Of gazing mortals; his victorious ray
Can chase the shadows and restore the day:
Night's bashful empress, tho' she often wain,
As oft repents her darkness, primes again;
And with her circling horns doth re-embrace
Her brother's wealth, and orbs her silver face.
But, ah! my sun, deep swallow'd in his fall,
Is set, and cannot shine, nor rise at all:
My bankrupt wain can beg nor borrow light;
Alas! my darkness is perpetual night.

Falls have their risings; wainings have their primes,
And desperate sorrows wait their better times:
Ebbs have their floods; and Autumns have their Springs ;
All states have changes, hurried with the swings
Of chance and time, still riding to and fro:
Terrestrial bodies, and celestial too.
How often have I vainly grop'd about,
With lengthen'd arms, to find a passage out,
That I might catch those beams mine

eye desires,
And bathe my soul in these celestial fires!
Like as the haggard, cloister'd in her mew,
To scour her downy robes, and to renew
Her broken flags, preparing t' overlook
The timorous mallard at the sliding brook,
Jets oft from perch to perch ; from stock to ground,
From ground to window, thus surveying round
Her dove-befeathered prison, till at length
Calling her noble birth to mind, and strength
Whereto her wing was born, her ragged beak
Nips off her jangling jesses, strives to break

Her jingling fetters, and begins to bate

At every glimpse, and darts at every grate :
E'en so my weary soul, that long has been
An inmate in this tenement of sin,
Lock'd up by cloud-brow'd error, which invites
My cloister'd thoughts to feed on black delights,
Now suns her shadows, and begins to dart
Her wing'd desires at thee, that only art
The sun she seeks, whose rising beams can fright
These dusky clouds that make so dark a night:
Shine forth, great glory, shine; that I may see,
Both how to loath myself, and honour thee:
But if my weakness force thee to dený
Thy flames, yet lend the twilight of thine eye!
If I must want those beams I wish, yet grant
That I at least may wish those beams I want!

Quarles died Sept. 8, 1644, æt. 52. A Relation of his Life and Death, by his widow, Ursula Quarles, was prefixed to his Solomon's Recantation, 1645, 4to. and has been lately reprinted before the new edition of his Judgment and Mercy for afflicted Souls, 1807, 8vo. accompanied by an excel

"Judgment and Mercy for afflicted Souls; or Meditations, Soliloquies, and Prayers. By Francis Quarles. A new Edition, with a Biographical and Critical Introduction, by Reginalde Wolfe, Esq." [i. e. Rev. T. F. Dibdin.] London, printed for Longman and Co. 1807, pp. 332.

lent copy, by Freeman, from Marshall's print of

him.s

• The following short notice may be here given of another publication of Quarles; " Divine Poems, revised and corrected, with Additions. By the Author, Fra. Quarles. Printed for Jobn Marriot, in St. Dunstan's church-yard, Fleetstreet, 1630.” On an engraved title-page, by T. Cecill, small 8vo. pp. 502. N. B. The printed title has the date 1633. It contains, I. A Feast for Wormes. II. Pentelogia, dated 1632. III. Hadassa, 1632. The running title is, "The Historie of Ester." IV. Job Militant, printed by Miles Flesher, 1632. V. The Historie of Samson. VI. Sion's Sonnets, sung by Solomon the King, and periphrased. VII. Sion's Elegies, wept by Jeremie the Prophet, and periphrased. VIII. An Alphabet of Elegies, upon the much and truly lamented death of that famous for learning, piety, and true friendship, Doctor Ailmer, a great favourer and fast friend to the Muses, and late Archdeacon of London. Imprinted in his heart that ever loves his memorie. Ob. Jan. 6th, 1625.

March, 1, 1809.

N° LXIX.

Falsus honor juvat

Quem nisi mendosum et mendacem?

TO THE RUMINATOR.

SIR,

THERE are, I believe, few terms more commonly used, few sounds more generally captivating, than that of honour. From the moment when our infancy ceases, to that in which old age begins to creep upon us, it is the theme of every pen, the boast of every tongue. It is the schoolboy's assertion, the lover's vow, and the peer's judicial declaration. If it be falsified, the man is deemed worthy of no further trust; nor is even the sacred obligation of an oath supposed to be capable of binding him whom honour cannot restrain. Honour necessarily includes in it the idea of the dazzling quality of courage; and this is probably the chief reason why the imputation of falsehood cannot be washed off but by blood. For falsehood is the very reverse of courage, and always implies cowardice; inasmuch as no man can deny a fact, or assert an untruth, but from natural fear, or from

a still baser motive. Hence honour is the idol of the bold and truly brave; and even those who in reality possess it not, lay claim to it for the sake of the opinion of the world.

True honour, therefore, may be defined as a principle which exerts itself beyond mere duty, and supplies its real or supposed deficiencies; which binds where laws do not; and which extends its sacred influence to cases in which conscience does not interfere, and religion is supposed to be silent. But the honour in common use is of a more accommodating nature; and as every man so frames it as to suit with his own particular inclinations, it is perhaps the only subject on which all agree. The man of the world and the man of God; the bigot and the infidel; the soldier and the tradesman; the highwayman and the passenger whom he plunders; the prostitute and the woman of virtue; all sound alike the praises of honour, and profess to be governed by its dictates.

And so, Sir, they really are. It is no idle boast. They are all, except the truly religious man, subservient, according to their own views of it, to that vain phantom which they dignify with that splendid appellation; and which they mould into every form that may suit their various pursuits and fancies. Ask what is honour? The soldier will tell you it is bravery, and the prompt revenging every real or