Nor felt th' unkind Breath of a blasting wind; Nor are ye worn with years; Who think it strange to see Such pretty flowers, like to orphans young, Speak, whimpering younglings; and make known Ye droop, and weep. Is it for want of sleep; Or, that ye have not seen as yet Or brought a kiss From that sweetheart to this? Would have this lecture read, "That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, Conceived with grief are, and with tears brought forth." TO BLOSSOMS. Fair pledges of a fruitful tree, What, were ye born to be An hour or half's delight, But you are lovely leaves, where we HOW THE HEART'S-EASE FIRST CAME. Frolic virgins once these were, Over-loving, living here; Being here their ends denied, Ran for sweethearts mad, and died. Love, in pity of their tears, And their loss of blooming years, For their restless here-spent hours, Gave them heart's-ease turn'd to flowers. THE CAPTIVE BEE, OR THE LITTLE FILCHER. As Julja once a slumbering lay, For some rich flower he took the lip But when he felt he suck'd from thence He drank 80 much he scarce could stir; And thus surprised, as filchers use, THE NIGHT PIECE.-TO JULIA. And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow Like sparks of fire, befriend thee! No will-o'-th'-wisp mislight thee, But on, on thy way, Not making a stay, Since ghost there's none to affright thee! Let not the dark thee cumber; What though the moon does slumber, The stars of the night Will lend thee their light, Like tapers clear without number! Then Julia, let me woo thee, My soul I'll pour into thee! THE PRIMROSE. Ask me why I send you here This primrose, thus bepearl'd with dew? The sweets of love are mix'd with tears. Ask me why this flower does show So yellow green, and sickly too? UPON A CHILD THAT DIED. EPITAPH UPON A CHILD. UPON A MAID. Here she lies, in beds of spice, CATHERINE PHILIPS. 1631-1664. MRS. CATHERINE PHILIPS was the daughter of John Fowler, a London merchant, and married, when quite young, James Philips, a gentleman of Cardiganshire. Her devotion to the Muses showed itself at a very early age, and she wrote under the fictitious name of Orinda, She continued to write after her marriage; though this did not prevent her from discharging, in a most exemplary manner, the duties of domestic life. Her poems, which had been dispersed among her friends in manuscript, were first printed without her knowledge or consent. She was very much esteemed by her con temporaries: Jeremy Taylor addressed to her his "Measures and Offices of Friendship," and Cowley wrote an ode on her death. She died of the small pox, June 22, 1664, aged thirty-three. AGAINST PLEASURE. There's no such thing as pleasure here, 'Tis all a perfect cheat, Which does but shine and disappear, 'Tis true, it looks at distance fair, And perish at a touch; It being than in fancy less, And we expect more than possess. For by our pleasures we are cloy'd, Or else, like rivers, they make wide We covet pleasure easily, But ne'er true bliss possess; But one may make it less. Nay, were our state as we could choose it, What art thou then, thou winged air, The experienced prince then reason had, TO MY ANTENOR.1 My dear Antenor, now give o'er,- And is both wish'd and fear'd in vain. Let's be as angry as we will, Grief sooner may distract than kill, And the unhappy often prove Death is as coy a thing as love. Those whose own sword their death did give, Afraid were, or ashamed, to live; 1 This was the fictitious name under which she addressed her husband, whose circumstances were much reduced during the civil war. The above poem was written March 16, 1600, to cheer him with the hope that, as parliament had rescued him, Providence would do so too. And by an act so desperate, Did poorly run away from fate; "Tis braver much t' outride the storm, More greatness shows than having none. JEREMY TAYLOR. 1602--1667. JEHEMY TAYLOR, who, for learning, eloquence, imagination, and piety, stands among the first of English divines, was the son of a barber in Cam bridge. He was born about the year 1602, and at the age of thirteen entered the university of his native place. A short time after taking his degree, he was elected, by the interest of Archbishop Laud, fellow of All-Souls College Oxford. He became chaplain to Laud, who procured for him the rectory of Uppington in Rutlandshire, where he settled in 1640. In 1642, he was created D. D. at Oxford. In 1644, while accompanying the royal army as chaplain, he was taken prisoner by the parliamentary forces, in the battle fought before the castle of Cardigan, in Wales. Being soon released, he resolved to continue in Wales, and, having established a school in the county of Caermarthen, he there waited calmly the issue of events. In his own felicitous style, he gives the following picturesque account of his retirement: "In the great storm which dashed the vessel of the church all in pieces, I had been cast on the coast of Wales, and, in a little boat, thought to have enjoyed that rest and quietness which in England, in a far greater, I could not hope for. Here I cast anchor, and thinking to ride safely, the storm followed me with so impetuous violence, that it broke a cable, and I lost my anchor: and, but that He that stilleth the raging of the sea, and the noise of his waves, and the madness of the people, had provided a plank for me, I had been lost to all the opportunities of content or study: but I know not whether I have been preserved more by the courtesies of my friends, or the gentleness and mercies of a noble enemy."1 After continuing some years in this solitude, he lost his three sons in the short space of two or three months. This most afflicting calamity caused him to go to London, where he administered, though in circumstances of great danger, to a private congregation of loyalists. At the Restoration he was made bishop of Down and Connor, in Ireland, and subsequently was elected vice-chancellor of the University of Dublin, which office he retained to his death, 1667. The writings of Bishop Taylor, which are numerous, are all of a theologi 1 A most noble and just tribute to the Republican cause. |