Heard nothing save one low-breathed sigh. For love to bow before the name
My hand kept wandering on my lute,

of this world's treasure : shame! oh, sbame ! In music, but unconsciously:

Love, be thy wings as light as those My pulses throbbed, my heart beat high,

That waft the zephyr from the rose, -
A fush of dizzy ecstasy

This may be pardoned something rare
Crimsoned my cheek; I felt warm tears

In loveliness bas been thy spare !
Dimming my sight, yet was it sweet,

But how, fair Love, canst thou become
My wild heart's most bewilderiøg beat,

A thing of mines—a sordid gnome?
Consciousness, without hopes or fears,

And she whom Julian left-she stood
Of a new power within me waking,

A cold white statue ; as the blood
Like light before the morn's full breaking. Hlad, when in vain her last wild prayer,
To this succeeds some beautiful Flown to her heart and frozen there.

Upon ber temple, each dark vein description of a Palace Chamber, to

Swelled in its agony of pain. which retiring, and wrapt in melan- Chill, beavy damps were on her brow ; choly musing," she sang, but as she Her arms were stretched at length, though now sang she wept."

Their clasp was on the empty air ;

A funeral pall-her long black bair

Fell over her ; herself the tomb
And fondly round bis neck she clung ;

Of her own youth, and breath, and bloom.

Alas ! that man should ever win
Her long black tresses round him flung,
Love-chains, which would not let him part;

So sweet a shrine to shame and sin
And be could feel her beating heart,

As woman's heart and deeper woe The pulses of her small white hand,

For her fond weakness not to know The tears she could no more command,

That yielding all but breaks the chain The lip which trembled, though near his,

That never reunites again! The sigb that mingled with her kiss ;

It was a dark and tempest nightYet parted be from that embrace.

No pleasant moon, no blest starlight; He cast one glance upon her face :

But meteors glancing o'er the way, His very soul felt sick to see

Only to dazzle and betray. Its look of utter misery ;

And who is she, that 'mid the storm, Yet turned he not : one moment's grief,

Wraps her slight mantle round her form! One pang, like lightning, fierce and brief,

Her hair is wet with rain and sleet, One thought, half pity, hall remorse,

And blood is on her small snow feet. Pass'd o'er him. On he urged bis borse ;

She has been forced a way to make Ilill, ford, and valley spurred he by,

Through prickly weed and thörned brake, And when bis castle gate was nigh,

Up rousing from its coil the snake ; White foam was on his 'broider'd rein,

And stirring from their damp abode And each spur had a blood-red stain.

The slimy worn and loathsome toad : But soon he entered that fair ball :

And shuddered as she heard the gale His laugh was loudest there of all

Shriek like an evil spirit's wail ; And the cup that wont one name to bless,

When followed like a curse the crasb Was drained for its forgetfulness.

of the pines in the lightning flash :The ring, once next bis heart, was broken ;

A place of evil and of fearThe gold chain kept another token.

O what can Julian's love do bere? Where is the curl he used to wear

On, on the pale girl went. At last The raven tress of silken hair ?

The gloomy forest depths are past, The winds have scattered it. A braid,

And she bas reached the wizard's den, of the first Spring-day's golden shade

Accursed by God and shunned by men. Waves with the dark plume on his crest.

And never had a ban been laid Fresh colours are upou his breast;

Upon a more unwholesome sbade. The slight blue scarf, of simplest fold,

There grew dank alders, and the yew Is changed for one of woven gold.

Its thick sepulchral shadow threw ;

And brooded there each bird most foul,
And he is by a maiden's side,
Whose gems of price, and robes of pride,

The gloomy bat and sullen owl.
Would suit the daughter of a king;

But Ida entered in the cell, And diamonds are glistening

Wbere dwelt the wizard of the dell. Upon her arm. There's not one curl

Her heart lay dead, her life-blood froze

To look upon Unfastened by a loop of pearl.

shape which rose

To bar ber entrance. On that face
And he is whispering in her ear

Was scarcely left a single trace
Soft words that ladies love to hear.
Alas !- the tale is quickly told-

or human likeness : the parched skin His love hath felt the curse of gold !

Showed each discoloured bone within ;

And but for the most evil stare
And he is bartering his heart
For that in which he hath no part.

of the wild eyes' unearthly glare, There's many an ill that clings to love ;

It was a corpse, you would have said, Eat this is one all else above ;

From which life's freshness long bad Aed.


Heart-uttered words, passionate thougbis,

Which I had never marked before. 'Twas as my heart's full bappiness Poured over all its own excess.

And here a playful change is introduced in the character of a 6 Hindoo Girl's Song ;" followed by an eastern legend. We quote both;

Yet Ida knelt her down and prayed
To that dark sorcerer for his aid.
He heard her prayer with witbering look ;
Then from unholy herbs he took
A drug, and said it would recover
The lost beart of her faithless lover.
She trembled as she turned to see
His demon sneer's malignity ;
And every step was winged with dread,
To hear the curse bowled as she fied.

It is the purple twilight bour,
And Julian is in Ida's bower.
He has brought gold, as gold could bless
His work of utter desolateness !
He has brought gems, as if Despair
Ilad any pride in being fair!
But Ida only wept, and wreathed
Her white arms round his neck; then breathed
Those passionate complaints that wring
A woman's heart, yet never bring
Redress. She call'd upon each tree
To witness her love constancy!
She call'd upon the silent boughs,
The temple of her Julian's vows
of happiness too dearly bought !
Then wept again. At length she thought
Upon the forest sorcerer's gift--
The last, lone hope that love had left!
She took the cup, and kiss'd the brim;
Mixed the dark spell, and gave it him
To pledge his once dear Ida's name!
He drank it. Instantly the flame
Ran through his veins : one fiery throb
or bitter pain-one gasping sob
of agony—the cold death sweat
Is on his face-bis teeth are set-
His bursting eyes are glazed and still ;
The drug has done its work of ill.
Alas! for her who watch'd each breath,
The cup her love had mixed bore-death!

Playful and wild as the fire-flies' light,
This moment hidden, the next moment bright,
Like the foam on the dark-green sea,
Is the spell that is laid on my lover by me.
Were your sigh as sweet as the sumbal's sigh,
When the wind of the evening is nigh;
Were your smile like that glorious light,
Seen when the stars gem the deep midnight;
Were that sigh and that smile for ever the same-
They were shadows, not fuel, to love's dall'd fame.

Lore once formed an amulet,
Witb pearls, and a rainbow, and rose-leaves set.
The pearls were pure as pearls could be,
And wbite as maiden purity;
The rose had the beauty and breath of soul,
And the rainbow-changes crowned the whole.
Frown on your lover one little while,
Dearer will be the light of your smile;
Let your blush, laugh, and sigh ever mingle together,
Like tbe bloom, sun, and clouds of the sweet spring

Love never must sleep in security,
Or most calm and cold will bis waking be.
And as that light strain died away,

Again I swept the breathing strings :
But now the notes I waked were sad,

As those the pining wood-dove sings.


The progress of the songster's own

SHE has lighted her lamp, and crowned it with

flowers, love is potently touched :

The sweetest that breathed of the summer hours :

Red and white roses linked in a band,
Spirit of Love ! soon thy rose-plumes wear

Like a maiden's blush or a maiden's hand;
The weight and the sully of canker and care : Jasmines,—some like silver spray,
Falsehood is round thee ; Hope leads thee on, Some like gold in the morning ray;
Till every hue from thy pinion is gone.

Fragrant stars,--and favourites they,
The effects of this enchanting pas- Braid their dark tresses : and over all weaves

When Indian girls on a festival-day, sion are pourtrayed with equal delicacy, The rosy bower of lotus leavesvigour, and truth :

Canopy suiting the lamp-lighted bark,

Love's own flowers and Love's own ark. I owned not to myself I loved,

She watch'd the sky, the sunset grew dim; No word of love Lorenzo breathed;

She raised to Camdeo ber evening bymn. But I lived in a magic ring,

The scent of the night-flowers came on the air ; Of every pleasant flower wreathed.

And then, like a bird escap'd from the snare, A brighter blue was on the sky,

She flew to the river-(po moon was bright, A sweeter breath in music's sigh;

But the stars and the fire-flies gave her their light ;) The orange shrubs all seemed to bear

She stood beneath the mangoes' shade, Fruit more rich, and buds more fair.

Half delighted and half afraid; There was a glory on the noon,

She trimmed the lamp, and breathed on each bloom, A beauty in the crescent moon,

(Oh, that breath was sweeter than all their perfume :) A lulling stillness in the night,

Threw spices and oil on the spire of flame, A feeling in the pale starlight.

Called thrice on her absent lover's name; There was a charmed note on the wind,

And every pulse throbbed as she gave A spell in Poetry's deep store--

Her little boat to the Ganges' wave.

There are a thousand fanciful things

And scatter'd them round. At once they raise Linked round the young heart's imaginings. The hymn of rejoicing and love in her praise. In its first love-drcam, a leaf or a flower

A prayer is muttered, a blessing said, Is gifted then with a spell and a power :

Her torch is raised !-sbe is by the dead. A shade is an omen, a dream is a sign,

She has fired the pile ! At once there came From which the maiden can well divine

A mingled rush of smoke and of flame:
Passion's whole history. Those only can tell The wind swept it off. They saw the bride,
Who bave loved as young hearts can love so well, Laid by her Azim, side by side.
How the pulses will beat, and the cheek will be dyed, The breeze had spread the long curls of her hair :
When they bave some love


Like a banner of fire they played on the air.
Oh, it is not for those whose feelings are cold, The smoke and the flame gather'd round as before,
Withered by care, or blunted by gold;

Then cleared ;—but the bride was seen no more! Whose brows bave darkened with many years, To feel again youth's hopes and fears

But the heroine's own melancholy What they now might blush to confess,

fate approaches ; the victim of an unYet what made their spring day's happiness ! requited affection

Zaide watched her flower-bullt vessel glide, Mirror'd beneath on the deep-blue tide;

Lorenzo like a dream had flown! Lovely and lonely, scented and bright,

We did not meet again :-he seemed Like Ilope's own bark, all bloom and light.

To shun each spot where I might be ; There's not one breath of wind on the air,

And, it was said, another claimed
The Heavens are cloudless, the waters are fair,

The heart-more than the world to me!
No dew is falling, yet woe to that shade!
The maiden is weeping-ber lamp has decayed.

And the burning vehemency of what Hark to the ring of the cymetar!

follows, contrasted with the sombre It tells that the soldier returns from afar. shading into which the feeling sinks, Down from the mountains the warriors come: till it rises again into warmth and arHark to the thunder roll of the drum!

dour, appears to us to be the very esTo the startling voice of the trumpet's call !-

sence of poetry. To the cymbal's clash !-to the atabal! The banners of crimsou float in the sun,

I loved him as young Genius loves, The warfare is ended, the battle is won.

When its own wild and radiant heaven The mother bath taken the child from her breast,

Of starry thought burns with the light,
And raised it to look on its father's crest.
The pathway is lined, as the bands pass along,

The love, the life, by passion given.

I loved him, too, as woman loves-
With maidens, who meet them with flowers and song,
And Zaide hath forgotten in Azim's arms

Reckless of sorrow, sin, or scorn:

Life had no evil destiny All her so false lamp's falser alarms.

That, with him I could not have borne ! This looks pot a bridal,—the singers are mute,

I had been nurst in palaces; Still is the mandore, and breathless the lute;

Yet earth had not a spot so drear, Yet there the bride sits. Her dark hair is bound,

That I should not have thought a bome
And the robe of her marriage floats white on the

In Paradise, had he been near!
Ob! where is the lover, the bridegroom--oh! How sweet it would bave been to dwell,

Look under your black pall-the bridegroom is there!

Apart from all, in some green dell

of sunny beauty, leaves and flowers; Yet the guests are all bidden, tbe feast is the same,

And nestling birds to sing the hours ! And the bride plights her troth amid smoke and ʼmid flame!

Our home, beneath some chesnut's shade, They have raised the death-pyre of sweet scented But of the woven branches made :

wood, And sprinkled it o'er with the sacred flood

Our vesper hymn, the low lone wail

The rose hears from the nightingale; of the Ganges. The priests are assembled :-their

And waked at morning by the call song Sinks deep on the ear as they bear her along,

of music from a waterfall. That bride of the dead. Ay, is not this love ?

But not alone in dreams like this, That one pure wild feeling all others above:

Breathed in the very hope of bliss, Vowed to the living, and kept to the tomb !

I loved: my love had been the same The same in its blight as it was in its bloom.

In hushed despair, in open shame. With po tear in her ege, and no change in her smile I would have rather been a slave, Young Zaide had come nigh to the funeral pile.

In tears, in bondage, by his side, The bells of the dancing-girls ceased from their Tban shared in all, if wanting him, sound;

This world had power to give beside! Silent they stood by that holiest mound.

My heart was withered,—and my heurt From a crowd like the sea-waves there came not a

llad ever been the world to me;
When the maiden stood by the place of death!

And love had been the first fond drcam,
One moment was given-the last she might spare! Whose life was in reality.
To the mother, who stood in her weeping there. I bad sprung from my solitude
She took the jewels that shone on her hand :

Like a young bird upon the wing
She took from her dark hair its flowery band,

To meet the arrow ; so I met

My poisoned shaft of suffering.

Was wan as Grief's corroded page. And as that bird, with drooping crest

He had no words, he had no smiles, And broken wing, will seek his nest,

No hopes :--bis sole employ to brood But seek in vain ; so vain I sought

Silently over his sick heart My pleasant home of song and thought,

In sorrow and in solitude. There was one spell upon my brain,

I saw the hall where, day by day, Upon my pencil, on my strain ;

He mused his weary life away ;But one face to my colours came ;

It scarcely seem'd a place for woe, My chords replied but to one name

But rather like a genie's bome. Lorenzo -all seem'd vow'd to thee,

Around were graceful statues ranged, To passion, and to misery!

And pictures shone around the dome,

But there was one-a loveliest one: Another delightful interlude (though One picture brigbtest of all there! miscalled a Song) is here brought in,

Oh! never did the painter's dream

Shape thing so gloriously fair! but we can only quote the first elo

It was a face !--the summer day quent stanza :

Is not more radiant in its light! Farewell :—we shall not meet again!

Dark flashing eyes, like the deep stars As we are parting now,

Lighting the azure brow of night;

A blush like sunrise o'er the rose;
I must my beating heart restrain---
Must veil my burning brow !

A cloud of raven hair, whose shade
Oh, I must coldly learn to hide

Was veet as evening's, and whose curls

Clustered beneath a laurel braid.
One thought, all else above-
Must call upon my woman's pride

She leant upon a harp:---one band
To hide my woman's love!

Wandered, like snow, amid the chords; Check dreams I never may arow;

The lips were opening with such life, Be free, be careless, cold as thou !

You almost heard the silvery words.

She looked a form of light and life,-The song is succeeded by a charm All soul, all passion, and all fire; ing Episode of Leades and Cydippe, A priestess of Apollo's, when whose romantic tale is told with all

The morning beam falls on her lyre; the author's artless effect. Their un

A Sappbo, or ere love had turned

The heart to stone where once it burned. happy catastrophe leads with conge

But by the picture's side was placed nial transition to that of the Improvis

A funeral urn, on which was traced atrice ; she witnesses the marriage of

The heart's recorded wretchedness; Lorenzo to another; and his history,

And on a tablet bung above, which compelled him to that sacrifice, Was 'graved one tribute of sad words--is related. He confesses his love for Lorenzo to his Minstrel Love.' her, and after some pathetic expressions of sorrow (a few words of which It has lately been repeated by sevwe throw into a note*,) the poem eral of our critical guides, that our breaks off, and thus concludes : epoch of poetry has closed. They

have taken up a fanciful theory; and There is a lone and stately hall,-

because the minstrel harp of the BorIts master dwells apart from all.

der has been hushed, and the light of A wanderer through Italia's land,

Childe Harold's flame extinguished, One night a refuge there I found. The lightning's flash rolled o'er the sky, they rashly venture to decree, that a

The torrent rain was sweeping round ;-- number of silent years must elapse These won me entrance. He was young,

before the birth of another era of song. The castle's lord, but pale like age;

We will not pay them so ill a comllis brow, as sculpture beautiful,

'pliment as to believe that they will * That sun has kissed the morning dews--- maintain this opinion after they have

I shall not see its twilight close ! That rose is fading in the noon,

read the Improvisatrice. We doubt And I shall not outlive tbat roce ! Thou wilt remember me.---my name

not the ability to discover some of the Is linked with beauty and with lame.

faults of youthful composition in her The summer airs, the sumner sky, The soothing spell of Music's sigli,--

strains ; but we would most sincerely Stars in their poetry of night,

pity the person who could notice The silver silence of moonlight --The dim blush of the twilight hours,

them amid the transcendant beauties The fragrance of the bee-kissed flowers ;--- of thought, expression, imagery, and But, more than all, sweet songs will be Tbrice sacred unto Love and me.

fervent genius, with the blaze of Lorenzo! be this kiss a spell! My first !---my last! Farwell:- Farewell!

which they are surrounded and illumi

nated. For ourselves, discarding never excels what she has already every idea of such prescribed Augus- done, we can confidently give her the tan ages, we do not hesitate to say, assurance of what the possessor of that in our judgment this volume such talents must most earnestly forms itself an era in our country's covet— Immortality. bright cycle of female poetical fame.

(Besides the chief poem upon which we have

dwelt with so mucb pleasure, there is a sequel of What may spring from the continued about double the extent of miscellaneous pieces, cultivation of such promise, it is not they are devoted to subjects entirely differing in easy to predicate ; but if the author sentiment and subject from each other, and altogeth

er worthy of L. E. L.)

resent room to

ay, that


for authors are in the habit of burThe celebrated Dr. Darwin was so thening their heroines with some moimpressed with a conviction of the ne- tives and cues for passion, and do ccssity of good air, that being very not commonly seek to make statues popular in the town of Derby, once on of them. In the present day, to be a market-day, he mounted a tub, and sure, Mrs. Buon is more likely to be thus addressed the listening crowd : suited than if she turns to the Ol6 Ye men of Derby, fellow-citizens, ways, the Rowes or to the old times attend to me! I know you to be in- before them. Poetry and not action genious and industrious mechanics. characterizes the tragic drama of the By your exertions you procure for present age-and description takes yourselves and families the necessaries the place of actual incident. Imoof life : but if you lose your health, gene, in Bertram, was a lady of strict that power of being of use to them must contemplative habits : she talked only cease.

This truth all of you know; of the moon and riven hearts—and but I fear some of you do not under- ruined towers—and stood through stand how health is to be maintained in five sombre acts the statue of sorrow vigour—this then depends upon your and romance. Here Mrs. Bunn was breathing an uncontaminated air ; for at home! Her fine form was never disthe purity of the air becomes destroyed turbed : ber melancholy tones were where many are collected together : never broken : her looks were ever the the effluvia from the body also corrupts same. She scarcely walked in her it. Keep open then the windows of sleep. The audience was lulled into .your crowded workshops, and as soon admiration of her; and her fine monoas you rise, open all the windows of tony made her fame. In Fazio, she yoor bed-rooms.

Never sleep in a bas the same opportunity of looking room without a chimney in it, nor and repeating a long heroic poem; block that up. Inattention to this ad- and the people in the pit catch and vice, be assured, will bring diseases on enjoy their three-and-sixpenny dreams yourselves, and engender among you with the most still and charmed detyphus fever, which is only another light. They sit lulled by the lady's name for putrid fever, which will carry Æolian tones, by the silence of her off your wives and children. Let me features, and by the studied music of again repeat my serious advice,-open the poetry, and are not awakened your windows to let in the fresh air, from their trance until the curtain falls, at least once in the day.-Remember when they seem to bustle and rub their what I say: I speak now without a fee, eyelids, and gape for the Cataract and and can have no other interest than the cattle. Mrs. Bunn has a fine peryour good, in this my advice.” SON-a deep monotonous but effec

MRS. BUNN THE TRAGEDIAN. tive voice and features commanding, The less Mrs. Bunn has to do, the though not beautiful: we shall be very better she does it. She acts the pas- much surprised, however, if she should sive to perfection. There are few ever be able to do more than act poetragedies therefore in which she can try on the stage. But we, like true find a leading character to represent; udges, must bear a wary eye.

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