Ex Libris C. K. OGDEN t KOTTABOS. i DUBLIN P3RTEOU3 AND GIBBS PRINTERS 18 WICKLOW STREET EDITED BY ROBERT YELVERTON TYRRELL, FELLOW OF TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN. SECOND VOLUME. I7o\i9 Be Korrdficav apcfy/io? aiv, Eur. Pleisth. DUBLIN: WILLIAM M C GEE, 18 NASSAU STREET, LONDON : GEORGE BELL AND SONS. I8 77 . Stack Annex V.3L KOTTABISTAI. A. ... SAMUEL ALLEN. R. A. ... ROBERT ATKINSON. V. B. ... VAUGHAN BOULGER. B. ... T. J. B. BRADY. R. W. B. ... ROBERT W. BUCKLEY. W. H. B. ... WALTER HUSSEY BURGH. H. J. C. ... HARTLEY JAMES CARMICHAEL. B. AT. C. and B. C. BRABAZON M. CASEMENT. R. H. C. ... RICHARD HENN COLLINS, T. J. C. ... THOMAS J. CORR. W. F. C, ... W. F. COSGRAVE. S. K. C, ... SAMUEL KENNEDY COWAN. J. A. C, ... JOHN A. CROSS. H. C. ... HASTINGS CROSSLEY. C. ... MAX CULLINAN. J. F. D. ... JOHN FLETCHER DAVIES. A. A. D. ... ARTHUR A. DAWSON. H. J. DE B. ... HUBERT J. DE BURGH. E. D. ... EDWARD DOWDEN. C. \V. D. ... CHARLES W. DRURY. F. ... WILLIAM FITZGERALD. W. W. F. ... WILLIAM W. FLEMYNG. W. E. G. ... WILLIAM E. GABBETT. A. P. G. ... ALFRED P. GRAVES. G. A. G. ... G. A. GREENE. W. B. G. ... W. B. GREER. G. ... JOHN GWYNN. H. C. H. ... HENRY CHICHESTER HART. H. M. H. ... HENRY MARMADUKE HEWITT. A. J. H. ... ARTHUR J. HUNTER. H. T. J. ... H.T.JAMES. G. H. J. ... G. H. JESSOP. J. F. K. C. H. K. L. W. K. H. B. L. amfE. L.... R. F. L. G. A. M. T. M. J. M. and T. R. H. M. J. G. M. W. M. M. C. P. M. J. O'H. A. B. O. n P. O'C. P. P. S. P. A. P. A. J. P. A. W. Q. JOHN F. KEATING. CHARLES H. KEENE. LUCAS W. KING. HENRY BROUGHAM LEECH. R. F. LlTTLEDALE. GEORGE A. MAHON. THOMAS MAGUIRE. JOHN HARTLEY. ROBERT H. HARTLEY. J. G. HEYER. WILLIAM MOORE MORGAN. CHARLES PELHAM HULVANY. JOHN O'HAGAN. A. BARRINGTON ORR. ARTHUR PALMER. PHILIP O'CARROLL PATMAN. PERCY SOMERS PAYNE. SIR ALFRED POWER, C.B. ARNOLD J. POWER. ALBERT W. QUILL. E. R. ... EDWARD STANLEY ROBERTSON, T. W. H. R. and T. W. R. THOMAS W. H. ROLLESTON. A. M. S. J. A. S. S. S. J.T. T. W. G. T. J.V. J. F. W. W. R. W. W. O. F. O'F. W. W. W. C. K. W. G. W. W. W. ALBERT MAXIMILIAN SELSS. J. A. SHARKEY. STANLEY SHAW. JOHN TODHUNTER. ROBERT YELVERTON TYRRELL. WILLIAM GERALD TYRRELL. JOHN VERSCHOYLE. JOHN F. WALLER. THOMAS E. WEBB. RICHARD WHATELEY WEST. OSCAR WILDE. WILLIAM WILDE. GEORGE WILKINS. WILLIAM WILKINS. CORRIGENDA IN VOL. II. PAGE LINK / 7 tr I 3. 7,8 27 43. 21 d.? . TO supervacaneum under 11 1Q e Ot 2O Vo O1 21 yo 171 ... ://-. who makes his dwelling read a.rrti'x.fx.pi^vr^. I could swear. dulcedine. supervacaneum. nothing. numina. career. sive. , sine. 239 20 286 ... 12 287 ... 25 290 ... extt 293 4 293 9 293 M 293 ... 22 296 ... 296 ... I 296 ... e%h 301 ... 29 304 ... 12 305 27 305 28 307 ... J 3 place knew dythyrambic peunis scull quiden Hand hand inbebas Transpose the two couplets by Schiller. i For urtheil read Urtheil. whose chosen temple is. know. dithyrambic. pennis. skull, quidem. Hand, haud. iubebas. e%tr. mann your hypocondriacal custor suam Mann. you're. hypochondrical. custos. suum. 13 Apicus ..................... Apicius. (FROM THE ANTHOLOGY.) .. HERE 'neath the sod thy lowly couch is spread, I give thee tears I cannot give thee more 'Tis all that 's left for Love to give the dead Tears that are wrung from out my very core ! And on thy much-lamented tomb I pour Libations drawn from Sorrow's fountain-head, In memory of the love thou gav*st of yore Love that still haunts my soul tho 5 thou art fled ! Piteously, oh piteously, for thee I make my moan vain tribute to thy shade ! Where, where is the young branch that deck'd my tree ? Death pluck'd it pluck'd it ! Low my flower is laid Laid in the dust ! Oh, softly let her rest Within thine arms, O Earth, and clasp her to thy breast ! W. ON AN "AIR WITH VARIATIONS." f PARE, EXECUTION ! spare thy Victim's bones, ) Composed by Mozart decomposed by Jones. J. M. |)r0I00 im Jpmmel. DIE DREI ERZENGEL TRETEN VOR. RAPHAEL. IE Sonne tont nach alter Weise In Bruderspharen Wettgesang, Und ihre vorgeschriebne Reise Vollendet sie mit Donnergang. Ihr Anblick gibt den Engeln Starke, Wenn keiner sie ergriinden magj Die unbegrieflich hohen Werke Sind herrlich, wie am ersten Tag. GABRIEL. Und schnell und unbegreiflich schnelle Dreht sich umher der Erde Pracht; Es wechselt Paradieseshelle Mit tiefer, schauervoller Nacht ; Es schaumt das Meer in Breiten Fliissen Um tiefen Grund der Felsen auf, Und Fels und Meer wird Fortgerissen In ewig schnellem Spharenlauf. MICHAEL. Und Stiirme brausen um die Wette, Vom Meer auf s] Land, vom Land auPs Meer, Und bilden wiithend eine Kette Der tiefsten Wirkung rings umher; Da flammt ein blitzendes Verheeren Dem Pfade vor des Donnerschlags : Doch deine Boten, Herr, verehren Das sanfte Wandeln deines Tags. Zu DREI. Der Anblick gibt den Engeln Starke, Da keiner dich ergriinden mag, Und alle deine hohen Werke Sind herrlich, wie am ersten Tag. GOETHE. tit THE THREE ARCHANGELS ADVANCE. RAPHAEL. fHE Sun, In the old song of wonder, Makes music with his brother spheres, And speeding with a foot of thunder, Runs his forewritten round of years. His aspect gives the Angels vigour, Though fathom it no creature may, And the high works no thought may figure Are fresh as on the primal day. GABRIEL. And with a speed that thought outspeedeth Round spins the Earth in its delight; To paradisal day succeedeth The awful, melancholy night. In foaming waves the Sea is leaping High up the crags from deepest base, And crag and sea are onward sweeping For ever in the spheral-race. MICHAEL. And Storms, a war of uproar waging From sea to land, from land to sea, Form, round about, amid their raging, A chain of deepest potency. Before the thunder-crash careering There flames a desolating blaze; But, Lord, Thy messengers revering Mark the soft gliding of Thy days. THE THREE. Thy aspect gives the Angels vigour, Though fathom it no creature may, And the high works no thought may figure, Are fresh as on the primal day. W of - ' HAT know we of the blest above, But that they sing, and that they love ? Yet, if they ever did inspire A mortal hymn, or shaped the choir, Now, where these harvest damsels float Homeward in their rugged boat, While all the ruffling winds are fled, Each slumbering in some mountain's head ; Now surely hath that gracious aid Been felt, that influence displayed ; Pupils of heaven in order stand The rustic maidens, every hand Upon a sister's shoulder laid, To chant, as glides the boat along, A simple but a touching song, To chant, as angels do above, The melodies of Peace in Love. WORDSWORTH. DI GIOVANNI STROZZI SOPRA LA STATUA DELLA NOTTE. t A notte che tu vedi in si dole! atti i'Dormir, fu da un Angelo scolpita In questo sasso, e, perch dorme, ha vita ; Destala, se nol credi, e parleratti." Ifrtt sin* Qts. datur hie nobis de caelite nosse caterva? Illam nempe iuvat cantus, amorque comes. At, si quando deus vati praeceperit artem, Gratave mortalis fmxerit ora chori ; Nunc, ubi labuntur congesta messe puellae Quas vehit ad parvos rustica cymba Lares, (Scilicet oppositi cessarunt flamina vend Nescio quo mentis condita muta iugo) Nunc saltern auxilium datur his sentire benignum, Pectora cunctarum spiritus ille movet ; Adstant Dis monitae stantesque sororia colla Alterna tangunt, rustica turba, manu, Et cantant rapido per aquas labente phaselo Quale movet pectus simplicitate melos, Cantant caelicolum procul ingeminanda catervis Quae cithara Pacis carmina reddit Amor. H. B. L. " Smtb f Q Q Sleeping Night, so calm, serene, and meek, Was by an Angel's sculptor hand created ; See ! breathing life is with the marble mated ; Wake her, if you believe not; she will speak." W. C. K. W nf ts it is by treaty, by barter, and by purchase, that we obtain from one another the greater part of those mutual good offices which we stand in need of, so it is this same trucking dis- position which originally gives occasion to the division of labour. In a tribe of hunters or shepherds, a particular person makes bows and arrows, for example, with more readiness and dexterity than any other. He frequently exchanges them for cattle or for venison with his companions ; and he finds at last that he can, in this manner, get more cattle and venison than if himself went to the field to catch them. From a regard to his own interest, therefore, the making of bows and arrows grows to be his chief business, and he becomes a sort of armourer. Another excels in making the frames and covers of their little huts or moveable houses. He is accustomed to be of use in this way to his neigh- bours, who reward him in the same manner with cattle and with venison, till at last he finds it his interest to dedicate him- self entirely to this employment, and to become a sort of house- carpenter. ADAM SMITH. IN PERSONA DELLA NOTTE, DI MICHELAGNOLO BUONARROTI. I RATO m'e } \ sonno, e piu Fesser di sasso Mentre che '1 danno, e la vergogna dura Non veder, non sentir m'e gran ventura; Pero non mi destar, Deh ! parla basso." (Turn Dar'me iwrm KadaTrep ovv u//,/3oXaibt9 /cat fj,era\\a9 eVt TO TroXu, ev Trao-^o^tei/, a>i> aV rt? e/catrrore BeofMevos TvXfl, OVK aXX To^a Troieiv, Kal oieta a)8e e^eiv rrjv jva>fji,r]v &>? OL TrXe/o) dXXa T&> auro9 0vpav\eiv re Kal drjpeveiv. Trpos ravr* ovv, ct>9 TO eavrov , TO^OTrouav 7ra O nitet aestatis languidus ille dies : Blandior Auctumno nascens Aurora nitescit, Blandus adest Maio, vere ineunte, calor Suave quoque, incipiunt quum primum albescere sole, Despicere e terris aequora vasta maris : Contigit hora tamen nobis dulcissima quondam, Tecum si quando vespere iunctus eram. Nunc mihi lene sonant longinqui murmura vici, Lene sonant infra murmura rauca sali ; Desuper aspiciunt quasi amantia sidera terras, Vim validi venti composuere suam. Sic, licet extremis a tc vager exsul in oris, At redeunt menti tempora lapsa meae, lamque reversuras nunquam complectimur horas Quum iunctus tecum vespere, vita, forem ! H. M. H. A 2, forito m VII. OF THE SCHOOL OF WALT. WHITMAN. A PROEM. I. fAM come he you was inquiring for a moment ago. Did anyone tell you I was well and hearty, and without disease ? I say to you I am on the contrary full of diseases a lazar I confess to you I have but just now risen from a sick bed : (But I am not for that reason to be shunted as of no account in the world, lam serene, self-reliant, robust able to do a job of work with any man, To wrestle for the prizes of life with any man, To love or hate with any man. I tell you that I can love a true man with an intense and personal love, And that every man is a true man ; That I can hate a liar with an intense and personal hatred, And that every man is a liar.) 2. Hymning the great in the little I come, and hymning the little in the great I come ; Hymning chaos, the cosmos, discords, harmonies the Identity of Opposites : For I am myself the Panharmonic man the Identity of all possible Opposites The poet of men and women, the poet of man, the poet of the hermaphrodite monad of intelligence. There is no spot of this universe, or of your consciousness where I have not been, and where I dare not be again. * These poems are in no sense parodies, but intend to be affectionate studies or sketches in the manner of some of the masters of song. 15 (Though I confess there are some spots where I had rather not be again.) 3- Was my grandfather an ouran-outan ? Was my grandmother a gorilla ? What then ? I claim to be the Adam of a new universe the beasts come to me to be named. 4- Who told you I should write nothing but epics ? I write also dramas, lyrics, sonnets, operas, canzones, novels, narrative poems, xenien; I do not disdain puns or pleasantries ; I make my market of all. What is this cant about prose ? I distinctly assert that there is no such thing as prose. What is this cant about music, about poetry? I positively aver that I hear music and poetry wherever I go In the hubbub of streets a Beethoven symphony, in the clamour of machinery a Tannhiiuser overture, In the chaffer of men and chatter of women a Wagner opera, 5- O mother sublime ! O womb of the Panharmonic race ! America! O omnipresent idea ! ubiquitous reality ! (For now T perceive her presence, unchangeable, uneseapeable, For now I perceive here in Ireland America, and that Ireland is herself America.) O there are possibilities, eventualities, futurities, climaxes, crises, termini ! O still for you there are chants triumphal, For you prophetic a psalm, O Mater Dolorosa, O Erin ! i6 6. Ages upon ages ! O all divine ! O all necessary ! I see the procession of Humanity ! I hear Bacchic marches, I hear Orphic songs ! I assert will, sympathy, passion, independence, interdependence, Onrushings, vortices, cataclysms, the spiral snakelike advance, through aeons interminable. The song of love the mingling of divine personalities, through cycles interminable, The song of war the birthing of atomic wills, through cycles interminable, The song of brotherhood the shoulder to shoulder unity of self-reliant aggression, through cycles interminable. 7- Sublime passion of death, O august solitudes of death, O aloneness of gradual dying 1 O shock of sudden changes, abrupt, dreadful, delirious, O rendering up of the self! Beautiful rapture of life modulations, rhapsodies, Seeds, wills, embryos, universes tidal sap of Vallisneria cells, and tidal fluxes of the stars. Now I know that life is only a resurrection, now I know that resurrection is only progress. O to sail for ever on the unknown seas of God to voyage for ever ! for ever to become, through dim eternities elapsing, Cosmic mysteries evolving, perfect volition achieving ! 1 trust myself to you, O ages, to you, O non-existent divine potentialities Of happiness, blissfulness, life-fulness the serene something beyond ! J.T, (BY A "FOOLISH YEOMAN.") DO not ask that when we part You '11 dream of days gone by, Or weep when quivering moonbeams dart Through forests waving high ; When changing hues and shadows fleet Across the troubled sea, Whose waves are breaking at your feet, Oh ! never think of me. But, when fond lips shall tell the tale Which mine have left untold, Or fonder yet shall faltering fail, Or firmer heart prove cold, To prompt or backward lover then Deplore the fatal flame You 've kindled oft in other men, And gently breathe my name. Then should the thought of rivals chill His ardour, while he hears, Adapt your siren-music still, And hush his jealous fears. Smile at the doggrel that I wrote, Proclaim me dull and vain, Then beam on him, and bid him quote His own sweet lines again. I do not ask one lock of hair, No photograph I crave, Nor will I yet in proud despair Seek respite in the grave ; One boon I ask, let that be given By all you hold most dear ! It is my Shakespear (volume seven) You carried off last year. T. M. i8 HE mountain-ash Deck'd with autumnal berries, that outshine Spring's richest blossoms, yields a splendid show Amid the leafy woods : and ye have seen By a brook-side or solitary tarn How she her station doth adorn ; the pool Glows at her feet, and all the gloomy rocks Are brightened round her. In his native vale Such and so glorious did this youth appear j A sight that kindled pleasure in all hearts By his ingenuous beauty, by the gleam Of his fair eyes, by his capacious brow, By all the graces with which Nature's hand Had plenteously array'd him. As old bards Tell in their idle song of wandering gods, Pan or Apollo, veil'd in human form, Yet, like the sweet-breath' d violet of the vale, Discovered in their own despite to sense Of mortals . So through a simple rustic garb's disguise In him reveal'd a scholar's genius shone, And so not wholly hidden from men's sight In him the spirit of a hero walk'd Our unpretending valley. WORDSWORTH. (TpRONDOSIS caput attollens in saltibus oraus d Fert, decus autumni, bacas quae veris honores Divitis evincunt. Viden, ut statione relucet Fulcra sua, ad ripas sive ad deserta paludum ; Infra lucescuntque lacus et tristia circum Vndique saxa nitent. Talem talique videbat Egregium forma iuvenem convallis avita ; Pectora conspectum rapuit dulcedine mira Cuncta sine arte decus, flagret quo purus ocellus Ardore, et latae quae surgat gloria frontis, Et si quas alias dextra natura benigna Addiderat veneres. Vates antiqua crepantes Non secus errantes fingebant carmine Divos, Quum sen Pan hominem indueret seu Phoebus Apollo, Frustra; namque velut violarum proditor imis E latebris odor est suavis, sic sensibus olim Humanis numen praesens (nee sponte) patebat: Sic non fallere mens potuit divinior olli Ruricolae quamvis simplex velabat amictus, Non itaque ignotus plane vestigia vallis Per fines humiles, spirans heroa, ferebat. 20 Cjxe g*ai!j of (iL CINQUE MAGGIO.) FROM MANZONI. flS past ! And still as yonder clay, Unconscious, cold, and dead, From whence but now with parting sigh The mighty soul hath fled, Thus at the tidings startled Earth Astounded stands aghast; Mute musing o'er the Man of Fate In that last hour of pain, Nor dares to guess when mortal foot Like his shall come again Upon her bloody dust to print A track so deep and vast. While on his throne he flash'd supreme My tongue no homage bore ; I saw him fall, and rise again, Then fall to rise no more ; But ne'er, though myriad voices joined, Rose mine to swell the cry : No servile praise, no coward taunt Defiled these freeborn lips ; Yet, moved to mourn that splendour quench'd In sudden sad eclipse, I yield this tribute of a song, Perchance not doom'd to die. From Alp to farthest Pyramid, From Rhine to Manzanar, Fast follow'd on the lightnings' flame His thunderbolts of war ; 21 From Scylla's strait to Tanais, From sea to sea. they roll'd : Say, was that glory true ? We pause ; Judge him, ye days to be ! } Tis ours to bend the brow before The Maker's dread decree, Who will'd His Spirit's image there In mightiest stamp to mould. The heart that, wild with stormy joy, Throbb'd high to boundless schemes, The fervid soul that restless chafed With Empire in its dreams, And won and wore the prize, beyond Ambition's maddest lust, He knew them all ; Success, that came More dear for danger past, Flight, Victory the Despot's crown, The Exile's doom at last Twice shrined aloft in godlike state, Twice prostrate in the dust. He spake his name. Lo, at the word Two warring ages wait, They bow to hear his high behest, And own his will their fate : He hush'd their strife ; he set his throne All kings and laws above : He pass'd from sight, his vacant days Closed in that seagirt bound, By watchful Envy sentineled, And Sympathy profound ; A monument of quenchless Hate, And never-yielding Love. 22 As o'er the shipwrecked seaman's head The billows burst and sweep, Heaved high and fierce from yonder flood Across whose swollen deep He strain'd but late his hopeless gaze To reach the distant bank ; Thus on that captive soul the tide Of surging memories fell : How oft that hand his tale essay'd For men unborn to tell ; And ever on the eternal page, . The weary fingers sank ! How oft, what time the listless day Passed to its silent death, With folded arms, and lids that veil'd The lightning glance beneath, He stood, and phantoms of the past RushM on his soul from far : The flutt'ring tents, the batter'd wall Once more he saw, he heard The keen command, obedience prompt To follow at the word, The torrent-waves of charging horse, The flashing ranks of war ! Ah ! fail'd the panting spirit, faint To view the waste he made ? Then came from Heaven a mighty Hand In mercy sent to aid, And bore him on to happier climes To breathe more genial air; And led him where, through flowery tracks, Hope's onward pathway tenas, 23 To reach the Land, to win the Prize, That mortal thought transcends : The glories of the fleeting Past Are shade and silence there. Blest Faith Divine, whose triumphs rise In ever-lengthening scroll, Rejoice, and write this proudest name To swell the immortal roll; For ne'er beneath thy lowly cross Was bow'd a loftier head ! Ah, breathe no blame to break the peace Of yonder weary clay ; Behold, the God Who wounds and heals, Who turns the night to day, Hath set His guardian Presence there To bless the lonely bed. G. A SONNET. M^OVEMBER ! barren, baneful, bleak, and chill, 2& No Season owns thee; Autumn's mellow brown Deserts thee ; Winter's frank and manly frown Thou canst not boast. As from a cheerless hill The traveller faintly hears the murmuring rill, That, wandering through the vale he leaves behind, Recalls in saddest music to his mind Old, dreamy, dear delights, serene and still Then hastes he onward to the Town below ; So from thy dreary steep we fondly turn To catch the sound of Summer's gentle flow, Then brisk obey our Duty, cold, and stem- In pleasant paths our feet no longer stray, And memory in the turmoil dies away. J. M. aim tents mhjntsse (WRITTEN AS A THEME ON THE ABOVE MOTTO AT TERM LECTURES.) HERE'S nothing left for this poor Irish Nation But one gigantic scheme of emigration ; To live a gentleman with empty purse Is bad in any land, in Ireland worse. The Church, Law, Medicine, every occupation Holds its position here by ostentation, Good pleading in bad clothes is something rare, BUTCHER were nothing without trap and pair. Ye Students in the Classic halls of College, Who strive to climb the barren tree of knowledge, A briefer path to greatness ye would find By force of muscle than by force of mind. Were it not better done, as others use, To feed your sheep among the kangaroos, Or pitch your tent with California's diggers, Where Yankees, Coolies, Chinamen, and Niggers, By pick and shovel raise more solid gains Than here are earn'd by industry and brains ; And then, what makes our rising all the harder, We have to struggle with an empty larder. Take Tennyson's well-furnish'd bins away, Withers the garland of his queen of May. The laureate may turn a sounding line, But whence have we the walnuts and the wine ? B. M. C. 25 Cbristhw (A GENTLEMAN, BEING CONSIGNED TO THE POLICE FOR CHANTING IN CHURCH, GAVE HIS NAME AS ERNEST AUGUSTUS JAMES FITZROY.) flS voice was husky, his face was dusky, For a shocking cold he had got, poor boy, And, chaunting faintly, there knelt the saintly Ernest Augustus James Fitzroy. He heeded not beadle, nor Mr. Liddel, Nor yet the notice upon the door, Where, as they express'd it, it was requested That the service here be intoned no more. Oh, grim churchwarden, say, did no chord in Your bosom thrill, did no twinge annoy Of remorse's needle, when you sent the beadle To Ernest Augustus James Fitzroy. Good heavens ! a beadle too gruff to wheedle, Who scowling, growling, " Now then, old boy, You know you can't in this church be chantin' " Poor Ernest Augustus James Fitzroy ! For fault so venial did pamper'd menial Approach with triumph and fiendish joy, And from the portal eject the immortal Ernest Augustus James Fitzroy ? Oh, slavish minions of weak opinions, He's only twenty, that high-soul'd boy! But, like a true brick, he stood by the rubric, Did Ernest Augustus James Fitzroy ! O. HE ancient sages parabled that Love, if he be not twin-born, yet hath a brother wondrous like him, called Anteros; whom while he seeks all about, his chance is to meet with many false and feigning desires that wander singly up and down, his likeness. By them in their borrowed garb, Love, though not wholly blind, as poets wrong him, yet having but one eye, as being born an archer aiming, and that eye not the quickest in this dark region here below, which is not Love's proper sphere, partly out of the simplicity and credulity which is native to him, often deceived, imbraces and consorts him with these obvious and suborned striplings, as if they were his mother's own sons; for so he thinks them, while they subtlely keep themselves most on his blind side. But after a while, as his manner is, soaring up above the shadow of the earth, he darts out the direct rays of his then most piercing eyesight upon the impostures and trim disguises that were used with him, and discerns that this is not his genuine brother, as he imagined. He has no longer the power to hold fellowship with such a per- sonated mate ; for straight his arrows lose their golden heads, and shed their purple feathers, his silken braids untwine and slip their knots, and that original and fiery virtue given him by fate goes out, and leaves him undeified and stripped of all his force, till finding Anteros at last, he kindles and repairs the almost faded animation of his Deity. MILTON. IITANON KAT EKABOAON flHASAS AMMIN. Ol [lev ovv TraXcw \6yioi, rfjSe irrf e/j,vdo\69 d8eX(o9 rt? yeyove Bavfuicrrbv oaov o/jioios, 'Avrepws o' eirwvo^aa-^evo^, ov iravra^ov avftfBaiveiv TroXXotcrt ^ev^ecri /ecu a\a$criv VTv*y%dvt,v 01)9 dvoj Kara) fj,opr)v eiceivov //-era/SaXwra? Kv\w$eicrQai. v' 0a\iJ,ov ovra 09 76 Tof6r?;9 CTT' avra> ro3 ro^eveiv 7re(f)VKev oyS^ To3 /iww Trept raurt ra crKoreiva KOI %66via, are ovtc oltcela Qr], o^vrdrw ^pwfievov, KaL rt teal Sia TO eirm9 auToS o/AO/Aijrpiois Tot9 V7ro(3o\ifuiiois rotcrSe fj,eipaKio-fcoi<; Tot? Traparv^ovatv, rjv /cal -rrepl avrwv e^eiv Bogav e'/c SoXou a/i^>l T rv(f)\a avrov /iaXtara arpe(f)0/jieva}v- yjpovw &' apa 77)9 irrepois Kov(f>i$[j,evos ev6eia<$ ras rrjs o-^rew? awyas 6^vrdrr)ievai eTrl ras Trpocnroirjcreis Kal ra Ko/jL-^ra a")(TJfJ,ara a Trpoa-^vejKov avrw, eV c5 Kal SiayiyvwarKei, rov roiovrov W9 ovtc apa 7^0-409 aSe\^>09 fy, evrevOev o } r/Sij ovtced' olo9 re earl 7rpo9 eralpov aX?/- /a> crvvrvxjfov rrjv deiav aK^ifv o\lyov KareaBrjKvlav dva^anrvpet Kal ra a-fcevr] avaveovrai* , A. S. 28 " And now men see not the bright light which is in the clouds : but the wind passeth, and cleanseth them." JOB xxxvii. 21. JtjrEAVILY on clouded wing <& Rose the mute and lonesome Spring, Love's unwelcomed blossoming, * Sadly thro' its thankless hours, Advent snows and Lenten showers, Fostering a world of flowers ; Spring, the vigil of the year, Chrisom-clad in snows austere, Tremulous with hope and fear ; Now by winter's gloom o'ercast, Now to summer guiding fast Memories of summers past. So in dreams and dreamy thought Back upon the heart are brought Hopes and memories half forgot ; Gleams of unknown happy years, Though their glory scarce appears Through the mist of earthly tears. So, for weal or woe, must be Time, oh friend ! to you and me, Vigil of Eternity. C. P. M. Sonnet. To GOETHE. fHOU German Shakespeare! well may we admit 'Tis hard to reproduce thy thought divine, And bid it glimmer through strange crystalline; But thy translator silently should sit, To catch each word of wisdom and of wit, And give thy poesy not his, but thine ! Nor need men blame their mother-tongue and mine, As to reflect thy master-mind unfit ; For as each cadence of the song is flung Back by the echo from the quiet hill, And as the swan is doubled by the lake When no wind ruffles it, and all is still, So English answers to the German tongue, If lake and echo for a type we take. VV. 3 o 0or spiel auf torn Cjjeater. DIRECTOR. THEATERDICHTER. LUSTIGE PERSON. DlCHTER. ffieb mir auch die Zeiten wieder. _ Da ich noch selbst im Werden war, Da sich ein Quell gedrangter Lieder Ununterbrochen neu gebar ! Da Nebel mir die Welt verhiillten; Die Knospe Wunder noch versprach, Da ich die tausend Blumen brach Die alle Thaler reichlich fiillten ! Ich hatte nichts, und doch genug, Den Drang nach Wahrheit und die Lust am Trug ! Gieb ungebandigt jene Triebe, Das tiefe schmerzenvolle Gliick, Des Hasses Kraft, die Macht der Liebe, Gieb meine Jugend mir zuriick ! LUSTIGE PERSON. Der Jugend, guter Freund, bedarfst du allenfalls, Wenn dich in Schlachten Feinde drangen ; Wenn mit Gewalt an deinem Hals Sich allerliebste Madchen hangen ; Wenn fern des schnellen Laufes Kranz Vom schwer erreichten Ziele winket ; Wenn, nach dem heft'gen Wirbeltanz, Die Nachte schmausend man vertrinket. Doch ins bekannte Saitenspiel, Mit Muth und Anmuth, einzugreifen, Nach einem selbstgesteckten Ziel, Mit holdem Irren hinzuschweifen, Das, alte Herrn, ist cure Pflicht; Und wir verehren euch darum nicht minder : Das Alter macht nicht kindisch, wie man spricht,- Es findet uns nur noch als wahre Kinder. 3 1 Jlrelufce in % cibeafre. ("THE THREE PROFESSIONALS COME FORWARD.) THE POET. give me back the time of growing, I myself was growing too, When from the fount the lays were flowing, Crowding, unbroken, ever new ! The world was misty with illusion ; Then wonder lurk'd in every flower, Then flow'ret bloom'd in every bower ; The dales were one divine profusion ! Naught had I, but enough, in sooth, Delight in dreaming, and the love of truth ! Oh, give me back the wild emotion, The deep bliss tingling into pain, The strength of hatred, love's devotion, Oh, give me back my youth again ! THE MERRY MAN. Of youth, my best of friends, you very well may reck, When in the battle foes are pressing ; When, wild with passion, on your neck Some lovely maiden hangs caressing; When the swift race-wreath, with a glance From the far goal, the soul is rousing ; When, after the mad whirling dance, One drinks the night away carousing. But o'er that well-known instrument, With firm and fairy touch, to gambol, To reach the goal of one's intent With many a pleasant, wayward ramble, This of your old gents is the play; And do not deem that our respect decreases : Old age need not be childish, as they say, Life leaves us children, after childhood cx'a . 32 DIRECTOR. Der Worte sind genug gewechselt ; Lasst mich auch endlich Thaten sehn ! Indess ihr Complimente drechselt, * Kann etwas Niitzliches geschehn. Was hilft es, viel von Stimmung reden ? Dem Zaudernden erscheint sie nie. Gebt ihr euch einmal fur Poeten, So commandirt die Poesie. Euch ist bekannt was wir bediirfen ; Wir wollen stark Getranke schliirfen ; Nun braut mir unverziiglich dran ! Was heute nicht geschieht, ist morgen nicht gethan. Und keinen Tag soil man verpassen; Das Mogliche soil der Entschluss, Beherzt, sogleich, beim Schopfe fassen, Er will es dann nicht fahren lasscn, Und wirket weiter weil er muss ! Ihr wisst, auf unsern deutschen Buhnen, "Probirt ein jeder, was er mag; Drum schonet mir an diesem Tag Prospecte nicht und nicht Maschinen. Gebraucht das gross' und kleine Himmelsiicht Die Sterne dlirfet ihr verschwenden ! An Wasser, Feuer, Felsenwiinden, An Thier und Vogeln fehlt es nicht ! So schreitet in dein engen Bretterhaus, Den ganzen Kreis der Schopfung aus, Und wandelt, mit bediicht 'ger Schnelle, Voni Himmel, durch die Welt^ zu-r Holle ! GOETHE. 33 THE MANAGER. Of words enough have now been bandied ; Let things at last be shown to one ! ' While compliments around are handed, There 's something useful might be done. Why talk of being in tune to show it ? The daily dallier ne'er will be. It you pretend to be a poet, You should command your poesy. You know of what we are complaining; Some stiff strong drink we'd fain be draining; Go, and incontinently brew ! What the day leaves undone the morrow will not do. No time from toil the man releases ; Of what is possible the will, Resolved, forthwith, the forelock seizes, Nor lets it wander where it pleases, And worketh onward will or nill ! You know that, on our German stages, Each one essay eth what he may ; So spare me not machines to-day Nor scenes that every one engages. Display the Greater and the Lesser Light ! The Stars in wild profusion scatter ! With Precipice, and Fire, and Water, And Beast and Bird amaze the sight ! And, starting from this narrow boarded bound, Of all Creation go the round, And pass, with speed considered well, From Heaven, through all the World, to Hell. \V. 34 IN LATIN. (To be sung to the original air.) : RES calones hilares o Potantes'in popina Statuerunt bibere Pocla quisque bina. " Appone, puer, cyathos, Et vina coronemus, Indulgeamus genio Cras aquam bibemus. (,.)ui fit mero madidus, Et cubat ebriosus, Scit decenter vivere, Et moritur iocosus. At si quis poscam potitat Lectumque siccus petit, Occidit cum frondibus Quas Auctumnus metit. Totus adamandus est Chorus virginalis ; Sed est inepti ducere Ni qua sit dotalis. Nunc ergo comissabimur, Curas mero pellamus, Nam quo loco eras erirnus Qui iiunc hie compotamus?" 35 |1ost-bot>s." IN GREEK. (To be sung to the original air.) Tpels i\apol i7 rovro TO Bevrepov yryaav. > ^7X et > 7ra *' ) irav K\rrre\\ov, yap av Be ei Tt? aKparov tceuav vypbs /3 ev Sta^a? fiiorov yeverat, vr)pq re , av Tt9 77 Ka\r), yap avOos r/pos ' }/iat trapdevov, el pr) 'ariv eV//cX,7;po9. tew/juicer' ovv, fo> ^v \inras ^eOrj iravovres, TTOV To ring the bells of Dublin town ; o * Read your Divinity Says the big bell of Trinity, Never think it a bore, man, Says the bell of Grangegorman ; Read as little as you can, Says the bell of St. Anne ; Don't read it at all, Says the bell of St. Paul. Portal's "Manual" does tickle us, Say the bells of St. Nicholas ; Its doctrines are Laudian, Says the bell of St. Audoen ; They are what I believe in, Says the bell of St. Stephen. The new rubrics are done, Says the bell of St. John ; The worst ever man drew, Says the bell of St. Andrew. Seen that book by the Duke ?* Says the bell of St. Luke ; The style is not strikin', Says the bell of St. Michan ; T think it's mere blatherin', Says the bell of St. {Catherine ; You shouldn't be rude, Says the bell of St. Jude; It was written for a 1 , Says the bell of St Tark ; You should take a more solemn view, Says the bell of Bartholomew. Christian Tluology and Modern Scepticism, By the Duke of Somerset. 37 For the Church who '11 provide? Says the bell of St. Bride ; I wish Bass would " treat " her, ( Says the bell of St. Peter ; Will the laymen disgorge ? Says the bell of St. George ; You must ask Dr. Reichel, Says the bell of St. Michael ; The subscribers are chary, Says the bell of St. Mary ; We 've many a promise, Says the bell of St. Thomas ; A long list of names, Says the bell of St. James ; From China to Cherbourg, Says the bell of St. Werburgh ; We 're not left in the lurch, Say the bells of Christ Church ; Our " Bass " taught Roe that trick, Say the bells of St. Patrick ; I've got no Bass darn a Bass, Says the bell of St. Barnabas. PAN. |1bnllis, BOU little, rosn IN GERMAN. gJHYLLISj du lockres Schelmgesicht, lij Mich liistet sehr nach deinem Fratzchen ; Komm, gib es her, und mache nicht So viel Geschrei v i ein paar Schmatzchen. Ob auch die We' lich lastert schier, Und kalte Priiden dich verdammen, Ich siind'ge lieber, Kind, mit dir, Als dass ich muckre mit den Frommen. A. M. S. Certamert. E AN WHILE the Tuscan army, Right glorious to behold, Came flashing back the noonday light, Rank behind rank, like surges bright, Of a broad sea of gold. Four hundred trumpets sounded A peal of warlike glee, As that great host, with measured tread, And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, RolPd slowly towards the bridge's head, Where stood the dauntless Three. The Three stood calm and silent, And leok'd upon the foes, And a great shout of laughter From all the vanguard rose ; And forth three chiefs came spurring Before that deep array, To earth they sprang, their swords they drew, And lifted high their shields, and flew To win the narrow way. MACAULAY. 0rt arch accountant here is laid borrowed and who never paid. If he's in Heaven I could not swear That he is upon credit there. ANON. MEMA2AN I1EPI 1IATPIAO2 IJ MAXE20AF. TOtfrpa 8e Tvpcnffvwv Trvtcivai crrt^e? al'^ijTcuov rjitrav 9 TroXe/Ltoy Xa^Trpal, fjwya Oavpu i&9 8' ore fjMpfutperjv inrep akpvpov diBfj,a 6a\dpLKa ^e:L Zetyvpos, -xpvcreT) B' eiriBeBpo/Aev o>9 TOT' eVacrcri/repa K\VTCL jra^avowvr' airyatcrt a>T(t)v 8' 6pvvfJ.evrj SefcdSajv CITTO recrcrapdicovra (raXTTLjywv la^rj /iaX' 'Apqio? ojfv ea)9 o/ioO TrpocriovTe? aoA,Xee9 ev Kara Bovpa 7rpol3a\\6fj,voi, crrjfjL)]la ica\a , ecrTt^otojrro fidBrjv /LtaX' dprjpores e9 Te j(f>vprjv crrav 8' ol rpels rjpwes evdmiov elaopowvres 8' evl Trpofid^oicrt 76X0)9 acr/9ecrT09 opcapei. t9 8' apa Tvpcn'jvwv rjyiJTOpes co/cea9 177^01/9 tcevrpa) 67TiyofJ,evovE. "Aarputv ijxuw&V KOivoTfXovs ofJLi\ia, refjLvovaa irovrov wvevftdrruv dvrjve/j-ov, TTO\OV KVK\(t)Oela' ) aldpiw TrepiTnv^rj, axrirep jfpav^eev Sapbv d/cratcri %evai<; tyleral rt? vocrri^ov crd\ov, pov evredep^avrai /ceap cnepwirov oupavov (3v0ol9 fiporwv evpova-a Slav 7rav\ai> eK\rj^rj TTOVWV. II. C. 52 rommon fate of all Ijmttjs fair. HE rose, with fond delight, Gazing at her own beauty, hung Over a stream, that swift and bright Her image upward flung. When lo ! a zephyr's blustering power Of every petal robs the flower, And the spoils fell in the river, Which hurrying tears them off for ever. Thus, even thus, perceive we may, Well-a-day ! How swiftly beauty passeth away. C. L. SMITH. fammst (CIRC. 1700, A.S.) fOUS ne manquames point de visiter la fameuse Universite d' Oxford ; et centre Pordinaire des Voiageurs, nous trouvames, apres Pavoir vue, qu'elle surpassoit 1'idee qu'on nous en avoit fait prendre a Londres, quoiqu'elle cut suffi pour exciter notre curiosite. Rien n'approche en effet de la beaute, de 1'ordre, et du revenu de ses Colleges. C'est-la que les Muses ne se plaignent point de la pauvrete. Mais j'ai remarque que ce n'est peut-etre pas un avantage pour Oxford, qu'elles y soient si fort a leur aise. Elles s'endorment dans 1'abondance ; je vcux dire, que parmi tant de personnes qui ont de riches pre- bendes dans les Colleges, il y en a tres-peu qui s'appliquent a 1'etude. Les bons Livres, que nous viennent d'Angleterre, sortent rarement d'Oxford. Us viennent de Londres ; et quoique ceux qui les composent aient pour la plupart quelque degre dans cette Universite, ils ne sont point du nombre de ceux qui sont paies largement pour y faire leur residence. MEMOIRES D'UN HOMME DE OUALITE. 53 Smmma brtbis. \ UA superiniectam perlucida reddidit umbram, *> Gaudet et argenteas currere lympha vias, Hie rosa conspectae correpta cupidine formae Dum stupet et veneres deperit ipsa suas, En Zephyrus vi saevus adest, et totus in uno Momento obruitur qui fuit ante decor. Labitur exuvias rapiens securus in alveo Amnis, et in pontum non revocandus agit. His exemplar inest, hinc discere possumus omnnes, Marceat heu formae quam cito fluxus honor ! R. H. C. APKTArnros TIS TA OXHNIAKA Ov$e fj,r)v 7rape\i7TOfji6v rr/v dewpiav rov ev 'Oa)vi< ovofiacrrov veaviaywyeiov Kal, irapa TO elwOos ra)v opovvr(i)v rfjs ap^iveaviaywyias. ra yovv (rTrov&aia rwv /3il3\.ia)V Trap' fj/^d<; eK TT}? *Ayy\ui<> dtfjifcvov- /j,eva)v ov 7roXXat? dopfio)criv ^O^wviov, aXXa AovSiviov 01 Se crvyypd-fyavres, el /cal 0)9 eVt TO TTO\.V eSoKifAdcrOrjcrav ev O^wviw, OVK eK rovrwv el Siarpi/Srjv dyaTruatv. ]. F. D. 54 A TRACT FOR THE TIMES, BY A MODERN JEREMIAH. fE ravens, teach me how to sing My sickness of each mortal thins: ! J O I'm sick of life, I'm sick of love, The earth below, the heaven above, Sick of myself and of misanthropy, Sick of my friends and of philanthropy, Of " proper " and m-proper scorn, Sick of the wish Fd ne'er been born, Sick of seeing Time with men play skittles, The price of coals, the price of victuals ; I'm sick of faith, Fm sick of doubt, Of lukewarm with, and cold without, Of peace, of strife, of sloth, of hurry, Fm sick of rest, Fm sick of worry, Fm sick of man, Fm sick of woman, Of Nature, human and inhuman ; Fm sick of satire's smartest lashes, Of murders, claimants, railway smashes, Of home-rule, of this noble nation, Of the bare name of education, Of Progress larking with old Trinity, Of Fawcett's broadway of divinity, Of Christians and of anti-Christians, Of Culturists and of Philistines, Of each new plan each goose proposes For leading foxes by their noses, Of Dublin dirt and ugly buildings, Of all these white-washings and gildings, Of the Lord Mayor and Corporation, And (Lord knows!) sick of sanitation ; 55 I'm sick to death of new inventions, My fellow-creatures' good intentions, Of women's wrongs and women's rights, Of all the arts that make them frights, Of politics, and Punch and Judy, Baldoyle, the Merrion Hall, and Mudie, Of operas, births, deaths, and marriages, Of fools on foot, and fools in carriages, Of cheap champagne, and Exhibitions, And tracts, and home and foreign missions, Of hedonists and of ascetics, Kant's logic, Darwin's hypothetics; I'm sick of the prophetic rages, And Attic " chaff" of modern sages ; I'm sick of sweetness and of light, Sick, even, to know that " might is right/' And sick, sick, sick Oh, sick at heart, When earnest artists talk of "Art \" I'm sick of poets and their critics, Sick of our dainty analytics, Of gold proved allotropic dross Sickest of all of Kottalos ! Of all the blunders of the printer, Of that most certain sign of winter, When T., from editorial slumber, Starts with the plague of his new number ! The times, I'm sure, are out of joint, And who's to blame ? That's just the point; But things are come to such a pitch, That 'pon my soul my ringers itch To . Sure as I've a head and shoulders, Some day I'll startle all beholders ! By George ! I'll take the world by storm, I'll work such radical reform ; I'll change men's tastes, I'll change the weather, I'll change the fashions altogether, I'll put a check on population, I'll rule the tides of emigration, I'll reason mildly with the scorner, Pll make the sun shine round a corner, When men of genius come to grief Pll feed them with Australian beef, Pll say to Capital and Labour " Kiss, and be friends love each his neighbour !'' And, most astounding stroke of all, While wages rise prices shall fall. Then, when the world is all I wish it, Before the fools have time to dish it, When the " lorettes " are sent a begging, When even the "swells" give up blacklegging, Drink, and community of wives, When rogues on Change have changed their lives, When even New Yorkers take no bribes, And heed Walt Whitman's diatribes ; When Science spreads her gay pavilion O'er cheap millenniums for the million, I'll mingle blandly with the crowd, And just to show I'm not too proud To share the world's regeneration By Jove Pll try self-reformation ! J- T (Echoes of f aust, XIGHT. A Gothic Chamber. Faust at his desk. LAS! of high Philosophy, Hcs The Jurist's craft and Medicine, And, worst of all, Theology, I've striven the mastery to win ; And now, poor fool, with all my lore, 1 v ijBe. icoipavos 7670)5 76 ToX/ia? curttyetv} aXV atrio? 05 (r 7 e^e(j)V(Tv } ocm? a>y ^u^po? yepwv rapa ^aTrvp' aTrocr/Secreiv f3e\Tj. eiaerai Be rovfjiov w? otov re TTO)? irar/ov Tofeu/^a, Kavavdev iceap (f)\^yeiv TO Nearopeiov. etyavcrQris ye av } o 8' eJiavr 1 ^ wv Tracri S^Xcocrei adeveiv A. APH2 AAAOIIPO2AAAO2. 8' dvapaipdei (3a6e ay/cea (T/iepSaXeT;, TO 8 7 e7ri{3pefj,ei 19 &) repeva %poa Bovpara T' a/i^>t? dyevra KOI a /3e/3X,77/xew ov rot aeiK\io<; roiwv Koaf^ijTOpt, \afav eV Xe^eeacnv ekcav Kara ^aX/ceo? No. I. THE LOVES, RELIGIONS, AND WHISKERS OF MR. ARTHUR CECIL PAYNE. (AFTER CLARENCE MANGAN.) not born to lounge about, an antipogonotrophist, Said the beardless Mr. Arthur Cecil Payne. I was not born to stay at home, an antipogonotrophist, With a beard or an imperial On feast-day, fast, or ferial, Methinks I should look anything but plain, Said this Mr. Arthur Cecil, Said this beardless Mr. Arthur Cecil Payne. So, at once he off to London set, and read the Chaetotechnicon, Did this whiskerless young Arthur Cecil Payne, And bought the Kallotrophic oil, as bade the Chaetotechnicon ; Using half a bottle daily, He, through all the season gaily, Waited, getting up his whiskers into train, Did this Mr. Arthur Cecil, Rich and fashionable Arthur Cecil Payne. Now it came to pass one day, he heard the Rev. Mr. Purchas preach, Did this Low-Church Mr. Arthur Cecil Payne, Providentially it came to pass, he heard this Mr. Purchas preach, Where St. Mary Magdalene, Spite of Gumming and Daubigne, There in London has her chapel built again, There walked in this Arthur Cecil, There sat down this Mr. Arthur Cecil Payne. 65 And from many creeds and councils did he prove to him most lucidly, To the listening Mr. Arthur Cecil Payne, And from Liturgies and homilies, demonstrated most lucidly, That if ever any particles Of Truth were in " the articles," They are not what Low-Church Protestants maintain ; This he proved to Arthur Cecil, Proved to shut-up Mr. Arthur Cecil Payne. And there before the screen, in front of Rood and Antependium, Knelt enraptured Mr. Arthur Cecil Payne, Where the gold corona lucis lay before the Antependium, And the Eleemosynarium Hung up in the Sacrarium, Underneath the oriel window's tinted pane, There knelt down this Arthur Cecil, Knelt the Ritualistic Arthur Payne. " Oh!" said he, "oh, the young lady that can work me such an altar-cloth, Work for me, young Mr. Arthur Cecil Payne, Such a mass of hearts and lilies, stars and crosses, for an altar- cloth, Her, whatever lady knows to Work me this, will I propose to For all others, their flirtations will be vain. With me, Mr. Arthur Cecil, Rich and eligible Arthur Cecil Payne." So, upon some Dublin friends he called to ask about the altar- cloth, To be worked for Mr. Arthur Cecil Payne, " What / consent, a Protestant, to working Popish altar-cloths ! " Said Papa, "well now I'm cuss'd if I'd," Said Mamma, "By faith we 're justified, And to trust to our own righteousness is vain, Lost, but rich young Arthur Cecil ! Unregenerate Mr. Arthur Cecil Payne ! " 66 But the daughter of this lady, when she read the letter sent to her, All on vellum signed by Arthur Cecil Payne, When she read this medieval, Gothic letter that he sent to her, Said, " An Altar-Cloth ! I never ! Goodness gracious ! Did you ever ! Why the young man must be really insane ! Mad is Mr. Arthur Cecil, Idiotic Mr. Arthur Cecil Payne !" So the story reached at last the ear of pious sister Agatha, Did this whim of Mr. Arthur Cecil Payne, And she worked for him an altar-cloth, herself, did sister Agatha, All on silk from Hardman's ordered, And with silver crosses bordered, And she sent it up to Dublin, by the train, Labelled, " Mr. Arthur Cecil, Glass, with care, Mr. Arthur Cecil Payne." And straight he called an four-wheeler and drove away to visit her, Did this love-sick Mr. Arthur Cecil Payne ; In a gorgeous coat from Buckmaster's he walked up stairs to visit her, And upon his knees before her, Was commencing to implore her, That she evermore would condescend to reign In the heart of Arthur Cecil, In the constant heart of Arthur Cecil Payne. Said she, " Oh goodness gracious ! Did you ever hear stich sacrilege, Bold and earthly Mr. Arthur Cecil Payne, If others of Miss Sellon's nuns will listen to such sacrilege, Her you then perhaps may marry. But for me I may not tarry, But must hasten back to Devonport again, Far away from Arthur Cecil, Sacrilegious Mr. Arthur Cecil Payne." 6 7 So, changed at last by grief to stone, upon the Church at Sandy- mount, As a gargoyle stands this Arthur Cecil Payne! Miraculously there he stands transmogrified at Sandy mount, And to all the Irish nation Of the evils of flirtation, A sad monument will evermore remain Metamorphosed Arthur Cecil, Petrified young Mr. Arthur Cecil Payne. C. P. M. N the glow of the noontide, in flower-sprent Junetide, My love lay a-dreaming alone in her bower ; With bird-song the brake rang, the wandering bee sang, In honey-quest faring from flower to flower. I crept the soft lawn in, I parted the awning That curtained with leaves her green nest of repose ; My heart beat, as peeping I hung o'er her sleeping, And watched her fair breast as it sank and it rose. The raven-black fringing of her lily lids tinging The bloom of the peach on her delicate cheek ; Her brow stirring lightly, her lips parted slightly Seemed fraught with some thought that she dared not to speak. A breeze gently stealing shook the leaf-woven ceiling, And let in a sunbeam that came from above ; It lay on her sweet lips, as drinking with deep sips, In warm, clinging kisses the nectar of love. Then her brow went a-flushing with maidenly blushing, And her cheeks with blood-rushing grew bright as a flame ; Till low words came stealing, her secret revealing. My heart ceased to beat for she murmured my name. I started not; spoke not, her slumber I broke not. In a rapture of silence I stole from her side; The secret still keeping I won from her sleeping, 1 ill I breathed it one eve in the ear of my bride. J. F. W. 68 Ctll. (Acx I. Sc. 4.) EINE edle Himmelsgabe ist y Das Licht des Auges Alle Wesen leben Vom Lichte, jedes gliickliche Geschopf Die Pflanze selbst kehrt freudig sich zum Lichte. Und er muss sitzen, fuhlend, in der Nacht, Im ewig Finstern ihn erquickt nicht mehr Der Matten warmes griin, der Blumen Schmelz, Die rothen Firnen kann er nicht mehr schauen Sterben ist nichts doch leben und nicht sehen, Das ist ein Ungliick Warum seht ihr mich So jammernd an ? Ich hab' zwei frische Augen Und kann dem blinden Vater keines geben, Nicht einen Schimmer von dem Meer des Lichts, Das glanzvoll, blendend mir ins Auge dringt. * * * Blinder, alter Vater, Du kannst den Tag der Freiheit nicht mehr schauen ; Du sollst ihn horen Wenn von Alp zu Alp Die Feuerzeichen flammend sich erheben, Die festen Schlosser der Tyrannen fallen, In deine Hiitte soil der Schweizer wallen, Zu deinem Ohr die Freudenkunde tragen, Und hell in deiner Nacht soil es dir tagen ! SCHILLER. IE on; while my revenge shall be 'To speak the very truth of thee. EARL NUGENT. 6 9 Jfu* m Ceiufrris. To o)s PpoTolcri Bwpov IK Oewv ocrov ! vcri<;, pavei ^Xtopo? iceap, OVK dvdecav TroiACtX/^ar', ov ra 7ropvpd KpvcrTa\\O7rr)'ya)V aicpa rwvSe TWV opwv ' 0aviv fj,ev ovSev %rjv 8e VVKTOS ev Svofois KCLKWV KOLKICTTOV TOUTO * 7TO)5 dp' 0)$' flol crKvdpcoTrbv ofjifjua TrpocrftaXetv u/ dfjL(j)0) jap ofjifjiar 3 ear 6/Jiul olv ov Svvai/j,r)v ov8' ev av Tvv e? av\tov, tca\r)v TOT' cbcrtj/ dyyeXel (3 crol 8' ev (TKOTW Trep \afi7rpbv eAcXa/ A. W. Q. (iKtia. MENDAX ; mihi sat sit ultionis De te non nisi vera pracdicarc. A. 70 Jfammrg 1st, 1374. (MIDNIGHT.) the Rial to every night I take, i r't 3) At Twelve, my evening's walk of meditation." So speaks brave Pierre, the man who strove to make Venetia's slaves an independent nation. Such hours as these should find few eyes awake, And midnight walks smack strong of dissipation. Yet I, for one, I own it, love to stroll Through sleeping streets beneath a starry pole. But 'tis another thing to spend one's time Within four walls, alone like me, to-night, To listen to the night-hours' sullen'chime, And think of happier days and scenes more bright ; And how one friend has perish'd in his prime, And how another well, the theme is trite. The terribly monotonous old song That Death and Woe have sung so well and long. Ah ! my lost friends, right little need have I Of skeleton beside my table seated, Or nightly truism of " Thou must die !" By warning voice in heedless ears repeated. In every land my lost companions lie. Each month with news of death mine ears are greeted. Death still sweeps past the wither'd stalk in scorn, To fill his gaunt arms with the ripening corn ! Ah ! cloud its black shade o'er my young years throwing, Ah ! childish tears on a dead mother's face Ah ! green grass in the hamlet church-yard growing O'er the loved comrade of my schoolboy days. Ah ! Eastern evening sea-breeze softly blowing Above my warm firm friend's last resting-place. Sweet be your sleep, ye loving hearts and true, Who '11 grieve for me as I have grieved for you ? H. J. DK B. DC ilibilo Sibil. (A SONNET ON NOTHNIG.) ELL, if it must be so, it must ; and I, Albeit unskilful in the tuneful art, Will make a sonnet ; or at least Fll try To make a sonnet, and perform my part. But in a sonnet everybody knows There must be always fourteen lines ; my heart Sinks at the thought : but, courage here it goes. There are seven lines already : could I get Seven more the task would be performed ; and yet It will be like a horse behind a cart, For somehow rhyme has got a wondrous start Of reason, and while puzzling on Fve let The subject slip. What shall it be ? But, stay, Here comes the fourteenth line. 'Tis done ! Huzza ! F. Yy\T RIVER rushing from a mountain bare, ^c5> Thrust onward by its inward wild desire To reach the silver mansions of the sea, Where the great sun and dainty moon retire And it would join them, and be happy there Thinks not that in the chosen rest it seeks It soon must lose its own identity ; That though in valleys or from rugged peaks It warbles bright, or roars in cataracts hurl'd, And writes its name upon the yielding face Of nature's beauty in the ocean world It will have neither voice, nor power, nor place, To call its own. Yet will it have all three One voice, one power, one place it and the sea. A. B. O. 72 HEY rear'd no trophy o'er his grave, They bade no requiem flow ; What left they there to tell the brave That a warrior sleeps below ? A shiver'd spear, a cloven shield, A helm with its white plume torn, And a blood-stain'd turf on the fatal field, Where a chief to his rest was borne. He lies not where his fathers sleep, But who hath a tomb more proud ? For the Syrian wilds his record keep, And a banner is his shroud. F. HEMAMS. OLwhaa. AIL, beauteous stranger of the wood, Attendant of the spring : Now heaven repairs thy rural seat, And woods thy welcome sing. Soon, as the cowslip decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear : Hast thou a star to guide thy course, Or mark the rolling year ? The schoolboy, wandering through the wood To pluck the flowers so gay, Doth start thy curious voice to hear, And imitate thy lay. O could I fly, Td fly with thee : We'd make with social wing Our annual visit round the globe, Companions of the spring. ANON. tumulo comites nullum struxere tropaeum, >Nemo funereos edidit ore modos : Quid fuit heu ! cassum propter quod rite moneret Fortes fortis ibi membra quiete frui ? Discussus tantum clypeus, fractumque verutum, Casside cum fracta sordida pluma sua ; Inficiensque cruor fatalis gramina campi, Mortuus ad requiem dux ubi latus erat. Cum genere et proavis non conditur ille sepulcro, Quis tamen in tumulo nobiliore iacet ? Nomina nam servant Syriae deformia tesqua, Membraque uexilli tecta uolumen habent. H. M. H. (ftirntlum. yAzDVENA, silvestres umbras quae blanda revisis, ^cs> Salve, floriferi temporis alma comes, lam tibi ridet ager, Zephyri redeunte susurro, lamque tuas laudes plurima silva canit. Vix nituere croci per prata virentia flavi, Ad nos usque melos dulce recurrit idem : Nee te Stella fugax, variisque volubilis horis Findentem liquidum decipit annus iter. lam puer, emissus ludo silvasque peragrans, Purpureas gaudet carpere veris opes, Restitit attonitus, tua si vox occupat aures, Insolitum cupiens ingeminare melos. O si contingat pennis me credere coelo, Tecum orbem magnum pervolitare velim : Linquimus en terras paribus consurgimus alis Ycr, ad ver sociam radimus ambo fugam ! \v. B. <;. 74 (TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND.) fHE furious Danes had forced the Swedish host To the wild, stormy coast ; The chariots clash, and lifted falchions gleam In the moon's silver beam : Two dying warriors on the battle plain, Father and comely son, lie stretch'd among the slain. SON. Alas ! oh Sire, that Fate should summon me So young, by stern decree ; Ah ! never more may mother deck my hair, Making it passing fair; My minstrel maiden, skilPd in many a lay, Perchance from yonder height awaits me from the fray. FATHER. They will lament and see our forms at night In dreamland's misty light: Be thou consoled, for soon pain's bitter dart Will pierce thy faithful heart. Thy bright-hair'd maiden, radiant in her love, Shall reach to thee the cup in Odin's halls above. 75 SON. I 've left unharpM a glorious song of mine, Attuned to notes divine, Of kings and heroes of a bygone age, Of love and battle's rage : Ah, longings vain ! when passing breezes blow, Thrills through the lonely harp a plaintive sound of woe. FATHER. The sacred courts of Odin glitter bright Aloft in cloudless night : Wander the stars beneath for evermore, And storms with distant roar. Repose we there, our mighty sires among, There, in Valhalla's bliss, complete thy noble song. SON. Ah ! father mine, that Fate should summon me So young, by harsh decree ! My shield as yet bears no emblazoned name Of deeds deserving fame. The judges twelve shall deem thy son unfit] Amongst their awful ranks in solemn state to sit. FATHER. One splendid deed may well a host outshine, It shall be so with^thine : To die a hero at thy country's call Is noblest deed of all. Uplift thine eyes, behold ! the foemen fly, There is our destined home where gleams yon friendly sky ! H. T. J. etircment. BLEST retirement, friend to life's decline, Retreats from care, that never must be mine, How blest is he, who crowns, in shades like these, A youth of labour with an age of ease; Who quits a world where strong temptations try And, since 'tis hard to combat, learns to fly. For him no wretches, born to work and weep, Explore the mine or tempt the dangerous deep, No surly porter stands, in guilty state, To spurn imploring famine from the gate ; But on he moves to meet his latter end, Angels around befriending virtue's friend, Sinks to the grave with unperceived decay, While resignation gently slopes the way ; And all his prospects brightening to the last, His heaven commences ere the world be past. O. GOLDSMITH. ftnsdfisfe gobtr. HEN I am dead, my dearest, Sing no sad songs for me ; Plant thou no roses at my head, Nor shady cypress tree. Be the green grass above me, With showers and dew-drops wet ; And if thou wilt, remember, And if thou wilt, forget. ANON. gntus tile qui; procul iu0uttis- quies, vitae moriturae grata diei, Grata, sed, heu, votis usque neganda meis ! Oh nimium felix cui talia contigit inter Longa iuventutis claudere dura seni. Tuta fuga est vires quibus in discrimina desunt; Suppositos Vrbi noverat ille dolos. Aequora nulla illi lacrimis et nata labori Nulla ministrorum turba metalla petit. Nullus in immensa stat Janitor improbus aula, Durus egenorum spernere vota virum. Tutus adesse videt finem ; cui numera grata Virtutis fuerant, gratus et ipse Deo est; Leniter obrepit sensimque infirmior aetas, Aequa facit led mens facilem esse viam ; Scitque sub extremas iam iamque beatior horas Elysias vivens praeripuisse plagas. R. H. C. Smtrus fAENIIS nostrum decorare funus Parce, nee flores roseos sepulto, Carior vita, mihi nee nigrantes Adde cupressus : Oui tegat nostras viridis favillas Imbribus caespes madeatque rorc, Tuque vel nostri memor immemorvc, Delia, vivas. I 1 ,. 78 frail as dewdrop on a violet When the great sun uplifts his upper rim, And the white starlight which it loves grows dim, Like brooklet-lymph blood-deluged : frail, and yet Informed with a spirit that could fret The sun to setting by its gaze, could swim Down the swift wind from heaven's verge to hell's brim, Fearless and fierce. Spirit, the dews that wet The violeted grass resemble thee, For thou wert gentle, too, and pure : thy voice Though ocean-tongued could murmur like a bee Smothering in cups of flowers its happy noise. The world was harsh and would not let thee be : Thou madest the world of poesy thy choice. A. J. H. EIS HPOAoriON EITI TTMBH ESTAAMENON. (INSCRIPTION FOR THE TOMB-CLOCK ON CHANCELLOR LAW'S TOMB IN GREENHILL CHURCHYARD, LICHFIELD.) I. Tovrov eo-Q) T7eo? KpvaTO\Xivov wpo\oyovvTa yvco/jiov' eTToi'ijo-ev S^/zo^apr)? 08' avrjp, ecrTrjcrev S' eTrl Tv/ifta ew, irdvv 'xprjcnpov epyov rot? oTTtcrft) XetV&w a>Se Tropevo/Aevois ?7/iet9 &' ev /Storw TravaalfieOa ^TTOT fca\a Bpo)VTe<>, 7rel Kivo To say a little word on This very interesting case Of Donnelly and Durden ; And first Pll ask your lordship's leave To give an illustration, Which shows the end, as I conceive, Of all this litigation. An old solicitor there was Who, with your lordship's pardon, Set up when he had gain'd his cause A scarecrow in his garden j A skeleton as grim and white As ever swung on gibbet, Which, with professional delight, To friends he would exhibit; And when they ask'd what might it mean, He said with smile compliant " These are the bones picked bare and clean Of my successful client/' Again, my lord, you've heard, I hope, Or else I wonder greatly, Of that machine called Thaumatrope, Famed by Archbishop Whately ; 83 A toy that might amuse a sage, With which I'm well acquainted ; A man and horse, a bird and cage, Upon a card are painted : Until with finger and with thumb You deftly set it spinning, And then a wondrous change will come, Unseen at the beginning ; You find the man the cage within, You find the horse the bird on ! By tricks like these they try to win Their lawsuit against Durden. J. O'H. Crial Jj0is foitjj arc (Dlb (foss-hofo. /A GOOD paradox is like a pair of scissors. Statement ^3> and truth prima facie point contrary ways ; but by a flash of thought they coincide, and the result is a deep in- cision in the mind. A terse aphorism strikes like a bullet ; but some of the metal may be lost in the moulding. Satire and sermons aim at reforming ; but generally only succeed at best in entertaining. Self-knowledge is achieved by the will rather than by the understanding. Few are too modest to boast of candour. To the eye of self and of friend alike it is the mask which many failings wear, and sometimes the cloak which hides them all. Vice owes many victims to the exaggerations of its power by a too indulgent charity, and of its pleasure by a too ascetic religion. 8 4 If flattery hides from us our faults, clumsy attempts at it often reveal them to us cruelly. Truth, like the moon, must be viewed from two widely-distant points simultaneously, before we can define its position or magnitude. The spirit of the age is a tyrant. Stamped in its mint all thoughts pass current, be their metal base or fine. Without that stamp the pure gold of genius is often rejected. The law of libel screens more rogues from justice than honest men from injury. In other words, it betrays more honest mea than it protects. If education were equal in the two sexes it might be less valued by a certain class in each. As in a level country, though the rivers are wide, sentimental people miss the music of water- falls. Woman's eyes have been called " wells of love/' The depth of water, when clear, is underrated by the acutest eye ; when impure, it may be exaggerated by the soundest judgment ; but in either case to the inexperienced gaze the apparent depth is often that of the reflected heavens. An action by no means virtuous may yet be a proof of virtue. Thus no man marries for money, till by self-denial he has learnt to sacrifice his inclinations to his supposed better interests. Thoughts travel on words, like ships on the sea ; but are much oftener wrecked by their medium of transit. J. M. s of Jfaust. Easter-Day. Outside the Town. FAUST AND WAGNER. FAUST. ft 1 REED from ice are the watercourses, ^ As the quickening glance of the Spring is seen; The dales with promised joy are green ! Hoar Winter, with his routed forces, Falls back on the hills where the winds are keen, And, as he retreats, he essays to pour Impotent hail in its arrowy flight, Which falls aslant on the verdurous floor ; But the Sun endures not the rimy white. Everywhere, lo, there is stirring and growing All with colour will soon be glowing ! The landscape still is in need of flowers, But gay garbs deck the holiday hours ! Turn now, and from the hillock's crown Look back upon the stirring town. From yonder vaulted frowning gate The gay crowd passes through the strait. To-day each suns him on the sward, To honour the Rising of the Lord ; For they themselves to-day have risen From the dingy dens of their sordid Babel From the bonds of the handicraftsman's prison From courts overshadow'd by roof and gable 86 From streets with their narrow and stifling passes From churches dim with a hallow'd night All are bursting into light ! See, oh, see how they spread their masses Through garden and field in wild delight ! In its length and breadth how the river glasses The wherries afloat with their joyous freight, And how to sinking overladen The last pulls off from the meadow's marge. From the paths of the mountain youth and maiden Flaunt a thousand hues as they roam at large. I hear the village hum arise Here is the people's paradise ! Both great and small huzza with glee Here Pm a man so let me be ! WAGNER. With you to walk, Sir pray excuse me Is gain and glory, well I know ; But in this crowd I should be loth to lose me, Because I hate the name of all that's low. This fiddling, shouting, skittle-playing, Makes a detestable ding-dong. They 're mad as though the fiend were in their maying, And call it pleasure, call it song. Rustics under the Linden. Dance and Song. The swain hath dress'd him for the dance Wreath, ribbon, jacket, how they glance ! He in his best is showing. The ring is form'd by lass and lad, And all are dancing round like mad. Yuch he ! yuch he ! Yuch heisa ! heisa ! he ! The fiddle-bow is going. 87 Into the ring he made a rush, And gave one of the maids a push, With pointed elbow going. The buxom damsel turn'd and said, You 're really very underbred Yuch he ! yuch he ! Yuch heisa ! heisa ! he ! Such boorishness bestowing. They 're dancing as of sense bereft, They 're dancing right, they 're dancing left, The petticoats are flowing ! They 're growing red, they 're growing warm, They 're resting breathless arm in arm Yuch he ! yuch he ! Yuch heisa ! heisa ! he ! With hip and elbow going. Don't make so free ; full many a maid Is first betroth'd and then betray 'd By prematurely glowing. But soon he coax'd the maid aside, And from the Linden far and wide Yuch he ! yuch he ! Yuch heisa ! heisa ! he ! Loud cries and fiddle going. The People collect around Faust ; he converses with them ; then proceeds with Wagner. FAUST. A few steps further on to yonder stone ! Here in our ramble let us find our resting. Here lost in thought I 've often sat alone, And mortified myself with prayer and fasting; In hoping rich and in believing blest, With tears and sobs, my clasp'd hands wringing, I deemed that I might stay the pest The Lord of Heaven to aid me bringing. 88 The shouts that greet me fill my soul with shame ! Oh, couldst thou in my bosom read the story, How little sire and son could claim Of all that long-surviving glory ! My father was a sombre, worthy man, Who over nature and her hallow'd courses In his own honest fashion spent his forces, And his own course of crotchets ran, Who with Adepts assistance lending Ceaseless his swarthy furnace used, And with prescriptions never ending His opposites together fused. There the Red Lion, an adventurous squire, In the warm bath was to the Lily wed ; And then the two, with open flames of fire, Were tortured to another bridal bed. And how the varied hues they cherish'd Of the Young Princess in the glass ! That was the remedy the patients perish'd And, who was cured, they let the question pass. And so with doses drawn from hell's own fountains, In yonder valleys, yonder mountains, A pest more deadly was abroad. Whole thousands took it at my giving They died away, and I am living And men the murderers applaud ! WAGNER. Why, Sir, should this occasion you distress ? What can an honest man do more Than practise what was tried before . With scrupulous punctiliousness ? If in your youth you reverence your sire, All that he knew with joy you will be gaining; If when a man fresh knowledge you acquire, Your son to higher summits will be straining. 8 9 FAUST. Ah happy he, still hope who can, And to escape this sea of error vaunteth ! What man knows not, that ever wanteth man, And what man knows, man never thinks he wanteth But the sweet bliss we for the moment know Let no intrusive thought embitter Behold, how brightly in the sunset glow The cots with green surrounded glitter ! He sinks he sets the day he doth outlive He hies him hence new life he is reviving. Oh ! that some kindly spirit wings would give ! After, still after him I would be striving. Then should eternal eventide prevail The stilly world beneath me lying, On fire the hills, hush'd in repose each vale, The silver brook with golden flashes flying ! Nought should arrest me in the godlike race, Not the wild hills with all their gorges darkling ! And lo the sea with waves embay'd and sparkling Bursts full on my astonish' d gaze ! Downwards at last the God of Day is sinking ! Wakes a new impulse of delight ! I hurry on, his beams for ever drinking, 'Fore me the Day, and after me the Night, The Welkin over me, and under me the Ocean; A glorious dream ! 'tis passing ! he is gone ! Ah, that of wings that bear the spirit on No corporal wing can emulate the motion ! Yet is there born a bias in our being Upwards and onwards still the feeling springs, When o'er us, lost in the blue empyrean, Her shrilly lay the lavrock sings When o'er heights rough with forest daughters, The eagle all extended flies And o'er the marshes, o'er the waters, The crane belated homeward hies ! WAGNER. IVe felt some curious fancies o'er me stealing, But own I ne'er experienced such a feeling Meadows and fields soon satisfy the look ; I never envied any bird its pinion; But joys that o'er the spirit hold dominion Lead you from page to page, from book to book ! And when the winter nights are bright, and when Life to the limbs a warmer glow is lending, You take some roll of priceless Pergamen, All heaven itself is on your soul descending. FAUST. By one sole impulse are you now possessed, Oh, may you never know another ! Two souls, alas ! are striving in my breast, And one would gladly sever from the other ! One clings to earth, and, as its organs clog, All earthly things persistently admires ; The other soars beyond the mist and fog, And seeks the country of its lofty sires. If there be spirits in the upper air Which hover still between the earth and heaven, Descend ye from your golden atmosphere, And let new colour to my life be given. Oh ! that there were a magic mantle mine To bear me to strange lands ! in payment For such a robe I'd scorn the richest raiment Aye, did it as a monarch's purple shine W. Jffe- (FROM THE FRENCH OF BERANGER.) EE this fly that round us hums, Can't we stop its teazing buzz ; Drive it off, and back it comes, Mid our cups to trouble us. Can it be some envious power, Sent poor mortals to annoy, Griev'd to see one little hour Snatch'd from Care by Love and Joy ? Yes ! 'tis Reason, goddess stern, Come in this curst insect's guise, Teaching what we '11 never learn, To be sober, to be wise. Reason's curfew says, " 'Tis time, Ouench those fires of Love and Wit," Wherefore heed her sullen chime, Who shall make us honour it ? Reason says, " Your head is hoar, Time to pause, to mope, to think ; Cease your follies rhyme no more, Give up laughter, love, and drink." Woman 's Reason's deadliest foe, Mark the fly on Fanny's neck, Mind 'twill sting I told you so, Well her white skin shows the fleck. Fellow-subjects, rise en masse, Let 's avenge Oueen Fanny's pain ; See the traitor 's in the glass, Drown'd in billows of champagne. H. J. DF B. fU Sxitor itifcra HEN some brisk youth, the tenant of a stall, Employs a pen less pointed than his awl, Leaves his snug shop, forsakes his store of shoes, St. Crispin quits, and cobbles for the muse. Heavens ! how the vulgar stare ! how crowds applaud ! How ladies read, and literati laud ! If chance some wicked wag should pass his jest, 'Tis sheer ill-nature don't the world know best ? Genius must guide when wits admire the rhyme, And Capel Lofft declares 'tis quite sublime. Hear, then, ye happy sons of needless trade ! Swains, quit the plough, resign the useless spade ; Lo, Burns and Bloomfield, nay, a greater far> Gifford was born beneath an adverse star, Forsook the labours of a servile state, Stemm'd the rude storm, and triumph'd over fate. Then why no more ? if Phoebus smiled on you, Bloomfield, why not on brother Nathan too ? Him too the mania, not the muse, has seized ; Not inspiration, but a mind diseased : And now no boor can seek his last abode, No common be enclosed, without an ode. B.YRON. (fijlejgftac 0it O, the Hexameter riseth aloft like a silvery fountain ; 'Whilst the Pentameter aye falleth in melody back. COLERIDGE. 93 EPAOI TI2 HN EKA2TO2 EIAEIH TEXNHN. -x> r MPIGER en ! iuvenis, cerdo prius, exsilit omni 3> Abiecto instrumento artis clausaque taberna; Et Genium spernens infabre facta Camaenis Munera fert, acie ut calamum cui subula prestet Constupet extemplo vulgus, plauditque beato, Scripta legunt matronae, extollunt laude periti ; Et si forte iocum tentaverit improbus olim, " Aerugo mera," vulgus ait, " Me iudice vincit, Quid quaeris ?" Nempe, urbanis mirantibus, ipsam Pallada crediderim stulto aspirasse poetae, Pollice quem Bavius recitantem laudet utroque. Quare agite, artifices, vana vos arte relicta, Et vos, agricolae, spreta cum vomere marra, Scribite ! Quid ? Raucus Codrus, Lucilius, ipso Cum Flacco, Dis iratis duroque sub astro Nati, serviles non destituere labores, Fatis restantes tempestatique malorum ? Et quidni plures ? Siquidem largitur Apollo Ingenium Codro, cur non ludaeus haberet, Quem stimulat cacoethes, amor si^e iste vocandus, V | Scribendi, malisanaque mens sive divite vena ? Quid ? Non nunc fiunt privati publica iuris lugera, nullus obit sacro sine vate bubulcus ! W. G. T. hmcii. ' OBILE surgit Epos niveum velut agmen aquarum ; ) Labitur occiduo carmine vox Elegi. A. P. G. 94 Compliments. f^f JJ HOULD I write to dispraise thee, my too truthful verse i Would halt with the lie on its lips unexpress'd ; Should 1 write with more candour the case would be worse, For my muse cannot know what a glance has confess'd. Shall I move thee with tears and implore thee with sighs, Shall I gather the elements into thy praise, Declaring heaven's blue to be shamed by thine eyes, And thy cheeks to excel his most delicate rays ? Shall I say that the sunshine seeks shelter in mist When dazzled and dimmed by the gold of thy hair, Shall I say the red rose, which thy soft lips have kiss'd, Turns pale at their touch with an envious despair ? Shall I liken thy grace to the swift swallow's wing, Thy mien to bright cloudlets forgetful of showers, Thy voice to the murmuring breath of the spring As it whispers its love to the innocent flowers ? 'Tis needless, for nothing can equal thy charms, 'Tis false, for such words bring thee into compare, 'Tis hopeless, unless I may fly to thy arms And note every grace that will circle me there. I know not the peach-bloom that shadows thy cheek, I know not the cherry-like sweets of thy lip; Can a bee find a flower that he dares not to seek ? Can he taste of a nectar, forbidden to sip ? Was loveliness made but to gladden the eye, Is thy lip only thine to be wreathed into scorn, Must the fairest fruit hang the most hopelessly high, Must the rose be eternally fenced with a thorn ? My verses, I own it, expected reward, Thy love, 'tis acknowledged, will also be sold ; But both at a price which we cannot afford, For I look for love, whilst thou lookest for gold. G. H. J. 95 (To the peninsula of Sirmto. (FROM CATULLUS.) F all peninsulas and isles to me l M 9Sirmio the dearest which the spreading deeps And bright recesses hold of lake or sea, How, at thy sight, my heart in gladness leaps ! Scarce trusting that T see thee thus once more, Safe from Bithynian fields and Thynia's shore. Oh, what more blessed than release from care, When the freed spirit lays its burthen by, When, spent with foreign toil we homeward fare, And in the long'd-for couch contented lie : Be this the single guerdon of my pain, And thou, sweet Sirmio, greet thy lord again. Rejoice ye glancing waters of the lake, And all ye smiles that dwell witn home, awake ! J. O'H. WEARY current of life's languid tide! O phantom days that pass and perish so ! Idols of cave, camp, mart, that come and go ! One form, once seen, shall in my verse abide Though me the dust and final darkness hide, Thus much of mine surviving, that who so Would see her then, to him this page can shew The flower-like face, the little throat's queenly pride. So when this poor life-drama's tale is told, And with the scene the actor disappears, Be Love unfetter'd, though by death set free, To kiss the scorn from her mouth's perfect mould, To gaze without rebuke where through the years Those sweet blue eyes remember and foresee. C. P. M. $iimn's fonirer JJjjgme. fN Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours, Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers ; Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all. It is the little rift within the lute That by-and-bye will make the music mute, And ever widening slowly silence all. The little rift within the lover's lute ; Or little pitted speck in garner'd fruit, Which rotting inward slowly moulders all. It is not worth the keeping : let it go : But shall it ? answer, darling, answer, no. And trust me not at all or all in all. TENNVSON. , what shall a man full of sin do, ^y Whose heart is as cold as a stone, The black owl looking in at the window, And he on his death-bed alone ? When the spirit half freed from the bare case, Flies shinking away to the gloom, From the whisper of wings on the staircase, And the shudder of feet in the room. And they bear him with horrible laughter Though he clings with the strength of despair To lintel and bed-post and rafter Away to the Prince of the Air ! INCERT. 97 OPONHMA NHNEMOT TAAANA2. Tot? Tov ye TroOevo-i TroOov, vwv &' et pa OVTOL dmcTTir) Svvarai, %d Trtcm? Krjv Bva-TTicrTos eys TL TO irav KeK\^crr] ravrd oiTa<; &' del avpa Tt? avTicrTracTTOs, dd\la v6(ro$, rjfitv ea'ijfji'rjv' a>9 ITTL vfJUKpas en P07T7/9 /SXeTTOi ^>co9 ' dXV o/A&)9 xpovy ^eZoy rt TTvevfJia Trpicrftvs opdiov Se/jM<> aipi, inrvova^ 9 7wu pvafjs ' re ofAfjudrcov &' onto 7r\rjpovfji,6va)v ijcrrpaTrre Trvp veavi/cov eyco 8e 6a^C)v yovvTrereis e8pa<; irirvu). H. C. SMrmros. E mala crux agitet," clamabat Vappa, " Catonem Ni salvus referam," fcbre tenente latus. Audiit aegrotum facili deus aurc. Quid illc ? Me mala crux agitct si Cato Vappa fuit ! T. io8 fip HERE is no flock, however watch'd and tended, el But one dead lamb is there ! There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, But has one vacant chair ! The air is full of farewells to the dying, And mournings for the, dead ; The heart of Rachel, for her children crying, . Will not be comforted ! Let us be patient : these severe afflictions Not from the ground arise, But oftentimes celestial benedictions Assume this dark disguise. H. W. LONGFELLOW. Slim Jfim, (AN AMERICAN TRAGEDY.) SATINETTE was a comely girl, And loved her parents dear Till she met slim Jim, the miller's son, Riding in a railroad keer. Jim looked at Suke, and she looked sly, Then he called her his duck and his dear, Says Jim, " Will you have me ?" says Suke, " I will," Riding in a railroad keer. But when they came to the old man's house, Jim began to quake with fear, Says he "Your daughter has promised to be mine, Riding in a railroad keer." The old man he took his gun from the shelf, And says he, " Slim Jim, just clear, Or I'll blow you so high, you'll never come down Riding in a railroad keer." INCERT. IOQ AFANA BEAH. r^r J& ERVET pastor oves, sed mors sibi vindicat unum, \& De grege nulla illam pellere cura potest. Tuta quidem domus at cur sedes una relictast, Cur vacua infidos increpat una Lares ? Aura "vale" semper, semper sonat aura querellas, Semper adest letum, semper adire parat. En ! Niobe subolem plorat gemebunda peremptam, Nescifret ex aegro cedere corde dolor. Durandum est, neque enim frustra neque inutile quidquam, OfBcium peragit luctus habetque suum. Saepe suis genitor per talia consulit ipse, Quaque ferit sanat voluera saepe manu. R. H. C. EPIMNA2TETTO2 ANAPO2 OIZT2. ev r)a ro/cet? crrepyovcra iretOdp^w (jjpevl, dr^oaavrotcrcv eVt &l(f)poi veavia, \eyei Be " Ovjdrrjp r/yyvrja 3 e/iot Xe' a.TfJ,ocrammj>r (fciorc on fyt was a Low Church preacher had let every pew; He had so many followers he knew not what to do; So he piled up his galleries three stories high, And his flock for the first time to Heaven got nigh. A. A. D. of Jfausi Dedication. XCE more, ye shifting shapes, ye gleam in vision, IAA YYXA. ar' d/u,ttfXa<7T09 ' 'Af^vvr^o^ cvddSe itetrat, ty ipeo-79 Kal (pdo$ ^/xerepT/? XaiXa7ro9 OVK 0X0779 er' aicovcrerai acnrerov rj^v, w TrapaftefiXfjicev rrjv aicarov Odvaros, elvakCotcrw ev dv&pdcriv 6'-^av pAiKfyiov re fceap evOdbe Trdvra /caXw? Trpafa?, rov Bevrarov e? jjaicdpwv vqcrovs e'feTre/r/jo-e TT\OOV, ou^ ai^^p d\luxrev vtroa-^ecnv, tfvirep vTrecm>] t roa-crov eXa/x^' aperat? e^o^a davpacruus, TroXXot? /cat, eSi/ot9 Tre<^i\ri^iivo^ eVXer' errjtrw, rbv & e'crrepfe \t77f ?} ^apiecrcra X\6tj ' a(7/jMra y^docrvvw dd^a rot \adiKij8ea (fxavfj pvpi* av tfeiftev 'rraa't ^apav Trapfytov, v&r) S' ev(J3po(7VV^ teal TrevBos opiupev dXacrrov, w;9 TOT', ' A I*VVT (,-)(, /cavrcx; ovij evd' 6 peya Kpareajv ev ^dovl KOI 7re\davei VTTO viy\dpov vcrrarov avSy TOV? Trepowvras d\d o 7' (era)? Kardywv 6a\a^ira. fi>ij Xeyerco TdOeos rt? eV evpv^opoLcriv dyviais ), (J,i/ rovro K\vovcrat 7ry)fj,a ^ikiarivai Teptyiv fyoHTl /copai. ' /epey? K\LTVS Ov^aai T evda KaKicrr' acrTTi? /^acri'Xea)? pttfideicra to? Ke(f>a\av ocrtitw? /A^Trore ^piaa^evov, rjv 8e Trarrip vids re ^oyre? epda-fjiiot, alei, KOV crfa SiapTrd^etv r/^vvar' Alcra rt'Xo?, alerov OL ra^vran, (Bio, re \eovras IVIKWV, %av\ov dvoi/j,a)eiv Xe/Trerat ?;Se When the great sun look'd forth, And summon'd to the cloud the covenant arch, Which through the ages' march Remains, the embodied word Of the Creation's Lord : " Never again shall sea Of earth sole monarch be." Beneath the rending scourges of the gale, The tortured surges up the steep cliff curl'd, And falling seem'd to shriek with baffled wail : " No more, no more With all-appalling roar Shall we o'errun the world." And each succeeding tide Receding sigh'd : " No more, no more Shall sea that knows not shore i Possess the world/' The sounding flame, As o'er the hills it came, Methought I heard proclaim : " The Universe shall feed My never-sated greed ; Enthron'd with Satan I for aye shall dwell Supreme in Hell ! " H. J. DK B. T 3 )asf0ral. Autumn. setting Phcebus shone serenely bright, And fleecy clouds were streak'd with purple light, When tuneful Hylas, with melodious moan, Taught rocks to weep, and made the mountains groan. Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away ! To Delia's ear the tender notes convey. As some sad turtle his lost love deplores, And with deep murmurs fills the sounding shores ; Thus, far from Delia, to the winds I mourn, Alike unheard, unpitied, and forlorn. Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along ! For her, the feather'd choirs neglect their song : For her, the limes their pleasing shades deny : For her, the lilies hang their heads and die. Ye flowers that droop, forsaken by the spring, Ye birds that, left by summer, cease to sing, Ye trees that fade when autumn heats remove, Say, is not absence death to those who love ? Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away ! Cursed be the fields that cause my Delia's stay : Fade every blossom, wither every tree, Die every flower, and perish all, but she ; What have I said ? Where'er my Delia flies Let spring attend, and sudden flowers arise ; Let opening roses knotted oaks adorn, And liquid amber drop from every thorn. Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs along ! The birds shall cease to tune their evening song, The winds to breathe, the waving woods to move, And streams to murmur, ere I cease to love. Jpglas. CCIDVOS Phoebus promebat mitior ignes, Et sua purpureo variabant lumine nubes Vellera, quum doctus modular! dulce querellas Pastor Hylas rupes gemere et iuga flere docebat. Ite, leves aurae, suspiria maesta ferentes, Auribus ut molles capiat mea Delia versus. Ceu miser amissos quum turtur luget amores, Et rauco ripas resonantes murmure complet, Non secus apploro, quum Delia desit, inanem Aera, inauditus, nulli miserabilis, amens. Ite, leves aurae, suspiria maesta ferentes. Illam et pinnigerae, cessantes voce, requirunt; Cessant et philyrae gratas sociare tenebras ; Ipsaque, demisso iam vertice, lilia languent. Dicite, decidui flores, quos destituit ver, Et vos, pinnigerae mutae, quas prodidit aestas, Silvaque tu languens, quam gratus deserit ardor, Nonne perit, quotiens absit suus ignis, amator ? Ite, leves aurae, suspiria maesta ferentes. At male sit campis qui te, mea vita, morantur ! Marcescant frondes, pereat radicitus arbor, Et pereant flores, et cuncta, modo ilia supersit ! Quid loquor ? Ah quacunque fugit mea Delia, laetum Ver adsit, properetque novos humus edere flores ; Nodosas decorent modo nata rosaria quercus, Et vulgo liquidum stillet paliurus amomum. Ite, leves aurae, suspiria maesta ferentes. Cessabunt serum volucres prius edere cantum, Et spirare aurae, silvarumque unda moveri, Et rivi murmur, quam me taedebit amoris. 132 Not bubbling fountains to the thirsty swain, Not balmy sleep to labourers faint with pain ; Not showers to larks, or sunshine to the bee, Are half so charming as thy sight to me. Go, gentle gales, and bear my sighs away ! Come, Delia, come : ah, why this long delay ? Through rocks and caves the name of Delia sounds ; Delia, each cave and echoing rock rebounds. Ye powers, what pleasing frenzy soothes my mind, Do lovers dream, or is my Delia kind? She comes, my Delia comes ! now cease my lay, And cease, ye gales, to bear my sighs away ! POPE. <|,/7 ELLE qu'avait Hymen a mon creur attachee, $Et qui fut ici bas ce que j' aimais le mieux, Allant changer la terre a de plus dignes lieux, Au marbre que tu vois sa depouille a cachee. Comme tombe une fleur que la brise a sechee, Ainsi fut abattu ce chef-doeuvre des cieux ; Et, depuis le trepas qui lui ferma les yeux, L'eau que versent les miens n'est jamais etanchee. Ni prieres, ni vceux ne m'y purent servir; La rigueur de la mort se voulut assouvir, Et mon affection n'en put avoir dispense. Toi, dont la piete vient sa tombe honorer, Pleure mon infortune, et, pour ta recompense, Jamais autre douleur ne te fasse pleurer. MALHERBE. Nee gaudet sitiens salient! fonte viator, Nee fesso gratum est fossori molle cubile, Nee soles apibus tantum, non imber alaudis, Quantum me dulci recreabit Delia visu. Ite, leves aurae, suspiria maesta ferentes. Ah venias, venias ! unde haec mora, Delia, tanta est ? " Delia ades ! " clamant rupes montisque eavernae, " Delia ades ! " resonant rupes montisque eavernae. Di superi ! furor iste meos unde occupat artus ? Somnia fingit amans, an se mihi praebet aventi Delia ? Adest, mea adest ! iam carmen desinat, et vos Ite, leves aurae, suspiria nulla ferentes ! J. F. D. ETETEA TTMBfll MEAO2. whom true marriage-bonds knit to me, side by side, The lady who on earth was nearest to my heart Is fled to purer life, but here her earthly part, Beneath this marble slab, from me hath dared to hide. As falls to earth a flower the nipping blast hath dried, So fell my beauteous lady, heaven's best work of art. Death closed her eyes, but mine, since that keen, torturing smart, Have never ceased to weep, nor my fond grief belied. No prayers nor vows could aught avail, nor stay the blow, Death glutted in her precious blood his lustful thirst, And left my worthless life a prey to hopeless woe. And thou, whom this sad strain in pity hath amerced, Weep for my wretchedness, and for thy courteous dole May never other grief than this disturb thy soul. R. A. 134 att& youth and love in sparkling wine Fill'd life's fair chalice to the brim ; And oh ! the cup was wondrous fine With figured fancies round the rim. I raised it high in haste to quaff The brilliant liquor flowing free : Behind there shrill'd a grisly laugh, For Death was come to drink with me, I wrestled with his bony hand : His hated breath blew love away, And youth fell withered on the sand, Before we closed the weary fray. No more in foamy circles high The liquor sparkles to the brim : The cup is to the bottom dry : All rased the figures on the rim. And now methinks you will have read The meaning of this uncouth rime ; How she that was my love is dead, And I am old before my time. B. C. Jess (AFTER DUFRESNY.) jf HOUGH Phyllis was fair, she was strangely capricious, $ As she sat with her love 'neath the trees, ' In exchange you must give," said the maid avaricious " Thirty sheep for one kiss if you please ! " But the very next day things were vastly improving, On our shepherd her gifts fortune rain'd For he, murmuring the tale of his passionate loving, For one sheep thirty kisses obtain'd. The third day she feared lest they might be denied her, Those dainties for which her heart burn'd, So, raising her face to her lover beside her, For one kiss all his sheep she returned. Next day she'd have given up all she possessed (When had pride such a terrible fall ?) Her sheep, dog, and crook, for the kiss the rogue press'd On Lisette's lips for nothing at all ! W. C. K. W. g. g. anfr . g. g. REAT heart folded in flesh of mysticism ; gentle, human, Christian heart, how few Can find thy wrist-pulse regular and true When others' beat irregular ; when schism Tears poets piecemeal, worse than criticism Self-named of self-named critics, which on you Blunts knife and lancet-edge. Beside thee grew To highest grace a peerless soul, a prism, That turned to rainbows earth's dull light, and still It was earth's light ; whose passionate woman's heart Pined for ideal worlds, and loved her own And ours with perfect love ; with breath to fill Archangel-trumps, she rather chose the part Of passive river-reeds by light winds blown. A. J. H. i 3 6 IJlihsummer Urgjri's gream. HER. I frown upon him, yet he loves me still. HEL. O that your frowns would teach my smiles such skill ! HER. I give him curses, yet he gives me love. HEL. O that my prayers could such affection move ! HER. The more I hate, the more he follows me. HEL. The more I love, the more he hateth me. HER. His folly, Helena, is no fault of mine. HEL. None, but your beauty : would that fault were mine. SHAKSPERE. fj-? UT as they left the darkening heath, ^ More desperate grew the strife of death. The English shafts in volleys hail'd, The horse in headlong charge assail'd, Front, flank, and rear the squadrons sweep To break the Scottish circle deep, That fought around their king ; Though thick the English shafts as snow, Though charging knights like whirlwinds go, Though billmen ply the ghastly blow, Unbroken was the ring. The stubborn spearmen still made good Their dark, impenetrable wood, Each stepping where his comrade stood, That instant that he fell : No thought was there of coward flight, Liiik'd in the serried phalanx tight, Groom fought like noble, squire like knight, As fearlessly and well; Till utter darkness closed her wing O'er their thin host and wounded king. WALTER SCOTT. J37 IITANO2 EPH2. 'Ep. IliKpots opw viv 6/j.fuuTiv, (rrepyet 8' o/iy?. 'E\. eW axfreXov 7eXwcra tcepSdvai roSe. 'Ep. 7r60q) ft' ovei8iov(rav avTa/j^ifleTai. 'E\. TTW? av BvvaifjLrjv ravrb \nrapovcr' X lv ' 'Ep. crrvyft) TOV avbpa, Ka/j,' o/i&>9 Or]pa 7r\eov. 'E\. 7r60(t) rtTTjica, /ca/i* o/x&>? crnryet 'Ep. e/Mol purcrov Sopdrea-cnv eekfjAvai dfi? ev Tapfyecnv v\r)<; v\frr)\al 8pvepd%avre<; Bopv Bovpl, rj yap veicpos eTrnrrev 7T>]\v0ev eV#Xo Were thicker than itself with brother's blood ? Is there not rain enough in the sweet heav'ns To wash it white as snow ? whereto serves mercy, But to confront the visage of offence ? And what 's in prayer, but this twofold force, To be forestalled ere we come to fall, Or pardon'd being down ? Then I '11 look up ; ' My fault is past. But oh, what form of prayer Can serve my turn ? Forgive me my foul murder ! That cannot be, since I am still possessed Of those effects for which I did the murder, My crown, mine own ambition, and my Queen. May one be pardon'd, and retain th' offence ? In the corrupted currents of this world, Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice; And oft 'tis seen, the wicked prize itself Buys out the laws. But 'tis not so above. There is no shuffling; there the action lies In his true nature, and we ourselves compelled, Ev'n to the teeth and forehead of our faults, To give in evidence. What then ? what rests ? Try what repentance can ; what can it not ? Yet what can it, when one cannot repent ? O wretched state ! oh bosom black as death ! Oh limed soul, that, struggling to be free, Art more engaged ! Help, angels ! make assay ! Bow, stubborn knees ; and, heart, with strings of steel, Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe ! All may be well. SHAKSPEARE. i 4 9 *TXH2 IIAANHMA. ' ' Zevs Ti /MI irav(i)\r]<; el Kaei vtyovras ; &>9 Xuet rt Br) f3poTolo-tv 61/cTos, TT\IJV iv' ef evavTias crry rat? a^apriai(TL ; Kol TTOUI \ITWV "XpeLa '(TTiv, el f^rj Oarepov TW ax? TV%J) eW a)? ^eo9 irraurovTa eh' ovv aira^ aXevTt dva(3\7ra) & ovv, a>u>v eipos ; rj SiacrTp6av\ov %pea)i/ avTh)v evavra rwv TreTrX^/x/zeX^/zei/coi' avrov Ka6' avrov tywra firjvirrrnt Kvpelv. Kal Brj ri \onrbv ; ela, 7reipo)/juu TaXa?, Tt TI? Bvvatr' ay o? ^ereyvwKev ; TI 8' ov ; tcaiTot Xucrt? T/9, fj,rj /j,erarfva)vai irapov ; atcTai Trdina