have opposed it to the diffuseness and conventional phraseology of " novels in verse." "Places which pale passion loves." Beaumont, while writing this verse, perhaps the finest in the poem, probably had in his memory that of Marlowe, in his description of Tamburlaine. Pale of complexion, wrought in him with passion. A SATYR PRESENTS A BASKET OF FRUIT TO THE FAITHFUL SHEPHERDESS. BY FLETCHER. Here be grapes whose lusty blood Sweeter yet did never crown The head of Bacchus; nuts more brown For these black-eyed Dryope Hath oftentimes commanded me With my claspèd knee to climb: See how well the lusty time Hath deck'd their rising cheeks in red, Such as on your lips is spread. Here be berries for a queen, Some be red-some be green;3 These are of that luscious meat The great god Pan himself doth eat; All these, and what the woods can yield, The hanging mountain or the field, I freely offer; and ere long Will bring you more, more sweet and strong; Till when, humbly leave I take, Least the great Pan do awake That sleeping lies in a deep glade, I must go, I must run, Swifter than the fiery sun. 3" Some be red, some be green.”—This verse calls to mind a beautiful one of Chaucer, in his description of a grove in spring : In which were oakès great, straight as a line, Coleridge was fond of repeating it. "That sleeping lies," &c.-Pan was not to be waked too soon with impunity. Ου θεμις, ω ποιμαν, το μεσαμβρινον, ου θεμις αμμιν Και δι αει δριμεια χολα ποτι ῥινι καθηται. Theocritus Idyll, i. v. 15. No, shepherd, no; we must not pipe at noon : With quivering nostril. What a true picture of the half-goat divinity! A SPOT FOR LOVE TALES. Here be all new delights, cool streams and wells; For thy long fingers; tell thee tales of love; His temples bound with poppy, to the steep MORNING. See, the day begins to break, And the light shoots like a streak Of subtle fire. The wind blows cold I have departed from my plan for once, to introduce this very small extract, partly for the sake of its beauty, partly to show the student that great poets do not confine their pleasant descriptions to images or feelings pleasing in the commoner sense of the word, but include such as, while seeming to contradict, harmonize with them, upon principles of truth, and of a genial and strenuous sympathy. The "subtle streak of fire" is obviously beautiful, but the addition of the cold wind is a truth welcome to those only who have strength as well as delicacy of apprehension,—or rather, that healthy delicacy which arises from the strength. Sweet and wholesome, and to be welcomed, is the chill breath of morning. There is a fine epithet for this kind of dawn in the elder Marston's Antonio and Melida: · Is not yon gleam the shuddering morn, that flakes THE POWER OF LOVE. Hear, ye ladies that despise What the mighty Love has done; Fear examples and be wise: Fair Calisto was a nun; Leda, sailing on the stream To deceive the hopes of man, Love accounting but a dream Doted on a silver swan; Danae, in a brazen tower, Where no love was, loved a shower. Hear, ye ladies that are coy, What the mighty Love can do. Fear the fierceness of the boy : The chaste moon he makes to woo: Vesta, kindling holy fires, Circled round about with spies, Never dreaming loose desires, Doting at the altar dies; He can build, and once more fire. 5 "Where no love was."-See how extremes meet, and passion writes as conceit does, in these repetitions of a word: Where no love was, lov'd a shower. So, still more emphatically, in the instance afterwards : Fear the fierceness of the boy than which nothing can be finer. Wonder and earnestness conspire to stamp the iteration of the sound. INVOCATION TO SLEEP. Sung to Music; the EMPEROR VALENTINIAN sitting by, sick, in a chair. Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes,- |