The noon of manhood to a myrtle shade;

and he wrote in the same strain till just before the close of his long and eventful life. The first collection of his poems was made by himself, and published in 1664. It passed through numerous editions in his lifetime; and in 1690, a second collection was made of such pieces as he had produced in his latter years. In a poetical dedication to Lady Harley, prefixed to this edition, and written by Elijah Fenton, Waller is styled the

Maker and model of melodious verse.

This eulogium seems to embody the opinion of Waller's contemporaries, and it was afterward confirmed by Dryden and Pope, neither of whom had, however, sufficiently studied the excellent models of versification furnished by the old poets, as well as their rich poetical diction. The playfulness of his fancy, the smoothness of his numbers, his good sense, and uniform elegance, rendered him as popular with critics as with the multitude; while his prominence as a public man would naturally increase curiosity with regard to his works. His poems are chiefly short and incidental effusions, though toward the close of his life, he produced, in six cantos, a more elaborate work, the subject of which was, Divine Love. But though such employments of his talents was graceful and becoming in advanced life, yet in this new and higher walk of the muse, he did not succeed; his fame, therefore, must ever rest on his light, airy, and fanciful performances.

In the following selections from this author, we have aimed to illustrate and sustain the preceding remarks, and to exhibit all the varieties of his style:

GO, LOVELY ROSE.

Go, lovely rose !

Tell her that wastes her time and me,

That now she knows,

When I resemble her to thee,

How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her, that's young,

And shuns to have her graces spied,

That, hadst thou sprung

In deserts, where no men abide,

Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worth

Of beauty from the light retir'd;

Bid her come forth,

Suffer herself to be desired,

And not blush so to be admir'd.

Then die! that she

The common fate of all things rare

May read in thee,

How small a part of time they share

That are so wondrous sweet and fair.

SAY, LOVELY DREAM.

Say, lovely dream! where could'st thou find
Shades to counterfeit that face?
Colours of this glorious kind

Come not from any mortal place.

In heav'n itself thou sure wert dress'd
With that angel-like disguise;
Thus deluded, am I blest,

And see my joy with closed eyes.

But, ah! this image is too kind
To be other than a dream;

Cruel Sacharissa's mind

Ne'er put on that sweet extreme.

Fair dream! if thou intend'st me grace,
Change that heavenly face of thine;
Paint despised love in thy face,

And make it t' appear like mine.

Pale, wan, and meagre, let it look,
With a pity-moving shape,
Such as wander by the brook

Of Lethe, or from graves escape.
Then to that matchless nymph appear,
In whose shape thou shinest so;
Softly in her sleeping ear

With humble words express my woe.

Perhaps from greatness, state, and pride,

Thus surprised, she may fall;

Sleep does disproportion hide,

And, death resembling, equals all.

OLD AGE AND DEATH.

The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er;
So calm are we when passions are no more:
For then we know how vain it was to boast
Of fleeting things, too certain to be lost.
Clouds of affection from our younger eyes
Conceal that emptiness which age descries.

The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd,

Lets in new light through chinks that time has made: Stronger by weakness, wiser men become,

As they draw near to their eternal home.

Leaving the old both worlds at once they view,

That stand upon the threshold of the new.

A PANEGYRIC TO THE LORD PROTECTOR.

While with a strong and yet a gentle hand,
You bridle faction, and our hearts command,
Protect us from ourselves, and from the foe,
Make us unite, and make us conquer too;

Let partial spirits still aloud complain,

Think themselves injured that they can not reign,
And own no liberty, but where they may
Without control upon their fellows prey.

Above the waves as Neptune show'd his face,
To chide the winds, and save the Trojan race,
So has your Highness, raised above the rest,
Storms of ambition tossing us repress'd.

Your drooping country, torn with civil hate,
Restor'd by you, is made a glorious state,
The seat of empire, where the Irish come,
And the unwilling Scots, to fetch their doom.

The sea's our own; and now all nations greet,
With bending sails, each vessel of our fleet;
Your power extends as far as winds can blow,
Or swelling sails upon the globe may go.

Heav'n, that hath plac'd this island to give law,
To balance Europe, and its states to awe;
In this conjunction doth on Britain smile,
The greatest leader, and the greatest isle!
Whether this portion of the world were rent
By the rude ocean from the continent,
Or thus created, it was sure design'd
To be the sacred refuge of mankind.

Hither the oppressed shall henceforth resort,
Justice to crave, and succour at your court;
And then your Highness, not for our's alone,
But for the world's Protector shall be known.

Still as you rise, the state exalted too,

Finds no distemper while 'tis chang'd by you;

Chang'd like the world's great scene! when, without noise, The rising sun night's vulgar lights destroys.

Had you, some ages past, this race of glory

Run, with amazement we should read your story;

But living virtue all achievements past,

Meets envy still to grapple with at last.

This Cæsar found; and that ungrateful age,
With losing him, went back to blood and rage;
Mistaken Brutus thought to break their yoke,
But cut the bond of union with that stroke.

That sun once set, a thousand meaner stars
Give a dim light to violence and wars;
To such a tempest as now threatens all,
Did not your mighty arm prevent the fall?

If Rome's great senate could not wield that sword,
Which of the conquer'd world had made them lord,
What hope had ours, while yet their power was new,
To rule victorious armies, but by you?

You, that had taught them to subdue their foes;
Could order teach, and their high sp'rits compose;
To every duty could their minds engage,
Provoke their courage, and command their rage.

So when a lion shakes his dreadful mane,
And angry grows, if he that first took pain
To tame his youth approach the haughty beast,
He bends to him, but frights away the rest.

As the vex'd world, to find repose, at last
Itself into Augustus' arms did cast;

So England now does, with like toil opprest,
Her weary head upon your bosom rest.

Then let the Muses, with such notes as these,
Instruct us what belongs unto our peace.
Your battles they hereafter shall indite,

And draw the image of our Mars in fight.

SAMUEL BUTLER, the poet of this period who follows Waller in the order of time, was the son of a respectable English yeoman, and was born at Stresham, in Worcestershire, about the first of February, 1612. Having early discovered an inclination for learning, his father placed him at the free school of Worcester, under the care of Mr. Henry Bright, a very able master; and after there passing through the several classes, he removed to Cambridge, but in consequence of his limited resources was never matriculated in the university. From Cambridge, after a residence in that city of six or seven years, he returned to his native county, and became clerk to justice Jefferys of that district, with whom he remained for several years, during which he passed his time in easy and respectable circumstances, devoting his leisure hours to poetry, history, and, as an amusement, to painting. From the justice's office, through the recommendation and influence of some friends, whose favor the propriety of his conduct had secured, he entered into the service of the Countess of Kent, and there enjoyed not only the advantages of a good library, but frequent and even familiar intercourse with the celebrated Selden. Thus passed the years of Butler's youth and early manhood, and so far he can not be considered as unfortunate, if we are to suppose that he found his chief enjoyment, as scholars usually do, in opportunities for study and intellectual improvement.

From the family of the Countess of Kent, Butler removed to that of Sir Samuel Luke, in which he officiated as tutor to that gentleman's children. Luke was one of Cromwell's principal officers, and was probably marked, to an unusual degree, by the well-known peculiarities of his party. The situation could not have been a very agreeable one to a man whose disposition was so much inclined toward wit and humor, even though those qualities had not made their possessor a royalist, which, in such an age, they could scarcely fail to do. Daily exposed to association with persons whose character, from contrast with his own, he could not but loathe, it is not sur

prising that his muse, which had now become mature, should have conceived the design of a general satire on the sectarian party. The matchless fiction of Cervantes supplied him with a model, in which he had only to substitute the extravagances of a political and religious fanaticism for those of chivalry. Luke himself is understood to be exhibited in Sir Hudibras, and for this Butler has been accused of a breach of the laws of hospitality; but as we are not acquainted with the circumstances attending their separation, this is a question that we are not prepared to decide.

The 'Restoration' faintly lighted up Butler's future path with hope. He was appointed secretary to the Earl of Carbury, President of the principality of Wales; and when the wardenship of the Marshes was revived, the earl made his secretary steward of Ludlow Castle. The poet, now fifty years of age, seemed to add to his security for the future by marrying a widow named Herbert, who was of good family, and possessed a very considerable fortune; but this prospect proved delusive, in consequence of the failure of the parties with whom the lady's fortune was invested.

Butler is supposed to have commenced his Hudibras, the burlesque poem upon which his reputation exclusively rests, before he left the family of Sir Samuel Luke, but the first part of that extraordinary work was not published until 1663. Its popularity immediately became extraordinary. Its wit, so appropriate to the taste of that period, and the breadth of the satiric pictures which it presented, each of which had hundreds of prototypes within the recollection of all men then living, could not fail to give it extensive currency. By the Earl of Dorset, an accomplished friend of letters, it was introduced to the notice of the court; and the king was afterward in the habit of quoting many of its most pointed passages. In 1664, the second part was presented to the public; and the third and last part appeared in 1678. But though the poet and his work were the praise of all ranks, from royalty down to the common laborer, yet he was himself little benefited by it. What emoluments he derived from his stewardship, or whether he derived any emoluments from it at all, is entirely uncertain; but it is a melancholy truth that the latter part of his life was spent in needy and struggling circumstances, in London. The Earl of Clarendon promised him a place at court, but he never obtained it; and the king presented him with three hundred pounds, but that sum was not sufficient to discharge the debts pressing upon him at the time. Such are the circumstances which chequered the last twenty years of the life of the most brilliant comic genius that England ever, perhaps, produced. Butler died in an obscure street near Covent Garden, on the twenty-fifth of September, 1680, and was privately buried in an adjacent churchyard, at the expense of a Mr. Longueville.

'Hudibras' is a cavalier burlesque of the extravagant ideas and rigid manners of the Puritans of the civil war and commonwealth. It is a production of matchless wit and fancy; but the construction of the story, and the delineation of the characters, have often been praised far beyond their merit. In these particulars it has very slender claims to originality. Cervantes is evi