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ed-and perhaps shows, on the whole, more power than he has yet given proof of. But it is not very excellent as a story; and its great charm consists in the beauty of detached passages; -though the whole is very sweetly harmonized by a prevailing tone of tenderness and melancholy. The hero is the younger son of the proud Colonna family;-and being a little touched with insanity, is sent to the lonely convent of Laverna, that no gloom may rest on the happy walks and bright prospects of his elder brother-and there the forgotten youth pines and languishes for years. The following passages will show at once the spirit of poetry and beauty which breathes through even the least animated portions of the story.

There is a lofty spot

Visible amongst the mountains Appennine,
Where once a hermit dwelt, not yet forgot
He or his famous miracles divine;

And there the Convent of Laverna stands
In solitude, built up by saintly hands,
And deemed a wonder in the elder time;
Chasms of the early world are yawning there,
And rocks are seen, craggy, and vast, and bare
And many a dizzy precipice sublime,

And caverns dark as Death, where the wild air
Rushes from all the quarters of the sky :
Above, in all his old regality,

The monarch eagle sits upon his throne,
Or floats upon the desert winds, alone.

There, belted 'round and 'round by forests drear,
Black pine, and giant beech, and oaks that rear
Their brown diminished heads like shrubs between,
And guarded by a river that is seen

Flashing and wandering thro' the dell below,
Laverna stands.It is a place of woe,

And, 'midst its cold dim aisles and cells of gloom,
The pale Franciscan meditates his doom.' pp. 7, 8.
'But in his gentler moments he would gaze,
With something of the love of earlier days,
On the far prospects, and on summer morns
Would wander to a high and distant peak,
Against whose rocky bosom the clouds break
In showers upon the forests. It adorns
The landscape, and from out a pine-wood high,
Springs like a craggy giant to the sky.
Here, on this summit of the hills, he loved
To lie and look upon the world below;
And almost did he wish at times to know

How in that busy world man could be moved

To live for ever-what delights were there
To equal the fresh sward and odorous air,
The valleys and green slopes, and the sweet call
Of bird to bird, what time the shadows fall
Toward the west he thought and thought,
'Till in his brain a busier spirit wrought,

And Nature then unlocked with her sweet smile
The icy barrier of his heart, and he
Returned unto his first humanity.

He felt a void, and much he grieved the while,
Within his heart, as tho' he wished to share
A joy he knew not with another mind;
Wild were his thoughts, but every wish refined,
And pure as waters of the mountain spring:
Was it the birth of Love?—did he unbind
(Like the far scent of wild flowers blossoming)
His perfumed pinions in that rocky lair,

To save a heart so young from perishing there? pp. 16-18. In the mean time, all is mirth and joy in the Colonna palace, now delivered from this gloomy inmate-and the happy heir is destined to the lovely Julia.

'On that same night of mirth Vitelli came
With his fair child, sole heiress of his name,-
She came amidst the lovely and the proud,
Peerless; and when she moved, the gallant crowd
Divided, as the obsequious vapours light
Divide to let the queen-moon pass by night:
Then looks of love were seen, and many a sigh
Was wasted on the air, and some aloud

Talked of the pangs they felt and swore to die :-
She, like the solitary rose that springs

In the first warmth of summer days, and flings
A perfume the more sweet because alone-

Just bursting into beauty, with a zone

Half girl's half woman's, smiled and then forgot

Those gentle things to which she answered not. pp. 13, 14. The fortunate youth, however, is killed in a duel-the fair Julia is married to an unsuitable husband, and Marcian is recalled, though still a little strange and moody, to carry on the representation of the family. Julia's husband is providentially drowned, and she returns to the home of her fathers, very pale and lovely. Marcian and she had seen each other in early youth, and he had had dreams and visions of her in his convent retreat-and they are now troubled in each other's presence; but part without speaking. The following account of this second meeting is very sweet and beautiful.

One night-one summer night he wandered far
Into the Roman suburbs; Many a star

Shone out above upon the silent hours,
Save when, awakening the sweet infant flowers,
The breezes travell'd from the west, and then
A small cloud came abroad and fled again.
The red rose was in blossom, and the fair
And bending lily to the wanton air

Bared her white breast, and the voluptuous lime
Cast out his perfumes, and the wilding thyme
Mingled his mountain sweets, transplanted low
'Midst all the flowers that in those regions blow.
-He wandered on : At last, his spirit subdued
By the deep influence of that hour, partook
E'en of its nature, and he felt imbued
With a more gentle love, and he did look
At times amongst the stars, as on a book
Where he might read his destiny. How bright
Heaven's many constellations shone that night!
And from the distant river a gentle tune,
Such as is uttered in the month of June,

By brooks, whose scanty streams have languished long
For rain, was heard ;-a tender, lapsing song,

Sent up in homage to the quiet moon.

'He mused, 'till from a garden, near whose wall
He leant, a melancholy voice was heard
Singing alone, like some poor widow bird
That casts unto the woods her desert call.
It was the voice-the very voice that rung
Long in his brain that now so sweetly sung.
He passed the garden bounds and lightly trod,
Checking his breath, along the grassy sod,

(By buds and blooms half-hidden, which the breeze
Had ravished from the clustering orange trees,)
Until he reached a low pavilion, where
He saw a lady pale, with radiant hair
Over her forehead, and in garments white;
A harp was by her, and her fingers light
Carelessly o'er the golden strings were flung;
Then, shaking back her locks, with upward eye,
And lips that dumbly moved, she seemed to try
To catch an old disused melody-' pp. 34-36.

He finds, by her song, that he is remembered and beloved-and he tells his love, and is accepted-and, after some alarms about his malady, they are united in fullness of bliss and in

nocence.

Sleep softly, on your bridal pillows, sleep,
Excellent pair! happy and young and true;
And o'er your days, and o'er your slumbers deep
And airy dreams, may Love's divinest dew

Be scatter'd like the April rains of Heaven:
And may your tender words, whispered at even,
Be woven into music; and, as the wind
Leaves when it flies a sweetness still behind,
When distant, may each silver sounding tone
Weigh on the other's heart, and bring (tho' gone)
The absent back; and may no envy sever
Your joys, but may each love-be loved for ever.

Now, as I write, lo! thro' my window streams
The midnight moon-crescented Dian, who
'Tis said once wandered from her wastes of blue,
And all for love; filling a shepherd's dreams
With beauty and delight. He slept, he slept,
And on his eyelids white the huntress wept
Till morning; and looked thro', on nights like this,
His lashes dark, and left her dewy kiss.—
But never more upon the Latmos hill
May she descend to kiss that forest boy,
And give-receive gentle and innocent joy,
When clouds are distant far, and winds are still :
Her bound is circumscribed, and curbed her will.
-Those were immortal stories :—are they gone?
The pale queen is dethroned. Endymion

Hath vanished; and the worship of this earth

Is bowed to golden gods of vulgar birth.' pp. 58-59. The succeeding and tragical part of the story is perhaps the least skilfully managed. Marcian, wandering one day, in his bridal joy, is appalled by the sudden apparition of Julia's first husband, who turns out not to have been effectually drowned -and instantly flies with her in distraction from the Italian shore. The following description of their disastrous voyage is the most powerful piece of poetry that has yet proceeded from Mr Cornwall's pen-and might do honour to any name that now graces our literature.

-The day-light sank, and the winds wailed about
The barque wherein the luckless couple lay,
And from the distant cloud came scattering out
Rivers of fire: it seemed as though the day
Had burst from out the billows, far away.
No pilot had they their small boat to steer
Aside from rocks, no sea-worn mariner

Who knew each creek and bay and sheltering steep.
-The storm continued, and no voice was heard,
Save that of some poor solitary bird,

Which sought a shelter on the quivering mast,
But soon borne off by the tremendous blast
Sank in the waters screaming. The great se

Bared like a grave its bosom silently;
Then sank and panted like an angry thing,
With its own strength at war: The vessel flew
Towards the land, and then the billows grew
Larger and white, and roared as triumphing,
Scattering afar and wide the heavy spray
That shone like loose snow as it passed away.
-At first the dolphin and the porpoise dark
Came rolling by them, and the hungry shark
Followed the boat, patient and eager-eyed,
And the gray curlew slanting dipped her side
And the hoarse gull his wing within the foam;
But some had sank, the rest had hurried home.
And there pale Julia and her husband, clasped
Each in the other's arms, sate viewing Death:
She for his sake at times in terror gasped,
But he to cheer her kept his steady breath,
Talking of hope, and smiled like morning-There
They sate together in their sweet despair:
At times upon his breast she laid her head,
And he upon her silent beauty fed,

Hushing her fears-and 'tween her and the storm
Drew his embroidered cloak to keep her warm :
She thanked him with a look upturned to his,
The which he answered with a gentle kiss
Pressed and prolonged to pain. Her lip was cold;
And all her love and terror mutely told.-

O thou vast Ocean! Ever sounding Sea!
Thou symbol of a drear immensity!
Thou thing that windest round the solid world
Like a huge animal, which, downward hurl'd
From the black clouds, lies weltering and alone,
Lashing and writhing till its strength be gone.
Thy voice is like the thunder, and thy sleep
Is as a giant's slumber, loud and deep.
Thou speakest in the East and in the West
At once, and on thy heavily laden breast

Fleets come and go, and shapes that have no life

Or motion yet are moved and meet in strife.

The earth hath nought of this: no chance nor change Ruffles its surface, and no spirits dare

Give answer to the tempest-waken air;

But o'er its wastes the weakly tenants range
At will, and wound its bosom as they go:
Ever the same, it hath no ebb, no flow;
But in their stated rounds the seasons come,
And pass like visions to their viewless home,
And come again, and vanish: the young Spring

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