Obrazy na stronie

not expect to meet with such a plan or to restore from oblivion for a inoment, argument, as would enable us to give an if we except, perhaps, the few stanzas outline, however faint, of its contents. in Childe Harold, relating to WaterThere is, however, sufficient connexion loo, which make, however, but a short to cause a great loss of effect in ex. episode in that great poem, and are tracting passages for the purposes of quite eclipsed behind the glory of the our review.

next cantos. The year 1815 stirred the soul of Here, however, more than twenty every one who was blessed--or cursed— years after, we have, turned up to our with an ardent and enthusiastic tempe- view by the ploughshare of circumrament. It teemed with great events. stances, the strong and vigorous imaThe age of chivalry seemed to rise ginings of a young man of genius, again from the mists of the middle worked upon by those stirring events ages, realizing deeds of heroism before as they struck their rays, keen and diconsidered fabulous, and begetting that rect, into his soul at the time. There romantic sympathy, which such deeds is the freshness of the moment evident alone can call forth in the human upon them. No after-thought could breast. It was at such a time that we have kindled the strong and clear demight have expected Poetry to have scriptions we meet with. “It is diffisprung spontaneously from the most cult,” says Paley, “ to resuscitate sur. barren soil, and to have shot up to gi- prise, when familiarity has once laid gantic growth in that of genius. But the feeling asleep.” We think it is how little can we calculate on such impossible, as far, at least, as poetry is things! The deeds of that year, if concerned. The Iris in the skies is they were to derive their immortality only bright after one reflection. from verse alone, might share the fate The spirit of the Poet's drcan—an of the heroes who lived before Aga “angelic voice and vision"—after becmemnon. Not a strain rose from the koning him along through a few pages hundred harps set in vibration, which of sweet poetry, at last conducts him we would wish the most distant echo

“ To that fatal field,
Where moonlight gleams on many a broken helm,
On many a shieldless warrior, o'er whose limbs
The trembling band of love had linked the mail,
Alas in vain ?—the supple limbs of youth,
And manhood's sinewy strength, and rigid age,
Together lie:- the boy, whose hands with blood
Where never stained before, upon whose lip
The mother's kiss was ominously pressed ;-
The man, alive to every tenderest thought,
Who cherished every fire-side charity ;-
And he, who, bending with the weight of years,
Felt the sword heavy in his training hand,
Who had outlived the social sympathies
That link us to our kind-here, side by side,
Sleep silent; he, who shrunk at every sound,
Who throbbed in terror for a worthless life,
Lies like a brother with the hopeless man,
Who desperately dared in scorn of death:-
He, who has wont to calculate each chance,
To measure out each probability,
Behold him now extended on the earth,
Near that robuster frame, whose tenant soul
Flashed rapid in the energetic eye,
Whose thoughts were scarce imagined, ere they sprang
Forth-shaped in instant action :-here lies ove,
Whose soul was vexed by Passion's every gust,
And like the light leaf trembled :---gaze again,
Look on the mutilated hand, that still
Clings to the sword unconscious ;--milder man
Than he, whose mutilated hand lies there,
Breathes not;-each passion that rebelled was hushed;
So placid was his brow, so mild his eye,
It seemed no power could break the quiet there," &c.—p. 82

Here is a power of contrast displayed, the intelligible, the real. The German, such as we rarely meet with in these on the contrary, delights in prancing days of blending and mellowing: The his Pegasus up and down the line of picture is as like our usual modern at- light and darkness, sometimes wholly tempts, as one of Reinbrandt's trowelled lost in metaphysics, and then again effects is to the wishy-washy weaknesses emerging for a moment at this side of of the water-colour exhibition. It is common sense and reason. We have in such passages as these that Dr. not yet learned that in poetic painting Anster gives promise of great things. any of the shadows should be perfectly We venture to recommend his giving opake. We still continue to follow up the phantom of that ideaľ Titian in his maxim, that we ought to which has led Lytton Bulwer so many be able to see through even the darka weary chase, as clowns pursue a est parts of the picture; and the jack-o'-lanthorn, or children a butterfly, “ nuevola che passa" should always and sticking to such real, tangible, vivid transmit some portion at least of the nature as here thrills us into whole- sun's rays. some and healthy admiration. Themes We do not wish these observations such as these, and the beautiful modifi- to be considered as any thing more cations of character brought before us than a friendly caution to Dr. Anster, in the dialogue, “ Matilda,” form fitting called forth by our adiniration of the subjects for the labours of the poet. startling reality of the scene described The Germans go beyond this, and, we in our extract. think, in so doing exceed their province

From the “ Reverie" we must give and powers. We know not how far another remarkable passage, in which Dr. Anster may have been infected the idea is carried throughout in a with this German influenza, wbich, masterly inapner, and of which the vernow that “the Rovers” has become sification is also peculiarly strong and obsolete, has become again so preva- harmonious ; and this is a branch of lent in these islands ; but we would composition for attention to which the willingly warn him, if we could do so poet seldom gets credit in these days, without offending him, of the danger although many of the classical authors, of allowing the success of his Faustus, Pope and Roscommon among the numtranslated as it is from professedly the ber, prided themselves almost as much most German production of a German upon their success in the structure of author, to tinge his home style, or influ- their verse as in the happiness of their ence his home feelings. We, the thoughts and expressions. English, deal more in the tangible,

« Time was—in dateless years—when spectral eve

Sent shadowy accusers from dark realms;
And at calm dead of night, tyrants, appalled,
Started and shrieked, lashed by avenging dreams;
And when the sunlight came, the joyous sun
Was, to the sickly and distracted sense,
The haunt of demons, and his living light
Seemed the hot blazes of the penal fire;
'Twas said that Furies o'er the bed of sleep
Watched with red eye, and, from the throbbing brow
Drank with delight the dew that agony
Forced forth;-but this, it seems, is fable all!
Hath not Philosophy disproved a God ?
Ere yet the chymist called the bolt from heaven,
We spoke of Spirits governing its beam,
Ere yet he learned to part and analyse,
The rock, we deemed some more than human power
Had planted it in ocean,—till he stirred
The muscles of the dead with mimic breath,
And called the cold convulsion life, we deemed
That Heaven alone coulú bid the dry bones shake!
-But joy to Man! progressive centuries
Have erred, and Wisdom now at length appears
And, lo! the Goddess! not with brow austere,
Features that tell of silent toil, and locks
Laurelled, as erst in the Athenian Schools;
Nor yet with garment symbolled o'er with stars,

And signs, and talismans, as in the halls
Of parent Egypt; not with pensive eye,
And dim, as though 't were wearied from its watch
Through the long night, what time, to shepherd-tribes
Of fair Chaldæa, she had imaged forth

The host of Heaven, and mapped their mazy march,” &c.—Pp. 96, 97. These are good lines. The versifi

. contrast with the false masonry, as cation, too, is easily perceived, even by Shenstone would call it, of the six fol. the unpractised ear, to be vigorous and lowing lines, each of which begins with correct; and its harmony is brought three short syllables. out in still more striking relief from its

“ While the bright dew on her tiara'd brow,

And the cold moonlight on her pallid face,
And the loose wandering of her heavy hair,
As the breeze lifted the restraining bands,
And the slow motion of the graceful stole,

When with her jewelled wand she traced the line," &c.--p. 97. As we advance in the fourth part of that glorious address to Ocean in the “ Reverie,” we approach the climax Childe Harold—“the mirror," of what is excellent in Xeniola. The

" Where the Almighty's form poet rises above himself; and at last Glasses itself in tempests." bursts into an apostrophe to the soul

We beg the attention of our readers of his inspiration so noble, so dignified, to the lines we have marked in italics, so sublime, that we know of no modern and challenge the living poets of our effort which breathes so wholly the di- country to match them if they are able, vine afflatus, if we except, perhaps,

“ Spirit of Heaven, undying Poetry,
Efluence divine! for by too bigh a name
I cannot call thee,-ere the ocean rolled
Round earth, ere yet the dewy light serene
Streamed from the silent fountains of the East,
To fill the urns of morning, thou didst breathe,
And, musing near the secret seat of God,
Wert throned o'er Angels ! thou alone could'st look
On the Eternal Glory; till thy voice
Was heard amid the halls of heaven, no breath
Disturbed the awful silence! Cherubim
Gazed on thy winning looks, and hung in trance
Of wonder, when thy lonely warblings came,
Sweet as all instruments, that after-art
Of angel or of man hath fashioned forth.
-Spirit of Heaven, didst thou not company
The great Creator ? -thou didst see the sun
Rise like a giant from the chambering wave,
And, when he sank behind the new-formed hills,
Shrined in a purple cloud, wert thou not there,
Smiling in gladness from some shadowy knoll
Of larclı, or graceful cedar, and at times
Viewing the stream that wound below in light,
And shewed upon its breast the imnged heaven,
And all those shades, which men in after-days
Liken to trees, and barks, and battlements,
And all seemed good to thee ?- wert thou not near,
When first the starting sod awoke to life,
And Alan arose in grandeur ?- Thou didst weep
His fall from Eden, and in saddest hour
Thou wert not absent."

“ Spirit of Heaven, thy first best song on earth

Was Gratitude! Thy first best gift to man
The Charities-Love, in whose full eye gleams
The April-tear ;-all dear Domestic Joys,
That sweetly smile in the secluded bowers

Of Innocence! Thy presence hath illumed
The Temple! With the Prophets Thou hast walked,
Inspiring -oh! how seldom hast thou found
A worthy residence !—the world receives
Thy holiest emanations with cold heart;
The bosom, where, as in a sanctuary,
Thy altar shines, with its own grossness dims
The blaze, or, faint with the excess of light,'
Thy votary sinks, and in a long repose
Would rest the wearied soul," &c.

“I may not venture on such theme: I feel

My many weaknesses ! a little while
Repose, my Harp, in silence ! We have waked
Numbers too lofty. Rest we here awhile !"—Pp. 103-105.


Wenn denkst du mein!" &c.

We would gladly conclude

Die Nachtigallen notice of this interesting volume here,

Accorde Schallen, where our approbation has warmed into praise, in proportion as our au The translation from De la Moite thor's style has towered into sublimity; Fouqué is, as a piece of English poetry, but we feel it our duty as reviewers to even and good. We have had no oppoint the reader's attention to some portunity of examining its merits as a translations which appear in the volume. translation ; however, we will take They are from German authors; and Faust as a pledge for the author's in some we are given no clue to the general faithfulness to his original. original, so that criticism_must be Few poems have ever been so literal silent. The stanzas of S. E. Wilhel- as his Faustus. mina Von Sassen, are too different from Desultory poetic taste is so happily those by Matthisson with the same re- adumbrated in the following lines, exfrain, to please us.

tracted from a scene in Fouqué's drama,

that we step out of our province as “ Ich denke dein,

reviewers of the translation to quote Wenn durch den Hain

the passage for the moral it conveys:

"I know the land of the erening sun-
Of the giant oak-of the cloud and storm
Whose lakes are roofed with ice.
Where the morning rises chill,
And the night, from dreary wing,
Showers hoar-frost on the shrinking flowers;
And warriors, clad in arms, are there
Loud-sounding, splendid, heavy arms of steel ;
Swords in their hands, unlike the scimitar;
The blade unbent, and double-edged, cuts straight
Into the faces of the enemy;
From the heavy-visored helm
A cloud of many-coloured plumes
Streams in the playful breeze.
And my friends wished that I should be a soldier,
Already had I learned to bend
The war-horse to my will;
Already with an active arm,
Could sway the warrior's sword ;
But, as I rested after my first battle,
There came, with friendly words, a gray old man.
He sate beside me. From his lips streamed forth
A wondrous tale. Unceasingly it streamed;
Holding enchanted my surrendered soul,
'Till the sweet stars came gemming the blue sky.
And then he rose, but still the tale continued ;
And on we wandered, and the narrative
Was still unfinished, and we reached the shore ;
I following him, unable to resist

The magic of his voice !
Rapidly, rapidly he went,
Rapidly, rapidly I followed him ;
I threw away the shield that burthened me,
I threw away from me the encumbering sword,
And we embarked, and still the tale continued,
All day! all night! The moon did wax and wane,
I cannot tell how many times, while he
Was busy with his story; while my soul
Lived on its magic; and I felt no want
Of food, or drink, or sleep. At last we came
Here to Hormisdus, the magician's garden :
And when we reached this silver rivulet,
The tale was ended—the old man was vanished.

And now, for iron arms I wear
The soft silk, light and delicate,
And feel no wounds but those of Love!"— pp. 161–163.



We almost regret that Dr. Anster would here give expression to our wish allowed the poem

“ On the death of that the book before us had been the Princess Charlotte," to form a part shorter by two pages. We could gladly of the present collection. It is a prize have continued to recline under the poem in blank verse. Prize-poems are peaceful shade of the “ Five Oaks," seldom highly prized beyond the walls without having our reverie interrupted where they have been read; laesides, by the howling and hooting of the the subject is one which, in our opinion, animals let loose upon us in the " Nurwould be hest treared in a more com sery Rhymes,” which immediately fol. pressed and condensed forin; never- low. We much fear that whatever theless there are, as the reader will custom may have sanctioned in the observe, passages of considerable power land of Goethe and Retsch, as appliscattered throughout the composition. cable to the education or amusement of We cannot help regretting that the loss the wunder-kinder of the fatherland, our of the child is not brought forward more “ march of intellect" nurseries would prominently. What admirable use has repel with phrenologic horror such Milton made of the infant, where in a

monstrosities these. nearly similar case, he elegizes the They teem with horrors such as Marchioness of Winchester !

would be refused admittance into any " So have I seen some tender slip,

of those duodeciinos, in wbich, under Sav'd with care from winter's nip,

the name of " libraries,” are coinprised The pride of her carnation train,

all legitimate knowledge for youth; and Pluck'd up by some unheedy swain, as ibey would be thus lerally Who only thought to crop the flower, excluded from the region of guver. New shot up from vernal shower."

nesses and go-carts above, so they The Five Oaks of Dallwitz” is would scarcely gain a welcome in the translated with freedom and grace, and

more adult and less castigated colo partakes, even in its transfusion, of the lection below. Seriously, the lives characteristic bold romance of Körner's

are unfit for children, and thus lose We are not quite satistied, their principal claim upon our notice. however, with the expression

With such objections, which, slight Bright records of a better day,"

as they are, are all we can make, we as applied to the oaks ; nor is there take our leave of Dr. Anster's volume. any authority for the epithet in the and to the public, to speak sincerely,

We thought it our duty both to him original line

both in praise and blame. Our comAlte Zeiten alte treue Zeugen."

mendations are heart-felt, and our critiBright is an adjective properly appli- cism, even where it appears condemnacable neither to oaks nor records, as its tory, is kindly meant, the author may substantive. We fancy that in usiny be assured. We hail with gratitude this word the author intended to con the gift of a little work like this to vey the clearness of the testimony ; but our studies and boudoirs, filled as they it is done awkwardly, at least, if not generally are with the outpourings of incorrectly.

the London press. In the language As we are in a carping mood, we we have already used, (see our last


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