Thy nostrils to that myrrh which they did send,
Even as I now crave thine ears to be lent.
My soul, my soul is wholly bent
To do thee condigne* service and amend;
To flee for refuge to thy wounded breast,
To suck the balm of my salvation thence,
In sweet repose to take eternal rest,
As thy child folded in thine arms defence.
But then my flesh, methought by Sathan fir'd,
Said my proud sinful soul in vain aspir’d.

4

If Ben Jonson, as we are told by Drummond, "cursed Petrarch for redacting verses into sonnets," which he compared to that "tyrant's bed where some who were too short, were racked, others, too long, cut short," the sonnets of Barnes could not have escaped his censure. They are written with an almost constant adherence to the returning rima of the Italian sonetto, but Barnes frequently continues the sense beyond the termination of the line-a practice considered by Warton deserving of commendation.

When Dr. Bliss published his edition of Anthony Wood's Athena Oxonienses, the following address to Content was the only poem by Barnes with which he was acquainted, but it certainly justified his desire to know

more.

Ah! sweet Content, where is thy mild abode ?

Is it with shepherds and light-hearted swains,
Which sing upon the downs and pipe abroad,
Leading† their flocks and calling unto plains!
Ah! sweet Content, where dost thou safely rest?

In heaven with angels which the praises sing
Of Him that made, and rolls at his behest,
The minds, and parts of every living thing!

* Worthy.

+ The word in the original is sending, but it seemed to me an error of the press.

C

Ah! sweet Content, where doth thine harbour hold?
Is it in churches with religious men

Which praise the Gods with prayers manifold,
And in their studies meditate it then?

Whether thou dost in heaven or earth appeare,

Be where thou wilt, thou wilt not harbour here.

The last couplet is sweetly pathetic.

I cannot refrain from adding one more sonnet; to all, save the antiquarian in poetical literature, Barnes will be a new poet.

Unto my spirit lend an angel's wing,

By which it might mount to that place of rest,
Where paradise may me relieve opprest :
Lend to my tongue an angel's voice to sing
Thy praise my comfort; and for ever bring
My notes thereof from the bright east to west;
Thy mercy lend unto my soul distrest,
Thy grace unto my wits; then shall the sling
Of Righteousness that monster Sathan kill,
Who with dispair my dear salvation dared,
And, like the Philistine, stood breathing still
Proud threats against my soul; for heaven prepared,
At length I like an angel shall appear,

In spotless white an angel's robe to wear.

A passing notice may be given of HENRY CONSTABLE, another poet belonging to this period, and as little known as the preceding. His Spiritual Sonnets to the Honour of his God and his Saints, were first printed in the Heliconia, from a MS. in the Harleian collection. Of Constable himself little is known. Sir John Harrington calls him

66

a well-learned gentleman, and noted sonnet-writer." Malone thinks he was of St. John's College, Cambridge, and took his degree of B.A. in 1579; and Dr. Birch supposes him to have been a zealous Roman Catholic, and compelled, by his religious tenets, to reside abroad during

a considerable portion of the reign of Elizabeth. This opinion is countenanced by the general tone of his poems, and by several letters addressed, during his absence, to his friends in England.

He was a favourite of Ben Jonson, who speaks of "Constable's ambrosiack music."

I have only room for one Sonnet *.

TO SAINT MARY MAGDALEN.

Such as retired from sight of men like thee,
By penance seek the joys of heaven to win,
In deserts make their paradise begin,
And even amongst wild beasts do angels see,
In such a place my soul doth seem to be.

When in my body she laments my sin,
And none but brutal passions finds therein,
Except they be sent down from heaven to me.
Yet if these praises God to me impart,

Which He inspired my blessed heart with all,
I may find heaven in my retired heart!
And if thou change the object of my love,

The wing'd Affection, which men Cupid call,
May get his sight, and like an angel prove.

Constable occasionally indulges in allusions more applicable to his "vainer hours," than these specimens of his "calmer thought." The concluding couplet of this sonnet affords an instance of this ill-taste.

Among the Harleian MSS., 6930, is a version of selected Psalms by Francis and Christopher Davison, W. Bagnall, Richard Gipps, and J. Bryant. The MS.

'Noble Henry Constable was a great master in English tongue, nor had any gentleman of our nation a more pure, quick, or higher delivery of conceit."-Bolton's Hypercritica. Unfortunately, the sonnet instanced by the worthy critic in support of his good opinion, is almost the worst ever written by the author.

+ Mr. Todd mentions another MS. of this version in the Bridgewater Library, now in the possession of the Marquess of Stafford.

extends to 113 pages, and is very beautifully transcribed. Francis Davison, who is the principal contributor, has prefixed an Introduction to the translation. Specimens of these Psalms have been annexed, by Sir Egerton Brydges, to his reprint of the Poetical Rhapsody.

Francis Davison, well known as the editor of the Poetical Rhapsody, was the son of William Davison, the unfortunate Secretary of Queen Elizabeth; a man whose probity and excellence appear to have been unquestioned, even by his enemies, and who may be considered the victim of the deceit of Elizabeth, and the pusillanimous treachery of her ministers. In 1593, Francis became a member of Gray's Inn, and before he completed his twentieth year, he wrote the speeches of the Gray's Inn Masque, printed in Nichols's Progresses of Queen Elizabeth. In 1595 he was on the Continent, and, on his return, appears to have relinquished his former pursuits, and devoted himself to poetry. Mr. John Chamberlain, writing to Sir Dudley Carleton, on the 8th of July, 1602, alludes to the circumstance."It seems young Davison means to take another course, and turn poet; for he has lately sent out certain sonnets and epigrams*." The first edition of the Poetical Rhapsody was published in 1602. The fall of his father from his rank and dignities, and his subsequent imprisonment and poverty, must have blighted the prospects of the young poet. After 1619 nothing has been discovered respecting him; and it has been supposed that he shared what has been called, with melancholy truth, the common lot of genius-" an obscure life, and an early gravet." It was, perhaps, during hours of sorrow

*Birch's MSS., Brit. Mus. 4173, p. 125.

Autographs of Royal, Noble, and Remarkable Persons, by J. G. Nichols; fol. 1829.

and penury, that these beautiful versions of the Psalms were composed; and I coincide with Sir Egerton Brydges in the opinion that they elevate the poet to a more distinguished place than his lighter compositions, written, he tells us, in his younger days, "at idle times," as he journeyed" up and down" in his travels.

The following Paraphrase of the twenty-third Psalm will show that Davison could touch the harp of Sion with a grace and skill not unworthy the "sweet finger" of the Royal Minstrel. This Psalm has also been translated by Crashaw, with a richness and felicity of diction peculiarly his own. I shall speak of it more fully in the life of that poet.

God, who the universe doth hold

In his fold,

Is my shepherd kind and heedful,
Is my Shepherd, and doth keep
Me his sheep,

Still supplied with all things needful.

He feeds me in fields which been*,
Fresh and green,

Mottled with Spring's flowery painting,
Through which creep with murmuring crooks,
Crystal brooks,

To refresh my spirits fainting.

When my soul from heaven's way
Went astray,

With earth's vanities seduced,

For his namesake, kindly He,
Wandering me

To his holy fold reduced.

Yea, though I stray through Death's vale,
Where his pale

* So in the original MS.

+ Reduced, led back.