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may confer upon that public some new seriously of the state in which the eloand substantial wealth of thought, of quence of the pulpit is at this time all imagination, and of language.
over the island? We know no depart. The present work is little more than ment in which there is so much room an elegant versification of a small part for a man of learning, feeling, and eloof an elegant prose-romance, published quence, to distinguish himself; and, but a few months ago. Even if he had perhaps, it might be worth Mr Milimproved upon his original much more man's while to consider very gravely than he has done, we should still have whether, in spite of the early tempo been inclined to say, that he might tations and distinctions which have have been employing his talents in a brought and kept him before the pubmanner more worthy of the hopes his lic as a writer of verses, the real first appearances excited.
strength of his talent might not, after One word at parting. Has Mr Mil. all, find ampler scope and more conge. man, who is a clergyman, ever thought nial occupation elsewhere.
This is a very beautiful little duo- he has utterly forsworn it. There are decimo, and contains some very beau- no rhymes here, for these would have tiful writing. After reading it, we betrayed a Cockney, even a half-consat musing for some minutes in our verted Cockney, in a moment, and chair, considering with ourselves who then we could have had no doubt could possibly have written it. Who about the matter. Cockneyism of that writes verses has lately been in thought there certainly is now and Italy? Wordsworth has, but this is then a little bit-but not enough either no inore Wordsworth than it is Maho- to excite our serious displeasure, or to met. Southey has been in Italy,--and make us quite sure that the stain may the verses of this volume are very like not be an unconscious one. Should it Southey in some things,-but they turn out that this is, after all, some cannot be his notwithstanding. Here old acquaintance, whom we have beand there they are as elegant as any of laboured and mauled a dozen times, his, but they do not convey, in the we can, in our future numbers, adopt upshot, any idea either of such a scho- one or other of two courses, either of lar, or of such a poet, as the Laureate. which will equally serve our turn. And, besides, Southey would never We can, if we think fit, return to abuhave made so many allusions to mat- sing him, making this little book an ters, which have been treated of by exception, and continuing to laud it; Lord Byron. He would have disdain- or we can get some clever corresponded but to mention the names of Dan- ent to attack us lustily, for having bedolo, or the Foscari, or Falieri. Neistowed on it any commendation, and ther would he have paid such an ab- drive us out of the field by an elabosurd compliment to Ugo Fudgiolo, as rate proof of its utter worthlessness. occurs in the Notes. Neither would in the meantime, let us praise “ Itahe have set his “ little book” afloat ly, a poem," and let our readers buy it upon the waters, without giving it the on our authority, for it costs but seven protection of his name. He is too shillings. proud to publish verses anonymously, The author writes a sort of senti. and he is right to be so. This is cer- mental journey in verse, each chapter tainly not Dr Southey.
or section containing the description of Neither do we suspect it to be the some particular scene, incident, chawork of any of the Cockney poets who racter, personage, or story, which haphave hitherto fallen under our notice, pened to interest him on his way over but we earnestly hope it may in the the Alps, and through the northern end turn out to be so nevertheless. If parts of Italy. Of these chapters or any of the Cockneys has written this, sections, many are extremely insipidwe consider him to have profited very some full of affectation and conceitmuch by our animadversions on the but several are throughout lively, spischool he belongs to, and would hope rited, beautiful, and poetical, in no or
: London-Longman & Co. 12mo. 1822.
dinary degree. These (and it is such Gliding from ledge to ledge, from deep to as these only we shall quote), shew deeper, that the writer, whoever he may be, Went to the Under-world! Long-while he has eyes to look upon nature, and a lay.
lay heart to feel something of what is fine' Upon his rugged bed—then waked like one and noble in man and in the world.
Wishing to sleep again and sleep for ever!
For looking round, he saw, or thought he Our first extract shall be from the
saw part of the volume treating of the au- Innumerable branches of a Cavern, thor's passage over the Alps.
Winding beneath that solid Crust of Ice ;
With here and there a rent that shew'd the JORASSE.
stars! Jorasse was in his three-and-twentieth What, then, alas, was left him but to die ? year;
What else in those immeasurable chamGraceful and active as a stag just roused; Gentle withal, and pleasant in his speech, Strewn with the bones of miserable men Yet seldom seen to smile. He had grown Lost like himself? Yet must he wander on, up
Till cold and hunger set his spirit free! Among the Hunters of the Higher Alps; And, rising, he began his dreary round; Had caught their starts and fits of thought. When hark, the noise as of some mighty fulness,
River Their hagard looks, and strange solilo. Working its way to light ! Back he with quies,
drew, Said to arise, by those who dwell below, But soon return'd, and fearless from deFrom frequent dealings with the Moun. spair, tain-Spirits,
Dash'à down the dismal Channel; and all But other ways had taught him better day, things;
If day could be where utter darkness was, And now he number'd, marching by my Travell’d incessantly, the craggy roof side,
Just over-head, and the impetuous waves, The Savans, Princes, who with him had Nor broad nor deep, yet with a giant's cross'd
strength The icy tract, with him familiarly Lashing him on. At last the water slept Through the rough day and rougher night In a dead lake at the third step he took conversed
Unfathomable and the roof, that long In many a chalêt round the Peak of Ter. Had threatened, suddenly descending, lay ror,
Flat on the surface. Statue-like he stood, Round Tacul, Tour, Well-horn and Ro. His journey ended; when a ray divine senlau;
Shot thro' his soul. Breathing a prayer to Save when an Avalanche, at distance roll Her ing
Whose ears are never shut, the Blessed Its long, long thunders, held them mute Virgin, with fear.
He plunged, he swam-and in an instant -But with what transport he recall'd the rose, hour
The barrier past, in light, in sunshine ! When to deserve, to win his blooming Through bride,
A smiling valley, full of cottages, Madelaine of Annecy, to his feet he bound Glittering the river ran; and on the bank The iron crampons, and, ascending, trod The Young were dancing ('twas a festivalThe Upper Realms of Frost; then, by a day)
All in their best attire. There first he saw Let half-way down, entered a Grot star. His Madelaine. In the crowd she stood to bright,
hear, And gather'd from above, below, around, When all drew round, inquiring ; and her The pointed crystals !
Seen behind all, and varying as he spoke, Once, nor long before, With hope, and fear, and generous sym(Thus did his tongue run on, fast as his pathy, feet,
Subdued him. From that very hour he And with an eloquence that Nature gives loved. To all her children-breaking off by starts Into the harsh and rude, oft as the Mule The tale was long, but coming to a close, Drew his displeasure,) once, nor long be. When his dark eyes flash'd fire, and, stop
ping short, Alone at day-break on the Mettenberg, He listen'd and look'd up. I look'd up top; He slipp'd, he fell ; and, through a fearful And twice there came a hiss that through cleft
'Twas heard no more. A Chamois on the
No track of men, no footsteps to and fro, Had roused his fellows with that cry of Led to her gates. The path lay o'er the fear,
sea, And all were gone.
Invisible; and from the land we went
As to a floating City—steering in, But now the thread was broken; And gliding up her streets as in a dream, Love and its joys had vanish'd from his So smoothly, silently-by many a dome mind;
Mosque-like, and many a stately portico, And he recounted his hair-breadth escapes, The statues ranged along an azure sky; When with his friend, Hubert of Bionnay, By many a pile in more than Eastern (His ancient carbine from his shoulder splendour, slung,
Of old the residence of merchant-kings; His axe to hew a stair-case in the ice) The fronts of some, though Time had shatHe tracked their footsteps. By a cloud ter'd them, surprised,
Still glowing with the richest hues of art, Upon a crag among the precipices, As though the wealth within them had run Where the next step had hurled them fifty o'er.
fathoms, Oft had they stood, lock'd in each other's Thither I came, in the great passagearms,
boat, All the long night under a freezing sky, From Padua, where the stars are, night by Each guarding each the while from sleep night, ing, falling.
Watch'd from the top of an old dungeonOh, 'twas a sport he loved dearer than life, tower, And only would with life itself relinquish! Whence blood ran once, the tower of Ezze• My sire, my grandsire died among these lino wilds,
Not as he watch'd them, when he read his My brother too! As for myself,' he cried, fate And he held out his wallet in his hand, And shudder'd. But of him I thought not • This do I call my winding-sheet, so sure then, Am I to have no other !!
Him or his horoscope; far, far from me
The forms of Guilt and Fear; though some And his words
were there, Were soon fulfill'd. Within a little month Sitting among us round the cabin-board, Jorasse slept soundly half-way up the Some who, like him, had cried, “ Spill Jung-frau.
blood enough !" Long did his wife, suckling her babe, look And could shake long at shadows. They out
had play'd The way he went at parting, but he came Their parts at Padua, and were now renot!
turning; Long fear to close her eyes, lest in her A vagrant crew, and careless of to-morrow, sleep
Careless, and full of mirth. Who, in that (Such their belief ) he should appear be quaver, fore her,
Sings · Caro, Caro ?'_'Tis the Prima Frozen and ghastly pale, or crush'd and Donna ! bleeding,
And to her monkey, smiling in his face. To tell her where he lay, and supplicate Who, as transported, cries, . Bravo! AnFor the last rite! At length the dismal cora ?' news
Tis a grave personage, an old macaw, Came to her ears, and to her eyes his corse. Perch'd on her shoulder. But mark him
who leaps Venice has been written about so Ashore, and with a shout urges along much of late, that we did not expect The lagging mules; then runs and climbs to meet with any thing which we could venture to quote from this volume That with its branches overhangs the about that “Ocean-Rome.” And, in stream, truth, the author lags fearfully behind And, like an acorn, drops on deck again. when he tells his Venetian stories—all "Tis he who speaks not, stirs not, but we of which have become familiar to us m
laugh; as household words. But his general
That child of fun and frolic, Arlecchino. reflections, on the first view of the city, - At length we leave the river for the sea, are such as no living poet need be At length a voice aloft proclaims • Ve. ashamed of. They are not only like nezia ! Southey, but like the best of Southey. And, as called forth, it comes. A few in [Thalaba always excepted.]
Flying away from him whose boast it was, That in the Tagus had arrived a fleet That the grass grew not where his horse From India, from the region of the Sun, had trod,
Fragrant with spices—that a way was found Gave birth to Venice. Like the water-fowl, A channel opened, and the golden stream They built their nests among the ocean. Turn'd to enrich another. Then she felt waves;
Her strength departing, and at last she fell, And, where the sands were shifting, as the Fell in an instant, blotted out and razed; wind
She who had stood yet longer than the Blew from the north, the south; where longest they that came,
Of the Four Kingdoms-who, as in an Had to make sure the ground they stood Ark, upon,
Had floated down, amid a thousand wrecks, Rose, like an exhalation, from the deep, Uninjured, from the Old World to the A vast metropolis, with glittering spires, New, With theatres, basilicas adorn'd;
From the last trace of civilised life_to A scene of light and glory, a dominion, where That has endured the longest among men. Light shone again, and with unclouded
splendour. And whence the talisman, by which she
Through many an age she in the midrose,
Sea dwelt, Towering ? 'Twas found there in the bar.
From her retreat calmly contemplating ren sea. Want led to Enterprize; and, far or near,
The changes of the Earth, herself unchan
ged. Whomet not the Venetian ?-now in Cairo;
Before her pass'd, as in an awful dream, Ere yet the Cafila came, listening to hear
The mightiest of the mighty. What are Its bells, approaching from the Red-Sea
Clothed in their purple? O’er the globe Now on the Euxine, on the Sea of Azoph, In converse with the Persian, with the
Their monstrous shadows; and, while yet The Tartar; on his lowly deck receiving
Phantom-like, vanish with a dreadful Pearls from the gulf of Ormus, gems from
What-but the last that styled themselves Eyes brighter yet, that shed the light of
the Cæsars ? love, From Georgia, from Circassia. Wandering
ndering And who in long array (look where they
come round, When in the rich bazar he saw, displayed,
Their gesture menacing so far and wide) Treasures from unknown climes, away he
Wear the green turban and the heron's
plume ? went,
Who_but the Caliphs ? follow'd fast by And, travelling slowly upward, drew ere
shapes long From the well-head, supplying all below;
As new and strange-some, men of steel, Making the Imperial City of the East,
Others, nor long, alas, the interval, Herself, his tributary.
In light and gay attire, with brow serene,
Wielding Jove's thunder, scattering sulIf we turn To the black forest of the Rhine, the Da. Mingled with darkness; and, among the
phurous fire nube,
rest, Whereo'er the narrow glen the castle hangs, And, like the wolf that hunger'd at his gate,
* Lo, one by one, passing continually,
Those who assume a sway beyond them all ; The baron lived by rapine-there we mcet, M In warlike guise, the Caravan from Venice;
Men grey with age, each with a triple crown,
Ce; And in his tremulous hands grasping the Winning its way with all that can attract,
keys Cages, whence every wild cry of the desert,,
That can alone, as he would signify, , stage-dancers. Well might Char. Unlock Heaven's gate. lemain, And his brave peers, each with his visor up, On their long lances lean and gaze awhile,
This is very good, but we shall treat When the Venetian to their eyes disclosed our readers with something that is The wonders of the East! Well might they better still; an exquisite gem indeed,
and touched and polished with a hand Sigh for new Conquests !
most light and graceful. Thus did Venice rise,
GINEVRA. Thus flourish, till the unwelcome tidings If ever you should come to Modena, came,
(Where among other relics you may see VOL. XI.
Tassoni's bucket_but 'tis not the true one) And, in the lustre of her youth, she gave Stop at a Palace near the Reggio-gate, Her hand, with her heart in it, to FranDwelt in of old by one of the Donati.
cesco. Its noble gardens, terrace above terrace, And rich in fountains, statues, cypresses, Great was the joy; but at the Nuptial Will long detain you-but, before you go, feast, Enter the house-forget it not, I pray you— When all sate down, the Bride herself was And look a while upon a picture there. wanting.
Nor was she to be found ! Her Father 'Tis of a Lady in her earliest youth,
cried, The last of that illustrious family; " 'Tis but to make a trial of our love !" Done by Zampieri—but by whom I care And fill'd his glass to all; but his hand not.
shook, He, who observes it-ere he passes on, And soon from guest to guest the panic Gazes his fill, and comes and comes again, spread. That he may call it up, when far away. 'Twas but that instant she had left Fran.
cesco, She sits, inclining forward as to speak, Laughing and looking back and flying still, Her lips half open, and her finger up, Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger. As though she said “ Beware!” her vest But now, alas, she was not to be found; of gold
Nor from that hour could any thing be Broider'd with flowers and clasp'd from guess'd, head to foot,
But that she was not !
Weary of his life, A coronet of pearls.
Francesco flew to Venice, and embarking,
Flung it away in battle with the Turk. But then her face, Donati lived and long might you have So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth,
seen The overflowings of an innocent heart An old man wandering as in quest of some. It haunts me still, though many a year has
Something he could not find-he knew not Like some wild melody!
When he was gone, the house remained Alone it hangs
awhile Over a mouldering heir-loom, its compa- Silent and tenantless—then went to stran. nion,
gers. An oaken chest, half-eaten by the worm, But richly carved by Antony of Trent Full fifty years were past, and all for. With scripture-stories from the life of gotten, Christ;
When on an idle day, a day of search A chest that came from Venice, and had Mid the old lumber in the Gallery, held
That mouldering chest was noticed ; and The ducal robes of some old Ancestor
'twas said That by the way it may be true or false By one as young, as thoughtless as Gi. But don't forget the picture, and you will nevra, not,
“ Why not remove it from its lurkingWhen you have heard the tale they told place ?” me there.
'Twas done as soon as said ; but on the
way She was an only child_her name Gic It burst, it fell ; and lo, a skeleton, nevra,
With here and there a pearl, an emerald. The joy, the pride of an indulgent Father ; And in her fifteenth year became a bride. A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold. Marrying an only son, Francesco Doria, All else had perish'd-save a weddingHer playmate from her birth, and her first
And a small seal, her mother's legacy,
Engraven with a name, the name of both, Just as she looks there in her bridal “ Ginevra."
dress, She was all gentleness, all gaiety,
There then had she found a grave! Her pranks the favourite theme of every Within that chest had she concealed her.
tongue. But now the day was come, the day, the Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the hour;
happy ;. Now, frowning, smiling for the hundredth When a spring-lock, that lay in ambush time,
there, The nurse, that ancient lady, preached de. Fasten'd her down for ever!