The Express.
London, England, 1858-11-05 00:00:00

LITERATUBIi.

Sacred Poems and Pionsirjoerlotions, By HURT
VAIJOHAX. London: Bell and Daldy.
The present age is singularly rich in devotional
poetry, sad to attempt at this time any serious refu-
tation of Dr. Johnson's well-known criticism were
simply absurd. Whether within or without the pale
of the Establishment, the religious public have ample
region to rejoice in the number and the excellence of
their prime and hymns and spiritual songs. More
than one true poet, rejecting pagan inspiration has
quaffed rich draughts from
81los'e brook, that flowed
Feet by the wad= of God.
It would require • volume to do justice to our
devotional poets. In what section of the Chris-
' tier' church are not the hymns of Doddridgo, sad
Watts, and Weal L-or f Montgomery, and Heber,
sad Cowper, held ? Of none of them need it
be said, as old Fuller says of Bternhold and Hopkins,
that " their piety was better than their poetry, and
that they had drunk more of Jordan than of
Helicon.°
It is not lightly that an attempt should be mad*
to add I. the number of this band. When our
modem can write such books as " The Christian
Tow,' we can scarce make room for the revival of a
poet long since dead and buried—a poet, moreover, of
the ekes which we have ably represented in the'
pence of George Herbert. It is true there will be
always them wins poem the wash, it pastry en,
they "thee it in furniture and architecture, but the
popular poet mast use the language and express the
feelings of to-day ; or, is the words of a poet of the
present thee, last est to music the spirit of his age.
Hooey Vanghea may be occasionally referred to, and
quoted, sad read ; but foe daily use, we most have
eseamten teems ens nearer to our own time and heart.
It is only the great masters of song who are jade-
pendeat of time and circumstance, and appeal
nations sad ages yet to come. Of Vaughan
the haissomething, though too little, from the memoir
from the pen of the 'at. Rev. H. F.
trYetri Wales was the land of his birth ; and,
in the beautiful scenery surrounding Crickhowelli
he learned to love nature sod to become • poet. In
1838 we find him at Jesus College, Oxford. Then
alas that grand struggle for freedom which courtly
historians term the Great Rebellion. Our author'
sided with the Courtand King. In 1648 he lived with
the wits in town, and publiAed a translation of the
10th Satin of Juvenal, and other poems. Soon after he
became an MIL, and eomassosd practice in Beeson,
a few miles distant frees his native place. Thanes
he migrated to Newton, where he continued to
pursue hie professional career, and to spicy his
I leisure hours in various literary occupations
after he prepared for the press his little
volume. entitled " Old Isessee," the swam of
the Usk. We seat learn that be was
seised with a severe illnees, and brought down to
the very borders/if the grave. His spiritual where
was aroused-1a inward eye was opened—be saw
the terror and the splendour of the world S. acute.
Ia the wilderness he heard the warn* voles of
Jahn the Baptist, and he returned to life dead to the
vanities of earth, and consecrated to the service of
his God. Hie poetry assumed a devotional character ;
George Herbert breams his masher, sad is " Bile:
Scinullana " (Sparks from Flint), published 1630,
we see the result. Close upon this publication
followed • little book of devotions, in prose, entitled
" The Mount of Olives," and printed in the year
1662. At DO very distant period Vaughan seat
forth another little volume in prose, entitled " Flores
Bolitudinis" (Flowers of Solitude). But them
writiags of Vaughan, whether in prose or
verse, do not seem to have been very emcees.
ful. Mr. Lyre insinuates that the weak and washy
publications of the ruritaas—that is, that the
poetry of Milton, the prose of Howe, of Owen, and
of Baxter, had deteriorated the taste of the age.
We cannot swept this as a very satisfactory expla-
nation of the fact, which is quits evident, that
neither the prose nor the poetry of Vaughan found
many readers in his own day. Vaughan bowed to
the decision at the public, sad refrained from author-
ship for lirtY years. Ia 1678, one of his Oxford'
friends pa a Effie volume, entitled "Thalia
Rediviva—ehe pgMimes and diversions of a country
Mw, " almost entirely of Vaughan 's
pokey. We raw ins sight of him altogether, and
at the age of 73 be died under the very roof where
be was bore.

Let us now speak of Vaughan's poems. " I hairs
written my heart in my poems," wrote Robert
Nicoll. Henry Vaughan might have said the same.
What he lisped, and what he feared--what he
felt se to the state of his soot--es to God and eter-
nity—are here described. Not fairy lore—not the
charms of classic mythology—not the hereiera of
war, net even the blessings of Peace—formed the
burden of his song. He lived in troubled dam.
He had seen • nation in arms—he had seen a
monarchy dethroned—he had seen a usurper play
his head upon the mown and plant it on his own head
—he had seen him vanish in his turn, ands jeering,
godless crew rioting In Whitehall. The conclu-
sion that Vaughan mine to, and embodied in verse,
wee that man walketh in a vain show, that he is die-
quieted in vain, and that there is nothing true, or
great, or good, but God. No wonder, in the fierce excite-
ment of the age, when men were straggling for civil
and religions freedom, Vaughan, singing psalms in
his pleasant valley far away in Wales, was over-
looked. Thanks to the public men, to the martin
end confusion of that day, we have ample leisure
end inelinaiion to listen to Vaughan now. We
believe injustice has beset done him—we believe
Ida to have been overlooked; we think Johnson
might have dam for Vaughan what he did
ix wens poets and worm men. Even Tho-
me Campbell—who had what Barn Johnson
bad not, a las Mute in poetic excellease—
speaks slightingly of Vaughan. Yet, if we mis-
take not, his own magnificent peon, "To the Rain-
bow,* was enriched by at herd we hint from
Vaughan. As we have never sal the plagiarism
alluded to we give the parallel peerages. Surely
Campbell's liar—
How ma* the woritre mg Minn forth
To watch thy weal dip—
are taken from, or at say rate suggested by
Vaughan's
The yeatkfel worict's pep Mhos la MO keel
Did with isuative loeft veldt may hem
thy sow tight, sad irealblell Mere shewse.
And we can quite believe Asa other pests in a
duller mouse have availed themselves Of the rich
vein of ore and of the exquisite imagery which
&brand in Vaughan's poetry, and which only re-
quire a little more polish sad a little more attention
Is rhyme and metre to be worthy of any poet of
war day. As we bare said beibre, Herbert was
Vanghea's model, bet be was no men imitator, and
he displays as orirrinality and a depth of poetic
ssatimast to whisk the anther of the " Tempi*"
ossald rarely, if ever, attain. Both have es mole
ahatisal air, both seem to have hoes better read in
the Others than in anstemperary literature, bat
Vagina aeossionally rises into a Leedom=
sad beauty which will he found refreshing Sid
stinted's, even in oar highly refined acid
ihrtidieas sge. The publishers of the present
edl-
dos lave dons quite right is reprinting his pima
is ea attraetive form. The book would soon tabs
the minds. of a modern among that large deer
that delight in poetry of a religious and expresital
elienesise. Hew fall and suggestive is Vanshan's
style-what red there is for expansion, is evident
be. the Orliewiag poem, aatitiad

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