21. Unhous'd thy virgin foul,—]

We have the fame expreffion in Sylvefter's Funeral Elegy on the Wife of M. D. Hill;

For her own father Nature had UNHOUS'D,
And Metkerk had her mother re-efpous'd. p.1168.

5.

ANNO ETATIS XIX.

A VACATION EXERCISE.

-dumb filence-]

Through all the world DUMB SILENCE doth diftill,

P. 13.

19. Not thofe new-fangled toys, and trimming flight, Which takes our late fantaftics with delight,]

In Sylvefter's Du Bartas it is faid, that Sir Thomas More and Sir Nicholas Bacon first improved the English language, and

weaned first

Our infant phrafe, till then but homely nurst, And childish TOYS ; and, rudenefs chacing

thence,

To civil knowledge join'd sweet eloquence.

p. 265.

And, a little before, the change of languages is afcribed, among other causes, to the fabrications, or new-fanglings, of "fame-thirsting wits."

Or else because fame-thirsting wits, who toil
In golden terms to trick their gracious ftyle,
With NEW-FOUND beauties prank each circum-
ftance, &c. &c.

p. 261.

29. Yet I had rather, if I were to chufe,
Thy fervice in fome graver subject use :-
Such where the deep tranfported mind may foar
Above the wheeling poles, and at Heaven's door
Look in, and fee each blefsful Deity,
How he before the thund'rous throne doth lie,
Lifning to what unfhorne Apollo fings

To th' touch of golden wires, while Hebe brings
Immortal Nectar to her kingly fire;

Then paffing thro' the spheres of watchful fire,
And mify regions of wide air next under,
And hills of fnow and lofts of piled thunder,

May

May tell at length bow green-ey'd Neptune raves,
In Heaven's defiance muft'ring all his waves ;
Then fing of fecret things that came to pass,
When beldam Nature in her cradle was. 1

I have often thought, that thefe were not exactly the original ideas of a poet, anno ætatis 19; even though that poet was Milton.I beg you to compare the following mental excurfion, into the elementary and celeftial regions, of the facred poet, with whom I fuppofe Milton to have made an early acquaintance.

And though our foul live as imprison'd here
In our frail flesh, and buried, as it were,
In a dark tomb; yet at one flight she flies
From Calpe to Imaus, from th' earth to fkies,
Much fwifter than the chariot of the fun,

Which in a day about the world doth run.
For fometimes, leaving thefe bafe flimy heaps,:
With chearful fpring above the clouds the leaps,
Glides through the air, and there the learns to
know

The original of wind; and air, and fnow,

Of lightning, thunder, blazing ftars, and ftorms, Of rain and ice, and ftrange exhaled forms.

I

By th' air's fteep fteps fhe boldly climbs aloft
To the world's chambers; Heaven fhe vifits oft,
Stage after stage; fhe marketh all the spheres,
And all th' harmonious various course of theirs :
With fure account, and certain compaffes,
She counts the stars, and metes their distances,
And diff'ring paces; and, as if the found
No object fair enough in all this round,
She mounts above the world's extremeft wall,
Far, far beyond all things corporeal;
Where the beholds her Maker face to face,
His frowns of Juftice, and his 1miles of Grace,
The faithful zeal, the chaste and sober port,
And facred pomp of the Celestial Court.

P. 133.

Let the fobereft admirer of Milton and of true poetry judge, if fuch a paffage was not likely to captivate the attention. of the young poet!-Milton has, in fact, compreffed Du Bartas's defcription; only reverfing the order of it, and heathenifing, with fome fine claffical touches, the Ολυμπια δώματα of his predeceffor.

Had not this paffage precluded the neceffity of looking farther, we might have referred Milton, in fome part of the above citation,

citation, to the encomiaftic verfes of Bishop Hall, prefixed to the English Du Bartas; which, on account of their merit, I am not forry to bring forward to your notice.

To MR. JOSHUA SYLVESTER,

OF HIS

BARTAS

METAPHRASED.

I dare confefs; of Mufes more than nine,
Nor lift, nor can I envy none but thine.
She, drench'd alone in Sion's facred spring,
Her Maker's praise hath fweetly chofe to fing,
And reacheth nearest th' Angels's notes above;
Nor lifts to fing or tales, or wars, or love.
One while I find her, in her nimble flight,
Cutting the brazen spheres of Heaven bright;
Thence straight she glides, before I be aware,
Through the three regions of the liquid air:
Thence, rufhing down thro' Nature's Clofet-
door,

She ranfacks all her Grandame's fecret ftore;

And, diving to the darkness of the deep,

Sees there what wealth the wayes in prifon keep: