genial parson, moving light-heartedly among the people, drinking in the
soft air of Devonshire and pouring it out in spontaneous song, passing
from his sermon to the Maypole, blending Paganism with Christianity and
ribaldry with religion, without sense of harm or incongruity—writing, in
fact, the _Hesperides_ on weekdays and the _Noble Numbers_ on Sundays.
Rather it was by the Cam and the Thames that he imbibed his inspiration,
made love to his half-imaginary mistresses, and learnt—
How roses first grew red and lilies white.
In Devonshire he is a changed man, sobered partly by isolation and
partly by clerical responsibility. He has, no doubt, his light-hearted
and even wanton moods, and often writes poetry in the old vein; but he
feels that the old lyrical effusiveness is going or gone, and finds his
main occupation in writing sacred poetry.
At any rate he did not write gross or indecent verse during this period.
This all too plentiful element of the _Hesperides_ need not be fathered
on Dean Prior. He himself calls it—
Unbaptised rhymes
Writ in my wild, unhallowed times.
There is surely no reason why these words should not be taken in their
literal sense, which is that they were written in Herrick’s youth and
before he took orders, and the pilgrim to Dean Prior need not harrow his
imagination with the revolting picture of this elderly bachelor sitting
in the little vicarage spinning out these miserable and often pointless
indecencies. No doubt it may be asked why, if these were poems of
Herrick’s youth, condemned by his better judgment, he published them in
1648. Two answers may be given to this question, though I do not say
that either of them is an excuse. In the first place he had been turned
out of his living and probably wanted money. In the second place, the
fact that he describes himself on the title page as Robert Herrick,
Esq., seems to indicate that he considered his clerical profession had
gone with his incumbency, and if so, he very probably had deluded
himself into the idea that clerical responsibility had gone also.
I will devote the rest of my allotted space to a few remarks on that
part of Herrick’s work which undoubtedly belongs to the Dean Prior
period. I mean the “pious pieces,” or _Noble Numbers_. Now it is not to
be denied that there is a great deal of poor stuff in the _Noble
Numbers_. Nobody is likely to care much for the metrical creeds, or the
tawdry and sensuous poems on the Nativity or Passion. Still the little
book contains some pieces which English literature could ill spare.
There is, for instance, the strange and, indeed, startling “litany to
the Holy Spirit.” This hymn is actually included in one at least of our
popular hymn-books, and I have sometimes heard parts of it sung in a
village church. I wonder what the congregation would have thought of
these two stanzas, which, needless to say, are not to be found in the
hymn-book version:—
When the artless doctor sees
No one hope, but in his fees
And his skill runs on the lees,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When his Potion and his Pill
Has or none or little skill,
Meet for nothing but to kill,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
Probably they would be greatly shocked, and indeed everyone must admit
that the stanzas show a certain strange devilry mixing itself with
Herrick’s most reverent thoughts. At the same time, I do not think there
is any real or intentional irreverence in them. There is one stanza in
the “Litany” which has, I think, a personal interest:—
When the house doth sigh and weep,
And the world is drowned in sleep,
Yet mine eyes the watch do keep,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
Now compare this with the following:—
Night hath no wings to him that cannot sleep,
And time seems then not for to flie but creep.
. . . . . .
Just so it is with me who listening pray
The winds to blow the tedious night away.
And again—
Through all the night
Thou dost me fright,
And holdst mine eyes from sleeping.
I infer from these that Herrick suffered much from sleeplessness, and if
so, may we not with considerable probability trace the genesis of this
celebrated litany to some sleepless nights in the little vicarage of
Dean Prior?
Again it is to the _Noble Numbers_ that we owe the beautiful “Lord, Thou
hast given me a cell.” Familiar as this poem is, it is only a just
tribute to Dean Prior that these sweet praises of its simple plenty
should be set down here.
A THANKSGIVING TO GOD FOR HIS HOUSE.
Lord, Thou hast given me a cell
Wherein to dwell;
A little house, whose humble roof
Is weather-proof;
Under the sparres of which I lie
Both soft and drie;
Where Thou my chamber for to ward
Has set a guard
Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep
Me while I sleep.
Low is my porch, as is my Fate,
Both void of state;
And yet the threshold of my doore
Is worn by th’ poore,
Who thither come, and freely get
Good words or meat.
Like as my Parlour, so my hall
And Kitchen’s small:
A little Buttery, and therein
A little Byn
Which keeps my little Loafe of Bread
Unchipt, unflead:
Some little sticks of Thorne or Briar
Making a fire,
Close by whose living fire I sit
And glow like it.
Lord, I confess too, when I dine,
The Pulse is Thine,
And all those other bits, that bee
There plac’d by Thee;
The Worts, the Purslaine, and the Messe
Of Water-cresse,
Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent;
And my content
Makes those, and my beloved Beet
To be more sweet.
’Tis thou that crownst my glittering Hearth
With guiltlesse mirth;
And giv’st me Wassaile Bowles to drink,
Spic’d to the brink.
Lord,’tis Thy plenty-dropping Hand
That soiles my land;
And giv’st me, for my Bushell sowne,
Twice ten for one:
Thou mak’st my teaming Hen to lay
Her egg each day:
Besides my healthful Ewes to beare
Me twins each year.
The while the conduits of my kine
Run creame (for Wine).
All these, and better Thou doest send
Me, to this end,
That I should render, for my part,
A thankful heart,
Which, fired with incense, I resigne,
As wholly Thine;
But the acceptance, that must be,
My Christ to Thee.
And now let me ask the reader to note the following triplet, which
occurs in a Christmas Anthem in _Noble Numbers_:—
We see Him come and know Him ours,
Who with His sunshine and His showers
Turns all the patient earth to flowers.
I think if we compare these two poems, which embody Herrick’s attitude
to nature and country life during the Dean Prior period, with some of
the earlier (as I think) lyrics in the _Hesperides_, we shall feel that
if Dean Prior took something from him, it also gave him something.
Compare them, for instance, with “Fair Daffodils, we weep to see,” or
the song to “Meddows,” which begins “Ye have been fresh and green.”
These last are beautiful fancies, among the most beautiful in our
language, but they have not the depth or fulness of feeling which the
triplet has. _That_ breathes the spirit of the true lover of rural life,
and so it seems to me that if Herrick, in this little out-of-the-way
village, felt the lyric power gone, if the “fairy fancies” no longer
“ranged” or “lightly stirred” as before, on the other hand, something of
the peace of a country village, something of the peace which Wordsworth
felt two centuries later, had descended upon him.
Finally, let me call the reader’s attention to the two “Graces for
little children,” also to be found in _Noble Numbers_:—
Here a little child I stand,
Heaving up my either hand;
Cold as paddocks though they be,
Here I lift them up to Thee
For a Benison to fall
On our meat and on us all.
And again—
What God gives and what we take,
’Tis a gift for Christ His sake;
Be the meal of beans and pease,
God be thanked for those and these.
Have we flesh or have we fish,
All are fragments from His dish.
He His Church save and the King,
And our peace here like a spring
Send it ever flourishing.
If I may indulge in a little fancy, I should say that this last was
written for some small Dean Prior “maid”; written on one of those
delicious balmy days which a Devonshire spring sometimes, though not,
alas! always, brings; written during the first half of Herrick’s first
incumbency, when peace still “flourished” at Dean Prior, though perhaps
the shadows of the coming trouble were not unfelt by those who could
read the signs of the times. Both these “Graces” always seem to me to
have a peculiar charm and freshness, and even by themselves they would
go far to justify the view that has been maintained in this essay, that
Herrick’s genius, if hampered and enfeebled in some ways, was in other
ways matured and mellowed by his sojourn in “dull Devonshire.”
The following passage, which is an extract from an article in the
_Quarterly_ of August, 1809, by Mr. Barron Field, may be of some
interest:—
Being in Devonshire during the last summer, we took an opportunity of
visiting Dean Prior for the purpose of making some inquiries
concerning Herrick, who, from the circumstance of having been vicar of
that parish (where he is still talked of as a poet, a wit, and a hater
of the county) for twenty years, might be supposed to have left some
unrecorded memorials of his existence behind him. We found many
persons in the village who could repeat some of his lines, and none
who were not acquainted with his "Farewell to Dean Bourn"—
“Dean Bourn, farewell; I never look to see
Dean, or thy watry incivility,”
which, they said, he uttered as he crossed the brook upon being
ejected by Cromwell from the Vicarage, to which he had been presented
by Charles I. “But,” they added, with an air of innocent triumph, “he
did see it again,” as was the fact after the Restoration. And, indeed,
although he calls Devonshire “dull,” yet as he admits, at the same
time, that “he never invented such ennobled numbers for the press as
in that loathed spot,” the good people of Dean Prior have not much
reason to be dissatisfied.
The person, however, who knows more of Herrick than all the rest of
the neighbourhood, we found to be a poor woman in the ninety-ninth
year of her age, named Dorothy King. She repeated to us, with great
exactness, five of his _Noble Numbers_, among which was the beautiful
Litany quoted above. These she had learned from her mother, who was
apprenticed to Herrick’s successor in the vicarage. She called them
her prayers, which, she said, she was in the habit of putting up in
bed whenever she could not sleep, and she therefore began the Litany
at the second stanza, “When I lie within my bed,” etc. Another of her
midnight orisons was the poem beginning—
“Every night thou does me fright,
And keep mine eyes from sleeping,” etc.
She had no idea that these poems had ever been printed, and could not
have read them if she had seen them. She is in possession of few
traditions as to the person, manners, and habits of life of the poet,
but in return she has a whole budget of anecdotes respecting his
ghost, and these she details with a careless but serene gravity which
one would not willingly discompose by any hints at a remote
possibility of their not being exactly true. Herrick, she says, was a
bachelor, and kept a maid-servant, as his poems, indeed, discover; but
she adds, what they do not discover, that he also kept a pet pig,
which he taught to drink out of a tankard. And this important
circumstance, together with a tradition that he one day threw his
sermon at the congregation, with a curse for their inattention, forms
almost the sum total of what we could collect of the poet’s life.
F. H. COLSON.
[Illustration
_From a Painting by T. Stothard, R.A._] [_Engraved by George Noble._
THE LANDING OF WILLIAM III. AT TORBAY.
]
THE LANDING OF THE PRINCE OF
ORANGE AT BRIXHAM, 1688.
BY THE LATE T. W. WINDEATT.
The landing of the Prince of Orange—the Prince who "saved England"—on
the shores of Devon in 1688, must always be a matter of interest. The
subject has been dealt with by Macaulay and other historians with more
or less detail. I certainly should not, therefore, have ventured on the
subject myself had it not been for the fact of having had placed in my
hands, through the courtesy of Mr. J. B. Davidson, of Secktor, a
somewhat rare pamphlet, containing many interesting facts not noted in
the papers referred to by Mr. Pengelly, and from my being the repository
of some local anecdotes worth preserving.
The pamphlet I have referred to is entitled, “An Exact Diary of the late
Expedition of His Illustrious Highness The Prince of Orange (now King of
Great Britain), from his Palace at the Hague to his Landing at Torbay,
and from thence to his arrival at Whitehall. Giving a particular account
of all that happened and every Day’s March. By a Minister Chaplain in
the Army.” It consists of seventy-three pages, was printed for Richard
Baldwin, near the Black Bull, in the Old Bailey, in 1689, licensed April
23rd, 1689. It is dedicated to the Earls of Bedford and Portland,
Viscount Sidney of Sheppy, and Sir John Maynard, one of the Lords
Commissioners of the Great Seal; and from the Dedication it appears that
the writer was one “John Whittle.”
This Sir John Maynard was at this time Recorder for this borough, and
member for the borough during the Long Parliament. He was a very able
lawyer, and at this time near ninety. It is related of him that when he
came “with the men of the law” to welcome the Prince, the latter took
notice of his great age, and said that he had outlived all the men of
the law of his time. Whereupon Maynard replied, he had like to have
outlived the law itself if his Highness had not come over.
That this pamphlet is genuine, and was written by an English clergyman
who accompanied the expedition throughout, there is strong internal
evidence; and Macaulay cites it as one of the authorities for several of
his statements with reference to the expedition, though he does not
quote largely from it.
In this diary or, more strictly, narrative, which enters more fully into
particulars than the other pamphlets, Mr. Whittle gives a graphic
account of the arrangements for, and the departure of, the expedition,
the storm which sent it back again, its refitting, second departure, and
safe (if not miraculous) arrival in Torbay, of all of which the writer
was evidently an eye-witness.
The number of our capital ships or men-of-war was about fifty, which
were very well rig’d, mann’d, and provided with all things requisite;
the number of our fire-ships was about five and twenty; lesser
Men-of-war or Frigats about six and twenty; the number of Merchant
Ships, Pinks, Fly-boats and others was about three hundred and odd; so
the total number of the Fleet as they sailed from the Brill was about
four hundred and odd ships. But at our setting out the second time, at
Hellevort-Sluys, there were near an hundred vessels more, which were
Schievelingers or Boats which the Fisher-men of Schieveling went to
sea in.
Whittle gives the following account of the final departure of the
expedition:—
Upon Thursday, Novemb. 1, Old Stile, Novemb. 11, New Stile, after the
Prince of Orange had din’^d with all English, Dutch, Scotch, and
French Lords, Knights and Gentlemen attending his Sacred Person, about
three or four of clock in the afternoon, he went on board a new vessel
of about Twenty-eight Guns, with the Rotterdam’s Admiral call’d the
Brill, as some will have it, and being now in his Cabin, fired, for to
give notice unto all the Fleet to weigh their anchors and make Sail,
which was accordingly done by every Ship with all possible expedition.
The whole Fleet was divided into three Squadrons; the Red Flag was for
the English and Scotch, commanded by Major-General Mackay; the White
Flag was for the Prince’s Guards and the Brandenburghers, commanded by
Count Solms; the Blew Flag was for the Dutch and French, commanded by
Count Nassau. Now every Ship had a certain Mark, or Token, that it
might be known unto what Squadron she belong^d.
So once more the whole Fleet (thro’ God’s blessing) was under sail for
England, with a very favourable East Wind. The darkness coming on us,
all the Ships set out their Lights, which was very pleasant to see,
and the Ship in which the Prince of Orange was, had three Lanthorns,
the Men of War two, and each other Ship one.
Whittle brings the fleet to the English shores, and thus continues:—
On the morrow-morning, being the Lord’s day, Novemb. 4, Old Stile,
which was the happy Birthday of his thrice Illustrious Highness, the
Prince of Orange; most men were of opinion that we should land either
in the Isle of Wight, Portsmouth, or some other convenient place,
about which matter they were much mistaken, for the Prince of Orange
did not sail, but observe the duty of the day; so all were driven of
the Waves. Prayers and Sermon being done, he went to Dinner with some
Nobles attending him, and about Four of Clock in the afternoon made
sail, all the whole Fleet following the example of his ship; now every
Schipper endeavour’d for to keep sight of the three Lanthorns or
Admiral of Rotterdam’s Ship for the sake of his Highness therein. The
darkness shutting upon us all our Lights were set out as before.
Whittle then brings us down to the morning of Monday, the 5th of
November, and proceeds as follows:—
So when the day began to dawn, we found that we were very near the
English Shore, but whereabout we could not yet tell. The Ship in which
the Prince of Orange was sailed so near the Shore that with much
facility a man might cast a stone on the Land; we were driven very
slowly, all our Sails being struck. The morning was very obscure with
the Fog and Mist, and withal it was so calm that the Vessels now as
’twere touch’d each other, every Ship coming as near unto the Ship
wherein the Prince of Orange was as the Schipper thereof would permit
them. Here we were moving for a while very slowly by the Shore, and
could see all the Rocks there abouts very plain. We perceived that we
should land thereabout, but no place near was commodious for either
Men or Horses, it being a steep Rock to march up. The Ships did all
observe the motion of the three Lanthorns, which were driven by the
Coast of England back again, for we had sailed somewhat beyond Torbay.
And being thus calm’d for a while, it afterwards pleased the God of
Heaven, that He gave us a West or Westerly Wind, which was the only
Wind that could blow to bring us safe into the Bay; for even to this
place we had an East and South-East Wind, which was indeed a good Wind
to bring us from Holland, and along all the Channel, but not to carry
us into the Bay, there were so many Rocks and Shelves on that side.
Making some Sail again, his Highness the Prince of Orange gave order
that his Standard should be put up, and accordingly it was done, the
White Flag being put uppermost, signifying his most gracious offer of
Peace unto all such as would live peaceably: And under that the Red or
Bloody Flag was set up, signifying War unto all such as did oppose his
just Designs. The Sun recovering strength soon dissipated the Fog, and
dispers’d the Mist, insomuch that it prov’d a very pleasant Day. Now
every Vessel set out its Colours, which made a very pleasant show. By
this time the People of Devonshire thereabout had discovered the
Fleet, the one telling the other thereof; they came flocking in droves
to the side or brow of the Hills to view us: Some guess’d we were
French, because they saw divers White Flags; but the Standard of the
Prince, the Motto of which was, For the Protestant Religion and
Liberty, soon undeceived them.
Others more discreet said, that it was the Dutch Fleet so much talk’d
of in the Nation, and so long expected by most people. This Day was
very remarkable in England before, being the fifth of November, the
Bells were ringing as we were sailing towards the Bay, and as we
landed, which many judged to be a good Omen: before we came into the
Bay’s mouth, as we were near the Rocks, the People ran from Place to
Place after us; and we being so near as to see and discern the Habit
of the Country People, and they able to see us and hear our voices, a
certain Minister in the Fleet, on board the Ship called the Golden
Sun, went up to the top of the uppermost Cabin, where the Colours hang
out, a Place where he could easily behold all the people on the Shore,
and where they might most perfectly see him, and pulling a Bible out
of his Pocket, he opened it, and held it so in his right Hand, making
many flourishes with it unto the People, whose Eyes were fix’^d on
him, and duly observ’d him, thereby signifying to the People the
flourishing of the Holy Gospel (by God’s Blessing upon the Prince of
Orange’s Endeavours), and calling out as loud as he was able, said
unto them on the top of the Rock: For the Protestant Religion, and
maintaining of the Gospel in the Truth and Purity thereof, are we all
by the Goodness and Providence of God come hither, after so many
storms and Tempests. Moreover, said he, it is the Prince of Orange
that’s come, a Zealous Defender of that Faith which is truly Ancient,
Catholic, and Apostolical, who is the Supream Governour of this very
great and fomidable Fleet. Whereupon all the People shouted for Joy,
and Huzzas did now echo into the Air, many amongst them throwing up
their Hats, and all making signs with their Hands. So after the
Minister had given them some Salutations, and they returned him the
same again, he came down from off the upper Deck, unto the vulgar one
among his Acquaintance, who spoke to him about the People on the brow
or side of the mountain.
The bells were evidently ringing for the 5th of November, and I find
that the bells of the parish church of Brixham are still rung on that
day, but I apprehend that the custom has been continued in commemoration
of the landing of the Prince.
All who know Brixham, even in its present populous condition, can
corroborate the accuracy of Whittle’s description of the coast, and
recognize his felicitous expression of the people on shore being “on the
brow of the mountain.”
Whittle proceeds as follows:—
The Prince of Orange being come into the middle of the Bay, called
Torbay, attended with three or four Men of War only, that is to say,
one or two sailing before his Vessel, and one on each side the Ship in
which he was; and all the Merchant Ships, Pinks and Fly-boats coming
round him, as near as they durst for safety, the rest of the Men of
War being out in the Rear to secure all the little Pinks and
Fly-boats, and withal to prevent the English Fleet from disturbing us
in our Landing.
At the upper end of Torbay there is a fair House, belonging to one Mr.
Carey, a very rigid Papist, who entertained a Priest in his House.
This Priest going to recreate himself on the Leads, on the top
thereof, it being a most delightsome day, as he was walking there he
happened to cast his Eyes towards the Sea, and espying the Fleet at a
distance, withal being purblind in his Eyes, as well as blinded by
Satan in his mind, he presently concludes that ’twas the French Navy
(because he saw divers White Flags) come to land the Sons of Belial,
which should cut off the Children of God, or as they call us, the
Hereticks. And being transported with joy, he hastened to inform his
own Disciples of the House, and forthwith they sung Te Deum. This was
a second grand Mistake, the third time will fall to our Lot to sing Te
Deum for our safe Landing (as the Prince had it done at Exeter
Cathedral in the Quire): And because false Reports were spread abroad,
that the People of this House had shot several of the Prince of
Orange’s Souldiers, and thereupon they had burnt down the House. I
must inform the candid Reader that there was nothing at all in it, for
our People did not give them one reviling word, nor they us; some
lodged there while we were at Torbay.
He then proceeds with the following account of the landing:—