Specimens with Memoirs of the Less-known British Poets Part 52

Thoughts in a Garden Satire on Holland

IZAAK WALTON The Angler's Wish

JOHN WILMOT, EARL or ROCHESTER Song Song

THE EARL OP ROSCOMMON From 'An Essay on Translated Verse'

CHARLES COTTON Invitation to Izaak Walton A Voyage to Ireland in Burlesque

DR HENRY MORE Opening of Second Part of 'Psychozoia'

Exordium of Third Part Destruction and Renovation of all things A Distempered Fancy Soul compared to a Lantern

WILLIAM CHAMBERLAYNE Argalia taken Prisoner by the Turks

HENRY VAUGHAN On a Charnel-house On Gombauld's 'Endymion'

Apostrophe to Fletcher the Dramatist Picture of the Town The Golden Age Regeneration Resurrection and Immortality The Search Isaac's Marriage Man's Fall and Recovery The Shower Burial Cheerfulness The Pa.s.sion Rules and Lessons Repentance The Dawning The Tempest The World The Constellation Misery Mount of Olives Ascension-day c.o.c.k-crowing The Palm-tree The Garland Love-sick Psalm civ The Timber The Jews Palm-Sunday Providence St Mary Magdalene The Rainbow The Seed Growing Secretly (Mark iv. 26) Childhood Abel's Blood Righteousness Jacob's Pillow and Pillar The Feast The Waterfall

DR JOSEPH BEAUMONT h.e.l.l Joseph's Dream Paradise Eve To the Memory of his Wife Imperial Borne Personified End

MISCELLANEOUS PIECES--

FROM ROBERT HEATH-- What is Love?

Protest of Love To Clarastella

BY VARIOUS AUTHORS-- My Mind to me a Kingdom is The Old and Young Courtier There is a Garden in her Face Hallo, my Fancy The Fairy Queen

SPECIMENS WITH MEMOIRS OF THE LESS-KNOWN BRITISH POETS.

SECOND PERIOD--FROM SPENSER TO DRYDEN. (CONTINUED.)

WILLIAM HABINGTON.

This poet might have been expected to have belonged to the 'Spasmodic school,' judging by his parental antecedents. His father was accused of having a share in Babington's conspiracy, but was released because he was G.o.dson to Queen Elizabeth. Soon after, however, he was imprisoned a second time, and condemned to death on the charge of having concealed some of the Gunpowder-plot conspirators; but was pardoned through the interest of Lord Morley. His uncle, however, was less fortunate, suffering death for his complicity with Babington. The poet's mother, the daughter of Lord Morley, was more loyal than her husband or his brother, and is said to have written the celebrated letter to Lord Monteagle, in consequence of which the execution of the Gunpowder-plot was arrested.

Our poet was born at Hindlip, Worcesters.h.i.+re, on the very day of the discovery of the plot, 5th November 1605. The family were Papists, and William was sent to St Omers to be educated. He was pressed to become a Jesuit, but declined. On his return to England, his father became preceptor to the poet. As he grew up, instead of displaying any taste for 'treasons, stratagems, and spoils,' he chose the better part, and lived a private and happy life. He fell in love with Lucia, daughter of William Herbert, the first Lord Powis, and celebrated her in his long and curious poem ent.i.tled 'Castara.' This lady he afterwards married, and from her society appears to have derived much happiness. In 1634, he published 'Castara.' He also, at different times, produced 'The Queen of Arragon,' a tragedy; a History of Edward IV.; and 'Observations upon History.' He died in 1654, (not as Southey, by a strange oversight, says, 'when he had just completed his fortieth year,') forty-nine years of age, and was buried in the family vault at Hindlip.

'Castara' is not a consecutive poem, but consists of a great variety of small pieces, in all sorts of style and rhythm, and of all varieties of merit; many of them addressed to his mistress under the name of Castara, and many to his friends; with reflective poems, elegies, and panegyrics, intermingled with verses sacred to love. Habington is distinguished by purity of tone if not of taste. He has many conceits, but no obscenities.

His love is as holy as it is ardent. He has, besides, a vein of sentiment which sometimes approaches the moral sublime. To prove this, in addition to the 'Selections' below, we copy some verses ent.i.tled--

'NOX NOCTI INDICAT SCIENTIAM.'--_David_.

When I survey the bright Celestial sphere, So rich with jewels hung, that Night Doth like an Ethiop bride appear,

My soul her wings doth spread, And heavenward flies, The Almighty's mysteries to read In the large volume of the skies;

For the bright firmament Shoots forth no flame So silent, but is eloquent In speaking the Creator's name.

No unregarded star Contracts its light Into so small a character, Removed far from our human sight,

But if we steadfast look, We shall discern In it, as in some holy book, How man may heavenly knowledge learn.

It tells the conqueror That far-stretch'd power, Which his proud dangers traffic for, Is but the triumph of an hour;

That, from the furthest North, Some nation may, Yet undiscover'd, issue forth, And o'er his new-got conquest sway,--

Some nation, yet shut in With hills of ice, May be let out to scourge his sin Till they shall equal him in vice;

And then they likewise shall Their ruin brave; For, as yourselves, your empires fall, _And every kingdom hath a grave_.

Thus those celestial fires, Though seeming mute, The fallacy of our desires, And all the pride of life, confute;

For they have watch'd since first The world had birth, And found sin in itself accurst, And nothing permanent on earth.

There is something to us particularly interesting in the history of this poet. Even as it is pleasant to see the sides of a volcano covered with verdure, and its mouth filled with flowers, so we like to find the fierce elements, which were inherited by Habington from his fathers, softened and subdued in him,--the blood of the conspirator mellowed into that of the gentle bard, who derived all his inspiration from a pure love and a mild and thoughtful religion.

EPISTLE ADDRESSED TO THE HONOURABLE W.E.

He who is good is happy. Let the loud Artillery of heaven break through a cloud, And dart its thunder at him, he'll remain Unmoved, and n.o.bler comfort entertain, In welcoming the approach of death, than Vice E'er found in her fict.i.tious paradise.

Time mocks our youth, and (while we number past Delights, and raise our appet.i.te to taste Ensuing) brings us to unflatter'd age, Where we are left to satisfy the rage Of threat'ning death: pomp, beauty, wealth, and all Our friends.h.i.+ps, shrinking from the funeral.

The thought of this begets that brave disdain With which thou view'st the world, and makes those vain Treasures of fancy, serious fools so court, And sweat to purchase, thy contempt or sport.

What should we covet here? Why interpose A cloud 'twixt us and heaven? Kind Nature chose Man's soul the exchequer where to h.o.a.rd her wealth, And lodge all her rich secrets; but by the stealth Of her own vanity, we're left so poor, The creature merely sensual knows more.

The learned halcyon, by her wisdom, finds A gentle season, when the seas and winds Are silenced by a calm, and then brings forth The happy miracle of her rare birth, Leaving with wonder all our arts possess'd, That view the architecture of her nest.

Pride raiseth us 'bove justice. We bestow Increase of knowledge on old minds, which grow By age to dotage; while the sensitive Part of the world in its first strength doth live.

Folly! what dost thou in thy power contain Deserves our study? Merchants plough the main And bring home th' Indies, yet aspire to more, By avarice in the possession poor.

And yet that idol wealth we all admit Into the soul's great temple; busy wit Invents new orgies, fancy frames new rites To show its superst.i.tion; anxious nights Are watch'd to win its favour: while the beast Content with nature's courtesy doth rest.

Let man then boast no more a soul, since he Hath lost that great prerogative. But thee, Whom fortune hath exempted from the herd Of vulgar men, whom virtue hath preferr'd Far higher than thy birth, I must commend, Rich in the purchase of so sweet a friend.

And though my fate conducts me to the shade Of humble quiet, my ambition paid With safe content, while a pure virgin fame Doth raise me trophies in Castara's name; No thought of glory swelling me above The hope of being famed for virtuous love; Yet wish I thee, guided by the better stars, To purchase unsafe honour in the wars, Or envied smiles at court; for thy great race, And merits, well may challenge the highest place.

Yet know, what busy path soe'er you tread To greatness, you must sleep among the dead.

TO HIS n.o.bLEST FRIEND, J.C., ESQ.

I hate the country's dirt and manners, yet I love the silence; I embrace the wit And courts.h.i.+p, flowing here in a full tide, But loathe the expense, the vanity, and pride.

No place each way is happy. Here I hold Commerce with some, who to my care unfold (After a due oath minister'd) the height And greatness of each star s.h.i.+nes in the state, The brightness, the eclipse, the influence.

With others I commune, who tell me whence The torrent doth of foreign discord flow; Relate each skirmish, battle, overthrow, Soon as they happen; and by rote can tell Those German towns, even puzzle me to spell.

The cross or prosperous fate of princes they Ascribe to rashness, cunning, or delay; And on each action comment, with more skill Than upon Livy did old Machiavel.