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Vaughan's "The Water-fall" and protestant meditation.

THE CRITICAL APPROACH to the meditative poetry of the Renaissance has long been under the influence of Louis L. Martz's The Poetry of Meditation; thus, scholarly readings of Vaughans "The Water-fall" have usually interpreted the poem as a dramatic meditation in the Ignatian fashion. In a close reading of the poem, Wulf Datow, for example, charts the speakers discovery of deeper biblical meanings that suggest themselves because of imagistic similarities with the waterfall. (1) As a result of his meditation, Datow argues that the speaker learns to perceive the waterfall in a transparent, symbolic way. (2) As I shall attempt to demonstrate, the poem does not involve dramatic discovery on the speaker's part; it is rather a typical Protestant meditation on the creatures that reveals to the reader truths he already understands at the outset. Though the difference may seem at first slight, it helps us appreciate the art of Vaughan's poem. The speaker uses the occasion offered by the circulating waters at the falls to articulate the Christian paradigm for salvation. Because he uses familiar biblical water-imagery to do so, readers have discussed the poem in general terms, without considering how it creates its meaning. Since its precise mode of signifying--typology as Vaughan practices it elsewhere in Silex Scintillans--has not been fully acknowledged, critics have not discussed the artistry of Vaughan's arrangement of these traditional images. (3) My contention is that Vaughan, following a distinctly Protestant meditative mode in "The Water-fall," has arranged his symbolic landscape typologically to express the notion of divine circularity in order to establish the metaphoric and emotional closure of Silex Scintillans.

Renaissance devotional poetry is currently undergoing a reappraisal in the light of recent scholarship on the emerging Protestant religious practices, especially meditation. For as U. Milo Kaufmann asserts, Protestants were suspicious of Jesuit meditative practices because of their reliance on the senses and the imagination. (4) At the heart of the matter is the issue of authority: the reformers were uneasy with any practice that gave credence to the independent interpretation of a text--either from the Book of Scripture or the Book of the Creatures--that the imagination alone might produce. Protestants gradually developed a method for controlling meditations that proceeded from a biblical text or a religious topic grounded in Scripture to an explication of that topic. In this way the meaning of the meditation could be regulated by commonly agreed on principles of interpretation. So far as possible, Scripture was to be used as its own interpreter by collating text with text to recover the symbolic or non-literal levels of signification. Thus fanciful or imaginative allegories only loosely related to Scripture, Christ's life, or the Last Things could be avoided. As Barbara K. Lewalski explains, the sermon method and the Protestant meditation were essentially the same: each began with the presentation and explication of a text, was followed by the exposition of the doctrine derived from that text, and concluded with the forceful application of these materials to the self. (5) The sermon and the meditation were virtually identical practices in the Renaissance; both were intended to instruct and stimulate the affections of an audience or the practitioner.

Joseph Hall in The Arte of Divine Meditation (1606), the most influential of the English meditative treatises, stated that meditation "begins in the understanding, endeth in the affection; it begins in the brain, descends to the heart." (6) This procedure, as Lewalski notes, is the reverse of the Jesuit practice of immersing oneself in the compositio loci. "Instead of the application of the self to the subject, the Protestant theory in regard to both sermons and deliberate meditation calls for the application of the subject to the self, indeed for the location of the subject in the self." (7) In practice this meant that the meditator tried to bend his will to accommodate the spiritual message under consideration. We see, for example, Hall in one of his meditations, "Upon the Rain and Waters," beginning with an analysis of the phenomenon of the circularity of waters, proceeding to an application of that divine principle to himself, and ending in prayer. Since this meditation bears a decided resemblance to Vaughan's poem, I will quote it in full:
   What a sensible interchange there is in nature betwixt union and
   division! Many vapors rising from the sea meet together in one
   cloud; that cloud falls down divided into several drops; those
   drops run together and in many rills of water meet in the same
   channels; those channels run into the brook, those brooks into
   rivers, those rivers into the sea. One receptacle is for all,
   though a large one, and all make back to their first and main
   original. So it either is or should be with spiritual gifts. O God,
   Thou distillest Thy graces upon us not for our reservation but
   conveyance. Those manifold faculties Thou lettest fall upon several
   men Thou wouldst not have drenched up where they light but wouldest
   have derived, through the channels of their special vocations, into
   the common streams of public use for Church or Commonwealth. Take
   back, O Lord, those few drops Thou hast rained upon my soul and
   return them into that great ocean of the glory of Thine own bounty,
   from whence they had their beginning. (8)

Though it may not be immediately apparent to modern readers, Hall's meditation is probably based on a familiar verse from Ecclesiastes: "All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full; unto the place from whence the rivers come, thither they return again" (1:7, AV). Hall may have observed the rain and waters as occasion presented itself, but it seems likely that his perception of the circularity of water and of grace was determined by this biblical text and the extensive commentary on it, just as Vaughan's was. His imagination, in other words, was not simply given free rein. With Luther's dictum of scriptura sola so central to the Protestant faith, the primary concern of both meditation and sermon was to find in the Bible a pattern of events for the individual Christian's experience based on the pattern of Christ's life. Virtually everything of significance was read through the spectacles of Scripture.

Hall discussed two distinct kinds of Protestant meditation, "deliberate" meditations on doctrines or biblical texts and "extemporal" (or occasional) meditations. The second kind, I believe, is analogous to the method of "The Water-fall." Here, the speaker takes the occasion of sitting by a waterfall to reveal its invested spiritual meaning in order to apply that meaning to his own life and to his audience. His revealing the symbolic importance of such an occasion is clearly related to the literary traditions of the emblem books and to the well-documented Renaissance habit of thinking in similitudes. Just as the iconographer, the Protestant meditator turned to an emblematic landscape knowing full well that it was fraught with symbolism of a particular kind. The meditator recovered in the Book of the Creatures only what God had already concealed there. (9) Thus it is that Vaughan's speaker perceives quite traditional biblical water-imagery in the circulating waters. However, if the purpose of the meditation is to stir the affections, the question arises of how the spiritual meaning invested in the waterfall is applied to the speaker. The answer, I believe, lies in the typological relationships of the imagery used in the meditation.

The opening line of the poem--"With what deep murmurs through times silent stealth"--seems to locate the speaker's meditation in just the perspective we should expect from a Protestant meditation on a "text," be it from the Book of Scripture or the Book of the Creatures. (10) The river of time is an archetypal metaphor with biblical analogues that found expression in many seventeenth-century sources. In The Mount of Olives, Vaughan points out that "by the river we may understand time, upon whose brink we are always pearching" (p. 174); later he refers again to "that deepest and smoothest current of time" (p. 187). By using such a phrase at the outset of his meditation, Vaughan's speaker seems already to have penetrated the surface of appearances to observe a hidden truth about the nature of time and the course of history (which the poem will reveal). The drama or change in attitude that others find in the poem is not the speaker's; rather it should be the reader's as we share more of the speaker's knowledge. He does not fear death, precisely because he already understands the significance of the coursing waters he is contemplating.

The lesson of the speaker's meditation derives from his understanding of the circularity of waters, a fact that the speaker emphasizes by examining three aspects of this emblematic waterfall: the fall from the precipice (9-12), the stream that forms and flows again below (15-16), and the "streaming rings" that are engendered on the surface of the pool beneath the falls (33-36). (11) Each teaches the reader what the speaker already understands: all life streams from the fountain of living waters, then flows out into the abyss where it must be purified before it can return again to its source. This notion of the circularity of water was a Renaissance commonplace based on the verse from Ecclesiastes quoted above. This biblical fact was corroborated by Plato, Aristotle, and their Roman redactors, Seneca and Pliny, as well as by most medieval encyclopedists, who agreed that water circulated within the earth through underground passages that purged sea water of its salinity. This view persisted until after Vaughan's death; indeed, the most elaborate account of subterranean hydrology is a product of the seventeenth century, Athanasius Kircher's Mundus subterraneus (Amsterdam, 1664-1665). (12)

What guides the speaker through his meditation, and what becomes the real source of his joy, is his understanding as a believer that this natural water-cycle expresses a more profound circulation. Just as all water streams from the fountain of living waters and then flows into the abyss where it must be purified before it can return to its source, so must man be born and then redeemed before he can be resurrected to eternal life. In the water flowing endlessly through the falls, the speaker recognizes three different biblical events that involve "living" water and the mystery of his faith. The waters flowing incessantly from "this deep and rocky grave" (11), first of all, offer an obvious parallel to the sacramental waters of baptism, which plunge the catechumen into a watery grave only to restore him to eternal life. The speaker acknowledges this when he identifies the water in the falls as "My sacred wash and cleanser here" (24). Furthermore, the water flowing from the rocks also recalls the rock of Horeb, a biblically sanctioned type of baptism. Second, he acknowledges that baptismal water is his "consigner" (25) or the "seal" that will enable him to partake of the fountains of life in the New Jerusalem. What follows these commonplace associations of springing water with "living" baptismal water and the "river of water of life" (Rev. 22:1) (13) is an association with a third biblical event, which suggests that the speaker understands these "mystical, deep streams" (28) as part of a systematic pattern of imagery from the Bible. For the speaker links baptismal and apocalyptic waters to the waters of the deep of Genesis, the material out of which the universe was created.
   O useful Element and clear!
   My sacred wash and cleanser here,
   My first consigner unto those
   Fountains of life, where the Lamb goes?
   What sublime truths, and wholesome themes,
   Lodge in thy mystical, deep streams!
   Such as dull man can never finde
   Unless that Spirit lead his minde,
   Which first upon thy face did move,
   And hatch'd all with his quickning love. (23-32)

Though the individual allusions are easily identifiable, the reasons why these three major images of generation and regeneration from Genesis, the Gospels, and Revelation are linked together in precisely the way Vaughan has done so have not yet been thoroughly explored. In the circulating waters, I believe that the speaker finds the decisive moments in each Christians life (birth, baptism, redemption) connected in terms of promise and fulfillment. In explicating this "text" he underscores the fact that these personal moments are also mirrored in the broader course of sacred history (Creation, Redemption, Apocalypse): the waters that flow through this cataract are those upon which the Holy Spirit hovered to "hatch" the universe (32, a word strongly reminiscent of the Vulgate's incubabatm Genesis 1:2); they are the cleansing waters of baptism; and ultimately they will become the fountains of life in the New Jerusalem. The speaker, in other words, understands the waterfall in terms of a pattern of biblical events that links his own life to the course of sacred history which is progressing "through times silent stealth" from Creation, to Redemption, and inexorably to the new age.

Vaughans juxtaposition of biblical events that share a common imagistic feature suggests the operation of a particular code or way of reading the Bible, which I believe is also implicit in the opening line, "times silent stealth." The exaltation of the Word in the Reformation emphasized the biblically sanctioned mode of exegesis--typology--and the literal level of the text. The effect of which, as Barbara K. Lewalski has argued, was to establish the Bible as a divinely inspired poetic text:
   Though the terminology used to define this conception of typology
   is not consistent, the new Protestant emphasis is clear: it makes
   for a different sense of the Bible as a unified poetic text, and
   for a much closer fusion of sign and thing signified, type and
   antitype. The characteristic Protestant approach takes the Bible
   not as a multilevel allegory, but as a complex literary work whose
   full literal meaning is revealed only by careful attention to its
   poetic texture and to its pervasive symbolic mode-typology. (14)

Students of Protestant devotional literature have usually been content to identify individual biblical allusions and echoes. It is important, however, to recognize that Renaissance readers perceived in the Bible more than just isolated images; much as modern readers of a poetic text do, they looked for and found unifying patterns of imagery that their own commentaries and poetry often reflect, as is the case in "The Water-fall." The typological code, of course, meant more than simply identifying the imagistic structures of the Bible. Typology was used to recover the complex unity of Scripture: studied in its totality as an intricate text, the Bible revealed not only the full story of Christ (i.e., OT foreshadowing and NT fulfillment) but the full record of human history and the paradigm of each Christians life in time. Since sermon and meditation were so closely linked in the Renaissance, it seems reasonable to turn to the biblical commentaries used by preachers for help in understanding Vaughan's poem. If in fact a tradition exists connecting images of generation and regeneration typologically, we ought to find it in the numerous commentaries on Genesis, the Johannine Gospel, and Revelation.

Such a tradition does exist. The early Fathers of the Church recognized explicitly the typological relationship between the same biblical events that Vaughan's speaker does. Tertullian's De baptismo was the first major catechetical work that showed how various types are fulfilled in the sacrament of baptism, the first of which was the waters used at the Creation. (15) The other major types Tertullian identified were the Flood, from which the ark (a type of Ecclesia) was delivered, the crossing of the Red Sea, and the sustenance of the Israelites in the desert by the rock of Horeb. Ambrose in his De mysteriis recognized these same three events as prefigurations of baptism, and so they become a standard series. (16) Since the crucified Christ as the antitype to the rock of Horeb is specifically sanctioned in the First Epistle to the Corinthians (10:4), Renaissance commentators frequently used the metaphor of the rock split open to describe the fulfillment of these Old Testament promises. One wrote:
   As from that Rock issued waters to wash and cleanse themselves and
   their garments: so from this Rock streame waters of ablution or
   washing; which serve to wash away both the guilt of sinne, and
   staine of sinne. For the former; the precious blood of Christ
   streaming out of his side is the onely mundifying water in the
   world, to wash the soule from the guilt of sinne, and to scowre
   away all the execration of sinne from the sight of God.... For the
   later; from the same side of Christ our Rock issueth water as well
   as blood, even the waters of regeneration, called (Tit. 3.5.) the
   washing of the new birth, by the Spirit of grace and holinesse,
   which daily cleanse the staine and filthinesse of sin. (17)

Furthermore, many commentators explicitly connected another, more perfect, manifestation of Christ as the fountain of living waters with the types already discussed. Most identified the crystal fountain of Revelation as the antitype to the fountain in Eden that had irrigated the entire earth through its four rivers. The crystal fountain, which will sustain and revivify the elect, would be the consummate manifestation of the waters of life, which had been foreshadowed in the Old Testament and fulfilled only temporally in the New. (19) That is, just as New Testament antitypes fulfilled Old Testament types, believers could expect that the antitype would be made manifest in a more perfect State at the end of time. Milton, for example, in De Doctrina Christiana described the "incomplete glorification" that believers attain in this life and the "complete glorification" that will be attained in eternity. (20) To use Erich Auerbach's terminology, if the type is forma inferior and the antitype is forma perfectior, in the eschaton man can look forward to forma perfectissima. (21) Modern scholars usually call this relationship between type (here, the waters of the Creation) and consummate antitype (the waters of the Apocalypse) eschatological typology, following the terminology established by Jean Danielou. (22) In "The Water-fall" the speaker's recognition of the relationship between the promise to create and sustain, signified through the waters of Genesis and its eschatological fulfillment in the New Jerusalem, thus depends on a complex but traditional typological relationship.

In his meditation the speaker has explicated the waterfall as a created "text" by reading in it the relevant biblical texts, marked by his allusions to Genesis, the Johannine gospel, and Revelation. The question of how this invested spiritual meaning is applied to the self still must be addressed. To answer this question we must recognize another form of typology in addition to the Christological (which sees Christ as the fulfillment of promises made in the Old Testament) and the eschatological. This third form was derived from St. Paul's remark (in Romans 5:14) that Christ was the second Adam (the antitype of the prototypic man). Each Christians life ought to be a reenactment of the salvation drama enacted by Christ. In this way the Bible tells the story of the "second Adam," but through his example, of everyman as well. Thus directed to Scripture for a pattern to emulate, Protestants found the paradigm of the Christian life written with a clear hand: creation and fall, redemption, and glorification. (23) The popular typological handbooks of the time--works like William Guild's Moses Unvailed (1623), Thomas Taylor's Christ Revealed (1635), and Thomas Worden's The Types Unveiled (1664)--in fact concentrated heavily on the "application," as it was called, of the biblical type to one's own life. A good deal of the interest in typology during the Renaissance was in the application of the spiritual meaning of a particular type to the individual's own life. Sacramental typology is the term often used now to refer to the way in which each Christian's life must imitate Christological types. These distinctions between the Chriscological, sacramental, and eschatological essentially follow Luther's schema for the multiple exegesis of a text, namely, the three advents of Christ: in the flesh, in the soul of the faithful, and eschatologically. As Luther explained, "just as the law was a figure and preparation of the people for receiving Christ, so our doing what is in us (factio quantum in nobis est) disposes us to grace. And the whole time of grace is preparation for future glory and the second advent." (24)

The relationship between the Christological, eschatological, and sacramental types of the waters of life was certainly noted in the commentaries. One Renaissance expositor wrote:
   Now this water it descends from heaven, and thither therefore it
   will return againe. As the water in the Rocke followed the
   Israelites into the Land of Canaan, so this water that comes from
   Christ, figured by that Rocke, 1 Cor. 10, followes us to the
   heavenly Canaan, during our peregrination here in this world. (25)

Daniel Dyke's metaphoric account of this Christian mystery--dependent on metaphor precisely because it is a mystery--is essentially the same as Vaughan's celebration of the circulariry of the waters of life in "The Water-fall." His recognition that "times silent stealth" is delimited by the emanation and return of the waters of life from God was also traditional. The metaphor commonly used to depict the ultimate reintegration of time with eternity was derived from the same sources on which Vaughans meditation was based, Genesis 1:2, Ecclesiastes 1:7, and Revelation 22:1. The formulation given in John Swan's Speculum mundi is typical, though perhaps more eloquent than most:
   Time, by whose revolutions we measure houres, dayes, weeks, moneths
   and years, is nothing else but (as it were) a certain space
   borrowed or set apart from eternitie, which shall at the last
   return to eternitie again: like the rivers, which have their first
   course from the seas: and by running on, there they arrive, and
   have their last: for before Time began, there was Eternitie, namely
   GOD: which was, which is, and which shall be for ever: without
   beginning or end, and yet the beginning and end of all things. (26)

Vaughan himself exploits the implicit circularity of the river of time in his translation of Nierembergius' Of Temperance and Patience: "Time is a sacred thing: it flowes from Heaven.... It is an emanation from that place, where eternity springs.... If we follow time close, it will bring us to its fountain" (p. 261).

Even this brief survey of Renaissance commentaries suggests that biblical water-imagery was interpreted in a complex typological way in order to fathom the mysterious generation and regeneration of man, the universe, and time itself. It is immaterial whether Vaughan knew any of these particular sources firsthand, since the imagery is so prominent in Scripture itself. As a poet he developed these nuances more surely and more powerfully than the commentators.

The waterfall is then a natural hieroglyph, but the hidden message that the speaker shares with us is one that he has gleaned from his study of the complex typology of water-imagery found in Scripture. More importantly, he has verified the pattern expressed through the imagery in part by his own experience. The pilgrimage recorded in Silex Scintillans metaphorically is nearing its completion. "The Water-fall" is perhaps best understood as the complement, or if you will the antitype, to certain poems from Part I, "Regeneration" and "Vanity of Spirit" in particular. As Lewalski has argued, the latter is really an enactment of the speakers failure to meditate successfully on the creatures. (27) Just as he would do in "The Water-fall," he sits nearby a spring to peer into the secrets of nature, hoping his natural reason will suffice. Though he "beg'd here long, and gron'd to know" (3), his insufficiencies prevent him from reading this text; for as Lewalski explains, he has not learned to use the Book of Scripture as his guide. His meditation is a vain exercise. In some ways, this parallels his situation in the opening poem, where the ward, "still in bonds" (1), discovers that the living water in the sacred grove has collected into a cistern instead of flowing freely (cf. "they have forsaken me the fountain of living waters, and hewed them out cisterns, broken cisterns that can hold no water" Jer. 2:13 AV). In the cistern, he finds "divers stones, some bright, and round / Others ill-shap'd and dull" (55-56). Some of these stony hearts are destined to be revivified; others are not. Confronted with this powerfully symbolic landscape, to which he is merely an observer and not a participant, he calls out for the "rushing wind" (70) of the Holy Spirit to begin his own regeneration: "Lord, then said I, On me one breath, / .And let me dye before my death!" (81-82). Both of these early poems help us gauge the spiritual condition of the speaker who has just been called to his pilgrimage (the first step in the Pauline schema). Through his long nights of devotion and meditation, as the full record of his hardships in Silex Scintillans will attest, he prepares himself to receive the dew of grace that will transform his flinty heart into a living one. Gradually, allusions to sacramental and Christological types of the waters of life give way to more frequent allusions to the perfected garden of the New Jerusalem with its rivers of living waters in Part II, signaling the change from type to antitype in his thinking. (28) Jonathan F. S. Post argues that "The Water-fall" ought to be seen as the measure of Vaughan's development: "The ability of his speaker to be able to interpret the waterfall allegorically--as a fountain of life--exactly reverses the situation in 'Regeneration' where the poet-pilgrim is only a figure in an allegory, pondering, without really understanding." (29)

Silex Scintillans concludes with a series of poems on the Last Things. (30) Beginning and ending the sequence are poems on the Apocalypse, "The day of Judgement" and "L'Envoy," that look beyond to the new age. Two poems offer thanksgiving in anticipation of the joys of paradise ("Psalm 65"and "The Queer"); two are given to Christ's death and resurrection ("Death" and "The Obsequies'"); one to "The Throne" and one to "The Feast"; and two are paeans to the Logos. The focus of these poems is obviously sacred history as it is prophesied in Revelation. In contrast to the uncertainties and afflictions characteristic of Part I, the sequence on the Last Things celebrates the assurance of one among the faithful who can look beyond the vagaries of time to the new age to come. Midway through this sequence stands "The Water-fall," a poem featuring the complex typology of the waters of life. Not only is this one of Vaughan's most beautiful lyrics, it is also one of the most significant in terms of the metaphoric structure of Silex Scintillans. It incorporates a central motif of Part I (the garden of the Canticles and the stony heart that must be split open) into the greater scheme of sacred history: like the waters that plunge from a rocky gorge to the deep beneath only to be recirculated endlessly, the waters of life, "quickned by this deep and rocky grave, / Rise to a longer course more bright and brave" (11-12). But in addition to the familiar sacramental and Christological implications of the recirculation of the waters of life, "The Water-fall" extends its frame of reference to a more encompassing typological dimension. Not only the typical Christian life but all sacred history can be imaged in terms of water returning to its source--the Creation out of the waters of the deep, the purification of the waters through Christ's intercession in time, and the perfection of the waters in the fullness of time. What modern scholars have designated as Christological, sacramental, and eschatological typology thus merely helps us to bring order to a nexus of images and ideas in this poem and in the Bible that for earlier readers flourished mainly as textual nuance. Even without the help of this terminology, though, we can see that the source of the solitary figure's comfort, as he meditates beside the falls, lies in his full understanding of the way the crucial events in his life are closely mirrored in Christs.

The concern with time in "The Water-fall," introduced by the allusion to "times silent stealth" in the opening line, is thus not limited to the lifetime of any single individual. For in its fullest sense typology was not simply a matter of the recapitulation of Old Testament types in Christ's life by each believer; rather, typology, the underpinning of the Protestant reading code in the Renaissance, revealed the essential unity of time, whether it be the lifetime of the Christian or the full span of sacred hisory. (31) To use the metaphor of the water cycle to express this notion: time will once again flow into eternity for the individual and the cosmos. That this day will soon be forthcoming is the speaker's fervent hope, for he ardently longs to taste the upper waters at their source--the crystal fountain.
   O my invisible estate,
   My glorious liberty, still late!
   Thou art the Channel my soul seeks,
   Not this with Cataracts and Creeks. (37-40)


(1) Wulf Datow, "The Water-fall von Henry Vaughan (1621-1695)," NS, 15 (1966), 410-20. Datow finds in the first twelve lines a "text" or compositio loci, then exposition, and finally colloquy.

(2) Datow, p. 420, writes: "Das Auge des sinnenden Betrachters drang durch die Oberfllache der Erscheinungen zum Sinnbild. Nun kehrt es aus der Meditation zuriick zur aiifieren Natur, diese aber ist durchsichtig geworden; die in ihr verborgenen Wahrheiten sind offenbar."

(3) Michael Murrin, The Veil of Allegory (Chicago: Univ. of Chicago Press, 1969), pp. 135-41; James D. Simmonds, Masques of God: Form and Theme in the Poetry of Henry Vaughan (Pittsburgh: Univ. of Pittsburgh Press, 1972), pp. 17-19; and Jonathan F. S. Post, Henry Vaughan: The Unfolding Vision (Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press. 1982), pp. 152-54, among others, have elucidated the traditional elements of the poem, though no one to my knowledge has recognized the complex form Vaughans symbolic topography assumes.

(4) U. Milo Kaufmann, The Pilgrim's Progress and Traditions of Puritan Meditation (New Haven: Yale Univ. Press, 1966), pp. 41-60.

(5) Barbara K. Lewalski, Donnes Anniversaries and the Poetry of Praise (Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 1973), pp. 73-107.

(6) Frank Livingston Huntley, Bishop Joseph Hall and Protestant Meditation in Seventeenth-Century England: A Study with the Texts of The Arte of Divine Meditation (1606) and Occasional Meditations (1633), Medieval & Renaissance Texts & Studies (Binghamton, NY: Center for Medieval and Early Renaissance Studies, 1982), p. 87.

(7) Lewalski, Donnes Anniversaries, p. 103.

(8) Huntley ed., pp. 132-33.

(9) On Vaughans use of nature see, Robert Duvall, "The Biblical Character of Henry Vaughan's Silex Scintillans" PCP, 6 (1971), 13-19; Georgia B. Christopher, "In Arcadia, Calvin ... : A Study of Nature in Henry Vaughan," SP, 70 (1973), 408-26; and Florence Sandler, "The Ascents of the Spirit: Henry Vaughan and the Atonement," JEGP, 73 (1974), 209-26.

(10) All quotations from Vaughan's poetry are taken from The Works of Henry Vaughan, L. C. Martin, ed., 2nd ed. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1957).

(11) In lines 33-36, Vaughan describes the rings that gradually disappear when they reach the bank of the pool. In his edition, Alan Rudrum, Henry Vaughan: The Complete Poems (New Haven: Yale Univ. Press, 1981), p. 639, explains that "restagnates" (34) refers to "the characteristic motion of water in process of regaining stillness." As the "streaming rings" seem to disappear in their circular return to their source, so too do men disappear to an "invisible estate" (37).

(12) For a fuller account of Renaissance theories of hydrology, see Yi-Fu Tuan, The Hydrologic Cycle and the Wisdom of God, Univ. of Toronto Geography Research Pub., No. 1 (Toronto: Univ. of Toronto Press, 1968) and W. E. Knowles Middleton, A History of the Theories of Rain and Other Forms of Precipitation (1965; rpt. New York: Franklin Watts, 1966).

(13) Vaughan is also echoing Rev. 7:17--the lamb who will be a shepherd guiding the faithful to the fountains of living water.

(14) Barbara K. Lewalski, Protestant Poetics and the Seventeenth-Century Religious Lyric (Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 1979), p. 117.

(15) Tertullian, De baptismo in Patrologia Latina, ed. J.-P. Minge (Paris, 1844-1864), I, col. 1202.

(16) Ambrose, De mysteriis in Patrologia Latina, XVI, col. 392. For a thorough treatment of baptismal typology, see Ivan Lundberg, La Typologie baptismale dans I'ancienne fglise, Diss. Uppsala 1942, Acta Seminarii Neotestamentici Upsaliensis, No. 10 (Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksells, 1942).

(17) Thomas Taylor, Christ Revealed; or, The Old Testament Explained (London, 1635), p. 291.

(18) Patristic, medieval and Renaissance commentators alike generally believed that the fountain of Eden, the headwaters of the four rivers, was fed by the waters of the deep. Scriptural support for such a belief came from Ecclesiastes 1:7.

(19) David Pareus, A Commentary Upon the Divine Revelation, trans. Elias Arnold (Amsterdam, 1644), p. 574, discussed the crystal fountain as the antitype to the fountain in Eden, though he noted that these celestial waters will be more perfect even than the waters from the fountain in Eden.

(21) John Milton, Christian Doctrine, trans. John Carey, ed. Maurice Kelley, vol. VI of The Complete Prose Works of John Milton, ed. Don M. Wolfe (New Haven: Yale Univ. Press, 1973), pp. 502, 614.

(21) Erich Auerbach, Mimesis, trans. Willard R. Trask (Princeton: Princeton Univ. Press, 1953), pp. 194-202.

(22) Jean Danielou, From Shadows to Reality: Studies in the Biblical Typology of the Fathers, trans. Wulstan Hibbard (London: Burns & Oates, 1960) and The Bible and Liturgy, no trans. (1956; rpt. Notre Dame, IN: Univ.of Notre Dame Press, 1961) are the major works he devotes to typology. Other scholars use different terminologies to discuss the complexities of typology, notably "correlative," "recapitulative," and "developmental." For an important account of typology in general, see Mason I. Lowance, Jr., The Language of Canaan: Metaphor and Symbol in New England From the Puritans to the Transcendentalists (Cambridge: Harvard Univ. Press, 1980).

(23) The paradigm that St. Paul develops in his epistles--election, calling, justification, adoption, sanctification, and glorification--represents a more elaborate form of this drama.

(24) Quoted in J.S. Preus, From Shadow to Promise: Old Testament Interpretation From Augustine to the Young Luther (Cambridge, MA: Belknap, 1969), p. 194. See also pp. 191-99.

(25) Daniel Dyke, Sixe Evangelical Histories (London, 1617), pp. 284-85.

(26) John Swan, Speculum mundi ... Whereunto Is Added a Discourse of the Creation, 2nd ed.(London, 1643), p. 39.

(27) Lewalski, Protestant Poetics, pp. 335-36.

(28) The Christological and sacramental types of the waters of life figure prominently in the narrative strategy of Silex. Since the speaker is attempting to recapitulate sacramentally the pattern of Christ's life, his moments of elation and moments of despair are often characterized by the presence of the waters of life or their absence.

(29) Post, p. 154.

(30) Lewalski, Protestant Poetics, p. 323, also makes this point.

(31) On this point see Fredson Bowers, "Henry Vaughan's Multiple Time Scheme," MLQ, 23 (1962), 291-96.
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Author:Dickson, Donald R.
Publication:Explorations in Renaissance Culture
Date:Jun 22, 2014
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