Yes! though from Heaven's proud brow the garland drops And younger stars shall hold, with purer lustre, Earth is Heaven's shadow-human life the porch Is the red dawn of every day of grace. Christianity is thus beautifully alluded to in one of the only two passages which seem to indicate a modern origin. Stones cannot plead with Baldur; expiation If Freya's gold-hair'd son thou wouldst resemble ! In many a heart, like mine, its presage beats; Though with still-erring eye, its heavenly ray. God's messengers are many.-He is one! He then informs the hero of the death of Helga, while attempting to overthrow the idols of the neighbouring Finland, and exhorts him, as a proof of his submission to Baldur, and his sincerity in seeking reconciliation, to offer peace to the insignificant Halfdan. While he is yet speaking, Thus did Halfdan stand. With doubtful glance upon the iron threshold, Gazing in silence on the dreaded one. Frithioff unbuckled from his side the sword, And hands long sever'd, each the other wrung Then did the priest remove the curse that lay Of ermine wrapt, and all her damsels with her, BURNING OF INDIAN WIDOWS. The papers published by the House of Commons, on the Burning of the Indian Widows, are a striking evidence of the affected delicacy which men can assume in matters which do not touch their own interests. Within the five years ending with 1824, there have been no less than,-will it be believed?-two thousand nine hundred and eighty-one murders of wretched women committed in the face of day, by the most horrible of all tortures, in the presence of the British Authorities, and, for the most part, in the very centre of our power, the Presidency of Bengal ! The plea on which these horrors have been sanctioned, (for to permit them under the circumstances is to sanction them, and, in fact, the British Authorities are in general present,) is the delicacy of interfering with the prejudices of the people. But if the question were one of tribute, we have no delicacy on record. It must offend the Hindoo population as much to be compelled to pay a tax, or to be shot, as to see a miserable woman prohibited from burning herself, or being burned by the rabble as a sport. Yet let a rupee be deficient, and the European collector feels no scruple of offending the Hindoo's morbidness by demanding summary payment, and shooting the refractory. But the Burning is supposed to be a rite of religion. Even if it were, we have no scruple of taking possession of pagodas, and making ourselves the disposers of the Brahminical influence on all occasions that suit our convenience. We guard the passes of the Ganges, and knock the pilgrims on the head if they are unruly; we VOL. XXIII. plant our sentinels in the very house of Juggernaut, and raise a handsome revenue out of their pious foolery, to their infinite indignation; we cudgel, confine, and mulct the whole holy mob, without caring a sixpence whether we hurt the feelings of a worshipper of Mahomet or Brahma. But the moment that the question comes unconnected with money or power, and merely calling upon common sense and common humanity, our East India governors discover that the religious prejudices of the natives are very solemn affairs, and not to be touched but at the risk of the overthrow of the whole Indian empire. Now, the Burning of the Widows is not a religious ceremony, nor a part of Hindoo religion, for it is not enjoined in any of the standard books of their religion, and the command of them is simply, that the widow should devote herself to a reserved and correct life. It is merely an act of presumed voluntary effort to gain a place in the state of future happiness, or to shake off the inconveniencies of a solitary life; the act, however, is attended by fabricated ceremonies, by Brahmins who are paid by the relatives, who divide the property of the victim, and by the rabble, who are described as crowding to the sight, with the same kind of enjoyment with which an English mob would crowd to a bull-bait. Nothing is more known in India, than that with those Brahmins we may do what we will; a menace or a bribe has every man of them, at least in the Presidency of Bengal, completely at our disposal. Nothing is more certain, than that the whole X cruelty is set up and sustained by the Brahmins for money-getting; and the certainty is equal, that the total prohibition of those horrors would not be followed by the slightest popular disturbance. The murder of children was once the national custom. An order was issued prohibiting infanticide. It was obeyed in all the provinces. One curious exception alone occurred, which proves the rule. In one of the most barbarous of the interior tribes, the chiefs and priests declared that child-murder was a part of their law, and a national custom from the beginning. The officer in command was a man of resolution and good sense. He told them that Nature prohibited murder, and that no national habit could be so old as Nature. He firmly declared that he would not suffer the practice. From that hour it was never attempted. And the mothers used to throw themselves before his horse's feet, and bless him for having saved their children. It was the custom to expose the aged to die of hunger or by the crocodiles. It was a habit of pomp to put slaves to death on the death of their masters. These atrocious acts were prohibited, and who has ever heard of re bellion in consequence? The Suttees might be prohibited to-morrow with the same ease, and with the same impunity. But can we be innocent of crime, when we stand by and permit a crime which we have the means of extinguishing? Then let the extent of the murders be recollected,—two thousand nine hundred human beings destroyed before our eyes! If our government saw two rival tribes within their borders attacking each other, they would undoubtedly prohibit the mutual slaughter, without any consideration of delicacy whatever. If the slaughter amounted to five hundred, as the Suttees do every year under the eye of this delicate government, every combatant would be thrown into chains, or the dispute would be finished on both sides by the British bayonet. No government would be justified in wantonly offending even the most absurd religion, but when humanity calls upon us-and what is humanity but the command of Heaven and of wisdom?-we are deeply culpable for every hour's delay of following its dictates, and putting an end to the abomination. HYMN TO HESPERUS. Εσπερε παντα φερεις. BRIGHT solitary beam, fair speck, All silent are the fields, and still The umbrageous wood's recesses dreary, As if calm came at thy sweet will, And Nature of Day's strife were weary. Blent with the season and the scene, From out her treasured stores, Reflection This is a chilling world-we live Bare rocks to frail feet wandering thither; Have like night's boreal gleams departed; Is Eld, white-hair'd, and broken-hearted! How oft, 'mid eves as clear and calm, These wild-wood pastures have I stray'd in, When all those scenes of bliss and balm Blue Twilight's mantle were array'd in ; Fair Star! with calm repose and peace Sure angel wings around thee hover, Star of the Mariner! thy car, O'er the blue waters twinkling clearly, Reminds him of his home afar, And scenes he still loves, ah, how dearly! He sees his native fields, he sees Grey twilight gathering o'er his mountains, How beautiful, when, through the shrouds, He turns to thee in fond devotion, Star of the Sea! thou tell'st that Heaven Star of the Mourner! 'mid the gloom, Of him who left her broken-hearted; To tell that Heaven's eye glows above her. Star of the Lover! Oh, how bright For him whose lustre burns divinest; Yes, thine the hour, when, daylight done, Star of the Poet! thy pale fire, The loftiest themes of meditation; Beneath the Earth turns Paradise Bright leader of the hosts of Heaven! Star of the bee! with laden thigh, Thy twinkle warns its homeward winging; Star of the bird! thou bid'st her lie Down o'er her young, and hush her singing; Star of the pilgrim, travel-sore, How sweet, reflected in the fountains, He hails thy circlet gleaming o'er The shadow of his native mountains! Thou art the Star of Freedom, thou Undo'st the bonds, which gall the sorest; Thou bring'st the ploughman from his plough ; Thou bring'st the woodman from his forest; Thou bring'st the wave-worn fisher home, With all his scaly wealth around him; And bid'st the hearth-sick schoolboy roam, Freed from the letter'd tasks that bound him. Star of declining day, farewell!— Ere lived the Patriarchs, thou wert yonder; Ere Isaac, mid the piny dell, Went forth at eventide to ponder : And, when to Death's stern mandate bow Thou shalt uprise, as thou dost now, To shine, and shed thy tears above us. Star that proclaims Eternity! When o'er the lost Sun Twilight weepeth, To prove thy sign of promise true, |