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jest books, and hymns, and indelicate bal- Richard afterwards tells how he left the lads! The character of this woman is one sea and entered the army, and fought and of the many examples of talent and labour marched in the Peninsula; and how he came misapplied. It is very powerfully, and, we home and fell in love with a parson's daughdoubt not, very truly drawn—but it will ter, and courted and married her; and he attract few readers. Yet the story she is at tells it all very prettily,—and, moreover, that last brought to tell of her daughter will com- he is very happy, and very fond of his wife mand a more general interest.

and children. But we must now take the

Adelphi out of doors; and let them intro“ Ruth-I may tell, too oft had she been told !- duce some of their acquaintances. Among Was tall and fair, and comely to behold,

the first to whom we are presented are two Gentle and simple; in her native place Not one compared with her in form or face ;

sisters, still in the bloom of life, who had She was not merry, but she gave our hearth

been cheated out of a handsome independA cheerful spirit that was more than mirth. ence by the cunning of a speculating banker,

and deserted by their lovers in consequence “ There was a sailor boy, and people said

of this calamity. Their characters are drawn He was, as man, a likeness of ihe maid ; But not in this for he was ever glad,

with infinite skill and minuteness, and their While Ruth was apprehensive, mild, and sad."'.

whole story told with great feeling and

beauty;—but it is difficult to make extracis. They are betrothed—and something more The prudent suitor of the milder and than betrothed-when, on the eve of their more serious sister, sneaks pitifully away wedding-day, the youth is carried relent when their fortune changes. The bolder lessly off by a press-gang; and soon after lover of the more elate and gay, seeks to take is slain in battle!—and a preaching weaver a baser advantage. then woos, with nauseous perversions of

“ Then made he that attempt, in which to fail scripture, the loathing and widowed bride. This picture, too, is strongly drawn ;-but Then was there lightning in that eye that shed

Is shameful, --still more shameful to prevail. we hasten to a scene of far more power as Iis beams upon him,--and his frenzy fled; well as pathos. Her father urges her to wed Abject and irembling at her feet he laid, the missioned suitor; and she agrees to give Despis’d and scorn’d by the indignant maid, her answer on Sunday.

Whose spirits in their agitation rose,

Him, and her own weak pity, to oppose : 'She left her infant on the Sunday morn,

As liquid silver in the tube mounts high, A creature doom'd to shame! in sorrow born,

Then shakes and settles as the storm goes by!"-She came not home to share our humble meal,

The effects of this double trial on their Her father thinking what his child would feel From his hard sentence !-Still she came not home. different tempers are also very finely de. The night grew dark, and yet she was not come! scribed. The gentler Lucy is ihe most reThe east-wind roar'd, the sea return'd the sound, signed and magnanimous. The more aspiAnd the rain fell as if the world were drown'd:

ring Jane suffers far keener anguish and There were no lights without, and my good man, To kindness frighten'd, with a groan began

fiercer impatience; and the task of soothing To talk of Ruth, and pray! and then he took

and cheering her devolves on her generous The Bible down, and read the holy book; sister. Her fancy, too, is at times a little For he had learning : and when that was done touched by her afflictions—and she writes We sat in silence-whither could we run,

wild and melancholy verses. The wanderWe said—and then rush'd frighten'd from the door, ings of her reason are represented in a very For we could bear our own conceit no more : We callid on neighbours—there she had not been;

affecting manner;—but we rather choose to We met some wanderers-ours they had not seen; quote the following verses, which appear to We hurried o'er the beach, both north and south, us to be eminently beautiful, and makes us Then join'd. and wander'd to our haven's mouth: regret that Mr. Crabbe should have indulged Where rush'd the falling waters wildly out, us so seldom with those higher lyrical effu. I scarcely heard the good man's fearful shout,

sions.
Who saw a something on the billow ride,
And-Heaven have mercy on our sins! he cried, “Let me not have this gloomy view,
It is my child !--and to the present hour

About my room, around my bed!
So he believes-and spirits have the power!

But morning roses, wet with dew,

To cool my burning brows instead. " And she was gone! the waters wide and deep

Like flow'rs ihat once in Eden grew, Rollid o'er her body as she lay asleep!

Let them their fragrant spirits shed, She heard no more the angry waves and wind,

And every day the sweets renew,
She heard no more the threat'ning of mankind;

Till I, a fading flower, am dead!
Wrapt in dark weeds, the refuse of the storm,
To the hard rock was borne her comely form! “I'll have my grave beneath a hill,

Where only Lucy's self shall know; " But O! what storm was in that mind! what Where runs the pure pellucid rill strife,

Upon its gravelly bed below; That could compel her to lay down her life!

There violets on the borders hlow, For she was seen within the sea to wade,

And insects their soft light display, By one at distance, when she first had pray'd;

Till as the morning sunbeams glow,
Then to a rock within the bither shoal,

The cold phosphoric fires decay.
Softly, and with a fearsul step, she stole ;
Then, when she gain'd it, on the top she stood

“ There will the lark, the lamb, in sport, A moment still-and dropt into the flood !

In air, on earth, securely play, The man cried loudly, but he cried in vain,

And Lucy to my grave resort, She heard not then she never heard again!'

As innocent, but not so gay.

"O! take me from a world I hate,

part of his vow. Sir Owen, still mad for venMen cruel, selfish, sen-ual, cold;

geance, rages at the proposal; and, to confirm And, in some pure and blessed stare,

his relentless purpose, makes a visit to one, Lei me my sister minds behold: From gross and sordid views refin'd,

who had better cause, and had formerly exOur heaven of spoiless love to share, pressed equal thirst for revenge. This was For only generous souls design'd,

one of the higher class of his tenantry-an inAnd not a Man to meet us there." telligent, manly, good-humoured farmer, who

Vol. i. pp. 212--215. had married the vicar's pretty niece, and lived "The Preceptor Husband" is exceedingly in great comfort and comparative elegance, well managed—but is rather too facetious for till an idle youth seduced her from his arms, our present mood. The old bachelor, who and left him in rage and misery. It is here had been five times on the brink of matri- that the interesting part of the story begins; mony, is mixed up of sorrow and mirth ;- and few things can be more powerful or strik

Sir Owen but we cannot make room for any extracts, ing than the scenes that ensue. except the following inimitable description inquires whether he had found the objects of of the first coming on of old age,-though his just indignation. He at first evades the we feel assured, somehow, that this mali- question; but at length opens his heart, and cious observer has mistaken the date of these tells him all. We can afford to give but a ugly symptoms; and brought them into view small part of the dialogue. nine or ten, or, at all events, six or seven years

"• Twice the year came roundtoo early.

Years hateful now-ere I my victims found :

But I did find them, in the dungeon's gloom "Six years had pass'd, and forty ere the six, Of a small garrel--a precarious home; When Time began to play his usual tricks! The roof, unceil'd in patches, gave the snow The locks once comely in a virgin's sighi, (white; Entrance within, and there were heaps below; Locks of pure brow'n, display'd th' encroaching I pass'd a narrow region dark and cold, The blood once fervid now to cool began,

The strait of stairs to that infectious hold; And Time's strong pressure to subdue the man: And, when I enter'd, misery met my view I rode or walk'd as I was wont before,

In every shape she wears, in every hue, But now the bounding spirit was no more ;

And the bleak icy blast across the dungeon flew. A moderate pace would now my body heat, There frown'd the ruin'd walls that once were white; A walk of nioderate lengin distress my feet. There gleam'd the panes that once admitted light; I show'd my stranger-gues! those hills sublime, There lay unsavory scraps of wretched food; But said, the view is poor, we need not clinb!' And there a measure, void of fuel, stood. At a friend's mansion I began to dread

But who shall, part by part, describe the state The cold neat parlour, and the gay glazed bed ; Of these, thus follow'd by relentless fate ? At home I feli a more decided tasse,

All, too, in winter, when the icy air And must have all things in my order placed ; Breathed its black venom on the guilty pair. I ceas'd to hunt; my horses pleased me less, My dinner more! I learn'd to play at chess; "And could you know the miseries they endur'd, I took my dog and gun, but saw the brule The poor, uncertain pittance they procur’d; Was disappointed that I did not shool;

When, laid aside the needle and the

pen, My morning walks I now could bear to lose, Their sickness won the neighbours of their den, And bless'd the shower that gave me not to choose : Poor as they are, and they are passing poor, In fact, I felt a lanyour stealing on;

To lend some aid to those who needed more! The active arm, the agile band were gone ; Then, ton, an ague with the winter came, Small daily actions into habits grew,

And in this state that wise I cannot name! And new dislike to forms and fashions new;

Brought forth a famish'd child of suffering and of I lov'd my trees in order to dispose,

shame! I number'd peaches, look'd how stocks arose, Told the same story ofl-in short, began to prose." Where all was desolate, defiled, unclean, (scene,

"• This had you known, and traced them to this Vol. i. pp. 260, 261.

A fireless room, and, where a fire had place, "The Maid's Story” is rather long—though You must have felt a part of the distress,

The blast loud howling down the emply space, it has many passages that must be favourites Forgot your wrongs, and made their suffering less ! with Mr. Crabbe's admirers. “Sir Owen Dale” is too long also; but it is one of the best The sight was loathsome, and the smell was faint ;

" • In that vile garret—which I cannot paint in the collection, and must not be discussed And there that wise, -whom I had lov'd so well, 80 shortly. Sir Owen, a proud, handsome And thought so happy! was condemn’d to dwell ; man, is left a widower at forty-three, and is The gay, the grateful wife, whom I was glad soon after jilted by a young lady of iwenty; To see in dress beyond our station clad, who, after amusing herself by encouraging his And

behold among our neighbours, fine, assiduities, at last meets his long-expected And now among her neighbours 10 explore,

More than perhaps became a wife of mine : declaration with a very innocent surprise at And see her poorest of the very poor! finding her familiarity with such an old There she reclin’d unmov’d, her bosom bare friend of her father's so strangely miscon- To her companion's unimpassion?d stare, strued! The knight, of course, is furious ;

And my wild wonder: -Seat of virtue! chaste and, to revenge himself, looks out for a hand- As lovely once! O! how wert thou disgracd! some young nephew, whom he engages to lay Lay the wan features of a famish'd child ;

l'pon that breast, by sordid rags defild, siege to her, and, after having won her affec- That sin-born babe in utter misery laid, tions, to leave her,-as he had been left. The Too feebly wretched even to cry for aid; lad rashly engages in the adventure ; but soon The ragged sheering, o'er her person drawn, finds his pretended passion turning into a real Serv'd for the dress that hunger placed in pawn. one—and entreats his uncle, on whom he is". At the bed's feet the man reclin’d his frame: dependent, to release him from the unworthy | Their chairs had perish'd 10 support the flame

That warm'd his agued limbs; and, sad to see, That evening all in fond discourse was spent; That shook him fiercely as he gaz'd on me, &c. Till the sad lover to his chamber went, (pent!

To think on what had past, -to grieve and to re"She had not food, nor aught a mother needs, Early he rose, and lookid with many a sigh Who for another life, and dearer, feeds :

On the red light that fill'd the eastern sky;
I saw her speechless ; on her wither'd breast Oft had he stood before, alert and gay,
The wither'd child extended, but not prest,

To hail the glories of ihe new-born day :
Who sought, with moving lip and feeble cry, But now dejected, languid, lisiless, low,
Vain instinct! for the fount without supply. He saw the wind upon the water blow,
"Sure it was all a grievous, odious scene,

And the cold stream curl'd onward, as the gale Where all was dismal, melancholy, mean,

From the pine-hill blew harshly down the dale; Foul with compellid neglect, unwholesome, and with all its dark intensity of shade;

On the right side the youth a wood survey’d, unclean; That arm—that eye—the cold, the sunken cheek- In this, the pause of nature and of love;

Where the rough wind alone was heard to move, Spoke all !-Sir Owen-fiercely miseries speak!!

When now ihe young are rear'd, and when the old, ". And you reliev'd ?'

Lost to the tie, grow negligent and cold.

Far to the left he saw the huts of men, “If hell's seducing crew Half bid in mist, that hung upon the fen; Had seen that sight, they must have pitied too.' Before him swallow's, gathering for the sea,

Took their short flighis, and I wilier'd on the lea; " Revenge was thine-thou hadst the power-the And near, the bean-sheaf stood, the harvest done, right;

And slowly blacken'd in the sickly sun! To give it up was Heav'n's own act to slight.' All these were sad in nature; or they took ". Tell me not, Sir, of rights, and wrongs, or And of his mind-he ponder'd for a while,

Sadness from him, the likeness of his look, powers! I felt it written-Vengeance is not ours!!

Then met his Fanny with a borrow'd smile.”

Vol. ij. pp. 84, 85. "Then did you freely from your soul forgive ?

The moral autumn is quite as gloomy, and "Sure as I hope before my Judge to live, far more hopeless. Sure as I trust his mercy to receive,

"The Natural Death of Love” is perhaps Sure as his word I honour and believe, Sure as the Saviour died upon the tree

the best written of all the pieces before us. For all who sin--for that dear wretch, and me

It consists of a very spirited dialogue between Whom, never more on earth, will I forsake-or see!' a married pair, upon the causes of the differ“Sir Owen softly to his bed adjourn'd!

ence between the days of marriage and those Sir Owen quickly to his home return'd;

of courtship ;-in which the errors and faults And all the way he meditating dwelt

of both parties, and the petulance, impatience, On what this man in his affliction felt;

and provoking acuteness of the lady, with the How he, resenting first, forbore, forgave;

more reasonable and reflecting, but somewhat Plis passion's lord, and not his anger's slave."

insulting manner of the gentleman, are all Vol. ii. pp. 36–16.

exhibited to the life; and with more uniform We always quote too much of Mr. Crabbe: delicacy and finesse than is usual with the

author. -perhaps because the pattern of his arabesque is so large, that there is no getting a fair speci

“ Lady Barbara, or the Ghost," is a long men of it without taking in a good space. story, and not very pleasing. A fair widow But we must take warning this time, and for- had been warned, or supposed she had been bear—or at least pick out but a few little warned, by the ghost of a beloved brother, morsels as we pass hastily along.

One of the that she would be miserable if she contracted best managed of all the tales is that entitled a second marriage—and then, some fifteen - Delay has Danger;"—which contains a very years after, she is courted by the son of a full, true, and particular account of the way reverend priest, to whose house she had rein which a weakish, but well meaning young

tired—and upon whom, during all the years man, engaged on his own suit to a very amia- of his childhood, she had lavished the cares ble girl, may be seduced, during her unlucky of a mother. She long resists his unnatural absence, to entangle himself with a far in- passion; but is at length subdued by his urferior person, whose chief seduction is her gency and youthful beauty, and gives him her apparent humility and devotion to him. hand. There is something rather disgusting,

We cannot give any part of the long and we think, in this fiction—and certainly the finely converging details by which the catas- worthy lady could not have taken no way so trophe is brought about: But we are tempted likely to save the ghost's credit, as by enterto venture on the catastrophe itself, for the ing into such a marriage and she confessed sake chiefly of the right English, melancholy, as much, it seems, on her deathbed. autumnal landscape, with which it con

“ The Widow,'' with her three husbands, is cludes:

not quite so lively as the wife of Bath with

her five ;-but it is a very amusing, as well as " In that weak moment, when disdain and pride, And fear and fondness, drew the man aside,

a very instructive legend; and exhibits a rich In that weak moment Wilt thou,' he began,

variety of those striking intellectual portraits • Be mine?' and joy o'er all her features ran;

which mark the hand of our poetical Rem"I will!' she sofily whisper'd; but the roar

brandt. The serene close of her eventful Of cannon would not strike his spirit more! life is highly exemplary. After carefully colEvin as his lips the lawless contract seal'd lecting all her dowers and jointuresHe felt ihat conscience lost her seven-fold shield, And honour fed; but still he spoke of love;

The widow'd lady to her cot resir’d: And all was joy in the consenting dove !

And there she lives, delighted and admir'd!

Shalt cry,

Civil to all, compliant and polite,

Here, on this lawn, thy boys and girls shall run, Dispos'd to think, whatever is, is right.' And play their gambols, when their tasks are done ; Al home awhile-she in the autumn finds

There, from that window, shall their mother view The sea an object for reflecting minds,

The happy tribe, and smile at all they do; And change for tender spirits : There she reads, While thou, more gravely, hiding thy delight, And weeps in comfort, in her graceful weeds !"

"O! childish !” and enjoy the sight!'” Vol. ii. p. 213.

Vol. ii. p. 352. The concluding tale is but the end of the We shall be abused by our political and visit to the Hall, and the settlement of the fastidious readers for the length of this article. younger brother near his senior, in the way But we cannot repent of it. It will give as we have already mentioned. It contains no much pleasure, we believe, and do as much great matter, but there is so much good na- good, as many of the articles that are meant ture and goodness of heart about it, that we for their gratification; and, if it appear absurd cannot resist the temptation of gracing our to quote so largely from a popular and accesexit with a bit of it. After a little raillery, sible work, it should be remembered, that no the elder brother says

work of this magnitude passes into circulation

with half the rapidity of our Journal--and "We part no more, dear Richard! Thou wilt that Mr. Crabbe is so unequal a writer, and need

at times so unattractive, as to require, more Thy brother's help to teach thy boys to read;

than any other of his degree, some explanaAnd I should love to hear Matilda's psalm,

tion of his system, and some specimens of To keep my spirit in a morning calm, And feel the soft devotion that prepares

his powers, from those experienced and inThe soul to rise above its earthly cares ;

trepid readers whose business it is to pioneer Then thou and I, an independent two,

for the lazier sort, and to give some account May have our parties, and defend them too; of what they are to meet with on their journey. Thy liberal notions, and my loyal fears, Will give us subjects for our future years;

To be sure, all this is less necessary now than

it was on 'Mr. Crabbe's first re-appearance We will for iruth alone contend and read, And our good Jaques shall o'ersee our creed.'" nine or ten years ago; and though it may not

Vol. ii. pp. 348, 349. be altogether without its use even at present, And then, after leading him up to his new rather consulted our own gratification than

it may be as well to confess, that we have purchase, he adds eagerly

our readers' improvement, in what we have Alight, my friend, and come,

now said of him; and hope they will forgive I do beseech thee, to that proper home!

us.

(August, 1820.) 1. Endymior: a Poetic Romance. By John Keats. 8vo. pp. 207. London : 1818. 2. Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes, and other Poems. By John Keats, author of

Endymion.12mo. pp. 200. London : 1820.* We had never happened to see either of indeed, bear evidence enough of the fact: the se volumes till very lately—and have been They are full of extravagance and irreguexceedingly struck with the genius they dis- larity, rash attempts at originality, interminplay, and the spirit of poetry which breathes able wanderings, and excessive obscurity. through all their extravagance. That imita. They manifestly require, therefore, all the intion of our old writers, and especially of our dulgence that can be claimed for a first atolder dramatists, to which we cannot help tempt :-But we think it no less plain that flattering ourselves that we have somewhat they deserve it: For they are flushed all over contributed, has brought on, as it were, a with the rich lights of fancy; and so coloured second spring in our poetry ;-and few of its and bestrewn with the flowers of poetry, that blossoms are either more profuse of sweet- even while perplexed and bewildered in their ness, or richer in promise, than this which is labyrinths, it is impossible to resist the intoxinow before us. Mr. Keats, we understand, is cation of their sweetness, or to shut our hearts still a very young man; and his whole works, to the enchantments they so lavishly present.

The models upon which he has formed himI still think that a poet of great power and self, in the Endymion, the earliest and by promise was lost to us by the premature death of much the most considerable of his poems, are keals, in the twenty-fifth year of his age; and regret that I did not go more largely into the exposi- obviously The Faithful Shepherdess of Fletchtion of his merits, in the slight notice of them, er, and the Sad Shepherd of Ben Jonson ;which I now venture to reprint. But though I can. the exquisite metres and inspired diction of not, with propriety, or without departing from the which he has copied with great boldness and principle which must govern this republication, now fidelity-and, like his great originals, has also supply this omission, I hope to be forgiven for contrived to impart to the whole piece that having added a page or two to the citalions, -by which my opinion of those meriis was then illus- true rural and poetical air-which breathes trated, and is again left to the judgment of the reader. I only in them, and in Theocritus—which is at

That warm'd his agued limbs; and, sad to see, " That evening all in fond discourse was spent; That shook him fiercely as he gaz'd on me, &c. Till the sad lover to his chamber went, (pent!

To think on what had past,-to grieve and to re" "She had not food, nor aught a mother needs, Early he rose, and look'd with many a sigh Who for another life, and dearer, feeds :

On the red light that fillid the eastern sky;
I saw her speechless ; on her wither'd breast Oft had he stood before, alert and gay,
The wither'd child extended, but not prest,

To hail the glories of the new-born day :
Who sought, with moving lip and feeble cry, But now dejected, languid, listless, low,
Vain instinct! for the fount without supply.

He saw the wind upon the water blow, "Sure it was all a grievous, odious scene,

And the cold stream curld onward, as the gale Where all was dismal, melancholy, mean,

From the pine-hill blew harshly down the dale; Foul with compellid neglect, unwholesome, and With all its dark intensiiy of shade ;

On the right side the youth a wood survey'd, unclean ; That arm—that eye-the cold, the sunken cheek- In this, the pause of nature and of love ;

Where the rough wind alone was heard to move, Spoke all !--Sir Owen-fiercely miseries speak !!

When now ihe young are rear’d, and when the old, "And you reliev'd ?'

Lost to the lie, grow negligent and cold.

Far to the left he saw the huts of men, 11. If hell's seducing crew Half hid in mist, that hung upon the fen; Had seen that sight, they must have pitied too.' Before him swallows, gathering for the sea, " " Revenge was thine—thou hadst the power-the And near, the bean-sheaf stood, the harvest done,

Took their short flighis, and iwiller'd on the lea; right;

And slowly blacken'd in the sickly sun! To give it up was Heav'n's own act to slight.'

All these were sad in nature; or they took "Tell me not, Sir, of rights, and wrongs, or

Sadness from him, the likeness of his look,

And of his mind-he ponder'd for a while, powers ! I felt it written-Vengeance is not ours!:

Then met his Fanny with a borrow'd smile.”

Vol. ij. pp. 84, 85. "" • Then did you freely from your soul forgive ?'—

The moral autumn is quite as gloomy, and "'Sure as I hope before my Judge to live, far more hopeless. Sure as I trust his mercy to receive,

"The Natural Death of Love" is perhaps Sure as his word I honour and believe, Sure as the Saviour died upon the tree

the best written of all the pieces before us. For all who sin--for that dear wreich, and me- It consists of a very spirited dialogue between Whom, never more on earth, will I forsake-or see!'a married pair, upon the causes of the differ“Sir Owen softly to his bed adjourn'd!

ence between the days of marriage and those Sir Owen quickly to his home return'd;

of courtship;-in which the errors and faults And all the way he meditating dwelt

of both parties, and the petulance, impatience, On what this man in his affliction felt;

and provoking acuteness of the lady, with the How he, resenting first, forbore, forgave;

more reasonable and reflecting, but somewhat His passion's lord, and not his anger's slave."

insulting manner of the gentleman, are all Vol. ï. pp. 36–16.

exhibited to the life; and with more uniform We always quote too much of Mr. Crabbe: delicacy and finessé than is usual with the - perhaps because the pattern of his arabesque author. is so large, that there is no getting a fair speci

“ Lady Barbara, or the Ghost," is a long men of it without taking in a good space. story, and not very pleasing. A fair widow But we must take warning this time, and for- had been warned, or supposed she had been bear-or at least pick out but a few little warned, by the ghost of a beloved brother

, morsels as we pass hastily along. One of the that she would be miserable if she contracted best managed of all the tales is that entitled a second marriage—and then, some fifteen full, true, and particular account of the way tired—and upon whom, during all the years " Delay has Danger;"? — which contains a very years after, she is courted by the son of a

reverend priest, to whose house she had rein which a weakish, but well meaning young man, engaged on his own suit to a very amia- of his childhood, she had lavished the cares ble girl, may be seduced, during her unlucky of a mother. She long resists his unnatural absence, to entangle himself with a far in- passion; but is at length subdued by his urferior person, whose chief seduction is her gency and youthful beauty, and gives him her

hand. There is something rather disguisting, apparent humility and devotion to him.

We cannot give any part of the long and we think, in this fiction—and certainly the finely converging details by which the catas- worthy lady could not have taken no way s trophe is brought about: But we are tempted likely to save the ghost's credit, as by enterto venture on the catastrophe itself, for the ing into such a marriage-and she confessed sake chiefly of the right English, melancholy, as much, it seems, on her deathbed. autumnal landscape, with which it con

“ The Widow," with her three husbands, is cludes:

not quite so lively as the wife of Bath with

her five;—but it is a very amusing, as well as “In that weak moment, when disdain and pride,

a very instructive legend; and exhibits a rich And fear and fondness, drew the man aside, In that weak moment. Wilt thou,' he began,

variety of those striking intellectual portraits * Be mine ?' and joy o'er all her features ran;

which mark the hand of our poetical Rem'I will!' she softly whisper'd; but the roar

brandt. The serene close of her eventful Of cannon would not strike his spirit more! life is highly exemplary. After carefully colEv'n as his lips the lawless contract seal'd lecting all her dowers and jointuresHe felt that conscience lost her seven-fold shield, And honour fled; but still he spoke of love ; “The widow'd lady to her cot retir’d: And all was joy in the consenting dove!

And there she lives, delighted and admir'd!

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