By Shakspeare's, Jonson's, Fletcher's lines, That plucked the fairest, sweetest flower [Song to Morpheus.] [From the Sophy, Act v.] Morpheus, the humble god, that dwells In cottages and smoky cells, Hates gilded roofs and beds of down; And, though he fears no prince's frown, Flies from the circle of a crown. Come, I say, thou powerful god, And thy leaden charming rod, Dipt in the Lethean lake, O'er his wakeful temples shake, Lest he should sleep and never wake. Nature, alas! why art thou so Obliged to thy greatest foe? Yet of death it bears a taste, And both are the same thing at last. Time, which made them their fame outlive, None knows which bears the happiest share; Nor with Ben Jonson did make bold Of poets and of orators: And when he would like them appear, His modest fancy kept in awe. WILLIAM CHAMBERLAYNE. WILLIAM CHAMBERLAYNE (1619-1689) describes himself in the title-page to his works as 'of Shaftesbury, in the county of Dorset.' The poet practised as a physician at Shaftesbury; but he appears to have wielded the sword as well as the lancet, for he was present among the royalists at the battle of Newbury. His circumstances must have been far from flourishing, as, like Vaughan, he complains keenly of the poverty of poets, and states that he was debarred from the society of the wits of his day. The works of Chamberlayne consist of two poems-Love's Victory, a tragi-comedy, published in 1658; and Pharonnida, a Heroic Poem, published in 1659. The scene of the first is laid in Sicily; and that of Pharonnida is also partly in Sicily, but chiefly in Greece. With no court connection, no light or witty copies of verses to float him into popularity, relying solely on his two long and comparatively unattractive works-to appreciate which, through all the windings of romantic love, plots, escapes, and adventures, more time is required than the author's busy age could afford-we need hardly wonder that Chamberlayne was an unsuccessful poet. His works were almost totally forgotten, till, in our own day, an author no less remarkable for the beauty of his original compositions than for his literary research and sound criticism, Mr Campbell in his Specimens of the Poets, in 1819, by quoting largely from Pharonnida, and pointing out the 'rich breadth and variety of its scenes,' and the power and pathos of its characters and situations, drew attention to the passion, imagery, purity of sentiment, and tenderness of description, which lay, 'like metals in the mine,' in the neglected volume of Chamberlayne. We cannot, however, suppose that the works of this poet can ever be popular; his beauties are marred by infelicity of execution; though not deficient in the genius of a poet, he had little of the skill of the artist. The heroic couplet then wandered at will, sometimes into a 'wilderness of sweets,' but at other times into tediousness, mannerism, and absurdity. The sense was not compressed by the form of the verse, or by any correct rules of metrical harmony. Chamberlayne also laboured under the disadvantage of his story being long and intricate, and his style such-from the prolonged tenderness and pathos of his scenes-as could not be appreciated except on a careful and attentive perusal. Denham was patent to all-short, sententious, and perspicuous. The dissatisfaction of the poet with his obscure and neglected situation, depressed by poverty, breaks out in the following passage descriptive of a rich In a grave narrative passage of Pharonnida, he simpleton: How purblind is the world, that such a monster, In a few dirty acres swaddled, must Souls that make worth their centre, and to that A second pilgrimage to farmers' doors, or end The following description of a dream is finely executed, and seems to have suggested, or at least bears a close resemblance to, the splendid opening lines of Dryden's Religio Laici: A strong prophetic dream, Long hovering through the portals of her mind stops to note the beauties of the morning: The glad birds had sung A lullaby to night, the lark was fled, [Unhappy Love.] [From Pharonnida.] 'Is't a sin to be Born high, that robs me of my liberty? And here she sighed; then with some drops, distilled As those far more malignant powers that stand, Those doubtful paths, through all the shades of fear EDMUND WALLER. EDMUND WALLER (1605-1687) was a courtly and amatory poet, inferior to Herrick or Suckling in natural feeling and poetic fancy, but superior to them in correctness and in general powers of versification. The poems of Waller have all the smoothness and polish of modern verse, and hence a high, perhaps too high, rank has been claimed for him as one of the first refiners and improvers of poetical diction. One cause of Waller's refinement was Of virgin purity he says, with singular beauty of doubtless his early and familiar intercourse with the expression: The morning pearls, Dropt in the lily's spotless bosom, are Less chastely cool, ere the meridian sun Hath kissed them into heat. court and nobility, and the light conversational nature of most of his productions. He wrote for the world of fashion and of taste-consigning The noon of manhood to a myrtle shade. And he wrote in the same strain till he was upwards so honourable to him.' Feeling his long-protracted of fourscore! His life has more romance than his life drawing to a close, Waller purchased a small poetry. Waller was born at Coleshill, in Hertford- property at Coleshill, saying: 'He would be glad to shire, and in his infancy was left heir to an estate die like the stag, where he was roused.' The wish of £3500 per annum. His mother was of the Hamp- was not fulfilled; he died at Beaconsfield, on the 21st dens of Buckinghamshire, and the poet was cousin of October 1687; and in the churchyard of that place to the patriot Hampden, and also related to Oliver-where also rest the ashes of Edmund Burke-a Cromwell. His mother was a Royalist in feeling, monument has been erected to his memory. and used to lecture Cromwell for his share in the death of Charles I. Her son, the poet, was either a Roundhead or a Royalist, as the time served. He entered parliament and wrote his first poem when he was eighteen. At twenty-five, he married a rich heiress of London, who died the same year, and the poet immediately became a suitor of Lady Dorothea Sidney, eldest daughter of the Earl of Leicester. To this proud and peerless fair one, Waller dedicated the better portion of his poetry, and the groves of Penshurst echoed to the praises of his Sacharissa. Lady Dorothea, however, was inexorable, and bestowed her hand, in her twenty-second year, on the Earl of Sunderland. It is said that, meeting her long afterwards, when she was far advanced in years, the lady asked him when he would again write such verses upon her. When you are as young, madam, and as handsome, as you were then,' replied the ungallant poet. The incident affords a key to Waller's character. He was easy, witty, and accomplished, but cold and selfish; destitute alike of high principle and deep feeling. As a member of parliament, Waller distinguished himself on the popular side, and was chosen to conduct the prosecution against Judge Crawley for his opinion in favour of levying ship-money. His speech, on delivering the impeachment, was printed, and 20,000 copies of it sold in one day. Shortly afterwards, however, Waller joined in a plot to surprise the city militia, and let in the king's forces, for which he was tried and sentenced to one year's imprisonment, and to pay a fine of £10,000. His conduct on this occasion was mean and abject. At the expiration of his imprisonment, the poet went abroad, and resided, amidst much splendour and hospitality, in France. He returned during the Protectorate, and when Cromwell died, Waller celebrated the event in one of his most vigorous and impressive poems. The image of the Commonwealth, though reared by no common hands, soon fell to pieces under Richard Cromwell, and Waller was ready with a congratulatory address to Charles II. The royal offering was considered inferior to the panegyric on Cromwell, and the king himself who admitted the poet to terms of courtly intimacy-is said to have told him of the disparity. 'Poets, sire,' replied the witty, self-possessed Waller, 'succeed better in fiction than in truth.' In the This eulogium seems to embody the opinion of first parliament summoned by Charles, Waller sat Waller's contemporaries, and it was afterwards confor the town of Hastings, and he served for different firmed by Dryden and Pope, who had not sufficiently places in all the parliaments of that reign. Bishop studied the excellent models of versification furBurnet says he was the delight of the House of nished by the old poets, and their rich poetical diction. Commons. At the accession of James II. in 1685, The smoothness of his versification, his good sense, the venerable poet, then eighty years of age, was and uniform elegance, rendered him popular with elected representative for a borough in Cornwall. critics as with the multitude; while his prominence The mad career of James in seeking to subvert the as a public man, for so many years, would increase national church and constitution was foreseen by curiosity as to his works. Waller is now seldom this wary and sagacious observer: 'he will be left,' read. The playfulness of his fancy, and the absence said he, like a whale upon the strand.' The editors of any striking defects, are but poor substitutes for of Chandler's Debates and the Parliamentary History genuine feeling and the language of nature. His ascribe to Waller a remarkable speech against stand- poems are chiefly short and incidental, but he wrote ing armies, delivered in the House of Commons in a poem on Divine Love, in six cantos. Cowley had 1685; but according to Mr Macaulay, this speech was written his Davideis, and recommended sacred subreally made by Windham, member for Salisbury. jects as adapted for poetry; but neither he nor 'It was with some concern,' adds the historian, Waller succeeded in this new and higher walk of 'that I found myself forced to give up the belief the muse. Such an employment of their talents that the last words uttered in public by Waller were was graceful and becoming in advanced life, but Waller's Tomb. The first collection of Waller's poems was made by himself, and published in the year 1664. It went through numerous editions in his lifetime; and in 1690 a second collection was made of such pieces as he had produced in his latter years. In a poetical dedication to Lady Harley, prefixed to this edition, and written by Elijah Fenton, Waller is styled the Maker and model of melodious verse. their fame must ever rest on their light, airy, and occasional poems, dictated by that gallantry, adulation, and play of fancy which characterised the cavalier poets. On Love. Anger, in hasty words or blows, While her high pride does scarce descend All this with indignation spoke, So the tall stag, upon the brink On a Girdle. That which her slender waist confined On the Marriage of the Dwarfs. Design or chance makes others wive, But Nature did this match contrive: Eve might as well have Adam fled, To him, for whom Heav'n seemed to frame Thrice happy is that humble pair, As if the world held none but them. Does to his Galatea seem. Ah! Chloris, that kind Nature thus A Panegyric to the Lord Protector. While with a strong and yet a gentle hand, You bridle faction, and our hearts command, Protect us from ourselves, and from the foe, Make us unite, and make us conquer too; Let partial spirits still aloud complain, Above the waves, as Neptune shewed his face Your drooping country, torn with civil hate, The sea's our own; and now all nations greet, Heav'n, that hath placed this island to give law, Hither the oppressed shall henceforth resort, That sun once set, a thousand meaner stars If Rome's great senate could not wield that sword, You, that had taught them to subdue their foes, So when a lion shakes his dreadful mane, To tame his youth approach the haughty beast, As the vexed world, to find repose, at last Then let the Muses, with such notes as these, [English Genius.] [From a prologue to Beaumont and Fletcher's Maid's Tragedy.] Scarce should we have the boldness to pretend So long-renowned a tragedy to mend, Had not already some deserved your praise Above our neighbours our conceptions are; [The British Navy.] When Britain, looking with a just disdain Upon this gilded majesty of Spain, And knowing well that empire must decline Whose chief support and sinews are of coin, Our nation's solid virtue did oppose To the rich troublers of the world's repose. And now some months, encamping on the main, Our naval army had besieged Spain: They that the whole world's monarchy designed, Are to their ports by our bold fleet confined, From whence our Red Cross they triumphant see, Riding without a rival on the sea. Others may use the ocean as their road, Only the English make it their abode, Whose ready sails with every wind can fly, And make a covenant with the inconstant sky: Our oaks secure, as if they there took root, We tread on billows with a steady foot. At Penshurst. While in this park I sing, the list'ning deer Attend my passion, and forget to fear; When to the beeches I report my flame, They bow their heads, as they felt the same. To gods appealing, when I reach their bowers More deaf than trees, and prouder than the heav'n! Of such stern beauty, placed those healing springs 2 I might, like Orpheus, with my num'rous moan This last complaint the indulgent ears did pierce Of just Apollo, president of verse; Highly concerned that the Muse should bring The Bud. Lately on yonder swelling bush, Still, as I did the leaves inspire, If our loose breath so much can do, Say, Lovely Dream-a Song. Say, lovely dream! where couldst thou find Shades to counterfeit that face? Colours of this glorious kind Come not from any mortal place. 1 Sir Philip Sidney. 2 Tunbridge Wells. |