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none more fiery or more luminous。 But even to name the poem where
these occur might be to deliver delicate and ardent poetry over to
the general sense of humour； which one distrusts。 Nor is Lovelace
easy reading at any time （the two or three famous poems excepted）。
The age he adorned lived in constant readiness for the fiddler。
Eleven o'clock in the morning was as good an hour as another for a
dance； and poetry； too； was gay betimes； but intricate with
figures。 It is the very order； the perspective； as it were； of the
movement that seems to baffle the eye； but the game was a free
impulse。 Since the first day danced with the first night； no
dancing was more naturalat least to a dancer of genius。 True；
the dance could be tyrannous。 It was an importunate fashion。 When
the Bishop of Hereford； compelled by Robin Hood； in merry
Barnsdale； danced in his boots （〃and glad he could so get away〃）；
he was hardly in worse heart or trim than a seventeenth century
author here and there whose original seriousness or work…a…day
piety would have been content to go plodding flat…foot or halting；
as the muse might naturally incline with him； but whom the tune；
the grace； and gallantry of the time beckoned to tread a perpetual
measure。 Lovelace was a dancer of genius； nay； he danced to rest
his wings； for he was winged； cap and heel。 The fiction of flight
has lost its charm long since。 Modern art grew tired of the idea；
now turned to commonplace； and painting took leave of the buoyant
urchinsnaughty cherub and Cupid together； but the seventeenth
century was in love with that old fancymore in love； perhaps；
than any century in the past。 Its late painters； whose human
figures had no lack of weight upon the comfortable ground； yet kept
a sense of buoyancy for this hovering childhood； and kept the
angels and the loves aloft； as though they shook a tree to make a
flock of birds flutter up。
Fine is the fantastic and infrequent landscape in Lovelace's
poetry：
〃This is the palace of the wood；
And court o' the royal oak； where stood
The whole nobility。〃
In more than one place Lucasta's； or Amarantha's； or Laura's hair
is sprinkled with dew or rain almost as freshly and wildly as in
Wordsworth's line。
Lovelace； who loved freedom； seems to be enclosed in so narrow a
book； yet it is but a 〃hermitage。〃 To shake out the light and
spirit of its leaves is to give a glimpse of liberty not to him；
but to the world。
In To Lucasta I have been bold to alter； at the close； 〃you〃 to
〃thou。〃 Lovelace sent his verses out unrevised； and the
inconsistency of pronouns is common with him； but nowhere else so
distressing as in this brief and otherwise perfect poem。 The fault
is easily set right； and it seems even an unkindness not to lend
him this redress； offered him here as an act of comradeship。
LUCASTA PAYING HER OBSEQUIES
That errors should abound in the text of Lovelace is the more
lamentable because he was apt to make a play of phrases that depend
upon the precision of a commanay； upon the precision of the voice
in reading。 Lucasta Paying her Obsequies is a poem that makes a
kind of dainty confusion between the two vestalsthe living and
the dead； they are 〃equal virgins；〃 and you must assign the
pronouns carefully to either as you read。 This； read twice； must
surely be placed amongst the loveliest of his lovely writings。 It
is a joy to meet such a phrase as 〃her brave eyes。〃
TO ALTHEA； FROM PRISON
This is a poem that takes the winds with an answering flight。
Should they be 〃birds〃 or 〃gods〃 that wanton in the air in the
first of these gallant stanzas？ Bishop Percy shied at 〃gods；〃 and
with admirable judgment suggested 〃birds；〃 an amendment adopted by
the greater number of succeeding editors； until one or two wished
for the other phrase again； as an audacity fit for Lovelace。 But
the Bishop's misgiving was after all justified by one of the Mss。
of the poem； in which the 〃gods〃 proved to be 〃birds〃 long before
he changed them。 The reader may ask； what is there to choose
between birds so divine and gods so light？ But to begin with
〃gods〃 would be to make an anticlimax of the close。 Lovelace led
from birds and fishes to winds； and from winds to angels。
〃When linnet…like confined〃 is another modern reading。 〃When； like
committed linnets；〃 daunted the eighteenth century。 Nevertheless；
it is right seventeenth century； and is now happily restored；
happily； because Lovelace would not have the word 〃confined〃 twice
in this little poem。
A HORATIAN ODE
〃He earned the glorious name；〃 says a biographer of Andrew Marvell
（editing an issue of that poet's works which certainly has its
faults）； 〃of the British Aristides。〃 The portly dulness of the
mind that could make such a phrase； and having made； award it； is
not； in fairness； to affect a reader's thought of Marvell himself
nor even of his time。 Under correction； I should think that the
award was not made in his own age； he did but live on the eve of
the day that cumbered its mouth with phrases of such foolish burden
and made literature stiff with them。 Andrew Marvell's political
rectitude； it is true； seems to have been of a robustious kind； but
his poetry； at its rare best； has a 〃wild civility；〃 which might
puzzle the triumph of him； whoever he was； who made a success of
this phrase of the 〃British Aristides。〃 Nay； it is difficult not
to think that Marvell too； who was 〃of middling stature； roundish…
faced； cherry…cheeked；〃 a healthy and active rather than a
spiritual Aristides； might himself have been somewhat taken by
surprise at the encounters of so subtle a muse。 He； as a garden…
poet； expected the accustomed Muse to lurk about the fountain…
heads； within the caves； and by the walks and the statues of the
gods； keeping the tryst of a seventeenth century convention in
which there were certainly no surprises。 And for fear of the
commonplaces of those visits； Marvell sometimes outdoes the whole
company of garden…poets in the difficult labours of the fancy。 The
reader treads with him a 〃maze〃 most resolutely intricate； and is
more than once obliged to turn back； having been too much puzzled
on the way to a small； visible； plain； and obvious goal of thought。
And yet this poet two or three times did meet a Muse he had hardly
looked for among the trodden paths； a spiritual creature had been
waiting behind a laurel or an apple…tree。 You find him coming away
from such a divine ambush a wilder and a simpler man。 All his
garden had been made ready for poetry； and poetry was indeed there；
but in unexpected hiding and in a strange form； looking rather like
a fugitive； shy of the poet who was conscious of having her rules
by heart； yet sweetly willing to be seen； for all her haste。
The political poems； needless to say； have an excellence of a
different character and a higher degree。 They have so much
authentic dignity that 〃the glorious name of the British Aristides〃
really seems duller when it is conferred as the earnings of the
Horatian Ode upon Cromwell's Return from Ireland than when it
inappropriately clings to Andrew Marvell； cherry…cheeked； caught in