THIS gentleman suffered much from his devotion to the cause of royalty, during the civil wars. His literary reputation appears to have rested more on his translations, than on his original poems: in the latter, however, we find considerable elegance of verse and beauty of thought, but vitiated, after the fashion of the time, by glittering conceits. What is, unhappily, not usual, the sacred pieces of SHERBURNE are distinguished from his lighter effusions by a superior and more spirited style.
TO THE ETERNAL WISDOM.
O THOU eternal Mind! whose wisdom sees,
And rules our changes by unchanged decrees;
As with delight on thy grave works we look,
Say, art thou too with our light follies took?
For when thy bounteous hand, in liberal showers
Each way diffused, thy various blessings pours,
We catch at them with strife, as vain to sight
As children, when for nuts they scrambling fight.
This snatching at a sceptre, breaks it; he,
That broken does ere he can grasp it, see;
The poor world seeming like a ball, that lights
Betwixt the hands of powerful opposites :
Which, while they cantonise in their bold pride,
They but an immaterial point divide.
O whilst for wealthy spoils these fight, let me,
Though poor, enjoy a happy peace with thee!
ON THE INNOCENTS SLAIN BY HEROD.
Go, blessed innocents! and freely pour
Your souls forth in a purple shower;
And, for that little earth each shall lay down,
Purchase a heavenly crown.
Nor of original pollution fear
The stains should to your bloods adhere; For yours now shed, ere long shall in a flood Be wash'd of better blood.
ON MARY MAGDALEN WASHING THE FEET OF CHRIST.
THE proud Egyptian queen her Roman guest (To express her love-in height of state and pleasure)
With pearl dissolv'd in gold did feast
Both food and treasure.
And now, dear Lord! thy lover, on the fair
And silver tables of thy feet, behold!
Pearl in her tears, and in her hair
Offers thee gold.
INTERNAL Cerberus! whose griping fangs,
That gnaw the soul, are the mind's secret pangs;
Thou greedy vulture! that dost gorging tire
On hearts corrupted by impure desire;
Subtle and buzzing hornet! that dost ring
A peal of horror, ere thou giv'st the sting;
The soul's rough file, that smoothness does impart!
The hammer, that does break the stony heart!
The worm that never dies! the “thorn within,”
That pricks and pains! the whip and scourge of
sin!
The voice of God in man! which, without rest,
Dost softly cry within a troubled breast-
"To all temptations is that soul set free,
That makes not to itself a curb of me."
"AND THEY LAID HIM IN A MANGER."
HAPPY crib! that wert alone,
To my God-bed, cradle, throne!
Whilst thy glorious vileness I
View with divine fancy's eye,
Sordid filth seems all the cost,
State, and splendour, crowns can boast.
See, heaven's sacred Majesty
Humbled beneath poverty;
He whose hands the heavens display'd,
And the world's foundations laid,
From the world almost exil'd,
Of all ornaments despoil'd!
Perfumes bathe him not new-born;
Persian mantles not adorn;
Nor do the rich roofs look bright
With the jasper's orient light.
Where, O royal Infant, be
The ensigns of thy majesty?
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