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MARCH AND APRIL, 1823. [No. 2. of Vol. V. that and Dim Subscription for the year, $2, to be paid on the delivery of the Third bah.

Number. ben

ch in New Series]

Hery ere



her, Selections from the poetry of Cra- other Poems. By James G Percival 129 the shaw

81 RT VI -- ixth Report of the Ameath

With what Evidence onght we to be rican Bible Society presented
satisfied in Religion?

92 May 9th, 1822, with an appendix, eard Reinhard's Serinon

100 containing extracts of corresponOn the practical tendency of Trini- dence, &c. &c.

146 tarianism

112 Retreat for the Intemperate



150 jan

Evangelical Blissionary Society
Heresy of the Copernican System

126nnual Report of the New York
A questionable Serinon
12 Unitarian Book Society

154 us Corrections of Mrs. Barbauld's Thought American Bible Society

156 ife, on Death

127|| Religious Nolions of the Indian Na

127 tions on the Missouri-Froin eir Epitaph on Mr. Thacher

128 Long's Expedition to the Rocky Mountains

157 се

Evangelieal Missionary Society-

New Publications---Obituary poder, H.--Prometheus, Part II. with



his An Evening Hymn

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March and April, 1823.


It seems to me that, in their selections from the ancient English

poets, neither Ellis nor Campbell have done justice to Crashaw, Campbell was fully capable of estimating his merits; and says, that there are many touches of beauty and solemnity' in his verses. He has not taken the trouble, however, of separating these from the mass of grosser matter; and I cannot help thinking, that he had not read Crashaw with much attention; for solemnity' is not altogether the right word to be used in his praise. The estimate, which was formed of him by his contemporaries, may be inferred from the poem of Cowley on his death, which commences with the splendid apostrophe :

Poet and saint! to thee alone are given

The two most sacred names of earth and heaven.

He has been imitated by Pope; and some traces of his expressions are to be found even in the poetry of Milton.

The date of his birth is uncertain. He took his bachelor's degree in 1634; and the same year published a volume of Latin poems, mostly devotional. In one of these, is contained the well known line, which has sometimes been ascribed to Dryden and others, on the miracle of turning water into wine:

Nympha pudica Deum vidit et erubuit.

The modest water saw its God and blushed.


He took orders; and was distinguished as a preacher for his energy of expression and strength of feeling. Having for some New Series-vol. V.


time lived a life of enthusiastic piety, and of even austere and ascetic morality, he at last became a Roman Catholic. He died in Italy, as a canon of Loretto, about the year 1650. Cowley alludes to his conversion in the following lines :

Pardon, my mother Church, if I consent
That angels led him, when from thee he went:
For even in error sure no danger is,
When joined to so much piety as his.
Ah Mighty God! with shame I speak it and grief,
Ab! that our greatest faults were in belief;
And our weak reason even weaker yet,
Rather than thus our wills too strong for it.
His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets, might

Be wrong; his life I'm sure was in the right. Much of the poetry of Crashaw abounds in the faults of his age. It is full of extravagances, forced thoughts, and harshness of expression ; showing, however, not so much a want of talents in the writer, as of a just and discriminating taste in the great body of readers. His religious poems written after his conversion to the Catholic Church, are overrun with that revolting imagery, which results from transferring to God the accidents and sufferings of the human nature of Christ; and with those shocking conceits, that a perverted ingenuity may draw from this source. But with all these faults, Crashaw has no common beauties. The charm of his finer poems consists partly in the fresh and bright colours of their language, and in the happy turns of 'expression which now and then occur, and still more in the "purity and holiness of feeling which they discover, sometimes calm and deep, and sometimes exalted to enthusiasm. I will give some specimens.


Out of Barclay.
No roofs of gold o'er riotous tables shining,
Whole days and suns devoured with endless dining;
No sails of Tyrian silk proud pavements sweeping;
Nor ivory couches costlier slumbers keeping ;
False lights of flaring gems; tumultuous joys;
Halls full of flattering men, and frisking boys;
Whate'er false shows of short and slippery good
Mix the mad sons of men in mutual blood:
But walks and unshorn woods; and souls, just so
Unforced and genuine, but not shady tho':
Our lodgings hard and homely as our fare;
That chaste and cheap as the few clothes we wear;

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Those coarse and negligent, as the natural locks
Of these loose groves, rough as the unpolished rocks
A hasty portion of prescribed sleep;
Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep,
And sing, and sigh ; and work, and sleep again,
Still rolling a round sphere of still returning pain :
Hands full of hearty labours; pains that pay,
And prize themselves, do much that more they may,
And work for work, not wages ; let to morrow's
New drops wash off the sweat of this day's sorrows :
A long and daily dying life, which breathes
A respiration of reviving deaths :
But neither are there those ignoble stings,
That nip the bosom of the earth's best things,
And lash earth-labouring souls ;
No cruel guard of diligent cares, that keep
Crowned woes awake, as things too wise for sleep :
But reverend discipline and relgious fear,
And soft obedience, find sweet biding bere;
Silence and sacred rest, peace and pure joys :
Kind loves keep house, lie close, and make no noise;
And room enough for monarchs, while none swells
Beyond the kingdoms of contentful cells :
The self remembering soul sweetly recovers
Her kindred with the stars ; not basely hovers
Below; but meditates her immortal way

Home to the original source of life and intellectual day. Obedient slumbers that can wake and weep: Every one will recollect this line in a later poem, which has none of the purity of that from which it is taken.

There are some pleasing passages in his verses on the death of Mr. Herrys.

Him while fresh and fragrant time
Cherished in his golden prime;
Ere Hebe's hand had overlaid
His smooth cheeks with a downy shade ;
The rush of Death's untimely wave
Swept him off into his grave.



I've seen indeed the hopeful bud
Of a ruddy rose, that stood,
Blushing to behold the ray
Of the new saluted day;
His tender top not fully spread,
The sweet dash of a shower new shed,
Invited bim no more to hide
Within himself the purple pride

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