RICHARD CRASHAW.

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Xf neither love, thy beauty, nor thy tears,

Invent some other way to make him know He need not hunt, that can have such a deer:

The Queen of Love did once Adonis woo, But, hard of soul, with no persuasions won,

RICHARD CRASHAW, a religious poet, whose devoHe felt the curse of his disdain too soon.

tional strains and lyric raptures' evince the highest In vain I counsel her to put on wing;

genius, was the son of a preacher at the Temple Echo hath left her solitary grove;

church, London. The date of his birth is not And in the vale, the palace of the spring,

known, but in 1644 he was a fellow of Peterhouse Sits silently attending to her love;

college, Cambridge. Crashaw was, at all periods But round about, to catch his voice with care,

of his life, of an enthusiastic disposition. He lived In every shade and tree she hid a snare.

for the greater part of several years in St Mary's Now do the huntsmen fill the air with noise,

church, near Peterhouse, engaged chiefly in reliAnd their shrill horns chafe her delighted ear,

gious offices and writing devotional poetry; and, as

the preface to his works informs us, like a primitive Which, with loud accents, give the woods a voice Proclaiming parley to the fearful deer:

saint, offering more prayers by night, than others

usually offer in the day.' He is said to have been She hears the jolly tunes ; but every strain,

an eloquent and powerful preacher. Being ejected As high and musical, she returns again.

from his fellowship for non-compliance with the Rous'd is the game ; pursuit doth put on wings ;

rules of the parliamentary army, he removed to The sun doth shine, and gild them out their way;

France, and became a proselyte to the Roman The deer into an o'ergrown thicket springs,

Catholic faith. Through the friendship of Cowley, Through which he quaintly steals his shine away ; Crashaw obtained the notice of Henrietta Maria, The hunters scatter ; but the boy, o'erthrown

then at Paris, and was recommended by her majesty In a dark part of the wood, complains alone.

to the dignitaries of the church in Italy. He beHim, Echo, led by her affections, found,

came secretary to one of the cardinals, and a canon Joy’d, you may guess, to reach him with her eye ; of the church of Loretto. In this situation, Crashaw But more, to see him rise without a wound

died about the year 1650. Cowley honoured his Who yet obscures herself behind some tree;

memory with He, vexed, exclaims, and asking,' Where am I?' The unseen virgin answers, ' Here am I !'

The meed of a melodious tear. "Some guide from hence ! Will no man hear he cries: The poet was an accomplished scholar, and his

She answers, in her passion, 'Oh man, hear !' translations from the Latin and Italian possess great "I die, I die,' say both; and thus she tries,

freedom, force, and beauty. He translated part of With frequent answers, to entice his ear

the Sospetto d' Herode, from the Italian of Marino; And person to her court, more fit for love ;

and passages of Crashaw's version are not unworthy He tracks the sound, and finds her odorous grove. of Milton, who had evidently seen the work. He The way he trod was paved with violets,

thus describes the abode of Satan : Whose azure leaves do warm their naked stalks ; In their white double ruffs the daisies jet,

Below the bottom of the great abyss, And primroses are scattered in the walks,

There, where one centre reconciles all things, Whose pretty mixture in the ground declares The world's profound heart pants; there placed is Another galaxy embossed with stars.

Mischief's old master ; close about him clings Two rows of elms ran with proportioned grace,

A curl'd knot of embracing snakes, that kiss Like nature's arras, to adorn the sides ;

His corresponding cheeks: these loathsome strings The friendly vines their loved barks embrace,

Hold the perverse prince in eternal ties
While folding-tops the chequered ground-work hides;

Fast bound, since first he forfeited the skies.
Here oft the tired sun himself would rest,
Riding his glorious circuit to the west.

Fain would he have forgot what fatal strings
From hence delight conveys him unawares

Eternally bind each rebellious limb; Into a spacious green, whose either side

He shook himself, and spread his spacious wings, A hill did guard, whilst with his trees, like hairs,

Which like two bosom'd sails, embrace the dim The clouds were busy binding up his head ;

Air with a dismal shade, but all in vain; The flowers here smile upon him as he treads,

Of sturdy adamant is his strong chain, And, but when he looks up, hang down their heads.

While thus Heaven's highest counsels, by the low Not far from hence, near an harmonious brook,

Footsteps of their effects, he trac'd too well, Within an arbour of conspiring trees,

He toss'd his troubled eyes-embers that glow Whose wilder boughs into the stream did look, Now with new rage, and wax too hot for hell; A place more suitable to her distress,

With his foul claws he fenc'd his furrow'd brow, Echo, suspecting tbat her love was gone,

And gave a ghastly shriek, whose horrid yell Herself had in a careless posture thrown.

Ran trembling through the hollow vault of night. But Time upon his wings had brought the boy To see this lodging of the airy queen,.

While resident in Cambridge, Crashaw published Whom the dejected nymph espies with joy

a volume of Latin poems and epigrams, in one of Through a small window of eglantine ;

which occurs the well-known conceit relative to the And that she might be worthy his embrace,

sacred miracle of water being turned into wineForgets not to new-dress her blubber'd face.

The conscious water saw its God and blush'de With confidence she sometimes would go out, And boldly meet Narcissus in the way;

In 1646 appeared his English poems, Steps to the But then her fears present her with new doubt, Temple, The Delights of the Muscs, and Carmen Deo And chide her over-rash resolve away.

Nostro. The greater part of the volume consists of Her heart with overcharge of love must break; religious poetry, in which Crashaw occasionally ad. Great Juno will not let poor Echo speak.

dresses the Saviour, the Virgin Mary, and Mary Magdalen, with all the passionate earnestness and fer

vour of a lover. He had an extravagant admiration All his leaves so fresh and sweet,
of the mystic writings of St Theresa, founder of the And lay them trembling at his feet.
Carmelites, which seems to have had a bad effect on I've seen the morning's lovely ray
his own taste, naturally prone, from his enthusiastic Hover o'er the new-born day,
temperament, to carry any favourite object, feeling, With rosy wings, so richly bright,
or passion, to excess. In these flights into the third As if he scorn'à to think of night,
beavens, 'with all his garlands and singing robes When a ruddy storm, whose scowl
about him,' Crashaw luxuriates among

Made Heaven's radiant face look foul,

Callid for an untimely night
An hundred thousand loves and graces,

To blot the newly-blossom & light.
And many a mystic thing
Which the divine embraces

The felicity and copiousness of Crashaw's language Of the dear Spouse of Spirits with them will bring; are, however, best seen from his translations; and For which it is no shame

we subjoin, entire, his version of Music's Duel, from That dull mortality must not know a name.

the Latin of Strada. It is seldom that so sweet and

luxurious a strain of pure description and sentiment Such seem to have been his daily contemplations, greets us in our poetical pilgrimage:the heavenly manna on which his young spirit fed with delight. This mystical style of thought and

Music's Duel. fancy naturally led to exaggeration and to conceits.

The latter pervaded all the poetry of the time, and Now westward Sol had spent the richest beams Crashaw could hardly escape the infection, even if | Of noon's high glory, when, hard by the streams there had not been in his peculiar case strong pre- Of Tiber, on the scene of a green plat, disposing causes. But, amidst all his abstractions, Under protection of an oak, there sat metaphors, and apostrophes, Crashaw is seldom A sweet lute's master ; in whose gentle airs tedious. His imagination was copious and various. He lost the day's heat, and his own hot cares. He had, as Coleridge has remarked, a power and Close in the covert of the leaves there stood opulence of invention,' and his versification is some- A nightingale, come from the neighbouring wood times highly musical. With more taste and judg. (The sweet inhabitant of each glad tree, ment (which riper years might have produced), Their muse, their syren, harmless syren she): Crashaw would have outstripped most of his con- There stood she list’ning, and did entertain temporaries, even Cowley. No poet of his day is so 'The music's soft report : and mould the same rich in ‘barbaric pearl and gold,' the genuine ore of In her own murmurs ; that whatever mood poetry. It is deeply to be regretted that his life had His curious fingers lent, her voice made good : not been longer, more calm and fortunate-realising The man perceivd his rival, and her art, his own exquisite lines

Dispos’d to give the light-foot lady sport,

Awakes his lute, and 'gainst the fight to come
A happy soul, that all the way

Inforins it in a sweet præludium
To heaven, hath a summer's day.

Of closer strains, and e'er the war begin, Amidst his visions of angels ascending and des- He lightly skirmishes on every string cending, Crashaw had little time or relishi for earthly charged with a flying touch ; and straightway she love. He has, however, left a copy of verses en

Carves out her dainty voice as readily, titled, Wishes to a Supposed Mistress, in which are

Into a thousand sweet distinguish'd tones, some fine thoughts. He desires bis fair one to pos- | Quick volumes of wild notes, to let him know,

And reckons up in soft divisions

By that shrill taste, she could do something too. Sydneian showers

His nimble hand's instinct then taught each string
Of sweet discourse, whose powers

A cap'ring cheerfulness, and made them sing
Can crown old winter's head with flowers. To their own dance ; now negligently rash

He throws his arm, and with a long-drawn dash
Soft silken hours,

Blends all together; then distinctly trips
Open suns, shady bowers ;

From this to that, then quick returning, skips
'Bove all, nothing within that lowers.

And snatches this again, and pauses there.
Whate'er delight

She measures every measure, everywhere
Can make day's forehead bright,

Meets art with art; sometimes, as if in doubt
Or give down to the wings of night.

Not perfect yet, and fearing to be out,

Trails her plain ditty in one long-spun note, We are tempted also to quote two similes, the first Through the sleek passage of her open throat, reminding us of a passage in Jeremy Taylor's Holy A clear unwrinkled song ; then doth she point it Dying, and the second of one of Shakspeare's best with tender accents, and severely joint it sonnets :

By short diminutives, that, being rear'd

In controverting warbles, evenly shar'd,
I've seen, indeed, the hopeful bud

With her sweet self she wrangles ; he amaz'd,
Of a ruddy rose, that stood,

That from 80 small a channel should be rais'd
Blushing to behold the ray

The torrent of a voice, whose melody
Of the new-saluted day;

Could melt into such sweet variety,
His tender top not fully spread ;

Strains higher yet, that, tickled with rare art,
The sweet dash of a shower new shed,

The tattling strings, each breathing in his part,
Invited him no more to hide

Most kindly do fall out; the grumbling base
Within himself the purple pride

In surly groans disdains the treble's grace ;
Of his forward flower, when lo,

The high-perch't treble chirps at this, and chides,
While he sweetly 'gan to show

Until his finger (moderator) hides
His swelling glories, Auster spied him; And closes the sweet quarrel, rousing all
Cruel Auster thither hied him,

Hoarse, shrill at once; as when the trumpets call
And with the rush of one rude blast

Hot Mars to th' harvest of death's field, and woo Sham'd not spitefully to waste

Men's hearts into their hands : this lesson too

sess

A man whose tuned humours be

The attending world, to wait thy rise, A seat of rarest harmony !

First turn'd to eyes ; Wouldst see blithe looks, fresh cheeks, beguile And then, not knowing what to do, Age! Wouldst see December smile?

Turn'd them to tears, and spent them too. Wouldst see nests of new roses grow

Come, royal name ! and pay the expense In a bed of reverend snow ?

Of all this precious patience : Warm thoughts, free spirits flattering

Oh, come away Winter's self into a spring ?

And kill the death of this delay. In sum, wouldst see a man that can

Oh see, so many worlds of barren years Live to be old, and still a man !

Melted and measur'd out in seas of tears ! Whose latest and most leaden hours

Oh, see the weary lids of wakeful hope Fall with soft wings, stuck with soft flowers ; (Love's eastern windows) all wide ope And when life's sweet fable ends,

With curtains drawn, Soul and body part like friends;

To catch the daybreak of thy dawn! No quarrels, murmurs, no delay;

Oh, dawn at last, long-look'd for day! A kiss, a sigh, and so away!

Take thine own wings and come away. This rare one, reader, wouldst thou see?

Lo, where aloft it comes ! It comes, among
Hark, hither ? and thyself be he.

The conduct of adoring spirits, that throng
Like diligent bees, and swarm about it.

Oh, they are wise,
Hymn to the Name of Jesus.

And know what sweets are suck'd from out it.

It is the hire I sing the Name which none can say,

By which they thrive, But touch'd with an interior ray ;

Where all their hoard of honey lies. The name of our new peace ; our good;

Lo, where it comes, upon the snowy dove's Our bliss, and supernatural blood ;

Soft back, and brings a bosom big with loves. The name of all our lives and loves :

Welcome to our dark world, thou womb of day! Hearken and help, ye holy doves !

Unfold thy fair conceptions; and display The high-born brood of day ; you bright

The birth of our bright joys.
Candidates of blissful light,

Oh, thou compacted
The heirs elect of love ; whose names belong Body of blessings ! spirit of souls extracted !
Unto the everlasting life of song;

Oh, dissipate thy spicy powers,
All ye wise souls, who in the wealthy breast Cloud of condensed sweets ! and break upon us
Of this unbounded Name build your warın nest.

In balmy showers ! Awake, my glory! soul (if such thou be,

Oh, fill our senses, and take from us
And that fair word at all refer to thee),

All force of so profane a fallacy,
Awake and sing,

To think aught sweet but that which smells of theo.
And be all wing !

Fair flow'ry name! in none but thee, Bring hither thy whole self; and let me gee

And thy nectareal fragrancy,
What of thy parent heaven yet speaks in thee.

Hourly there meets
Othou art poor

An universal synod of all sweets ;
Of noble powers, I see,

By whom it is defined thus-
And full of nothing else but empty me;

That no perfume Narrow and low, and infinitely less

For ever shall presume
Than this great morning's mighty business.

To pass for odoriferous,
One little world or two,

But such alone whose sacred pedigree
Alas! will never do ;

Can prove itself some kin, sweet name! to thee.
We must have store;

Sweet name ! in thy each syllable
Go, soul, out of thyself, and seek for more ;

A thousand blest Arabias dwell;
Go and request

A thousand hills of frankincense;
Great Nature for the key of her huge chest

Mountains of myrrh and beds of spices, Of heav'ns, the self-involving set of spheres,

And ten thousand paradises,
Which dull mortality more feels than hears ;

The soul that tastes thee takes from thence.
Then rouse the nest

How many unknown worlds there are
Of nimble art, and traverse round

Of comforts, which thou hast in keeping ! The airy shop of soul-appeasing sound :

How many thousand mercies there
And beat a summons in the same

In pity's soft lap lie a-sleeping !
All-sovereign name,

Happy he who has the art
To warn each several kind

To awake them,
And shape of sweetness—be they such

And to take them
As sigh with supple wind

Home, and lodge them in his heart.
Or answer artful touch-

Oh, that it were as it was wont to be,
That they convene and come away

When thy old friends, on fire all full of thee, To wait at the love-crowned doors of that illustrious Fought against frowns with smiles ; gave glorious chaso day

To persecutions ; and against the face.

Of death and fiercest dangers, durst with brave Come, lovely name ! life of our hope !

And sober pace march on to meet a grave. Lo, we hold our hearts wide ope!

On their bold breasts about the world they bore thee, Unlock thy cabinet of day,

And to the teeth of hell stood up to teach thee; Dearest sweet, and come away.

In centre of their inmost souls they wore thee,
Lo, how the thirsty lands

Where racks and torments striy'd in vain to reach
Gasp for thy golden show'rs, with long-stretch'd hands! thee.
Lo, how the labouring earth,

Little, alas ! thought they
That hopes to be

Who tore the fair breasts of thy friends,
All heaven by thec,

Their fury but made way,
Leaps at thy birth i
For thee, and sery'd them in thy glorious ends.