and birds; decked with various colours.-Or his illu sion pictures fine-formed Nereids, in their robes of green, floating on the billows, or reclining on the rocks. Cæruleos habet unda Deos; Tritona canorum, Doridaque, et natas; quarum pars nare videntur; III. Thus the imagination gives to Nature and to lifet a charm, which converts every thing, it touches, into vegetable gold. Nature draws the outline, and arranges the groupes; but it is the imagination, which gives a richness of polish to their surfaces, and tints them with those colours, which administer, in so delightful a manner, to our perception. Nature,always conceiving and producing,-furnishes the instruments; but it is the imagination, that touches the chords, and produces the melody. Nature showers down objects for our selection, and reason combines them; but it is the imagination, which we are justified in styling the synonyma of inspiration. And what is imagination, but the result of a refined power of association ? For no objects, as we have so often observed, are elegant, beautiful, or grand, Wealth is substantial good the fates allot : Grabbe. (to our eyes), in themselves :-and they partake of those qualities only in proportion, as they create in the mind references and allusions to animate and sentient beings. When, therefore, objects meet the eye, which do not refer to earthly associations, they point to heavenly ones.-It is impossible for Colonna ever to forget those moments, in which, near a cottage, rising half way up one of the smaller mountains in the neighbourhood of Capel Cerig, he has, for a time, lost all traces of earthly resemblances ! The morning had been devoted to the investigation of the admirable specimens of mountain-scenery, which present themselves along the road, leading from the picturesque bridge at Rhydland-var to the ivied arches of Pont-y-pair; from the falls of the Conway, to the tremendous cataract of Rhaiadr-y-Wenol. The grand mountain of Moelshiabod, rearing its enormous head, frowned upon all below; while rocks of every size and every shape, now jutting bleak and bare from the woods, and now decorated with shrubs, here triangular, there ragged and pointed, met him at every step:-till, passing the bridge, stretching over the Lugwy, Snowdon burst forth, in all the majesty of a Peruvian mountain! Upon the point of a rock overlooking two lakes, Colonna had leisure to reflect on the various astonishing scenes, which had elevated his imagination in the early part of the day; and to contemplate the magnificence of Nature, in one of the finest scenes in Britain. When he had reached the spot, on which he sate, the sun was shooting its last rays upon the peak of Snowdon; while, along its gigantic sides, dark grey clouds were rolling in various sombre columns. Scarcely had the sun ceased to illumine the west, when the moon, rising from behind a long line of dark blue clouds, irradiated all the East Unmindful of the past-every thought was given to the future; and Colonna wished for no other description of happiness, in a state of immortal existence, than that, arising from an enlarged faculty of receiving delight, from whatever may be still more magnificent, among the labours of the Eternal Architect, in other scenes, on other summits, and on other globes. CHAPTER III. SCENERY not only inspires the poet, but his reader also; for when do we enjoy his pictures, and relish his sentiments, with such charmed perception, as when seated beneath a bower, under a tree, or beside a rivulet? In such and in other scenes, even bad poetry and worse music are not unattended with a sensible delight.-"The flute of a shepherd," Dr. Beattie remarks, "heard at a distance in a fine summer's day, in a romantic scene, will give rapture to the ear of the wanderer, though the tune, the instrument, and the musician be such, as he could not endure in any other place." The same association governs, in regard to sculpture and painting; for we can pause before a picture in a cottage, or a statue VOL. IV. C in a wood, which, in a palace or saloon, would excite nothing but disgust. Often has Colonna experienced the truth of these observations: and he never reflects, but with pleasure, on the satisfaction, he enjoyed, in listening to a blind old man in the valley of Rhymney, about two miles from the grand towers of Caerphilly Castle. This valley is a narrow defile, winding at the feet of cultivated mountains, down which several streams occasionally murmur. It was one of the finest evenings in the month of August: every object was as tranquil, as if it had been midnight; the sun shooting along the valley, and tinting every object in the most agreeable manner. Charmed with the spot, Colonna stopt his horse, dismounted, and sate himself upon the side of a bank, to enjoy, more at his leisure, the beauties of the scene before him; heightened, as they were, by the sombre aspect of the distant ruins. As he was indulging in one of those delightful contemplations, which scenery like this seldom fails to awaken, he was interrupted by the approach of two men; one hale, hearty, and young, the other old, blind, and decrepid. Entering into conversation with the younger, Colonna was informed, that his companion was a good singer, and "a capable maker of songs." Upon this he requested the old man to sing him one; to which he consented with little hesitation. It was a history of love; and though the lines were sometimes too long, and sometimes too short; though the air was harsh, and his voice discordant, Colonna listened with enthusiasm, and praised with rapture. Wandering once in this valley my eye was arrested by a misletoe, growing out of an oak. This circumstance gave interest to the whole landscape; for it recalled the history of the Druids. In imagination, I beheld the Arch-druid ascend the aged branches of the oak; cut the sacred misletoe with a sickle; let it fall into his folded garment; and then shew the invaluable gift of heaven to the people, who accompanied him. From this picture the mind diverged to the general subject of Druidism, and finished with a conviction of how little confidence can be placed in the decisions of etymologists. Thus the imagination may begin its flight in Siberia, and, with one stride, compass the globe. Johnson insists, that the word DRUID is derived from DERIO; Salmasius (from Pliny) refers it to the Greek word deus ;-Menage to the British Drus, a magician; Vossius to DRUIS, a Celtic word for doctor of faith; and Becarius to Tru and Wis, wise men. Pseudoberosus refers it to Druyo, fourth king of the Gauls; Borel to DRY, a musician; some trace its origin to DRUIS, a king of Gaul; and some to a Hebrew or Arabic word, meaning a dervise. In the midst of this etymological contention, it is probable we may be nearer the truth, if we derive it from the old Armorican word, Dryw, signifying an oak. This is the more probable, since the y is frequently pronounced u; and Druidh, in the Celtic, means a wise man; and in the Gaelic, a natural philosopher. In those days of superstition and ignorance, priests were esteemed the only wise men in the country; and their principal symbol of divinity was a misletoe, grow |