THE CAPTIVE BEE, OR THE LITTLE FILCHER It chanced a bee did fly that way, But when he felt he suck'd from thence He drank so much he scarce could stir; And thus surprised, as filchers use, THE NIGHT PIECE.-TO JULIA. Whose little eyes glow Like sparks of fire, befriend thee! Not making a stay, Since ghost there's none to affright thee! Let not the dark thee cumber; What though the moon does slumber, The stars of the night Will lend thee their light, Like tapers clear without number! Then Julia, let me woo thee, Thus, thus to come unto me: My soul I'll pour into thee! THE PRIMROSE. Ask me why I send you here This primrose, thus bepearl'd with dew? The sweets of love are mix'd with tears. Ask me why this flower does show So yellow green, and sickly too? UPON A CHILD THAT DIED. Here she lies, a pretty bud, EPITAPH UPON A CHILD. Virgins promised, when I died, UPON A MAID. Here she lies, in beds of spice, CATHERINE PHILIPS. 1631-1664. MRS. CATHERINE PHILIPS was the daughter of John Fowler, a Londo merchant, and married, when quite young, James Philips, a gentleman of Cardiganshire. Her devotion to the Muses showed itself at a very early age, and she wrote under the fictitious name of Orinda. She continued to write after her marriage; though this did not prevent her from discharging, in a most exemplary manner, the duties of domestic life. Her poems, which had been dispersed among her friends in manuscript, were first printed without her knowledge or consent. She was very much esteemed by her con temporaries: Jeremy Taylor addressed to her his "Measures and Offices of Friendship," and Cowley wrote an ode on her death. She died of the small pox, June 22, 1664, aged thirty-three. AGAINST PLEASURE. There's no such thing as pleasure here, 'Tis all a perfect cheat, Which does but shine and disappear, 'Tis true, it looks at distance fair, It being than in fancy less, For by our pleasures we are cloy'd, Or else, like rivers, they make wide We covet pleasure easily, But ne'er true bliss possess; For many things must make it be, But one may make it less. Nay, were our state as we could choose it, What art thou then, thou winged air, The experienced prince then reason had, 1 This was the fictitious name under which she addressed her husband, whose circumstances were much reduced during the civil war. The above poem was written March 16, 1600, to cheer him wita the hope that, as parliament had rescued him, Providence would do so too. And by an act so desperate, Did poorly run away from fate; "fis braver much t' outride the storm, Affliction nobly undergone, More greatness shows than having none. Woes have their ebb as well as flood: And since the parliament have rescued you, JEREMY TAYLOR. 1602--1637. JEREMY TAYLOR, who, for learning, eloquence, imagination, and piety stands among the first of English divines, was the son of a barber in Cam bridge. He was born about the year 1602, and at the age of thirteen entered the university of his native place. A short time after taking his degree, he was elected, by the interest of Archbishop Laud, fellow of All-Souls College Oxford. He became chaplain to Laud, who procured for him the rectory of Uppington in Rutlandshire, where he settled in 1640. In 1642, he was created D. D. at Oxford. In 1644, while accompanying the royal army as chaplain, he was taken prisoner by the parliamentary forces, in the battle fought before the castle of Cardigan, in Wales. Being soon released, he resolved to continue in Wales, and, having established a school in the county of Caermarthen, he there waited calmly the issue of events. In his own felicitous style, he gives the following picturesque account of his retirement: "In the great storm which dashed the vessel of the church all in pieces, I had been cast on the coast of Wales, and, in a little boat, thought to have enjoyed that rest and quietness which in England, in a far greater, I could not hope for Here I cast anchor, and thinking to ride safely, the storm followed me with BO impetuous violence, that it broke a cable, and I lost my anchor: and, bus that He that stilleth the raging of the sea, and the noise of his waves, and the madness of the people, had provided a plank for me, I had been lost to all the opportunities of content or study: but I know not whether I have been preserved more by the courtesies of my friends, or the gentleness and mercies of a noble enemy."1 After continuing some years in this solitude, he lost his three sons in the short space of two or three months. This most afflicting calamity caused him to go to London, where he administered, though in circumstances of great danger, to a private congregation of loyalists. At the Restoration he was made bishop of Down and Connor, in Ireland, and subsequently was elected vice-chancellor of the University of Dublin, which office he retained to his death, 1667. The writings of Bishop Taylor, which are numerous, are all of a theologi 1 A most noble and just tribute to the Republican cause. cal character. His greatest work, perhaps, is his ") Liberty of Prophesying." By prophesying, he means preaching or expounding. The object of this is to show the unreasonableness of prescribing to other men's faith, and the iniquity of persecuting for difference of opinion. It has been justly described as, perhaps of all Taylor's writings, that which shows him farthest in advance of the age in which he lived, and of the ecciesiastical system in which he had been reared; as the first distinct and avowed defence of toleration which had been ventured on in England, perhaps in Christendom." The most popular, however, of his works is his "Rule and Exercise of Holy Living and Dying," which contains numerous passages of singular beauty and truth. A writer in the Edinburgh Review remarks, that in one of Taylor's "prose folios, there is more fine fancy and original imagery-more brilliant concep. tions and glowing expressions-more new figures and new application of old figures, more, in short, of the body and soul of poetry, than in all the odes and epics that have since been produced in Europe." This is rather extravagant; but the encomium passed upon his writings by Dr. Rust, in his funeral sermon, is most richly deserved: They will," says he, "be famous to all suc ceeding generations for their greatness of wit, and profoundness of judgment, and richness of fancy, and clearness of expression, and copiousuess of invention, and general usefulness to all the purposes of a Christian." ON PRAYER. Prayer is an action of likeness to the Holy Ghost, the Spirit of gentleness and dove-like simplicity; an imitation of the holy Jesus, whose spirit is meek, up to the greatness of the biggest example; and a conformity to God, whose anger is always just, and marches slowly, and is without transportation, and often hindered, and never hasty, and is full of mercy. Prayer is the peace of our spirit, the stillness of our thoughts, the evenness of recollection, the seat of meditation, the rest of our cares, and the calm of our tempest; prayer is the issue of a quiet mind, of untroubled thoughts, it is the daughter of charity, and the sister of meekness; and he that prays to God with an angry, that is, with a troubled and discomposed spirit, is like him that retires into a battle to meditate, and sets up his closet in the out-quarters of an army, and chooses a frontier garrison to be wise in. Anger is a perfect alienation of the mind from prayer, and therefore is contrary to that attention, which presents our prayers in a right line to God. For so have I seen a lark rising from his bed of grass, and soaring upwards, singing as he rises, and hopes to get to heaven, and climb above the clouds; but the poor bird was beaten back with the loud sighings of an eastern wind, and his motion made irregular and inconstant, descending more at every breath of the tempest than it could recover by the libration and frequent weighing of his wings; till the little creature was forced to sit down and 1 The best edition of his works is that by Bishop Heber, "with a Life of the Author, and a erition) Examination of his Works." |