If so be I may but prove I will promise there shall be Among his miscellaneous poems, the mad Maid's Song is worth extracting. The mad Maid's Song. "Good morrow to the day so fair; Good morning to this primrose too; That will with flow'rs the tomb bestrew Ah, woe is me; woe, woe is me! Alack, and well-a-day! I'll seek him in your bonnet brave, Nay, now I think they've made his grave I'll seek him there; I know ere this The cold, cold earth doth shake him ; But I will go, or send a kiss By you, sir, to awake him. Pray hurt him not; though he be dead, He's soft and tender, pray take heed, The Bucolick between Lacon and Thyrsis deserves a place in this anthology, as a specimen of his skill in that department of poetry. "Lacon. For a kiss or two, confess What doth cause this pensiveness, Thou most lovely neatherdess? Why so lonely on the hill; Why thy pipe by thee so still, That ere while was heard so shrill? Tell me, do thy kine now fail To fulfil the milking pail? Say, what is't that thou dost ail? Thyrsis. None of these; but out, alas! A mischance is come to pass; And I'll tell thee what it was: Lacon. Tell, and I'll lay down my pipe. That to me was far more dear Than these kine which I milk here; Party-colour'd like a pie, Smooth in each limb as a die; Clear of hoof, and clear of horn, Sharply pointed as a thorn; With a neck by yoke unworn, From the which hung down by strings, Interplac'd by ribandings; Tears will spring where woes are deep. Now, ah me! ah me! last night Came a mad dog, and did bite, Live long, Lacon; so adieu! Lacon. Mournful maid, farewell to you; There is a great deal of poetical imagery in the piece entitled "Corinna's going a Maying." "Get up, get up for shame; the blooming morn Nay, not so much as out of bed; When as a thousand virgins on this day, Rise, and put on your foliage, and be seen For jewels for your gown, or hair: Gems in abundance upon you: Besides, the childhood of the day has kept, Retires himself, or else stands still Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in praying; Come, my Corinna, come; and, coming, mark Or branch; each porch, each door, ere this Made up of whitethorn newly interwove, As if here, were those cooler shades of love. Can such delights be in the street And open fields, and we not see't? And sin no more, as we have done, by staying; There's not a budding boy or girl this day And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth, Many a green gown has been given; Many a kiss, both odd and even ; From out the eye, love's firmament; Many a jest told of the keys betraying This night, and locks pick'd; yet we're not a Maying! Come, let us go, while we are in our prime, And take the harmless folly of the time: We shall grow old арасе, and die Before we know our liberty: So when or you, or I, are made Lies drown'd with us in endless night. Then, while time serves, and we are but decaying, Herrick had so very high a notion of the value of his compositions, that he conceived it necessary only to mention his friends in this volume, in order to confer immortality upon them. He constituted himself high priest of the temple of fame, and assumed the power of apotheosizing such writers as he conceived deserving of that honour, never once dreaming of the possibility of both himself and works being neglected or forgotten. Many addresses to his friends and relations, avowing his potency in this high vocation, are scattered through his works. Some of them, however, have juster titles to immortality than the lay of the poet can confer,-such as Selden and Ben Jonson. He addresses that patron of poets, Mr. Endymion Porter, in these words: To the Patron of Poets, Mr. Endymion Porter. In thee, thou man of men! who here dost give But likewise oil of maintenance to it; For which, before thy threshold I'll lay down. Our thyrse for sceptre, and our bays for crown: A considerable portion of the volume is occupied with epigrams and contemptible couplets; the former, without the smallest point-and the latter, for the most part, having no other alliance to poetry than their being in rhyme. One or two extracts will shew the nature of these epigrams. They are the best and most decent we can find. Upon Gubbs. "Gubbs calls his children kitlings; and would bound, Upon Skrew. "Skrew lives by shifts, yet swears by no small oaths; Upon Parson Beanes. "Old Parson Beanes hunts six days of the week, Six days he hollows so much breath away, That on the seventh, he can nor preach nor pray." That part of the volume, which he entitles "His Noble Numbers," consists of a series of pieces on religious subjects, most of which possess but little poetical merit. There are a few, however, on which he has scattered his spring flowers. One of the best is "The Dirge of Jephthah's Daughter, sung by the Virgins." "O thou! the wonder of all days! Above the rest Of all the maiden train! we come, VOL. V. PART I. N |