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higher order or rank-or the manly form more eminently graced. Turn your eye to that box, occupied just now by Lady W- r and my Lord Castlereagh, what can the eye of taste desire more? Observe her Grecian bust, and equally Grecian air, sustained with Patrician ease and grace but charming as she is, we can look at him, nor yet be inclined "to turn our backs upon ourselves:" (a sorry phrase, but let it pass.) His fine, well-placed head-his pallid face, the expression of which habit and discipline have put under his own controul-his very hands, or rather the well fitting gloves upon them, speak of superiority, and make us regret that he is not all Roué. I love not the politician, but I admire the

man-I would not be like Jack Cade, "Hang all those who can read and write."-Though last, not least, look at the High Personage in the opposite box-Have not the deities who preside over taste, 'tended there to form a gentleman?-but, I beg pardon, he is not a subject, at least for irreverent hands like mine to describe

And therefore, in conclusion, as the learned say, let me tell you, that we now patronize the Opera, and mean to make it one of our amusementscertainly so long as it is well conducted; and we know the present proprietor, Mr. Ebers, too well to fear any falling off.

Adieu. I am tired: if you insert this, you shall soon hear from some of us again. Your's, A ROUE.

GOETHE, ON MANZONI'S TRAGEDY OF IL CONTE DI
CARMAGNOLA.

OUR readers will find in the ninth and eleventh Numbers of this Magazine for last year, a full account of the above production, in which we have examined into the state of Italian tragedy previous to its appearance, and noticed the change which has been lately effected in the mode of thinking on dramatic subjects, in several of the most distinguished Italian writers. This change has been immediately accelerated, if not produced, by an acquaintance with the critical writers of Germany, and more particularly with the dramatic lectures of William Schlegel; but a number of circumstances, some of which we attempted to specify, concurred to predispose the minds of the Italians for the reception of these doctrines. Our readers must not however suppose, from what we have said with respect to this change, that it has been either general, or viewed with indifference, by many of the Italian literati. In fact, a keen warfare has been for some time carried on, more particularly in the Milanese, between the followers of the romantie, or English and German school, and those of the classical or critical school, as the adherents of the old system are styled. Monti combats zealously for the classical school; but what is singular enough, his own friends and

admirers are of the romantic party, and contend that the best of his works are altogether romantic. This has greatly chagrined Monti, who refuses to admit the justice of the praise which is thus forced on him. The most distinguished of the romantic school, besides Manzoni, are Giovanni Torti, whose poetical representation of the sufferings of Christ are much praised; and Hermes Visconti.

In the third Number of the second volume of a periodical work by Goethe, of which the title is Kunst und Alterthum (Art and Antiquity),* which we have just received, there appears a very full analysis and critical estimate of the tragedy of Manzoni. It gave us great satisfaction to see our opinion, with respect to the merits of this tragedy, confirmed by that of a man who has himself, during his long career, attempted, with more or less success, almost every style of dramatic composition; who has produced both romantic and classical tragedies; and who, independently of his being (in the opinion of all who know his writings) the greatest living poet of Europe, is generally allowed to be both an acute, and a cool and judicious, critic. It is evident, from the language of Goethe, that he considers the tragedy of Manzoni,

To be had of Bohte, (London.)

possessed of higher merit than belongs to any of the tragedies of his own country. We shall not attempt to follow him throughout his analysis, which is so minute as even to detail the subject of every scene; but, as the genius of our countrymen is now so much directed to tragedy, and as it appears to us that in general their skill in planning is inferior to their powers of execution; we have deemed it advisable to lay before our readers Mr. Goethe's opinions on the subject of the fable and characters of the work of Manzoni.

Mr. Goethe begins with examining the preface, and agrees with the author in thinking that a work of art should not be measured by any foreign standard, but that, like a healthy natural production, it ought to be considered by itself. He agrees also with Manzoni, as to the manner in which the estimate ought to be formed. The object which the poet proposed to himself ought first to be ascertained; we ought then to examine, first, whether this object is rational and laudable; and next, whether it has been attained by him. In conformity with these views, says Mr. Goethe, I have endeavoured to obtain the most distinct idea of Signor Manzoni's objects; I consider them laudable, and agreeable to nature, and sound notions of art; and I think that he has carried them into execution in a masterly manner. What Manzoni says with respect to the having freed himself from the restraints of time and place, and with respect to the injurious effects which necessarily result from an opposite course, Goethe thinks deserving of the attention of his own countrymen, though these notions have long been recognized by them; for although, as he observes, the battle has been fought out in Germany, when an ingenious man takes up the subject under different circumstances, and endeavours to combat the arguments of his adversaries with new grounds, it can hardly fail to be productive of both entertainment and instruction.

Having concluded his analysis of the tragedy, Mr. Goethe observes, opinion may be divided as to the manner in which the scenes have 'been connected: but, for my part, I own I am much pleased with it.

The poet is enabled to proceed with energetic brevity, man follows man, image follows image, event follows event, without preparation, and without constraint.

The author, without being laconic,, either in conception or execution, has in this manner been enabled to hurry on rapidly to the close. He associates with his fine talents, a naturally free and agreeable view of the moral world, which is immediately communicated to the reader and spectator. His language is also easy, noble, full and rich,-not sententious, but elevated by great and noble thoughts, arising naturally out of the different situations. The whole leaves a truly historical impression behind.

Having thus gone into such detail respecting the developement of the piece, some account of the characters will also be expected. We sce at once, from the summary enumeration of the personages, that the author has to do with a captious public, above which he must gradually. raise himself. For certainly he could never, from his own feeling and conviction, have divided his characters into historical and ideal. Having expressed my unconditional satisfaction with his labours, I hope I may here be allowed to request him never again to make such a distinction. For the poet, no character is historical; he is pleased to represent his moral world to us, and for this purpose, he does certain persons in history the honour of conferring their names on his creations. But it may confidently be said in praise of Manzoni, that his figures are all of one and the same cast, all equally ideal. They all belong to a certain politically-moral circle; they have indeed no individual features, but what deserves admiration, though each expresses a definite idea: each is, however, so fundamentally distinct,. and separated from all the rest, that if on the theatre actors can be found. adapted in figure, mind, and voice, to these poetical creations, they cannot fail to be considered genuine individuals.

And now as to these individuals. Of the Count himself, little remains to be said. The old demand, of the. theorists, that a tragic hero should neither be too perfect, nor too much

the reverse, is here satisfied. Fighting his way up from the rude but energetic life of a shepherd, Carmagnola listens only to his unbridled and unconditional will; no trace of moral cultivation is perceptible in him; not even of that which man requires for the furtherance of his own interest. He is not deficient in the stratagems of war; but though he may have political views, which we do not distinctly see, he cannot attain and secure them by apparent flexibility; and here the poet is deserving of high praise in destroying his incomparable General politically; as the boldest navigator, who despising compass and soundings, should in a storm refuse to take down his sails, must soon necessarily meet his fate.

Gonzaga is calm, pure, accustomed to combat by the side of the hero, possessed of plain sense, attentive to the welfare of his friend, and sensible of the approaching danger. The third scene of the fourth act, in which Carmagnola, in the feeling of his military merit, thinks himself also more prudent than his sensible friend, is altogether admirable. Gonzaga accompanies him in the journey which ends so fatally for him, and takes charge of his wife and daughter. Two subordinate Condottieri, express, laconically, their characters. When we turn to the army of the enemy, we find the very reverse. Malatesti, an insufficient general, at first doubtful, is at last carried away by the violent party of Sforza, and Fortebraccio, who keenly urge the impatience of the soldiers, as an argument in favour of a combat. Pergola, an old experienced warrior, and Torello, of middle age, but of limited capacity, are outvoted. The controversy goes the length of reproaches, and a heroic reconciliation precedes the battle. We afterwards find more of the leaders among the prisoners, but the discovery of the son of Pergola in the crowd, gives the Count an opportunity of nobly expressing his esteem for an old warrior.

We are now introduced into the Venetian senate.-The Doge presides. He represents the highest and undivided principle of state, attentively weighing the opposite scales; cautious without apprehension, pruVOL. III.

dent without distrust, and in action inclined to the side of benevolence, Marcino represents the sharp, selfish principle indispensable to the world, which here appears blameless, as it is not aiming at personal interests, but a great and extensive good; vigilant, jealous of power, and viewing the existing state of things as the highest and best. Carmagnola is to him merely an instrument for the purposes of the republic, which, appearing useless and dangerous, is immediately to be cast aside.

Marco is the laudable, humane, principle; feeling and acknowledging a moral good; respecting what is energetic, great, and powerful; compassionating the errors associated with such qualities; hoping and believing in reformation; attached to a single powerful man, and thus in volved, undesignedly, in a conflict with his duties.

The two commissaries are suited to their mission-they come forward conscious of their place and their duty; they know who sent them. They are soon, however, taught their immediate want of power, by the behaviour of Carmagnola; their cha racters are admirably graduated➡ the first is more headstrong, more inclined to resistance, and appears surprised at the audacity of the Count. When they are by themselves, it appears, that the second foresaw the mischief. He urges, that as they have not the power of deposing the Count or taking him prisoner, they must dissemble to gain time; and the former, though reluctantly, accedes to this opinion.

The chorus take no part in the action, but form a distinct society, a sort of speaking public. In the representation, a particular place must be allotted to them, where they may announce themselves, like our or chestra.

I wish the author joy of his hav ing broke loose from the old rules, and proceeded in the new career, in so serious and tranquil a manner, that new rules may hereafter be derived from his work. I give him also my testimony, that in its details he has proceeded with ability, selection, and correctness; and, if a foreigner may be allowed "to_pronounce an opinion on such a subject, that after the utmost attention, I

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have found neither a word too much nor too little. Manly seriousness and perspicuity constantly appear, and the labour may truly be called classical. It deserves to be delivered in so cultivated and harmonious a language, before an ingenious people,

The verse is the Iambic of eleven syllables, broken by varied cæsural

pauses, to resemble free recitation; so that a feeling and intelligent declamation might easily be accompanied by music.

I attempted a conscientious translation of several passages, but my success was not such as to convey a just idea of the merit of the original.

Town Conversation.

No. IV.

DEATH OF MR. JOHN KEATS.

WE commence our article this month with but a melancholy subJect the death of Mr. John Keats.It is, perhaps, an unfit topic to be discussed under this head, but we knew not where else to place it, and we could not reconcile ourselves to the idea of letting a poet's death pass by in the common obituary. He died on the 23rd of February, 1821, at Rome, whither he had gone for the benefit of his health. His complaint was a consumption, under which he had languished for some time, but his death was accelerated by a cold caught in his voyage to Italy.

Mr. Keats was, in the truest sense of the word, A POET.-There is but a small portion of the public acquainted with the writings of this young man; yet they were full of high imagination and delicate fancy, and his images were beautiful and more entirely his own, perhaps, than those of any living writer whatever. He had a fine ear, a tender heart, and at times great force and originality of expression; and notwithstanding all this, he has been suffered to rise and pass away almost without a notice: the laurel, has been awarded (for the present) to other brows: the bolder aspirants have been allowed to take their station on the slippery steps of the temple of fame, while he has been nearly hidden among the crowd during his life, and has at last died, solitary and in sorrow, in a foreign land.

It is at all times difficult, if not impossible, to argue others into a love of poets and poetry: it is altogether a matter of feeling, and we must leave to time (while it hallows his memory) to do justice to the re

putation of Keats. There were many, however, even among the critics living, who held his powers in high estimation; and it was well observed by the Editor of the Edinburgh Review, that there was no other Author whatever, whose writings would form so good a test by which to try the love which any one professed to bear towards poetry.

When Keats left England, he had a presentiment that he should not return: that this has been too sadly realized the reader already knows.After his arrival in Italy, he revived for a brief period, but soon afterwards declined, and sunk gradually into his grave. He was one of three English poets who had been compelled by circumstances to adopt a foreign country as their own. was the youngest, but the first to leave us. His sad and beautiful wish is at last accomplished: It was that he might drink " of the warm south," and "leave the world unseen,"-and-(he is addressing the nightingale)—

He

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A few weeks before he died, a gentleman who was sitting by his bed-side, spoke of an inscription to his memory, but he declined this altogether, desiring that there should be no mention of his name or country; 66 or if any," said he, "let it be-Here lies the body of one whose name was writ in water!"-There is something in this to us most painfully affecting; indeed the whole story of his later days is well calculated to make a deep impression. It is to be hoped that his biography will be given to the world, and also

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whatever he may have left (whether in poetry or prose) behind him. The public is fond of patronizing poets: they are considered in the light of an almost helpless race: they are bright as stars, but like meteors

"Short-lived and self-consuming."

the public for Mr. Keats, but we
We do not claim the patronage of
hope that it will now
every little and unworthy prejudice,
cast aside
and do justice to the high memory of
a young but undoubted poet.
L.

POEMS BY THOMAS GENT.

To grasp, and launch the slow descending

curse:

Still as she spoke, her stature seem'd to

grow;

death,

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THIS is a pleasant and very unassuming little volume; it is filled with serious sketches, songs, humorous verses, elegies, &c. &c. tricked off in a very frank, and frequently Still she denounced immitigable woe : in a very delightful manner. Although Pain, want, and madness, pestilence, and the serious pieces are generally tenIder, the bent of the author's mind Rode forth triumphant at her blasting seems to us to incline to the humourous Their march she marshall'd, taught their breath; and jovial, and we should like to see him try the octave rhyme, keeping it And seem'd herself the emblem of them all. ire to fall,free, of course, from those peculiarities which have latterly so unequivo-lowing lines as being, though mournThe reader may now take the folcally distinguished it, but throwing ful, of a character entirely different into it some of that kind and hear from the last, and almost equally ty humour, which we should almost anticipate to be a strong feapleasing. ture in his own character.-The following spirited sketch of "The Sybil," will incline our readers, perhaps, to think that we have done wrong in inciting Mr. Gent to attend principally to the whisperings of the comic muse.

So stood the Sibyl: stream'd her hoary

hair

Wild as the blast, and with a comet's glare Glow'd her red eye-balls 'midst the sunken gloom

Of their wild orbs, like death-fires in a
tomb.

Slow, like the rising storm, in fitful moans,
Broke from her breast the deep prophetic

tones.

Anon, with whirlwind rush, the Spirit

came;

Then in dire splendour, like imprison'd

flame

Flashing through rifted domes or towns amaz'd,

Her voice in thunder burst; her arm she

rais'd; Outstretch'd her hands, as with a Fury's

force

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TO MARY.
OH! is there not in infant smiles
Written at Midnight.

A charm, that every care beguiles,
A witching power, a cheering ray,

And bids the weary soul be gay?
There surely is-for thou hast been

Child of my heart, my peaceful dove,
Gladdening life's sad and chequer'd scene,

An emblem of the peace above.
Now all is calm, and dark, and still,

And bright the beam the moonlight
throws

On ocean wave, and gentle rill,

And on thy slumbering cheek of rose.
And may no care disturb that breast,

And may thy latest years be blest
As thy sweet infancy has been.

Nor sorrow dim that brow serene;

whole, which this volume contains, is
Perhaps the best poem on the
the ode to the late Princess Charlotte.
We have not room for much quota-
tion, but we must give the conclu-
of our extract appear to us to be
sion of the ode: the first four lines
beautiful.

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