Who gazest ever true and tender ALL. Love! love! love! The last specimen which I shall give of Shelley's translations, is the celebrated "Song of the Archangels," in Goethe's "Faust:"— Raphael. Die Sonne tönt nach alter Weise, Und ihre vorgeschriebne Reise Jhr Anblick gibt den Engeln Stärke, Gabriel. Und schnell und unbegreiflich schnelle Dreht sich umher der Erde Pracht; Mit tiefer, schauervoller Nacht; Es schäumt das Meer in breiten Flüen Am tiefen Grund der Felsen auf, und Fels und Meer wird fortgerisjen In ewig schnellem Sphärenlauf. Michael. Und Stürme brausen um die Wette, Vom Meer aufs Land, vom Land aufs Meer, und bilden wüthend eine Kette Der tiefsten Wirkung rings umber. Zu Drei. Der Anblick gibt den Engeln Stärke, und alle deine hohen Werke Sind herrlich wie am ersten Tag. RAPHAEL. The sun makes music as of old Amid the rival spheres of Heaven, With thunder speed: the Angels even Is bright as at creation's day. GABRIEL. And swift and swift, with rapid lightness, With deep and dreadful night; the sea Up to the rocks; and rocks and ocean, MICHAEL. And tempests in contention roar From land to sea, from sea to land! A flashing desolation there Flames before the thunder's way; But thy servants, Lord, revere The gentle changes of thy day. CHORUS OF THE THREE. The Angels draw strength from thy glance, Is bright as on creation's day. The last passage that I shall extract here from Shelley is an original poem, which I quote both for its beauty, and because it feelingly pourtrays the wretchedness of the heart, which, however good and gentle towards its fellow-creatures, has made shipwreck of its faith. These stanzas were found among Shelley's other unfinished poems after his death; and it will be seen that the first stanza had not received the author's final corrections. STANZAS, WRITTEN IN DEJECTION, NEAR NAPLES. THE sun is warm, the sky is clear, The breath of the moist air is light, Around its unexpanded buds ; The winds, the birds, the ocean floods, The City's voice itself is soft like Solitude's. I see the Deep's untrampled floor With green and purple sea-weeds strown; I see the waves upon the shore, Like light dissolved in star-showers, thrown; I sit upon the sands alone, The lightning of the noon-tide ocean Is flashing round me, and a tone Arises from its measured motion, How sweet! did any heart now share in my emotion. Alas! I have nor hope nor health, Nor peace within nor calm around, Nor that content surpassing wealth And walk'd with inward glory crown'd— Nor fame, nor power, nor love, nor leisure. Smiling they live, and call life pleasure; To me that cup has been dealt in another measure. Yet now despair itself is mild, Even as the winds and waters are; Which I have borne, and yet must bear, And I might feel in the warm air My cheek grow cold, and hear the sea Some might lament that I were cold, As I when this sweet day is gone, Which my lost heart, too soon grown old, Insults with this untimely moan; They might lament-for I am one Whom men love not,-and yet regret, Unlike this day, which, when the sun Shall on its stainless glory set, Will linger, though enjoy'd, like joy in memory yet. WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED. WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED was born in 1802. He died of consumption on the 15th of July, 1839. He had been member of Parliament for Aylesbury, St. Germain's, and Yarmouth, in successive Parliaments; and he had held the K K office of Secretary to the Board of Control, from December, 1834, to the April following. He was obliged to leave public life, and, as he himself expressed it, to retire to die, just as his eloquence and ability were winning for him a place in the first rank of one of the great parties in the State. It is principally as a poet that he will be remembered. Many beautiful poems, which he contributed to the temporary periodicals of the day, lie at present buried in defunct annuals and old magazines. They well deserve collection. I quote from memory one of them, a spirited poem on the meeting between Arminius and his brother, mentioned in the second book of the Annals of Tacitus.' I have not had the resolution to plunge into the Dead Sea of the Keepsakes, Souvenirs, &c., of twenty or twenty-three years ago, and probably my version may not be accurate; but I believe that "I recall The sense of what he wrote, although I mar ARMINIUS. Back, back ;-he fears not foaming flood Who fears not steel-clad line : No warrior thou of German blood, No brother thou of mine. Go, earn Rome's chain to load thy neck, Her gems to deck thy hilt; And blazon honour's hapless wreck 1 "Flumen Visurgis Romanos Cheruscosque interfluebat: ejus in ripâ cum ceteris primoribus Arminius adstitit, quæsitoque an Cæsar venisset?' postquàm adesse' responsum est, ut liceret cum fratre conloqui' oravit. Erat is in exercitu cognomento Flavius, insignis fide, et amisso per vulnus oculo paucis antè annis, duce Tiberio : tum permissum; progressusque salutatur ab Arminio: qui amotis stipatoribus, ut sagittarii nostra pro ripâ dispositi abscederent,' postulat ; et postquàm digressi, unde ea deformitas oris?' interrogat fratrem : illo locum, et prælium referente, 'quodnam præmium recepisset?' exquirit. Flavius aucta stipendia, torquem, et coronam, aliaque militaria dona' memorat, inridente Arminio vilia servitii pretia. Exin diversi ordiuntur: hic 'magnitudinem Romanam, opes Cæsaris, et victis graves pœnas; in deditionem venienti paratam clementiam ; neque conjugem et filium ejus hostiliter haberi.' Ille 'fas patriæ, libertatem avitam, penetrales Germaniæ deos, matrem precum sociam; ne propinquorum et adfinium, denique gentis suæ desertor et proditor, quàm imperator esse mallet.' Paulatim inde ad jurgia prolapsi, quominus pugnam consererent, ne flumine quidem interjecto cohibebantur; ne Stertinius adcurrens, plenum iræ, 'armaque et equum ' poscentem Flavium attinuisset. Cernebatur contra minitabundus Arminius, præliumque denuntians: nam pleraque Latino sermone interjaciebat, ut qui Romanis in castris ductor popularium meruisset.” But wouldst thou have me share the prey ? By all that I have done, The Varian bones that day by day Lie whitening in the sun, To agonise but not destroy, When swords are out, and shriek and shout Leave little room for prayer, No fetter on man's arm or heart I curse him by the gifts, the land The breakers of the Roman rods, Oh misery that such a ban And worthy of a brother's pride But it is past!-where heroes press His brethren are the free. They come around :—one hour, and light Then onward, onward to the fight With darkness for our guide. To-night, to-night, when we shall meet In combat face to face, Then only would Arminius greet The renegade's embrace. The canker of Rome's guilt shall be Upon his dying name; And as he lived in slavery, So shall he fall in shame. During Mr. Praed's brief parliamentary career, he was the author of many gracefully sarcastic pieces of political poetry, |