But show my sun must set: no morn

Shall shine till thou return:

The yellow planets, and the gray

Dawn, shall attend thee on thy way.

Shep. If thine eyes gild my paths, they may forbear Their useless shine. Nym. My tears will quite Extinguish their faint light.

Shep. Those drops will make their beams more clear, Love's flames will shine in every tear.

Cho. They kiss'd, and wept; and from their lips and eyes,

In a mix'd dew of briny sweet,

Their joys and sorrows meet;

But she cries out. Nym. Shepherd, arise,

The sun betrays us else to spies.

Shep. The winged hours fly fast whilst we embrace;

But when we want their help to meet,

They move with leaden feet.

Nym. Then let us pinion time, and chace

The day forever from this place.

Shep. Hark!

We must begone.

Nym. My soul.

Nym. Ah me, stay! Shep. For ever.

Nym. No, arise;

Shep. My nest of spice.

Shep. My paradise.

Cho. Neither could say farewell, but through their eyes

Grief interrupted speech with tears supplies.

DISDAIN RETURNED.

He that loves a rosy cheek,

Or a coral lip admires,

Or from star-like eyes doth seek
Fuel to maintain his fires,—
As old Time makes these decay,
So his flames must waste away.
But a smooth and steadfast mind,
Gentle thoughts and calm desires,

Give me more love, or more disdain,
The torrid or the frozen zone
Bring equal ease unto my pain;
The temperate affords me none;
Either extreme, of love or hate,
Is sweeter than a calm estate.

Give me a storm; if it be love,
Like Danae in a golden shower,
I swim in pleasure; if it prove
Disdain, that torrent will devour
My vulture-hopes; and he's possess'd
Of heaven that's but from hell released:
Then crown my joys, or cure my pain;
Give me more love, or more disdain.

Ask me why I send you here,

This firstling of the infant year;

Ask me why I send to you

This primrose, all bepearl'd with dew;

I strait will whisper in your ears,

The sweets of love are wash'd with tears.

Ask me why this flower doth show

So yellow, green, and sickly too;
Ask me why the stalk is weak,
And bending, yet it doth not break ;-
I must tell you, these discover

What doubts and fears are in a lover.

COWLEY, CRASHAW AND

DENHAM.

In the beginning of the seventeenth century, a new race of poets rose. In the sixteenth century, poetry was full of feeling, fancy, and imagination. She reigned in the human heart, as well as commanded the admiration of the mind.

The poet was not satisfied with relating mere matters of fact, with echoing what was common, but feeling within himself a higher power, and believing that he had a mission to perform superior to that of other men, he was constantly laboring to present to his fellows visions of the unknown, and to strike those higher and mysterious chords which meet with a response in the heart. The beauty and power of words, the elegance of diction, and the harmony of metrical modulation did not particularly engage his mind; so far as attention was turned to them, it was induced by the poetic mood: he was intent upon effect, to control the passions and to sway the mind, which is the real secret of his power, who has been the civilizer and instructor of mankind.

This new race of poets that flourished in the seventeenth century, labored to display their learning rather than poetic fire. They paid no regard to mental emotion, nor labored to impart the higher and combined pleasures of sentiment and intellect, but were subtle and metaphysical. They, too, were often careless of their diction; their poetry "stood the trial of the finger better than of the ear:" they instituted subtlety and conceit for the language of poetry and passion, and their analogies were remote, and their long and frequent similitudes gave an air of fiction and allegory to their most serious work.

In succeeding the allegorical school of Spenser and Drayton, they changed their imagery rather than their style but thus pruning poetry of a superabundance of image, they deprived it of its native dress, and neglected to give it its sweetest and most attractive grace.

Cowley is acknowledged to stand at the head of the class of metaphysical poets. He has good sense, a nice perception of things, and great learning, but his thoughts are far-fetched, and mechanical. In laboring for thoughts that were new and striking, he overlooked the natural. His powers of comparison and reflection are constantly exercised. The images he combines are often dissimilar, and them he breaks into fragments; he gives us but a single glance at an object, and then changes the scene by a new and stranger image still. He uses words in their literal sense, and seldom employs a figure of speech. It is only when

he sings of love and wine that he warms into a passionate description, and speaks of

Melting love, and soft desire.

The faults of Cowley are somewhat chargeable upon the taste of the times in which he wrote. Spenser drew largely from the Petrarchian school, which succeeded the provincial bards of Italy, and he for a long time eclipsed the world of song; and the school of Cowley succeeded that of Spenser, as naturally as the tissue of Merino's and Petrarch's poetry succeed the protracted metaphor of the bards.

If Cowley has faults he is not destitute of merit, and he occasionally displays beauties of a high order. Though his diction is careless, even to a fault, he has not corrupted the language with foreign words. He has an elastic spirit, and a sportive fancy. Though sometimes quaint and fantastic, he is often gay and exhilarating. "Such gayety of fancy," observes Dr. Johnson, "such various similitudes, such a succession of images, and such a dance of words, it is impossible to expect, except from Cowley. His strength always appears in his agility-his volatility is not the flutter of a light, but the bound of an elastic mind. His levity never leaves his learning behind it-the moralist, the politician, and the critic, mingle their influence even in this airy frolic of genius. To such a performance, Suckling could have brought the gayety, but not the knowledge. Dryden could have supplied the knowledge, but not the gayety.”

With his originality he combines, the gayety of