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There was no moral obstacle to The red rose was in blossom, and the fair prevent them being together as much And bending lily to the wanton air as they pleased. Marcian had no Bared her white breast, and the voluptuwife,--and Julia supposed her hus ous lime band at the bottom of the sea. Had Cast out. his perfumes, and the wilding there been any objection of this
thyme serious nature, we cannot but say Mingled his mountain sweets, transplanted that it would have been Marcian's 'Midst all the flowers that in those regions duty to have carried his self-denial
blow. still farther, and to have driven her He wandered on : At last, his spirit subfrom his thoughts as well as from his
dued eyes. It was a mere accident at last By the deep influence of that hour, partook which broke the ice, and we advise E'en of its nature, and he felt imbued all young ladies who have such beings With a more gentle love, and he did look as a Marcian to deal with, (though, it At times amongst the stars, as on a book they do not wish to run ultimately Where he might read his destiny. How the risk of being poisoned, they had
bright much better chuse among a different Heaven's many constellations shone that
class of lovers,) just to throw loose the And from the distant river a gentle tune, reins, and let fortune order for them Such as is uttered in the months of June, as she will. We must give our read. By brook, whose scanty streams have laners the scene of this eclaircissement,
guished long though somewhat long, as it is writ- For rain, was heard ;-a tender, lapsing ten in our poet's best manner. It is at song, the beginning of the second canto, and Sent up in homage to the quiet moon. opens with a fine invocation to love.
He mused, 'till from a garden, near whose
wall Oh power of Love so fearful and so fair- He leant, a melancholy voice was heard Life of our life on earth, yet kin to careOh! thou day-dreaming Spirit, who dost That casts unto the woods her desert call.
Singing alone, like some poor widow bird look
It was the voice—the very voice that rung Upon the future, as the charmed book of Fate were opend to thine eyes alone Long in his brain that now so sweetly sung. Thou who dost cull, from moments stolen He passed the garden bounds, and lightly
trod, Into eternity, memorial things
Checking his breath, along the grassy sod, To deck the days to come—thy revellings
(By buds and blooms half-hidden, which
the breeze Were glorious and beyond all others: Thou Had ravished from the clustering orangeDidst banquet upon beauty once; and now
trees,) The ambrosial feast is ended !_Let it be. Enough to sayIt was.'-Oh! upon me
Until he reached a low pavilion, where
He saw a lady pale, with radiant hair From thy o'ershadowing wings erlierial Shake odorous airs, so may my senses all
Over her forehead, and in garments white; Be spell-bound to thy service, beautiful A harp was by her, and her fingers ligh:
Carelessly o'er the golden strings were power,
flung; And on the breath of every coming hour Send me faint tidings of the things that Then, shaking back her locks, with upAnd aid me as I try gently to tell
And lips that dumbly moved, she seemed The story of that young Italian pair,
To catch an old disused melody Who loved so lucklessly, yet ah! so well.
A sad Italian air it was, which I How long Colonna in his gloomier mood Remember in my boyhood to have heard, Remained, it matters not : I will not brood And still—(though here and there, perOn evil themes; but, leaving grief and
haps, a word
Be now forgot)-I recollect the gong,
Which might to any lovclorn tale belong. dered far Into the Roman suburbs; Many a star Shone out above upon the silent hours, Whither, ah! whither is my lost love straySave when, awakening the sweet infant ingflowers,
Upon what pleasant land beyond the sea ? The breezes travellid from the west, and Oh! ye winds now playing then
Like airy spirits 'round my temples free, A small cloud came abroad and fled again. Fly and tell him this from me :
Tell him, sweet winds, that in my woman's And saw the hectic flush upon his cheek, bosom
(That silent language which the passions My young love still retains its perfect speak power,
So eloquently well,) and so she smiled Or, like the summer blossom,
Upon him. With a pulse rapid and wild, That changes still from bud to the full. And eyes lit up with love, and all his woes blown flower,
Abandoned or forgot, he lightly rose, Grows with every passing hour.
And placed himself beside her. “ Julia !
My own, my own, for you are mine," he Say, (and say gently,) that, since we two parted,
Then on her shoulder drooped his feverish How little joy-much sorrow-I have kdown:
And for a moment he seemed dying. a. Only not broken-hearted,
way: Because I muse upon bright moments gone, But he recovered quick. “Oh ! Marcian, And dream and think of him alone. I fear"-she softly sighed : -- Again, a
gain, The lady ended, and Colonna knelt
Speak, my divinest love,--again, and Before her with outstretched arms: He shower felt
The music of your words which have such That she, whom in the mountains far a power, way
Such® absolute power upon my fainting His heart had losed so much, at last was soul his.
Oh! I've been wandering toward that fear* Is there, oh! is there in a world like
ful goal, this"
Where Life and Death, Trouble and Si(He spoke) " such joy for me? Oh ! Ju
lence meet, lia,
(The Grave,) with weak, perhaps with errArt thou indeed no phantom which my ing feet, brain
A long, long time without theebut no Has conjured out of grief and desperate more ; pain
For can I think upon that shadowy shore, And shall I then from day to day behold Whilst thou art here standing beside me, Thee again, and still again ? Oh! speak sweet?". to me,
She spoke, “Dear Marcian, I"-" How Julia—and gently, for I have grown old soft she speaks!” in sorrow ere my time: I kneel to thee.” He uttered : " Nay—” (and as the day. --Thus with a passionate voice the lover light breaks broke
Over the hills at morning was her smilc,) Upon her solitude, and while he spoke
“ Nay you must listen silently awhile." In such a tone as might a maiden move, Her fear gave place to pride, and pride to " Dear Marcian, you and I for many lovc.
years Quick are fond women's sights, and clear Have suffered : I kave bought relief with their powers,
tears ; They live in monents years, an age in But, my poor friend, I fear a misery hours ;
Beyond the reach of tears has weighed on Through every movement of the heart they thee.
What 'tis I know not, but (now calmly In a brief period with a courser's speed, mark And mark, decide, reject; but if indeed My words) 'twas said that that thy mind They smile on us-oh! as the eternal sun was dark, Forms and illuminates all to which this And the red fountains of thy blood, (as earth
Heaven (Impregnate by his glance) hath given is stained with the dying lights of Even) birth,
Were tainted—that thy mind did wander Even so the smile of woman stamps our far, fates,
At times, a dangerous and erratic star, And consecrates the love it first creates. Which like a pestilence sweeps the lower
sky, At first she listened with averted eye, Dreaded by every orb and planet nigh. And then, half turning towards him, ten. This hath my father heard. Oh! Mare derly
cian, She marked the deep sad truth of every He is a worldly and a cruel man, tone,
And made me once a victim; but again Which told that he was her’s, and all her It shall not be. I have had too much of own,
Too much for such short hours as life af. The hero and the husband weeps at last fords,
Alas, alas ! and lo! he stands aghast, And I would fain from out the golden Bankrupt in every hope, and silently gasps hoards
Like one who maddens. Hark! the timOf joy, pluck some fair ornament, at last,
bers part To gild my life with but my life hath And the sea-hillows come, and still he clasps past."
His pale pale beauty closer to his heart, · Her head sank on her bosom : gently he The ship has struck. One kiss the last Kissed off the big bright tears of misery.
-Love's own. Alas! that ever such glittering drops -They plunge into the waters and are should flow
gone. (Bright as though born of Happiness) from The vessel sinks, 'tis vanished, and the
woe! -He soothed her for a time, and she grew Rolls boiling o'er the wreck triumphantly, calm,
And shrieks are heard and cries, and then Por lovers' language is the surest balm
short groans, To hearts that sorrow much ; that night Which the waves stifle quick, and doubt. they parted
ful tones With kisses and with tears, but both light. Like the faint moanings of the wind pass hearted,
by, And many a vow was made, and promise And horrid gurgling sounds rise up and die, spoke,
And noises like the choaking of man's And well believed by both, and never breathbroke :
-But why prolong the tale—it is of death. They parted, but from that time often
The heroes of this poem have all, met
like Sir John Falstaff, a kind of In that same garden when the sun had set, alacrity in sinking ;" however, drownAnd for a while Colonna's mind forgot, In the fair present hour, his future lot.
ing is a death which they abhor as pp. 33–42. much as he did. Marcian and Julia
start up again as well as Orsini—but In process of time the happy
pair it would have been much better for were united; but one morning when them if they had remained quietly Colonna was out upon his wander- in the caverns of the ocean. They ings, who should appear before him are very needlessly thrown ashore, but Julia's first husband Orsini, who and rescued by some fishermen, and had actually been so ill-bred as to vomit Marcian leads a romantic kind of out the salt water which he had swal- life for a time, supporting his lowed, instead of politely permitting it beloved by means of that humble tochoak him? Without any explanation craft. He again, however, finds as to the reason of the expedition, Mar- that Orsini is in his neighbourhood, cian instantly set sail, with his Julia, and he carries Julia into the wild from Italy, and of course, according retreats of the Appenines, near the to the invariable practice of poets, monastery of Laverna, where he had from the Odyssey and the Æneid, passed his insane youth, and where down to Don Juan, they are encoun: his star was now destined to set tered by a storm. Although it is a still more heavily in clouds. She diskind of writing quite out of his usual covers the existence of her husband, way, we must admit that Barry Corn- and secretly resolves to part from walls storm is but little, if any thing, Marcian:-he reads her purpose in her inferior to those of his great predeces- changed deportment,- he forms his sors. We are sorry that we have not own dark purpose,—and the story ends room for it at present, but we shall insert in the following powerfully painted, it in our next Number. It contains, but too horrible catastrophe : among other fine passages, the sub No talk was pleasant now; no image fair; lime, though somewhat laboured, a- No freshness and no fragrance filled the air; postrophe to the Ocean, which we No music in the winds nor in the sound quoted in our last, and it thus con The wild birds uttered from the forests cludes :
The sun had lost its light, and drearily And now-whither are gone the lovers The morning stole upon his altered eye ; now?
And night with all her starry eyes grew Colonna, wearest thou anguish on thy brow, dim, And is the valour of the moment gone ? For she was changed, -and nought was Fair Julia, thou art smiling now alone :
truc to him.
From pain—at length, from pain, (for With an exulting, terrible joy, when she could be bear
Lay down in tears to slumber, silently. The sorrow burning wild without a tear ?) -She had no after sleep; but ere she slept He rushed beside her: Towards him Strong spasms and pains throughout her gloomily
body crept, She looked, and then he gasped—“ We And round her brain, and tow'rds her list to me
heart, until Wewe must part-must part : is it not They touched that seat of love, and all
was still. She hung her head and murmured, “ Woe, Away he wandered for some lengthened oh! woe,
hour That it must be so—nay, Colonna--nay When the black poison shewed its fiercest Hearken unto me: little can I say,
power, But sin—is it not sin ?) doth wear my And when he sought the cavern, there she heart
lay, Away to death. Alas! and must we part, The young, the gentle,-dying fast away. We who have loved so long and trulyyes;
He sate and watched her, as a nurse Were we not born, (we were,) for wretch
might do, edness.
And saw the dull film steal across the blue, Oh! Marcian, Marcian, I must go : my And saw, and felt her sweet forgiving road
smile, Leads to a distant home, a calm abode, That, as she died, parted her lips the while. There I may pine my few sad years away, Her hand ?-_its pulse was silent-her And die, and make my peace ere I decayShe spoke no more, for now she saw his But patience in her smile still faintly shone, soul
And in her closing eyes a tenderness, Rising in tumult, and his eyeballs roll That seemed as she would fain Colonna Wildly and fiery red, and thro' his cheek
bless. Deep crimson shot: he sighed but did not speak.
She died, and spoke no word ; and still Keeping a horrid silence there he sate,
he sate A maniac, full of love, and death, and fate. Beside her like an image.Again—the star that once his eye shone o'er Flash'd forth again more fiercely than be We have quoted some of the finest fore :
passages in this poem, although there And thro' his veins the current fever flew Like lightning, withering all it trembled scriptions, to which we have not been
are many splendid invocations and dethrough; He clenched his hands and rushed away, of the Dramatic Scenes, or the Miscel
able to allude, nor can we now speak away, And looked and laughed upon the opening laneous Pieces which are subjoined to day,
it. It is Mr Cornwall's greatest, but And mocked the morn with shouts, and we do not think his most pleasing or wandered wild
successful effort. He has tasked himFor hours, as by some meteor thing be- self high, but seems to be treading too guiled.
closely on the steps of Lord Byron. We He wandered thro' the forests, sad and lone, like his own native walks much betHis heart all fiery and his senses gone;
ter. Nobody but that Lord can make Till, at the last, (for nature sunk at last,)
ruffians and madmen at all agreeable, The tempest of the fever fell and past, And he lay down upon the rocks to sleep,
and we have really no wish to see And shrunk into a troubled slumber, deep. any one else succeed in the same atLong was that sleep—long-very long, and tempt, though the whole poetic world strange,
are striving hard at it, we think, with And frenzy suffered then a silent change, very little to do for their pains. Mr And his heart hardened as the fire with. Shelley has beat his Lordship all to drew,
nothing in point of atrocity,-but Like furnaced iron beneath the winter's we look upon Mr Shelley's performandew.
ces as solely and simply detestable and
hateful; he is “ un enfant perdu,” He gained he gained (why droops my
on whom it is not worth while to story ?) then An opiate deadly from the convent men,
waste a word ; but we regret to see And bore it to his caye : she drank that the pure and classical muse of Mr draught
Cornwall giving any countenance Of death, and he looked on in scorn, and whatever to this reigning folly. Pere laughed
haps, like all other poets of the age,
(except Campbell, who has the oppo- panions,' should have so eminently existsite fault,) he is getting into the way ed, where least likely to be found ; on the of writing too much and too hura centre of a Court, on the very throne of riedly; and the consequence must be, the greatest and most powerful empire of
Europe ? that he can scarce avoid falling into the prevailing fashion, of whatever be thought by some readers too trivial and
“ Many of the anecdotes will, perhaps, kind that may be. He struck out a unimportant for public notice ; did they path for himself in his Dramatic concern private individuals, the objection Scenes. Why should he not try to would be readily admitted ; but the most redeem our modern poetry from the trifling circumstance acquires dignity and stigina which has so long been affixed interest, when it refers to departed worth: to it-its dramatic incapacity? Why and greatness ; and the mind dwells with should he not attempt a whole play? more satisfaction upon the recollection of Only let him not be in a hurry.' We George the Third, as the exemplary chadlo not absolutely insist upon the racter in every social relation of life, than “nonum prematur in annum,”—but
it does upon the splendour of his regal
state." he is one of those poets, we imagine, who cannot finish too highly, and Before copying the account of an whose delicate and refined genius evening at Windsor, we insert the must only shine the brighter from Queen's letter of invitation to the auevery fresh application of the file. thor of these letters, who thus states
the circumstance to her friend. ANECDOTES OF THE LATE KING AND
“ On Saturday, the 3d of this month, QUEEN.
one of the Queen's messengers came and The following anecdotes are from brought me the following letter from her the letters of Mrs Delany, widow of Dr majesty, written with her own hand :
66. My dear Mrs Delany will be glad to Patrick Delany, just published. We hear that I am charged by the King to have not scen the book itself, but we
summon her to her new abode at Windsor gladly avail ourselves of the selection for 'Tuesday next, where she will find all made from it in that very useful and the most essential parts of the house ready, well conducted Miseellany, the Li- excepting some little trifics, which it will terary Gazette. There can be no finer be better for Mrs Delany to direct herself tribute to the virtues of our departed in person, or by her little deputy, Miss Sovereigns, and these, alas ! are times Port. I need not, I hope, add, that I in which
shall be extremely glad and happy to sce
so amiable an inhabitant in this our sweet We cannot but remember such things were retreat ; and wish, very sincerely, that my That were most precious to us!
dear Mrs Delany may cnjoy every blessing amongst us that her merits deserve.
That Mrs Delany lived first with the
we may long enjoy her amiable company, Duchess of Portland, and on her Amen! These are the truc sentiments of, death was invited by their Majesties " " My dear Mrs Delany's to reside near them in Windsor,
" " Very affectionate Queen, where she had constant opportunities
"• CHARLOTTE. of observing their interior economy
«« Quccn's Lodge, Windsor, Sopt3, 1785. and private conduct.
"• P. S. I must also beg that Mrs Dejustly remarks
lany will choose her own time of coming,
as will best suit her own convenience.' “ At a moment like this, when the re " I received the Queen's letter at dinner, cent loss of our beloved monarch has ex and was obliged to answer it instantly, cited interest towards every circumstance with my own hand, without seeing a letter illustrative of his private life and character, I wrote. I thank God I had strength it is thought that these letters, unaffectedly enough to obey the gracious summons on displaying the domestic happiness that the day appointed. I arrived here about reigned at Windsor Castle, and recording eight o'clock in the evening, and found his many traits which do honour to the head Majesty in the house ready to receive me. and the heart of the Sovereign, and of his I threw myself at his feet, indeed unable Consort, would not prove uninteresting to to utter a word; he raised and saluted me, the public. Who, indeed, would not re and said he meant not to stay longer than joice that “ truc happiness,' characterized to desire I would order every thing that by a great author as • arising from the en could make the house comfortable and ajoyment of one's self, and from the friend- greeable to me, and then retired. ship and conversation of a few select com Truly I found nothing wanting, as it