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untimely grave. War, disease, and old age, had cut down the gallant companions of his early days. His successor was too young and too feeble to grasp the sceptre of the Plantaganets. His conquests were wrested from him, and he was unable to vindicate his right. Unlike the brave Agnes Sorrel, Alice Perrers employed her influence to encourage his weakness, lived upon him during his dotage, and deserted him at his latter end. The death of Edward formed, indeed, a painful contrast to his life.

But when he was gone, when men had time to remember his essential greatness, when they compared his mature wisdom with the opening follies of his successor, succeeded by the dreadful calamities of a usurped throne and a divided allegiance, then England looked back with regret to the character of her great and wise, though too warlike ruler.

The grave has closed over monarchs as brave, as chivalrous, as politic, it may be, as prudent; but in that proud cemetery where Britain's princes moulder into dust, there lies none in whom were combined in so complete a degree, all the qualities of a sovereign and a soldier, who was so emphatically English in his character, upon whose recumbent form the spectator gazes with more respectful awe, or in whose long and brilliant reign the English people feel a keener or more enduring interest.

-decus Anglorum, flos regum preteritorum,
Forma futurorum, Rex clemens, pax populorum,
TERTIUS EDWARDUS, regni complens jubilæum,
Invictus pardus, bellis pollens Machabæum.

ART. IX.-Ballads and other Poems. By HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW, Author of "Voices of the Night," " Hyperion," &c. Fourth Edition. Cambridge (U.S.) John Owen.

WE need scarcely apprise our readers that the name of the author of this volume has long been associated with those of the highest lustre in the annals of American literature. Indeed, so extensive and confirmed has been the manifestation of popular favour towards the present collection of Professor Longfellow's "Ballads and other Poems," that the enterprizing and judicious publisher has been induced to stereotype the work; while a fourth edition has already justified his well-grounded confidence in the success of the undertaking. We feel happy in adding our testimony to the belief, that the popularity of Professor Longfellow's writings must extend itself wherever a knowledge of the English language prevails; and we doubt not that the exquisite original pieces, which accompany the various translations from the Swedish, German, and other sources of foreign literature, as introduced in the charming volume before us,

will receive, at the hands of the several poets whose compositions have been thus favourably laid before the British and the American public, the reciprocal and just compliment of being transferred into their own respective languages. Amongst the contents of the present publication will be found a highly effective and rigidly faithful translation of Bishop Tegnér's singular and most impressive poem, entitled "Nattwardsbernen;" or, according to its designation in our vernacular, "The Children of the Lord's Supper." The author of this piece, we are told in the admirable preface to the work, "stands first among all the poets of Sweden, living or dead. His principal work is Frithiof's Saga;' one of the most remarkable poems of the age. This modern Skald has written his name in immortal runes. He is the glory and boast of Sweden; a prophet, honoured in his own country, and adding one more to the list of great names that adorn her history." We proceed to quote the following eloquent passage, without the slightest attempt at selection, which indeed is rendered unnecessary by the perfect beauty and grace of the entire composition. We have before intimated that the learned professor has eminently succeeded in combining the spirit of a free translation with the closest adherence to the style and character, and, we may now add, even to the idiomatic peculiarities of the original.

Love is the creature's welfare, with God; but love among mortals
Is but an endless sigh! He longs, and endures, and stands waiting;
Suffers, and yet rejoices, and smiles with tears on his eyelids.
Hope, so is called upon earth, his recompense.Hope the befriending,
Does what she can; for she points evermore up to heaven; and faithful,
Plunges her anchor's peak in the depths of the grave, and beneath it
Paints a more beautiful world; a dim, but sweet play of shadows!
Races, better than we, have leaned on her wavering promise,
Having nought else beside hope. Then praise we our Father in heaven,
Him, who has given us more; for to us has Hope been illumined,
Groping no longer in night; she is Faith, she is living assurance.
Faith is enlightened Hope; she is light; is the eye of affection;
Dreams of the longing interprets; and carves their visions in marble.
Faith is the sun of life; and her countenance shines like the Prophet's,
For she has looked upon God; the heaven on its stable foundation,
Draws she with chains down to earth; and the New Jerusalem sinketh
Splendid with portals twelve in golden vapours descending.
There enraptured she wanders; and looks at the figures majestic;
Fears not the winged crowd; in the midst of them all is her homestead.
Therefore love and believe; for works will follow spontaneous,
Even as day does the sun; the Right from the Good is an offspring-
Love in a bodily shape; and Christian works are no more than
Animate Love and Faith, as flowers are the animate spring-tide.

He that does not deeply recognise the glowing hues of though which the venerable Tegnér has spread through this sublime mor

painting, and which have been so happily caught by the kindred spirit of the translator, must indeed be dead to the voice of feeling, and to the loftiest spells of imagination. The remainder of the volume consists of the following ballads: "The Skeleton in Armour;""the Luck of Edenhall;"" the Wreck of the Hesperus ;" and "the Elected Knight;" all of which afford ample evidence of the peculiar force and originality, as well as impressive beauty, of Professor Longfellow's style. Attached to these, and forming the close of the work, is a collection of "miscellaneous" pieces, which display an infinite variety of bold conceptions and novel imagery, clothed in language remarkable for its noble simplicity and euphonious diction, and animated throughout by that true poetic energy, or vivida vis, which distinguishes the master from the mere copyist,—the imitator, indeed, of sentiments which he neither feels nor communicates to others. The necessarily limited space assigned for our notice, renders it difficult to convey an adequate impression to the reader of the author's high claims on his admiration; yet he will scarcely fail to recognise, in the exhibition of such short extracts as appear from their length most fitted for selection, the marked signs of a vigorous and creative pen rejoicing in the power of its inspiration, and engraving the record of its own strength and beauty in "runes" which are destined, as we truly believe, for immortality. Our first sample, from these most interesting and impressive minor poems, is taken from "The Skeleton in Armour," which, we must premise, conveys the supposed story of a Danish warrior, whose remains, clad in broken and corroded armour, had been dug up at Fall River:

I was a Viking old!

My deeds, though manifold,
No Skald in song has told,
No Saga taught thee!
Take heed, that in thy verse
Thou dost the tale rehearse,
Else dread a dead man's curse!
For this I sought thee.

Far in the Northern Land,
By the wild Baltic's strand,
I, with my childish hand,
Tamed the ger-falcon ;
And, with my skates fast-bound,
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,
That the poor whimpering hound
Trembled to walk on.

Oft to his frozen lair,

Tracked I the grisly bear;

While from my path the hare

Fled like a shadow;

Oft through the forest dark Followed the were-wolf's bark, Until the soaring lark

Sang from the meadow.

But when I older grew,
Joining a Corsair's crew,
O'er the dark sea I flew
With the marauders.
Wild was the life we led;
Many the souls that sped;
Many the hearts that bled,
By our stern orders.

Many a wassail-bout
Wore the long winter out ;
Often our midnight shout
Set the cocks crowing,
As we the Berserk's tale
Measured in cups of ale,
Draining the oaken pail,
Filled to o'erflowing.

Once as I told in glee
Tales of the stormy sea,
Soft eyes did gaze on me,
Burning yet tender;
And as the white stars shine
On the dark Norway pine,
On that dark heart of mine
Fell their soft splendour.

I wooed the blue-eyed maid,
Yielding, yet half afraid,
And in the forest's shade

Our vows were plighted.
Under its loosened vest
Fluttered her little breast,
Like birds within their nest

By the hawk frighted.

Bright in her father's hall
Shields gleamed upon the wall,
Loud sang the minstrels all,
Chaunting his glory;

When of old Hildebrand
I asked his daughter's hand,
Mute did the minstrels stand

To hear my story.

More harmonious and beautiful verse than this we have rarely if ever met with. Every stanza seems to shape itself into music, as we read its richly-flowing numbers. We regret that our limits will not allow us to proceed with the bold Viking's story, which deepens in interest as it advances towards the close. Our concluding specimen (a brief one) we have chosen for its delicious quaintness and striking originality:



The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary ;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary ;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,

Some day's must be dark and dreary.


We earnestly trust (as does the reader) that the worthy Professor's life may be long and happily free from the clouds which are too apt to obscure the brightest career; and that we may again and again enjoy the privilege of tendering our homage to his genius, a genius which entitles him to a high and enviable rank amidst that band of patriot-minstrels, who, with a zeal and energy alike worthy of the noblest days of classic inspiration, have united their kindred efforts in the glorious task of investing the dark and pathless wildernesses of the giant West, with the immortal light and beauty of "heavendescended song. If it be a task of self-rewarding labour to spread the benefits of an enlightened legislation through the various complicated interests and relations of a great and rapidly-extending state, -if it be a source of lofty pride to witness, in its fresh-increasing prosperity, the realization of each sagely-modified scheme the happy results of a circumspect devotion to its political welfare; what must be the sense of ennobling delight that thrills the bosom of him who, casting a mantle of intellectual splendour over the yet spiritually elouded destinies of his country, bids her stand forth, in all the sublimity of soul-reflective power, and in all the majestic grace of moral aggrandisement, to claim an elevated sovereignty amid the ancient dynasties -the diademed array of the nations! To confer the advantages of

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