THOMAS STANLEY, The very learned editor of Eschylus, and author of the "History of Philosophy," was the only son of Sir Thomas Stanley, knt. of Cumberlow-green in Hertfordshire, and nephew to Sandys the traveller and poet. He pursued his studies, first at home, and afterwards in Pembroke-hall, Cambridge, under the direction of Mr. Wm. Fairfax, son to the celebrated translator of Tasso. Having continued at the University till he had taken the degree of A. M. and been admitted to the same at Oxford, 1640, he then travelled in foreign countries; and on his return lived, during part of the civil wars, in the Middle Temple. He was the friend of Shirley, Sherburne, Hall, and Suckling. His poems, printed in 1651, in 12mo. consist principally of translations, with a few original compositions, from which the following specimens are borrowed. He died in 1678. Phillips, after commending his other works adds, that Stanley was "particularly honoured for his smooth air and gentile "spirit in poetry; which appears not only in his own genuine poems, but also from what he hath so well "translated out of ancient Greek, and modern Italian, 46 Spanish, and French poets, as to make his own." THE DEPOSITION. THOUGH, when I lov'd thee, thou wert fair, Thou art no longer so: Those glories all the pride they wear Unto opinion owe: Beauties, like stars, in borrow'd lustre shine, And 'twas my love that gave thee thine. The flames, that dwelt within thine Do now with mine expire: Thy brightest graces fade, and die At once with my desire. eye, Love's fires thus mutual influence return, Thine cease to shine when mine to burn. Then proud Celinda, hope no more To be implor'd or woo'd; Since, by thy scorn, thou dost restore And thy despis'd disdain too late shall find, LOVE'S HERETIC. HE whose active thoughts disdain Let him learn the art of me What tyrannic mistress dare To one beauty love confine? All may court, but none decline. Wheresoe'er I turn or move A new passion doth detain me: Those kind beauties that do love, Or those proud ones that disdain me. This frown melts, and that smile burns me; This to tears, that ashes turns me. Soft fresh virgins, not full-blown, With their youthful sweetness take me; Sober matrons, that have known Long since what these prove, awake me; Here, staid coldness I admire, She that doth by skill dispense Which nor court nor city knows, Both alike my soul inflame, She that wisely can adorn Nature with the wealth of art, Both the wanton and the coy She whom I by force enjoy, Or who forceth me to love: This, because she'll not confess, That, not hide her happiness. She whose loosely flowing hair, Scatter'd like the beams o' th' morn, Playing with the sportive air, Hides the sweets it doth adorn; t Captive in the net restrains me, Nor doth she with power less bright Whose soft tresses spread, like night, Brighter shines through those dark skies, Black, or fair, or tall, or low, THE EXEQUIES. DRAW near You lovers, that complain Of fortune or disdain, And to my ashes lend a tear! Melt the hard marble with your groans, And soften the relentless stones, |