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short, however, until they became thoroughly amalgamated with the Saxons. Continuing, therefore, to be separated from the endless examples of Roman and Italian work, which were deluging France, Germany, and Italy, the English architects seem to have gone steadily on unwinding the clew, the first thread of which had been put into their hands by their Norman visitors. Thus it is we account for the comparative purity of the English Gothic, when viewed in juxtaposition with the Gothic of the Continent; and we hold, that the country which can boast of such an exquisite and pure example as York Minster, has a good claim to have its name prefixed to the style of which it possesses the masterpiece. If we were inclined to launch out into comparisons, or multiply lists, we could clearly prove to any one who had ever advanced beyond his architectural rudiments, that there does not exist, abroad, a single specimen which approaches in purity within a hundred miles of either York or Salisbury. The four styles, Norman, Early English, Decorated, and Perpendicular, in their pure, unmixed natures, are alone to be found in England-for Scotland, from its former close connexion with France, possesses few examples of much purity.

With regard to the merits of English Architecture, there can scarcely exist two opinions. Founded upon principles completely opposed to those of the Grecian sys


it possesses peculiar beauties of its own, which render it scarce less enchanting; though it is probably matter of inexplicable enquiry, how the sensations produced by the solemn, silent grandeur of a Grecian temple, and a delightful example of English Cathedral magnificence, where ornament and line run riot in all the endless variety of beauty, should be so nearly the same. Did space

and time permit, we think we could clearly prove, that no style is better adapted than the English Gothic for saered purposes, nor capable of being executed at so small a cost, to possess any thing like so marked a character.



"And when they talk of him they shake their heads, And whisper one another in the ear." SHAKSPEARE.

You "have heard that I'm to be married," coz,

But I vow the report's not true;

I think I guess who told you, though,—
It was Miss Celestina Blue ;-

She picks up all the idle talk

That is floating about the town,

Then hurries home to her writing-desk,
And sets it gravely down.

I should like to know to whom, dear coz,

I would tie myself for life;

For it's one thing, I guess, to be in love,
And another to take a wife ;-

I have loved at least a thousand times,
And may love a thousand more;
But catch me stepping as bridegroom in-
To a travelling carriage and four.
When I take a summer excursion, coz,
I start with my dog and gun;
Or I ramble out with my fishing-rod
Where the silver rivers run ;

But a wife would insist on a waiting-maid,

With a bandbox on every knee;

And whenever we came to a country inn,
They would order nothing but tea.

And no doubt whenever she took the pouts,

She'd tell me to my face,

That she had another lover once,
Whom she'd wish were in my place;

And then she'd flirt with some grisly wretch
At least five cubits high ;-

Do you think I'll sell myself for this?—
By Jupiter! coz, not I!

Besides, I don't know a woman, coz,

That has lately smitten me much;
For where, since you chose to get married yourself,
Shall I find another such ?—

They joke me perhaps with Miss Jamieson,
But that's a prodigious mistake;

'Tis all I can do, when I meet with her,

To keep myself awake.

Or perhaps they have seen me walking about
With that brisk little girl Miss Jones;
But she is the last who could bring me, coz,
Down to my marrow bones;

I like very well Miss Cunningham,

And I own she's the queen of dancers; But all the world is aware that she

Is engaged to one of the Lancers.
I've been to the play with Miss Thomson thrice,
And that's a suspicious thing;

I've stood a whole night by the instrument,
To hear Miss Wilson sing;

I've gone to Craigmillar with Clara Grant,
To church with Matilda Donne ;
But trust me, coz, tho' I've gone this length,
I'm not yet too far gone.

As for Miss Macleod, she's in India now,
With all the other Macleods,
And no doubt got the liver complaint,
And bilious lovers in crowds;

And if people think that I care a fig

For Miss Celestina Blue,

They surely don't know that she wears a wig,
Tho' luckily, coz, I do.

So you see the reports are false, sweet coz ;
I'm a sturdy bachelor still;

And little stomach or wish have I

For a matrimonial pill;

Perhaps when your husband goes to heaven
In thirty years or so,

I may throw myself once more at your feet
With my crutch and my gouty toe.

But till then I shall never marry, coz,
For it is not my nature's law;

I'd as soon put my leg in a mantrap, coz,
Or my hand in a lobster's claw:
As for the sex, God bless them! coz,

They have always been kind to me;
But it's safer far to walk by the shore
Than to venture upon the sea.

H. G. B.


We understand that there is at press a volume by the late Rev. Archibald Gracie, containing specimens of the manner in which the services of the Presbyterian Church are conducted on sacerdotal and other solemn festivals, as well as on more ordinary occasions.

We understand that Mr George Buchanan has nearly completed, and will publish in a few days, his laborious work of Tables for converting the Weights and Measures hitherto in use in Scotland, into those of the Imperial Standard.

The 43d and 11th volumes of Constable's Miscellany are to contain Narratives of the most remarkable Conspiracies connected with European history, during the 15th, 16th, and 17th centuries, by John Parker Lawson, M.A. author of the Life and Times of Archbishop Laud. We understand that the conspiracies of which Mr Lawson' treats are-1. The assassination of James I. of Scotland in 14372. The death of James III. of Scotland in 1488 (comprehending a brief history of his reign)-3. The conspiracy of John Lewis Fiesco

against Genoa in 1547-4. The intrigues of Don Carlos against his father, Philip II. of Spain, in 1567-5. The Raid of Ruthven, in 1582 -6. The Gowrie Conspiracy in 1600-7. The Gunpowder Plot in 1604-8. The conspiracy of the Spaniards against Venice in 1618, (the plot of Otway's "Venice Preserved")-9. The rise and fall of Masaniello, fisherman of Naples, in 1647-10. The Popish Plot in 1678-11. The Ryehouse Plot in 1683.

We are glad to understand that the Amulet for 1830 bids fair to excel any of its predecessors. Among the engravings will be the Dorty Wean, from a fine painting by our countryman Wilkie,-the English Cottage, by Mulready, a picture in the possession of the King, and the Crucifixion, after Martin, for the use of which last picture alone 180 guineas are to be paid. The literary contents of this volume will be also highly interesting;-the Ettrick Shepherd is

a contributor to a considerable extent.

MR BUCKINGHAM.-We understand that Mr Buckingham, who is now actively engaged in directing public attention to the Government and Trade of India, lectured at London on Tuesday evening last, is to be at Birmingham this day, at Leeds on the 29th, and at Manchester on the 30th, at Liverpool on the 1st, at Glasgow on the 4th, and at Edinburgh on the 6th of July. The rapidity of his journey will not admit of his remaining more than a single night at any one of these places; nevertheless he proposes to devote the evening of his stay, at each of the towns named, to the delivery of a public

lecture, embracing new and additional matter on the subject of the India monopoly, and embodying the principal facts and arguments on which he invites the support of all the mercantile and manufacturing interests of the kingdom to his public labours in their cause. His Majesty's ministers having now solemnly pledged themselves to advise a recommendation from the throne for an early enquiry into the whole question, the subject becomes one of great national interest, and as such is entitled to the serious attention of men of all parties in the kingdom.

GRECIAN WILLIAMS-By the death of Mr H. W. Williams, which took place on the 19th inst., this country has lost one of its most eminent artists, and the numerous circle of his acquaintance one of its most valued members. Mr Williams has identified his name with Greece; and so long as that country retains her glorious associations will his works be valued, and his name remembered with honour. ROYAL PHYSICAL SOCIETY, 23d JUNE 1829.*-Captain Brown gave an account of the habits and changes of plumage of the Paradise Bunting-the Emberiza Paradisea-or Widah bird of Africa; illustrated by drawings of its different garbs, from a living specimen, now in the possession of Sir Patrick Walker at Drumsheugh. This remarkable bird affords a useful lesson to the naturalist, by showing how guarded he should be in not at all times depending on the colouring of birds as a true specific character; or even hastily considering a modification in the shape and character of the plumage, as indicating a difference of species. These, no doubt, are of much service in many instances, but do not hold as a universal criterion. An appropriate motto for all naturalists would be," MULTIPLY NOT SPECIES." Most birds undergo a considerable change in their colour and markiness from the young to the adult state; and many also differ materially in the colour of the summer and winter plumage; but few, indeed, so great a transformation as the Paradise Bunting; as, in its summer and winter dress, it is so extremely different, as not to be recognisable as the same species. Captain Brown distinguished these states of change by the summer and winter plumage, agreeably to the time at which these changes take place in this country; although he was of opinion, from analogy, that the elegant garb of winter was its spring dress in its native haunts, as it is well known to all observers of nature, that the plumage of birds displays a higher state of lustre during the season of love. This bird seems, at present, to be in its complete summer dress; and in shape, colour, and markings, is not unlike the common Bunting; its bill is, however, stronger, and of a lead colour; when it first changes from its winter state, its colour is pale ash, but gradually reddens to the colour of wood-brown (of the Wernerian nomenclature,) with black patches over different parts of its body, and a stripe of black from the bill to the nape of the neck, on each side, close over the eyes, and a double longitudinal row of spots of the same colour on the crown of the head: The auricles are also black: The greater wing-coverts, primories, secondaries testials, and tail-coverts, are all black in the centre, edged with wood brown; the belly and thighs are white, and the legs pale skin colour, which they preserve the whole year; the tail an inch and a half long. In its perfect winter plumage, the head, chin, throat, wings, and tail, are of a deep glossy black; the lower part of the neck is of a bright orpament orange; the breast of a full and brilliant burnt sienna colour; the thighs and belly white, inclining to pale orange as they approach We are happy to mention, that an able naturalist has undertaken to furnish us with accurate reports of the proceedings of various scientific bodies in Edinburgh, to which we shall henceforth regularly allot a small portion of our space.-ED. LIT. JOUR.

the wings; the two middle tail feathers are four inches in length, very broad, and ending in a long thread; the two next are thirteen inches in length, very broad in the middle, gradually tapering to both extremities, and somewhat sharp at the points; from the middle of the shafts of these last arise another long thread; the remaining tail feathers are two inches and a quarter long. A remarkable peculiarity of this bird is, that it seems to be in perfect health, yet it is undergoing an almost perpetual change of plumage, as feathers drop off nearly the whole year.-Mr Richardson next exhibited, and explained the mode of using, an ingenious Orrery, invented by him for the instruction of the blind. Several members of the Society bore .estimony to the great progress many of these unfortunate children had made in the science of Astronomy. The thanks of the Society were voted him for the very interesting exhibitions, and explana tion given by him.

Theatrical Gossip.-Drury Lane closed for the season on Saturday said, "We have produced, during the season, sixteen new dramatie last. Mr Cooper delivered an address, in the course of which he pieces, all of which-two only excepted-have been honoured with ticularly distinguished the tragedy of Rienzi, the drama of Charies your approbation; among which, I am proud to say, you have par XII., and the new opera of Musaniello. Through the kindness, assiduity, and punctuality of my fellow-labourers, it has not been neces

sary, during the forty weeks I have been honoured with the manage
ment of this Theatre, to make one apology-nor has there been one
change of performance from that which was advertised in the bills
of the day. I believe, ladies and gentlemen, that this circumstance
is unparalleled in the annals of the English drama." The Theatre
is to be re-opened on the 1st of October.-The Haymarket has com-
menced its summer season with a piece by Poole-not Dr Poole-
called "Lodgings for Single Gentlemen," which has been entirely
successful.-The English Opera House, under the management of
Arnold, is to open this evening. Among the company are, Sapio,
Thorne, Keeley, Wrench, Bensons Hill, G. Penton, Miss Kelly, Miss
Goward, Miss Cawse, Madame Cellini, &c.-De Begnis has taken the
Dublin Theatre for October next, where he is to play Italian operas.
-There is now in Paris an Italian, a German, an English, and a
Spanish Company. Charles Kemble and Miss Smithson are to be the
stars in the English Company.-Caradori is now at Liverpool, and is
Performing Polly to Miss Graddon's Captain Macheath! The pretty
little piece of "Aloyse," which was so successful here, is now per-
forming in Liverpool.-The Theatre Royal here closed on Saturday
last. Caradori played Rosetta in "Love in a Village," in a style the
most enchanting. The house was crowded; and, when the curtain
fell, there was a general call for Caradori, which, however, was not
complied with. When the manager afterwards made his appearance
in the farce of "Simpson & Co.," he was received with some disap-
probation in consequence, upon which he came forward and said,-
"Disapprobation from an Edinburgh audience is so unusual in my
case, that I trust you will excuse my asking in what I have offended?
If my presence has been previously required, your wishes were not
communicated to me, nor could I have had the honour of presenting
myself before you, being engaged in changing my dress for the cha-
racter in which I now appear. If, ladies and gentlemen, it was ex-
pected that I should address you on this occasion, I beg leave to state,
that it has never been the custom to do so but on the final termina-
tion of our season in October. Indeed, had it been otherwise, I
would much rather have declined addressing you this evening. On
many former occasions you have been most liberal in your support
of this establishment, and I feel reluctant to annoy you with any
statement of our reverses. October yet remains to us; and I hope,
that on the termination of the engagements we have made for that
period, I shall be enabled to report more favourably of the season
than I could possibly do at present."

Love in a Village, & Simpson and Co.


THE Communication from St Andrew's has been received, and will appear in our next.-The Essay on "Dreams," we are afraid, we cannot find room for.-We have to inform "A Subscriber" in

Aberdeen, that our desire to give permanency to our advertisements,
in justice to those who favour us with them, makes it impossible for
his letter been post-paid.
us to comply with his suggestion. We should have been glad had

considerable talent.-The contributions with which we have been fa-
The verses by "E. A. R.," and by "A. L." of Brechin, indicate
voured by "C. W."-" Therma”—“ V.”—“ E. S.”—“ P. A. M. D."
—“ E. A.”—and " Edwin," will not suit us." My Native Caledo
nia," and "The Spartan Mother to her dead Son," are in the same
predicament, though the former, in particular, has a good deal of
merit.-The Verses from Selkirk are under consideration.
"King Edward's Dream" lies for the Author at the Publishers.

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The horrors of my endless fate




WE resume with much pleasure our analysis of this truly interesting poem.

Flash'd on my soul and shook my frame;
They scorch'd my breast as with a flame
Of unextinguishable fire;

An exquisitely torturing pain

Of frenzying anguish fired my brain."

We have already given some account of the two first Cantos. The third is occupied with a retrospective view of the hero's fortunes and wanderings, which he relates to his bride Rosa, and the noble Italian Victorio. We look upon the following passage, with which he commences his narrative, as worthy of the most attentive perusal, being peculiarly striking, both on account of its own intrinsic merits, and in reference to the tenets subsequent-vernments, arise, he alone is strange, weary, and hope

In the pages which succeed this fine passage, Paulo goes on to describe at some length the misery he suffered, not only from the consciousness that he lay under the curse of the Almighty, but from the knowledge that it was impossible for him ever to find refuge from his sufferings in death. Years and generations pass away,—all around him changes,-new forms, and customs, and go

ly disseminated by its author:

"How can I paint that dreadful day,
That time of terror and dismay,
When, for our sins, a Saviour died,
And the meek Lamb was crucified !
'Twas on that day, as borne along
To slaughter by the insulting throng,
Infuriate for Deicide,

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I mock'd our Saviour, and I cried,
'Go! go! Ah! I will go,' he said,
'Where scenes of endless bliss invite,
To the blest regions of the light;
I go-but thou shalt here remain,
Nor see thy dying day

Till I return again.'

E'en now, by horror traced, I see
His perforated feet and hands;

The madden'd crowd around him stands,
Pierces his side the ruffian spear,
Big rolls the bitter anguish'd tear;

Hark that deep groan! He dies, he dies!
And breathes, in death's last agonies,
Forgiveness to his enemies!

Then was the noonday glory clouded,
The sun in pitchy darkness shrouded;

Then were strange forms through the darkness

And the red orb of night on Jerusalem beaming,
Which faintly, with ensanguined light,

Dispersed the thickening shades of night;
Convulsed, all nature shook with fear,
As if the very end was near;

Earth to her centre trembled ;
Rent in twain was the temple's vail,
The graves gave up their dead;
Whilst ghosts and spirits, ghastly pale,
Glared hideous on the sight,
Seen through the dark and lurid air,
As fiends array'd in light,
Threw on the scene a frightful glare,

And, howling, shriek'd with hideous yell-
They shriek'd in joy, for a Saviour fell!
'Twas then I felt the Almighty's ire;
Then full on my remembrance came
Those words despised, alas! too late!

less. His excited feelings almost amount to madness, and
induce him to seek for death in every hideous shape.
There is a great deal of power in the passage which we

"Rack'd by the tortures of the mind,
How have I long'd to plunge beneath
The mansions of repelling death!
And strove that resting place to find

Where earthly sorrows cease.

Oft, when the tempest-fiends engaged,
And the warring winds tumultuous raged,
Confounding skies with seas,

Then would I rush to the towering height

Of the gigantic Teneriffe,

Or some precipitous cliff,

All in the dead of the silent night.

"I have cast myself from the mountain's height, Above was day-below was night;

The substantial clouds that lower'd beneath

Bore my detested form;

They whirl'd it above the volcanic breath,
And the meteors of the storm;

The torrents of electric flame
Scorch'd to a cinder my fated frame.
Hark to the thunder's awful crash-

Hark to the midnight lightning's hiss!
At length was heard a sullen dash,
Which made the hollow rocks around
Rebellow to the awful sound;
The yawning ocean opening wide,
Received me in its vast abyss,
And whelm'd me in its foaming tide.
Though my astounded senses fled,
Yet did the spark of life remain ;
Then the wild surges of the main
Dash'd and left me on the rocky shore.
Oh! would that I had waked no more!
Vain wish! I lived again to feel
Torments more fierce than those of hell!
A tide of keener pain to roll,

And the bruises to enter my inmost soul.

"I cast myself in Etna's womb,

If haply I might meet my doom

In torrents of electric flame;
Thrice happy had I found a grave
'Mid fierce combustion's tumults dire,
'Mid oceans of volcanic fire,

Which whirl'd me in their sulphurous wave,
And scorch'd to a cinder my hated frame,
Parch'd up the blood within my veins,
And rack'd my breast with damning pains;

Then hurl'd me from the mountain's entrails dread.
With what unutterable woe

Even now I feel this bosom glow-
I burn-I melt with fervent heat-
Again life's pulses wildly beat-

What endless throbbing pangs I live to feel!
The elements respect their Maker's seal,-
That seal deep printed on my fated head.

"Still like the scathed pine-tree's height,
Braving the tempests of the night

Have I 'scaped the bickering fire.

Like the scathed pine which a monument stands
Of faded grandeur, which the brands

Of the tempest-shaken air
Have riven on the desolate heath,
Yet it stands majestic even in death,
And rears its wild form there.
Thus have I 'scaped the ocean's roar,
The red-hot bolt from God's right hand,
The flaming midnight meteor brand,

And Etna's flames of bickering fire.
Thus am I doom'd by fate to stand,

A monument of the Eternal's ire;
Nor can this being pass away,
Till time shall be no more.'

In a note, Shelley acknowledges that many of the ideas in the above passage were suggested to him by a German author, who has written upon the same subject. It will be recollected by the readers of " Queen Mab," that he has casually introduced Ahasuerus, or the Wandering Jew, in a very sublime manner, in that poem, and that he there also acknowledges his obligations to the same German author, and quotes a part of his work, different, however, from that to which he alludes in the volume before us. Death being the predominant thought in the mind of Paulo, as well as his great aim and object, the following incident is finely introduced :

"Once a funeral met my aching sight,

It blasted my eyes at the dead of night,

When the sightless fiends of the tempests rave,

And hell-birds howl o'er the storm-blacken'd wave.
Nought was seen, save at fits, but the meteor's glare,
And the lightnings of God painting hell on the air;
Nought was heard save the thunder's wild voice in the sky,
And strange birds who, shrieking, fled dismally by.
'Twas then from my head my drench'd hair that I tore,
And bid my vain dagger's point drink my life's gore;
'Twas then I fell on the ensanguined earth,

And cursed the mother who gave me birth!

My madden'd brain could bear no more—
Hark! the chilling whirlwind's roar;
The spirits of the tombless dead

Flit around my fated head,

Howl horror and destruction round,

As they quaff my blood that stains the ground,

And shriek amid their deadly stave,

'Never shalt thou find the grave!

Ever shall thy fated soul

In life's protracted torments roll,

Till, in latest ruin hurl'd,

And fate's destruction, sinks the world!

Till the dead arise from the yawning ground,

To meet their Maker's last decree,

Till angels of vengeance flit around,

And loud yelling demons seize on thee!'"

Finding that Heaven would not interfere to shorten his probation, and having made himself familiar with all the secret arts of necromancy, he resolves to call the powers of the lower world to his aid, and is more than once on the very point of selling his soul to purchase the happiness of death. Upon one occasion the Prince of Darkness appeared to him after the following man


"The winds had ceased-a thick dark smoke From beneath the pavement broke;

Around ambrosial perfumes breathe
A fragrance, grateful to the sense,
And bliss, past utterance, dispense.
The heavy mists, encircling, wreath,
Disperse, and gradually unfold

A youthful female form ;-she rode
Upon a rosy-tinted cloud;

Bright stream'd her flowing locks of gold;

She shone with radiant lustre bright,

And blazed with strange and dazzling light;

A diamond coronet deck'd her brow,
Bloom'd on her cheek a vermeil glow;

The terrors of her fiery eye
Pour'd forth insufferable day,
And shed a wildly lurid ray.
A smile upon her features play'd,
But there, too, sate pourtray'd
The inventive malice of a soul
Where wild demoniac passions roll;
Despair and torment on her brow
Had mark'd a melancholy woe

In dark and deepen'd shade.
Under those hypocritic smiles,
Deceitful as the serpent's wiles,

Her hate and malice were conceal'd; Whilst on her guilt-confessing face, Conscience, the strongly printed trace

Of agony betray'd,

And all the fallen angel stood reveal'd.
She held a poniard in her hand,

The point was tinged by the lightning's brand;
In her left a scroll she bore,
Crimson'd deep with human gore;
And, as above my head she stood,
Bade me smear it with my blood.

She said, that then it was my doom
That every earthly pang should cease;

The evening of my mortal woe

Would close beneath the yawning tomb;
And, lull'd into the arms of death,

I should resign my labouring breath;
And in the sightless realms below
Enjoy an endless reign of peace.

She ceased-oh, God, I thank thy grace,
Which bade me spurn the deadly scroll;
Uncertain for a while I stood-
The dagger's point was in my blood.
Even now I bleed !-I bleed!
When suddenly what horrors flew,
Quick as the lightnings through my frame;
Flash'd on my mind the infernal deed,
The deed which would condemn my soul

To torments of eternal flame.

Drops colder than the cavern dew

Quick coursed each other down my face,

I labour'd for my breath;

At length I cried, Avaunt! thou fiend of Hell, Avaunt! thou minister of death!'

I cast the volume on the ground,

Loud shriek'd the fiend with piercing yell,

And more than mortal laughter peal'd around.
The scatter'd fragments of the storm
Floated along the Demon's form,
Dilating till it touch'd the sky;

The clouds that roll'd athwart his eye,

Reveal'd by its terrific ray,
Brilliant as the noontide day,

Gleam'd with a lurid fire;

Red lightnings darted around his head,
Thunders hoarse as the groans of the dead,
Pronounced their Maker's ire;

A whirlwind rush'd impetuous by,
Chaos of horror fill'd the sky;

I sunk convulsed with awe and dread.
When I waked the storm was fled,
But sounds unholy met my ear,

And fiends of hell were flitting near."

Having so far gained a victory over himself and his tempters, he contrived to drag on a wretched existence for sixteen hundred years, about the expiration of which period he had met with Rosa, and in her deep confiding affection found a temporary solace for his griefs. His narrative and the third canto conclude together.

The fourth canto opens in a strain of truly elevated morality and piety, which shows how much of good there must always have been at Shelley's heart:


"Ah! why does man, whom God has sent

As the Creation's ornament,

Who stands amid his works confest

The first-the noblest-and the best;
Whose vast-whose comprehensive eye,
Is bounded only by the sky,

O'erlook the charms which Nature yields,
The garniture of woods and fields,
The sun's all vivifying light,

The glory of the moon by night,
And to himself alone a foe,

Forget from whom these blessings flow?
And is there not in friendship's eye,
Beaming with tender sympathy,
An antidote to every woe,
And cannot woman's love bestow
An heav'nly paradise below?
Such joys as these to man are given,
And yet you dare to rail at Heaven,
Vainly oppose the Almighty Cause,
Transgress His universal laws,
Forfeit the pleasures that await
The virtuous in this mortal state,

Question the goodness of the Power on high,
In misery live, despairing die.

What then is man, how few his days,
And heighten'd by what transient rays,
Made up of plans of happiness,
Of visionary schemes of bliss,
The varying passions of his mind
Inconstant, varying as the wind,
Now hush'd to apathetic rest,

Now tempested with storms his breast,
Now with the fluctuating tide

Sunk low in meanness, swoln with pride,
Thoughtless, or overwhelm'd with care,
Hoping, or tortured by despair!"

Victorio is now brought more prominently into notice. appears that he has conceived an unlawful passion for Rosa, and his mind, tempest-tost between his duty to his friend, and his burning anxiety to possess Rosa, at what

It scarcely might be call'd a sound,

For stillness yet was there,

Save when the roar of the waters below

Was wafted by fits to the mountain's brow.
Here for a while Victorio stood
Suspended on the yawning flood,
And gazed upon the gulf beneath.
No apprehension paled his cheek,
No sighs from his torn bosom break,
No terror dimm'd his eye.
Welcome, thrice welcome, friendly death,'
In desperate harrowing tone he cried,
Receive me, ocean, to your breast,
Hush this ungovernable tide,

This troubled sea to rest.
Thus do I bury all my grief-
This plunge shall give my soul relief,
This plunge into eternity!'

I see him now about to spring
Into the watery grave:

Hark! the death angel flaps his wing
O'er the blacken'd wave.

Hark! the night-raven shrieks on high
To the breeze which passes on;
Clouds o'ershade the moonlight sky-

The deadly work is almost done-
When a soft and silver sound,

Softer than the fairy song,

Which floats at midnight hour along The daisy-spangled ground,

Was borne upon the wind's soft swell.

Victorio started-'twas the knell

Of some departed soul;

Now on the pinion of the blast,
Which o'er the craggy mountain past,
The lengthen'd murmurs roll—
Till lost in ether, dies away
The plaintive, melancholy lay.
'Tis said congenial sounds have power
To dissipate the mists that lower
Upon the wretch's brow-

To still the maddening passions' war-
To calm the mind's impetuous jar-
To turn the tide of woe.

Victorio shudder'd with affright,

Swam o'er his eyes thick mists of night;
Even now he was about to sink

Into the ocean's yawning womb,
But that the branches of an oak,
Which, riven by the lightning's stroke,
O'erhung the precipice's brink,

Preserved him from the billowy tomb; Quick throbb'd his pulse with feverish heat, He wildly started on his feet,

And rush'd from the mountain's height."

Thus diverted from his purpose, his passion for Rosa retains as fierce a hold of his bosom as ever. Before he reaches his own castle, the Witch of the Alps presents herself before him, and promises him the accomplishment

of his desires provided he consents to surrender his soul to her. Victorio agrees; and the Witch, having led him to her cell, pronounces

"Some maddening rhyme that wakes the dead ;"

ever cost, is driven almost to distraction. In a fit of de- and after an incantation scene of considerable length, the spair he determines on committing suicide. The follow-whole of which is exceedingly powerful, Victorio receives ing passage is a noble one:

"The precipice's battled height

Was dimly seen through the mists of night,
As Victorio moved along.

At length he reach'd its summit dread,
The night-wind whistled round his head,
A wild funereal song.
A dying cadence swept around
Upon the waste of air,

a drug from the hand of a fiend, which he is ordered to mingle with Paulo's wine, whose death will be the certain consequence. The drug is infused, but the wine is drunk by Rosa instead of Paulo, who is thus lost to both her lovers. What becomes of Victorio we are not told; but the poem concludes with these lines. It is Paulo who is supposed to speak :

"Lies she there for the worm to devour,
Lies she there till the judgment hour,

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