With boundless spite he longed to try again

A second loss, and new death;—glad and fain

To show his poisonous hate, though ever showed in vain.

So

up

he arose upon his stretched sails, Fearless expecting his approaching death; So up he arose, that the air starts and fails, And overpressed, sinks his load beneath;

So up

he arose, as doth a thunder-cloud,

Which all the earth with shadows black doth shroud; So up he arose, and through the weary air he rowed.

Now his Almighty foe far off he spies,

Whose sun-like arms dazzled the eclipsed day,
Confounding with their beams less glittering skies,
Firing the air with more than heavenly ray,

Like thousand suns in one :—such is their light,
A subject only for immortal sprite,

Which never can be seen but by immortal sight.

His threatening eyes shine like that dreadful flame
With which the Thunderer arms his angry hand:
Himself had fairly wrote his wondrous name,
Which neither earth nor heaven could understand:
A hundred crowns, like towers, be set around
His conquering head; well may they there abound,
When all his limbs and troops with gold are richly crowned.

His armor all was dyed in purple blood,

(In purple blood of thousand rebel kings,)

In vain their stubborn powers his aim withstood;

Their proud necks chained he now in triumph brings,

And breaks their spears and cracks their traitor-swords;
Upon whose arms and thigh in golden words

Was fairly writ, "The King of kings, and Lord of lords."

His snow-white steed was born of heavenly kind,
Begot by Boreas on the Thracian hills,

More strong and speedy than his parent wind,
And (which his foes with fear and horror fills)

Out from his mouth a two-edged sword he darts, Whose sharpest steel the bone and marrow parts, And with his keenest point unbreast the naked hearts.

The Dragon, wounded with his flaming brand,

They take, and in strong bonds and fetters tie: Short was the fight, nor could he long withstand Him whose appearance is his victory.

So now he's bound in adamantine chain :

He storms, he roars, he yells for high disdain; His net is broke, the fowl go free, the fowler's ta'en.

Soon at this sight the knights revive again,

As fresh as when the flowers from winter's tomb, When now the sun brings back his nearest train, Peep out again from their fresh mother's womb: The primrose, lighted new, her flame displays, And frights the neighbor hedge with fiery rays! And all the world renew their mirth and sportive plays.

The prince, who saw his long imprisonment

Now end in never-ending liberty,

To meet the victor from his castle went,
And falling down, clasping his royal knee,
Pours out deserved thanks in grateful praise:
But him the heavenly Saviour soon doth raise,
And bids him spend in joy his never-ending days.

WILLIAM DRUMMOND.

DRUMMOND of Hawthornden, the first Scottish poet who wrote wel in English, was born in 1585. He was bred at Edinburgh, and studied the civil law at Bourges; but on the death of his father he forsook that pursuit, and retired to his patrimony, there to enjoy a literary life. During the civil wars he was compelled by the ruling party to furnish his quota of men, to fight against the king, whom he loved; and when the monarch was put to death by the conquering faction, the spirit of Drummond was so broken, that it brought him to the grave. This happened in 1649. As a poet, Drummond has much sweetness and classic elegance, but little fancy or vigor. His sonnets are, perhaps, the best of his performances. These have been pronounced by the best critics as some of the most finished specimens of this kind of composition.

AN HYMN OF TRUE HAPPINESS.

AMIDST the azure clear

Of Jordan's sacred streams

Jordan, of Lebanon the offspring dear-
When zephyrs flowers unclose,

And sun shine with new beams,

With grave and stately grace a nymph arose.

Upon her head she wore

Of amaranths a crown;

Her left hand palms, her right a torch did bear;
Unveiled skin's whiteness lay,

Gold hairs in curls hung down,

Eyes sparkled joy, more bright than star of day.

The flood a throne her reared

Of waves, most like that heaven

Where beaming stars in glory turn unsphered;

The air stood calm and clear,

No sigh by winds was given,

Birds left to sing, herds feed, her voice to hear.

"World-wandering, sorry wights,

Whom nothing can content

Within these varying lists of days and nights,

Whose life ere known amiss,

In glittering griefs is spent,

Come learn," said she, "what is your choicest bliss:

"From toil and pressing cares

How ye may respite find;

A sanctuary from soul-thralling snares,

A port, to harbor sure,

In spite of waves and wind,

Which shall, when time's swift glass is run, endure.

"Not happy is that life,

Which you as happy hold;

No, but a sea of fears, a field of strife,

Charged on a throne to sit

With diadems of gold,

Preserved by force, and still observed by wit.

66

Huge treasures to enjoy,

Of all her gems spoil Inde,

And Sere's silk in garments t' employ,

Deliciously to feed,

The Phoenix' plume to find,

To rest upon or deck your purple bed.

"Frail beauty to abuse,

And wanton Sybarites,

On past or present touch of sense to muse,

Never to hear of noise,

But what the ear delights,

Sweet music's charms, or charming flatterer's voice.

"Nor can it bliss you bring,

Hid nature's depths to know,

Why matter changeth, whence each form doth spring: Nor that your fame should range,

And after worlds it blow

From Tanais to Nile, from Nile to Gange.

"All these have not the power

To free the mind from fears,

Nor hideous horror can allay one hour,
When death in stealth doth glance,

In sickness lurks, or years,

And wakes the soul from out her mortal trance.

"No; but blest life is this,

With chaste and pure desire,

To turn unto the load-star of all bliss;
On God the mind to rest,

Burnt up by sacred fire,

Possessing Him, to be by Him possessed:

"When to the balmy east,

Sun doth his light impart,

Or when he diveth in the lowly west,

And ravisheth the day,

With spotless hand and heart,

Him cheerfully to praise, and to Him pray.

"Take heed each action to,

As ever in his sight;

More fearing doing ill, or passive wo;

Not to seem other thing,

Than what ye are aright;

Never to do what may repentance bring.

"Not to be blown with pride,

Nor moved at glory's breath,

Which shadow-like on wings of time doth glide.