THE entrance of Spenser and Shakspeare on the scene of English literature immeasurably elevated the standard by which its performances were to be judged; and in now reviewing one department of that literature, we feel that a very different allowance is to be made for the writers who preceded and for those who followed them. In the earlier class, we may admit the plea that the poetry of this country was yet in her nonage-that her attempts were more deserving of praise than her failures of condemnationand that her irregular and tentative efforts afforded the best hope of attaining a perfect knowledge and command of noble thoughts and appropriate language. But no excuses of this kind can be received after the period when the mighty masters we have mentioned displayed their perfections. It was not to be tolerated that, from their strains of heavenly harmony, the ear should be distracted by the empty jingle or grating discords of those who could offer for its delight neither power of sentiment nor elegance of execution. An example had now been afforded in which the most exquisite poetry was made the vehicle of the purest virtue and the profoundest wisdom. A proof had been given that, in our native language, we possessed an instrument whose compass and diversity of tone could give expression to every variety of feeling, whether lofty or refined, tender or terrible. Those, then, who had not something to say, that was worth saying, and who could not present it in a shape that was calculated to please, were bound to remain silent, and leave the national taste to satisfy itself in that inexhaustible supply of delight and instruction which the works of true genius had placed at its command.

Yet the production of such sublime compositions, though calculated to raise the standard of ideal perfection, and in a particular manner to purify the taste, was by no means incompatible with the encouragement of minor effusions, if possessing relatively and after their own kind an appropriate merit in matter and in manner. In the human heart, as in a nobler

domain, there are many mansionsmany varieties of susceptibility-many degrees of delight. A sound and enlightened judgment may see in the works of man, as in those of nature, an unlimited variety of beauty and goodness, extending from the most immense to the most minute. In productions of the most opposite characters as to dignity or magnitude, an analogous if not an equal degree of excellence may be recognised, if there be symmetry of proportion and propriety of purpose. In the pursuits whether of science or of taste, the presence of truth or loveliness is alike perceptible through every link and at either extremity of the chain of existence. An admiration for the umbrageous majesty of the giants of the forest does not wean our affections from the little wild-flowers that lie at our feet: the contemplation of the orbs and systems of the heavens themselves does not teach us to look with scorn or indifference on the crystal spherelets that linger in the morning grass. We even find an additional pleasure in tracing the same laws and the same relations in objects that appear in some respects to be so different. Inlike manner the sincere sentiments of an humble heart, when fittingly expressed, will be equally sure to please, though they will not please in an equal degree, with the most sublime emotions or the most exquisite conceptions of genius. The great cause of disgust or contempt in literature is not simplicity, but affectation-not the lowliness of the sentiment, but the absence of any sentiment whatever not the poverty of the subject, but the disparity between the subject and the execution-between the attempt and the success. The works of Shakspeare and Spenser, therefore, still left ample room for the exertions of very inferior powers, if judiciously employed; and they who have the highest admiration for these masterpieces of art, will probably be the most easily pleased with humbler efforts which present, however feebly, a faithful reflection of nature and virtue.

We do not find among the works of Spenser any minor pieces that fall

within the range of our present aim. But we may borrow from his great contemporary two exquisite jewels for our cabinet: two fragments in which, in a less degree, we may see the power of that mighty mirror which was held up to nature by her favourite son and servant. The beauty of the song which we are to quote, were we not all familiar with it, would be somewhat impaired by its separation from the drama with whose sylvan scenery and romantic sentiment it so fitly harmonizes; yet it tells its own story with a force and clearness that need no comment, and which condense into a few lines whole volumes of mis

anthropic declamation. The verse that follows, and which we have separated from a companion of inferior merit with which it is united in the Passionate Pilgrim, seems to us to run over the topics of beauty's fragility with a most melancholy sweet

ness:

1.

"Blow, blow thou winter wind: Thou art not so unkind

As man's ingratitude; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou are not seen, Although thy breath be rude.

2.

"Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky: Thou dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot:

Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp

As friends remembered not.

Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good; A shining gloss that fadeth suddenly; A flower that dies, when first it'gins to bud; A brittle glass, that's broken presently; A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour."

We have now to offer some extracts

The

from the poetry of Thomas Lodge, which we believe, however, should have been introduced at an earlier stage of this essay, as the work from which they are taken seems to have been first published in 1589. eulogiums upon him, indulged in a admirers of Lodge have, in their good deal of that exaggeration which generally results from the unexpected cannot be denied that his versification discovery even of moderate merit. It is generally smooth, and his diction often shining. But all is not gold that glisters. His verses have more of the form of poetry than of the power, and his deficiencies in taste, correctness, and judgment, are not redeemed by either strong feeling or solid thought. We select some stanzas of a moral tone, which afford, as we think, rather a favourable specimen of his productions. The structure of the verse in the first example is peculiar, but not unpleasing as a vehicle of sober or elegiac sentiment.

IN COMMENDATION OF A SOLITARY LIFE.

"See where the babes of memory are laid,

Under the shadow of Apollo's tree, That plait their garlands fresh, and well apaid,

"At peep of day, when, in her crimson pride,

The morn bespreads with roses all the way,

Where Phoebus' coach with radiant course must glide,

The hermit bends his humble knees to pray;

doth tell

That true content doth in the desert dwell.

"See where a cave presents itself to eye, By nature's hand enforced in marble veins ;

Where climbing cedars with their shades deny

The eye of day to see what there remains;

A couch of moss, a brook of silver clear, And more, for food a flock of savage deer.

"Then here, kind Muse, vouchsafe to dwell with me,

My velvet robe shall be a weed of grey;

And lest my heart by tongue betrayed be, For idle talk I will go fast and pray : No sooner said and thought, but that my heart

His true suppos'd content 'gan thus impart:

"Sweet solitary life, thou true repose,

Wherein the wise contemplate heaven aright,

In thee no dread of war or worldly foes,

In thee no pomp seduceth mortal sight, In thee no wanton ears to win with words, Nor lurking toys, which city life affords.

stow

Such beauties on the earthly things below.

"Whether with solace tripping through

the trees

He sees the citizens of forest sport, Or 'midst the wither'd oak beholds the bees

Intend their labour with a kind consort; Down drop his tears to think how they agree

Where men alone with hate inflamed be.

"Taste he the fruits that spring from Tellus' womb,

Or drink he of the crystal spring that flows,

He thanks his God, and sighs their cursed doom

That fondly wealth in surfeiting bestows; And with Saint Jerome saith, the desert is A paradise of solace, joy, and bliss.

"Father of light, thou maker of the heaven,

From whom my being, and well-being springs,

Bring to effect this my desired steaven,

That I may leave the thoughts of worldly things:

Then in my troubles will I bless the time My Muse vouchsafed me such a lucky rhyme."

a liar, are by many reckoned but three words of one signification. But the vanity of man cannot counterpoise the authority of God, who, delivering many parts of Scripture in verse, and, by his apostle, willing us to to exercise our devotion in hymns and spiritual songs, warranteth the art to be good and the use allowable. But the devil," he continues, " as he affecteth deity, and seeketh to have all the compliments of divine honour applied to his service, so hath he, among the rest, possessed also most poets with his idle fancies. For, in lieu of solemn and devout matter, to which in duty they owe their abilities, they now busy themselves in expressing such passions as only serve for testimonies to how unworthy affections they have wedded their wills. And because the best course to let them see the error of their works is to weave a new web in their own loom, I have here laid a few coarse threads together to invite some skilfuller wits to go forward in the

same, or to begin some finer piece, wherein it may be seen how well verse and virtue suit together."

The more ambitious attempts of Southwell are not well sustained, and are disfigured by forced conceits and excess of alliterations; and, in truth, his most creditable performances are those shorter verses by which his reputation was first revived in Mr Headley's Selections. These little poems are formed on the plan of working out a simple idea by a variety of analogies or comparisons, shortly developed, and strung together by no thread of connexion but the similarity of principle which pervades them. Yet the vein of thought is so pure and gentle, and the illustrations are often so apposite, agreeable, and pointedly expressed, that the effect is, on the whole, extremely pleasing. As the works of Southwell are rare, we shall here bring together what we consider to be the best pieces or passages falling within our plan.