was a Shelley manqué; while Shelley was what the so-called "Metaphysical School" should have been and tended to be. Something of all this was anticipated by an earlier critic, Mr. Gilfillan, who was happy in pointing out that "in soaring imagination, in gorgeous language, in ecstasy of lyrical movement, Crashaw very much resembles Shelley, and may be called the Christian Shelley:
'His raptures are
All air and fire.'
Yes: it is the air of the rose-garden, but the fire of the censer. In his religious poems Crashaw rises altogether above terrestrial limits, and bequeaths us half-intoxicating draughts of fiery, tender beauties. That famous "Hymn to the Name and Honour of the Admirable Sainte Teresa" thrills with a loveliness never bred upon our humble earth.
Scarce has she blood enough to make
A guilty sword blush for her sake;
Yet has she blood enough to prove
How much less strong is Death than Love,
the poet writes in allusion to her childish desire for martyrdom; and later he breaks into that wondrous outburst:
Thou art Love's victime; and must dy
A death more mysticall and high,
······
His is the dart must make the death
Whose stroke shall taste thy hallow'd breath;
A dart thrice dip't in that rich flame
Which writes thy Spouse's radiant name
Upon the roof of Heav'n, where ay
