The softer dressings of the spring, But a twin'd wreath of grief and praise, This day I bring for all thy pain, Thy causeless pain: and as sad death, Which sadness breeds in the most vain, O not in vain! now beg thy breath, Thy quick'ning breath, which gladly bears Through saddest clouds to that glad place Where cloudless quires sing without tears, Sing thy just praise, and see thy face. SONE-DAYS. SABBATH-DAYS. Modernized by Bernard Barton. TYPES of eternal rest-fair buds of bliss, Eternity in Time-the steps by which We climb to future ages-lamps that light Man through his darker days, and thought enrich, Yielding redemption for the week's dull flight. Wakeners of prayer in Man-his resting bowers Days fix'd by God for intercourse with dust, A gleam of glory after six days' showers! Foretastes of heaven on earth-pledges of joy ABRAHAM COWLEY. BORN 1618-DIED 1667. ABRAHAM COWLEY, a poet whom Milton has classed after Shakspeare and Spenser, was the posthumous son of a London shopkeeper. His first biographer, Dr Sprat, gives an interesting account of the exertions made by his widowed mother to procure him a learned education. It is related by himself, that the seeds of poetry in his mind were originally set a fermenting by perusing in childhood the Faery Queen, which he found in the window of his mother's chamber. Accordingly at ten and twelve he wrote verses, and at fifteen published a volume of little juvenile pieces. At Cambridge he wrote all that is completed of his Davideis, a heroic poem founded on sacred history. Cowley, who was a zealous loyalist, was ejected from Cam bridge, and retired to Oxford, and afterwards to France, where he was for many years confidentially employed in managing the correspondence, and decyphering the letters which passed between the Queen-mother and the King, his nominal office being secretary to Lord Jermyn. When his presence was no longer required in France he secretly returned to London, where he was imprisoned for a time on suspicion. On the death of Cromwell he went back to France, but at the Restoration found himself so much neglected, and his former services so entirely overlooked, that he retired to Chertsey filled with chagrin and disappointed. By the interest of his former patron, Lord Jermyn, who was now Earl of St Albans, Cowley obtained an advantageous lease, which set him at ease in fortune. But he was not long to enjoy the quiet and leisure for which he had so earnestly longed amidst the toils, chagrins, and petty intrigues of a courtier's life. He died at Chertsey in his forty-ninth year; and was buried in Westminster Abbey near Chaucer and Spenser. Though the writings of Cowley are entirely disregarded by modern readers, they possess great intrinsic merit. Many of his short pieces possess a brilliance of fancy and sprightliness of wit, which rival the happiest of the lighter productions of the modern muse. His chief excellence, however, does not lie in his sacred verses. THE SCRIPTURES. THE Holy Book, like the eighth sphere doth shine, With thousand lights of truth divine; So numberless the stars, that, to our eye, It makes all but one galaxy: Yet reason must assist too; for in seas Our course by stars above we cannot know, ON THE DEATH OF THE POET CRASHAW. POET and Saint! to thee alone are giv'n Like Moses thou (tho' spells and charms withstand) Ah, wretched We! poets of earth! but thou Wert living the same poet which thou'rt now. Whilst angels sing to thee their airs divine, And joy in an applause so great as thine, Equal society with them to hold, Thou need'st not make new songs, but say the old : And they, kind Spirits! shall all rejoice to see How little less than they exalted man may be. Pardon, my Mother Church! if I consent That angels led him when from thee he went ; For ev'n in error sure no danger is, When join'd with so much piety as his. Ah, mighty God! with shame I speak't, and grief! So far, at least, great Saint! to pray to thee. Hail, Bard triumphant! and some care bestow On us, the Poets militant below! Oppos'd by our old enemy, adverse Chance, And when my Muse soars with so strong a wing, 'Twill learn of things divine, and first of thee, to sing. CHARACTERS OF MERAB AND MICHAL, THE DAUGHTERS OF SAUL. (From the Sufferings of David.) LIKE two bright eyes in a fair body plac'd, |