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choir in notes of deep and solemn intonation. All music then ceases, all sounds are hushed, and an awful silence reigns around; while, in a low tone, the Pontiff recites that most ancient and venerable invocation which precedes, accompanies, and follows the consecration, and concludes with great propriety in the Lord's Prayer, chaunted with a few emphatical inflections.
“ Shortly after the conclusion of this prayer, the Pontiff salutes the people in the ancient form, “ May the peace of the Lord be always with you,” and returns to his throne, while the choir sing thrice the devout address to the Saviour, taken from the gospel, “ Lamb of God, who takest away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us." When he is seated, the two deacons bring the holy sacrament, which he first reveres humbly on his knees, and then receives in a sitting posture: the anthem after communion is sung, a collect follows, and the deacon dismisses the assembly.
“ The Pope then offers up his devotions on his knees at the foot of the altar, and borne along in the same state as when he entered, passes down the nave of the church, and ascends by the Scala Regia to the grand gallery in the middle of the front of St Peter's. His immediate attendants surround his person, the rest of the procession draws up on each side. The immense area and colonnade before the church are lined with troops, and crowded with thousands of spectators. All eyes are fixed on the gallery, the chaunt of the choir is heard at a distance, the blaze of numberless torches plays round the columns, and the Pontiff appears elevated on his chair of state under the middle arch. Instantly the whole multitude below fall on their knees, the cannons from St Angelo give a general discharge, while, rising slowly from his throne, he lifts his hands to heaven, stretches forth his arm, and thrice gives his benediction to the crowd, to the city, and to all man
kind ; a solemn pause follows, another discharge is heard, the crowd rises, and the pomp gradually disappears. This ceremony is, without doubt, very grand, and considered by most travellers as a noble and becoming conclusion to the majestic service that precedes it. In fact, every thing concurs to render it interesting ; the venerable character of the Pontiff himself, the first bishop of the Christian church, issuing from the sanctuary of the noblest temple in the universe, bearing the holiness of the mysteries, which he has just participated, imprinted on his countenance, offering up his supplication in behalf of his flock, his subjects, his brethren, his fellow-creatures, to the Father of all, through the Saviour and Mediator of all. Surely such a scene is both edifying and impressive.”
MISS BAILLIE'S SONGS.
“ The genius of Miss Baillie,” said Egeria,“ dilates as we become more and more intimately acquainted with her works. There is a retired truth and secret sentiment in her poetry, which is not obvious at the first reading. Passion with her takes more of the character of sensibility than of energy. It bears, suffers, and sustains, but seldom breaks out into any vehemence of action,--had she, instead of writing dramas on the passions, been contented with the less ambitious walk of odes and songs, her muse would have been more popular. I suspect she would even have ranked higher, high as she is in literature. But what I most admire in her poetry is, a certain quaint something of antiquity, simple and picturesque, both in the language and the thought, reminding one, I know not wherefore, of mossy trees and ivied towers, curious carvings, and all sorts and scenes of olden imagery.
“ There is an original song by her on a trite subject, but so prettily expressed, as to have all the newness that can be desired, even in the most excellent new song."
" When clouds on high are riding,
The wintry moonshine hiding,
O'er mountain waves we go.
With hind on dry land creeping,
Change we our lot ?-Oh, no.
O’er stormy main careering,
Our steady course we hold.
Their sails with sunbeams whiten’d,
Who shall return ?- The bold.”
“ But the songs in her delightful little drama of “ the Beacon” surpass all her other lyrical pieces.
I know not indeed the rhythm of any verse that comes so richly to the ear as the following reveillée :"
“ Up! quit thy bower, late wears the hour;
Long have the rooks caw'd round thy tower ;
Up! Lady fair, and braid thy hair,
And this too reminds one of Milton's L'Allegro :"
“ Wish’d-for gales the light vane veering,
In the tower the ward-bell ringing,
The gladsome bounding of his aged hound,
Hymned thanks and beedsmen praying,
O who can tell each blessed sight and sound,
“ There is another still better, though perhaps not so concisely expressed ; but what it may want of that antique air, which I so much like, is amply made up by the greater unity of the subject, and the brief and beautiful description in the second stanza :"
" Where distant billows meet the sky,
A pale dull light the seamen spy,
It is the blessed peep of morn,
And so it is ; the gradual shine