of her outward bound voyage, sailing over the quiet sea in a lovely moonlight evening, and the two lovers musing and conversing on the deck. There are great raptures about the beau ty of the ship and the moon,-and pretty characters of the youth and the maiden in the same tone of ecstasy. Just as the sky is kindling with the summer dawn, and the freshness of morning rippling over the placid waters, the vessel strikes on a sunken rock, and goes down almost instantly. This catastrophe is described, we think, with great force and effect ;--allowance being always made for the peculiarities of the school to which the author belongs. He begins with a view of the ship just before the accident. 'Her giant-form O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm, Mid the deep darkness white as snow! So stately her bearing, so proud her array, The main she will traverse for ever and aye. Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast! ---Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer! this hour is her last. Five hundred souls in one instant of dread Are hurried o'er the deck; And fast the miserable ship Becomes a lifeless wreck. Her keel hath struck on a hidden rock, Her planks are torn asunder, And down come her masts with a reeling shock, And a hideous crash like thunder. Her sails are draggled in the brine That gladdened late the skies, And her pendant that kiss'd the fair moonshine Down many a fathom lies. Her beauteous sides, whose rainbow hues Gleam'd softly from below, And flung a warm and sunny flush O'er the wreaths of murmuring snow, To the coral rocks are hurrying down To sleep amid colours as bright as their own. An hour before her death; And sights of home with sighs disturb'd The The hum of the spreading sycamore ---He wakes at the vessel's sudden roll, Unbroken as the floating air; p. 32--31. Like a struggling dream at break of day. But the new-risen sun, and the sunny sky. Though the night-shades are gone, yet a vapour While a low and melancholy moan Mourns for the glory that hath flown.' p. 36. dull The second canto begins with a very absurd expostulation to the Moon, for having let the good ship be lost after shining so sweetly upon it. Nothing but the singular infatuation which seems to be epidemic on the banks of Winander, could have led a man of Mr Wilson's abilities to write such lines as the following. Oh vain belief most beauteous as thou art, And a little after, 2 Wilt thou not then thy once-lov'd vessel miss, And wish her happy, now that she is gone? But then, sad moon! too late thy grief will be; Fair as thou art, thou can'st not move the sea. After this wild fit, however, has spent itself, we are conducted to a little sea-beat rock, where the unhappy lover finds himself stretched in horrible solitude; and where, in a sort of entranced slumber, he has a vision of a blissful land, over which he seems to wander with his beloved. On opening his eyes, he finds her actually leaning over him; and, by and by, the ship's pinnace comes floating alongside, with its oars and sails ready for immedi ate service. They embark with holy hope and confidence; and, at the close of evening, reach a shady and solitary shore, where they kneel down and return thanks to Providence. The third canto is filled almost entirely with the description of this enchanted island, and of the blissful life which these lo vers lived in its beautiful seclusion; and, certainly, a more glowing picture of Elysium has not often been brought before us, than is contained in these pages: such shades and flowers-and wooded steeps-and painted birds-and sunny bays and cascades --and dewy vales and thickets-and tufted lawns!--The following are but cold and tame citations. • There, groves that bloom in endless spring Of birds, in various plumage bright The sun and clouds alone possess The joy of all that loveliness. How silent lies each shelter'd bay! No other visitors have they To their shores of silvery sand, Than the waves that, murmuring in their glee, All hurrying in a joyful band Come dancing from the sea.' p. 75, 76. Like fire, strange flowers around them flame, Sweet, harmless fire, breathed from some magic urn, Too wildly beautiful to bear a name. And when the Ocean sends a breeze, To wake the music sleeping in the trees, Trees scarce they seem to be; for many a flower, p. 87, 88, Feb On the first Sabbath day, they take each other for husband and wife; and five or six years pass over, the reader does not well know how ;-and still we find them enraptured with their flowers and their birds, and their own prayers, songs, and me ditations. All at once a fairy child comes singing down a mountain, in a frock of peacock's feathers-and we find they have lovely daughter. Sing on! Sing on! It is a lovely air. Well could thy mother sing it when a maid Up yon steep hill's unbroken side, Though free her breath, untired her limb, Hof fear, half-wonder, urged her flight, To break the steepness of the hill, With leaps, and springs, and outstretch'd arms And the gleamings of the feathery gold, Of her mantle as she runs. p. 113, 114, 115. The blessed babe comes to tell of a strange sight she has seen on the sea; and her father soon discovers it to be a ship steering towards their shore. "How beautiful upon the wave "The vessel sails, who comes to save! "Fitting it was that first she shone "See how before the wind she goes, 86 Scattering the waves like melting snows! 39 &c. But But what a change is there! That made its haunts so still and holy, Gone--gone is all its loneliness, Soon as the thundering cannon spoke, The spell of the enchantment broke, Like dew beneath the sun. p. 118, 119. The fourth and last canto carries us back to England, and te the woes of the despairing mother, whose daughter had embarked so many years before, in that ill-fated ship, of which no tidings had ever reached her home. After pining in agony for years in her native Wales, she had been drawn by an irresistible impulse to take up her abode in the sea-port from which she had seen her beloved child depart, and to gaze daily on the devouring waters in which she believed her to be entombed The following lines we think are pathetic. And now that seven long years are flown, She starts to hear the city bell; So toll'd it when they wept farewell! She thinks the self-same smoke and cloud The city domes and turrets shroud; The grove of masts is standing there Unchanged, with all their ensigns fair; The same, the stir, the tumult, and the hum, As from the city to the shore they come. p. 157, 158. As she is lingering one sunny day on the beach, a shout is raised for the approach of a long expected vessel; and multitudes hurry |