THOMAS FLATMAN. THOMAS FLATMAN was born in 1633. He has been honored by Wood with the title of an eminent poet; and though his writings may not entitle him to such a distinction, there is still sufficient beauty in his pieces to show that the censure bestowed on him by some recent critics is wholly undeserved. He died in 1688. Addison borrowed the first of his minor poems from Flatman's "Thought of Death." HYMN FOR THE MORNING. AWAKE, my soul! awake, mine eyes! Awake, my drowsy faculties! Awake, and see the new-born light Spring from the darksome womb of night. Already has his race begun. The pretty lark is mounted high, Thy power has made, thy goodness kept, Yet one day more has given me That when the last of all my days is come, FOR THE EVENING. SLEEP! downy sleep! come close mine eyes, Sweet slumbers, come, and chase away The toils and follies of the day. On your soft bosom will I lie, Let not the spirits of the air While I slumber me ensnare ; But save thy suppliant free from harms, Clouds and thick darkness are thy throne, Oh! dart from thence a shining ray, A THOUGHT OF DEATH. WHEN on my sickbed I languish, Panting, groaning, speechless, dying, My soul just now about to take her flight Oh tell me, you That have been long below, What shall I do! What shall I think, when cruel death appears, That may extenuate my fears! Methinks I hear some gentle spirit say, Be not fearful, come away! Think with thyself that now thou shalt be free, Better thou mayst, but worse thou canst not be REV. JOHN NORRIS. JOHN NORRIS, author of numerous theological works, and of "A Collection of Miscellanies, consisting of Poems, Essays, Discourses, and Letters," was born in 1657. It has been justly said, that “in the union of learning and logical argument with sublime piety, few have equalled Norris of Bemerton." In his poem "Transient Delight," is the line, Like angels' visits, short and bright, the original of the passage in Blair's "Grave" Visits Like those of angels, short and far between: and in Campbell's "Pleasures of Hope," Like angels' visits, few and far between. Norris was rector of Bemerton, in Wiltshire, and died in 1711. FAREWELL fruition, thou grand, cruel cheat, Which first our hopes dost raise, and then defeat; Thou mystery of fallacies. Distance presents the object fair, With charming features and a graceful air; So to the unthinking boy the distant sky And yet 'twas long ere I could throughly see This grand impostor's frequent treachery; Though often fooled, yet I should still dream on, Of pleasure in reversion : Though still he did my hopes deceive, His fair pretensions I would still believe; But now he shall no more with shows deceive, SUPERSTITION. I CARE not, though it be By the preciser sort thought popery; For every thing we do: Hear, then, my little saint, I'll pray to thee. If now thy happy mind, Amidst its various joys can leisure find To attend to any thing so low, As what I say or do, Regard, and be what thou wast ever-kind. Let not the blessed above Engross thee quite, but sometimes hither rove; Fain would I thy sweet image see, And sit and talk with thee, Nor is it curiosity, but love. Ah! what delight 'twould be Wouldst thou sometimes, by stealth, converse with me! How should I thy sweet commune prize, And other joys despise; Come, then, I ne'er was yet denied by thee. I would not long detain Thy soul from bliss, nor keep thee here in pain; Of thy escape below; Before thou'rt missed thou shouldst return again. Sure heaven must needs thy love As well as other qualities improve; Come, then, and recreate my sight With rays of thy pure light; "Twill cheer my eyes more than the lamps above. But if fate's so severe, As to confine thee to thy blissful sphere, (And by thy absence I shall know Whether thy state be so,) Live happy, but be mindful of me there. |