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345)
Memoirs of the Duke of Brunswick.

[346 THE BELL SAVAGE,

Marquis of Ischia which he conferred on The Spectator has explained the sign the sculptor Canova, an anoual pension of the Bell Savage ion plausibly enough, of 3,000 Roman crowns. This celebrain supposing it to have been originally the ted artist has disposed of this revenue in figure of a beautiful female found in the the following manner : First, a fixed woods, and called in French, La Belle donation to the Roman Academy of Sauvage. But another reason has been Archaiology of six hundred crowns. assigned for that appellation still more Second, one thousand and seventy probable : namely, that the inn was once crowns, to found annual prizes, and a the property of Lady Arabella Savage, triennial prize for painting, sculpture, and familiarly called Bell Savage's inn, and architecture, which the young artists represented, as at present, by a bell and of Rome and the Roman States only are a savage, or wild man, which was the competent to obtain. Tbird. One hunhieroglyptical rebus for her name, such dred crowns to the Academy of Saint rebusses being much in use in the fif- Luke. Fourth. One hundred and twenteenth and sixteenth centuries. Bolt in ty crowns to the Academy of the Lynx. Tun is an instance for the name of Bolton. And fifth. One thousand one hundred

REWARDS TO THE LEARNED. crowns to relieve poor, old, and infirm The Pope has attached to the title of artists residing in Rome.- New M.Mag.

MEMOIRS OF EMINENT PERSONS.

NOTA

From the New Monthly Magazine.
THE LAST DAYS OF THE DUKE OF BRUNSWICK.

By the Rev. Dr. MEYER.
far from the tomb of the great tion of the government by his eldest son

bard of religion and German inde- in favour of the Duke of Oels. He has pendence (Klopstock) at Ottensen near been censured for baving as an indepenAltona, repose under a plain stone with- dent prince taken part in the conflict at out name or inscription, the remains of his advanced age and against his better one of the most illustrious princes of his judgment : but he was still active and age, CHARLES WILLIAM FERDINAND, vigorous for his years, and thoroughly Duke of BRUNSWICK. Mortally wound- convinced that he should gain nothing ed at Jepa, and flying from the ancient by retiring from the bloody, stage. seat of his ancestors, to escape the ven- Should Prussia prove victorious, he knew geance of an inexorable tyrant, he arriv- that his country, inclosed as it was by fored here in the last days of October, eign states, would soon be swallowed 1806, that he might die in peace upon a up; and on the other hand Napoleon, foreigo soil.

as conqueror, would never forgive him An obscure presentiment growing up for having, about a year before, on the into a strong conviction, assured the violation of the Prussian territory, advisDuke that the war begun against his ad- ed hostilities, (though to no purpose,) vice would prove disastrous to Prussia. with the apparent certainty of success. Hostilities neve.heless commenced; and In this personally doubtful and dangerhis Highness was firmly resolved to pre- ous situation, it seemed to him more fer death in the field to the disgrace of glorious to fight and fall for Prussia. being vanquished hy a despot thirsting impetuous courage and hatred to the for revenge and blood. Previously to cruel enemy of Germany confirmed him the opening of the eventful campaign, in this resolution. be arranged all bis family affairs, and in The battle of Jena was fought, and particular hastened the act of renuncia- the Duke appeared in the full uniform 2B

Eng. Mog. Vol. I.

347]
Memoirs of the Duke of Brunswick.

[ 348 of a field-marshal decorated with all his one of the most convenient, at Ottensen. orders. The fortune of war favoured Here his life slowly drew to a close amid Napoleon ; the Prussian commander the most painful conflicts. He enjoyed, courted death. He found it, though not though but for a few moments, the sighi as he had often wished, upon the field of of bis consort, who hastened to him da battle. Mortally wounded in the fore- her flight, and the mutual distress of head, he was doomed for twenty-seven uch a meeting and such a parting may days to struggle with the agonies of death be more easily conceived than described. and the keenest pangs of mind. Re- In the intervals of tranquillity the prince moved from the field, and carried by gave his opinion with perfect self-possespeasants in a basket over the trackless sion and singular penetration respecting mountains of the Harz Forest, because the issue of the war ; he had the news all the roads were occupied by hostile papers read to him, he most accurately troops, the dying hero, after a few days' predicted Napoleon's operations, and rest in his capital, was overtaken by the expressed himself with energy and truth insolent message in which the furious on the subject of the unfortunate circum. Corsican announced his deposition. The stances which had occasioned and attende House of Brunswick,” such were the ed the preceding disasters. These how words, " has ceased to reign. Let Gen- ever were topics on which he touched eral Brunswick be gone and seek anoth- only in the narrow circle of his friends er country for himself beyond the sea ; and companions in arms : in the pre: wherever my troops shall find him hé sence of visitors, to whom he did not will be their prisoner."* [La Maison deny admittance, he spoke little, and de Brunswic a cessée de regner. Que la only concerning the most indifferent matGeneral Brunswic s'en aille chercher une ters, which they erroneously attributed autre putrie au delà des mers ; partout to a total apathy of mind. mes troupes le trouveront, ils le ren Thus did the Duke retain bis mental dront prisonnier.]

faculties unimpaired. The corporeal The unfortunate prince was thus organs also fulálled their functions till in obliged to quit his much-loved home, the night of the 7th of November a parathe bones of his fathers, and his subjects lytic affection of the tongue prevented imploring heaven to spare the life of their him from communicating his wishes and adored sovereign, and exposed to all the feelings to those about him : but he rehorrors of war and the devastations of mained perfectly sensible till the last barbarians. His only hope now was to moment." Aa extraordinary phenome die in peace abroad in the arms of his non occurred a few hours before the princely relatives of Holstein. But even paralytic attack, when he complained this satisfaction was denied him. Borne that he felt as if he had two heads. This in a large wicker basket, shaped like a sensation may be ascribed to the delitter, and covered with sail-cloth, in the struction of the equilibrium of the two most inclement season of the year, to the lobes of the brain by the breaking of the banks of the Elbe, his weakness would sac of pus in the right lobe, where the not admit of his being conveyed any far- Duke was wounded. The pressure of ther. With that sympathy which the the pus upon the brain and the origin of misfortunes of a hero so cruelly persecu-" the nerves induced paralysis of one half ted by fate cannot fail to excite, he was of the body. To accelerate that death received at Neumüblen ; but he refused which was now so desirable, be bad rethe offers of the proprietors of several fused all solid and almost all liquid sus. villas, who respectfully tendered them tenance. A few hours be ore his death, for his residence, and took a house, not his speech seemed to have entirely for

saken bim ; when in a loud voice, and a * Surely the most infatuated partisan of the tone expressive of painful apprehensions, admiration

the retributive decrees of Provi. he tried Gulatin! Galatin! an excladence, by which the sentence pronoanced by mation which proves but too plainly how the tyrant, in all the arrogance of power, exceedingly his death was embittered by fülalled to the very letter upon himself.

the agonizing sense of his manifold misEDITOR. fortunes. He had dispatched Galatin,

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SIR,

his private secretary of legation, as a last (although his personal ciroumstances were resort

, to Berlin, if possible, to move so deplorable that the air of his chamber Napoleon. His uncertainty respecting could scarcely be indured) to his bedside. the issue of this mission tended in no In performing this bumane office she had small degree to aggravate the pains of the opportunities of conversation with his last moments. On the morning of him which authorise the writer's belief the tenth of November he expired. that he exbibited another proof of Dr.

His son and avenger in the glorious Young's assertion, that “ Men may live yet to bim fatal conflict with the tyrant, fools, but fools they cannot die.” The found his father a corpse, and experi- letter proceeds to say, that she found bim

enced the additional pain of being de- frequently writing, and believed from - nied by the modern Attila permission to what she saw and heard, that when his

place the remains of his beloved parent pain permitted, he was almost always so in the sepulchre of his ancestors. In engaged, or in prayer, in the attitude of the night of the 23d of November, the which she more than once saw him when corpee, enveloped in a triple coffin, was he thought himself alone. One day he deposited by the faithful attendanis of inquired if she had ever the deceased in a vault of the church of “ Age of Reason," and on being answerOttensen.

ed in the affirmative desired to know her

opinion of that book. She replied, she THOMAS PAINE.

was but a child when she read it, and To the Editor of the New Monthly Magazine. probably he would not like to know

what she thought of it. Upon which he THE HE subjoined account of the con- said, if old enough to read, she was capa

cluding scenes of the life of Thomas ble of forming some opinion, and from Paine, was read at a public meeting her he expected a candid statement of some weeks ago by a very respectable what that opinion had been. She then member of the Society of Friends, in my said, she thought it the most dangerous hearing. From his brother ) procured and insinuating book she had ever seen ; this copy of the account. I rather think that the more she read the more she that Wm. Dilwya, his daughter, and the wished to read, and the more she found your person who visited Paine and gave her mind estranged from all that is good; the i "ount to Dilwyn's daughter, are of and that from a conviction of its evil tenthe sanje society. As almost the whole dency she had burnt it, without knowing world was injured by Paine's pernicious to whom it belonged. Paine replied to principles, I hope you will not refuse to this, that he wished all who had read it increase the circulation as widely as pos- had been as wise as she: and added, “If sible of his recantation. Wishing you ever the devil had an agent on earth I increasing and continued success, I re- have been one." At another time when main, &c.

A. B. she was in his chamber, and the master The following is an extract of a letter of her family was sitting by his bed-side, received by Mr. William Dilwyn, of one of Paine's former companions came Walthamstow, Essex, from his daughter in ; but seeing them with him, hastily in America. The writer is of the most went out, drawing the door after him unquestionable respectability, and ap- with violence, and saying, “ Mr. Paine, pears recently to have received the in- you have lived like a man; I hope you formation stated in it from a person will die like one." Upon which, Paine, equally entitled to credit. The latter turning to his principal visitor, said, has resided in a family in the near neigli- “ You see what miserable comforters I bourhood of the celebrated Thomas have." An unhappy female, who had Paine, who resided at Greenwick, near accompanied him from France, lamentNew York, and during

his last illness ed her sad fate, observing, “ For this had contributed to his comfort by occa- man I have given up my family and sionally preparing and sending him food friends, my property and religion ; judge, and refreshments more adapted to his sit- then, of my distress, when he tells me nation than he nsually enjoyed. These that the principles he has taught me will the informant chose to be the bearer of not bear me out!"

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his rest,

more :

than me,

For there, I persuade me, true peace may be From the Gentleman's Magazine.

found : A SONG

Where Shakspeare reposes, 'tis all hallow'l To the River Aron,

ground;

No spirit there wanders, or thing that's utbleit, By EDWARD HOVELL, Lord THU'RLOW. But the fay-badnted mood sweetly sbines a

Riser Avon. TH THOU soft-flowing Avon, I call thee divine, And often in thought on thy green baoks And there thou dost murmur, and linger with recline:

love, Thy wave ripples near me, thy cool Zephyrs And feed'st with thy fountaipseach meadow play,

and grove: And of Shakspeare I dream, all entranc'd by of Meles,of Mincius,* we now think do more his lay,

River Avon. All the Muses for ever shall dance on thy The Nine Muses hannt thee, and sing on thy While pale lilies shalt droop oʻer the imaging

store,

River Aron. shore, And ever shall haunt thee, till Time be no

wave,

And the cuckoo shall utter the same macking The Graces will never away from thy marge; stave, Forsaking Olympus, they dance here at large, while the nightingale chants, the coy angel

River Avon.

of Spring,

He of Poets, and thou of all Rivers art King, The Nymphs of the Forest stray down to thy

River Aron. brink, And the brimm'd fountain Maids, of thy Poet Then take ţhop these flowers, fresh pluck's to think :

from thy meads, Nay, Ocean's fair daughters will wander to And my musick I breathe through thy owa thee,

native reeds; The birth-place and tomb of thy Shakspeare Thou mayst find many Poets more learted to see,

River Avon.
Pah walks througli thy meads, and his Satyt's Bat never a Poet more faithful to ther,

River Aroe. But the Nymphs fly away from his passionate

January 1817.
glance
The shepherds oft hear him,thy willows beside,
When Hesper is beaming with love on thy tide,

River

Avon. THE BARD'S FAREWELL TO HIS Nay, Proteus, forsaking his dolphin-taild herd.

BROKEN LUTE. Not seldom from under thy water is heard : The cattle, by whom thy blithe meadows are A Why voice is hush'athy chords are mate, shoro,

Yet mid thy silver strings, Start away in amaze at that sea-toned horn, Zephyr in sportive mazes playing,

River Avon. The tieeting melody, delaying, Then smooth be thy waters, thy willows be

Still waves his airy wings : green,

And as their light touch vibrates o'er For Sbakspeare here slumbers, the king of our The dalcet chords so sweet before, Scene;

They breathe a tender sigh, And thy mould softly pillow his dear loved Plaintive as Mem'ry fondly heaves

When tracing o'er her sybil-leaves Whereon the bright blessing of Heaven be She dwells op scenes gone by. shed,

River Avon.

'Tis but a sigh !---thy notes are dead; For his heart was as gentle, as keen was his The magic of thy sound is tled, wit,

And, seard by early woe, And one line, which he breath'd, we can never The heart that hade these notes awake, forget,

The heart that lov'd them,---could it break, While the fountains shall flow to the pearl Were husb'd for ever pow !

breeding main,
We never shall look on his likeness again,

The touch of an untutor'd hand,
River Avon. The stroke of time.-- which none withstand,

Have marr'd thy tuneful sound;
The utmost I ask, is to dwell on thy shore- But o'er thy Minstrel's hapless fate
When my sight shall grow dim, and my head Time presses with a deadlier weight,
shall be hoar,

And bows him to the ground?
The page of life clos’d, lay me down by his side,
Beneath the fresh turf, which is wash'd by
thy tide,

River Avon, and Virgil were born,

The two Rivers, on whose banks Homes

From the Panorama

head,

358] Poetry.

(354 The soul of song." that wanna bis tay, TH upkfted portals wide display Fades, as the rosy light of day

A living blaze of cloudfess day Sinks into evening gloom,

I mount, 1 rise, I soar away,
Day's slumbering light may wake again,

And joia th' eternal choir !
But noaght shall wake the dying strain
That echoes from the tomb !

DORIS;
Welcome that tomb !--its dark recess
is peaceful in its loneliness ;---

FROM TAE GERMAN OF HALLER,
There anguish cannot groan,

THE light of day is almost gone,
There all the ties that bind the soul,
Love's béndérest bonds of soft control,

Is fading to a greyer hue ;
Are broken---like thine own!

The moon uplifts her silver borns,
The cool night strews her slamber-corns,

And slakes the thirsty earth with dew.
From the New Monibly Magazine.

Come, Doris, to these heeches come,
THE STORM,

Let us in quiet dimness roam,

Where nothing stirs but you and I: Written during a Tempest, when sailing up Save when the west wiod's gentle breath the Bristol Chaopel.

Is heard the wavering boughs beneath, By the Author of " Amusements in Retire Which strive to beckoo silently, ment.'

How the green night of leafy trees VHE waves run high ; wild tempésts rage! Invites to dreams of careless ease, The fears of death my heart engage.

A od cradles the contented soul; What! close the scene so far from shore, Recalls th' ambitious range of thought And oe'er be seen or beard of more ?

To fasten on some homely cot, Oh! sure this ocean's furious breast

And make a life of love its whole. Can never lull me to my rest!

Speak, Doris, feels thy conscious heart Ab! I had wish'd the humbte lot

The throbbing of no gentle smart, To live in some séquester'd spot,

Dearer than plans of palac'd pride? Where, studious of divine repose,

Gaze not thine eyes with softer glance, Life's weary journey I might close.

Glides pot thy blood in swifter dauce,

Bounds not thy bosom--by my side ? And does stern Fate that lot denys

Thought questions thought with restless cask ; Well! let do tear disgrace thine eye!

I know thy soul begins to ask, The power that rules this raging sea

What means this ait, what troubtes me Is master of futurity :

O cast thiy vain reserve away, And of each wild and angry wave

Let me its real name betray,
Can form as soft--as sweet a grave

Far more than that I feel for thee.
As that of which wild roses glow,
Or that where groapes of violets blow !

Thou startlest, and thy virtue frowns,
Then let po tear disgrace thine eye :

And the chaste blush my charge disowns,

And lends thy cheek an angrier glow : Let tempests howl,

and waves-run high--They're heralds of eternity.

With mingled feelings thrills thy frame,
Thy love is stiiled by thy shame,

Not by the heart, my Doris, no.
From the New Monthly Magazine.

Ah lift those fringed lide again,
VANITY OF LIFE. Accept, accept, the profiler'd chain,

Which love and fate prepare to biad ; Earthly things pass away like a shadow ; Why wilt thou longer strive to ty, and as a post that hasteth by." Be overtakep-lam nigh.

To doubt is pot to be unkind. As flits the trackless cloud on high, When youth and beauty frame the shell, Our joys and ills are gone ;

Where mind and temper jointly dwell, Bright hopes ascend with orient pride,

Coldness cannot perpetual prove : The laughing bours unconscious glide.

The glowing eye shall light the heart, They siok before the ev'ning tide,

Sball catch itself th' inflicted smart, On rapid pinion borne.

The love of all herself shall love. Then why, amid the meteor gleam,

Let shame along with vice be rear'd,

Why should the name of love be fear'd, The shadowy sbow, the fev'rish dream,

Tis pleasure's wish, 'tis virtue's choice ; That wind our swift career, Can life, with treach'rous wiles, impart

See thy companions, one by one, A spell to bind th' inconstant heart,

Steal from the virgin throng, and own While Time resistless, warns, " Depart!

That Nature's call is duty's voice. The parting hour is near !"

Choose where thou wilt among our youth,

The vow of constancy aod truth That welcome hour, supremely blest,

Each will be proud to make to thee ;
Wbich yields the thirsting soul to rest, Thy empire comprehends them all,
In tend'rest mercy giv’n:

On nobler youths thy choice may fall,
Farewell! desponding doubts and fears ; But not on one who loves like me.
For radiant o'er the sale of years,
'Mid scormy clouds the bow appears,

Let yon his hoarded wealth betray,

Let this his pedigree display,
The peaceful bow of heav'o!

A third in skilful language woo ;
No more on life's bewilder'd stage

Would I had all these gifts, and more, Shall mortal cares our thoughts engage,

The richest is for thee too poor, Or mortal joys inspire ;

A heart at least Heay'p gave me too.

A

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