ABRAHAM COWLEY.

ABRAHAM COWLEY, a poet of considerable dis-/virtue of a degree which he obtained, by Inandamus tinction, was born at London, in 1618. His father, from Oxford, in December, 1657. who was a grocer by trade, died before his birth; After the death of Cromwell, Cowley returned but his mother, through the interest of her friends, to France, and resumed his station as an agent in procured his admission into Westminster school, the royal cause, the hopes of which now began to as a king's scholar. He has represented himself as revive. The Restoration reinstated him, with other so deficient in memory, as to have been unable to royalists, in his own country; and he naturally ex retain the common rules of grammar: is, huw- pected a reward for his long services. He had ever, certain that, by some process, he became an been promised, both by Charles I. and Charles II., elegant and correct classical scholar. He early the Mastership of the Savoy, but was unsuccessful imbibed a taste for poetry; and so soon did it germi- in both his applications. He had also the misfortune nate in his youthful mind, that, while yet at school, of displeasing his party, by his revived comedy of in his fifteenth or sixteenth year, he published a “The Cutter of Coleman-street,” which was concollection of verses, under the appropriate title of strued as a satire on the cavaliers. At length Poetical Blossoms.

through the interest of the Duke of Buckingham In 1636 he was elected a scholar of Trinity col. and the Earl of St. Alban's, he obtained a lease of lege, Cambridge. In this favorable situation he ob- a farm at Chertsey, held under the queen, by which tained much praise for his academical exercises ; his income was raised to about 300l. per annum. and he again appeared as an author, in a pastoral From early youth a country retirement had been comedy, called Love's Riddle, and a Latin comedy, a real or imaginary object of his wishes; and, entitled, Naufragium Joculare; the last of which though a late eminent crític and moralist, who had was acted before the university, by the members himself no sensibility to rural pleasures, treats this of Trinity college. He continued to reside at Cam- taste with severity and ridicule, there seems little bridge till 1643, and was a Master of Arts when reason to decry a propensity, nourished by the fahe was ejected from the university by the puritani- vorite strains of poets, and natural to a mind long cal visitors. He thence removed to Oxford, and tossed by the anxieties of business, and the vicissi. fired himself in St. John's college. It was here tudes of an unsettled condition. that he engaged actively in the royal cause, and Cowley took up his abode first at Barn-elms, on was present in several of the king's journeys and the banks of the Thames; but this place not agree. expeditions, but in what quality, does not appear. ing with his health, he removed to Chertsey. Here lle ingratiated himself, however, with the principal his life was soon brought to a close. According to persons about the court, and was parucularly hon- his biographer, Dr. Sprat, the fatal disease was an ored with the friendship of Lord Falkland. affection of the lungs, the consequence of staying

When the events of the war obliged the queen- too late in the fields among his laborers. Dr mother to quit the kingdom, Cowley accompanied Warton, however, from the authority of Mr. Spence. her to France, and obtained a settlement at Paris, gives a different account of the matter. He says, in the family of the earl of St. Alban's. During an that Cowley, with his friend Sprat, paid a visit on absence of nearly ten years from his native coun- foot to a gentleman in the neighborhood of Cheritry, he wok various journeys into Jersey, Scotland, sey, which they prolonged, in free conviviality, till Holland, and Flanders; and it was principally midnight; and that missing their way on their rethrough his instrumentality that a correspondence turn, they were obliged to pass the night under a was maintained between the king and his consort. hedge, which gave to the poet a severe cold and The business of ciphering and deciphering their fever, which terminated in his death. He died on letters, was intrusted to his care, and often occu- July 28, 1667, and was interred, with a most honpied his nights, as well as his days. It is no won-orable attendance of persons of distinction, in Westder that, after the Restoration, he long complained minster-abbey, near the remains of Chaucer and of the neglect with which he was treated. In Spenser. King Charles II. pronounced his eulogy, 1656, having no longer any affairs to transact by declaring, “that Mr. Cowley had not left a abroad, he returned to England ; still, it is sup- better man behind him in England." posed, engaged in the service of his party, as a me- At the time of his death, Cowley certainly ranked dium of secret intelligence. Soon after his arrival, as the first poet in England; for Milton lay under he published an edition of his poems, containing a cloud, nor was the age qualified to taste him. most of those which now appear in his works. In And although a large portion of Cowley's celebrity a search for another person, he was apprehended by has since vanished, there still remains enough to the messengers of the ruling powers, and committed raise him to a considerable rank among the British to custody; from which he was liberated, by that poets. It may be proper here to add, that as a generous and learned physician, Dr. Scarborough, prose writer, particularly in the department of who bailed him in the sum of a thousand pounds. essays, there are few who ca

compare with him This, however, was possibly the sum at which he in elegant simplicity. kos raterl as a physician, a character he assumed by

B

THE MOTTO.

Noisy nothing! stalking shade!

By what witchcraft wert thou made.
TENTANDA VIA EST, &c.

Empty cause of solid harms !
What shall I do to be for ever known,

But I shall find out counter-charms And make the age to come my own

Thy airy devilship to remove | shall, like beasts or common people, die,

From this circle here of love.
Unless you write my elegy ;
Whilst others great, by being born, are grown ; ,

Sure I shall rid myself of thee
Their mothers' labor, not their own.

By the night's obscurity, In this scaie gold, in th' other fame does lie,

And obscurer secrecy! The weight of that mounts this so high.

Unlike to every other sprite, These men are Fortune's jewels, moulded bright; Thou attempt'st not men to fright,

Brought forth with their own fire and light: Nor appear'st but in the light.
If I, her vulgar stone, for either look,

Out of myseli it must be strook.
Yet I must on. What sound is't strikes mine ear?

OF MYSELF.
Sure I Fame's trumpet hear:
It sounds like the last trumpet; for it can This only grant me, that my means may lie
Raise up the buried man.

Too low for envy, for contempt too high.
Unpast Alps stop me; but I'll cut them all,

Some honor I would have, And march, the Muses' Hannibal.

Not from great deeds, but good alone; Hence, all the flattering vanities that lay

Th' unknown are better than ill known: Nets of roses in the way!

Rumor can ope the grave. Hence, the desire of honors or estate,

Acquaintance I would have, but when't depends And all that is not above Fate !

Not on the number, but the choice, of friends. Hence, Love himself, that tyrant of my days! Which intercepts my coming praise.

Books should, not business, entertain the light, Come, my best friends, my books! and lead me on ; And sleep, as undisturb'd as death, the night. "Tis time that I were gone.

My house a cottage more Welcome, great Stagyrite! and teach me now Than palace; and should fitting be All I was born to know:

For all my use, no luxury. Thy scholar's victories thou dost far outdo;

My garden painted o'er He conquer'd th' earth, the whole world you. With Nature's hand, not Art's; and pleasures yie! Welcome, learn'd Cicero! whose blest tongue and Horace might envy in his Sabine field.

wit Preserves Rome's greatness yet :

Thus would I double my life's fading space ; Thou art the first of orators; only he

For he, that runs it well, twice runs his race Who best can praise thee, next must be.

And in this true delight,
Welcome the Mantuan swan, Virgil the wise ! These unbought sports, this happy state,

Whose verse walks highest, but not fies; I would not fear, nor wish, my fate;
Who brought green Poesy to her perfect age,

But boldly say each night,
And made that art which was a rage. To-morrow let my sun his beams display,
Tell me, ye mighty Three! what shall I do Or in clouds hide them; I have liv'd to-day.

To be like one of you?
But you have climb'd the mountain's top, there sit

On the calm flourishing head of it,
And, whilst with wearied steps we upwards go,

THE CHRONICLE.
See us, and clouds, below

A BALLAD.

And still new favorites she chose,

(Chiefly if I like them should tell Till up in arms my passions rose,

All change of weathers that befell,)
And cast away her yoke.

Than Holingshed or Stow.
Mary, then, and gentle Anne,

But I will briefer with them be,
Both to reign at once began;

Since few of them were long with me
Alternately they sway'd,

An higher and a nobler strain
And sometines Mary was the fair,

My present emperess does claim,
And sometimes Anne the crown did wear, Heleonora, first o' th' name;
And sometimes both I obey’d.

Whom God grant long to reign'

Another Mary then arose,

And did rigorous laws impose ;

A mighty tyrant she! Long, alas! should I have been Under that iron-scepter'd queen,

Had not Rebecca et me free

ANACREONTICS:

OR,
SOME COPIES OF VERSES,
Translated paraphrastically out of Anacreon

When fair Rebecca set me free,

'Twas then a golden time with me:

But soon those pleasures fled;
For the gracious princess dy'd,
In her youth and beauty's pride,

And Judith reigned in her stead.

I. LOVE.

One month, three days, and half an hour,

Judith held the sovereign power:

Wondrous beautiful her face!
But so weak and small her wit,
That she to govern was unfit,

And so Susanna took her place.

I'LL sing of heroes and of kings,
In mighty numbers, mighty things.
Begin, my Muse! but lo! the strings
To my great song rebellious prove;
The strings will sound of nought but love.
I broke them all, and put on new;
'Tis this or nothing sure will do.
These, sure, (said I) will me obey;
These, sure, heroic notes will play.
Straight I began with thundering Jove,
And all th' immortal powers; but Love,
Love smil'd, and from m'enfeebled lyre
Came gentle airs, such as inspire
Melting love and soft desire.
Farewell, then, heroes ! farewell, kings
And mighty numbers, mighty things!
Love tunes my heart just to my strings

But when Isabella came,

Arm'd with a resistless flame,

And th' artillery of her eye ; Whilst she proudly march'd about, Greater conquests to find out,

She beat out Susan by the by.

II. DRINKING.

But in her place I then obey'd

Black-ey'd Bess, her viceroy-maid ;

To whom ensued a vacancy : Thousand worse passions then possest The interregnum of my breast;

Bless me from such an anarchy!

Gentle Henrietta then,

And a third Mary, next began;

Then Joan, and Jane, and Audria ;
And then a pretty Thomasine,
And then another Catharine,

And then a long et cætera.

The thirsty earth soaks up the rain,
And drinks, and gapes for drink again,
The plants suck-in the earth, and are
With constant drinking fresh and fair;
The sea itself (which one would think
Should have but little need of drink)
Drinks twice ten thousand rivers up,
So fill'd that they o'erflow the cup.
The busy Sun (and one would guess
By's drunken fiery face no less)
Drinks up the sea, and, when he 'as done
The Moon and Stars drink up the Sun:
They drink and dance by their own light,
They drink and revel all the night.
Nothing in nature 's sober found,
But an eternal health goes round.
Fill up the bowl, then, fill it high,
Fill all the glasses there ; for why
Should every creature drink but I ?
Why, man of morals, tell me why?

But should I now to you relate

The strength and riches of their state;

The powder, patches, and the pins,
The ribbons, jewels, and the rings,
The lace, the paint, and warlike things,

That make up all their magazines ;

If I should tell the politic arts

To take and keep men's hearts ;

The letters, embassies, and spies, The frowns, and smiles, and flatteries, The quarrels, tears, and perjuries,

(Numberless, nameless, mysteries !)

III. BEAUTY.
LIBERAL Nature did dispense
To all things arms for their defence;
And some she arms with sinewy force,
And some with swiftness in the course ;
Some with hard hoofs or forked claws,
And some with horns or tusked jaws :

And all the little lime-twigs laid,

By Machiavel the waiting-maid ;
I more voluminous should grow