Chloe, why wish you that your years There are two births; the one when light And we must count our life from thence: Love then to us did new souls give, The breath we breathe is his, not ours; Love makes those young whom age doth chill, And whom he finds young keeps young still. Love, like that angel that shall call None too much, none too little have; And now since you and I are such, Tell me what's yours, and what is mine? So, by this, I as well may be The Dream. Love Inconcealable. Who can hide fire? If't be uncover'd, light; To Cupid. Thou, who didst never see the light, So captivate her sense, so blind her eye, That still she love me, yet she ne'er know why. Thou who dost wound us with such art, O gently, gently wound my fair, that she thee ! ROBERT HERRICK. One of the most exquisite of our early lyrical poets was ROBERT HERRICK, born in Cheapside, London, in 1591. He studied at Cambridge, and having entered into holy orders, was presented by Charles I., Looking next morn on your bright face, in 1629, to the vicarage of Dean Prior in Devonshire. After about twenty years' residence in this rural parish, Herrick was ejected from his living by the storms of the civil war, which, as Jeremy Taylor says, 'dashed the vessel of the church and state all in pieces.' Whatever regret the poet may have felt on being turned adrift on the world, he could have Mine eyes bequeath'd mine heart fresh pain; experienced little on parting with his parishioners, A dart rush'd in with every grace, And so I kill'd myself again: O eyes, what shall distressed lovers do, If open you can kill, if shut you view! for he describes them in much the same way as Crabbe portrayed the natives of Suffolk, among whom he was cast in early life, as a 'wild amphibious race,' rude 'almost as salvages,' and 'churlish as the seas.' Herrick gives us a glimpse of his own character Born I was to meet with age, I'll have nought to say to you; Drinking wine and crown'd with flowers. This light and genial temperament would enable the poet to ride out the storm in composure. About the time that he lost his vicarage, Herrick appears to have published his works. His Noble Numbers, or Pious Pieces, are dated 1647; his Hesperides, or the 'Works both Humane and Divine of Robert Herrick, Esquire,' in 1648. The clerical prefix to his name seems now to have been abandoned by the poet, and there are certainly many pieces in his second volume which would not become one ministering at the altar, or belonging to the sacred profession. Herrick lived in Westminster, and was supported or assisted by the wealthy royalists. He associated with the jovial spirits of the age. He 'quaffed the mighty bowl' with Ben Jonson, but could not, he tells us, 'thrive in frenzy,' like rare Ben, who seems to have excelled all his fellow-compotators in sallies of wild wit and high imaginations. The recollection of these 'brave translunary scenes' of the poets inspired the muse of Herrick in the following strain: Ah Ben! Say how or when As made us nobly wild, not mad? And yet each verse of thine Outdid the meat, outdid the frolic wine. My Ben! Or come again, Or send to us Thy wit's great overplus, But teach us yet And having once brought to an end Of such a wit, the world should have no more. After the Restoration, Herrick was replaced in his Devonshire vicarage. How he was received by the 'rude salvages' of Dean Prior, or how he felt on quitting the gaieties of the metropolis, to resume his clerical duties and seclusion, is not recorded. He was now about seventy years of age, and was probably tired of canary sack and tavern jollities. He had an undoubted taste for the pleasures of a country life, if we may judge from his works, and the fondness with which he dwells on old English festivals and rural customs. Though his rhymes were sometimes wild, he says his life was chaste, and he repented of his errors : For these my unbaptised rhymes, Writ in my wild unhallowed times, For every sentence, clause, and word, That's not inlaid with thec, O Lord! Forgive me, God, and blot each line The poet should better have evinced the sincerity and depth of his contrition, by blotting out the unbaptised rhymes himself, or not reprinting them; but the vanity of the author probably triumphed over the penitence of the Christian. Gaiety was the natural element of Herrick. His muse was a goddess fair and free, that did not move happily in serious numbers. The time of the poet's death has not been ascertained, but he must have arrived at a ripe old age. The poetical works of Herrick lay neglected for many years after his death. They are now again in esteem, especially his shorter lyrics, some of which have been set to music, and are sung and quoted by all lovers of song. His verses, Cherry Ripe, and Gather the Rose-buds while ye may (though the sentiment and many of the expressions of the latter are taken from Spenser), possess a delicious mixture of playful fancy and natural feeling. Those To Blossoms, To Daffodils, and To Primroses, have a tinge of pathos that wins its way to the heart. They abound, like all Herrick's poems, in lively imagery and conceits; but the pensive moral feeling predominates, and we feel that the poet's smiles might as well be tears. Shakspeare and Jonson had scattered such delicate fancies and snatches of lyrical melody among their plays and masques-Milton's Comus and the Arcades had also been published-Carew and Suckling were before him-Herrick was, therefore, not without models of the highest excellence in this species of composition. There is, however, in his songs and anacreontics, an unforced gaiety and natural tenderness, that show he wrote chiefly from the impulses of his own cheerful and happy nature. The select beauty and picturesqueness of Herrick's language, when he is in his happiest vein, is worthy of his fine conceptions; and his versification is harmony itself. His verses bound and flow like some exquisite lively melody, that echoes nature, by wood and dell, and presents new beauties at every turn and winding. The strain is short, and sometimes fantastic; but the notes long linger in the mind, and take their place for ever in the memory. One or two words, such as 'gather the rose-buds,' call up a summer landscape, with youth, beauty, flowers, and music. This is, and ever must be, true poetry. To Blossoms. Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, What! were ye born to be An hour or half's delight, But you are lovely leaves, where we The Kiss a Dialogue. 1. Among thy fancies tell me this: It is a creature born, and bred Chor. And makes more soft the bridal bed: 2. It is an active flame, that flies Chor. And stills the bride too when she cries: 2. Then to the chin, the cheek, the ear, Chor. And here, and there, and everywhere. 1. Has it a speaking virtue?2. Yes. 1. How speaks it, say?-2. Do you but this, Part your join'd lips, then speaks your kiss; Chor. And this love's sweetest language is. 1. Has it a body-2. Ay, and wings, With thousand rare encolourings; And as it flies, it gently sings, : Chor.-Love honey yields, but never stings. To the Virgins, to make much of their Time. And this same flower that smiles to-day, The glorious lamp of heaven, the Sun, That age is best which is the first, Then be not coy, but use your time, For, having lost but once your prime, Be Twelfth-day queen for the night here. Which known, let us make And let not a man then be seen here, Who unurged will not drink, A health to the king and the queen here. Next crown the bowl full Add sugar, nutmeg, and ginger, With store of ale, too; To make the wassail a swinger. Give them to the king And queen wassailing; And though with ale ye be wet here; Yet part ye from hence, As free from offence, As when ye innocent met here. The Country Life. Sweet country life, to such unknown, 1 Amongst the sports proper to Twelfth Night in England was the partition of a cake with a bean and pea in it: the individuals who got the bean and pea were respectively king and queen for the evening. A drink of warm ale, with roasted apples and spices in it. The term is a corruption from the Celtic. 3 Farm labourers. The term is still used in Scotland. And smell'st the breath of great-eyed kine, Sweet as the blossoms of the vine. Here thou behold'st thy large, sleek neat,1 The heifer, cow, and ox, draw near, To these thou hast thy time to go, Thou hast thy cock rood, and thy glade, The husbandmen but understood! Julia. Some asked me where the rubies grew, And nothing did I say, But with my finger pointed to The lips of Julia. Some asked how pearls did grow, and where, Then spake I to my girl, To part her lips, and show me there The quarelets of pearl. One ask'd me where the roses grew, Upon Julia's Recovery. Droop, droop no more, or hang the head, And to all flowers ally'd in blood, 1 Cattle. A kind of dance. Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth; Spiced to the brink. The violet? Or brought a kiss From that sweet heart to this? No, no; this sorrow shown By your tears shed, Would have this lecture read That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Cherry Ripe. Cherry ripe, ripe, ripe, I cry, To Corinna, to go a Maying. Get up, get up for shame, the blooming morn When as a thousand virgins on this day, And sweet as Flora. Take no care Retires himself, or else stands still Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth." Till you come forth. Wash, dress, be brief in praying; Delight in Disorder. A sweet disorder in the dress, [A happy kind of carelessness;] A lawn about the shoulders thrown Into a fine distraction; An erring lace, which here and there Do more bewitch me, than when art To find God. Weigh me the fire; or canst thou find Few beads are best, when once we go a Maying. Made up of white thorn neatly interwove; And sin no more, as we have done, by staying, And some have wept, and woo'd, and plighted troth, Many a jest told of the key's betraying This night, and locks pick'd; yet w' are not a Maying. 1 Herrick here alludes to the multitudes which were to be seen roaming in the fields on May morning; he afterwards refers to the appearance of the towns and villages bedecked with evergreens. |