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All, as they frowned, unwritten records bore But, as a landscape meets the eye of day,
At once presented to their glad survey!
And dawning light its dazzling glories spread; Her little arts a fretful sire to please,
Each chain of wonders that sublimely glowed, Her gentle gaiety, and native ease
Since first Creation's choral anthem flowed; Had won his soul ; and rapturous Fancy shed Each ready flight, at Mercy's call divine, Her golden lights, and tints of rosy red.
To distant worlds that undiscovered shine; But ah! few days had passed, ere the bright vision Full on her tablet flings its living rays, fled!
And all, combined, with blest effulgence blaze. When evening tinged the lake's ethereal blue, There thy bright train, immortal Friendship, soar; And her deep shades irregularly threw;
No more to part, to mingle tears no more! Their shifting sail dropt gently from the cove, . And, as the softening hand of Time endears Down by St. Herbert's consecrated grove, The joys and sorrows of our infant-years, Whence erst the chanted hymn, the tapered rite So there the soul, released from human strife, Amused the fisher's solitary night;
Smiles at the little cares and ills of life; And still the mitred window, richly wreathed, Its lights and shades, its sunshine and its showers; A sacred calm thro' the brown foliage breathed. As at a dream that charmed her vacant hours !
The wild deer, starting thro' the silent glade, Oft may the spirits of the dead descend . With fearful gaze their various course surveyed. To watch the silent slumbers of a friend; High hung in air the hoary goat reclined,
To hover round his evening-walk unseen, His streaming beard the sport of every wind;
And hold sweet converse on the dusky groen; And, while the coot her jet-wing loved to lave, To hail the spot where first their friendship grew, Rocked on the bosom of the sleepless wave; And heaven and nature opened to their view! The eagle rushed from Skiddaw's purple crest, Oft, when he trims his cheerful hearth, and sees A cloud still brooding o'er her giant-nest.
A smiling circle emulous to please; And now the moon had dimmed with dewy | There may these gentle guests delight to dwell, ray
And bless the scene they loved in life so well! The few fine fushes of departing day.
Oh thou! with whom my heart was wont to O'er the wide water's deep serene she hung,
share And her broad lights on every mountain flung; From Reason's dawn each pleasure and each care; When lo ! a sudden blast the vessel blew,
With whom, alas ! I fondly hoped to know
If thy blest nature now unites above
An angel's pity with a brother's love,
Correct my views, and elevate my soul;
Grant me thy peace and purity of mind, 'Twas life's last spark-it fluttered and expired ! Devout yet cheerful, active yet resigned ;
The father strewed his white hairs in the wind, Grant me, like thee, whose heart knew no disguise, Calied on his child—nor lingered long behind : Whose blameless wishes never aimed to rise, And Florio lived to see the willow wave,
To meet the changes Time and Chance present, With many an evening-whisper, o'er their grave. With modest dignity and calm content. Yes, Florio lived--and, still of each possessed, When thy last breath, ere Nature sunk to rest, The father cherished, and the maid caressed ! Thy meek submission to thy God expressed ; For ever would the fond enthusiast rove,
When thy last look, ere thought and feeling fled, With Julia's spirit, thro' the shadowy grove; A mingled gleam of hope and triumph shed; Gaze with delight on every scene she planned, What to thy soul its glad assurance gave, Kiss every floweret planted by her hand.
Its hope in death, its triumph o’er the grave? Ah! still he traced her steps along the glade, The sweet Remembrance of unblemished youth, When hazy hues and glimmering lights betrayed The still inspiring voice of Innocence and Truth! Half-viewless forms; still listened as the breeze Hail, MEMORY, hail! in thy exhaustless mine Heaved its deep sobs among the aged trees; From age to age unnumbered treasures shine! And at each pause her melting accents caught, Thought and her shadowy brood thy call obey, In sweet delirium of romantic thought!
And Place and Time are subject to thy sway! Dear was the grot that shunned the blaze of day; Thy pleasures most we feel, when most alone; She gave its spars to shoot a trembling ray. The only pleasures we can call our own. The spring, that bubbled from its inmost cell, Lighter than air, Hope's summer-visions die, Murmured of Julia's virtues as it fell;
If but a fleeting cloud obscure the sky; And o'er the dripping moss, the fretted stone, If but a beam of sober Reason play, In Florio's ear breathed language not its own. Lo, Fancy's fairy frost-work melts away! Her charm around the enchantress MEMORY But can the wiles of Art, the grasp of Power, threw,
Snatch the rich relics of a well-spent hour? A charm that soothes the mind, and sweetens too! These, when the trembling spirit wings her flight, But is Her Magic only felt below?
Pour round her path a stream of living light; Say, thro' what brighter realms she bids it flow; And gild those pure and perfect realms of rest, To what pure beings, in a nobler sphere,
Where Virtue triumphs, and her sons are blest ! She yields delight but faintly imaged here: All that till now their rapt researches knew, Not called in slow succession to review;
myself, I live in a little town; and I chuse to live there, lest it should become still less."-Vit. Demosth.
Page 2, col. 1, line 31.
How oft, when purple evening tinged the west, VIRGIL, in one of his Eclogues, describes a romantic attachment as conceived in such circumstances; and the description is so true to nature, that we must surely be indebted for it to some early recollection. “You were little when I first saw you. You were with your mother gathering fruit in our orchard, and I was your guide. I was just entering my thirteenth year, and just able to reach the boughs from the ground.”
So also Zappi, an Italian Poet of the last Century: “ When I used to measure myself with my goat and my goat was the tallest, even then I loved Clori."
Page 2, col. 1, line 63. Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear, I came to the place of my birth, and cried, “ The friends of my Youth, where are they?"-And an echo answered, “Where are they?" From an Arabic MS.
Page 3, col. 1, line 53.
For this young FOSCARI, &c. He was suspected of murder, and at Venice suspicion was good evidence. Neither the interest of the Doge, his father, nor the intrepidity of conscious innocence, which he exhibited in the dungeon and on the rack, could procure his acquittal. He was banished to the island of Candia for life.
But here his resolution failed him. At such a distance from home he could not live; and, as it was a criminal offence to solicit the intercession of any foreign prince, in a fit of despair he addressed a letter to the Duke of Milan, and intrusted it to a wretch whose perfidy, he knew, would occasion his being remanded a prisoner to Venice.
Page 3, col. 1, line 61. And hence the charm historic scenes impart; “ Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses; whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predominate over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking beings. Far from me and from my friends be such frigid philosophy as may conduct us indifferent and unmoved over any ground which has been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue. That man is little to be envied, whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plain of Marathon, or whose piety would not grow warmer among the ruins of Iona."-JOHNSON.
Page 2, col. 2, line 65. Awake but one, and lo, what myriads rise! When a traveller, who was surveying the ruins of Rome, expressed a desire to possess some relic of its ancient grandeur, Poussin, who attended him, stooped down, and gathering up a handful of earth shining with small grains of porphyry, " Take this home," said he, "for your cabinet; and say boldly, Questa è Roma Antica.”
Page 3, col. 1, line 24. The church-yard yews round which his fathers sleep ; Every man, like Gulliver in Lilliput, is fastened to some spot of earth by the thousand small threads which habit and association are continually stealing over him. Of these, perhaps, one of the strongest is here alluded to.
When the Canadian Indians were once solicited to emigrate, " What!” they replied, “shall we say to the bones of our fathers, Arise, and go with us into a foreign land?"
Page 3, col. 1, line 31. 80, when he breathed his firm yet fond adieu, See Cook's First Voyage, book i. chap. 16.
Another very affecting instance of local attachment is related of his fellow-countryman Potaveri, who came to Europe with M. de Bougainville. - See LES JARDINS, chant ii.
Page 3, col. 1, line 39.
So Scotia's Queen, &c. Elle se leve sur son lict, et se met à contempler la France encore, et tant qu'elle peut.”_BRANTÔME,
Page 3, col. 1, line 47. Thus kindred objects kindred thoughts inspire, To an accidental association may be ascribed some of the noblest efforts of human genius. The historian of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire first conceived his design among the ruins of the Capitol; and to the tones of a Welsh harp are we indebted for The Bard of Gray.
Page 3, col. 1, line 51.
Hence home felt-pleasure, &c. Who can enough admire the affectionate attachment of Plutarch, who thus concludes his enumeration of the advantages of a great city to men of letters? "As to
Page 3, col. 1, line 66.
Page 3, col. 1, line 67. 'Twas ever thus. Young AMMON, when he sought Alexander, when he crossed the Hellespont, was in the twenty-second year of his age; and with what feelings must the Scholar of Aristotle have approached the ground described by Homer in that Poem which had been his delight from his childhood, and which records the achievements of Him from whom he claimed his descent !
It was his fancy, if we may believe tradition, to take the tiller from Menætius, and be himself the steersman during the passage. It was his fancy also to be the first to land, and to land full-armed.--ARRIAN, i. 11.
Page 3, col. 2, line 5.
As now at VIRGIL's tomb Vows and pilgrimages are not peculiar to the religious enthusiast. Silius Italicus performed annual ceremonies on the mountain of Posilipo ; and it was there that Boccaccio, quasi da un divino estro inspirato, resolved to dedicate his life to the Muses,
Page 3, col. 2, line 7. SO TULLY paused, amid the wrecks of Time, When Cicero was quæstor in Sicily, he discovered the tomb of Archimedes by its mathematical inscription.Tusc. Quæst. v. 3,
Page 3, col. 2, line 21. Say why the pensive widow loves to weep, The influence of the associating principle is finely exemplified in the faithful Penelope, when she sheds tears over the bow of Ulysses.--Od. xxi. 55.
Page 3, col. 2, line 37. If chance he hears the song so sweetly wild The celebrated Ranz des Vaches ; “ cet air si chéri des Suisses qu'il fut défendu sous peine de mort de le jouer dans leurs troupes, parce qu'il faisoit fondre en larmes, déserter ou mourir ceux qui l'entendoient, tant il excitoit en eux l'ardent désir de revoir leur pays."-ROUSSEAU.
Page 3, col. 2, line 49.
Say, when contentious CHARLES, &c. When the Emperor Charles the Fifth had executed his memorable resolution, and had set out for the monastery of Justé, he stopped a few days at Ghent to indulge that tender and pleasant melancholy, which arises in the mind of every man in the decline of life, on visiting the place of his birth, and, the objects familiar to him in his early youth.
Page 3, col. 2, line 50.
To muse with monks, &c. Monjes solitarios del glorioso padre San Geronimo, says Sandova.
In a corner of the Convent-garden there is this inscription. En esta santa casa de S. Geronimo de Justé se retiró á acabar su vida Carlos V. Emperador, &c.—Ponz.
Page 4, col. 1, line 3. Then did his horse the homeward track descry, The memory of the horse forms the ground-work of a pleasing little romance entitled, “ Lai du Palefroi vair." -See Fabliaux du XII. Siècle.
Ariosto likewise introduces it in a passage full of truth and nature. When Bayardo meets Angelica in the forest,
Va mansueto a la Donzella,
Ch'in Albracca il servia già di sua mano.
ORLANDO FURIOSO, i. 75.
The maladie de pays is as old as the human heart. JUVENAL's little cup-bearer
Suspirat longo non visam tempore matrem,
Et casulam, et notos tristis desiderat hædos. And the Argive in the heat of battle
Dulces moriens reminiscitur Argos. Nor is it extinguished by any injuries, however cruel they may be. Ludlow, write as he would over his door at Vevey *, was still anxious to return home; and how striking is the testimony of Camillus, as it is recorded by Livy! · Equidem fatebor vobis,” says he in his speech to the Roman people,“ etsi minus injuriæ vestræ quam meæ calamitatis meminisse juvat; quum abessem, quotiescunque patria in mentem veniret, hæc omnia occurrebant, colles, campique, et Tiberis, et assueta oculis regio, et hoc cælum, sub quo natus educatusque essem. Quæ vos, Quirites, nunc moveant potius caritate sua, ut maneatis in sede vestra, quam postea quum reliqueritis ea, macerent desiderio."-V. 54.
Page 3, col. 2, line 42. Say why VESPASIAN loved his Sabine farm; This emperor, according to Suetonius, constantly passed the summer in a small villa near Reate, where he was born, and to which he would never add any embellishment; ne quid scilicet oculorum consuetudini deperiret.--SUET. in Vit. Vesp. cap.
ii. A similar instance occurs in the life of the venerable Pertinax, as related by J. Capitolinus. “ Posteaquam in Liguriam venit, multis agris coemptis, tabernam paternam, manente formå priore, infinitis ædificiis circumdedit.”Hist. August. 54.
And it is said of Cardinal Richelieu, that, when he built his magnificent palace on the site of the old family chateau at Richelieu, he sacrificed its symmetry to preserve the room in which he was born.-Mém. de Mlle. de Montpensier, i, 27.
An attachment of this nature is generally the characteristic of a benevolent mind; and a long acquaintance with the world cannot always extinguish it.
“ To a friend,” says John, Duke of Buckingham, “I will expose my weakness: I am oftener missing a pretty gallery in the old house I pulled down, than pleased with a saloon which I built in its stead, though a thousand times better in all respects.”-See his Letter to the D. of Sh.
This is the language of the heart, and will remind the reader of that good-humoured remark in one of Pope's letters—" I should hardly care to have an old post pulled up, that I remembered ever since I was a ch 1."
The Author of Telemachus has illustrated this subject, with equal fancy and feeling, in the story of Alibée Persan.
Page 3, col. 2, line 43.
Why great NAVARRE, &c. That amiable and accomplished monarch, Henry the Fourth of France, made an excursion from his camp, during the long siege of Laon, to dine at a house in the forest of Folambray; where he had often been regaled, when a boy, with fruit, milk, and new cheese ; and in revisiting which he promised himself great pleasure.Mém. de SULLY.
Page 3, col. 2, line 45. When DIOCLETIAN's self-corrected mind Diocletian retired into his native province, and there amused himself with building, planting, and gardening. His answer to Maximian is deservedly celebrated. “If,” said he, “ I could show him the cabbages which I have planted with my own nands at Salona, he would no longer solicit me to return to a throne.”
Page 4, col. 1, line 31. Sweet bird ! thy truth shall Harlem's walls attest, During the siege of Harlem, when that city was reduced to the last extremity, and on the point of opening its gates to a base and barbarous enemy, a design was formed to relieve it ; and the intelligence was conveyed to the citizens by a letter which was tied under the wing of a pigeon.THUANUS, lv. 5.
The same messenger was employed at the siege of Mutina, as we are informed by the elder Pliny.--Nat. Hist. x. 37.
Page 4, col 1, line 40.
Hark! the bee, $c. This little animal, from the extreme convexity of her eye, cannot see many inches before her.
Page 4, col. 2, line 11.
They in their glorious course TRUE Glory, says one of the Ancients, is to be acquired by doing what deserves to be written, and writing what deserves to be read; and by making the world the happier and the better for our having lived in it.
Page 4, col. 2, line 15.
These still exist, fc. There is a future Existence even in this world, an Existence in the hearts and minds of those who shall live after us.
It is in reserve for every man, however obscure ; and his portion, if he is diligent, must be equal to his desires. For in whose remembrance can we wish to hold a place, but such as know, and are known by us? These are within the sphere of our influence, and among these and their descendants we may live for evermore.
It is a state of rewards and punishments; and, like that revealed to us in the Gospel, has the happiest influence on cur lives. The latter excites us to gain the favour of God, the former to gain the love and esteem of wise and good men; and both lead to the same end; for, in framing our conceptions of the DEITY, we only ascribe to Him exalted degrees of Wisdom and Goodness.
« Omne solum forti patria est, quia Patris.
“ This pillar was erected in the year 1656, by Ann, Countess Dowager of Pembroke, &c. for a memorial of her last parting, in this place, with her good and pious mother, Margaret, Countess Dowager of Cumberland, on the 2nd of April, 1616; in memory whereof she hath left an annuity of 41. to be distributed to the poor of the parish of Brougham, every 2nd day of April for ever, upon the stone-table placed hard by. Laus Deo!'
The Eden is the principal river of Cumberland, and rises in the wildest part of Westmoreland.
Page 6, col. 1, line 2. O'er his dead son the gallant ORMOND sighed. “I would not exchange my dead son,” said he, “ for any living son in Christendom.”-HUME.
The same sentiment is inscribed on an urn at the Leasowes. “ Heu, quanto minus est cum reliquis versari, quam tui meminisse!
Page 5, col. 2, line 1.
Page 5, col. 2, line 21.
And justly proud beyond a Poet's praise ;
By me how envied !—for to me,
By sighs, and tears, and grief alone:
Of fair occasions gone for ever by ;
For what, except the instinctive fear
What, but the deep inherent dread,
Page 5, col. 2, line 60.
Page 7, col. 1, line 9.
Page 7, col. 1, line 26.
Page 7, col. 1, line 60. To what pure beings, in a nobler sphere, The several degrees of angels may probably have larger views, and some of them be endowed with capacities able to retain together, and constantly set before them as in one picture, all their past knowledge at once.-LOCKE.
And soon again shall music swell the breeze; Introduction. - Ringing of Bells in a neighbouring Soon, issuing forth, shall glitter through the trees Village on the Birth of an Heir. - General Reflections Vestures of nuptial white; and hymns be sung, on Human Life.—The Subject proposed.—Childhood.- | And violets scattered round; and old and young, Youth. - Manhood.—Love.
Marriage.--Domestic Happl- | In every cottage-porch with garlands green, ness and Affliction.-War.—Peace. — Civil Dissension - Stand still to gaze, and, zing, bless the scene ; Retirement from active Life. - Old Age and its Enjoy- While, her dark eyes declining, by his side ments.-Conclusion,
Moves in her virgin-veil the gentle bride.
And once, alas, nor in a distant hour, The lark has sung his carol in the sky; Another voice shall come from yonder tower ; The bees have hummed their noon-tide harmony. / When in dim chambers long black weeds are Still in the vale the village-bells ring round,
seen, Still in Llewellyn-hall the jests resound:
And weepings heard where only joy has been : For now the caudle-cup is circling there,
When by his children borne, and from his door Now,glad at heart, the gossips breathe their prayer, Slowly departing to return no more, And, crowding, stop the cradle to admire
He rests in holy earth with them that went before. The babe, the sleeping image of his sire.
And such is Human Life ; so gliding on, A few short years—and then these sounds shall It glimmers like a meteor, and is gone ! The day again, and gladness fill the vale ; [hail Yet is the tale, brief though it be, as strange, So soon the child a youth, the youth a man, As full, methinks, of wild and wondrous change, Eager to run the race his fathers ran.
As any that the wandering tribes require, Then the huge ox shall yield the broad sir-loin; Stretched in the desert round their eveningThe ale, now brewed, in floods of amber shine: And, basking in the chimney's ample blaze, As any sung of old in hall or bower 'Mid many a tale told of his boyish days,
To minstrel-harps at midnight's witching hour! The nurse shall cry, of all her ills beguiled,
Born in a trance, we wake, observe, inquire ; “ 'Twas on these knees he sate so oft and smiled.” | And the green earth, the azure sky admire.
Of Elfin-size—for ever as we run,
Now in Thermopylæ remain to share We cast a longer shadow in the sun !
Death-nor look back, nor turn a footstep there, And now a charm, and now a grace is won ! Leaving his story to the birds of air ; We grow in stature, and in wisdom too !
And now like Pylades (in Heaven they write And, as new scenes, new objects rise to view, Names such as his in characters of light) Think nothing done while aught remains to do. Long with his friend in generous enmity,
Yet, all forgot, how oft the eye-lids close, Pleading, insisting in his place to die ! And from the
slack hand drops the gathered rose ! Do what he will, he cannot realize How oft, as dead, on the warm turf we lie,
Half he conceives—the glorious vision flies. While many an emmet comes with curious eye; Go where he may, he cannot hope to find And on her nest the watchful wren sits by ! The truth, the beauty pictured in his mind. Nor do we speak or move, or hear or see ; But if by chance an object strike the sense, So like what once we were, and once again shall be ! The faintest shadow of that Excellence,
And say, how soon, where, blithe as innocent, Passions, that slept, are stirring his frame; The boy at sun-rise carolled as he went,
Thoughts undefined, feelings without a name ! An aged pilgrim on his staff shall lean,
And some, not here called forth, may slumber on Tracing in vain the footsteps o'er the green ; Till this vain pageant of a world is gone ; The man himself how altered, not the scene! Lying too deep for things that perish here, Now journeying home with nothing but the name; Waiting for life—but in a nobler sphere ! Way-worn and spent, another and the same! Look where he comes! Rejoicing in his birth,
No eye observes the growth or the decay. Awhile he moves as in a heaven on earth! To-day we look as we did yesterday ;
Sun, moon, and stars—the land, the sea, the sky And we shall look to-morrow as to-day.
To him shine out as in a galaxy ! Yet while the loveliest smiles, her locks grow grey! But soon 'tis past—the light has died away! And in her glass could she but see the face With him it came (it was not of the day) She'll see so soon amid another race,
And he himself diffused it, like the stone How would she shrink !—Returning from afar,
That sheds awhile a lustre all its own, After some years of travel, some of war,
Making night beautiful. 'Tis past, 'tis gone, Within his gate Ulysses stood unknown
And in his darkness as he journeys on, Before a wife, a father, and a son!
Nothing revives him but the blessed ray And such is Human Life, the general theme. That now breaks in, nor ever knows decay, Ah, what at best, what but a longer dream? Sent from a better world to light him on his way. Though with such wild romantic wanderings How great the Mystery! Let others sing fraught,
The 'circling Year, the promise of the Spring, Such forms in Fancy's richest colouring wrought, The Summer's glory, and the rich repose That, like the visions of a love-sick brain,
Of Autumn, and the Winter's silvery snows. Who would not sleep and dream them o'er again? Man through the changing scene let me pursue, Our pathway leads but to a precipice ;
Himself how wondrous in his changes too ! And all must follow, fearful as it is!
Not Man, the sullen savage in his den ; From the first step 'tis known ; but—No delay! But Man called forth in fellowship with men; On, 'tis decreed. We tremble and obey.
Schooled and trained up to Wisdom from his birth; A thousand ills beset us as we go.
God's noblest work—His image upon earth! “Still, could I shun the fatal gulf” —Ah, no, 'Tis all in vain—the inexorable Law!
The day arrives, the moment wished and feared; Nearer and nearer to the brink we draw.
The child is born, by many a pang endeared. Verdure springs up; and fruits and flowers invite, And now the mother's ear has caught his cry; And groves and fountains—all things that delight. Oh grant the cherub to her asking eye ! “ Oh, I would stop, and linger if I might!” He comes—she clasps him. To her bosom pressed, We fly; no resting for the foot we find;
He drinks the balm of life, and drops to rest. All dark before, all desolate behind !
Her by her smile how soon the Stranger knows; At length the brink appears—but one step more ! How soon by his the glad discovery shows ! We faint-On, on !we falter--and 'tis o'er ! As to her lips she lifts the lovely boy,
Yet here high passions, high desires unfold, What answering looks of sympathy and joy ! Prompting to noblest deeds ; here links of gold He walks, he speaks. In many a broken word Bind soul to soul ; and thoughts divine inspire His wants, his wishes, and his
griefs are heard. A thirst unquenchable, a holy fire
And ever, ever to her lap he flies, That will not, cannot but with life expire !
When rosy Sleep comes on with sweet surprise. Now, seraph-winged, among the stars we soar ; Locked in her arms, his arms across her flung, Now distant ages, like a day, explore,
(That name most dear for ever on his tongue) And judge the act, the actor now no more ; As with soft accents round her neck he clings, Or, in a thankless hour condemned to live, And, cheek to cheek, her lulling song she sings, From others claim what these refuse to give, How blest to feel the beatings of his heart, And dart, like MILTON, an unerring eye
Breathe his sweet breath, and kiss for kiss impart; Through the dim curtains of Futurity.
Watch o'er his slumbers like the brooding dove, Wealth, Pleasure, Ease, all thought of self And, if she can, exhaust a mother's love! resigned,
But soon a nobler task demands her care. What will not Man encounter for Mankind ? Apart she joins his little hands in prayer, Behold him now unbar the prison-door,
Telling of Him who sees in secret there ! And, lifting Guilt, Contagion from the floor, And now the volume on her knee has caught To Peace and Health, and Light and Life restore; His wandering eye—now many a written thought