WILLIAM CARTWRIGHT.

CONSIDERATION.

FOOL that I was, that little of my span
Which I have sinn'd, until it styles me man,
I counted life till now; henceforth I'll say,
'Twas but a drowsy ling'ring or delay :
Let it forgotten perish, let none tell
What I then was-to live is to live well.
Off then, thou old man, and give place unto
The Ancient of Days! Let him renew

Mine age like to the eagle's, and endow
My breast with innocence; that he whom thou
Hast made a man of sin, and subtly sworn
A vassal to thy tyranny, may turn
Infant again, and having all of child,
Want wit hereafter to be so beguil❜d.
O Thou, that art the way! direct me still
In this long tedious pilgrimage; and till
Thy voice be born, lock up my looser tongue-
He only is best grown that's thus turned young.

CONFESSION.

I DO confess, O God! my wandering fires
Are kindled, not from zeal, but loose desires;
My ready tears, shed from instructed eyes,
Have not been pious griefs, but subtleties;
And only sorry that sins miss, I owe
To thwarted wishes all the sighs I blow :
My fires thus merit fire; my tears the fall
Of showers provoke; my sighs for blasts do call.
O, then, descend in fire! but let it be
Such as snatch'd up the prophet; such as we
Read of in Moses' bush; a fire of joy,
Sent to enlighten, rather than destroy.
O, then, descend in showers! but let them be
Showers only, and not tempests; such as we
Feel from the morning's eye-lids; such as feed,
Not choke, the sprouting of the tender seed.
O, then descend in blasts! but let them be
Blasts only, and not whirlwinds; such as we
Take in for health's sake; soft and easy breaths,
Taught to convey refreshments, and not deaths.
So shall the fury of my fires assuage,

And that turn fervour which was brutish rage;
So shall my tears be then untaught to feign,
And the diseased waters healed again ;
So shall my sighs not be as clouds to invest
My sins with might, but winds to purge my
breast.

ALEXANDER ROSSE

A NAME which the well-known ludicrous rhyme in Hudibras has made a familiar by-word to many who little suspect that he who bore it was a learned and estimable divine, and a most acute metaphysician. ROSSE was one of King Charles the First's Chaplains. He wrote many books, in Latin and in English-in prose and verse. The two little poems which follow are taken from his "Mel Heliconium; or poetical Honey gathered out of the Weeds of Parnassus"--a well-intended and ingeniously executed attempt to spiritualize, and impart a Christian sense and application to the Greek and Roman Mythology.

ALEXANDER ROSSE.

AURORA.

A MEDITATION.

As fair Aurora from old Tithon's bed

Flies out with painted wings, and them doth spread

Upon the firmament;

So from the heaven's golden cabinet

Out flies a morning all with roses set,
Of graces redolent;

Whose presence did revive the hearts of those
Whom night of sin and error did enclose
Within her darkest cell.

This Morning in a purple chariot rides,
Drawn by four milk-white steeds; the reins he
guides

In spite of death and hell:

Christ is this Morning, who triumphantly
On the bright chariot of his word doth fly:
The four white horses are

The four evangelists, whose light doth run
As swift as doth Aurora, or the sun,
Or morn, or any star.