Six Centuries of English Poetry Part 33

=Other Poems to be Read:= L'Allegro; Il Penseroso; Comus; Lycidas; selections from Paradise Lost.

REFERENCES: Ma.s.son's _Life and Times of John Milton_; _Milton_ (Cla.s.sical Writers), by Stopford Brooke; _Milton_ (English Men of Letters), by Mark Pattison; Macaulay's Essay on _Milton_; De Quincey, _Milton vs. Southey and Landor_; Coleridge's _Literary Remains_; Johnson's _Lives of the Poets_; Hazlitt's _English Poets_.

Robert Herrick.

TO PHILLIS.

Live, live with me, and thou shalt see The pleasures I'll prepare for thee: What sweets the country can afford Shall bless thy bed, and bless thy board.

The soft sweet moss shall be thy bed, With crawling woodbine over-spread: By which the silver-shedding streams Shall gently melt thee into dreams.

Thy clothing next, shall be a gown Made of the fleeces' purest down.

The tongue of kids shall be thy meat; Their milk thy drink; and thou shalt eat The paste of filberts for thy bread With cream of cowslips b.u.t.tered: Thy feasting-table shall be hills With daisies spread, and daffadils; Where thou shalt sit, and Red-breast by, For meat, shall give thee melody.

I'll give thee chains and carcanets Of primroses and violets.

A bag and bottle thou shalt have, That richly wrought, and this as brave; So that as either shall express The wearer's no mean shepherdess.

At shearing-times, and yearly wakes, When Themilis his pastime makes, There thou shalt be; and be the wit, Nay more, the feast, and grace of it.

On holydays, when virgins meet To dance the heys with nimble feet, Thou shalt come forth, and then appear The Queen of Roses for that year.

And having danced ('bove all the best) Carry the garland from the rest.

In wicker-baskets maids shall bring To thee, my dearest shepherdling, The blus.h.i.+ng apple, bashful pear, And shame-faced plum, all simp'ring there.

Walk in the groves, and thou shalt find The name of Phillis in the rind Of every straight and smooth-skin tree; Where kissing that, I'll twice kiss thee.

To thee a sheep-hook I will send, Be-prank'd with ribbons, to this end, This, this alluring hook might be Less for to catch a sheep, than me.

Thou shalt have possets, wa.s.sails fine, Not made of ale, but spiced wine; To make thy maids and self free mirth, All sitting near the glitt'ring hearth.

Thou shalt have ribbands, roses, rings, Gloves, garters, stockings, shoes, and strings Of winning colors that shall move Others to l.u.s.t, but me to love.

--These, nay, and more, thine own shall be, If thou wilt love, and live with me.

THE MAD MAID'S SONG.

Good morrow to the day so fair; Good morning, sir, to you; Good morrow to mine own torn hair, Bedabbled with the dew.

Good morning to this primrose too; Good morrow to each maid; That will with flowers the tomb bestrew Wherein my Love is laid.

Ah! woe is me, woe, woe is me, Alack and well-a-day!

For pity, sir, find out that bee, Which bore my Love away.

I'll seek him in your bonnet brave; I'll seek him in your eyes; Nay, now I think they've made his grave I' th' bed of strawberries.

I'll seek him there; I know, ere this, The cold, cold earth doth shake him; But I will go, or send a kiss By you, sir, to awake him.

Pray hurt him not; though he be dead, He knows well who do love him; And who with green turfs rear his head, And who do rudely move him.

He's soft and tender, pray take heed, With bands of cowslips bind him, And bring him home;--but 'tis decreed That I shall never find him.

A THANKSGIVING TO G.o.d.

Lord, thou hast given me a cell, Wherein to dwell; A little house, whose humble roof Is weather proof; Under the spars of which I lie Both soft and dry; Where thou, my chamber for to ward, Hast set a guard Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep Me, while I sleep.

Low is my porch, as is my fate; Both void of state; And yet the threshold of my door Is worn by th' poor, Who thither come, and freely get Good words, or meat.

Like as my parlor, so my hall And kitchen's small; A little b.u.t.tery, and therein A little bin, Which keeps my little loaf of bread Unchipt, unflead; Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar Make me a fire, Close by whose living coal I sit, And glow like it.

Lord, I confess too, when I dine, The pulse is thine, And all those other bits that be There placed by thee; The worts, the purslain, and the mess Of water-cress, Which of thy kindness thou hast sent; And my content Makes those, and my beloved beet, To be more sweet.

'Tis thou that crown'st my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth, And giv'st me wa.s.sail bowls to drink, Spiced to the brink.

Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand That soils my land, And giv'st me, for my bushel sown, Twice ten for one; Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay Her egg each day; Besides, my healthful ewes to bear Me twins each year; The while the conduits of my kine Run cream, for wine: All these, and better, thou dost send Me, to this end,-- That I should render, for my part, A thankful heart; Which, fired with incense, I resign, As wholly thine; --But the acceptance, that must be, My Christ, by Thee.

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE.

ROBERT HERRICK was born in Cheapside, London, August 20, 1591. He was educated at Cambridge, and in 1629, having taken orders, was presented to the vicarage of Dean Prior in Devons.h.i.+re. From this living he was ejected by the Long Parliament in 1648, and, going up to London, he united himself with some of his former a.s.sociates and entered upon a career not altogether creditable to his profession of parson. At the restoration of Charles II. he was returned to his vicarage, where he remained until his death in 1674. His best poems are included in the collection ent.i.tled "Hesperides, or Works Humane and Divine," published in 1648, and dedicated to "the most ill.u.s.trious and most hopeful Prince Charles." The "Argument" prefixed to this collection very prettily describes the character of the pieces which it contains:

"I sing of brooks, of blossoms, birds, and bowers, Of April, May, of June, and July-flowers; I sing of May-poles, hock-carts, wa.s.sails, wakes, Of bride-grooms, brides, and of their bridal-cakes.

I write of Youth, of Love;--and have access By these, to sing of cleanly wantonness; I sing of dews, of rains, and, piece by piece, Of balm, of oil, of spice, of ambergris.

I sing of times trans-s.h.i.+fting; and I write How roses first came red, and lilies white.

I write of groves, of twilights, and I sing The court of Mab, and of the Fairy King; I write of h.e.l.l; I sing, and ever shall Of Heaven,--and hope to have it after all."

"Herrick's best things," says Robert Buchanan, "are his poems in praise of the country life, and his worst things are his epigrams. His gladsome, mercurial temper had a great deal to do with the composition of his best lyrics; for the parson of Dean Prior was no philosopher, and his lightest, airiest verses are the best. His was a happy, careless nature, throwing off verses out of the fulness of a joyous heart, rioting in a pleasant, sunny element."

Edmund Waller.

SONG.

Go, lovely Rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows When I resemble her to thee How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that's young, And shuns to have her graces spied, That had'st thou sprung In deserts where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth Of beauty from the light retired; Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And not blush so to be admired.

Then die, that she The common fate of all things rare May read in thee, How small a part of time they share Who are so wondrous sweet and fair.