Changer of all things, yet immutable; Great without quantity, in whose forecast Things past are present, things to come are past; Swift without motion, to whose open eye The hearts of wicked men unbreasted lie, At once absent and present to them, far and nigh. It is no flaming lustre made of light; No sweet consent, or well-timed harmony; Or flowery odour, mixed with spicery, And yet it is a kind of inward feast, An odour, light, embrace, in which the soul doth rest. A heavenly feast, no hunger can consume; A light unseen, yet shines in every place; A sound no time can steal; a sweet perfume No winds can scatter; an entire embrace That no satiety can e'er unlace: Ingraced into so high a favour; there The saints with their beauperes whole worlds outwear, And things unseen do see, and things unheard do hear. Ye blessed souls grown richer by your spoil, Whose loss tho' great, is cause of greater gains, Here may your weary spirits rest from toil, Spending your endless ev'ning that remains, Among those white flocks and celestial trains, That feed upon their Shepherd's eyes and frame That heavenly music of so wondrous fame, Psalming aloud the holy honours of his name. Had I a voice of steel to tune my song, And every tongue were made of sounding brass; I Most happy Prince, whose eyes those stars behold, Thou wontst to comb rough speech, now mayst thou shower Fresh streams of praise upon that holy bower, Which well we heaven call; not that it rolls, But that it is the haven of our souls Most happy Prince, whose sight so heavenly sight beholds! Ah, foolish shepherds, that were wont to esteem His sparkling forehead, and so shiny rays And dying still for love; but they her still recover. Fair Egliset, that at his eyes doth dress Her glorious face, those eyes from whence are shed His love, high God all heav'n as captive leads, And in those windows doth his arms englaze, And on those eyes the angels all do gaze, And from those eyes the lights of heaven do glean their blaze. Impotent words; weak lines that strive in vain ; So heavenly sight as none can greater feign, Feign what he can, that seems of greatest might: Could any yet compare with Infinite? Infinite sure those joys; my words but light: Light is the palace where she dwells; oh then, how bright! ROBERT HERRICK, or Heyrick, was born in Cheapside, London, in 1591. About the year 1615, he was entered of St. John's College, Cambridge, which he left, after a three years' residence, for Trinity Hall, with the intention of preparing himself for the law. His university expenses appear to have been defrayed by Sir William Herrick, his uncle, who was goldsmith to King James I. Having gained the patronage of the Earl of Exeter, Herrick abandoned the study of the law; and, entering holy orders, was, October 1st, 1629, through the interest of the above nobleman, presented by Charles I. to the vicarage of Dean Prior, in Devonshire, then vacant by the promotion of Dr. Barnaby Potter to the see of Car. lisle. Here he passed about twenty years of his life amongst a people who seem to have been of a like character with Giles Fletcher's parishioners of Alderton, Instead of dying prematurely, however, as did that more sensitive poet, by way of protest against their want of culture and appreciation, the jovial Herrick contented himself with the revenge of branding his flock as a "wild amphibious race, churlish as the seas, and rude as savages." About 1647, he was ejected from his benefice, a loss of which the gain was that it "recalled him from a long and irksome banishment" to the "blest place of his nativity." With the intermission of the exercise of his clerical functions, Herrick seems to have held in abeyance all claim to the sanctity of the clerical character. He lived in Westminster, and took his full share in the wild gaiety and the tavern jollities in which the full-blooded life of the wits of the age so freely expended itself; but his conduct, on his own penitent assurance, was at this time more blameless than his verses. With the restoration of Charles II., Herrick recovered his preferment, and died in some unascertained year later than 1660. In 1647, about the time of the loss of his vicarage, Herrick published his " Noble Numbers: or his Pious Pieces, wherein (amongst other things) he sings the birth of his Christ, and sighes for his Saviour's suffering on the Crosse." His muse is harmonious, and some of his pieces exhibit an exquisite tenderness combined with a deep religious experience. In 1648, Herrick published his "Hesperides; or, Works both Humane and Divine," which he dedicated to "the most illustrious and most hopeful Prince Charles, Prince of Wales." In default of space to discuss the heterogeneous and unassimilated elements of a character in which all elements seem to have been present, but uncombined, we cannot do better than allow Herrick to epitomize himself in the following metrical "Argument of his Book :” "I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers, I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wassails, wakes, LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT. In the hour of my distress, Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When I lie within my bed, Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When the house doth sigh and weep, When the artless doctor sees Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When his potion and his pill, Sweet Spirit, comfort me! When the passing bell doth toll, When the tapers now burn blue, And that number more than true, When the priest his last hath prayed, Because my speech is now decayed, When, God knows, I'm tost about, Yet before the glass be out, Sweet Spirit, comfort me! |