THE GRASSHOPPER. O THOU that swing'st upon the waving hair Drunk every night with a delicious tear, Dropp'd thee from heav'n, where now thou'rt rear'd. The joys of earth and air are thine entire, But ah, the sickle! golden ears are cropp'd; Sharp frosty fingers all your flow'rs have topp'd, Poor verdant fool! and now, green ice; thy joys TO LUCASTA, GOING TO THE WARS. TELL me not, sweet, I am unkind, Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind True, a new mistress now I chase, Yet this inconstancy is such I could not love thee, dear, so much, RICHARD CRASHAW. DIED ABOUT 1650. CRASHAW, a Catholic priest, is chiefly distinguished as a sacred poet. He is perhaps the most purely poetical of all the devotional lyrists, and the more his writings are perused the more they will be relished. (a) (a) The mere merits of this neglected and beautiful writer will be better appreciated from the specimens given of his poetry in the volume of Specimens of Sacred and Serious Poetry, than from the following extracts. THE TEAR. WHAT bright soft thing is this? Sweet Mary, thy fair eyes' expense ? A moist spark it is, A wat'ry diamond; from whence The very term, I think, was found The water of a diamond. Such a pearl as this is, (Slipt from Aurora's dewy breast) The rose-bud's sweet lip kisses: And such the rose itself, when vext With ungentle flames, does shed, Sweating in too warm a bed. Such the maiden gem FROM CATULLUS. COME, and let us live, my dear, Brightest Sol, that dies to-day, Lives again as blithe to-morrow; THE WEEPER, ABRIDGED. HAIL, sister springs, Ever bubbling things! Thawing crystal! snowy hills! Still spending, never spent ; I mean Thy fair eyes, sweet Magdalen. Heavens thy fair eyes be, 'Tis seed-time still with thee, And stars thou sow'st, whose harvest dares Promise the Earth to countershine Whatever makes Heaven's fore-head fine. The dew no more will weep, Much rather would it tremble here, Not the soft gold, which As the drops distill'd from thee. Not in the evening's eyes, For the Sun that dies, Sits sorrow with a face so fair; No where but here did ever meet MATTHEW PRIOR. BORN 1664-DIED 1721, THERE are some doubts about the parentage of Prior. At an early age he appears to have lost his father, and it is certain that, while living with his uncle, who kept a tavern near Charing Cross, in which he officiated as clerk or drawer, his classical attainments became known to the |