And to the yondir hil I gan her gide, That every wight, that past him by the wey, And thus he drove a daie yet forth or twey, For which him likid in his songis shewe That absent was, gan sing as ye may here: This song, when he thus songin had, ful sone And every night, as was his wonte to done; He stode the bright moonè to beholde And all his sorowe to the moone he tolde, I shall be glad, if al the world be trewe ! " 4 Another exquisite master of this species of style, where the scholar and the poet supplies the material, but the perfect wellbred gentleman the expressions and the arrangement, is George [Boke V. The first lines of the first stanza stand thus in the original : And aftir this he to the yatis wente, and the first of the last stanza thus: This songè when he thus songin had sone. S. C.] Herbert. As from the nature of the subject, and the too frequent quaintness of the thoughts, his TEMPLE; OR SACRED POEMS AND PRIVATE EJACULATIONS, are comparatively but little known, I shall extract two poems. The first is a sonnet, equally admirable for the weight, number, and expression of the thoughts, and for the simple dignity of the language. Unless, indeed, a fastidious taste should object to the latter half of the sixth line. The second is a poem of greater length, which I have chosen not only for the present purpose, but likewise as a striking example and illustration of an assertion hazarded in a former page of these sketches: namely, that the characteristic fault of our elder poets is the reverse of that, which distinguishes too many of our more recent versifiers; the one conveying the most fantastic thoughts in the most correct and natural language; the other in the most fantastic language conveying the most trivial thoughts. The latter is a riddle of words; the former an enigma of thoughts. The one reminds me of an odd passage in Drayton's IDEAS: As other men, so I myself do muse, The other recalls a still odder passage in THE SYNAGOGUE : or THE SHADOW OF THE TEMPLE, a connected series of poems in imitation of Herbert's TEMPLE, and, in some editions, annexed to it. O how my mind Not a thought, That I can find, But's ravell'd All to nought! Short ends of threds, And narrow shreds Of lists, Knots, snarled ruffs, Loose broken tufts Of twists, 6 Sonnet IX. Are my torn meditations ragged clothing, To think how to unthink that thought again." Immediately after these burlesque passages I cannot proceed to the extracts promised, without changing the ludicrous tone of feeling by the interposition of the three following stanzas of Herbert's. VIRTUE. Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright, Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave And thou must die. Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, THE BOSOM SIN: A SONNET BY GEORGE HERBERT. Lord, with what care hast thou begirt us round! Bibles laid open, millions of surprises; 6 [The Synagogue, a collection of poems generally appended to the Temple, has been retained in Mr. Pickering's edition of 1835. "They were first printed," as the Preface mentions, A. D. 1640, and have been, with much probability, attributed to the Rev. Christopher Harvie, M. A. The poem quoted is at p. 274 of the edit. S. C.] Blessings beforehand, ties of gratefulness, LOVE UNKNOWN. Dear friend, sit down, the tale is long and sad : And have, of whom some grounds, which may improve, To him I brought a dish of fruit one day, Look'd on a servant, who did know his eye, A stream of blood, which issued from the side And have good cause; there it was dipt and dyed, 66 Many a fault, more than my lease will bear; (I sigh to tell) Thinking with that, which I did thus present The offerer's heart. "Your heart was hard, I fear." Indeed 'tis true. I found a callous matter But when I thought to sleep out all these faults, I found that some had stuff'd the bed with thoughts, For I had given the key to none but one: It must be he. "Your heart was dull, I fear." Did oft possess me; so that when I pray'd, 66 Truly, Friend, [The three poems are at pp. 87, 40, and 133 respectively. S. C.] |