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style of Beppo and Don Juan--and not quite successfully attempted. Mr C. has no great turn for pleasantry; and no knack at all—and we are glad of it-at scorn and misanthropy.

The two following stanzas, which have nothing to do with the
story, are touching.
! I saw a pauper once, when I was young,

Borne to his shallow grave : the bearers trod
Smiling to where the death-bell heavily rung,

And soon his bones were laid beneath the sod:
On the rough boards the earth was gaily Aung :

Methought the prayer which gave him to his God
Was coldly said :—then all, passing away,
Left the scarce-coffin'd wretch to quick decay.
It was an autumn evening and the rain

Had ceased awhile, but the loud winds did shriek
And call’d the deluging tempest back again,

The flag-staff on the church-yard tow'r did creak,
And thro' the black clouds ran a lightning vein,

And then the flapping raven came to seek
Its home : its flight was heavy, and its wing

Seem'd weary with a long day's wandering.' p. 59.

The Falcon' is an exquisite imitation, or versification rather, of a beautiful and very characteristic story of Boccacio. Though thrown into a dramatic form, the greater part of it is a very literal version of the words of the original and the whole is perfectly faithful to its spirit. Nor do we remember to have seen any thing in English so well calculated to give a just idea of the soft and flowing style, and of the natural grace and pathos of that great master of modern literature. Then follow a number of little poems, songs, sonnets, and elegiesall elegant and fanciful. The following is entitled : Marcelia.'

It was a dreary place. The shallow brook
That ran throughout the wood there took a turn,
And widened : all its music died away,
And in the place a silent eddy told in
That there the stream grew deeper. : There dark trees
Funereal (cypres, yew, and shadowy pine,
And spicy cedar) clustered, and at night .
Shook from their melancholy branches sounds
And sighs like death : 'twas strange, for thro' the day
They stood quite motionless, and looked methought
Like monumental things which the sad earth
From its green bosom had cast out in pity, .
To mark a young girl's grave.

Never may net
Of venturous fisher be cast in with hope,

For not a fish abides there. The slim' deer
Snorts as he ruffles with his shorten'd breath
The brook, and panting flies the unholy place,
And the white heifer lows and passes on ;

The foaming hound laps not, and winter birds
Go higher up the stream. And yet I love
To loiter there : and when the rising moon
Flames down the avenue of pines, and looks
Red and dilated thro' the evening mists,
And chequered as the heavy branches sway
To and fro’ with the wind, I stay to listen,
And fancy to myself that a sad voice,
Praying, comes moaning thro' the leaves, as 'twere

For some misdeed.' pp. 102, 103. We may select the following, too, from a little fragment called · Portraits.'

• Behind her followed an Athenian dame,

(The pale and elegant Aspasia)
Like some fair marble carved by Phidias' hand,
And meant to imitate the nymph or muse.
Then came a dark-brow'd spirit, on whose head
Laurel and withering roses loosely hung ;
She held a harp, amongst whose chords her hand
Wandered for music and it came : She sang
A song despairing, and the whispering winds
Seem'd envious of her melody, and streamed
Amidst the wires to rival her, in vain.
Short was the strain, but sweet : Methought it spoke
Of broken hearts, and still and moonlight seas,
Of love, and loneliness, and fancy gone,
And hopes decay'd for ever : and my ear
Caught well remember'd names, · Leucadia's rock'
At times, and faithless Phaon :? Then the form
Pass'd not, but seem'd to melt in air away :
This was the Lesbian Sappho.
At last, came one whom none could e'er mistake .
Amidst a million : Egypt's dark-ey'd Queen :
The love, the spell, the bane of Antony.
O, Cleopatra! who shall speak of thee?
Gaily, but like the Empress of a land
Șhe nuov'd, and light as a wood nymph in her prime
And crown'd with costly gems, whose single price,
Might buy a kingdom, yet how dim they shone
Beneath the magic of her eye, whose beam
Flash'd love and languishment: Of varying humours
She seem'd, yet subtle in her wildest mood,
As guile were to her passions ministrant.

i her Tove with droops

At last she sank as dead. A noxious worm
Fed on those blue and wandering veins that lac'd
Her rising bosom : aye, did sleep upon
The pillow of Antony, and left behind,

In dark requital for its banquet-death.' pp. 105-107, The last poem, called · Diego de Montilla, is, like Gyges, an imitation of Don Juan--and is liable to the same remarks. It is the longest piece, we think, in the collection-extending to some eighty or ninety stanzas ;--and though it makes no great figure in the way of sarcasm, or lofty and energetic sentiment, it comes nearer perhaps than its immediate prototype to the weaker and more innocent pleasantry of the Italian ottava rime

—and may fairly match with either as to the better qualities of elegance, delicacy, and tenderness. There is, as usual, not much of a story. Don Diego falls in love with a scornful lady

and pines on her rejection of him; on which her younger sister falls secretly in love with him and when he sets out on his travels to forget his passion, droops and fades in his absence, and at last dies of a soft and melancholy decline. Diego returns to mourn over her; and, touched to the heart by her purc and devoted love, sequesters himself in his paternal castleand lives a few calm and pensive years in retirement, when he dies before middle age, for the sake of his faithful victim. There is no profligacy and no horror in all this no mockery of virtue and honour-and no strong mixtures of buffoonery and grandeur. Most certainly there is not any thing like the powerused or misused--that we have felt in other poems in the same measure; but there is nevertheless a great deal of beauty, and a great deal of poetry and pathos. We pass over the lighter parts, and come to the gentle decay of Aurora. • Oft would she sit and look upon the sky,

When rich clouds in the golden sun-set lay
Basking, and loved to hear the soft winds sigh

That come like music at the close of day
Trembling amongst the orange blooms, and die

As 'twere from very sweetness. She was gay,
Meekly and calmly gay, and then her gaze
Was brighter than belongs to dying days.
And on her young thin cheek a vivid Alush,

A clear transparent colour sate awhile:
'Twas like, a bard would say, the morning's blush,

And 'round her mouth there played a gentle smile,
Which tho' at first it might your terrors hush,

It could not, tho’ it strove, at last beguile;
And her hand shook, and then 'rose the blue vein.
Branching about in all its windings plain.

The girl was dying. Youth and beauty_all

Men love or women boast of was decaying,
And one by one life's finest powers did fall

Before the touch of death, who seem'd delaying,
As tho' he'd not the heart at once to call

The maiden to his home. At last, arraying
Himself in softest guise, he came : she sigh'd

And, smiling as tho' her lover whisper'd, died.' pp. 166, 167. Diego comes just after her death. " He saw her where she lay in silent state,

Cold and as white as marble : and her eye,
Whereon such bright and beaming beauty sate,

Was-after the fashion of mortality,
Closed up for ever; ev'n the smiles which late

None could withstand, were gone; and there did lie
(For he had drawn aside the shrouding veil,)

By her a helpless hand, waxen and pale.' pp. 168.
His agony is at first overpowering: But
! At last, a gentle melancholy grew,

And touch'd, like sorrow at its second stage,
His eye with languor, and contriv'd to strew

His hair with silver ere his middle age.
Some years he liv'd : he liv'd in solitude,

And scarcely quitted his ancestral home,
Tho' many a friend and many a lady wood

Of birth and beauty.
He grew familiar with the bird; the brute

Knew well its benefactor, and he'd feed
And make acquaintance with the fishes mute,

And, like the Thracian Shepherd as we read,
Drew, with the music of his stringed lute,

Behind him winged things, and many a tread
And tramp of animal : and in his hall ,
He was a Lord indeed, beloy'd by al}.
In a high solitary turret where

None were admitted would he muse, when first,
The young day broke, perhaps because he there

Had in his early infancy been nurs’d,
Or that he felt more pure the morning air,

Or lov’d to see the great Apollo burst
From out his cloudy bondage, and the night
Hurry away before the conquering light.
But oftener to a gentle lake that lay

Cradled within a forest's bosom, he
Would, shunning kind reproaches, steal away,

And, when the inland breeze was fresh and free,

There would he loiter all the livelong day,

Tossing upon the waters listlessly.
The swallow dash'd beside him, and the deer
Drank by his boat and eyed him without fear.
It was a soothing place : the summer hours

Pass'd there in quiet beauty, and at night
The moon ran searching thro' the woodbine bowers,

And shook o'er all the leaves her kisses bright,
O'er lemon blossoms and faint myrtle flowers,

And there the west wind often took his flight
When heaven's clear eye was closing, while above
Pale Hesper 'rose, the evening light of love.
He comes more lovely than the Hours: his look

Sheds calm refreshing light, and eyes that burn
With glancing at the sun's so radiant book,

Unto his softer page with pleasure turn:
'Tis like the murmur of some shaded brook,

Or the soft welling of a Naiad's urn,

After the sounding of the vast sea-waves.' pp. 170-174. We have quoted more of this than we intended, and must now turn us to our sterner work again. We hope, however, that this is not to be our last meeting with Mr Cornwall. . We are glad to see a new edition of his Dramatic Scenes advertised. We ought to have noticed that pleasing little volume beforeand should have made a few extracts from it here, if we had not mislaid our copy.--As it is, we can safely recommend it to all who are pleased with what has now been extracted.

Art. IX. 1. Remarks on the Report of the Select Committee

of the House of Commons on the Poor-Laws. By J. H. MogGRIDGE, Esq. Bristol, 1818. 2. Observations on the Circumstances which Influence the Condition of the Labouring Classes of Society. By John BARTON,

Esq. London, 1817.. 3. Observations on the Rise and Fall of the Manufacturing Sys

tem of Great Britain, 8c. London, 1819.

The industry of a great commercial country, is always lia

1 ble to temporary embarrassments, from changes in the or, dinary channels of trade, and from the varying demand for the products of its manufactures. But we believe that Great Britain, since the return of peace, affords the only instance of a regorgement being simultaneously felt in every employment in · which capital had been invested. The universality of the pre

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