"That do run
By the triple Hecat's team,
From the presence of the Sun,
Following darkness like a dream."
Henry, our poet, was born in 1621; and had a twin-brother, Thomas.
Newton, his birthplace, is now a farm-house on the banks of the Usk, the
scenery of which is of great beauty. The twins entered Jesus College,
Oxford, in 1638. This was early in the Great Rebellion, and Charles then
kept his Court at Oxford. The young Vaughans were hot Royalists; Thomas
bore arms, and Henry was imprisoned. Thomas, after many perils, retired
to Oxford, and devoted his life to alchemy, under the patronage of Sir
Robert Murray, Secretary of State for Scotland, himself addicted to
these studies. He published a number of works, with such titles as
"_Anthroposophia Theomagica_, or a Discourse of the Nature of Man, and
his State after Death, grounded on his Creator's Proto-chemistry;"
"_Magia Adamica_, with a full discovery of the true _Coelum terrae_, or
the Magician's Heavenly Chaos and the first matter of all things."
Henry seems to have been intimate with the famous wits of his time:
"Great Ben," Cartwright, Randolph, Fletcher, &c. His first publication
was in 1646:--"Poems, with the Tenth Satyre of Juvenal Englished, by
Henry Vaughan, Gent." After taking his degree in London as M. D., he
settled at his birthplace, Newton, where he lived and died the doctor of
the district. About this time he prepared for the press his little
volume, "Olor Iscanus, the Swan of Usk," which was afterwards published
by his brother Thomas, without the poet's consent. We are fortunate in
possessing a copy of this curious volume, which is now marked in the
Catalogues as "_Rariss_." It contains a few original poems; some of them
epistles to his friends, hit off with great vigor, wit, and humor.
Speaking of the change of times, and the reign of the Roundheads, he
says,--
"Here's brotherly Ruffs and Beards, and a strange sight
Of high monumental Hats, tane at the fight
Of eighty-eight; while every Burgesse foots
The mortal Pavement in eternall boots."
There is a line in one of the letters which strikes us as of great
beauty:--
"Feed on the vocal silence of his eye."
And there is a very clever poem _Ad Amicum Foeneratorem_, in defiance
of his friend's demand of repayment of a loan.
There is great beauty and delicacy of expression in these two stanzas of
an epithalamium:--
"Blessings as rich and fragrant crown your heads,
As the mild heaven on roses sheds,
When at their cheeks (like pearls) they weare
The clouds that court them in a tear.
"Fresh as the houres may all your pleasures be,
And healthfull as Eternitie!
Sweet as the flowre's first breath, and close
As th' unseen spreadings of the Rose
When she unfolds her curtained head,
And makes her bosome the Sun's bed!"
The translations from Ovid, Boece, and Cassimir, are excellent.