"O thou, for whose soul-soothing quiet, turtles Through sunny meadows, that outskirt the side By every wind that nods the mountain pine, "Thou, to whom every fawn and satyr flies To save poor lambkins from the eagle's maw; "O Hearkener to the loud clapping shears, While ever and anon to his shorn peers A ram goes bleating: Winder of the horn, When snouted wild-boars routing tender corn Anger our huntsman: Breather round our farms, To keep off mildews, and all weather harms: Strange ministrant of undescribed sounds, That come a swooning over hollow grounds, And wither drearily on barren moors. The enamoured youth sinks into insensibility in the midst of the solemnity, and is borne apart and revived by the care of his sister; and, opening his heavy eyes in her arms, says "I feel this thine endearing love pp. 114-117. All through my bosom : thou art as a dove Such morning incense from the fields of May, Alone and sad. No, I will once more raise Hereat Peona, in their silver source, Shut her pure sorrow drops with glad exclaim, pp. 25-27. He then tells her all the story of his love and madness; and is afterwards led away by butterflies to the haunts of Naiads, and by them sent down into enchanted caverns, where he sees Venus and Adonis, and great flights of Cupids, and wanders over diamond terraces among beautiful fountains and temples and statues, and all sorts of fine and strange things. All this is very fantastical: But there are splendid pieces of description, and a sort of wild richness on the whole. We cull a few little morsels. This is the picture of the sleeping Adonis. In midst of all, there lay a sleeping youth Of fondest beauty. Sideway his face repos'd On one white arm, and tenderly unclos'd, By tenderest pressure, a faint damask mouth To slumbery pout; just as the morning south Disparts a dew-lipp'd rose. Above his head, Four lily stalks did their white honours wed To make a coronal; and round him grew All tendrils green, of every bloom and hue, Together intertwin'd and trammel'd fresh: The vine of glossy sprout; the ivy mesh, Shading its Ethiop berries; and woodbine, Of velvet leaves and bugle-blooms divine. VOL. XXXIV. NO. 67. Hard by, Stood serene Cupids watching silently. In through the woven roof, and fluttering-wise pp. 72, 73. There is another and more classical sketch of Cybele. Forth from a rugged arch, in the dusk below, Cowering their tawny brushes. Silent sails This shadowy queen athwart, and faints away In the midst of all these spectacles, he has, we do not very well know how, a ravishing interview with his unknown goddess; and, when she melts away from him, he finds himself in a vast grotto, where he overhears the courtship of Alpheus and Arethusa, and, as they elope together, discovers that the grotto has disappeared, and that he is at the bottom of the sea, under the transparent arches of its naked waters. The following is abundantly extravagant; but comes of no ignoble lineage, nor shames its high descent. Far had he roam'd, With nothing save the hollow vast, that foam'd But those of Saturn's vintage; mouldering scrolls, And elephant, and eagle, and huge jaw p. 111. Of nameless monster. There he finds antient Glaucus enchanted by Circe-hears his wild story-and goes with him to the deliverance and restoration of thousands of drowned lovers, whose bodies were piled and stowed away in a large submarine palace. When this feat is happily performed, he finds himself again on dry ground, with woods and waters around him; and cannot help falling desperately in love with a beautiful damsel whom he finds there pining for some such consolations, and who tells a long story of her having come from India in the train of Bacchus, and having strayed away from him into that forest :-so they vow eternal fidelity, and are wafted up to heaven on flying horses, on which they sleep and dream among the stars ;—and then the lady melts away, and he is again alone upon the earth; but soon rejoins his Indian love, and agrees to give up his goddess, and live only for her: But she refuses, and says she is resolved to devote herself to the service of Diana; and when she goes to dedicate herself, she turns out to be the goddess in a new shape, and exalts her lover with her to a blest immortality. We have left ourselves room to say but little of the second volume, which is of a more miscellaneous character. Lamia is a Greek antique story, in the measure and taste of Endymion. Isabella is a paraphrase of the same tale of Boccacio, which Mr Cornwall has also imitated under the title of a Sicilian Story.' It would be worth while to compare the two imitations; but we have no longer time for such a task. Mr K. has followed his original more closely, and has given a deep pathos to several of his stanzas. The widowed bride's discovery of the murdered body is very strikingly given. 'Soon she turn'd up a soiled glove, whereon And so she kneeled, with her locks all hoar, Three hours they labour'd at this travail sore; And then the prize was all for Isabel : 02 Pointed each fringed lash; the smeared loam With tears, as chilly as a dripping well, She drench'd away :--and still she comb'd, and kept Sweet Basil, which her tears kept ever wet. pp. 72-75. The following lines from an ode to a Nightingale, are equally distinguished for harmony and feeling. O for a beaker full of the warm South, That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, What thou among the leaves hast never known, : Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; And leaden-eyed despairs. The voice I hear this passing night was heard Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, The same that oft-times hath Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam p. 108-111. We must close our extracts with the following lively lines to Fancy. O sweet Fancy! let her loose; |