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The one she stroked my milk-white chin, VERSES TO THE MEMORY OF A VERY In my ear one softly sings:
PROMISING CHILD. “ Rise up, rise up, thou Younker brave, And trip in our moon-light rings! Written after witnessing her last Moments.
I. “ Rise up, rise up, thou Younker brave,
e, I CANNOT weep, yet I can feel And trip in the moon-light ring, And my Maidens each one of the silvery
The pangs that rend a Parent's breast;
But ah? what sighs or tears can heal tone, Shall their loveliest ditties sing."
Thygriefs, and wake the Slumberer's rest?
II. And then began her song to sing
What art thou, spirit undefined, The loveliest of all the train,
That passest with Man's breath away! And the streamlet's roar was heard no more, That givest him feeling, sense, and mind, It own'd the magic strain.
And leavest him cold, unconscious clay!
III. The noisy stream it flowed no more,
A moment gone I looked, and lo But stands with feeling listening ;
Sensation throbbed through all this frames The sporting fishes lave in the silvery wave, Those beamless eyes were raised in woe ; And friend by foe is glistening.
That bosom's motion went and came. The fishes all in the silvery wave,
IV. Now up, now down, are springing ;
The next a nameless change was wrought, The small birds are seen in the coppice green
Death nipt in twain Life's brittle thread, To sport their songs while singing.
And in a twinkling, feeling, thought,
Sensation, motion—all were fled ! "Listen, O listen, thou Younker brave !
V. If with us thou wilt gladly be,
Those lips will never more repeat We'll teach thee to chime the Rupic rhyme, The welcome lesson conned with care; And write the Gramarye.
Or breathe at even, in accents sweet,
To Heaven, the well remembered prayer! « We'll teach thee how the savage bear With words and spells we charm ;
VI. And the dragons that hold the ruddy gold
Those little hands will ne'er essay Shall fly thy conquering arm."
To ply the mimic task again,
Well pleased, forgetting mirth and play, And here they danced, and there they A Mother's promised gift to gain !
danced, And all Love's lures are trying ;
That heart is still no more to move : But the Younker brave, as still as the grave, That cheek is wan-no more to bloom, Grasped his sword beside him lying. Or dimple in the smile of love,
That speaks a Parent's welcome home 4. Listen, o listen, thou Younker proud!
If still thy speech denying, Our vengeance shall wake, and nought shall And thou, with years and sufferings bowed, e it slake
Say, dost thou least this loss deplore? But thy blood this green turf dyeing !” Ah! though thy wailings are not loud,
I fear thy secret grief is more. And then- happy, happy chance !
IX. His song Chanticleer begun,
Youth's griefs are loud, but are not long Else left were I still on the fairy hill
But thine with life itself will last, With the Fairy Fair to won.
And Age will feel each sorrow strong And hence I warn each goodly youth,
When all its morning joys are past. Who strolls by yon strearnlet fair, That he lay him not down on the Elf-hill's 'Twas thine her infant mind to mould, • crown,
And leave the copy all thou art; Nor seck to slumber there.
And sure the wide world does not hold
- A warmer or a purer heart. • The above extemporaneous and very
XI. unfinished Translation is given, with the I cannot weep, yet I can feel view of comparing the character of the Ger. The pangs that rend a Parent's breast; man fairy legends with that of our own; But ahl what sorrowing can unseal on and sdso on account of a remarkable coin. Those eyes, and wake the Slumberer's cidence in the effects of this Fairy's song, rest?
J. M·DIAR MID, and those so beautifully described in Mr Hogg's Witch of Fife, as produced by the These Lines appeared anonymously a magic melody on the green Lomond. The few weeks ago in a Scotch Weekly Pape; superiority of our countryman, in this par. but we have discovered the Author, and beticular, over Herder, is very striking. lieve he will not be displeased to see them
J. F. 1818. reprinted with his name in this Miscellery. VOL. I.
REVIEW OF NEW PUBLICATIONS.
Poetical Epistles, and Specimens of whatever source it flows,-whether
Translation. 12mo. Edinburgh, from the bright and conspicuous shrine Constable & Co., 1813.
to which all eyes are turned, or from
the obscure and shaded fountain which This elegant little volume is mani. flows but to cheer its own solitude. festly the production of a man of eru. In an age when great poets exist, dition, taste, sensibility, and genius. there must likewise exist many minds It abounds with imagery ;-it is every- of the true poetical character, but with where animated with easy, natural, humbler faculties and lowlier aspiraand lively feeling ;-and it exhibits tions. From their writings, much, numerous examples of extreme felici- perhaps, may be learned, which is not ty in language and versification, per- to be found in strains of higher mood, fectly decisive of the accomplished and which bearn more directly on the scholar. Its very faults and defects business and duties of life. They (and they are both multifarious and stand more nearly on a level with their glaring), instead of offending, really readers; their thoughts and sympaimpart to our minds a kind of con- thies are more kindred and congenial fused pleasure, arising, we conceive, with the ordinary thoughts and symfrom that kindliness and good will to-pathies of man; their souls more closewards the anonymous Poet, which his jy inhabit, and more carefully traverse, happy, careless, and indolent nature this our every-day world; and the irresistibly excites, --so that we come sphere of their power is in the halat last to look on his occasional weak- lowed circle of domestic happiness nesses and vagaries as characteristic Let no one, therefore, deceive himself traits peculiar to himself, and which into a belief, that he does in his heart endear him to us almost as much as rationally love poetry, unless he is his many high and valuable qualities. above being chained by the fascination
We never read poems which so clear- of great names, and delighted to meet Jy bear the marks of having been writ- with imagery, sentiment, and pathos, ten purely for the gratification of the even in a small, obscure, and anony. author, without any intention, or even mous volume like this, which, eviprospect, of publication. They con- dently written by a man of genius and tain just such thoughts, feelings, and virtue, is given to the public from no remembrances, as are likely to arise desire of fame, but from the wish to in the heart and mind of an amiable impart to others the calm, unostenand enlightened man, when indulging tatious, and enlightened happiness poetical reveries in his solitary study which, during the composition of it, or evening-walk; and thus, though he himself must have enjoyed in they are often vaguely, obscurely, and thoughtful and philosophical retireindefinitely, conceived and expressed, ment. there is always about them a warmth, The volume consists partly of orlo a sincerity, and earnestness, which ginal compositions, and partly of trans force us to overlook every fault in com- lations from Euripides, Anacreon, and position,--while the happier passages "Tyrtæus ;- from Horace, from Danare distinguished by an ease, freedom, te, from Petrarch, and from Klopelegance, and grace, truly delightful, stock. The original compositions are and not to be surpassed in the very in the form of Poetical Epistles. best specimens of our opuscular poetry. The first of these Epistles seems to
· Yet with all this merit, we believe have been written as far back as the the volume has attracted little atten- year 1799, when, it appears, from se tion. In the present day, unless a veral passages, the author was a me
poet stand in the first class, he has but ber of the University of Oxford. ? · little chance of being read at all; and first part of it contains a descript
the ignorant are now as fastidious as of a pedestrian tour through the Higala the learned. But this is certain, that lands of Scotland, performed by a every true lover of poetry will be hap- author, in company with the friends py to listen to the sacred song, from whom the Epistle is addressed ;
When sacred call the master sent away, What if, amid the rural tribe, unknown,
Some beam of poesy and good combin'd,
the most beautiful scenes in the south Some, to the glen with nut-hook in their of Scotland. se hands,
“ How laugh'd thine eyes, when from the Telling their tales the while, in merry bands,
bushy dell, * Drew the brown cluster down with breaking
Where sunk' in shade retiring Leader fell, crush, Or stain'd their lips with brambles from the
Our wheels slow wound us up the oper
height, bush. Some, more retir'd (and I might be of these)
Whence Tweed's rich valley burst upon the
sight. Lay on the wild bank, 'mid the hum of bees, Reading some legend old of Scottish fame,
Below, the river roll'd in spreading pride, The Bruce, the Douglas, and each warrior
The lofty arch embrac'd its auburn tide :
Bright in the orient gleam the waters shone, name, Then homewards with the setting sun, to hear
Here flowing free, there ridg'd with shelve
ing stone: The solemn evening duly clos'd with prayer!
Each side the banks with fields and trees O why should pleasure youth's wild eye
were green, allure From nature's guardian arms to scenes less
High waving on the hills were harvests seen,
The nodding sheaf mov'd heavily along, pure ? Why shouldourmanhood beambition's slave,
And jocund reapers sang their morning song: Or creep the drudge of avarice to the grave ?
; Calm slept the clouds on cloven Eildon laid, Why should the sun on man's unconscious
And distant Melrose peep'd from leafy shaile."
" gaze, Pour from the eastern hill his living rays ?
The translations are, we think, more Or why his softening splendour gild the west,
unequal than the original composiNor raise one wish that such may be our rest ?
tions, some of them being excessively Ah! far at sea, and wanderers from the shore,
bad, and others most admirable. The Nature still calls us, but we hear no more! cause of this seems to have been an Yet where her pensive look reflection throws, occasional desire to indulge in fantasRemember'd forms of beauty yield repose ; tic ingenuity of versification and exOn them she pauses, and with filling eye, pression, in which the worthy TranslaPlans the blest refuge of futurity! :.
tor not unfrequently exhibits a most Thus to the scenes in which our childhood
portentous forgetfulness of common past, Memory returns with love that still can last;
sepse, and employs a sort of language Wherever, since, our vagrant course has been,
to our ears wholly unintelligible. Whatever troubled hours have come between,
When not beset by these unlucky fits Those simple beauties, which could first en of ingenuity, he catches the spirit of
the original with great felicity; and Our hearts, still please through each suc- his translations, or rather imitations of o ceeding age;
Horace, are indisputably the most eleNor are they yet so sunk in meaner care, gant and graceful of any in the EngThat nature's image quite its impress there!”
fish language. He has proved, by his
lish lanmis ; There is much feeling in the fol
translations of several of the Odes, lowing passage: " Can I forget the hallow'd how I past
"how gracefully any short and classiIn Grasmere chapel, in the lonely waste,
cal composition may be arranged in 2 Driven by the rains that patter'd on the lake,
form which at once ensures brevity, (Perhaps no holier cause) repose to take?' and unites elegance with the most The simple people to each separate hand varied and perfect melody of versificaDivided, youths and maids in different band; tion." What can be finer than the of the great power of God, their pastor spoke; air he has thrown over the 32d Ode of Responsive from the hills loud thunders Book I. “ Possimus si quid, &c.
broke From the black-smoking hills whose waver. “O lyre, if vacant in the leafy shade,
We've us'd thy ministry in many a strain, Through lead-bound panes was dimly seen Not speedily to die, come yet again, to shine.
And let the Latian song thy chords pervade : I felt the voice of Man and Nature roll By him of Lesbos first harmonious made: The deep conviction on my bending soul! The warrior bard, who on the tented plauti,
Or thrown ashore dripping from the rough The translation from Tyrtæus- '18 main,
' very dull, but the fault is in the oriStill pour'd the lay with thy all-powerful aid in itontanter it is a in praise of Bacchus and the heavenly nine, martial enthusiasm of the Spartans by And made bright Venus and her boy his' his poetry. If so, it is a proof that
theme, E! And sang his black-eyed love with locks of the Spartans had po taste for nothing jet ;
can be heavier and more spiritless than O shell, soft-trembling in the hands divine his remains. The Poet-Laureate, Pye, Of Phoebus, at the feasts of Jove supreme, translated some of those martial effuSweet nurse of care, favourthy suppliant yet!". sions with kindred lumpishness and
We cannot refrain from quoting a few lines read to a volunteer coma another, perhaps still more beautiful. pany by their Colonel, set the soldiers “Fount of Bandusia, crystalline, most pure,
- into à sound sleep on parade. Polo # Worthy wine-offerings, and the flower-wove
· whele rendered them still more somwreath! .
niferous, for they overcame the wakeThan To-morrow, vow'd to thee, a kid beneath fulness of the Cornish miners; and, The knife shall bleed, whose swelling brows lastly, Professor Young of Glasgow re'. mature ?
cited them in choice English, to two * Bud with their primal horns, and seem se hundred sleeping tyros, in the Greek cure
class-room of that university. We ** Of future fight, and love already breathe
had forgotten Mr Charles Elton, who Wanton: Vain presage! for he soon in death
himself fell fairly asleep during the e Shall stain thy streams with ruddy drops impure.
process of translation—and the present Small Thy icy streams the dog-star's burning hour version seems to have been made be
Afkicts not; in their cool the toild ox laves tween a snore and a yawn, and is the Mis scorched sides; thy shades refresh the most powerful soporific in the whole i flocks.
materia poetica. We decline quoting Fame too is thine, if aught the poet's power any part of it, lest our readers should Who sings thy dipping oaks, romantic caves,
be unable to peruse the rest of this O And praitling rills light-leaping from their
er article. rocks."
The Translator, however, soon gets In his translation of a Chorus in the upon better ground, and gives us about Phenisse of Euripides, he has endea- twenty select sonnets from Petrarch. voured, and we think successfully, We have compared his translations to trace a strong resemblance to a cele- with those of Mrs Dobson, Dr Nott, brated passage in Shakespeare. . and many anonymous writers, and
they far outshine them all, both in fiGrim visag'd war, wherefore do blood and Tato death
delity and elegance. It is a most mis Than merty meetings more thy temper
erable mistake to believe, that Petrarch, suit ?
has no genuine sensibility. Is not his Is Why labour still for the victorious wreath ? 24th Sonnet of Book II. most pathetic?
i Nor rather capering with nimble foot It is thus exquisitely rendered : .
To the lascivious pleasing of a lute, “ The eyes, the arms, the hands, the feet,
Join wanton nymphs in their delightful the face, V i measures,
Which made my thoughts and words 80 Their brows with garlands bound; like warm and wild, clustering fruit
That I was almost from myself exil'd, While o'er thy front are shook its youthful And render'd strange to all the human race: treasures ??.
The lucid locks that curl'd in golden grace, Torna Ah no! these sportive tricks are not among The lightening beam that when my anged thy pleasures.
smil'd op An dreadful march, and with alarum stern,
Diffusd o'er earth an Eden heavenly mild : . Thy mailed warriors thou dost love to
What are they now ? Dust, lifeless dust,
alas ! !
And I live on! a melancholy slave,
Toss'd by the tempest in a shatter'd bark, barbed steed,
Reft of the lovely light that cheer'd the wave; Boundest before them o'er Ismenus' mead,
The flame of genius, too, extinct and dark, To where the fearful adversaries pour, :
ly Here let my lays of love conclusion have; Seizing their hung up arms, with frantic Mute be theyre ; tears best my sorrows speed
mark." Celoods i de l'I ES · Und
Unto the walls, and people every tower. One other quotation, and we must Dark, dark the clouds above our royal house say good-bye to this accomplished that lower !"
**'*' scholar and gentleman. .