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Hence, all you vain delights,
Wherein you spend your folly;
But only Melancholy;
Welcome, folded arms and fixed eyes;
Fountain heads and pathless groves,
2 “ Lovely Melancholy.”—Tradition has given these verses to Beaumont, though they appeared for the first time in a play of Fletcher's after the death of his friend. In all probability Beaumont had partly sketched the play, and left the verses to be inserted.
I cannot help thinking that a couplet has been lost after the words " bats and owls.” It is true the four verses ending with those words might be made to belong to the preceding four, as among the things “ welcomed ;" but the junction would be forced, and the modulation injured. They may remain, too, where they are, as combining to suggest the “sounds” which the melancholy man feeds upon; “fountain-heads" being audible, “groves" whispering, and the "moonlight walks" being attend. ed by the hooting “owl.” They also modulate beautifully in
Yet these intimations themselves appear a little forced; whereas, supposing a couplet to be supplied, there would be a distinct reference to melancholy sights, as well as sounds.
The conclusion is divine. Indeed the whole poem, as Hazlitt says, is "the perfection of this kind of writing.” Orpheus might have hung it, like a pearl, in the ear of Proserpina. It has naturally been thought to have suggested the Penseroso to Milton, and is more than worthy to have done so; for fine as that is, it is still finer. It is the concentration of a hundred melancholies. Sir Walter Scott, in one of his biographical works, hardly with the accustomed gallantry and good-nature of the great novelist, contrasted it with the “melo-dramatic” abstractions of Mrs. Radclyffe (then living). He might surely, with more justice, have opposed it to the diffuseness and conventional phraseology of “novels in verse.”
16 Places which pale passion loves.”-Beaumont, while writing this verse, perhaps the finest in the poem, probably had in his memory that of Marlowe, in his description of Tamburlaine.
Pale of complexion, wrought in him with passion.
A SATYR PRESENTS A BASKET OF FRUIT TO THE
Here be grapes whose lusty blood
Here be berries for a queen,
3 " Some be red, some be green.”—This verse calls to mind a beautiful one of Chaucer, in his description of a grove in spring :
In which were oakès great, straight as a line,
The Flower and the Leaf.
Coleridge was fond of repeating it.
4“ That sleeping lies," &c.-Pan was not to be waked too soon with impunity.
Ου θεμις, ω ποιμαν, το μεσαμβρινον, ου θεμις αμμιν
Theocritus, Idyll i., v. 15.
No, shepherd, no; we must not pipe at noon :
What a true picture of the half-goat divinity!
A SPOT FOR LOVE TALES.
Here be all new delights, cool streams and wells;
See, the day begins to break,
I have departed from my plan for once, to introduce this very small extract, partly for the sake of its beauty, partly to show the student that great poets do not confine their pleasant descriptions to images or feelings pleasing in the commoner sense of the word, but include such as, while seeming to contradict, harmo. nize with them, upon principles of truth, and of a genial and strenuous sympathy. The “subtle streak of fire” is obviously beautiful, but the addition of the cold wind is a truth welcome to those only who have strength as well as delicacy of apprehension, or rather, that healthy delicacy which arises from the strength. Sweet and wholesome, and to be welcomed, is the chill breath of morning. There is a fine epithet for this kind of dawn in the elder Marston's Antonio and Melida :
Is not yon gleam the shuddering morn, that flakes
THE POWER OF LOVE.
Hear, ye ladies that despise
What the mighty Love has done;
Fair Calisto was a nun ;
To deceive the hopes of man,
Doted on a silver swan ;
loved a shower.5
Hear, ye ladies that are coy,
What the mighty Love can do,
The chaste moon he makes to woo ;
Circled round about with spies,
Doting at the altar dies;
» « Where no love was.”-See how extremes meet, and pas síon writes as conceit does, in these repetitions of a word :
Where no love was, lov'd a shower.
So, still more emphatically, in the iñistance afterwards :
Fear the fierceness of the boy
than which nothing can be finer. Wonder and earnestness con. spire to stamp the iteration of the sound.