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Quick thro' her veins the flying poi The third tale, addressed to a Syson's dart,
barite, is a very pleasing improve. And one cold tremor chills her beating ment upon the well-known story of heart.
Pygmalion and the Statue. It has She kneels, and winds her arms round also taken a hint from an incident Pasquil's breast,
contained in the “ Winter Tale." There, as 'twere life to touch, she The argument of this performance
creeps to rest ; On him once more her opening eyes of the town of Sybacis, unrivalled in
is as follows.... Anasılis is a youth she raised, The light died on them as she fondly beauty. He excites the love and rigazed;
valship of all the females of the place, With quick short breath, catching at
but he remained unmoved by their life, she tried
sighs, and unconquered by their To kiss his lips, and as she kissed, she charms....or in the figurative landied.
guage of the poet....
" This bird on fluttering wings reO did the muse but know the learned
fused the cage,
Nor lost a feather in his sprightly age; To blast that fair-deceiving Plant to From the soiled nets of beauty flew Fame!
secure, With mimic tints the vegetable child No touch could lime him, and no Low as the sage-plant crept along, glance secure.”
and smiled. O never may it drink the golden light This day of freedom, however, With laughing tints.....the Garden's does not always last. In a solitude Hypocrite!
not far from the town, an hoary Ye colder Botanists the Plant describe, lover kept secluded from public Gaze on the spectre-form* and class view, a child-like maiden called
the tribe! But ye sweet-souled, whose pensive named Myseida. This matron had
Aglaia, under the care of a woman bosoms glow With the soft images of amorous woe,
been the nurse of Anasilis, and From you the muse one tender tear still retained for him maternal would claim;
affection. She, in violation of her One shudder, at the plant without a trust, permits him, while concealname!
ed, to see Aglaia. He becomes
instantly passionately enamoured Loved of the Muse, thou self- of her. He prevails on Myseida devoted Maid !
to introduce into the apartment (A verse is music to a Lover's shade) of the maid, a statue exquisiteFor thee she bids a silver lily wave, ly executed, exactly resembling Planting the emblem on a Virgin's himself. Aglaia beholds this statue grave;
....admires its surpassing beauty..., On Love's immortal scroll with tenderest claim,
calls it by the name of love....and Inscribes a Carder's with a Carrier's her imagination dwells in rapturous name!
fondness on its charms. Anasilis
having thus far succeeded in his de. The second tale was to us the sign, withdraws the statue from most interesting in the volume. It Aglaia's chamber....and unseen bebears some resemblance to Gold- holds her warm tears, and hears smith's Hermit, and to a tale in the her enamoured sighs. In a favours Spectator, entitled Theodosius and able moment, he enters the bower, Constantia. As we intend to give throws himself upon the ground, this tale entire in the poetical de. closes his eyes, and seems to be partment, we shall pass itover with- locked in insensibility and slumber, out any further comment.
Aglaia comes, beholds the youth * In an Hortus Siccus....that sepulchre in the arbour. She supposes him of departe.! flowers.
to be the statue. She runs den VOL, I....NO. I.
lighted to embrace him, and he For uncreated shapes, ...'twas thee I awakens to life and to love......
loved! Here, however, we shall let the And if I may not mate with thee I die; author speak for himself, as the
Oh, be not twice a Statue to my sigh! close of this poem is one of the finest
With meek surrender and a timorous specimens of his poetry....
The boy, each soft retiring grace en" 'Tis love! (she hardly breathes) the
chants ; God is here!
While to his bosom all the virgin stole, Stept from his pedestal, a breathing Kissed with adoring lips, and gazed form!
his soul. Marbie so lov'd relents, and like my. Then triumphed Love, with Nature self is warm.
for his dower, Ah, not in vain th' ideal form I loved, And time with silvery feathers winged Not vain the silent tears, a picture the hour.
moved !.... Stilly she trod and all unbreathing To thee, young Sybarite! the tale gazed,
we give, Then tremulously kissed the hand she If once thou sigh’st for graces that raised.
will live, The Virgin Kiss imparts the finest To one dear Nymph thy spotless Youth flame,
resign, The sweet sensation trembling thro' And Love's Eternity shall all be thine! her frame;
To modest Beauty, Fate decrees the Nor quits the hand, but half delirious
To raise with fond delay, the amorous To press it to her heart....and love
Who knows a soft Aglaia's heart to
move, She kneels....Can anger in that soft. To her shall be....the tender Power of ness dwell?
Love ! Once having seen thee must I bid fare. wel?
It will be observed by the Critical Is love a crime? then half the guilt be Reader of these Narrative Poems, thine,
that the author endeavours to apply Blame thy seducing powers, thine words in a singular and original
eyes divine ! Think ere thou shak’st me from thy sometimes happy in his attempt,
manner, and that though he is gentle arm How sinall the triumph o'er a virgin yet it sometimes leads into obform!
scurity. We think that he is rather too rapid in his narration, that
he leaves too much to be supplied Anasilis in fond entrancement hears, Bends o'er the Nymph and kissed by the imagination of the reader,
and that he would interest more, away her fears. Then thus.... An innocent deceit for. did he introduce more events, and give ;
dwell more minutely upon them. Smile on thy picture and the form We fear that D’Israeli is rather shall live.
verging too much on the borders of
Della Cruscan and Darwinian poShe then, “ Unskill'd how features etry; but with all his faults, we are abroad,"
consider him as a writer who posFirst of thy Race, to me thou art a sesses a rich and original fancy.... God!
who discovers an active and well How oft when idle Fancy idly roved furnished mind.
For the Literary Magazine.
LINES TO OLINDA.
BY J. D'ISRAELI.
'Twas where La Trappe had raised WHERE roves my sad romantic maid,
his savage seat, Kind shepherds, can you tell ? Of grief and piety the last retreat; Say have you seen her in the shade,
And dark the rocks and dark the foThe hill, or tangled dell?
rest lay, Tell me, sweet stream that babblest by, And shrill the wind blew o'er the AbHast thou not listen'd to her sigh?
House of remorse, of penitence, and Sad echo, from thy mossy hall,
care, Didst thou the wanderer see ; Its inmate grief, its architect despair!* And didst thou answer to her call, And did she speak of me?
The shepherd from the stony pasSoft gales of evening bath'd in dew,
ture flies, 0! have you seen her as you flew?
No music warbles in those silent skies;
Where in the wilderness the cypress I seek her over hill and dale,
waves, O'er stream, thro' whisp'ring grove; The pale-eyed votaries hover round I tell her name to every gale
Breathed from the heart of love ; Silence and solitude perpetual reign I call...but still no voice replies, Around this hermit-family of pain! I call...but still Olinda fies.
Mark the dread portal!....who withThe robe she wears, of azure hue,
out a tear Floats loosely on the air;
Forgets the murmuring earth to enter Her eyes are of seraphic blue,
HERE? Pale-brown her waving hair. As the deep solitude more sternly Her steps are like the bounding roe,
grows, Hercheeks the rose,her forehead snow. With social tenderness the pilgrim
glows; The nightingale would cease to sing
And while he reads the awful lines To listen to her lay,
above, And zephyr spread his silken wing
Turns to his native vale and native To bear the notes away:
love. Her voice, her air, her face impart A mind, a genius, and a heart.
“ Lo death, the pale instructor! Behold the sun withdraws his beam,
guards this porch, And darkness shrouds the scene;
And truth celestial waves her mighty
torch! The night-bird pours his hollow scream
The night-wind sweeps the green. No pipe is heard on mead or rock,
* The founder, or rather reformer, The shepherd homeward drives his of the severe order of the Monks of flock.
La Trappe, was the Abbe Rancè,
whose romantic adventure with his O then return my peerless fair, mistress is so well known. As the Restrain thy eager tight,
last effort of despair he planned this The falling dews will drench thine institution: among the frightful austehair,
rities there practised, were those of Unwholesome is the night... perpetual silence, midnight prayers, I'll wind each thicket, beat each shade, manual labours, and digging their os n Till I have found thee,wandering maid. graves. The story of Cominge may
be found in a little novel, by Madame I. 0. Tencin.
Far from the world's deceiving path And lo! as the fair-handed Father we fiy,
kneels, To find a passage to Eternity ?"* Pale on the eye a woman-hermit
steals ! All are not sinners here! these walls
All gaze with wonder, but Comingo detain
heart thought dead!
Fathers, (she cries) my sex profanes
I made your silence, not your griefs my And from her lap the copious seeds she threw,
I loved Cominge; my parents frowned, Which never to the eye of promise grew.
Long chained my lover in the tyrant's Here bade Cominge the world for ever close;
Ah, could I live, and think Cominge Soothing his spirit with the dread re
for me pose:
Was worn by chains, and lost in miHe call'd it Peace! while in the midnight prayer,
Those parents doomed me to a loveless The bed of ashes and the cloth of hair,
mind, Vainly his soul oblivion's charm would Not to their daughter but a stranger prove!
kind. Alas! there's no oblivion in his love! Ruthless ambition! immolating sires Around the altar's shade the Exile With victim-children crowd thy Motrod;
loch fires. The soul that lost its Mistress sought The early rose, by hands ungentle cast, its God!
Feels o'er its youth of sweets the wast
ing blast ; Hark? to that solemn sound!....the
Such wo the ransom of my lover paid, passing bell
And sometimes more than constancy
To me Cominge on love's swift pi.
nions flew, liest eyes?
No other use of liberty he knew .....
“ Be free in all but love!"....and here I The dying father bends! they start! sighed. they trace
"Can there be freedom without love?" A fine proportion and a slender grace;
he cried. Touched by the magic circle of his “ Was it for this I woke, O vision eye
blest! The heart that slept for years now Romantic fondness in a woman's wakes to sigh ;
breast, O sacred form of beauty! sacred here! And thought my painted heaven was Prevailing softness e'en in souls aus true! to sigh tere!
My ruin'd feelings in thine altered eye. As falls his cowl the lengthening Her heart a wandering wave, her face
A woman's magic will but last its hour, tresses rest, Twine a white neck, and veil a rising
a short-lived flower!” breast,
How bitter in my soul his words I • The following inscription was found ! placed on the gate of the Abley: He gave my wounded breast another C'est ici que la morte et la verite,
wound. Elevent leur flambeaux terrible, He knew it not!....the fond recital C'est de cette demeure au monde inaccessible
Tormenting memory cease !....my tears Que l'on passe a l'Eternite.
More than my words our fate....silent Yet could the cell the liberal soul dehe stood,
tain? Looking at once reproach and grati. It knows no solitude, it feels no chain; tude !
There its sweet habitudes like nature In vain we part....the peril still was
And what it doats on it will still posThe madness of sweet words had charmed the ear;
My lover's image in my slumbers stole; And while the last farewel was told so
'There love and fancy, painters of the
soul! sweet, 'Twas but an invitation still to meet.
In no weak tints their airy pencils But sympathy, that softer kind of love, steep, Would rack the breast it hardly seem
Holding their pictures to the pillowed ed to move.
sleep. Was this a crime? ah, piteous fathers, Again I live to hope, to love again, mourn
The hour my tyrant died, unbound my From love's soft witcheries the virgin
'Twas for Cominge my pensive soul Still let me plead, ye hallowed sons of
was gay, time!
And sprung exulting to the life of day. The daughter's error was the father's With love's inventive mind Cominge crime.
I trace, My lord within an arbour's green And hope still changes with each
changing place, My unblessed lover weeping at my feet Oft tracked yet never found....in stern Beheld....to me the fervent steel he despair flung:
No more the softness of my sex I Cominge, a living shield around me share ; clung,
A restless exile in my native home, Warm on my breast I felt his welling Love wav'd the torch of hope, and blood!
bade me roam. My lover fell... the coward victor stood ! The verdant groves within whose
shades I grew, No transient vengeance fills so base
The cherished mates my gayer a mind, His was no stream that trembles with
childhood knew, the wind;
All that woman loves.... from
these I flew. But dark and wild, his soul the Furies form,
A novel sex I take....the ruder air His soul was like a sea, blown by a Yet ill conceals the woman's heart I
bear. Now frowned the dungeon's vault...
No guide save love, thro' pathless there sunk so drear,
ways for me,
Earth was my couch, my canopy a tree! Cold on my grate I pour'd the fruitless
For still the mountain girl, the peasant tear ;
rude, Each day more sharply felt the iron bound
The curious hamlet's cautious neighInexorable, close the world around.
bourhood, The sun my sole companion! and he Frowned on the vagrant loitering at
their door, cheers
Still are the poor suspicious of the poor. With morning light....the evening sets in tears.
Oft by some river's brink, with wist. There the fresh breeze would melancholy swell
Leaning I viewed the soft inverted To pale-eyed beauty fading in a cell.
skies; The vermeil cheek, the golden tress How oft, my spirit darkened by des. decay,
pair, And love's delicious hour in youth's
I breathed a sigh to find a passage brief day,
there! That drops such sweets and flies so Yet then with sweet enchantment to