Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

write a tragedy, without actually feeling any of the passions of which he gives the effects; he may paint heroes and tyrants, and shew all the various emotions of the soul in the persons of his drama, without ever having been, or wished to be any thing more than a quiet, honest, member of society, and without feeling any more than the every-day passions, which, heaven knows, are as different from the full blown, tumid sentiments of Tragedy, as if they were made for a different race of beings. It is not so however with your lover, he must,bona-fide, write from the heart, or his readers will laugh at him. He may have all the wit and sense in the world; but if he does not nourish the informing flame, which alone can illuminate this sort of verse, he had better let the affair alone; whatever success he may have elsewhere, amatory poetry is not for him. To express the alternations of hope and fear, the quick succeeding sorrows and joys which make the April weather of love, requires both a poet's pen, and a lover's heart.

pour bien exprimer ces caprices heureux, C'est peu d'etre poete, il faut etre amoureux.

The subject of this article, Thomas Carew, possessed all the necessary qualifications for being, as he was, the greatest mere amatory poet which England had perhaps ever seen. He was of the younger branch of a noble family; he flourished in the early part of the reign of Charles the First, when the poetical talent of the nation seemed to suffer a lethargy. It might be, that the flight which it had taken in the preceeding reign, discouraged the attempts of authors of even more than ordinary talent, from venturing to soar in the same track; or perhaps, as has frequently occurred in the literary history of all nations, it was occasioned by the exhaustion of the springs of poetry, and time was requisite to supply the source. It is true, that poets so styled, abounded, but the spirit of poetry was withering. There were as great a number of poets of the sixth form as at the present day.

The greatest fault in Carew's poetry is, that it abounds with conceits; some butterfly fancy is constantly springing up to divert him from the out-pouring

of his feelings; he starts off after it, and never quits the pursuit until he has run down the gilded folly, and rubbed all its gaudy attraction off, by the vehemence of his handling. This is a fault common to his age, and more common to amatory poetry. The Italians first called them Concetti ; if, however, antiquity were any proof of excellence, which, except in the case of the four wishes of King Alfonso, it most certainly is not, these conceits would have a more available excuse. The Troubadours, who were the parents of modern poetry, made the most unqualified use of these auxiliaries, and filled their verses with such fantastic combinations, as puts to fault all our ingenuity to account for the invention of.

The Italians, who succeeded the Troubadours; and immediately from whom the poetry of this nation received and retains its form and tone, adopted them, con amore, and employed their taste and skill in improving upon their models, in which they succeeded so eminently, as to produce the best amatory poetry that ever was, or perhaps ever will be produced in that country.

In Carew's poetry, these conc its are more pardonable than in that of most other poets; they seem to be the exuberance of delight, which seeks an artificial method of expressing itself. His verse and his character are both remarkable, and each receives in some degree the complexion of the other. He was an accomplished gentleman; of an elegant person, polished manners, with excellent parts, which had been improved by education, and travel, and the intimate acquaintance of all the wits of the day. His verses are easy, and breathe the gay, frank, sometimes libertine spirit of a fine gentleman; they are, however, always refined in their sentiments, and chaste in their expression; they come fresh from the heart, in the gay dress of courtiers, without any of the sober garb of a scholar, or the ink stains of hard study; they are full of thrilling joys, but rather the raptures of humanity, than the fine frenzy of the poet.

We shall now give, however, some extracts, that the reader may form his own judgment of his merits.

THE ENQUIRY.

Amongst the myrtles as I walk'd,
Love and my sighs thus intertalk'd:
Tell me, (said I in deep distress)
Where may I find my shepherdess?

Thou fool, (said Love) know'st thou not this,
In every thing that's good she is?
In yonder tulip go and seek,

There thou mayst find her lip, her cheek.

In yon enamell'd pansy by,

There thou shalt have her curious eye.
In bloom of peach, in rosy bud,
There wave the streamers of her blood.

In brightest lilies that there stand,
The emblems of her whiter hand.
In yonder rising hill there smell
Such sweets as in her bosom dwell.

'Tis true (said I): and thereupon
I went to pluck them one by one,
To make of parts an union;
But on a sudden all was gone.
With that I stopt: said Love, these be,
Fond man, resemblances of thee:
And, as these flow'rs, thy joys shall die,
Ev'n in the twinkling of an eye:

And all thy hopes of her shall wither,
Like these short sweets thus knit together.

There is an elegance in the following short poem, which makes amends for the fancies which disfigure it.

THE PRIMROSE.

Ask me why I send you here
This firstling of the infant year ;
Ask me why I send to you

This Primrose all bepearl'd with dew;
I strait will whisper in your ears,

The sweets of Love are wash'd with tears:
Ask me why this flow'r doth show
So yellow, green, and sickly too;
Ask me why the stalk is weak,
And bending, yet it doth not break;
I must tell you, these discover
What doubts and fears are in a Lover.

Few poets are honest enough to confess, that fickleness of temper which has been a common, and we believe a very just charge against them; our author, however, endeavours to account for it in a whimsical manner, and would make it appear that he is more to be pitied than blamed.

TINDER.

Of what mould did Nature frame me? Or was it her intent to shame me, That no Woman can come near me, Fair, but her I court to hear me? Sure that Mistress, to whose beauty First I paid a Lover's duty,

Burnt in rage my heart to Tinder;
That nor prayers, nor tears can hinder ;
But wherever I do turn me,

Every spark let fall doth burn me.
Women, since you thus inflame me,
Flint and steel I'll ever name ye.'

There is also a beauty in the sentiment and expression of these verses, which might fairly rival many modern similar compositions.

BOLDNESS IN LOVE.

Mark how the bashful morn in vain,
Courts the amorous marigold
With sighing blasts and weeping rain;
Yet she refuses to unfold;

But when the planet of the day
Approacheth with his powerful ray,
Then she spreads, then she receives
His warmer beams into her virgin leaves.
So shalt thou thrive in love, fond boy;

If thy tears and sighs discover
Thy grief, thou never shalt enjoy

The just reward of a bold lover;
But when with moving accents thou
Shall constant faith and service vow,
Thy Celia shall receive those charms
With open ears, and with unfolded arms.

With all his personal and mental charms, Carew seems, however, to have been no more exempt from the crosses of love, than less attractive mortals; and upon a quarrel with his inamorata, he vents his indignation in the following numbers :

INGRATEFUL BEAUTY THREATENED.

Know, Celia (since thou art so proud,) "Twas I that gave thee thy renown: Thou had'st, in the forgotten crowd

Of common beauties, liv'd unknown, Had not my verse exhal'd thy name, And with it impt the wings of Fame.

That killing power is none of thine,

I gave it to thy voice and eyes: Thy sweets, thy graces, all are mine

Thou art my star, shin'st in my skies; Then dart not from thy borrow'd sphere Lightning on him that fix'd thee there. Tempt me with such affrights no more, Lest what I made I uncreate:

Let fools thy mystic forms adore,

I'll know thee in thy mortal state. Wise poets, that wrap truth in tales, Knew her themselves through all her veils.

Impertinent as this effusion is, we hope his amende honourable was satisfactory to his mistress ;-we are sure it ought to have been; for what lady's heart could resist such verses as these!

SONG.
Ask me no more where Jove bestows,
When June is past, the fading rose ;
For in your beauties orient deep
These flow'rs, as in their causes, sleep.
Ask me no more, whither do stray
The golden atoms of the day;
For, in pure love, Heaven did prepare
Those powders to enrich your hair.

Ask me no more, whither doth haste
The nightingale, when May is past;
For in your sweet dividing throat
She winters, and keeps warm her note.

Ask me no more, where those stars light,
That downward fall in dead of night;
For in your eyes they sit, and there
Fixed become, as in their sphere.
Ask me no more, if East or West,
The Phoenix builds her spicy nest:
For unto you at last she flies,
And in your fragrant bosom dies.

Dr. Donne was the intimate and valued friend of Carew; and upon the Dr.'s death, he wrote an elegy, which is remarkable for the vigour of its expression.

There is something exquisitely beautiful also in the small extract, which is made from a letter to a friend, on his return from travel.

Sweetly breathing vernal Air,
That with kind warmth do'st repair
Winter's ruins; from whose breast
All the gums and spice of th' East
Borrow their perfumes; whose eye
Gilds the morn, and clears the sky;
Whose dishevell'd tresses shed
Pearls upon the violet bed;

On whose brow, with calm smiles drest,
The Halcyon sits and builds her nest;
Beauty, Youth, and endless Spring,
Dwell upon thy rosy wing.

Thou, if stormy Boreas throws
Down whole forests when he blows,
With a pregnant flow'ry birth
Can'st refresh the teeming earth:
If he nip the early bud

If he blast what's fair or good,
If he scatter our choice flowers,
If he shake our hills or bowers,
If his rude breath threaten us;
Thou canst stroke great Eolus,
And from him the grace obtain
To bind him in an iron chain.

[blocks in formation]

WHEN the author of Waverly ter- accompanied Richard of the Lion's

minated one of his recent tales, he confessed that there was still a rich harvest standing in the fields in which he had been reaping, and that there lacked only labourers to gather it in. He complimented the writer of "Marriage," a brother or a sister shadow," -as a labourer well qualified for the task; and he may now congratulate with equal justice, another aspirant, who bids fair to dispute even with him the honour of celebrating the deeds that have been done of yore, in the once blood-besprent champaign of merry England.

The present tale, as may be inferred from its title, is founded on some events which occurred ir. the reign of the first Charles; in the period of the commonwealth; and in the early part of the succeeding reign. Its heroine is a niece of the redoubted president Bradshaw, and its hero is Colonel Sydenham, afterwards Lord Falconridge, descended from Aben Seyd Namrah, a Saracen leader of great valour, who

Heart on his return from the Holy Land. This Aben Seyd was rewarded for his services, by a magnificent grant of lands in the county of Derby; and, from motives of gratitude for such munificence, as well as from other motives, conformed to the Christian faith. He was knighted by his sovereign, under the name of sir Richard Seydnam; was next created Baron Falconridge of Banner Cross; which title descended,cum terris, to the Sydenhams, his posterity.

A succinct memoir of the family, which the reader must peruse, ere he hastens "into the midist of things," which he soon does, as in Paradise Lost, informs us that Norman de Sydenham, one of the sons of the second. lord Falconridge, attended prince Edward, son of Henry the Third, on his croisade to Acon, in Palestine; that he returned with that hero, by way of France, to England, on the death of his royal father; and that he bore a worthy part in the famous "petite bataille de Châlons."

61

[ocr errors]

The battle is very spiritedly des- golden coronet set around his head-piece ; cribed.

"The lists were marked out in the public square, and surrounded with seats for the spectators. Those houses which overlooked it were superbly hung with tapestry and painted devices; emblazoned pennons and silken streamers glittered to the sun; and all the magnificence of Burgundy the magnificent, all the beauty, the fashion, the courage, the religion, the tout ensemble, graced on that day the grand square of Chalons. At an early hour the seats were taken, the windows of the adjacent houses occupied, and all impatiently awaited the arrival of the count of Chalons, who was appointed, by the parties mutually, the marshal, or umpire of the field. A raised seat, at the upper end of the lists, surmounted with a canopy, over which floated his household banner, was prepared for the marshal; and at the other end was the throne of that beauty, chosen to dispense the rewards of valour, and the prizes of chivalric superiority. The seat was inclosed by silver-gilt pillars, which supported a canopy of white velvet, and above which a silken flag, bearing a Virgin Mary, embroidered on a field blanc, encompassed with the rays of the sun argent, streamed in unison with the banner of the

marshal; the pillars were entwined with garlands of flowers; and the whole was executed in that style of elegance, for which the Burgundians were even then admirable. Beatrix, daughter of the count of Chalons, was appointed queen of the lists; and from a fairer hand sir Tristram himself would not have desired to receive the palm of victory. The marshal having arrived and taken his place, commanded the usual proclamations to be made; after which the barriers were thrown open and the trumpets sounded. They were answered from without, as well on the part of the king as on that of the lord of Charent; and immediately Edward galloped into the lists, attended by his knights, at one barrier, as did Lewis de Grand Pré and his friends at the other. The king of England, although his beaver was closed, was as easily distinguishable from his knights, as they were from the enemy; not so much by richness of armour, or even majesty of figure, (for they were all men of gallant persons), as by the length of his legs, (from which he derived the surname of Longshanks), and the inconceivable grace and ease with which he managed his weapons and his battle-horse. His lance, though by the laws of arms obliged to be of equal length with those of his adversaries, was much thicker, and required the arm of the vanquisher of De Gourdon to wield it. His horse, sixteen hands to the full, and of a bone and muscle seldom seen in France, could alone be governed by his matchless rider; and his hauberk, made more for need than show, proclaimed him a son of battle, not a petit maitre of the tournament. The only mark of his royalty was a slight

otherwise he was accoutred as his companions, who wore scarves, decorated with the red cross of the croisaders, to designate them from their rivals.

"The lord of Charent and his friends wore jointed armour (which began about that time to be the fashion), richly ornamented with golden studs and chasings; and their helmets, instead of the griffin dragon, or lion crests, usually worn, were decorated with plumes of party-coloured feathers.

"The trumpets having sounded a charge, and the word being given by the marshal, each knight fixed his lance in his rest, slackened his curb, and gave the spur to his horse. The king met De Grand Pré in the midst of the career, and the concussion was so strong, that the count's horse reeled under his rider; many of his friends were no less unhappy, several more so; for sir Norman Seydnam, sir Reginald Bigod, and sir Hugh Molyneux, whether by the goodness of their horses, or the superiority of their skill in arms, bore down their antagonists; and the former jousted with force so great, that he carried his rival (Philip de Grand Pré, the brother of the lord of Charent), nearly a dozen yards from his horse. The contest now became animated; but the French knights perceiving their inferiority in the career, threw aside their lances, and to the astonishment of all present, attacked Edward and his friends with sharp and deadly weapons, contrary to all the laws of honour and chivalry. At this sight the marshal exclaimed; but not having a force sufficient to second his authority, his remonstrances were disregarded the ladies on all sides flew from their seats; an universal uproar and confusion ensued; and this band of assassins, knowing the English to be provided but with blunt weapons, set upon them with sword and battle-axe. It was in this dilemma that Edward showed himself in his true colours; the gentleness, the majesty, and equanimity of his kingly character, upon this piece of treachery, fled to heaven; and in their stead, remained only the hot passion, sanguine fearlessness, and decision of the warrior. He reined up his steed until the animal reared nearly upright, and waving his hand, as a signal to his companions, they, in an instant, formed in line, at the upper end of the lists, presenting a resolute front to their deceitful enemies. Hence he called to those of their party without the lists, to furnish them with arms! which order being heard by Grand Pré, he judged it expedient to fall on before the king and his knights were prepared.

:

[ocr errors]

"He therefore encouraged his party; and they setting up the cry of war, Montjoie, Saint Denis!' dashed into the English rank; which, not disturbed by their onset, sustained and repulsed it. By this time, sir Norman Seydnam, who had caught his battle-axe, thrown over the lists by his squire, threw away his lance, and leaving the rank,

spurred his horse into the midst of the French. His antagonist in the tourney he first selected as the object of his vengeance; and, rising in his stirrups, he dealt that knight so heavy a blow, that he drove away the plume from his casque, and laid him senseless on the saddle-bow: upon this suc

cess, he reiterated his blows so heavily and successfully, that he found the whole of the Burgundians sufficient employment, until the king and his friends were completely armed, who as they received their weapons,

entered into the combat. The traitors now began to perceive the probable reward of their treachery; and Grand Pré cried aloud to his friends to open the barriers; but several English knights and squires in the suite of the king, stood guards over them, with the concurrence of the marshal, who de

clared, that as the lord of Charent and his Party had begun so base a work, they must now go through with it, for they should neither have escape nor assistance.

"Edward, in the mean time, having seen all his friends provided, before he would accept a weapon, now drew that famed sword which had chastised the rebel Montfort, and quelled the pride of the valiant De Gourdon. He advanced like the lion rejoicing in the pride of his strength, or the ravenous eagle pursuing the hunter who had stolen her young. For a moment, with a smile of joy, he surveyed the combatants engaged; but perceiving sir Norman Seydnam oppressed by Lewis de Grand Pré, and several others of their enemies, he galloped into the mélée, and attacking the traitor, drew him from sir Norman. The combat lasted not long; Edward with one blow clove the helmet of the lord of Charent, who fell dead from his horse! and, in the space of a few minutes, out of the twelve who commenced the treacherous strife, three only remained, who threw down their arms and begged the king's mercy. Edward, learning that they were instigated by Grand Pré to this horrid treachery, who had paid for it with his own life, and those of many of his friends; and thinking that sufficient blood had been shed for the trespass; and on their degradation from knighthood by the count of Chalons, in whose territories their fiefs were situate, remitted their further punishment to him."

The scene being laid in Derbyshire and the neighbouring counties, in the time of the civil wars, it will at once be guessed that the gallant cavaliers of that day, among whom Col. Sydenham shone preeminent, are contrasted with the sanctimonious and fierce Roundheads, who pass their time in psalmsinging and the cleaving of sconces. This contrast is very ably managed. The author exhibits his cavaliers in those colours which harmonize well with the sunset of chivalry in England;

they are brave, pious, loyal, hospitable, and generous; he paints the Roundheads somewhat after the style of Butler, giving at the same time full effect to their nobler qualities.

the tissue of fiction is raised on the As a proof of the skill with which web of history in this tale, we shall select, from a multitude of others equally good, parts of a passage in the third volume. After giving a spirited portrait of that "chief of men," Oliver Cromwell, as he looked in the last year of his mortal existence, the author thus exhibits him in action:

"Oliver (as was his custom) had spent a week in retirement, at the palace of Hampton Court-his favourite summer residence, when Murray, one morning, made his appearance at the gate, and requested admission. On entering the palace, he was informed the Protector was at prayer with his chaplain, Goodwin, and had desired that he might not be disturbed. Notwithstanding this information, Caryfort made his way to the chamber, where he found Oliver and his lecturer on their knees, engaged in silent devotion. The peer knelt beside his master, and instantly appeared as intent upon spiritual exercise as his companions; he elevated his eyes, shrugged his shoulders, groaned and grunted as deeply as Cromwell himself, who was far from being deficient in those testimonies of a broken and contrite heart. When this scene had been enacted about half an hour, the Protector arose, and was imitated by Caryfort and Goodwin. Cromwell seated himself on a chair, cushioned and lined with red leather, and motioned to his friends to take places. What may bring ye here, Caryfort?' said the Protector. Have you and Thurloe put your heads together, and found out some invasion of the realm by the king of the Cavaliers ?" He smiled, and turned towards Goodwin, as if to receive credit for the ridicule conveyed in his speech: the chaplain, like a true parasite, simpered in reply.

"God protect us!' said Caryfort, 'your Highness may not smile when my tale is told: Charles Stuart is more potent than he should be, for our safety and that of the commonwealth-we have news of import.' 'Out with it, man,' cried Cromwell, whose tone was now changed from cold ridicule to

trembling wrath; out with it-How! what

what mean ye?' The King—' pursued Caryfort. The King!' interrupted Cromwell. Nay, the Cavalier King, Charles Stuart, has now an army of many thousand men at Bruges.' What!' cried the Protector, as if struck by a sudden blow-' What! and where-and where, in the Lord's name, gat he them? The Spaniard,' replied Murray, hath holpen him to men, arms, and him for't,' exclaimed Oliver.

ammunition.' The fire of God

consume

Ah, would

« AnteriorContinuar »