but faithless'light' of his love, we cannot tell. He thus celebrates the dancing and singing of Gratiana. "See! with what constant motion,' Gratiana steers that noble frame, Each step trod out a lover's thought Chain'd to her brave feet with such arts; Such sweet command, and gentle awe," &c. In an epitaph on Mrs. Elizabeth Filmer, there are some fine lines, which shew that the vices of the court had not destroyed his relish for the beauty of virtue. "You that shall live awhile before Old time tires, and is no more; Stoops low as what it tramples on; White thoughts, though out of fashion; Thus chaste as th' air whither she's fled, Such an everlasting grace, Incloisters here this narrow floor That possessed all hearts before." In the lines to his "worthy friend, Mr. Peter Lilly," on a picture of his majesty by that artist, we have a fine description of the expression of King Charles's face, admirably conveying that mixture of sweetness and sorrow, pride and goodnature, which distinguish all the portraits of that unfortunate monarch. "See! what an humble bravery doth shine, So sacred a contempt! that others shew The poet, soon after, goes on to celebrate the improvement which the artist had made in the art of painting, in some bold lines, well worthy of a quotation. "Not as of old, when a rough hand did speak One of these poems, the song of Althea, from prison, is well known, and has been long celebrated, both for its exquisite versification, and the beauty and nobleness of the thoughts. We cannot help thinking the second and third stanzas far inferior to the others; though, from the spirit of devoted loyalty, which the latter of the two breathes, they have doubtless contributed to the popularity of this little piece. As these verses are to be found in almost every collection of poetry, we shall content ourselves with quoting the first and last stanza, and omit the other two, which we cannot bring ourselves to admire. "When love with unconfined wings Hovers within my gates; To whisper at the grates; When I lie tangled in her hair, And fetter'd to her eye; The birds that wanton in the air, Know no such liberty. Stone walls do not a prison make, Nor iron bars a cage; Minds innocent and quiet take That for an hermitage; The song called the Scrutiny is a most delightful piece of male coquetry. It is written in the happiest vein of the times. A declaration of infidelity so impudent yet so ingenious, so cruel yet so easy and good humoured, so saucy and vain yet with such apparent good grounds for confidence, that even the deserted lady would instantly resign herself to the conviction that no chains however binding, no charms however powerful, could detain so inconstant a gallant. "Why should you swear I am forsworn? Since thine I vow'd to be; Lady, it is already morn, And 'twas last night I swore to thee Have I not lov'd thee much and long, And rob thee of a new embrace, Not but all joy in thy brown hair, But I must search the black and fair, Then, if when I have lov'd my round, Ev'n sated with variety." We extract the sonnet to "Elinda's Glove" as a very favorable specimen of the fanciful tributes in which the gallantry of Lovelace paid its homage to the fair sex. We cannot help being so heretical as to think the felicity of the verse and the happiness of some of the expressions too good even for the "ten white nuns" of Elinda, as he elsewhere terms the fingers of a beauty. "Thou snowy farm with thy five tenements! Tell thy white mistress here was one That call'd to pay his daily rents: But she a gathering flow'rs and hearts is gone, And thou left void to rude possession. But grieve not, pretty Ermin cabinet, Thy alabaster lady will come home; If not, what tenant can there fit The slender turnings of thy narrow room, Then give me leave to leave my rent with thee; For though the lute's too high for me, Yet servants, knowing minikin nor base, Lovelace, whether he had experienced disappointment in his person or in that of some friend, writes with warm indignation against "the love of great ones." We quote some parts of rather a long poem on this subject, which are not without spirit and fire. "The love of great ones! 'Tis a love Ixion willingly doth feel The gyre of his eternal wheel; Nor would he now exchange his pain For clouds and goddesses again. Would'st thou with tempests lie? Then bow To the rougher furrows of her brow; Or make a thunder-bolt thy choice? He thus represents the woman of quality addressing her humble wooer. "But we (defend us !) are divine Female, but madam-born, and come From father sun, and mother dungaon !ew?? But faster grasp the trembling slave; ;': The strings like skeins; steal into his mind J Far worse than they; whilst, like whipp'd boys, This heard, sir, play still in her eyes, The torch laughs piecemeal to consumé. The concluding stanza of a song, supposed to be sung by Orpheus lamenting the death of his wife, is very beautiful. "Oh could you view the melody Of ev'ry grace, And music of her face, You'd drop a tear; Seeing more harmony Than now you hear.”* The following little ode, entitled The Rose, addressed to Lucasta, at least as much of it as we think worth extracting, possesses some elegance of diction, if nothing particularly new or beautiful in sentiment. "Sweet, serene, sky-like flower, Haste to adorn her bower: * "The light of love, the purity of grace, The heart, whose softness harmonized the whole, &c." Bride of Abydos. |