JOHN MILTON

WAS born in 1608, and died in 1674. As the minor poems of Milton are too popular to require reprinting, only the two following short specimens are given of this great master.

SONG

On May Morning.

Now the bright Morning Star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip, and the pale primrose.

Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire Mirth, and youth, and warm desire! Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing: Thus we salute thee with our early song, And welcome thee, and wish thee long!

SONNET

When the Assault was intended to the City.

CAPTAIN, or colonel, or knight in arms,

Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize, If deed of honour did thee ever please,

Guard them, and him within protect from harms! He can requite thee! for he knows the charms That call fame on such gentle acts as these,

And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas,
Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms.
Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower!

The great Emathian conqueror did spare
The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower
Went to the ground: and the repeated air
Of sad Electra's poet had the power

To save th' Athenian walls from ruin bare.

RICHARD CRASHAW,

AUTHOR of "Steps to the Temple. Sacred Poems, with other Delights of the Muses," 12mo, 1646, seems to have resembled Herbert in his turn of mind, but possessed more fancy and genius. His translations have considerable merit, but his original poetry is full of conceit. The time of his birth is unknown. Having been educated at the Charter-house, he was for some time a scholar of Pembroke, and a fellow of Peter-house, Cambridge; and afterwards changing his religion, died a canon of Loretto, 1650.

His Latin poems were first printed in 1634, and have been much admired, though liable to the same objections as his English. For some particular information respecting Crashaw and his works, consult Headley, Dr. Anderson, and Mr. Hayley's account in the new Biographia Britannica.

Out of Catullus.

COME and let us live, my dear,
Let us love, and never fear
What the sourest fathers say!
Brightest Sol, that dies to-day,
Lives again as blithe to-morrow:
But if we, dark sons of sorrow,
Set; oh then, how long a night
Shuts the eyes of our short light!

Then let amorous kisses dwell

On our lips; begin, and tell
A thousand, and a hundred score,
An hundred, and a thousand more;
'Till another thousand smother

That, and that wipe off another.
Thus, at last, when we have number'd
Many a thousand, many a hundred,
We'll confound the reckoning quite,
And lose ourselves in wild delight:
While our joys so multiply
As shall mock the envious eye.

Love's Horoscope.

LOVE, brave Virtue's younger brother, Erst had made my heart a mother. She consults the conscious spheres,

To calculate her

young son's years:

She asks if sad or saving powers

Gave omen to his infant hours:

She asks each star that then stood by If poor Love shall live or die.

Ah, my heart! is that the way ?

Are these the beams that rule thy day?

Thou know'st a face, in whose each look
Beauty lays ope Love's fortune-book:
On whose fair revolutions wait
Th' obsequious motions of Love's fate.
Ah, my heart! her eyes and she
Have taught thee new astrology!
Howe'er Love's native hours were set,

Whatever starry synod met,

If those sharp rays, putting on
Points of death, did Love begone,
(Though the heavens in council sate
To crown an uncontrolled fate;
Though their best aspects, twin'd upon
The kindest constellation,

Cast amorous glances on his birth,
And whisper'd the confederate earth
To pave his paths with all the good
That warms the bed of youth and blood ;)
Love has no plea against her eye :
Beauty frowns, and Love must die.

But if her milder influence move,
And gild the hopes of humble Love;
(Though heaven's inauspicious eye
Lay black on Love's nativity;