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to pathetic or descriptive subjects. They are such, indeed, as speak highly in favour of his sensibility and genius, and ought, most assuredly, to rescue his name from oblivion. Neither Carew nor Waller, in fact, have any thing which equals the tender melancholy per vading some of these effusions, and more especially the two following, whose metre also I consider as happily adapted to convey the pensive ideas of the poet.

'TO BLOSSOMS.

Fair pledges of a fruitful tree,
Why do ye fall so fast?
Your date is not so past;
But you may stay yet here awhile,
To blush and gently smile;
And go at last.

What, were ye born to be
An hour or half's delight;
And so to bid good-night?
'Twas pity Nature brought ye forth
Merely to show your worth,

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As your hours do, and dry
Away,

Like to the Summer's rain; Or as the pearls of Morning's dew, Ne'er to be found again.' Page 144. "The cultivation of descriptive poetry had, during the prior half of the seventeenth century, been much circumscribed, by a growing fondness for metaphysical imagery and conceits. What Donne had introduced, Cowley and Clieveland established as a fashion; and the eighteenth century had dawned before this unnatural mode of composition ceased to acquire admirers. But you are lovely leaves, where we Some illustrious examples, howMay read how soon things have Their end, though ne'er so brave; ever, were not wanting before the And after they have shown their pride, year 1650, which evince a very acLike you a while: they glide curate and tasteful conception of Into the grave.' rural and picturesque scenery. Bur"The concluding lines of the ton, about 1600, prefixed to his first and third stanzas of this beau-Anatomy of Melancholy' some tiful little piece, are peculiarly im pressive and pleasing.

And lose you quite.

"The second poem, though on a similar topic, and expressing a similar complaint, is varied in its imagery, and possesses a more elaborate versification. It leaves, likewise, the same feelings of humility and sorrow on the mind, which, by inducing us to repose on the promises of superior power, are friendly to the best interests of

man.

'TO DAFFADILLS. Fair Daffadills, we weep to see You haste away so soon: As yet the early-rising sun Has not attain'd his noon.

admirably descriptive verses, under the title of the Abstract of Melancholy, and which are supposed to have given rise to the still more exquisite poems, in a similar measure, by the author of Paradise Lost. In 1613 and 1627 were published the Polyolbion and the Nymphidia of Drayton; in 1616 the Pastorals of Browne, and, above all, in 1645, the Il Penseroso and L'Allegro of Milton.

Compared with these masterly productions, the descriptive pieces scattered through the Hesperides of Herrick, may appear to deserve little notice. They are, however, not only immediately subsequent in

the

the order of time, but are possessed of no small portion of merit. They may be divided into those which describe the pleasures and employments of rural life, or delineate the imaginary sports and occupations of the fairy tribe, or the more formidable orgies of witchcraft.

"The felicity of rural life hath ever been a favourite topic with poets of every age; and it is consequently a task of much difficulty to avoid what may be termed hereditary imagery, In the following poem Herrick may certainly be traced in the snow both of Virgil and Horace; yet a considerable portion remains, which may justly be ascribed to the genius and observation of the English poet.

THE COUNTRY LIFE.

Sweet country life, to such unknown,
Whose lives are others, not their own!
But serving courts, and cities, be
Less happy, less enjoying thee.
Thou never plow'st the Ocean's foam
To seek, and bring rough pepper home:
Nor to the Eastern Ind dost rove
To bring from thence the scorched clove:
Nor, with the loss of thy lov'd rest,
Bring'st home the ingot from the West.
No, thy Ambition's master-piece
Flies no thought higher than a fleece:
Or how to pay thy hinds, and clear
All scores; and so to end the year:
But walk'st about thine own dear bounds,
Not envying others larger grounds:
For well thou know'st 'tis not th' extent
Of land makes life, but sweet content.

When now the cock, the plowman's horn,
Calls forth the lily-wristed Morn;
Then to thy corn-fields thou dost go,
Which though well soil'd, yet thou dost
know,

That the best compost for the lands
Is the wise master's feet and hands.
There at the plough thou find'st thy team,
With a hind whistling there to them;
And cheer'st them up, by singing how
The kingdom's portion is the plough.
This done, then to the enamel'd meads
Thou go'st; and as thy foot there treads,
Thou see'st a present god-like power
Imprinted in each herb and flower:

f

And smell'st the breath of great-ey'd kine
Sweet as the blossoms of the vine.
Here thou behold'st thy large sleek neat
Unto the dew-laps up in meat:
And, as thou look'st, the wanton steer,
The heifer, cow, and ox draw near
To make a pleasing pastime there.
These seen, thou go'st to view thy flocks
Of sheep, safe from the wolf and fox,
And find'st their bellies there as full

Of short sweet grass, as backs with wool.
And leav'st them, as they feed and fill,
A shepherd piping on a hill.
For sports, for pageantry, and plays,
On which the young men and maids meet,
Thou hast thy eves, and holydays;
To exercise their dancing feet:
Tripping the comely country round,
With datadills and daisies crown'd.
Thy wakes, thy quintels, here thou hast,
Thy may-poles too with garlands grac'd:
Thy Morris-dance; thy Whitsun-ale;
Thy shearing-feast, which never fail.
Thy harvest-home; thy wassail bowl,
That's tost up after fox i' th' hole.
Thy mummeries; thy twelfe-tide kings
And queens; thy Christmas revellings:
Thy nut-brown mirth; thy russet wit;
And no man pays too dear for it.
To these, thou hast thy times to go
And trace the hare i' th' treacherous snow:
Thy witty wiles to draw, and get
The lark into the trammel net:
Thou hast thy cockrood, and thy glade
To take the precious pheasant made:
Thy lime-twigs, snares, and pit-falls then
To catch the pilfering birds, not men.
O happy life! if that their good
The husbandmen but understood!
Who all the day themselves do please,
And younglings, with such sports as these.
And, lying down, have nought t'affright
Sweet sleep, that makes more short the
night.'
Page 269.

"To this specimen might be added many more of similar merit, under the title of Harvest-Home, The Wake, the Wassail, &c. &c. and which display a very curious list of the sports and pastimes of

our ancestors.

"That species of poetry which is employed in painting the imagi nary existence and manners of fairies, elves and goblins, and which Shakspeare and Jonson delighted to indulge in, is frequently to he found

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"In ancient times, the watchman who cried the hours used to recite benedictions, in order to drive away from the house the fairies and demons of the night. Shakspeare, in his Cymbeline, alludes to a superstition of this kind, where he rerepresents Imogen, on going to rest, exclaiming

From fairies, and the tempters of the night,

Guard me, beseech ye!'

sombrous and terrific agency of witchcraft. As a specimen of these, I present the reader with the following singular production.

THE HAG.

The hag is astride, This night for to ride; The devil and she together:

Through thick, and through thin, Now out, and then in, Though ne'er so foul be the weather. A thorn or a burr,

She takes for a spur: With a lash of a bramble she rides new, Through brakes and through briars, O'er ditches, and mires,

She follows the spirit that guides now.

No beast, for his food,
Dares now range the wood;

And Milton, in his Penseroso, in- But husht in his lair he lies lurking:

troduces

-the bellman's drousy charm, To bless the doors from nightly harm,' a ceremony which Herrick has repeatedly described, and for which, in his thirty-ninth page, he appears to have given a form, very probably for the purpose of being chaunted before his own door.

THE BELMAN.

From noise of scare-fires rest ye free,
From murders Benedicitic.
From all mischances that may fright
Your pleasing slumbers in the night:
Mercy secure ye all, and keep
The goblin from ye, while ye sleep.'

"Even in his amatory strains he has taken every opportunity of inserting imagery, drawn from simi

lar resources. He thus commences a night-piece to Julia.

Her eyes the glow-worm lend thee, The shooting stars attend thee; And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow, Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.' "There are, likewise, several poems in the Hesperides, which are employed in describing the more

While mischiefs, by these,
On land and on seas,
At noon of night are a working.

The storm will arise,
And trouble the skies;

This night, and more for the wonder,
The ghost from the tomb
Affrighted shall come,

Call'd out by the clap of the thunder.'
Page 264,

"Our poet, however, seems more particularly to have delighted in drawing the manners and costume of the fairy world, peopled by beings of a gentle kind, and avowedly the friends of man. He has devoted several of his most elaborate poems to these sportive creof The Fairy Temple, Oberon's ations of fancy. Under the titles Palace, The Fairy Queen, and Oberon's Feast, a variety of curious and minute imagery is appo sitely introduced. I shall transcribe the last-mentioned piece, in order to convey a just idea of the mode in which these capricious yet clegant delineations are executed.

OBERON'S FEAST.

'A little mushroom table spread, After short prayers, they set on bread: A moon

A moon-parcht grain of purest wheat,
With some small glit'ring grit, to eat
His choice bits with; then in a trice
They make a feast less great than nice.
But all this while his eye is serv'd,
We must not think his ear was starv'd;
But that there was in place to stir
His spleen, the chirring grasshopper;
The merry cricket, puling fly,
The piping gnat for minstrelsy.
And now, we must imagine first,
The elves present to quench his thirst,
A pure seed-pearl of infant dew,
Brought and besweetned in a blue
And pregnant violet; which done,
His kitling eyes begin to run
Quite through the table, where he spies
The horns of papery butterflies,
Of which he eats, and tastes alittle
Of that we call the cuckoe's spittle.
A little fuz-ball-pudding stands
By, yet not bless'd by his hands,
That was too coarse; but then forthwith
He ventures boldly on the pith
Of sugred rush, and eats the sagg
And well bestrutted bee's sweet bag:
Gladding his palate with some store
Of emit's eggs; what would be more?
But beards of mice, a newt's stew'd thigh,
A bloated earwig, and a fly;
With the red-capt-worm, that's shut
Within the concave of a nut,
Brown as his tooth. A little moth,
Late fatned in a piece of cloth:
With whithered cherries; mandrake's

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Trip the light fairies and the dapper elves'

form the chief subjects of his poetry. Of these, some are written in a style and metre, which display no inferior command of language and versification, whilst their elegance, their tenderness, or imagery is such, as to excite a well-founded admiration.

"Unfortunately, like most authors of the age in which he lived, he has been totally inattentive to selection, and has thrown into his book such a number of worthless pieces, that those which possess decided merit, and which are few, if compared with the multitude which have none, are overlooked and forgotten in the crowd. Out of better than fourteen hundred poems, included in his Hesperides and Noble Numbers, not more than one hundred could be chosen by the hand of taste. These, however, would form an elegant little volume, and would perpetuate the memory and the genius of HER

RICK."

ARTS

ARTS AND SCIENCES.

66

IT

TALENTS and INGENUITY of the CHINESE.

[From Mr. BARROW'S TRAVELS.]

T has been observed, and perhaps with a great deal of truth, that the arts which supply the luxuries, the conveniences, and the necessaries of life, have derived but little advantage in the first instance from the labours and speculations of philosophers; that the ingenuity of artists, the accidental or progressive discoveries of common workmen, in any particular branch of business, have frequently afforded data, from which, by the reasonings and investigations of philosophers, hints have sometimes been struck out for arriving at the same ends by a shorter way; that the learned are therefore more properly to be considered as improvers than inventors. Of this mortifying truth, the Chinese afford many strong examples in their arts and manufactures, and particularly in some of those operations that have a reference to chemistry, which cannot here be said to exist as a science, although several branches are in common practice as chemical arts. Without possessing any theory concerning the affinities of bodies, or attractions of cohesion or aggregation, they clarify the muddy waters of their rivers, for immediate ue, by stirring them round

with a piece of alum in a hollow bamboo; a simple operation, which experience has taught them, will cause the clayey particles to fall to the bottom: and having ascertained the fact, they have given themselves no further trouble to explain the phænomenon.

"In like manner, they are well acquainted with the effect of steam upon certain bodies that are immersed in it; that its heat is much greater than that of boiling water. Yet, although for ages they have been in the constant practice of confining it in close vessels, something like Papin's digester, for the purpose of softening horn, from which their thin, transparent, and capacious lanterns are made, they seem not to have discovered its extraordinary force when thus pent up; at least, they have never thought of applying that power to purposes which animal strength has not been adequate to effect. They extract from the three kingdoms of nature the most brilliant colours, which they have also acquired the art of preparing and mixing so as to produce every intermediate tint; and in their richest and most lively hues, they communicate these colours to silks, cottons, and paper; yet

they

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