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and are not easily damped by page after page of frigid hyperbole, or perverse conceit. In the dullest writers, a spark of brighter intelligence is sometimes visible; and in the authors, whose chief fault or rather misfortune it is that they lived in an age when false principles and bad taste ruled the fashion, it is hard if the natural genius of the man does not now and then break out into strains worth recording. And in the worst case, when a rhymester has little to recommend him but long practice with his pen, we consider ourselves unfortunate indeed, if we do not find his verse run sometimes with ease, and occasionally mount to elegance. Such perhaps, if not greater, is the merit of the following stanzas, being the three first of the verses entitled, 'What is Love?'

"Tis a child of phansie's getting,

Brought up between hope and fear,
Fed with smiles, grown by uniting
Strong, and so kept by desire:
'Tis a perpetual vestal fire

Never dying,
Whose smoak like incense doth aspire,
Upwards flying.

It is a soft magnetick stone,

Attracting hearts by sympathie,
Binding up close two souls in one,

Both discoursing secretlie:
'Tis the true gordian knot that ties

Yet ne'r unbinds,

Fixing thus two lovers' eies

As wel as minds.

'Tis the spheres' heavenly harmonie

Where two skilful hands do strike;
And every sound expressively

Marries sweetly with the like:
'Tis the world's everlasting chain

That all things ti'd,
And bid them like the fixed wain
Unmov'd to bide."

The following song, also, possesses similar merit, perhaps in a higher degree.

"Invest my head with fragrant rose
That on fair Flora's bosome grows!
Distend my veins with purple juyce,
That mirth may through my soul diffuse!
Tis wine and love, and love in wine,
Inspires our youth with flames divine.

Thus crown'd with Paphian myrtle, I

In Cyprian shades wil bathing lie,

Whose snow if too much cooling, then

Bacchus shal warm my blood agen.
Tis wine and love, and love in wine,
Inspires our youth with flames divine.

Life's short, and winged pleasures flie;

Who mourning live, do living die:

On down and flouds then swan-like I

Wil stretch my limbs, and singing die.
'Tis wine and love, and love in wine,
Inspires our youth with flames divine."

The stanzas to Clarastella, which we shall next extract, are of a higher order of poetry, and combine with exquisite ease of versification considerable moral beauty.

"'Tis not your beautie I admire,
Nor the bright star-light of each eie,

Nor do I from their beams take fire
My love's torch to enlighten, I:

No: 'tis a glorie more divine

Kindles my tapour at your shrine.

Your comly presence takes not me,
Nor your much more inviting meen;

Nor your sweet looks; tho' graces be,
Fair creature! in your picture seen.

No: 'tis your soul to which I bow,

Tis none of these I love, but you.

How blind is that philosophie

Doth onely nat'ral bodies know 1
That views each orb o'th' glorious skie,

But sees not him that made it so.
I love thy informing part, i'th' whol
And every part, thy all; thy soul."

In the following lines, which commence The Farewell to Clarastella, the reader will see how the poet endeavours to cast himself into a huge fit of melancholy—but in vain.—He threatens a storm, but produces only a drizzling shower. The lines, however, are not unworthy of quotation.

“Passion o'me! why melt I thus with griefe
For her whose frozen heart denies reliefe?
Find out some other way to punish me,
Yee gods! and let me not the author be
Of mine own death! make me forget that e'r
I lov’d l at least that e'r I lov’d her
Yet I must love her stil: O cruel fate?
That dost true love so il requite with hate!
Why e'r I saw her didst not make me blind?
Then had she as before continued kind
Without pow'r to displease, her charitie
Warm as my love, and I had stil been I:
But now alas ! my distant bliss I see,
Which like my courted shadow flieth mee
As fast as I pursue: ay mee! she's gone,
And with her all my winged hopes are flown.”

This beginning of a Protest of Love by Damon to Stella, is also pretty.

“When I thee all o'r do view,
I all o'r must love thee too.
By that smooth forehead, wher's exprest
The candour of thy peaceful breast:
By those fair twin-like-stars that shine,
And by those apples of thine eyn:
By the lambkins and the kids
Playing 'bout thy fair eie-lids:
By each peachie blossom'd cheek,
And thy sattin skin more sleek
And white then Flora's whitest lillies
Or the maiden daffadillies:
By that ivorie porch, thy nose:
By those double blanched rows
Of teeth, as in pure coral set:
By each azure rivolet,
Running in thy temples, and
Those flowrie meadows 'twixt them stand:
By each pearl-tipt ear by nature, as
On each a jewel pendant was:
By those lips all dew'd with bliss,
Made happy in each other's kiss.”

The stanzas called Clarastella's Indictment, though founded on a conceit, are ingenious, and we wish all the rest of the volume had been as amusing:

"My heart was slain when none was by

But only you and I:

Durst itself do this act?
No: a strange hand did shoot that dart

Which pierc'd so deep my heart,

Nor could I do the fact.
Then I'm o'th' fact acquitted, now

The guilt must lie on you;

I wil enquire no further;
The proof is plain, the boy that lies

Hid in your cruel eies,

Did do this wicked murther.

Witness your lips all stain'd with red,

They speak who did the deed,

The crimson bloud sticks there,
And makes them at each blush confess

(For they dare do no less)

And cry we guiltie are.
Your pale and self-accusing look

As soon as ere he strook

Proclaim'd you accessorie:
And your distorted angry brow

Your ful assent did show,

To make my death a storie.

In your heart's trembling doth appear

Your more than guilty fear:

You'r by your tongue bewraid,
Which silently accusing, tels

That 'twas by you, none els,

My heart was first betraid.
By signs thus murther's oft reveal'd,

Though it lie long conceal'd:

This doom I wish you then,
If stil a cruel mind you bear,

May each man prove, when ere

You love, unkind agen."

Out of the verses To Clarastella on Valentine's Day, some may be selected of more than ordinary elegance. The lover steals to the couch of the unconscious fair one, and, while gazing on her reposing beauty, exclaims:

"Behold where Innocence herself doth lie
Clad in her white array! Fair deitie!

I'l onely print upon her dewy lip
One loving kiss and so away will part.

Shee wakes, and blushes on each cheek

So red, that I may say
There on each side doth truly break

The dawning of the day.

Startle not, fairest! It is I am come
Like th' Persian to adore the rising sun.

• * • * * •

Tis I am come, who but a friend before
Am hap'ly now by fate adopted more,
A brother or what els you deem
To be more neer, or of more high esteem.
I'm come to joyn in sacrifice

To our dear Valentine;
Where I must offer to thine eies,
Knowing no other shrine.

Large hecatombs of kisses I wil lay

On th' altar of thy lips, that men may say

By their continuance we are true,
And wil keep so this year, nor change for new.
The birds instruct us to do so,

The season too invites;
When spring comes they a billing go,
As we to our delights.

How sweet shee breaths! the zephyre wind that blows
Fresh fragTant odours on the modest rose

Sends forth not half so pure a smel
As that which on thy chaster lips doth dwel:
Here in this holy temple I

Could fix eternally,
And pay these vows until I die
Pitied of none but thee."

He thus describes his mistress, dancing:

"Robes loosly flowing, and aspect as free,
A carelesse carriage deckt with modestie;

A smiling look, but yet severe:

Such comely graces 'bout her were.
Her steps with such an evenness she wove,
As shee could hardly be perceiv'd to move;

Whilst her silk sailes displaied, shee

Swam like a ship with majestic"

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