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Alone in intellect-oft he withdrew

From his blithe fellows, and afar would stray,

On by the Nith, in the dim close of day :
And there would murmur, midst the falling dew,
Strains that all mirth could sadden and subdue.

Whilst marvelled much his comrades, lightly gay,

He should be sad whose wit woke mirth alway,
He who could find not “ audience fit though few."
The tide subsides, the tumult, and the stir:

The stream flows on, and slumbers in its bed.
We look around us still, for things that were :

The clouds are rosy, though the sun is fled:
For they with whom we think, and would confer,

Prove oftentimes the distant, or the dead.

LONG-SOUGHT, and late-discovered, rapt is he

Who stands where spring the Niger or the Nile ;

And I, like-wearily, who many a mile
Have voyaged and have travelled, proudly see,
Of this famed Mount the living Castalie :

Cheered by the Poet's hospitable smile,

I breathe the air of the song-hallowed pile,-
With but half faith what is can really be.
Flow on, O, holiest river ! even like Time,

Till both your waters in one ocean end :
Flow on, and with refreshment many a clime

Copiously visit, mountain stream sublime !
Thankful, these moments at your source I spend
Not without awe, as though it were a crime.




3. Lovely, as a place enchanted,

Black upon the slopes so green, Lies the lake, in silence deep ; Swarm the arrow-headed pines ; Round, as warrior chiefs undaunted Here, like troops with steady mien,

Watch somethroneless queen asleep, Who in ordered squares and lines, Stand the cliffs in stern array !

Wait attack, with vantage good; Fissured piles of strata grey,

There, like foragers pursued By the water worn away.

By a peasant multitude, Your large eyes would larger grow In close flight they seem to press At their monstrous forms, I know, Up the hill, till we could guess With a solemn joy elate,

Which their stronghold,what their fate, Were you here, my bonnie Kate! Were you here, my winsome Kate !


4. Far above, their blue tops soar, Balanced on the mountain side,

Spire and tower in outline bold, High in dizzy loneliness, All beseamed with snow-streaks hoar, Oft a daring pine is spied,

Solemn, lonely, bright and cold ! Like a cragsman in distress, There the soft clouds, as they rove, Where all footing seems to end, Pause--and stooping from above Doubtful, which way next to wend, Kiss the crests they seem to love ! If to mount or to descend ! You would deen them spirits fair, Empty air around, beneath, Playing each one with the hair It would take away your breath Of its giant warrior mate,

That sheer depth to calculate, Were you here, my lively Kate!

you here, my gentle Kate ! VOL. XLV. NO. CCLXXXI.




9. Now the gliding vessel passes,

Oft the beetling ramparts ape Cascades all around us dashing ; Gothic gables quaintly plann'd; Some in downward-pointed masses, Oft seem faced with many a shape

Densely smoking, fiercely flashing ! Carved by ancient Coptic handSome upon the slopes recline

Watchful, 'mid the trees aloof
Like fixed veins of silver fine,

Dark-red chalets, weatherproof
As the net-work spiders twine ; With projecting shadowy roof,
Others hang like new.combed fleeces, Seem to liint, how well you may
Ribb'd across in wavy creases ! In this tranquil Eden stay :-
You could ne'er your gazing sate,

What desire would they create, Were you here, my fine-nerved Kate! Were you here, my pensive Kate? 6.

10. Overhead the clouds float by

Some depress'd to see all kindness But can scarce their way pursue,

Sunk in ruthless rage for gold, For the tall cliffs touch the sky; Sick of party's cherish'd blindness, Look! from its intensest blue

Thus their wishes might unfold: Comes a snowy cascade slipping, Here, with joys unknown to riot, O'er successive ledges tripping- Sound repose and simple diet, 'Tis a white-winged angel stepping

Books, and love, and thoughtful Down from heaven! Oh, you would quiet, prize

One might dream a life away, Those serenely glowing eyes, Always cheerful, often gay! That sweet smile compassionate, You would wish for no such fate, Were

you here, my deep.souled Kate! Were you here, my wiser Kate!


11. Faintly sing the thrushes, hark ! Well you know, though Nature waste Far in yonder air-hung grove ;

Wonders here no words can frame, Pouring bolder notes the lark

Custom dulls the keenest taste, Dots the azure up above !

Use makes even wonders tame! Lavishly his lays he flings

Leisure has a leaden wing, All around, and as he sings

Happiness, where'er it spring, Spreads and folds his trembling wings Always is an active thing ; With uneasy motion, quite

And whatever it profess, Thrilled, convulsed, with his delight! Solitude is selfishness, You would sing with joy as great, Homely truths would have their Were you here, my sweet-voiced weight, Kate!

Were you here, my thoughtful Kate !

8. By the ashy rocks below,

Mark, a hermit-fisher grey,
How the heron, to and fro

Slowly flaps his stealthy way!
Though alit, his long wings sce
Still are flapping, as though he
Poised himself unsteadily ;
Then unmoving as the rocks
Which in hue so well he mocks,
Where he is, you scarce could state,
Were you here, my bright-eyed


Then our dear and noble land

Would present to memory's eye,
If no hilis, no rocks so grand,

Hearts as firm and minds as high!
Nature never has designed
Aught so wondrous as the mind
Of mysterious humankind !
You would know where mind is flashing
Rapid as the cascade dashing !
You would bless your home, your

Were you here, my English Kate !



The entrance of Spenser and Shak- domain, there are many mansionsspeare on the scene of English litera. many varieties of susceptibility—many ture immeasurably elevated the stand- degrees of delight. A sound and enard by which its performances were lightened judgment may see in the to be judged ; and in now reviewing works of man, as in those of nature, one department of that literature, we an unlimited variety of beauty and feel that a very different allowance is goodness, extending from the most to be made for the writers who pre- immense to the most minute. In proceded and for those who followed them. ductions of the most opposite characIn the earlier class, we may admitters as to dignity or magnitude, an the plea that the poetry of this coun- analogous if not an equal degree of try was yet in her nonage—that her excellence may be recognised, if there attempts were more deserving of praise be symmetry of proportion and prothan her failures of condemnation- priety of purpose. In the pursuits and that her irregular and tentative whether of science or of taste, the efforts afforded the best hope of at- presence of truth or loveliness is alike taining a perfect knowledge and com- perceptible through every link and at mand of noble thoughts and appro- either extremity of the chain of expriate language. But no excuses of istence. An admiration for the umthis kind can be received after the brageous majesty of the giants of the period when the mighty masters we forest does not wean our affections have mentioned displayed their per- from the little wild flowers that lie at fections. It was not to be tolerated our feet: the contemplation of the that, from their strains of heavenly orbs and systems of the heavens themharmony, the ear should be distracted selves does not teach us to look with by the empty jingle or grating discords scorn or indifference on the crystal of those who could offer for its delight spherelets that linger in the morning neither power of sentiment nor ele. grass. We even find an additional pleagance of execution. An example had sure in tracing the same laws and the now been afforded in which the most same relations in objects that appear in exquisite poetry was made the vehicle some respects to be so different. Inlike of the purest virtue and the profound. manner the sincere sentiments of an est wisdom. A proof had been given bumble heart, when fittingly expressthat, in our native language, we pos- ed, will be equally sure to please, sessed an instrument whose compass though they will not please in an and diversity of tone could give ex- equal degree, with the most sublime pression to every variety of feeling, emotions or the most exquisite conwhether lofty or refined, tender or ceptions of genius. The great cause terrible. Those, then, who had not of disgust or contempt in literature is something to say, that was worth not simplicity, but affectation—not saying, and who could not present it the lowliness of the sentiment, but in a shape that was calculated to please, the absence of any sentiment whatwere bound to remain silent, and leave ever—not the poverty of the subject, the national taste to satisfy itself in but the disparity between the subject that inexhaustible supply of delight and the execution—between the atand instruction which the works of tempt and the success. The works of true genius had placed at its com- Shakspeare and Spenser, therefore, mand.

still left ample room for the exertions Yet the production of such sublime of very inferior powers, if judiciously compositions, though calculated to employed ; and they who have the raise the standard of ideal perfection, highest admiration for these masterand in a particular manner to purify pieces of art, will probably be the the taste, was by no means incom- most easily pleased with humbler efpatible with the encouragement of forts which present, however feebly, minor effusions, if possessing rela- a faithful reflection of nature and tively and after their own kind an ap- virtue. propriate merit in matter and in man- We do not find among the works of ner. In the buman heart, as in a nobler Spenser any minor pieces that fall within the range of our present aim. Though thou the waters warp, But we may borrow from his great Thy sting is not so sharp

As friends remembered not. contemporary two exquisite jewels for our cabinet : two fragments in which, in a less degree, we may see the power

“ Beauty is but a vain and doubtful good; of that mighty mirror which was held

A shining gloss that fadeth suddenly ;

A flower that dies, when first it'gins to bud; up to nature by her favourite son and servant. The beauty of the song

A brittle glass, that's broken presently;

A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, which we are to quote, were we not all familiar with it, would be some

Lost, faded, broken, dead within an hour." what impaired by its separation from

We have now to offer some extracts the drama with whose sylvan scenery from the poetry of Thomas Lodge, and romantic sentiment it so fitly har. which we believe, however, should monizes ; yet it tells its own story have been introduced at an earlier with a force and clearness that need no comment, and which condense in- stage of this essay, as the work from

which they are taken seems to have to a few lines whole volumes of mis.


been first published in 1589. anthropic declamation.

The verse that follows, and which we have sepa. eulogiums upon him, indulged in a

admirers of Lodge have, in their rated from a companion of inferior merit with which it is united in the good deal of that exaggeration which Passionate Pilgrim, seems to us to run

generally results from the unexpected over the topics of beauty's fragility cannot be denied that his versification

discovery even of moderate merit. It with most melancholy sweet- is generally smooth, and his diction

often shining. But all is not gold

that glisters. His verses have more 1. “ Blow, blow thou winter wind :

of the form of poetry than of the Thou art not so unkind

power, and his deficiencies in taste, As man's ingratitude ;

correctness, and judgment, are not Thy tooth is not so keen,

redeemed by either strong feeling or Because thou are not seen,

solid thought. We select some stanAlthough thy breath be rude. zas of a moral tone, which afford, as

we think, rather a favourable speci. 2.

men of his productions. The struc“ Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky: ture of the verse in the first example Thou dost not bite so nigh

is peculiar, but not unpleasing as a As benefits forgot :

vehicle of sober or elegiac sentiment.


ness :


“Most happy, blest the man that midst his country bowers,

Without suspect of hate or dread of envious tongue,
May dwell among his own, not dreading fortune's low’rs,

Far from those public plagues that mighty men hath stung ;
Whose liberty and peace is never sold for gain,
Whose words do never sooth a wanton prince's vein.

“ His will, restrained by wit, is never forced awry;

Vain hopes and fatal fears, the courtier's common foes,
Afraid by his foresight, do shun his piercing eye,

And nought but true delight acquaints him where he goes ;
No high attempts to win, but humble thoughts and deeds,
The very fruits and flowers that spring from virtue's seeds.

“ O! Deities divine, your godheads I adore,

That haunt the hills, the fields, the forests, and the springs :
That make my quiet thoughts contented with my store,

And fix my thoughts on heaven, and not on earthly things
That drive me from desires, in view of courtly strife,
And draw me to commend the fields and country life,

“ Although my biding home be not imbost with gold,

And that with cunning skill my chambers are not dress'd,
Whereas the curious eye may sundry sights behold,

Yet feeds my quiet looks on thousand flowers at least,
The treasures of the plain, the beauties of the spring,
Made rich with roses sweet and every pleasant thing.

“ I like and make some love, but yet in such a sort

That nought but true delight my certain suit pursues ;
My liberty remains, and yet I reap the sport,

Nor can the snares of love my heedful thoughts abuse ;
But when I would forego I have the power to fly,
. And stand aloof and laugh, while others starve and die.

“ My sweet and tender flocks, my faithful field compeers,

You forests, holts, and groves, you meads and mountains high,
Be you the witnesses of my contented years,

And you, O! sacred powers, vouchsafe my humble cry:
And during all my days do not these joys estrange,
But let them still remain and grant no other change."

IN COMMENDATION OF A SOLITARY LIFE, At peep of day, when, in her crimson


The morn bespreads with roses all the " See where the babes of memory are way, laid,

Where Phæbus' coach with radiant course Under the shadow of Apollo's tree,

must glide, That plait their garlands fresh, and well The hermit bends his humble knees to apaid,

pray ; And breathe forth lines of dainty poesy. Blessing that God whose bounty did be. Ah! world, farewell! the sight hereof stow doth tell

Such beauties on the earthly things below. That true content doth in the desert dwell.

" Whether with solace tripping through

the trees “ See where a cave presents itself to eye, He sees the citizens of forest sport, By nature's hand enforced in marble Or 'midst the wither'd oak beholds the veins;

bee3 Where climbing cedars with their shades Intend their labour with a kind consort; deny

Down drop his tears to think how they The eye of day to see what there re- agree mains ;

Where men alone with hate inflamed be. A couch of moss, a brook of silver clear, And more, for food a flock of savage deer. “ Taste he the fruits that spring from

Tellus' womb, “ Then here, kind Muse, vouchsafe to Or drink he of the crystal spring that dwell with me,

flows, My velvet robe shall be a weed of He thanks his God, and sighs their cursed grey ;

doom And lest my heart by tongue betrayed be, That fondly wealth in surfeiting bestows; For idle talk I will go fast and pray :

And with Saint Jerome saith, the desert is No sooner said and thought, but that my A paradise of solace, joy, and bliss.

heart His true suppos'd content 'gan thus im- Father of light, thou maker of the part :


From whom my being, and well-being " Sweet solitary life, thou true repose,

springs, Wherein the wise contemplate heaven Bring to effect this my desired steaven, aright,

That I may leave the thoughts of worldly In thee no dread of war or worldly foes, things :

In thee no pomp seduceth mortal sight, Then in my troubles will I bless the time In thee no wanton ears to win with words, My Muse vouchsafed me such a lucky Nor lurking toys, which city life affords. rhyme,”

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