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The only other quotation we give is a ballad by Allan Ramsey. It is well known in Scotland, but will be new to most of our English readers. Its title is
SWEET WILLIAM'S GHOST.
THERE came a Ghost to Margaret's door,
With many a grievous grone,
But answer made she none.
“ Is this my father Philip?
Or is't my brother John ?
From Scotland new come home ?”
“ 'Tis not thy father Philip,
Nor yet thy brother John;
From Scotland new com home.
O sweet Margret ! O dear Margret !
pray thee speak to me :
As I gave it to thee.”
“ Thy faith and troth thou’se nevir get,
Of me shalt nevir win,
And kiss my cheek and chin."
“ If I should come within thy bower,
I am no earthly man:
Thy days will not be lang.
O sweet Margret! O sweet Margret !
I pray thee speak to me:
As I gave it to thee.”
• My faith and troth thou’se nevir get,
Of me shalt nevir win,
And wed me with a ring."
“My bones are buried in a kirk yard
Afar beyond the sea,
That's speaking now to thee.”
She stretched out her lilly-white hand,
As for to do her best :
God send your soul good rest.”
An Essay towards a New Translation of the Epistle of St. Paul to the
Romans, on the Basis of the Authorised Version ; with a Paraphrase, and Brief Explanatory Notes. By Basil H. Cooper, B.A., of the
University of London. Mr. Cooper is a scholar and a man of talent. He has, moreover, evidently applied himself with great care to a consideration of the subject to which his essay relates. Still, we must say, that we do not see he has improved in the existing version of the Epistle to the Romans. His “ argument” and “paraphrase" are decidedly the best parts of his production. His translation, with a few exceptions, is more forced, unnatural, and less perspicuous, than the one now in use. In some cases, too, he has brought out the import of the original so imperfectly, as to inculcate an objectionable theology. For example, his translation would in one place, though we are sure he does not mean it, carry the idea, that because we were sinners the Deity loved us.
Surely the Scriptural statement of the truth referred to would be, that while, or though, we were sinners, the Supreme Being loved us. Our pages are not the proper place for theological discussion, else we would point out several instances in which Mr. Cooper's translation seems to us liable to the objection of not stating with sufficient precision the great truths which the inspired Apostle, in his Epistle to the Romans, sought to expound and enforce.
Poems, by ELIZABETH BANET BARRETT. Author of "The Seraphim,"
&c. &c. In 2 vols. Miss Barrett is an accomplished lady. She is imbued with no small measure of the poetic spirit, but there is a frequent quaintness in her manner of expressing her sentiments, that often mars their beauty and impairs their effect. The measure, too, which she has chosen for many of her pieces, is one not in common use, and, though strictly correct, does not commend itself to the ear. With these drawbacks, there is much poetry in the volumes before us. The pieces are on miscellaneous subjects, but they are all, more or less, of a serious or sentimental nature. The volumes are dedicated to the writer's father. The dedication is beautiful as a piece of composition, and remarkable for its touching tenderness. Many of the poems, too, are characterized by a pathos which must make its way to every bosom. We give one specimen. Its heading is, “Catarina to Cameons, dying in his absence abroad, and referring to the poem in which he had recorded the Sweetness of her Eyes.”
On the door you will not enter,
I have gazed too long-adieu!
Come, O lover,
Close and cover
Yes! I think, were you beside them,
Near the bed I die upon-.
You would truly
Call them duly,
“Sweetest eyes were ever seen.” Oct. 1814.--VOL. XLI.--NO. CLXII.
And recal the choral singing
I viewed heaven,
When beneath the palace-lattice,
You ride slow as you have done,
Will you oftly
When the palace ladies sitting
Round your gittern, shall have said,
Will you tremble,
Sweetest eyes! How sweet in flowings
The repeated cadence is !
I can hear it
"Twixt my spirit
But the priest waits for the praying,
And the choir are on their knees;
For the weary-
Henri de Clermont ; or, the Royalists of La Vendée. A Tale of the
French Revolution. By the Rev. William GRESLEY, M. A., Pre
bendary of Lichfield. The title of this work sufficiently indicates its nature. In the story there is a ground-work of historical fact, on which a superstructure of fiction is erected. The little volume is well written, and is calculated to improve the minds and benefit the morals of those young persons for whose perusal it is mainly written.