Voluptuous Waltz! and dare I thus blaspheme? don himself would have nothing to object to such liberal
'Thy bard forgot thy praises were his theme. | bastards of our Lady of Babylon.
TERPSICHORE forgive!-at every ba!!
My wife now waltzes—and my daughters shall;

Note 5. Page 503, line 7.
My son (or stop—'t is needless to inquire-

The patriotic arson of our amiable allies cannot be These little accidents should ne'er transpire;

sufficiently commended-nor subscribed for. Amongst Some ages hence our genealogic tree

other details omitted in the various despatches of our Will wear as green a bough for him as me),

eloquent ambassador, he did not state (being too much Waitzing shall rear, to make our name amends,

occupied with the exploits of Colonel C-, in swimGrandsons for me-in heirs to all his friends.

ming rivers frozen, and galloping over roads impassable), that one entire province perished by famine in

the most melancholy manner, as follows:- In General NOTES.

Rostopchin's consummate conflagration, the consump

tion of tallow and train oil was so great, that the market

was inadequate to the demand: and thus one hundred Note 1. Page 502, line 4. State of the poll (last day) 5.

and thirty-three thousand persons were starved to death,

by being reduced to wholesome diet! The lamplighters Note 2. Page 502, line 6.

of London have since subscribed a pint (of oil) a-piece, My Latin is all forgotten, if a man can be said to have and the tallow-chandlers have unanimously voted a forgotten what he never remembered; but I bought quantity of best moulds (four to the pound) to the remy title-page motto of a Catholic priest for a three lief of the surviving Scythians—the scarcity will soon, shilling bank token, after much haggling for the even by such exertions, and a proper attention to the quality sixpence. I grudgea ine money to a Papist, being all rather than the quantity of provision, be totally allefor the memory of Perceval, and “ No Popery;" and viated. It is said, in return, that the untouched Ukraine quite regretting the downfall of the Pope, because we has subscribed sixty thousand beeves for a day's meal can't burn him any more.

to our suffering manufacturers. Note 3. Page 503, line 1.

Note 6. Page 504, line 5. "Glance their mang-twinkling fect."-Gray. Dancing girls—who do for hire what Waltz doth Note 4. Page 503, line 21.

gratis. To rival Lord W.'s, or his nephew's, as the reader

Noto 7. Page 504, line 20. pleases :—the one gained a pretty woman, whom he

It cannot be complained now, as in the Lady Bausdeserved, by fighting for; and the other has been sight- siere's time, of the " Sieur de la Croix,” that there be ing in the Peninsula many a long day, “ by Shrewsbury "no whiskers;” but how far these are indications of clock," without gaining any thir in that country but valour in the field, or elsewhere, may still be questionthe title of “ the Great Lord,” and “the Lord,” which able. Much may be and hath been avouched on both savours of profanation, having been hitherto applied sides. In the olden time philosophers had whiskers only to that Being, to whom “ Te Deums” for carnage and soldiers none--Scipio himself was shaven-Han are the rankest blasphemy.—It is to be presumed the nibal thought his one eye handsome enough without general will one day return to his Sabine farm, there

a beard; but Adrian, the Emperor, wore a beard “To tame the genius of the stubborn plain,

(having warts on his chin, which neither the Empress Almost as quickly as he conquer'd Spain!" Sabina, nor even the courtiers, could abide)-Turenne The Lord Peterborough conquered continents in a had whiskers, Marlborough nonc-Buonaparte is un summer; we do more—we contrive both to conquer whiskered, the R--- whiskered ; “argal" greatness of and lose them in a shorter season. If the "great Lord's" | mind and whiskers may or may not go together: but Cincinnatian progress in agriculture be no speedier certainly the different occurrences, since the growth of than the proportional average of time in Pope's couplet, the last-mentioned, go further in behalf of whiskers it will

, according to the farmer's proverb, be " plough-than the anathema of Anselm did against long hair in ing with dogs.”

the reign of Henry I. By the by-one of this illustrious person's new titles

Formerly, red was a favourite colour. See Lodowicie is forgotten—it is, however, worth reinembering—"Sal- Barrey's comedy of lium Alley, 1661, act I. scene l. dador del munilo !credite, posteri! If this be the

Taffeta. Now, for a wager-What colour'd beard appellation annexed by the inhabitants of the Peninsula comes next by the window ? to the name of a man who has not yet saved them

" Adriana. A black man's, I think. query—are they worth saving even in this world? for,

Taffeta. I think not so: I think a red, for that us according to the mildest modifications of any Christian most in fashion." creed, those three words make the odds much against

There is “nothing new under the sun;" but rech them in the next. — “ Saviour of the world," quotha !- then a favourile, has now subsided into a favourites it were to be wished that he, or any one else, could save

colour. a corner of il-his country. Yet this stupid misnomer,

Note 8. Page 504, line 40. although it shows the near connexion between super- An anachronism-Waltz, and the battle of Austerlitz stition and impiety, so far has its use, that it proves are before said to have opened the ball together : the there can be little to dread from those Catholics (in- bard means (if he means any thing), Waltz was not so quisitorial Catholics too) who can conser such an ap- much in vogue till the k- attained the acmé of pellation on a Protestant. I suppose next year he will his popularity. Waltz, the comet, whiskers, and the be entited the “ Virgin Mary:" isso, Lord George Gor- new government, illuminated heaven and earth, in a 2 v 2



cheir glory, much about the same time; of these the service (being already in the R—t's): it would not be comet only has disappeared; the other three continue fair to back any peculiar initial against the alphaben, to astonish us stiil.-PRINTER's Devil.

as every month will add to the list now entered for the

sweepstakes-a distinguished consonant is said to be Note 9. Page 504, line 44.

the favourite, much against the wishes of the knowing Amongst others a new ninepence-a creditable coin now forthcoming, worth a pound, in paper, at the fairest

Note 12. Page 504, line 74. calculation.

“We have changed all that,” says the Mock Doctor, Note 10. Page 504, line 51.

" 'tis all gone-Asmodeus knows where. After all, it "Oh that right should thus overcome might !" Who is of no great importance how women's hearts are disdoes not remember the “delicate investigation” in the posed of; they have nature's privilege to distribute them “Merry Wives of Windsor ?

as absurdly as possible. But there are also some men “ Ford. Pray you come near: if I suspect without

with hearts so thoroughly bad, as to remind us of those cause, why then make sport at me; then let me be phenomena often mentioned in natural history; viz. a your jest ; I deserve it. How now? whither bear

mass of solid stone-only to be opened by force—anu you

when divided, this?

you discover a toad in the centre, lively, “Mrs. Ford. What have you to do whither they bear and with the reputation of being venomous.” it?-you were best meddle with buck-washing."

Note 13. Page 504, line 94.

In Turkey, a pertinent-here, an impertinent and Note 11. Page 504, line 56.

superfluous question-literally put, as in the text, by The gentle, or ferocious reader, may fill up the blank a Persian to Morier, on seeing a waltz in Pera.- whe as he pleases—there are several dissyllabic names at his Morier's Travels.

The Lament of Tasso.


And tasteless food, which I have eat alone
Till its unsocial bitterness is gone;

And I can banquei like a beast of prey, At Ferrara (in the library) are preserved the original Sullen and lonely, couching in the cave MSS. of Tasso's Gierusalemme and of Guarini's Pastor which is my lair, and—it may be—my grave. Fido, with letters of Tasso, one from Titian to Ariosto; All this hath somewhat worn me, and may wear, and the inkstand and chair, the tomb and the house of But must be borne. I stoop not to despair ; the latter. But as misfortune has a greater interest for For I have battled with mine agony, posterity, and little or none for the contemporary, the cell And made me wings wherewith to overfly where Tasso was confined in the hospital of St. Anna The narrow circus of my dungeon wall, attracts a more fixed attention than the residence or the And freed the Holy Sepulchre from thrall; monuinent of Ariosto—at least it had this effect on me. And revell’d among men and things divine,

There are two inscriptions, one on the outer gate, the And pour'd my spirit over Palestine, second over the cell itself, inviting, unnecessarily, the

In honour of the sacred war for him, wonder and the indignation of the spectator. Ferrara is The God who was on earth and is in heaven, much decayed and depopulated; the castle still exists en For he hath strengthen'd me in heart and limb. tire; and I saw the court where Parisina and Hugo were That through this sufferance I might be forgiven, beheaded, according to the annal of Gibbon.

I have employ'd my penance to record

How Salem's shrine was won, and how adored. TIIE LAMENT OF TASSO.


But this is o'er—my pleasant task is done:

My long-sustaining friend of many years!
Long years !-It tries the thrilling frame to bear If I do blot thy final page with tears, .
And eagle-spirit of a child of song-

Know that my sorrows have wrung from me none. Long years of outrage, calumny and wrong ; But thou, my young creation! my soul's child! Imputea madness, prison'd solitude,

Which ever playing round me came and smiled, And the mind's canker in its savage mood,

And woo'd me from myself with thy sweet sight, When the impatient thirst of light and air

Thou too art gone—and so is my delight: Parches the heart; and the abhorred grate,

And therefore do I weep ard inly bleed Marring the sunbeams with its hideous shade, With this last bruise upon a broken reed. Works through the throbbing cye-ball to the brain Thou too art ended-what is left me now? With a hot sense of heaviness and pain;

For I have anguish yet to bear-and how? And bare, at once, captivity display'd

I know not that-but in the innate force Scanas scoffing Inrougn the never-open'd gate, Of my own spirit shall be found resource. Which nothing through its bars admits, save day | I have not sunk, for I had no remorse,


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Nor cause for such: they calld me mad—and why? Thy brother hates—but I can not detest,
Oh Leonora ! wilt not thou reply ?

Thou pitiest not—but I can not forsake.
I was indeed delirious in my heart
To lift my love so lofty as thou art;

But still my frenzy was not of the mind;

Look on a love which knows not to despair, I knew my fault, and feel my punishment

But all unquenchd is still my Not less because I suffer it unbent.

Dwelling deep in my shut and silent heart That thou wert beautiful, and I not blind,

As dwells the gather'd lightning in its cloud, Hath been the sin which shuts me from mankind; Encompass'd with its dark and rolling shroud, But let them go, or torture as they will,

Till struck,-forth flies the all-ethereal dart! My heart can multiply thine image still ;

And thus at the collision of thy name Successful love may sate itself away,

The vivid thought still Hashes through my frame, The wretched are the faithful; 't is their fate And for a moment all things as they were To have all feeling save the one decay,

Flit by me ;-they are gone--I am the same. And every passion into one dilate,

And yet my love without ambition grew; As rapid rivers into ocean pour ;

I knew thy state, my station, and I knew But ours is fathomless, and hath no shore.

A princess was no love-mate for a bard;

I told it not, I breathed it not, it was

Sufficient to itself, its own reward;
Above me, hark! the long and maniac cry

And if my eyes reveal'd it, they, alas !
Of minds and bodies in captivity.

Were punish'd by the silentness of thine,
And hark! the lash and the increasing howl, And yet I did not venture to repine.
And the half-inarticulate blasphemy!

Thou wert to me a crystal-girded shrine,
There be some here with worse than frenzy foul, Worshipp'd at holy distance, and around
Some who do still goad on the o'er-labour'd mind, Hallow'd and meekly kiss'd the saintly ground,
And dim the little light that's left behind

Not for thou wert a princess, but that love With needless torture, as their tyrant will

Had robed thee with a glory, and array'd Is wound up to the lust of doing ill:

Thy lineaments in beauty that dismay'dWith these and with their victims am I class'd, Oh! not dismay'd—but awed, like One above, 'Mid sounds and sights like these long years have pass'd; And in that sweet severity there was 'Mid sights and suunds like these my life may close: A something which all softness did surpass-So let it be-for then I shall repose.

I know not how—thy genius master'd mine-

My star stood still before thee:--if it were IV.

Presumptuous thus to love without design, I have been patient, let me be so yet;

That sad fatality hath cost me dear; I had forgotten half I would forget,

But thou art dearest still, and I should be But it revives-oh! would it were my lot

Fit for this cell, which wrongs me, but for thee. To be forgetful as I am forgot !

The very love which lock'd me to my chain Feel I not wroth with those who bade me dwell Hath lighten'd half its weight; and for the resi, In this vast lazar-house of many woes?

Though heavy, lent me vigour to sustain, Where laughter is not mirth, nor thought the mind,

And look to thee with undivided breast, Nor words a language, nor ev'n men mankind;

And foil the ingenuity of pain.
Where cries reply to curses, shrieks to blows,

And each is tortured in his separate hell-
For we are crowded in our solitudes--

It is no marvel-from my very birth
Many, but each divided by the wall,

My soul was drunk with love, which did pervade Which echoes Madness in her babbling moods ;- And mingle with whate'er I saw on earth; While all can hear, none heed his neighbour's call- of objects all inanimate I made None ! save that One, the veriest wretch of all, Idols, and out of wild and lonely flowers, Who was not made to be the mate of these,

And rocks, whereby they grew, a paradise, Nor bound between distraction and disease. Where I did lay me down within the shade Feel I not wroth with those who placed me here ? Of waving trees, and dream’d uncounted houn, Who have debased me in the minds of men, Though I was chid for wandering; and the wise Debarring me the usage of my own,

Shook their white aged heads o'er me, and said Blighting my life in best of its career,

of such materials wretched men were made, Branding my thoughts as things to shun and fear? And such a truant boy would end in woe, Would I not pay them back these pangs again, And that the only lesson was a blow; And teach them inward sorrow's stified groan? And then they smote me, and I did not weep, The struggle to be calm, and cold distress,

But cursed them in my heart, and to my haunt Which undermines our stoical success ?

Return'd and wept alone, and dream'd again No !-still 100 proud to be vindictive-I

The visions which arise without a sleep. Have pardon'd princes' insults, and would die. And with my years my soul began to pant Yes, sister of my sovereign ! for thy suke

With feelings of strange tumult and soft pain, I weed all bitterness from out my breast,

And the whole heart exhaled into one wani, It hath no business where thou art a guest ;

But undefined, and wandering, vill the day


I found the thing I sought-and that was thee;
And then I lost my being all to be
Absorb'd in thine—the world was past away-
Thou didst annihilate the earth to me!

I loved all solitude—but little thought
To spend I know not what of life, remote
From all communion with existence, save
The maniac and his tyrant ; had I been
Their fellow, many years ere this had seen
My mind like theirs corrupted to its grave;
But who hath seen me writhe, or heard me rave ?
Perchance in such a cell we suffer more
Than the wreck'd sailor on his desert shore;
The world is all before him-mine is here,
Scarce twice the space they must accord my bier.
What though he perish, he may lift his eye
And with a dying glance upbraid the sky-
I will not raise my own in such reproof,
Although 't is clouded by my dungeon roof.

VIII. Yet do I feel at times my mind decline, But with a sense of its decay :- I see Unwonted lights along my prison shine, And a strange demon, who is vexing me With pilfering pranks and petty pains, below The feeling of the healthful and the free; But much to one, who long hath suffer'd so, Sickness of heart, and narrowness of place, And all that may be borne, or can debase. I thought mine enemies had been but man, But spirits may be leagued with them all earth Abandons-Heaven forgets me ;--in the dearth Of such defence the powers of evil can, It may be, tempt me further, and prevail Against the outworn creature they assail. Why in this furnace is my spirit proved Like stee! in tempering fire ? becanse I loved ! Becalise I loved what not to love, and see, Was inore or less than mortal, and than me.

I once was quick in feeling--that is o'er ;-
My scars are callous, or I should have dash'd
My brain against these bars as the sun flash'd

In mockery through them;-if I bear and bore
The much I have recounted, and the more
Which hath no words, 't is that I would not die
And sanction with self-slaughter the dull lie
Which snared me here, and with the brand of shame
Stamp madness deep into my memory,
And woo compassion to a blighted name,
Scaling the sentence which my foes proclaim.
No-it shall be immortal !-and I make
A future temple of my present cell,
Which nations yet shall visit for my sake.
While thou, Ferrara! when no longer dwell
The ducal chiefs within thee, shalt fall down,
And crumbling piecemeal view thy hearthless hals,
A poet's wreath shall be thine only crown,
A poet's dungeon thy most far renown,
While strangers wonder o'er thy unpeopled walls!
And thou, Leonora ! thou—who wert ashamed
That such as I could love-who blush'd to hear
To less than monarchs that thou couldst be dear,
Go! tell thy brother that my heart, untamed
By grief, years, weariness—and it may be
A taint of that he would impute to me,
From long infection of a den like this,
Where the mind rots congenial with the abyss -
Adores thee still ;-and add-that when the lowers
And battlements which guard his joyous hours
of banquet, dance, and revel, are forgot,
Or left untended in a dull repose,
This—this shall be a consecrated spot!

But thou—when all that birth and beauty throws
of magic round thee is extinct-shalt have
One half the laurel which o'ershades my grave.
No power in death can tear our names apart,
As none in life could rend thee from my heart.
Yes, Leonora ! it shall be our fate
To be entwined for ever-but too late!

Hebrew Melodies.


The subsequent poems were written at the request of my friend, the Hon. D. Kinnaird, for a selection of| Ilebrew Melodies, and have been published, with the music, arranged by Mr. Braham and Mr. Nathan.

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes : Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair'd the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling-placa. And on that check, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glon,

But teil of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent'


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SHE WALKS IN BEAUTY. She walks in beauty, like the night

Or cloudless clines and starry skies;

But we must wander witheringly,

In other lands to die;
And where our fathers' ashes be,

Our own may never lie:
Our temple hath not left a stone,
And Mockery sits on Salem's throne.


The harp the monarch minstrel swept,

The king of men, the loved of Heaven,
Which Music hallow'd while she wept

O'er iones her heart of hearts had given.

Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven! It soften'd men of iron mould,

It gave them virtues not their own; No ear so dull, no soul so cold,

That felt noi, fired not lo the tone,

Till David's lyre grew mightier than his throne ! It told the triumphs of our king,

It wasted our glory to our God; It made our gladden'd valleys ring,

The cedars bow, the mountains nod;

Its sound aspired to heaven, and there abode ! Since then, though heard on earth no more,

Devotion and her daughter Love
Sull bid the bursting spirit soar

To sounds that seem as from above,
In drcams that day's broad light can not remove.

OH! WEEP FOR THOSE. Oh! weep for those that wept by Babel's stream, Whose shrines are desolate, whose land a dream; Weep for the harp of Judah's broken shell: Mourn—where their God hath dwelt the godless dwell' And where shall Israel lave her bleeding feet ? And when shall Zion's songs again seem sweet? And Judah's melody once more rejoice The hearts that leap'd before its heavenly voice ? Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast, How shall ye flee away and be at rest ? The wild-dove hath her nest, the fox his cave, Mankind their country—Israel but the grave!

IF THAT HIGH WORLD. If that high world, which lies beyond

Our own, surviving love endears; If there the cherish'd heart be fond,

The eye the same, except in tearsHow welcome those untrodden spheres !

How sweet this very hour to die! To scar from carth, and find all fears

Lost in thy light-Eternity! It must be so: 't is not for self

That we so tremble on the brink ; And striving to o'erleap the gulf,

Yet cling to being's severing link. Oh! in that future let us think

To hold each heart the heart that shares, With them the immortal waters drink,

And soul in soul grow deathless theirs !

ON JORDAN'S BANKS. On Jordan's banks the Arab's camels stray, On Sion's hill the False One's votaries pray, The Baal-adorer bows on Sinai's sleepYet there-even there-Oh God! thy thunders skep. There—where thy finger scorch'd the tablet stone' There-where thy shadow to thy people shone! Thy glory shrouded in its garb of fire: Thyself—none living see and not expire ! Oh! in the lightning let thy glance appear! Sweep from his shiver'd hand the oppressor's spcar : How long by tyrants shall thy land be trod? How long thy temple worshipless, Oh God?

The wild gazelle on Judah's hills

Exulting yet may bound,
And drink from all the living rills

That gush on holy ground;
Its airy step and glorious eye

May glance in tameless transport by:
A step as fleet, an eye more bright,

Hath Judah witness'd there;
And o'er her scenes of lost delight

Inhabitants more fair.
The cedars wave on Lebanon,
But Judah's statelier maids are gone!
More blest each palm that shades those plains

Than Israel's scatter'd race;
For, taking root, it there remains

In solitary grace :
It cannot quit its place of birth,
It will not live in other earth.

JEPHTHA'S DAUGHTER. SINCE our country, our God-Oh! my sire ! Demand that thy daughter expire ; Since thy triumph was bought by thy vowStrike the bosom that's bared for thee now! And the voice of my mourning is o'er,

And the mountains behold me no more: If the hand that I love lay me low, There cannot be pain in the blow!

And of this, oh, my father! be sureThat the blood of thy child is as pure

As the blessing I beg ere it flow, And the last thought that soothes me below Though the virgins of Salem lament,

Be the judge and the hero unbent ! I have won the great battle for thee, And my father and country are free! When this blood of thy giving hath gush's. When the voice that thou lovest is hush'd, Let my memory still be thy pride, And forget not I smiled as I died'.

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