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dens of France, does he turn, with all a lover's yearning, to this exquisitely natural picture of our inspired countryman. It is a passage which seems to breathe fresh charms from the graceful simplicity of its English dress. Tired of the glare of obtrusive splendour, the poet calls for what may touch the answering heart, and he tells us,
Aimez donc des jardins la beauté naturelle;
O, in your gardens love wild Nature's plan ;
Did he a load of foreign splendours Aling
He then hastens to transplant some of the most beautiful features of Milton's Eden, and concludes the episode with a picture worthy of the divine poet whom he is indirectly eulogising, and tinted, indeed, with the very colours of that matchless artist :
C'est là que les yeux pleins de tendres rêveries, Eve à son jeune époux abandonna sa main, Et rougit comme l'aube, aux portes du matin. Tout les félicitoit dans toute la nature, Le ciel par son éclat, l'onde par son múrmure. La terre, en tressaillant, ressentit leurs plaisirs ; Zéphir aux antres verds redisoit leurs soupirs ; Les arbres frémissoient, et la vose inclinée Versoit tous ses perfums sur le lit d'hyménée.
There blushing like the rising morn, while love Beam'd from each eye, Eve sought the nuptial grove And to her youthful lover's longing arms Obsequious yielded all her virgin charms.
The genial hour exulting Nature hails,
In the editions subsequent to that from which the version whose merits we are considering was made, there occurs, immediately after the episode of Milton's Eden, a long description of Blenheim, occupying more than a hundred lines, and including several very beautiful passages; but of this digression, the only notice that can at present be taken, is, on my part, to lament that it had not been inserted in time to fall beneath the pen of the anonymous translator.
The specimens, indeed, which have already been given of the occasional merits of his version, must, I should imagine, unite the regrets of the reader of the original with my own, that he had it not in his power to exert his talents in the transfusion of these supplementary lines ; regrets which will be heightened as we advance further in the work, not only from the recurrence of similarly situated passages in the recently augmented editions of the French poem, but from the increasing beauty of those extracts, which it will be my pleasing province to select from the residue of this first and early attempt to introduce M. De Lille to an English public. Let us not forget, however, in this place, the consolation which has been held out in the preceding number, that the most essential, and highly-finished parts of this noblest work of the Gallic bard, are to be found as well in the earliest as the latest impressions.
Thou smiling queen of every tuneful breast,
It was on the morning of the Vigil of St. John the Baptist, 1615, one of the loveliest which the season had afforded, when Shakspeare and his friends, including Montchensey and his daughter, the younger Combe, and Mrs. Hall, set off, after an early breakfast, on their excursion to Charlecote-House. As the distance from Stratford was not much more than three miles, and they had time for the performance of their pleasant task in the most leisurely manner, they preferred walking to any mode of conveyance.
Every thing conspired, indeed, to render the exercise they were about to undertake, even to such an invalid as Montchensey still was, and