tunate, indeed, is the man whose domains can boast of acquisitions such as these, and still more so, if he possess the taste and tone of feeling adequate to a just estimate of their priceless worth, as objects not only of the highest picturesque embellishment, but as calling forth the most striking historical associations, and awakening, at the same time, a train of reflections in a very striking degree awful yet pleasing, pensive yet consolatory.

Animated by the warmest enthusiasm for these precious reliques of the olden time, M. De Lille appears to have exerted all the energies of his genius in painting their delightful influence over the heart and imagination; and, accordingly, the finest passages in the fourth book, or perhaps in the whole poem, are those which are devoted to this fascinating subject. Happy has it been for the author, and equally so for the English reader, that these admirable sketches have lost nothing of their raciness and spirit from the pen of our anonymous translator; on the contrary, they appear to me to have been benefited by the medium through which they have passed.

The Abbé has been expatiating on the advantages to be derived to landscape gardening from the elegancies of modern architecture, and he then immediately subjoins,

Mais de ces monumens la brillante gaieté, Et leur luxe moderne, et leur fraîche jeunesse, D'un auguste débris valent-ils la vieillesse ? L'aspect désordonné de ces grands corps épars, Leur forme pittoresque attache les regards; Par eux le cours des ans est marqué sur la terre ; Détruits par les volcans, ou l'orage ou la guerre, Ils instruisent toujours, consolent quelquefois. Ces masses que du tems sentent aussi le poids, Enseignent à céder à ce commun ravage, A pardonner au sort. Telle jadis Carthage Vit sur ses murs détruits Marius malheureux, Et ces deux grands débris se consoloient entre

eux.

Et toi qui m'égarant dans ces sites agrestes, Bien loin des lieux frayés, des vulgaires chemins, Par des sentiers nouveaux guides l'art des jardins, O sœur de la Peinture, aimable Poésie,

A ces vieux monumens viens redonner la vie ;
Viens présenter au goût ces riches accidens,
Que de ces lentes mains a dessiné le tems.

Chant 4.

But how are all these toys of modern taste,
Tho' by rich novelty and fancy graced,
Tho' gay in youth they laugh along the plains,
Surpass'd by proud Antiquity's remains!

What awful wonders strike the astonish'd eye,
When thrown around the mould'ring ruins lie;
Where arches, columns, from their bases hurl'd,
Mark Time's wide empire o'er the crumbling
world!

O'erthrown by earthquakes, storms, or hostile rage,
They teach submission, and our griefs assuage.
Those wrecks that yield to Time's all-conquering
pow'r,

Bid us with patience bear th' afflictive hour.
Such, Carthage, haply was thy ruin'd state,
When 'mid thy walls the exiled Marius sate;
While each proud wreck beheld the other's lot,
And in each other's fate their own forgot.

Sister of Painting, Poetry divine,

With whom amid these rural haunts I stray,
Far from the beaten track and common way,
That to our grounds new beauties I may give,
O come, and bid these monuments revive!
Come, and whate'er laborious time has traced
With patient pencil, consecrate to taste.

The subject of classical ruins is shortly afterwards resumed in reference to Rome, and in lines of no little force and splendour, whether the original or the translation be considered.

O champs de l'Italie! ô campagnes de Rome,
Où dans tout son orgueil git le néant de l'homme !
C'est là que des aspects fameux par de grands

noms,

Pleins de grands souvenirs et de hautes leçons,
Vous offrent ces objets, trésors des paysages.
Voyez de toutes parts, comment le cours des âges
Dispersant, déchirant de précieux lambeaux,
Jetant temple sur temple, et tombeaux sur tom-
beaux,

De Rome étale au loin la ruine immortelle ;
Ces portiques, ces arcs, où la pierre fidelle
Garde du peuple roi les exploits éclatans,
Leur masse indestructible a fatigué le tems.

Chant 4.

Ye plains of Rome, amid whose ruins dread,
In all its pomp, man's vanity is laid!
What awful lessons breathe from all around,
From all those wrecks by mighty names renown'd!
Lo! o'er the scene old Time, with impious stride,
Spurning the precious fragments far and wide,

Temple on temple hurls, and tomb on tomb,
And spreads afar th' immortal wrecks of Rome.
Those porticos, those arches, yet proclaim
The shining glories of the Roman name.
Their faithful records yet unhurt remain,
And weary Time assaults their bulk in vain.

It is very rarely, however, even upon the continent, that ruins of this description fall within the province of the embellisher of grounds, and still less are they to be expected in our own island. To the remains therefore of feudal and monastic grandeur, as objects more likely to come into the possession of the great landed proprietor, the author turns our attention. Justly and beautifully, however, as he has painted these important adjuncts to the picturesque, he deprecates with great good taste every attempt to imitate them as a vain and idle artifice, pertinently observing, that the effort is like that of an infant distorting its little face in order to assume the character of old age.

Whilst about to contemplate the exquisite pictures of the Norman Castle and Conventual Fane, as exhibited in the work of M. De Lille,