Quite to forget earth's turmoils, spites, and wrongs,
And lift a reverend eye and thought to heaven?
Sweet artless songster, thou my mind dost raise
To airs of spheres, yes, and to angels' lays.

V.

As when it happ'neth that some lovely town.
Unto a barbarous besieger falls,

Who both by sword and flame himself installs,
And, shameless, it in tears and blood doth drown
Her beauty spoil'd, her citizens made thralls,
His spite yet cannot so her all throw down,
But that some statue, pillar of renown,
Yet lurks unmaim'd within her weeping walls:
So, after all the spoil, disgrace, and wreck,

[bined,

That time, the world, and death, could bring com-
Amidst that mass of ruins they did make,
Safe and all scarless yet remains my mind:
From this so high transcending rapture springs,
That I, all else defaced, not envy kings.

PHINEAS FLETCHER.

WE have already spoken of Giles Fletcher, the brother of Phineas. Of Phineas we know nothing except that he was born in 1584, educated at Eton and Cambridge, became Rector at Hilgay, in Norfolk, where he remained for twenty-nine years, surviving his brother; that he wrote an account of the founders and learned men of his university; that in 1633, he published 'The Purple Island;' and that in 1650 he died.

His 'Purple Island' (with which we first became acquainted in the writings of James Hervey, author of the 'Meditations,' who was its fervent admirer) is a curious, complex, and highly ingenious allegory, forming an elaborate picture of Man, in his

body and soul; and for subtlety and infinite flexibility, both of fancy and verse, deserves great praise, although it cannot, for a moment, be compared with his brother's 'Christ's Victory and Triumph,' either in interest of subject or in splendour of genius.

DESCRIPTION OF PARTHENIA.

With her, her sister went, a warlike maid,
Parthenia, all in steel and gilded arms;
In needle's stead, a mighty spear she sway'd,
With which in bloody fields and fierce alarms,
The boldest champion she down would bear,
And like a thunderbolt wide passage tear,
Flinging all to the earth with her enchanted spear.

Her goodly armour seem'd a garden green,

Where thousand spotless lilies freshly blew ; And on her shield the lone bird might be seen, The Arabian bird, shining in colours new; Itself unto itself was only mate;

Ever the same, but new in newer date :

And underneath was writ, 'Such is chaste single state.'

Thus hid in arms she seem'd a goodly knight,
And fit for any warlike exercise :

But when she list lay down her armour bright,
And back resume her peaceful maiden's guise;
The fairest maid she was, that ever yet

Prison'd her locks within a golden net,
Or let them waving hang, with roses fair beset.

Choice nymph! the crown of chaste Diana's train,
Thou beauty's lily, set in heavenly earth;

Thy fairs, unpattern'd, all perfection stain:
Sure heaven with curious pencil at thy birth

In thy rare face her own full picture drew:
It is a strong verse here to write, but true,
Hyperboles in others are but half thy due.

Upon her forehead Love his trophies fits,
A thousand spoils in silver arch displaying:
And in the midst himself full proudly sits,
Himself in awful majesty arraying:

Upon her brows lies his bent ebon bow,

And ready shafts; deadly those weapons show; Yet sweet the death appear'd, lovely that deadly blow.

A bed of lilies flower upon her cheek,

And in the midst was set a circling rose; Whose sweet aspéct would force Narcissus seek New liveries, and fresher colours choose

To deck his beauteous head in snowy 'tire; But all in vain: for who can hope t' aspire To such a fair, which none attain, but all admire ?

Her ruby lips lock up from gazing sight

A troop of pearls, which march in goodly row: But when she deigns those precious bones undight, Soon heavenly notes from those divisions flow,

And with rare music charm the ravish'd ears, Daunting bold thoughts, but cheering modest fears: The spheres so only sing, so only charm the spheres.

Yet all these stars which deck this beauteous sky
By force of th' inward sun both shine and move;
Throned in her heart sits love's high majesty;
In highest majesty the highest love.

As when a taper shines in glassy frame,

The sparkling crystal burns in glittering flame, So does that brightest love brighten this lovely dame.

INSTABILITY OF HUMAN GREATNESS.

Fond man, that looks on earth for happiness,
And here long seeks what here is never found!
For all our good we hold from Heaven by lease,
With many forfeits and conditions bound;

Nor can we pay the fine and rentage due: Though now but writ and seal'd, and given anew, Yet daily we it break, then daily must renew.

Why shouldst thou here look for perpetual good,
At every loss against Heaven's face repining?
Do but behold where glorious cities stood,
With gilded tops, and silver turrets shining;

Where now the hart fearless of greyhound feeds,
And loving pelican in safety breeds;

Where screeching satyrs fill the people's empty steads.

Where is the Assyrian lion's golden hide,
That all the East once grasp'd in lordly paw?
Where that great Persian bear, whose swelling pride
The lion's self tore out with ravenous jaw?
Or he which, 'twixt a lion and a pard,

Through all the world with nimble pinions fared, And to his greedy whelps his conquer'd kingdoms shared?

Hardly the place of such antiquity,

Or note of these great monarchies we find: Only a fading verbal memory,

An empty name in writ is left behind:

But when this second life and glory fades,

And sinks at length in time's obscurer shades, A second fall succeeds, and double death invades.

That monstrous Beast, which nursed in Tiber's fen, Did all the world with hideous shape affray; That fill'd with costly spoil his gaping den, And trod down all the rest to dust and clay: His battering horns pull'd out by civil hands, And iron teeth lie scatter'd on the sands; Backed, bridled by a monk, with seven heads yoked stands.

And that black Vulture,1 which with deathful wing O'ershadows half the earth, whose dismal sight Frighten'd the Muses from their native spring, Already stoops, and flags with weary flight:

Who then shall look for happiness beneath? Where each new day proclaims chance, change, and death,

And life itself's as fleet as is the air we breathe.

HAPPINESS OF THE SHEPHERD'S LIFE.

Thrice, oh, thrice happy, shepherd's life and state! When courts are happiness, unhappy pawns! His cottage low and safely humble gate

Shuts out proud Fortune, with her scorns and fawns No feared treason breaks his quiet sleep: Singing all day, his flocks he learns to keep; Himself as innocent as are his simple sheep.

No Serian worms he knows, that with their thread Draw out their silken lives; nor silken pride: His lambs' warm fleece well fits his little need, Not in that proud Sidonian tincture dyed:

No empty hopes, no courtly fears him fright, Nor begging wants his middle fortune bite; But sweet content exiles both misery and spite.

1 'Black Vulture:' the Turk.