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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a269fcc --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #66936 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66936) diff --git a/old/66936-0.txt b/old/66936-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index b622c78..0000000 --- a/old/66936-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,2951 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Yale Literary Magazine (Vol. I, No. 3, -April 1836), by Students of Yale - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The Yale Literary Magazine (Vol. I, No. 3, April 1836) - -Author: Students of Yale - -Release Date: December 12, 2021 [eBook #66936] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: hekula03, sf2001, and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from - images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YALE LITERARY MAGAZINE (VOL. -I, NO. 3, APRIL 1836) *** - - - - - THE YALE LITERARY MAGAZINE. - - CONDUCTED BY THE =STUDENTS OF YALE COLLEGE=. - - - [Illustration] - - “Dum mens grata manet, nomen laudesque Yalenses - Cantabunt Soboles, unanimique Patres.” - - - NO. III. - - APRIL, 1836. - - - NEW HAVEN: - HERRICK & NOYES. - - MDCCCXXXVI. - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - Page. - Prejudice and Scepticism, 81 - Sonnet, 85 - Dramatic Fragment, 86 - The Coffee Club, No. I. 89 - The Fairies’ Bower, 97 - The Influence of Moral Feeling upon the Pleasures - of the Imagination, Essay No. I. 98 - Columbia’s Banner, 100 - Story and Sentiment, No. III. 101 - Sonnet, 111 - Review--Drake’s Poems, 111 - The Double Disappointment, 120 - Greek Anthology, No. III. 125 - - - - - THE YALE LITERARY MAGAZINE. - VOL. I. APRIL, 1836. NO. 3. - - - - - PREJUDICE AND SCEPTICISM. - - “A little learning is a dangerous thing: Drink deep, or taste not the - Pierian spring.” - - -This hackneyed distich is most frequently used to convey an idea -of that arrogant confidence which attends the first superficial -acquisitions in knowledge, and the characteristic diffidence of the -profound mind. Whether this is the impression intended to be conveyed -by its excellent author, it is not necessary to inquire: it evidently -involves a principle, which is illustrated by the history of every -nation, and has an important application to our own. - -In tracing society through the various stages of its progress from -barbarism to civilization, we observe, almost universally, a point -intermediate between the two, where the foundations of the social -system seem to be broken up, and anarchy and confusion prevail. Among -men in a state of the greatest rudeness and ignorance, customs and -manners are comparatively permanent. Ages on ages roll away, and the -same simple institutions are handed down from father to son with the -most scrupulous care, and with scarcely a perceptible change. In this -condition of man prejudice holds universal sway. The practice, or the -‘ipse dixit’ of a superior is the foundation upon which they rest -their belief, and the rule by which they govern their actions; and in -opinions resting upon such a basis, there is no doubt or wavering. No -intricate maze of reasoning leaves a dark corner to beget distrust, but -like the insect upon a flying fragment, the contracted vision of the -savage reaches not beyond the established creed of his predecessors; -and upon that, however far it may be from reason and truth, he rests -in secure repose. But when he has obtained one glance beyond that -rude fabric, he feels the trembling of his basis, and his inquisitive -mind becomes alive to all the realities of his situation. He begins -to reason--he begins to doubt--and confidence once shaken in former -belief, scepticism becomes universal. He is thrown upon the resources -of his own rude mind; prejudice wars with passion and impressions from -the world, and reason roams, and often roams in vain, in search of -those pure principles from which spring the happiness of enlightened -communities. - -In this incipient stage of knowledge, the field from which individuals -derive their impressions and opinions is contracted; and influenced -as they are by different circumstances and associations, it is not -surprising that their ideas should rarely concur. Mind clashes -with mind, and from this collision necessarily arises a popular -effervescence. But as knowledge advances, the horizon of each -individual extends farther and farther, and consequently coincides -to a greater extent with that of those around him. Hence, after this -fiery ordeal of revolution, in proportion as intelligence prevails, the -sentiments of the community harmonize, civil institutions become more -permanent, and society settles down into a peaceful, happy condition. - -This is, indeed, but the brief outline of a theory; and like all other -theories, it requires great modification in its application to the -world. Man in his progress to civilization is not always influenced by -the same principles operating in the same way. In one instance, as he -breaks through the spell of prejudice--grasps the sword of reason, and -enters upon his rude analysis of mind and matter, he is directed by -some apparently fortuitous agency, at once to the elements of peace and -happiness, and advances in rapid strides from barbarism to refinement. -In another instance, in the same rude contest--the same clashing of -mental and physical energy, a nation falls exhausted in the struggle, -and sinks, if possible, to a state even more hopeless than before. -Nor is this period of revolutions confined to the incipient stage of -science in all its branches. Nations, that have apparently past this -eventful period, and settled down into the uniformity of civilized -life, are sometimes shaken to their very foundations, by the agitation -of some subject that had before escaped the trying test of reason, -and from some peculiar cause, been suffered to remain upon the rotten -foundation of prejudice and superstition. Indeed, no nation is entirely -secure from revolution until all its institutions are established upon -the basis of truth--of truth that is seen and felt by the great body of -the community. - -The French revolution is, perhaps, as good an illustration of this -subject, as can be found in the annals of history. There we behold -a people not utterly buried in ignorance, but even taking the lead -in the sciences and arts, and apparently approaching the peace and -security of an enlightened state. But presently we are startled at a -horrid revolution sweeping over her. Religion and politics had not yet -undergone a strict examination. It is true, religious controversies -had been carried on, and wars, bloody and protracted, had been waged -between the Huguenots and Catholics; but they were little more -than the collision of prejudices, and the quarrels of priests and -princes. But when that doubting, ridiculing philosophy had rent the -veil of superstition, and, united with a gleam of liberty from across -the waters, had opened to the gaze of the multitude those sinks of -corruption, the people were exasperated at the wrongs which they had -before piously endured; they swept the land with unprecedented fury, -and hurled to one promiscuous ruin every monument of royalty, nobility -and priestcraft. But--alas for France! in that eventful moment no kind -genius appeared to direct the awakened mind to the fountains of truth. -Disgusted and maddened by the absurdities and impositions of the church -and state, they were driven into the dreadful abyss of infidelity, and -at last, in the recklessness of despair, they relinquished the contest, -and were ready to kiss a yoke even more galling than the former. It is -not our intention to convey the idea, that the French revolution was -in no way beneficial. This is a question for a future age to decide. -But we do intend to assert, that a knowledge of literature and science -merely, however much they may contribute to it, is not sufficient for a -nation’s security; and that when man has been roused to investigation, -unless inexperienced reason is aided in its search after truth, he is -liable to fall into the most fatal errors. This height of civilization -has been attained only by the accumulated wisdom of ages, and it is -not, therefore, to be expected that unassisted reason will arrive at -it at once. Had not the French been left to be carried headlong by the -first transports of passion, or had the pure principles of religion and -freedom been presented in such a way as to be imbibed and felt, they -might have risen to a lofty elevation, and been able to look back upon -that horrid scene of anarchy and bloodshed only as the harbinger of -liberty and peace. As it is, she has only added another illustration to -the many that before existed, of the truth of our motto--of the danger -of rousing the inquisitive mind of man, without providing the means and -the opportunity of arriving at correct conclusions in his inquiries. -Man’s reason is not infallible; and thus to awaken the attention of the -ignorant or the inexperienced, destroy their confidence in established -institutions, and then leave them to grope their own way to the -fountains of truth, is like committing to the breeze a ship without a -helm, and expecting it to arrive safe at its distant destined port. - -It may be supposed that this subject has little application to a -country so enlightened as ours, and so accustomed to submit every -thing to the scrutiny of unbiassed reason. When we consider that our -institutions derive their origin from the most profound minds our -country has ever produced, and that they have prospered, for more -than half a century, beyond the most sanguine expectations of their -founders, we are apt to forget that the prosperity of all institutions -depends upon the attachment of the people, and to imagine that ours -are inherently secure. It would be Natural also to suppose, that -the discrepancies between different portions of the country would -gradually wear away by continual contact and free intercourse, and that -the longer we existed in our present condition, the more consolidated -and unanimous we should become. But the crisis has not yet arrived. We -have received these institutions upon the faith of our fathers, and, -hitherto, been engaged, not in fairly discussing, but in eulogizing -and defending them, without ever allowing ourselves to doubt their -excellence and superiority over all others. These venerable fathers -have now gone down to their graves; our enemies have become our -friends; the distorting medium of prejudice through which we have -hitherto viewed the world is removed, and we are left to scrutinize -at our leisure the fair fabric which has been committed to us. Were -this investigation to be candid and serious, we should be safe. But he -who has the least acquaintance with human nature is aware, that when -our complacency proceeds from an influence prepossessing us in favor -of an object, there is a re-action in sentiment when that influence -is removed: complacency becomes disgust, and the more extravagant it -has been, the more powerful is the opposite bias. Upon this principle, -we may account for that complete change in the means by which power -and influence are sought from the people. Formerly, the only method -of finding favor with the multitude, was to enlist heart and hand -in supporting and extolling our glorious institutions; but he who -would succeed in pursuit of the same object, at the present day, -must find some real or imaginary imperfection, and by a torrent of -ranting eloquence, display, on every occasion, his superior sagacity -in detecting the errors of our fathers. Besides, the greater this -blind confidence we have acquired in our institutions, the more -negligent shall we be in support of them, and the more severe in -exposing and decrying their imperfections. Already we begin to hear, -on the one hand, the sneering taunt at the fickleness, inefficiency, -and illiberality of our proceedings, and the high encomium upon -aristocracy and its concomitant advantages, and on the other, the -expression of envy towards rising wealth and power, and utter contempt -towards law and all wholesome restraint. These floating insinuations -are the seeds of future public sentiment, and unless counteracted by -a salutary influence, the effect will be ruinous. It is true, we are -an intelligent people, and by no means blind to our own immediate -interests; but it is also indisputably certain, that the deliberate -judgment and profound thought of our predecessors have been, in -some measure, supplanted by a mere smattering of other men’s ideas. -Precocious demagogues and priests are taking the places of grave -statesmen and a sound, revered clergy. It is an idea instilled into us -in our childhood, and which we carry with us throughout our career, -that the present is an age far more effulgent than any that has before -dawned upon the world; and we therefore think ourselves warranted in -laying aside all past experience, and forming our conclusions upon -our own notions of expediency. The course of reasoning, which led to -the establishment of the noble institutions and customs which have -been handed down to us, is not at once comprehended, and we resolve -immediately to demolish, and substitute the frail creations of our own -fancy, which past experience and further reflection show to be ruinous. -In short, we have enjoyed the blessings of our government just long -enough to lose sight of the evils of others, and are just wise enough -to detect the imperfections of our own system, without being able, from -a deep sense of the injuries under which every other people groans, -to appreciate its excellence. It becomes, then, every lover of his -country, and, especially, him who, in the prime of youth, is looking -forward to it as the scene of a happy life, with high hopes of honor -and power, to beware how he lends his aid to alienate public sentiment -from this parent of his present joys and future hopes, and to enlist -heart and hand in support of a government which has certainly, for more -than half a century, secured to this community a greater amount of -happiness than was ever before enjoyed by any portion of the earth’s -population. The popular judgment will be sufficiently severe under the -most favorable circumstances. When that is passed, and the people are -satisfied from their own examination, that the regulations which govern -them are the most perfect in existence, then, or at least not till -then, may we esteem the crisis past, and our country safe. - - L. - - - - - SONNET. - - - ’Tis beautiful to-day. There’s not a cloud - To mar this sweet serenity of sky: - In Beauty’s arms all nature seems to lie: - Earth smiles, as though the Deity had bowed - To wrap her form in loveliness, and crowd - The air with spirits of the waking spring. - How meet that man his gift of homage bring, - With Nature praise, and be no longer proud! - Oh, lovely day of rest! how sweetly thou - With joys of Heaven canst fill the thirsting soul! - As out from rocks the gushing fountains roll, - So from the heart of flinty hardness, now - Does burst, unbidden, the pure, fervent prayer, - And, with the morning dew, ascend the viewless air. - - K. - - - - - FRAGMENT OF AN UNFINISHED TRAGEDY. - - - Scene--_An Orange Grove._ - - _Enter_ Muza. - - _Muza, solus._ - Hark! heard I not her step, or was it nought - But Fancy’s wild creation? Ah! tis gone, - And still she’s absent. Ye odor-breathing groves, - Aslant whose dewy bloom the virgin moon - Pours her mild radiance, what though ye are fair, - And rich in all the fragrance nature yields? - Ye bring no balm to soothe my anxious mind-- - But soft! she comes--my Isabel-- - - _Enter_ Isabel. - - _Isabel._ - Oh, Muza! Muza! pardon, I beseech you, - This rash, misguided step, that unbecomes - My virgin modesty and maiden pride. - Muza, I’ve erred. Oh let me now depart; - ’Tis not a fitting time. - - _Muza._ - Say why not, dear maid? This is the hour - I’ve longed, I’ve prayed for; and thank Allah now - ’Tis come at last. (_Kneeling._) - Sweet Isabel, my heart is wholly thine. - I love thee more than life. Nay, do not turn - Those lovely eyes away; still let them beam - With gentleness on me. List, dear one, list-- - - _Isabel._ - Cease, Muza, cease. These glowing words of love - Savor too much of thine own sunny clime, - That makes the tenderest passions of the heart - Burn with a fiercer flame. But ’tis not meet - That we should hold such converse at this hour; - And death awaits thee, Muza, if thou’rt found - Within these groves. - - _Muza._ - Isabel, - Is then my safety of concern to thee? - And does the pang of fear thrill through thy breast - For Muza’s sake? - - _Isabel._ - Oh yes. - Thinkest thou that Isabel can look with coldness - Upon the brave preserver of her honor? - Thy welfare, trust me, - Shall ever be the object of my care; - And still the tender tie of gratitude - Shall bind my heart to thee. - - _Muza._ - Say, dear one, say the tender tie of love. - - _Isabel._ - Urge me not, Muza, urge me not too far. - But come, I claim a promise: wilt thou not - Fulfil it now? I long to hear thee tell - The wild, romantic history of thy life;-- - For such it must be, if I can surmise - Aught from the hints which thou hast thrown around thee. - - _Muza._ - I will obey thee, Isabel, - Though I would rather pour into thine ear - The breathings of my soul, than now recount - A dull detail of cold and lifeless facts. - Know, then, I spring not from the Moorish race, - But Christian blood bounds freely through these veins. - No more I know; the secret of my birth - Is wrapt in mystery; - But yet within my mind faint traces live, - When the paternal hand upon this head - Rested with fondness, and a mother’s eye, - Radiant with love, beamed brightly on my heart; - But then, there comes a blank in memory’s page: - And next, dark visions flit before my mind - Of bloodshed, death and slaughter, while to view - The swarth and fiery visage of the Moor - Starts up, attended with appalling horrors. - A truce to memory. What I am I know; - Thou askest, and shalt know. A warrior bold - I dwell upon the banks of fair Xenil, - Where that bright river, with its winding stream, - Laves proud Granada’s walls. Ask Muza’s name - Within Alhambra’s towers. ’Tis he whose heart - Is boldest in the fight, whose daring valor - Oft sweeps the plains of fertile Andalusia. - - _Isabel._ - Oh, boast not of these actions, where the cross, - The sacred symbol of my holy faith, - Bows down before the crescent. Tell me, Muza, - Does not thy heart reproach thee when this sword - Is stained with Christian blood--perhaps the blood - Of friends and kindred, who would gladly lose - Their lives to rescue thee? - - _Muza._ - No, Isabel. The ties of blood are severed; - The tie of gratitude alone can bind - My heart to others. Shall I not live for those - Who’ve fostered in this breast the spark of honor, - And roused my soul to deeds of noble daring? - Aye, the Moor! - Though your proud chivalry may curl the lip - In haughty scorn, claims gratitude from me, - And shall this be uncancelled? No, by Allah! - His cause is mine, his holy faith is mine-- - But did I say the ties of gratitude - Alone could bind my heart? Ah! there I erred. - There is another bond still closer, dearer, - Entwining with the very strings of life, - A bond I would not break to gain the world-- - Canst thou not guess it, Isabel? Ah, yes; - That timid, down-cast eye, that tell-tale glance - Unfolds the mystery. Strange, indeed, ’twould be, - If the bright maid that twined the silken bonds, - Knew not her captive. Would to heaven I knew - What noble parents, happy in their love, - Possess so fair a daughter! - - _Isabel._ - Muza, - I know not what to say; my fearful heart - Is full of dread forebodings for the future. - I see thee now in arms against my country,-- - A scoffer and despiser of my faith; - And with thy hand yet stained in Christian blood, - Thou com’st to woo me! Alas! what can I do? - I cannot hate thee; gratitude forbids it. - Heaven aid me in the conflict! - But seek not, Muza, I beseech thee, seek not - The knowledge of my rank. ’Twould only widen - The breach of separation. Will’t not suffice - To know that in the breast of Isabel - The cherished name of Muza ne’er shall die? - Farewell! (_Going._) - - _Muza._ - One moment stay; we ne’er may meet again. - (_Exit Isabel._) - She’s gone, and nought but solitude remains. - Angel of hope! come on thy downy wings, - Descend and be my comforter and guide! - - (_Enter a Moorish guard._) - - _Guard._ My lord! - The torches of a Spanish band are flashing - Upon the westward of the orange grove! - - _Muza._ Away, then! follow me! (_Exeunt omnes._) - - - - - THE COFFEE CLUB. - - No. 1. - - “Of all the several ways of beginning a book which, are now in - practice throughout the known world, I am confident my own way of - doing it is the best;--I’m sure it is the most religious--for I begin - with writing the first sentence, and trust to Almighty God for the - second.”--_Tristram Shandy._ - - -Reader, - -Should you, on any one of these gloomy spring evenings, chance to -traverse the college yard, between the hours of nine and ten, among -the many glowing windows, with which the sombre buildings are then -radiant, you may notice two, shining with transcendent brilliancy. Of -the situation of these windows, and the occasion of so intense a glow, -as to distinguish them from the dull light diffused by the solitary -study-lamp, it suits not with our purpose to tell thee more than this: -1st, that they occupy a central position in that building, which, in -college mythos, holds the rank of the third heaven; (to south middle -we can assign no gentler appellative than _purgatory_;) 2nd, that, -in the day-time, they admit the light _to_, and in the night season -emit it _from_, one of the most literary, best furnished, and withall -best peopled rooms, which our well stocked University can boast; and -3d, that at the hour above specified, within this room are assembled -four as merry, yet thoughtful fellows, as your eye (especially if -you be a little cynical) would desire to look upon. But to speak of -them in the high terms which they deserve, would expose me to the -charge of base flattery in the case of three, and arrant egotism for -the fourth. Further than this, curious reader, except so far as may -serve to elucidate the characters of these Dii superi, we shall never -communicate. - -But, stop--my better judgment whispers me, that ’twould be safer to -satiate thy curiosity, at once, than have thee continually peering -about and asking troublesome questions. Enter, then, this mysterious -room--erect thy crest--quicken thy memory, for it must serve thee in -good stead. Thou hast free permission, - - ‘Each corner to search, and each nook to scan.’ - -Well, you have made your bow with such a trigonometrical flourish, -as proves indisputably your claim to a rectilineal descent from the -_Angles_--if I intended a pun, may I eat a dinner of cabbage and -quicksilver, and then, with my heels higher than my head, take a -siesta beneath a Nubian sun on “Damien’s bed of steel;” (Dante would -have chuckled over so original a punishment, for the embellishment -of his Inferno.) Now you are in the room don’t open your mouth with -such a convulsive gape. Did you never see a classical studio before? -Drop your arms by your sides with perpendicular propriety, and, if -you wish to note the aspect of the room, and its occupants, do it -by quiet, occasional glances, and not by an Hibernian stare. Take a -seat--you have done it indeed, and with a most rheumatic grace; one -would think you had been studying the ‘Poetry of motion’ all your -days. If you wish to take an inventory of the novelties you see, -“_Accipe jam tabulas_”--pull out your memorandum book,--“_detur nobis -locus, hora, custodes_”--sit down, and take your time about it, but -be careful,--“_videamus, uter plus scribere possit_”--see how fast -you can write; that’s what my old _paedotribe_ used to call a _free -translation_. - -But we must hasten to a description of the room, and its contents. - -Item. Your infernal extremities are sublevated by a carpet, somewhat -homely, but thick and warm, while from an open stove a blazing pile of -‘divina Hickoria’ (as Virgil would call it) diffuses a salutary warmth. - -Item. Abutting upon either window, stand two tall and open book-cases, -“filled to the brim of contentment.” Beside the dull and thumb-worn -volumes of the ‘college course,’ which constitute but a small portion -of their burden, you will find a choice selection from the infinity of -books, which the wit of man has perpetrated. The stolidity of wisdom, -and the levity of wit, equally find there a place. - -Item. In the centre of the room rests a substantial table, around whose -broad circumference an astral lamp sheds its fluent splendors upon a -literary chaos, where taste and fancy have collected their aliment, - - ‘In embryon atoms - Light-armed, or heavy, sharp, smooth, swift, or slow’-- - -The meditations of Hervey, and the sparkling humor of Butler,--the -regal Virgil, - - ‘With the sounding line-- - The long, majestic march, and energy divine,’-- - -the smart antithesis of Martial--the luscious flow of Ovid, and -the delicate indelicacy of Terence, and the ‘curiosa felicitas’ -of Catullus--(the phrase was first applied to Horace.) But we are -exhausting our critical knowledge, and thy patience--suffice it to say, -that, strown in elegant confusion, lie a motley assemblage--Milton -and the Comic Almanac--Coleridge and the President’s Message--Kent’s -Commentaries between the two volumes of Rienzi--Shakspeare and John -Bunyan--the Yale Literary Magazine and Tristram Shandy, open at the -page whence we extracted our motto. - -Item. Stretching along the back side of the room, is a sofa, of most -dyspeptic virtues--hard by, is an arm-chair, expansive enough for an -alderman--and next, beneath a mirror, stands a dressing table, which, -besides the appliances of adscititious beauty, _eau de cologne_, and -“thine incomparable oil, Macassar,” supports a load of cups and spoons, -and other paraphernalia for the fruition of that rich beverage, - - ‘Which Jove now drinks, since Hebe spilt his nectar, - And Juno swears most bravely does affect her.’ - -At the same time, on the coals, is sweating and snoring a huge pot, -(the _conica tridentata_ of naturalists,) like an uneasy slumberer, -‘_flagrantis atroce horâ caniculæ_’--that is, about fly-time. Pray, -reader, remark my classic taste, which I have thus thrice developed for -your amusement. - -We have thus slightly touched upon some of the most striking phenomena -which meet your eye. The living appurtenances of the room demand a more -careful and individual notice. - -Close to one side of the stove, with his feet on the fender, and -his body ‘squat like a toad,’ in the easy embrace of an arm chair, -sits a singular personage, known to thee, at least, reader, by the -fanciful cognomen of Apple-Dumpling. He bears upon his plump visage and -stout frame, the impress of sensuality, struggling with, and almost -triumphing over, a good natural portion of intellect and refinement. -As you see him now, with a cigar in his mouth, and a volume of Lamb’s -in his hand--equally relishing the beauties of both--gazing now -and then, with pleasant anticipation gleaming in his eye, upon the -bubbling, hissing fountain, at his feet--and again with intellectual -delight, joining in the keen raillery of his companions--from this -short sketch, we say, you may divine his character. His personal -appearance is no less queer than his mental organization. He is -beneath the middle height, but owing to an odd habit, which he has, -of bobbing his head up and down, like a startled bullfrog, his height -is incessantly vibrating, between five feet, and five feet six. His -hair seems constantly electrified, and points in all directions, like -glory in the primer. A low forehead, thick lips, and a dull face, -redeemed only by the brightness of his eye, are the only peculiarities, -which deserve our notice. The worst thing about Apple is, that he -is an inveterate punster, and plumes himself on his proficiency in -this execrable art. You can always tell when to expect his artillery -of wit. He gives utterance to a sudden, energetic whiff, and knocks -the ashes fiercely from his cigar, whilst from his kindling eye -there darts a quick premonitory flash. He is frequently placed under -our satirical dissecting knife, and is, certainly, at times very -ridiculous--yet, with all his oddities and failings, we love Apple, -‘even as the apple of our eye,’ and should as soon think of throwing -away our coffee-pot, as of excluding him from our Quartette. Note with -careful eye the individual next him. He is an exquisite in personal -appearance and mental conformation. What ‘Poor Yorick’ said of Dr. -Slop and his pony, ‘that he never saw a better fit in his life,’ -might with equal propriety be predicated of this gentleman’s mind and -body. ‘Il Pulito’--for such is his appellative, drawn from his own -favorite Italian--possesses all the accomplishments of person and -intellect, which are essential to the perfection of a fine gentleman -in this most fastidious age. He has a _very general_ knowledge of -ancient literature, and can _talk_ fluently about French, Spanish, -Italian, and what not; but should one descend to _particulars_, he is -most wofully ignorant, or, as he calls it, _forgetful_. Dante, and -Tasso, and Schiller, and Richter, are names ever on his lips; but -of any just conception of their character, and their works, he is -totally innocent. In truth, his high pretensions will hardly bear a -strict examination, except in one particular. His knowledge of English -literature is thorough and extensive. He has drunk deep of those -well-springs of beauty and truth, the ‘Old English prose writers,’ -lingered long about the haunts of our vernacular Castalia, and plunged -over head and ears in the muddy pool of ‘transient literature.’ He is -at no loss for an opinion--most commonly a correct one, too, upon Lord -Bolingbroke, or Captain Marryatt--gentle Philip Sydney, or Porcupine -Cobbett--the cacophonous Chaucer, or the sweetly sentimental ‘L. E. L.’ -With such attainments, and a certain seductive grace in language and -manners, Il Pulito is a most agreeable _collaborateur_ in our nocturnal -toils. Were we to omit altogether a passing notice of his _external_ -recommendations, and a sly hint at some of his ‘labors of love,’ he -would never forgive us! for on these he prides himself incontinently. I -would not hint that all his self-complacency is absorbed in dress--yet -he certainly _peacocks himself_, as the Italians say, when he throws -back the collar of his coat, displaying thereby a fair round chest, -from the middle of whose glossy, _dipectoral_ envelope glitters the -golden symbol of _craniossal_ love. Dancing, music, drawing, and all -the other _equivocal_ graces of ‘the gentleman,’ are as ‘familiar -things’ to him. He can give you a masterly criticism on a pretty foot, -or a well turned arm, and has caused alarming symptoms of a disease of -the heart in more than one of ‘Nature’s fair defects.’ I have often -known the fellow fling his dark locks around his brow in clustering -beauty, and saunter with _unstudied_ carelessness among some half dozen -of his fair acquaintance, while the graceful dignity of his carriage, -the significance of his tone, and the eloquence of his eye, sent to -the innocent young heart a disturbing thrill, and called to the cheek -a warm flush of unconscious pleasure. Then, too, how perfect he is at -turning a sonnet. Il Pulito is a fine tasteful fellow, with a slight -touch of the dandy. In our coterie, however, he keeps his coxcombry, -and his love affairs pretty much to himself; for we would be loth -to admit any feminine sentimentalism, to mar our hearty, masculine -hilarity. - -On the opposite side of the stove sits the immortal Ego. Shall I -describe him--i. e. myself? I will, and that, too, in a manner equally -free from vanity and familiarity; for I have a respect for myself not -much inferior to that of the polite Spaniard, who took off his hat -whenever he spoke _of_ or _to_ himself. But to spare my feelings, which -are like the _sensitive Mimosa_--oh! simile most original and sweet!--I -must recur to the third person. His name is Nescio Quod. His face when -alone is grave and thoughtful; in company, it is jolly and careless, -yet crossed here and there by lines of serious reflection, which, on -the whole, form the general expression of his countenance. He, as well -as Il Pulito, has dipped into almost every thing, and gone deeply into -some--he has read extensively and foolishly, and is, very naturally, -infected with the itch of quoting. He is apt to mistake strangeness of -expression for originality of thought, and when he has revived some -obsolete phrase, or brought forth some new-coined word, to which there -are already a dozen synonymes, he hugs himself as fondly as if he had -struck out a brilliant witticism. He is vague and anomalous--every -thing except wise--sometimes misanthrope, sometimes pedant, sometimes -a musing poetico-philosopher, but always his own miscellaneous self. -He is fond of books, as much from their generic nature, as from any -specific merits they may possess, and has always some conclusive -reason for thinking the last book presented to his notice, the best -he ever saw in his life. Is the book an old one? ’Tis the voice of -antiquity--a message from the past. Is the work fresh from the -literary mint? It breathes of novelty--its odor is refreshing. He is a -very fluent writer, and for this reason, though by no means the most -elegant of the four, he has been selected to commit to paper the annals -of our doings. - -The last of our coterie is called by mortals--no matter what; among -the Gods his name is Il Tristo. His soft hair hangs about his face -“unkempt” and tangled. His eye is faded, his cheek colorless. Across -his uneasy forehead flits momently, from dark to light, each shade of -passion. - - “And o’er that fair, broad brow are wrought - The intersected lines of thought-- - Those furrows which the burning share - Of sorrow plows untimely there.” - -Now his face is dark with some bitter remembrance--now softened by -some tender thought--now lightened by some glorious purpose. Tristo -is pure and passionate. But his thin, light frame is too weak for the -agitations of his burning spirit. So far as I can learn, he has been -from boyhood the child of the feelings--“chewing the cud of sweet -and bitter fancies.” He has lived in an artificial world--a world -of poetry and romance. In spite of his good taste, his excitable -feelings and craving wishes lead him to dwell upon fictions of wild -and outrageous extravagance. This is not a world for the gentle or -wayward in heart, and Tristo’s plans and fancies are daily crossed and -crushed. Indeed, I sometimes think that his heart-strings have been -jarred by a terrible concussion, and will never vibrate more, save in -tones of mournful music. When in society, he usually represses his -moodiness, and his thoughts come forth with a fluent brightness, which -is purified and enhanced by their melancholy tinge. In our company -he is more frank and cheerful than elsewhere, and will, at times, -by his eloquence of feeling, call forth our sympathies and excite -our admiration. He never speaks heartlessly--his literary opinions, -his views of society, are all colored by his feelings--and he will -condemn a worthless publication, or espouse the cause of a favorite -author, with as much earnestness as if he were a party in the case. His -vehemence adds greatly to the life of our discussions, and his caustic, -yet good-natured wit, to the merriment of our lighter moods. - -Thou hast by this time a clear idea of the room, _its_ occupants and -_their_ occupation. Now do the amanuensis.---- - -“A fine essay that,” said Dumpling, as he threw down a volume of Elia, -accompanying the movement with a prolonged emission of breath and -smoke. “A masterly essay, that upon Shakspeare. (Puff.) Lamb is, or -_was_, by far the best critic of the nineteenth century, not excepting -Kit North himself. Wilson rants too much. He leads us all over creation -for treasures which he might as well have given us at first. But the -deep, quiet Lamb--(Puff, puff, puff.) By the way, how advances the -coffee, Nescio?” Nescio roared, Pulito stroked his chin and laughed, -while a quick, bright smile beamed over the face of Tristo, at the -characteristic transition. - -“Why,” said Nescio, “I think it has reached its maximum of excellence.” - -“An excellent maxim that remark of yours,” said Apple, complacently, -thinking he saw a handle for a pun. - -_Nescio._ “Oh! Dumpling, don’t be witty, at least in that line. Addison -used to say that punning was the lowest species of wit.” - -_Apple._ “Addison was an ass. (Puff.) Infund some coffee _instanter_. -How beautifully clear! ’Tis pure as Heaven.” - -_Nescio._ “Yes! I’ll wager my Kent’s Commentaries against Nat. Willis’s -poems, that not the _ordinaires_ of London, the _restaurateurs_ of -Paris, or the _cafès_ of Madrid, can furnish better.” - -_Pulito._ “Ha! ha! One would think from that long array of ‘instances,’ -that you were really a ‘man of travel,’ and were perfectly at home in -St. James’ Square or the Rue de St. Honorie.” - -_Nescio._ “I have heard of them, which is just as well.” - -_Apple._ “Do you know, friend Quod, that we do wrong in drinking coffee -so transparent?” - -_Nescio._ “No! how, I pray? Instruct us.” - -_Apple._ “Why, we ought always to see the _grounds_ of what we imbibe.” - -_Pulito._ “Oh! spare us, incorrigible wretch. ‘Wilt never cease?’” - -_Nescio._ “How long were you loading that gun, Apple?” - -_Apple._ “Rest you content, _fair_ sir. ’Twas an _improvisation_--a -direct inspiration from Mercury.” - -_Nescio._ “The _mercury_ must have been some degrees below zero, I -should guess.” - -_Apple._ “Oh! most miserable! (Puff.) Physician, heal thyself. You are -like the man that preached against dishonesty with a stolen shilling in -his pocket.” - -_Pulito._ “Cease this ‘childish treble’--take another cup of coffee, -and then tell me what you think of ‘Tristram Shandy,’ which I have -found lying here on the sofa, ‘dejected and alone.’” - -_Apple._ “Think of it? (Puff.) What should I think of it, but that it’s -the finest book in the world? I prefer it to both Swift and Smollett.” - -_Nescio._ “Well, now, in candor, I do not like it very much, nor did I -ever. I have sometimes stared at his strange conceits, and laughed at -his queer conjunctions, and been, in a few instances, actually ravished -by his beauty and his _naturalness_. But, then, look at the astounding -proofs of his thievish propensities--at his plagiarisms from Rabelais, -which were traced out by his English bloodhound; and, whether original -or borrowed, look at his tedious and fruitless wanderings, enlivened, -it is true, by conceptions as beautiful as they are new, yet putting -one out of patience and out of breath.” - -_Apple._ (Puff.) - - “‘Cease: no more. - You smell this business with a sense as cold - As is a dead man’s nose.’ - -I’ll tell you one thing, Mr. Quod. You and I must part if you say any -thing prejudicial to my beloved Laurence. Shakspeare, Fielding and -Sterne are my favorites _par eminence_, and ‘let my tongue cleave,’ -(puff)--‘let my right hand forget,’ (puff)--if I do not defend them -till--my last cigar--that is, in a quiet way, by swearing to my belief, -which is as firm as the laws of the Medes, or the determination of -a pig. As for logic, hang your silly syllogisms--hem!--I would not -_argue_ the point, if Sterne were my grandfather.” - -_Nescio._ “Well, if you will not defend him, perhaps Tristo will. What -say you?” - -_Tristo._ “Oh! There are parts and passages of glorious beauty! The -episodes of the Monk, Maria, and the dead Ass--I confess it--draw tears -at the bare remembrance.” - -_Nescio._ “Yes--but those are in the Sentimental Journey.” - -_Tristo._ “Right. It is some years since I read it. I have of late been -absorbed in poetry, wild fiction, and idle thinkings. Friend Pulito, -however, if you can waken him from his trance, will, doubtless, be glad -to enter the list with you--lance in rest.” - -_Nescio._ “He must speak for himself. Come, Pulito, what think you of -the proposal?” - -_Pulito._ (Musing.) “Why, I have hardly thought, yet, of _proposing_, -though she’s a deucedly pretty girl--Phoebus! what a face, and what a -dewy lip!” - -_Apple._ (Chuckling.) “You and she then might play a fine _dew-wet_ -together.” - -_Pulito._ (Still gazing in his coffee-cup.) “True--she does sing -well--and then, such glossy hair, and that eye of jet.” - -_Apple._ “From that eye, then, we might expect to see a fine _jet -d’eau_.” [At this last discharge, Pulito was thoroughly awakened, while -the others wished they had been asleep.] - -_Nescio._ “Now you’re awake, Pulito, you will, perhaps, answer my -challenge.” - -_Pulito._ “Your challenge, my dear fellow? I heard none. But, if -it related, as Paley says, ‘either remotely or immediately’ to the -drinking of coffee, I’m ready for you ‘when and where thou wilt, lad.’” - -_Tristo._ “Pulito is either strangely forgetful, or ridiculously -perverse to-night. Let us enlighten the fellow. While your eyes were -in ‘dim suffusion veiled,’ and you were _reverising_ upon ‘sweet -seventeen,’ Nescio has offered Apple and myself, pitched battle -over Sterne’s ‘Tristram Shandy.’ Apple refuses to fight, being like -Knickerbocker’s fumigating warriors, more valorous with the pipe, than -the sword, while I retire, inglorious, knowing nothing of this ‘bone -of contention.’ Quod, who is determined to have ‘war of words,’ next -offers you the challenge.” - -_Pulito._ “Your pardon, Quod, for my inattention, and thanks to you, -Tristo, for your kind mediation. By the dark-eyed houries of Mahomet’s -heaven--by the beauty congregated in the harem of the Sultan, (Pooh, -interjected Dumpling,)--I never--what was I going to say?--Oh! I never -felt better disposed in my life to do literary battle--for I have -read the book through, within the last month, and, faith, I believe I -introduced the subject myself. I’ll uphold the _old_ novelists against -all gainsayers and Bulwerites.” - -_Nescio._ “I do defy thee, stripling. As I myself once said, (rather -foolishly though,) - - ‘I wouldn’t give the peeling of an onion - For all they wrote, from Fielding back to Bunyan.’ - -The _old_ novelists against Bulwer! Why, man, Bulwer is a genius--the -_soul_ of Wit, Philosophy, and Poetry.” - -“Bulwer a poet,” said Tristo--“have you read the Siamese Twins?” -“Bulwer a wit,” said Apple--“in all his novels, he has no more than -ten puns to a volume, on the average.” “Bulwer a philosopher,” said -Pulito--“Oh! shade of Locke!” - -What further open maledictions or sly hits, the ‘favorite of the -periodical press’ and circulating libraries, might have received -is uncertain.--Just then a shout of _Fire_, which rung through the -reechoing halls of the building, roused our sympathies, and joining in -the cry, we rushed from the room. - - Ego. - - - - - THE FAIRIES’ BOWER. - - - When the stars are watching high in Heaven, - And silence has thrown, with a magical power, - Her mystic spell o’er the face of even, - Thou may’st not come to the Fairies’ bower. - - Though the star of thy fate shine lovely and bright, - And smile like a seraph just loosed from its sphere, - Yet visit not thou that bower by night, - For the spirits of evil are hovering there. - - Though the seraph smile, and the voice of Love, - Should call thee forth to indulge its dream,-- - Oh! go not there! though the moon from above, - Should beckon thee forth with her quivering beam. - - For the flowers that grow in that silent spot, - With their lovely hues, are laden with tears, - And the birds that sing in that Fairy grot, - Will hasten away when the evening appears. - - And the smile of Love will lose its light, - And the voice of the lover will lose its tone,-- - And the stars that lumine the gloom of night, - Will cease to smile from their ruby throne. - - And the star of thy fate will cease to shine,-- - And the flowers will weep a dewy shower; - And the smile of joy will desert its shrine, - When thou strayest at eve in the Fairies’ bower. - - Then, go not thou to the Fairies’ bower, - When evening is drawing her curtains round; - For the spirits that rule the midnight hour, - Are tripping at eve on that haunted ground. - - H. - - _April 1st, 1836._ - - - - - THE INFLUENCE OF MORAL FEELING UPON THE PLEASURES OF THE IMAGINATION. - - - Essay No. I. - -By moral feeling, we mean a recognition of those great principles of -right and wrong, which form the basis of our relation to each other as -social beings. When it is exhibited in our varied character of members -of a community, citizens of a commonwealth, and brethren of the human -family, we give it the specific names of benevolence, patriotism, and -philanthropy. Since then, these relations are so comprehensive, and so -necessarily blended and interwoven with all our habits of thought and -action, the influence of this feeling must extend to most, if not to -all the powers of the mind. It will be our object in this series of -essays, to demonstrate this influence as affecting the pleasures of the -imagination. - -By the benignity of our Creator, we have been endowed with the powers -of taste and imagination, to throw a charm over the ruggedness of -human life, and bring in a thousand tributes of enjoyment to cheer -our hearts in our journeyings through this ‘vale of tears.’ These -pleasures, as long as the powers themselves are uncorrupted by vice, -and their purity free from the taint of unhallowed passions, are of a -kind the most pure and innocent. We believe it to be an immutable law, -in all the operations of the mind, that the exercise of our virtuous -affections, as far as it is carried, induces the highest possible -degree of happiness which we are capable of feeling. Our most exquisite -enjoyments in Literature and the Fine Arts, will be found to receive -their origin from something which most directly calls up virtuous -associations; and in the beauties of the natural world, those scenes -prove the most delightful, which elevate our contemplations to the -infinite perfections of the ‘great First Cause.’ - -We would remark, that the influence of moral feeling tends to heighten -the pleasure which we derive from Eloquence and Poetry. The pleasure -which flows from these sources belongs to the highest and purest -order of intellectual enjoyments. They bear with them a voice that -wakes the soul to intense interest, now throwing over its powers the -inspiration of sublimity, and now floating around it in tones as mellow -and gentle as the last whisper of a summer breeze. Who, as he has -listened to the voice of the living speaker, and been borne along on -the full tide of eloquence at the will of the moving spirit, has not -felt his heart swell within him to a loftier expansion, and his bosom -throb with the pulsations of a new and more glorious intelligence? -Who, as his imagination has drank in the sweet and thrilling strains -of the poet’s lyre, and his own spirit has caught the glow of his -burning aspirations, has not felt a yearning to soar above and beyond -the cold, sluggish atmosphere of sense, and mingle in the fancied -existence portrayed so winningly before him? There is something in the -ideal but splendid creations of poetry, embodying in its images all -that is sublime, and all that is beautiful in the world of thought and -of nature, that must ever strike within us a kindred chord. It bids -the dim and far off past roll back its tide of vanished years, and -centuries of almost forgotten ages pass again, with their memorials, -across the theatre of existence. Palmyra rises before us from her ruin -of ages, and her long deserted streets are thronged once more by the -congregated strangers from a thousand lands. Rome, too, shakes off the -yoke of Goth and Vandal, and resumes her proud title of ‘mistress of -the world.’ Again the lofty Capitol is reared on the Tarpeian rock, the -long and splendid triumphal procession enters the gates of the temple -of Jupiter, and Rome is once more the ‘eternal city.’ Then we turn -toward the classic shores of Greece, and Athens, the ‘mother of the -arts,’ opens her splendors before us. The stately Parthenon, sublime -in its proportions and chastely beautiful in its Doric simplicity, -still surmounts the summit of the Acropolis. We roam with Plato through -the shades of Academia; we stray with Socrates along the banks of the -Ilissus; we enter the crowded forum, and listen to the soul-thrilling -eloquence of the ‘prince of orators.’ We need not waste words to prove, -that to the man of sensibility, there is a rich repast of intellectual -luxuries in such exercises of the imagination. But rich as it is, there -is one thing which can bestow a still higher flavor. It is only when -the orator rises in the kindling majesty of virtue, when the soul of a -patriot lightens in the flashing eye, when the wrongs of the oppressed -pour the flush of noble indignation over his brow, and a nation’s voice -is heard in the thunders of his eloquence, that we can know the full -power of his appeals, and receive our most exquisite gratification. For -by the very constitution of our mind, our deepest sympathies can be -excited only when the holier and lovelier sensibilities of our being -are awakened by the exhibition of moral beauty. There is something -so commanding, so godlike, in this subservience of great talents to -high and noble ends, that while the graces and the fire of the orator -delight the fancy and the taste, all our better feelings are enlisted -in the purity and exaltation of his purpose. Thus also with the -poet--it is only when a spirit from above has breathed the inspiration -over him, and his harp is tuned to the minstrelsy of Holiness,--when -in the glories of antiquity, the ravages of time, and the mighty -revolutions of empires, he leads us, with tender sublimity of feeling, -to trace the wonder workings of that wisdom which ‘sees the end from -the beginning’--that the imagination revels in the fullness of its -enjoyment. - - C. - - - - - COLUMBIA’S BANNER. - - - Bright banner of Columbia, - A fragment of the sky, - Torn down with all thy glitt’ring stars-- - Angelic blazonry! - Stream onward, like the fiery cloud - That hung o’er Egypt’s sea, - Terror and darkness to the proud, - A light to guide the free. - - Bright banner of Columbia! - Thou glory’st not in blood; - Yet, if the foe invade our land, - The foe shall be withstood; - A death-grasp shall his welcome be, - A bloody turf his pillow, - And on the battle-wave he’ll find - A tomb in every billow. - - Dark banner of oppression, - Droop o’er thy millions slain! - All stained with floods of human gore, - Thou ne’er shalt wave again; - Save when the wail of misery, - The orphan’s plaintive cry, - And the widow’s moan amid thy folds, - Shall breathe in agony. - - But thou, my country’s banner, - Unstained by guilt or crime, - Shalt wave o’er every tyrant-flag, - Until the end of time: - For Peace lies nestling in thy wings, - And each emblazoned star - Sheds down its sweetest influence - To heal the wounds of war. - - Then wave thou on for ages, - O’er mountain, lake and sea, - For God has stamped upon thy folds - His word--ETERNITY. - Yet when the earth’s by thee forsaken, - No mortal shall weep o’er thee, - For the dread Archangel’s trump shall be - The requiem of thy glory. - - Then, banner of my country, - Shalt thou be upward borne, - To gild again thy native skies, - From which thou once wert torn; - For thy earthly mission’s over, - To the dust oppression’s hurled; - Thou’st struck to none but a deathless power, - ’Mid the wrecks of a falling world. - - Avena. - - - - - STORY AND SENTIMENT, OR, CONVERSATIONS WITH A MAN OF TASTE AND - IMAGINATION. - - - No. 3. - - A NIGHT AT THE FARM HOUSE.[1] - - [1] This tale is in the hand writing of my friend. - -In one of my journeys through the western part of New Hampshire, I -chanced to put up for the night at a small farm-house about five miles -from the little village of W----, and meeting with a somewhat curious -adventure there, I have resolved to record it. My host was a little, -fat faced, bustling, bandy-legged fellow, running here and there, -studious for my comforts, my humble servant, &.c. &c.; and succeeding -with his wife, a long, lank, sidling, vinegar-looking creature, he -made out to obtain for me the only spare room in his house. Into this -I was ushered with due importance, and having taken a survey of the -apartment, its nice new bed, newly dusted candle-stand, oak bottomed -chairs, and a high huge wardrobe, which from its antiquated appearance -I judged to have been an heir-loom in the family for three centuries -at least, I tossed my saddle-bags into one corner, kicked off my heavy -boots into the other, and slipping my released feet into a pair of soft -squirrel-skin slippers, returned again to the kitchen. There I found -my host and his wife cosily seated over a sparkling fire, and from the -abrupt breaking off of their conversation and half guilty countenances, -I concluded they had been talking over the character of their new -comer. I was never difficult to please, especially when I had fallen -in with any of the peasantry, so to speak, of dear New England, and -admitted to the calm content which reigns around their fire sides--so -planting myself upon a settle, perhaps a dye-tub, a thing indispensible -to a New England farm-house, I entered into conversation with them. - -I found my host a well bred, sensible fellow, somewhat free in the use -of provincialisms, and not wanting in love to a good broad-faced joke; -somewhat witty withal, and a memory in which he had stored many an odd -story, some good and some bad, which stories he told (when solicited) -with a tolerably good grace. - -I pause here to record my observations on one of the peculiarities -in the New England character--I mean its modesty. Foreigners, and -residents of other parts of this widely extended territory may talk of -Yankee impudence, but for the life of me, in all my wanderings, I could -never find the genuine modesty of a native New Englander. They may -cheat you--that is, some of them may, some of their outlawed, who with -trunk and tin wagon travel into other States to prey on the unwary; but -where turn you and find not some, who do and ever will disgrace the -soil that nursed them? For New England I claim no entire exemption; -perfection is not beneath the sun: but there is more of it here than -elsewhere--and in proof of it I adduce, their superior sagacity, their -nobler intelligence. Where intelligence is found, will you find least -of the weaknesses of human nature. - -But to return: having bid Bessy, a short, flaxen-haired, chubby-cheeked -damsel, of about fourteen, the very image of her father, bring him a -cup of cider; and poking our chairs close into the fire--so close that -the wind which came down chimney, would now and then puff out the smoke -and curl it up about mine host’s neck and shoulders, making him look -for all the world like Vulcan peeping through the clouds of his own -smithy--he began as follows. - -‘Late last March and on one of the coldest nights in my memory, my wife -and me were startled by a loud knock at the door, about nine o’ the -clock; and more so by the abrupt entrance of a stranger, who had been -as it seems just ceremonious enough to knock, but not sufficiently so -to wait until bidden a welcome. Marching directly up to the fire he -doffed his cap, and then in a bland, gentle voice, and the language -of a gentleman, prayed our pardons for his boldness, and craved our -hospitality. - -‘Now Biddy here is not the most hospitable in her feelings, but even -she was softened by the coldness of the weather, and the soft accents -of the stranger. So, bidding him welcome and placing before him such -entertainment as we best could, he ate his meal and then sat himself -down--right where you are, sir, at this moment--as if for conversation. - -‘His age, I should think, was about forty five. In person he was -strikingly handsome, yet care-worn; his hair was black--his eyes -likewise, and a somewhat cynical curl about his small mouth made you -hesitate to address him, thinking he was perhaps a person of strong -prejudices. His skin was as fair as a girl’s; a fine set of teeth were -displayed when he smiled; in short, his appearance was such that I -should have taken him, perhaps, for a scholar; for, though his dress -was rich it was careless, and there was a sort of method in what he -said though the subjects were simple, as I am told is ever found in men -of education. At first, he was very taciturn. - -“You find it a cold air, sir,” said I, breaking the silence. - -“Yes--yes, sir.” - -“You’ve ridden far?” - -“Yes--yes, sir.” - -“You’re come from the south, eh?” - -“Yes--yes, sir.” - -“You’re not from York, I guess?” - -“Yes--yes, sir.” - -‘Well, thinks I, you may be a scholar for aught I know, but hang me! if -I think there’s much variety in your talk. - -‘I took him on another tack. - -“You have, at least, sir, come where hearts are warm, and hospitality -is proffered cheerfully.” - -‘He started at this; a gentle flush tinged his cheek; and he seemed -struck with an ingenuous consciousness of his want of courtesy. Turning -to me he took my hand in his, and pressing it, replied-- - -“An honest heart, sir, is its own reward. Small boots it then, that I -add _my_ sense of your hospitality to that of your own consciousness. -Yet such as I have, I give, and that is but small; for I am one, sir, -who cares but for a few, and one who is as little cared for by others. -Once I had a heart that--that--yes! that _felt_--in every pulsation -_felt_ the beauty that is in morals and in virtue. Nothing lived, but -it gave me happiness; nothing died, but it gave me pain--_That time is -past_.” - -‘There was something so earnest, yet unstudied; so easy, yet solemn, -and ‘heart-twinging,’ to use a phrase of Biddy’s, in this, that both -she and me began to water about the eyes like two babies. - -‘Returning the kind pressure of his hand, I said-- - -“But you are young, sir--too young to feel that life has no claims -upon--” - -“Too old--too old, sir,” interrupted he with emphasis, “too old for -earth, and too wise to do any good in it. Some of the world, sir, live -faster than others. Grief can crowd twenty years into ten, and care -make the vigor of manhood, the tottering imbecility of four score. -Believe it not--believe it not; they err, sir, who measure life by -years. Events, events notch it right--these notch the chronicle of -human life.” - -“And yet, sir, ’tis man’s right to be always happy.” - -“Aye! and ’tis the right of the singing bird to skim the blue ether, -and pour its music in concert with the harmony of the stars--but -how many things invade that right! The bird that sings sweetly of a -morning, may be jammed into the wallet of the clown, by evening--its -music hushed, and its mottled plumes dabbled with dirt and gore. Man’s -prerogative to be happy! aye--_but ’tis his necessity to be miserable_.” - -‘This, sir,’ said my host, ‘may give you some idea of his character. -The evening passed off--though not very happily; for there was that -about him which took hold of my feelings, and when I shook hands with -him for the night there was an ache in my bosom, I could’nt well get -rid of. - -‘In the morning, he was up betimes--breakfasted--and rose to depart. -Before he went however, he took from his bosom a paper; and handing -it to me, bade me keep it till his return. ‘It is a short sketch of -some of the events of my life,’ rejoined he, as he mounted his horse, -‘and though it benefit you not, it will perform at least one good -office--make you remember me.’ He bowed, and rode away. - -‘That paper I have now somewhere, and if you wish, sir, I will read it -to you.’ My host rose, and going to a huge cat-hole, or cupboard in the -corner of the room, he succeeded in finding it--not forgetting by the -way, to tumble out sundry articles of house-wife memory, such as balls -of yarn, woollen stockings, flannels, and night-caps, and strewing them -over the floor. Seated again by the comfortable fire, he now put on a -huge pair of brass spectacles, blew his nose thrice, and proceeded to -decipher-- - - - THE STRANGER’S MANUSCRIPT. - - ‘I pass over my boyhood. - - ‘I had now entered upon my sixteenth spring, and with less - unhappiness, perchance, than ordinarily meets us in this world. - Sadness I had known, but unkindness I had never felt; nor had a - suspicion of how very opposed the heart is to rectitude, found a - lodgment in my mind. I was on the point of visiting the metropolis; - and I know I felt as boys mostly do on their entering into the great - world--elated with the thoughts of what I was to see and meet with, - in a scene I had heard so much about. I talked of little else; and - when the day came heralded by a morning of unusual loveliness, my - happiness almost sickened me. I remember I went out into the fields, - and every thing looked gayer and brighter than I had ever seen it. - The flowers looked prettier--the dew was brighter--the birds chirped - to me as I passed them--and a subtle spirit of life seemed to pervade - all things and participate in my happiness. I returned home happy, and - strove to while off the hours preceding my departure (for I was not - to leave till the afternoon)--but ere that afternoon came, a dingy, - dusky atmosphere, spread itself all about the earth, and the very sky - looked, as I thought, fiendish--threatening. I shall not soon forget - how soon it was communicated to my feelings. My spirits sunk down. A - fearful change seemed working itself through my disposition, which - amazed and maddened me. I answered those sharply, who interrogated - me as to the cause of it. I gave my orders harshly. I ran from - room to room, absent and thoughtful. In fine, all my characteristic - amiableness had gone from me, and I seemed transformed into something - devilish. I was changed as I suppose those spirits will be at the last - day, when they turn half hoping to the judgment seat, and, reading - their condemnation there, instantly become fiends. - - ‘A gentle tap was heard at the door, and my mother glided silently - into the room; and seating herself beside me, she laid my head upon - her bosom. She parted the dark curls from my forehead, and I felt her - lips pressed feverishly upon it, and a tear fell upon my face--one - of her tears! I opened my eyes at this and looked her full in the - face--O! how she looked--pale--wan--beautiful. - - “My son--my son--speak to me”--Staring her full in the face, I drew - my hand half unconsciously over my eyes--then, recollection suddenly - returning, I knelt wildly at her feet-- - - “Your blessing--Mother!” I gasped. - - “Bless thee--bless thee--my boy!” I started up--screamed--and fled - from the room. It seemed as if I was mad at her--mad even in my - idolatry; and I verily believe I struck her, for I heard her groan and - fall heavily upon the floor. - - * * * * * - - ‘Before I slept I was upon the ocean--and I have a dim recollection - that there was a storm--that the green and crested billows hissed - angrily as the thunder growled over them--that the ship went forward - like a mad horse plowing through whole mountains of water, and shaking - off the white surf from her bows in sheets of silver--and I remember - that the violence of the tempest seemed to harmonize awfully with the - loud passions within me. - - * * * * * - - ‘Years had passed. The bright enthusiasm of youth had gone off with - them. The glowing thoughts, passions, sympathies, consuming themselves - in their own fire--my whole character had saddened down into the - melancholy, homeless wanderer. I was no longer the sunny featured boy - that had spent so many pleasant hours on the hill side--by the sandy - margin of the lake that washed its base and sent up there with every - wind that fanned it, a gentle lullaby--by the rivulet that in early - days had caught my laughing features as I bent over it to gather water - flowers--no! I was that boy no longer. The peace which had once lived - in my heart, had become a worthless and withered flower, scentless - as a shadow; the innocency which once gave a zest to every thing - had gone from me; the gray hairs of premature age were intermingled - with the dark ones of my youth--no! I was that boy no longer. I had - traveled--but what was travel to me? I had been in the north and - south, in the east and west; I had wandered over the solemn grounds - of Corcyra, and amid the classic ruins of Italy; I had stood beneath - the sky of Africa and sat me down like Marius amid the relics of - her better days, and tried to wake in my heart some of that dormant - enthusiasm belonging to young minds; but it was like seeking to - resuscitate the dead dust in the earth beneath, or to call life into - the mouldering mausoleums and temples around me--no! I was that boy no - longer. - - ‘The time of the grain gathering had gone by, and later Autumn had - fully set in; for the trees were more than half stripped of that - gorgeous covering peculiar to this season; and no music came out - from the forest save the whistle of a single quail, and this too in - that pensive cadence which is heard only at the close of the year. I - was revisiting the scenes of my childhood--a spot I had not seen for - twenty years, and during which period I had been a wanderer where no - tidings of the weal or wo of my family reached me. It is not necessary - to recount the circumstances which had made me thus long a voluntary - exile. It need only be said, I parted from home and all I held dear, - in anger--angry with self--angry with man--angry with that pure and - exemplary being who had borne me on her heart, and by whom I had - been so often taught to kneel and pray even before I could myself - frame a benediction--‘with her who taught me that God loved obedient - children.’ O! that one offence! Any thing else--had it been any thing - else, I had suppressed the groans over my nightly pillow, and borne - it like a man while it grieved me. But she, she in whose character - unkindness had no part--a blow, a damning blow--God! God! this was - unmitigated misery. And yet I had suffered--God knows it, year after - year, and seen it preying on my health, and felt it withering up all - my finer sensibilities--and yet I would not return. I could not. I - felt as if a power was upon me, against which my united energies - were nothing. I felt as if it was my destiny, and strange as it may - appear, I thought it right. I felt it certain that home was not for - me, and though I would wake from an unrefreshing sleep, and recount - for hours as a miser his gold every early association, it brought the - wish but not the purpose to return. Sickness came--O! what a leveler - is sickness of all the petty passions and enmities which creep into - the dispositions of men! How it tears up the character, wrings out - from the hardened heart the bitter gall of contrition, and forces into - amendment! Sickness accomplished in me what reason and conscience - could not do, and broke down that indomitable barrier which had so - long interposed betwixt me and duty. I rose from my bed, a habitant - rather of another world than the denizen of this, and my first thought - was home. This cherished for a few weeks grew into a passion, and the - fear that the grave had closed over all I loved magnified the wish a - thousand fold, while every obstacle which now interposed betwixt me - and a return sent a chill through me, like that which we may suppose - lies on the heart of the dead. The swiftest speed seemed but delay, - and it was only on the last day of my journey and I neared home - that my impatience subsided, and my anxiety began to assume another - form--something terrible and strange, foreboding and oppressive. - - ‘The tread of the post horses down the gravelly slope which led - directly to the village, roused me from a lethargy I had fallen into, - and I sprang to the coach window like a madman. We were opposite the - village inn. The same old antiquated elm creaked before the door, and - the same old sign board flapped in the blast, and upon the high step - stones that led to the main body of the building, sat a human form. - A staff lay on the ground beside him--his ragged scrip was at his - feet--and his form was doubled up with age. I looked closely--God of - Heaven!--_it was my brother_. - - ‘But my cup was not yet full. We drew up at the inn door, and I heard - the guard rudely order the beggar from the spot, and curse him for - an idle mendicant. This was too much for my swollen heart to bear, - and leaping from the opposite side of the carriage, I took my way - forward alone. I came to the small hill which ran along by the side - of the village, from the top of which the immediate valley where lay - my father’s dwelling appeared in view; and as I paused there for a - moment, and memory ran over the thousand senseless objects that lay - around me with each of which I could associate a forgotten happiness, - I thought death a boon I could have prayed for. At that moment the - village school poured forth its groups of noisy and innocent children. - This was as it was wont to be--this seemed natural. But looking - nearer, I knew them not--they were strangers. Here and there I thought - I recognized a face I had once known, but it was transient and soon - passed--all was strange. A celebrated ‘Retreat for the Insane’ was - in our village, and reaching the summit of the hill I stood by its - walls. The door was closed but not fastened; and I know not why, but - an indefinable feeling led me to enter there. I know not but it was - the unbreathed wish of my heart to witness some spectacle of human - suffering--hoping thereby to lessen my own; perhaps I thought I might - soon make it my own dwelling, and I wanted to familiarize the objects - I should meet with;--but I entered. Seated upon the ground with - scarce a mat to cover them, was a lot of wretched beings busied as - their several dispositions prompted them. One was blowing bubbles--he - said he was maturing a system of astronomy, whereby Galileo should - be forgotten and the world profited. Another was heaping up sand, - and hoarding it in his bosom--he called it gold. A third it seemed - had been a lay preacher, and now and then he howled forth a torrent - of truth and error, interlarded with imprecations and blasphemies - the most horrid. And there was one there, a tall and handsome youth, - with eyes as black as midnight, and his brow drawn down into the - scowl of a demon--He said he was ANALYZING A HUMAN HEART. Sudden my - ears were saluted with loud and piercing shrieks that made my whole - frame shiver, and betwixt each scream I thought I recognized the - shrill echo of a lash as applied to the naked skin. Another--and an - old man came tottering round an angle of the building; and seeing me, - he ran to my feet and cowered down like a whipped hound seeking for - protection. - - “Curse them for inhuman wretches”--groaned, or rather screamed the - old man--“They chain me up like a vile beast--a dog to murder me. - They drag me into that black den and shut me there, and say I’m - crazed--mad. What is mad? Who?--O! yes,--my children, they broke my - heart--one went from me, and the other--Ah! save me--save me”--His - keepers came in sight, and in their hands were the scourges they had - been using, the sounds of which had rung in my ears so appalling. “O! - don’t--don’t--I’ll follow--you won’t whip me, will you master--I’m - good--good”--and the old man actually knelt down, and like a beast - licked the feet of his tormentors. I fell to the earth senseless. - - ‘A long and doleful night followed--a blank--a vacancy; so long, - it seemed ten thousand eternities; so gloomy, it seemed as if the - darkness was consolidated. O! what a night is that, when the helm - of reason breaks--the unshackled faculties wander forth--and the - maddened powers invoke images of horror, only to madden themselves the - more by gazing at them! All that is grand--all that is terrible--all - horrible, loathsome, fearful images, that the mind had ever while - healthy repulsed, then come back on the heart like vultures that have - been scared awhile from their prey, whose fasts have only whetted - their ungorged appetites. At one moment, I seemed borne through the - Eternal void chained to the lightnings; at another, I was dashing - downward towards a tremendous barrier of cavernous rocks, and their - serrated pinnacles seemed waiting to embrace me. Now I was tossed on - billows of fire, and a tremendous surge would hurl me on a jagged - precipice; then with its reflux suck me down through unimaginable - depths, and the hot fires scorched me as they shot into my brain. - Again I heard peals of laughter, and howlings of formless, shapeless - beings that hovered around me; they had snakes and basilisks twisted - round their foreheads, and the flames that issued from their forked - mouths seemed to burn into my very soul. Then came the sense of a - release--the gasping, choking, horrible consciousness, that you are - struggling on the confines of two worlds, and not knowing which is to - be yours--whether earth or death shall have you. Suddenly a fountain - seemed tossing its cool spray over me--the fires that withered up - my brain went out--the fiends that howled about me passed away--the - subtlest life began to dance through my veins--and I awoke! - - My first thoughts were true to their mark, and my first words, - “Mother, lives she? The rest--father, brother--God of Heaven! why was - I reserved for it?” - - ‘A form stood by me--a little maid. O! how the innocent words and kind - attentions of infancy, soothe the pillow of an irritable sickness! - We can’t bear the cold studied kindness of such as we are, we are - jealous of them; we fear they will condole with us, curse us with - their stinted pity; and that too in the measured phraseology which - speaks of the head and not of the heart. But a child, a gentle - child--to see its little form gliding about your couch--to feel its - little arms about your pillow--to catch its warm breath on your - cheek as winds breathed from flowers--and see the kind and touching - solicitude of the eye unused to sights of sorrow, yet enduring it - like a martyr, and for ourselves too,--these make irritable diseases - tolerable--may I not say happy? for the evidence of a pure and devoted - affection in a human being, makes a misanthrope (and such I then was) - contented with misery. And my disease was of this nature: it was a - nervousness induced by excess of suffering, and my faculties had - become so exquisite, that the least thing sent a dart through me that - seemed tearing flesh and soul asunder. - - “Mother! is she--?” excessive weakness forbade me finish the sentence. - - “Your mother lives”--but she placed her finger upon her lips in token - of silence. I attempted to answer--she laid her hand upon my mouth - with a sweet smile, then turned and left the room. - - ‘Weeks passed, and still was I the denizen of a sick room; and but - slowly regaining my pristine energies. My form had shrunk away--my - eyes were sunk--my voice was almost entirely gone; and as I slowly - paced my apartment and from the window threw my eyes on the dreariness - without, (for the year had gone far into later fall, and the loud - winds whistled bitterly through the naked poplars) I felt as if I - had but little to do in the world, and would as lief go from it. But - yet, one thing held me back, one thirst, one burning desire--the wish - to see my mother. She I had not seen, and for reasons I could not - unravel, her name was never mentioned. And though I was told she was - in the house, I was not suffered to visit her. She was sick, but not - dangerous--received my messages of love daily--returned them--this was - all. - - ‘One dark night (I shall not forget that night) I was sitting up in - bed, and counting off the weary hours as they limped laggingly by - me. A weight had been on my heart all day, and racking fires had - seemed scorching my brain; and so acute was the suffering, as if - a band of hot iron were riveted closely round my forehead. I sat - thinking--thinking of self--of my sorrows--of my strange destiny; and - then there came back to me the remembrance of other days, and with - them my mother--her care, love, and early tenderness, until my eyes - were suffused with tears. Sudden I was startled by a low sigh breathed - as it were close in my ears. I thought it delusion, but was soon - undeceived--for it was repeated, and that too so audibly I could not - mistake. I turned my eyes in the direction from whence it came. Again - I caught it, and a strain of music rose soft and sweetly as if an - angel sang it, and I saw indistinctly a shadow gliding past me. Then - my name was distinctly sounded, and in a voice I knew too well. Terror - had chained the powers of utterance, and I only gazed at vacancy with - all the horrors of some dark, indefinite foreboding. The same sigh was - repeated and the name, and then as a cloud passed over the moon, a - figure stood in the apartment clad in the habiliments of the grave. It - smiled sweetly upon me--it was my mother! I knew she must have passed - from this to a better world, and the truth came over me with a cold - sweat while the palsy of my limbs made the very bed tremble. I spread - out my arms in agony, and wildly clasped the air. There was another - sigh, the repetition of my name--and the figure vanished. - - ‘I rose and threw my night garments round me, and grasping my own - flesh to be sure I dreamed not, I took the light from my table and - commenced a search to find--what? my mother’s corse! for such I felt I - must find her, if at all--the warning was not for nothing. I traversed - room after room--met no one--and came to the wing of the building - where I had ever deemed she lodged; and leaving the light at the door, - I slowly lifted the latch and entered the apartment. _On a bed in the - centre of the chamber, she lay lifeless._ There was no light there, - but the moon broke forth at the moment, and I saw she was shrouded for - the grave. - - ‘O! death!--death!--how solemn thou art! How awful, when thou comest - on those we love! How thought at such moments crowds on the living! - How the words that once issued from the lips that lie there, come up - to recollection! How the eye that looks so chill and glassy, gleams - again--and the face marble-cold and as expressionless, radiates with - love, hope, happiness! There she lay dead, dead--and I not forgiven. - She was gone. I had not heard her say, ‘I forgive thee, boy.’ Not a - word--not a look--not a blessing--God! God!--what next! O, what next! - - ‘I crept up to the bier and laid my cold face down to hers, and - moaned in all my heart brokenness of sorrow. I kissed her--I shrieked - her name--I stamped--I threw myself upon her corse. There was no - Promethean heat that could reanimate it--and I _felt_ I was alone. - - ‘Had I heard her say, ‘I forgive--I bless thee, child’--life were - tolerable, and I would have breasted the forceful waves of misery as - they came tumbling in upon me, like a man. This was denied me, and in - its place is blazed in shapes of fire--That one offence.’ - - * * * * * - -The evening wore away, what with the reading of the manuscript and my -many inquiries concerning the stranger, and my host now showing me to -my room, where with many expressions of his happiness to wait upon me, -&c. &c. he bade me good night, I jumped into bed. In the morning I met -him again and tried my hand with him at a good, honest, hearty, New -Hampshire breakfast; afterwards I shook hands with his family, mounted -my horse, and continued my journey--and such was my ‘Night at the Farm -House.’ - - - - - SONNET. - - ADDRESSED TO A LADY SINGING, AND WRITTEN ON THE BACK OF HER MUSIC BOOK. - - - It hath been said that music is a dream, - A soft creation and a witchery - Made for earth’s happier climes, where peacefully - Men’s thoughts go by as goes a pleasant stream:-- - It hath been said too, that the favored - And bright ones who so sing us into bliss, - And witch out from our souls unquietness, - And place a Sabbath softness in its stead-- - It hath been said that these not mortal be, - But are of the same nature with the sky-- - Ethereal, volatile, as clouds that play - About the sinking sun at shut of day:-- - _But sure they lie--for this soft hand in mine_, - _And this soft strain I hear--why, both are thine!_ - - * - - - - - REVIEW. - - _The Culprit Fay, and other Poems_; by Joseph Rodman Drake. New York: - George Dearborn, Publisher. 1835. - - -Over the grave of a highly-gifted and a youthful poet, gathers many a -delightful and yet saddened reminiscence. It should ever be regarded -as a consecrated spot--crowded with associations of no ordinary -character--hallowed by the deepest and the tenderest of feelings. It is -_holy_ ground,--better fitted, it may be, than any other to allure us -to reflection,--to summon into active exercise each deep emotion of the -heart,--to draw out into living forms of beauty each hidden power, each -finer sensibility,--and to leave us, better, purer, nobler, for its -warnings and instructions. And yet, why should it be so? The grave even -of the young, the gifted, and the beautiful, differs not in outward -fashion or adornment, from the many which surround it. It is hollowed -out from the same earth with them--closes over the same lifeless and -decaying bodies--furnishes the same victim for the worm, the same -banquet for corruption. The sculptured stone that marks it, is as soon -to sink or crumble as another--the grass grows over it no greener--the -steps of the idle and the thoughtless fall not round it with a lighter -tread--and the flower that blooms upon it, is as soon to fade or wither. - -The grave of a youthful poet is indeed a holy spot, but it is so not -alone in reference to the moldering body it enshrouds, or to the -impressive comment that it reads on death. That grave is sacred, rather -as a remembrancer of intellect. That body was the outward vesture of a -mind. It was the drapery that imprisoned in its folds a restless and -a struggling spirit, burning with the fires of heaven, yet amid the -gloom of earth, and was thrown aside when tarnished, as unfitted for -its purpose. In the departure of that spirit, who can tell our loss. -How brilliant, yet how rapid, has been its career. Meteor-like, it has -vanished from our sight, while the hopes that we had cherished have -gone down for ever. - -The volume, whose title we have placed at the commencement of this -article, and whose merits we propose to examine with our readers, is -a beautiful memorial of departed genius. The perusal of its pages has -naturally led us to indulge in those reflections we have hitherto -pursued. The memory of Drake--his early and untimely grave--has tended -to associate with his, the same sad fate of others. We have thought of -Sands, of Wilcox, and of Brainerd. Of the former, it is true, we know -but little--nothing more than a few casual examinations of their works -afford us. Of the latter, we know more. We delight to speak of him, -not only as a poet--and as such he had few equals--but still farther, -as a friend. In the first of these characters he has now been long -before the public, and has gained from their decisions a conspicuous -distinction--a rank higher we believe than his own expectations, -although one of strictest justice and commensurate with merit. To us it -is a matter of no slight regret, that a mind so richly-gifted, should -have garnered up its beauties, and have been so very sparing of its -splendid treasures. Brainerd was distrustful of his own abilities. -The hope of approbation, was with him no motive to exertion. He -cared not to lay bare the workings of a heart, perhaps too warm and -sensitive, or to send abroad those finer feelings which might meet -no kindred sympathies, and return to him companionless from contact -with the world. It was only in those moments given up to the full flow -of friendship--to the interchange of sentiments with more intimate -associates--that the noblest of his qualities became developed. As a -poet, he reminds us forcibly of Burns. His was the same appreciation of -the charms of nature--the same exquisitely tempered sensibility--a like -generosity of disposition, and as much of poignant wit and versatility. -The tribute paid to the memory of Burns, may with equal justice be -applied to Brainerd. - - “His is that language of the heart, - In which the answering heart would speak-- - Thought, word, that bids the warm tear start, - Or the smile light the cheek. - And his that music to whose tone - The common pulse of man keeps time, - In cot or castle’s mirth or moan, - In cold or sunny clime.” - -When an edition of Drake’s poems, containing many pages hitherto -unpublished, was announced as nearly ready for the press, we received -the information with great pleasure. We expected much, and we are glad -to say our expectations have been realized. The first thing which -arrested our attention was the dedication, and it struck us at the time -as unusually appropriate. It is a happy testimonial of respect, from a -daughter to her father’s friend--to one who, perhaps, above all others, -best deserved the appellation. To whom should it have been dedicated, -if not to Halleck? To the community at large the loss of such a man -as Drake may be regarded as a great calamity,--but to the cause of -literature it is still more. It is taking from the latter one of its -highest ornaments, and leaving a wide vacancy, which time may never -fill. Of his general merits, as a writer, there can be but one opinion. -The precise rank to which he is entitled we propose not to examine, or -to venture on comparisons with critical minuteness. The exact extent of -his abilities, or the results to which his genius might have led him, -we would leave as questions to be settled by the taste of his admirers, -and proceed to mention some of those peculiar features which stand -out in his productions. In our view, his poems are distinguished for -uncommon ease of diction, and the richness of their imagery. Over the -wide realm of imagination our author seems to hold unlimited control, -and to gather from it beauties, which he scatters with profusion. In -whatever spot his fancy may detain him he is found at home, lingering -around each scene with the familiarity of long acquaintance, and a -perfect knowledge of each object and allurement. He is ever changing, -too, in the visions he presents us. Now, he is hovering over an ideal -land, sweeping forward with a wing, which, like that of the untiring -Huma, is not folded upon earth. Now, he leads us forth to gaze upon -the witcheries of nature,--to view the gorgeous colorings of her -varied landscapes,--to break the silence of her forest solitudes,--to -tread the mountain height, or to repose beside the streamlet that runs -whimpering at its base. Again, he summons up our energies for a still -bolder flight--carries us away to the bright fields of upper regions, -onward and still onward, till our world is lost in distance, and we -walk upon the star-lit plains of heaven. Anon, - - “Fleet as the swallow cuts the drift, - Or sea-roc rides the blast,” - -he plunges with us far within the bosom of the heaving deep, where -the wrath of the storm spirit is unheard--down to the coral towers of -“snail-plated” warriors, or around the amber beds of ocean sylphs and -mermaids. - -But exuberance of fancy, though perhaps the most prominent, is not the -only quality inherent in these poems. We have before alluded to the -beauty of their rhythm. This we regard as almost faultless. There is a -fitness in the choice of each word, and a care in its location, which -imparts to every sentence a high finish and proportion. Each line seems -flowing onward, with a light and rapid motion, as it were to blend in -union with a graceful whole. There are no rough corners that can meet -us at the turn of each expression. The eye reposes upon nothing but a -surface of unbroken symmetry, and the ear drinks in a music grateful -as the murmurs of some meadow stream. We may deny it, if we choose, -but there is a “charm in numbers,” and the one who holds it lightly -is deficient in his judgment. The profoundest argument that man can -frame, or the proudest monument of pure mind that he can offer, derives -much of its impressive force from the garb in which it is presented. -Unadorned it is the naked statue, modelled thus far by the youthful -pupil, and that needs a master’s polish to display it in perfection. -The materials for this statue, abstract intellect may, indeed must -furnish, but it yet demands the touches of a cultivated taste. That -education which has taught us how to reason has done well, but a -different knowledge should be added ere we reap its full advantage. He -who has cast loose from the firm rock of thought, that his bark may -toss on summer seas to fancied shores of pleasure, has exposed himself -to shipwreck--but as sad may be the fate of him, who, relying solely on -the native strength of his entrenchment, has erected there no battery -to render it impregnable. It would be a source of satisfaction, did our -time allow the privilege, to trace still farther the idea which we have -started, and to make its application to a multitude of cases, but we -leave it, with reluctance, to complete our undertaking. - -As specimens of graceful diction, and an almost boundless play of -fancy, there are many of Drake’s pieces which remind us of the -brilliant compositions of another poet--one whose harp has breathed -forth strains than which there are none sweeter, and whose life has -been one revel around sentiment and song. Who of us can say, whether -the young poet of America might not have been to her what Moore is now -to Ireland--that he would have loved her with less fervor of devotion, -or have sounded forth her praises with a feebler lyre. His would have -been a soul to dwell upon her charms with rapture, who when pleading -for his parent soil exclaims, - - “Shame! that while every mountain, stream and plain - Hath theme for truth’s proud voice or fancy’s wand, - No _native_ bard the patriot harp hath ta’en, - But left to minstrels of a foreign strand, - To sing the beauteous scenes of nature’s loveliest land.” - -From the numerous pieces which compose the volume, we select the -CULPRIT FAY, as best adapted to exhibit the true merits of our -author. It is, to say the least, an elegant production--the purest -specimen of ideality that we have ever met with, sustaining in each -incident a most bewitching interest. Its very title is enough to -kindle the imagination, and to send us wandering amid the bowers of -elfin land, reviewing the traditions of our boyhood years. We recall -to recollection many of those “old world stories,”--tales of brownies -and the bogle burns of Scotland,--of the elves and sprites of merry -England, or the mystic Wasser Nixen of the German fable. We trust -ourselves with pleasure to that guidance which once more will introduce -us to this region of enchantment. - -The poem opens with an elegant description of the spot our author has -selected for his “spell-bound realm.” It lies beside the waters of the -lordly Hudson--a river whose whole shore is rich in scenes of beauty, -and many of whose deep receding bays and jutting headlands have derived -a lasting interest from the pen of Irving. The time is midnight--we -stand upon the summit of Cronest, gazing upon a cloudless sky--every -thing around us is now lulled to sweet repose-- - - “The winds are whist, and the owl is still, - The bat in the shelvy rock is hid, - And naught is heard on the lonely hill, - But the cricket’s chirp, and the answer shrill - Of the gauze-winged katy-did.” - -Suddenly the voice of the sentry-elf, awakened from his slumbers, (how -he came to be asleep our author does not tell us,) breaks in upon the -stillness, as he hastens to announce the dawning of the fairy day--and -crowds of tiny Fays fly answering to his summons. - - “They come from beds of lichen green, - They creep from the mullen’s velvet screen; - Some on the backs of beetles fly - From the silver tops of moon-touched trees, - Where they swung in their cobweb hammocks high, - And rocked about in the evening breeze; - Some from the hum-bird’s downy nest-- - They had driven him out by elfin power, - And pillowed on plumes of his rainbow breast, - Had slumbered there till the charmed hour; - Some had lain in the scoop of the rock, - With glittering ising-stars inlaid; - And some had opened the four-o’-clock, - And stole within its purple shade. - And now they throng the moonlight glade, - Above--below--on every side, - Their little minim forms arrayed - In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride!” - -It is not, however, to the dance or revel that we are invited. No wild -gambol is to rivet our attention. We are summoned to the trial of an -erring ouphe. Before us stands the throne of judgment, supported on -its pillars of the “mottled tortoise shell,” and covered by a curtain -of the “tulip’s crimson drapery.” Upon it sits the fairy monarch, -surrounded by the nobles of his realm--before him is the culprit Fay. -Weighty is the crime alledged against the prisoner. Unmindful of his -vestal vow, he has dared to love an earthly maiden. He has - - --“left for her his woodland shade; - He has lain upon her lip of dew, - And sunned him in her eye of blue, - Fanned her cheek with his wing of air, - Played with the ringlets of her hair, - And, nestling on her snowy breast, - Forgot the lily-king’s behest.” - -His condemnation follows. The loveliness and purity of her for whom -he had thus sinned, go far to mitigate the punishment to which he -is obnoxious--a punishment than which none could be severer or more -terrible. His sentence is pronounced. - - “Thou shalt seek the beach of sand, - Where the water bounds the elfin-land, - Thou shalt watch the oozy brine - Till the sturgeon leaps in the bright moonshine, - Then dart the glistening arch below, - And catch a drop from his silver bow. - The water-sprites will wield their arms, - And dash around, with roar and rave, - And vain are the woodland spirits’ charms, - They are the imps that rule the wave. - Yet trust thee in thy single might, - If thy heart be pure and thy spirit right, - Thou shalt win the warlock fight.” - -With this explanation of the nature of his penance, we leave the -sentenced Fay to enter on his toilsome journey and meet us in its -progress at a different quarter. - -We have heard often of the circumstances which led to the production -of this poem, and of the astonishing rapidity with which it was -composed. How this may be we know not. Judging from the beauty of its -several parts, and still more from its finish as a whole, it strikes -us as the result of long continued labor, polished and perfected with -a scrupulous attention. The subject which our author has selected, -is one admirably fitted to display his genius. It is one, however, -that demands unceasing effort, and requires the constant workings of -his brilliant fancy. From the ordinary range of illustration he is -certainly excluded, while the path to the attainment of his object is -both difficult and devious. He has drawn around himself a magic circle, -into which no human form can enter. Nothing earthly is to mingle in the -scenes to which he calls us. Each action, in its origin, continuance, -and termination, must be fitted to the beings he has chosen for his -actors. With this view of his undertaking, we may fear for the result, -and watch with much anxiety its full accomplishment. It is not long, -however, that we feel this apprehension. We soon discover that our -author is prepared for each adventure--that he gains a ready conquest -over every opposition, while his flight continues onward with an -undiminished ardor. - -Here again we are to greet our pilgrim fairy. Long and wearisome have -been his wanderings. Hour after hour has he toiled amid the passes of -the mountain, and fearful are the perils he has been compelled to meet. -He has followed out a dangerous track, - - “Through dreary beds of tangled fern, - Through groves of nightshade dark and dern, - Over the grass and through the brake, - Where toils the ant and sleeps the snake,” - -till he has reached the spot appointed for the trial of his courage. He -has found the treasure that he sought, protected by the warriors of the -deep, and been baffled by their forces in the efforts he has made. - -It is in this crisis of affairs that we meet with a deliverance as -ingenious as it is successful. It is necessary, for our author’s -purpose, that his hero, though thus far defeated, should yet gain his -object, and with that intention he has brought him to his present -situation. The events which we have compressed into the narrow space of -a few lines, have been presented in detail up to the period in which -the Fay, driven from his purpose, stood despairing on the river’s -brink. It is thus the history continues,-- - - “He cast a saddened look around, - But he felt new joy his bosom swell, - When, glittering on the shadowed ground, - He saw a purple muscle shell; - Thither he ran, and he bent him low, - He heaved at the stern, and he heaved at the bow, - And he pushed her over the yielding sand, - Till he came to the verge of the haunted land. - She was as lovely a pleasure boat - As ever fairy had paddled in, - For she glowed with purple paint without, - And shone with silvery pearl within; - A sculler’s notch in the stem he made, - An oar he shaped of the bootle blade; - Then sprung to his seat with a lightsome leap, - And launched afar on the calm blue deep.” - -Guarded in this manner from the machinations of his enemies, whose -power was bounded by the wave, our adventurer holds on his course -uninjured, and effects his purpose. His return, surrounded by a crowd -of ocean nymphs, is beautifully represented. We refer our readers to -the volume for the passage. - -Here the scene of this poem changes, and we find our Fay is still -destined to another duty--one far more difficult than any he has yet -accomplished. The remainder of his sentence now demands attention. - - “Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark, - Thou must re-illume its spark. - Mount thy steed and spur him high - To the heaven’s blue canopy; - And when thou seest a shooting star, - Follow it fast, and follow it far-- - The last faint spark of its burning train - Shall light the elfin lamp again. - Thou hast heard our sentence, Fay; - Hence! to the water-side, away!” - -To the execution of this last injunction all his powers are now -directed, and we find him thus equipped for this most daring enterprise. - - “He put his acorn helmet on; - It was plumed of the silk of the thistle down: - The corslet plate that guarded his breast - Was once the wild bee’s golden vest; - His cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes, - Was formed of the wings of butterflies; - His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen, - Studs of gold on a ground of green; - And the quivering lance which he brandished bright, - Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight. - Swift he bestrode his fire-fly steed; - He bared his blade of the bent grass blue; - He drove his spurs of the cockle seed, - And away like a glance of thought he flew, - To skim the heavens and follow far - The fiery trail of the rocket-star.” - -From the passage above quoted to the close of the poem, is extended a -long series of most exquisite description. Each instant of our flight, -unfolds to our enraptured vision scenes ever changing, and increasing -in their splendor. Already have we hurried by the misty region of the -cloud. - - “The sapphire sheet of eve is shot, - The sphered moon is past, - The earth but seems a tiny blot - On a sheet of azure cast.” - -We rest not till we stand beside - - --“the flood which rolls its milky hue, - A river of light on the welkin blue,” - -surrounded by the brightness of celestial realms. - -As specimens of fanciful illustration, we give a description of the -palace chosen for the empress sylph of heaven, which our author -introduces by way of episode before proceeding to fulfill his purpose. - - “Its spiral columns gleaming bright - Were streamers of the northern light; - Its curtain’s light and lovely flush - Was of the morning’s rosy blush, - And the ceiling fair that rose aboon - The while and feathery fleece of noon.” - -Again, we have a notice of the queen’s apparel. - - “Her mantle was the purple rolled - At twilight in the west afar; - ’Twas tied with threads of dawning gold, - And buttoned with a sparkling star.” - -In looking back upon the numerous quotations we have made, we fear -that we have trespassed, it may be too long, upon the patience of -our readers. To analyze the poem fully--and such was our first -intention--would conduct farther than our limits will allow. We shall -therefore hasten to a close, and from several passages which still -remain unnoticed, select one most distinguished for the richness of -its coloring. It contains the greater part of the address of the queen -sylph to our wandering Fay, when endeavoring to detain him in her -presence, she draws a glowing picture of prospective bliss. - - “Within the fleecy drift we’ll lie, - We’ll hang upon the rainbow’s rim; - And all the jewels of the sky - Around thy brow shall brightly beam! - And thou shaft bathe thee in the stream - That rolls its whitening foam aboon, - And ride upon the lightning’s gleam, - And dance upon the orbed moon! - We’ll sit within the Pleiad ring, - We’ll rest on Orion’s starry belt, - And I will bid my sylphs to sing - The song that makes the dew-mist melt; - Their harps are of the umber shade, - That hides the blush of waking day, - And every gleamy string is made - Of silvery moonshine’s lengthened ray; - And thou shalt pillow on my breast, - While heavenly breathings float around, - And, with sylphs of ether blest, - Forget the joys of fairy ground.” - -The emotions which this burst of burning passion excited in the -doubting Fay, are well described. The remembrance of his earthly love, -joined to the recollection of a sentence unperformed, enables him at -last to utter a reply declining even such enjoyment. The impassioned -queen, too generous to enforce her wishes, surrounds him with a -spell that guards from every evil, and then bids him a reluctant and -heart-felt adieu. Rapid is his progress to the termination of his -labors. The conflict is soon over, and the prize is won. Already is he -on the confines of his native land, and we listen to the music that -proclaims his welcome. Gladly would we follow him still farther. - - “But hark! from tower on tree-top high, - The sentry elf his call has made, - A streak is in the eastern sky, - Shapes of moonlight! flit and fade! - The hill-tops gleam in morning’s spring, - The sky-lark shakes his dappled wing, - The day-glimpse glimmers on the lawn, - The cock has crowed and the Fays are gone.” - - - - - THE DOUBLE DISAPPOINTMENT. - - A TALE FROM SPANISH HISTORY. - - -No one, save he who has witnessed with a heart all susceptible to the -beauties of nature, can even picture to himself the delightful scene of -a summer’s evening in the fair region of Granada. The mellowed tints -of the declining sun gilding every object with a fairy brightness; the -gushing fountains sending forth their drops of ruby light; the thick -groves of citron and pomegranate, casting their deep shadows in the -distance, seemingly inviting to repose, almost transport with rapture -an inhabitant of our northern clime. - -It was on such an evening, that a betrothed pair sat beneath the marble -arcade at the dwelling of the Alcalde of the district. Their hearts -seemed in unison with the delightful scene around them; their words -were music to each other’s ears; their thoughts were of bright joys of -the future,--and no one could have looked upon their innocent embrace, -or listened to their words of love, without deeming their happiness -complete. The youth rose to depart. - -‘Nay, Muza, do not leave me yet,’ exclaimed the happy girl, as she -turned her bright, half-smiling, half-imploring eyes, upon her lover; -‘but a short hour have we been together, and wilt thou leave me so -soon?’ - -‘Leave thee, Zareda? nay, I would never leave thee.’ - -‘Why then dost thou look thus anxiously towards Hafiz, as if waiting -but for thy steed to depart?’ - -‘Love, art not thou ever with me, as well in the raging of the conflict -and in the exultation of victory, as when, side by side, we sit beneath -the overhanging bower and by the cooling fountain? Am not I still with -thee; and do not the thoughts of thee lead me on to glory? Allah be -praised, that he has given me such a presiding angel.’ - -‘Thy praise is far too high, Muza, else, why shouldst thou not be -willing to pass some longer portion of thy time in the immediate -presence of such an angel?’ - -‘Love, think of our race, and lament not these too short moments -of bliss; our race, scorned and trampled upon by the Christian, -fast falling into the chains of slavery, and compelled to toil for -him;--shall we endure it? No! rather let the desert be our home,--the -home of our ancestors,--barren and desolate though it be, still may -we breathe the air of freedom.--Yes, my country needs my sword, my -country and my love. Do not then grieve for this short interview; am -not I wholly thine,--and will not to-morrow join us never more to part? -Farewell then, for a few short hours, made doubly brief by thoughts -of thee.’ So saying, Muza sprang lightly upon his horse, which his -faithful attendant had already led forward, and soon disappeared behind -the trees that o’erhung the path. Zareda stood gazing in the direction, -so long as the sound of trampling hoofs was audible, as he flew over -the plain, and then, full of bright anticipations of the morrow, -retired to her chamber. - -That what follows may be readily understood, it is necessary to state, -that the incidents of the present sketch occurred about the year 1450, -when Mohammed X. ruled over the kingdom of Granada, but who, together -with his people, was in turn experiencing the ill fortunes of war from -the increasing power of the Christians, as had, nearly eight centuries -before, the Goths from his predecessors. Though, at the time of which -we write, the army of the Christians was not in force against them, -still, a kind of partizan warfare continued,--sometimes, indeed, to -the temporary triumph of the Moors, but always, eventually, to the -permanent advantage of their enemy. The Christian leaders, attended by -a few hundred followers, were continually ravaging the country; and one -of them, Fernando Narvaez, with less than two hundred men, had more -than once spread alarm to the very gates of Granada. - -It was on the eve of an expedition of one of these partisan bands, -as some twenty cavalry were scouring the country, seizing upon such -travelers as were so unwary, or rather unfortunate, as to fall into -their hands, that upon turning an acclivity rising abruptly from the -road, and skirted by a grove of citrons, they came full upon a young -Moorish horseman, riding leisurely forward, as though unconscious of -danger. He appeared to be just in the prime of manhood; in stature -rather above middling, yet finely proportioned. His noble bearing, -together with the richness of his dress, proclaimed him a person of -distinction and a warrior; his turban and scarf were wrought of the -most costly materials, and spangled with jewels, whilst a sword and -buckler of exquisite workmanship hung by his side;--his horse was in -every respect worthy of his rider. No sooner did he perceive the band -of the enemy, than he turned in flight with the speed of the wind; -winding rapidly round the edge of the hill, until, for a moment, he -was obscured from sight, he dashed headlong into the grove, trusting -to art and his knowledge of the country to elude their pursuit. But -escape was vain. They hurried eagerly forward, piercing the grove in -every direction, following each winding path, and seized upon him as -he was emerging from the opposite side. Resistance he saw would be -useless; but he deigned not a word to his captors, and there was nought -betrayed emotion, save a slight curl of contempt upon his lip as he -delivered his arms into their hands, and quietly took his station, as -he was bid, between two of their number. They continued about an hour -reconnoitering the country, but no enemy appearing, returned to their -quarters, bringing with them their prisoner. - -During this interval, the young Moor had had leisure to reflect upon -his situation. He was a brave warrior; and like every one who is truly -brave, he possessed not only a spirit of boldness and daring during -the raging of the battle, and in the hour of triumph, but could yield -to disappointment and defeat, and meet the reverses of fortune with -equal fortitude. So now, though he knew from the first that slavery -would be the mildest lot for which he could even hope, nevertheless, -he willingly yielded to necessity, and seemed to the observer, as -if regardless of his situation. But this appearance was not long -maintained;--a tinge of melancholy stole over his countenance; the -stern and fearless look of the warrior was changed to the appearance of -thoughtful anxiety and inward grief;--some more powerful emotion, and -apparently unconnected with the feelings of a soldier, was working at -his heart. Such was his situation as they arrived at their quarters, -and conducted him immediately to the presence of their leader. - -All the decision and sternness of a Spanish general was depicted in -the countenance of Narvaez. His authority was usually severe, and his -will not to be questioned; but, at times, he would exhibit a natural -disposition of kindness and benevolence, which endeared him to his -followers, and rendered him none the less fitted to command. - -‘Who art thou?’ said he, as the prisoner was led before him, ‘and -whither wert thou going, thus unattended, through a hostile country?’ - -‘Christian,’ said the Moor, as he endeavored to assume an appearance -becoming his rank, but which, it was evident at the time, cost him no -slight exertion,--‘know that I am the son of the Alcalde of Ronda; and -I was going, this very night, to claim--’ but the effort was too much -for him; he burst into tears. - -‘Thou astonishest me!’ cried Narvaez,--‘thy father I knew well, and, -though an enemy, yet will I acknowledge him as brave a warrior as ever -crossed a lance; but thou weepest like a woman! Seest thou not that -this is but one of the chances of war; one, which thy noble father -would have met, had fortune so ordered, with as calm a brow as if -greeted with the tribute of success? Is the son so far degenerated from -the sire!’ - -‘Nay, Christian,’ answered Muza, for it was he, ‘I hope in all things -to be worthy of the fame of my father; and among my own people, the -name of Muza ben Hassan is not spoken with contempt. ’Tis not for the -loss of liberty that I grieve, but for something a thousand times -dearer than that, of which I must be deprived;’--and as he concluded -the sentence, his spirit, which for a moment had been aroused by the -taunting allusion to his degeneracy, sank again. But Narvaez saw the -marks of a noble mind within, as he drew up his manly figure to its -height, displaying to the best advantage his finely proportioned -limbs, whilst his brow contracted with a look almost of defiance. He -saw that there was something more than his present misfortune which so -powerfully affected him,--and at once he became deeply interested in -the youth. - -‘And what is that,’ said he, as he saw him a little more composed, -‘which thou valuest at a price so much dearer than liberty?’ - -‘Know then, since thou wishest it, that I have long been in love with -the daughter of a neighboring Alcalde; that love was crowned with -success, and this very night was to have made her mine, but thy arms -have detained me. She is even now waiting in suspense, or perhaps -accusing me of inconstancy,--wretched, wretched fate! would that I -might see her yet once more.’ - -‘Noble cavalier! if thy wish is granted thee, wilt thou promise to -return before to-morrow’s sun?’ - -‘Allah bless thee, generous Christian!’ exclaimed Muza, overjoyed at -the proposal, ‘upon the word of a Moor, whose word, when sincerely -given, has never been broken, I promise faithfully to return. -Generosity, I see, belongs not to one race alone.’ - -‘Go then,--and remember thy promise,’ said Narvaez, as he gave orders -to permit him instantly to depart. - -Let us change the scene, and introduce once more the fair lady of our -tale, whom we have already too long neglected. Throughout the day all -had been bustle and preparation in the house of her father. The halls -had been richly hung with tapestry, and put in readiness for the giddy -dance; the tables were loaded with the choicest productions of that -fruitful clime for the marriage banquet. Zareda had been all gayety and -happiness; but towards evening she appeared more thoughtful, and her -accustomed laugh and words of mirth were no longer heard. She expected -to have seen him ere this, and to have met that embrace, which would -crown all her love. An hour passed away, yet still he came not:--her -watchfulness was fast verging to anxiety. Another long half hour is -gone--in gloomy sadness she sat herself down ’neath the arcade, where -they had so often met together. ‘Why comes he not?--has any mischief -befallen him?--has he fallen into the hands of any marauding company -of the enemy? has he--can it be, that he has deserted me?--away, -ungrateful thought! it cannot be; some accident surely has overtaken -him.’ As these, and various like reflections, were passing in her mind, -a song of plaintive melancholy fell softly on her ear. - - The rainbow’s brightest tint - Soonest fades away; - The tenderest floweret’s bloom - Quickest meets decay. - The first bright rose of spring, - That exhales its morning breath, - Returning dews of even - Strike with the chill of death. - - So I, my love, must soon - Ne’er meet with thee again,-- - Our marriage tie is changed - To slavery’s cruel chain. - Thy ruby cheek will fade, - Tears dim thine eye of blue, - For I, my love, must bid - A long, a last adieu. - -So deeply melancholy was the strain--so much in unison with her own -increasing fears, that Zareda recognized not the cheerful voice of her -Muza, till the song was finished, and he himself stood before her. - -‘Muza, is it thou?--thanks to Allah! now will we indeed be happy. But -why so late? Is this the eagerness with which to meet thy bride?--or -why didst thou fright me with that gloomy song?’ - -‘Zareda, I am a prisoner; perhaps a slave--two hours ago I fell into -the hands of the enemy, and I am now to behold thee for the last time.’ - -‘A prisoner! how so, even if thou hast been with the enemy, since thou -now standest here free before me? Thy bonds are loose for a Christian’s -hands to inflict. Oh Allah! hast thou too proved faithless to thy -country! art thou a--’ - -‘Traitor! and from thee! Zareda, hear me: accuse me not of -faithlessness either to thee or to my country. Though I am now before -thee, still am I no less a prisoner; I must return before to-morrow’s -sun--my word is pledged. Then doubt me not, but take my last farewell. -Would that I might see _thee_ happy; then would I be content.’ - -‘I will not doubt thee, Muza. Oft hast thou given me proofs of thy -love, but this surpasses all.--Nay, thou shalt not say farewell; I will -go with thee, perhaps they may listen to my prayers. I have wealth and -jewels,--they shall purchase thy freedom, or together we will share thy -fate.’ Muza saw that to oppose her wishes would only increase her zeal; -and, though he had no hopes for his own freedom, he knew that to her at -least no injury would be suffered by his enemies. Zareda was soon in -readiness to depart, and long before morning they had arrived at the -station of their enemy. Narvaez was ready to receive them. - -‘Ha,’ exclaimed he, as Muza again appeared before him, supporting on -his arm the trembling Zareda, ‘thou hast brought thy mistress with -thee, to cheer thy spirits, and soften the ills of confinement?’ - -‘Christian,’ said Zareda in a faltering voice, falling at the feet of -Narvaez, ‘if thou hast an eye to pity, a heart to feel, do not separate -us. Here is money: here are jewels--take them all, but let _him_ go -free.’ - -‘Generous maiden, fear not;’ and he raised her gently as he -spoke;--‘thy devotedness is worthy the fidelity of thy lover. Cruel -should I indeed be, had I the heart to mar such happiness as is in -store for thee. Go, and may ye both live long to enjoy your happiness.’ - -But the goodness of Narvaez was not alone manifested in words. He -loaded them with presents, and furnished an escort to conduct them in -safety to Ronda. And long was the name of Narvaez celebrated in song -and romance, as the _generous-hearted Christian_. - - J. - - - - - GREEK ANTHOLOGY.--No. III. - - -Bless thee, reader--Let us live and love, since brief is our time for -either. _Of course_, I wish to please thee. I might make a huge boast -of independence: but the boast would be as false as foolish. I might -feign contempt of thee, and of the public: but it would be a wicked -lie. So far as I am an author, _thy_ smiles, and _their_ favor, are my -life. I may read, think, act, to please myself; but it is clear that -_I write_ to please thee. This blows sky-high all scornful prefaces, -such as some modern authors paste on the foreheads of their little -bantlings, which they send forth to angle for favor in the muddy and -shifting stream of popular applause. How mortified are these scribbling -autocrats, when their very _cartels_ of defiance are unanswered, and -unread! Yet, on the other hand, is there something of courtesy,--nay, -of indulgence, due to him, who neither assumes, nor dictates, but -offers, in the words, and with the spirit of humility, what he hopes -may please, and possibly instruct. I steal not--I borrow not. Scanty -though be my cloak in breadth, and coarse in texture, yet I wove it in -mine own loom, and with mine own hands. Whatever I give is mine, or -rather, _was_--for it is _thine_ now. It is all I have--the widow’s -mite--and, as such, receive it. I would not bring a “vain oblation” -to the literary altar--that blood-stained shrine, on which so many a -helpless victim is dissected by unfeeling butchers. I have not time to -give thee much, (I fear me thou art not sorry,) nor can I ‘lick into -shape’ what I _do_ give. - -I have thought of essaying a few remarks on the principles of -translation, and the practice of translators, that thou be not -inordinately surprised, if on comparing my version with the original, -thou dost not find in both _all_ the same words, and in the same -order--meeting, tooth to tooth. I do so to satisfy the scruples of the -well-disposed, and not to blunt the arrows of small-beer wit, or to -elude the aim of pop-gun ammunition. “Out! out! brief candle!” says the -immortal Shakspeare. “Get out! get out! you short candle!” says the -spruce Frenchman. The Frenchman was _literal_; but he had better have -understood the _spirit_ of his author, and given that, though it were -with a periphrasis. The truth is, you cannot render any passage in a -Greek or Latin poem _religiously_ into English--preserving the precise -form, attitude, expression and size--if you attempt the absurdity, you -present to the eyes of your readers, not a living body, but a lifeless -corpse. All, that can be done with works written among nations at so -wide a remove from our own in age, character, customs, and religion, -is to breathe the spirit and manner of the original into English as -elegant, yet close and strong as possible. Their works are full of -phrases and allusions, which, with us, are dry and barren, while to -them they were instinct with poetry, and eloquent with meaning. To the -heart of the Grecian the history of his country was sanctified, and -made dear by a long line of traditionary glories. Familiar to them, -though lost to us, were a thousand memories of mystic interest, and -patriotic pride--tales of the gods and heroes, who had lived and moved -in their land, amid the days of its splendor--histories woven from -facts, but tinged in the multitudinous colorings of fancy--fables, that -stretched far back through the haze of ages, from wonder to doubt, -and from doubt to darkness. Here had Jupiter been cradled in the -mountains--there gushed a fountain from the foot-print of Neptune’s -charger--here, from the sown teeth of the slaughtered dragon, sprang -to life and fell in battle a field of steel-clad warriors--and there -had Orpheus charmed the stones to life, and made the forests dance in -chorus to his lyre. These were so many chords of interest, which the -poet had but to touch, and the souls of his readers responded with a -thrill. Now all these springs of passion are sealed to us--for, in the -first place, the history of another and a buried nation excites but a -feeble sympathy, compared with that which ponders and glows above our -own--and, secondly, we rarely feel deeply what we do not thoroughly -believe, or fully comprehend. Deprived, then, of these advantages, -unaided by fancy, and unadorned by language, a translation would be -about as _touching_ as a table of _tangents_. And this is what has -made English translations so insipid compared with English originals, -and has induced in some the belief that even the master-pieces of -antiquity are poor and pointless--the fondled god-children of pedantic -book-worms. This deficiency the translator must labor to supply. It is -to be supplied--not by stripping the original of its _nationality_, and -making it apply as well to New England as to Greece--but by preserving -it bold, free, and spirited, as it is in its native language--by -clothing it in words sufficiently glowing and graceful to arouse -sympathy, yet exhibiting, through all, the body of the original, like -a lamp flame, shining through its glassy vase--in short, by having it -still Greek, but English-Greek. - -This accords with the practice of all the best translators. No -translator ever gave, or intended to give every word, or even shade -of idea, that he found in the original. I appeal with confidence to -any page in Dryden, or Cowley, in Addison, or Pope. They have, I -acknowledge, generally carried their _liberality_ to a fault--still, -if _they_ do not translate correctly, who does? Open at any page of -Pope--say the last four lines of the Iliad. Read the simple original. -“And after having heaped up the (sepulchral) mound, they went back. And -then, happily assembled, they banqueted upon a very splendid banquet in -the dwelling of Priam, Jove-nourished king. Thus did they attend to the -burial of Hector, tamer-of-horses.” - - “All Troy then moves to Priam’s court again, - A solemn, silent, melancholy train. - Assembled there, from pious toil they rest, - And sadly shared the last sepulchral feast. - Such honors Ilion to her hero paid, - And peaceful slept the mighty Hector’s shade.” - -Too wide, I grant--yet it is Pope, the king of translators. - -Addison, dear reader, was not a bad translator. Yet take his rendering -of that grand Horatian--the third of the third book. “Not the heat of -the citizens, commanding crooked things, not the countenance of an -urgent tyrant, shakes in his solid mind the man just and firm to his -purpose.” - - “The _man_, resolved, and steady to his trust, - Inflexible to all and obstinately _just_, - May the rude _rabble’s_ insolence despise, - Their senseless clamors, and tumultuous cries: - The _tyrant’s_ fierceness he beguiles, - And the stern brow, and the harsh voice defies, - And with superior greatness smiles.” - -He has rendered literally but four words, and them I have italicised. -Is it, therefore, a bad translation? No. It is good--though, with all -due deference to thy shade, Oh! Joseph, I must think it a _little_ -diffuse--still, it is good, because it expresses the spirit and manner -of the original in fine, forcible English. I give thee a literal -translation--not that one better and as close might not be made--but -to exemplify the difference between transfusing the _spirit_ and the -_words_ of an author from one language into another. - - The upright man, _who_ to his purpose clings, - No rabble’s heat, commanding crooked things, - Nor urgent tyrant’s countenance can shake - In his firm mind---- - -Almost perfectly literal, and--sweet reader--how spirited! I might -_multiply_ my remarks, were I not loth to _divide_ thine attention. - -I give thee two or three things--such as an aching head and sleepy eyes -made them. - - _By Lucillius, to Nicylla._ - - Those, who affirm that thou dost dye - The ringlets of thy jetty hair, - Can easily be proved to lie-- - Thou _bought’st_ them black as now they are. - - _By the same, to a Miser._ - - Thou hast, indeed, the rich man’s pelf, - But dost possess the beggar’s soul, - Oh, thou, who starvest for thyself, - And for thine heirs in wealth dost roll. - - _By the same. Envy._ - - When Flaccus on the gallows swung, - And chanced to see a brother-thief - Upon a loftier gibbet hung, - He grinned, and died in envious grief. - - _A quodam, mihi ignoto._ - - A man, that once before has married, - And longs again the _noose to splice_, - Is one, that has at sea miscarried, - And wishes to be shipwrecked twice. - -Be this a _caveat_ to all amorous widowers. - - Hermeneutes. - - - - - TO CORRESPONDENTS. - - -“Charles K.” is a well written tale, and, as it is apparently founded -upon facts, would undoubtedly interest those personally acquainted with -the scenes which it describes; but, unless we misjudge, it would strike -others differently. - -“Evening Thoughts,” an article on William Wirt, and a “Sonnet,” are -declined. - -“The Seminole,” with some metrical alterations, may appear in our next. - -“A Rhyming Mood,” is accepted. - -The author of “Niobe,” and “Spring,” (we suppose them both from the -same pen,) would do well to use the ‘_file_’ a little more freely, -and also, read, at his leisure, a chapter or two of some treatise on -_Perspicuity_. - -“My Village Home,” “The Pleasures of Innocence,” and “The Future,” -(which, from the _paper_ and chirography, we judge to be the -productions of one and the same intellect,) might, perhaps, be -creditable to the powers of an Infant School poet; but, _Dii -Immortales!_ can it be possible they have been perpetrated by any one -of riper years? Take a specimen or two. - - “But ah! where’s now their boyish pranks - Since last I saw those sloping banks; - _Time’s_ stern mandate, bid to hardy toil, - Some with Fame--the rest on Nature’s soil.” - - “Oh! ’tis that off distant hill - By the shady grove, all leafless--still - Where I’d seek an humble place - To lay low my care-worn face.” - - - - - PROSPECTUS - OF THE - YALE LITERARY MAGAZINE. - - TO BE CONDUCTED BY THE STUDENTS OF YALE COLLEGE. - - -An _apology_ for establishing a Literary Magazine, in an institution -like Yale College, can hardly be deemed requisite by an enlightened -public; yet a statement of the objects which are proposed in this -Periodical, may not be out of place. - -To foster a literary spirit, and to furnish a medium for its exercise; -to rescue from utter waste the many thoughts and musings of a student’s -leisure hours; and to afford some opportunity to train ourselves -for the strife and collision of mind which we must expect in after -life;--such, and similar motives have urged us to this undertaking. - -So long as we confine ourselves to these simple objects, and do not -forget the modesty becoming our years and station, we confidently -hope for the approbation and support of all who wish well to this -institution. - - * * * * * - -The work will be printed on fine paper and good type. 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font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Yale Literary Magazine (Vol. I, No. 3, April 1836), by Students of Yale</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online -at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The Yale Literary Magazine (Vol. I, No. 3, April 1836)</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Students of Yale</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: December 12, 2021 [eBook #66936]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: hekula03, sf2001, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YALE LITERARY MAGAZINE (VOL. I, NO. 3, APRIL 1836) ***</div> - - <div class="figcenter illowp100" id="i_cover" style="max-width: 20em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/cover.jpg" alt="Cover" /> - </div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_i">[Pg i]</span></p> -</div> -<div class="titlepag" style="max-width: 30em;"> -<h1> -<small>THE</small><br /> -YALE LITERARY MAGAZINE. -</h1> - -<p class="h1sub"> -<small>CONDUCTED<br /> -<small>BY THE</small></small><br /> -<span class="gesperrt"><b>STUDENTS OF YALE COLLEGE</b>.</span> -</p> - -<div class="figcenter illowp78" id="i_cover-illustration" style="max-width: 18em;"> - <img class="w100" src="images/i_cover-illustration.jpg" alt="" /> - <div class="caption"><p> - “Dum mens grata manet, nomen laudesque <span class="smcap">Yalenses</span> - Cantabunt <span class="smcap">Soboles</span>, unanimique <span class="smcap">Patres</span>.” - </p> - </div> -</div> - -<hr class="r15" /> -<p class="center">NO. III.</p> -<hr class="r15" /> - -<p class="center">APRIL, 1836.</p> - -<hr class="double" /> - -<p class="center"> -NEW HAVEN:<br /> -HERRICK & NOYES. -</p> - -<hr class="r5" /> -<p class="center"> -MDCCCXXXVI. -</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<div class="chapter"> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_ii">[Pg ii]</span></p> - -<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> -</div> - -<table summary="Table of Contents"> -<tr><td /><td class="pageno"><small>Page.</small></td></tr> -<tr><td class="title"><a href="#PREJUDICE_AND_SCEPTICISM">Prejudice and Scepticism,</a></td> - <td class="pageno">81</td></tr> -<tr> - <td class="title"><a href="#SONNET1">Sonnet,</a></td> - <td class="pageno">85</td></tr> -<tr> - <td class="title"><a href="#FRAGMENT_OF_AN_UNFINISHED_TRAGEDY">Dramatic Fragment,</a></td> - <td class="pageno">86</td></tr> -<tr> - <td class="title"><a href="#THE_COFFEE_CLUB">The Coffee Club, No. I.</a></td> - <td class="pageno">89</td></tr> -<tr> - <td class="title"><a href="#THE_FAIRIES_BOWER">The Fairies’ Bower,</a></td> - <td class="pageno">97</td></tr> -<tr> - <td class="title"><a href="#THE_INFLUENCE_OF_MORAL_FEELING_UPON_THE_PLEASURES">The Influence of Moral Feeling upon the Pleasures of the Imagination, Essay No. I.</a></td> - <td class="pageno">98</td></tr> -<tr> - <td class="title"><a href="#COLUMBIAS_BANNER">Columbia’s Banner,</a></td> - <td class="pageno">100</td> - </tr> -<tr> - <td class="title"><a href="#STORY_AND_SENTIMENT">Story and Sentiment, No. III.</a></td> - <td class="pageno">101</td> - </tr> -<tr> - <td class="title"><a href="#SONNET2">Sonnet,</a></td> - <td class="pageno">111</td> - </tr> -<tr> - <td class="title"><a href="#REVIEW">Review—Drake’s Poems,</a></td> - <td class="pageno">111</td> - </tr> -<tr> - <td class="title"><a href="#THE_DOUBLE_DISAPPOINTMENT">The Double Disappointment,</a></td> - <td class="pageno">120</td> - </tr> -<tr> - <td class="title"><a href="#GREEK_ANTHOLOGY_No_III">Greek Anthology, No. III.</a></td> - <td class="pageno">125</td> - </tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</span></p> - -<h2> -<small>THE</small><br /> -YALE LITERARY MAGAZINE. -</h2> - -<table class="table1" summary="Volume Date Edition"> -<colgroup> -<col style="width: 33%;" /> -<col style="width: 33%;" /> -<col style="width: 33%;" /> -</colgroup> -<tbody> -<tr> -<td class="tdl bt bb"><small>VOL. I.</small></td> -<td class="tdc bt bb">APRIL, 1836.</td> -<td class="tdr bt bb"><small>NO. 3.</small></td> -</tr> -</tbody> -</table> - -</div> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="PREJUDICE_AND_SCEPTICISM">PREJUDICE AND SCEPTICISM.</h2> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“A little learning is a dangerous thing: -Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring.”</p> -</div> - -<p>This hackneyed distich is most frequently used to convey an idea -of that arrogant confidence which attends the first superficial acquisitions -in knowledge, and the characteristic diffidence of the profound -mind. Whether this is the impression intended to be conveyed by -its excellent author, it is not necessary to inquire: it evidently involves -a principle, which is illustrated by the history of every nation, -and has an important application to our own.</p> - -<p>In tracing society through the various stages of its progress from -barbarism to civilization, we observe, almost universally, a point intermediate -between the two, where the foundations of the social system -seem to be broken up, and anarchy and confusion prevail. -Among men in a state of the greatest rudeness and ignorance, customs -and manners are comparatively permanent. Ages on ages roll -away, and the same simple institutions are handed down from father -to son with the most scrupulous care, and with scarcely a perceptible -change. In this condition of man prejudice holds universal sway. -The practice, or the ‘ipse dixit’ of a superior is the foundation upon -which they rest their belief, and the rule by which they govern -their actions; and in opinions resting upon such a basis, there is no -doubt or wavering. No intricate maze of reasoning leaves a dark -corner to beget distrust, but like the insect upon a flying fragment, -the contracted vision of the savage reaches not beyond the established -creed of his predecessors; and upon that, however far it may -be from reason and truth, he rests in secure repose. But when he -has obtained one glance beyond that rude fabric, he feels the trembling -of his basis, and his inquisitive mind becomes alive to all the -realities of his situation. He begins to reason—he begins to doubt—and -confidence once shaken in former belief, scepticism becomes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</span> -universal. He is thrown upon the resources of his own rude mind; -prejudice wars with passion and impressions from the world, and -reason roams, and often roams in vain, in search of those pure principles -from which spring the happiness of enlightened communities.</p> - -<p>In this incipient stage of knowledge, the field from which individuals -derive their impressions and opinions is contracted; and influenced -as they are by different circumstances and associations, it is -not surprising that their ideas should rarely concur. Mind clashes -with mind, and from this collision necessarily arises a popular effervescence. -But as knowledge advances, the horizon of each individual -extends farther and farther, and consequently coincides to a greater -extent with that of those around him. Hence, after this fiery ordeal -of revolution, in proportion as intelligence prevails, the sentiments -of the community harmonize, civil institutions become more -permanent, and society settles down into a peaceful, happy condition.</p> - -<p>This is, indeed, but the brief outline of a theory; and like all other -theories, it requires great modification in its application to the world. -Man in his progress to civilization is not always influenced by the -same principles operating in the same way. In one instance, as he -breaks through the spell of prejudice—grasps the sword of reason, -and enters upon his rude analysis of mind and matter, he is directed -by some apparently fortuitous agency, at once to the elements of -peace and happiness, and advances in rapid strides from barbarism -to refinement. In another instance, in the same rude contest—the -same clashing of mental and physical energy, a nation falls exhausted -in the struggle, and sinks, if possible, to a state even more hopeless -than before. Nor is this period of revolutions confined to the -incipient stage of science in all its branches. Nations, that have apparently -past this eventful period, and settled down into the uniformity -of civilized life, are sometimes shaken to their very foundations, by the -agitation of some subject that had before escaped the trying test of -reason, and from some peculiar cause, been suffered to remain upon -the rotten foundation of prejudice and superstition. Indeed, no -nation is entirely secure from revolution until all its institutions are -established upon the basis of truth—of truth that is seen and felt by -the great body of the community.</p> - -<p>The French revolution is, perhaps, as good an illustration of this -subject, as can be found in the annals of history. There we behold -a people not utterly buried in ignorance, but even taking the lead -in the sciences and arts, and apparently approaching the peace and -security of an enlightened state. But presently we are startled at -a horrid revolution sweeping over her. Religion and politics had -not yet undergone a strict examination. It is true, religious controversies -had been carried on, and wars, bloody and protracted, had -been waged between the Huguenots and Catholics; but they were -little more than the collision of prejudices, and the quarrels of priests<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</span> -and princes. But when that doubting, ridiculing philosophy had -rent the veil of superstition, and, united with a gleam of liberty from -across the waters, had opened to the gaze of the multitude those -sinks of corruption, the people were exasperated at the wrongs which -they had before piously endured; they swept the land with unprecedented -fury, and hurled to one promiscuous ruin every monument of -royalty, nobility and priestcraft. But—alas for France! in that -eventful moment no kind genius appeared to direct the awakened -mind to the fountains of truth. Disgusted and maddened by the absurdities -and impositions of the church and state, they were driven -into the dreadful abyss of infidelity, and at last, in the recklessness -of despair, they relinquished the contest, and were ready to kiss a -yoke even more galling than the former. It is not our intention to -convey the idea, that the French revolution was in no way beneficial. -This is a question for a future age to decide. But we do intend -to assert, that a knowledge of literature and science merely, -however much they may contribute to it, is not sufficient for a nation’s -security; and that when man has been roused to investigation, -unless inexperienced reason is aided in its search after truth, -he is liable to fall into the most fatal errors. This height of civilization -has been attained only by the accumulated wisdom of ages, and -it is not, therefore, to be expected that unassisted reason will arrive -at it at once. Had not the French been left to be carried headlong -by the first transports of passion, or had the pure principles of religion -and freedom been presented in such a way as to be imbibed -and felt, they might have risen to a lofty elevation, and been able to -look back upon that horrid scene of anarchy and bloodshed only as -the harbinger of liberty and peace. As it is, she has only added -another illustration to the many that before existed, of the truth of -our motto—of the danger of rousing the inquisitive mind of man, -without providing the means and the opportunity of arriving at correct -conclusions in his inquiries. Man’s reason is not infallible; and -thus to awaken the attention of the ignorant or the inexperienced, -destroy their confidence in established institutions, and then leave -them to grope their own way to the fountains of truth, is like committing -to the breeze a ship without a helm, and expecting it to arrive -safe at its distant destined port.</p> - -<p>It may be supposed that this subject has little application to a -country so enlightened as ours, and so accustomed to submit every -thing to the scrutiny of unbiassed reason. When we consider that -our institutions derive their origin from the most profound minds our -country has ever produced, and that they have prospered, for more -than half a century, beyond the most sanguine expectations of their -founders, we are apt to forget that the prosperity of all institutions -depends upon the attachment of the people, and to imagine that -ours are inherently secure. It would be Natural also to suppose, -that the discrepancies between different portions of the country<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</span> -would gradually wear away by continual contact and free intercourse, -and that the longer we existed in our present condition, the -more consolidated and unanimous we should become. But the crisis -has not yet arrived. We have received these institutions upon the -faith of our fathers, and, hitherto, been engaged, not in fairly discussing, -but in eulogizing and defending them, without ever allowing ourselves -to doubt their excellence and superiority over all others. -These venerable fathers have now gone down to their graves; our -enemies have become our friends; the distorting medium of prejudice -through which we have hitherto viewed the world is removed, -and we are left to scrutinize at our leisure the fair fabric which has -been committed to us. Were this investigation to be candid and -serious, we should be safe. But he who has the least acquaintance -with human nature is aware, that when our complacency proceeds -from an influence prepossessing us in favor of an object, there is a -re-action in sentiment when that influence is removed: complacency -becomes disgust, and the more extravagant it has been, the more -powerful is the opposite bias. Upon this principle, we may account -for that complete change in the means by which power and influence -are sought from the people. Formerly, the only method of finding -favor with the multitude, was to enlist heart and hand in supporting -and extolling our glorious institutions; but he who would succeed in -pursuit of the same object, at the present day, must find some real -or imaginary imperfection, and by a torrent of ranting eloquence, display, -on every occasion, his superior sagacity in detecting the errors -of our fathers. Besides, the greater this blind confidence we have -acquired in our institutions, the more negligent shall we be in support -of them, and the more severe in exposing and decrying their -imperfections. Already we begin to hear, on the one hand, the -sneering taunt at the fickleness, inefficiency, and illiberality of our -proceedings, and the high encomium upon aristocracy and its concomitant -advantages, and on the other, the expression of envy -towards rising wealth and power, and utter contempt towards law -and all wholesome restraint. These floating insinuations are the -seeds of future public sentiment, and unless counteracted by a salutary -influence, the effect will be ruinous. It is true, we are an intelligent -people, and by no means blind to our own immediate interests; -but it is also indisputably certain, that the deliberate judgment -and profound thought of our predecessors have been, in some measure, -supplanted by a mere smattering of other men’s ideas. Precocious -demagogues and priests are taking the places of grave statesmen -and a sound, revered clergy. It is an idea instilled into us in -our childhood, and which we carry with us throughout our career, -that the present is an age far more effulgent than any that has before -dawned upon the world; and we therefore think ourselves warranted -in laying aside all past experience, and forming our conclusions -upon our own notions of expediency. The course of reasoning, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</span> -which led to the establishment of the noble institutions and customs -which have been handed down to us, is not at once comprehended, -and we resolve immediately to demolish, and substitute the -frail creations of our own fancy, which past experience and further -reflection show to be ruinous. In short, we have enjoyed the blessings -of our government just long enough to lose sight of the evils of -others, and are just wise enough to detect the imperfections of our -own system, without being able, from a deep sense of the injuries -under which every other people groans, to appreciate its excellence. -It becomes, then, every lover of his country, and, especially, him who, -in the prime of youth, is looking forward to it as the scene of a happy -life, with high hopes of honor and power, to beware how he lends his -aid to alienate public sentiment from this parent of his present joys -and future hopes, and to enlist heart and hand in support of a government -which has certainly, for more than half a century, secured to -this community a greater amount of happiness than was ever before -enjoyed by any portion of the earth’s population. The popular -judgment will be sufficiently severe under the most favorable circumstances. -When that is passed, and the people are satisfied from -their own examination, that the regulations which govern them are -the most perfect in existence, then, or at least not till then, may we -esteem the crisis past, and our country safe.</p> - -<p class="right"> -L. -</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="nobreak" id="SONNET1">SONNET.</h3> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent2">’Tis beautiful to-day. There’s not a cloud</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To mar this sweet serenity of sky:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">In Beauty’s arms all nature seems to lie:</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Earth smiles, as though the Deity had bowed</div> - <div class="verse indent2">To wrap her form in loveliness, and crowd</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The air with spirits of the waking spring.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">How meet that man his gift of homage bring,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">With Nature praise, and be no longer proud!</div> - <div class="verse indent4">Oh, lovely day of rest! how sweetly thou</div> - <div class="verse indent0">With joys of Heaven canst fill the thirsting soul!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">As out from rocks the gushing fountains roll,</div> - <div class="verse indent4">So from the heart of flinty hardness, now</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Does burst, unbidden, the pure, fervent prayer,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And, with the morning dew, ascend the viewless air.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right">K.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="FRAGMENT_OF_AN_UNFINISHED_TRAGEDY">FRAGMENT OF AN UNFINISHED TRAGEDY.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="center"> - <span class="smcap">Scene</span>—<i>An Orange Grove.</i> - </p> - -<table summary="Metrical Drama"> -<tr> -<td class="tdc" colspan="2"><i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Muza</span>. - </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr tdt"><i>Muza, solus.</i> - </td> -<td class="tdt"> -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetryt"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent15">Hark! heard I not her step, or was it nought</div> - <div class="verse indent15">But Fancy’s wild creation? Ah! tis gone,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">And still she’s absent. Ye odor-breathing groves,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Aslant whose dewy bloom the virgin moon</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Pours her mild radiance, what though ye are fair,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">And rich in all the fragrance nature yields?</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Ye bring no balm to soothe my anxious mind—</div> - <div class="verse indent15">But soft! she comes—my Isabel—</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> -</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdc" colspan="2"> - <i>Enter</i> <span class="smcap">Isabel</span>. - </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr tdt"> - <i>Isabel.</i> - </td> -<td> -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetryt"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent15">Oh, Muza! Muza! pardon, I beseech you,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">This rash, misguided step, that unbecomes</div> - <div class="verse indent15">My virgin modesty and maiden pride.</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Muza, I’ve erred. Oh let me now depart;</div> - <div class="verse indent15">’Tis not a fitting time.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> -</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr tdt"> - <i>Muza.</i> - </td> -<td> -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetryt"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent15">Say why not, dear maid? This is the hour</div> - <div class="verse indent15">I’ve longed, I’ve prayed for; and thank Allah now</div> - <div class="verse indent15">’Tis come at last.</div> - <div class="verse right">(<i>Kneeling.</i>)</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Sweet Isabel, my heart is wholly thine.</div> - <div class="verse indent15">I love thee more than life. Nay, do not turn</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Those lovely eyes away; still let them beam</div> - <div class="verse indent15">With gentleness on me. List, dear one, list—</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> -</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr tdt"> - <i>Isabel.</i> - </td> -<td> -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetryt"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent15">Cease, Muza, cease. These glowing words of love</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Savor too much of thine own sunny clime,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">That makes the tenderest passions of the heart</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Burn with a fiercer flame. But ’tis not meet</div> - <div class="verse indent15">That we should hold such converse at this hour;</div> - <div class="verse indent15">And death awaits thee, Muza, if thou’rt found</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Within these groves.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> -</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr tdt"> - <i>Muza.</i> - </td> -<td> -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetryt"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent15">Isabel,</div> - <div class="verse indent19">Is then my safety of concern to thee?</div> - <div class="verse indent15">And does the pang of fear thrill through thy breast</div> - <div class="verse indent15">For Muza’s sake?</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</span> - </div> -</div> -</div> -</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr tdt"> - <i>Isabel.</i> - </td> -<td> -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetryt"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent15">Oh yes.</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Thinkest thou that Isabel can look with coldness</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Upon the brave preserver of her honor?</div> - <div class="verse indent35">Thy welfare, trust me,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Shall ever be the object of my care;</div> - <div class="verse indent15">And still the tender tie of gratitude</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Shall bind my heart to thee.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> -</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr tdt"> - <i>Muza.</i> - </td> -<td> -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetryt"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent15">Say, dear one, say the tender tie of love.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> -</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr tdt"> - <i>Isabel.</i> - </td> -<td> -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetryt"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent15">Urge me not, Muza, urge me not too far.</div> - <div class="verse indent15">But come, I claim a promise: wilt thou not</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Fulfil it now? I long to hear thee tell</div> - <div class="verse indent15">The wild, romantic history of thy life;—</div> - <div class="verse indent15">For such it must be, if I can surmise</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Aught from the hints which thou hast thrown around thee.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> -</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr tdt"> - <i>Muza.</i> - </td> -<td> -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetryt"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent35">I will obey thee, Isabel,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Though I would rather pour into thine ear</div> - <div class="verse indent15">The breathings of my soul, than now recount</div> - <div class="verse indent15">A dull detail of cold and lifeless facts.</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Know, then, I spring not from the Moorish race,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">But Christian blood bounds freely through these veins.</div> - <div class="verse indent15">No more I know; the secret of my birth</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Is wrapt in mystery;</div> - <div class="verse indent15">But yet within my mind faint traces live,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">When the paternal hand upon this head</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Rested with fondness, and a mother’s eye,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Radiant with love, beamed brightly on my heart;</div> - <div class="verse indent15">But then, there comes a blank in memory’s page:</div> - <div class="verse indent15">And next, dark visions flit before my mind</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Of bloodshed, death and slaughter, while to view</div> - <div class="verse indent15">The swarth and fiery visage of the Moor</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Starts up, attended with appalling horrors.</div> - <div class="verse indent15">A truce to memory. What I am I know;</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Thou askest, and shalt know. A warrior bold</div> - <div class="verse indent15">I dwell upon the banks of fair Xenil,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Where that bright river, with its winding stream,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Laves proud Granada’s walls. Ask Muza’s name</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Within Alhambra’s towers. ’Tis he whose heart</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Is boldest in the fight, whose daring valor</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Oft sweeps the plains of fertile Andalusia.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> -</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr tdt"> - <i>Isabel.</i> - </td> -<td> -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetryt"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent15">Oh, boast not of these actions, where the cross,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">The sacred symbol of my holy faith,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Bows down before the crescent. Tell me, Muza,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Does not thy heart reproach thee when this sword</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Is stained with Christian blood—perhaps the blood</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Of friends and kindred, who would gladly lose</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Their lives to rescue thee?</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</span> - </div> -</div> -</div> -</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr tdt"> - <i>Muza.</i> - </td> -<td> -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetryt"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent15">No, Isabel. The ties of blood are severed;</div> - <div class="verse indent15">The tie of gratitude alone can bind</div> - <div class="verse indent15">My heart to others. Shall I not live for those</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Who’ve fostered in this breast the spark of honor,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">And roused my soul to deeds of noble daring?</div> - <div class="verse indent41">Aye, the Moor!</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Though your proud chivalry may curl the lip</div> - <div class="verse indent15">In haughty scorn, claims gratitude from me,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">And shall this be uncancelled? No, by Allah!</div> - <div class="verse indent15">His cause is mine, his holy faith is mine—</div> - <div class="verse indent15">But did I say the ties of gratitude</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Alone could bind my heart? Ah! there I erred.</div> - <div class="verse indent15">There is another bond still closer, dearer,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Entwining with the very strings of life,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">A bond I would not break to gain the world—</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Canst thou not guess it, Isabel? Ah, yes;</div> - <div class="verse indent15">That timid, down-cast eye, that tell-tale glance</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Unfolds the mystery. Strange, indeed, ’twould be,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">If the bright maid that twined the silken bonds,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Knew not her captive. Would to heaven I knew</div> - <div class="verse indent15">What noble parents, happy in their love,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Possess so fair a daughter!</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> -</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr tdt"> - <i>Isabel.</i> - </td> -<td> -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetryt"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent27">Muza,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">I know not what to say; my fearful heart</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Is full of dread forebodings for the future.</div> - <div class="verse indent15">I see thee now in arms against my country,—</div> - <div class="verse indent15">A scoffer and despiser of my faith;</div> - <div class="verse indent15">And with thy hand yet stained in Christian blood,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Thou com’st to woo me! Alas! what can I do?</div> - <div class="verse indent15">I cannot hate thee; gratitude forbids it.</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Heaven aid me in the conflict!</div> - <div class="verse indent15">But seek not, Muza, I beseech thee, seek not</div> - <div class="verse indent15">The knowledge of my rank. ’Twould only widen</div> - <div class="verse indent15">The breach of separation. Will’t not suffice</div> - <div class="verse indent15">To know that in the breast of Isabel</div> - <div class="verse indent15">The cherished name of Muza ne’er shall die?</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Farewell!</div> - <div class="verse right">(<i>Going.</i>)</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> -</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr tdt"> - <i>Muza.</i> - </td> -<td> -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetryt"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent15">One moment stay; we ne’er may meet again.</div> - <div class="verse right">(<i>Exit Isabel.</i>)</div> - <div class="verse indent15">She’s gone, and nought but solitude remains.</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Angel of hope! come on thy downy wings,</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Descend and be my comforter and guide!</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> -</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdc" colspan="2"> - (<i>Enter a Moorish guard.</i>) - </td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr tdt"> - <i>Guard.</i> - </td> -<td> -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetryt"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent15">My lord!</div> - <div class="verse indent15">The torches of a Spanish band are flashing</div> - <div class="verse indent15">Upon the westward of the orange grove!</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> -</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdr tdt"> - <i>Muza.</i> - </td> -<td> -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetryt"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent15">Away, then! follow me!</div> - <div class="verse right">(<i>Exeunt omnes.</i>)</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> -</td> -</tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_COFFEE_CLUB">THE COFFEE CLUB.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="h2sub">No. 1.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“Of all the several ways of beginning a book which, are now in practice -throughout the known world, I am confident my own way of doing it is the -best;—I’m sure it is the most religious—for I begin with writing the first sentence, -and trust to Almighty God for the second.”—<i>Tristram Shandy.</i></p> -</div> - -<p><span class="smcap">Reader</span>,</p> - -<p>Should you, on any one of these gloomy spring evenings, -chance to traverse the college yard, between the hours of nine and -ten, among the many glowing windows, with which the sombre -buildings are then radiant, you may notice two, shining with transcendent -brilliancy. Of the situation of these windows, and the occasion -of so intense a glow, as to distinguish them from the dull -light diffused by the solitary study-lamp, it suits not with our purpose -to tell thee more than this: 1st, that they occupy a central position -in that building, which, in college mythos, holds the rank of -the third heaven; (to south middle we can assign no gentler appellative -than <i>purgatory</i>;) 2nd, that, in the day-time, they admit the -light <i>to</i>, and in the night season emit it <i>from</i>, one of the most literary, -best furnished, and withall best peopled rooms, which our well -stocked University can boast; and 3d, that at the hour above specified, -within this room are assembled four as merry, yet thoughtful -fellows, as your eye (especially if you be a little cynical) would desire -to look upon. But to speak of them in the high terms which -they deserve, would expose me to the charge of base flattery in the -case of three, and arrant egotism for the fourth. Further than this, -curious reader, except so far as may serve to elucidate the characters -of these Dii superi, we shall never communicate.</p> - -<p>But, stop—my better judgment whispers me, that ’twould be safer -to satiate thy curiosity, at once, than have thee continually peering -about and asking troublesome questions. Enter, then, this mysterious -room—erect thy crest—quicken thy memory, for it must -serve thee in good stead. Thou hast free permission,</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>‘Each corner to search, and each nook to scan.’</p> -</div> - -<p>Well, you have made your bow with such a trigonometrical flourish, -as proves indisputably your claim to a rectilineal descent from the -<i>Angles</i>—if I intended a pun, may I eat a dinner of cabbage and -quicksilver, and then, with my heels higher than my head, take a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</span> -siesta beneath a Nubian sun on “Damien’s bed of steel;” (Dante -would have chuckled over so original a punishment, for the embellishment -of his Inferno.) Now you are in the room don’t open your -mouth with such a convulsive gape. Did you never see a classical -studio before? Drop your arms by your sides with perpendicular -propriety, and, if you wish to note the aspect of the room, and its occupants, -do it by quiet, occasional glances, and not by an Hibernian -stare. Take a seat—you have done it indeed, and with a most -rheumatic grace; one would think you had been studying the ‘Poetry -of motion’ all your days. If you wish to take an inventory of -the novelties you see, “<i>Accipe jam tabulas</i>”—pull out your memorandum -book,—“<i>detur nobis locus, hora, custodes</i>”—sit down, and -take your time about it, but be careful,—“<i>videamus, uter plus scribere -possit</i>”—see how fast you can write; that’s what my old <i>paedotribe</i> -used to call a <i>free translation</i>.</p> - -<p>But we must hasten to a description of the room, and its contents.</p> - -<p>Item. Your infernal extremities are sublevated by a carpet, -somewhat homely, but thick and warm, while from an open stove a -blazing pile of ‘divina Hickoria’ (as Virgil would call it) diffuses a -salutary warmth.</p> - -<p>Item. Abutting upon either window, stand two tall and open -book-cases, “filled to the brim of contentment.” Beside the dull -and thumb-worn volumes of the ‘college course,’ which constitute -but a small portion of their burden, you will find a choice selection -from the infinity of books, which the wit of man has perpetrated. -The stolidity of wisdom, and the levity of wit, equally find there a -place.</p> - -<p>Item. In the centre of the room rests a substantial table, around -whose broad circumference an astral lamp sheds its fluent splendors -upon a literary chaos, where taste and fancy have collected their -aliment,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent10">‘In embryon atoms</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Light-armed, or heavy, sharp, smooth, swift, or slow’—</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The meditations of Hervey, and the sparkling humor of Butler,—the -regal Virgil,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent20">‘With the sounding line—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The long, majestic march, and energy divine,’—</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>the smart antithesis of Martial—the luscious flow of Ovid, and the -delicate indelicacy of Terence, and the ‘curiosa felicitas’ of Catullus—(the -phrase was first applied to Horace.) But we are exhausting -our critical knowledge, and thy patience—suffice it to say, -that, strown in elegant confusion, lie a motley assemblage—Milton -and the Comic Almanac—Coleridge and the President’s Message—Kent’s -Commentaries between the two volumes of Rienzi—Shakspeare -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</span> -and John Bunyan—the Yale Literary Magazine and Tristram -Shandy, open at the page whence we extracted our motto.</p> - -<p>Item. Stretching along the back side of the room, is a sofa, of -most dyspeptic virtues—hard by, is an arm-chair, expansive enough -for an alderman—and next, beneath a mirror, stands a dressing table, -which, besides the appliances of adscititious beauty, <i>eau de cologne</i>, -and “thine incomparable oil, Macassar,” supports a load of cups and -spoons, and other paraphernalia for the fruition of that rich beverage,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">‘Which Jove now drinks, since Hebe spilt his nectar,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And Juno swears most bravely does affect her.’</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>At the same time, on the coals, is sweating and snoring a huge pot, -(the <i>conica tridentata</i> of naturalists,) like an uneasy slumberer, ‘<i>flagrantis -atroce horâ caniculæ</i>’—that is, about fly-time. Pray, reader, -remark my classic taste, which I have thus thrice developed for -your amusement.</p> - -<p>We have thus slightly touched upon some of the most striking -phenomena which meet your eye. The living appurtenances of -the room demand a more careful and individual notice.</p> - -<p>Close to one side of the stove, with his feet on the fender, and his -body ‘squat like a toad,’ in the easy embrace of an arm chair, sits a -singular personage, known to thee, at least, reader, by the fanciful -cognomen of Apple-Dumpling. He bears upon his plump visage -and stout frame, the impress of sensuality, struggling with, and almost -triumphing over, a good natural portion of intellect and refinement. -As you see him now, with a cigar in his mouth, and a volume -of Lamb’s in his hand—equally relishing the beauties of both—gazing -now and then, with pleasant anticipation gleaming in his eye, -upon the bubbling, hissing fountain, at his feet—and again with intellectual -delight, joining in the keen raillery of his companions—from -this short sketch, we say, you may divine his character. His personal -appearance is no less queer than his mental organization. He -is beneath the middle height, but owing to an odd habit, which he has, -of bobbing his head up and down, like a startled bullfrog, his height -is incessantly vibrating, between five feet, and five feet six. His hair -seems constantly electrified, and points in all directions, like glory in -the primer. A low forehead, thick lips, and a dull face, redeemed -only by the brightness of his eye, are the only peculiarities, which -deserve our notice. The worst thing about Apple is, that he is an -inveterate punster, and plumes himself on his proficiency in this execrable -art. You can always tell when to expect his artillery of wit. -He gives utterance to a sudden, energetic whiff, and knocks the ashes -fiercely from his cigar, whilst from his kindling eye there darts a -quick premonitory flash. He is frequently placed under our satirical -dissecting knife, and is, certainly, at times very ridiculous—yet, -with all his oddities and failings, we love Apple, ‘even as the apple -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</span> -of our eye,’ and should as soon think of throwing away our coffee-pot, -as of excluding him from our Quartette. Note with careful -eye the individual next him. He is an exquisite in personal appearance -and mental conformation. What ‘Poor Yorick’ said of Dr. -Slop and his pony, ‘that he never saw a better fit in his life,’ might -with equal propriety be predicated of this gentleman’s mind and -body. ‘Il Pulito’—for such is his appellative, drawn from his own -favorite Italian—possesses all the accomplishments of person and intellect, -which are essential to the perfection of a fine gentleman in -this most fastidious age. He has a <i>very general</i> knowledge of ancient -literature, and can <i>talk</i> fluently about French, Spanish, Italian, -and what not; but should one descend to <i>particulars</i>, he is most wofully -ignorant, or, as he calls it, <i>forgetful</i>. Dante, and Tasso, and -Schiller, and Richter, are names ever on his lips; but of any just -conception of their character, and their works, he is totally innocent. -In truth, his high pretensions will hardly bear a strict examination, -except in one particular. His knowledge of English literature is -thorough and extensive. He has drunk deep of those well-springs -of beauty and truth, the ‘Old English prose writers,’ lingered long -about the haunts of our vernacular Castalia, and plunged over head -and ears in the muddy pool of ‘transient literature.’ He is at no loss -for an opinion—most commonly a correct one, too, upon Lord Bolingbroke, -or Captain Marryatt—gentle Philip Sydney, or Porcupine -Cobbett—the cacophonous Chaucer, or the sweetly sentimental -‘L. E. L.’ With such attainments, and a certain seductive grace -in language and manners, Il Pulito is a most agreeable <i>collaborateur</i> -in our nocturnal toils. Were we to omit altogether a passing -notice of his <i>external</i> recommendations, and a sly hint at some of -his ‘labors of love,’ he would never forgive us! for on these he -prides himself incontinently. I would not hint that all his self-complacency -is absorbed in dress—yet he certainly <i>peacocks himself</i>, -as the Italians say, when he throws back the collar of his coat, -displaying thereby a fair round chest, from the middle of whose -glossy, <i>dipectoral</i> envelope glitters the golden symbol of <i>craniossal</i> -love. Dancing, music, drawing, and all the other <i>equivocal</i> graces -of ‘the gentleman,’ are as ‘familiar things’ to him. He can give -you a masterly criticism on a pretty foot, or a well turned arm, and -has caused alarming symptoms of a disease of the heart in more than -one of ‘Nature’s fair defects.’ I have often known the fellow fling -his dark locks around his brow in clustering beauty, and saunter -with <i>unstudied</i> carelessness among some half dozen of his fair acquaintance, -while the graceful dignity of his carriage, the significance -of his tone, and the eloquence of his eye, sent to the innocent -young heart a disturbing thrill, and called to the cheek a warm flush -of unconscious pleasure. Then, too, how perfect he is at turning a -sonnet. Il Pulito is a fine tasteful fellow, with a slight touch of -the dandy. In our coterie, however, he keeps his coxcombry, and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</span> -his love affairs pretty much to himself; for we would be loth to -admit any feminine sentimentalism, to mar our hearty, masculine -hilarity.</p> - -<p>On the opposite side of the stove sits the immortal Ego. Shall -I describe him—i. e. myself? I will, and that, too, in a manner -equally free from vanity and familiarity; for I have a respect for -myself not much inferior to that of the polite Spaniard, who took off -his hat whenever he spoke <i>of</i> or <i>to</i> himself. But to spare my feelings, -which are like the <i>sensitive Mimosa</i>—oh! simile most original -and sweet!—I must recur to the third person. His name is Nescio -Quod. His face when alone is grave and thoughtful; in company, -it is jolly and careless, yet crossed here and there by lines of serious -reflection, which, on the whole, form the general expression of his -countenance. He, as well as Il Pulito, has dipped into almost every -thing, and gone deeply into some—he has read extensively and foolishly, -and is, very naturally, infected with the itch of quoting. He -is apt to mistake strangeness of expression for originality of thought, -and when he has revived some obsolete phrase, or brought forth some -new-coined word, to which there are already a dozen synonymes, he -hugs himself as fondly as if he had struck out a brilliant witticism. -He is vague and anomalous—every thing except wise—sometimes -misanthrope, sometimes pedant, sometimes a musing poetico-philosopher, -but always his own miscellaneous self. He is fond of books, -as much from their generic nature, as from any specific merits they -may possess, and has always some conclusive reason for thinking the -last book presented to his notice, the best he ever saw in his life. -Is the book an old one? ’Tis the voice of antiquity—a message -from the past. Is the work fresh from the literary mint? It breathes -of novelty—its odor is refreshing. He is a very fluent writer, and -for this reason, though by no means the most elegant of the four, he -has been selected to commit to paper the annals of our doings.</p> - -<p>The last of our coterie is called by mortals—no matter what; -among the Gods his name is Il Tristo. His soft hair hangs about -his face “unkempt” and tangled. His eye is faded, his cheek colorless. -Across his uneasy forehead flits momently, from dark to light, -each shade of passion.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“And o’er that fair, broad brow are wrought</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The intersected lines of thought—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Those furrows which the burning share</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Of sorrow plows untimely there.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Now his face is dark with some bitter remembrance—now softened -by some tender thought—now lightened by some glorious purpose. -Tristo is pure and passionate. But his thin, light frame is too weak -for the agitations of his burning spirit. So far as I can learn, he has -been from boyhood the child of the feelings—“chewing the cud of -sweet and bitter fancies.” He has lived in an artificial world—a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</span> -world of poetry and romance. In spite of his good taste, his excitable -feelings and craving wishes lead him to dwell upon fictions -of wild and outrageous extravagance. This is not a world for the -gentle or wayward in heart, and Tristo’s plans and fancies are daily -crossed and crushed. Indeed, I sometimes think that his heart-strings -have been jarred by a terrible concussion, and will never vibrate more, -save in tones of mournful music. When in society, he usually represses -his moodiness, and his thoughts come forth with a fluent -brightness, which is purified and enhanced by their melancholy tinge. -In our company he is more frank and cheerful than elsewhere, and -will, at times, by his eloquence of feeling, call forth our sympathies -and excite our admiration. He never speaks heartlessly—his literary -opinions, his views of society, are all colored by his feelings—and -he will condemn a worthless publication, or espouse the cause -of a favorite author, with as much earnestness as if he were a party -in the case. His vehemence adds greatly to the life of our discussions, -and his caustic, yet good-natured wit, to the merriment of our -lighter moods.</p> - -<p>Thou hast by this time a clear idea of the room, <i>its</i> occupants and -<i>their</i> occupation. Now do the amanuensis.——</p> - -<p>“A fine essay that,” said Dumpling, as he threw down a volume -of Elia, accompanying the movement with a prolonged emission of -breath and smoke. “A masterly essay, that upon Shakspeare. -(Puff.) Lamb is, or <i>was</i>, by far the best critic of the nineteenth -century, not excepting Kit North himself. Wilson rants too much. -He leads us all over creation for treasures which he might as well -have given us at first. But the deep, quiet Lamb—(Puff, puff, -puff.) By the way, how advances the coffee, Nescio?” Nescio -roared, Pulito stroked his chin and laughed, while a quick, bright -smile beamed over the face of Tristo, at the characteristic transition.</p> - -<p>“Why,” said Nescio, “I think it has reached its maximum of -excellence.”</p> - -<p>“An excellent maxim that remark of yours,” said Apple, complacently, -thinking he saw a handle for a pun.</p> - -<p><i>Nescio.</i> “Oh! Dumpling, don’t be witty, at least in that line. -Addison used to say that punning was the lowest species of wit.”</p> - -<p><i>Apple.</i> “Addison was an ass. (Puff.) Infund some coffee <i>instanter</i>. -How beautifully clear! ’Tis pure as Heaven.”</p> - -<p><i>Nescio.</i> “Yes! I’ll wager my Kent’s Commentaries against Nat. -Willis’s poems, that not the <i>ordinaires</i> of London, the <i>restaurateurs</i> -of Paris, or the <i>cafès</i> of Madrid, can furnish better.”</p> - -<p><i>Pulito.</i> “Ha! ha! One would think from that long array of ‘instances,’ -that you were really a ‘man of travel,’ and were perfectly -at home in St. James’ Square or the Rue de St. Honorie.”</p> - -<p><i>Nescio.</i> “I have heard of them, which is just as well.”</p> - -<p><i>Apple.</i> “Do you know, friend Quod, that we do wrong in drinking -coffee so transparent?”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</span></p> - -<p><i>Nescio.</i> “No! how, I pray? Instruct us.”</p> - -<p><i>Apple.</i> “Why, we ought always to see the <i>grounds</i> of what we -imbibe.”</p> - -<p><i>Pulito.</i> “Oh! spare us, incorrigible wretch. ‘Wilt never cease?’”</p> - -<p><i>Nescio.</i> “How long were you loading that gun, Apple?”</p> - -<p><i>Apple.</i> “Rest you content, <i>fair</i> sir. ’Twas an <i>improvisation</i>—a -direct inspiration from Mercury.”</p> - -<p><i>Nescio.</i> “The <i>mercury</i> must have been some degrees below zero, -I should guess.”</p> - -<p><i>Apple.</i> “Oh! most miserable! (Puff.) Physician, heal thyself. -You are like the man that preached against dishonesty with a stolen -shilling in his pocket.”</p> - -<p><i>Pulito.</i> “Cease this ‘childish treble’—take another cup of coffee, -and then tell me what you think of ‘Tristram Shandy,’ which I have -found lying here on the sofa, ‘dejected and alone.’”</p> - -<p><i>Apple.</i> “Think of it? (Puff.) What should I think of it, but -that it’s the finest book in the world? I prefer it to both Swift and -Smollett.”</p> - -<p><i>Nescio.</i> “Well, now, in candor, I do not like it very much, nor -did I ever. I have sometimes stared at his strange conceits, and -laughed at his queer conjunctions, and been, in a few instances, actually -ravished by his beauty and his <i>naturalness</i>. But, then, look at -the astounding proofs of his thievish propensities—at his plagiarisms -from Rabelais, which were traced out by his English bloodhound; -and, whether original or borrowed, look at his tedious and fruitless -wanderings, enlivened, it is true, by conceptions as beautiful as they -are new, yet putting one out of patience and out of breath.”</p> - -<p><i>Apple.</i> (Puff.)</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent20">“‘Cease: no more.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">You smell this business with a sense as cold</div> - <div class="verse indent0">As is a dead man’s nose.’</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>I’ll tell you one thing, Mr. Quod. You and I must part if you say -any thing prejudicial to my beloved Laurence. Shakspeare, Fielding -and Sterne are my favorites <i>par eminence</i>, and ‘let my tongue -cleave,’ (puff)—‘let my right hand forget,’ (puff)—if I do not defend -them till—my last cigar—that is, in a quiet way, by swearing -to my belief, which is as firm as the laws of the Medes, or the determination -of a pig. As for logic, hang your silly syllogisms—hem!—I -would not <i>argue</i> the point, if Sterne were my grandfather.”</p> - -<p><i>Nescio.</i> “Well, if you will not defend him, perhaps Tristo will. -What say you?”</p> - -<p><i>Tristo.</i> “Oh! There are parts and passages of glorious beauty! -The episodes of the Monk, Maria, and the dead Ass—I confess it—draw -tears at the bare remembrance.”</p> - -<p><i>Nescio.</i> “Yes—but those are in the Sentimental Journey.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</span></p> - -<p><i>Tristo.</i> “Right. It is some years since I read it. I have of late -been absorbed in poetry, wild fiction, and idle thinkings. Friend -Pulito, however, if you can waken him from his trance, will, doubtless, -be glad to enter the list with you—lance in rest.”</p> - -<p><i>Nescio.</i> “He must speak for himself. Come, Pulito, what think -you of the proposal?”</p> - -<p><i>Pulito.</i> (Musing.) “Why, I have hardly thought, yet, of <i>proposing</i>, -though she’s a deucedly pretty girl—Phoebus! what a face, -and what a dewy lip!”</p> - -<p><i>Apple.</i> (Chuckling.) “You and she then might play a fine <i>dew-wet</i> -together.”</p> - -<p><i>Pulito.</i> (Still gazing in his coffee-cup.) “True—she does sing -well—and then, such glossy hair, and that eye of jet.”</p> - -<p><i>Apple.</i> “From that eye, then, we might expect to see a fine <i>jet -d’eau</i>.” [At this last discharge, Pulito was thoroughly awakened, -while the others wished they had been asleep.]</p> - -<p><i>Nescio.</i> “Now you’re awake, Pulito, you will, perhaps, answer -my challenge.”</p> - -<p><i>Pulito.</i> “Your challenge, my dear fellow? I heard none. But, -if it related, as Paley says, ‘either remotely or immediately’ to the -drinking of coffee, I’m ready for you ‘when and where thou wilt, -lad.’”</p> - -<p><i>Tristo.</i> “Pulito is either strangely forgetful, or ridiculously perverse -to-night. Let us enlighten the fellow. While your eyes were in -‘dim suffusion veiled,’ and you were <i>reverising</i> upon ‘sweet seventeen,’ -Nescio has offered Apple and myself, pitched battle over -Sterne’s ‘Tristram Shandy.’ Apple refuses to fight, being like -Knickerbocker’s fumigating warriors, more valorous with the pipe, -than the sword, while I retire, inglorious, knowing nothing of this -‘bone of contention.’ Quod, who is determined to have ‘war of -words,’ next offers you the challenge.”</p> - -<p><i>Pulito.</i> “Your pardon, Quod, for my inattention, and thanks to -you, Tristo, for your kind mediation. By the dark-eyed houries of -Mahomet’s heaven—by the beauty congregated in the harem of the -Sultan, (Pooh, interjected Dumpling,)—I never—what was I going -to say?—Oh! I never felt better disposed in my life to do literary -battle—for I have read the book through, within the last month, -and, faith, I believe I introduced the subject myself. I’ll uphold the -<i>old</i> novelists against all gainsayers and Bulwerites.”</p> - -<p><i>Nescio.</i> “I do defy thee, stripling. As I myself once said, (rather -foolishly though,)</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">‘I wouldn’t give the peeling of an onion</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For all they wrote, from Fielding back to Bunyan.’</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The <i>old</i> novelists against Bulwer! Why, man, Bulwer is a genius—the -<i>soul</i> of Wit, Philosophy, and Poetry.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</span></p> - -<p>“Bulwer a poet,” said Tristo—“have you read the Siamese -Twins?” “Bulwer a wit,” said Apple—“in all his novels, he has -no more than ten puns to a volume, on the average.” “Bulwer a -philosopher,” said Pulito—“Oh! shade of Locke!”</p> - -<p>What further open maledictions or sly hits, the ‘favorite of the -periodical press’ and circulating libraries, might have received is uncertain.—Just -then a shout of <i>Fire</i>, which rung through the reechoing -halls of the building, roused our sympathies, and joining in the cry, -we rushed from the room.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Ego.</span> -</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="nobreak" id="THE_FAIRIES_BOWER">THE FAIRIES’ BOWER.</h3> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">When the stars are watching high in Heaven,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And silence has thrown, with a magical power,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Her mystic spell o’er the face of even,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Thou may’st not come to the Fairies’ bower.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Though the star of thy fate shine lovely and bright,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And smile like a seraph just loosed from its sphere,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Yet visit not thou that bower by night,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">For the spirits of evil are hovering there.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Though the seraph smile, and the voice of Love,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Should call thee forth to indulge its dream,—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Oh! go not there! though the moon from above,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Should beckon thee forth with her quivering beam.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">For the flowers that grow in that silent spot,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">With their lovely hues, are laden with tears,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And the birds that sing in that Fairy grot,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Will hasten away when the evening appears.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">And the smile of Love will lose its light,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And the voice of the lover will lose its tone,—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And the stars that lumine the gloom of night,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Will cease to smile from their ruby throne.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">And the star of thy fate will cease to shine,—</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And the flowers will weep a dewy shower;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And the smile of joy will desert its shrine,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">When thou strayest at eve in the Fairies’ bower.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Then, go not thou to the Fairies’ bower,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">When evening is drawing her curtains round;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For the spirits that rule the midnight hour,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Are tripping at eve on that haunted ground.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right">H.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0"><i>April 1st, 1836.</i></div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</span></p> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="THE_INFLUENCE_OF_MORAL_FEELING_UPON_THE_PLEASURES"> -THE INFLUENCE OF MORAL FEELING UPON THE PLEASURES -OF THE IMAGINATION.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="h2sub"><span class="smcap">Essay No. I.</span></p> - -<p>By moral feeling, we mean a recognition of those great principles -of right and wrong, which form the basis of our relation to each other -as social beings. When it is exhibited in our varied character of -members of a community, citizens of a commonwealth, and brethren -of the human family, we give it the specific names of benevolence, -patriotism, and philanthropy. Since then, these relations are so comprehensive, -and so necessarily blended and interwoven with all our -habits of thought and action, the influence of this feeling must extend -to most, if not to all the powers of the mind. It will be our -object in this series of essays, to demonstrate this influence as affecting -the pleasures of the imagination.</p> - -<p>By the benignity of our Creator, we have been endowed with the -powers of taste and imagination, to throw a charm over the ruggedness -of human life, and bring in a thousand tributes of enjoyment to -cheer our hearts in our journeyings through this ‘vale of tears.’ -These pleasures, as long as the powers themselves are uncorrupted -by vice, and their purity free from the taint of unhallowed passions, -are of a kind the most pure and innocent. We believe it to be an -immutable law, in all the operations of the mind, that the exercise -of our virtuous affections, as far as it is carried, induces the highest -possible degree of happiness which we are capable of feeling. Our -most exquisite enjoyments in Literature and the Fine Arts, will be -found to receive their origin from something which most directly -calls up virtuous associations; and in the beauties of the natural -world, those scenes prove the most delightful, which elevate our -contemplations to the infinite perfections of the ‘great First Cause.’</p> - -<p>We would remark, that the influence of moral feeling tends to -heighten the pleasure which we derive from Eloquence and Poetry. -The pleasure which flows from these sources belongs to the highest -and purest order of intellectual enjoyments. They bear with them -a voice that wakes the soul to intense interest, now throwing over -its powers the inspiration of sublimity, and now floating around it in -tones as mellow and gentle as the last whisper of a summer breeze. -Who, as he has listened to the voice of the living speaker, and been -borne along on the full tide of eloquence at the will of the moving -spirit, has not felt his heart swell within him to a loftier expansion, -and his bosom throb with the pulsations of a new and more glorious -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</span> -intelligence? Who, as his imagination has drank in the sweet and -thrilling strains of the poet’s lyre, and his own spirit has caught the -glow of his burning aspirations, has not felt a yearning to soar above -and beyond the cold, sluggish atmosphere of sense, and mingle in -the fancied existence portrayed so winningly before him? There is -something in the ideal but splendid creations of poetry, embodying -in its images all that is sublime, and all that is beautiful in the world -of thought and of nature, that must ever strike within us a kindred -chord. It bids the dim and far off past roll back its tide of vanished -years, and centuries of almost forgotten ages pass again, with their -memorials, across the theatre of existence. Palmyra rises before us -from her ruin of ages, and her long deserted streets are thronged -once more by the congregated strangers from a thousand lands. -Rome, too, shakes off the yoke of Goth and Vandal, and resumes -her proud title of ‘mistress of the world.’ Again the lofty Capitol -is reared on the Tarpeian rock, the long and splendid triumphal -procession enters the gates of the temple of Jupiter, and Rome is -once more the ‘eternal city.’ Then we turn toward the classic -shores of Greece, and Athens, the ‘mother of the arts,’ opens her -splendors before us. The stately Parthenon, sublime in its proportions -and chastely beautiful in its Doric simplicity, still surmounts -the summit of the Acropolis. We roam with Plato through the -shades of Academia; we stray with Socrates along the banks of the -Ilissus; we enter the crowded forum, and listen to the soul-thrilling -eloquence of the ‘prince of orators.’ We need not waste words -to prove, that to the man of sensibility, there is a rich repast of intellectual -luxuries in such exercises of the imagination. But rich -as it is, there is one thing which can bestow a still higher flavor. It -is only when the orator rises in the kindling majesty of virtue, when -the soul of a patriot lightens in the flashing eye, when the wrongs of -the oppressed pour the flush of noble indignation over his brow, and -a nation’s voice is heard in the thunders of his eloquence, that we -can know the full power of his appeals, and receive our most exquisite -gratification. For by the very constitution of our mind, our -deepest sympathies can be excited only when the holier and lovelier -sensibilities of our being are awakened by the exhibition of moral -beauty. There is something so commanding, so godlike, in this -subservience of great talents to high and noble ends, that while the -graces and the fire of the orator delight the fancy and the taste, all -our better feelings are enlisted in the purity and exaltation of his -purpose. Thus also with the poet—it is only when a spirit from -above has breathed the inspiration over him, and his harp is tuned -to the minstrelsy of Holiness,—when in the glories of antiquity, the -ravages of time, and the mighty revolutions of empires, he leads us, -with tender sublimity of feeling, to trace the wonder workings of -that wisdom which ‘sees the end from the beginning’—that the -imagination revels in the fullness of its enjoyment.</p> - -<p class="right"> -C. -</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="COLUMBIAS_BANNER">COLUMBIA’S BANNER.</h2> -</div> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Bright banner of Columbia,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">A fragment of the sky,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Torn down with all thy glitt’ring stars—</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Angelic blazonry!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Stream onward, like the fiery cloud</div> - <div class="verse indent2">That hung o’er Egypt’s sea,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Terror and darkness to the proud,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">A light to guide the free.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Bright banner of Columbia!</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Thou glory’st not in blood;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Yet, if the foe invade our land,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The foe shall be withstood;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A death-grasp shall his welcome be,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">A bloody turf his pillow,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And on the battle-wave he’ll find</div> - <div class="verse indent2">A tomb in every billow.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Dark banner of oppression,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Droop o’er thy millions slain!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">All stained with floods of human gore,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Thou ne’er shalt wave again;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Save when the wail of misery,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The orphan’s plaintive cry,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And the widow’s moan amid thy folds,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Shall breathe in agony.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">But thou, my country’s banner,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Unstained by guilt or crime,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Shalt wave o’er every tyrant-flag,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Until the end of time:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For Peace lies nestling in thy wings,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And each emblazoned star</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Sheds down its sweetest influence</div> - <div class="verse indent2">To heal the wounds of war.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Then wave thou on for ages,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">O’er mountain, lake and sea,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For God has stamped upon thy folds</div> - <div class="verse indent2">His word—<span class="smcap">Eternity</span>.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Yet when the earth’s by thee forsaken,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">No mortal shall weep o’er thee,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For the dread Archangel’s trump shall be</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The requiem of thy glory.</div> - <span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</span> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Then, banner of my country,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Shalt thou be upward borne,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To gild again thy native skies,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">From which thou once wert torn;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For thy earthly mission’s over,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">To the dust oppression’s hurled;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Thou’st struck to none but a deathless power,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">’Mid the wrecks of a falling world.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse right"><span class="smcap">Avena.</span></div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="STORY_AND_SENTIMENT">STORY AND SENTIMENT,<br /> -<small>OR, CONVERSATIONS WITH A MAN OF TASTE AND IMAGINATION</small>.</h2> -</div> - -<p class="h2sub">No. 3.</p> - -<p class="h2sub gesperrt">A NIGHT AT THE FARM HOUSE.<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> - -<div class="footnote"> -<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> -This tale is in the hand writing of my friend.</p> -</div> - -<p>In one of my journeys through the western part of New Hampshire, -I chanced to put up for the night at a small farm-house about -five miles from the little village of W——, and meeting with a -somewhat curious adventure there, I have resolved to record it. My -host was a little, fat faced, bustling, bandy-legged fellow, running -here and there, studious for my comforts, my humble servant, &.c. -&c.; and succeeding with his wife, a long, lank, sidling, vinegar-looking -creature, he made out to obtain for me the only spare room -in his house. Into this I was ushered with due importance, and -having taken a survey of the apartment, its nice new bed, newly -dusted candle-stand, oak bottomed chairs, and a high huge wardrobe, -which from its antiquated appearance I judged to have been -an heir-loom in the family for three centuries at least, I tossed my -saddle-bags into one corner, kicked off my heavy boots into the other, -and slipping my released feet into a pair of soft squirrel-skin slippers, -returned again to the kitchen. There I found my host and his -wife cosily seated over a sparkling fire, and from the abrupt breaking -off of their conversation and half guilty countenances, I concluded -they had been talking over the character of their new comer. I -was never difficult to please, especially when I had fallen in with -any of the peasantry, so to speak, of dear New England, and admitted -to the calm content which reigns around their fire sides—so planting -myself upon a settle, perhaps a dye-tub, a thing indispensible -to a New England farm-house, I entered into conversation with -them.</p> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</span></p> -<p>I found my host a well bred, sensible fellow, somewhat free in the -use of provincialisms, and not wanting in love to a good broad-faced -joke; somewhat witty withal, and a memory in which he had stored -many an odd story, some good and some bad, which stories he told -(when solicited) with a tolerably good grace.</p> - -<p>I pause here to record my observations on one of the peculiarities -in the New England character—I mean its modesty. Foreigners, -and residents of other parts of this widely extended territory may -talk of Yankee impudence, but for the life of me, in all my wanderings, -I could never find the genuine modesty of a native New Englander. -They may cheat you—that is, some of them may, some of -their outlawed, who with trunk and tin wagon travel into other -States to prey on the unwary; but where turn you and find not -some, who do and ever will disgrace the soil that nursed them? For -New England I claim no entire exemption; perfection is not beneath -the sun: but there is more of it here than elsewhere—and in -proof of it I adduce, their superior sagacity, their nobler intelligence. -Where intelligence is found, will you find least of the weaknesses of -human nature.</p> - -<p>But to return: having bid Bessy, a short, flaxen-haired, chubby-cheeked -damsel, of about fourteen, the very image of her father, -bring him a cup of cider; and poking our chairs close into the fire—so -close that the wind which came down chimney, would now and -then puff out the smoke and curl it up about mine host’s neck and -shoulders, making him look for all the world like Vulcan peeping -through the clouds of his own smithy—he began as follows.</p> - -<p>‘Late last March and on one of the coldest nights in my memory, -my wife and me were startled by a loud knock at the door, about -nine o’ the clock; and more so by the abrupt entrance of a stranger, -who had been as it seems just ceremonious enough to knock, -but not sufficiently so to wait until bidden a welcome. Marching -directly up to the fire he doffed his cap, and then in a bland, gentle -voice, and the language of a gentleman, prayed our pardons for his -boldness, and craved our hospitality.</p> - -<p>‘Now Biddy here is not the most hospitable in her feelings, but -even she was softened by the coldness of the weather, and the soft -accents of the stranger. So, bidding him welcome and placing before -him such entertainment as we best could, he ate his meal and -then sat himself down—right where you are, sir, at this moment—as -if for conversation.</p> - -<p>‘His age, I should think, was about forty five. In person he was -strikingly handsome, yet care-worn; his hair was black—his eyes -likewise, and a somewhat cynical curl about his small mouth made -you hesitate to address him, thinking he was perhaps a person of -strong prejudices. His skin was as fair as a girl’s; a fine set of -teeth were displayed when he smiled; in short, his appearance was -such that I should have taken him, perhaps, for a scholar; for, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</span> -though his dress was rich it was careless, and there was a sort of -method in what he said though the subjects were simple, as I am -told is ever found in men of education. At first, he was very taciturn.</p> - -<p>“You find it a cold air, sir,” said I, breaking the silence.</p> - -<p>“Yes—yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“You’ve ridden far?”</p> - -<p>“Yes—yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“You’re come from the south, eh?”</p> - -<p>“Yes—yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>“You’re not from York, I guess?”</p> - -<p>“Yes—yes, sir.”</p> - -<p>‘Well, thinks I, you may be a scholar for aught I know, but hang -me! if I think there’s much variety in your talk.</p> - -<p>‘I took him on another tack.</p> - -<p>“You have, at least, sir, come where hearts are warm, and hospitality -is proffered cheerfully.”</p> - -<p>‘He started at this; a gentle flush tinged his cheek; and he seemed -struck with an ingenuous consciousness of his want of courtesy. -Turning to me he took my hand in his, and pressing it, replied—</p> - -<p>“An honest heart, sir, is its own reward. Small boots it then, -that I add <i>my</i> sense of your hospitality to that of your own consciousness. -Yet such as I have, I give, and that is but small; for I -am one, sir, who cares but for a few, and one who is as little cared -for by others. Once I had a heart that—that—yes! that <i>felt</i>—in -every pulsation <i>felt</i> the beauty that is in morals and in virtue. -Nothing lived, but it gave me happiness; nothing died, but it gave -me pain—<i>That time is past</i>.”</p> - -<p>‘There was something so earnest, yet unstudied; so easy, yet -solemn, and ‘heart-twinging,’ to use a phrase of Biddy’s, in this, -that both she and me began to water about the eyes like two babies.</p> - -<p>‘Returning the kind pressure of his hand, I said—</p> - -<p>“But you are young, sir—too young to feel that life has no claims -upon—”</p> - -<p>“Too old—too old, sir,” interrupted he with emphasis, “too old -for earth, and too wise to do any good in it. Some of the world, -sir, live faster than others. Grief can crowd twenty years into ten, -and care make the vigor of manhood, the tottering imbecility of four -score. Believe it not—believe it not; they err, sir, who measure -life by years. Events, events notch it right—these notch the chronicle -of human life.”</p> - -<p>“And yet, sir, ’tis man’s right to be always happy.”</p> - -<p>“Aye! and ’tis the right of the singing bird to skim the blue -ether, and pour its music in concert with the harmony of the stars—but -how many things invade that right! The bird that sings sweetly -of a morning, may be jammed into the wallet of the clown, by -evening—its music hushed, and its mottled plumes dabbled with dirt -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</span> -and gore. Man’s prerogative to be happy! aye—<i>but ’tis his necessity -to be miserable</i>.”</p> - -<p>‘This, sir,’ said my host, ‘may give you some idea of his character. -The evening passed off—though not very happily; for there -was that about him which took hold of my feelings, and when I -shook hands with him for the night there was an ache in my bosom, -I could’nt well get rid of.</p> - -<p>‘In the morning, he was up betimes—breakfasted—and rose to -depart. Before he went however, he took from his bosom a paper; -and handing it to me, bade me keep it till his return. ‘It is a short -sketch of some of the events of my life,’ rejoined he, as he mounted -his horse, ‘and though it benefit you not, it will perform at least -one good office—make you remember me.’ He bowed, and rode away.</p> - -<p>‘That paper I have now somewhere, and if you wish, sir, I will -read it to you.’ My host rose, and going to a huge cat-hole, or cupboard -in the corner of the room, he succeeded in finding it—not forgetting -by the way, to tumble out sundry articles of house-wife -memory, such as balls of yarn, woollen stockings, flannels, and night-caps, -and strewing them over the floor. Seated again by the comfortable -fire, he now put on a huge pair of brass spectacles, blew his -nose thrice, and proceeded to decipher—</p> - -<h3>THE STRANGER’S MANUSCRIPT.</h3> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>‘I pass over my boyhood.</p> - -<p>‘I had now entered upon my sixteenth spring, and with less unhappiness, -perchance, than ordinarily meets us in this world. Sadness -I had known, but unkindness I had never felt; nor had a suspicion -of how very opposed the heart is to rectitude, found a lodgment in -my mind. I was on the point of visiting the metropolis; and I -know I felt as boys mostly do on their entering into the great world—elated -with the thoughts of what I was to see and meet with, in a -scene I had heard so much about. I talked of little else; and when -the day came heralded by a morning of unusual loveliness, my happiness -almost sickened me. I remember I went out into the fields, -and every thing looked gayer and brighter than I had ever seen it. -The flowers looked prettier—the dew was brighter—the birds chirped -to me as I passed them—and a subtle spirit of life seemed to pervade -all things and participate in my happiness. I returned home -happy, and strove to while off the hours preceding my departure -(for I was not to leave till the afternoon)—but ere that afternoon -came, a dingy, dusky atmosphere, spread itself all about the earth, -and the very sky looked, as I thought, fiendish—threatening. I -shall not soon forget how soon it was communicated to my feelings. -My spirits sunk down. A fearful change seemed working itself -through my disposition, which amazed and maddened me. I answered -those sharply, who interrogated me as to the cause of it. I -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</span> -gave my orders harshly. I ran from room to room, absent and -thoughtful. In fine, all my characteristic amiableness had gone from -me, and I seemed transformed into something devilish. I was changed -as I suppose those spirits will be at the last day, when they turn -half hoping to the judgment seat, and, reading their condemnation -there, instantly become fiends.</p> - -<p>‘A gentle tap was heard at the door, and my mother glided silently -into the room; and seating herself beside me, she laid my head upon -her bosom. She parted the dark curls from my forehead, and I felt -her lips pressed feverishly upon it, and a tear fell upon my face—one -of her tears! I opened my eyes at this and looked her full in -the face—O! how she looked—pale—wan—beautiful.</p> - -<p>“My son—my son—speak to me”—Staring her full in the face, I -drew my hand half unconsciously over my eyes—then, recollection -suddenly returning, I knelt wildly at her feet—</p> - -<p>“Your blessing—Mother!” I gasped.</p> - -<p>“Bless thee—bless thee—my boy!” I started up—screamed—and -fled from the room. It seemed as if I was mad at her—mad -even in my idolatry; and I verily believe I struck her, for I heard -her groan and fall heavily upon the floor.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>‘Before I slept I was upon the ocean—and I have a dim recollection -that there was a storm—that the green and crested billows hissed -angrily as the thunder growled over them—that the ship went forward -like a mad horse plowing through whole mountains of water, -and shaking off the white surf from her bows in sheets of silver—and -I remember that the violence of the tempest seemed to harmonize -awfully with the loud passions within me.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>‘Years had passed. The bright enthusiasm of youth had gone off -with them. The glowing thoughts, passions, sympathies, consuming -themselves in their own fire—my whole character had saddened -down into the melancholy, homeless wanderer. I was no longer -the sunny featured boy that had spent so many pleasant hours on -the hill side—by the sandy margin of the lake that washed its base -and sent up there with every wind that fanned it, a gentle lullaby—by -the rivulet that in early days had caught my laughing features as -I bent over it to gather water flowers—no! I was that boy no longer. -The peace which had once lived in my heart, had become a -worthless and withered flower, scentless as a shadow; the innocency -which once gave a zest to every thing had gone from me; -the gray hairs of premature age were intermingled with the dark -ones of my youth—no! I was that boy no longer. I had traveled—but -what was travel to me? I had been in the north and south, in -the east and west; I had wandered over the solemn grounds of Corcyra, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</span> -and amid the classic ruins of Italy; I had stood beneath the -sky of Africa and sat me down like Marius amid the relics of her -better days, and tried to wake in my heart some of that dormant enthusiasm -belonging to young minds; but it was like seeking to resuscitate -the dead dust in the earth beneath, or to call life into the -mouldering mausoleums and temples around me—no! I was that -boy no longer.</p> - -<p>‘The time of the grain gathering had gone by, and later Autumn -had fully set in; for the trees were more than half stripped of that -gorgeous covering peculiar to this season; and no music came out -from the forest save the whistle of a single quail, and this too in -that pensive cadence which is heard only at the close of the year. -I was revisiting the scenes of my childhood—a spot I had not seen -for twenty years, and during which period I had been a wanderer -where no tidings of the weal or wo of my family reached me. It is -not necessary to recount the circumstances which had made me -thus long a voluntary exile. It need only be said, I parted from -home and all I held dear, in anger—angry with self—angry with -man—angry with that pure and exemplary being who had borne me -on her heart, and by whom I had been so often taught to kneel and -pray even before I could myself frame a benediction—‘with her -who taught me that God loved obedient children.’ O! that one offence! -Any thing else—had it been any thing else, I had suppressed -the groans over my nightly pillow, and borne it like a man -while it grieved me. But she, she in whose character unkindness -had no part—a blow, a damning blow—God! God! this was unmitigated -misery. And yet I had suffered—God knows it, year after -year, and seen it preying on my health, and felt it withering up all -my finer sensibilities—and yet I would not return. I could not. I -felt as if a power was upon me, against which my united energies -were nothing. I felt as if it was my destiny, and strange as it may -appear, I thought it right. I felt it certain that home was not for -me, and though I would wake from an unrefreshing sleep, and recount -for hours as a miser his gold every early association, it brought -the wish but not the purpose to return. Sickness came—O! what -a leveler is sickness of all the petty passions and enmities which -creep into the dispositions of men! How it tears up the character, -wrings out from the hardened heart the bitter gall of contrition, and -forces into amendment! Sickness accomplished in me what reason -and conscience could not do, and broke down that indomitable barrier -which had so long interposed betwixt me and duty. I rose from -my bed, a habitant rather of another world than the denizen of this, -and my first thought was home. This cherished for a few weeks -grew into a passion, and the fear that the grave had closed over all -I loved magnified the wish a thousand fold, while every obstacle -which now interposed betwixt me and a return sent a chill through -me, like that which we may suppose lies on the heart of the dead. -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</span> -The swiftest speed seemed but delay, and it was only on the last -day of my journey and I neared home that my impatience subsided, -and my anxiety began to assume another form—something terrible -and strange, foreboding and oppressive.</p> - -<p>‘The tread of the post horses down the gravelly slope which led -directly to the village, roused me from a lethargy I had fallen into, -and I sprang to the coach window like a madman. We were opposite -the village inn. The same old antiquated elm creaked before -the door, and the same old sign board flapped in the blast, and upon -the high step stones that led to the main body of the building, sat a -human form. A staff lay on the ground beside him—his ragged -scrip was at his feet—and his form was doubled up with age. I -looked closely—God of Heaven!—<i>it was my brother</i>.</p> - -<p>‘But my cup was not yet full. We drew up at the inn door, and -I heard the guard rudely order the beggar from the spot, and curse -him for an idle mendicant. This was too much for my swollen heart -to bear, and leaping from the opposite side of the carriage, I took -my way forward alone. I came to the small hill which ran along -by the side of the village, from the top of which the immediate valley -where lay my father’s dwelling appeared in view; and as I paused -there for a moment, and memory ran over the thousand senseless -objects that lay around me with each of which I could associate a -forgotten happiness, I thought death a boon I could have prayed for. -At that moment the village school poured forth its groups of noisy -and innocent children. This was as it was wont to be—this seemed -natural. But looking nearer, I knew them not—they were strangers. -Here and there I thought I recognized a face I had once -known, but it was transient and soon passed—all was strange. A -celebrated ‘Retreat for the Insane’ was in our village, and reaching -the summit of the hill I stood by its walls. The door was closed -but not fastened; and I know not why, but an indefinable feeling -led me to enter there. I know not but it was the unbreathed wish -of my heart to witness some spectacle of human suffering—hoping -thereby to lessen my own; perhaps I thought I might soon make -it my own dwelling, and I wanted to familiarize the objects I should -meet with;—but I entered. Seated upon the ground with scarce a -mat to cover them, was a lot of wretched beings busied as their -several dispositions prompted them. One was blowing bubbles—he -said he was maturing a system of astronomy, whereby Galileo should -be forgotten and the world profited. Another was heaping up sand, -and hoarding it in his bosom—he called it gold. A third it seemed -had been a lay preacher, and now and then he howled forth a torrent -of truth and error, interlarded with imprecations and blasphemies -the most horrid. And there was one there, a tall and handsome -youth, with eyes as black as midnight, and his brow drawn -down into the scowl of a demon—He said he was <span class="allsmcap">ANALYZING A HUMAN -HEART</span>. Sudden my ears were saluted with loud and piercing -shrieks that made my whole frame shiver, and betwixt each scream -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</span> -I thought I recognized the shrill echo of a lash as applied to the -naked skin. Another—and an old man came tottering round an -angle of the building; and seeing me, he ran to my feet and cowered -down like a whipped hound seeking for protection.</p> - -<p>“Curse them for inhuman wretches”—groaned, or rather screamed -the old man—“They chain me up like a vile beast—a dog to murder -me. They drag me into that black den and shut me there, and -say I’m crazed—mad. What is mad? Who?—O! yes,—my children, -they broke my heart—one went from me, and the other—Ah! -save me—save me”—His keepers came in sight, and in their -hands were the scourges they had been using, the sounds of which -had rung in my ears so appalling. “O! don’t—don’t—I’ll follow—you -won’t whip me, will you master—I’m good—good”—and the -old man actually knelt down, and like a beast licked the feet of his -tormentors. I fell to the earth senseless.</p> - -<p>‘A long and doleful night followed—a blank—a vacancy; so long, -it seemed ten thousand eternities; so gloomy, it seemed as if the -darkness was consolidated. O! what a night is that, when the -helm of reason breaks—the unshackled faculties wander forth—and -the maddened powers invoke images of horror, only to madden -themselves the more by gazing at them! All that is grand—all -that is terrible—all horrible, loathsome, fearful images, that the mind -had ever while healthy repulsed, then come back on the heart -like vultures that have been scared awhile from their prey, whose -fasts have only whetted their ungorged appetites. At one moment, -I seemed borne through the Eternal void chained to the lightnings; -at another, I was dashing downward towards a tremendous barrier -of cavernous rocks, and their serrated pinnacles seemed waiting -to embrace me. Now I was tossed on billows of fire, and a tremendous -surge would hurl me on a jagged precipice; then with its reflux -suck me down through unimaginable depths, and the hot fires -scorched me as they shot into my brain. Again I heard peals of -laughter, and howlings of formless, shapeless beings that hovered -around me; they had snakes and basilisks twisted round their foreheads, -and the flames that issued from their forked mouths seemed -to burn into my very soul. Then came the sense of a release—the -gasping, choking, horrible consciousness, that you are struggling -on the confines of two worlds, and not knowing which is to be yours—whether -earth or death shall have you. Suddenly a fountain -seemed tossing its cool spray over me—the fires that withered up my -brain went out—the fiends that howled about me passed away—the -subtlest life began to dance through my veins—and I awoke!</p> - -<p>My first thoughts were true to their mark, and my first words, -“Mother, lives she? The rest—father, brother—God of Heaven! -why was I reserved for it?”</p> - -<p>‘A form stood by me—a little maid. O! how the innocent words -and kind attentions of infancy, soothe the pillow of an irritable sickness! -We can’t bear the cold studied kindness of such as we are, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</span> -we are jealous of them; we fear they will condole with us, curse -us with their stinted pity; and that too in the measured phraseology -which speaks of the head and not of the heart. But a child, a -gentle child—to see its little form gliding about your couch—to feel -its little arms about your pillow—to catch its warm breath on your -cheek as winds breathed from flowers—and see the kind and touching -solicitude of the eye unused to sights of sorrow, yet enduring it -like a martyr, and for ourselves too,—these make irritable diseases -tolerable—may I not say happy? for the evidence of a pure and devoted -affection in a human being, makes a misanthrope (and such I then -was) contented with misery. And my disease was of this nature: -it was a nervousness induced by excess of suffering, and my faculties -had become so exquisite, that the least thing sent a dart through -me that seemed tearing flesh and soul asunder.</p> - -<p>“Mother! is she—?” excessive weakness forbade me finish the -sentence.</p> - -<p>“Your mother lives”—but she placed her finger upon her lips in -token of silence. I attempted to answer—she laid her hand upon -my mouth with a sweet smile, then turned and left the room.</p> - -<p>‘Weeks passed, and still was I the denizen of a sick room; and -but slowly regaining my pristine energies. My form had shrunk -away—my eyes were sunk—my voice was almost entirely gone; and -as I slowly paced my apartment and from the window threw my -eyes on the dreariness without, (for the year had gone far into later -fall, and the loud winds whistled bitterly through the naked poplars) -I felt as if I had but little to do in the world, and would as lief -go from it. But yet, one thing held me back, one thirst, one -burning desire—the wish to see my mother. She I had not seen, -and for reasons I could not unravel, her name was never mentioned. -And though I was told she was in the house, I was not suffered -to visit her. She was sick, but not dangerous—received my messages -of love daily—returned them—this was all.</p> - -<p>‘One dark night (I shall not forget that night) I was sitting up in -bed, and counting off the weary hours as they limped laggingly by -me. A weight had been on my heart all day, and racking fires had -seemed scorching my brain; and so acute was the suffering, as if a -band of hot iron were riveted closely round my forehead. I sat -thinking—thinking of self—of my sorrows—of my strange destiny; -and then there came back to me the remembrance of other days, -and with them my mother—her care, love, and early tenderness, -until my eyes were suffused with tears. Sudden I was startled by a -low sigh breathed as it were close in my ears. I thought it delusion, -but was soon undeceived—for it was repeated, and that too -so audibly I could not mistake. I turned my eyes in the direction -from whence it came. Again I caught it, and a strain of music rose -soft and sweetly as if an angel sang it, and I saw indistinctly a shadow -gliding past me. Then my name was distinctly sounded, and in -a voice I knew too well. Terror had chained the powers of utterance, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</span> -and I only gazed at vacancy with all the horrors of some dark, -indefinite foreboding. The same sigh was repeated and the name, -and then as a cloud passed over the moon, a figure stood in the -apartment clad in the habiliments of the grave. It smiled sweetly -upon me—it was my mother! I knew she must have passed from -this to a better world, and the truth came over me with a cold -sweat while the palsy of my limbs made the very bed tremble. I -spread out my arms in agony, and wildly clasped the air. There -was another sigh, the repetition of my name—and the figure vanished.</p> - -<p>‘I rose and threw my night garments round me, and grasping my -own flesh to be sure I dreamed not, I took the light from my table -and commenced a search to find—what? my mother’s corse! for -such I felt I must find her, if at all—the warning was not for nothing. -I traversed room after room—met no one—and came to the -wing of the building where I had ever deemed she lodged; and -leaving the light at the door, I slowly lifted the latch and entered the -apartment. <i>On a bed in the centre of the chamber, she lay lifeless.</i> -There was no light there, but the moon broke forth at the moment, -and I saw she was shrouded for the grave.</p> - -<p>‘O! death!—death!—how solemn thou art! How awful, when -thou comest on those we love! How thought at such moments -crowds on the living! How the words that once issued from the -lips that lie there, come up to recollection! How the eye that -looks so chill and glassy, gleams again—and the face marble-cold -and as expressionless, radiates with love, hope, happiness! There -she lay dead, dead—and I not forgiven. She was gone. I had not -heard her say, ‘I forgive thee, boy.’ Not a word—not a look—not -a blessing—God! God!—what next! O, what next!</p> - -<p>‘I crept up to the bier and laid my cold face down to hers, and -moaned in all my heart brokenness of sorrow. I kissed her—I -shrieked her name—I stamped—I threw myself upon her corse. -There was no Promethean heat that could reanimate it—and I <i>felt</i> I -was alone.</p> - -<p>‘Had I heard her say, ‘I forgive—I bless thee, child’—life were -tolerable, and I would have breasted the forceful waves of misery as -they came tumbling in upon me, like a man. This was denied me, -and in its place is blazed in shapes of fire—<span class="smcap">That one offence</span>.’</p> -</div> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The evening wore away, what with the reading of the manuscript -and my many inquiries concerning the stranger, and my host now -showing me to my room, where with many expressions of his happiness -to wait upon me, &c. &c. he bade me good night, I jumped -into bed. In the morning I met him again and tried my hand with -him at a good, honest, hearty, New Hampshire breakfast; afterwards -I shook hands with his family, mounted my horse, and continued my -journey—and such was my ‘Night at the Farm House.’</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</span></p> - -<h3 class="nobreak" id="SONNET2">SONNET.</h3> -</div> - -<p class="h2sub">ADDRESSED TO A LADY SINGING, AND WRITTEN ON THE BACK OF HER MUSIC BOOK.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">It hath been said that music is a dream,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">A soft creation and a witchery</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Made for earth’s happier climes, where peacefully</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Men’s thoughts go by as goes a pleasant stream:—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">It hath been said too, that the favored</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And bright ones who so sing us into bliss,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And witch out from our souls unquietness,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And place a Sabbath softness in its stead—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">It hath been said that these not mortal be,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">But are of the same nature with the sky—</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Ethereal, volatile, as clouds that play</div> - <div class="verse indent0">About the sinking sun at shut of day:—</div> - <div class="verse indent0"><i>But sure they lie—for this soft hand in mine</i>,</div> - <div class="verse indent0"><i>And this soft strain I hear—why, both are thine!</i></div> - <div class="verse right">*</div> - - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="nobreak" id="REVIEW">REVIEW.</h3> -</div> - -<p class="h2sub"><i>The Culprit Fay, and other Poems</i>; by <span class="smcap">Joseph Rodman Drake</span>. -New York: George Dearborn, Publisher. 1835.</p> - -<p>Over the grave of a highly-gifted and a youthful poet, gathers -many a delightful and yet saddened reminiscence. It should ever -be regarded as a consecrated spot—crowded with associations of no -ordinary character—hallowed by the deepest and the tenderest of -feelings. It is <i>holy</i> ground,—better fitted, it may be, than any other -to allure us to reflection,—to summon into active exercise each deep -emotion of the heart,—to draw out into living forms of beauty each -hidden power, each finer sensibility,—and to leave us, better, purer, -nobler, for its warnings and instructions. And yet, why should it be -so? The grave even of the young, the gifted, and the beautiful, -differs not in outward fashion or adornment, from the many which -surround it. It is hollowed out from the same earth with them—closes -over the same lifeless and decaying bodies—furnishes the -same victim for the worm, the same banquet for corruption. The -sculptured stone that marks it, is as soon to sink or crumble as another—the -grass grows over it no greener—the steps of the idle and -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</span> -the thoughtless fall not round it with a lighter tread—and the flower -that blooms upon it, is as soon to fade or wither.</p> - -<p>The grave of a youthful poet is indeed a holy spot, but it is so -not alone in reference to the moldering body it enshrouds, or to the -impressive comment that it reads on death. That grave is sacred, -rather as a remembrancer of intellect. That body was the outward -vesture of a mind. It was the drapery that imprisoned in its folds -a restless and a struggling spirit, burning with the fires of heaven, -yet amid the gloom of earth, and was thrown aside when tarnished, -as unfitted for its purpose. In the departure of that spirit, who can -tell our loss. How brilliant, yet how rapid, has been its career. -Meteor-like, it has vanished from our sight, while the hopes that we -had cherished have gone down for ever.</p> - -<p>The volume, whose title we have placed at the commencement of -this article, and whose merits we propose to examine with our readers, -is a beautiful memorial of departed genius. The perusal of its -pages has naturally led us to indulge in those reflections we have -hitherto pursued. The memory of Drake—his early and untimely -grave—has tended to associate with his, the same sad fate of others. -We have thought of Sands, of Wilcox, and of Brainerd. Of the -former, it is true, we know but little—nothing more than a few casual -examinations of their works afford us. Of the latter, we know -more. We delight to speak of him, not only as a poet—and as such -he had few equals—but still farther, as a friend. In the first of these -characters he has now been long before the public, and has gained -from their decisions a conspicuous distinction—a rank higher we believe -than his own expectations, although one of strictest justice and -commensurate with merit. To us it is a matter of no slight regret, -that a mind so richly-gifted, should have garnered up its beauties, -and have been so very sparing of its splendid treasures. Brainerd -was distrustful of his own abilities. The hope of approbation, was -with him no motive to exertion. He cared not to lay bare the workings -of a heart, perhaps too warm and sensitive, or to send abroad -those finer feelings which might meet no kindred sympathies, and -return to him companionless from contact with the world. It was -only in those moments given up to the full flow of friendship—to -the interchange of sentiments with more intimate associates—that -the noblest of his qualities became developed. As a poet, he reminds -us forcibly of Burns. His was the same appreciation of the -charms of nature—the same exquisitely tempered sensibility—a like -generosity of disposition, and as much of poignant wit and versatility. -The tribute paid to the memory of Burns, may with equal -justice be applied to Brainerd.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“His is that language of the heart,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">In which the answering heart would speak—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Thought, word, that bids the warm tear start,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Or the smile light the cheek.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And his that music to whose tone</div> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</span></p> - <div class="verse indent2">The common pulse of man keeps time,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">In cot or castle’s mirth or moan,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">In cold or sunny clime.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>When an edition of Drake’s poems, containing many pages hitherto -unpublished, was announced as nearly ready for the press, we -received the information with great pleasure. We expected much, -and we are glad to say our expectations have been realized. The -first thing which arrested our attention was the dedication, and it -struck us at the time as unusually appropriate. It is a happy testimonial -of respect, from a daughter to her father’s friend—to one -who, perhaps, above all others, best deserved the appellation. To -whom should it have been dedicated, if not to Halleck? To the -community at large the loss of such a man as Drake may be regarded -as a great calamity,—but to the cause of literature it is still more. -It is taking from the latter one of its highest ornaments, and leaving -a wide vacancy, which time may never fill. Of his general merits, -as a writer, there can be but one opinion. The precise rank to which -he is entitled we propose not to examine, or to venture on comparisons -with critical minuteness. The exact extent of his abilities, or -the results to which his genius might have led him, we would leave -as questions to be settled by the taste of his admirers, and proceed -to mention some of those peculiar features which stand out in his -productions. In our view, his poems are distinguished for uncommon -ease of diction, and the richness of their imagery. Over the -wide realm of imagination our author seems to hold unlimited control, -and to gather from it beauties, which he scatters with profusion. -In whatever spot his fancy may detain him he is found at home, lingering -around each scene with the familiarity of long acquaintance, -and a perfect knowledge of each object and allurement. He is ever -changing, too, in the visions he presents us. Now, he is hovering -over an ideal land, sweeping forward with a wing, which, like that of -the untiring Huma, is not folded upon earth. Now, he leads us forth -to gaze upon the witcheries of nature,—to view the gorgeous colorings -of her varied landscapes,—to break the silence of her forest -solitudes,—to tread the mountain height, or to repose beside the -streamlet that runs whimpering at its base. Again, he summons up -our energies for a still bolder flight—carries us away to the bright -fields of upper regions, onward and still onward, till our world is lost -in distance, and we walk upon the star-lit plains of heaven. Anon,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Fleet as the swallow cuts the drift,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Or sea-roc rides the blast,”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>he plunges with us far within the bosom of the heaving deep, where -the wrath of the storm spirit is unheard—down to the coral towers of -“snail-plated” warriors, or around the amber beds of ocean sylphs -and mermaids.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</span></p> - -<p>But exuberance of fancy, though perhaps the most prominent, is -not the only quality inherent in these poems. We have before alluded -to the beauty of their rhythm. This we regard as almost -faultless. There is a fitness in the choice of each word, and a care -in its location, which imparts to every sentence a high finish and proportion. -Each line seems flowing onward, with a light and rapid -motion, as it were to blend in union with a graceful whole. There -are no rough corners that can meet us at the turn of each expression. -The eye reposes upon nothing but a surface of unbroken symmetry, -and the ear drinks in a music grateful as the murmurs of some meadow -stream. We may deny it, if we choose, but there is a “charm -in numbers,” and the one who holds it lightly is deficient in his judgment. -The profoundest argument that man can frame, or the proudest -monument of pure mind that he can offer, derives much of its -impressive force from the garb in which it is presented. Unadorned -it is the naked statue, modelled thus far by the youthful pupil, and -that needs a master’s polish to display it in perfection. The materials -for this statue, abstract intellect may, indeed must furnish, but -it yet demands the touches of a cultivated taste. That education -which has taught us how to reason has done well, but a different -knowledge should be added ere we reap its full advantage. He who -has cast loose from the firm rock of thought, that his bark may toss -on summer seas to fancied shores of pleasure, has exposed himself -to shipwreck—but as sad may be the fate of him, who, relying solely -on the native strength of his entrenchment, has erected there no -battery to render it impregnable. It would be a source of satisfaction, -did our time allow the privilege, to trace still farther the idea -which we have started, and to make its application to a multitude of -cases, but we leave it, with reluctance, to complete our undertaking.</p> - -<p>As specimens of graceful diction, and an almost boundless play of -fancy, there are many of Drake’s pieces which remind us of the -brilliant compositions of another poet—one whose harp has breathed -forth strains than which there are none sweeter, and whose life has -been one revel around sentiment and song. Who of us can say, -whether the young poet of America might not have been to her -what Moore is now to Ireland—that he would have loved her with -less fervor of devotion, or have sounded forth her praises with a -feebler lyre. His would have been a soul to dwell upon her charms -with rapture, who when pleading for his parent soil exclaims,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent2">“Shame! that while every mountain, stream and plain</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Hath theme for truth’s proud voice or fancy’s wand,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">No <i>native</i> bard the patriot harp hath ta’en,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">But left to minstrels of a foreign strand,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To sing the beauteous scenes of nature’s loveliest land.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>From the numerous pieces which compose the volume, we select -the <span class="smcap">Culprit Fay</span>, as best adapted to exhibit the true merits of our -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</span> -author. It is, to say the least, an elegant production—the purest -specimen of ideality that we have ever met with, sustaining in each -incident a most bewitching interest. Its very title is enough to kindle -the imagination, and to send us wandering amid the bowers of -elfin land, reviewing the traditions of our boyhood years. We recall -to recollection many of those “old world stories,”—tales of -brownies and the bogle burns of Scotland,—of the elves and sprites -of merry England, or the mystic Wasser Nixen of the German fable. -We trust ourselves with pleasure to that guidance which once more -will introduce us to this region of enchantment.</p> - -<p>The poem opens with an elegant description of the spot our author -has selected for his “spell-bound realm.” It lies beside the waters -of the lordly Hudson—a river whose whole shore is rich in scenes -of beauty, and many of whose deep receding bays and jutting headlands -have derived a lasting interest from the pen of Irving. The -time is midnight—we stand upon the summit of Cronest, gazing -upon a cloudless sky—every thing around us is now lulled to sweet -repose—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“The winds are whist, and the owl is still,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The bat in the shelvy rock is hid,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And naught is heard on the lonely hill,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">But the cricket’s chirp, and the answer shrill</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Of the gauze-winged katy-did.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Suddenly the voice of the sentry-elf, awakened from his slumbers, -(how he came to be asleep our author does not tell us,) breaks in -upon the stillness, as he hastens to announce the dawning of the fairy -day—and crowds of tiny Fays fly answering to his summons.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“They come from beds of lichen green,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">They creep from the mullen’s velvet screen;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Some on the backs of beetles fly</div> - <div class="verse indent0">From the silver tops of moon-touched trees,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Where they swung in their cobweb hammocks high,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And rocked about in the evening breeze;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Some from the hum-bird’s downy nest—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">They had driven him out by elfin power,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And pillowed on plumes of his rainbow breast,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Had slumbered there till the charmed hour;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Some had lain in the scoop of the rock,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">With glittering ising-stars inlaid;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And some had opened the four-o’-clock,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And stole within its purple shade.</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And now they throng the moonlight glade,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Above—below—on every side,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Their little minim forms arrayed</div> - <div class="verse indent0">In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride!”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>It is not, however, to the dance or revel that we are invited. No -wild gambol is to rivet our attention. We are summoned to the trial -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</span> -of an erring ouphe. Before us stands the throne of judgment, supported -on its pillars of the “mottled tortoise shell,” and covered by -a curtain of the “tulip’s crimson drapery.” Upon it sits the fairy -monarch, surrounded by the nobles of his realm—before him is the -culprit Fay. Weighty is the crime alledged against the prisoner. -Unmindful of his vestal vow, he has dared to love an earthly maiden. -He has</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">—“left for her his woodland shade;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">He has lain upon her lip of dew,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And sunned him in her eye of blue,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Fanned her cheek with his wing of air,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Played with the ringlets of her hair,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And, nestling on her snowy breast,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Forgot the lily-king’s behest.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>His condemnation follows. The loveliness and purity of her for -whom he had thus sinned, go far to mitigate the punishment to which -he is obnoxious—a punishment than which none could be severer or -more terrible. His sentence is pronounced.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Thou shalt seek the beach of sand,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Where the water bounds the elfin-land,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Thou shalt watch the oozy brine</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Till the sturgeon leaps in the bright moonshine,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Then dart the glistening arch below,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And catch a drop from his silver bow.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The water-sprites will wield their arms,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And dash around, with roar and rave,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And vain are the woodland spirits’ charms,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">They are the imps that rule the wave.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Yet trust thee in thy single might,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">If thy heart be pure and thy spirit right,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Thou shalt win the warlock fight.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>With this explanation of the nature of his penance, we leave the -sentenced Fay to enter on his toilsome journey and meet us in its -progress at a different quarter.</p> - -<p>We have heard often of the circumstances which led to the production -of this poem, and of the astonishing rapidity with which it -was composed. How this may be we know not. Judging from the -beauty of its several parts, and still more from its finish as a whole, -it strikes us as the result of long continued labor, polished and perfected -with a scrupulous attention. The subject which our author -has selected, is one admirably fitted to display his genius. It is one, -however, that demands unceasing effort, and requires the constant -workings of his brilliant fancy. From the ordinary range of illustration -he is certainly excluded, while the path to the attainment of -his object is both difficult and devious. He has drawn around himself -a magic circle, into which no human form can enter. Nothing -earthly is to mingle in the scenes to which he calls us. Each action, -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</span> -in its origin, continuance, and termination, must be fitted to the beings -he has chosen for his actors. With this view of his undertaking, -we may fear for the result, and watch with much anxiety its full accomplishment. -It is not long, however, that we feel this apprehension. -We soon discover that our author is prepared for each adventure—that -he gains a ready conquest over every opposition, while -his flight continues onward with an undiminished ardor.</p> - -<p>Here again we are to greet our pilgrim fairy. Long and wearisome -have been his wanderings. Hour after hour has he toiled amid -the passes of the mountain, and fearful are the perils he has been -compelled to meet. He has followed out a dangerous track,</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Through dreary beds of tangled fern,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Through groves of nightshade dark and dern,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Over the grass and through the brake,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Where toils the ant and sleeps the snake,”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>till he has reached the spot appointed for the trial of his courage. -He has found the treasure that he sought, protected by the warriors -of the deep, and been baffled by their forces in the efforts he has -made.</p> - -<p>It is in this crisis of affairs that we meet with a deliverance as -ingenious as it is successful. It is necessary, for our author’s purpose, -that his hero, though thus far defeated, should yet gain his object, -and with that intention he has brought him to his present situation. -The events which we have compressed into the narrow space -of a few lines, have been presented in detail up to the period in -which the Fay, driven from his purpose, stood despairing on the -river’s brink. It is thus the history continues,—</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“He cast a saddened look around,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">But he felt new joy his bosom swell,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">When, glittering on the shadowed ground,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">He saw a purple muscle shell;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Thither he ran, and he bent him low,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">He heaved at the stern, and he heaved at the bow,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And he pushed her over the yielding sand,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Till he came to the verge of the haunted land.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">She was as lovely a pleasure boat</div> - <div class="verse indent2">As ever fairy had paddled in,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For she glowed with purple paint without,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And shone with silvery pearl within;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A sculler’s notch in the stem he made,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">An oar he shaped of the bootle blade;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Then sprung to his seat with a lightsome leap,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And launched afar on the calm blue deep.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Guarded in this manner from the machinations of his enemies, whose -power was bounded by the wave, our adventurer holds on his course -uninjured, and effects his purpose. His return, surrounded by a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</span> -crowd of ocean nymphs, is beautifully represented. We refer our -readers to the volume for the passage.</p> - -<p>Here the scene of this poem changes, and we find our Fay is still -destined to another duty—one far more difficult than any he has yet -accomplished. The remainder of his sentence now demands attention.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Thy flame-wood lamp is quenched and dark,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Thou must re-illume its spark.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Mount thy steed and spur him high</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To the heaven’s blue canopy;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And when thou seest a shooting star,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Follow it fast, and follow it far—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The last faint spark of its burning train</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Shall light the elfin lamp again.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Thou hast heard our sentence, Fay;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Hence! to the water-side, away!”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>To the execution of this last injunction all his powers are now directed, -and we find him thus equipped for this most daring enterprise.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“He put his acorn helmet on;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">It was plumed of the silk of the thistle down:</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The corslet plate that guarded his breast</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Was once the wild bee’s golden vest;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">His cloak, of a thousand mingled dyes,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Was formed of the wings of butterflies;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">His shield was the shell of a lady-bug queen,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Studs of gold on a ground of green;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And the quivering lance which he brandished bright,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Was the sting of a wasp he had slain in fight.</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Swift he bestrode his fire-fly steed;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">He bared his blade of the bent grass blue;</div> - <div class="verse indent2">He drove his spurs of the cockle seed,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And away like a glance of thought he flew,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To skim the heavens and follow far</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The fiery trail of the rocket-star.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>From the passage above quoted to the close of the poem, is extended -a long series of most exquisite description. Each instant of -our flight, unfolds to our enraptured vision scenes ever changing, -and increasing in their splendor. Already have we hurried by the -misty region of the cloud.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“The sapphire sheet of eve is shot,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The sphered moon is past,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The earth but seems a tiny blot</div> - <div class="verse indent2">On a sheet of azure cast.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>We rest not till we stand beside</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">—“the flood which rolls its milky hue,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A river of light on the welkin blue,”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>surrounded by the brightness of celestial realms.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</span></p> - -<p>As specimens of fanciful illustration, we give a description of the -palace chosen for the empress sylph of heaven, which our author -introduces by way of episode before proceeding to fulfill his purpose.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Its spiral columns gleaming bright</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Were streamers of the northern light;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Its curtain’s light and lovely flush</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Was of the morning’s rosy blush,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And the ceiling fair that rose aboon</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The while and feathery fleece of noon.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Again, we have a notice of the queen’s apparel.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Her mantle was the purple rolled</div> - <div class="verse indent2">At twilight in the west afar;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">’Twas tied with threads of dawning gold,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And buttoned with a sparkling star.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>In looking back upon the numerous quotations we have made, we -fear that we have trespassed, it may be too long, upon the patience -of our readers. To analyze the poem fully—and such was our first -intention—would conduct farther than our limits will allow. We -shall therefore hasten to a close, and from several passages which -still remain unnoticed, select one most distinguished for the richness -of its coloring. It contains the greater part of the address of the -queen sylph to our wandering Fay, when endeavoring to detain him -in her presence, she draws a glowing picture of prospective bliss.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Within the fleecy drift we’ll lie,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">We’ll hang upon the rainbow’s rim;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And all the jewels of the sky</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Around thy brow shall brightly beam!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And thou shaft bathe thee in the stream</div> - <div class="verse indent2">That rolls its whitening foam aboon,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And ride upon the lightning’s gleam,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And dance upon the orbed moon!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">We’ll sit within the Pleiad ring,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">We’ll rest on Orion’s starry belt,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And I will bid my sylphs to sing</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The song that makes the dew-mist melt;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Their harps are of the umber shade,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">That hides the blush of waking day,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And every gleamy string is made</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Of silvery moonshine’s lengthened ray;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And thou shalt pillow on my breast,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">While heavenly breathings float around,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And, with sylphs of ether blest,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Forget the joys of fairy ground.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>The emotions which this burst of burning passion excited in the -doubting Fay, are well described. The remembrance of his earthly -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</span> -love, joined to the recollection of a sentence unperformed, enables -him at last to utter a reply declining even such enjoyment. The -impassioned queen, too generous to enforce her wishes, surrounds -him with a spell that guards from every evil, and then bids him a reluctant -and heart-felt adieu. Rapid is his progress to the termination -of his labors. The conflict is soon over, and the prize is won. -Already is he on the confines of his native land, and we listen to -the music that proclaims his welcome. Gladly would we follow -him still farther.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“But hark! from tower on tree-top high,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The sentry elf his call has made,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A streak is in the eastern sky,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Shapes of moonlight! flit and fade!</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The hill-tops gleam in morning’s spring,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The sky-lark shakes his dappled wing,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The day-glimpse glimmers on the lawn,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The cock has crowed and the Fays are gone.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="nobreak" id="THE_DOUBLE_DISAPPOINTMENT">THE DOUBLE DISAPPOINTMENT.</h3> -</div> - -<p class="h3sub">A TALE FROM SPANISH HISTORY.</p> - -<p>No one, save he who has witnessed with a heart all susceptible to -the beauties of nature, can even picture to himself the delightful -scene of a summer’s evening in the fair region of Granada. The -mellowed tints of the declining sun gilding every object with a fairy -brightness; the gushing fountains sending forth their drops of ruby -light; the thick groves of citron and pomegranate, casting their deep -shadows in the distance, seemingly inviting to repose, almost transport -with rapture an inhabitant of our northern clime.</p> - -<p>It was on such an evening, that a betrothed pair sat beneath the -marble arcade at the dwelling of the Alcalde of the district. Their -hearts seemed in unison with the delightful scene around them; their -words were music to each other’s ears; their thoughts were of bright -joys of the future,—and no one could have looked upon their innocent -embrace, or listened to their words of love, without deeming -their happiness complete. The youth rose to depart.</p> - -<p>‘Nay, Muza, do not leave me yet,’ exclaimed the happy girl, as -she turned her bright, half-smiling, half-imploring eyes, upon her -lover; ‘but a short hour have we been together, and wilt thou leave -me so soon?’</p> - -<p>‘Leave thee, Zareda? nay, I would never leave thee.’</p> - -<p>‘Why then dost thou look thus anxiously towards Hafiz, as if -waiting but for thy steed to depart?’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</span></p> - -<p>‘Love, art not thou ever with me, as well in the raging of the -conflict and in the exultation of victory, as when, side by side, we -sit beneath the overhanging bower and by the cooling fountain? Am -not I still with thee; and do not the thoughts of thee lead me on to -glory? Allah be praised, that he has given me such a presiding angel.’</p> - -<p>‘Thy praise is far too high, Muza, else, why shouldst thou not be -willing to pass some longer portion of thy time in the immediate -presence of such an angel?’</p> - -<p>‘Love, think of our race, and lament not these too short moments -of bliss; our race, scorned and trampled upon by the Christian, -fast falling into the chains of slavery, and compelled to toil for him;—shall -we endure it? No! rather let the desert be our home,—the -home of our ancestors,—barren and desolate though it be, still may -we breathe the air of freedom.—Yes, my country needs my sword, -my country and my love. Do not then grieve for this short interview; -am not I wholly thine,—and will not to-morrow join us never -more to part? Farewell then, for a few short hours, made doubly -brief by thoughts of thee.’ So saying, Muza sprang lightly upon his -horse, which his faithful attendant had already led forward, and soon -disappeared behind the trees that o’erhung the path. Zareda stood -gazing in the direction, so long as the sound of trampling hoofs was -audible, as he flew over the plain, and then, full of bright anticipations -of the morrow, retired to her chamber.</p> - -<p>That what follows may be readily understood, it is necessary to -state, that the incidents of the present sketch occurred about the year -1450, when Mohammed X. ruled over the kingdom of Granada, -but who, together with his people, was in turn experiencing the -ill fortunes of war from the increasing power of the Christians, as -had, nearly eight centuries before, the Goths from his predecessors. -Though, at the time of which we write, the army of the -Christians was not in force against them, still, a kind of partizan warfare -continued,—sometimes, indeed, to the temporary triumph of the -Moors, but always, eventually, to the permanent advantage of their -enemy. The Christian leaders, attended by a few hundred followers, -were continually ravaging the country; and one of them, Fernando -Narvaez, with less than two hundred men, had more than once -spread alarm to the very gates of Granada.</p> - -<p>It was on the eve of an expedition of one of these partisan bands, -as some twenty cavalry were scouring the country, seizing upon such -travelers as were so unwary, or rather unfortunate, as to fall into -their hands, that upon turning an acclivity rising abruptly from the -road, and skirted by a grove of citrons, they came full upon a young -Moorish horseman, riding leisurely forward, as though unconscious -of danger. He appeared to be just in the prime of manhood; in -stature rather above middling, yet finely proportioned. His noble -bearing, together with the richness of his dress, proclaimed him a -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</span> -person of distinction and a warrior; his turban and scarf were -wrought of the most costly materials, and spangled with jewels, -whilst a sword and buckler of exquisite workmanship hung by his -side;—his horse was in every respect worthy of his rider. No sooner -did he perceive the band of the enemy, than he turned in flight -with the speed of the wind; winding rapidly round the edge of the -hill, until, for a moment, he was obscured from sight, he dashed -headlong into the grove, trusting to art and his knowledge of the -country to elude their pursuit. But escape was vain. They hurried -eagerly forward, piercing the grove in every direction, following -each winding path, and seized upon him as he was emerging from -the opposite side. Resistance he saw would be useless; but he -deigned not a word to his captors, and there was nought betrayed -emotion, save a slight curl of contempt upon his lip as he delivered -his arms into their hands, and quietly took his station, as he was bid, -between two of their number. They continued about an hour reconnoitering -the country, but no enemy appearing, returned to their -quarters, bringing with them their prisoner.</p> - -<p>During this interval, the young Moor had had leisure to reflect -upon his situation. He was a brave warrior; and like every one -who is truly brave, he possessed not only a spirit of boldness and -daring during the raging of the battle, and in the hour of triumph, -but could yield to disappointment and defeat, and meet the reverses -of fortune with equal fortitude. So now, though he knew from the -first that slavery would be the mildest lot for which he could even -hope, nevertheless, he willingly yielded to necessity, and seemed to -the observer, as if regardless of his situation. But this appearance -was not long maintained;—a tinge of melancholy stole over his -countenance; the stern and fearless look of the warrior was changed -to the appearance of thoughtful anxiety and inward grief;—some -more powerful emotion, and apparently unconnected with the feelings -of a soldier, was working at his heart. Such was his situation -as they arrived at their quarters, and conducted him immediately to -the presence of their leader.</p> - -<p>All the decision and sternness of a Spanish general was depicted -in the countenance of Narvaez. His authority was usually severe, -and his will not to be questioned; but, at times, he would exhibit a -natural disposition of kindness and benevolence, which endeared him -to his followers, and rendered him none the less fitted to command.</p> - -<p>‘Who art thou?’ said he, as the prisoner was led before him, -‘and whither wert thou going, thus unattended, through a hostile -country?’</p> - -<p>‘Christian,’ said the Moor, as he endeavored to assume an appearance -becoming his rank, but which, it was evident at the time, -cost him no slight exertion,—‘know that I am the son of the Alcalde -of Ronda; and I was going, this very night, to claim—’ but -the effort was too much for him; he burst into tears.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</span></p> - -<p>‘Thou astonishest me!’ cried Narvaez,—‘thy father I knew -well, and, though an enemy, yet will I acknowledge him as brave a -warrior as ever crossed a lance; but thou weepest like a woman! -Seest thou not that this is but one of the chances of war; one, -which thy noble father would have met, had fortune so ordered, with -as calm a brow as if greeted with the tribute of success? Is the son -so far degenerated from the sire!’</p> - -<p>‘Nay, Christian,’ answered Muza, for it was he, ‘I hope in all -things to be worthy of the fame of my father; and among my own -people, the name of Muza ben Hassan is not spoken with contempt. -’Tis not for the loss of liberty that I grieve, but for something a -thousand times dearer than that, of which I must be deprived;’—and -as he concluded the sentence, his spirit, which for a moment -had been aroused by the taunting allusion to his degeneracy, sank -again. But Narvaez saw the marks of a noble mind within, as he -drew up his manly figure to its height, displaying to the best advantage -his finely proportioned limbs, whilst his brow contracted with a -look almost of defiance. He saw that there was something more -than his present misfortune which so powerfully affected him,—and -at once he became deeply interested in the youth.</p> - -<p>‘And what is that,’ said he, as he saw him a little more composed, -‘which thou valuest at a price so much dearer than liberty?’</p> - -<p>‘Know then, since thou wishest it, that I have long been in love -with the daughter of a neighboring Alcalde; that love was crowned -with success, and this very night was to have made her mine, but thy -arms have detained me. She is even now waiting in suspense, or -perhaps accusing me of inconstancy,—wretched, wretched fate! -would that I might see her yet once more.’</p> - -<p>‘Noble cavalier! if thy wish is granted thee, wilt thou promise to -return before to-morrow’s sun?’</p> - -<p>‘Allah bless thee, generous Christian!’ exclaimed Muza, overjoyed -at the proposal, ‘upon the word of a Moor, whose word, when -sincerely given, has never been broken, I promise faithfully to return. -Generosity, I see, belongs not to one race alone.’</p> - -<p>‘Go then,—and remember thy promise,’ said Narvaez, as he gave -orders to permit him instantly to depart.</p> - -<p>Let us change the scene, and introduce once more the fair lady -of our tale, whom we have already too long neglected. Throughout -the day all had been bustle and preparation in the house of her father. -The halls had been richly hung with tapestry, and put in -readiness for the giddy dance; the tables were loaded with the choicest -productions of that fruitful clime for the marriage banquet. -Zareda had been all gayety and happiness; but towards evening she -appeared more thoughtful, and her accustomed laugh and words of -mirth were no longer heard. She expected to have seen him ere -this, and to have met that embrace, which would crown all her love. -An hour passed away, yet still he came not:—her watchfulness was -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</span> -fast verging to anxiety. Another long half hour is gone—in gloomy -sadness she sat herself down ’neath the arcade, where they had so -often met together. ‘Why comes he not?—has any mischief befallen -him?—has he fallen into the hands of any marauding company -of the enemy? has he—can it be, that he has deserted me?—away, -ungrateful thought! it cannot be; some accident surely has overtaken -him.’ As these, and various like reflections, were passing in -her mind, a song of plaintive melancholy fell softly on her ear.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">The rainbow’s brightest tint</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Soonest fades away;</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The tenderest floweret’s bloom</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Quickest meets decay.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">The first bright rose of spring,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">That exhales its morning breath,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Returning dews of even</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Strike with the chill of death.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">So I, my love, must soon</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Ne’er meet with thee again,—</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Our marriage tie is changed</div> - <div class="verse indent2">To slavery’s cruel chain.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Thy ruby cheek will fade,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Tears dim thine eye of blue,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">For I, my love, must bid</div> - <div class="verse indent2">A long, a last adieu.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>So deeply melancholy was the strain—so much in unison with her -own increasing fears, that Zareda recognized not the cheerful voice -of her Muza, till the song was finished, and he himself stood before -her.</p> - -<p>‘Muza, is it thou?—thanks to Allah! now will we indeed be -happy. But why so late? Is this the eagerness with which to -meet thy bride?—or why didst thou fright me with that gloomy -song?’</p> - -<p>‘Zareda, I am a prisoner; perhaps a slave—two hours ago I fell -into the hands of the enemy, and I am now to behold thee for the -last time.’</p> - -<p>‘A prisoner! how so, even if thou hast been with the enemy, -since thou now standest here free before me? Thy bonds are loose -for a Christian’s hands to inflict. Oh Allah! hast thou too proved -faithless to thy country! art thou a—’</p> - -<p>‘Traitor! and from thee! Zareda, hear me: accuse me not of -faithlessness either to thee or to my country. Though I am now before -thee, still am I no less a prisoner; I must return before to-morrow’s -sun—my word is pledged. Then doubt me not, but take my -last farewell. Would that I might see <i>thee</i> happy; then would I -be content.’</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</span></p> - -<p>‘I will not doubt thee, Muza. Oft hast thou given me proofs of -thy love, but this surpasses all.—Nay, thou shalt not say farewell; -I will go with thee, perhaps they may listen to my prayers. I have -wealth and jewels,—they shall purchase thy freedom, or together we -will share thy fate.’ Muza saw that to oppose her wishes would -only increase her zeal; and, though he had no hopes for his own -freedom, he knew that to her at least no injury would be suffered by -his enemies. Zareda was soon in readiness to depart, and long before -morning they had arrived at the station of their enemy. Narvaez -was ready to receive them.</p> - -<p>‘Ha,’ exclaimed he, as Muza again appeared before him, supporting -on his arm the trembling Zareda, ‘thou hast brought thy mistress -with thee, to cheer thy spirits, and soften the ills of confinement?’</p> - -<p>‘Christian,’ said Zareda in a faltering voice, falling at the feet of -Narvaez, ‘if thou hast an eye to pity, a heart to feel, do not separate -us. Here is money: here are jewels—take them all, but let -<i>him</i> go free.’</p> - -<p>‘Generous maiden, fear not;’ and he raised her gently as he -spoke;—‘thy devotedness is worthy the fidelity of thy lover. Cruel -should I indeed be, had I the heart to mar such happiness as is in -store for thee. Go, and may ye both live long to enjoy your happiness.’</p> - -<p>But the goodness of Narvaez was not alone manifested in words. -He loaded them with presents, and furnished an escort to conduct -them in safety to Ronda. And long was the name of Narvaez celebrated -in song and romance, as the <i>generous-hearted Christian</i>.</p> - -<p class="right"> -J. -</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h3 class="nobreak" id="GREEK_ANTHOLOGY_No_III">GREEK ANTHOLOGY.—No. III.</h3> -</div> - -<p>Bless thee, reader—Let us live and love, since brief is our time -for either. <i>Of course</i>, I wish to please thee. I might make a huge -boast of independence: but the boast would be as false as foolish. I -might feign contempt of thee, and of the public: but it would be a -wicked lie. So far as I am an author, <i>thy</i> smiles, and <i>their</i> favor, -are my life. I may read, think, act, to please myself; but it is clear -that <i>I write</i> to please thee. This blows sky-high all scornful prefaces, -such as some modern authors paste on the foreheads of their -little bantlings, which they send forth to angle for favor in the muddy -and shifting stream of popular applause. How mortified are these -scribbling autocrats, when their very <i>cartels</i> of defiance are unanswered, -and unread! Yet, on the other hand, is there something -of courtesy,—nay, of indulgence, due to him, who neither assumes, -nor dictates, but offers, in the words, and with the spirit of humility, -what he hopes may please, and possibly instruct. I steal not—I -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</span> -borrow not. Scanty though be my cloak in breadth, and coarse in -texture, yet I wove it in mine own loom, and with mine own hands. -Whatever I give is mine, or rather, <i>was</i>—for it is <i>thine</i> now. It is -all I have—the widow’s mite—and, as such, receive it. I would -not bring a “vain oblation” to the literary altar—that blood-stained -shrine, on which so many a helpless victim is dissected by unfeeling -butchers. I have not time to give thee much, (I fear me thou art -not sorry,) nor can I ‘lick into shape’ what I <i>do</i> give.</p> - -<p>I have thought of essaying a few remarks on the principles of -translation, and the practice of translators, that thou be not inordinately -surprised, if on comparing my version with the original, thou -dost not find in both <i>all</i> the same words, and in the same order—meeting, -tooth to tooth. I do so to satisfy the scruples of the well-disposed, -and not to blunt the arrows of small-beer wit, or to elude -the aim of pop-gun ammunition. “Out! out! brief candle!” says -the immortal Shakspeare. “Get out! get out! you short candle!” -says the spruce Frenchman. The Frenchman was <i>literal</i>; but he -had better have understood the <i>spirit</i> of his author, and given that, -though it were with a periphrasis. The truth is, you cannot render -any passage in a Greek or Latin poem <i>religiously</i> into English—preserving -the precise form, attitude, expression and size—if you attempt -the absurdity, you present to the eyes of your readers, not a -living body, but a lifeless corpse. All, that can be done with works -written among nations at so wide a remove from our own in age, -character, customs, and religion, is to breathe the spirit and manner -of the original into English as elegant, yet close and strong as possible. -Their works are full of phrases and allusions, which, with us, -are dry and barren, while to them they were instinct with poetry, -and eloquent with meaning. To the heart of the Grecian the history -of his country was sanctified, and made dear by a long line of -traditionary glories. Familiar to them, though lost to us, were a -thousand memories of mystic interest, and patriotic pride—tales of -the gods and heroes, who had lived and moved in their land, amid -the days of its splendor—histories woven from facts, but tinged in -the multitudinous colorings of fancy—fables, that stretched far back -through the haze of ages, from wonder to doubt, and from doubt to -darkness. Here had Jupiter been cradled in the mountains—there -gushed a fountain from the foot-print of Neptune’s charger—here, -from the sown teeth of the slaughtered dragon, sprang to life and fell -in battle a field of steel-clad warriors—and there had Orpheus -charmed the stones to life, and made the forests dance in chorus to -his lyre. These were so many chords of interest, which the poet -had but to touch, and the souls of his readers responded with a thrill. -Now all these springs of passion are sealed to us—for, in the first -place, the history of another and a buried nation excites but a feeble -sympathy, compared with that which ponders and glows above our -own—and, secondly, we rarely feel deeply what we do not thoroughly -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</span> -believe, or fully comprehend. Deprived, then, of these advantages, -unaided by fancy, and unadorned by language, a translation -would be about as <i>touching</i> as a table of <i>tangents</i>. And this is -what has made English translations so insipid compared with English -originals, and has induced in some the belief that even the -master-pieces of antiquity are poor and pointless—the fondled god-children -of pedantic book-worms. This deficiency the translator -must labor to supply. It is to be supplied—not by stripping the -original of its <i>nationality</i>, and making it apply as well to New England -as to Greece—but by preserving it bold, free, and spirited, as -it is in its native language—by clothing it in words sufficiently glowing -and graceful to arouse sympathy, yet exhibiting, through all, the -body of the original, like a lamp flame, shining through its glassy -vase—in short, by having it still Greek, but English-Greek.</p> - -<p>This accords with the practice of all the best translators. No -translator ever gave, or intended to give every word, or even shade -of idea, that he found in the original. I appeal with confidence to -any page in Dryden, or Cowley, in Addison, or Pope. They have, -I acknowledge, generally carried their <i>liberality</i> to a fault—still, if -<i>they</i> do not translate correctly, who does? Open at any page of -Pope—say the last four lines of the Iliad. Read the simple original. -“And after having heaped up the (sepulchral) mound, they -went back. And then, happily assembled, they banqueted upon a -very splendid banquet in the dwelling of Priam, Jove-nourished -king. Thus did they attend to the burial of Hector, tamer-of-horses.”</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“All Troy then moves to Priam’s court again,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">A solemn, silent, melancholy train.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Assembled there, from pious toil they rest,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And sadly shared the last sepulchral feast.</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Such honors Ilion to her hero paid,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And peaceful slept the mighty Hector’s shade.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Too wide, I grant—yet it is Pope, the king of translators.</p> - -<p>Addison, dear reader, was not a bad translator. Yet take his rendering -of that grand Horatian—the third of the third book. “Not -the heat of the citizens, commanding crooked things, not the countenance -of an urgent tyrant, shakes in his solid mind the man just -and firm to his purpose.”</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“The <i>man</i>, resolved, and steady to his trust,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Inflexible to all and obstinately <i>just</i>,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">May the rude <i>rabble’s</i> insolence despise,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Their senseless clamors, and tumultuous cries:</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The <i>tyrant’s</i> fierceness he beguiles,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">And the stern brow, and the harsh voice defies,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And with superior greatness smiles.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</span></p> -<p>He has rendered literally but four words, and them I have italicised. -Is it, therefore, a bad translation? No. It is good—though, -with all due deference to thy shade, Oh! Joseph, I must think it a -<i>little</i> diffuse—still, it is good, because it expresses the spirit and manner -of the original in fine, forcible English. I give thee a literal -translation—not that one better and as close might not be made—but -to exemplify the difference between transfusing the <i>spirit</i> and -the <i>words</i> of an author from one language into another.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">The upright man, <i>who</i> to his purpose clings,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">No rabble’s heat, commanding crooked things,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Nor urgent tyrant’s countenance can shake</div> - <div class="verse indent0">In his firm mind——</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Almost perfectly literal, and—sweet reader—how spirited! I -might <i>multiply</i> my remarks, were I not loth to <i>divide</i> thine attention.</p> - -<p>I give thee two or three things—such as an aching head and -sleepy eyes made them.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0"><i>By Lucillius, to Nicylla.</i></div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Those, who affirm that thou dost dye</div> - <div class="verse indent2">The ringlets of thy jetty hair,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Can easily be proved to lie—</div> - <div class="verse indent2">Thou <i>bought’st</i> them black as now they are.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0"><i>By the same, to a Miser.</i></div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">Thou hast, indeed, the rich man’s pelf,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">But dost possess the beggar’s soul,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Oh, thou, who starvest for thyself,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And for thine heirs in wealth dost roll.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0"><i>By the same. Envy.</i></div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">When Flaccus on the gallows swung,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And chanced to see a brother-thief</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Upon a loftier gibbet hung,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">He grinned, and died in envious grief.</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0"><i>A quodam, mihi ignoto.</i></div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">A man, that once before has married,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And longs again the <i>noose to splice</i>,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Is one, that has at sea miscarried,</div> - <div class="verse indent2">And wishes to be shipwrecked twice.</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<p>Be this a <i>caveat</i> to all amorous widowers.</p> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Hermeneutes.</span> -</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</span></p> - -<h2 class="nobreak" id="TO_CORRESPONDENTS">TO CORRESPONDENTS.</h2> -</div> - -<p>“Charles K.” is a well written tale, and, as it is apparently founded -upon facts, would undoubtedly interest those personally acquainted -with the scenes which it describes; but, unless we misjudge, it would -strike others differently.</p> - -<p>“Evening Thoughts,” an article on William Wirt, and a “Sonnet,” -are declined.</p> - -<p>“The Seminole,” with some metrical alterations, may appear in -our next.</p> - -<p>“A Rhyming Mood,” is accepted.</p> - -<p>The author of “Niobe,” and “Spring,” (we suppose them both -from the same pen,) would do well to use the ‘<i>file</i>’ a little more -freely, and also, read, at his leisure, a chapter or two of some treatise -on <i>Perspicuity</i>.</p> - -<p>“My Village Home,” “The Pleasures of Innocence,” and “The -Future,” (which, from the <i>paper</i> and chirography, we judge to be -the productions of one and the same intellect,) might, perhaps, be -creditable to the powers of an Infant School poet; but, <i>Dii Immortales!</i> -can it be possible they have been perpetrated by any one of -riper years? Take a specimen or two.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“But ah! where’s now their boyish pranks</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Since last I saw those sloping banks;</div> - <div class="verse indent0"><i>Time’s</i> stern mandate, bid to hardy toil,</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Some with Fame—the rest on Nature’s soil.”</div> - </div> - <div class="stanza"> - <div class="verse indent0">“Oh! ’tis that off distant hill</div> - <div class="verse indent0">By the shady grove, all leafless—still</div> - <div class="verse indent0">Where I’d seek an humble place</div> - <div class="verse indent0">To lay low my care-worn face.”</div> - </div> -</div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</span></p> - -<h2> -PROSPECTUS<br /> -<small>OF THE</small><br /> -YALE LITERARY MAGAZINE. -</h2> -</div> - -<p class="h2sub"> -TO BE CONDUCTED BY THE STUDENTS OF YALE COLLEGE. -</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>An <i>apology</i> for establishing a Literary Magazine, in an institution -like Yale College, can hardly be deemed requisite by an enlightened -public; yet a statement of the objects which are proposed -in this Periodical, may not be out of place.</p> - -<p>To foster a literary spirit, and to furnish a medium for its exercise; -to rescue from utter waste the many thoughts and musings of -a student’s leisure hours; and to afford some opportunity to train -ourselves for the strife and collision of mind which we must expect -in after life;—such, and similar motives have urged us to this undertaking.</p> - -<p>So long as we confine ourselves to these simple objects, and do -not forget the modesty becoming our years and station, we confidently -hope for the approbation and support of all who wish well -to this institution.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>The work will be printed on fine paper and good type. Three -numbers to be issued every term, each containing about 40 pages, -8vo.</p> - -<p><i>Conditions</i>—$2,00 per annum, if paid in advance, or 75 cents -at the commencement of each term.</p> - -<p>Communications may be addressed through the Post Office, “To -the Editors of the Yale Literary Magazine.”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>This No. contains 3 sheets. Postage, under 100 miles, 4½ -cents; over 100 miles, 7½ cents.</p> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<div class="chapter transnote"> -<h2 class="nobreak" id="Transcribers_Notes"> -Transcriber’s Notes -</h2> - -<p>A number of typographical errors were corrected silently.</p> - -<p>Cover image is in the public domain.</p> - -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YALE LITERARY MAGAZINE (VOL. 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