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cause of vice and misery to their fellow-creatures ?

I'm wae to think upon yon den, Could we endure for a moment to think that a spirit,

Ev'n for your sake! like Bishop Taylor's, burning with Christian love; I need not say that these thoughts, which are here that a man constitutionally overflowing with plea- dilated, were in such a company only rapidly sugcurable kindliness ; who scarcely even in a casual gested. Our kind host smiled, and with a courteous illustration introduces the image of woman, child, or compliment observed, that the defence was too good bird, but he embalms the thought with so rich a for the cause. My voice faltered a little, for I was teiderness, as makes the very words seem beauties somewhat agitated; though not so much on my own and fragments of poetry from a Euripides or Simo- account as for the uneasiness that so kind and ndes ;-can we endure to think, that a man so na- friendly a man would feel from the thought that he tured and so disciplined, did at the time of composing had been the occasion of distressing me. At length this horrible picture, attach a sober feeling of reality I brought out these words: “ I must now confess, w the phrases ? or that he would have described in Sir! that I am author of that Poem. It was written the same tone of justification, in the same luxuriant some years ago. I do not attempt to justify my past flow of phrases, the tortures about to be inflicted on self

, young as I then was; but as little as I would a living individual by a verdict of the Star-Chamber? now write a similar poem, so far was I even then or the still more atrocious sentences executed on the from imagining, that the lines would be taken as Scotch anti-prelatists and schismatics, at the com- more or less than a sport of fancy. At all events, if mand, and in some instances under the very eye of I know my own heart, there was never a moment the Duke of Lauderdale, and of that wretched bigot in my existence in which I should have been more who afterwards dishonored and forfeited the throne ready, had Mr. Pitt's person been in hazard, to interof Great Britain ? Or do we not rather feel and un- pose my own body, and defend his life at the risk of derstand, that these violent words were mere bubbles, my own.” tlashes and electrical apparitions, from the magic I have prefaced the Poem with this anecdote, becaldron of a fervid and ebullient fancy, constantly cause to have printed it without any remark might fuelled by an unexampled opulence of language ? well have been understood as implying an uncondi

Were I now to have read by myself for the first tional approbation on my part, and this after many time the Poem in question, my conclusion, I fully years' consideration. But if it be asked why I rebelieve, would be, that the writer must have been published it at all? I answer, that the Poem had some man of warm feelings and active fancy; that been attributed at different times to different other he had painted to himself the circumstances that ac- persons; and what I had dared beget, I thought it company war in so many vivid and yet fantastic neither manly nor honorable not to dare father. forms, as proved that neither the images nor the From the same motives I should have published feelings were the result of observation, or in any perfect copies of two Poems, the one entitled The way derived from realities. I should judge, that they Devil's Thoughts, and the other The Two Round were the product of his own seething imagination, Spaces on the Tomb-Stone, but that the three first and therefore impregnated with that pleasurable ex- stanzas of the former, which were worth all the rest ultation which is experienced in all energetic exer- of the poem, and the best stanza of the remainder, tion of intellectual power; that in the same mood were written by a friend of deserved celebrity; and be had generalized the causes of the war, and then because there are passages in both, which might personified the abstract, and christened it by the have given offence to the religious feelings of certain hame which he had been accustomed to hear most readers. I myself indeed see no reason why vulgar often associated with its management and measures. superstitions, and absurd conceptions that deform the 1 should guess that the minister was in the author's pure faith of a Christian, should possess a greater mind at the moment of composition, as completely immunity from ridicule than stories of witches, or arachs, dvaljósapkos, as Anacreon's grasshopper, and the fables of Greece and Rome. But there are that he had as little notion of a real person of fiesh those who deem it profaneness and irreverence to and blood,

call an ape an ape, if it but wear a monk's cowl on Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb,

its head; and I would rather reason with this weak.

ness than offend it. as Milton had in the grim and terrible phantoms (half The passage from Jeremy Taylor to which I reperson, half allegory) which he has placed at the ferred, is found in his second Sermon on Christ's gales of Hell. I concluded by observing, that the Advent to Judgment; which is likewise the second Poem was not calculated to excite passion in any in his year's course of sermons. Among many re mind, or to make any impression except on poetic markable passages of the same character in those readers; and that from the culpable levity, betrayed discourses, I have selected this as the most so. “But at the close of the Eclogue by the grotesque union when this Lion of the tribe of Judah shall appear, of epigrammatic wit with allegoric personification, then Justice shall strike and Mercy shall not hold ia the allusion to the most fearful of thoughts, I her hands; she shall strike sore strokes, and Pity should conjecture that the “rantin’ Bardie,” instead shall not break the blow As there are treasures of si really believing, much less wishing, the fate spo- good things, so hath God a treasure of wrath and ken of in the last line, in application to any human fury, and scourges and scorpions; and then shall be individual, would shrink from passing the verdict produced the shame of Lust and the malice of Envy, even on the Devil himself, and exclaim with poor and the groans of the oppressed and the persecutions Burns,

of the saints, and the cares of Covetousness and the But fare se weel, auld Nickie-ben!

troubles of Ambition, and the indolence of trailors Oh! wad ye tak a thought an' men'!

and the violences of rebels, and the rage of anger and Ye aiblins might I dinna ken

the uneasiness of impatience, and the restlessness of

Suill hae a stake

unlawful desires ; and by this time the monsters and nor by reference and caresul re-perusal could dis diseases will be numerous and intolerable, when cover, any other meaning, either in Million or Taylor God's heavy hand shall press the sanies and the in- but that good men will be rewarded, and the impeit tolerableness, the obliquity and the unreasonableness, itent wicked punished, in proportion to their dispos. the amazement and the disorder, the smart and the lions and intentional acts in this life; and that if the sorrow, the guilt and the punishment, out from all punishment of the least wicked be fearful beyond our sins, and pour them into one chalice, and mingle conception, all words and descriptions must be so far them with an infinite wrath, and make the wicked true, that they must fall short of the punishment that drink of all the vengeance, and force it down their awaits the transcendently wicked. Had Milton stated unwilling throats with the violence of devils and either his ideal of virtue, or of depravily, as an indiaccursed spirits.”

vidual or individuals actually existing? Ceriainly not That this Tartarean drench displays the imagina- Is this representation worded historically, or only by tion rather than the discretion of the compounder; pothetically ? Assuredly the latter! Does he express that, in short, this passage and others of the kind it as his own wish, that after death they should suffer are in a bad tasle, few will deny at the present day. these tortures? or as a general consequence, deduced It would doubtless have more behoved the good from reason and revelation, that such will be their bishop not to be wise beyond what is written, on a fate? Again, the latter only! His wish is expressly consubject in which Eternity is opposed to Time, and a fined to a speedy stop being put by Providence to death threatened, not the negative, but the positive their power of inflicting misery on others! But did he Oppositive of Life; a subject, therefore, which must name or refer to any persons, living or dead ? No! of necessity be indescribable to the human under. But the calumniators of Milion dare say (for what standing in our present state. But I can neither find will calumny not dare say ? that he had LAUD and nor believe, that it ever occurred to any reader to STAFFORD in his mind, while writing of remorseless ground on such passages a charge against Bishop persecution, and the enslavement of a free country, Taylor's humanity, or goodness of heart. I was from motives of selfish ambition. Now, what if a not a little surprised therefore to find, in the Pur- stern anti-prelatist should dare say, ihat in speaking suits of Literature and other works, so horrible a of the insolencies of Irailors and the riolences of rebels sentence passed on Milton's moral character, for a Bishop Taylor must have individualized in his mind, passage in his prose-writings, as nearly parallel to HAMPDEN, Hollis, Pym, Fairfax, IRETON, and Milthis of Taylor's as two passages can well be con- TON? And what if he should take the liberty of conceived to be. All his merits, as a poet forsooth-all cluding, that, in the after description, the Bishop was the glory of having written the PARADISE Lost, are feeding and feasting his party-hatred, and with those light in the scale, nay, kick the beam, compared individuals before the eyes of his imagination enjoy. with the atrocious malignity of heart expressed in ing, trait by trait, horror after horror, the picture of the offensive paragraph. I remembered, in general, their intolerable agonies ? Yet this bigot would have that Milton had concluded one of his works on Re. an equal right thus to criminate the one good and formation, written in the fervor of his youthful im- great man, as these men have to criminate the other agination, in a high poetic strain, that wanted metre Milton has said, and I doubt not but that Taylor with only to become a lyrical poem. I remembered that equal truth could have said it, “ that in his whole in the former part he had formed to himself a perfect life he never spake against a man even that his skin ideal of human virtue, a character of heroic, disin- should be grazed.” He asserted this when one of his terested zeal and devotion for Truth, Religion, and opponents (either Bishop Hall or his nephew) had public Liberty, in Act and in Suffering, in the day called upon the women and children in the streets of Triumph and in the hour of Martyrdom. Such to take up stones and stone him (Milton). spirits, as more excellent than others, he describes known that Milton repeatedly used his interest to as having a more excellent reward, and as distin- protect the royalists; but even at a time when all guished by a transcendent glory : and this reward lies would have been meritorious against him, no and this glory he displays and particularizes with an charge was made, no story pretended, that he had energy and brilliance that announced the Paradise ever directly or indirectly engaged or assisted in Lost as plainly as ever the bright purple clouds in their persecution. Oh! meihinks there are other and the east announced the coming of the sun. Milton far better feelings, which should be acquired by the then passes to the gloomy contrast, to such men as perusal of our great elder writers. When I have from motives of selfish ambition and the lust of per-before me on the same table, the works of Hammond sonal aggrandizement should, against their own light, and Baxter: when I reflect with what joy and dear persecute truth and the true religion, and wilfully ness their blessed spirits are now loving each other abuse the powers and gifts intrusted to them, to it seems a mournful thing that their names should bring vice, blindness, misery and slavery, on their be perverted to an occasion of bitterness among us, native country, on the very country that had trusted, who are enjoying that happy mean which the human enriched and honored them. Such beings, after that T00-MUCH on both sides was perhaps necessary to speody and appropriate removal from their sphere of produce. “ The langle of delusions which stined and mischief which all good and humane men must of distorted the growing tree of our well-being has bee course desire, will, he takes for granted by parity of torn away! the parasite weeds that fed on its ve. reason, meet with a punishment, an ignominy, and a roots have been plucked up with a salutary violenc retaliation, as much severer than other wicked men, To us there remain only quiet duties, the constant as their guilt and its consequences were more enor-care, the gradual improvement, the cautious unmous. His description of this imaginary punishment hazardous labors of the industrious though contented presents more distinct pictures to the fancy than the gardener—10 prune, to strengthen, to engrati, and extract from Jeremy Taylor; but the thoughts in the one by one to remove from its leaves and fresh latter are incomparably more exaggerated and hor- shoots the slug and the caterpillar. But far be rific. All this I knew; but I neither remembered, it from us to undervalue with light and senseless

It is 54.)

detraction the conscientious hardihood of our prede- even by the Schoolmen in subtlety, agility and logic cessors, or even to condemn in them that vehemence, wit, and unrivalled by the most rhetorical of the to which the blessings it won for us leave us now fathers in the copiousness and vividness of his exDeither temptation or pretext. We antedate the pressions and illustrations. Here words that confeelings, in order to criminate the authors, of our pres- vey feelings, and words that flash images, and words ent Liberty, Light and Toleration.” (THE FRIEND, of abstract notion, flow together, and at once whirl

and rush onward like a stream, at once rapid and If ever two great men might seem, during their full of eddies; and yet still interfused here and there whole lives, to have moved in direct opposition, though we see a tongue or isle of smooth water, with some neither of them has at any time introduced the picture in it of earth or sky, landscape or living name of the other, Milton and Jeremy Taylor were group of quiet beauty. they. The former commenced his career by attack- Diflering, then, so widely, and almost contrarianting the Church-Liturgy and all set forms of prayer. ly, wherein did these great men agree? wherein The latter, but far more successfully, by defending did they resemble each other? In Genius, in both. Milion's next work was then against the Pre- Learning, in unfeigned Piety, in blameless Purity lacy and the then existing Church-Government- of Life, and in benevolent aspirations and purposes Taylor's in vindication and support of them. Milton for the moral and temporal improvement of their felbecame more and more a stern republican, or rather low-creatures! Both of them wrote a Latin Acci. an advocate for that religious and moral aristocracy dence, to render education more easy and less pain. which, in his day, was called republicanism, and ful to children; both of them composed hymns and which, even more than royalism itself, is the direct psalms proportioned to the capacity of common conantipode of modern jacobinism. Taylor, as more and gregations; both, nearly at the same time, set the more sceptical concerning the fitness of men in general glorious example of publicly recommending and supfor power, became more and more attached to the porting general Toleration, and the Liberty both of prerogatives of monarchy. From Calvinism, with a the Pulpit and the Press! In the writings of neither still decreasing respect for Fathers, Councils, and for shall we find a single sentence, like those merk Church-Antiquity in general, Milton seems to have deliverances to God's mercy, with which Laud acended in an indifference, if not a dislike, to all forms companied his votes for the mutilations and lotheof ecclesiastic government, and to have retreated some dungeoning of Leighton and others !—nowhere wholly into the inward and spiritual church-commu- such a pious prayer as we find in Bishop Hall's nion of his own spirit with the Light, that lighteth memoranda of his own Life, concerning the subtle every man that cometh into the world. Taylor, with and witty Atheist that so grievously perplexed and a growing reverence for authority, an increasing gravelled himn at Sir Robert Drury's, till he prayed to sense of the insufficiency of the Scriptures without the Lord to remove him, and behold! his prayers the aids of tradition and the consent of authorized were heard; for shortly afterward this Philistine interpreters, advanced as far in his approaches (not combatant went to London, and there perished of mdeed to Popery, but) to Catholicism, as a conscien- the plague in great misery! In short, nowhere shall tious minister of the English Church could well ven- we find the least approach, in the lives and writings ture. Milton would be, and would utter the same, of John Milton or Jeremy Taylor, to that guarded to all, on all occasions: he would tell the truth, the gentleness, to that sighing reluctance, with which whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Taylor the holy Brethren of the Inquisition deliver over a would become all things to all men, if by any condemned heretic to the civil magistrate, recommeans he might benefit any; hence he availed him- mending him to mercy, and hoping that the magis. self, in his popular writings, of opinions and repre- trate will treat the erring brother with all possible sentations which stand often in striking contrast with mildness !--the magistrate, who too well knows what the doubts and convictions expressed in his more would be his own fate, if he dared offend them by philosophical works. He appears, indeed, not too acting on their recommendation. sererely to have blamed that management of truth The opportunity of diverting the reader from my. (istam falsitatem dispensativam) authorized and ex- self to characters more worthy of his attention, has emplified by almost all the fathers: Integrum omnino led me far beyond my first intention ; but it is not Doctoribus et cætus Christiani antistibus esse, ut dolos unimporiant to expose the false zeal which has occater sent, falsa veris intermisceant et imprimis religionis sioned these attacks on our elder patriots. It has hodes fallant, dummodo veritatis commodis et utilitati been too much the fashion, first to personify the inzerriant.

Church of England, and then to speak of different The same antithesis might be carried on with the individuals, who in different ages have been rulers elements of their several intellectual powers. Mil- in that church, as if in some strange way they cons lon, austere, condensed, imaginative, supporting his stituted its personal identity. Why should a clergytruth by direct enunciations of lofty moral senti- man of the present day feel interested in the defence ment and by distinct visual representations, and in of Laud or Sheldon ? Surely it is sufficient for the the same spirit overwhelming what he deemed false- warmest partisan of our establishment, that he can brod by moral denunciation and a succession of pic- assert with truth,—when our Church persecuted, it tures appalling or repulsive. In his prose, so many was on mistaken principles held in common by all metaphors, so many allegorical miniatures. Taylor, Christendom; and, at all events, far less culpable eminently discursive, accumulative, and (to use one was this intolerance in the Bishops, who were mainof his own words) agglomerative ; still more rich in taining the existing laws, than the persecuting spirit images than Milton himself, but images of Fancy, afterwards shown by their successful opponents, who and presented to the common and passive eye, rather had no such excuse, and who should have been than to the eye of the imagination. Whether sup- taught mercy by their own sufferings, and wisdom by porting or assailing, he makes his way either by ar- the utter failure of the experiment in their own case. gument or by appeals to the affections, unsurpassed We can say, that our Church, apostolical in its faith

primitive in its ceremonies, unequalled in its liturgical England, in a tolerating age, has shoun herself emi forms; that our Church, which has kindled and dis- nently tolerant, and far more so, both in Spirit and in played more bright and burning lights of Genius and fact, that many of her most bitter opponents, who Learning, than all other Protestant churches since profess to deem toleration itself an insult on the the Reformation, was (with the single exception of rights of mankind! As to myself, who not only know the times of Laud and Sheldon) least intolerant, the Church-Establishment to be tolerant, but wiu when all Christians unhappily deemed a species of see in it the greatest, if not the sole sa se bulwark of intolerance their religious duty; that Bishops of our Toleration, I feel no necessity of defending or pa!. church were among the first that contended against liating oppressions under the iwo Charleses, in ordu this error; and finally, that since the Reformation, to exclaim with a full and fervent heart, ESTO PER when tolerance became a fashion, the Church of | PETUA !

The Kime of the Ancient Mariner. .


Facile credo, plures esse Naturas invisibiles quam visibiles in rerum universitate. Sed horum omnium familiam quis nobis enarrabit ? et gradus et cognationes et discrimina et singulorum munera ? Quid agunt? quæ Joca habitant ? Harum rerum notitiam semper ambivit ingenium humanum, nunquam attigit. Juvat, interea, non diffiteor, quandoque in animo, tanquam in tabula, majoris et melioris mundi imaginem contemplari: ne mens assuefacta hodiernæ vitæ minutiis se contrahat nimis, et tota subsidat in pusillas cogitationes. Sed veritati interea invigilandum est, modusque servandus, ut certa ab incertis, diem a nocte, distinguamus.-T. BURNET: Archæol. Phil. p. 68.

ing eye,




The bride hath paced into the hall, The wedding-
Red as a rose is she;

guest heareth the An ancient Mari- It is an ancient Mariner,

bridal musie; but ner meeteth three And he stoppeth one of three :

Nodding their heads before her goes the Mariner cer-
merry minstrelsy.

tinueth his tale å wedding-feast,“ By thy long gray beard and glitter

The Wedding-Guesthe beat his
and detaineth
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me? breast,

Yet he cannot choose but hear;
• The Bridegroom's doors are opend And thus spake on that ancient man,

The bright-eyed Mariner.
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set: And now the STORM-BLAST came, and the ship drawn


by a storm tovard Mayst hear the merry din.” Was tyrannous and strong:

the south pole
He holds him with his skinny hand: He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
“ There was a ship," quoth he. And chased us south along.
“ Hold off! unhand me, gray-beard with sloping masts and dripping prow,

As who pursued with yell and blow
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

Still treads the shadow of his foe,
The wedding- He holds him with his glittering eye- And forward bends his head,
guest is spell-

The Wedding-Guest stood still, The ship drove fast, loud roar'd the bound by the eye

blast, of the old seafar. And listens like a three-years' child; ing man, and con- The Mariner hath his will.

And southward aye we fied. strained to hear his tale. The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone,

And now there came both mist and

He cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient

Aud it grew wondrous cold;

And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
The bright-eyed mariner.

As green as emerald.
The ship was cheer'd, the harbor

And through the drifts the snowy clifts The land of ice,
Did send a dismal sheen:

and of fearful Merrily did we drop Nor shapes of men nor beasts we

sounds, where ne Below the kirk, below the hill,

living thing was ken

to be seen. Below the light-house top.

The ice was all between. The Mariner tells The Sun came up upon the left, The ice was here, the ice was there, how the ship sail- Out of the sea came he!

The ice was all around: ed southward

And he shone bright, and on the right It crack'd and growl'd, and roar'd ang with a good wind and fair weather, Went down into ine sea.

hould, itd it reached the

Like noises in a swound! line Higher and higher every day,

Till a great ses. Till over the mast at noon

bird, called the At length did cross an Albatross :

Albatross, came The Wedding-Guest here beat his Thorough the fog it caine ;

through the show breast,

As if it had been a Christian soul, fog, and was reFor he heard the loud bassoon. We haild it in God's name.

ceived with great

joy and bospital 70


It ate the food it ne'er had eat, Day after day, day after day,
And round and round it flew. We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
The ice did split with a thunder-fit ; As idle as a painted ship
The helmsman steer'd us through! Upon a painted ocean.


dod lo! the Al- And a good south-wind sprung up Water, water, everywhere,

And the Albabatroes proveth behind ;

And all the boards did shrink :

tross begins to be a bird of good The Albatross did follow, Water, water, everywhere,

avenged. omen, and followeth the ship as it And every day, for food or play,

Nor any drop to drink. returned Dorth- Came to the mariner's hollo ! ward through fog

The very deep did rot: 0 Christ! and floating ice. In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, That ever this should be !

It perch'd for vespers nine ; Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Whiles all the night, through fog. Upon the slimy sea.

smoke white,
Glimmer'd the white moon-shine. About, about, in reel and rout

The death-fires danced at night;
The ancient Mari- “ God save thee, ancient Mariner! The water, like a witch's oils,
Der inbospitably From the fiends, that plague thee Burnt green, and blue and white.
killeth the pious thus !
bird of good

A spirit had folWhy look'st thou so ?"—With my And some in dreams assured were

lowed them: one cross-bow

Of the spirit that plagued us so ; of the invisible in-
I shot the ALBATROSS.

Nine fathom deep he had follow'd us habitants of this
From the land of mist and snow.

planet,-neither PART II.

departed souls

bor angels; conThe Sun now rose upon the right: ceming whom the learned Jew, Josephus, and the Platonic Out of the sea came he,

Constantinopolitan, Michael Psellus, may be consulted. They Still hid in mist, and on the left

are very numerous, and there is no climate or element without Went down into the sea. And the good south-wind still blew And every tongue, through utter behind,

But no sweet bird did follow,

Was wither'd at the root;
Nor any day for food or play

We could not speak, no more than if
Came to the mariner's hollo!
We had been choked with soot.

The shipmates, in

their sore distress His shipmates cry And I had done an hellish thing,

Ah! well-a-day! what evil looks

would fain throw out against the And it would work 'em woe:

Had I from old and young !

the whole guilt on ancient Mariner, For all averr’d, I had kill'd the bird Instead of the cross, the Albatross the ancient Marfor killing

About my neck was hung.

iner :-in sign of good-luck. That made the breeze to blow.

whereof they Ah wretch ! said they, the bird to

hang the dead slay,

sea-bird round That made the breeze to blow!


his neck.

one or more.

But when the fog Nor dim nor red, like God's own THERE pass'd a weary time. Each cleared off, they head,

throat justify the same. The glorious Sun uprist.:

Was parch'd, and glazed each eye. and thus make themselves ac

Then all averr'd, I had kill'd the bird A weary time! a weary time! complices in the That brought the fog and mist.

How glazed each weary eye,

The ancient Ma. crime. "T was right, said they, such birds to When looking westward, i beheld

riner beholdeth a slay A something in the sky.

sign in the eleThat bring ine fog and mist.

ment afar oft

At first it seem'd a little speck, The fair breeze The fair breeze blew, the white foam And then it seem'd a mist; continues; the flew,

It moved and moved, and took at last ship enters the Pacific Ocean and The furrow follow'd free;

A certain shape, I wist. sails porthward, We were the first that ever burst even till it reach Into that silent sea.

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist! o the Line.

And still it near'd and near'd : The ship hath Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt As if it dodged a water-sprite, been suddenly down,

It plunged and tack'd and veer'd. "T was sad as sad could be ;

And we did speak only to break With throats unslaked, with black At its nearer ap-
The silence of the sea!

lips baked,

proach, it seem

eth him to be a We could nor laugh nor wail;

ship; and at a All in a hot and copper sky, Through utter drought all dumb we dear ransom be

freeth his speech The bloody Sun, at noon,

from the bonds on Right up above the mast did stand, I bit my arm, I suck'd the blood,

thirst. No bigger than the Moon.

And cried, A sail! a sail !


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