secure his life, was fain to put him from his service, and procuring him some small employ at the Lady's of Loretto, whither he went in pilgrimage in the summer-time, and, over-heating himself, died in a few weeks after he came thither; and it was doubtful whether he was not poi soned* "

In the margin of the folio edition of Cowley's Works, he is said to have died of a fever at Loretto, but the time is not mentioned. He was certainly dead before 1652, for in that year his Carmen Deo Nostro, Te Decet Hymnus, &c., were published at Paris, by his friend, Thomas Car, to whom the poet's manuscripts appear to have been bequeathed; for he says,

'Twas his intent

That what his riches penn'd, poor Car should print.

His fate was wept by Cowley in a strain of noble tenderness and enthusiasm.

Poet and Saint! To thee alone are given

The two most sacred names of earth and heaven,
The hard and rarest union which can be†,

Next that of Godhead with humanity.

Long did the Muses banish'd slaves abide,

And built their pyramids to human pride;

Like Moses, thou, though spells and charms withstand,
Hast brought them nobly back to their Holy Land.

Hail, Bard triumphant, and some care bestow

On us, the poets militant below,

Oppos'd by our old enemy, adverse chance,

Attack'd by envy and by ignorance.

Thou, from low earth in nobler flames didst rise,
And like Elijah mount alive the skies.

The few particulars it is in my power to communicate respecting his manners and acquirements, are

*The MS. from which the above extract is taken is printed in Todd's Works of Milton.

+ Folio edition, 1669. This line cannot surely be correct. Might not Cowley have written

The hardest, rarest, union which can be?

chiefly collected from the brief notices of him by Car, who boasts that "sweet Crashaw was his friend, he Crashaw's brother." He was well versed in the Hebrew, Greek, Latin, Spanish, and Italian languages, the two last of which he mastered almost by his own unaided efforts. The poets of Greece and Rome were his favourite study, and he quoted from them by memory, with singular readiness and exactness. His accomplishments equalled his learning; he was skilled in music, drawing, engraving, and painting; and we learn from some verses, that he employed his talents for the amusement of his friends. The Sacred Poems printed at Paris in 1652, are adorned by some vignettes, "first made with his own hand," and engraved in one or two instances, with great spirit. The designs, indeed, like the poetry, are characteristic of the author. The picture illustrating the verses to the Countess of Denbigh, "persuading her to resolution in religion," represents a heart fastened by a heavy padlock; and the sorrow of Mary Magdalen is portrayed by a heart distilling drops of blood.

In his habits he was temperate, even to severity, taking no thought of the luxuries, scarcely of the necessaries, of life. He lived, says his affectionate eulogist,

Above in the air,

A very bird of Paradise-no care

Had he of earthly trash; what might suffice
To fit his soul for heavenly exercise,

Sufficed him

What he might eat or wear he took no thought,
His needful food he rather found than sought*.

It has been supposed, from a passage in Selden's Table Talk, that he once entertained an intention of writing against the stage; it is clear, however, from an Epigram upon two of Ford's tragedies, that he was at one period a

* Car's Prefatory verses to the Carmen Deo Nostro.

student, if not an admirer, of the drama. His secession from our Church is to be deeply deplored; but we have the zealous testimony of Cowley that the virtues of his after-life did not discredit the Mother whom he had forsaken.

Crashaw's poetical character has been drawn at considerable length, and with great ingenuity, by Pope, in a letter to his friend, Henry Cromwell*.

"It seems that my late mention of Crashaw, and my quotation from him, has moved your curiosity. I, therefore, send you the whole author, who has held a place among my other books of this nature for some years; in which time, having read him twice or thrice, I find him one of those whose works may just deserve reading. I take this poet to have writ like a gentleman, that is at leisure hours, and more to keep out of idleness than to establish a reputation; so that nothing regular or just can be expected from him. All that regards design, form, fable (which is the soul of poetry), all that concerns exactness or consent of parts (which is the body), will probably be wanting; only pretty conceptions, fine metaphors, glittering expressions, and something of a neat cast of verse (which are properly the dress, gems, or loose ornaments of poetry), may be found in these verses. This is, indeed, the case of most other poetical writers of Miscellanies; nor can it well be otherwise, since no man can be a true poet who writes for diversion only. These authors should be considered as versifiers and witty men rather than as poets; and under this head will only fall the Thoughts, the Expression, and the Numbers. These are only the pleasing parts of poetry, which may be judged of at a view, and comprehended all at once; and (to express myself like a painter) their colouring entertains the sight,

Literary Correspondence, vol. i., p. 302; 1735.

but the lines and life of the picture are not to be inspected too narrowly.

"This author formed himself upon Petrarch, or rather upon Marino. His thoughts, one may observe, in the main, are pretty, but oftentimes far-fetched, and too often strained and stiffened, to make them appear the greater. For men are never so apt to think a thing great, as when it is odd or wonderful; and inconsiderate authors would rather be admired than understood. This ambition of surprising a reader is the true natural cause of all Fustian, or Bombast, in Poetry. To confirm what I have said, you need but look into his first poem of the Weeper, where the 2nd, 4th, 6th, 14th, 21st stanzas are as sublimely dull as the 7th, 8th, 9th, 16th, 17th, 20th, and 23rd stanzas of the same copy, are soft and pleasing. And if these last want any thing, it is an easier and more unaffected expression. The remaining thoughts in that poem might have been. spared, being either but repetitions or very trivial and mean. And by this example, one may guess at all the rest to be like this; a mixture of tender, gentle thoughts, and suitable expressions, of forced and inextricable conceits, and of needless fillers up to the rest. From all which, it is plain this author writ fast, and set down what came uppermost. A reader may skim off the froth, and use the clear underneath; but if he goes too deep, will meet with a mouthful of dregs; either the top or bottom of him are good for little, but what he did in his own natural middleway, is best.

"To speak of his numbers is a little difficult, they are so various and irregular, and mostly Pindarick: 'tis evident his heroic verse (the best example of which is his Music's Duel) is carelessly made'up; but one may imagine, from what it now is, that had he taken more care, it had been musical and pleasing enough; not extremely majestic, but sweet. And the time considered, of his writing, he

was (even as incorrect as he is) none of the worst versificators.

I will just observe that the best pieces of this author are a paraphrase of Psalm xxiii., on Lessius, Epitaph on M. Ashton, Wishes to his Supposed Mistress, and the Dies Iræ."

This criticism, while it is generally fair to the letter of Crashaw's poetry, is unjust to its spirit, and must have been written in forgetfulness of his peculiar temperament and disposition. Whatever he did was done with all his might, and no person who recollects that the Steps to the Temple were composed during moments of devotional ardour in St. Mary's Church, will consider him to have writ like a gentleman, and at leisure hours, to keep out idleness. The praise throughout the letter is cold and languid. Such phrases as "a neat cast of verse," and "none of the worst versificators," are not surely applicable to the translator of the Sospetto d'Herode, and the Prolusion of Strada. I am far from insinuating against Pope any intentional depreciation of the genius of Crashaw (the malevolent attacks of Philips have been satisfactorily repelled by Hayley); but it may be doubted whether his tastes and prejudices did not unfit him to deliver an impartial judgment on the merits of Crashaw. His own imagination was always in subjection to his taste, flowing in a bold and glittering stream, yet rarely, except in the Epistle to Abelard, overleaping the channel through which he directed its course. Thus even his passion was polished, and terror itself assumed an elegance under his pencil. "From the dregs of Crashaw, of Carew, of Herbert, and others (for it is well known he was a great reader of these poets)," remarks Warton, "Pope has very judiciously collected gold." In these searches after hidden treasure, the magnificent fragment from Marino could not have escaped his notice; and the reader is surprised that he omitted to spe