Hence had the huntress Dian her dread bow,
Fair silver-shafted queen, for ever chaste,
Wherewith she tamed the brinded lioness
And spotted mountain pard, but set at naught
The frivolous bolt of Cupid; gods and men
Fear'd her stern frown, and she was Queen o' th'
Woods.

What was that snaky-headed Gorgon shield,
That wise Minerva wore, unconquer'd virgin,
Wherewith she freezed her foes to congeal'd stone,
But rigid looks of chaste austerity,
And noble grace that dash'd brute violence
With sudden adoration, and blank awe?
So dear to Heaven is saintly Chastity,
That when a soul is found sincerely so,
A thousand liveried angels lacquey her,
Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt,
And in clear dream and solemn vision,
Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear,
Till oft converse with heavenly habitants
Begin to cast a beam on th' outward shape,
The unpolluted temple of the mind,

And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence,
Till all be made immortal,

SABRINA fair,

SONG.

Listen where thou art sitting
Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave,
In twisted braids of lilies knitting

The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair;
Listen, for dear Honour's sake,
Goddess of the Silver lake,

Listen and save;

Listen and appear to us,

In name of great Oceanus;

By th' earth-shaking Neptune's mace,
And Tethys' grave majestic pace;
By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look,
And the Carpathian wizard's hook;
By scaly Triton's winding shell,
And old sooth-saying Glaucus' spell;
By Leucothea's lovely hands,
And her son that rules the strands;
By Thetis' tinsel-slipper'd feet,
And the songs of Sirens sweet;
By dead Parthenope's dear tomb,
And fair Ligea's golden comb,
Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks,
Sleeking her soft alluring locks;
By all the nymphs that nightly dance
Upon thy streams, with wily glance;
Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head
From thy coral-paven bed,

And bridle in thy headlong wave,
Till thou our summons answer'd have.
Listen and save.

THE DANCES ENDED, THE SPIRIT EPILOGUIZES.
Spirit. To the ocean now I fly,
And those happy climes that lie

Where Day never shuts his eye,
Up in the broad fields of the sky;
There I suck the liquid air,
All amidst the gardens fair

Of Hesperus and his daughters three,
That sing about the golden tree :
Along the crisped shades and bowers
Revels the spruce and jocund Spring;
The Graces, and the rosy-bosom'd Hours,
Thither all their bounties bring;
That there eternal Summer dwells,
And west-winds with musky wing
About the cedar'd alleys fling
Nard and cassia's balmy smells.
Iris there with humid bow

Waters the odorous banks, that blow
Flowers of more mingled hue
Than her purfled scarf can show,
And drenches with Elysian dew
(List, mortals, if your ears be true)
Beds of hyacinth and roses,
Where young Adonis oft reposes,
Waxing well of his deep wound
In slumber soft, and on the ground
Sadly sits th' Assyrian queen;
But far above, in spangled sheen,
Celestial Cupid, her famed son, advanced,
Holds his dear Psyche sweet intranced,
After her wand'ring labours long,
Till free consent the gods among
Make her his eternal bride,
And from her fair unspotted side
Two blissful twins are to be born,
Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn.

But now my task is smoothly done,
I can fly, or I can run

Quickly to the green earth's end,
Where the bow'd welkin slow doth bend,
And from thence can soar as soon
To the corners of the moon.

Mortals that would follow me,
Love Virtue, she alone is free:
She can teach ye how to climb
Higher than the sphery chime;
Or if Virtue feeble were,
Heaven itself would stoop to her.

SPEECH OF THE GENIUS OF THE WOOD, IN "THE
ARCADES."

STAY, gentle swains; for though in this disguise
I see bright honour sparkle through your eyes;
Of famous Arcaday ye are, and sprung
Of that renowned flood, so often sung,
Divine Alpheus, who by secret sluice
Stole under seas to meet his Arethuse;
And ye, the breathing roses of the wood,
Fair silver buskin'd nymphs as great and good,
I know this quest of yours, and free intent,
Was all in honour and devotion meant
To the great mistress of yon princely shrine,
Whom, with low reverence, I adore as mine,
And with all helpful service will comply
To further this night's glad solemnity;

And lead ye, where ye may more near behold
What shallow searching Fame hath left untold;
Which I full oft, amidst these shades alone,
Have sat to wonder at, and gaze upon :

For know, by lot from Jove I am the power
Of this fair wood, and live in oaken bower,
To nurse the saplings tall, and curl the grove
With ringlets quaint, and wanton windings wove.
And all my plants I save from nightly ill
Of noisome winds, and blasting vapours chill:
And from the boughs brush off the evil dew,
And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blue,
Or what the cross dire-looking planet smites,
Or hurtful worm with canker'd venom bites,
When Evening gray doth rise, I fetch my round
Over the mount, and all this hallow'd ground,
And early, ere the odorous breath of Morn
Awakes the slumb'ring leaves, or tassel'd horn

Shakes the high thicket, haste I all about,
Number my ranks, and visit ev'ry sprout
With puissant words, and murmurs made to
bless:

But else in deep of night, when drowsiness
Hath lock'd up mortal sense, then listen I
To the celestial Sirens' harmony,
That sit upon the nine infolded spheres,
And sing to those that hold the vital shears,
And turn the adamantine spindle round,
On which the fate of gods and men is wound.
Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie,
To lull the daughters of Necessity,
And keep unsteady Nature to her law,
And the low world in measured motion draw
After the heav'nly tune, which none can hear
Of human mould with gross unpurged ear.

A BETTER edition of Marvell's works than any that has been given, is due to his literary and patriotic character. He was the champion of Milton's living reputation, and the victorious supporter of free principles against Bishop Parker, when that venal apostate to bigotry promulgated, in his Ecclesiastical Polity, "that it was more necessary to set a severe government over men's consciences and religious persuasions, than over their vices and immoralities." The humour and eloquence of Marvell's prose tracts were admired and probably imitated by Swift.** In playful exuberance of figure he sometimes resembles Burke. For consistency of principles, it is not so easy to find his parallel. His few poetical pieces betray some adherence to the school of conceit, but there is much in it that comes from the heart warm, pure, and affectionate.

He was a native of Hull. At the age of fif teen he was seduced from Cambridge by the proselytising Jesuits, but was brought back from London by his father, returned to the university, and continued for ever after an enemy to superstition and intrigue. In 1640 his father, who was a clergyman of Hull, embarked on the Humber in company with a youthful pair whom he was to marry at Barrow, in Lincolnshire. Though the weather was calm when they entered the boat, the old gentleman expressed a whimsical presentiment of danger, by throwing his cane ashore, and crying out, "Ho for heaven!" A storm came on, and the whole company perished.

In consequence of this catastrophe the gentleman whose daughter was to have been married, adopted young Marvell as his son, conceiving his

[ We still read Marvell's answer to Parker with pleasure, though the book it answers be sunk long ago. Swift's Apology for A Tale of a Tub.] †The story is told differently in the Biographia Britan

father to have sacrificed his life in performing an act of friendship. Marvell's education was thus enlarged: he travelled for his improvement over a considerable part of Europe, and was for some time at Constantinople as secretary to the English embassy at that court. Of his residence and employments for several years there is no account, till in 1653 he was engaged by the Protector to superintend the education of a Mr. Dutton, at Eton; and for a year and a half before Milton's death, he was assistant to Milton in the office of Latin Secretary to the Protector. He sat in the Parliament of 1660 as one of the representatives of the city of Hull, and was re-elected as long as he lived. At the beginning of the reign, indeed, we find him absent for two years in Germany and Holland, and on his return, having sought leave from his constituents, he accompanied Lord Carlisle as ambassador's secretary to the Northern Courts; but from the year 1665 till his death, his attendance in the House of Commons was uninterrupted, and exhibits a zeal in parliamentary duty that was never surpassed. Constantly corresponding with his constituents, he was at once earnest for their public rights and for their local interests. After the most fatiguing attendances, it was his practice to send them a minute statement of public proceedings, before he took either sleep or refreshment. Though he rarely spoke, his influence in both houses was so considerable, that when Prince Rupert (who, often consulted him) voted on the popular side, it used to be said that the prince had been with his tutor. He was one of the last members who received the legitimate stipend for attendance,

nica; but the circumstance related there, of a beautiful boy appearing to the mother of the drowned lady, and disappearing with the mystery of a supernatural being, gives an air of incredibility to the other account.

And white, shall I say than my hand?

Nay, any lady's of the land.

It is a wondrous thing how fleet
'Twas on those little silver feet;
With what a pretty skipping grace
It oft would challenge me the race:
And when't had left me far away,
"Twould stay, and run again, and stay;
For it was nimbler much than hinds,
And trod as if on the four winds.

I have a garden of my own,

But so with roses overgrown,
And lilies, that you would it guess
To be a little wilderness,

And all the spring time of the year
It only loved to be there.
Among the beds of lilies I

Have sought it oft where it should lie,
Yet could not, till itself would rise,
Find it, although before mine eyes;
For in the flaxen lilies' shade
It like a bank of lilies laid;
Upon the roses it would feed
Until its lips e'en seem'd to bleed;
And then to me 'twould boldly trip,
And print those roses on my lip.
But all its chief delight was still
On roses thus itself to fill,
And its pure virgin limbs to fold
In whitest sheets of lilies cold.

Had it lived long, it would have been
Lilies without, roses within.

Clear thine aged father's brow
From cold jealousy and fears.
Pretty, surely, 'twere to see

By young Love old Time beguiled;
While our sportings are as free
As the nurse's with the child.

Common beauties stay fifteen;

Such as yours should swifter move, Whose fair blossoms are too green Yet for lust, but not for love.

Love as much the snowy lamb, Or the wanton kid, does prize, As the lusty bull or ram,

For his morning sacrifice.

Now then love me: Time may take
Thee before thy time away:
Of this need we'll virtue make,
And learn love before we may.

So we win of doubtful fate;

And if good to us she meant, We that good shall antedate; Or, if ill, that ill prevent.

Thus do kingdoms, frustrating
Other titles to their crown,
In the cradle crown their king,
So all foreign claims to drown.

So to make all rivals vain,

Now I crown thee with my love; Crown me with thy love again, And we both shall monarchs prove.

CELIA SINGING.

ROSES in breathing forth their scent,
Or stars their borrow'd ornament:
Nymphs in their wat'ry sphere that move,

Or angels in their orbs above;
The winged chariot of the light,

Or the slow silent wheels of night;

The shade which from the swifter sun

Doth in a swifter motion run,

Or souls that their eternal rest do keep,
Make far less noise than Celia's breath in sleep.

But if the angel which inspires

This subtle flame with active fires,

Should mould this breath to words, and those

Into a harmony dispose,

The music of this heavenly sphere

Would steal each soul (in) at the ear,

And into plants and stones infuse

A life that cherubim would chuse,

And with new powers invert the laws of fate, Kill those that live, and dead things animate.

SPEAKING AND KISSING.

THE air which thy smooth voice doth break,
Into my soul like lightning flies;
My life retires while thou dost speak,
And thy soft breath its room supplies.
Lost in this pleasing ecstacy,

I join my trembling lips to thine,
And back receive that life from thee
Which I so gladly did resign.

Forbear, Platonic fools! t' inquire

What numbers do the soul compose;

No harmony can life inspire,

But that which from these accents flows.

LA BELLE CONFIDANTE.

You earthly souls that court a wanton flame
Whose pale, weak influence

Can rise no higher than the humble name
And narrow laws of sense,

Learn by our friendship to create

An immaterial fire,

Whose brightness angels may admire,
But cannot emulate.

Sickness may fright the roses from her cheek,
Or make the lilies fade,

But all the subtle ways that death doth seek Cannot my love invade.

[To tell all the stories that are told of this dissolute but witty nobleman, would be to collect what few would believe, what the good would refrain from reading, and "to fabricate furniture for the brothel." Pepys calls him an idle rogue; the excellent Evelyn, a very profane wit. He was both, and something more.

Of his sayings many are still on the tongue top, and told,

When the wine-cup shines in light;

while his poems are oftener read for the sake of their indecency than for their wit, though his satire was at all times lively, felicitous, and searching. His "Nothing" is, as Addison says, "an admirable poem on a barren subject." (Spec. No. 305.)

"The very name of Rochester," says Hume, " is offensive to modest ears; yet does his poetry discover such energy of style and such poignancy, as give ground to imagine what so fine a genius, had he fallen in a more happy age and had followed better models, was capable of producing. The ancient satirists often used great liberties in

SONG.

My dear mistress has a heart

Soft as those kind looks she gave me, When with love's resistless art,

And her eyes, she did enslave me.
But her constancy's so weak,

She's so wild and apt to wander,
That my jealous heart would break
Should we live one day asunder.
Melting joys about her move,
Killing pleasures, wounding blisses:
She can dress her eyes in love,

And her lips can warm with kisses.
Angels listen when she speaks,

She's my delight, all mankind's wonder;

their expressions; but their freedom no more resembles the licentiousness of Rochester, than the nakedness of an Indian does that of a common prostitute." (Hist. of Eng. ch. lxxi.)

His poems were castrated by Stevens for Johnson's Collection; but this had been done before by Tonson, who while he did much, left very much to do. Could his satire be cleansed from its coarseness, a selection of his best pieces, many of which are still in manuscript, would be a desideratum, and the name of Wilmot would then stand high in the list of British satirists. But indecency is in the very nature of many of his subjects: there is more obscenity than wit in his verse, as was well observed by Walpole, more wit than poetry, more poetry than polite

ness.

Unwilling to tell one story of diverting or revolting profligacy upon another, Johnson has written the life of Lord Rochester in a few pages, said enough, and has indicated more than he has said. His Death has been given us by Bishop Burnet in one of the most readable books in the English language.]

But my jealous heart would break, Should we live one day asunder.

SONG.

Too late, alas! I must confess,
You need not arts to move me;
Such charms by nature you possess,
"Twere madness not to love ye.

Then spare a heart you may surprise,
And give my tongue the glory
To boast, though my unfaithful eyes
Betray a tender story.