soon dispels this illusion. The 'Purple Island' of Fletcher is no‘sunny spot amid the melancholy main,' but is an elaborate and anatomical description of the body and soul of man. Its value, therefore, must not rest upon the plot, but upon isolated passages and poetical descriptions. Some of his stanzas have all the easy flow and mellifluous sweetness of the 'Faery Queen;' and clearly show a luxuriance of fancy, which had it been disciplined by taste and judgment, must have rivalled the softer scenes of Spenser. To justify this remark we take the following passage:-

DESCRIPTION OF PARTHENIA, OR CHASTITY.

With her, her sister went, a warlike maid,
Parthenia, all in steel and gilded arms;
In needle's stead, a mighty spear she sway'd,
With which in bloody fields and fierce alarms,
The boldest champion she down would bear,
And like a thunder-bolt wide passage tear,
Flinging all to the earth with her enchanted spear.

Her goodly armour seem'd a garden green,

Where thousand spotless lilies freshly blew;

And on her shield the lone bird might be seen,

Th' Arabian bird, shining in colours new;

Itself unto itself was only mate:

Ever the same, but new in newer date:

And underneath was writ, 'Such is chaste single state.'

Thus hid in arms she seem'd a goodly knight,

And fit for any warlike exercise:

But when she list lay down her armour bright,

And back resume her peaceful maiden's guise ;

The fairest maid she was, that ever yet
Prison'd her locks within a golden net,

Or let them waving hang, with roses fair beset.

Choice nymph! the crown of chaste Diana's train,
Thou beauty's lily, set in heavenly earth;
Thy fairs unpattern'd, all perfection stain;
Sure Heaven with curious pencil at thy birth
In thy rare face her own full picture drew:
It is a strong verse here to write, but true,
Hyperboles in others are but half thy due.
Upon her forehead Love his trophies fits,
A thousand spoils in silver arch displaying:
And in the midst himself full proudly sits,
Himself in awful majesty arraying:

Upon her brows lies his bent ebon bow,

And ready shafts; deadly those weapons show;

Yet sweet the death appear'd, lovely that deadly blow.

To deck his beauteous head in snowy 'tire;
But all in vain: for who can hope t' aspire

To such a fair, which none attain, but all admire?

Her ruby lips lock up from gazing sight

A troop of pearls, which march in goodly row;
But when she deigns these precious bones undight,
Soon heavenly notes from those divisions flow,
And with rare music charm the ravish'd ears,
Daunting bold thoughts, but cheering modest fears:
The spheres so only sing, so only charm the spheres.

Yet all these stars which deck this beauteous sky
By force of th' inward sun both shine and move;
Thron'd in her heart sits love's high majesty;
In highest majesty the highest love,

As when a taper shines in glassy frame,

The sparkling crystal burns in glittering flame,

So does that brightest love brighten this lovely dame.

6

GILES FLETCHER was younger than his brother, but neither the date of his birth, nor the period of his death has been preserved. His only important poetical production is a sacred poem entitled Christ's Victory and Triumph. There is a massive grandeur and earnestness about this performance, which strike the imagination with great force. The materials of the poem are more harmoniously linked together than those of the 'Purple Island.' Hallam remarks that, both of these brothers are deserving of much praise they were endowed with minds eminently poetical, and not inferior in imagination to any of their contemporaries. But an injudicious taste, and an excessive fondness for a style which the public was fast abandoning, that of allegorical personification, prevented their powers from being effectively displayed.' Campbell also observes that, they were both the disciples of Spenser, and with his diction gently modernized, retained much of his melody and luxuriant expression. Giles, inferior as he is to Spenser and Milton, might be figured in his happiest moments, as a link of connection in our poetry between these congenial spirits, for he reminds us of both, and evidently gave hints to the latter in a poem on the same subject with Paradise Regained.'

We shall close our notice of these brother poets with the following passage from 'Christ's Victory and Triumph:'—

THE RAINBOW.

High in the airy element there hung
Another cloudy sea, that did disdain,

As though his purer waves from heaven sprung,
To crawl on earth, as doth the sluggish main :
But it the earth would water with his rain,
That ebb'd and flow'd as wind and season would;
And oft the sun would cleave the limber mould
To alabaster rocks, that in the liquid oll'd.

Beneath those sunny banks a darker cloud,
Dropping with thicker dew, did melt apace,
And bent itself into a hollow shroud,

On which, if Mercy did but cast her face,
A thousand colours did the bow enchase,
That wonder was to see the silk distain'd

With the resplendence from her beauty gain'd,

And Iris paint her locks with beams so lively feign'd.

About her head a cypress heaven she wore,
Spread like a vail, upheld with silver wire,
In which the stars so burnt in golden ore,
As seem'd the azure web was all on fire:
But hastily, to quench their sparkling ire,
A flood of milk came rolling up the shore,
That on his curded wave swift Argus wore
And the immortal swan, that did her life depiore.

Yet strange it was so many stars to see,
Without a sun to give their tapers light;
Yet strange it was not that it so should be;
For, where the sun centers himself by right,
Her face and locks did flame, that at the sight
The heavenly vail, that else should nimbly move,
Forgot his flight, and all incensed, with love,

With wonder and amazement, did her beauty prove.

Over her hung a canopy of state,
Not of rich tissue nor of spangled gold,
But of a substance, though not animate,
Yet of a heavenly and spiritual mould,
That only eyes of spirits might behold:
Such light as from main rocks of diamond,

Shooting their sparks at Phoebus, would rebound,

And little angels, holding hands, danced all around.

THOMAS CAREW was of an ancient family, and was born in Gloucestershire, in 1589. He was educated at Corpus Christi College, Oxford, after which he travelled, for some time, upon the continent, and on his return to England, entered into the service of Charles the First, by whom he was made gentleman of the privy chamber, and was personally very highly esteemed. From this period his life was that of a courtier-witty, affable, and accomplished-without reflection; and in a strain of loose revelry which, according to Lord Clarenden, 'he deeply repented in his latter days.' He died in 1639, not having quite attained the fiftieth year of his age.

Carew was the precursor and representative of a numerous class of poets— courtiers of a gay and gallant school, who, to personal accomplishments, rank, and education, united a taste and talent for the conventional poetry then most popular and most cultivated. Their visions of fame were, in general, bounded by the circle of the court and of the nobility. To live in future generations, or to sound the depth of the human heart, seems not to have entered into their contemplations. A'rosy cheek or coral lip' formed their

ordinary themes. The court applauded; the lady was flattered or appeased by the compliment; and the poet was praised for his wit and gallantry; while the heart had nothing to do with the poetical homage thus tendered and accepted.

Carew was capable, however, of ascending far beyond this heartless frivolity; and in his productions, therefore, we see only glimpes of a genius which might have been ripened into permanent and beneficial excellence. His short amatory pieces and songs were exceedingly popular in his day, and are now his only poems that are read. A few of these are here introduced, together with his lines on the Approach of Spring-a production which indicates that the passionate and imaginative view of the Elizabethan period had not wholly passed away, but that the 'genial and warm tints' of the elder muse still occasionally colored the landscape.

SONG.

Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose;
For in your beauties, orient deep,
These flowers, as in their causes, sleep.

Ask me no more whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For in pure love heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more whither doth haste
The nightingale when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters, and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more if east or west

The Phoenix builds her spicy nest;

For unto you at last she flies,

And in your fragant bosom dies.

THE COMPLIMENT.

I do not love thee for that fair
Rich fan of thy most curious hair;
Though the wires thereof be drawn
Finer than the threads of lawn,
And are softer than the leaves
On which the subtile spider weaves.

I do not love thee for those flowers
Growing on thy cheeks (love's bowers);
Though such cunning them hath spread,
None can paint them white and red:
Love's golden arrows thence are shot,
Yet for them I love thee not.

I do not love thee for those soft
Red coral lips I've kiss'd so oft;
Nor teeth of pearl, the double guard
To speech, whence music still is heard;

Though from those lips a kiss being taken,
Might tyrants melt, and death awaken.

I do not love thee, oh! my fairest,

For that richest, for that rarest
Silver pillar, which stands under
Thy sound head, that globe of wonder;
Tho' that neck be whiter far

Than towers of polish'd ivory are.

DISDAIN RETURNED.

He that loves a rosy cheek,
Or a coral lip admires,
Or from star-like eyes doth seek
Fuel to maintain his fires;
As old Time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.

But a smooth and steadfast mind,
Gentle thoughts and calm desires;
Hearts with equal love combined,
Kindle never-dying fires.
Where these are not, I despise
Lovely cheeks, or lips, or eyes!

No tears, Celia, now shall win

My resolv'd heart to return;

I have search'd thy soul within,

And find nought but pride and scorn;

I have learn'd thy arts, and now

Can disdain as much as thou.

Some power, in my revenge, convey
That love to her I cast away.

APPROACH OF SPRING.

Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost
Her snow-white robes, and now no more the frost
Candies the grass, or calls an icy cream.

Upon the silver lake, or crystal stream;

But the warm sun thaws the benumb'd earth,
And makes it tender; gives a sacred birth
To the dead swallow; wakes in hollow tree
The drowsy cuckoo, and the humble bee;
Now do a choir of chirping minstrels bring
In triumph to the world the youthful spring.
The valleys, hills, and woods, in rich array
Welcome the coming of the long'd for May.
Now all things smile.

GEORGE WITHER was born in Hampshire on the eleventh of June, 1588, and was educated at Magdalen College, Oxford. In the twenty-fifth year of his age he published a satire entitled Abuses Stript and Whipt, for which he was thrown into Marshalsea; but so far from allowing his imprisonment to depress his spirits, he there composed his fine poem, The