and his "golden verse." The Faery Queen occupies a distinguished position, not only in our literature, but in our moral and serious poetry. It is indeed one of the Christian's proudest boasts, that strains of the deepest piety have flowed from those lips "wet with Castalian dews." Nor are we advancing any paradoxical hypothesis; the Faery Queen was included by John Wesley in the course of academical study; he recommended it, and the most ancient masters of our literature have concurred in assigning to the poem a high moral and didactic character. Bishop Hall alludes very happily to Spenser's "misty moral types" Michael Drayton styles him "grave moral Spenser;" and Milton, with greater liberality of praise, uplifts the "sage serious Spenser" into a "better teacher than Scotus or Aquinas." If we possessed his Canticum Canticorum, the Seven Psalms, and many other unrecovered productions of his pen, we should feel more deeply the force of this tribute. But his admirable Hymns yet remain to testify the fervour of his piety, and the humility of his heart; and though even these were carried away by the stream of time, his claims to the title of a didactic poet would still be sustained by the Faery Queen. His pictures glitter, indeed, with all the brilliancy of an Italian fancy, flushing the canvas into the aureate hues of morning; the Muse had looked out upon him from the lucid chambers of the south"look'd out, and smil'd"-yet even these gorgeous landscapes point their moral to the heart. That he himself regarded his poem as pregnant with instruction, is evident from many expressions. His object, we are expressly told, was to represent all the virtues, assigning to every virtue a knight, to be its patron and defender, under whose heroic actions its operations should be shadowed out, and beneath whose potent arm the antagonist vices were to be beaten down and overcome. Had Spenser lived in a later day, his imagination would probably have assumed another aspect; but in arraying it in the pomp and attractive colours of chivalry, he knew that he was awaking the sympathies of his readers, and winning their attention to the medicine by the splendour of the cup in which it was offered. Throughout the poem there breathes a melancholy sense of the vanity of life, and of the fleeting nature of earthly things: "High towers, fair temples, goodly theatres, Strong walls, rich porches, princely palaces, And over grown with black oblivious rust."-Ruins of Time. And in the Faery Queen with deeper pathos he mentions "those things so vain,"— "whose flowering pride, so fading and so fickle, Short Time shall soon cut down with his consuming sickle." And with solemnity of mind recalls the remembrance "Of that same time when no more change shall be, That is contraye to mutability; For all that moveth doth in change delight: But henceforth all shall rest eternally With Him that is the God of Sabbath hight O! that great Sabbath, God! grant me that Sabbath's sight!" The torch of Spenser was relighted by the hand of Giles. Fletcher, the author of Christ's Victory. Few of the Children of Song have left more slight or more imperfect memorials behind them; even the date of his birth in 1588 is merely conjectural. Fuller, who might easily have obtained more copious information from Mr. Ramsay, who married the poet's widow, tells us little concerning him, nor is that little free from difficulty. One thing seems clear, that Fletcher owed his admission to Trinity College, Cambridge, to the munificent patronage of Neville, a name dear to that University. There he began to climb Parnassus, and contributed some harmonious and elegant lines to the collection with which Cambridge hailed the successor of Elizabeth. In 1610 his great poem appeared, but without exciting any particular attention, or gaining any applause for the writer. His brother Phineas hints, also, at the censure of "malicious tongues." Certain it is, that he abandoned the service of the Muses, and devoted himself to other pursuits. His settlement at Alderton, a small village in Suffolk, was not likely to recall the spirit of his harp; his melancholy was deepened by the neglect of his parishioners, and about 1623 his delicate and refined spirit is supposed to have departed to a more congenial home. Such was the fate of one whose genius aided in kindling the soul of Milton. But he did not strike the lyre in vain; he has bequeathed to the world what it will not willingly let die—a few precious leaves to be laid up in cedar. The similarity of the theme has subjected Fletcher to a comparison with Milton. "The peculiar excellencies," it has been remarked, " of the Paradise Regained and Christ's Victory, are not difficult to define. In scriptural simplicity of conception, and in calm and sustained dignity of tone, the palm of superiority must be awarded to Milton; while in fertility of fancy, earnestness of devotion, and melody of expression, Fletcher may be said to stand at least upon an equality with him. Christ's Victory is rather a series of pictures than a poem; it is deficient in unity and concentration of interest. The power of the writer comes out in occasional touches of great vigour and beauty, but rendered comparatively ineffective by their uncertainty. His poem, to employ his own magnificent image, does not fling out 'Such light as from main rocks of diamond, Shooting their sparks at Phoebus, would rebound.' It has not the lustre of one great luminous whole, unbroken in the purity of its splendour; its brilliancy is dazzling, but fragmentary." But these are precisely the qualities to be expected from a youthful genius, like Fletcher's, climbing to the level of this high argument. The writer of the earliest religious poem in the language was thrown upon his own resources, and in thus ascending with adventurous courage where never wing of poet had yet made way, it was natural that his flight should often be near the ground. He who was to soar with dauntless and unwearied pinion, through the loftiest heaven of invention, had not yet trodden the garden of Christ's. Fletcher's fancy never ripened into fruit; we must form our opinion of it from the blossoms; and in the imagery and diction of a true poet his work abounds. A few specimens will be sufficient for our purpose: The Scriptures are "The sacred writings in whose antique leaves Justice, who Poverty, "The silence of the thought loud speaking hears." "Sending hir eyes to Heaven swimming in tears." Mercy, displaying "Those sunshine looks whose beams would dim a The sublime picture of Despair, "Like cloudy moonshine in some shadowy grove, Such was the light in which Despair did dwell." The comparison of a garden to a beautiful woman "That lay as if she slumbered in delight." The glowing image of a cloud at sunset, 66 Burning in melting gold his wat'ry head, Or round with ivory edges silvered." If Milton had written the Paradise Lost in rhyme, he could not have produced three stanzas more fertile in thought, or condensed into nobler versification, than the following Impersonation of the Deity : "In midst of this City Celestial, Where the Eternal Temple should have rose, End and Beginning of each thing that grows, Changer of all things, yet immutable; The hearts of wicked men unbreasted lie, It is no flaming lustre made of light, A harmony that sounds within the breast, An odour, light, embrace, in which the soul doth rest." The conscience-smitten traitor Judas compared to the maddened Pentheus, when "Twofold Thebes runs rolling in his eyes," or to "Staring Orestes," flying along the scene, will remind the reader of Juvenal and Horace. It is only in our day that the attention of poetical readers has been directed to the treasures of thought and fancy buried in the verses of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. The occasional harshness of the diction, the grotesque extravagance of the imagery, and the frequent discordancy of the versification, had blinded the eyes even of scholars to their deserts. They dreamt not of the sweet flowers, beautiful in colour and perfume, which bloomed amidst those thorny enclosures; nor thought that the Sacred Muse had shed the softest sunshine of her face upon these solitary and unvisited paths of our literature. The names of Constable, Davison, Barnes, Sandys (one of the chief improvers of our poetry, and upon whose page the child Pope lingered with delight), Giles Fletcher, Wither, Quarles, Crashaw, Herbert, and many others, were forgotten or despised. In all the miscellaneous strains of that early age, a tone of devout and enthusiastic feeling may be traced; and even the gayest spirits seemed to set apart a few hours to graver meditations. Thus, to Francis Davison, the editor of the Poetical Rhapsody, we are indebted for some of the most touching paraphrases of the Psalms. The following stanzas from his version of the 23d will startle any ear familiar only with Sternhold or Brady. From the 13th Psalm these exquisite and melodious lines may be selected. Of the fate of this gifted man, the son of Queen Elizabeth's secretary, nothing certain has been ascertained. Barnabe Barnes is a writer equally unknown, except to the literary antiquarian; but in this sonnet he evinces powers of expression of no common order: : |