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There came, falling in with it, each in the last,
Flageolets one by one, and flutes blowing more fast,
And hautboys and clarinets, acrid of reed,

And the violin, smoothlier sustaining the speed
As the rich tempest gathered, and buz-ringing moons
Of tambours, and huge basses, and giant bassoons;
And the golden trombonë, that darteth its tongue
Like a bee of the gods; nor was absent the gong,
Like a sudden fate-bringing oracular sound
Of earth's iron genius, burst up from the ground,
A terrible slave come to wait on his masters
The gods, with exultings that clanged like disasters;
And then spoke the organs, the very gods they,
Like thunders that roll on a wind-blowing day;
And, taking the rule of the roar in their hands,
Lo! the Genii of Music came out of all lands;
And one of them said, “ Will my lord tell his slave
What concert 'twould please his Firesideship to have?"

Then I said, in a tone of immense will and pleasure,
"Let orchestras rise to some exquisite measure;
And let their be lights and be odours; and let

The lovers of music serenely be set;

And then, with their singers in lily-white stoles,

And themselves clad in rose-colour, fetch me the souls

Of all the composers accounted divinest,

And, with their own hands, let them play me their finest."

Then, lo! was performed my immense will and pleasure,
And orchestras rose to an exquisite measure;

And lights were about me and odours; and set
Were the lovers of music, all wondrously met;
And then, with their singers in lily-white stoles,

And themselves clad in rose-colour, in came the souls

Of all the composers accounted divinest,

And, with their own hands, did they play me their finest

Oh! truly was Italy heard then, and Germany,

Melody's heart, and the rich brain of harmony;

Pure Paisiello, whose airs are as new

Though we know them by heart, as May-blossoms and de And nature's twin son, Pergolesi; and Bach,

Old father of fugues, with his endless fine talk;

And Gluck, who saw gods; and the learned sweet feeling
Of Haydn; and Winter, whose sorrows are healing;
And gentlest Corelli, whose bowing seems made
For a hand with a jewel; and Handel, arrayed
In Olympian thunders, vast lord of the spheres,
Yet pious himself, with his blindness in tears,

A lover withal, and a conqueror, whose marches

Bring demi-gods under victorious arches ;

Then Arne, sweet and tricksome; and masterly Purcell,
Lay-clerical soul; and Mozart universal,

But chiefly with exquisite gallantries found,
With a grove in the distance of holier sound;
Nor forgot was thy dulcitude, loving Sacchini;
Nor love, young and dying, in shape of Bellini ;
Nor Weber, nor Himmel, nor Mirth's sweetest name,
Cimarosa; much less the great organ-voiced fame
Of Marcello, that hushed the Venetian sea;

And strange was the shout, when it wept, hearing thee,
Thou soul full of grace as of grief, my heart-cloven,
My poor, my most rich, my all-feeling Beethoven.
O'er all, like a passion, great Pasta was heard,
As high as her heart, that truth-uttering bird;
And Banti was there; and Grassini, that goddess!
Dark, deep-toned, large, lovely, with glorious boddice;
And Mara; and Malibran, stung to the tips

Of her fingers with pleasure; and rich Fodor's lips
And, manly in face as in tone, Angrisani;

And Naldi, thy whim; and thy grace, Tramezzani ;
And was it a voice?-or what was it?-say-
That, like a fallen angel beginning to pray,
Was the soul of all tears and celestial despair!
Paganini it was, 'twixt his dark-flowing hair.

So now we had instrument, now we had song-
Now chorus, a thousand-voiced one-hearted throng;
Now pauses that pampered resumption, and now—
But who shall describe what was played us, or how?
"Twas wonder, 'twas transport, humility, pride;
"Twas the heart of the mistress that sat by one's side;
'Twas the graces invisible, moulding the air

Into all that is shapely, and lovely, and fair,

And running our fancies their tenderest rounds

Of endearments and luxuries, turned into sounds;

'Twas argument even, the logic of tones;

"Twas memory, 'twas wishes, 'twas laughters, 'twas moans;

"Twas pity and love, in pure impulse obeyed;

"Twas the breath of the stuff of which passion is made.

And these are the concerts I have at my will;

Then dismiss them, and patiently think of your "bill.”-
(Aside) Yet Lablache, after all, makes me long to go, still.

Leigh Hunt died, at the age of seventy-five, in 1859,-the last survivor, although the earliest born, of the four poets, with the

other three of whom he had been so intimately associated, and the living memory of whom he thus carried far into another time, indeed across an entire succeeding generation.* To the last, even in outward form, he forcibly recalled Shelley's fine picture of him in his Elegy on Keats, written nearly forty years before :

"What softer voice is hushed over the dead?

Athwart what brow is that dark mantle thrown?
What form leans sadly o'er the white death-bed,

In mockery of monumental stone,

The heavy heart heaving without a moan?

If it be he, who, gentlest of the wise,

Taught, soothed, loved, honoured the departed one;

Let me not vex, with inharmonious sighs,

The silence of that heart's accepted sacrifice."

OTHER POETICAL WRITERS OF THE EARLIER PART OF THE
NINETEENTH CENTURY.

The names that have been mentioned are the chief of those belonging, wholly or principally, to the earlier part of the present century, or to that remarkable literary era which may be regarded as having expired with the reign of the last of the Georges. Many others, however, also brighten this age of our poetical literature, which cannot be here enlarged upon, and some of which, indeed, have been already noticed:-Samuel Rogers, whose first publication, as has been recorded in a preceding page, appeared so long ago as the year 1786, and who died, at the age of ninety-two, only in 1855, after having produced his Pleasures of Memory in 1792, his Human Life in 1819, and his Italy in 1822, all characterized by a spirit of pensive tenderness, as well as by high finish; the Reverend W. Lisle Bowles, who, born in 1762, lived till 1850, and whose Fourteen Sonnets, his first publication, which appeared in 1793, were regarded alike by Coleridge, by Wordsworth, and by Southey, as having not only materially contributed to mould their own poetry, but heralded or even kindled the dawn of

*Hunt-Byron-Shelley-Keats, born in that order (in 1784, 1788, 1793, and 1796), died in exactly the reverse, and also at ages running in a series contrary throughout to that of their births;-Keats, at 25, in 1821,-- Shelley, at 29, in 1822,-Byron, at 36, in 1824,-Hunt, at 75, in 1859.

a new poetic day; Charles Lamb (b. 1775, d. 1835), whose earliest verses were published in 1797, at Bristol, along with those of their common friend Charles Lloyd, in the second edition of Coleridge's Poems (of which the first edition had appeared at London in the preceding year); the Rev. William Sotheby, whose translation of Wieland's Oberon, which appeared in 1798, was followed by a long succession of other works, both in rhyme and in blank verse, including translations of Virgil's Georgics and of the two great Homeric epics, and all distinguished by the combination of a flowing ease with a scholarly correctness, coming down to his death, at the age of seventy-seven, in 1833; Henry Kirke White, who, after putting forth some blossoms of fancy of considerable promise, was cut off, in his twenty-first year, in 1806; James Montgomery (b. 1771, d. 1854), whose Wanderer of Switzerland (1806), West Indies (1810), World before the Flood (1813), Greenland (1819), and Pelican Island (1827), with many minor pieces, always satistying us by their quiet thoughtfulness and simple grace, made him with a large class of readers the most acceptable poetical writer of his time; Bernard Barton, the Quaker poet, whose first volume of verse, not of a striking character, but yet not wanting either in cordiality of feeling or grace of manner, appeared in 1820; James Grahame (b. 1765, d. 1811), best known as the author of The Sabbath, originally published without his name in 1804, but whose Birds of Scotland, which followed in 1806, and his British Georgics in 1809, have also been highly praised for the truth and vividness, though in a style simple sometimes to homeliness, of their pictures of natural objects and scenery,-among others, James Montgomery going so far as to declare that, although his readers may be few, yet "whoever does read him will probably be oftener surprised into admiration than in the perusal of any one of his contemporaries;" John Leyden, whose philological as well as poetic ardour, and sudden extinction in the midst of his career (at Batavia, in 1811, at the age of thirty-six), have been sung by Scott :

Quenched is that lamp of varied lore,
That loved the light of song to pour;

A distant and a deadly shore

Has Leyden's cold remains :

:

the Rev. Charles Wolfe (b. 1791, d. 1823), an Irishman, the writer of the famous lines on the death of Sir John Moore, first

given to the world in 1817; Reginald Heber, whose fine prize poem of Palestine was produced in 1803, and who held the bishopric of Calcutta from 1823 till his lamented death, at the age of forty-three, in 1826; the Hon. and Rev. William Herbert (b. 1778, d. 1847), whose elegant and spirited Translations from the Norse appeared in 1806, and his original poems of Helga and Attila in 1815 and 1838; Robert Bloomfield (b. 1766, d. 1823), the self-taught author of The Farmer's Boy, first published in 1798, and of other pieces full of truth to nature and also not without something of conventional cultivation; John Clare, the Northamptonshire peasant, born in 1793, whose first volume of Poems descriptive of Rural Life and Scenery appeared in 1820, and his Village Minstrel and other Poems, in two volumes, the year following, showing less indebtedness to books and more originality than Bloomfield; Hector M'Neill (b. 1746, d. 1818), who wrote only in his native Scottish dialect, but acquired great popularity among his countrymen, more especially by his Will and Jean, first published in 1795; Robert Tannahill (b. 1774, d. 1810), some of whose Scottish songs have almost the sweetness and pathos, though none of the fire, of those of Burns; James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd, as he was commonly called (b. 1772, d. 1835), who first made himself known by a volume of poems published in 1801, from which date his irregular but affluent and vigorous genius continued to pour forth both verse and prose at an accelerating rate as long as he lived, and whose Queen's Wake, produced in 1813, would, if he had never written anything else, have placed him perhaps at the head of the second or merely imitative class of the uneducated poets of Scotlandfar, indeed, below Burns, but above Allan Ramsay; his countryman Allan Cunningham (b. 1784, d. 1842), the author of many clever songs, also, however, all of an imitative character, as well as an expert and voluminous writer in prose; William Tennant (b. 1774, d. 1848), another Scotsman, whose bright and airy Anster Fair appeared in 1812; John Wilson (b. 1788, d. 1855), the renowned Christopher North of Blackwood's Magazine, whose potent pen was wielded chiefly in prose eloquence, of every variety, from the most reckless comedy and satire to the loftiest heights of description, criticism, and declamatory denunciation, but who first became known by his two poems of The Isle of Palms, published in 1812, and The City of the Plague, in 1816, both rich in passages of tender and dreamy beauty; the late Lord

VOL. II.

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