Be she fairer than the day,
Or the flowery meads in May;
If she be not so to me,
What care I how fair she be?
are exquisite lines, that no reader ever again forgets.
Of Crashaw's poems, Nicol, of Edinburgh, has just published a new edition in his "English Poets," edited by Gilfillan, who speaks rapturously of them. Crashaw was of a deeply religious tone of mind, and became a catholic. His finest poems are his religious ones, and they are full of music and passionate reveries, yet greatly marred by the Donne fashion, which Dryden, and after him Johnson, most inaccurately termed the Metaphysic School, instead of the fantastic or singularity school. His very first poem opening his volume, called "The Weeper," shows how he treated even sacred subjects:—
Hail, sister springs!
Parents of silver forded rills.
Ever bubbling things!
Thawing crystal, snowy hilts
Still spending, never spent, I mean
Thy fair eyes, sweet Magdalene.
Heavens thy fair eyes be,
Heavens of ever-falling stars;
'Tis seed time still with thee.
And stars thou sow'st. whose harvest dares
Promise the earth to countershine,
Whatever makes heaven's forehead shine.
John Bunyan
Carew, Suckling, Lovelace are poets whose merits, in their various styles, would deserve a separate examination, but we must pass on to three other poets, who have been made more known to modern readers, and who would of them selves have stamped their age as one of genuine inspiration—Herbert, Herrick, and Quarles. Herbert and Herrick, like Donne, were clergymen, and in their quiet country parsonage poured forth some of the most exquisite lyrics which enrich any language. Herrick may be said to be the born poet of nature—Herbert of devotion. Herrick was of an old family of Leicestershire, which yet remains. Had his poems not been most familiar to modern readers, and purchasable in cheap editions, we should lament the space which confines us to a mere mention. His lyrics are the
