If thee thy brittle beauty so deceives, Know then, the thing that swells thee is thy bane; For the same beauty doth in bloody leaves The sentence of thy early death contain. Some clown's coarse lungs will poison thy sweet flower, If by the careless plough thou shalt be torn, And many Herods lie in wait each hour, To murder thee as soon as thou art born, Nay, force thy bud to blow, their tyrant breath Anticipating life, to hasten death. JOHN MILTON. As the minor poems of Milton are too popular to require reprinting; the few following lines are only inserted here, for the purpose of exhibiting one short specimen of this great master. SONG ON MAY MORNING. Now the bright morning star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire Mirth, and youth, and warm desire! Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long. RICHARD CRASHAW, Author of "Steps to the Temple, with other Delights of the "Muses," 1646, seems to have resembled Herbert in his turn of mind, but possessed more fancy and genius. His translations have considerable merit, but his original poetry is full of conceit. The time of his birth is unknown. He was for some time a scholar of Pembroke, and a fellow of Peterhouse, Cambridge; and afterwards changing his religion, died a canon of Loretto, 1650. His Latin poems were first printed in 1634, and have been much admired, though liable to the same objections as his English. For more particular information respecting Crashaw and his works, consult Headley, Dr. Anderson, and Mr. Hayley's account in the New Biog. Brit. OUT OF CATULLUS. COME and let us live, my dear, Set; O then, how long a night Shuts the eyes of our short light! A thousand, and a hundred score, That, and that wipe off another. LOVE'S HOROSCOPE. LOVE, brave virtue's younger brother, She asks each star that then stood by poor love shall live or die.. If Ah my heart! is that the way? Are these the beams that rule thy day? Whatever starry synod met, "Tis in the mercy of her eye, If poor love shall live or die. If those sharp rays, putting on Cast amorous glances on his birth, To That warms the bed of youth and blood ;) |