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Ascend: and tell if ere this day
A fayrer prize was seene at sea.
See the salmons leape and bound,
To please us as we passe,

Each mermaid on the rockes around,
Lets fall her brittle glasse,

As they their beauties did despize,
And lov'd no myrrour but your eyes.

Blow, but gently blow, fayre winde,
From the forsaken shore,
And be as to the halcyon kinde,
Till we have ferry'd o're:

So maist thou still have leave to blow,
And fanne the way where she shall goe.

Floods, and nymphes, and windes, and all
That see us both together,

Into a disputation fall;

And then resolve me, whether

The greatest kindnesse each can show

Will quit our trust of you or no?

THE SIREN'S SONG.-FROM THE INNER TEMPLE MASQUE.

STEERE hither, steere, your winged pines,

All beaten mariners,

Here lie Love's undiscover'd mines,

A prey to passengers;

Perfumes far sweeter than the best
Which make the phoenix' urn and nest,
Feare not your ships,

Nor any to oppose you, save our lips;
But come on shore

Where no joy dies till love hath gotten more.

For swelling waves, our panting breasts,
Where never stormes arise,
Exchange; and be awhile our guests:
For stars gaze on our eyes.

The compass, love shall hourly sing,
And as he goes about the ring,

We will not misse

To tell each point he nameth with a kisse.

BB

ROBERT HERRICK was born in London towards the close of the year 1591. His father was a goldsmith in Cheapside.-He received his education at Cambridge-first at St. John's and afterwards at Trinity Hall-and commenced the study of the law, which he relinquished for that of divinity. In 1629, he was presented by Charles the First to the living of Dean Prior, in Devonshire; from this living he was ejected during the civil war; but it appears that the removal was not undesirable; he seems to have quitted, without regret, his parishioners, whom he describes as “a rocky generation," "churlish as the seas," and "rude (almost) as rudest salvages." He assumed the habit of a layman and resided in Westminster, by the assistance of some wealthier royalists, until the Restoration replaced him in his vicarage. He lived to an advanced age, but the year in which he died has not been ascertained.

His poetical reputation rests, chiefly, upon a few lyric pieces, the pure sentiment, the deep feeling, and the thrilling pathos of which, are so rare as to place his name high in the list of British Poets. His versification is peculiarly graceful and harmonious; few writers indeed have more successfully penned accompaniments to music-for even as they read, and without the association of sound, his lines are tuned to melody. Herrick, however, abounds in overstrained conceits, and is occasionally coarse and indelicate. It is not enough that he has told us, "although his rhymes were wild, his life was chaste." The example of ill acts is less prejudicial than the example inculcated by ill writing. The one may be forgotten when the actor is no more remembered, but the other endures to work evil long after the author has ceased to exist. We may, however, hope that the Poet not only saw but amended his error, and that the following pious prayer was a prayer of the heart:

"For these my unbaptized rhymes,
Writ in my wild unhallowed times,
For every sentence clause and word,
That's not inlaid with thee, O Lord,
Forgive me, God, and blot each line
Out of my book that is not thine;
But if, 'mongst all, thou findest one
Worthy thy benediction,

That one of all the rest shall be
The glory of my work, and me."

About the year 1648, he published his volume of "Hesperides," and soon afterwards, his "Noble Numbers, or short Pious Pieces, wherein, (amongst other things) he sings the Birth of Christ and sighs for his Saviour's sufferings on the Crosse." Our specimens have been taken from the former;-his "Noble Numbers" being by no means worthy of the high themes of which he wrote, if we except the "Dirge of Jephtha," and the "Litany of the Holy Spirit," both of which are exceedingly beautiful; full of pure and holy thoughts, and forming singular contrasts to the more light and careless productions of moments less sacred to reflection.

An engraved portrait of the Poet accompanies an early edition of his works. It is that of a man to whom the gay was more natural than the grave; and whose "habit," as a layman, suited better his tastes and inclination than his robes as a priest.

The muse of Herrick is surpassingly gladsome and joyous. He was a light-hearted bard, who bounded from flower to flower with the gay thoughtlessness of the butterfly rather than the patient labour of the bee. He appears as if giving himself up to enjoyment-his life like a summer day-with the zest of an epicurean. He revels among his thoughts. Springing forth naturally and without an effort, they take the form of verse, airy and playful as the thistledown that is borne with the breeze from one spot to another, and, like the thistledown, rarely tarrying long enough on any to carry into air a particle of earth. His heart must have been always young; for with him care appears to have rather resembled a companion whom he could dismiss at pleasure, than the familiar associate who so frequently sits and communes with poets. We may, indeed, characterise the poetry of Herrick by a passage from himself:

"Has it a body! Aye, and wings
With thousand rare encolourings;

And, as it flies, it gently sings

'Love honey yields, but never stings.'"

ART ABOVE NATURE.-TO JULIA.

WHEN I behold a Forrest spread
With silken trees upon thy head;
And when I see that other dresse
Of flowers set in comelinesse :
When I behold another grace
In the ascent of curious lace,
Which like a pinacle doth shew
The top, and the top-gallant too:
Then, when I see thy tresses bound
Into an ovall, square, or round;
And knit in knots far more than I
Can tell by tongue or true-love tie:

Next, when those Lawnie filmes I see
Play with a wild civility:

And all those airie silks to flow,
Alluring me, and tempting, so:
I must confesse mine eye and heart
Dotes less on Nature than on Art.

THE CAPTIVED BEE, OR THE LITTLE FILCHER.

As Julia once a slumb'ring lay,
It chanc't a bee did flie that way,
(After a dew, or dew-like show'r,)
To tipple freely in a flow'r.

For some rich flow'r he took the lip
Of Julia, and began to sip:

But when he felt he suck't from thence
Hony, and in the quintessence;

He drank so much he scarce co'd stir
So Julia took the pilferer:

And thus surpris'd, (as filchers use,)
He thus began himselfe t'excuse:
Sweet lady-flower! I never brought
Hither the least one theeving thought;
But taking those rare lips of your's
For some fresh, fragrant, luscious flow rs;
I thought I might there take a taste,
Where so much sirrup ran at waste;
Besides, know this, I never sting
The flow'r that gives me nourishing;
But with a kisse, or thanks, doe pay
For hony that I beare away.
This said, he laid his little scrip
Of hony 'fore her ladiship;

And told her, (as some tears did fall,)
That, that he took, and that was all.
At which she smil'd; and bade him goe
And take his bag; but thus much know,
When next he came a pilf'ring so,
He sho'd from her full lips derive
Hony enough to fill his hive.

THE NIGHT PIECE.-TO JULIA.

HER eyes the glowworme lend thee,
The shooting starres attend thee;
And the elves also,

Whose little eyes glow,

Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee!

No will-o'-th'-wispe mislight thee,
Nor snake nor slowworme bite thee;
But on, on thy way,

Not making a stay,

Since ghost there's none to affright thee!

Let not the darke thee cumber;
What though the moon does slumber,
The starres of the night

Will lend thee their light,

Like tapers cleare without number!

Then, Julia, let me wooe thee,
Thus, thus, to come unto me;
And, when I shall meet
Thy silv'ry feet,

My soule I'll poure into thee!

TO BLOSSOMS.

FAIRE pledges of a fruitfull tree,
Why do yee fall so fast?
Your date is not so past,

But you may stay yet here awhile
To blush and gently smile,
And go at last.

What, were yee borne to be

An houre or half's delight,
And so to bid good night?

'Twas pitie nature brought yee forth
Meerly to shew your worth,
And lose you quite.

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