_That star, that at your birth shone out so bright, It stained the duller sun's meridian light, Did once again its potent fires renew._--P. 37.
There was a star visible on Charles' birth-day, 29th May, 1630; a circumstance much dwelt upon, by his party, during the civil wars. Lilly, the astrologer, who embraced the cause of the Commonwealth, assures us, it was nothing more than the planet Venus, which is sometimes visible in the day-time; and truly, if we judge of the matter by its influence on the merry monarch, Venus has the best title to be held the dominant power at his nativity. Lilly also repeats the following lines, presented to Charles I. (by the astrologer himself, I suppose,) when he went to St Paul's, to return thanks for the birth of his son:
_Rex ubi Paulinias accessit gratus ad aras, Immicuit medio lucida stella polo: Dic divina mihi tractans ænigmata cœli, Hæc oriens nobis quid sibi stella velit? Magnus in occiduo princeps modo nascitur orbe, Moxque sub eclipsi regna orientis erunt._
Our author seems to allude to this star in the "Duke of Guise," where, speaking literally of Henry III., but covertly of Charles II., he makes Melanax say,
----He cannot be deposed, He may be killed; a violent fate attends him, But at his birth there shone a regal star.
A poetical follower of Monmouth introduces the Duke of York murmuring against the good fortune of his brother, and exclaiming,
Curse on that planet, whose benign ray Gilds the bright pavement of the Milky Way; And is so good, so influential To the great master of the Milky Hall.
The same star, it would seem, was again visible in 1660.
_And as old Time his offspring swallowed down._--P. 37.
The minutes, hours, days, and other subdivisions of time, may be accounted his children, which he is fancifully said to devour, as he passes over them.
_And France, that did an exile's presence fear._--P. 37.
Charles was obliged to leave France, less because his presence was feared in itself, than the displeasure of Cromwell, for affording him shelter.
The ceremony of Charles the Second's coronation was deferred until the year succeeding his Restoration, when it was solemnized with extreme magnificence, on the 22d April, 1661, being St George's day. Charles moved from the Tower to Whitehall, through a series of triumphal arches, stages, and pageants, all of which presented, at once, the joy and wealth of his people before the eyes of the monarch. The poets, it may readily be believed, joined in the general gratulation; but, from the rudeness of their style, and puerility of their conceits, Charles, whose taste was undoubted, must have soon distinguished our author's superior energy of diction, and harmony of language. In most respects we may consider this piece as written in the style of the preceding, yet with less affectation of witty and far-fetched allusion. The description of the spring, beginning, "Now our sad ruins are removed from sight," is elegantly fancied, and so smoothly expressed, that even the flow of the language seems to mark the mild and delightful influence of the season it describes. Much quaintness remains to be weeded out. The name of the king is sent on high, wrapped soft and warm in music, like flames on the wings of incense; and, anon, music has found a tomb in Charles, and lies drowned in her own sweetness; while the fragrant scent, begun from the royal person, and confined within the hallowed dome, flies round and descends on him in richer dew. Above all, we are startled to hear of