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Byron's 'Hebrew Melodies, and · Ba- and shady comfort, which it is imposby' Coleridge's Lay Serinons,' we sible to read without coveting. cannot forbear exclaiming, • Non tali auxilio, nec defensoribus istis, Tempus eget.

There is not in the wide world a valley so To compensate for the length of sweet,

As that vale in whose bosom the bright wa. our remarks, and for the severity of ters meet; our strictures, we shall now make Oh! the last rays of feeling and life must some selections from the volume be- depart, fore us, calculated rather to gratify the Ere the bloom of that valley shall fade from

my heart. reader, than to verify our previous positions.

Yet it was not that nature had shed o'er the The following song is exempt from scene every blemish, and is one of the most

et Her purest of crystal and freshest of green;

'Twas not the soft magic of streamlet or hill, beautiful and naif in the language. Oh! no,-it was something more exquisite


III. * Go where Glory waits thee,

'Twas that friends, the belov'd of my bosom, But while Fame elates thee,

were near, Oh! still remember me.

Who made cach dear scene of enchantment When the praise thou meetest,

more dear, To thine ear is sweetest,

And who fell how the best charms of nature Oh! then remember me.

improve, Other arms may press thee,

When we see them reflected from looks that Ouier friends caress thee,

we love. All the joys that bless thee,

Sweeter far may be :

Sweet vale of Ovoca ! how calm could I rest But when friends are nearest,

Iu thy bosom of shade with the friends I love And when joys are dearest,

best, Oh! then remember me.

Where the storms which we feel in this cold II.

world should cease, When, at eve, thou rovest,

And our hearts, like thy waters, be mingled By the star thou lovest,

in peace! Oh! then remember me. Think, when bome returning,

The little song called Eveleen's Bright we've seen it burning,

Bower,' is not only chaste in its style, Oh! thus remember me.

and delicate in its allusions and imageOft as summer closes, When thine eye reposes

ry, but moral and religious in its purOn its ling'ring roses,

Once so lov'd by thee,
Think of her who wove them,
Her who made thee love them,

Oh weep for the hour,

When to Eveleen's bower,
Oh! then remember me.

The Lord of the valley with false vows came; When, around thee dying

The moon hid her light,
Autumn leaves are lying,

From the heavens that night,
Oh! then remember me.

And wept behind her clouds o'er the maidAnd, at night, when gazing,

en's shame.

The clouds past soon
On the gay hearth blazing,
Oh! still reinember ine.

From the chaste cold moon,
Then should music stealing

And heaven smil'd again with her vestal All the soul of feeling,

flame; To thy heart appealing,

But none shall see the day
Draw one tear from thee: .

When the clouds shall pass away,
Then let mem'ry bring thee,

Which that dark bour left upon Eveleen's Strains I us'd to sing thee,


Oh! then remember me.'

The white snow lay
The Meeting of the Waters,' exhi- Where the Lord of the valley cross'd over

On the narrow path-way, bit a picture of tranquil retirement, the moor;

And many a deep print

While the myrtle, now idly entwin'd with On the white snow's tint,

bis crown, Show'd the track of his footsteps to Eveleen's Like the wreath of Harmodius, should door.

cover his sword. The next sun's ray

Soon melted away
Ev'ry trace on the path where the false Lord

false Lord But, though glory be gone, and though hope

fade away, came;

Tuy name, loved Erin! shall live in his But there's a light above

songs! Which alone can remove

www. Not evin in the hour, when his heart is That stain upon the snow of fair Eveleen's

most gay, fame.

Will he lose the remembrance of thee

and thy wrongs ! It would be unfair, not to hear the The stranger shall bear thy lament on his poet's apology for the apparently frivo- plains, lous waste of his time and talents. We The sigh of thy harp shall be sent o'er the

deep, shall leave the reader to judge of the Till thy masters themselves, as they rivet validity of his defence.

thy chains, Shali pause at the song of their captive, and

weep! Oh! blame not the bard if he fly to the bow r้ง

He whose griess have, at any time, Where pleasure lies, carelessly smiling at been soothed by the soul-subduing'

{ame; He was born for much more, and in happier acc

in hannier accents of female kindness, will feel the bours,

pulses of his heart quickened by the His soul might have burn'd with a holier kindred glow of these wonderfully ex



The string, that now languishes loose on the pressive stanzas.

lyre, Migbt have bent a proud bow to the war. No not more welcome the fairy numbers

rior's dart; And the lip, which now breathes but the When, half-awaking from tearful slumbers.

Of music fall on the sleeper's ear, song of desire,

He thinks the full choir of heav'n is peal, Might have pour'd the full tide of the pa- Than came that voice, when, all forsaken, triot's heart! II.

This heart long had sleeping lain,

Nor thought its cold pulse would ever wakep But alas! for his country—her pride is gone *To such ben

To such benign, blessed sounds again. by. And that spirit is broken which never would bend :

Sweet voice of comfort: 'twas like the stealO'er the ruin her children in secret must sigh, ing For 'tis treason to love her, and death to of summer wind thro' some wreathed defend.

shell; Capriz'd are her sons, till they've learn'd to Each secret winding, each inmost feeling betray;

Of all my soul echo'd to its spell! Undistinguish'd they live, if they shame 'Twas whisper'd balm- twas sunshine spoDot their sires,

ken! And the torch that would light them through I'd live years of grief and pain dignity's way,

To have my long sleep of sorrow broken Must be caught from the pile where their By such benign, blessed sounds again! country expires! III.

An application, which we need not Tben blame not the bard, if, in pleasure's point out, has been made of the follow

soft dream, He would try to forget what he never can ing song, in whic

ver can ing song, in which there breathes an heal;

air of 'sober sadness,' that might well Oh! give but a hope-let a vista but gleam suit the reality. Through the gloom of his country, and

mark how he'll feel! That instant, bis heart at her shrine would When first I met thee, warm and young, lay down

There shone such truth about dee, Every passion it nurs'd, every bliss it And on thy lip such promise hung, a dor'd,

I did not dare to doubt ibee.

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I saw thee change, yet still relied,

While tears that from repentance fow, Still clung with hope the fonder,

In bright exhalement reach the skies. And thought, though false to all beside, Go, let me weep! there's bliss in tears, From me thou conid'st not wander.

When he who sheds them, inly feels
But go, deceiver! go,

Some lingering stain of early years
The heart whose hopes could make it Ellac'd by every drop that steals.
Trust one so false, so low,
Deserves that thou should'st break it!

Leave me to sigh o'er hours that liew,

More idly thau the summer's wind,
When every tongue thy follies namid,

And, while they pass'd, a fragrance threw, Idled th'unwelcome story;

But left no trace of sweets behind.--Or found, in even faulty they blam'd,

The warmest sigb that pleasure heaves Some gleams of future glory.

Is cold, is faint to those that swell

The heart, where pure repentance grieves I still was true, when nearer friends Conspir'd to wrong, to slight thee;

O'er hours of pleasure lov'd too well! The heart, that now thy falsehood rends,

Leave me to sigh o'er hours that few, Would then bare bled to right ilee.

More idly than the suminer's wind, But go, deceiver! go,

And, while they pass d, a fragrance threw, Soine day, perhaps, thou'lt waken

But lest no trace of sweets behind. From pleasure's dream, to know

There is, in our apprehension, more The grief of bearts forsaken.

of poetry, than of good taste, or reve-
Even now, though youth its bloom has shed, repce, in the following address to the
No lights of age adorn thee;

The few, who lov'd thee once, have sed,
And they who latter scorn thee.

Thou art, oh God! the life and light Thy midnight cup is pledgid to slaves,

Of all this wond'rous world we see; No genial ties enw reati it,

Its glow, by day, its smile by night, The smiling there, like light on graves,

Are but reflections caught from thee. Has rank, cold hearts beneath it!

Where'er we turn thy glories shine, Go--go--though worlds were thine, And all things fair and bright are Thine. I would not now surrender

II. One taintless tear of mine

When day with farewell beam, delays For all thy guilty splendour!

Among the opening clouds of even,

And we can almost think we gaze And days may come, thou false one ! yet,

Thro’ golden vistas into heaven; When even those ties shall sever;

Those hues that make the Sun's decline
When thou wilt call, withi vain regret, So soft, so radiant, Lord! are Thine.
On her thou'st lost for ever;

On her who, in thy fortune's fall,
With smiles had still receiv'd thee,

When night, with wings of starry gloom, And gladly died to prove thee all

O'ershadows all the earth and skies, Her faney first believ'd thee.

Like some dark, beauteous bird, whose plume Go-go-'tis vain to curse,

Is sparkling with unnumber'd eyes ;'Tis weakness to upbraid thee;

That sacred gloom, those fires divine, Hate cannot wish thee worse

So grand, so countless, Lord! are Thinc.. Than guilt and shame have made thee.


When youthful spring around us breathes, The length of our preceding ex- Thy spirit warms her fragrant siglı ;

And ev'ry flower the summer wreathies tracts, leave us room for but few of

Is born beneath thy kindled eye. what Mr. Moore is pleased to term Where'er we turn, thy glories shive, his Gospel Melodies, We cannot And all things fair and bright are Thine. but fancy that there is full as much fond regret, as godly sorrow,' in the We have not selected from this pube following melody' entitled Penis lication, pot, indeed all that we adiuire, tence.'

but what we deem most decidedly ex

cellent in it. We have not palised to Go, let me weer! there's Wiss in tears, comment-probably our readers would When lie who sheds them, inly feels

not have listened to us if we hadre Sorne lingering stain of early years Eflac'd by every drop that steals.

wisely said every thing we intended to The fruitless showers of worldly vo

say in the way of criticism, before we Fall dark to earth and never rise ;

commenced with the exacts; well knowing it was our best chance of sufficient occasion for so doing. But commanding attention. What we have it is pleasanter to applaud than to cenomitted is, generally, very far beluw what sure ; and besides, we prefer dissemiwe have copied, and fully justifies our dating what we approve, to circulating preliminary remarks. Did we delight what we condemn. in finding fault, we might have shown

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ART. 5.

The Village; a Pocm. With an Appendir. 12mo. pp. 180. Ed

ward Little & Co. Portland. 1816.

THIS book, which is about equally his invention, or enriched his imagina

I divided between the Poem and the tion ; and he is obviously deficient in Appendix, appears to be the production that transforming quality which chaof a young man of extensive reading; racterizes genuine poetical talent, to and in the dedication, which is to the which all the other faculties of the people, is offered to the world with a true poet serve as purveyors—and by Jaudable and republican modesty. which, every thing stored in the me.

The intentions of the author are un- mory, or submitted to the observation, doubtedly good, and, making a fair is at once, as by the touch of Midas, allowance for that crudeness in the converted into gold. thoughts, which so universally marks It may have been a useful exercise juvenile compositions, together with to the author to try his hand at versifithe exception of occasionally a little cation in some of his leisure hours, for fanaticism of feeling, the general cor- the sake of enlarging his vocabulary, rectness of his principles does credit to but it was unadvised to print. The the endowments of his mind, while the putting into rhyme of a few unimporwarmth of his heart, and the generosity tant facts and common-place remarks, of his sentiments, are befitting his time could not profit the community, as it of life, and worthy the liberality of his teaches them nothing, and is injurious education. But though we regard the to the interests of literature, because author with esteem, and think he is a it burdens patronage, and abridges the kind of man with whom we should be just reward of genuine merit. happy to cultivate a personal acquaint- The secret, however, of this publiance, yet we cannot perceive, from the cation is, we suspect, a feeling which present specimen of his talents, that he the author of "The Village shares in ' is much of a poet. His knowledge of common with his countrymen. This history appears, indeed, to be extensive, feeling is an incorrigible and nettleand will doubtless be of great service some impatience at remaining in obscuto him in the career of his profession, rity; and there is no trait more conwhich he gives us to understand is the spicuous in the American character. law--but something more is necessary All, in all ranks, are discontented in a to constitute a poet than mere memory, state of pupilage, and anxious to be though well replenished with facts, or quit of parental control, to see their insensibility to the miseries which men dentures expire, to obtain their diplohave suffered from the prevalence of mas, and to come of age. The youth error and abuse of power, however of the present day, and especially of quick and indignant that sensibility our own country, seem to think it inmay be. His reading has clearly as- compatible with their dignity, to wait sisted him in forming correct views of for the time appointed by nature and the general principles by which society good taste for assuming the toga virilis; should be regulated, and expanded his and if they cannot quicked the pinions sympathies, more than it has quickened of time, and hasten the happy period

when they may claim a legal equality discriminative and accurate perception with men, they endeavour to find a re- of the appearances of material nature. medy for the juvenility of their years, In proof of his deficiency in the first in the premature mannishness of their mentioned qualification, we would remanners, and come forward with an fer to the work generally, and the inair of consequence, as if age and expe- difference, not to say wearisomeness, rience had given them a right to assume, which we felt before we finished the when in sober truth, their ignorance re- perusal of it. In proof of his deficiency quires the laborious exertions of some in the other qualification, we would faithful instructor, and their imperti- refer the reader to the first page of nence deserves the rod. This dispo- the poem. The poem commences sition of our countrymen, though nearly with a prospect of the White Hills of allied to that spirit of enterprise for New Hampshire, in the vicinity of which they are so honourably distin- which it was written, and after saying guished, is, we conceive, peculiarly de. that they look as if all the world had trimental to the character of our litera- been heaped there in confusion by ture, and has, unhappily, been fostered the rushing currents of the deluge, in by the numerous literary institutions, the course of which stale conceit, ho on a small scale, with which the land incorrectly makes as if' respond to is overrun. The idea of a liberal edu- 'such' and 'so,' and uses the imperfect cation seems to be confined to the ac- tense after it, when he ought to use quisition of a diploma, and one college the pluperfect, he goes on to speak of can confer this as well as another, a thunder storm that convolved' upon Thus, by the multiplication of ill-en- the mountains, and which, with the dowed seminaries, the funds destined help of a pretty strong wind, contrived to the nourishment of learning are disi. to make considerable noise, and do a pated, and multitudes of hall-educated good deal of damage among the trees. candidates for public confidence and Notwithstanding the notable effects of honour, are annually turned forth to this storm, however, we must object crowd the professions, to their own disc to it as not drawn from nature. A credit and the injury of the community, thunder storm which could discharge when, with half the expense actually from its cloudy batteries such quantibestowed upon their education, they ties of electric fluid as to make the might fit themselves to become truly tops of the White Hills tremble, would useful and respectable, by assisting to rarely exhibit so much niinbleness and develope the physical resources of gayety of evolution as is ascribed to their country, and by increasing the the one under consideration; which, numbers and elevating the character except that it is rather more blustering, of those middle classes of society, resembles a copious April shower. which constitute the bone and muscle As a specimen of the tameness of his of the state.

fancy, and the crudeness of his The scope of these remarks we are thoughts, we shall now introduce the inclined to think will not apply to the author's compendious system of cosauthor of The Village' in his profes. · mogony, conveyed in the way of quessional character, but we think they do tion and answer, the most approved apply to him as a candidate for the ho- method, now-a-days, of teaching all nours of poetry; and to the considera- the sciences. tion of his work we will now return. The first question is, how came the

The qualifications for writing poetry, White Hills, and all unevennesses on in which the author of · The Village' the earth's surface to exist ? and the appears to be most particularly defi- next is, why was not the earth smooth cient, are richness of fancy and a quick and eren? Though the author has

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