chateau at Richelieu, he sacrificed its symmetry to preserve the room in which he was born-Mém. de Mlle de Montpensier, i, 27.
And hence the charm historic scenes impart: Whatever withdraws us from the power of our An attachment of this nature is generally the charsenses; whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future, predominate over the present, advances us in acteristic of a benevolent mind; and a long acquaintthe dignity of thinking beings. Far from me and far from ance with the world cannot always extinguish it. my friends be such frigid philosophy as may conduct "To a friend," says John, Duke of Buckingham us indifferent and unmoved over any ground which "I will expose my weakness: I am oftener missing has been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue. a pretty gallery in the old house I pulled down, than That man is little to be envied, whose patriotism pleased with a saloon which I built in its stead, would not gain force upon the plain of Marathon, or though a thousand times better in all respects.”—See whose piety would not grow warmer among the ruins his Letter to the D. of Sh.
Note 10, page 3, col. 2.
And watch and weep in Eloisa's cell.
The Paraclete, founded by Abelard, in Champagne.
Note 11, page 3, col. 2.
"T was ever thus. As now at Virgil's tomb.
This is the language of the heart; and will remind the reader of that good-humored remark in one of Pope's letters - -"I should hardly care to have an old post pulled up, that I remembered ever since I was a child."
Nor did the Poet feel the charm more forcibly than his Editor. See HURD's Life of Warburton, 51, 99. The Author of Telemachus has illustrated this
Vows and pilgrimages are not peculiar to the re-subject, with equal fancy and feeling, in the story of ligious enthusiast. Silius Italicus performed annual Alibée, Persan. ceremonies on the mountain of Posilipo; and it was there that Boccaccio, quasi da un divino estro inspirato, resolved to dedicate his life to the Muses.
So Tully paused amid the wrecks of Time. When Cicero was quæstor in Sicily, he discovered the tomb of Archimedes by its mathematical inscription-Tusc. Quæst. v. 3.
Note 13, page 3, col. 2.
Say why the pensive widow loves to weep.
The influence of the associating principle is finely exemplified in the faithful Penelope, when she sheds tears over the bow of Ulysses.-Od. xxi, 55.
If chance he hears the song so sweetly wild. The celebrated Ranz des Vaches; "cet air si chéri des Suisses qu'il fut défendu sous peine de mort de le jouer dans leurs troupes, parce qu'il faisoit fondre en larmes, déserter ou mourir ceux qui l'entendoient, tant il excitoit en cux l'ardent désir de revoir leur patrie."-Rousseau.
The maladie de pays is as old as the human heart. JUVENAL'S little cup-bearer
Suspirat longo non visam tempore matrem, Et casulam, et notos tristis desiderat hædos. And the Argive, in the heat of battle, Dulces moriens reminiscitur Argos.
Note 15, page 4, col. 2.
Note 16, page 4, col. 1.
Why great Navarre, etc.
That amiable and accomplished monarch, Henry the Fourth of France, made an excursion from his camp, during the long siege of Laon, to dine at a house in the forest of Folambray; where he had often been regaled, when a boy, with fruit, milk, and new cheese; and in revisiting which he promised himself great pleasure.-Mém. de Sully.
Note 17, page 4, col. 1.
When Diocletian's self-corrected mind.
there amused himself with building, planting, and Diocletian retired into his native province, and gardening. His answer to Maximian is deservedly celebrated. He was solicited by that restless old man to reassume the reins of government, and the Imperial purple. He rejected the temptation with a smile of pity, calmly observing, "that if he could show Maximian the cabbages which he had planted with his own hands at Salona, he should no longer be urged to relinquish the enjoyment of happiness for the pursuit of power."-GIBBON.
Say, when contentious Charles renounced a throne. When the emperor Charles V. had executed his memorable resolution, and had set out for the monastery of St. Justus, he stopped a few days at Ghent, says his historian, to indulge that tender and pleas ant melancholy, which arises in the mind of every man in the decline of life, on visiting the place of his nativity, and viewing the scenes and objects fa miliar to him in his early youth.-Robertson.
Say why Vespasian loved his Sabine farm. This emperor, according to Suetonius, constantly passed the summer in a small villa near Reate, where Then did his horse the homeward track descry. he was born, and to which he would never add any The memory of the horse forms the groundwork embellishment, ne quid scilicet oculorum consuetudini of a pleasing little romance of the twelfth century deperiret. SUET. in Vit. Vesp. cap. ii. entitled, "Lai du Palefroy vair."-See Fabliaux du
A similar instance occurs in the life of the venera- XII. siècle. ble Pertinax, as related by J. Capitolinus. Posteaquam Ariosto likewise introduces it in a passage full of in Liguriam venit, multis agris coemptis, tabernam truth and nature. When Bayardo meets Angelica in paternam, manente formâ priore, infinitis ædificiis cir- the forest,
cumdedit. Hist. August. 54.
And it is said of Cardinal Richelieu, that, when he built his magnificent palace on the site of the old family
Va mansueto alla Donzella,
Che in Albracca il servia già di sua mano.
Orlando Furioso, canto i. 75.
She tells of time misspent, of comfort lost,
Of fair occasions gone for ever by;
Of hopes too fondly nursed, too rudely cross'd,
Of many a cause to wish, yet fear to die;
For what, except th' instinctive fear
Lest she survive, detains me here,
When "all the life of life" is fled ?—
What, but the deep inherent dread,
Lest she beyond the grave resume her reign,
And realize the hell that priests and beldams feign?
Note 25, page 6, col. 1.
Hast thou through Eden's wild-wood vales pursued. there stands a small pillar with this inscription: On the road-side, between Penrith and Appleby,
"This pillar was erected in the year 1656, by Ann Countess-Dowager of Pembroke, etc. for a memorial of her last parting, in this place, with her good and
This little animal, from the extreme convexity of pious mother, Margaret, Countess-Dowager of Cumher eye, cannot see many inches before her.
Note 22, page 5, col. 1.
These still exist, etc.
There is a future Existence even in this world, an Existence in the hearts and minds of those who shall live after us. It is in reserve for every man, however obscure; and his portion, if he be diligent, must be equal to his desires For in whose remembrance can we wish to hold a place, but such as know, and are known by us? These are within the sphere of our influence, and among these and their descendants we may live evermore.
berland, on the 2d of April, 1616; in memory whereof she hath left an annuity of 41. to be distributed to the poor of the parish of Brougham, every 2d day of April for ever, upon the stone-table placed hard by. Laus Deo!"
The Eden is the principal river of Cumberland, and rises in the wildest part of Westmoreland. Note 26, page 6, col. 1.
O'er his dead son the gallant Ormond sigh'd.
Ormond bore the loss with patience and dignity: though he ever retained a pleasing, however melancholy, sense of the signal merit of Ossory. "I would not exchange my dead son," said he, “for any living son in Christendom."-HUME.
The same sentiment is inscribed on Miss Dolman's urn at the Leasowes. Heu, quanto minus est cum
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It is a state of rewards and punishments; and, like that revealed to us in the Gospel, has the happiest influence on our lives. The latter excites us to gain the favor of God, the former to gain the love and reliquis versari, quam tui meminisse!" esteem of wise and good men; and both lead to the same end; for, in framing our conceptions of the Deity, we only ascribe to Him exalted degrees of Wisdom and Goodness.
Yet still how sweet the soothings of his art! The astronomer chalking his figures on the wall, in Hogarth's view of Bedlam, is an admirable exemplification of this idea.-See the Rake's Progress, plate 8.
Note 24, page 6, col. 1.
Turns but to start, and gazes but to sigh!
The following stanzas are said to have been written on a blank leaf of this Poem. They present so affecting a reverse of the picture, that I cannot resist the opportunity of introducing them here.
Pleasures of Memory!-oh! supremely blest.
And justly proud beyond a Poet's praise:
If the pure confines of thy tranquil breast
Contain, indeed, the subject of thy lays!
By me how envied !-for to me,
The herald still of misery,
Memory makes her influence known
By sighs, and tears, and grief alone;
I greet her as the fiend, to whom belong
The vulture's ravening beak, the raven's funeral song.
High on exulting wing the heath-cock rose. This bird is remarkable for his exultation during the spring.
Note 28, page 6, col. 2.
Derwent's clear mirror.
Keswick-Lake in Cumberland.
Note 29, page 7, col. 2.
Down by St. Herbert's consecrated grove.
A small island covered with trees, among which were formerly the ruins of a religious house.
Note 30, page 7, col. 2.
When lo! a sudden blast the vessel blew.
In a lake surrounded with mountains, the agitations are often violent and momentary. The winds blow in gusts and eddies; and the water no sooner swells, than it subsides.-See BOURN's Hist. of Westmoreland.
To what pure beings, in a nobler sphere. The several degrees of angels may probably have larger views, and some of them be endowed with capacities able to retain together, and constantly set before them, as in one picture, all their past know. ledge at once.-LOCKE.
Yet, all forgot, how oft the eye-lids close, Introduction-Ringing of bells in a neighboring Vil- How oft, as dead, on the warm turf we lie, And from the slack hand drops the gather'd rose! lage on the birth of an heir-General Reflections While many an emmet comes with curious eye; on Human Life-The Subject proposed-Child- And on her nest the watchful wren sits by! hood-Youth-Manhood-Love-Marriage-Domestic Happiness and Affliction-War-Peace- So like what once we were, and once again shall be Nor do we speak or move, or hear or see; Civil Dissension-Retirement from active LifeOld Age and its Enjoyments-Conclusion.
THE lark has sung his carol in the sky:
The bees have humm'd their noon-tide lullaby.
Still in the vale the village-bells ring round,
Still in Llewellyn-hall the jests resound:
For now the caudle-cup is circling there,
And say, how soon, where, blithe as innocent,
The boy at sun-rise whistled as he went,
An aged pilgrim on his staff shall lean,
Tracing in vain the footsteps o'er the green;
The man himself how alter'd, not the scene!
Now journeying home with nothing but the name
Wayworn and spent, another and the same!
No eye observes the growth or the decay:
Now, glad at heart, the gossips breathe their prayer, To-day we look as we did yesterday;
And, crowding, stop the cradle to admire
The babe, the sleeping image of his sire.
And we shall look to-morrow as to-day:
Yet while the loveliest smiles, her locks grow grey'
A few short years-and then these sounds shall hail And in her glass could she but see the face
The day again, and gladness fill the vale;
So soon the child a youth, the youth a man,
Eager to run the race his fathers ran.
Then the huge ox shall yield the broad sirloin;
The ale, now brew'd, in floods of amber shine:
And, basking in the chimney's ample blaze,
'Mid many a tale told of his boyish days,
The nurse shall cry, of all her ills beguiled,
"T was on these knees he sate so oft and smiled."
And soon agein shall music swell the breeze;
Soon, issuing forth, shall glitter through the trees
Vestures of nuptial white; and hymns be sung,
And violets scatter'd round; and old and young,
In every cottage-porch with garlands green,
Stand still to gaze, and, gazing, bless the scene;
While, her dark eyes declining, by his side
Moves in her virgin-veil the gentle bride.
And once, alas, nor in a distant hour,
Another voice shall come from yonder tower;
When in dim chambers long black weeds are seen,
And weepings heard where only joy has been;
When by his children borne, and from his door
Slowly departing to return no more,
He rests in holy earth with them that went before.
And such is Human Life; so gliding on,
It glimmers like a meteor, and is gone!
Yet is the tale, brief though it be, as strange,
As full, methinks, of wild and wondrous change,
As any that the wandering tribes require,
Stretch'd in the desert round their evening-fire;
As any sung of old in hall or bower
To minstrel-harps at midnight's witching hour!
Born in a trance, we wake, observe, inquire;
And the green earth, the azure sky admire.
Of Elfin-size-for ever as we run,
We cast a longer shadow in the sun!
And now a charm, and now a grace is won!
We grow in wisdom, and in stature too!
And, as new scenes, new objects rise to view,
Think nothing done while aught remains to do.
She'll see so soon amidst another race,
How would she shrink!-Returning from afar,
After some years of travel, some of war,
Within his gate Ulysses stood unknown
Before a wife, a father, and a son!
And such is Human Life, the general theme.
Ah, what at best, what but a longer dream?
Though with such wild romantic wanderings fraught,
Such forms in Fancy's richest coloring wrought,
That, like the visions of a love-sick brain,
Who would not sleep and dream them o'er again?
Our pathway leads but to a precipice; (1)
And all must follow, fearful as it is!
From the first step 't is known; but-No delay!
On, 'tis decreed. We tremble and obey.
A thousand ills beset us as we go.
"Still, could I shun the fatal gulf"-Ah, no,
"Tis all in vain-the inexorable law!
Nearer and nearer to the brink we draw.
Verdure springs up; and fruits and flowers invite,
And groves and fountains-all things that delight
"Oh I would stop, and linger if I might!”—
We fly; no resting for the foot we find ; (2)
And dark before, all desolate behind!
At length the brink appears--but one step more!
We faint-On, on!-we falter-and 'tis o'er!
Yet here high passions, high desires unfold,
Prompting to noblest deeds; here links of gold
Bind soul to soul; and thoughts divine inspire
A thirst unquenchable, a holy fire
That will not, cannot but with life expire!
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Now, seraph-wing'd, among the stars we soar,
Now distant ages, like a day, explore,
And judge the act, the actor now no more;
Or, in a thankless hour condemn'd to live,
From others claim what these refuse to give,
And dart, like Milton, an unerring eye
Through the dim curtains of Futurity. (3)
Wealth, Pleasure, Ease, all thought of self resign'd,
What will not Man encounter for Mankind?
Behold him now unbar the prison-door,
And, lifting Guilt, Contagion from the floor,
To Peace and Health, and Light and Life restore;
Now in Thermopyle remain to share
Death-nor look back, nor turn a footstep there,
Leaving his story to the birds of air;
And now like Pylades (in Heaven they write
Names such as his in characters of light)
Long with his friend in generous enmity,
Pleading, insisting in his place to die!
Do what he will, he cannot realize
Half he conceives-the glorious vision flies.
Go where he may, he cannot hope to find
The truth, the beauty pictured in his mind.
But if by chance an object strike the sense,
The faintest shadow of that Excellence,
Passions, that slept, are stirring in his frame;
Thoughts undefined, feelings without a name!
And some, not here call'd forth, may slumber on
Till this vain pageant of a world is gone;
Lying too deep for things that perish here,
Waiting for life-but in a nobler sphere!
Look where he comes! Rejoicing in his birth,
Awhile he moves as in a heaven on earth!
Sun, moon, and stars-the land, the sea, the sky
To him shine out as 't were a galaxy!
But soon 'tis past-the light has died away!
With him it came (it was not of the day)
And he himself diffused it, like the stone
That sheds awhile a lustre all its own, (4)
Making night beautiful. "Tis past, 't is gone,
And in his darkness as he journeys on,
Nothing revives him but the blessed ray
That now breaks in, nor ever knows decay,
Sent from a better world to light him on his way.
How great the Mystery! Let others sing
The circling Year, the promise of the Spring,
The Summer's glory, and the rich repose
Of Autumn, and the Winter's silvery snows.
Man through the changing scene let me pursue,
Himself how wondrous in his changes too!
Not Man the sullen savage in his den;
But Man call'd forth in fellowship with men;
School'd and train'd up to Wisdom from his birth; (5)
God's noblest work-His image upon earth!
The hour arrives, the moment wish'd and fear'd; (6)
The child is born, by many a pang endear'd.
And now the mother's ear has caught his cry;
Oh grant the cherub to her asking eye!
He comes she clasps him. To her bosom press'd,
He drinks the balm of life, and drops to rest.
Her by her smile how soon the Stranger knows;
How soon by his the glad discovery shows!
As to her lips she lifts the lovely boy,
What answering looks of sympathy and joy!
He walks, he speaks. In many a broken word
His wants, his wishes, and his griefs are heard.
And ever, ever to her lap he flies,
When rosy Sleep comes on with sweet surprise.
Lock'd in her arms, his arms across her flung,
(That name most dear for ever on his tongue)
As with soft accents round her neck he clings,
And cheek to cheek, her lulling song she sings,
How blest to feel the beatings of his heart,
Breathe his sweet breath, and kiss for kiss impart;
Watch o'er his slumbers like the brooding dove, And, if she can, exhaust a mother's love!
But soon a nobler task demands her care. Apart she joins his little hands in prayer, Telling of Him who sees in secret there!And now the volume on her knee has caught His wandering eye-now many a written thought Never to die, with many a lisping sweet His moving, murmuring lips endeavor to repeat. Released, he chases the bright butterfly; Oh he would follow-follow through the sky! Climbs the gaunt mastiff slumbering in his chain, And chides and buffets, clinging by the mane; Then runs, and, kneeling by the fountain-side, Sends his brave ship in triumph down the tide, A dangerous voyage; or, if now he can, If now he wears the habit of a man, Flings off the coat so long his pride and pleasure, And, like a miser digging for his treasure, His tiny spade in his own garden plies, And in green letters sees his name arise! Where'er he goes, for ever in her sight, She looks, and looks, and still with new delight! Ah who, when fading of itself away, Would cloud the sunshine of his little day! Now is the May of Life. Careering round, Joy wings his feet, Joy lifts him from the ground! Pointing to such, well might Cornelia say,
When the rich casket shone in bright array,
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These are My Jewels!" (7) Well of such as he, When Jesus spake, well might his language be, "Suffer these little ones to come to me!" (8)
Thoughtful by fits, he scans and he reveres
The brow engraven with the Thoughts of Years; (9)
Close by her side his silent homage given
As to some pure Intelligence from Heaven;
His eyes cast downward with ingenuous shame,
His conscious cheeks, conscious of praise or blame,
At once lit up as with a holy flame!
He thirsts for knowledge, speaks but to inquire;
And soon with tears relinquish'd to the Sire,
Soon in his hand to Wisdom's temple led,
Holds secret converse with the Mighty Dead;
Trembles and thrills and weeps as they inspire.
Burns as they burn, and with congenial fire!
Like Her most gentle, most unfortunate, (10)
Crown'd but to die-who in her chamber sate
Musing with Plato, though the horn was blown,
And every ear and every heart was won,
And all in green array were chasing down the sun
Then is the Age of Admiration (11)—Then
Gods walk the earth, or beings more than men,
Who breathe the soul of Inspiration round,
Whose very shadows consecrate the ground!
Ah, then comes thronging many a wild desire,
And high imagining and thought of fire!
Then from within a voice exclaims "Aspire!"
Phantoms, that upward point, before him pass,
As in the Cave athwart the Wizard's glass;
They, that on Youth a grace, a lustre shed,
Of every age-the living and the dead!
Thou, all-accomplish'd Surrey, thou art known;
The flower of Knighthood, nipt as soon as blown!
Melting all hearts but Geraldine's alone!
And, with his beaver up, discovering there
One who lov'd less to conquer than to spare,
Lo the Black Warrior, he, who, battle-spent,
Bare-headed served the Captive in his tent!
Young B in the groves of Academe,
Or where Ilyssus winds his whispering stream;
Or where the wild bees swarm with ceaseless hum,
Dreaming old dreams-a joy for years to come;
Or on the Rock within the sacred Fane;-
Scenes such as Milton sought, but sought in vain: (12)
And Milton's self (13) (at that thrice-honored name
Well may we glow--as men, we share his fame)-
And Milton's self, apart with beaming eye,
Planning he knows not what-that shall not die!
Oh in thy truth secure, thy virtue bold,
Beware the poison in the cup of gold,
The asp among the flowers. Thy heart beats high,
As bright and brighter breaks the distant sky!
But every step is on enchanted ground;
Danger thou lovest, and Danger haunts thee round.
Who spurs his horse against the mountain-side;
Then, plunging, slakes his fury in the tide?
Draws, and cries ho; and, where the sun-beams fall,
At his own shadow thrusts along the wall?
Who dances without music; and anon
Sings like the lark-then sighs as woe-begone,
And folds his arms, and, where the willows wave,
Glides in the moon-shine by a maiden's grave?
Come hither, boy, and clear thy open brow:
Yon summer-clouds, now like the Alps, and now
A ship, a whale, change not so fast as thou.
He heats me not---Those sighs were from the heart;
Too, too well taught, he plays the lover's part.
He who at masques, nor feigning nor sincere,
With sweet discourse would win a lady's ear,
Lie at her feet, and on her slipper swear
That none were half so faultless, half so fair,
Now through the forest hies, a stricken deer,
A banish'd man, flying when none are near;
And writes on every tree, and lingers long
Where most the nightingale repeats her song;
Where most the nymph, that haunts the silent grove,
Delights to syllable the names we love.
Two on his steps attend, in motley clad;
One woeful-wan, one merrier yet as mad;
Called Hope and Fear. Hope shakes his cap and bells,
And flowers spring up among the woodland dells.
To Hope he listens, wandering without measure
Through sun and shade, lost in a trance of pleasure;
And, if to Fear but for a weary mile,
Hope follows fast and wins him with a smile.
At length he goes-a Pilgrim to the Shrine,
And for a relic would a world resign!
A glove, a shoe-tie, or a flower let fall-
What though the least, Love consecrates them all!
And now he breathes in many a plaintive verse;
Now wins the dull ear of the wily nurse
At early matins ('t was at matin-time (14)
That first he saw and sicken'd in his prime),
And soon the Sibyl, in her thirst for gold,
lays with young hearts that will not be controll'd.
"Absence from Thee-as self from self it seems!"
Scaled is the garden-wall! and lo, her beams
Silvering the east, the moon comes up, revealing
His well-known form along the terrace stealing.
-Oh, ere in sight he came, 't was his to thrill
A heart that loved him though in secret still.
"Am I awake? or is it can it be
An idle dream? Nightly it visits me!
-That strain," she cries, "as from the water rose
Now near and nearer through the shade it flows!-
Now sinks departing-sweetest in its close!"
No casement gleams; no Juliet, like the day,
Comes forth and speaks and bids her lover stay.
Still, like aerial music heard from far,
Nightly it rises with the evening-star.
"She loves another! Love was in that sigh!"
On the cold ground he throws himself to die.
Fond Youth, beware. Thy heart is most deceiving.
Who wish are fearful; who suspect, believing.
-And soon her looks the rapturous truth avow
Lovely before, oh, say how lovely now! (15)
She flies not, frowns not, though he pleads his cause;
Nor yet-nor yet her hand from his withdraws,
But by some secret Power surprised, subdued
(Ah how resist? Nor would she if she could),
Falls on his neck as half unconscious where,
Glad to conceal her tears, her blushes there.
Then come those full confidings of the past;
All sunshine now where all was overcast.
Then do they wander till the day is gone,
Lost in each other; and when Night steals on,
Covering them round, how sweet her accents are!
Oh when she turns and speaks, her voice is far,
Far above singing!-But soon nothing stirs
To break the silence-Joy like his, like hers,
Now in the glimmering, dying light she grows
Deals not in words: and now the shadows close,
Less and less earthly! As departs the day
All that was mortal seems to melt away,
Till, like a gift resumed as soon as given,
She fades at last into a Spirit from Heaven!
Then are they blest indeed; and swift the hours
Till her young Sisters wreathe her hair in flowers
Kindling her beauty-while, unseen, the least
Twitches her robe, then runs behind the rest,
Then before All they stand-the holy vow
Known by her laugh that will not be suppress'd
And ring of gold, no fond illusions now,
Bind her as his. Across the threshold led,
His house she enters there to be a light,
And every tear kiss'd off as soon as shed,
Shining within, when all without is night;
Doubling his pleasures, and his cares dividing,
A guardian-angel o'er his life presiding,
Winning him back, when mingling in the throng,
Back from a world we love, alas, too long,
To fire-side happiness, to hours of ease,
Blest with that charm, the certainty to please.
How oft her eyes read his; her gentle mind
To all his wishes, all his thoughts inclined;
Still subject-ever on the watch to borrow
Mirth of his mirth, and sorrow of his sorrow
The soul of music slumbers in the shell,
Till waked and kindled by the master's spell,
And feeling hearts-touch them but rightly-pour
A thousand melodies unheard before! (16)
Nor many moons o'er hill and valley rise
Ere to the gate with nymph-like step she flies,
And their first-born holds forth, their darling boy,
With smiles how sweet, how full of love and joy,
To meet him coming; theirs through every year
Pure transports, such as each to each endear!
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