He walked mannerly; he talked meekly;
He heard three lectures and two sermons weekly;
He vowed to shun all company unruly,

And in his speech he used no oath but truly;
And zealously to keep the Sabbath's rest,
His meat for that day on the eve was drest;
And lest the custom which he had to steal
Might cause him sometimes to forget his zeal,
He gives his journeyman a special charge
That if the stuff, allowance being large,
He found his fingers were to filch inclined,
Bid him to have the banner in his mind.

This done (I scant can tell the rest for laughter),

A captain of a ship came three days after,

And bought three yards of velvet and three quarters,
To make Venitians down below the garters.

He that precisely knew what was enough
Soon slipt aside three quarters of the stuff;
His man, espying it, said in derision,

Master, remember how you saw the vision!'
'Peace, knave!' quoth he, 'I did not see a rag
Of such a colored silk in all the flag."

To this period belongs Fairfax, translator of Tasso's "Jerusalem Delivered." Dryden ranked this writer with Spenser as a master of our language, and Waller allowed that he derived from Fairfax the harmony of his numbers. The date of his birth is unknown. It is on record that he was living in 1639.

Dr. John Donne, the famous dean of St. Paul's, wrote most of his poetry before the end of the sixteenth century, though none of it was published till late in the reign of James. Donne may safely be classed with Wilson's "mystical wisemen and poetical clerkes, delighting much in their own darkness, especially when none can tell what they do say." Of this metaphysical poet an able critic observes: "He has used all the resources of the language, not to express thought, but to conceal it; but

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running through all this bewilderment, a deeper insight detects not only a vein of the most exuberant wit, but often the sunniest and most delicate fancy and the truest tenderness and depth of feeling. Nor can it be questioned that the peculiar construction of Donne's verses was conceived as adapted by choice and system; their harshness was a part of their relish."

Donne was distinguished for his great abilities and the amiability of his character. By a secret marriage with the daughter of Sir George Moore, Lord Lieutenant of the Tower, he fell into trouble and poverty. His domestic trials are said to have comprised every variety of wretchedness except that of separation from his wife, for whom his tenderness was unbounded, and for whose loss his grief is said to have been so overwhelming as to endanger his reason.

Craik observes that "in endeavoring to give expression to his inexpressible passion for her, he has exhausted all the eccentricities of language."

These stanzas from one of his parting songs, though in his own riddling style, are in sentiment exquisitely beautiful.

“As virtuous men pass mildly away,

And whisper to their souls to go,

Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
The breath goes now, and some say, no;

"So let us melt, and make no noise,

No tear-floods, no sigh-tempests move; 'Twere profanation of our joys

To tell the laity our love.

"Dull sublunary lover's love

(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit Absence, because it doth remove

Those things which alimented it.

"But we're by love so much refined

That ourselves know what it is;
Inter-assured of the mind,

Careless eyes, lips, and hands to miss.

"Our two souls, therefore (which are one),
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,

Like gold to airy thinness beat.

"If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two;
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
To move, but doth if th' other do.

"And though it in the centre sit,

Yet when the other far doth roam,
It leans and hearkens after it,

And grows erect as that comes home.

"Such wilt thou be to me, who must,

Like th' other foot, obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circles just,

And makes me end where I begun."

The beautiful little song of Donne's, beginning "Send home my long-strayed eyes to me," has far more harmony and elegance than his other pieces, and has been set to music. These four lines are from one of his most

elaborate elegies:

"Angels did hand her up, who next God dwell,

For she was of that order whence most fell.

Her body 's left with us, lest some had said

She could not die, except they saw her dead.”

Donne is also the author of these beautiful and often quoted lines:

"The pure and eloquent blood

Spoke in her cheeks, and so distinctly wrought,
You might have almost said her body thought."

Donne died at the age of fifty-eight, in 1631.

The intimate friend of Dr. Donne was 66 'Holy George Herbert." Herbert was of noble birth, descended from the earls of Pembroke, and born in Montgomery Castle, Wales, though he is best known as a pious country clergyman. He was educated at Cambridge, and in the year 1619 was chosen orator for the University. Lord Bacon entertained such a high regard for his learning and judgment that he is said to have submitted to him his works before publication. The death of King James deprived him of a lucrative court office, which had formerly been given by Elizabeth to Sir Philip Sidney. He entered into sacred orders, and was made rector of Bemerton in Wiltshire, where he passed the remainder of his life. Herbert's strength was unequal to the selfimposed tasks of his profession. With saint-like zeal and purity he discharged his clerical duties, but died at the early age of thirty-nine. His principal production is entitled "The Temple, or, Sacred Poems and Private Ejaculations." It was not printed till a few years after his death, and was so well received that two thousand copies are said to have been sold in a few years after the first impression. Herbert was a musician, and sang to the lute or viol his own flowing and musical hymns. Many of them are in sentiment exquisitely beautiful, though marred by the absurd conceits and unpoetical similes, which, however intolerable to us, were the fashion of the age. A preacher, cotemporary with Herbert, harangued the University of Oxford, and was, it is said, highly applauded by that learned body for his eloquence, in this style: "Arriving," said he, "at the mount of St. Mary's, in the stony stage where I now stand, I have brought you some fine biscuits, baked in the oven of charity, carefully conserved for the chickens of the Church,

the sparrows of the spirit, and the sweet swallows of salvation, which way of preaching," says the reporter of this homily, "was then commended by the generality of scholars." It is to be inferred that the chickens of the Church throve mightily under this culinary shepherd of souls. In Herbert's well-known lines to Virtue, considered the best in his collection, "the rose is angry and brave, and bids the rash beholder wipe his eye." The spring is compared to a box, and the soul to seasoned timber. The lyric genius of the poet still charms us, in spite of these tasteless conceits; and the warm and sincere piety which breathes through all his writings gives to them an enduring charm. These stanzas are finely conceived, and are among Herbert's best. The piece is somewhat absurdly called by its author

THE PULLEY.

WHEN God at first made man,

Having a glass of blessings standing by,
"Let us," said he, "pour on him all we can;
Let the world's riches which dispersed lie

Contract into a span."

So strength first made away;

Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honor, pleasure.
When almost all the rest was out, God made a stay,
Perceiving that alone of all his treasure

Rest in the bottom lay.

"For if I should," said he,

"Bestow this jewel also on my creature,
He would adore my gifts instead of me,
And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature,
So both should losers be.