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Through the mossy sods and stones,
Stream and streamlet hurry down,
A rushing throng! A sound of song
Beneath the vault of Heaven is blown!
Sweet notes of love, the speaking tones
Of this bright day, sent down to say
That Paradise on Earth is known,
Resound, around, beneath, above.
All we hope and all we love
Finds a voice in this blithe strain,
Which wakens hill and wood and rill,
And vibrates far o'er field and vale,
And which echo, like the tale
Of old times, repeats again.

To whoo! to whoo! near, nearer now
The sound of song, the rushing throng!
Are the screech, the lapwing, and the jay,
All awake, as if 'twere day?

See, with long legs and belly wide,

A salamander in the brake!

Every root is like a snake,

And along the loose hill side,

With strange contortions through the night,
Curls, to seize or to affright;

And, animated, strong, and many,
They dart forth polypus-antennae,
To blister with their poison spume

The wanderer. Through the dazzling gloom
The many-coloured mice, that thread

The dewy turf beneath our tread,
In troops each other's motions cross,
Through the heath and through the moss;

And, in legions intertangled,

The fire-flies flit, and swarm,

and throng

Till all the mountain depths are spangled.

Tell me shall we go or stay?

Shall we onward? Come along!

Every thing around is swept

Forward, onward, far away!'

Nor is the following, in another style, less exquisite.
'MEPH. Why did you let that fair girl pass from you,
Who sung so sweetly to you in the dance?
FAUST. A red mouse in the middle of her singing
Sprung from her mouth.

MEPH.

That was all right, my friend,
Be it enough that the mouse was not grey;
Do not disturb your hour of happiness
With close consideration of such trifles.

FAUST. Then saw I

MEPH.

MEPH. FAUST.

MEPH.

FAUST.

What?

Seest thou not a pale

Fair girl, standing alone, far, far away?

She drags herself forward now with slow steps,
And seems as if she moved with shackled feet:
I cannot overcome the thought that she

Is like poor Margaret.

Let it be-pass on-
No good can come of it—it is not well
To meet it—it is an enchanted phantom,
A lifeless idol-with its numbing look
It freezes up the blood of man; and they
Who meet its ghastly stare are turned to stone,
Like those who saw Medusa.

Oh, too true!
Her eyes are like the eyes of a fresh corpse

Which no beloved hand has closed-Alas!
That is the heart which Margaret yielded to me-
Those are the lovely limbs which I enjoyed!

MEPH. It is all magic, poor deluded fool;

She looks to every one like his first love.

FAUST. Oh, what delight! what woe! I cannot turn
My looks from her sweet piteous countenance.
How strangely does a single blood-red line,
Not broader than the sharp edge of a knife,
Adorn her lovely neck!

МЕРН.

Aye, she can carry
Her head under her arm upon occasion;

Perseus has cut it off for her.

To show how well the man who could serve the Gothic muse in this way, could feel and transfer the polished graces of an Attic master, we shall transcribe part of the first chorus in Mr. Shelley's version of the Cyclops (Πα δή μοι γενναίων μὲν πατέρων, &c.) STROPHE.

Where has he of race divine
Wandered in the winding rocks?
Here the air is calm and fine
For the father of the flocks ;-
Here the grass is soft and sweet
And the river eddies meet
In the trough beside the cave,
Bright as in their fountain-wave.-
Neither here nor on the dew
Of the lawny uplands feeding?
Oh, you come!—a stone at you
Will I throw, to mend your breeding;-
Get along, you horned thing,
Wild, seditious, rambling!

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EPODE.

An Iacchic melody
To the golden Aphrodite
Will I lift, as erst did I
Seeking her and her delight

With the Maenads, whose swift feet
To the music glance and fleet.
Bacchus, O beloved, where,
Shaking wide thy yellow hair,
Wanderest thou alone, afar?
To the one eyed Cyclops, we,
Who by right thy servants are,
Minister in misery.

In these wretched goatskins clad,
Far from thy delights and thee.'

The dialogue of the piece is rendered with equal spirit: as, for
example, in the more Euripidean than Cyclopean speech of Poly-
phemus in reply to Ulysses' petition for mercy in the name of the
Gods and hospitality, (Ὁ Πλᾶτος, ἀνθρωπίσκε, τοῖς σοφοῖς θεὸς, &c.)
'Wealth, my good fellow, is the wise man's god,
All other things are a pretence and boast.
What are my father's ocean promontories,
The sacred rocks whereon he dwells, to me?
Stranger, I laugh to scorn Jove's thunderbolt-
I know not that his strength is more than mine.
As to the rest I care not. When he pours
Rain from above, I have a close pavilion
Under this rock, in which I lie supine,
Feasting on a roast calf, or some wild beast,
And drinking pans of milk, and gloriously
Emulating the thunder of high heaven.

And when the Thracian wind pours down the snow,
I wrap my body in the skins of beasts,

Kindle a fire, and bid the snow whirl on.
The earth, by force, whether it will or no,

Bringing forth grass, fattens my flocks and herds,

Which, to what other god but to myself,

And this great belly, first of deities,
Should I be bound to sacrifice? I well know
The wise man's only Jupiter is this,
To eat and drink during his little day,
And give himself no care. And as for those
Who complicate with laws the life of man,
I freely give them tears for their reward.
I will not cheat my soul of its delight,
Or hesitate in dining upon you:

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And, that I may be quit of all demands,
These are my hospitable gifts ;-fierce fire,
And you ancestral cauldron, which o'erbubbling
Shall finely cook your miserable flesh.
-Creep in!-'

The

The Homeric hymn to Mercury is translated in stanzas of eight lines which difficult measure Mr. Shelley has managed with considerable skill. His version preserves very much the archaic and pastoral tone of the original, both as to manners and language; but a short specimen would be insufficient, and for a long one we have not room.

One department of our literature has, without doubt, sustained a heavy loss in the early death of this unfortunate and misguided gentleman.

ART. VIII. 1. Transactions of the Cambridge Philosophical Society. vol. i.

2. Memoirs of the Literary and Philosophical Society of Manchester. 2d Series. vol. iv. London. 1824.

3. Transactions of the Royal Geological Society of Cornwall, instituted February 11. vol. i. and ii. Penzance.

4. Report of the Liverpool Royal Institution. 1822.

5. Bristol Institution. Proceedings of the Second Annual Meeting, held February 10, 1825, &c.

6. Annual Report of the Council of the Yorkshire Philosophical Society for 1824.

A

GROWING taste for the cultivation of Physical Science characterizes the present state of the public mind in England, and deserves attentive consideration, since facilities, whether for acquiring elementary instruction in the various departments of Natural Philosophy, or for promoting their farther advancement, have not hitherto been provided by us with such liberality as has distinguished our exertions in behalf of other branches of useful knowledge. To insist on the high relative importance of scientific studies, whether as enlarging the sphere of our intellectual enjoyments, or as contributing to the rank and power of the nation, would in the present age be altogether superfluous; and every reflecting mind must be prepared to expect that our rapid improvement in wealth, intelligence, and civilization, should not merely render indispensable successive modifications and re-modellings of our political institutions, but also call, from time to time, for some corresponding changes in our public provisions for extending the advantages of a liberal education. The introduction and discovery of various arts and sciences before unknown or disregarded, and still more the rise and swift growth of new cities, and the sudden affluence to which commercial or manufacturing industry has raised districts hitherto insignificant and thinly peopled, must necessarily have created new wants; in the attempt to supply these the energies of our countrymen have

of

of late been signally displayed; and the measures which have been carried into effect throughout the country with great harmony of design, although chiefly by the unassisted exertions of private individuals, are characteristic of the genius of the British people, and without parallel in the history of contemporary nations. We allude to the recent establishment of numerous literary and philosophical institutions in our metropolis and many of our provinces.

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These are as yet indeed in the infancy of their career, but even now, if regarded collectively, they are entitled to a prominent place amongst our national establishments. Many people, it is true, have scarcely heard of their very existence-for no other reason than that their expediency has never assumed the character of a party question, and has never therefore become an animating topic of popular discussion. When we reflect, indeed, how often the proposal of new measures bearing less directly than these on the general interests of society has served to kindle in this country the spirit of political controversy,—when we remember that, at no distant period, rival theories of a purely philosophical nature, and as unconnected with the affairs of human life as the elements which strove for mastery in Milton's chaos, around the flag, of each his faction,' derived, nevertheless, exclusively from the ranks of opponent political parties, their zealous champions, we are at a loss to conceive by what happy accident the Institutions in question have so long escaped this prevailing contagion; and the addition of a few similar instances would persuade us that 'Chance' here also, as in the poet's allegory, is high arbiter, and governs all.' But as the interests involved in the present subject are of sufficient magnitude to arrest attention without the factitious aid of party excitement, we shall proceed to lay before our readers a brief sketch of the progress of these institutions considered in the order of their date-confining ourselves, lest we should transgress the limits of a single article, to such as are designed to promote the advancement of physical science, a class of studies never in former times fostered by a due share of public encouragement.

To enable our readers to form a correct idea of the present state of these establishments, a consideration of those of a more ancient foundation is indispensable; we shall, however, merely mention here the Royal Society, as the services rendered to science by that body throughout the greater part of two centuries, and the information contained in their Transactions, (now amounting to 114 volumes,) so varied in its nature and so profound, are justly and universally appreciated. For the same reason we shall merely advert to the Observatory of Greenwich, founded a few

years

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