PATRICK CAREY.

But little is known of Carey, except that he was of the established church and a loyalist. His poems, some of which possess great merit, were first printed by Sir Walter Scott, from a MS. dated 1651.

CHRIST IN THE CRADLE, IN THE GARDEN, AND IN HIS

PASSION.

LOOK, how He shakes for cold!
How pale his lips are grown!

Wherein his limbs to fold,

Yet mantle has He none.

His pretty feet and hands

(Of late more pure and white
Than is the snow

That pains them so)
Have lost their candor' quite.
His lips are blue,
(Where roses grew,)

He's frozen everywhere:

All the heat He has,
Joseph, alas!

Gives in a groan, or Mary in a tear.

Look! how He glows for heat!

What flames come from his eyes!

"Tis blood that He doth sweat,

Blood his bright forehead dyes.

See, see! it trickles down,

Look, how it showers amain!
Through every pore

His blood runs o'er,

And empty leaves each vein.

1 Whiteness.

His very heart

Burns in each part,

A fire his breast doth sear;

For all this flame

To cool the same,

He only breathes a sigh, and weeps a tear.

What bruises do I see!

What hideous stripes are those!

Could any cruel be

Enough to give such blows?

Look, how they bind his arms,

And vex his soul with scorns!
Upon his hair

They make Him wear

A crown of piercing thorns.

Through hands and feet,

Sharp nails they beat.

And now the cross they rear;

Mary looks on,

But only John

Stands by to sigh, Mary to shed a tear.

Why did He quake for cold?

Why did He glow for heat?

Dissolve that first He could,

He could call back that sweat. Those bruises, stripes, bonds, taunts, Those thorns which thou didst see, Those nails, that cross,

His own life's lossWhy, oh! why suffered He?

'Twas for thy sake:

Thou, thou didst make

Him all those torments bear:

If then his love

Do thy soul move,

Sigh out a groan, weep down a melting tear.

WILLIAM HABINGTON.

THIS amiable man and pleasing poet was born at Hendlip, in Worcestershire, in 1605. His family being Catholics, he was educated at St. Omer's, and afterwards at Paris. At an early age he married Lucia, daughter of William Herbert, first Lord Powis; this lady was the Castara of his poems. He died in 1654. The poems of Habington were introduced for the first time in a general collection, by Mr. Chalmers. "The great charm of these poems," says Mr. Wilmot, “is their purity, and domestic tenderness: the religion of his fancy is never betrayed into any unbecoming mirth, or rapturous enthusiasm. He is always amiable, simple, and unaffected; if he has not the ingenuity of some of his rivals, he is also free from their conceits."

LAUDATE DOMINUM DE CŒLIS.-DAVID.

You Spirits! who have thrown away
That envious weight of clay,

Which your celestial flight denied ;
Who by your glorious troops supply
The winged hierarchy,

So broken in the angel's pride!

O you! whom your Creator's sight
Inebriates with delight!

Sing forth the triumphs of his name;

All enamored souls, agree

you

In a loud symphony,

To give expression to your flame!

To Him his own great works relate,

Who deigned to elevate

You 'bove the frailty of your birth,
Where you stand safe from that rude war
With which we troubled are,

By the rebellion of our earth.

While a corrupted air beneath
Here in this world we breathe,

Each hour some passion us assails.

Now lust casts wildfire in the blood,
Or, that it may seem good,

Itself in wit or beauty veils.

Then envy

circles us with hate,

And lays a siege so strait,

No heavenly succor enters in: But if revenge admittance find Forever hath the mind

Made forfeit of itself to sin.

Assaulted thus, how dare we raise
Our minds to think his praise,

Who is eternal and immense ?
How dare we force our feeble wit

To speak him infinite,

So far above the search of sense?

O you! who are immaculate,

His name may celebrate

In your soul's bright expansion:

You, whom your virtues did unite

To his perpetual light,

That ever with Him you now shine one.

While we who to earth contract our hearts, And only study arts

To shorten the sad length of time,

In place of joys, bring humble fears,
For hymns, repentant tears,

And a new sigh, for every crime.

NOX NOCTI INDICAT SCIENTIAM.-DAVID.

WHEN I survey the bright

Celestial sphere,

So rich with jewels hung, that night
Doth like an Ethiop bride appear,

My soul her wings doth spread,
And heavenward flies,
Th' Almighty's mysteries to read
In the large volume of the skies.

For the bright firmament

Shoots forth no flame

So silent, but is eloquent

In speaking the Creator's name.

No unregarded star

Contracts its light

Into so small a character,

Removed far from our human sight,

But, if we steadfast look,

We shall discern

In it, as in some holy book,

How man may heavenly knowledge learn

It tells the conqueror,

That far-stretched power,

Which his proud dangers traffic for,

Is but the triumph of an hour.

That from the farthest north

Some nations may,

Yet undiscovered, issue forth,

And o'er his new-got conquest sway.

Some nation, yet shut in

With hills of ice,

May be let out to scourge his sin,
Till they shall equal him in vice.

And then they likewise shall
Their ruin have;

For, as yourselves, your empires fall,

And every kingdom hath a grave.