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never learned the art of doing little things with grace; he overlooked the milder excellence of suavity and softness; he was a lion that had no skill in dangling a kid." Most of his shorter poems are eminently graceful; and the two to which we are now making reference excel in this attribute. The object of the poem is to show how the mind colours all things, how prompt it is to select those objects which most flatter its particular state—to both the melancholy or contemplative man II Penseroso, and to the mirthful or active man I/Allegro. The same fields, the same world spreads itself,—but the different minds seize on different times, different spots, and associaRTwith even the same places widely different ideas;—tbey are a sort of commentary on the well-known lines of Shakspeare.

"Oh how this Rpring of love resembleth
Th' uncertain glory of an April day,
Which now shows all her beauty to the sun,
And by-and-bye a cloud takes all away."

The cheerful man rises with the lark in the morning, and steps forth into the fields. The sun is just beginning his stately march; the cocks are crowing, as if to scatter the remaining mists of darkness; human employments and labours are now beginning; the shepherd counts his sheep, under the old hawthorn in the dell, to see if any have strayed during the night; the milkmaid comes abroad with her pails, and the mower whets his scythe in the hay field; while over the hills is heard the cheerful echo of the huntsmen's horns and hounds,—these are the delights of the cheerful man—

"To hear the lark begin his flight
And singing, startle the dull night,
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise;
Then to come in spite of sorrow,
And at my window bid good morrow;
Through the sweet-briar, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine;
While the cock, with lively din,
Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
And to the stack, or the barn door,
Stoutly struts his dames before:

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures,
Whilst the landscape round it measures
Russet lawns and fallows grey,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray;
Mountains, on whose barren breast
The labouring clouds do often rest;
Meadows trim, with daisies pied;
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide:
Towers and battlements it sees,
'Bosom'd high in tufted trees,

Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The cynosure of neighbouring eyes."

What a picture is presented in the following stanzas:—

"Hard by, a cottage chimney smokes,
From betwixt two aged oaks,
Where Corydon and Thyrsis met,
Are at their savoury dinner set,
Of herbs and other country messes,
Which the neat-handed Phyllis dresses;
And then in haste her bower she leaves,
With Thestylis to bind the sheaves;
Or, if the earlier season lead,
To the tann'd haycock in the mead."

The cheerful man continues his walk through the day; he delights to hear the peal of the merry bells, of the jocund rebeck on the village green; he delights to watch the village youth dancing beneath the shade, when the young and the old come forth to make the blithe holiday; he delights to see the spicy nutbrown ale circling round the board, to hear the stories told of the strange feats of fairies, and the wonderful doings, especially of that ancient frolicsome elf, Robin Goodfellow; he listens to these tales, till frighted all creep to their beds, and are lulled to sleep by the whistling winds. The cheerful man delights in the life of cities, in the busy hum of men, in the throng of courts, where knights and barons mingle in the gentle contentions of peace; the gay scenery of the masque pleases him; the pomp, and feast, and ancient pageantry; he does not altogether scorn the theatre, if "Jonson's learned sock be on," or " sweetest Shakspeare"

"Warble bia native wood-notea wild."

The cheerful man'delights in music, in " soft Lydian airs"—

"In notes, with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetness long drawn out,
With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running,
Untwisting all the chains that tie
The hidden soul of harmony."

All the elements of this exquisite cheerfulness, it should be noticed, are derived from virtuous enjoyments. Cowley, or any of the other poets of that age, would have given very different colours to the merry men of their fancy; but there is a dignity and propriety in every source of enjoyment, in the

"Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his sides;"

while the peculiar inspiration of the poet appears in his freedom and his purity—

"And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty,
And if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew,
To live with her, and live with thee.
In unreproved pleasures free."

The contemplative man goes forth not in the morning; but in the evening he sits upon some rising plot of ground, and hears the solemn curfew.

"Over some wide-watered shore,
Swinging slow, with sullen roar."

He finds a charm in retired leisure, and listens with pleasure to the nightingale—most musical, most melancholy. The midnight hour is the chosen time of the musing man: he walks unseen on the smooth-shaven lawn, beneath the beams of the moon; or, if the night will not permit,, he chooses some retired room, where glowing embers cast a gloom over the floor, while the cricket chirps upon the hearth—while the watchman drowsily chaunts forth the hour: the musing man is fond of the mysterious study,—and high up in the lonely tower you

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