Their willow locks abroad, and all the day

With their own wat'ry shadows wanton playDares not those high amours, and love-sick songs

essay.

Impotent words, weak lines, that strive in vain-
In vain, alas! to tell so heav'nly sight,-
So heav'nly sight, as none can greater feign,
Feign what he can, that seems of greatest might:
Might any yet compare with Infinite?

Infinite sure those joys, my words but light; Light is the palace where she dwells-O blessed wight!

GEORGE WITHER.

BORN 1588; DIED 1667.

Of the writings of this once popular poet, the principal are, "The Shepherd's Hunting," "Emblems," "Songs of the Church." He also published numerous minor productions, the greater part of which were called forth either by the public events of the calamitous times in which he lived, or by his personal sufferings in the cause of the church and monarchy. With the exception of a passage or two of extraordinary beauty, familiar to the lovers of old English verse, his works have long passed into unmerited obscurity; nor is it likely their reputation will ever be retrieved; the brilliant gems which occasionally relieve their general mediocrity, being too few to induce republication in a fastidious age.

GEORGE WITHER.

DIVINE SUPPORT.

I SHOULD not care how hard my fortunes were,
Might still my hopes be such, as now they are,
Of help divine; nor fear how poor I be,

If thoughts yet present still may bide in me;
For they have left assurance of such aid,
That I am of no dangers now afraid.

Yea, now I see, methinks, what weak and vain
Supporters I have sought, to help sustain
My fainting heart; when some injurious hand
Would undermine the station where I stand.
Methinks I see how scurvy, and how base
It is, to scrape for favours and for grace
To men of earthly minds, and unto those
Who may, perhaps, before to-morrow, lose
Their wealth, or their abus'd authority,
And stand as much in want of help as I.

Methinks, in this new rapture I do see
The hand of God from heaven supporting me,
Without those rotten aids for which I whin'd
When I was of my other, vulgar mind;
And if in some one part of me it lay,
I now could cut that limb of me away.

Still might I keep this mind, there were enough
Within myself (beside that cumbrous stuff
We seek without) which, husbanded aright,
Would make me rich in all the world's despite ;
And I have hopes, that had she quite bereft me
Of those few rags and toys, which yet are left me,
I should on God alone so much depend,
That I should need nor wealth, nor other friend.

FEAR OF DEATH A WEAKNESS.

POOR feeble spirits, would you ne'er away,
But dwell for ever in a piece of clay?
What find you here, wherein you take delight,
Or what's to seeing that is worth the sight?
What? do the heavens thy endeavours bless,
And wouldst thou therefore live still to possess
The joy thou hast ? Seek 't not; perhaps to-morrow
Thou'lt wish to have died to-day, to 'scape the sorrow
Thou then shalt see: for shame, take stronger

hearts,

And add more courage to your better parts;
For Death's not to be fear'd, sith 'tis a friend
That of your sorrows makes a gentle end.

But here a quality I call to mind, That I amongst the common people find; This 'tis, a weak one too :-When they perceive A friend near death, and ready now to leave This wretched life; and if they hear him say Some parting words, as if he might not stay: "Nay, say not so," (these comforters reply ;) "Take heart-your time's not come-you shall not die.