dignity of Northumberland, and, together with that title, has been frequently forfeited and restored, till, in 1670, all the honours they held of it became extinct. The property in this village was granted by Henry VIII. to Sir Anthony Brown, ancestor of the Lords Montacute (a title now extinct), by whose female descendant* it is at present holden of the Crown. In sketching this short notice of a noble and departed family, whose name England will ever preserve in her Baronage, and Sussex has fixed upon its soil, it were unjust not to mention two persons, younger branches from this family, who rose into notice, and, by the greatness of their abilities and bravery, revived from the embers of their ancestors a brilliant, but an uncontinuing, flame,—recovering for a moment the independence of the title, as if unwilling to let it disappear without collecting to themselves all ancestral excellencies, and shewing a last and concentrated picture of them to the world,-Sir Edward Poynings (grandson of the last Lord, Robert), in the reign of Henry VII., and his natural son, Thomas, created Lord Poynings by Henry VIII. The name and reputation of the former as a statesman, legislator, and soldier, is conspicuous in all the embassies, businesses, and wise arrangements of King Henry VII. He attained to great honours and preferments, and was Knight of the most noble Order of the Garter; but his name stands in more conspicuous and permanent notice in the Statutes of the Kingdom, and "Poynings Law" and its author are grafted into our national history as bringing the legislation of Ireland into dependence on the King and Parliament of England, and making the first approach to that union which waited 300 years for a statesman of similar foresight, courage, and wisdom to attain and perfect. In Sir Thomas Poynings, the character of his ancestors displayed itself under Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, at the siege of Bolloign and Bures, and King Henry VIII. revived in him the ancient dignity and appellation of Baron de Poynings, and made him General of the army in France. He died without legitimate children, and the title was again and finally lost. The truth that what is "local" is often "national" has appeared in the historical display that has gathered around this small Sussex village. Its rustic homeliness and natural poverty receive upon them the rich inheritance of former grandeur; and the pastoral character, retirement, and peacefulness re-assume their alliance with the pride, ardour, and joyousness of military enterprise and national triumphs, reclaiming the olden time, when the archers and the men-at-arms, who had returned to the village with their Lord* from Cressy and *The wife of W. S. Poyntz, Esq. * "In Englande also there was great joye, whane they harde tidynges of the batayle of Poyctiers, of the dysconfityng of the frenchmen, and takyng of the Kyng; great solemnytes were made in all churches, and great fyers, and wakes, throughout all Englande: the Knyghtes and Squyers, suche as were come home fro that journey, were moche made of, and praysed more than other."—Froissart, 3 м July, 1832. Poictiers, listened to and confirmed the minstrel's narrative, while he sang in the Baron's hall "the glorious and well-foughten fields of chivalry." There is a feeling of serious and ennobling pleasure in thus connecting with our churches the grateful remembrances of their founders and benefactors; and even this brief chronicle-these "trivial fond records," cannot fail to give an increased veneration for this holy building, and to supply, in some degree, the lamented want of monumental interest. The consideration of the "dear, the noble, and the puissant," who have inhabited the village, and whose prayers have been offered up, and whose bodies repose in the church, must create sentiments of reverence and social love towards the true nobility of their natures, while the example of their energy and munificence, their religious feelings, and graceful charities, must tend to convey "Upon the thronged abodes of busy men, An air and mien of dignified pursuit; A FEW THOUGHTS UPON SACRED POETRY. THE literature of every nation commences with its poetry; it is the blossom of the tree of knowledge, which always flourishes most luxuriantly in the pure atmosphere and the unexhausted soil of primitive life. The fruit is a precious treasure for succeeding ages. Civilization brings refinement; but the mind loses in grandeur what it gains in elegance. The sculptor may throw a finer polish over his marble; but the image will be destitute of the rough and gigantic beauty which would have characterized it in former times. Homer poured forth strains more vividly descriptive of the attributes and powers of the divinities he worshipped, than are to be found in the more graceful compositions of his successors. But my object in making this apparently irrelevant allusion is, to point out the harmony which has always (at their commencement) subsisted between poetry and religion. The one has been, as it were, the tongue to the other; in many instances, an inspired instrument of Providence. An examination of the ballads scattered among the various tribes of the eastern and western worlds would form a very interesting occupation, and the results would, I doubt not, support the position I have taken. Both the Greek and the English dramatic poetry, as the reader is aware, date their origin from a religious ceremony. Their progress to excellence, however, was totally different. The low buffooneries of Thespis and his companions was rapidly superseded by the poetry and grandeur of Æschylus. A glance at the Miracle Plays (or Mysteries, as they are generally styled) may not be without its use in enabling us to mark the tone of religious poetry in those dark days of our literature, and to note the slow degrees by which these discordant elements were harmonized into a purer and more sacred poetry. Miracle Plays, most probably, originated from the attempt of Gregory Nazianzen, in the fourth century, to aid the cause of religion by investing it with the charms of scenic representation. Few of our readers require to be informed how far he accomplished his wishes in his play of" Christ's Passion." Miracle Plays consisted, at the beginning, of scriptural characters only, and the Moralities (with which they soon became united) of allegorical personages. I find from Mr. J. P. Collier's very able "History of Dramatic Poetry," recently published, that there are at present existing in this country three sets of Miracles, or Miracle Plays, which go through the principal incidents of the Old and New Testament. Some idea may be entertained of the state of the popular mind in those days, from a notice of the subjects of these plays, which are given in a volume called " Ludus Coventriæ," the MS. of which is as early as Henry the Seventh. I will only offer two or three specimens. Take for example "Anna's Pregnancy,' ," "The Salutation and Conception," The Crucifixion,' ""Christ's Descent into Hell," and last, but not least, "Doomsday." These Miracle Plays are said to have been performed before an admiring and delighted company at Coventry, during the feast of Corpus Christi; and, let it be remembered, that these dramas were, for the most part, even to a comparatively late period, written and acted by Ecclesiastics. For so late as 1542, we find Bishop Bonner issuing a proclamation to the clergy of his diocese, forbidding all manner of common plays, games, or interludes to be played, set forth, or declared within their churches or chapels ;" and in 1572, traces of the practice are still to be discovered. But it will not be inexpedient, in this place, to afford the reader an idea of the manner in which such a subject as the Creation of the World was represented before a religious audience, and with a view, moreover, to their spiritual advantage. The play or pageant to which I allude is the first in the Widkirk collection, and comprises the Creation, and the rebellion and expulsion of Lucifer and his followers. The speech of the Deity is to the following purport:-* Ego sum Alpha et o; I am the first, the last also, One God in majestie, The work of the creation is then begun, and after the cherubim have sung their hymn, the Deity descends from the throne and goes out. Lucifer usurps the seat, and asks the angels man. "Gay felows, how semys now me?" The good and bad angels disagree as to his appearance; but the dispute is terminated by the return of the Deity, who expels Satan and his adherents from heaven. Adam and Eve are then created in Paradise, and the piece ends with Satan's lamentation of man's felicity. We hear nothing of the fall of This play is followed by similar representations of the murder of Abel, into which I shall not enter. The first is sufficient for my purpose. The question will naturally arise to every one, upon reading this strange programme, how a person, to whom these majestic and terrible events of our history were known, could have so utterly destroyed and travestied their natural character. And this brings me to the object more especially proposed to be discussed in the present paper-viz., the reasons of the ill-success which has so frequently attended writers of Sacred Poetry. Few passages have been productive of more controversy than those celebrated observations in Dr. Johnson's Life of Waller, in which he delivers his opinion upon the capabilities of religious poetry. The extraordinary and, I may affirm, in some instances, self-evident fallacies of the arguments there advanced, have been already exposed; yet a notice of them is necessary to the elucidation of the present subject, and a few extracts will moreover enable me to offer a hasty commentary as I go along. "The doctrines of religion," commences the author, " may indeed be defended in a didactic poem; and he who has the happy power of arguing in * I am indebted to Mr. Collier's Analysis of these Miracle Plays for my present observations. verse will not lose it because his subject is sacred. A poet may describe the beauty and grandeur of nature-the flowers of spring, and the harvests of autumn-the vicissitudes of the tide, and the revolutions of the sky-and praise the Maker for his works, in lines which no reader shall willingly lay aside. The subject of disputation is not piety, but the motives to piety; that of the description is not God, but the works of God. Contemplative piety, or the intercourse between God and the human soul, cannot be poetical. Man, admitted to implore the mercy of his Creator, and plead the merits of his "Redeemer, is already in a higher state than poetry can confer." It is extremely difficult to form any conclusion after the most attentive perusal of the foregoing passage. It appears to me one entire paradox. The season is long gone by when the "doctrines of religion" could in any way be promulgated by a defence in verse; and the " happy talent" of arguing in metre would, therefore, now be of little effect. Religion can be much more ably defended in prose. Beauty, whether spiritual or corporeal, can only be praised by its visible symbols. The lover paints the face of his mistress to his friend by dwelling upon the rich tone of its colouring and the innocency of its expression; the artist portrays the varied effects of light upon the trees, the water, and the surrounding objects. Light in itself conveys no distinct idea of beauty to the mind. The situation of the poet is perfectly similar. He who sings of "the grandeur of nature, the flowers of spring, and the harvests of autumn," with a pure and devoted heart, is, in fact, a sacred poet of the truest order. It does not, however, by any means follow, that a descriptive poem should necessarily be a religious poem, any more than that Gainsborough's landscapes should entitle him to a place among scripture artists. The real and genuine character of the composition must depend upon the spirit which lives and moves throughout it. Thomson's magnificent Hymn may be cited to exemplify my argument. It may indeed be objected that "the description is not God, but the works of God;" but it must surely be evident to every man that immateriality cannot be embodied, or divinity humanized by mortal skill. The types of the Almighty are to be found only in his works, and it is by the devoted and unwearying celebration of them that we are lifted up into communion with Him. That contemplative piety, or the intercourse between God and the human soul, cannot be poetical, may be safely contradicted on the solemn authority and testimony of the Scriptures. The most imaginative, and in every way most exquisite, portions of the Psalms and the Prophecies, are those which were poured forth in communion with the Deity, and under the majestic shadow of his Omnipresence. How enthusiastically does the Royal Minstrel call upon his harp and psaltery to awake even while his "soul is bowed down," and his enemies have prepared a net for his feet! The peculiar spirit of the Hebrew poetry is attributable to this intercourse with the Divine presence. It would seem that the waters of the soul never give forth their treasures until they have been swept by the mighty wind of an all-powerful inspiration. Bishop Lowth has well defined the great source of poetry to be a passionately warmed and excited mind.* The Greeks, in whom the worship of the gods was not a mere idle pageant, expressed this state of the feelings by a very apposite word, vlovoiaoμos. It was this impetuously rushing afflatus which burst as it were into all the secret chambers of the imagination, scattering the thoughts into picturesque and gigantic masses, as we see the clouds after the fury of the tempest, that imparted that wild and daring hyperbolism so common in Hebrew poetry; and we may assign in some degree to the same source that lurid brightness which flashes along the deep gloom of some of the choruses of Eschylus. But the inspiration of the Israelite Poet proceeded directly from * Prælection 4. above; the inspiration of the Grecian Poet was derived immediately from his own heart. The enthusiasm of a noble and exalted mind is indeed, as its name imports, the unbreathed ardour of a celestial power. It is the spirit which urges forward, as by an indwelling life, all the energies of the mind. Again "The essence of poetry is invention; such invention as, by producing something unexpected, surprises and delights. The topics of devotion are few, and being few are universally known; but few as they are, they can be made no more; they can receive no grace from novelty of sentiment, and very little from novelty of expression." The assertion "that the topics of devotion are few” admits of refutation, even from the lips of the most negligent observer of nature. In the Quarterly Review, some years since, reference was made to this remark of Dr. Johnson, and the writer instanced, by way of contrast, the exquisitely simple and natural manner in which Burns describes the ever present charms of the beloved of his heart. "Every bonny flower that blaws" reminds him of his Jean. Wherefore, then, should the visible world and all the beautiful scenes of nature be blank pages to the eye of the Christian? Thank God, they are not so. In how many hearts does the most insignificant and valueless weed in the bye-ways awaken feelings of gratitude and love! The Christian, of a truth, never complains of the topics of devotion being few. Earth is to him one great minster, in which the adoration of the Supreme Maker is continually performed. The modest violet which meets his gaze during a ramble among the green and silent lanes will be an emblem of peace to his eye, and the little bird that makes the grass quiver close to his feet, as it creeps down into its nest in the bank side, will be an image of tranquil happiness and contentment to him. Associations such as these will the most readily enable him to cherish the blessed communications with the superior world. Pure and solemn meditation is the golden ladder by which the inhabitants of a holier region are wont to visit us. But to continue Poetry pleases by exhibiting an idea more grateful to the mind than the things themselves afford. This effect proceeds from the display of those parts of nature which attract, and the concealment of those which repel the imagination; but religion must be shewn as it is; suppression and addition equally corrupt it; and such as it is, it is known already. From poetry the reader justly expects, and from good poetry always obtains, the enlargement of his comprehension and elevation of his fancy; but this is rarely to be hoped by Christians from metrical devotion. Whatever is great, desirable, or tremendous, is comprised in the name of the Supreme Being. Omnipotence cannot be exalted; Infinity cannot be amplified; Perfection cannot be improved.” Dr. Johnson was not only a timid, but, if I may use the term, (not in a reproachful signification,) a mentally fluctuating Christian. He had set up in his own mind a stern and terrible symbol of Divine Justice and Power, and he trembled before it. He appears to have been bound to his Maker by a chain of fear rather than of love. His piety (and who shall doubt his sincerity?) scarcely poured a ray of light into the narrow grating of his mortal prisonhouse. He felt a horror at elaborating any image or thought which might have received utterance from inspired lips. But, in his remarks upon Sacred Poetry, it is curious to observe the silence with which he passes over the two immortal poems of Milton, which, he must have been aware, went directly to the upsetting of his position. The pleasure we derive from poetry may proceed from the display of those parts which attract the imagination, and the concealment of those which repel it; but the judgment of the poet will be shewn rather in giving them as they are, without any concealment whatever. Contrasts in poetry answer the purpose of discords in music. The peaceful loveliness of a |