صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

ILLUSTRATIONS TO MOORE'S IRISH MELODIES,

BY THE LATE THOMAS STOTHARD, R.A.

No. II.-ILL OMENS.

While daylight was yet sleeping under the billow,
And stars in the heaven still lingering shone,
Young Kitty, all blushing, rose up from her pillow,
The last time she e'er was to press it alone;
For the youth whom she treasur'd her heart and her soul in,
Had promis'd to link the last tie before noon;
And, when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen,
The maiden herself will steal after it soon.

As she look'd in the glass, which a woman ne'er misses,
Nor ever wants time for a sly glance or two,
A butterfly, fresh from the night-flower's kisses,
Flew over the mirror, and shaded her view.
Enraged with the insect for hiding her graces,

She brush'd him-he fell, alas! never to rise :
"Ah! such," said the girl, "is the pride of our faces,
For which the soul's innocence too often dies !"

While she stole through the garden, where hearts'ease was growing,

She cull'd some, and kiss'd off its night-fallen dew;

And a rose further on, look'd so tempting and glowing,
That, spite of her haste, she must gather it too;

But while o'er the roses too carelessly leaning,

Her zone flew in two, and the hearts'ease was lost :

"Ah! this means," said the girl, and she sigh'd at its meaning,

"That love is scaroe worth the repose it will cost."

TO A FAITHLESS LOVER.

I never will curse him, I never must bless,
Though if anger were greater, the grief would be less,
I have suffered, and much, ere I die, must bear yet,
But I cannot forgive, and I will not forget.

[graphic][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small]

PP ZONE FLEW IN TWO, AND THE HEETS-FASF WAS LOST.

1

THE GIRL OF PROVENCE.

The classical story of Pygmalion is often exemplified in the romance of real life. The lover usually forms for himself an image of his mistress more resembling the beau ideal of beauty than truth and nature would warrant. But the mad enthu siasm of love, which could convert a marble statue into an object of passionate attachment, must argue a degree of mental excitement amounting to insanity.

Such was the nature of the extraordinary case of the "Girl of Provence," who became enamoured of the famous antique statue, the Belvidere Apollo. This remarkable occurrence has been chosen, by Mr. Barry Cornwall, as the foundation of a poem. The subject is well adapted for poetical embellishment; but it also affords an admirable moral lesson; and on that ground we offer it to the notice of our readers. Few narratives can be better fitted to warn the young and sensitive against the danger of giving way to violent feelings and emotions of the mind. The melancholy history of the unfortunate Provençal maniac is thus related by Madame de Haster, a literary lady, who resided at Paris, when the event which she records took place.

"The enthusiasm of a girl from Provence has lately occupied my mind. It was a singular occurrence which I shall never forget. I was present at the national museum, when the girl entered the Salle D'Apollon: she was tall and elegantly formed, and in all the bloom of health. I was struck with her air, and my eyes involuntarily followed her steps. I saw her start, as she cast her eyes on the statue of Apollo, and she stood before it, as if struck by lightning. Gradually her eyes sparkled with sensibility. She had before looked calmly round the hall. Her whole frame seemed to be electrified, as if a transformation had taken place within her; and it has since appeared, that indeed a transformation had taken place, and that her youthful breast had imbibed a powerful, alas! fatal passion. I remarked that her companion (an eldest sister it seems) could not force her to leave the statue but with much entreaty; and she left the hall with tears in her eyes, and all the expression of tender sorrows. I set out the very same evening for Mont Morency.

[ocr errors]

"I returned to Paris at the end of August, and visited immediately the collection of antiques. I recollected the girl from Provence, and thought I might perhaps meet with her again, but I never saw her afterwards, though I went frequently. At length I met with one of the attendants, who I recollected, had observed her with the same attentive curiosity which I had felt; and I enquired after her.

• Poor

She

girl!' said the old man, 'that was a sad visit for her. came afterwards almost every day to look at the statue, and she would sit still, with her hands folded in her lap, staring at the image and when her friends forced her away, it was always with tears that she left the hall. In the middle of May she brought, whenever she came, a basket of flowers, and placed it on the Mosaic steps. One morning early she had contrived to get into the room before the usual hour of opening it, and we found her within the grate sitting on the steps, almost fainting, exhausted with weeping. The whole hall was scented with the perfume of flowers, and she had elegantly thrown over the statue a large veil of Indian muslin, with a gold fringe. We pitied the deplorable condition of the lovely girl, and let no one into the hall until her friends came and carried her home. She struggled and resisted exceedingly when forced away, and declared in her phrenzy, that the god had that night chosen her to be his priestess, and that she must serve him. We have never seen her since, and we hear that an opiate was given her, and that she was taken into the country."

I made further enquiries concerning her history, and learnt afterwards that she died raving."*

To this circumstance the present Professor of l'oetry at Oxford, refers in his Prize Poem, entitled "The Belvidere Apollo," in the following lines

"Yes, on that form in wild delirious trance
With more than rev'rence gaz'd the maid of France.
Day after day the love-sick dreamer stood
With him alone and thought it solitude;
To cherish grief, her last, her dearest care,
Her one fond hope-to perish of despair.
Oft as the shifting light her sight beguil❜d,
Blushing she shrunk, and thought the marble smil❜d.

« السابقةمتابعة »