Who now shall rear ye to the sun, or rank
Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount?
Thee lastly, nuptial bow'r, by me adorn'd
With what to sight or smell was sweet, from thee
How shall I part, and whither wander down
Into a lower world, to this obscure

And wild? how shall we breathe in other air
Less pure, accustom'd to immortal fruits?'

Whom thus the Angel interrupted mild :-
'Lament not, Eve, but patiently resign
What justly thou hast lost; nor set thy heart,
Thus over-fond, on that which is not thine:
Thy going is not lonely; with thee goes
Thy husband; him to follow thou art bound;
Where he abides, think there thy native soil.'
Adam by this from the cold sudden damp
Recovering, and his scatter'd spirits return'd,
To Michael thus his humble words address'd:-
'Celestial, whether among the thrones, or nam'd
Of them the highest, for such of shape may seem
Prince above princes, gently hast thou told
Thy message, which might else in telling wound,
And in performing end us; what besides
Of sorrow, and dejection, and despair,
Our frailty can sustain, thy tidings bring;
Departure from that happy place, our sweet
Recess, and only consolation left
Familiar to our eyes, all places else
Inhospitable appear and desolate,

Nor knowing us, nor known: and if by prayer
Incessant, I could hope to change the will
Of him who all things can, I would not cease
To weary him with my assiduous cries:
But pray'r against his absolute decree
No more avails than breath against the wind,
Blown stifling back on him that breathes it forth:
Therefore to his great bidding I submit.
This most afflicts me, that, departing hence,
As from his face I shall be hid, depriv'd
His blessed count'nance; here I could frequent
With worship place by place where he vouchsafed
Presence divine, and to my sons relate,
On this mount he appear'd, under this tree
Stood visible, among these pines his voice

I heard, here with him at this fountain talk'd:
So many grateful altars I would rear
Of grassy turf, and pile up every stone
Of lustre from the brook, in memory,
Or monument to ages, and thereon

Offer sweet-smelling gums, and fruits, and flowers.
In yonder nether world where shall I seek
His bright appearances, or footstep trace!
For though I fled him angry, yet recall'd
To life prolong'd and promis'd race, I now
Gladly behold though but his utmost skirts
Of glory, and far off his steps adore.'

Now too nigh
Th' Archangel stood, and from the other hill
To their fix'd station, all in bright array,
The cherubim descended; on the ground
Gliding meteorous, as evening mist
Ris'n from a river o'er the marish glides,
And gathers ground fast at the lab'rer's heel
Homeward returning. High in front advanc'd,
The brandish'd sword of God before them blaz'd
Fierce as a comet; which with torrid heat,
And vapours as the Libyan air adust,
Began to parch that temp'rate clime: whereat
In either hand the hast'ning Angel caught
Our ling'ring parents, and to the eastern gate
Led them direct, and down the cliff as fast
To the subjected plain; then disappear'd.
They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld
Of Paradise, so late their happy seat,
Wav'd over by that flaming brand, the gate

With dreadful faces throng'd and fiery arms: Some natural tears they dropt, but wip'd them soon. The world was all before them, where to choose Their place of rest, and Providence their guide. They hand in hand, with wand'ring steps and slow, Through Eden took their solitary way.

[Satan's Survey of Greece.]

[From Paradise Regained.]

Westward, much nearer by southwest, behold,
Where on the Egean shore a city stands,
Built nobly, pure the air, and light the soil;
Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts
And eloquence, native to famous wits
Or hospitable, in her sweet recess,

City or suburban, studious walks and shades.
See there the olive grove of Academe,
Plato's retirement, where the Attic bird
Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long;
There flowery hill Hymettus, with the sound
Of bees' industrious murmur, oft invites
To studious musing; there Ilissus rolls
His whispering stream: within the walls, then view
The schools of ancient sages; his, who bred
Great Alexander to subdue the world,
Lyceum there, and painted Stoa next:
There shalt thou hear and learn the secret power
Of harmony, in tones and numbers hit
By voice or hand; and various-measur'd verse,
Eolian charms and Dorian lyric odes,
And his, who gave them breath, but higher sung,
Blind Melesigenes, thence Homer call'd,
Whose poem Phoebus challeng'd for his own:
Thence what the lofty grave tragedians taught
In chorus or Iambic, teachers best

Of moral prudence, with delight receiv'd
In brief sententious precepts, while they treat
Of fate, and chance, and change in human life,
High actions and high passions best describing:
Thence to the famous orators repair,
Those ancient, whose resistless eloquence
Wielded at will that fierce democratie,
Shook the arsenal, and fulmin'd over Greece,
To Macedon and Artaxerxes' throne:
To sage Philosophy next lend thine ear,
From heaven descended to the low-roof'd house
Of Socrates; see there his tenement,
Whom well inspir'd the oracle pronounc'd
Wisest of men; from whose mouth issued forth
Mellifluous streams, that water'd all the schools
Of Academics old and new, with those
Surnam'd Peripatetics, and the sect
Epicurean, and the Stoic severe;
These here revolve, or, as thou lik'st, at home,
Till time mature thee to a kingdom's weight;
These rules will render thee a king complete
Within thyself, much more with empire join'd.

ANDREW MARVELL.

ANDREW MARVELL (1620-1678) is better known as a prose writer than a poet, and is still more celebrated as a patriotic member of parliament. He was associated with Milton in friendship and in public service. Marvell was born in Hull, where his father, a clergyman, resided. A romantic story is related of the elder Marvell, and of the circumstances attending his death. He embarked in a boat with a youthful pair whom he was to marry in Lincolnshire. The weather was calm, but the clergyman had a presentiment of danger; and on entering the boat, he threw his cane ashore, and cried out, 'Ho, for heaven! His fears were but too truly verified; the boat went down, and the whole party perished. The son was educated at Cam

是

Andrew Marvell.

office of Latin secretary, he being a good scholar, and lately engaged by General Fairfax to give instructions in the languages to his daughter. The letter is dated February 1652. Marvell, however, was not engaged as Milton's assistant till 1657. Shortly before the Restoration, he was elected member of parliament for his native city. He was not, like Waller, an eloquent speaker, but his consistency and integrity made him highly esteemed and respected. Marvell is supposed to have been the last English member who received wages from his constituents. Charles II. delighted in his society, and believing, like Sir Robert Walpole, that every man had his price, he sent Lord Danby, his treasurer, to wait upon Marvell, with an offer of a place at court, and an immediate present of a thousand pounds. The inflexible member for Hull resisted his offers, and it is said humorously illustrated his independence by calling his servant to witness that he had dined for three days successively on a shoulder of mutton! When the treasurer was gone, Marvell was forced to send to a friend to borrow a guinea! The patriot preserved his integrity to the last, and satirised the profligacy and arbitrary measures of the court with much wit and pungency. He died on the 16th of August 1678, without any previous illness or visible decay, which gave rise to a report that he had been poisoned. The town of Hull voted a sum of money to erect a monument to Marvell's memory, but the court interfered, and forbade the votive tribute.

Marvell's prose writings were exceedingly popular in their day, but being written for temporary pur*The ancient wages of a burgess, for serving in parliament, was 2s. a-day; those of a knight for the shire, 4s. They were reduced to this certain sum the 16th of Edward II. We have Been the original of an agreement between a member and his constituents, dated September 1645, in which the former stipu lated to serve without any manner of wages or pay' from the mayor, aldermen, and burgesses of the town. The excitement of the civil war had increased the desire of many to sit in parliament.

ness of wit as any man.' One of Marvell's treatises, An Account of the Growth of Popery and Arbitrary Government in England, was considered so formidable, that a reward was offered for the discovery of the author and printer. Among the first, if not the very first, traces of that vein of sportive humour and raillery on national manners and absurdities, which was afterward carried to perfection by Addison, Steele, and others, may be found in Marvell. He wrote with great liveliness, point, and vigour, though often coarse and personal. His poetry is elegant rather than forcible: it was an embellishment to his character of patriot and controversialist, but not a substantive ground of honour and distinction. There is at least one advantage in the poetical inclination,' says Henry Mackenzie, in his Man of Feeling, that it is an incentive to philanthropy. There is a certain poetic ground on which a man cannot tread without feelings that enlarge the heart. The causes of human depravity vanish before the enthusiasm he professes; and many who are not able to reach the Parnassian heights, may yet approach so near as to be bettered by the air of the climate.' This appears to have been the case with Andrew Marvell. Only a good and amiable man could have written his verses on The Emigrants in the Bermudas, so full of tenderness and pathos. His poem on The Nymph Complaining for the Death of her Fawn, is also finely conceived and expressed.

The Emigrants in Bermudas. Where the remote Bermudas ride In th' ocean's bosom unespied, From a small boat that row'd along, The list'ning winds received their song. "What should we do but sing His praise That led us through the watery maze Unto an isle so long unknown, And yet far kinder than our own! Where He the huge sea monsters racks, That lift the deep upon their backs; He lands us on a grassy stage, Safe from the storms and prelates' rage. He gave us this eternal spring Which here enamels everything, And sends the fowls to us in care, On daily visits through the air. He hangs in shades the orange bright, Like golden lamps in a green night, And does in the pomegranate's close Jewels more rich than Ormus shows. He makes the figs our mouths to meet, And throws the melons at our feet. But apples, plants of such a price, No tree could ever bear them twice. With cedars, chosen by his hand, From Lebanon he stores the land; And makes the hollow seas that roar, Proclaim the ambergris on shore. He cast (of which we rather boast) The Gospel's pearl upon our coast; And in these rocks for us did frame A temple where to sound his name. Oh let our voice his praise exalt, Till it arrive at Heaven's vault, Which then perhaps rebounding may Echo beyond the Mexic bay.' Thus sang they in the English boat A holy and a cheerful note,

FROM 1649

And all the way, to guide their chime, With falling oars they kept the time.*

The Nymph Complaining for the Death of her Fawn.

The wanton troopers riding by
Have shot my fawn, and it will die.
Ungentle men! They cannot thrive

Who kill'd thee. Thou ne'er didst, alive,
Them any harm; alas! nor could
Thy death to them do any good.
I'm sure I never wish'd them ill,
Nor do I for all this; nor will:
But, if my simple pray'rs may yet
Prevail with Heaven to forget
Thy murder, I will join my tears
Rather than fail. But O my fears!
It cannot die so. Heaven's king
Keeps register of everything,
And nothing may we use in vain ;
Ev'n beasts must be with justice slain;
Else men are made their deodands.
Though they should wash their guilty hands
In this warm life-blood, which doth part
From thine, and wound me to the heart,
Yet could they not be clean; their stain
Is dyed in such a purple grain,
There is not such another in
The world to offer for their sin.

Inconstant Sylvio, when yet
I had not found him counterfeit,
One morning, I remember well,
Tied in this silver chain and bell,
Gave it to me: nay, and I know
What he said then-I'm sure I do.
Said he, 'Look how your huntsman here
Hath taught a fawn to hunt his deer.'
But Sylvio soon had me beguil'd:
This waxed tame, while he grew wild,
And, quite regardless of my smart,
Left me his fawn, but took his heart.

Thenceforth I set myself to play
My solitary time away
With this; and very well content
Could so mine idle life have spent ;
For it was full of sport, and light
Of foot and heart, and did invite
Me to its game: it seem'd to bless
Itself in me. How could I less
Than love it? Oh, I cannot be
Unkind to a beast that loveth me!

Had it liv'd long, I do not know
Whether it, too, might have done so
As Sylvio did; his gifts might be
Perhaps as false, or more, than he.
For I am sure, for aught that I
Could in so short a time espy,
Thy love was far more better than
The love of false and cruel man.
With sweetest milk and sugar first
I it at mine own fingers nurs'd;
And as it grew so every day,

It wax'd more white and sweet than they.
It had so sweet a breath! and oft

I blush'd to see its foot more soft,
And white, shall I say? than my hand-
Than any lady's of the land!

It was a wondrous thing how fleet
"Twas on those little silver feet.

* This piece of Marvell's, particularly the last verse, seems to have been in the mind of a distinguished poet of our own day, Mr Thomas Moore, when he composed his fine lyric, The Canadian Boat Song.'

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 loved only 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 ev'n seem'd to bleed;
And then to me 't would 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 lips to fold
In whitest sheets of lilies cold.
Had it liv'd long, it would have been
Lilies without, roses within.

Thoughts in a Garden.

How vainly men themselves amaze,
To win the palm, the oak, or bays :
And their incessant labours see
Crown'd from some single herb, or tree,
Whose short and narrow-verged shade
Does prudently their toils upbraid;
While all the flow'rs, and trees, do close,
To weave the garlands of repose.
Fair Quiet, have I found thee here,
And Innocence, thy sister dear!
Mistaken long, I sought you then
In busy companies of men.
Your sacred plants, if here below,
Only among the plants will grow.
Society is all but rude

To this delicious solitude.

No white nor red was ever seen
So am'rous as this lovely green.
Fond lovers, cruel as their flame,
Cut in these trees their mistress' name.
Little, alas, they know or heed,
How far these beauties her exceed!
Fair trees! where'er your barks I wound,
No name shall but your own be found.
What wond'rous life in this I lead!
Ripe apples drop about my head.
The luscious clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine.
The nectarine, and curious peach,
Into my hands themselves do reach.
Stumbling on melons, as I pass,
Insnar'd with flow'rs, I fall on grass.
Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less
Withdraws into its happiness.
The mind, that ocean where each kind
Does straight its own resemblance find;
Yet it creates transcending these,
Far other worlds and other seas;
Annihilating all that's made
shade.
To a green thought in a green
Here at the fountain's sliding foot,
Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root,

344

Casting the body's vest aside,

My soul into the boughs does glide;
There, like a bird, it sits and sings,
Then whets and claps its silver wings,
And, till prepar'd for longer flight,
Waves in its plumes the various light.

Such was the happy garden state,
While man there walk'd without a mate:
After a place so pure and sweet,
What other help could yet be meet!
But 'twas beyond a mortal's share
To wander solitary there:
Two paradises are in one,
To live in paradise alone.

How well the skilful gard'ner drew
Of flowers and herbs this dial new!
Where, from above, the milder sun
Does through a fragrant zodiac run:
And, as it works, th' industrious bee
Computes its time as well as we.

How could such sweet and wholesome hours
Be reckon'd, but with herbs and flowers?

[A Whimsical Satire on Holland.*]

Holland, that scarce deserves the name of land,
As but th' off-scouring of the British sand;
And so much earth as was contributed
By English pilots when they heav'd the lead;
Or what by th' ocean's slow alluvion fell,
Of shipwreck'd cockle and the muscle-shell;
This indigested vomit of the sea
Fell to the Dutch by just propriety.

Glad then, as miners who have found the ore,
They, with mad labour, fish'd the land to shore :
And div'd as desperately for each piece
Of earth, as if 't had been of Ambergrease;
Collecting anxiously small loads of clay,
Less than what building swallows bear away;
Or than those pills which sordid beetles rowl,
Transfusing into them their dunghill soul.
How did they rivet, with gigantic piles,
Thorough the centre their new-catched miles;
And to the stake a struggling country bound,
Where barking waves still bait the forced ground;
Building their wat'ry Babel far more high
To reach the sea, than those to scale the sky.
Yet still his claim the injur'd ocean laid,

And oft at leap-frog o'er their steeples play'd;
As if on purpose it on land had come

To show them what's their mare liberum.

A daily deluge over them does boil;

The earth and water play at level-coyl.
The fish ofttimes the burgher dispossess'd,

And sat, not as a meat, but as a guest;

And oft the Tritons, and the sea-nymphs, saw Whole shoals of Dutch serv'd up for Cabillau; Or, as they over the new level rang'd, For pickled herring, pickled heeren chang'd. Nature, it seem'd, asham'd of her mistake, Would throw their land away at duck and drake, Therefore necessity, that first made kings, Something like government among them brings. For, as with Pigmies, who best kills the crane, Among the hungry he that treasures grain, Among the blind the one-ey'd blinkard reigns, So rules among the drowned he that drains. Not who first see the rising sun commands: But who could first discern the rising lands. Who best could know to pump an earth so leak, Him they their lord, and country's father, speak. * Holland was the enemy of the commonwealth, and protector of the exiled king; therefore odious to Marvell

To make a bank was a great plot of state;
Invent a shov'l, and be a magistrate.
Hence some small dike grave, unperceiv'd invades
The pow'r, and grows, as 'twere, a king of spades;
But, for less envy some join'd states endures,
Who look like a commission of the sewers:
For these half-anders, half-wet, and half-dry,
Nor bear strict service, nor pure liberty.

'Tis probable religion, after this,

Came next in order; which they could not miss.
How could the Dutch but be converted, when
Th' apostles were so many fishermen ?
Besides, the waters of themselves did rise,
And, as their land, so them did re-baptise;
Though herring for their God few voices miss'd,
And Poor-John to have been th' Evangelist.
Faith, that could never twins conceive before,
Never so fertile, spawn'd upon this shore
More pregnant than their Marg'ret, that laid down
For Hands-in-Kelder of a whole Hans-Town.
Sure, when religion did itself embark,

And from the east would westward steer its ark,
It struck, and splitting on this unknown ground,
Each one thence pillag'd the first piece he found:
Hence Amsterdam, Turk, Christian, Pagan, Jew,
Staple of sects, and mint of schism grew;
That bank of conscience, where not one so strange
Opinion, but finds credit, and exchange.
In vain for Catholics ourselves we bear:
The universal church is only there.

the merits of its author. Such a work is Hudibras, a cavalier burlesque of the extravagant ideas and rigid manners of the English Puritans of the civil war and commonwealth. Borne up by a felicity of versification and an intensity of wit never excelled in our literature, this poem still retains its place amongst the classic productions of the English muse, although, perhaps, rarely read through at once, for which, indeed, its incessant brilliancy in some measure unfits it. Samuel Butler, the author of this extraordinary satire, was born in 1612 at Stresham, in Worcestershire. His father was a farmer, possessing a small