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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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