Where we will sit on rising rocks, Pleased will I make thee beds of roses, A jaunty2 gown of finest wool, A belt of straw and ivy buds, ROBERT SOUTHWELL. 1562-1595. ROBERT SOUTHWELL was descended from an ancient and respectable ca tholic family in Norfolk, and was born about the year 1562. At an early age he was sent to the English College at Douay, and thence he went to Rome where he entered the "Order of the Society of Jesus." After finishing his course of study there, the Pope sent him, in 1584, as a missionary to England. He had not been at home but a few years when he was apprehended by some of Elizabeth's agents, for being engaged in a conspiracy against the government. He was sent to prison, where he remained three years. He was repeatedly put upon the rack, and, as he himself affirmed, underwent very severe tortures no less than ten times. Wearied with torture and solitary imprisonment, he begged that he might be brought to trial, to answer for himself. At his trial he owned that he was a priest and a Jesuit, but denied that he ever entertained any designs against the queen or kingdom; alleging that he came to England simply to administer the sacraments according to the catholic church to such as desired them. The jury found him guilty of treason, and when asked if he had any thing to say why sentence should not be pronounced against him, he replied, "Nothing; but from my heart I forgive all who have been any way accessible to my death.' Sentence was pronounced, and the next day he was led to execution.4 1 A madrigal is a little amorous poem, of free and unequal verses, differing from the regularity of the sonnet and the subtilty of the epigram, and containing some tender and simple thought suitably expressed. 2 Showy. 3 In the northernmost province of France, where was made the celebrated papal version of the Scriptures-the "Douay Bible." 4 The best account of Southwell may be found in the "Gentleman's Magazine" for Nov. 1798. Read, also, an excellent article in the Retrospective Review, iv. 267. "So perished father Southwell, at thirty-three years of age; and so, unhappily, have perished many of the wise and virtuous of the earth. Conscious of suffering in the supposed best of causes, he seems to have met death without terror. Life's uncertainty and the world's vanity, the crimes and follies of humanity, and the con This whole proceeding should cover the authors of it with everlasting infamy. It is a foul stain upon the garments of the maiden queen that she can never wipe off. There was not a particle of evidence at his trial that this pious and accomplished poet meditated any evil designs against the government. He did what he had a perfect right to do; ay, what it was his duty to do, if he conscientiously thought he was right,-endeavor to make converts to his faith, so far as he could without interfering with the rights of others. If there be any thing that is to be execrated, it is persecution for opinion's sake. There is an excess of meanness, as well as wickedness, in striving to put down opinions by physical force. Those who do it thereby tacitly acknowledge that they have no other arguments, for truth has no reason ever to fear in any combat with error.1 Southwell's poems are all on moral and religious subjects. Though they have not many of the endowments of fancy, they are peculiarly pleasing for the simplicity of their diction, and especially for the fine moral truths and lessons they convey. TIMES GO BY TURNS. The lopped tree in time may grow again, Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower; The driest soil suck in some moistening shower: The sea of fortune doth not ever flow, She draws her favors to the lowest ebb: Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web· No joy so great but runneth to an end, Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring; The roughest storm a calm may soon allay. A chance may win that by mischance was lost; Who least, hath some; who most, hath never all. solations and glories of religion, are the constant themes of his writings, both in prose and verse, and the kindliness and benignity of his nature, and the moral excellence of his character are dif fused alike over both.” 1 Truth crush'd to earth shall rise again, The eternal years of God are hers; SCORN NOT THE LEAST. Where wards are weak, and foes encount'ring strong And silent sees that speech could not ainend: While pike doth range, the silly tench doth fly, These fleet afloat, while those do fill the dish; The merlin cannot ever soar on high, Nor greedy greyhound still pursue the chase; The tender lark will find a time to fly, And fearful hare to run a quiet race. He that high growth on cedars did bestow, In Haman's pomp poor Mordocheus wept, CONTENT AND RICH. My conscience is my crown; My heart is happy in itself, Enough I reckon wealth; That lies too high for base contempt, Too low for envy's shot. My wishes are but few, All easy to fulfil: I make the limits of my power I fear no care for gold, I clip high-climbing thoughts, But the prose of Southwell is no less charming than his poetry, as the ful· lowing beautiful extracts will fully show: MARY MAGDALENE'S TEARS.1 But fear not, Blessed Mary, for thy tears will obtain. They are too mighty orators to let thy suit fall; and though they pleaded at the most rigorous bar, yet have they so persuading a silence 1 This goes upon the supposition that the "woman that was a sinner," whose act of love to the Saviour is recorded in Luke vii. 37-50, was Mary Magdalene; but of this there is not only no proof but very little probability. and so conquering a complaint, that, by yielding, they overcome, and, by entreating, they command. They tie the tongues of all accusers, and soften the rigor of the severest judge. Yea, they win the invincible and bind the omnipotent. When they seem most pitiful they have greatest power, and being most forsaken they are more victorious. Repentant eyes are the cellars of angels, and penitent tears their sweetest wines, which the savor of life perfumeth, the taste of grace sweeteneth, and the purest color of returning innocency highly beautifieth. This dew of devotion never faileth, but the sun of justice draweth it up, and upon what face soever it droppeth, it maketh it amiable in God's eye. For this water hath thy heart been long a limbeck, sometimes distilling it out of the weeds of thy own offences with the fire of true contrition; sometimes out of the flowers of spiritual comforts with the flames of contemplation; and now out of the bitter herbs of thy master's miseries with the heat of a tender compassion. This water hath better graced thy looks than thy former alluring glances. It hath settled worthier beauties in thy face than all thy artificial paintings. Yea, this only water hath quenched God's anger, qualified his justice, recovered his mercy, merited his love, purchased his pardon, and brought forth the spring of all thy favor. 米米 * * Till death dam up the springs, thy tears shall never cease running; and then shall thy soul be ferried in them to the harbor of life, that, as by them it was first passed from sin to grace, so, in them it may be wafted from grace to glory. LIFE HATH NO "UNMEDDLED" JOY. : There is in this world continual interchange of pleasing and greeting accidence, still keeping their succession of times, and overtaking each other in their several courses; no picture can be all drawn of the brightest colors, nor a harmony consorted only of trebles; shadows are needful in expressing of proportions, and the bass is a principal part in perfect music; the condition here alloweth no unmeddled joy; our whole life is temperate between sweet and sour, and we must all look for a mixture of both the wise so wish: better that they still think of worse, accepting the one if it come with liking, and bearing the other without impatience, being so much masters of each other's fortunes, that neither shall work them to excess. The dwarf groweth not on the highest hill, nor the tall man loseth not his height in the lowest valley; and as a base mind, though most at ease, will be dejected, so a resolute virtue in the deepest distress is most impregnable. |