Shades did on each side enfold me,
Dreadless, having Thee for guide,
Should I bide,

For thy rod and staff uphold me.

Donne adopted this metre, with a slight variation, in his version of the 137th Psalm.

The following verse from the 130th Psalm is very beautifully rendered. The alliteration in the fourth line is the only defect.

My soul base earth despising,

More longs with God to be;
Than rosy morning's rising

Tired watchmen watch to see!

I have omitted a few lines in this version of the thirteenth Psalm.

Lord, how long, how long wilt Thou
Quite forget and quite neglect me?
How long with a frowning brow

Wilt Thou from thy sight reject me?

How long shall I seek a way

From this maze of thoughts perplex'd,
Where my griev'd mind, night and day,
Is with thinking tired and vex'd!

How long shall my stormful foe

On my fall his greatness placing,
Build upon my overthrow,

And be graced by my disgracing?

Hear, O Lord and God, my cries,
Mock my foe's unjust abusing,
And illuminate mine eyes,

Heavenly beams in them infusing.

Lest my woes, too great to bear,

And too infinite to number,

Rock me soon, 'twixt Hope and Fear,
Into Death's eternal slumber.

These black clouds will overflow,
Sunshine shall have his returning,
And my grief-dull'd heart, I know,

Into joy shall change his mourning.

Grief-dulled is a very picturesque epithet.

I shall conclude my specimens with the 86th Psalm.

Save my soul which Thou didst cherish

Until now, now like to perish,

Save Thy servant that hath none
Help, nor hope, but Thee alone !¦

After Thy sweet-wonted fashion,
Shower down mercy and compassion,
On me, sinful wretch, that cry
Unto Thee incessantly.

Send, O send, relieving gladness,
To my soul oppress'd with sadness,
Which, from clog of earth set free,
Wing'd with zeal springs up to Thee.

Let thine ears which long have tarried
Barred up, be now unbarred,
That my cries may entrance gain,
And being entered grace obtain.

For Thou, darter of dread thunders,
Thou art great, and workest wonders.
Other gods are wood and stone,
Thou the living God alone.

Heavenly Tutor, of thy kindness

Teach my dulness, guide my blindness,
That my steps Thy paths may tread,
Which to endless bliss do lead.

In knots to be loosed never,

Knit my heart to Thee for ever,

That I to Thy name may bear,
Fearful love, and loving fear.

Lord my God, thou shalt be praised,
With my heart to heaven raised,
And whilst I have breath to live,
Thanks to Thee my breath shall give.
Mighty men with malice endless,
Band* against me helpless, friendless,
Using, without fear of Thee,

Force and fraud to ruin me.

But Thy might their malice passes,
And Thy grace Thy might surpasses,
Swift to mercy, slow to wrath,
Bound nor end Thy goodness hath.
Thy kind look no more deny me,
But with eyes of mercy eye me;
O give me, Thy slave, at length,
Easing aid, or bearing strength.

And some gracious token show me,
That my foes that watch t' oerthrow me,
May be shamed and vex'd to see

Thee to help and comfort me.

The fate of Davison recalls to my memory the accomplished and unfortunate Sir Walter Raleigh, whom Spenser, in a beautiful sonnet, called the Summer's Nightingale.

I think Mr. Tytler has clearly proved, in his recent Life of Raleigh, that the charges of irreligion so frequently brought against him, do not at all affect his later and maturer years. The afflictions of his manhood appear to have obliterated the vain and sceptical feelings of his youth, and to have impressed his mind with a true sense of the Divine Power. During his long imprisonment, rendered still more melancholy

* Unite.

by the uncertainty of its issue, he composed one or two touching Hymns, which testify the sincerity of his heart and the piety of his feelings. Probably the last words ever traced by his pen, were the lines written in his Bible on the evening preceding his execution, in which he renewed his expression of confidence in the mercy and intercession of our Saviour.

The following Hymn requires no criticism to recommend it.

Rise, oh, my soul, with thy desires to heaven,

And with divinest contemplation use

Thy time, where time's eternity is given,

And let vain thoughts no more thy thoughts abuse;

But down in darkness let them lie,

So live thy better, let thy worse thoughts die..

And thou, my soul, inspired with holy flame,
View and review with most regardful eye
That holy cross whence thy salvation came,
On which thy Saviour and thy sin did die.
For in that sacred object is much pleasure,
And in that Saviour is my life,
my treasure.

To Thee, O Jesu, I direct my eyes,

To thee my hands, to thee my humble knees,

To thee my heart shall offer sacrifice,

To thee my thoughts, who my thoughts only sees.
To thee myself, myself and all I give ;

To thee I die, to thee I only live.

The lover of poetry will always regret that Raleigh's retreats to his charming seat, at Sherborne, were not more frequent, and of longer continuance; and that the "pure contents" which, in his own words, were wont to "pitch their tents" upon those pastures, were unable to detain him from the empty vanities of the court.

I bring this hasty Introduction to an end with regret;

I have said little where my heart prompted me to say much. I have been compelled to pass over, without notice, many who left their fame upon a harp-string, and from whose antique leaves might be gathered thoughts of the serenest piety and peace. Of some of these I shall have an opportunity of speaking in the following pages. I have walked through the burial-ground of our Elder Poets with no irreverent footstep, and I shall not have lingered there in vain, if I have renewed one obliterated inscription, or bound one flower upon their tomb.