues that adorn

Unhappy Love.
Souls that make worth their centre, and to that

(From • Pharonnida."] Draw all the lines of action ! Worn with age, The noble soldier sits, whilst, in his cell,

"Is't a sin to be
The scholar stews his catholic brains for food. Born high, that robs me of my liberty?
The traveller return'd, and poor may go

Or is't the curse of greatness to behold
A second pilgrimage to farmers' doors, or end Virtue through such false optics as unfold
His journey in a hospital ; few being

No splendour, 'less from equal orbs they shine! So generous to relieve, where virtue doth

What heaven made free, ambitious men confine Necessitate to crave. Harsh poverty,

In regular degrees. Poor Love must dwell That moth, which frets the sacred robe of wit, Within no climate but what's parallel Thousands of noble spirits blunts, that else Unto our honour'd births; the envied fate Had spun rich threads of fancy from the brain : Of princes oft these burdens find from state, But they are souls too much sublim'd to thrive. When lowly swains, knowing no parent's voice The following description of a dream is finely And here she sighed ; then with some drops, distilla

A negative, make a free happy choice.' executed, and seems to have suggested, or at least From Love's most sovereign elixir, filla bears a close resemblance to, the splendid opening The crystal fountains of her eyes, which, ere lines of Dryden's • Religio Laici :'

Dropp'd down, she thus recalls again : ‘But ne'er, A strong prophetic dream,

Ne'er, my Argalia, shall these fears destroy Diverting by enigmas nature's stream,

My hopes of thee: Heaven ! let me but enjoy Long hovering through the portals of her mind So much of all those blessings, which their birth On vain fantastic wings, at length did find

Can take from frail mortality; and Earth, The glimmerings of obstructed reason, by

Contracting all her curses, cannot make A brighter beam of pure divinity

A storm of danger loud enough to shake Led into supernatural light, whose rays

Me to a trembling penitence; a curse, As much transcended reason's, as the day's

To make the horror of my suffering worse, Dull mortal fires, faith apprehends to be

Sent in a father's name, like vengeance fell Beneath the glimmerings of divinity.

From angry Heav'n, upon my head may dwell Her unimprison's soul, disrob’d of all

In an eternal stain-my honour'd name Terrestrial thoughts (like its original

With pale disgrace may languish—busy fame In heaven, pure and immaculate), a fit

My reputation spot-affection be Companion for those bright angels' wit

Term'à uncommanded lust-sharp poverty, Which the gods made their messengers, to bear That weed that kills the gentle flow'r of love, This sacred truth, scerning transported where, As the result of all these ills, may prove Fix'd in the flaming centre of the world,

My greatest misery-unless to find The heart o'th' microcosm, about which is hurld Myself unpitied. Yet not so unkind

Would I esteem this mercenary band,

inexorable, and bestowed her hand on the Earl of As those far more malignant powers that stand, Sunderland. It is said that, meeting her long afterArm'd with dissuasions, to obstruct the way

wards, when she was far advanced in years, the lady Fancy directs; but let those souls obey

asked him when he would again write such verses Their harsh commands, that stand in fear to shed upon her. When you are as young, madam, and Repentant tears: I am resolved to tread

as handsome, as you were then,' replied the ungalThose doubtful paths, through all the shades of fear lant poet. The incident affords a key to Waller's That now benights them. Love, with pity hear character. He was easy, witty, and accomplished, Thy suppliant's prayer, and when my clouded eyes but cold and selfish ; destitute alike of high prinShall cease to weep, in smiles I'll sacrifice

ciple and deep feeling. As a member of parliament, To thee such offerings, that the utmost date

Waller distinguished himself on the popular side, Of death's rough hands shall never violate.'

and was chosen to conduct the prosecution against

Judge Crawley for his opinion in favour of levying EDMUND WALLER.

ship-money. His speech, on delivering the impeachEDMUND WALLER (1605–1687) was a courtly and day. Shortly afterwards, however, Waller joined

ment, was printed, and 20,000 copies of it sold in one amatory poet, inferior to Herrick or Suckling in in a plot to surprise the city militia, and let in the natural feeling and poetic fancy, but superior to

king's forces, for which he was tried and sentenced them in correctness and in general powers of versi

to one year's imprisonment, and to pay a fine of fication. The poenis of Waller have all the smooth

£10,000. His conduct on this occasion was mean and abject. At the expiration of his imprisonment, the poet went abroad, and resided, amidst much splendour and hospitality, in France. He returned during the protectorate, and when Cromwell died, Waller celebrated the event in one of his most vigorous and impressive poems. The image of the commonwealth, though reared by no common hands, soon fell to pieces under Richard Cromwell, and Waller was ready with a congratulatory address to Charles II. The royal offering was considered inferior to the panegyric on Cromwell, and the king himself (who admitted the poet to terms of courtly intimacy) is said to have told him of the disparity. • Poets, sire,' replied the witty, self-possessed Waller, succeed better in fiction than in truth.' In the first parliament summoned by Charles, Waller sat for the town of Hastings, and he served for different places in all the parliaments of that reign. Bishop Burnet says he was the delight of the house of commons. At the accession of James II. in 1685, the venerable poet, then eighty years of age, was elected representative for a borough in Cornwall. The mad career of James in seeking to subvert the national church and constitution was foreseen by

this wary and sagacious observer: ‘he will be left;' Edmund Waller.

said he, like a whale upon the strand.' Feeling

his long-protracted life drawing to a close, Waller ness and polish of modern verse, and hence a high, purchased a small property at Čoleshill, saying, he perhaps too high, rank has been claimed for him would be glad to die like the stag, where he was as one of the first refiners and improvers of poetical roused.' The wish was not fulfilled ; he died at diction. One cause of Waller's refinement was Beaconsfield on the 21st of October 1687, and in the doubtless his early and familiar intercourse with the churchyard of that place (where also rest the ashes court and nobility, and the light conversational na- of Edmund Burke) a monument has been erected to ture of most of his productions. He wrote for the his memory. world of fashion and of taste-consiguing

The first collection of Waller's poems was made

by himself, and published in the year 1664. It The noon of manhood to a myrtle shade.

went through numerous editions in his lifetime; and And he wrote in the same strain till he was upwards in 1690 a second collection was made of such pieces of fourscore! His life has more romance than his as he had produced in his latter years. In a poetical poetry. Waller was born at Coleshill, in Hertford- dedication to Lady Harley, prefixed to this edition, shire, and in his infancy was left heir to an estate and written by Elijah Fenton, Waller is styled the of £3000 per annum. His mother was a sister of

Maker and model of melodious verse. the celebrated John Hampden, but was a royalist in feeling, and used to lecture Cromwell for his share This eulogium seems to embody the opinion of in the death of Charles I. Her son, the poet, was Waller's contemporaries, and it was afterwards coneither a roundhead or a royalist, as the time served.firmed by Dryden and Pope, who had not sufficiently He entered parliament and wrote his first poem studied the excellent models of versification furwhen he was eighteen. At twenty-five, he married nished by the old poets, and their rich poetical diction. a rich heiress of London, who died the same year, The smoothness of his versification, his good sense, and the poet immediately became a suitor of Lady and uniform elegance, rendered him popular with Dorothea Sidney, eldest daughter of the Earl of critics as with the multitude; while his prominence Leicester. To this proud and peerless fair one as a public man, for so many years, would increase Waller dedicated the better portion of his poetry, curiosity as to his works. Waller is now seldom and the groves of Penshurst echoed to the praises read. The playfulness of his fancy, and the absence of his Sacharissa. Lady Dorothea, however, was of any striking defects, are but poor substitutes fo

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325

Should some brave Turk, that walks among
His twenty lasses, bright and young,
Behold as many gallants here,
With modest guise and silent fear,
All to one female idol bend,
While her high pride does scarce descend
To mark their follies, he would swear
That these her guard of eunuchs were,
And that a more majestic queen,
Or humbler slaves, he had not scen.

All this with indignation spoke,
In vain I struggled with the yoke
Of mighty Love: that conqu’ring look,
When next beheld, like lightning strook
My blasted soul, and made me bow
Lower than those I pitied now.

So the tall stag, upon the brink
Of some smooth stream about to drink,
Surveying there his armed head,
With shame remembers that he fled
The scored dogs, resolves to try
The combat next; but if their cry
Invades again his trembling ear,
He straighit resumes his wonted care;
Leaves the untasted spring behind,
And, wing'd with fear, outflies the wind.

On a Girdle.
That which her slender waist confin'd
Shall now my joyful temples bind :
It was my heav'n's extremest sphere,
The pale which held that lovely deer;
My joy, my grief, my hope, my love,
Did all within this circle move!
A narrow compass ! and yet there
Dwelt all that's good, and all that's fair.
Give me but what this ribbon bound,
Take all the rest the sun goes round.

On the Marriage of the Dwarfs.
Design or chance makes others wive,
But Nature did this match contrive:
Eve might as well have Adam fled,
As she denied her little bed
To him, for whom Heav'n seem'd to frame
Ald measure out this only dame.

Thrice happy is that humble pair,
Beneath the level of all care !
Over whose heads those arrows fly
Of sad distrust and jealousy ;
Secured in as high extreme,
As if the world held none but them.
To him the fairest nymphs do show
Like moving mountains topp'd with snow;
And ev'ry man a Polypheme
Does to his Galatea seem.
Ah! Chloris, that kind Nature thus
From all the world had sever'd us;
Creating for ourselves us two,
As Love has me for only you !

A Panegyric to the Lord Protector.
While with a strong and yet a gentle hand,
You bridle faction, and our hearts command,
Protect us from ourselves and from the foe,
Make us unite, and make us conquer too;
Let partial spirits still aloud complain,
Think themselves injur'd that they cannot reign,
And own no liberty, but where they may
Without control upon their fellows prey.
Above the waves, as Neptune show'd his face,
To chide the winds, and save the Trojan race,
So has your Highness, raised above the rest,
Storms of ambition tossing us repress'd.

326

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genuine feeling and the language of nature. His poems are chiefly short and incidental, but he wrote a poem on Divine Love, in six cantos. Cowley had written his · Davideis,' and recommended sacred subjects as adapted for poetry; but neither he nor Waller succeeded in this new and higher walk of

Waller's Tomb. the muse. Such an employment of their talents was graceful and becoming in advanced life, but their fame must ever rest on their light, airy, and occasional poems, dictated by that gallantry, adulation, and play of fancy, which characterised the cavalier poets.

On Lore.
Anger, in hasty words or blows,
Itself discharges on our foes ;
And sorrow, too, finds some relief
In tears, which wait upon our grief:
So ev'ry passion, but fond love,
Unto its own redress does move;
But that alone the wretch inclines
To what prevents his own designs ;
Makes him lament, and sigh, and weep,
Disorder'd, tremble, fawn, and creep;
Postures which render him despis'd,
Where he endeavours to be priz'd.
For women (born to be controllid)
Stoop to the forward and the bold;
Affect the haughty and the proud,
The gay, the frolic, and the loud.
Who first the gen'rous steed opprest,
Not kneeling did salute the beast;
But with high courage, life, and force,
Approaching, tam'd th' unruly horse.

Unwisely we the wiser East
Pity, supposing them opprest
With tyrantx' force, whese law is will,
By which they govern, spoil, and kill;
Each nymph, but moderately fair,
Commands with no less rigour here.

Your drooping country, torn with civil hate,

Above our neighbours our conceptions are ; Restor'd by you, is made a glorious state;

But faultless writing is the effect of care. The seat of empire, where the Irish come,

Our lines reform’d, and not compos'd in haste, And the unwilling Scots, to fetch their doom. Polish'd like marble, would like marble last. The sea 's our own ; and now all nations greet,

But as the present, so the last age writ: With bending sails, each vessel of our fleet;

In both we find like negligence and wit. Your power extends as far as winds can blow,

Were we but less indulgent to our faults, Or swelling sails upon the globe may go.

And patience had to cultivate our thoughts,

Our Muse would flourish, and a nobler rage Heav'n, that hath plac'd this island to give law,

Would honour this than did the Grecian stage. To balance Europe, and its states to awe, In this conjunction doth on Britain smile,

[The British Navy.] The greatest leader, and the greatest isle !

When Britain, looking with a just disdain Whether this portion of the world were rent

Upon this gilded majesty of Spain, By the rude ocean from the continent,

And knowing well that empire must decline Or thus created, it was sure design'd

Whose chief support and sinews are of coin, To be the sacred refuge of mankind.

Our nation's solid virtue did oppose Hither the oppressed shall henceforth resort,

To the rich troublers of the world's repose. Justice to crave, and succour at your court ;

And now some months, encamping on the main, And then your Highness, not for our's alone,

Our naval army had besieged Spain: But for the world's Protector shall be known.

They that the whole world's monarchy design'd,

Are to their ports by our bold fleet confin'd, Still as you rise, the state exalted too,

From whence our Red Cross they triumphant see,
Finds no distemper while 'tis chang'd by you; Riding without a rival on the sea.
Chang'd like the world's great scene! when, without Others may use the ocean as their road,
noise,

Only the English make it their abode,
The rising sun night's vulgar lights destroys. Whose ready sails with every wind can fly,

And make a covenant with the inconstant sky:
Had you, some ages past, this race of glory
Run, with amazement we should read your story;

Our oaks secure, as if they there took root,

We tread on billows with a steady foot.
But living virtue, all achievements past,
Meets envy still to grapple with at last.

At Penshurst.
This Cæsar found ; and that ungrateful age,
With losing him, went back to blood and rage;

While in this park I sing, the list’ning deer
Mistaken Brutus thought to break their yoke,

Attend my passion, and forget to fear; But cut the bond of union with that stroke.

When to the beeches I report my flame,

They bow their heads, as if they felt the same. That sun once set, a thousand meaner stars

To gods appealing, when I reach their bowers Gave a dim light to violence and wars ;

With loud complaints, they answer me in showers. To such a tempest as now threatens all,

To thee a wild and cruel soul is given, Did not your mighty arm prevent the fall.

More deaf than trees, and prouder than the heav'n! If Rome's great senate could not wield that sword, Love's foe profess'd ! why dost thou falsely feign Which of the conquer'd world had made them lord,

Thyself a Sidney ? from which noble strain What hope had ours, while yet their power was new,

He sprung, that could so far exalt the name To rule victorious armies, but by you ?

Of Love, and warm our nation with his flame; You, that had taught them to subdue their foes,

That all we can of love or high desire,

Seems but the smoke of amorous Sidney's fire. Could order teach, and their high sp'rits compose ;

Nor call her mother who so well does prove To every duty could their minds engage,

One breast may hold both chastity and love. Provoke their courage, and command their rage.

Never can she, that so exceeds the spring So when a lion shakes his dreadful mane,

In joy and bounty, be suppos'd to bring
And angry grows, if he that first took pain

One so destructive. To no human stock
To tame his youth approach the haughty beast, | We owe this fierce unkindness, but the rock;
He bends to him, but frights away the rest.

That cloven rock produc'd thee, by whose side As the vex'd world, to find repose, at last

Nature, to recompense the fatal pride Itself into Augustus' arms did cast;

Of such stern beauty, plac'd those healing springs

Which not more help than that destruction brings. So England now does, with like toil opprest,

Thy heart no ruder than the rugged stone, Her weary head upon your bosom rest.

I might, like Orpheus, with my num'rous moan Then let the Muses, with such notes as these,

Melt to compassion ; now my trait'rous song Instruct us what belongs unto our peace.

With thee conspires to do the singer wrong ; Your battles they hereafter shall indite,

While thus I suffer not myself to lose And draw the image of our Mars in fight.

The memory of what augments my woes ;

But with my own breath still foment the fire, [English Genius.]

Which flames as high as fancy can aspire !

This last complaint the indulgent ears did pierce [From a prologue to Beaumont and Fletcher's Maid's

Of just Apollo, president of verse ; Tragedy.']

Highly concerned that the Muse should bring Scarce should we have the boldness to pretend Damage to one whom he had taught to sing : So long-renown'd a tragedy to mend,

| Thus he advis’d me : ‘On yon aged tree Had not already some desery'd your praise

Hang up thy lute, and hie thee to the sea, With like attempt. Of all our elder plays,

That there with wonders thy diverted mind This and Philaster have the loudest fame :

Some truce, at least, may with this passion find." Great are their faults, and glorious is their flame. Ah, cruel nymph! from whom her humble swain In both our English genius is express'd ; Lofty and bold, but negligently dress’d.

Sir Philip Sidney.

* Tunbzidge Wells

327

Flies for relief unto the raging main,
And from the winds and tempests does expect
A milder fate than from her cold neglect !
Yet there he'll pray that the unkind may prove
Blest in her choice ; and vows this endless love
Springs from no hope of what she can confer,
But from those gifts which Heav'n has heap'd on her.

Small is the worth
Of beauty from the light retir'd;
Bid her come forth,
Suffer herself to be desir'd,
And not blush so to be admir'd.
Then die ! that she
The common fate of all things rare
May read in thee,
How small a part of time they share
That are so wondrous sweet and fair !

The Bud. Lately on yonder swelling bush, Big with many a coming rose, This early bud began to blush, And did but half itself disclose ; I plucked it though no better grown, And now you see how full 'tis blown. Still, as I did the leaves inspire, With such a purple light they shone, As if they had been made of fire, And spreading so would flame anon. All that was meant by air or sun, To the young flow'r my breath has done. If our loose breath so much can do, What may the same in forms of love, Of purest love and music too, When Flavia it aspires to move ? When that which lifeless buds persuades To wax more soft, her youth invades?

Old Age and Death. The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; So calm are we when passions are no more. For then we know how vain it was to boast Of fleeting things, too certain to be lost. Clouds of affection from our younger eyes Conceal that emptiness which age descries. The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, Lets in new light through chinks that time has made : Stronger by weakness, wiser men become, As they draw near to their eternal home. Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view, That stand upon the threshold of the new.

JOHN MILTON. Above all the poets of this age, and, in the whole range of English poetry, inferior only to Shakspeare, was John Milton, born in London, December 9,

Say, Lovely Dream-a Song. Say, lovely dream ! where couldst thou find Shades to counterfeit that face? Colours of this glorious kind Come not from any mortal place. In heav'n itself thou sure wert dress'd With that angel-like disguise ; Thus deluded, am I blest, And see my joy with closed eyes. But, ah ! this image is too kind To be other than a dream ; Cruel Sacharissa's mind Ne'er put on that sweet extreme. Fair dream ! if thou intend’st me grace, Change that heavenly face of thine ; Paint despis'd love in thy face, And make it t'appear like mine. Pale, wan, and meagre, let it look, With a pity-moving shape, Such as wander by the brook Of Lethe, or from graves escape. Then to that matchless nymph appear, In whose shape thou shinest so; Softly in her sleeping ear With humble words express my wo. Perhaps from greatness, state, and pride, Thus surprised, she may fall; Sleep does disproportion hide, And, death resembling, equals all.

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Go, Lovely Rosea Song. Go, lovely rose ! Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be. Tell her, that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That, had'st thou sprung In deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncoinmended died.

John Milton. 1608. His father was of an ancient Catholic family, but having embraced the Protestant faith, he was disinherited, and had recourse, as a means of support, to the profession of a scrivener-one who draws legal contracts, and places money at interest. The firmness and the sufferings of the father for conscience' sake, tinctured the early feelings and sentiments of the son, who was a stern unbending champion of religious freedom. The paternal example may also have had some effect on the poet's taste and accomplishments. The elder Milton was distinguished as a musical composer, and the son was well skilled in the same soothing and delightful art. The variety and harmony of his versification may no doubt be partly traced to the same source. Coleridge styles Milton a musical, not a picturesque, poet. The saying, however, is more pointed than correct. In the most musical passages of Milton (as the lyrics in * Comus'), the pictures presented to the mind are as distinct and vivid as the paintings of Titian or

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