While large and pale the ghostly structures grow, Is that dull sound the hum of Teviot's stream? In 1811, Leyden accompanied the governorgeneral to Java. His spirit of romantic adventure,' says Scott, 'led him literally to rush upon death; for, with another volunteer who attended the expedition, he threw himself into the surf, in order to be the first Briton of the expedition who should set foot upon Java. When the success of the well-concerted movements of the invaders had given them possession of the town of Batavia, Leyden displayed the same ill-omened precipitation, in his haste to examine a library, or rather a warehouse of books, in which many Indian manuscripts of value were said to be deposited. A library in a Dutch settlement was not, as might have been expected, in the best order; the apartment had not been regularly ventilated, and either from this circumstance, or already affected by the fatal sickness peculiar to Batavia, Leyden, when he left the place, had a fit of shivering, and declared the atmosphere was enough to give any mortal a fever. The presage was too just: he took his bed, and died in three days (August 28, 1811), on the eve of the battle which gave Java to the British empire.' The Poetical Remains of Leyden were published in 1819, with a Memoir of his Life, by the Rev. James Morton. Sir John Malcolm and Sir Walter Scott both honoured his memory with notices of his life and genius. The Great Minstrel has also alluded to his untimely death in his Lord of the Isles: Scarba's Isle, whose tortured shore Scenes sung by him who sings no more, The allusion here is to a ballad by Leyden, entitled The Mermaid, the scene of which is laid at Corrievreckan, and which was published with another, The Cout of Keeldar, in the Border Minstrelsy. His longest poem is his Scenes of Infancy, descriptive of his native vale of Teviot. His versification is soft and musical; he is an elegant rather than a forcible poet. His ballad strains are greatly superior to his Scenes of Infancy. Sir Walter Scott has praised the opening of The Mermaid, as exhibiting a power of numbers which, for mere melody of sound, has seldom been excelled in English poetry. Sonnet on Sabbath Morn. With silent awe I hail the sacred morn, Ode to an Indian Gold Coin. So bright, whom I have bought so dear? The jackal's shriek bursts on mine ear When mirth and music wont to cheer. By Cherical's dark wandering streams, Where cane-tufts shadow all the wild, Where loves of youth and friendships smiled, Uncursed by thee, vile yellow slave! Fade, day-dreams sweet, from memory fade! Revives no more in after-time. I haste to an untimely grave; The daring thoughts that soared sublime Are sunk in ocean's southern wave. Slave of the mine! thy yellow light Gleams baleful as the tomb-fire drear. A gentle vision comes by night My lonely widowed heart to cheer: Her eyes are dim with many a tear, That once were guiding stars to mine; Her fond heart throbs with many a fear! I cannot bear to see thee shine. For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave, I crossed the tedious ocean-wave, To roam in climes unkind and new. The cold wind of the stranger blew Chill on my withered heart; the grave Dark and untimely met my viewAnd all for thee, vile yellow slave! Ha! com'st thou now so late to mock A wanderer's banished heart forlorn, Now that his frame the lightning shock Of sun-rays tipt with death was borne? From love, from friendship, country, torn, To memory's fond regrets the prey; Vile slave, thy yellow dross I scorn! Go mix thee with thy kindred clay! * Jeffrey considered (Edinburgh Review, 1805) that Grahame borrowed the opening description in his Sabbath from the above sonnet by Leyden. The images are common to poetry, besides being congenial to Scottish habits and feelings. The Mermaid. On Jura's heath how sweetly swell The murmurs of the mountain bee! How softly mourns the writhed shell Of Jura's shore, its parent sea! But softer floating o'er the deep, The Mermaid's sweet sea-soothing lay, That charmed the dancing waves to sleep, Before the bark of Colonsay. Aloft the purple pennons wave, As, parting gay from Crinan's shore, From Morven's wars, the seamen brave Their gallant chieftain homeward bore. In youth's gay bloom, the brave Macphail Still blamed the lingering bark's delay: For her he chid the flagging sail, The lovely maid of Colonsay. 'And raise,' he cried, 'the song of love, "When on this ring of ruby red Shall die," she said, "the crimson hue, Know that thy favourite fair is dead, Or proves to thee and love untrue."' Now, lightly poised, the rising oar Disperses wide the foamy spray, And echoing far o'er Crinan's shore, Resounds the song of Colonsay: 'Softly blow, thou western breeze, Softly rustle through the sail! Soothe to rest the furrowy seas, Before my love, sweet western gale! 'Where the wave is tinged with red, And the russet sea-leaves grow, Mariners, with prudent dread, Shun the shelving reefs below. 'As you pass through Jura's sound, Bend your course by Scarba's shore; Shun, O shun, the gulf profound, Where Corrievreckan's surges roar ! 'If from that unbottomed deep, With wrinkled form and wreathed train, O'er the verge of Scarba's steep, The sea-snake heave his snowy mane, 'Unwarp, unwind his oozy coils, 'Softly blow, thou western breeze, Softly rustle through the sail! Soothe to rest the furrowed seas, Before my love, sweet western gale!' Thus all to soothe the chieftain's woe, Far from the maid he loved so dear, The song arose, so soft and slow, He seemed her parting sigh to hear. The lonely deck he paces o'er, Impatient for the rising day, And still from Crinan's moonlight shore, He turns his eyes to Colonsay. The moonbeams crisp the curling surge, That streaks with foam the ocean green; While forward still the rowers urge Their course, a female form was seen. That sea-maid's form, of pearly light, Was whiter than the downy spray, And round her bosom, heaving bright, Her glossy yellow ringlets play. Borne on a foamy crested wave, She reached amain the bounding prow, Then clasping fast the chieftain brave, She, plunging, sought the deep below. Ah! long beside thy feigned bier, But downward like a powerless corse, The eddying waves the chieftain bear; He only heard the moaning hoarse Of waters murmuring in his ear. The murmurs sink by slow degrees, No more the waters round him rave; Lulled by the music of the seas, He lies within a coral cave. In dreamy mood reclines he long, Nor dares his tranced eyes unclose, Till, warbling wild, the sea-maid's song Far in the crystal cavern rose. Soft as that harp's unseen control, In morning dreams which lovers hear, Whose strains steal sweetly o'er the soul, But never reach the waking ear. As sunbeams through the tepid air, When clouds dissolve the dews unseen, Smile on the flowers that bloom more fair, And fields that glow with livelier green So melting soft the music fell; It seemed to soothe the fluttering spray'Say, heard'st thou not these wild notes swell? Ah! 'tis the song of Colonsay.' * * Roused by that voice of silver sound, No form he saw of mortal mould; Her pearly comb the siren took, And careless bound her tresses wild; Still o'er the mirror stole her look, As on the wondering youth she smiled. Like music from the greenwood tree, Again she raised the melting lay; 'Fair warrior, wilt thou dwell with me, And leave the maid of Colonsay? 'Fair is the crystal hall for me With rubies and with emeralds set; And sweet the music of the sea Shall sing, when we for love are met. O sad the Mermaid's gay notes fell, And sadly sink remote at sea! So sadly mourns the writhed shell Of Jura's shore, its parent sea. And ever as the year returns, The charm-bound sailors know the day; HENRY KIRKE WHITE. HENRY KIRKE WHITE, a young poet, who has accomplished more by the example of his life than by his writings, was a native of Nottingham, where he was born on the 21st of August 1785. His father was a butcher-an 'ungentle craft,' which, however, has had the honour of giving to England one of its most distinguished churchmen, Cardinal Wolsey, and the two poets, Akenside and White. proprietor of the above periodical. Their encouragement induced him to prepare a volume of poems for the press, which appeared in 1803. The longest piece in the collection is a descriptive poem in the style of Goldsmith, entitled Clifton Grove, which shews a remarkable proficiency in smooth and elegant versification and language. In his preface to the volume, Henry had stated that the poems were the production of a youth of seventeen, published for the purpose of facilitating his future studies, and enabling him 'to pursue those inclinations which might one day place him in an honourable station in the scale of society.' Such a declaration should have disarmed the severity of criticism; but the volume was contemptuously noticed in the Monthly Review, and Henry felt the most exquisite pain from the unjust and ungenerous critique. Fortunately, the volume fell into the hands of Mr Southey, who wrote to the young poet to encourage him, and other friends sprung up to succour his genius, and procure for him what was the darling object of his ambition, admission to the University of Cambridge. His opinions for some time inclined to deism, without any taint of immorality; but a fellow-student put into his hands Scott's Force of Truth, and he soon became a decided convert to the spirit and doctrines of Christianity. He resolved upon devoting his life to the promulgation of them, and the Rev. Mr Simeon, Cambridge, procured for him a sizarship at St John's College. This benevolent clergyman further promised, with the aid of a friend, to supply him with £30 annually, and his own family were to furnish the remainder necessary for him to go through college. Poetry was now abandoned for severer studies. He competed for one of the university scholarships, and at the end of the term was pronounced the first man of his year. "Twice he distinguished himself in the following year, being again pronounced first at the great college examination, and also one of the three best theme-writers, between whom the examiners could not decide. The college offered him, at their expense, a private tutor in mathematics during the long vacation; and Mr Catton-his tutor-by procuring for him exhibitions to the amount of £66 per annum, enabled him to give up the pecuniary assistance which he had received from Mr Simeon Henry was a rhymer and a student from his earliest and other friends. This distinction was purchased years. He assisted at his father's business for some at the sacrifice of health and life. Were I,' he time, but in his fourteenth year was put apprentice said, 'to paint Fame crowning an under-graduate to a stocking-weaver. Disliking, as he said, 'the after the senate-house examination, I would reprethought of spending seven years of his life in shining sent him as concealing a death's-head under the and folding up stockings, he wanted something to mask of beauty.' He went to London to recruit his occupy his brain, and he felt that he should be shattered nerves and spirits; but on his return to wretched if he continued longer at this trade, or college, he was so completely ill that no power of indeed in anything except one of the learned pro- medicine could save him. He died on the 19th of fessions.' He was at length placed in an attorney's October 1806. Mr Southey continued his regard office, and applying his leisure hours to the study of languages, he was able, in the course of ten months, to read Horace with tolerable facility, and had made some progress in Greek. At the same time he acquired a knowledge of Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese, and even applied himself to the acquisition of some of the sciences. His habits of study and application were unremitting. A London magazine, called the Monthly Preceptor, having proposed prize-themes for the youth of both sexes, Henry became a candidate, and while only in his fifteenth year, obtained a silver medal for a translation from Horace; and the following year a pair of twelveinch globes for an imaginary tour from London to Edinburgh. He next became a correspondent in the Monthly Mirror, and was introduced to the acquaintance of Mr Capel Lofft and of Mr Hill, the Birthplace of H. K. White, Nottingham. for White after his untimely death. He wrote a Warm with fond hope and learning's sacred flame, Southey's Memoir prefixed to Remains of H. K. White. Pale o'er his lamp, and in his cell retired, Byron has also consecrated some beautiful lines to the memory of White. Mr Southey considers that the death of the young poct is to be lamented as a loss to English literature. To society, and particularly to the church, it was a greater misfortune. The poetry of Henry was all written before his twentieth year, and hence should not be severely judged. If compared, however, with the strains of Cowley or Chatterton at an earlier age, it will be seen to be inferior in this, that no indications are given of great future genius. There are no seeds or traces of grand conceptions and designs, no fragments of wild original imagination, as in the 'marvellous boy' of Bristol. His poetry is fluent and correct, distinguished by a plaintive tenderness and reflection, and pleasing powers of fancy and description. Whether force and originality would have come with manhood and learning, is a point which, notwithstanding the example of Byron--a very different mind-may fairly be doubted. It is enough, however, for Henry Kirke White to have afforded one of the finest examples on record of youthful talent and perseverance devoted to the purest and noblest objects. Or, on the red wing of the fierce monsoon, Disturb'st the sleeping giant of the Ind. Now safely moored-my perils o'er, I'll sing, first in night's diadem, For ever and for evermore, The Star-the Star of Bethlehem! A Hymn for Family Worship. O Lord! another day is flown, Are met once more before thy throne, And wilt thou bend a listening ear . And, Jesus, thou thy smiles wilt deign, O let thy grace perform its part, And let contention cease; And shed abroad in every heart Thine everlasting peace! Thus chastened, cleansed, entirely thine, The Sun of Holiness shall shine And thou wilt turn our wandering feet, Till worlds shall fade, and faith shall greet |