opportunity." If these charming passages lurk in his worst poems,
the reader of this anthology will not be able to count them in his
best. In the Epiphany Hymn the heavens have found means

'To disinherit the sun's rise,
Delicately to displace
The day, and plant it fairer in thy face."

To the Morning: Satisfaction for Sleep, is, all through, luminous.
It would be difficult to find, even in the orient poetry of that
time, more daylight or more spirit. True, an Elizabethan would not
have had poetry so rich as in Love's Horoscope, but yet an
Elizabethan would have had it no fresher. The Hymn to St. Teresa
has the brevities which this poet--reproached with his longueurs--
masters so well. He tells how the Spanish girl, six years old, set
out in search of death: "She's for the Moors and Martyrdom.
Sweet, not so fast!" Of many contemporary songs in pursuit of a
fugitive Cupid, Crashaw's Cupid's Cryer: out of the Greek, is the
most dainty. But if readers should be a little vexed with the
poet's light heart and perpetual pleasure, with the late ripeness
of his sweetness, here, for their satisfaction, is a passage
capable of the great age that had lately closed when Crashaw wrote.
It is in his summons to nature and art:

"Come, and come strong,
To the conspiracy of our spacious song!"

I have been obliged to take courage to alter the reading of the
seventeenth and nineteenth lines of the Prayer-Book, so as to make
them intelligible; they had been obviously misprinted. I have also