"The deuce!" exclaimed Heaviside," surely you don't mean to leave Frederic in the lurch?"
A sudden thought here struck my sister; "My dear fellow," said she, with hesitation, "have you no little manuscript article in your literary drawer, ready made, which might serve to eke out the present deficiency?" "Not a line! I have burned my college exercises and lent my Album! - I will try again- I have a tort'-as Handel exclaimed when he called for the tinder-box.-"
At this juncture a packet from Vyvyan arrived, with the following consolatory note :
"I am starting by the mail for a ball at Teignmouth. Knight is raving for What you will.' I have scrambled up some pearls which you may string.
What have we here? "Egotisms, by Edward Haselfoot." Why this is a most arrogant and appropriating title ! "Egotisms!" They are the staple commodity of all the Magazines of the day, from the delightful recollections of Elia to the impertinent paradoxes of Hazlitt-from the impudent wit of Sir Christopher North, to the bungling philo- 4 sophy of Sir Richard Phillips. We are nothing now, if not egotistical; and this fellow sets up for the Copyright of the Title. Let us hear what he has to say for himself :
It is the hush of night, all sounds of life,
That jarr'd my sick ear through the live-long day, The scoffer's heartless laugh, the voice of strife, The murmur of dull talk are past away;
My bosom's secret, solitary woes In the calm lap of silence find repose.
The warm soft arms of sleep are round the world; The stars are walking on their mute career ; O'er town and waste one boundless gloom is furl'd; Half sound, half silence, to the listening ear: There comes a tingling murmur, which doth seem The everlasting flow of time's mysterious stream. The sweet and solemn influence of the hour
Steals o'er me, like the coming on of sleep; My soul lies hush'd beneath the gentle power: The shapes of fear and anguish, that infest
My thoughts by day, seem soften'd now and chang'd, Like the relenting looks of one erewhile estrang'd.
Rest, troubled spirit, rest! confide in Him, Whose eye is on thee thro' thy watch of pain: When earthly comfort waxeth cold and dim,
Trust thou in that which doth for aye remain. Thy heart-deep sighs to truth and freedom given, Can find no answer here; but they are heard in Heaven.
Brood not on things gone by;
On friendships lost, and high designs o'erthrown, And old opinions swept away like leaves
Before the autumn blast.
Brood not on things gone by!
Thy house is left unto thee desolate; Thou canst not be again what once thou wert-
Away, my soul, away!
No longer weakly cower
O'er the white ashes of extinguish'd hope, Nor hover, ghost-like, round the sepulchres Of thy departed joys.
Another star hath risen,
Another voice is calling thee afar,
Thy bark is launch'd, the wind is in thy sail- Away, my soul, away!
Thou comest once again, beloved May! Thou comest, but my heart is sick with care, And haunting wrong and comfortless despair, And fretting griefs that will not pass away: Heartless I sit, and hopeless, day by day; Wasting in thankless and inglorious toil, Uncheer'd by living voice or friendly smile. Oh could thy young and innocent smiles allay The grief that burns within me! but too deep The shaft of woe hath pierc'd; and therefore thou, With all thy odours, sights, and harmonies, Fresh airs, and sunny fields, and skies that weep Glad tears, and boundless music, are but now As the fair chamber where some sick man lies.
Very tolerable indeed, Mr. Edward Haselfoot. They have the true green and yellow melancholy" tint, which is so delightfully interesting in young gentlemen under forty. But we have something here in a bolder strain :
PREPARATIONS FOR THE BATTLE OF SALAMIS. FROM THE PERSÆ OF ÆSCHYLUS.
The night; nor aught of secret flight the Greeks Attempted; but when morn, on steeds of light Advancing, cheer'd the earth, glorious to view, First, from the Greeks, a loud symphonious hymn To Echo, goddess of the neighb'ring isle, Was pealing heard; and Echo, on her part, Flung back the war-song from the island rock. Ours consternation seized, and doubt, of high Expectance foil'd; for not as to retreat Attuned they their high pæan, but like men With thoughts deliberate of fixed fortitude Moving to battle. The awakening trump Set every heart on fire; and straight, to sound Of chanted notes, the accordant mariners Swept with loud strokes the foaming brine; the fleet Moved onward, and anon the whole array
Rose to our view. Foremost, in phalanx meet, Moved the well-order'd right; the general fleet Pursued, while through the whole these words were heard Frequent and loud:--" On, men of Greece! defend Your land, your children, and your wives! defend The altars of your gods, the sepulchres Of your departed sires-ye fight for all!" Ours opposite in Persian language raised The cry of exhortation: time was none For dallying; straightway, with lock'd prow advanc'd, Ship battled ship.
A good ear for Milton, faith!
More sentiment! Well, I suppose these four little tributes of the heart will be read ;-the thoughts are exceedingly just and pretty-the rhythm very exact and musical-the author feels and expresses himself like a true poet. But I have some doubt whether the day for Occasional Pieces' is
not gone by. They outlived Ann Yearsley, the milkmaidsprung out into new life and beauty, under the training of Thoinas Little, the amorist, and, finally, were overlaid in the nursery of Edward Hovel Thurlow, the Peer. But we must have them:
The torch of mind, that lights my clay, May burn and die, a lonely flame, Nor leave a trace behind to say That e'er it warm'd an earthly frame.
But if, as early hopes foretold, (And early hopes are cherish'd long) My name should ever shine enroll'd Among my country's sons of song; Thou wilt not grieve, my gentle friend, That thou hast given thy youthful bloom Upon the couch of pain to tend, And lighten sorrow's lonely gloom. Yet, fear no flatterer's voice in me- I would not wrong, with pompous praise, The sweets which love unconsciously Throws round each object it surveys.
The simple violet takes no thought When breathing forth her odours rare; They came from heaven, they cost her nought, And yet they gladden earth and air.
I am all alone by my silent hearth, No smile of love, and no voice of mirth; I am all alone, and my heart is sore With thinking of days that are past and o'er.
I sit and watch the stately trees, As they roll and murmur to the breeze, Or follow the clouds as they fleet and play, But my heart-my heart is far away.
My thoughts are wandering fast and wide, Without an aim, and without a guide.
After travelling in it the greater part of a very inclement day.
Thanks, gentle coat! whose snug grey fold Preserv'd so warm the Poet's skin, And kept from rains and killing cold
The Minstrel-fire that glow'd within. Thanks, coat! and thou, blue kerchief, too- Protectors kind 'gainst wind and weather, I pay in song my debt to you, And send you down to fame together.
In summer time, obliging pair! I might have scorn'd your offer'd love, When life was in the genial air, And joyous sunshine laugh'd above. But now, when wintry blasts prevail'd, And snow came feathering thro' the air, Ev'n ***** * 's puns perchance had fail'd To cheer me, hadst not thou been there.
'Tis thus, in boyhood's witless hour, We mock at love's delightful tie, And wonder what mysterious power Grave man can find in woman's eye.
But when our rising passions move, When sickness smites, or cares invade us, We feel our want of woman's love,
And know for what our nature made us.
Oh! come to me now, for my sorrows are past, And the cloud on my heart is dissolv'd at last; Spirit of Poesy, come from above, Come, on the wings of nature and love!
Come, while the yellow light streams thro' the pane, And the air is fresh with the morning rain, And the wind is up with its sweet wild voice, Like a song of sorrow that bids us rejoice.
Come 'mid fancies gathering fast,
'Mid thoughts of the present, and thoughts of the past; Oh! come to me now! 'tis thy chosen hour,
And the spirits of evil no longer have power!
But here is something refreshing and exciting. Two more Enigmas from Vyvyan himself. Why does not Vyvyan ad
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