RICHARD CRASHAW. [Born, 1615? Died, 1652.] He THIS poet fell into neglect in his own age. was, however, one of the first of our old minor poets that was rescued from oblivion in the following century. Pope borrowed from him, but acknowledged his obligations. Crashaw formed his style on the most quaint and conceited school of Italian poetry, that of Marino; and there is a prevalent harshness and strained expression in his verses; but there are also many touches of beauty and solemnity, and the strength of his thoughts sometimes appears even in their distortion. If it were not grown into a tedious and impertinent fashion to discover the sources of Paradise Lost, one might be tempted to notice some similarity between the speech of Satan in the Sospetto di Herode of Marino (which Crashaw has translated) and Satan's address to the Sun in Milton. The little that is known of Crashaw's life exhibits enthusiasm, but it is not that of a weak or selfish mind. His private character was amiable; and we are told by the earliest editor of his "Steps to the Temple," that he was skilled in music, drawing, and engraving. His father, of whose writings an account is given in the tenth volume of the Censura Literaria, was a preacher at the Temple church, London. His son, the poet, was born in London, but at what time is uncertain. He was educated at the Charterhouse through the bounty of two friends, Sir Henry Yelverton, and Sir Francis Crew. From thence he removed to Cambridge, where he became a fellow, and took a degree of master of arts. There he published his Latin poems, in one of which is the epigram from a scripture passage, ending with the line, so well known, Lympha pudica Deum vidit et erubuit, "The modest water saw its God, and blush'd:" and also his pious effusions, called “Steps to the Temple." The title of the latter work was in | allusion to the church at Cambridge, near his residence, where he almost constantly spent his time. When the covenant, in 1644, was offered to the universities, he preferred ejection and poverty to subscribing it. Already he had been distinguished as a popular and powerful preacher. He soon after embraced the Catholic religion, and repaired to France. In austerity of devotion he had no great transition to make to catholicism ; | and his abhorrence at the religious innovations he had witnessed, together with his admiration of the works of the canonized St. Teresa of Spain, still more easily account for his conversion. Cowley found him at Paris in deplorable poverty, and recommended him to his exiled queen, Henrietta Maria. Her majesty gave him letters of recommendation to Italy, where he became a secretary to one of the Roman cardinals, and a canon of the church of Loretto. Soon after the latter appointment he died, about the year 1632. SOSPETTO D' HERODE. BELOW the bottom of the great abyss, LIB. I. He calls to mind the old quarrel, and what spark Set the contending sons of heaven on fire: To crown their past predictions, both he lays Heaven's golden-winged herald, late he saw How low the bright youth bow'd, and with what awe From death's sad shades, to the life-breathing air, To a poor Galilean virgin sent : Immortal flowers to her fair hand present. He saw rich nectar thaws release the rigour He saw how in that blest day-bearing night, Their simple tribute to the babe, whose birth He saw a threefold sun, with rich increase, Of poisonous and unnatural loves, earth-nurst, He saw Heaven blossom with a new-born light, That the great angel-blinding light should shrink That a vile manger his low bed should prove, That he whom the sun serves, should faintly peep That glory's self should serve our griefs and fears, And further, that the law's eternal Giver While new thoughts boil'd in his enraged breast, He has my Heaven (what would he more) whose bright And radiant sceptre this bold hand should bear. That mankind's torment waits upon my tears. Dark dusky man, he needs would single forth, | And should we powers of Heaven, spirits of worth, What though I miss'd my blow yet I struck Is he not satisfied? means he to wrest Art thou not Lucifer? he to whom the droves Such and so rich, the flames that from thine eyes And yet whose force fear I have I so lost Myself? my strength too with my innocence? Come, try who dares, heaven, earth, whate'er dost A borrow'd being, make thy bold defence. [boast Come thy Creator too, what though it cost WILLIAM HABINGTON. [Born, 1605. Died, 1654.] THE mother of this poet, who was daughter to Lord Morley, is reported to have written the famous letter of warning, in consequence of which the gunpowder plot was discovered. His father, who had been suspected of a share in Babington's conspiracy, and who had owed his release to his being godson to Queen Elizabeth, was a second time imprisoned, and condemned to death on the charge of having concealed some of the agents in the gunpowder plot; but by Lord Morley's interest was pardoned, on condition of confining himself to Worcestershire, of which county he lived to write a voluminous history. The family were catholics; and his son, the poet, was sent to St. Omer's, we are told, with a view to make him a Jesuit, which he declined. The same intention never failed to be ascribed to all English families who sent their children to that seminary. On his return from the Continent he lived chiefly with his father, who was his pre TO CASTARA, INQUIRING WHY I LOVED HER. 'Tis not thy virtues, each a star To make each gazer's heart like thine; Nor is't thy birth. For I was ne'er Nor yet thy fortunes: since I know Ebb from the good, to the impious flow: That raising they but overthrow. ceptor. Of the subsequent course of his life nothing more seems to be on record than his marriage and his literary works. The latter consisted of effusions entitled Castara, the poetical name of his mistress; the Queen of Arragon, a tragi-comedy; a History of Edward IV.; and Observations upon History. Habington became a poet from the courtship of the lady whom he married, Lucy, daughter to Lord Powis. There is no very ardent sensibility in his lyrics, but they denote a mind of elegant | and chaste sentiments. He is free as any of the minor poets of his age from the impurities which were then considered as wit. He is indeed rather ostentatiously platonic, but his love language is far from being so elaborate as the complimentary gallantry of the preceding age. A respectable gravity of thought, and succinct fluency of expression, are observable in the poems of his later life. And yet these attributes might prove CUPIO DISSOLVI. THE Soul which doth with God unite, How violent are her throes till she Which doth her flight restrain! How soon she leaves the pride of wealth, And fame's more precious breath; The cunning of astrologers Placing all knowledge there : The wandering pilot sweats to find But what doth pride and power impart, But he whom heavenly fire doth warm, All these fond human mysteries He as a burden bears his clay, But with the same untroubled eye Regardless of th' applause. My God! if 'tis thy great decree My heart obeys, joy'd to retreat When thou shalt please this soul t'enthrone Above impure corruption; What should I grieve or fear, To think this breathless body must For in the fire when ore is tried, Do we deplore the loss? And when thou shalt my soul refine, That it thereby may purer shine, Shall I grieve for the dross? SONG. FROM THE QUEEN OF ARRAGON. A Tragi-Comedy. Nor the Phoenix in his death, Nor those banks where violets grow, But O! marriage makes the spell, The twin-beauties of the skies, But those beams, than storms more black, Then for fear of such a fire, Which kills worse than the long night I must from my life retire. But O no! for if her eye Warm me not, I freeze, and die. WILLIAM CHAMBERLAYNE. [Born, 1619. Died, Jan. 11, 1689.] I BELIEVE the only notice of this poet that is to be found is in Langbaine, who informs us that he was a physician at Shaftesbury, in Dorsetshire, in the reigns of Charles I. and II. He wrote a single tragi-comedy," Love's Victory," which was acted after the Restoration under the new title of "Wits led by the Nose, or the Poet's Revenge." His Pharonnida, an heroic poem, in five books, which Langbaine says has nothing to recommend it, is one of the most interesting stories that was ever told in verse, and contained so much amusing matter as to be made into a prose novel in the reign of Charles II. What Dr. Johnson said unjustly of Milton's Comus, that it was like gold hid under a rock, may unfortunately be applied with too much propriety to Pharonnida. Never perhaps was so much beautiful design in poetry marred by infelicity of execution his ruggedness of versification, abrupt transitions, and a style that is at once slovenly and quaint, perpetually interrupted in enjoying the splendid figures and spirited pas sions of this romantic tablet, and make us catch them only by glimpses. I am well aware that from a story so closely interwoven a few selected passages, while they may be more than sufficient to exemplify the faults, are not enough to discover the full worth of Chamberlayne. His sketches, already imperfect, must appear still more so in the shape of fragments; we must peruse the narrative itself to appreciate the rich breadth and variety of its scenes, and we must perhaps accustom our vision to the thick medium of its uncouth style to enjoy the power and pathos of his characters and situations. Under all the defects of the poem, the reader will then indeed feel its unfinished hints affect the heart and dilate the imagination. From the fate of Chamberlayne a young poet may learn one important lesson, that he who neglects the subsidiary graces of taste has every chance of being neglected by posterity, and that the pride of genius must not prompt him to disdain the study of harmony and of style. PHARONNIDA, BOOK II. CANTO III. Argalia being brought before the Princess Pharonnida on a false accusation of murder, they fall in love with each other, although the Princess is obliged, with a reluctant heart, to condemn him on false evidence. HIGH mounted on an ebon throne on which Th' embellish'd silver show'd so sadly rich As if its varied form strove to delight Yet, though now depress'd Even in opinion, which oft proves the best Passion's dark fogs; and like that prosperous dove Those solemn souls which death-pale fear did fright, The world's first pilot, for discovery sent, In Tyrian purple clad, the princess sate, When all the floods that bound the firmament Returns, freight with the olive branch of peace. His virtues now protect him, he must fall No other crime but their envenom'd hate. In mercy, heaven's supreme prerogative, |