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though they are sometimes permitted to wear the white turban in Turkey, they are never freed from the payment of the charadsch, (the poll-tax, from which converted Jews are absolved,) because no reliance is placed on their sincerity.

The Gipsies, then, are a people without religion, without letters or science, without property, without settled habitations, without civil rights, and without ordinary rules or motives of action.There are between 7 and 800,000 of them scattered over Europe, exclusive of those of Egypt and Asia. What a difference would it make in the sum of human happiness, if these idlers, beggars and thieves, were honest, laborious, intelligent members of society! We cannot but be struck with the cruel and blind policy of governments in respect to these wretched creatures. England, Italy, Spain, France and Germany, Denmark and Sweden, have severally excluded them from the protection of the state, and all the privileges of citizens; indeed, from those of rational beings: nor has any community ever yet held out to them that knowledge, which might break up their bad habits, afford them motives to a contrary course, and procure them means to pursue it. The millions of these miserable men, who have lived and died in their ignorance and sins, have afforded multiplied occasions to the enlightened and the generous, to reclaim waste places in human society; and as they exist at present, they are genuine objects of that mercy which characterizes the gospel. Nor does it characterize the written word only; it is taking an acknowledged place in the public sentiment of all countries; and it ought, and we hope one day will, lay at the foundation of all legislative and municipal measures. But we would not forget, that the "quality of mercy is not strained;" it does not compass sea and land to find objects,

"But droppeth like the gentle dew of Heaven,

Upon the place beneath."

We are aware, that in the concern we have felt for the beggars of Europe, we have strayed from that principle of utility we commend that of confining our regards to those we may benefit. Still, this slight sketch of a peculiar people, may be instructive: if it does not appeal to any feeling of personal or local interest, the philanthropist is not unconcerned with it. It induces a grateful spirit in us, that we live in a land unincumbered with a supernumerary population under insurmountable moral and legal disabilities and it should induce concern and care for such of the indigent and unfortunate among ourselves, as the provision of society has not favoured with means of knowledge and usefulness. Such, whoever they are, victims of vice, or bad example, or neglected education, are those whom the enlightened and the kind are born to bless, and whom they are taught to encourage and to

aid-by him who was not only the friend of the righteous, but the deliverer and benefactor of the sinner. No degree of guilt in a human being, should entirely cut him off from human kindness. As long as the intellectual and moral character is not wholly corrupt, (and who can ascertain when all capabilities of goodness are extinct?) the redeeming principle may be resuscitated, and become operative. A certain degree of suffering necessarily accrues from transgression; this result is ordained by God: but let his creatures leave the measure to him, who has constituted himself sole avenger; and while they strictly preserve the safety of society, also cherish the latent virtue of the offending. A lamp to the feet, and a guide to the path, will reclaim many of the devious and benighted; and the legislator or the philosopher who has no pity for the ignorant, and for them who are out of the way, makes no just use of his powers, and has no just sense of the infirmity with which he himself is compassed.

ART. VIII.-Gedichte von Frederick von Schiller. Zweyte Etui
Ausgabe. Aachen, 1812. Bey Forstmann und Comp.
2.-Poems, and Translations from Schiller. 8vo. pp. 346.-
London, 1821.

GERMAN literature, which, twenty years ago, was so slighted in England, has at length assumed its proper station in the opinion of that people. It is worth remarking how strangely prejudice confounds things most dissimilar. At the time of the French revolution, French chemistry was avoided as containing principles equally dangerous to law and gospel. It is well known that the dread which Englishmen felt of French philosophy extended to the chemical discoveries of Lavoisier, and that their horror of the German illuminati rendered them averse to all the productions of German genius. The English reviews teemed with illiberal remarks; and, forgetting that it was to Germany mankind owed the vast benefits derived from the reformation, their writers consigned the country to dulness and absurdity. It cannot be denied, however, that those whose knowledge of German literature is derived from translations, and who penetrated no further than the wild reveries of Kant or Fichte-the loose works of Kotzebue, and the extravagant ones of the Burger school-might reasonably have been discouraged. It is as if a German should judge of English morality by translations of the songs of Moore-of English profundity by the dissertations of Jeremy Bentham-or of the taste of the English stage by the heterogeneous compositions called melo-drames. Other crities have urged, plausibly enough, that the Germans are gross even

in their greatest attempts at refinement. This objection admits of an easy refutation, when we consider the difficulty a foreigner inevitably meets in studying the spirit and idiom of a strange language. A German of refinement would probably read the works of Swift, Fielding, and Smollett, with absolute disgust. He would understand only the broad part of the humour, while the simplicity which half conceals the indelicacy, and the vivacity which almost excuses it, would entirely escape him. Another often-urged charge against the German authors is mysticismHere we have not much to answer. Schlegel himself in speaking of it does not refute it, but rather apologizes, by tracing it back as the inheritance of past ages, and the consequence of particular causes. That it is a disorder they are all prone to there can be little doubt. Madam de Stael says, that their distinguishing trait is imagination; and it is this quality which gives birth to the credulity which marks their character, and to the simplicity which spreads such an untranslatable charm over some of their productions. Imagination mingles with their religion and their philosophy, and even sheds its graces over the soul of the warrior. The resolute Luther composed verses-the fanciful theories of the German philosophers are well known-and their youthful hero Koerner was not the less brave that he could express the ardour of his mind in melodious strains. When Luther flourished, the German language flourished also in its richness and purity. But the passion for the dead languages which succeeded him, independent of the natural importation of words from the countries which surrounded them, interlarded the language with foreign idioms. Nor was this the only effect of that general study of the classics which distinguished German authors. By accustoming themselves to admire, write, and correspond in the ancient tongues, they not only lost that necessary respect for their own, but they ceased to pay attention to its purity, and countenanced, perhaps committed, abuses against it. The learned and intelligent part of the nation, thus writing in another language, and undervaluing or neglecting their own, the natural consequence ensued that the body of the people admitted freely all innovations, which they mixed with their own vulgarities. For it is not grammar-schools and lectures which preserve the purity of a language. The power is vested in the hands of the learned and polite, to polish and preserve their mother tongue; when left to the inferior classes, who are badly educated and unaware of its importance, the language becomes low, corrupted, and unfixed. As was the English, from the same causes, when Chaucer complained, that he wrote in sand. Such was the state of the German language--which Frederic III. (who did not deserve the name of German) rendered worse by his con

tempt for his own tongue, and his affection for and constant use of the French. His courtiers, of course, followed his example; and, while many German authors languished in obscurity, he wasted his favours and smiles upon such men as the Marquis De Argen. While things were in this situation, the Silesian school arose, at the head of which was Opitz--Hagedorm, Cramer, and Rabener, followed him, and did much to restore the purity of their language. The publication of Klopstock's Messiah (1748) was also a signal benefit to the German tongue. Goethe succeeded him, and, since the establishment of his literary consequence, German literature has risen from the dust, and shaken off its impurities. Though, we believe, he never formed what is called a school, yet the authority of his distinguished name, aided by the fascination of his genius, gave him that beneficial influence over literature, which the greatest of his countrymen have not hesitated to acknowledge; and rising authors naturally became eager to emulate his purity and richness. But even Goethe has not escaped the prevalent faults of his age. His works are sometimes tinged with obscurity, often deformed by trite classical allusions, or degraded by irreverence of things sacred, and carelessness of things decent. His style is, however, unexceptionable; sometimes inimitable in its simplicity and naiveté; at others, rich in all the magnificence of the language; and, always, entirely German. His poetry is enlivened by a constant succession of original and natural images; nor does he stop to enlarge upon them, but pursues his melodious way, throwing around him flowers of poesy fresh and numerous. One of the most striking instances of his felicity, in describing an object by a single touch, is his little piece called The Four Seasons of the Year. In the first, he twines a wreath of flowers around the brow of Spring; and, to this, which has been done by every poet of every clime, Goethe has succeeded in giving originality, and breathing as it were a new charm over the flowers, which bloom in his verse. Summer and Autumn are beautifully painted; but his lines on Winter breathe a melancholy feeling, which is both soothing and appropriate.

Schiller's was a mind of a high, but different order. Keen in his perceptions, filled with rich and lofty imaginations and ardent feelings, every line he has written, whether grave or gay, is marked with the energy of his genius. His diction is beautiful; his verse possesses more measured flow than that of Goethe; though he has not that exquisite archness with which the other charms. His dramatic powers are confessedly great; and it is on his tragedies of Wallenstein, William Tell, and Marie Stuart, that his fame will eventually rest. Unsatisfied with poetic celebrity, he has also grasped at historic fame. His history of the Thirty Years War is an important and highly interesting

work; but it may be an English prejudice that prompts us to object, that it is not sober enough for history. The language is too flowery; and we perceive that the historian is sometimes, in his conclusions and descriptions, led away by the poet. Yet, when we recollect his account of the establishment of the independence of the Netherlands, we are almost tempted to recall our disparaging words.

It was after perusing some of Schiller's minor poems, that we took up the work before us, purporting to be a translation of them. The difficulty of translating the spirit together with the sentiments of an author, has always been a subject of complaint; and this obstacle is heightened in the German language, which, by its numerous compound words, is rendered much more expressive than ours. Hence it is that the German translations from the Greek are the most literal and the most vigorous, the German authors being enabled by their compound phrases often to give the exact sense in fewer words, which we would be forced to extend and weaken by the introduction of particles and helping verbs. The constant and skilful use which Schiller has made of these advantages of his language, forms an additional difficulty to his translator, a difficulty which our author has not been able to overcome; and while he has adhered to the measure of Schiller, he has certainly permitted great part of the poet's energy to escape him. One of the finest of Schiller's poems is the "Glock," or, as the translator makes it, "The Chiming of the Bell." Who but Schiller would have availed himself of the history of moulding a church bell to paint the course of life from infancy to the grave, with all its joys and sorrows. It were a hopeless attempt to give the English version of this production more than a faint glow of the fire which animates it, and we are inclined to believe that the translator would have succeeded better if he had thrown off the shackles of rhyme. What his version might then have wanted in smoothness would have been amply made up in truth and power. The labourers are supposed to beguile their work with soothing "roundelay," and thus proceeds the song:

What, deeply sunk in earthy chamber,

Our hands achieve, through might of flame,
Shall up to turret-aerie clamber,

And loudly of our feats proclaim ;—
-Endure it shall through many a morrow,
On many an ear its clamour light,

And chime in unison with sorrow,
And summon to devotion's rite ;-
-What silently, apart fulfilling,

The various fates of man prepare,

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