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the Five Bells may be descended from the author of the Shepherd's Hunting. The same name also hangs before an humble inn in the quiet town of Alton, and one of the keepers of the gate on the road to Winchester owns the same appellation.

HERRICK, AND HEYWOOD.

ROBERT HERRICK was born in London, towards the close of 1591; and about the year 1615 he was entered of St. John's College, Cambridge, which he left, after a residence of three years, for Trinity Hall, with the intention of preparing himself for the law, and at the same time reducing his expenses, which were borne by his uncle, Sir William Herrick, who was goldsmith to James the First. Having relinquished the study of the law and applied himself to Divinity, on the elevation of Dr. Barnaby Potter to the See of Carlisle, he obtained the living of Dean Prior in Devonshire, through the interest of the Earl of Exeter. Here, according to Wood, "he exercised his Muse as well in poetry as other learning, and became much beloved by the gentry in those parts for his florid and witty discourse." But this statement is contradicted by Herrick himself, in the address to "Dean-Bourn, a rude river in Devonshire," in which he describes the people to be "churlish as the seas," and almost as rude " as rudest savages." In 1647 or 1648, he was ejected from his preferment by the Parliament, and he declared that he was " ravisht in spirit to be recalled from a long and irksome banishment" to the "blest place of his nativity." Having assumed the habit of a layman, he resided in St. Anne's, Westminster, where he

* I will not vouch for the accuracy of the sign; I speak from memory, and the subject upon the board has been much defaced by the wind and weather.

was principally supported by the Royalists. At the Restoration he recovered his living. The period of his death has not been ascertained*.

Herrick is usually admired as the gay writer of a beautiful Anacreontic Song, and one or two poems of a more plaintive character. The Noble Numbers contain some touching strains of religious devotion. In an early number of the Quarterly Review, there was an account of a visit to Dean Prior, and of the writer's endeavours to discover some memorials of the poet. His researches were unsuccessful, but he met with an old woman in the parish who repeated with great exactness and propriety five of the Noble Numbers, which she called her prayers, and was accustomed to recite to herself at night when unable to sleep. Among them was the following exquisite "Litany to the Holy Spirit :"

In the hour of my distress,

When temptations me oppress,
And when I my sins confess,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me.

When I lie within my bed,

Sick at heart, and sick in head,

And with doubts disquieted,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me.

When the house doth sigh and weep,
And the world is drowned in sleep,
Yet mine eyes the watch do keep,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me.

When the passing bell doth toll,
And the Furies in a shoal,
Come to fright my parting soul,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me.

When the tapers now burn blue,

And the comforters are few,

And that number more than true;

Sweet Spirit, comfort me.

* Some interesting particulars of his life, interspersed with a few most un poetical letters, may be seen in the second part of the second volume of Nichols's History of Leicestershire,

When the priest his last hath prayed,
And I nod to what is said,

Because my speech is now decayed,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me.

When the Tempter me pursu'th,
With the sins of all my youth,
And half damns me with untruth,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me.

When the flames and hellish cries,

Fright mine ears, and fright mine eyes,
And all terrors me surprise,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me.

When the judgment is revealed,
And that opened which was sealed,
When to Thee I have appealed,

Sweet Spirit, comfort me*.

The Thanksgiving for his House is too long to be extracted, but one stanza may be quoted, to show its peculiar merits:

Low is my porch, as is my fate,

Both void of state;

And yet the threshold of my door

Is worne by the poor.

The Dirge of Jephtha is also beautiful; the classical reader will notice the Græcism in these lines:

Thou wonder of all maids li'st here,

Of daughters all, the dearest dear;
eye of virgins, nay the Queen

The

Of this smooth green,

And all sweet meads from whence we get
The primrose and the violet.

If to these poems we add the Christmas Carol, the Star-Song, and the White Island, or Place of the Blest, I think that it will be granted that Herrick's most lasting fame is derived from his sacred compositions. The sentiments of some of his songs have unfortunately disposed

The fourth and fifth stanzas are omitted.

us not to regard him as a religious poet; but he has told us, that his life was unspotted by the licence of his rhymes. Let us hope that when, in his touching words (to God in his sickness), he made his home in darkness and sorrow, the mercy of Him in whom he trusted, did indeed renew him, even although "a withered flower*."

66

THOMAS HEYWOOD was one of the most prolific dramatists of an age abounding in works of that description. He says, in the preface to the English Traveller, that he had an entire hand, or at least a main finger," in two hundred and twenty plays. His copiousness was not the result of weakness. Charles Lamb has commended, in fitting terms, that tearful pathos which cuts to the heart. But his name is only admitted into these pages in the more honourable character of a Sacred Poet. The Hierarchie of the Blessed Angels was published in 1635, and dedicated to Charles the First. It was the produce of his old age, and he cautions the reader in the preface "not to expect any new conceits from old heads," or to look for " green fruit from withered branches." The melody and grace of his dramas will be sought for in vain; unlike Sir Philip Sidney's poet, he does not present the reader at the entrance of the vineyard with a bunch of grapes, so that "full of the delicious flavour he may long to pass in further:" his manner, on the contrary, is somewhat harsh and unpolished, and he

His Prayer for Absolution is full of piety:-
For these my unbaptized rhymes,
Writ in my wild unhallowed times,
For every sentence, clause, and word,
That's not inlaid with thee, O Lord,
Forgive me, God, and blot each line
Out of my book that is not thine;
But if 'mongst all thou findest one
Worthy thy benediction,

That one of all the rest shall be
The glory of my work, and me.

leads them through difficult and abrupt places; but the rugged path frequently ends in a garden. The poem is divided into nine books, to each of which is appended a commentary, evincing the writer's intimate acquaintance with the abstruser studies of theology. Modern students will hardly be persuaded to turn to this ponderous volume, yet it would well repay the trouble of perusal. Some of the meditations possess a stern and solemn severity; and the Search after God rises into sublimity:

I sought thee round about, O thou, my God!
In thine abode.

I said unto the earth, "Speak, art thou He?"
She answered me,

"I am not."-I inquired of creatures all,

In general,

Contained therein;-they with one voice proclaim,
That none amongst them challenged such a name.

I asked the seas, and all the deeps below,

My God to know.

I asked the reptiles, and whatever is,
In the abyss;

Even from the shrimp to the Leviathan,

Inquiry ran :

But in those deserts which no line can sound
The God I sought for was not to be found.

I asked the air, If that were He? but, lo!
It told me, No.

I, from the towering Eagle to the Wren,
Demanded then,

If any feather'd fowl 'mongst them were such;
But they all, much

Offended with my question, in full quire

Answered,-
‚—“To find thy God thou must look higher."

I ask'd the heavens, sun, moon, and stars, but they
Said, "We obey

The God thou seek'st."-I ask'd what eye or ear
Could see or hear;

* See some very curious extracts from this Poem in the first volume of Brydges' Restituta, p. 240.

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