Robert Herrick, der Sohn eines Goldschmiedes ward 1591 in London geboren, studirte zu Cambridge und widmete sich erst der Jurisprudenz, dann der Theologie. 1629 erhielt er die Pfründe zu Dean Prior in Devonshire, ward aber durch die Revolution von dort vertrieben, worauf er als Privatmann in Westminster lebte und erst durch die Thronbesteigung Karls II. wieder eingesetzt. Er erreichte ein hohes Alter; sein Todesjahr ist jedoc nicht ermittelt. Seine Poesieen sind nur lyrischer Gattung und erschienen in zwei Sammlungen, von denen die erstere unter dem Titel Hesperides (London 1618) weltliche, die zweite aber unter dem Titel Noble Numbers (London 1620) nur geistliche Gedichte enthält; diese letzteren stehen den ersteren mit wenigen Ausnahmen weit im Werthe nach. Warmes Gefühl, Anmuth und seltener Wohllaut sind Herrick eigen, aber er schwächt diese rühmlichen Eigenschaften durch den falschen Geschmack seiner Zeit, der ihn zu Künstelei und Gesuchtheit verleitete, so dass sich nur wenige Leistungen von ihm in Andenken der Nachwelt erhalten haben. The Night Piece. To Julia. And the elves also, Whose little eyes glow, No will-o'-th’-wispe mislight thee; But on, on thy way, Not making a stay, Let not the darke thee cumber ; The starres of the night Will lend thee their light, Like tapers cleare without number. We die, Away Like to the summer's raine. Or as the pearles of morning dew, Ne'r to be found again. Then, Julia, let me wooe thee, Thus, thus, to come unto me; And when I shall meet Thy silv'ry feet, My soule I'll poure into thee! To Blossoms. Faire pledges of a fruitfull tree, Why do yee fall so fast? Your date is not so past: But you may stay yet here awhile To blush and gently smile, And go at last. Corinna going a Maying. See how Aurora throwes her faire The dew bespangling herbe and tree: Nay, not so much as out of bed; Nay, profanation, to keep in; What, were yee borne to be An houre or half's delight, And so to bid good night? 'Twas pitie nature brought yee forth Meerly to shew your worth, And lose you quite. But you are lovely leaves, where we May read how soon things have Their end, though ne'r so brave: And after they have shown their pride, Like you, awhile, they glide Into the grave. To Da ffadils. Rise, and put on your foliage, and be seene greene, Gems in abundance upon you: Come, and receive them while the light Retires himselfe, or else stands still praying Made green, and trimm'd with trees, see how An ark, a tabernacle is Can such delights be in the street The proclamation made for May, Faire daffadills, we weep to see Has not attain'd his noone: Stay, stay, Has run But to the even-song; And, having pray'd together, we Will goe with you along! We have short time to stay, as you; As you, or any thing: There's not a budding boy or girle this day Or warp't, as we, But is got up, and gone to bring in May: Who think it strange to see A deale of youth, ere this, is come Such pretty flow'rs, (like to orphans young) Back, and with whitethorn laden home: To speak by teares before ye have a tongue. Some have dispatch't their cakes and creame, Before that we have left to dreame; And some have wept, and wood and plighted Speak, whimp’ring younglings; and make known The reason why troth, Ye droop, and weep. And chose their priest, ere we can cast off sloth: Is it for want of sleep; Many a green gown has been given; Or childish lullabie? Many a kisse, both odde and even: Or, that ye have not seen as yet Many a glance too has been sent The violet? From out the eye, love's firmament; Or brought a kisse Many a jest told of the keyes betraying From that sweetheart to this? No, no; this sorrow, shown By your teares shed Wo'd have this lecture read, Come, let us goe, while we are in our prime, “That things of greatest, so of meanest worth, And take the harmlesse follie of the time: Conceiv'd with grief are, and with teares brought We shall grow old apace, and die forth.” Before we know our liberty: Our life is short, and our dayes run As fast away as do's the sunne Song: Gather.ye rose - buds while ye may, Old Time is still a flying; Then, while time serves, and we are but de And this same flower that smiles to-day, caying, To-morrow will be dying. Come, my Corinna, come, let's goe a Maying! The glorious lamp of heav'n, the sun, The higher he's a getting, And neerer he's to setting. To Primroses, filled with Morning-Dew. Speak griefe in you, Who were but borne Teem'd her refreshing dew? That marres a flower; Nor felt th' unkind The age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer; But being spent, the worse and worst Times still succeed the former. Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, goe marry; You may for ever tarry. u arle s. Francis Quarles ward 1592 zu Stewards bei Romford in Essex geboren, studirte in Cambridge und widmete sich dann in Eröndon der juristischen Praxis. Nachdem er eine Zeitlang Mundschenk der Königin von Böhmen, Tochter Jakob's I. und darauf Geheimschreiber des Erzbischof Usher gewesen, ernannte ihn die Stadt London 1639. zu ihrem Chronologen. Wegen seiner Gesinnungen ward er im Bürgerkriege gemishandelt und geplündert. Er starb am 8. Sept. 1644 und hinterliess viele meist religiöse Poesieen, wie z. B. Job Militant, Sion's Elegies, His. tory of Queen Esther, Argalus and Parthenia, the Morning Muse, the Feast for Worms, Divine Emblems, eine Nachahmung der Pia Desideria des Jesuiten Hugo, welche ebenso reich an geschmacklosen artistischen Beilagen ist, wie ihr Vorbild u. A. m., die sämmtlich noch bei seinen Lebzeiten erschienen. Er besitzt grosse Kraft, Originalität und reiche Phantasie, sowie Herrschaft über Sprache und Form, aber er ist oft bombastisch und eben so oft prosaisch und flach und sein Streben, wie er sich selbst ausdrückt “die Fluthen des Jordan und des Helicon in demselben Becher zu mischen,” verleiten ihn fortwährend zu Geschmacklosigkeiten, wie sie in jener Zeit vorherrschten und den Beifall der Menge gewannen. nor An Elegy. What if my soul should take the wings of day And find some desert? if she springs away, People, that travel through thy wasted land, The wings of Vengeance clip as fast as they. Gaze on thy ruines, and amazed stand, They shake their spleenful heads, disdain, What if some solid rock should entertain deride My frighted soul? can solid rocks restrain The sudden downfal of so fair a pride, The stroke of Justice and not cleare in twain ? They clap their joyful hands, and fill their tongues Nor sea, nor shade, nor shield, nor rock, With hisses, ballads, and with lyrick songs: cave, Her torments give their empty lips new matter, Nor silent deserts, nor the sullen grave, And with their scornful fingers point they at her: Where flame-ey'd Fury means to smite, can save. Is this (say they) that place, whose wonted fame The seas will part, groves open, rocks will split; Made troubled earth to tremble at her name? The shield will cleave; the frighted shadows flit: Is this that state? Are these those goodly sta- Where Justice aims, her fiery darts must hit. tions? Is this that mistress, and that queen of nations ? No, no, if stern-brow'd vengeance means to thunder, There is no place above, beneath, or under, So close, but will unlock, or rive in sunder. Great God! there is no safety here below; I know thy justice is thyself; I know, the blow. Thou art my God! by thee I fall or stand; Then work thy will; if passion bid me flee, Thy grace has giv'n me courage to withstand My reason shall obey; my wings shall be Stretch'd out no further than from thee to thee. All tortures but my conscience, and thy hand Herbert. George Herbert, ein Bruder des berühmten Lord Herbert of Cherbury ward 1593 zu Montgomery-Castle in Wales geboren, studirte zu Cambridge und wurde 1619 Redner der Universität. Später trat er in den geistlichen Stand und erhielt eine Pfarre zu Bemerton, wo er 1632 starb. Seine Gedichte, religiösen Inhalts erschienen 1633 zu London unter dem Titel: the Temple or Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations, und fanden zu jener Zeit ausserordentlichen Beifall. Tiefe Frömmigkeit ist der eigenthümlichste Character derselben, aber sie offenbart sich nicht selten auf so sonderbare Weise, dass sie gerade den entgegengesetzten Eindruck hervorbringen und doch, trotz allen Verirrungen lässt sich nicht verkennen, dass H. ein grosses poetisches Talent besass. Mattens. May both the work and workman show: Then by a sunne-beam I will climbe to thee. My morning-soul and sacrifice: |