Beneath those sunny banks a darker cloud, On which, if Mercy did but cast her face, 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, Yet strange it was so many stars to see, With wonder and amazement, did her beauty prove. Over her hung a canopy of state, 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, Ask me no more whither do stray Ask me no more whither doth haste She winters, and keeps warm her note. Ask me no more if east or west For unto you at last she flies, THE COMPLIMENT. I do not love thee for that fair I do not love thee for those flowers I do not love thee for those soft Red coral lips I've kiss'd so oft; Though from those lips a kiss being taken, I do not love thee, oh! my fairest, For that richest, for that rarest Tho' that neck be whiter far Than towers of polish'd ivory are. DISDAIN RETURNED. He that loves a rosy cheek, But a smooth and steadfast mind, 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 APPROACH OF SPRING. Now that the winter's gone, the earth hath lost But the warm sun thaws the benumb'd earth, 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 Shepherds' Hunting. When the abuses satirized by the poet had accumulated and brought on the civil war, Wither embraced the popular side, and sold his patrimonial estate to raise a troop of horse for the Parliament. He rose to the rank of a major, and in 1642, was made governor of Farnham Castle. During the struggle that immediately followed, Wither was made prisoner by the royalists, and stood in danger of capital punishment, but was saved by the interference of his brother poet Denham. Nothing daunted by the perilous contentions of the times, he again joined the parliamentary army, became one of Cromwell's major-generals, and was appointed by that dauntless leader to keep watch over the royalists of Surrey. From the sequestrated estates of these gentlemen, Wither obtained a considerable fortune, but the Restoration came, and he was stript of all his possessions. Against this he remonstrated loudly and angrily; his remonstrances were voted libels, and the unfortunate poet was again thrown into prison. In 1663 he was released from prison under bond of good behaviour, and died in London on the second of May, 1665. Wither's poetic fame is derived chiefly from those early productions which were composed while he was incarcerated in prison. His mind was extremely active, and though his body was confined within stone walls and iron bars, his fancy was among the hills and plains, with shepherds hunting; or loitering with Poesy, by rustling boughs or murmuring springs. There is hence a freshness and natural vivacity in his poetry, that render his early works a perpetual feast.' It is certainly not a feast where no crude surfeit reigns,' for he is often harsh, obscure, and affected; but he has an endless diversity of style and subject, and true poetical feeling and expression. Wither, for more than a century and a half, shared the fate so common to poets of his own age and class, of being comparatively forgotten; but his reputation has recently been revived by Ellis, who, in his Specimens of Early English Poets, first pointed out that playful fancy, pure taste, and artless delicacy of sentiment, which distinguish the poetry of his early youth.' His 'Address to Poetry' in the 'Shepherds' Hunting' is worthy of the theme, and superior to most of the effusions of that period. The pleasure with which he recounts the various charms and the 'divine skill' of his muse, that had derived nourishment and delight from the meanest objects' of external nature—a daisy, a bush, or a tree; and which, when these picturesque and beloved scenes of the country were denied him, could gladden even the vaults and shades of a prison, is one of the richest offerings that has yet been made to the pure and hallowed shrine of poesy. The superiority of intellectual pursuits over the gratifications of sense, and all the malice of fortune, has never been more touchingly or finely illustrated. The poem itself follows: THE COMPANIONSHIP OF THE MUSE. See'st thou not, in clearest days, Oft thick fogs cloud heaven's rays; And the vapours that do breathe Leaving it, unblemish'd fair? So my Willy, shall it be With Detraction's breath and thee: It shall never rise so high, As to stain thy poesy. As that sun doth oft exhale Vapours from each rotten vale; Poesy so sometime drains Gross conceits from muddy brains; Mists of envy, fogs of spite, 'Twixt men's judgments and her light: But so much her power may do, That she can dissolve them too. As she makes wing she gets power; And poor I, her fortune ruing, But if I my cage can rid, I'll fly where I never did: And though for her sake I'm crost, I should love and keep her too, Spite of all the world could do. And confin'd within these rocks, Here I waste away the light, And consume the sullen night, |