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used his interest to protect the royalists; that cometh into the world. Taylor, with but even at a time when all lies would have a growing reverence for authority, an inbeen meritorious against him, no charge was creasing sense of the insufficiency of the made, no story pretended, that he had ever Scriptures without the aids of tradition and directly or indirectly engaged or assisted in the consent of authorized interpreters, adtheir persecution. Oh! methinks there are vanced as far in his approaches (not indeed other and far better feelings, which should to Popery, but) to Catholicism, as a conbe acquired by the perusal of our great scientious minister of the English Church elder writers. When I have before me on could well venture. Milton would be, and the same table, the works of Hammond and would atter the same, to all, on all occaBaxter; when I reflect with what joy and sions: he would tell the truth, the whole dearness their blessed spirits are now loving truth, and nothing but the truth. Taylor each other: it seems a mournful thing that would become all things to all men, if by their names should be perverted to an occa- any means he might benefit any; hence be sion of bitterness among us, who are enjoy-availed himself, in his popular writings, of ing that happy mean which the human roo- opinions and representations which stand MUCH on both sides was perhaps necessary often in striking contrast with the doubts to produce. The tangle of delusions which and convictions expressed in his more pbilostified and distorted the growing tree of our sophical works. He appears, indeed, not wellbeing have been torn away; the para- too severely to have blamed that management site-weeds that fed on its very roots have of truth (istam falsitatem dispensativamı) aubeen plucked up with a salutary violence. thorized and exemplified by almost all the To us there remain only quiet duties, the fathers: Integrum omnino Doctoribus et constant care, the gradnal improvement, the catus Christiani Antistitibus esse, ut dolos cautious unhazardous labours of the indus- versent, falsa veris intermisceant et impritrious though contented gardener-to prune, mis religionis hostes fallant, duminodo verito strengthen, to engraft, and one by one tatis commodis et utilitati inscrviant. to remove from its leaves and fresh shoots The same antithesis might be carried on the slug and the caterpillar. But far be it with the elements of their several intellecfrom us to undervalue with light and sense- tual powers. Milton, austere, condensed, less detraction the conscientious hardihood imaginative, supporting his truth by direct of our predecessors, or even to condemn in enunciation of lofty moral sentiment and by them that vehemence, to which the blessings distinct visual representations, and in the it won for us leave us now neither temptation same spirit overwhelming what he deemed nor pretext. We ante-date the feelings, in falsehood by moral denunciation and a sucorder to criminate the authors, of our present cession of pictures appalling or repulsive. Liberty, Light, and Toleration.

In his prose, so many metaphors, so many If ever two great men might seem, during allegorical miniatures. Taylor, eminently their whole lives, to have moved in direct discursive, accumulative, and (to use one opposition, though neither of them has at of his own words) agglomerative; still more any time introduced the name of the other, rich in images than Milton himself, but Milton and Jeremy Taylor were they. The images of Fancy, and presented to the comformer commenced his career by attacking mon and passive eye, rather than to the eye the Church-Liturgy and all set forms of of the imagination. Whether supporting or prayer. The latter, but far more success- assailing, he makes his way cither by argufully, by defending both. Milton's next work ment or by appeals to the affections, unsurwas then against the Prelacy and the then passed even by the Schoolmen in subtlety, existing Church-Government - Taylor's, in agility and logical wit, and unrivalled by

indication and support of them. Milton the most rhetorical of the fathers in the became more and more a stern republican, copiousness and vividness of his expressions or rather an advocate for that religious and and illustrations. Here words that convey mnoral aristocracy which, in his day, was feelings, and words that flash images, and called republicanism, and which, even more words of abstract notion, flow together, and than royalism itself, is the direct antipode at once whirl and rush onward like a stream, of modern jacobinism. Taylor, as more and at once rapid and full of eddies; and yet moore sceptical concerning the fitness of men still, interfused here and there, we see a in general for power, became more and more tongue or islet of smooth water, with some attached to the prerogatives of monarchy. picture in it of earth or sky, landscape or From Calvinism, with a still decreasing living group of quiet beauty. respect for Fathers, Councils, and for Church- Differing, then, so widely, and almost Antiquity in general, Milton seems to have contrariantly, wherein did these great men rnded in an indifference, if not a dislike, to agree? wherein did they resemble each all forms of ecclesiastic government, and to other? In Genius, in Learning, in unfcigned have retreated wholly into the inward and Piety, in blameless Purity of Life, and in -piritnal church-communion of his own spi- benevolent aspirations and purposes for the it with the Light, that lighteth every man moral and temporal improvement of their fellow-creatures! Both of them wrote a La- has kindled and displayed inore bright and tin Accidence, to render education more easy burning lights of Genius and Learning, than and less painful to children; both of them all other protestant churches since the recomposed hymns and psalms proportioned formation, was (with the single exception to the capacity of common congregations; of the times of Land and Sheldon) least both, nearly at the same time, set the glo-intolerant, when all Christians unhappily rious example of publicly recommending and deemed a species of intolerance their relisupporting general Toleration, and the Li-gious duty; that Bishops of our church were berty both of the Pulpit and the Press! In among the first that contended against this the writings of neither shall we find a single error; and finally, that since the reformation, sentence, like those meek deliverances to God's when tolerance became a fashion, the Church mercy, with which Laud accompanied his of England, in a tolerating age, has shewn votes for the mutilations and loathsome herself eminently tolerant, and far more so. dungeoning of Leighton and others !-- no both in Spirit and in Fact, than many of where such a pious prayer as we find in her most bitter opponents, who profess to Bishop Hall's memoranda of his own Life, deem toleration itself an insult on the rights concerning the subtle and witty Atheist that of mankind! As to myself, who not only 80 grievously perplexed and gravelled him know the Church-Establishment to be tolerat Sir Robert Drury's, till he prayed to the ant, but who see in it the greatest, if not Lord to remove him, and behold! his prayers the sole safe bulwark of Toleration, I feel were heard; for shortly afterward this phi- no necessity of defending or palliating oplistine-combatant went to London, and there pressions under the two Charleses, in order perished of the plague in great misery! In to exclaim with a full and fervent heart. short, no where shall we find the least ap- ESTO PERPETUA ! proach, in the lives and writings of John Milton or Jeremy Taylor, to that guarded gentleness, to that sighing reluctance, with which the holy Brethren of the Inquisition The Scene, a desolated Tract in la Vendée. deliver over a condemned heretic to the civil FAMINE is discovered lying on the ground; magistrate, recommending him to mercy, to her enter Fire and SLAUGHTER. and hoping that the magistrate will treat the erring brother with all possible mild- Famine. Sisters! sisters ! who sent you ness!-the magistrate, who too well knows here? what would be his own fate, if he dared Slaughter (to Fire). I will whisper it in offend them by acting on their recommendation.

Fire. No! no! no ! The opportunity of diverting the reader Spirits hear what spirits tell : from myself to characters more worthy of Twill make an holiday in Hell, his attention, has led me far beyond my No! no! no! first intention; but it is not unimportant to Myself, I nam'd him once below, expose the false zeal which has occasioned And all the souls, that damned be, these attacks on our elder patriots. It has Leapt up at once in anarchy, been too much the fashion, first to personify Clapp'd their hands and danced for glee. the Church of England, and then to speak They no longer heeded me; of different individuals, who in different But laugh'a to hear Hell's burning rafters ages have been rulers in that church, as if Unwillingly re-echo laughters ! in some strange way they constituted its per- No! no! no! sonal identity. Why should a clergyman Spirits hear what spirits tell: of the present day feel interested in the 'Twill make an holiday in Hell! defence of Land or Sheldon ? Surely it is Famine. Whisper it, sister! so and so! sufficient for the warmest partizan of our In a dark hint, soft and slow. establishment, that he can assert with truth, Slaughter. Letters four do form his name --when our Church persecuted, it was on And who sent you? mistaken principles held in common by all Both. The same! the same! Christendom; and at all events, far less cul- Slaughter. He came by stealth, and an pable was this intolerance in the Bishops, lock'd my den, who were maintaining the existing laws, And I have drank the blood since then than the persecuting spirit afterwards shewn of thrice three hundred thousand men. by their successful opponents, who had no Both. Who bade you do't ? such excuse, and who should have been Slaughter. The same! the same! taught mercy by their own sufferings, and Letters four do form his name. wisdom by the utter failure of the experi- He let me loose, and cried, Halloo! ment in their own case. We can say, that To him alone the praise is due. our Church, apostolical in its faith, primi- Famine. Thanks, sister, thanks! the mea tive in its ceremonies, unequalled in its have bled, liturgical forins; that our Church, which Their wives and their children faint for bread

her ear.

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I stood in a swampy field of battle ; Sheds its loose purple bells, or in the gust, With bones and skulls I made a rattle, Or when it bends beneath the up-springing To frighten the wolf and carrion-crow

lark, And the homeless dog—but they would not go. Or mountain-finch alighting. And the rose So off I flew: for how could I bear (In vain the darling of successful love) To see them gorge their dainty fare? Stands, like some boasted beauty of past I heard a groan and a peevish squall,

years, And through the chink of cottage-wall — The thorns remaining, and the flowers all Can you guess what I saw there?

gone. Both. Whisper it, sister! in our ear. Nor can I find, amid my lonely walk

Famine. A baby beat its dying mother: By rivulet, or spring, or wet road-side, I had starv'd the one and was starving the That blue and bright-eyed flowret of the other!

brook, Both. Who bade you do't?

Hope's gentle gem, the sweet FORGET-ME-NOT! Famine. The same! the same!

So will not fade the flowers which Einmeline Letters four do form his name.

With delicate fingers on the snow-white silk He let me loose, and cried, Halloo! Has work’d, (the flowers which most she To him alone the praise is due.

knew I lov'd) Fire. Sisters! I from Ireland came ! And, more belov'd than they, her auburn hair. Hedge and corn-fields all on flame, I triumph'd o'er the setting Sun! And all the while the work was done, In the cool morning-twilight, early waked On as I strode with my huge strides, By her full bosom's joyless restlessness, I flung back my head and i held my sides, Leaving the soft bed to her sleeping sister, It was so rare a piece of fun

Softly she rose, and lightly stole along, To see the swelter'd cattle run

Down the slope coppice to the woodbineWith uncouth gallop through the night,

bower, Scared by the red and noisy light!

Whose rich flowers, swinging in the mornBy the light of his own blazing cot

ing-breeze, Was niany a naked Rebel shot:

Over their dim fast-moving shadows hung, The house-stream met the flame and hiss’d, Making a quiet image of disquiet While crash! fell in the roof, I wist, In the smooth, scarcely moving river-pool; On some of those old bed-rid nurses, There, in that bower where first she own'd That deal in discontent and curses.

her love, Both. Who bade you do't ?

And let me kiss my own warm tear of joy Fire. The same! the same!

From off her glowing cheek, she sate and Letters four do form his name.

stretch'd He let me loose, and cried, Halloo!

The silk upon the frame, and work'd her To him alone the praise is due.

All. He let us loose, and cried, Halloo! Between the Moss-Rose and Forget-ME-NOTHow shall we yield him honour due ? Her own dear name, with her own auburn Famine. Wisdom comes with lack of food.

hair! I'll gnaw, I'll gnaw the multitude,

That, forc'd to wander till sweet spring of rage o'erbrim :

return, They shall seize bim and his brood

I yet might ne'er forget her smile, her look, Slaughter. They shall tear him limb from Her voice, (that even in her mirthful mood

Has made me wish to steal away and weep) Fire. O thankless beldames and untrue! Nor yet th' entrancement of that maiden kiss And is this all that you can do

With which she promis'd, that when spring For him, who did so much for you?

return'd, Ninety months he, by my troth!

She would resign one half of that dear name, Hath richly cater’d for you both;

And own thenceforth no other name but mine! And in an hour would you'repay An eight years' work ?--Away! away! I alone am faithful! I Cling to him everlastingly.



Till the cup


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THROUGH weeds and thorns, and matted

underwood Tax tedded hay, the first-fruits of the soil, I force my way; now climb, and now descend The tedded hay and corn-sheaves in one field, O'er rocks, or bare or mossy, with wild foot Shew summer gone, ere come. The fox- Crushing the purple whorts; while oft glove tall


Hurrying along the drifted forest-leaves, As safe and sacred from the step of man The scared snake rustles. Onward still I As an invisible world—unheard, unseen,


And listening only to the pebbly brook I know not, ask not whither! A new joy, That murmurs with a dead, yet bell-like Lovely as light, sudden as summer-gust,

sound And gladsone as the first-born of the spring, Tinkling, or bees, that in the neighbouring Beckons me on, or follows from behind,

trunk Playmate, or guide! The master-passion Make honey-hoards. This breeze, that visits quell’d,

me, I feel that I am free. With dun-red bark Was never Love's accomplice, never rais'd The fir-trees, and th’unfrequent slender oak, The tendril ringlets from the maiden's brow, Forth from this tangle wild of bush and And the blue, delicate veins above her cheek;


Ne'er play'd the wanton--never half disclosed Soar up, and form a melancholy vault The maiden's snowy bosom, scattering thence High o'er me, murmuring like a distant sea. Eye - poisons for some love - distempered Here Wisdom might resort, and here

youth, Remorse ;

Who ne'er henceforth may see an asperHere too the love-lorn Man who, sick in soul

grove And of this busy human heart aweary, Shiver in sunshine, but his feeble heart Worships the spirit of unconscious life Shall flow away like a dissolving thing. In tree or wild-flower.-Gentle Lunatic! If so he might not wholly cease to be, He would far rather not be that, he is; Sweet breeze! thou only, if I guess aright, But would be something, that he knows Liftest the feathers of the robin's breast,

not of,

Who swells his little breast, so full of song, In winds or waters, or among the rocks! Singing above me, on the mountain-ash.

And thou too, desert stream! no pool of

thine, But hence, fond wretch! breathe not con

Though clear as lake in latest summer-eve, tagion here!

Did e'er reflect the stately virgin's robe, No myrtle-walks are these: these are no Her face, her form divine, her downcast look


Contemplative! Ah see! her open palm Where Love dare loiter! If in sullen mood Presses her cheek and brow! her elbow rests He should stray hither, the low stumps

On the bare branch of half-uprooted tree,

That leans towards its mirror! He, meanHis dainty feet, the briar and the thorn

while, Make his plumes haggard. Like a wounded Who from her countenance turnd or look'd bird

by stealth, Easily caught, ensnare him, oh ye Nymphs, (For fear is true love's cruel nurse) he now, Ye Oreads chaste, ye dusky Dryades !

With stedfast gaze and unoffending eye, And you, ye Earth-winds! you that make Worships the watery idol, dreaming hopes

Delicious to the soul, but fleeting, vain, The dew-drops quiver on the spiders' webs! E'en as that phantom-world on which he You, oh ye wingless Airs! that creep between

gazed. The rigid stems of heath and bitten furze,

She, sportive tyrant! with her left hand Within whose scanty shade, at summer-noon,

plucks The mother-sheep hath worn a hollow bed— The heads of tall flowers that behind her Ye, that now cool her fleece with dropless

grow, damp,

Lychnis, and willow-herb,and fox-glove bells; Now pant and murmur with her feeding lamb. And suddenly, as one that toys with time, Chase, chase him, all ye Fays, and elfin Scatters them on the pool! Then all the Gnomes !

charm With prickles sharper than his darts bemock

broken-all that phantom-world so fair His little Godship, making him perforce

Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread, Creep through a thorn-bush on yon hedge- And each mis-shape the other. Stay awhile.

hog's back.

Poor youth, who scarcely darst lifi up thime

The stream will soon renew its smoothness. This is my hour of triumph! I can now With my own fancies play the merry fool, The visions will return! And lo! he stays: And laugh away worse folly, being free. And soon the fragments dim of lovely forms Here will I seat myself, beside this old, Come trembling back, unite, and now once Hollow, and weedy oak, which ivy-twine

more Cloaths as with net-work: here will couch The pool becomes a mirror, and behold

my limbs,

Each wildflower on the marge inverted there, Close by this river, in this silent shade, And there the half-uprooted tree-but where.

shall gore

at morn


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O where the virgin's snowy arm, that lean’d One arm between its fore-legs, and the hand On its bare branch? He turns, and she is gone! Holds loosely its small handful of wildHomeward she steals through many a wood

flowers, land maze

Unfilletted, and of unequal lengths. Which he shall seek in vain. Il-fated youth! A curious picture, with a master's haste Go, day by day, and waste thy manly prime Sketch'd on a strip of pinky-silver skin, In mad love-yearning by the vacant brook, Peeld from the birchen bark! Divinest maid! Till sickly thoughts bewitch thine eyes, Yon bark her canvas, and those purple berries

and thou

Her pencil! See, the juice is scarcely dried Beholdst her shadow still abiding there, On the fine skin! She has been newly here; The Naiad of the Mirror!-Not to thee, And lo! yon patch of heath has been her O wild and desert Stream! belongs this tale:

couchGloomy and dark art thou—the crowded firs The pressure still remains! () blessed couch! Tower from thy shores, and stretch across For this mayst thou flower early, and the thy bed,

Sun, Making thee doleful as a cavern-well: Slanting at eve, rest bright, and linger long Save when the shy king-fishers build their Upon thy purple bells ! 0 Isabel!

Daughter of genius! stateliest of our maids! On thy steep banks, no loves hast thou, More beautiful than whom Alcæus woo'd

wild Stream!

The Lesbian woman of immortal song!
O child of genius! stately, beautiful,

And full of love to all, save only me,
This be my chosen haunt-emancipate And not ungentle e’en to me! My heart,
From passion's dreams, a freeman, and alone, Why beats it thus ? Through yonder cop-
I rise and trace its devious course. O lead,

pice-wood Lead me to deeper shades and lonelier glooms! Needs must the pathway turn, that leads Lo! stealing through the canopy of firs

straightway How fair the sunshine spots that mossy rock, On to her father's house. She is alone! Isle of the river, whose disparted waters The night draws on-such ways are hard to Dart off asunder with an angry sound,

hitHow soon to re-unite! And see! they meet, And fit it is I should restore this sketch, Each in the other lost and found : And see! Dropt unawares no doubt. Why should I Placeless, as spirits, one soft water-sun

yearn Throbbing within them, heart at once and eye! To keep the relique ? 'twill but idly feed With its soft neighbourhood of filmy clouds, The passion that consumes me. Let me haste! The stains and shadings of forgotten tears, The picture in my hand which she has left; Dimness o'erswum with lustre! Such the hour She cannot blame me that I follow'd her: of deep enjoyment, following love's brief And I may be her guide the long wood feuds!

But hark, the noise of a near waterfall!
I come out into light--I find myself
Beneath a weeping birch (most beautiful
of forest-trees, the Lady of the woods !)
Hard by the brink of a tall weedy rock

That overbrows the cataract. How bursts,
The landscape on my sight! Two crescent hills
Fold in behind each other, and so make

Quae humilis tenero stylus olim effudit in ævo, A circular vale, and land-lock’d, as might Hle puer puero fecit mihi cuspide vulnus.

Perlegis hic lacrymas, et quod pharetratus acuta scem,

Omnia paulatim consumit longior ætas, With brook and bridge, and gray stone Vivendoque simul morimur, rapimurque manendo.


Ipse mihi collatus enim non ille videbor: Half hid by rocks and fruit-trees. At my feet, Voxque alind sonat

Frous alia est, moresque alii, nova mentis imago, The whortle-berries are bedewed with spray, Pectore nunc gelido calidos miseremur amantes, Dashed upwards by the furious waterfall. Jamque arsisse pudet. Veteres tranquilla tumoltus How solemnly the pendent ivy-mass

Mens horret relegensque alium putat ista locutum.

PETRARCHA. Swings in its winnow! All the air is calm. The smoke from cottage-chimnies, ting'd

with light,

All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Rises in columns: from this house alone,

Whatever stirs this mortal frame, Close by the waterfall, the colnmn slants,

All are but ministers of Love,
And feels its ceaseless breeze. But what is

And feed his sacred flame.
That cottage, with its slanting chimney- Oft in my waking dreams do I

Live o'er again that happy hour,
And close beside its porch a sleeping child, When midway on the mount I lay,
His dear head pillowed on a sleeping dog-


Beside the ruin's tower.

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