For if thy work on earth be sweet, What will thy glory be? Then I shall end my sad complaints, And weary sinful days, And join with the triumphant saints That sing Jehovah's praise. My knowledge of that life is small; The eye of faith is dim; But it's enough that Christ knows all, And I shall be with Him. Henry Vaughan. A native of Wales, Vaughan (1614-1695) studied at Oxford, first became a lawyer, then a physician; but in teither profession was he successful in earning a comtency. Poverty seems to have dogged his steps. In the latter part of his life he became devout. Amidst the scurities of his verse there are beauties that bespeak The genuine poet. Campbell, who had little partiality r pious poets, compares these beauties to "wild flowes on a barren heath." In his own "Rainbow," he Pas, perhaps, unwittingly borrowed a "wild flower" or ts from poor Vaughan. THE RETREAT. Happy those early days, when I Before I taught my tongue to wound Oh, how I long to travel back From whence the enlightened spirit sees That shady City of Palm-trees. But ah! my soul with too much stay Is drunk, and staggers in the way! THE RAINBOW. Still young and fine! but what is still in view Forms turn to music, clouds to smiles and air; THEY ARE ALL GONE! They are all gone into the world of light! It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest I see them walking in an air of glory, O holy hope! and high humility! High as the heavens above! These are your walks, and you have showed them me To kindle my cold love. Dear, beauteous death; the jewel of the just! He that hath found some fledged bird's-nest may know At first sight if the bird be flown; But what fair dell or grove he sings in now, That is to him unknown. And yet as angels in some brighter dreams So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, And into glory peep. If a star were confined into a tomb, Her captive flames must needs burn there; But when the hand that locked her up gives room, She'll shine through all the sphere. O Father of eternal life, and all Resume thy spirit from this world of thrall Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill Or else remove me hence unto that hill, A rock, a bush are downy beds, When Thou art there, crowning their heads Made of the Comforter's live fire, Of anger, will not seem to bless, Yet dost thou give them that rich rain O what kind visits daily pass "Twixt Thy great self and such poor grass! LIKE AS A NURSE. Even as a nurse, whose child's imperfect pace THE REQUEST. Thou who didst deny to me This world's adored felicity, Of shades and coverts for Thy poor; Richard Lovelace. Lovelace (1618-1658), born in a knightly mansion, was educated at Oxford. Of remarkable physical beauty, he was the most unhappy of the Cavalier poets. For his gallant struggles in the royal cause he suffered imprisonment, during which he published his "Odes and Songs." He spent his fortune in the service of the King and in aid of poorer friends. The Lucasta (Lux casta, pure light) of his verse was Lady Sacheverell, whom he loved, but who married another, after false reports that Lovelace had been killed at Dunkirk. Under Cromwell he was set free, but lived in extreme poverty, and died of consumption, in great distress, in an alley in Shoe Lane. Much of his poetry is of little value, and disfigured with the obscurities and affectations which were the fashion of the day. Two at least of his poems are likely to last as long as the English language. They breathe the knightly spirit of a true nobility. TO ALTHEA (FROM PRISON). I could not love thee, dear, so much, Loved I not honor more. When Love with unconfinéd wings Hovers within my gates, And my divine Althea brings To whisper at the grates; When I lie tangled in her hair, And fettered to her eye, The birds that wanton in the air Know no such liberty. When flowing cups run swiftly round Our careless heads with roses bound, Know no such liberty. When, like committed linnets, I And glories of my King; Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; TO LUCASTA (ON GOING TO THE WARS). Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind, That from the nunnery Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind True, a new mistress now I chase, Yet this inconstancy is such As you too shall adore; Abraham Cowley. In the period of his reputation, Cowley (1618-1667) precedes Milton; he died in the year of the publication of "Paradise Lost." He was the posthumous son of a London stationer; entered Cambridge University, and at the age of fifteen published a volume of poems, showing marvellous precocity. During the Civil War he was ejected from Cambridge, and went to Oxford. In 1646 he went with the Queen to Paris, and was active in managing the cipher correspondence between King Charles and his wife. In 1647 appeared Cowley's love poems, under the title of "The Mistress." They are pure works of imagination. He never married; and it is said that although he was once, and only once, in love, he was too shy to tell his passion. He had "the modesty of a man of genius and the humility of a Christian." In his style he belongs to the metaphysical school, of which Donne was the founder: its chief characteristic being the affectation of remote and uncommon imagery and obscure conceits, often drawn from scientific sources, and attenuated to exhaustion. His praise of Brutus in one of his odes lost him the favor of Charles II. His "Davideis" is an unfinished epic in four books, written while he was at Cambridge. He died in his fortyninth year, and was interred with great pomp in Westminster Abbey, between Chaucer and Spenser. No poet of his day was more popular than Cowley, though he is now but little read. MY PICTURE. Here, take my likeness with you, whilst 'tis so; For when from hence you go, The next sun's rising will behold Me pale, and lean, and old. The man who did this picture draw Will swear next day my face he never saw. I really believe, within a while, If you upon this shadow smile, Your presence will such vigor give (Your presence which makes all things live!) And absence so much alter me, This will the substance, I the shadow be. When from your well-wrought cabinet you take it, The new-souled picture gaze on thee, My rival-image will be then thought blest, And laugh at me as dispossest; But thou, who (if I know thee right) I'th' substance dost not much delight, Who then shall but my picture's picture be. Tell me, ye mighty Three! what shall I do To be like one of you? But you have climbed the mountain's top, there sit On the calm flourishing head of it, And, whilst with wearied steps we upwards go, See us, and clouds, below. TENTANDA EST VIA. What shall I do to be forever known, And make the age to come my own? Whilst others great, by being born, are grown; In this scale gold, in th' other fame does lie, Out of myself it must be strook. Yet I must on. What sound is't strikes mine ear? It sounds like the last trumpet; for it can Unpast Alps stop me; but I'll cut them all, Hence, the desire of honors or estate, And all that is not above Fate! Hence, Love himself, that tyrant of my days, Come, my best friends, my books, and lead me on; 'Tis time that I were gone. Welcome, great Stagyrite!' and teach me now Thy scholar's victories thou dost far outdo; He conquered th' earth, the whole world you. Welcome, learn'd Cicero! whose blest tongue and wit Preserves Rome's greatness yet: Thou art the first of orators; only he Who best can praise thee next must be. Welcome the Mantuan swan, Virgil the wise! Whose verse walks highest, but not flies; Who brought green Poesy to her perfect age, And made that art which was a rage. 1 Aristotle was born at Stagyra, in Macedonia, near the mouth of the Strymon. He was the instructor of Alexander the Great. A HAPPY LIFE. PARAPHRASE FROM MARTIAL, BOOK X. Since, dearest friend, 'tis your desire to see Let mirth and freedom make thy table good. MARK THAT SWIFT ARROW. Mark that swift arrow, how it cuts the air, How it outruns thy following eye! Use all persuasions now, and try If thou canst call it back or stay it there, That way it went; but thou shalt find No track is left behind. ON THE DEATH OF CRASHAW. Poet and Saint! to thee alone are given The two most sacred names of earth and heaven; The hard and rarest union which can be, Next that of Godhead with humanity. Like Moses thou (tho' spells and charms withstand) Hast brought them nobly home, back to their Au, wretched we! poets of earth! but thou Thou need'st not make new songs, but say the old: Andrew Marvell. The friend of Milton, and his assistant in the Latin Secretaryship, Marvell (1620-1678) was born in Lincolnshire, and educated at Cambridge. His education was superior. He wrote both poetry and prose, and was Member of Parliament for Hull. A man of inflexible integrity, he was a strenuous foe of the Roman Catholic religion, and as a political pamphleteer took a high rank. Repeatedly threatened with assassination, he died suddenly from the effects of poison, it was believed. There is a vein of elegance and pathos in his poems, and they reveal the genuine, high-hearted thinker. His Latin poems are his best. The familiar poem, "The Spacious Firmament on High," is confidently attributed by many to Marvell. That he was equal to it is evident; but the proofs are insufficient to authorize us to take from Addison what has so long been ascribed to him. The simplicity and directness of the style are Addisonian rather than Marvellian. The piece first appeared anonymously in the Spectator, edited by Addison. The Spectator was begun in 1711, and Marvell died in 1678. If the piece was from his pen, what good reason was there, after his death, for withholding his name? It was in no spirit of boasting that, in a letter to one of his correspondents, Marvell wrote: "Disce, pner, virtutem ex me, verumque laborem ; FROM "THE WISH." This only grant me, that my means may lie Some honor I would have, Not from great deeds, but good alone; Rumor can ope the grave. equaintance I would have, but when 't depends Sot on the number, but the choice, of friends. SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDA.1 Where the remote Bermudas ride In the ocean's bosom unespied, 1 Emigrants supposed to be driven to expatriate themselves by the government of Charles I. |