And still, and pale, and silently Her gentle voice-her lovely mien- The graces of its queen: Then, had her eye in sorrow wept, With downcast eyes and knitting brow, And folded arms, and freezing air, -- Her knights and dames, her court-is there : Had yet been couch'd before her glance, Had died or gain'd her liberty; And he for her had also wept, But for the eyes that on him gazed: His sorrow, if he felt it, slept; Stern and erect his brow was raised. [A sagacious writer gravely charges Lord Byron with paraphrasing, in this passage, without acknowledgment, Mr. Burke's well-known description of the unfortunate Marie Antoinette. "Verily," says Mr. Coleridge," there be amongst us a set of critics, who seem to hold, that every And Azo spake:-" But yesterday Ere day declines, I shall have none. Well, let that pass,-there breathes not one Let that too pass; the doom's prepared! Hugo, the priest awaits on thee, And then-thy crime's reward! Away! address thy prayers to Heaven, Before its evening stars are metLearn if thou there canst be forgiven; Its mercy may absolve thee yet. But here, upon the earth beneath, There is no spot where thou and I Together, for an hour, could breathe: Farewell! I will not see thee dieBut thou, frail thing! shalt view his headAway! I cannot speak the rest: Go! woman of the wanton breast; Not I, but thou his blood dost shed: Go! if that sight thou canst outlive, And joy thee in the life I give." XIII. And here stern Azo hid his face. "It is not that I dread the death- possible thought and image is traditional; who have no notion that there are such things as fountains in the world, small as well as great; and who would therefore charitably derive every rill they behold flowing, from a perforation made in some other man's tank."] But she is in the grave, where he, Thy youthful love-paternal care. "Tis true that I have done thee wrong— But wrong for wrong:- this deem'd thy bride, Thou know'st for me was destined long. Yet, were a few short summers mine, I had a sword-and have a breast That should have won as haught a crest Of all these sovereign sires of thine. And mine have lanced my courser's flank I will not plead the cause of crime, Disdain'd to deck a thing like me— Yet in my lineaments they trace From thee-nay, wherefore dost thou start?— But all that made me more thine own. 1 Haught haughty." Away, haught man, thou art insulting me."- SHAKSPEARE. ["I sent for Marmion,' because it occurred to me, there might be a resemblance between part of Parisina' and a similar scene in the second canto of Marmion.' I fear there is, though I never thought of it before, and could hardly wish to imitate that which is inimitable. I wish you would ask Mr. Gifford whether I ought to say any thing upon it. I had completed the story on the passage from Gibbon, which indeed leads to a like scene naturally, without a thought of the kind: but it comes upon me not very comfortably." Lord B. to Mr. M. Feb. 3. 1816. The scene referred to is the one in which Constance de Beverley appears before the conclave And we, all side by side, have striven, The past is nothing—and at last Yet would I that I then had died; For though thou work'dst my mother's ill, My life begun and ends the same: XIV. He ceased-and stood with folded arms, Again attracted every eye Would she thus hear him doom'd to die! She stood, I said, all pale and still, Nor once did those sweet eyelids close, So large and slowly gather'd slid From the long dark fringe of that fair lid, It was a thing to see, not hear! And those who saw, it did surprise, Such drops could fall from human eyes. To speak she thought-the imperfect note Or statue from its base o'erthrown, Than her, that living guilty thing, Which urged to guilt, but could not bear "Her look composed. and steady eye, [The arraignment and condemnation of the guilty pair, with the bold, high-toned, and yet temperate defence of the son, are managed with considerable talent; and yet are less touching than the mute despair of the fallen beauty, who stands in speechless agony before him. - JEFFREY.] But yet she lived-and all too soon Sent forth her thoughts all wild and wide- When midnight storms are mustering wrath. Or were they fiends who now so frown'd To her all-jarr'd and wandering mind; She strove with that convulsive dream; XV. The Convent bells are ringing, But mournfully and slow; The song for the dead below, Or the living who shortly shall be so! For a departing being's soul The death-hymn peals and the hollow bells knoll : Kneeling at the friar's knee; With the block before and the guards around While the crowd in a speechless circle gather XVI. It is a lovely hour as yet Before the summer sun shall set, [The grand part of this poem is that which describes the execution of the rival son; and in which, though there is no pomp, either of language or of sentiment, and though every In penitential holiness, He bends to hear his accents bless Wipe our mortal stains away. That high sun on his head did glisten Oh that parting hour was bitter! XVII. The parting prayers are said and over Shall ne'er approach his haughty eye. In deep disdain were half renew'd, When headman's hands prepared to bind His heart was wean'd from earthly feeling; What were they in such an hour? No more reproach-no more despair; No thought but heaven- no word but prayer Save the few which from him broke, His sole adieu to those around. XVIII. Still as the lips that closed in death, As down the deadly blow descended On him whose life and love thus ended; Pierced through with forced and sullen shock, Save one-what cleaves the silent air So madly shrill so passing wild? That, as a mother's o'er her child, XIX. Hugo is fallen; and, from that hour, At least the knight's who died that day. Like dust beneath the coffin lid: XX. And Azo found another bride, The intersected lines of thought; Scars of the lacerating mind Which the Soul's war doth leave behind. Had only pass'd a just decree; That they had wrought their doom of ill; If lopp'd with care, a strength may give, All greenly fresh and wildly free: The waving boughs with fury scathe, The massy trunk the ruin feels, And never more a leaf reveals. 1 and the whole wrapped in a rich and redundant veil of poetry, where every thing breathes the pure essence of genius and sensibility. JEFFREY.] The Prisoner of Chillon: A FABLE.1 SONNET ON CHILLON. ETERNAL Spirit of the chainless Mind! 2 To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, Their country conquers with their martyrdom, And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. Chillon thy prison is a holy place, And thy sad floor an altar-for 't was trod, Until his very steps have left a trace Worn, as if thy cold pavement were a sod, "François de Bonnivard, fils de Louis de Bonnivard, originaire de Seysel et Seigneur de Lunes, naquit en 1496. I fit ses études à Turin: en 1510 Jean Aimé de Bonnivard, son oncle, lui résigna le Prieuré de St. Victor, qui aboutis. sait aux murs de Genève, et qui formait un bénéfice considérable. "Ce grand homme- (Bonnivard mérite ce titre par la force de son âme, la droiture de son cœur, la noblesse de ses intentions, la sagesse de ses conseils, le courage de ses démarches, l'étendue de ses connaissances et la vivacité de son esprit), ce grand homme, qui excitera l'admiration de tous ceux qu'une vertu héroïque peut encore émouvoir, inspirera encore la plus vive reconnaissance dans les cœurs des Génévois qui aiment Genève. Bonnivard en fut toujours un des plus fermes appuis: pour assurer la liberté de notre Ré. publique, il ne craignit pas de perdre souvent la sienne; il oublia son repos; il méprisa ses richesses; il ne négligea rien pour affermir le bonheur d'une patrie qu'il honora de son choix dès ce moment il la chérit comme le plus zélé de ses citoyens; il la servit avec l'intrépidité d'un héros, et il écrivit son Histoire avec la naïveté d'un philosophe et la chaleur d'un patriote. "Il dit dans le commencement de son Histoire de Genève, que dès qu'il eut commencé de lire l'histoire des nations, il se sentit entrainé par son goût pour les Républiques, dont il épousa toujours les intérêts: c'est ce goût pour la liberté qui lui fit sans doute adopter Genève pour sa patrie. "Bonnivard, encore jeune, s'annonça hautement comme le défenseur de Genève contre le Duc de Savoye et l'Evêque. "En 1519, Bonnivard devient le martyr de sa patrie. Le Duc de Savoye étant entré dans Genève avec cinq cent hommes, Bonnivard craint le ressentiment du Duc; il voulut se retirer à Fribourg pour en éviter les suites; mais il fut trahi par deux hommes qui l'accompagnaient, et conduit par ordre du Prince à Grolée, où il resta prisonnier pendant deux ans. Bonnivard était malheureux dans ses voyages: comme ses malheurs n'avaient point ralenti son zèle pour Genève, il était toujours un ennemi redoutable pour ceux qui la menaçaient, et par conséquent il devait être exposé à leurs coups. Il fut rencontré en 1530 sur le Jura par des voleurs, qui le dépouillèrent, et qui le mirent encore entre les mains du Duc de Savoye ce Prince le fit enfermer dans le Château de Chillon, où il resta sans être interrogé jusques en 1536; il fut alors delivré par les Bernois, qui s'emparèrent du Pays de Vaud, "Bonnivard, en sortant de sa captivité, eut le plaisir de trouver Genève libre et réformée : la République s'empressa de lui témoigne sa reconnaissance, et de dédommager des maux qu'il avait soufferts; elle le reçut Bourgeois de la ville au mois de Juin, 1536; elle lui donna la maison habitée autrefois par le Vicaire-Général, et elle lui assigna une pension de deux cent écus d'or tant qu'il séjournerait à Genève. Il fut admis dans le Conseil de Deux-Cent en 1537. "Bonnivard n'a pas fini d'être utile: après avoir travaillé à rendre Genève libre, il réussit à la rendre tolérante. Bon By Bonnivard!- May none those marks efface! For they appeal from tyranny to God. The Prisoner of Chillon,3 I. My hair is grey, but not with years, Nor grew it white In a single night, 4 As men's have grown from sudden fears: nivard engagea le Conseil à accorder aux ecclésiastiques et aux paysans un tems suffisant pour examiner les propositions qu'on leur faisait; il réussit par sa douceur: on prèche tou jours le Christianisme avec succès quand on le prèche avec charité. "Bonnivard fut savant ses manuscrits, qui sont dans la Bibliothèque publique, prouvent qu'il avait bien lu les auteurs classiques Latins, et qu'il avait approfondi la théologie et l'histoire. Ce grand homme aimait les sciences, et il croyait qu'elles pouvaient faire la gloire de Genève; aussi il ne négligea rien pour les fixer dans cette ville naissante; en 1551 il donna sa bibliothèque au public; elle fut le commencement de notre bibliothèque publique; et ces livres sont en partie les rares et belles éditions du quinzième siècle qu'on voit dans notre collection. Enfin, pendant la même année, ce bon pa triote institua la République son héritière, à condition qu'elle employerait ses biens à entretenir le collège dont on projet tait la fondation. "Il parait que Bonnivard mourut en 1570; mais on ne peut l'assurer, parcequ'il y a une lacune dans le Nécrologe depuis le mois de Juillet, 1570, jusques en 1571." [Lord Byron wrote this beautiful poem at a small inn, in the little village of Ouchy, near Lausanne, where he happened in June, 1816, to be detained two days by stress of weather; "thereby adding," says Moore," one more deathless associ ation to the already immortalised localities of the Lake."] 2 [In the first draught, the sonnet opens thus-"Beloved Goddess of the chainless mind! Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art, Their country conquers with their martyrdom."] 3 ["I will tell you something about Chillon.' A Mr. De Luc, ninety years old, a Swiss, had it read to him, and is pleased with it so my sister writes. He said that he was with Rousseau at Chillon, and that the description is perfectly correct. But this is not all; I recollected something of the name, and find the following passage in The Con fessions,' vol. iii. p. 247. liv. viii. De tous ces amusemens celui qui me plut davantage fut une promenade autour du | Lac, que je fis en bateau avec De Luc père, sa bru, ses dent fils, et ma Therèse. Nous mimes sept jours à cette tournée par le plus beau temps du monde. J'en gardai le vif souvenir des sites, qui m'avaient frappé à l'autre extrémité du Lac, et dont je fis la description quelques années après, dans La Nouvelle Héloïse.'' This nonagerian, De Luc, must be one of the deux fils.' He is in England, infirm, but still in | faculty. It is odd that he should have lived so long, and not wanting in oddness, that he should have made this voyage with Jean Jacques, and afterwards, at such an interval, read a poem by an Englishman (who made precisely the same cir cumnavigation) upon the same scenery."- Byron Letters. April 9. 1817. Jean André de Luc, F.R.S., died at Windsor, I in the July following. He was born in 1726, at Geneva, was the author of many geological works, and corresponded with most of the learned societies of Europe.] 4 Ludovico Sforza, and others. The same is asserted of |