English Literature for Boys and Girls Part 48

*Walton.

But he did not only preach, he practised too. I must tell you just one story to show you how he practiced. Herbert was very fond of music; he sang, and played too, upon the lute and viol.

One day as he was walking into Salisbury to play with some friends "he saw a poor man with a poorer horse, which was fallen under his load. They were both in distress and needed present help. This Mr. Herbert perceiving put off his canonical coat, and helped the poor man to unload, and after to load his horse.

The poor man blest him for it, and he blest the poor man, and was so like the Good Samaritan that he gave him money to refresh both himself and his horse, and told him, that if he loved himself, he should be merciful to his beast. Thus he left the poor man.

"And at his coming to his musical friends at Salisbury, they began to wonder that Mr. George Herbert, which used to be so trim and clean, came into that company so soiled and discomposed. But he told them the occasion. And when one of the company told him, he had disparaged himself by so dirty an employment, his answer was: that the thought of what he had done would prove music to him at midnight, and the omission of it would have upbraided and made discord in his conscience whensoever he should pa.s.s by that place. 'For if I be bound to pray for all that be in distress, I am sure that I am bound, so far as it is in my power, to practice what I pray for. And though I do not wish for the like occasion every day, yet let me tell you, I would not willingly pa.s.s one day of my life without comforting a sad soul or shewing mercy.

And I praise G.o.d for this occasion.

"'And now let's tune our instruments.'"*

*Walton.

This story reminds us that besides being a parson Herbert was a courtier and a fine gentleman. His courtly friends were surprised that he should lower himself by helping a poor man with his own hands. But that is just one thing that we have to remember about Herbert, he had nothing of the puritan in him, he was a cavalier, a courtier, yet he showed the world that it was possible to be these and still be a good man. He did not believe that any honest work was a "dirty employment." In one of his poems he says:

"Teach me my G.o.d and King, In all things Thee to see, And what I do in anything To do it as for Thee.

"All may of Thee Partake: Nothing can be so mean Which with his tincture (for Thy sake) Will not grow bright and clean.

"A Servant with this clause Makes drudgery divine; Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws Makes that and th' action fine.

"This is the famous stone That turneth all to gold; For that which G.o.d doth touch and own Cannot for less be told."*

*Counted.

I have told you the story about Herbert and the poor man in the words of Izaak Walton, the first writer of a life of George Herbert. I hope some day you will read that life and also the other books Walton wrote, for although we have not room for him in this book, his books are one of the delights of our literature which await you.

In all Herbert's work among his people, his wife was his companion and help, and the people loved her as much as they loved their parson. "Love followed her," says Walton, "in all places as inseparably as shadows follow substances in sunshine."

Besides living thus for his people Herbert almost rebuilt the church and rectory both of which he found very ruined. And when he had made an end of rebuilding he carved these words upon the chimney in the hall of the Rectory:

"If thou chance for to find A new house to thy mind, And built without thy cost; Be good to the poor, As G.o.d gives thee Store And then my labor's not lost."

His life, one would think, was busy enough, and full enough, yet amid it all he found time to write. Besides many poems he wrote for his own guidance a book called The Country Parson. It is a book, says Walton, "so full of plain, prudent, and useful rules that that country parson that can spare 12d. and yet wants it is scarce excusable."

But Herbert's happy, useful days at Bemerton were all too short.

In 1632, before he had held his living three years, he died, and was buried by his sorrowing people beneath the altar of his own little church.

It was not until after his death that his poems were published.

On his death-bed he left the book in which he had written them to a friend. "Desire him to read it," he said, "and if he can think it may turn to the advantage of any dejected poor soul, let it be made public. If not let him burn it."

The book was published under the name of The Temple. All the poems are short except the first, called The Church Porch. From that I will quote a few lines. It begins:

"Thou whose sweet youth and early hopes enchance Thy rate and price, and mark thee for a treasure, Hearken unto a Verser, who may chance Ryme thee to good, and make a bait of pleasure.

A verse may find him who a sermon flies, And turn delight into a sacrifice.

"Lie not, but let thy heart be true to G.o.d, Thy mouth to it, thy actions to them both: Cowards tell lies, and those that fear the rod; The stormy-working soul spits lies and froth Dare to be true: nothing can need a lie; A fault which needs it most, grows two thereby.

"Art thou a magistrate? then be severe: If studious, copy fair what Time hath blurr'd, Redeem truth from his jaws: if soldier, Chase brave employment with a naked sword Throughout the world. Fool not; for all may have, If they dare try, a glorious life, or grave.

"Do all things like a man, not sneakingly; Think the King sees thee still; for his King does.

Simpring is but a lay-hypocrisy; Give it a corner and the clue undoes.

Who fears to do ill set himself to task, Who fears to do well sure should wear a mask."

There is all the strong courage in these lines of the courtier- parson. They make us remember that before he put on his priest's robe he wore a sword. They are full of the fearless goodness that was the mark of his gentle soul. And now, to end the chapter, I will give you another little poem full of beauty and tenderness. It is called The Pulley. Herbert often gave quaint names to his poems, names which at first sight seem to have little meaning. Perhaps you may be able to find out why this is called The Pulley.

"When G.o.d at first made man, Having a gla.s.s of blessings standing by, 'Let us,' said He, 'pour on him all we can; Let the world's riches which dispersed lie, Contract into a span.'

"So strength first made way, Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honour, pleasure; When almost all was out, G.o.d made a stay, Perceiving that, alone of all His treasure, Rest in the bottom lay.

"'For if I should,' said He, 'Bestow this jewel on My creature, He would adore My gifts instead of Me, And rest in Nature, not the G.o.d of Nature: So both should losers be.

"'Yet let him keep the rest, But keep them with repining restlessness; Let him be rich and weary, that at least, If goodness lead him not, yet weariness May toss him to my breast.'"

Chapter LVI HERRICK AND MARVELL--OF BLOSSOMS AND BOWERS

ANOTHER poet of this age, Robert Herrick, in himself joined the two styles of poetry of which we have been speaking, for he was both a love poet and a religious poet.

He was born in 1591 and was the son of an old, well-to-do family, his father being a London goldsmith. But, like Herbert, he lost his father when he was but a tiny child. Like Herbert again he went to Westminster School and later Cambridge. But before he went to Cambridge he was apprenticed to his uncle, who was a goldsmith, as his brother, Herrick's father, had been. Robert, however, never finished his apprenticeship. He found out, we may suppose, that he had no liking for the jeweler's craft, that his hand was meant to create jewels of another kind. So he left his uncle's workshop and went to Cambridge, although he was already much beyond the usual age at which boys then went to college.

Like Herbert he went to college meaning to study for the Church.

But according to our present-day ideas he seems little fitted to have been a priest. For although we know little more than a few bare facts about Herrick's life, when we have read his poems and looked at his portrait we can draw for ourselves a clear picture of the man, and the picture will not fit in with our ideas of priesthood.

In some ways therefore, as we have seen, though there was an outward likeness between the lives of Herbert and of Herrick, it was only an outwards likeness. Herbert was tender and kindly, the very model of a Christian gentleman. Herrick was a jolly old Pagan, full of a rollicking joy in life. Even in appearance these two poets were different. Herbert was tall and thin with a quiet face and eyes which were truly "homes of silent prayer."

In Herrick's face is something gross, his great Roman nose and thick curly hair seem to suit his pleasure-loving nature. There is nothing spiritual about him.

After Herrick left college we know little of his life for eight or nine years. He lived in London, met Ben Jonson and all the other poets and writers who flocked about great Ben. He went to court no doubt, and all the time he wrote poems. It was a gay and cheerful life which, when at length he was given the living of Dean Prior in Devonshire, he found it hard to leave.

It was then that he wrote his farewell to poetry. He says:--

"I, my desires screw from thee, and direct Them and my thought to that sublim'd respect And conscience unto priesthood."

It was hard to go. But yet he pretends at least to be resigned, and he ends by saying:--

"The crown of duty is our duty: Well-- Doing's the fruit of doing well. Farewell."

For eighteen years Herrick lived in his Devonshire home, and we know little of these years. But he thought sadly at times of the gay days that were gone. "Ah, Ben!" he writes to Jonson, "Say how, or when Shall we thy guests Meet at those lyric feasts Made at the Sun, The Dog, the Triple Tun?

Where we such cl.u.s.ters had, As made us n.o.bly wild, not mad; And yet each verse of thine Out-did the meat, out-did the frolic wine."

Yet he was not without comforts and companions in his country parsonage. His good and faithful servant Prue kept house for him, and he surrounded himself with pets. He had a pet lamb, a dog, a cat, and even a pet pig which he taught to drink out of a mug.

"Though Clock, To tell how night draws hence, I've none, A c.o.c.k I have, to sing how day draws on.

I have A maid (my Prue) by good luck sent, To save That little, Fates me gave or lent.

A Hen I keep, which, creeking* day by day, Tells when She goes her long white egg to lay.

A Goose I have, which, with a jealous ear, Lets loose Her tongue, to tell what danger's near.