She ne'r saw courts, yet courts could have undone She never had in busie cities bin, Ne'r warm'd with hopes, nor ere allay'd with fears; Not seeing punishment, could guess no sin; And sin not seeing, ne'r had use of tears. But here her father's precepts gave her skill, Whilst her great mistress, Nature, thus she tends, The just historians, Birtha thus express, Black melancholy mists, that fed despair Through wounds' long rage, with sprinkled vervin cleer'd, Strew'd leaves of willow to refresh the air, And with rich fumes his sullen senses cheer'd. He that had serv'd great Love with rev'rend heart, And she kills faster than her father cures. Her heedless innocence as little knew The wounds she gave, as those from Love she took; Love he had lik'd, yet never lodg'd before; So strange disorder, now he pines for health, Makes him conceal this reveller with shame; And never but in songs had heard his name. Yet then it was, when she did smile at hearts Which countrey lovers wear in bleeding seals; Nor mock those martyrs, Love had captive led. The lucky mirtle, more than willow, worn. This grave rebuke, officious memory Presents to Birtha's thought; who now believ'd Such sighing songs, as tell why lovers die, And prais'd their faith, who wept when poets griev'd. She, full of inward questions, walks alone, To take her heart aside in secret shade; Or else some stranger did usurp its room; Nor the guide sober that him thither brought. To treat of love, her most unstudy'd theam; With open ears, and ever-waking eyes, And flying feet, love's fire she from the sight Jealous, that what burns her, might give them light. Beneath a mirtle covert now does spend In maids' weak wishes, her whole stock of thought; Fond maids! who love, with mind's fine stuff would mend, Which nature purposely of bodies wrought. She fashions him she lov'd of angels kind, As eagles then, when nearest heaven they flie, Soon her opinion of his hurtless heart, Affection turns to faith; and then love's fire If I do love, (said she) that love, O heav'n! And you, my alter'd mother (grown above Great nature, which you read, and rev'renc'd here) Chide not such kindness, as you once call'd love, When you as mortal as my father were. This said, her soul into her breast retires! With Love's vain diligence of heart she dreams And trusts unanchor'd hope in fleeting streams. She thinks how her imagin'd spouse and she, No more than Time himself is overta'ne. Or should he touch them as he by does pass, Heav'n's favour may repay their summers gone, And he so mix their sand in a slow glass, That they shall live, and not as two, but one. She thinks of Eden-life; and no rough wind, (The youthfull warriour's most excus'd disease) She thinks that babes proceed from mingling eyes, Or they are got by close exchanging vows. But come they (as she hears) from mother's pain, So they be like this heav'nly man she loves. Thus to herself in day-dreams Birtha talks: The duke (whose wounds of war are healthfull grown) Yet when her solitude he did invade, Shame (which in maids is unexperienc'd fear) And she had fled him now, but that he came First with a longing seaman's look he gaz'd, Who would ken land, when seas would him devour; Or like a fearfull scout, who stands amaz'd To view the foe, and multiplies their pow'r." It will have been observed, that the author has made use of one piece of machinery, by introducing the ring which had the magical property of indicating the constancy or inconstancy of the donor. With this exception, he has relied on the fertile resources of his own mind, and, because he has dared to be original, he has been sneered at by those who start at innovation, as children at imaginary phantoms. His poem is full of most delectable teachings, and must be studied and not skimmed over as some poems may be, which, like the flute, give out a sweet tone, and yet are empty. The longer we dwell upon this noble, but unfinished, monument of the genius of Sir William Davenant, the more does our admiration of it increase, and we regret, that the unjust attacks which were made against it (or whatever else was the cause) prevented its completion. It might then, notwithstanding the prophetical oblivion to which Bishop Hurd has, with some acrimony, condemned it, have been entitled to a patent of nobility, and had its name inscribed on the roll of epic aristocracy. ART. VIII. The Informacyon for pylgrymes unto the holy lande. That is to wyte to Rome, to Iherusalem and to many other holy places. Imprynted at London in the Fletestrete at the signe of ye sonne by Wynkyn de Worde. The yere of God. m.cccc and xxiiii. the xxvi day of Julii, Reg. R. H. viiii. xvi. [This is copied from the Colophon, the title page of the copy before us being wanting.] BLACK LETTER. 4to. Such is the extreme rarity of this singular little work, that we consider ourselves particularly fortunate in being enabled to give an account of its contents. It is mentioned both by Herbert and Mr. Dibdin ;* who, neither of them having seen the book, are indebted to Ames for their scanty notice of it; and if we may form a conclusion from the mistakes into which Ames appears to have fallen, it was perhaps never submitted even to his inspection. It is entitled, judging from the Colophon, Informacyon, and not Instructions, for Pilgrims, and is not written by one John Moreson, as he states. This John Moreson being a "marchaunte of Venyce," who was the owner of the ship in which the pilgrims sailed, whose journal is here given. After the title, there commences a table of routes and distances, measured in leagues and miles, to all those places to *Dibdin's Typ. Ant. vol. 2, page 254. 345.—Instruction for pilgrims to the Holy Land, Imprynted, &c. viii. Hen. viii. M.CCCC. xxiiii. 26th July, quarto. "It is a pity that Ames, from whom Herbert and myself borrow our meagre accounts of this volume, has not given a more particular description of a work, in all probability as curious and interesting as it is rare. According to Ames it is " a description of a voyage to Jerusalem by one John Moreson;" a traveller who has escaped Boucher in his " Bibliothèque Universelle des Voyages." |