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A man of leaves, a reasonable tree?
But those that from this stock their life did draw,
Soon made their father godly,1 and by law

Proclaimed trees almighty: gods of wood,

Of stocks and stones, with crowns of laurel stood, Templed, and fed by fathers with their children's blood.

"The sparkling fanes, that burn in beaten gold,
And, like the stars of Heav'n in midst of night,
Black Egypt, as her mirrors, doth behold,
Are but the dens where idol-snakes delight
Again to cover Satan from their sight:

Yet these are all their gods, to whom they vie
The crocodile, the cock, the rat, the fly,
Fit gods, indeed, for such men to be served by.

"The fire, the wind, the sea, the Sun, and Moon,
The flitting air, and the swift-winged hours,
And all the watchmen, that so nimbly run,
And sentinel about the walled towers

Of the world's city, in their heavenly bowers;

And, lest their pleasant gods should want delight,
Neptune spues out the lady Aphrodite,2

And but in Heav'n proud Juno's peacocks3 scorn to light.

"The senseless earth, the serpent, dog, and cat;
And worse than all these, man, and worst of men,
Usurping Jove, and swelling Bacchus fat,

And drunk with the vine's purple blood; and then
The fiend himself they conjure from his den,

Because he only yet remain'd to be

Worse than the worst of men; they flee from thee, And wear his altar-stones out with their pliant knee.

"All that he speaks (and all he speaks are lies)
Are oracles; 'tis he (that wounded all)
Cures all their wounds; he (that put out their eyes)
That gives them light; he (that death first did call
Into the world) that with his orisal,5

Inspirits earth: he Heav'n's all-seeing eye,

He Earth's great prophet, he, whom rest doth fly, That on salt billows doth, as pillows, sleeping lie."

1 Deified their ancestor.

2 Venus; the foam-born, so called from the fabie

that she rose from the sea near the island of Cythera.

3 The peacock was the bird of Juno; the eagle, of Jove; the dove, of Venus. Some of the Christian fathers supposed that the answers of the Greek oracles were given by evil spirits; Rollin assents to this idea. Rollin's Ancient History, Introduction. 5 Rising; Lat. orior.

Apollo (represented here as Satan) was the deity of Medicine, of Augury, and of the Sun: his name has the same etymology as Apollyon: idols in scripture are often termed devils. Lev. xvii. 7. Ps. cvi. 37. See Milton, Par. Lost, i. 374, et seq.-" Pillows ;" compare Milton, Nativity Hymn, 231.

"But let him in his cabin restless rest,

The dungeon of dark flames, and freezing fire,1
Justice in Heav'n against man makes request
To God, and of his angels doth require
Sin's punishment: if what I did desire,

Or who, or against whom, or why, or where,
Of, or before whom ignorant I were,

Then should my speech their sands of sins to mountains rear.

"Were not the Heav'ns pure, in whose courts I sue,
The judge, to whom I sue, just to requite him,
The cause for sin, the punishment-most due,
Justice herself-the plaintiff to endite him,
The angels-holy, before whom I cite him,
He-against whom, wicked, unjust, impure;
Then might he sinful live, and die secure,
Or trial might escape, or trial might endure.

"The judge might partial be, and over-pray'd ;2
The place appeal'd from, in whose courts he sues;
The fault excus'd, or punishment delay'd;
The parties self-accus'd, that did accuse;
Angels for pardon might their prayers use:

But now no star can shine, no hope be got.
Most wretched creature, if he knew his lot,3
And yet more wretched far, because he knows it not!

"What should I tell how barren Earth has grown,
All for to starve her children? didst not thou
Water with heav'nly show'rs her womb unsown,
And drop down clods of flow'rs? didst not thou bow
Thine easy ear unto the ploughman's vow?

Long might he look, and look, and long in vain
Might load his harvest in an empty wain,

And beat the woods, to find the poor oak's hungry grain.

"The swelling sea seethes in his angry waves,
And smites the earth that dares the traitors nourish;
Yet oft his thunder their light cork outbraves,
Mowing the mountains, on whose temples flourish
Whole woods of garlands; and, their pride to cherish,
Plough through the sea's green fields, and nets display
To catch the flying winds, and steal away,

Coz'ning the greedy sea, pris'ning their nimble prey.

"Would not the air be fill'd with streams of death,
To poison the quick rivers of their blood,

1 Compare Milton :-" The parching air burns frore."-Par. Lost, ii. 595.
Might allow prayers to prevail on him to decide unjustly.
A parody on Virgil, Georg. II. 458.

Supply they.

Did not thy winds fan, with their panting breath,
The flitting region? would not th' hasty flood
Empty itself into the sea's wide wood,1

Did'st not thou lead it wand'ring from his way,

To give men drink, and make his waters stray,

To fresh the flow'ry meadows, through whose fields they play?

"Who makes the sources of the silver fountains
From the flint's mouth, and rocky vallies slide,
Thick'ning the airy bowels of the mountains?
Who hath the wild herds of the forest ty'd
In their cold dens, making them hungry bide,2
Till man to rest be laid? can, beastly, he,
That should have most sense, only senseless be,
And all things else, beside himself, so aweful* see?

"Were he not wilder than the savage beast,
Prouder than haughty hills, harder than rocks,
Colder than fountains from their springs releas'd,
Lighter than air, blinder than senseless stocks,
More changing than the river's curling locks;

If reason would not, sense would soon reprove him,
And unto shame, if not to sorrow move him,

To see cold floods, wild beasts, dull stocks, hard stones out-love

him.

"Under the weight of sin the earth did fall,
And swallow'd Dathan, and the raging wind,
And stormy sea, and gaping whale, did call
For Jonas: and the air did bullets find,
And shot from Heav'n a stony show'r to grind

The five proud kings, that for their idols fought,

The Sun itself stood still to fight it out,

And fire from Heav'n flew down, when sin to Heav'n did shout."

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"Should any to himself for safety fly?
The way to save himself, if any were,
Were to fly from himself: should he rely
Upon the promise of his wife?—but there
What can he see, but that he most may fear,

A Siren, sweet to death? upon his friends?-
Who that he needs, or that he hath not lends?
Or wanting aid himself, aid to another sends?

"His strength ?-but dust: his pleasure?-cause of pain : His hope?-false courtier: youth or beauty ?-brittle:

1 i. e. of sea-weed.

2 Compare Job xxxviii. et seq. Unintelligent like a beast. Aweful, reverential; full 5"Dathan." Numb. xvi. 27-33. "Stony shower."-Josh. x. 11. Josh. x. 11, 13. "Fire came down."-2 Kings xviii. 26-40.

of the fear of God.

"Sun stood still "

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See note 1, p. 154.

Entreaty ?-fond: repentance ?—late and vain :
Just recompence?—the world were all too little:
Thy love?-he hath no title to a tittle:

Hell's force?-in vain her furies Hell shall gather:
His servants, kinsmen, or his children rather?-
His child, if good, shall judge; if bad, shall curse his father.

"His life?-that brings him to his end, and leaves him:
His end?-that leaves him to begin his woe:

His goods?-what good in that, that so deceives him?
His gods of wood ?—their feet, alas! are slow
To go to help, that must be help'd to go:

Honour, great worth ?-ah! little worth they be
Unto their owners: wit ?-that makes him see
He wanted wit, that thought he had it, wanting thee.

"The sea to drink him quick ?-that casts his dead:
Angels to spare ?-they punish: night to hide ?—
The world shall burn in light: the Heav'ns to spread
Their wings to save him?-Heav'n itself shall slide,
And roll away like melting stars that glide

Along their oily threads: his mind pursues him :
His house to shroud, or hills to fall, and bruise him?
As serjeants both attach, and witnesses accuse him.

"What need I urge, what they must needs confess,
Sentence on them, condemn'd by their own lust?
I crave no more, and thou can'st give no less,
Than death to dead men, justice to unjust;
Shame to most shameful, and most shameless dust:
But if thy mercy needs will spare her friends,
Let mercy there begin, where justice ends.
'Tis cruel mercy, that the wrong from right defends."

She ended, and the heav'nly hierarchies,
Burning in zeal; thickly imbranded1 were;
Like to an army that alarum cries,

And every one shakes his ydreaded spear,

And the Almighty's self, as he would tear

The Earth, and her firm basis quite in sunder,

Flam'd all in just revenge, and mighty thunder:

Heav'n stole itself from Earth by clouds that moisten'd under.

1 If not a misprint for imbanded, it will mean sworded:-"The sworded seraphim."— Milton, Nativity Hymn.

66

WILLIAM DRUMMOND.

(1585-1649.)

"DRUMMOND, the first Scotch poet who wrote well in English, was born at Hawthornden" (Southey), near Edinburgh. His father, Sir John Drummond, held a situation about the person of James VI. The poet in his youth studied law, but relinquishing that profession, he retired to a life of ease and literature on his delightful" patrimonial estate. His happiness was suddenly interrupted by the death of a lady to whom he was betrothed; he spent several years in seeking by travel a refuge from his sorrow. He married late in life Elizabeth Logan, attracted to her, it is said, by her resemblance to his first love. His connection with Ben Jonson has been alluded to in p. 139. He was warmly attached to Charles I.: grief for the king's death, it is alleged, shortened his life.

Drummond's works consist of sonnets, madrigals, and religious and occasional poems; among the latter is the ludicrous Latin doggrel "Polemo-Middinia." His sonnets are estimated by Hazlitt as the finest in the language, and approaching nearest to the Italian model. Drummond's fancy is luxuriant, but tinctured with frigid conceits. His versification is flowing and harmonious. Even Ben Jonson's arrogance condescended to "envy" the author of "The Forth feasting." He is the writer of a forgotten history of the Jameses.

FROM THE SONNETS.

SPRING.

Sweet Spring, thou com'st with all thy goodly train,
Thy head with flames, thy mantle bright with flow'rs,
The zephyrs curl the green locks of the plain,
The clouds for joy in pearls weep down their show'rs.
Sweet Spring, thou com'st-but, ah! my pleasant hours,
And happy days, with thee come not again ;1

The sad memorials only of my pain

Do with thee come, which turn my sweets to sours.
Thou art the same which still thou wert before,

Delicious, lusty, amiable, fair;

But she whose breath embalm'd thy wholesome air

Is gone; nor gold, nor gems can her restore.
Neglected virtue, seasons go and come,
When thine forgot lie closed in a tomb!

66
FROM FLOWERS OF ZION."

Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours
Of winters past, or coming, void of care,
Well pleased with delights which present are,
Fair seasons, budding sprays, sweet-smelling flow'rs:
To rocks, to springs, to rills, from leafy bow'rs
Thou thy Creator's goodness dost declare,

1 Compare Michael Bruce's Ode on Spring

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