She returned to London under an engagement of marriage with Vander Albert, which was prevented by his death. From this time, the remainder of her life was devoted to pleasure and the muse. She assumed or obtained the poetic name of Astrea, wrote plays, novels, and poems, and lived on familiar terms with Dryden, Southern, Congreve, Creech, and all the wits and gallants of the age. Mrs. Aphra Behn died after a long illness, April the 16th, 1689, and was buried in the cloister of Westminster Abbey, where the following inscription is devoted to her memory :— Here lies a proof that wit can never be Great poetess,-Oh! thy stupendous lays, Mrs. Aphra Behn was in her person a handsome brunette. Of her private character the following account is given by one of her own sex, who published a narrative of her life, prefixed to one of the editions of her novels:-"She was of a generous humane disposition, something passionate, very serviceable to her friends in all that was in her power, and could sooner forgive an injury than do one: she had wit, humour, good nature, and judgment: she was mistress of all the pleasing arts of conversation: she was a woman of sense, and consequently a lover of pleasure. For my own part I knew her intimately, and never saw ought unbecoming the just modesty of our sex; though more gay and free than the folly of the precise will allow.” We may be excused from entering largely into the character of this lady's literary productions, the greater part of which are forgotten, and the memory of them should not be revived. The monstrous depravity of the age of Charles the Second was never more lamentably exhibited than in the conduct of this female author. Talents which might have adorned her sex and country, have become a scandal to the one and a disgrace to the other, from the prevalence of corrupt manners, and the influence of vicious example. She was a voluptuary; a true disciple of Epicurus, of whose opinions perhaps she knew nothing; the deity she worshipped was the Eneadum genetrix, hominum divumque voluptas One master passion pervaded her whole soul, under the influence of which she exclaims, Eternal powers! if e'er I sing of love, To please my wandering ghost when I am dead, Of such "perilous stuff" however, are genuine poets made; happy for them when the firm hand of judgment restrains the too rapid course of enthusiasm; when sound discretion regulates the flights of imagination; and a fit sense of decorum and propriety affixes bounds to the expression of ardent feeling. Poor Astrea had the true poetic temperament, she wanted all the rest. She was born an age too soon; had she lived in the present time she would have been a star of the first magnitude in the muse's galaxy. THE GOLDEN AGE. I. Blest age!-when every purling stream Ran undisturbed and clear, When no scorn'd shepherds on their banks were seen, Tortur❜d by love, by jealousy, or fear:When an eternal spring drest every bough, And blossoms fell by new ones dispossest, These their kind shade affording all below, And those a bed where all below might rest. The groves appear'd all drest with wreaths of flowers, And from their leaves dropt aromatic showers, Whose fragrant heads in mystic twines above Exchang'd their sweets, and mix'd with thousand kisses, As if the willing branches strove To beautify and shade the grove, Where the young wanton gods of love Offer their noblest sacrifice of blisses. II. Calm was the air, no winds blew fierce and loud, But all the heavens laugh'd with continual light, But what the streams and rivers purl'd, When silver waves o'er shining pebbles curl'd; Or when young zephyrs fann'd the gentle breeze, Gathering fresh sweets from balmy flowers and trees, Then bore them on their wings to perfume all the air: While to their soft and tender play, The gay-plum'd natives of the shades Then bill, then sing again, while love and music make the day. III. The stubborn plough had then Made no rude rapes upon the virgin earth, Who yielded of her own accord her plenteous birth, Without the aid of men; As if within her teeming womb, All nature and all sexes lay, Whence new creations every day Into the happy world did come : The roses filled with morning dew, Bent down their loaded heads, To adorn the careless shepherd's grassy beds; While still new opening buds each moment grew And as these wither'd drest his shaded couch anew;. Beneath whose boughs the snakes securely dwelt, Not doing harm, nor harm from others felt; With whom the nymphs did innocently play, No spiteful venom in the wantons lay, But to the touch were soft, and to the sight were gay. IV. Then no rough sound of war's alarms, Had taught the world the needless use of arms: Monarchs were uncreated then, Those arbitrary rulers over men ; Kings that made laws first broke them, and the gods] By teaching us religion first, first set the world at odds. Till then ambition was not known That poison to content, bane to repose; Each swain was lord o'er his own will alone, Flocks, herds, and every necessary good Which bounteous nature had design'd for food, Whose kind increase o'erspread the meads and plains, Was then a common sacrifice to all the agreeing swains. ས. Right and property were words since made, Was gaining of a glorious name, Stiling their savage slaughters, victories; Of the ill-natur'd busy great, Thou wert not known in those blest days! Thy poison was not mixt with their unbounded joys! And that was lawful all that pleasure did invite : And tyrant honour strove t'usurp in vain. VI. The flow'ry meads the rivers and the groves |