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continued and heightened by his re-election the two the savage chief Outalissi is finished with inimitable following years. He afterwards (with a revival of skill and truth :his early love of wandering) made a voyage to Algiers, of which he published an account in the
Far differently the mute Oneyda took New Monthly Magazine, since collected and printed
His calumet of peace and cup of joy; in two volumes. In 1842 he published the Pilgrim
As monumental bronze unchanged his look ; of Glencoe, and other Poems. He has issued various
A soul that pity touched, but never shook ;
Trained from his tree-rocked cradle to his bier editions of his poetical works, some of them illustrated by Turner and Harvey; and they continue to
The fierce extreme of good and ill to brook delight new generations of readers, by whom the poet
Impassive-fearing but the shame of fearis regarded with the veneration due to an established A stoic of the woods--a man without a tear. and popular English classic.
The loves of Gertrude and Waldegrave, the paThe genius and taste of Campbell resemble those triarchal Albert, and the sketches of rich sequestered of Gray. He displays the same delicacy and purity Pennsylvanian scenery, also show the finished art of of sentiment, the same vivid perception of beauty the poet. The concluding description of the battle, and ideal loveliness, equal picturesqueness and ele- and the death of the heroine, are superior to anyvation of imagery, and the same lyrical and con- thing in the · Pleasures of Hope ;' and though the centrated power of expression. The diction of both plot is simple, and occasionally obscure (as if the is elaborately choice and select. Campbell has fastidiousness of the poet had made him reject the greater sweetness and gentleness of pathos, springing ordinary materials of a story), the poem has altofrom deep moral feel and a refined sensitiveness gether so much of the dramatic spirit, that its chaof nature. Neither can be termed boldly original or racters are distinctly and vividly impressed on the inventive, but they both possess sublimity-Gray in mind of the reader, and the valley of Wyoming, his two magnificent odes, and Campbell in various with its green declivities, lake, and forest, instantly passages of the ‘Pleasures of Hope, and especially takes its place among the imperishable treasures of in his war-songs or lyrics, which form the richest the memory. The poem of Ở'Connor's Child is anoffering ever made by poetry at the shrine of pa- other exquisitely finished and pathetic tale. The triotism. The general tone of his verse is calm, rugged and ferocious features of ancient feudal uniform, and mellifluous—a stream of mild harmony manners and family pride are there displayed in and delicious fancy flowing through the bosom- connection with female suffering, love, and beauty, scenes of life, with images scattered separately, like and with the romantic and warlike colouring suited flowers, on its surface, and beauties of expression to the country and the times. It is full of antique interwoven with it-certain words and phrases of grace and passionate energy—the mingled light and magical power—which never quit the memory. His gloom of the wild Celtic character and imagination. style rises and falls gracefully with his subject, but Recollecting the dramatic effect of these tales, and without any appearance of imitative harmony or the power evinced in Lochiel and the naval odes, we direct resemblance. In his highest pulse of excite- cannot but regret that Campbell did not, in his days ment, the cadence of his verse becomes deep and of passion, venture into the circle of the tragic strong, without losing its liquid smoothness; the drama, a field so well adapted to his genius, and stream expands to a flood, but never overflows the essayed by nearly all his great poetical contempolimits prescribed by a correct taste and regulated raries. magnificence. The Pindaric flights of Gray justified bolder and more rapid transitions. Description
[Picture of Domestic Love.] is not predominant in either poet, but is adopted as an auxiliary to some deeper emotion or sentiment.
[From the . Pleasures of Hope.'] Campbell seems, however, to have sympathised more Thy pencil traces on the lover's thought extensively with nature, and to have studied her Sonne cottage-home, from towns and toil remote, phenomena more attentively than Gray. His resi: Where love and lore may claim alternate hours, dence in the Highlands, in view of the sea and wild with peace embosomed in Idalian bowers! Hebrides, had given expansiveness as well as in-Remote from busy life's bewildered way, tensity to his solitary contemplations. His sym- O'er all his heart shall Taste and Beauty sway; pathies are also more widely diversified with respect Free on the sunny slope or winding shore, to the condition of humanity, and the hopes and with hermit-steps to wander and adore ! prospects of society. With all his classic predilec- There shall he love, when genial morn appears, tions, he is not-as he has himself remarked of Like pensive Beauty smiling in her tears, Crabbe-a laudator temporis acti, but a decided lover To watch the brightening roses of the sky, of later times. Age has not quenched his zeal for And muse on nature with a poet's eye! public freedom or the unchained exercise of the And when the sun's last splendour lights the deep, human intellect; and, with equal consistency in The woods and waves, and murmuring winds asleep, tastes in opinions, he is now meditating a work When fairy harps the Hesperian planet hail, on Greek literature, by which, fifty years since, he And the lone cuckoo sighs along the vale, first achieved distinction.
His path shall be where streamy mountains swell Many can date their first love of poetry from their Their shadowy grandeur o'er the narrow dell; perusal of Campbell. In youth, the 'Pleasures of Where mouldering piles and forests intervene, Hope' is generally preferred. Like its elder brother, Mingling with darker tints the living green; the Pleasures of Imagination,' the poem is full of No circling hills his ravished eye to bound, visions of romantic beauty and unchecked enthu- Heaven, earth, and ocean blazing all around! siasm
The moon is up—the watch-tower dimly burns The bloom of young Desire, and purple light of Love. And down the vale his sober step returns ;
But pauses oft as winding rocks convey In riper years, when the taste becomes matured, The still sweet fall of music far away; • Gertrude of Wyoming rises in estimation. Its And oft he lingers from his home awhile, beautiful home-scenes go more closely to the heart, To watch the dying notes, and start, and smile! and its delineation of character and passion evinces a Let winter come! let polar spirits sweep more luxuriant and perfect genius. The portrait of | The darkening world, and tempest-troubled deep;
Though boundless snows the withered heath deform, And one the uncovered crowd to silence sways; And the dim sun scarce wanders through the storm, While, though the battle-flash is faster driven Yet shall the smile of social love repay,
Unawed, with eye unstartled by the blaze, With mental light, the melancholy day!
He for his bleeding country prays to Heaven, And when its short and sullen noon is o'er,
Prays that the men of blood themselves may be forThe ice-chained waters slumbering on the shore,
given. How bright the faggots in his little hall Blaze on the hearth, and warm the pictured wall!
Short time is now for gratulating speech : How blest he names, in love's familiar tone,
And yet, beloved Gertrude, ere began The kind fair friend by nature marked his own ;
Thy country's flight yon distant towers to reach, And, in the waveless mirror of his mind,
Looked not on thee the rudest partisan
With brow relaxed to love ? And murmurs ran, Views the fleet years of pleasure left behind, Since when her empire o'er his heart began
As round and round their willing ranks they drew, Since first he called her his before the holy man!
From beauty's sight to shield the hostile van. Trim the gay taper in his rustic dome,
Grateful on them a placid look she threw, And light the wintry paradise of home;
Nor wept, but as she bade her mother's grave adieu ! And let the half-uncurtained window hail
Past was the flight, and welcome seemed the tower, Some wayworn man benighted in the vale!
That like a giant standard-bearer frowned
Beneath, each bold and promontory mound While fiery hosts in heaven's wide circle play, With embrasure embossed and armour crowned, And bathe in lurid light the milky way;
And arrowy frize, and wedged ravelin, Safe from the storm, the meteor, and the shower,
Wove like a diadem its tracery round Some pleasing page shall charm the solemn hour;
The lofty summit of that mountain green ; With pathos shall command, with wit beguile
Here stood secure the group, and eyed a distant scene, A generous tear of anguish, or a smile !
A scene of death! where fires beneath the sun,
And blended arms, and white pavilions glow; [Battle of Wyoming, and Death of Gertrude.] And for the business of destruction done, Heaven's verge extreme
Its requiem the war-horn seemed to blow : Reverberates the bomb's descending star
There, sad spectatress of her country's wo ! And sounds that mingled laugh, and shout, and Had laid her cheek, and clasped her hands of sow
The lovely Gertrude, safe from present harm, scream, To freeze the blood, in one discordant jar,
On Waldegrave's shoulder, half within his arm Rung to the pealing thunderbolts of war.
Enclosed, that felt her heart, and hushed its wild
alarm! Whoop after whoop with rack the ear assailed, As if unearthly fiends had burst their bar;
But short that contemplation-sad and short While rapidly the marksman's shot prevailed :
The pause to bid each much-loved scene adieu ! And aye, as if for death, some lonely trumpet wailed. Beneath the very shadow of the fort,
Where friendly swords were drawn, and banners fiew; Then looked they to the hills, where fire o’erhung
Ah! who could deem that foot of Indian crew The bandit groups in one Vesuvian glare ;
Was near ?-yet there, with lust of murderous deeds, Or swept, far seen, the tower, whose clock unrung,
Gleamed like a basilisk, from woods in view, Told legible that midnight of despair.
The ambushed foeman's eye—his volley speeds, She faints—she falters not—the heroic fair,
And Albert, Albert falls ! the dear old father bleeds ! As he the sword and plume in haste arrayed. One short embrace-he clasp'd his dearest care ; And tranced in giddy horror, Gertrude swooned ; But hark ! what nearer war-drum shakes the glade! Yet, while she clasps him lifeless to her zone, Joy, joy! Columbia's friends are trampling through Say, burst they, borrowed from her father's wound, the shade!
These drops ? Oh God! the life-blood is her own!
And faltering, on her Waldegrave's bosom thrownThen came of every race the mingled swarm, *Weep not, o love !' she cries, ' to see me bleed ; Far rung the groves and gleamed the midnight grass Thee, Gertrude's sad survivor, thee alone With flambeau, javelin, and naked arm ;
Heaven's peace commiserate ; for scarce I heed As warriors wheeled their culverins of brass,
These wounds; yet thee to leave is death, is death Sprung from the woods, a bold athletic mass,
indeed! Whom virtue fires, and liberty combines : And first the wild Moravian yagers pass,
Clasp me a little longer on the brink His plumëd host the dark Iberian joins ;
Of fate ! while I can feel thy dear caress; And Scotia's sword beneath the Highland thistle And when this heart hath ceased to beat-oh! think, shines.
And let it mitigate thy wo's excess,
That thou hast been to me all tenderness, And in the buskined hunters of the deer
And friend to more than human friendship just. To Albert's home with shout and cymbal throng: Oh ! by that retrospect of happiness, Roused by their warlike pomp, and mirth, and cheer, And by the hopes of an immortal trust, Old Outalissi woke his battle-song,
God shall assuage thy pangs—when I am laid in dust! And, beating with his war-club cadence strong, Tells how his deep-stung indignation smarts;
Go, Henry, go not back, when I depart, Of them that wrapt his house in flames, erelong
The scene thy bursting tears too deep will move, To whet a dagger on their stony hearts,
Where my dear father took thee to his heart, And smile avenged ere yet his cagle spirit parts.
And Gertrude thought it ecstacy to rove
With thee, as with an angel, through the grove Calm, opposite the Christian father rose,
Of peace, imagining her lot was cast Pale on his venerable brow its rays
In heaven ; for ours was not like earthly love. Of martyr-light the conflagration throws;
And must this parting be our very last ? One hand upon his lovely child he lays,
No ! I shall love thee still, when death itself is past.
Half could I bear, methinks, to leave this earth, Ah! there, in desolation cold,
Where grass o'ergrows each mouldering bone,
Like me, are death-like old.
But hark, the trump! to-morrow thou
In giory's fires shalt dry thy tears : And beautiful expression seemed to melt
My father's awful ghost appears With love that could not die ! and still his hand
Amidst the clouds that round us roll; She presses to the heart no more that felt.
He bids my soul for battle thirstAh, heart! where once each fond affection dwelt,
He bids me dry the last-the first And features yet that spoke a soul more fair.
The only tears that ever burst Mute, gazing, agonizing as he knelt
From Outalissi's soul; Of them that stood encircling his despair
Because I may not stain with grief He heard some friendly words ; but knew not what the death-song of an Indian chief!'
they were. For now to mourn their judge and child arrives
Ye Mariners of England. A faithful band. With solemn rites between, 'Twas sung how they were lovely in their lives,
Ye mariners of England! And in their deaths had not divided been.
That guard our native seas; Touched by the music and the melting scene,
Whose flag has braved a thousand years, Was scarce one tearless eye amidst the crowd
The battle and the breeze! Stern warriors, resting on their swords, were seen
Your glorious standard launch again To veil their eyes, as passed each much-loved shroud
To match another foe! While woman's softer soul in wo dissolved aloud.
And sweep through the deep Then mournfully the parting bugle bid
While the stormy tempests blow; Its farewell o'er the grave of worth and truth;
While the battle rages loud and long, Prone to the dust aftlicted Waldegrave hid
And the stormy tempests blow.
The spirits of your father
Shall start from every wave! Casting his Indian mantle o'er the youth,
For the deck it was their field of fame, He watched, beneath its folds, each burst that came, And ocean was their grave; Convulsive, ague-like, across his shuddering frame! Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, * And I could weep,' the Oneyda chief
Your manly hearts shall glow, His descant wildly thus begun;
As ye sweep through the deep * But that I may not stain with grief
While the stormy tempests blow; The death-song of my father's son,
While the battle rages loud and long, Or bow this head in wo!
And the stormy tempests blow. For, by my wrongs, and by my wrath,
Britannia needs no bulwark, To-morrow Areouski's breath,
No towers along the steep ; That fires yon heaven with storms of death,
Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, Shall light us to the foe:
Her home is on the deep. And we shall share, my Christian boy,
With thunders from her native oak The foeman's blood, the avenger's joy!
She quells the floods below, But thee, my flower, whose breath was given
As they roar on the shore By milder genii o'er the deep,
When the stormy tempests blow; The spirits of the white man's heaven
When the battle rages loud and long, Forbid not thee to weep :
And the stormy tempests blow.
The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn; Lamenting, take a mournful leave
Till danger's troubled night depart, Of her who loved thee most :
And the star of peace return. She was the rainbow to thy sight!
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors ! Thy sun—thy heaven-of lost delight!
Our song and feast shall flow To-morrow let us do or die.
To the fame of your name, But when the bolt of death is hurled,
When the storm has ceased to blow; Ah! whither then with thee to fly,
When the fiery fight is heard no more, Shall Outalissi roam the world ?
And the storm has ceased to blow ! Seek we thy once-loved home? The hand is gone that cropt its flowers ;
Hohenlinden. Unheard their clock repeats its hours;
On Linden, when the sun was low, Cold is the hearth within their bowers : And should we thither roam,
All bloodless lay the untrodden snow,
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
But Linden saw another sight, Whose streams my kindred nation quaffed,
When the drum beat at dead of night, And by my side, in battle true,
Commanding fires of death to light A thousand warriors drew the shaft?
The darkness of her scenery.
MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS.
By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS, author of The
Monk, was born in London in the year 1773. His Then shook the hills with thunder riven,
father was deputy secretary in the war-office Then rushed the steed to battle driven,
lucrative situation and was owner also of extensive And louder than the bolts of heaven
West Indian possessions. Matthew was educated Far flashed the red artillery.
at Westminster school, where he was more remark
able for his love of theatrical exhibitions than for But redder yet that light shall glow
his love of learning. On leaving Westminster, he On Linden's hills of stained snow,
was entered of Christ Church college, Oxford, but And bloodier yet the torrent flow
remained only a short period, being sent to Germany Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
with the view of acquiring a knowledge of the lan'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun
guage of that country. When a child, Lewis had
[From The Last Man.'] All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom-
The sun himself must die,
Adown the gulf of time!
As Adam saw her prime!
The earth with age was wan;
Matthew Gregory Lewis. Some had expired in fight—the brands
pored over Glanville on Witches, and other books Still rusted in their bony hands
of diablerie ; and in Germany he found abundant In plague and famine some:
food of the same description. Romance and the Earth's cities had no sound or tread,
drama were his favourite studies; and whilst resiAnd ships were drifting with the dead
dent abroad, he composed his story of 'The Monk,' To shores where all was dumb!
a work more extravagant in its use of supernatural Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood,
machinery than any previous English tale of moWith dauntless words and high,
dern times, and disfigured with passages of great That shook the sere leaves from the wood,
licentiousness. The novel was published in 1795, and As if a storm passed by ;
attracted much attention. A prosecution, it is said, Saying, “We are twins in death, proud sun;
was threatened on account of the peccant scenes Thy face is cold, thy race is run,
and descriptions; to avert which, Lewis pledged 'Tis mercy bids thee go.
himself to recall the printed copies, and to recast For thou, ten thousand thousand years,
the work in another edition. The author continued Hast seen the tide of human tears,
through life the same strain of marvellous and That shall no longer flow.
terrific composition—now clothing it in verse, now
infusing it into the scenes of a drama, and at other This spirit shall return to Him
times expanding it into regular tales. His Feudal That gave its heavenly spark ;
Tyrants, Romantic Tales, his Tales of Terror, and Yet think not, sun, it shall be dim,
Tales of Wonder, and his numerous plays, all beWhen thou thyself art dark !
speak the same parentage as 'The Monk,' and none No! it shall live again, and shine
of them excel it. His best poetry, as well as prose, In bliss unknown to beams of thine,
is to be found in this novel; for, like Mrs Radcliffe, By Him recalled to breath,
Lewis introduced poetical compositions into his tales; Who captive led captivity,
and his ballads of Alonzo the Brave and Durandarte Who robbed the grave of victory,
were as attractive as any of the adventures of AmAnd took the sting from death !*
brosio the monk. Flushed with the brilliant success
of his romance, and fond of distinction and high * As Mr Campbell's poetical works are small in bulk, how. society, Lewis procured a seat in parliament, and ever valuable, we should not have quoted even so many as the was returned for the borough of Hindon. He found limited number of specimens, had we not obtained the express himself disqualified by nature for playing the part permission of the author.
of an orator or politician ; and though he retained
his seat till the dissolution of parliament, he never her non-appearance; having had an opportunity of attempted to address the house. The theatres offered witnessing your very admirable performance of a far a more attractive field for his genius; and his play superior character, in a style true to nature, and of The Castle Spectre, produced in 1797, was ap- which reflects upon you the highest credit. I allude plauded as enthusiastically and more universally to a most interesting scene, in which you lately susthan his romance. Connected with his dramatic tained the character of “ The Daughter!" Brides of fame a very interesting anecdote is related in the all denominations but too often prove their empire Memoirs and Correspondence of Lewis, published in delusive; but the character you have chosen will 1839. It illustrates his native benevolence, vhich, improve upon every representation, both in the estiamidst all the frivolities of fashionable life, and the mation of the public and the satisfaction of your excitement of misapplied talents, was a conspicuous own excellent heart. For the infinite gratification I feature in his character :
have received, I must long consider myself in your * Being one autumn on his way to participate in debt. Trusting you will permit the enclosed (fifty the enjoyments of the season with the rest of the pounds) in some measure to discharge the same, I fashionable world at a celebrated watering-place, he remain, madam, (with sentiments of respect and adpassed through a small country town, in which chance miration), your sincere well-wisher-M. G. LEWIS.” occasioned his temporary sojourn: here also were In 1801 appeared Lewis's Tales of Wonder.' A located a company of strolling players, whose per- ghost or a witch was, he said, a sine qua non ingreformance he one evening witnessed. Among them dient in all the dishes of which he meant to compose was a young actress, whose benefit was on the tapis, his hobgoblin repast, and Sir Walter Scott contributed and who, on hearing of the arrival of a person so to it some of his noble ballads. Scott met Lewis in talked of as Monk Lewis, waited upon him at the Edinburgh in 1798, and so humble were then his inn, to request the very trifling favour of an original own aspirations, and so brilliant the reputation of piece from his pen. The lady pleaded in terms that the Monk,' that he declared, thirty years afterurged the spirit of benevolence to advocate her cause wards, he never felt such elation as when Lewis in a heart never closed to such appeal. Lewis had asked him to dine with him at his hotel ! Lewis by him at that time an unpublished trifle, called schooled the great poet on his incorrect rhyme, and “ The Hindoo Bride,” in which a widow was immo- proved himself, as Scott says, 'a martinet in the lated on the funeral pile of her husband. The sub- accuracy of rhymes and numbers.' Sir Walter has ject was one well suited to attract a country audience, recorded that Lewis was fonder of great people than and he determined thus to appropriate the drama. he ought to have been, either as a man of talent or The delighted suppliant departed all joy and grati- as a man of fashion. “He had always,' he says, tude at being requested to call for the manuscript the dukes and duchesses in his mouth, and was pathenext day. Lewis, however, soon discovered that he tically fond of any one that had a title: you would had been reckoning without his host, for, on searching have sworn he had been a parvenu of yesterday; yet the travelling-desk which contained many of his pa- he had lived all his life in good society.** Yet Scott pers, “ The Bride” was nowhere to be found, having, regarded Lewis with no small affection. 'He was,' in fact, been left behind in town. Exceedingly an- added he, one of the kindest and best creatures noged by this circumstance, which there was no time that ever lived. His father and mother lived sepato remedy, the dramatist took a pondering stroll rately. Mr Lewis allowed his son a handsome inthrough the rural environs of B A sudden come, but reduced it by more than one-half when shower obliged him to take refuge within a huckster's he found that he paid his mother a moiety of it. shop, where the usual curtained half-glass door in Mat. restricted himself in all his expenses, and the rear opened to an adjoining apartment: from shared the diminished income with her as before. this room he heard two voices in earnest conversa He did much good by stealth, and was a most genetion, and in one of them recognised that of his thea- rous creature.' The sterling worth of his character trical petitioner of the morning, apparently replying has been illustrated by the publication of his corto the feebler tones of age and infirmity. There respondence, which, slumbering twenty years after now, mother, always that old story-when I've just his death, first disclosed to the public the calm good brought such good news too_after I've had the sense, discretion, and right feeling which were conface to call on Mr Monk Lewis, and found him so cealed by the exaggerated romance of his writings, different to what I expected; so good-humoured, so and his gay and frivolous appearance and manners. affable, and willing to assist me. I did not say a The death of Lewis's father made the poet a man of word about you, mother; for though in some respects it might have done good, I thought it would seem
* Of this weakness Byron records an amusing instance :so like a begging affair; so I merely represented my Lewis, at Oatlands, was observed one morning to have his late ill-success, and he promised to give me an origi- eyes red and his air sentimental: being asked why? ho replied, nal drama, which he had with him, for my benefit. deeply, “ and just now the Duchess (of York) has said some
that when people said anything kind to him it affected him I hope he did not think me too bold!" "I hope not, thing so kind to me, that," here tears began to flow. “Never Jane,” replied the feeble voice; “ only don't do these mind, Lewis," said Colonel Armstrong to him, “never mind things again without consulting me; for you don't don't cryshe could not mean it." Lewis was of extremely know the world, and it may be thought The diminutive stature. I remember a picture of him,' says Scott, sun just then gave a broad hint that the shower had by Saunders, being handed round at Dalkeith house. The ceased, and the sympathising author returned to his artist had ingeniously flung a dark folding mantle around the inn, and having penned the following letter, ordered form, under which was half hid a dagger, a dark lantern, or post-horses, and despatched a porter to the young some such cut-throat appurtenance. With all this, the feaactress with the epistle.
tures were preserved and ennobled. It passed from hand to “Madam-I am truly sorry to acquaint you that hand into that of Henry Duke of Buccleuch, who, hearing the my Hindoo Bride has behaved most improperly general voice affirm that it was very liko-said aloud, “ Like
Mat. Lewis! Why, that picture's like a Man!" He looked, in fact, whether the lady has eloped or not, it seems
and lo! Mat. Lewis's head was at his elbow. This boyishness she does not choose to make her appearance, either
went through life with him. He was a child, and a spoiled for your benefit or mine: and to say the truth, I
child of high imagination, and so he wasted himdon't at this moment know where to find her. I self on ghost stories and German romances. take the liberty to jest upon the subject, because I
ear for the rhythm of verse I ever met with--finer than really do not think you will have any cause to regret Byron's.'
He had the finest