retiring footsteps of the language of wake thee in his own good time, and signs. They are the traces which this he has made thee a little bough to first invention of the human race has repose thee on, a bough canopied with left of its influence on the great fabric the leaves of the birch tree. Sleep of spoken language. To extend the stands at the door, and says, Is there olive branch of peace, to take up the not a little child here asleep in the hatchet of war, to sit down in the cradle—a little child wrapt up in chair of friendship, are all along with swaddling clothes-a child reposing many others which will be familiar under a coverlet of wool ?” Many exto most readers) expressions common amples might be given to illustrate in the language of early nations. It the same subject. The speech of is from this circumstance that even Logan, the American Indian, whose the common conversation, and still whole family had been murdered by more the harangues of these nations, the British. " There flows not one are so highly poetical, and it is to this drop of Logan's blood in the veins of cause, the lingering of the language any human being.". The song of the of signs in the language of expression, African woman in Mungo Park's Trathat we ought to ascribe much of the vels, the bold expressions and

magvigour and of the beautiful iinagery nificent imagery which pervades the of early poetry. This language of early Runic poetry, all point the same signs would, it is evident, be adopted way, and prove the same thing. To more extensively by those nations accumulate examples would tend to whose passions were most easily rou- fatigue rather than to convince. Here sed, and the most violent in their ef- then we close this subject, but we shall fects. The more agitated the mind proceed, in a second Essay, to consider of the speaker is, the more impatient the early connection which took place is he of the control of language, and between Poetry and Music, the marthe more naturally has he recourse to riage of Music to immortal Verse, and gesticulation. The nations of the the effects which resulted from this East (from whatever cause, whether noble alliance.

W. the heat of the climate, or some peculiarities in their physical organization) have always been observed to be more violently moved by their passions, by

REMARKS ON MARCIAN COLONNA. *. love, hate, revenge, than those of the South. In proportion to this difference,

The poetry of Barry Cornwall has they must havęresorted more naturally already been duly appreciated. It at first to this language of gesture, and seldom aims at any high flights, and have continued it longer than the na

is constructed of 'no very sturdy, mations inhabiting colder climates; and

terials ; but it is extremely perfect we accordingly find, that one of the within its own range: it expresses with most prominent features in the East- excellent effect all the particulars of ern languages, is that plenitude of the softer passions, and yet it is chiefmetaphor which gives so characteristic ly in the repose of passion, when it an air of beauty and brilliancy to their the point of satisfaction or of despair,

can look back upon itself, either from poetry, -a circumstance which may be explained by the fact, that this that the genius of this elegant poet is language of gesticulation was more

most at home. He is admirable in his easily adopted, more commonly used, pictures of love; but it is not, so much, and retained for a longer time by ried emotion of hope, or jealousy,

the love that is agitated by every vathem, than by their southern neighbours. This early prevalence of me the passion when lovers are making

or alarm,-it is rather that state of taphor will be found in the first poet- their

mutual confessions, and forgetting ry even of the most northern nations. What can be finer than these all their past pains and doubts, in the words which were sung, as we may

blessed assurance of united hearts and believe, in a low plaintive voice, by favouring fortune, -or when death a Finland mother when rocking her has put an end to every hope at once, child to sleep? “ Sleep on, sleep on, sweet bird of

* An Italian Tale, with Three Dramathe meadow, take thy rest, little red- tic Scenes, and other Poems. By Barry breast, take thy rest. God shall a- Cornwall. London, 1820.

die :


We are

and solitary melancholy is all that re- Then looks of love were seen, and many a mains to the survivor. We think it sigh is in sketches of this kind that Mr Was wasted on the air, and some aloud Cornwalls forte lies, and in these, in- Talked of the pangs they felt and swore to deed, he is, probably, unrivalled.

She, like the solitary rose that springs

In the first warmth of summer days, and He dallies with the innocence of love Like the old time;


A perfume the more sweet because alone and the fine antique air of his versi- Just bursting into beauty, with a zone

Half girl's half woman's, smiled and then fication and expression, borrowed from the tenderer parts of our old dramatists, Those gentle things to which she answered

forgot and reflecting, at times, the glow of classical or Italian imagery, is admir. But when Colonna’s heir bespoke her hand, ably adapted to the simple pathos of And led her to the dance, she question’d his conceptions. We will own, there

why fore, that it is on such passages of his His brother joined not in that revelry : present poem, -although an attempt Careless he turned aside and did command of a higher kind, and aiming at a Loudly the many instruments to sound, wider range of emotion, than any of And well did that young couple tread the his former productions, that we still

ground : delight to pause. We are not parti- Which thro the palace seemed that night

Each step was lost in each accordant note, cularly attached to his mad hero, or

to float to his more laboured descriptions, which are introduced with somewhat With his inspiring reed, (the mighty Pan,)

As merrily, as tho' the Satyr-god too evident an ambition.

Had left his old Arcadian woods, and trod much better pleased with his Julia, Piping upon the shores Italian. and her natural tenderness-and it is rather to her than to her lover that

Again she asked in vain : yet, as he

turned we shall call the attention of our (The brother) from her, a fierce colour readers.

burned Marcian, the second son of a noble

Upon his cheek, and fading left it pale Italian family, was confined in a con- As death, and half proclaimed the guilty vent by his parents, who cared for no

tale. thing but their first-born, and who She dwelt upon that night till pity grew were very happy, from Marcian's evi- Into a wilder passion : the sweet dew dent tendency to insanity, to find a That linger'd in her eye · for pity's sake,' pretext for putting him out of the Was (like an exhalation in the sun)

Dried and absorbed by love. Oh ! love way.

can take They left him to his prison, and then What shape he pleases, and when once returned ;

begun And festal sounds were heard, and songs

His fiery inroad in the soul, how vain were sung,

The after-knowledge which his presence And all around the walls were garlands We weep or rave, but still he lives and

! hung As usual, and gay censers brightly burned

lives, In the Colonna palace. He was missed

Master and lord, 'midst pride and tears By none, and when his mother fondly kis

sed Her eldest born, and bade him on that day This is remarkably soft and beauDevote him to the dove-eyed Julia, tiful,--and although the poet imThe proud Vitelli's child, Rome's paragon, mediately subjoins, now may we She thought no longer of her cloistered son. seek Colonna," -we are really not disOn that same night of mirth Vitelli posed to seek him, nor have we any

satisfaction in his maniac extravaganWith his fair child, sole heiress of his cies. A heavenly vision, indeed, some

times visits and soothes him ; it arose name, She came amidst the lovely and the proud, from the dim recollection of Julia, Peerless; and when she moved, the gallant but his own vivid imagination embocrowd

died these faint traces of remembrance, Divided, as the obsequious vapours light almost, into a living image. His broDivide to let the queen-moon pass by ther, meanwhile, died, and he is sent night :

for to cheer the solitude of his de

and pain.


spairing parents,-his mind having And he rushed forth into the freshining air, gradually resumed a calmer and firm- Which kissed and played about his temples er tone. His chief delight row, was

bare, in wandering about the ruins of Rome. And he grew calm. Not unobserved he

fied, -One morning, as he lay half listlessly For she who mourned him once as lost and Within the shadow of a column, where

dead, His forehead met such gusts of cooling air Saw with a glance, as none but women see, As the bright summer knows in Italy,

His secret passion, and home silently A gorgeous cavalcade went thundering by, She went rejoicing, till Vitelli asked Dusty and worn with travel: As it passed • Wherefore her spirit fell,'--and then she Some said the great Count had returned, tasked at last,

Her faney for excuse wherewith to hide From his long absence upon foreign lands: Her thoughts, and turn his curious gaze 'Twas told that many countries he had aside.

seen, (He and his lady daughter,) and had been There is nothing more tremendousa A long time journeying on the Syrian sands, ly difficult, than to get lovers in cerAnd visited holy spots, and places where tain circumstances to speak out. They The Christian roused the Pagan from his will fly from one another to the most

lair, And taught him charity and creeds divine, than secure their happiness by a simple

distant points of the compass, rather By spilling his bright blood in Palestine.

meeting, and one or two little words. Vitelli and his child returned at last, There is certainly in the magnetic virAfter some years of wandering. Julia

tue, which draws them together, a Had been betrothed and widow'd

great repelling power likewise,--feelHer husband Orsini, to whom she ings of the most extraordinary nature, had been given much against her will, which commonly occur, too, on the was a brute and a tyrant, but, to the most mal-a-propos occasions, are for great delight of all connected with ever throwing them out, and particuhim, was drowned, one fine day, larly, if there is, on one side, a vein when he was sailing along the sea in of insanity to manage, as was the his pleasure barge. At least, as our case with poor Marcian, it is almost poet says,-" This was the tale." impossible to bring them to the point. And Julia saw the youth she loved and, being a widow, we may suppose,

Julia, no doubt, was nothing loath, again : But he was now the great Colonna's heir,

she had no maiden bashfulness to give And she whom he had left so young and her lover unnecessary trouble ; but fair,

Colonna would rather muse upon her A few short years ago, was grown, with image in his old odd way, in his fapain

vourite walks, than venture into her Of thoughts unutter'd, (a heart-eating care,) company, which he might have done, Pale as a statue. When he met her first any day, merely by crossing the street. He gazed and gasped as tho' his heart would burst.

the flame Her figure came before him like a dream Of love burned brightly in Colonna's breast, Revealed at morning, and a sunny gleam But while it filled it robbed his soul of rest : Broke in upon his soul and lit his eye At home, abroad, at morning, and at noon, With something of a tender prophecy. In the hot sultry hours, and when the moon And was she then the shape he oft had seen, Shone in the cool fresh sky, and shaped By day and night she who had such those dim strange power

And shadowy figures once so dear to him,Over the terrors of his wildest hour ? Where'er he wandered, she would come And was it not a phantom that had been

upon Wandering about him ? Oh with what deep Mis mind, a phantom like companion ; fear

Yet, with that idle dread with which the He listened now, to mark if he could hear heart The voice that lulled him, but she never Stifles its pleasures, he would ever depart spoke ;

And loiter long amongst the streets of For in her heart her own young love awoke

Rome, From its long slumber, and chained down When she, he feared, might visit at his

home. And she sate mute before him : he, the A strange and sad perverseness ; he did fear while,

To part with that pale hope which shone at Stood feasting on her melancholy smile

last Till o'er his eyes a dizzy vapour hung, Glimmering upon his fortunes.

her tongue,



There was no moral obstacle to The red rose was in blossom, and the fair prevent them being together as much And bending lily to the wanton air as they pleased. Marcian had no Bared her white breast, and the voluptu. wife, -and Julia supposed her hus

ous lime band at the bottom of the sea. Had Cast out his perfumes, and the wilding there been any objection of this

thyme serious nature, we cannot but

Mingled his mountain sweets, transplanted

say that it would have been Marcian's 'Midst all the flowers that in those regions

low duty to have carried his self-denial

blow. still farther, and to have driven her -He wandered on : At last, his spirit subfrom his thoughts as well as from his dued eyes. It was a mere accident at last By the deep influence of that hour, partook which broke the ice, and we advise E'en of its nature, and he felt imbued all young ladies who have such beings With a more gentle love, and he did look as a Marcian to deal with, (though, if At times amongst the stars, as on a book they do not wish to run ultimately Where he might read his destiny. How the risk of being poisoned, they had

bright much better chuse among a different Heaven's many constellations shone that class of lovers,) just to throw loose the And from the distant river a gentle tune, reins, and let fortune order for them Such as is uttered in the months of June, as she will. We must give our read- By brooks, whose scanty streams have laners the scene of this eclaircissement, guished long though somewhat long, as it is writ- For rain, was heard ;-a tender, lapsing ten in our poet's best manner. It is at song, the beginning of the second canto, and Sent up in homage to the quiet moon. opens with a fine in vocation to love.

Hemused, 'till from a garden, near whose

wall Oh power of Love so fearful and so fair- He leant, a melancholy voice was heard Life of our life on earth, yet kin to careOh! thou day-dreaming Spirit, who dost That casts unto the woods her desert call.

Singing alone, like some poor widow bird look

It was the voice the very voice that rung Upon the future, as the charmed book of Fate were open'd to thine eyes alone- Long in his brain that now so sweetly sung.

He passed the garden bounds, and lightly Thou who dost cull, from moments stolen


Checking his breath, along the grassy sod, Into eternity, memorial things

(By buds and blooms half-hidden, which To deck the days to come-thy revellings

the breeze Were glorious and beyond all others: Thou Had ravished from the clustering orangeDidst banquet upon beauty once; and now

trees,) The ambrosial feast is ended !-Let it be.

Until he reached a low pavilion, where
Enough to say “ It wus.'-Oh! upon me
From thy o'ershadowing wings etherial

He saw a lady pale, with radiant hair

Over her forehead, and in garments white; Shake odorous airs, so may my senses all Be spell-bound to thy service, beautiful Carelessly o'er the golden strings were

A harp was by her, and her fingers light power,

flung; And on the breath of every coming hour Send me faint tidings of the things that Then, shaking back her locks, with upAnd aid me as

And lips that dumbly moved, she seemed try gently to tell

o try The story of that young Italian pair,

To catch an old disused melodyWho loved so lucklessly, yet ah! so well.

A sad Italian air it was, which I How long Colonna in his gloomier mood Remember in my boyhood to have heard, Remained, it matters not: I will not brood And still(though here and there, perOn evil themes ; but, leaving grief and

haps, a word crime,

Be now forgot)- I recollect the song, At once I pass unto a blyther time.

Which might to any loyelorn tale belong. -One night-one summer night he wan.

dered far Into the Roman suburbs ; Many a star Shone out above upon the silent hours, Whither, ah! whither is my lost love straySave when, "awakening the sweet infant ingflowers,

Upon what pleasant land beyond the sea ? The breezes travellid from the west, and Oh! ye winds now playing then

Like airy spirits 'round my temples free, A small cloud came abroad and fled again. Fly and tell him this from me:

and gone

ward eye,




said ;

Tell him, sweet winds, that in my woman's And saw the hectic flush upon his cheek, bosom

(That silent language which the passions My young love still retains its perfect speak power,

So eloquently well,) and so she smiled Or, like the summer blossom,

Upon him. With a pulse rapid and wild, That changes still from bud to the full- And eyes lit up with love, and all his woes blown flower,

Abandoned or forgot, he lightly rose, Grows with every passing hour.

And placed himself beside her. " Julia !

My own, my own, for you are mine," he Say, (and say gently,) that, since we two parted,

Then on her shoulder drooped his feverish How little joy-much sorrow I have head, known :

And for a moment he seemed dying a. Only not broken-hearted,

way : Because I muse upon bright moments gone, But he recovered quick. “Oh! Marcian, And dream and think of him alone. I fear"—she softly sighed :-“ Again, 2

gain, The lady ended, and Colonna knelt Speak, my divinest love,-again, and Before her with outstretched arms: He shower felt

The music of your words which have such That she, whom in the mountains far a

power, way

Such absolute power upon my fainting His heart had loved so much, at last was soulhis.

Oh! I've been wandering toward that fear“ Is there, oh! is there in a world like

ful goal, this"

Where Life and Death, Trouble and Si. (He spoke) “ such joy for me ? Oh ! Ju.

lence meet, lia,

(The Grave,) with weak, perhaps with err. Art thou indeed no phantom which my ing feet, brain

A long, long time without thee-but no Has conjured out of grief and desperate more ; pain

For can I think upon that shadowy shore, And shall I then from day to day behold Whilst thou art here standing beside me, Thee again, and still again? Oh! speak sweet?”

She spoke, “ Dear Marcian, l”-“ How Julia—and gently, for I have grown old soft she speaks !” In sorrow ere my time: I kneel to thee.” He uttered : 6 Nay-” (and as the day, -Thus with a passionate voice the lover light breaks broke

Over the hills at morning was her smile,) Upon her solitude, and whiile he spoke “ Nay you must listen silently awhile." In such a tone as might a maiden move, Her fear gave place to pride, and pride to “ Dear Marcian, you and I for many love.

years Quick are fond women's sights, and clear Have suffered : I have bought relief with

their powers, They live in moments years, an age in But, my poor friend, I fear a misery hours ;

Beyond the reach of tears has weighed on Through every movement of the heart they thee.

What 'tis I know not, but (now calmly In a brief period with a courser's speed, mark And mark, decide, reject ; but if indeed

My words) 'twas said that that thy mind They smile on usoh! as the eternal sun was dark, Forms and illuminates all to which this And the red fountains of thy blood, (as earth

Heaven (Impregnate by his glance) hath given is stained with the dying lights of Even) birth,

Were tainted—that thy mind did wander Even so the smile of woman stamps our far, fates,

At times, a dangerous and erratic star, And consecrates the love it first creates.

Which like a pestilence sweeps the lower

sky, At first she listened with averted eye, Dreaded by every orb and planet nigh. And then, half turning towards him, ten- This hath my father heard. Oh ! Mar. derly

cian, She marked the deep sad truth of every He is a worldly and a cruel man, tone,

And made me once a victim; but again Which told that he was her’s, and all her It shall not be. I have had too much of own,


to me,

tears ;



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