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XXII.

Then to its first romantic dream recurring, Recalls the fugitive which Pride exil'd; Its first emotions in the pulse are stirring, And roses fix and flourish in the wild.Hence Love, pure, warm, and guileless as a child,

Rises from the Pactolus of his mind ;LEILA the lovely, and MEDORA mild; ZULEIKA, a mimosa from the wind, Folding her shrinking leaves, and FLO

RENCE fair and kind."

After some very elegant admonitions to the noble Poet, Mr. Wiffen thus concludes his address:

"There is another and a purer fount, There is a sweeter and a happier mead Than e'er was gather'd on the Muses' mount,

A plant for sorrow and for pain decreed, Comfort the fruit-Religion is the seed. She calls us with mild voice, which to repel, Must cause the wounds of sorrow still to bleed;

Obey'd-the waters of delight will swell From an unfailing spring "sweets to the sweet farewell."

There is a very copious note on Lord Byron, containing several anecdotes of his redeeming virtues, and of the unparalleled meanness and ingratitude of some who have equally abused his generosity and his name; but as it has found its way into many of the newspapers, and is withal too long for quotation here, we must refer our Readers to the Volume itself. A very pleasantly told love-tale occupies the better part of this Canto, from which, had our limits allowed us, we could have presented our Readers with some very interesting

éxtracts.

An elegant tribute is offered, at the conclusion, to the Poet of Memory,

in a delicate fable of his pupilage, by the nymph Mnemosyne and Fancy, who feed his aspirations with the bright, the beautiful, and the grand of Nature, her rocks, hills, forests, and fountains. Of the minor poems which are attached to "Aonian Hours," we have little to say. They evince throughout a brilliant, rather than a vivid, fancy,-chasteness rather than a luxuriance of language,-and a full vein of pure sentiment, of an elegant rather than an original mind. They abound, for the most part, in thoughts less forceful than fancifula lustre, indeed, which, like that emitted from crystal, though bright and irradiating, does not burn. quote the following Stanzas, not from any particular preference, but because they happen to be the shortest:

To * * *

We

"No! not the tress round the mild eye curling

Of Beauty, falls in a sweeter fold,
Tho' dark, it droops like a banner furling,
Or floats like the sun in a sea of gold;
And not the smile on lips descending,
Bright with mirth, seems so divine,
As when, dearest Maid, dear Music is
lending

Her soul to beautiful lips like thine!
Tresses full faded, smiles are fleeting,
Blue eyes oft shoot us an icy glance;
But, O! what spirit cau still the beating
Of pulses that tremble, and hearts that
dance!

The kindest gift-the sweetest token,
Tress or smile I would resign,

Once more, but to hear one dear word spoken

By those so beautiful lips of thine !".

A few instances of mysticism are to be met with in the volume, and of what may be termed the manner of Lord Byron carried to excess,-passages in which strength of conception is, to a certain degree, sacrificed to elegance and harmony of style; for instance

"near its summit the funeral yew Hath built himself a pinnacle." P. 9. And addressing the cuckoo,

"to sit Canopied in the gladdening horoscope Which thou, my planet, flung.”

These, however, are very slight defects, balanced against so many beauties, and would, perhaps, hardly have been noticed by us, but that the purer and calmer the stream, the more discernible are the minutest objects

which float upon and deform its surface. On the whole, we believe Mr. Wiffen to be in the possession of poetical talents of no common order. He has developed very considerable powers in the Volume which has elicited these observations, and with every good wish for his attaining to that distinction he appears so eminently to deserve, we will take our leave of him, with a sentiment of Petrarch, put forth on a very different occasion;

"Tanto te prego più

Non lassar la magnanima tua impressa."

31. Oakwood Hall, a Novel; including a Description of the Lakes of Cumberland and Westmoreland, and a part of South Wales. By Catherine Hutton. 3 Vols. 12mo.

THERE is no air of artifice or contrivance in this series of correspondence, yet it unfolds a very impressive and interesting story. The Letters, which successively detail the incidents as they occur, seem to be written on the impulse of the moment, and to express the feelings of the several writers in the unrestrained freedom of confidential intercourse. The same ingenuous artlessness is observable in those parts which have no immediate reference to the business

of the Novel, and are occupied chiefly by very animated descriptions of the beautiful and romantic tracks of country where the scene is dispersedly laid. These digressions, which appear very natural in a work which, from its epistolary form, supposes the several characters to be occasionally at a distance from each other, become less frequent and extensive as the interest of the story heightens, and they are wholly discontinued, when it approaches its climax. Though the Author has given the plot rather a serious complexion, her penchant has led her to deal largely in the comic; and certainly, since the days of Tristram Shandy and Matthew Bramble, there has not been brought together such a groupe of humourists as the family party at Oakwood Hall. The following full-length sketch of the master of the mansion may afford a presumptive notion of the set of originals whom he would be naturally disposed to admit within his fire-side circle.

"I believe a female visitor was never known at Oakwood in the memory of any of the servants; and my coming was as much dreaded by the whole household, as the arrival of the fox could have been among the poultry. The master himself was not without his share of apprehension, both on my account and his own: on mine, lest he should not make his house agreeable to me; on his own, lest he should be put out of his way. But now I have been here almost a week, and the servants find I do not attack them, and the master finds that I can provide for my own amusement, without putting him to the heavy fatigue of entertaining me; we are the best friends in the world. grand maxim is, that each shall have his way, and no one shall interfere with the way of another; and if it were more widely diffused, I believe society would be the better for it.

Our

"My brother's way is an uncommon one; but I do not condemn it on that account. He will not suffer any thing to be killed in his house larger than a flea; though he knows his own grounds supply his table with mutton and venison, bis farm-yard with poultry, and the adjoining river with fish. He will have every thing put to death instantly, and with as little pain as possible, for its own sake; and for his, he will have it done at the farm-house, which is at a distance, that he may not know when an animal is to die.

"In his younger days he was fond of hunting; but he has left it off from prin

ciple. He will eat of hare, if it have

been shot; for, as all creatures must die, he thinks a gun may occasion less pain than disease; but he can no longer witness the distress of a hare with the dogs in pursuit of her; or suffer such persecution, where he is master. Even a fox, whom, as a robber and murderer, he thinks it right to destroy, he will not allow to be hunted.

He

"How then you say can an old bachelor spend his time; for of course he will neither shoot nor fish? you are right; he will not but how he employs his time you would find it difficult to guess. labours in his plantations. Not like a gentleman; but like a man, and harder than a man who works for hire. His callous hands are familiar with the mattock, the spade, and the wheelbarrow. His pleasure-grounds are so extensive, that there is always room for improvement, at least, for alteration; and if he consider it improvement, it is enough. In this place, shrubs must be stocked up, the ground must be dug three feet deep, the gravelly soil carried away, and manure and fresh earth must be brought from a distance to supply its place. The whole must be levelled, and planted in a different form;

and

and while this is doing, he is up at six o'clock in a morning; dressed in a nankeen jacket, cap and trowsers, if the weather be mild; a hat and woollen jacket and trowsers, if it be cold or wet; shoes studded with more than ploughman's nails; and taking half a dozen men with him, he is not only superintendent of the work, but chief labourer. His exercise is so violent, that it frequently obliges him to throw off his jacket, and work in his shirt. No weather interrupts his labour but snow. He has a fire in his dressing-room, winter and summer, and his valet, who has a much easier place than his master, has always a set of clothes hanging round it, ready for him, when he comes in. We dine alone, and he commonly dresses before dinner; but if the work be of very great importance, the only ceremony he observes is washing his hands; and after he has allowed himself the workmen's hour, he toils again till six or seven o'clock. He is generally so fortunate, before his job is finished, as to find another that must be done: if not, the interval is insupportable, and therefore it is never long."

The business of the tender passion, which of course forms the pith of this, as of most other novels, is conducted with admirable feeling and delicacy. It is a perfect and unexaggerated model of a genuine English courtship, chequered by many untoward and distressing vicissitudes and disappointments, which render the final consummation the more delightful. We can only refer to this department of the work, as its effect would be lost by separation. Of the topographic descriptions, interspersed in the correspondence, the following may be taken as a specimen; it occurs in a Letter from Miss Oakwood, dated Rippon, and relates to one of the most remarkable antiquities in the county of York. Her strictures on the rage which formerly prevailed for improving ruins, will be applaud ed by all whose taste for the pic turesque is blended with a veneration for the antique.

"This morning we visited Fountains Abbey, which stands in Studley Park, about three miles from hence. I stood motionless with astonishment, when, at the end of a narrow grassy glen, with high rocks and woods on each side, the East end of the Abbey Church burst upon us; and, through its lofty pointed window, we saw a nave 351 feet in length, where broken arches and spreading trees were GENT. MAG. September, 1819.

striving for the mastery. This space has been divided in length into church and choir; in breadth, into middle and side aisles. Magnificent pillars still remain.

"I have never seen any place which gave me so perfect an idea of the manner of living of Monks, as Fountains Abbey, where one may trace them through the day. The splendid ruin I have been describing, was the place where they transacted the business of their lives. I had almost said their workshop; for prayers and praises so often repeated must have become mechanical.-We next see their refectory, 130 feet by 47. Another serious business was transacted here. I could fancy the long tables, the heavy benches, the eager Monks, and the excellent fare supplied by this luxuriant countiy. Here I could not doubt the zeal of the good fathers; for habit could not render them indifferent to this employ. We then come to a venerable cloister; the scene of their walks, or rather lounges; for such pious men had always leisure.From this, we mounted by a flight of steps, on the outside, to their dormitory, which is over the cloister. I had not so

good an opinion of their lodging as their living. There are about ten small recesses on either side the room, with each a dismal window; they were probably wainscoted out from the gallery, which runs in the middle. A larger square room occupies one end. Last scene of this not eventful history, behold their tombs! at least, those of their abbots. They lie buried in the chapter-house, which is scattered with broken tiles, formerly the pavement; and broken glass which filled the window.

"The kitchen, which is 47 feet by 21, remains entire, with its arched ribbed

roof, and two capacious fire places. The very chimney of one is whole, square at the base, and circular at top; and the mill still grinds corn, which supplied the bread. I looked for the buttery, where Henry Jenkins shared the hospitality of the Monks; but could not find it.

"Fountains Abbey was erected in the

thirteenth century.

bought the estate of Studley in 1766, and "Mr. Aislabie, the late proprietor,

inclosed the Abbey in his park. He has been censured for his improvements. I,' who never saw what it was, admire it as it is. But woe to that sacrilegious hand which dares to touch Cathedral, Castle, or Abbey! They are a race that will shortly become extinct, and nothing shall succeed them! If we cannot make them, let us not alter, or destroy.

"It is said, that one of Mr. Aislabie's improvements was to take down some of the ruined offices, perhaps the buttery for

one;

one; another of them to remove the broken stones from the area of the church, dig it over, and lay it level; a third, to transform a court between the church and the refectory into a flower-garden. We saw a smart trim juniper growing in the middle of the nave, and the gardener boasted that this was one of his improvements. When I think of these things, I have but one comfort; if these interesting ruins had not been inclosed in the park, they night have suffered as much from plunderers, as they have done from a mistaken attempt to mend them; and the remains of the buttery might have raised a cottage over the head of a thief."

30. Prolusions on the present Greatness of Britain; on Modern Poetry; and on the present Aspect of the World. By Sharon Turner, F. S. A. Small 8vo.

pp. 199. Longman and Co.

FEW Poets have been able to bring to the assistance of their Muse so profound a knowledge of the antient history and of the constitution of Britain; and we are well pleased to see that the indefatigable Author has relaxed a little from his severer studies, to revel in the pleasing bowers of Poesy.

"A severe indisposition, which, after continuing for three years, is but beginning to relax, having compelled the author to abandon the historical investigations that were the amusement of his leisure, and to retire at frequent intervals into the country to procure some alleviation to his complaint, has occasioned the composition of the following Prolusions.

"This circumstance is not mentioned as an excuse for their imperfections, but to account for their appearance. Driven often into solitude, and at times unable either to read or to converse, or even to ride or walk, he had no enjoyments but such as silent meditation on former studies, or on the passing events of the day, could supply. To combine some of these reflections with the recollections of those persons, whom a long friendship has endeared to him; and to hold that conversation with them by the pen, which he was disabled from enjoying by personal intercourse, has given comfort to many a weary and painful hour. They are now published, because it is pleasing to retrace the gratification which we value, and to perpetuate its remembrance. The extraordinary activity and greatness of the British mind, led the author to the composition of his first Prolusion. A desire to see Poetry, the most impressive charm of intellectual life, made as useful as it is interesting, occasioned the second; and the remarkable changes, motivity, and

improvement, visible in every part of the
world, and advancing every day to new
progress and great results, suggested the
thoughts which appear in the third."

"If cultur'd mind be bliss or fame, how
blest
[our nest !"
We, who in BRITISH isles have found

Some appropriate and well-deserved compliments are paid to our " Princely Chief."

"His rank, from causes mocking man's
controul,

Itself a novelty on England's roll.
He there will stand, distinguish'd and alone;
A Prince uncrown'd, yet seated on her
throne.

The Nation's forward track his step pursues,
And with its honours, rise his public views.
He cannot rest contented with the past;
The spell of glory on his mind is cast.
To rank and power he pants to add his
fame,
[name.
Nor would in History's scroll be but a
Impressive portion of the living age,
The sovereign station claims th' impartial
page

In these light leaves; which in unstudied
rhymes,

Thus freely sketch the features of the times.
Then, as her future verdict will award,
Let sober truth his useful aims record.
Art will remember kindnesses his own,
Grateful to taste, but novel from the
Throne."

After enumerating many particulars highly honourable to the good taste and munificence of the Prince Regent, the Poet adds,

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Attempts, in varied sketches to rehearse. Will you, whose searches with such zeal [lore

explore

The letter'd taste that sleeps, suspend its
To listen while I trifle? while the lay
The age we live in, labours to pourtray?"

The proud and enviable situation of this great and powerful Country is nervously delineated in this Prolusion. Pre-eminent in Arts, Arms, and in Science, iu Polite Literature, in true Benevolence, in every virtue that adorns the human race, of which every page affords a varying and pleasing instance, Mr. Turner approves himself, at the same time, a good Poet, an intelligent Writer, and a true Patriot.

The second Prolusion, " on modern Poets and Poetry," is thus addressed to Thomas Green, Esq. :

"Can you, whose days, recorded with their taste

The Muses favour, hours so cultur'd waste To read my idle verse? Yet-do not blame, 'Tis not my choice, that quits th' historic

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All labour then was pleasure. Health.

was warm,

And ardent Fancy saw no future storm. Deluded Fancy! still with colours new, The soothing painter self-pleas'd visions drew.

Some noon-dreams realized. A parent's

name

Came with its dearest and imperious claim, Life then no more unroll'd a selfish plan; The beings we create, our care must scan. From the first hour they touch our world of sense,

'Tis ours, the happiest nurture to dispense. From us, thought, temper, habits, heart they seek, [cheek. With eyes of love, sweet smile and bloomy Both moral guidance and the letter'd tasks. Their presence is a creditor, that asks Mind, fancy, sensibility, and fire

Our sportive Cupids, as ourselves, respire. Like a grand instrument of heaven-strung tone, [own.

They wait our touch for harmonies their From each, we may combine whatever strain, [deign. Lofty, or sweet, or fair our skill may Then why let random menials, blind or base, [disgrace?"

Form the young cherub, and our hopes

We forbear to copy the remainder of this pathetic address; but can truly and feelingly say, that we sympathize with the Author in the sad event with which it concludes. The whole Poem is excellent, and abounds in sterling sense.

The third Prolusion, addressed to Robert Southey, esq; is of a more general nature; and is a good specimen of the strength of Mr. Turner's mind, and the extent of his literary researches.

31. A Song to David. By the late Chris topher Smart, M. A. 12mo. pp. 55. Rodwell.

THIS is a republication of a work of genius, which had so thoroughly disappeared from public view, that neither Dr. Anderson, Mr. Park, Dor Mr. Chalmers could procure a copy of it, to insert in their collected editions of the British Poets. Undoubtedly, it was not owing to any deficiency of merit, that this happened; but it is probable that it arose from the mode in which it was first permitted to see the light. This was, if we are rightly informed, in the middle of a miscellaneous collection of Psalms and Sacred Poems; and it never until now, we believe, edited separately. At last, however,

was

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