At present we shall content ourselves with quoting a few passages from Mr Bowles' last poem, the Missionary-not that we think it, with all its manifold beauties, by any means his best, but because we suspect that it is the least known of all his productions. We give the author's words in his preface, in order to explain the groundwork of the subject. "The circumstance on which this poem is founded, that a Spanish commander, with his army, in South America, was destroyed by the Indians, in consequence of the treach ery of his page, who was a native, and that only a priest was saved, is taken from history." The poem opens with the following In other days, when, in his manly pride, Oft in the sun, or the magnolia's shade, Yet kindness sat upon her aspect bland; fine description of the scenery of South The tame Alpaca stood and lick'd her hand; America: Beneath aerial cliffs, and glittering snows, And Chillan trail'd its smoke and smould'ring fires. Amid the clear blue light, are wand'ring by; Check'ring, with partial shade, the beams of noon, The sunshine darts its interrupted light, So smiles the scene;-but can its smiles impart She brought him gather'd moss, and lov'd to deck These children danc'd together in the shade, But when th' impassion'd Chieftain spoke of war, Hung on the wond'rous tale, as mute as death; 5 The Warrior blesses his young son, and the family retire to repose, when Gray smoke whose column stains the cloudless sky, their slumbers are suddenly broken by He cries, "Oh! if thy spirit yet be fled To the pale kingdoms of the shadowy dead,- the attack of a fierce band of Spaniards, who, notwithstanding the des perate resistance of the distracted father, bear off, as their prize, his young son Lautaro. Sev'n snows had fall'n, and sev'n green summers pass'd, Since here he heard that son's lov'd accents last. Held with both hands his forehead, then her head Slaves in the lovely land where they were born; The Chief is interrupted in his melancholy musing by the call of his countrymen to arms, and their applying to him as their leader. His address to the sun is, we think, very poetical, and the concluding lines are characterized by Mr Bowles' usual pathos. The Mountain-chief essay'd his club to wield, And shook the dust indignant from the shield. Then spoke: "O Thou! that with thy ling'ring light Dost warm the world, till all is hush'd in night; I look upon thy parting beams, O Sun! And say, Ev'n thus my course is almost run.' Who laughest when the brave in pangs expire, Of yonder burning mountain; who hast pass'd The next image presented is the repose of the Spanish general's army, and the reflections that employed him even in sleep, contrasted with the sad feelings of his page, Lautaro. On the broad ocean, where the moonlight slept, Thoughtful he turn'd his waking eyes, and wept, And whilst the thronging forms of mem'ry start, Thus holds communion with his lonely heart: Land of my Fathers, still I tread your shore, And mourn the shade of hours that are no more; Whilst night-airs, like remember'd voices, sweep, And murmur from the undulating deep. Was it thy voice, my Father?-thou art deadThe green rush waves on thy forsaken bed. Was it thy voice, my Sister-gentle maid, Thou too, perhaps, in the dark cave art laid; Perhaps, ev'n now, thy spirit sees me stand A homeless stranger in my native land; Perhaps, ev'n now, along the moonlight sea, The supposed appearance of the Genius of the Andes, which opens the second canto, is extremely well-conceived, and the imagery which dismisses the Spirit possesses great beauty. The military preparations of Valdivia are described in the same style of grandeur-in particular the warhorse and dress of the general and his page Lautaro. The sun ascended to meridian height, And nostrils blowing, and dilated red,- The fate of empires glowing in his thought,- Lautaro, now in manhood's rising pride, Rode, with a lance, attendant, at his side, In Spanish mantle gracefully array'd: Upon his brow a tuft of feathers play'd: His glossy locks, with dark and mantling grace, Shaded the noon-day sun-beams on his face. Though pass'd in tears the day-spring of his youth, Valdivia lov'd his gratitude and truth: He, in Valdivia, own'd a nobler friend; Kind to protect, and mighty to defend. So, on he rode: upon his youthful mien A mild but sad intelligence was seen: Courage was on his open brow, yet Care Seem'd like a wand'ring shade, to linger there; And though his eye shone, as the eagle's, bright, It beain'd with humid, melancholy light. In the exultation of the hour, Valdivia addresses the attendant youth, asking if he thought it possible that the Indians could withstand such an army as was now before them. The following is the answer of Lautaro: "Forgive!"-the Youth replied, and check'd a tear,"The land where my forefathers sleep, is dear!My native land!-this spot of blessed earth, The scene where I, and all I love, had birth!— What gratitude fidelity can give, Is yours, my Lord !-you shielded-bade me live, I had but one, one only friend beside. But mighty as thou art, Valdivia, know, Then first, when Valdivia turns away in anger, and Lautaro retires from the scene, we are introduced to the Missionary. The scenery, in the midst of which stands his oratory, again gives occasion for the exercise of that power of description, which Mr Bowles possesses in a degree equal to the best poets of his country. We give a part which impressed us with the most lively pleasure. Just heard to trickle through a covert near, And, gem-like, hovering o'er the violets blue, The meek and holy character of Anselmo is amply expressed in the lines There was no worldly feeling in his eye,The world to him" was as a thing gone by." The lessons of piety and resignation by which he instructs his young convert Lautaro, and the relation of the tale of his misfortunes, are given with that sweetness and simplicity which the character demands, and which indeed pervade the whole poem. The adopted daughter of the Missionary has become the wife of Lautaro, which is the tie that binds him to the Spaniards. Another personage is now introduced, and one, the novelty of which is extremely pleasingnot that we mean to say that an inconstant lover is by any means new, but the mixture of gayety and melancholy of warmth of heart, and instability of principle, forms the charm which envelopes Zarinel the minstrel. He comes to Anselmo to relieve his conscience by a confession of his cruelty to an Indian maid," who trustThis, ed, and was by him deserted. it will be readily conjectured, was the daughter of Atacapac, and sister of Lautaro, who found him in distress, pitied and led him to her father's hut. "The father spoke not:-by the pine-wood blaze, The daughter stood-and turn'd a cake of maize. And then, as sudden shone the light, I saw Such features as no artist hand might draw. Her form, her face, her symmetry, her air,Father thy age must such recital spare She sav'd my life and kindness, if not love, And when I wak'd some melancholy strain, And leave me unremember'd here to die! Yet notwithstanding her pathetic remonstrances, ambition conquers love -he leaves "her sorrows and the scene behind,"-and for this he craves absolution from her father. Though all Anselmo's admonition is equally excellent, we think these two lines all-expressive: "First by deep penitence the wrong atone, The The succeeding canto presents many sublime and terrific scenes. different appearance of the several Indian warriors, particularly Caupolican their solemn invocation of their country-gods"-their denunciations of vengeance against the tyrants who invade their rights,-is told in the most forcible manner, and bear the attention along with eager impetuosity during the continuance of these mysterious ceremonies, and examination of the unfortunate Spanish captive, who, as he tremblingly pronounces the name of the hostile commander, and casts the billet into the trench, excites the renewed rage of the assembled avengers. Captive. "Valdivia!"- "Valdivia!Earth upon the billet heap; Their appalling conference is interrupted. It ceas'd; when, bursting from the thickest wood, Appear'd. Each warrior stoop'd his lance to gaze On her pale looks, seen ghastlier through the blaze. "Save!" she exclaim'd, with harrow'd aspect wild; "Oh, save my innocent--my helpless child!" Then fainting fell, as from death's instant stroke. To the inquiries of the Chiefs from whence they come, the answer is, that the ship in which the Spanish woman was being wrecked, and the seamen having borne her and her child to shore, they were attacked and massacred by the Indians, leaving these two helpless beings now brought there for the sacrifice. They are saved by the intercession of the Mountainchief. This is the speech of Caupoli can: "White woman, we were free, When first thy brethren of the distant sea Came to our shores! White woman, theirs the guilt! Theirs, if the blood of innocence be spilt! Yet blood we seek not, though our arms oppose The hate of foreign and remorseless foes: Thou camest here a captive-so abide, Till the Great Spirit shall our cause decide." He spoke the warriors of the night obey; And, ere the earliest streak of dawning day, They led her from the scene of blood away. The Spanish woman is next represented bound, and pale, and weeping over her slumbering child, when a female voice resounds through the gloomy solitude, and an Indian maid appears, who, impelled by compassion, has been induced to visit, and endeavour to relieve the captive; on hearing whose story, when she is told that the wretched mother was following a beloved husband, the tender recollections of the Indian are awakened, and finely shewn in her empassioned exclamation. "Oh! did he love thee then? let death betide, I heard their signal-guns at distance roar. The Spanish camp and night-fixes they descried: Canto the sixth. From the festivities of "the Castle Hall" Lautaro retires to "wander by the moonlight sea," his bosom torn with sad remembrance. A scene of great interest there ensues between him and the unhappy Olola, whom at first he knows not; but after she had fled, a sudden thought flashes on his mind that he has beheld his sister. Zarinel, whose minstrelsy, meanwhile, had delighted the revellers, now languid and weary from the past VOL. VI. gayety, and with a mind at variance with itself, seeks the shore. As thus, with shadow stretching o'er the sand, He mus'd and wander'd on the winding strand, At distance, toss'd upon the foaming tide, A dark and floating substance he espied. He stood, and where the eddying surges beat, An Indian corse was roll'd beneath his feet: The hollow wave retir'd with sullen soundThe face of that sad corse was to the ground; It seem'd a female, by the slender form; He touch'd the hand-it was no longer warm; He turn'd its face-oh! God, that eye though dim, Seem'd with its deadly glare as fix'd on him. How sunk his shudd'ring sense, how chang'd his hue, When poor Olola in that corse he knew! His keen eye, like a startled eagle's, glanc'd Lautaro, rushing from the rocks, advanc'd; 'Tis she!-he knew her by a mark impress'd From earliest infancy beneath her breast. "Oh, my poor sister! when all hopes were past Of meeting, do we meet-thus meet at last?" Then, full on Zarinel, as one amaz'd, With rising wrath and stern suspicion gaz'd; (For Zarinel still knelt upon the sand, And to his forehead press'd the dead maid's hand.)} Speak! whence art thou? Upraising, answered, Pale Zarinel, his head "Peace is with the dead! Him dost thou seek who injur'd thine and thee? Here-strike the fell assassin-I am he! "Die!" he exclaim'd, and with convulsive start He trembled-struck his brow-and, turning round, But oh! the sister of my soul-lies there! Some earth upon her bones, whilst I go weep!" The seventh canto is taken up with niards, till the final engagement, all the warlike preparations of the Spawhich is conducted with great spirit and dignity of expression. The following is the energetic account of the decisive moment: With breathless expectation, on the height, Lautaro watch'd the long and dubious fight: Pale and resign'd the meek man stood, and press'd More close the holy image to his breast. Now nearer to the fight Lautaro drew, When on the ground a Warrior met his view, Upon whose features Memory seem'd to trace A faint resemblance of his Father's face; O'er him a horseman, with collected might, Rais'd his uplifted sword, in act to smite, When the Youth springing on, without a word, Snatch'd from a soldier's wearied grasp the sword, And smote the horseman through the crest: a yell Of triumph burst, as to the ground he fell. -Lautaro shouted, "On! brave brothers, on! Scatter them, like the snow!-the day is won! Lo, I! Lautaro,-Atacapac's son!” The Indians rally inspired with fresh courage, attack the enemy anew, and in a few moments the fate of the Spaniards is decided. The shouts of victory ascend-Valdivia is made prisoner. Anselmo, too, is carried away captive, and Zarinel expiates by death his injuries to Olola. The last canto records the fate of the devoted Valdivia, which Lautaro is unable to prevent. The aged and mortally wounded Atacapac survives but to know and embrace his son. The Missionary is preserved, and, in C the Spanish woman and her infant, Lautaro finds his wife and child. The last duties are paid to the remains of the Mountain-chief; and such is Anselmo's concluding prayer: "Here, too," he cried," my bones in peace shall rest! Few years remain to me, and never more Shall I behold, oh Spain! thy distant shore! Here lay my bones, that the same tree may wave O'er the poor Christian's and the Indian's grave. O may it-(when the sons of future days THE CHRISTIAN AND CIVIC ECONOMY OF LARGE TOWNS, BY THOMAS CHALMERS, D. D. * No. I. Ir is the intention of Dr Chalmers to publish, quarterly, the successive chapters of a work on the comparative habitudes of a city and a country population. The subject is one of mighty importance, and we have no doubt that broad lights will be streamed upon it from his powerful and original mind, lifting up into general knowledge truths that have long been lost sight of even by the wisest philanthropists. We shall have much satisfaction in following Dr Chalmers throughout his interesting inquiries and speculations, and shall endeavour to lay before our readers a condensed view of the leading arguments of each Number of his work. It is well observed by him, in the preface to the first Number, that there is a great deal of philantropy afloat in this our day. At no period, perhaps, in the history of the human mind, did a desire of doing good so earnest, meet with a spirit of inquiry so eager, after the best and likeliest methods of carrying the desire into accomplishment. Amidst all that looks dark and menacing, in the present exhibitions of society, this, at least, must be acknowledged that never was there a greater quantity of thought embarked on those speculations which, whether with Christian, or merely economical writers, have the one common object of promoting the worth and comfort of our species. It must be confessed, at the same time, that much of this benevolence, and more particularly, when it aims at some fulfilment, by a combination of many individuals, is rendered abortive for want of a right direction. Were the misleading causes to which philanthropy is exposed, when it operates among a crowded assemblage of human beings, fully understood, then would it cease to be a paradox-why there should either be a steady progress of wretchedness in our land, in the midst of its charitable institutions; or a steady progress of profligacy, in the midst of its churches, and Sabbath schools, and manifold reclaiming societies. The great and leading position which Dr Chalmers advances is this, that the same moral regimen which, under the parochial and ecclesiastical system of Scotland, has been set up, and with so much effect, in her country parishes, may, by a few simple and attainable processes, be introduced into the most crowded of her cities, and with as signal and conspicuous an effect on the whole habit and character of their population-that the simple relationship which obtains between a minister and his people in the former situation, may be kept up with all the purity and entireness of its influences in the latter, and be equally available to the formation of a well conditioned peasantry-in a word, that there is no such dissimilarity between town and country, as to prevent the great national superiority of Scotland, in respect of her well principled and well educated people, being just as observ able in Glasgow or Edinburgh, for example, as it is in the most retired of her districts, and these under the most diligent process of moral and religious cultivation. So that, while the profligacy which obtains in every Glasgow: Printed for Chalmers and Collins, 18, Wilson Street. |