"He leads me to the tender grass, Where I both feed and rest; Then to the streams that gently pass: In both I have the best. "Or if I stray, he doth convert, And bring my mind in frame And all this not for my desert, But for his holy name. "Yea, in death's shady, black abode Well may I walk, not fear: For thou art with me, and thy rod To guide, thy staff to bear. "Nay, thou dost make me sit and dine, E'en in my en'mies' sight; My head with oil, my cup with wine, Runs over day and night. "Surely thy sweet and wond'rous love Shall measure all my days: And as it never shall remove, So neither shall my praise." We might linger long with Herbert, gathering the fruits of wisdom and piety from the abundant orchard of his poems, where many a fruit "hangs amiable;" but we must listen to his brethren. * * * * * Henry Vaughan was the literary offspring of George Herbert. His life, too, might have been written by good Izaak Walton, so gentle was it, full of all pleasant associations and quiet nobleness, decorated by the love of nature and letters, intimacies with poets, and with that especial touch of nature which always went to the heart of the Complete Angler, a love of fishing--for Vaughan was wont, at times, to skim the waters of his native rivers. He was born in Wales; the old Roman name of the country conferring upon him the appellation "Silurist"--for in those days local pride and affection claimed the honor of the bard, as the poet himself first gathered strength from the home, earth and sky which concentrated rather than circumscribed his genius. His family was of good old lineage, breathing freely for generations in the upper atmosphere of life, warmed and cheered in a genial sunlight of prosperity. It could stir, too, at the call of patriotism, and send soldiers, as it did, to bite the heroic dust at Agincourt. Another time brought other duties. The poet came into the world in the early part of the seventeenth century, when the great awakening of thought and English intellect was to be followed by stirring action. He was not, indeed, to bear any great part in the senate or the field; but all noble spirits were moved by the issues of the time. To some the voice of the age brought hope and energy; to others, a not ignoble submission. It was perhaps as great a thing to suffer with the Royal Martyr, with all the burning life and traditions of England in the throbbing heart, as to rise from the ruins into the cold ether where the stern soul of Milton could wing its way in self-reliant calmness. Honor is due, as in all great struggles, to both parties. Vaughan's lot was cast with the conquered cause.