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, The great Emathian conqueror did spare 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, Then let amorous kisses dwell On our lips; begin, and tell That, and that wipe off another. 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 Whatever starry synod met, If those sharp rays, putting on Cast amorous glances on his birth, But if her milder influence move, |