Nor have our trumpets summoned Is sacred, nor with us must die. * What numbers from the sun's up-rise, In our own country Egypt find. The following verses, by the same Chorus are equally touching and harmonious: Yet this no less our grief provokes, Our kindred bear divided yokes; One part by Roman bondage wrung; That Thou, triumphing, should'st revoke Thy kindred's tears, and ruined state. Bless with thy Presence, that we may Sandys was gathered to his fathers in the beginning of March, 1643. He expired at Bexley, the residence of his niece, Lady Margaret Wyat, who was married to a descendant of the poetical friend of Surrey, and was buried in the parish church upon the 7th of March. One of his contemporaries, Phillpot of Clare Hall, compared his death to the sudden departure of a flowery spring. But the simile was not happily chosen. He had not, indeed, exhausted the allotted term of human existence, and the setting of so mild and cheering a star might well awaken the sigh of regret; but the harvest had been gathered in, and the sheaves were bound up. He had passed a religious and useful life, and had opened a new spring of comfort to his christian brethren, which was not without a beneficial influence upon the stream of our literature. No cloud appears to have darkened the evening of his days: he lived and died among his friends, admired, beloved, and revered. "It did me good," says Baxter, "when Mrs. Wyatt invited me to see Bexley Abbey, in Kent, to see upon the old stone wall in the garden, a summer-house, with this inscription, that 'In that place Mr. George Sandys, after his travels over the world, retired himself for his poetry and contemplations."" Of his character, we can only judge from his writings; but his portrait is preserved at Ormsberley Court, and the full benignant eye, and placid forehead, accord with the gentle spirit of his verse. Sandys occupies a very interesting position among our minor poets. Pope, who when a child of eight years, had been delighted with Ogilby's Homer, was equally pleased with Sandys' translation of Ovid; and Dryden declared him to be the best versifier of his time. His Paraphrase of the Psalms was esteemed by Burney the most harmonious in our language. He was a master of versification, and, although excelling chiefly in lyric measures, could construct the polished couplet with the art of Pope. The lines prefixed to his Paraphrase of the Psalms are polished and musical: Our graver Muse from her long dream awakes ; Lord Falkland justly praised his flowing elegance; his diction is pure and simple; and his fancy, although deficient in the richness of Crashaw and the energy of Quarles, often imparts a pleasing lustre to the subject. Without rivalling the quaint pathos of Herbert, his strains glow with the same fervour of piety, and he rarely deviates into the eccentricities of that amiable poet. Sandys had not been dazzled by the splendid errors which bewildered the more powerful genius of Cowley; and it should be mentioned to his honour, that he brought no offering from pagan mythology to the Altar of Heavenly Truth, and that the translator of the Metamorphoses is not recognised in the translator of the Psalms. The gentleness and simplicity of his manner will be seen in the following version of the forty-second Psalm. PSALM XLII. Lord! as the hart embost with heat So sighs my soul for thee. My soul thirsts for the living God: And there his beauty see? Tears are my food both night and day; My soul, why art thou so deprest? My fainting heart within me pants: My songs shall praise thee still, Deeps unto deeps enraged call, For all thy floods upon me burst, But yet by day the Lord will charge My soul, surprised with cares; He gives my songs their argument; By night to thee my prayers; And say, My God, my Rock, O why By foes reduced to dust? Their words, like weapons pierce my bones; My soul, why art thou so deprest? Fuller mentions Sandys with lively interest. "He lived," are his words, “to be a very aged man, whom I saw in the Savoy, anno 1641, having a youthful soul in a decayed body." |