particular vein excelled him. He is sometimes strangely modern. Such verses as those beginning 'As Celia rested in the shade With Cleon by her side,' have all the character of the eighteenth century. Carew is thus a transitional figure. He holds Shakspeare with one hand and Congreve with the other, and leads us down the hill of the seventeenth century by a path more flowery and of easier incline than any of his compeers. Yet we must never forget, in considering his historical position, that his chief merit lies, after all, in his fresh colouring and sincere and tender passion. EDMUND W. GOSSE. SONG. Ask me no more where Jove bestows, Ask me no more whither do stray For, in pure love, heaven did prepare Ask me no more if east or west A PRAYER TO THE WIND. Go, thou gentle whispering wind, Those sweet kisses thou shalt gain Boldly light upon her lip, There suck odours, and thence skip To her bosom; lastly fall And again destroy the same; Then, for pity, either stir Up the fire of love in her, That alike both flames may shine, Or else quite extinguish mine. THE CRUEL MISTRESS. We read of kings and gods that kindly took Do with repaired fuel ever burn, But my saint frowns, though to her honoured name, I consecrate a never-dying flame. The Assyrian king did none i' the furnace throw But those that to his image did not bow, With bended knees I daily worship her, Of such a goddess no times leave record, A DEPOSITION FROM LOVE. I was foretold your rebel sex And with what scorn you use to vex The happy lover sure should gain I thought Love's plagues, like dragons, sate, But I did enter and enjoy What happy lovers prove, For I could kiss, and sport and toy, The force of love might not abate, Jove were too mean a guest. But now her breach of faith far more Hard fate! to have been once possessed Achieved with labour and unrest, And then forced to depart ; I lose but what was never mine, From enjoyed beauty, feels a woe DISDAIN RETURNED. He that loves a rosy cheek, But a smooth and steadfast mind, Gentle thoughts and calm desires, No tears, Celia, now shall win, My resolved heart to return; I have searched thy soul within And find nought but pride and scorn; I have learned thy arts, and now Can disdain as much as thou! CELIA SINGING. You that think love can convey But through the eyes, into the heart, Close up those casements and but hear And on the wing Of her sweet voice it shall appear Then unveil your eyes, behold The curious mould Where that voice dwells, and as we know, When the cocks crow, |