ing all thou lookest on with sudden and mysterious life. We could expatiate on the deep meaning of this poem, but it is time to twitch our critical mantles; and, as our trade is not that of mere enthusiasm, we shall take our leave with an objection (perhaps a cavil) to the language of cowslips, which we think too ambiguously spoken of for a subject on which nobody, except Mr. Tennyson, can have any information. The "ringing bluebell" too, if it be not a pun, suggests one, and might probably be altered to advantage.

One word more, before we have done, and it shall be a word of praise. The language of this book, with one or two rare exceptions, is thorough and sterling English. A little more respect, perhaps, was due to the "jus et norma loquendi,” but we are inclined to consider as venial a fault arising from generous enthusiasm for the principles of sound analogy, and for that Saxon element, which constitutes the intrinsic freedom and nervousness of our native tongue. We see no signs in what Mr. Tennyson has written of the Quixotic spirit which has led some persons to desire the reduction of English to a single form, by excluding nearly the whole of Latin and Roman derivatives. Ours is necessarily a compound language; as such alone it can flourish and increase; nor will the author of the poems we have extracted be likely to barter for a barren appearance of symmetrical structure that fertility of expression, and variety

of harmony, which "the speech, that Shakspeare spoke," derived from the sources of southern phraseology.

In presenting this young poet to the public, as one not studious of instant popularity, nor likely to obtain it, we may be thought to play the part of a fashionable lady, who deludes her refractory mate into doing what she chooses, by pretending to wish the exact contrary, or of a cunning pedagogue, who practises a similar manœuvre on some self-willed Flibbertigibbet of the schoolroom. But the supposition would do us wrong. We have spoken in good faith, commending this volume to feeling hearts and imaginative tempers, not to the stupid readers, or the voracious readers, or the malignant readers, or the readers after dinner! We confess, indeed, we never knew an instance in which the theoretical abjurers of popularity have shewn themselves very reluctant to admit its actual advances; so much virtue is not, perhaps, in human nature; and if the world should take a fancy to buy up these poems, in order to be revenged on the ENGLISHMAN'S MAGAZINE, who knows whether even we might not disappoint its malice by a cheerful adaptation of our theory to "existing circumstances ?"

LINES.

WRITTEN ON A SUDDEN ARRIVAL OF FINE WEATHER IN MAY.

BY LEIGH HUNT.

READER! what soul that loves a verse, can see
The spring return, nor glow like you and me?
Hear the rich birds, and see the landscape fill,
Nor long to utter his melodious will?

This, more than ever, leaps into the veins,

When spring has been delay'd by winds and rains,
And coming with a burst, comes like a show,
Blue all above, and basking green below,
And all the people culling the sweet prime:
Then issues forth the bee, to clutch the thyme,
And the bee poet rushes into rhyme.

}

For lo! no sooner have the chills withdrawn,
Than the bright elm is tufted on the lawn;
The merry sap has run up in the bower,
And burst the windows of the buds in flower;
With song the bosoms of the birds run o'er:
The cuckoo calls; the swallow's at the door;
And apple-trees at noon, with bees alive,
Burn with the golden chorus of the hive.

Now all these sweets, these sounds, this vernal blaze,
Is but one joy, express'd a thousand ways;
And honey from the flow'rs, and song from birds,
Are from the poet's pen his overflowing words.

Ah friends! methinks it were a pleasant sphere,
If like the trees, we blossom'd every year;
If locks grew thick again, and rosy dyes
Return'd in cheeks, and raciness in eyes,
And all around us, vital to the tips,

The human orchard laugh'd with cherry lips!
Lord! what a burst of merriment and play,
Fair dames, were that! and what a first of May!
So natural is the wish, that bards gone by
Have left it, all, in some immortal sigh!
And yet the winter months were not so well:
Who would like changing, as the seasons fell?
Fade every year; and stare, midst ghastly friends,
With falling hairs, and stuck-out fingers' ends?
Besides, this tale, of youth that comes again,
Is no more true of apple trees than men.
The Swedish sage, the Newton of the flow'rs,
Who first found out those worlds of paramours,
Tells us, that every blossom that we see
Boasts in its walls a separate family;

So that a tree is but a sort of stand,

That holds those filial fairies in its hand;

Just as Swift's giant might have held a bevy
Of Lilliputian ladies, or a levee.

It is not he that blooms: it is his race,

Who honour his old arms, and hide his rugged face.

Ye wits and bards then, prythee know your duty,
And learn the lastingness of human beauty.
Your finest fruit to some two months may reach:
I've known a cheek at forty like a peach.

Here's a bee

But see! the weather calls me.
Comes bounding in my room imperiously,
And talking to himself, hastily burns
About mine ear, and so in heat returns.
O little brethren of the fervid soul,
Kissers of flow'rs, lords of the golden bowl,
I follow to your fields and tufted brooks:
Winter's the time to which the poet looks

For hiving his sweet thoughts, and making honied books.

ADAGES are vulgar things; nobody quotes them now-a-days, and for that very reason I shall set out with one, for I like to be singular -"You must not expect an old head to grow upon young shoulders." The adage was verified in me. The kindness of friends had put me into the possession of a comfortable income; my prospects were bright; application and prudence would have ensured affluence; but I was blessed with little of either. I was a warm-hearted thoughtless young fellow, who was a friend to every one, and thought every one a friend to him. 'Tis true, I kept my purse in my own pocket; but my acquaintance had almost as much the use of it as myself. Then my house-it was too large for a single man and I must needs have the spare rooms occupied; accordingly I kept lodgers who never paid me rent. How I was played upon! I accidentally met an old intimate of my uncle's; he had seen better days, but was now in very reduced circumstances. I took him home and kept him with me upwards of a year. 'Twas any thing but true kindness; for he soon became of no use to himself. He had not sojourned long with me, when I found that he had a passion for drink-doubtless the origin of his misfortunes. I was awakened one night with a noise below; down I went and found him sprawling in the hall. I helped him to rise, and with considerable difficulty got him up to his bed-room. He did not know me, and could not utter an articulate word. This incident set me thinking; I suspected he was a lost man, and a circumstance at last transpired, which proved that my apprehensions were correct. I held an official situation, and almost every day received letters upon business. One morning I opened one in which my correspondent expressed his surprise at not having received an answer to a letter enclosing a bank note. No such letter had ever reached me! My friend had been sacrificing to Bacchus again, and was yet in bed-a thought struck me; I went up into his room, awakened him, put the letter into his hand, and, folding my arms, fixed my eyes upon him while he read it; and when he had finished, walked out of the room without uttering a single word. In the course of the day I received a note from him, enclosing the letter to which my correspondent had alluded, and containing a confession that he had opened it, and appropriated the money. We parted. This man had, one day, a hair-breadth escape from a sudden death. He and I were dining together in company with a medical friend. We had just commenced, when, to my utter dismay, the latter snatched up a jug of water which was standing near him, and discharged the contents right in the other's face! I turned to look at the object of treatment so outrageous and extraordinary-he was recovering from an apoplectic fit. My friend happened to have his eye upon him just as he was falling back, and, with admirable presence of mind, availed himself of the jug of water. The shock drove the blood from the head.

OLD ADVENTURES.

My affairs became exceedingly embarrassed; I was a prey to constant How uneasiness of mind; and, to add to my troubles, I was in love. that came about I shall inform you. The Midsummer preceding I accompanied a friend in an excursion to the Isle of Wight. The day after our arrival was Sunday, and we went to church-I forgot to mention we had taken up our quarters at Brading, a pretty little village about four miles, I think, from Ryde. Well, as I said, we went to church ; where I presently found myself seated beside one of the loveliest brunettes I had ever set eyes upon. As I had not a prayer book with me, she presented her's, and we read the service together. I was struck with the ease and blandness of her address when first we entered the pew, into which she had invited us. They were evidently the gift of nature, not of education. An unstudied modesty, which charmed me, characterised her demeanour; and I was absolutely affected by the devout impressiveness with which, in a voice, suppressed indeed, but breathing the very soul of sweetness, she uttered the prayers and responses. We sang together, and she sang out; but it was done as though she thought of no ear but His to whom the hymn was addressed: and yet had she lifted her eyes from the book-which she did not, for I remarked her—she would have seen that every one in the immediate vicinity of the pew was listening to her. In going out after service, I tried to keep as close to her as with propriety I could, but some rustics from an adjoining pew pushed between us, and I was held back by my friend, who wanted to introduce me to an acquaintance whom we had just recognized, and who was approaching. As soon as I could get free, however, I hastened into the churchyard, and saw my fair neighbour mounted upon a little pony. Scarcely had my eye lighted upon her, when her whip dropped from her hand, and in the act of jumping from her saddle to recover it, her dress was slightly caught, occasioning a partial exposure of the most exquisitely moulded limb that ever woman set upon the sward. At the moment that she disengaged herself, her eye encountered mine. She stood for almost a minute the image of disconcerted modesty-utterly oblivious of the object for which she had alighted. I picked up the whip, and, bowing, handed it to her, at the same time proffering my services to assist her in remounting. She accepted them with a cheek all damask. Her foot, which I could have spanned, was on my palm; her hand was on my shoulder-With a bound she was in her seat, and away-leaving me riveted where I stood.

I

I felt I know not how. I had lived in London all my life, and many a fine woman had I seen there; but there was a freshness in this rustic beauty that seemed to awaken a new spirit within me. walked silent to the inn--I dined-hardly speaking a word to my friend, who guessed the cause of my abstraction, and amused himself with rallying me upon it. There was evening service, and I went to church again, and walked into the same pew; but, instead of my fair neighbour of the morning, a homely farmer sat beside me. The clergyman had not yet ascended the desk, and I attempted to get into conversation with my "Yes." I hoped companion. I asked him if the pew was his? "No." I added that I was very I was not intruding upon him.

much obliged to his daughter, who had kindly accommodated me in the morning. He replied that he had no daughter. I begged his pardon"Perhaps it was his niece, or some female intimate ?"-" He had no niece or female intimate. The clergyman was in the desk, and it was not proper to talk in church." I bowed to the rebuff. The service finished without her appearing; I returned to the inn, and after eating sparingly of supper, and that only to oblige my friend, who would not sup alone, I retired to bed, and dreamed all night of the church and the beautiful rustic that had sat beside me.

I rose early the following day, and reconnoitered every respectable looking house in the village; and made sundry inquiries as to the most substantial of its inhabitants-but all to no purpose. "The ostler is my man," said I to myself, and in five minutes I was in conversation with him, and learned that the handsomest girl in Brading was the daughter of Mr., the village doctor. In a second I was parading before the doctor's windows. One of them was closed. "That must be his daughter's chamber, and she has not yet risen." How anxiously I watched it! In half an hour the shutters were half opened and I saw a cap. How my heart throbbed! It came, and disappeared, and came again. At last the sash was thrown up--and there stood a coarse blowsy serving-maid, staring and grinning at me!-How could I contrive to see the doctor's daughter? A thought struck me. I crossed direct to the shop; the door was fastened and I knocked at it. "'Twas opened by the damsel I had just seen. As she let me in, she dropped a short curtsey, and tittered in my face. "I want to speak with the doctor," said I, "Father is from home, replied the fair. I darted out of the shop without taking any notice of her question, when I would call again? I ate a hearty breakfast out of the sheer spite of disappointment. Letters had followed my friend, and he would be occupied the whole of the day in answering them, of which I was sincerely glad, for I desired no company but my own. I asked if I could be accommodated with a pony; and in less than a quarter of an hour they had one saddled for me at the door. I inquired my way to the Under-cliff-the most beautiful scenery in the island-and set off.

Half-an-hour brought me to the sea-side: my road lay at the foot of a chain of lofty cliffs, and wound through massive fragments of rock, interspersed with underwood, and enriched with tufts of trees, which broke the view with admirable effect, and presented a series of the most enchanting vistas. The beauties of the ride seemed to increase as I advanced. There stood a cottage before me, the very model of neatness and simplicity: it was half embowered in a copse composed of the willow, the elm, and the birch." Perhaps the sweet girl that I had knelt beside yesterday was the inhabitant of it!" I checked the little animal that I rode, to stop and gaze. I began to dream that I was the master of that cottage, and the husband of its lovely young mistress. O what a scene to live in with such a partner! How we would roam among these rocks, arm-in-arm!-listen to the thrush, the linnet, and the blackbird-whose little throats were busy on every side of me—and to the lark—who, just then, was singing over my head— now recline in the shade-now sit upon a cliff and gaze upon the vast