by impious usury, robs the spittle1 to make an hospital; and the cry of the one will out-plead the prayers of the other. Give not thy tongue too great a liberty, lest it take thee prisoner. A word unspoken is, like the sword in the scabbard, thine; if vented, thy sword is in another's hand. If thou desire to be held wise, be so wise as to hold thy tongue. Wisdom without innocency is knavery; innocency without wisdom is foolery: be, therefore, as wise as serpents, and innocent as doves. The subtilty of the serpent instructs the innocency of the dove; the innocency of the dove corrects the subtilty of the serpent. What God hath joined together, let no man separate. WILLIAM DRUMMOND. 1585-1649. WILLIAM DRUMMOND, of Hawthornden, the first Scottish poet that wrote well in English, was born in 1585. To the scholar and the wit he added every elegant attainment. After forming his taste at the University of Edinburgh, he enlarged his views by travelling and by a cultivation of the modern languages. At first he appears to have studied the law, but soon left it for more congenial pursuits. The character of his poetry is various, consisting of sonnets, epigrams, epitaphs, religious and other poems. His sonnets are the most beautiful, and some of them of the highest excellence. His greatest charm is, unaffected feeling, and unaffected language."2 His feelings were so intense on the side of the royalists, that the execution of Charles is said to have hastened his death, which took place at the close of the same year, December, 1649. The following are specimens of his sonnets3 : THE PRAISE OF A SOLITARY LIFE. Thrice happy he, who by some shady grove, Far from the clamorous world, doth live his own; But doth converse with that eternal Love. O how more sweet is bird's harmonious moan, Or the hoarse sobbings of the widow'd dove, Than those smooth whisperings near a prince's throne, O! how more sweet is zephyr's wholesome breath, ! This term was originally applied to a lazar-house, or receptacle for persons affected with leprosy out afterwards to an hospital of any kind. 3 Bee Retrospective Review, ix. 358. Drummond's sonnets, I tl ink, come as near as almost any others to the perfection of this kind of writing, which should embody a sentiment, and every shade of a sentiment, as it varies with time and place and humor, with the extravagance or lightness of a momentary impression."—Hazlitt. ON SLEEP. Sleep, Silence' child, sweet father of soft rest, Or if, deaf god, thou do deny that grace, Come as thou wilt, and what thou wilt bequeath; I long to kiss the image of my death. The lady to whom he was engaged to be married was suddenly snatch) away by death, and the sonnets which dwell on his own afflictions are an full of true feeling as poetic merit. ON SPRING. Sweet Spring, thou turn'st' with all thy goodly train, Do with thee turn, which turn my sweets in sours. But she whose breath embalm'd thy wholesome air When thine forgot lie closed in a tomb. What doth it serve to see sun's burning face? And all the glory of that starry place? What doth it serve earth's beauty to behold, The mountain's pride, the meadow's flowery grace; The sport of floods which would themselves embrace? The wanton merle, the nightingale's sad strains, TO HIS LUTE. My lute, be as thou wast, when thou didst grow 1 "Turn'st" is here used for "returnest." When immelodious winds but made thee move, Sith that dear voice which did thy sounds approve, Thy pleasing notes be pleasing notes no more, Each stop a sigh, each sound draws forth a tear; Or if that any hand to touch thee deign, TO THE NIGHTINGALE. Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours, Wel! pleased with delights which present are, Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flowers (Attired in sweetness) sweetly is not driven RICHARD CRASHAW. Died 1650.1 RICHARD CRASHAW, a religious poet, an accomplished scholar, and a pc wer ful and popular preacher, was born in London, but the date of his birth is unknown. His father was an author, and a preacher of the Temple church, London. He took his degree at Cambridge, where he published his sacred poems of "Steps to the Temple." In the year 1644 he was ejected from his living on refusing to subscribe to the Covenant, and soon afterwards he professed his faith in the Roman Church. Through the influence of his friend Cowley, the poet, he was introduced to the exiled Queen Henrietta, who obtained for him a small office at Rome, where he died about the year 1650. The poems of Crashaw are not much known, but they "display delicate fancy, great tenderness, and singular beauty of diction." "He has," says Headley, "originality in many parts, and as a translator is entitled to the highest praise. To his attainments, which were numerous and elegant, all nis biographers have borne witness." The lines on a prayer-book, Coleridge considers one of the best poems in our language. 1 Poet and Saint! to thee alone are given The two most sacred names of earth and heaven.-COWLEY. 2 Pope, in his "Eloisa to Abelard, has borrowed largely from this poet. LINES ON A PRAYER-BOOK SENT TO MRS. R. Lo! here a little volume, but large book, Much larger in itself than in its look. It is love's great artillery, Which here contracts itself, and comes to lie Close couch'd in your white bosom, and from thence. As from a snowy fortress of defence, Against the ghostly foe to take your part, And fortify the hold of your chaste heart. Let constant use but keep it bright, To holy hands and humble hearts, Than sin hath snares or hell hath darts. Wakeful and wise, Here is a friend shall fight for you. That studies this high art Must be a sure housekeeper, And yet no sleeper. Dear soul, be strong, Mercy will come ere long, And bring her bosom full of blessings- To make immortal dressings, For worthy souls whose wise embraces Amongst the gay mates of the god of flies;1 And keep the devil's holiday; To dance in the sunshine of some smiling Sphere of sweet and sugar'd lies; 1 Beelzebub. The following is a portion of his version of the twenty-third Psalm Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil." It is highly spirited and beautiful. Come now all ye terrors, sally, Where triumphant darkness hovers Brooding Horror. Come, thou Death, Still my Shepherd, still my God, |