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And spirits that never till the morning sleep. And mighty and magnificent, for he
And, far away, the mountain Etna flung Had seen the bright sun worshipp'd like a
Eternally its pyramid of flame

god High as the heav'ns, while from its heart Upon that land where first Columbus trod; there came

And travelled by the deep Saint Lawrence' Hollow and subterranean noises deep,

tide, And all around the constellations hung And by Niagara's cataracts of foam, Their starry lamps, lighting the midnight And seen the wild deer roam sky,

Amongst interminable forests, where As to do honour to that revelry."

The serpent and the savage have their lair There is one in this gay shifting Together. Nature there in wildest guise

Stands undebased and nearer to the skies ; crowd, sick at the soul with sorrow for Isabel can no where find her Ita- The bones of things forgotten, buried deep,

And ’midst her giant trees and waters wide lian boy, the dark-haired Guido—and Give glimpses of an elder world, espied while she is mournfully thinking up- By us but in that fine and dreamy sleep, on him, her brother Leoni fiercely When Fancy, ever the mother of deep truth, upbraids her sullen silence, and whis- Breathes her dim oracles on the soul of youth. pers in her ear her lover's name, with This is full of poetry, and also of oria tone that strikes a nameless and pro- ginality, though the same kind of pica phetic terror into her heart.

ture has been drawn by Wordsworth “ And to her room

and Campbell. No one who can read Like a pale solitary flash she stole." it, has forgotten the irresistible wooWhat a contrast is the dark and des- ing of Ruth,“ that infant of the pairing night, of this day to the joy- woods,” by the “ youth from Georfulness of its morn.

gia's shore,” so perilously familiar “ That morn they sat upon the sea-beach with the strange tales of love and fear.

green ; For in that land the sward springs fresh and alone in its powerful beauty, nor was

That is indeed a poem that stands free Close to the ocean, and no tides are seen

there ever

on earth a mind but To break the glassy quiet of the sea :

Wordsworth’s from which could And Guido, with his arm 'round Isabel, have risen into light so wild a creaUnclasped the tresses of her chesnut hair, tion. Campbell had doubtless Ruth in Which in her white and heaving bosom fell his heart when he conceived of his own Like things enamour'd, and then with jealous Gertrude—and he thought of him,

a military casque who wore with Bade the soft amorous winds not wanton there;

splendid feathers drest,” when he And then his dark eyes sparkled, and he raised up in the Pennsylvanian solitude, wound

the wanderer of whom he says, " and The fillets like a coronet around

well his Spanish plume those lofty Her brow, and bade her rise and be a queen.

looks became." So too in the whole And oh ! 'twas sweet to see her delicate hand story of that wanderer's adventures, Pressed 'gainst his parted lips, as tho' to check faintly coloured by a light reflected In mimic anger all those whispers bland from the picture by Wordsworth,-. He knew so well to use, and on his neck Her round arm hung, while half as in com

we see one poet creating in the spirit of

another. The above vision of Barry mand And half entreaty did her swimming eye

Cornwall will bear to be pondered on, Speak of forbearance, 'till from her pouting even after the kindred visions of those lip

other great dreamers. Indeed, are He snatched the honey-dews that lover's sip, they not all inspired by ShakspeareAnd then, in crimsoning beauty, playfully, for so was wooed and won

- The She frowned, and wore that self.betraying air gentle lady married to the Moor.". That women loved and flattered love to wear. * Oft would he, as on that same spot they lay couch.

But Isabel is on her midnight Beneath the last light of a summer's day, Tell (and would watch the while her sted- “ Her sleep that night was fearful,-0,

that night! How on the lone Pacific he had been, If it indeed was sleep: for in her sight When the Sea Lion on his watery way A form (a dim and waving shadow) stood, Went rolling thro' the billows green, And pointed far up the great Etna's side, And shook that ocean's dead tranquillity : Where, from a black

ravine, a dreary wood And he would tell her of past times, and Peeps

out and frowns upon the storms below; where

And bounds and braves the wilderness of He rambled in his boyhood far away, And spoke of other worlds and wonders fair It gazed awhile upon the lonely bride

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With melancholy air and glassy eye, ginary scene with an acknowledge
And spokeAwake and search yon dell, ment' of its reference to his common

for I,
• Tho' risen above my old mortality,

nature ; he recognises and allows its • Have left my mangled and unburied limbs in his emotion something of that pain

meaning to human feelings-he owns A prey for wolves hard by the waters there, * And one lock of my black and curled hair, ful sense which in nature belong to • That one I vowed to thee my beauty, swims agony, or danger, or death. There is • Like a mere weed upon the mountain river; much of this high imagination in the • And those dark eyes you used to love so picture which follows; an appeal is there well

made to those feelings which are de• (They loved you dearly, my own Isabel,) rived from our acquaintance with pain• Are shut and now have lost their light for from our fear of violence and death

while we see also touches of wild ro• Go then unto yon far ravine, and save • Your husband's heart for some more quiet mantic beauty, lonely grandeur, and

a sort of stern and wild magnificence grave * Than what the stream and withering winds of nature.

" It was a spot like those romancers paint, • And ’neath the basil tree we planted, give or painted when of dusky knights they told • The fond heart burial, so that tree shall live Wandering about in forests old, • And shed a solace on thy after days : When the last purple colour was waxing . And thou-but oh ! ask thee not to tend

faint • The plant on which thy Guido loved to And day was dying in the west : the trees gaze,

(Dark pine and chesnut and the dwarfed oak • For with a spirit's power I see thy heart.' And cedar) shook their branches, 'till the

shade No poets of any other country see

They such ghosts as do the British.

Look'd like a spirit, and, living as it played, alone at all times remember, that

Seem'd holding dim communion with the

breeze: ghosts are not flesh and blood, ----but a

Below, a tumbling river rolled along, voice-à shadow-a something that

(Its course by lava rocks and branches broke) once was and scarcely is—that moans, Singing for aye

its fierce and noisy song. glimmers, and melts away.

Every step that Isabel took farther He said no more, but with the dawning day down and down into this ravine, must Shrunk, as the shadows of the clouds depart have dashed her soul with deeper tera Before the conquering sun-beams, silently. Yet even there she imagined

she from the pillow where she that hope could dwell. And our readlay, To the wild sense of doubtful misery :

ers will not fail to be delighted with And when she 'woke she did obey the dream, the knowledge that Mr Cornwall here And journey'd onwards to the mountain shewsof the human heart. Love will not stream

believe in death till she sees it in his Tow'rd which the phantom pointed, and own glazed eyes, and, as we think Byshe drew

ron somewhere says, “ black hair
The thorns aside which there luxuriant grew, spread in utter lifelessness."
And with a beating heart descended where

Oh! till that moment none
The waters washed, it said, its floating hair.

Could tell (not she) how much of hope the
A murdered body never lay in a more
fitting place. There is something And cheerful morning, with its noises,
mean and miserable in an outstretch-

brought, ed corpse lying bloody and gashed and And how she from each glance a courage

caught, mangled on the common earth. Murder ought to be perpetrated in such wild For light and life had scattered half her fright,

And she could almost smileon the past night;
and savage solitudes as those of Salvator So, with a buoyant feeling, mixed with fear
Rosa-places of fear-the haunts of Lest she might scorn Heav'n's missioned
wild beasts-of men more fell than minister,
they—of the fierce agencies of nature. She took her weary way and searched the
That trembling and blanching of the dell,
cheek which would denote the fears of And there she saw him_dead. Poor deso-

late child
our human heart, is not strange to
the emotion with which we look on

Of sixteen summers, had the waters wild the pictured scene.

No pity on the boy you loved so well !

Fear is an ele- There stiff and cold the dark-eyed Guido lay, ment of that emotion. He whose His pale face upwards to the careless day, own courage would rise on such a spot That smiled as it was wont ; and he was to quell his fear, looks upon the ima- found,

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And spirits that never till the morning sleep. And mighty and magnificent, for he
And, far away, the mountain Etna flung Had seen the bright sun worshipp'd like a
Eternally its pyramid of flame

god High as the heav'ns, while from its heart Upon that land where first Columbus trod; there came

And travelled by the deep Saint Lawrence' Hollow and subterranean noises deep,

tide, And all around the constellations hung And by Niagara's cataracts of foam, Their starry lamps, lighting the midnight And seen the wild deer roam sky,

Amongst interminable forests, where As to do honour to that revelry."

The serpent and the savage have their lair There is one in this gay shifting Stands undebased and nearer to the skies;

Together. Nature there in wildest guise crowd, sick at the soul with sorrowfor Isabel can no where find her Ita- The bones of things forgotten, buried deep,

And ’midst her giant trees and waters wide lian boy, the dark-haired Guido—and Give glimpses of an elder world, espied while she is mournfully thinking up- By us but in that fine and dreamy sleep, on him, her brother Leoni fiercely When Fancy, ever the mother of deep truth, upbraids her sullen silence, and whis- Breathes her dim oracles on the soul of youth. pers in her ear her lover's name, with This is full of poetry, and also of oria tone that strikes a nameless and pro- ginality, though the same kind of pic, phetic terror into her heart.

ture has been drawn by Wordsworth “ And to her room

and Campbell. No one who can read Like a pale solitary flash she stole." it, has forgotten the irresistible wooWhat a contrast is the dark and des- ing of Ruth, " that infant of the pairing night, of this day to the joy- woods,” by the “ youth from Georfulness of its morn.

gia's shore," so perilously familiar “ That morn they sat upon the sea-beach with the strange tales of love and fear.

green ; For in that land the sward springs fresh and alone in its powerful beauty, nor was

That is indeed a poem that stands free

there ever Close to the ocean, and no tides are seen

on earth a mind but

could To break the glassy quiet of the sea :

Wordsworth's from which And Guido, with his arm 'round Isabel,

have risen into light so wild a creaUnclasped the tresses of her chesnut hair, tion. Campbell had doubtless Ruth in Which in her white and heaving bosom fell his heart when he conceived of his own Like things enamour'd, and then with jealous Gertrudemand he thought of him, Bade the soft amorous winds not wanton splendid feathers drest,” when he

a military casque who wore with And then his dark eyes sparkled, and he raised up in the Pennsylvanian solitude, wound

the wanderer of whom he

says, The fillets like a coronet around

well his Spanish plume those lofty Her brow, and bade her rise and be a queen.

looks became.” So too in the whole And oh ! 'twas sweet to see her delicate hand story of that wanderer's adventures, Pressed 'gainst his parted

lips, as tho’to check faintly coloured by a light reflected In mimic anger all those whispers bland from the picture by Wordsworth, He knew so well to use, and on his neck Her round arm hung, while half as in com- another. The above vision of Barry

we see one poet creating in the spirit of mand And half entreaty did her swimming eye

Cornwall will bear to be pondered on, Speak of forbearance, 'till from her pouting even after the kindred visions of those

other great dreamers. Indeed, are He snatched the honey-dews that lover's sip, they not all inspired by ShakspeareAnd then, in crimsoning beauty, playfully for so was wooed and won

*" The She frowned, and wore that self-betraying air gentle lady married to the Moor.”. That women loved and flattered love to wear. “ Oft would he, ason that same spot they lay couch.

But Isabel is on her midnight Beneath the last light of a summer's day, Tell (and would watch the while her sted. “ Her sleep that night was fearful,-0,

that night! How on the lone Pacific he had been, If it indeed was sleep: for in her sight When the Sea Lion on his watery way A form (a dim and waving shadow) stood, Went rolling thro' the billows green, And pointed far up the great Etna's side, And shook that ocean's dead tranquillity : Where, from a black ravine, a dreary wood And he would tell her of past tímes, and Peeps out and frowns upon the stormsbelow; where

And bounds and braves the wilderness of He rambled in his boyhood far away, And spoke of other worlds and wonders fair It gazed awhile upon the lonely bride

air

there;

" and

lip

fast eye,)

snow.

ever.

With melancholy air and glassy eye, ginary scene with an acknowledge And spoke-Awake and search yon dell, ment' of its reference to his common

for I, • Tho' risen above my old mortality,

nature; he recognises and allows its • Have left my mangled and unburied limbs in his emotion something of that pain

meaning to human feelings-he owns • A prey for wolves hard by the waters there, * And one lock of my black and curled hair, ful sense which in nature belong to • That one I vowed to thee my beauty, swims agony, or danger, or death. There is * Like a mere weed upon the mountain river; much of this high imagination in the • And those dark eyes you used to love so picture which follows; an appeal is there well

made to those feelings which are de* (They loved you dearly, my own Isabel, rived from our acquaintance with pain, • Are shut and now have lost their light for from our fear of violence and death•Go then unto yon far ravine, and save

while we see also touches of wild ro* Your husband's heart for some more quiet mantic beauty, lonely grandeur, and grave

a sort of stern and wild magnificence • Than what the stream and withering winds of nature. may lend,

“ It was a spot like those romancers paint, * And 'neath the basil tree we planted, give Or painted when of dusky knights they told • The fond heart burial, so that tree shall live Wandering about in forests old, * And shed a solace on thy after days : When the last purple colour was waxing . And thou-but oh ! I ask thee not to tend

faint • The plant on which thy Guido loved to And day was dying in the west : the trees gaze,

(Dark pine and chesnut and the dwarfed oak • For with a spirit's power I see thy heart.' And cedar) shook their branches, 'till the

shade No poets of any other country see such ghosts as do the British. They Look like a spirit, and, living as it played, alone at all times remember, that Seemd holding dim communion with the

breeze: ghosts are not flesh and blood,-but a

Below, a tumbling river rolled along, voice-a shadow—a something that (Its course by lava rocks and branches broke) once was and scarcely is—that moans, Singing for aye its fierce and noisy song. glimmers, and melts away.

Every step that Isabel took farther He said no more, but with the dawning day down and down into this ravine, must Shrunk, as the shadows of the clouds depart have dashed her soul with deeper terBefore the conquering sun-beams, silently.

Yet even there she imagined Then sprung she from the pillow where she that hope could dwell. - And our read

lay, To the wild sense of doubtful misery :

ers will not fail to be delighted with And when she 'woke she did obey the dream, the knowledge that Mr Cornwall here And journey'd onwards to the mountain shewsof the human heart. Love will not

believe in death till she sees it in his Tow'rd which the phantom pointed, and own glazed eyes, and, as we think Byshe drew

ron somewhere says,

“ black hair The thorns aside which there luxuriant grew, spread in utter lifelessness.” And with a beating heart descended where

Oh! till that moment none The waters washed, it said, its floating hair.

Could tell (not she) how much of hope the A murdered body never lay in a more fitting place. There is something And cheerful morning, with its noises, mean and miserable in an outstretch- brought, ed corpse lying bloody and gashed and And how she from each glance a courage

caught, mangled on the common earth. Mur

For light and life had scattered half her fright, der ought to be perpetrated in such wild

And she could almost smileon the past night; and savage solitudes as those of Salvator So, with a buoyant feeling, mixed with fear Rosa-places of fear-the haunts of Lest she might scorn Heav'n's missioned wild beasts-of men more fell than ininister, they-of the fierce agencies of nature. She took her weary way and searched the That trembling and blanching of the dell, cheek which would denote the fears of And there she saw him-dead. Poor deso

late child our human heart, is not strange to Of sixteen summers, had the waters wild the emotion with which we look on

No pity on the boy you loved so well ! the pictured scene. Fear is an ele. There stiff and cold the dark-eyed Guido lay, ment of that emotion. He whose His pale face upwards to the careless day, own courage would rise on such a spot That smiled as it was wont; and he was to quell his fear, looks upon the ima. found,

ror.

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His young limbs mangled on the rocky the hauntings of his own guilt

, digs ground,

and finds the heart imperished, -IsaAnd, 'midst the weltering weeds and shal. bel having lows cold,

“ Wound it round with many an anxious His black hair floated as the phantom told,

line, And like the very dream his glassy eye And bathed it with a curious medicine. Spoke of gone mortality.

He found it like a great spell where it lay, In the story of Boccaccio, on which And carried and cast it to the waves away." this

poem is built, the lady takes the head of her murdered lover, and buries

Then, and not till then, does Isabel

feel that Guido is indeed-dead. We it, we believe, in an urn containing a basil plant. Mr Cornwall represents

cannot forbear quoting the whole of Isabella as, in like manner, burying

the remainder of the poem.

Some of the heart

our correspondents complain of us for “ In common earth,

not giving them enough of Original Doomed like a thing that owned not human Poetry.' Cannot they use their eyes ? birth.

Where will they find it, if not in And the tree grew and grew; and brighter Wordsworth, Coleridge, Lloyd, Shelly

, and Cornwall? Not a month passes over green Shot from its boughs than she before had seen,

their heads that we do not lay before And softly with its leaves the west winds them a rich feast of poetry ; nor has played :

any Journal written of poets and poetAnd she did water it with her tears, and talk ry in a more uniform spirit of love, As to a living spirit, and in the shade

admiration, and enthusiasm. Is not Would place it gently when

the sun did walk the following passage worth a thousand High in his hot meridian, and she prest The boughs (which fell like balm) upon her Elegies from “ Constant Readers,”

and breast.

a thousand Odes to Love and Friend She never plucked a leaf, nor let a weed ship, by bands of young men, invisiWithin the shadow of its branches feed, ble and anonymous, all faithful adher. But nursed it as a mother guards her child, ents, heroic defenders, and punctual And kept it shelter'd from the winter wild: subscribers to this work? And so it grew beyond its fellows, and Tow'red in unnatural beauty, waving there That day the green tree wither'd, and she And whispering to the moon and midnight The solace of her mind was stol'n and gone;

knew air, And stood a thing unequalled in the land,

And then she felt that she was quite alone

In the wide world: so, to the distant woods But never more along her favourite vale,

And caverned haunts, and where the mounOr by the village paths or hurrying river,

tain floods Or on the beach, when clouds are seen to sail Thunder unto the silent air, she flew. Across the setting sun, while waters quiver She flew away, and left the world behind, And breezes rise to bid the day farewell

And all that man doth worship, in her flight; No more in any bower she once lov'd well, Whose sound or silence to the ear could tell Yet, as she looked farewell to human kind,

All that around the beating heart is twined; Aught of the passionate past, the pale girl One quivering drop arose and dimm'd her

sight, Yet Love himself, like an invisible god, Haunted each spot, and with his own rich And then into the dreary wilderness

The last that frenzy gave to poor distress, breath Filled the wide air with music sweet and soft, And in the solitude she found a cave

She went alone, a craz'd heart-broken thing; Such as might calm or conquer Death, if Half hidden by the wild-brier blossoming, Death

Whereby a black and solitary pine, Could e'er be conquer'd, and from aloft

Struck by the fiery thunder, stood and gave Sad airs, like those she heard in infancy, Fell on her soul and filled her eyes with tears, And there she lived for months : She did

Of pow'r and death a token and a sign: And recollections came of happier years

not heed Thronging from all the cells of memory.

The seasons or their change, and she would All her heart's follies she remember'd then,

feed How coy and rash-how scornful she had

On roots and berries as the creatures fed been,

Which had in woods been bred and nourish. And then how tender, and how coy again,

ed. And every shifting of the burning scene That sorrow stamps upon the helpless brain. Once, and once only was she seen, and then At length Leoni, having discovered his And stopped to look a moment on her face,

The chamois hunter started from his chace, sister's passionate love of her urn, and And could not turn him to his sports again. its beautiful basil tree, and prompted Thin Famine sat upon her hollow cheek, by some dim suspicions, arising from And settled madness in her glazed eye

trod :

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