It has been before remarked, that if the greatness of the poetic writers of this age seldom elevates, their acuteness often surprises us—and noble sentiment and genuine wit will often be found buried beneath strange illustrations, and far-fetched conceits.
In Headley’s introduction to his “Select Beauties of Ancient English Poetry,” he bestows unqualified praise upon the amatory poets, who flourished in the reign of Charles the First, giving a decided preference to the poetry of the age of Elizabeth and Charles over all that has been written since their day. And he considers the poets, the amatory poets of those reigns, as forming a constellation far superior in poetic lustre to any that have succeeded them.
This indeed is no faint praise, coming from so refined a critic; but with all due deference we cannot but agree with Drake, that it is for the most part too highly colored. The exquisite simplicity of style and thought, so attractive in the productions of our modern poets, will be looked for in vain in the verses of the poets of that early day; such simplicity being the result of systematic refinement, and the progress of language toward perfection.
But to return from this apparent digression; as the most beautiful pearls are often found in the roughest shells, so in the songs of Carew the reader will oftentimes be delighted to discover rare conceits, sparkling with wit, and genuine poetry, but incased in rough inharmonious verse.
But often, as in the beautiful lines to a primrose, Carew seems to break loose from the trammels that fettered the versification of his day, and in tuneful, and well measured song expresses so aptly the ideas of his muse, as to give peculiar softness to his rhyme.
That little song, To a Primrose, commencing,
Ask me why I bring you here
This firstling of the infant year.
And the one entitled The Compliment,
My dearest I shall grieve thee