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Grimly retired, as up th' ethereal steep
J. F. PENNIE.
'Twas one of those ambrosial eves
She was a form of life and light
Among the ruin'd temples there,
Of more than man, where marble demons watch
Hath fill'd his eye save that of thoughtful joy
In pictured speech, and others have wax'd loud
With sceptic smile, or from some slender vein
Charm with her excellent voice an awful silence
AN OLD TALE.
'Tis a ditty
Not of these days; but long ago 'twas told
And then the forest told it in a dream
To a sleeping lake, whose cool and level gleam
To Phoebus shrine.
Graceful, when it pleased him, smooth and still
Anchors her quiet beauty.
Never was known a noise of such distraction!
FEBRUARY 1, 1853.
for post, 4d.
This work is designed to form a collection of the choicest Poetry in the English language. Nothing but what is really good will be admitted.
JOHN CROCKFORD, 29, ESSEX STREET,
We shall be obliged by communications of passages of really "beautiful poetry," which any of our readers may have stored in their own collections, or may discover in their readings, especially those flashes of genius which we gather together under the title of "Brilliants." No original poetry will be inserted.
J.M. (Tivoli.)-His views are precisely in accordance with our own. We shall give place to good translations of fine passages of foreign poets.
W. E. R.-In blank verse it is often a beauty to give the word unabbreviated, although it makes a syllable too much according to measure. HEDERACEUS.-We shall be obliged by transmission of the poems he describes.
JUVENIS.-A collected edition of Mrs. Hemans' Poems has been published, we believe, by Longman & Co.
ROSALINDA.-Talfourd's Ion can be had in a neat pocket volume, published, we think, by Mr. Moxon.
We have to acknowledge the receipt of various "Beauties" of poetry from "A Reader," "M. M." "Bristol," "A Celt," Lady L.," "M. P.," "D. (Newcastle)," "Cantab," "B. A.," "The Rev. S. I." "The Rev. G. L. T.," "A Lawyer," "Rev. E. C.," "A Parent;" and many others, some of which will be used, and for all which we thank the contributors.
We were not prepared for the very cordial reception that has been given to this little work, and we have been already obliged to go to press with it three times; hence the delay in the transmission of some of the orders.
In compliance with a desire expressed by many subscribers, this Work will, in future, be issued fortnightly, with The Critic, on the 1st and 15th of each month. No. 3 will be published on February 15.
Some copies are stamped for transmission by post, price 4d. To persons paying for not less than 12 Numbers in advance it will be sup. plied stamped, by post, on the day of publication, on transmission of 38. 6d., which may be sent in postage stamps.
Wit and Humour.
In pursuance of the design originally announced, a collection of the true WIT AND HUMOUR in the English language, giving only the best, and however familiar, provided it be good, will be published in like form and price with Beautiful Poetry on the 1st of each month; and stamped copies will be supplied to Subscribers on the same terms as above. The 1st number appears to-day.
THE ELMS OF NEW HAVEN.
N. P. WILLIS is an American who has distinguished himself by a little very beautiful poetry and a great deal of very coxcombical prose. His later works have not fulfilled the promise of his earlier ones. His first efforts were his best, and among them are to be found many poems which will take a permanent place in the literature of the English language. Like almost all the poetry yet produced by America, that of WILLIS is wanting in nationality. It might have been written in any country; it breathes nothing of the spirit of a new world; it belongs essentially to Europe and its associations. Thus it is even with the following, which is extracted from a poem delivered by the author before the Linonian Society of Gala College, in New Haven. But it is characterized by a charming delicacy, both of sentiment and of expression.
THE leaves we knew
Are gone these many summers, and the winds
Distributing the verdure's temperate balm.
A tree, that flings its shadow as of yore,
Will make the blood stir, sometimes, when the words
Ye who, in this Academy of shade,
Dreamt out the scholar's dream, and then away