A hundred virgins there he might espy Prostrate before a marble deity, Which, by its portraiture, appear'd to be Was blest with the sweet words that came from her. [The Votaress of Diana.] Clarinda came at last And fring'd about with gold: white buskins hide WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT. WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT (1611-1643) was one of Ben Jonson's adopted sons of the muses, and of his works Jonson remarked-'My son Cartwright writes all like a man.' Cartwright was a favourite with his contemporaries, who loved him living, and deplored his early death. This poet was the son of an innkeeper at Cirencester, who had squandered away a patrimonial estate. In 1638, after complet ing his education at Oxford, Cartwright entered into holy orders. He was a zealous royalist, and was imprisoned by the parliamentary forces when they arrived in Oxford in 1642. In 1643, he was chosen junior proctor of the university, and was also reader in metaphysics. At this time, the poet is said to have studied sixteen hours a day! Towards the close of the same year, Cartwright caught malignant fever, called the camp disease, then pre valent at Oxford, and died December 23, 1643. The king, who was then at Oxford, went into mourning for Cartwright's death; and when his works were published in 1651, no less than fifty copies of encomiastic verses were prefixed to them by the wits and scholars of the time. It is difficult to conceive, from the perusal of Cartwright's poems, why he should have obtained such extraordinary applause and reputation. His pieces are mostly short, occasional productions, addresses to ladies and noblemen, or to his brother poets, Fletcher and Jonson, or slight amatory effusions not distinguished for elegance or fancy. His youthful virtues, his learning, loyalty, and admiration of genius, seem to have mainly contributed to his popularity, and his premature death would renew and deepen the impression of his worth and talents. Cartwright must have cultivated poetry in his youth: he was only twentysix when Ben Jonson died, and the compliment quoted above seems to prove that he had then been busy with his pen. He mourned the loss of his poetical father in one of his best effusions, in which he thus eulogises Jonson's dramatic powers: But thou still puts true passion on; dost write To a Lady Veiled. So Love appear'd, when, breaking out his way Such doubtful light had sacred groves, where rods Thus looks the country virgin, whose brown hue Chloe, why wish you that your years Things unto things, might us combine. Our ages so in date agree, That twins do differ more than we. There are two births; the one when light The other when two souls unite; And we must count our life from thence: When you lov'd me, and I lov'd you, Then both of us were born anew. Love then to us did new souls give, And in those souls did plant new pow'rs: Since when another life we live, The breath we breathe is his, not ours; Love makes those young whom age doth chill, And whom he finds young keeps young still. Love, like that angel that shall call Our bodies from the silent grave, Unto one age doth raise us all; None too much, none too little have; Nay, that the difference may be none, He makes two not alike, but one. And now since you and I are such, Tell me what's yours, and what is mine! Our eyes, our ears, our taste, smell, touch, Do, like our souls, in one combine; So, by this, I as well may be Too old for you, as you for me. The Dream. I dream'd I saw myself lie dead, And that my bed my coffin grew, O eyes, what shall distressed lovers do, Love Inconcealable. Who can hide fire? If't be uncover'd, light; To Cupid. Thou, who didst never see the light, So captivate her sense, so blind her eye, Thou who dost wound us with such art, O gently, gently wound my fair, that she ROBERT HERRICK. One of the most exquisite of our early lyrical poets was ROBERT HERRICK, born in Cheapside, London, in 1591. He studied at Cambridge, and having entered into holy orders, was presented by Charles I., Robert Henrick in 1629, to the vicarage of Dean Prior in Devonshire. After about twenty years' residence in this rural parish, Herrick was ejected from his living by the storms of the civil war, which, as Jeremy Taylor says, dashed the vessel of the church and state all in pieces.' Whatever regret the poet may have felt on being turned adrift on the world, he could have experienced little on parting with his parishioners, for he describes them in much the same way as Crabbe portrayed the natives of Suffolk, among whom he was cast in early life, as a 'wild amphibious race,' rude almost as salvages,' and 'churlish as the seas.' Herrick gives us a glimpse of his own character Born I was to meet with age, I'll have nought to say to you; Forgive me, God, and blot each line That one of all the rest shall be The poet should better have evinced the sincerity This light and genial temperament would enable the poet to ride out the storm in composure. About the time that he lost his vicarage, Herrick appears to have published his works. His Noble Numbers, or Pious Pieces, are dated 1647; his Hesperides, or the The poetical works of Herrick lay neglected for 'Works both Humane and Divine of Robert Herrick, Esquire,' in 1648. The clerical prefix to his name many years after his death. They are now again in seems now to have been abandoned by the poet, have been set to music, and are sung and quoted by esteem, especially his shorter lyrics, some of which and there are certainly many pieces in his second all lovers of song. His verses, Cherry Ripe, and volume which would not become one ministering at the altar, or belonging to the sacred profession. ment and many of the expressions of the latter are Gather the Rose-buds while ye may (though the sentiHerrick lived in Westminster, and was supported taken from Spenser), possess a delicious mixture of or assisted by the wealthy royalists. He associated with the jovial spirits of the age. He quaffed the playful fancy and natural feeling. Those To Blosmighty bowl' with Ben Jonson, but could not, he soms, To Daffodils, and To Primroses, have a tinge tells us, thrive in frenzy,' like rare Ben, who seems of pathos that wins its way to the heart. They to have excelled all his fellow-compotators in sallies and conceits; but the pensive moral feeling predoabound, like all Herrick's poems, in lively imagery of wild wit and high imaginations. The recollec-minates, and we feel that the poet's smiles might as tion of these brave translunary scenes' of the well be tears. Shakspeare and Jonson had scattered poets inspired the muse of Herrick in the following such delicate fancies and snatches of lyrical melody among their plays and masques-Milton's Comus and the Arcades had also been published-Carew and Suckling were before him-Herrick was, therefore, not without models of the highest excellence in this species of composition. There is, however, in his songs and anacreontics, an unforced gaiety and natural tenderness, that show he wrote chiefly from the impulses of his own cheerful and happy nature. The select beauty and picturesqueness of Herrick's language, when he is in his happiest vein, is worthy of his fine conceptions; and his versification is harmony itself. His verses bound and flow like some exquisite lively melody, that echoes nature, by wood and dell, and presents new beauties at every turn and winding. The strain is short, and sometimes fantastic; but the notes long linger in the mind, and take their place for ever in the memory. One or two words, such as 'gather the rose-buds,' call up a summer landscape, with youth, beauty, flowers, and music. This is, and ever must be, true poetry. strain: Ah Ben! Made at the Sun, The Dog, the Triple Tun; My Ben! Or come again, Or send to us Thy wit's great overplus, But teach us yet Wisely to husband it ; Lest we that talent spend ; And having once brought to an end That precious stock, the store Of such a wit, the world should have no more. After the Restoration, Herrick was replaced in his Devonshire vicarage. How he was received by the 'rude salvages' of Dean Prior, or how he felt on quitting the gaieties of the metropolis, to resume his clerical duties and seclusion, is not recorded. He was now about seventy years of age, and was pro bably tired of canary sack and tavern jollities. He had an undoubted taste for the pleasures of a country life, if we may judge from his works, and the fondness with which he dwells on old English festivals and rural customs. Though his rhymes were sometimes wild, he says his life was chaste, and he repented of his errors :— For these my unbaptised rhymes, To Blossoms. Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, What! were ye born to be An hour or half's delight, But you are lovely leaves, where we The Kiss a Dialogue. 1. Among thy fancies tell me this: It is a creature born, and bred Chor.-And makes more soft the bridal bed: 2. It is an active flame, that flies First to the babies of the eyes, And charms them there with lullabies; Chor. And stills the bride too when she cries: 2. Then to the chin, the cheek, the ear, It frisks, and flies: now here, now there; 'Tis now far off, and then 'tis near; Chor.-And here, and there, and everywhere. 1. Has it a speaking virtue?-2. Yes. 1. How speaks it, say 1-2. Do you but this, Part your join'd lips, then speaks your kiss; Chor. And this love's sweetest language is. 1. Has it a body?-2. Ay, and wings, With thousand rare encolourings; And as it flies, it gently sings, Chor.-Love honey yields, but never stings. To the Virgins, to make much of their Time. Gather the rose-buds, while ye may, The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun, That age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But, being spent, the worse, and worst Time shall succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time, Be Twelfth-day queen for the night here. And let not a man then be seen here, A health to the king and the queen here. To make the wassail a swinger. And though with ale ye be wet here; As when ye innocent met here. The Country Life. Sweet country life, to such unknown, Is the wise master's feet and hands. 1 Amongst the sports proper to Twelfth Night in England was the partition of a cake with a bean and pea in it: the individuals who got the bean and pea were respectively king and queen for the evening. A drink of warm ale, with roasted apples and spices in it. The term is a corruption from the Celtic. 3 Farm-labourers. The term is still used in Scotland. And smell'st the breath of great-eyed kine, On which the young men and maids meet Thy May-poles, too, with garland's graced ; And trace the hare in the treacherous snow: Thou hast thy cock rood, and thy glade, Which keeps my little loaf of bread Some brittle sticks of thorn or brier Close by whose living coal I sit, And glow like it. Lord, I confess, too, when I dine, And all those other bits that be There placed by Thee. The worts, the purslain, and the mess Of water cress, Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent: And my content Makes those, and my beloved beet, To be more sweet. "Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth; And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink, |