The following is headed by the emblem of a man in a cage, with the text, 'Bring my soul out of prison,' Ps. cxlii. 7:

My soul is like a bird; my flesh the cage,
Wherein she wears her weary pilgrimage
Of hours as few as evil, daily fed

With sacred wine, and sacramental bread.
The keys that lock her in, and let her out,
Are birth and death; 'twixt both she hops about
From perch to perch, from sense to reason; then
From higher reason down to sense again :

From sense she climbs to faith; where for a season
She sits and sings; then down again to reason:
From reason back to faith, and straight from thence
She rudely flutters to the perch of sense;

From sense to hope; then hops from hope to doubt :
From doubt to dull despair.

Great Lord of souls, to whom shall prisoners fly
But Thee? Thou hadst Thy cage, as well as I ;
And for my sake Thy pleasure was to know

The sorrows that it brought, and feltst them too.1

My last quotation is from some verses under a hieroglyphic of a closed lantern; one of the patristic quotations is from St. Bernard: 'If thou be one of the foolish virgins, the congregation is necessary for thee; if thou be one of the wise virgins, thou art necessary for the congregation.'

Was man—the highest masterpiece of Nature,

The curious abstract of the whole creation,
Whose soul was copied from his great Creator,
Made to give light, and set for observation,
Ordained for this? to spend his light
In a dark lantern cloister'd up in night?
Remember, O remember, thou wert set
For men to see the great Creator by ;
Thy flame is not thy own; it is a debt
Thou ow'st thy Maker.

My God, my light is dark enough at lightest,

Increase her flame, and give her strength to shine: 'Tis frail at best: 'tis dim enough at brightest,

But 'tis her glory to be foiled by Thine.2

1 Quarles' Emblems, Divine and Moral, v. 10.

2 Id. viii. 5.

Alexander Rosse, one of Charles the First's chaplains, a good and learned man, wrote among many other books one entitled Mel Heliconium, or Poetical Honey Gathered out of the Weeds of Parnassus, published in 1646, 'the fruit of some sequestered hours from his divinity exercises.' It is a quaint book; his plan being to take, as a sort of text, some mythological story, and then to explain as a spiritual allegory what he calls 'the mysteries' of it. Each allegory is concluded with some appropriate verses. Thus he symbolises from the story of Atlas, who was turned into a mountain by Perseus, son of Jupiter, because he refused to lodge him :

Go to my soul, the doors unlock !
Behold, the Son of God doth knock,
And offers to come in.

O suffer not to go from hence
So great a God, so just a Prince :
That were a grievous sin !

Refuse not, then, to entertain

So great a guest, who would so fain
Come lodge and sup with thee.1

Again, Chiron was skilled in astronomy, music, and physic. Even so the Christian must be contemplative, and have his thoughts in heaven; music must be in his heart, good words in his mouth, good deeds in his actions. Chiron was wounded in the foot by Hercules, and endured it without murmur. Patient suffering is a part of Christianity. But Chiron entreated Jupiter, who placed him among the stars, with a sacrifice in his hand, and an altar before him. Even so affliction mortifies the flesh, and makes the Christian meet for heaven.

To gaze upon night's sparkling eyes,
Which still are rolling in the skies,
Is Chiron's head; but we

Must have his curing hands also,

And feet which may endure God's blow

And voice of melody.

1 Mel Heliconium, by Alex. Rosse, His Majestie's Chaplein in Ordinary, 1646, p. 45.

Our hands must work salvation,
Our heads must meditate upon
Heaven's shining canopy;

Our tongues must praise God's actions,
The feet of our affections

For sin must wounded be.

I will before my Altar stand,

With sacrifices in my hand,

And thus to God will pray :
Lord, heal these wounded feet of mine,
Then make me as a star to shine,
Or as the brightest day.

Give me the head of knowledge, and
A well-tuned tongue, a working hand,
And feet which may Thy blow
Endure! O, wound me, so that I
By wounds may be prepared to die
And weaned from things below.1

The following stanzas are part of a longer poem than the rest, founded upon the story of Fortuna, daughter of Oceanus. They appear to me worthy to rank high in any record of the sacred poetry of our older writers :

But as the fire refines the gold,
And as the cold

Revives the fire; and as in frost
The stars shine most:

And as the palm lifts up his crest
The higher that it is opprest :
So crosses and affliction
Which fall upon

The just, makes not their faith to fail
Nor courage quail;

Who shine, burn, sparkle, fructify

As gold, fire, stars, and the palm-tree.

I'd rather have a blustering gale
And swelling sail,

'Than lie becalméd in the main,
And ne'er attain

My wishéd port; O let the blast
Of troubles drive me home at last!

1 Mel Heliconium, p. 94.

That tree is strong and firmly fixed
Which is perplext

With frequent storms, which when they blow,
The roots below

Take stronger hold; O, if I were

Strong as this tree my storms to bear!

With Jacob if He make thee lame,
He'll bless thee and enlarge thy name.

Lord, if this be Thy Providence,
Teach me from hence,

How I may patiently drink up
That deadly cup

Which Thy Son drank; help me to bear
His Cross, that I His Crown may wear.1

There is a pathetic interest in the aspirations which conclude the book, written as they were at the outbreak of the civil troubles :

And let the good ship ride

Called Charity, securely on the main ;
Be pilot, Lord, and guide

Her to the Cape of Good Hope; let her gain
The land of promise; with the gale
Of Thy good Spirit fill her sail.
And let her compass be

Thy word, and with the helm of discipline
From sinful rocks keep me,

And let the pole-star of Thy truth be seen;
Let Faith, the bright eye of my soul,
Be always looking on that Pole.

The man of Thy right hand
Preserve, Lord, as the apple of thine eye;
And from this sinful land

Let not true Love with her two sisters fly;
But as its name is Albion,

So in it still let all be one! 1

The poems of Patrick Carey were first published by Sir Walter Scott from a single MS. bearing the date 1651. His verses show that he was a lawyer, a supporter of the Royalist party, and a High Churchman, or possibly a Roman Catholic. The following are from his Triolets:

All those joys which caught my mind
Now I find

To be bubbles, full of wind:

1 Mel Heliconium, p. 154.

2 Id. 176.