Thou hast no correspondence had in heaven, And th' elemental world, thou see'st is free. Whence hadst thou, then, this talking monster? even Curst be th' officious tongue that did address I must forbear her sight, and so repay In grief, those hours' joy short'ned to a dream; And in one year outlive Methusalem. Cartwright, Cleveland, Lovelace and Crashaw close the long list of English miscellaneous poets who have occupied our attention during the last four lectures. WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT, one of Ben Jonson's sons of the muses, was born at Cirencester, Gloucestershire, in 1611. He received his early education at the free school of his native place, whence he removed to Westminster school, and in 1628 entered Christ College, Oxford. Having remained at Oxford until he had taken his master's degree, he entered into orders, and soon became a very popular preacher in the university. In 1643 he was chosen junior proctor of the university and reader in metaphysics; and was at that time in the habit of studying sixteen hours a day. Toward the close of the same year he unfortunately caught a malignant fever then prevalent at Oxford, and died on the twenty-third of December, 1643, in his thirty-third year. The king, who was at that time 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 that period. It is difficult to conceive, from the perusal of Cartwright's poems, why he should have obtained such extensive applause and reputation. His pieces are generally short, occasional productions, addressed to ladies and noblemen, or to his brother poets, Fletcher and Jonson; or slight amatory effusions, not distinguished either for elegance or fancy. Admiration of his genius, his youthful virtues, his learning, and his devoted loyalty to the king, seemed to have mainly contributed to his popularity; and his premature death doubtless renewed and deepened the impression of his worth and talents. Cartwright must have cultivated poetry in his youth; for he was only twentyyears old when Ben Jonson died, and previous to that period the veteran poet paid him the compliment to remark, 'My son Cartwright writes all like a man.' "The following effusions are both witty and pretty, but possess no higher merit: six THE DREAM. I dream'd I saw myself lie dead, Silence and sleep this strange sight bred, But, wak'd, I found I liv'd anew. Looking next morn on your bright face, Mine eyes bequeath'd mine heart fresh pain; A dart rush'd in with every grace, And so I kill'd myself again : O eyes, what shall distressed lovers do, 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, We see no blood drop from the heart, And, subt'ly cruel, leav'st no sign To tell the blow or hand was thine; O gently, gently wound my fair, that she May thence believe the wound did come from thee! TO A LADY VAILED. So love appear'd, when, breaking out his way Was seen, but what might cause men to adore: As 'tis but only poetry revived. Such doubtful light had sacred groves, where rods And twigs at last did shoot up into gods; Where, then, a shade darkeneth the beauteous face, May I not pay a reverence to the place? So, under water, glimmering stars appear, As those (but nearer stars) your eyes do here; A better way to see them in our mind. Thus looks the country virgin, whose brown hue O fear ye no assaults from bolder men; When they assail, be this your armour then. JOHN CLEVELAND was born at Henkley, Leicestershire, in 1613. His father being rector of the parish, and also a man of sound learning, the future poet's early studies were carefully attended to at home, supervised by an able teacher connected with the grammar-school of the place. When well prepared, he was sent to Christ's College, Cambridge, where he soon became distinguished for both talents and learning. As an orator especially, he was unrivalled; and such was his general popularity, that as soon as he had taken his degrees he was elected to a fellowship in St. John's College. Cleveland continued at the university about nine years, the delight and ornament of the college to which he belonged, and during that time he became as eminent as a poet as he was as an orator. Upon the breaking out of the civil war, he espoused the royal cause with all the ardor of his nature, in consequence of which, as soon as the reins of power passed into the hands of the parliamentary party, he was ejected from his fellowship, and turned upon the world. He now repaired to Oxford, the head-quarters of the king, and there employed his talents in the composi tion of those severe and biting satires which rendered him, at the time, the delight of his party, and the terror of their foes. From Oxford, Cleveland, on invitation of Sir Richard Willis, governor of Newark, removed to that city, and there was immediately elevated to the office of Judge-advocate a situation which he continued to fill till Newark was, by the king's order, surrendered to the parliament. In 1655, he was seized at Norwich and cast into prison, being a person of great ability, and so able to do the greater disservice.' He remained in prison for some time, enduring all the wretchedness that poverty and destitution could inflict; but at length becoming exhausted from his sufferings, he petitioned Cromwell for his release in terms so pathetic and moving, that the heart of the Protector was melted, and he set him at liberty. Cleveland now repaired to London to resume his literary pursuits, but he died soon after, on the fourteenth of April, 1658, and was buried in the church of St. Michael in that city. Besides his strong and caustic satires, which were the chief source of his popularity while living, and which Butler afterward partially imitated in his 'Hudibras,' Cleveland wrote some love verses containing morsels of genuine poetry, amid a mass of affected metaphors and fancies. He carried gal lantry to an extent bordering on the ridiculous, making all nature-sun and shade-do homage to his mistress. To illustrate this remark we need only present the following lines: ON PHILLIS, WALKING BEFORE SUNRISE. The sluggish morn as yet undress'd, The trees, (like yeomen of her guard To chirp their matins; and the fan Of whistling winds, like organs play'd Unto their voluntaries, made The waken'd earth in odours rise To be her morning sacrifice; The flowers, call'd out of their beds, Start and raise up their drowsy heads; These miracles had cramp'd the sun, The trembling leaves through which he play'd, (Like lattice windows) give the spy To force us a new-fashion'd day. But what new-fashion'd palsy 's this, Which makes the boughs divest their bliss ? And that they might her footsteps straw, Drop their leaves with shivering awe; Should wed October into May, And as her beauty caus'd a spring, Withdrew her beams, yet made no night, But left the sun her curate light. RICHARD LOVELACE was the son of Sir William Lovelace, and was born at Woolridge, Kent, in 1618. He was educated at Oxford, and Wood describes him, at the age of sixteen, as the most amiable and beautiful person that eye ever beheld; a person also of innate modesty, virtue, and courtly deportment, which made him then, but especially after, when he retired to the great city, much admired and adored by the female sex.' Soon after Lovelace had completed his studies he was introduced at court, and being thus personally distinguished, and a royalist in principle, he was chosen by the county of Kent to deliver a petition to the House of Commons, praying that the king might be restored to his rights, and the government settled. The 'Long Parliament' was then in the ascendant, and Lovelace was thrown into prison for his temerity. He was eventually liberated on heavy bail, and soon after spent the balance of his fortune in fruitless efforts to succour the royal cause. Lovelace afterward obtained the command of a regiment in the French army, but being wounded at Dunkirk, he relinquished his command, and in 1648 returned to England. He had, however, scarcely reached his native shore before he was apprehended and again cast into prison; and seeing no prospect of a second retrieve, he beguiled the time of his imprisonment by collecting and arranging his poems for publication. They appeared in 1649, under the title of Lucastra: Odes, Sonnets, and Songs. The general title was bestowed upon them on account of the 'lady of his love,' Lucy Sackeverell, whom he usually called Lux Castra. This attachment proved, in the event, unfortunate; for the lady, hearing that Lovelace died of his wounds at Dunkirk, married another man. From this time the course of the poet was downward. The dominant party did, indeed, release his person, when the death of the king had left them the less to fear from their opponents; but Lovelace was now penniless, and the reputation of a broken cavalier was no passport to better circumstances. Oppressed with want and melancholy, he gradually sunk into a consumption, and finally died in a miserable alley near Shore Lane, London, in 1658,—a death presenting a striking contrast to the gay and splendid scenes of his youth. The poetry of Lovelace, like his life, was very unequal. There is a spirit and nobleness in some of his verses and sentiments, that charms the reader as much as his gallant bearing and fine person captivated the fair. His genius was exalted, but his taste was perverted by the affected wit and ridiculous gallantry of the day. That he knew, however, how to appreciate true taste and nature, may be seen from the following lines on Lely's por trait of Charles the First: See what an humble bravery doth shine, And grief triumphant breaking through each line, |