And this the very reason was, The company was seated. Now hats fly off, and youths carouse; O' th' sudden up they rise and dance; By this time all were stol'n aside But yet 'twas thought he guess'd her mind, DETRACTION EXECRATED. Thou vermin slander, bred in abject minds, Where each meant more than could by both be said. That part of us ne'er knew that we did love: Or, from the air? our gentle sighs had birth From such sweet raptures as to joy did move; Our thoughts as pure as the chaste morning's breath, Nor from the water could'st thou have this tale; Much less could'st have it from the purer fire; Thou hast no correspondence had in heaven, And th' elemental world, thou see'st is free. Whence hadst thou, then, this talking monster? even Curst be th' officious tongue that did address I must forbear her sight, and so repay In grief, those hours' joy short'ned to a dream; And in one year outlive Methusalem. Cartwright, Cleveland, Lovelace and Crashaw close the long list of English miscellaneous poets who have occupied our attention during the last four lectures. WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT, one of Ben Jonson's sons of the muses, was born at Cirencester, Gloucestershire, in 1611. He received his early education at the free school of his native place, whence he removed to Westminster school, and in 1628 entered Christ College, Oxford. Having remained at Oxford until he had taken his master's degree, he entered into orders, and soon became a very popular preacher in the university. In 1643 he was chosen junior proctor of the university and reader in metaphysics; and was at that time in the habit of studying sixteen hours a day. Toward the close of the same year he unfortunately caught a malignant fever then prevalent at Oxford, and died on the twenty-third of December, 1643, in his thirty-third year. The king, who was at that time at Oxford, went into mourning for Cartwright's death; and when his works were published in 1651, no less than fifty copies of encomiastic verses were prefixed to them by the wits and scholars of that period. It is difficult to conceive, from the perusal of Cartwright's poems, why he should have obtained such extensive applause and reputation. His pieces are generally short, occasional productions, addressed to ladies and noblemen, or to his brother poets, Fletcher and Jonson; or slight amatory effusions, not distinguished either for elegance or fancy. Admiration of his genius, his youthful virtues, his learning, and his devoted loyalty to the king, seemed to have mainly contributed to his popularity; and his premature death doubtless renewed and deepened the impression of his worth and talents. Cartwright must have cultivated poetry in his youth; for he was only twentysix years old when Ben Jonson died, and previous to that period the veteran poet paid him the compliment to remark, 'My son Cartwright writes all like a man.' The following effusions are both witty and pretty, but possess no higher merit : THE DREAM. I dream'd I saw myself lie dead, Silence and sleep this strange sight bred, But, wak'd, I found I liv'd anew. Looking next morn on your bright face, Mine eyes bequeath'd mine heart fresh pain; A dart rush'd in with every grace, And so I kill'd myself again : O eyes, what shall distressed lovers do, TO CUPID. Thou, who didst never see the light, So captivate her sense, so blind her eye, Thou who dost wound us with such art, We see no blood drop from the heart, And, subt'ly cruel, leav'st no sign To tell the blow or hand was thine; O gently, gently wound my fair, that she May thence believe the wound did come from thee! TO A LADY VAILED. So love appear'd, when, breaking out his way The half seen, half hid glory of the rose, As you do through your vails; and I may swear, Was seen, but what might cause men to adore: As 'tis but only poetry revived. Such doubtful light had sacred groves, where rods And twigs at last did shoot up into gods; Where, then, a shade darkeneth the beauteous face, May I not pay a reverence to the place? So, under water, glimmering stars appear, As those (but nearer stars) your eyes do here; A better way to see them in our mind. Thus looks the country virgin, whose brown hue O fear ye no assaults from bolder men; When they assail, be this your armour then. JOHN CLEVELAND was born at Henkley, Leicestershire, in 1613. His father being rector of the parish, and also a man of sound learning, the future poet's early studies were carefully attended to at home, supervised by an able teacher connected with the grammar-school of the place. When well prepared, he was sent to Christ's College, Cambridge, where he soon became distinguished for both talents and learning. As an orator especially, he was unrivalled; and such was his general popularity, that as soon as he had taken his degrees he was elected to a fellowship in St. John's College. Cleveland continued at the university about nine years, the delight and ornament of the college to which he belonged, and during that time he became as eminent as a poet as he was as an orator. Upon the breaking out of the civil war, he espoused the royal cause with all the ardor of his nature, in consequence of which, as soon as the reins of power passed into the hands of the parliamentary party, he was ejected from his fellowship, and turned upon the world. He now repaired to Oxford, the head-quarters of the king, and there employed his talents in the composition of those severe and biting satires which rendered him, at the time, the delight of his party, and the terror of their foes. From Oxford, Cleveland, on invitation of Sir Richard Willis, governor of Newark, removed to that city, and there was immediately elevated to the office of Judge-advocate-a situation which he continued to fill till Newark was, by the king's order, surrendered to the parliament. In 1655, he was seized at Norwich and cast into prison, being a person of great ability, and so able to do the greater disservice.' He remained in prison for some time, enduring all the wretchedness that poverty and destitution could inflict ; but at length becoming exhausted from his sufferings, he petitioned Cromwell for his release in terms so pathetic and moving, that the heart of the Protector was melted, and he set him at liberty. Cleveland now repaired to London to resume his literary pursuits, but he died soon after, on the fourteenth of April, 1658, and was buried in the church of St. Michael in that city. Besides his strong and caustic satires, which were the chief source of his popularity while living, and which Butler afterward partially imitated in his 'Hudibras,' Cleveland wrote some love verses containing morsels of genuine poetry, amid a mass of affected metaphors and fancies. He carried gallantry to an extent bordering on the ridiculous, making all nature-sun and shade-do homage to his mistress. To illustrate this remark we need only present the following lines: ON PHILLIS, WALKING BEFORE SUNRISE. The sluggish morn as yet undress'd, To chirp their matins; and the fan Of whistling winds, like organs play'd Unto their voluntaries, made The waken'd earth in odours rise To be her morning sacrifice; The flowers, call'd out of their beds, These miracles had cramp'd the sun, (Like lattice windows) give the spy But what new-fashion'd palsy 's this, And that they might her footsteps straw, Should wed October into May, |