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So have I sped with thee, my bright-eyed love,
And brilliant halls of self-existing Light." We call that bad. Like a cha- an avalanche, though we are aware mois—like a whirlwind—like Gany- that avalanches hold their places by mede! Shew us a flight-without a precarious tenure. However, the telling us what it is like—and leave sight of so minute a gentleman sliding us to judge for ourselves whether or unappalled on a huge avalanche from no you are a poet and can fly.
the Grindlewald to the Shrikeborn's Does Imagination inspire “The edge, would be of itself worth a jourSong of an Alpine Elf ?" The Alpine ney to Switzerland. But what a cruel
little wretch it is! not satisfied with
pushing the ibex over the precipice, My summer's home is the cataract's he does not scruple to avow,
foam, As it floats in a frothing heap;
" That my greatest joy is to lure and de. My winter's rest is the weasel's nest,
соу Or deep with the mole I sleep."
To the chasm's slippery brink,
The hunter boid, when he's weary and old, We daresay there are moles and wea. And there let him suddenly sink sels among the Alps, but one does A thousand feet—dead !=he dropped not think of them there; and had Mr. like lead, Tupper ever taken up a weasel by Ah! he couldn't leap like mo; the tail, between his finger and thumb, With broken back, as a felon on the rack, he would not, we are persuaded, havé He hangs on a split pine tree.” conceived it possible that any Elf, ac. Why shove only the old hunter over customed to live during summer in the chasm? Twould be far better the froth of a cataract, would have sport, one would think, to an Alpine been “ so far left to himself” as to elf, to precipitate the young bridehave sought winter lodgings with an groom. “Ja! he couldn't leap like animal of such an intolerable stink. me,” is a fine touch of egotism and And what are the Alpine Eli's pur- insult—and how natural ! suits?
* And there mid his bones, that echoed “ I ride for a freak on the lightning strcak, And mingle among the cloud,
I make me a nest of his hair; My swarthy form with the thunde 1-storm, The ribs dry and white rattle loud as in
spite, Wrapp'd in its sable shroud."
When I rock in my cradle there: A very small thunder storm indeed Hurrah, hurrah, and ha, ha, ha! would suffice to wrap his Elf-ship in I'm in a merry mood, its sable shroud ; but is he not too For I'm all alone in my palace of bone, magniloquent for a chum of the mole That's tapestried fair with the old man's and the weasel ? What would be the hair, astonishment of the mole to see his
And dappled with clots of blood." bed-fellow as follows
At what season of the year. Duri
ing summer his home is in a “froth"Often I launch the huge avalanche,
ing heat;” during winter he sleeps And make it my milk-white sledge, with the weasel or moudy-warp. It When unappalied to the Grindlewald I slide from the Shrikehorn's edge.”
must be in spring or autumn that he
makes his nest in a dead man's hair. By his own account he cannot be How imaginative! much more than a span long-and we Turn we now to a reality, and see are sceptical as to his ability to launch how Mr. Tupper, who likened himself
to a chamois, deals with a chamois “He thought what fear it were to fall hunter. He describes one' scaling Into the pit that swallows all, · Catton's battlement" before the peep Unwing’d with hope snd love; of day, and now at its summit.
And when the succour came at last,
O then he learnt how firm and fast “ Over the top, as he knew well,
Was his best Friend above."
That is much better than any thing So down the other dreary side,
yet quoted, and cannot be read withWith cautious siep, or careless slide out a certain painful interest. But He bounded, or he crept.”
the composition is very poor.
" O heaven! “And now he scans the chasmcd ice;
He hath leapt in!" He stoops to leap, and in a trice
Well-what then? "and down be His foot hath slipp'd,-0 heaven!
falls?” Indeed! We do not object to He hath leapt in, and down he falls
between those blue tremendous Between those blue tremendous walls, Standing asunder riven.
walls," but why tell us they were
“standing asunder riven?" We knew " But quick his clutching nervous grasp
he had been on the edge of the Contrives a jutting crag to clasp,
chasmed ice.” “O moment of es. And thus he hangs in air ;
ulting bliss !” No-no-no. “Hany O moment of exulting bliss !
a rood”-perpendicular altitude Yet hope so nearly hopeless is
never measured by roods nor yet by Twin brother to despair.
perches. Satan w lay floating many a
rood"-but no mention of roods wben He look'd beneath,--a horrible doom! - his stature reached the sky." " His Some thousand yards of deepening gloom, head grows dizzy"-aye that it did Where he must drop to die!
long before the fifteen hours bad ex. He look'd above, and many a rood
pired. “ But stop, 0 stop" is, we Upright the frozen ramparts stood
fear, laughable-yet we do not laugh Around a speck of sky.
—for tis no laughing matter—and “ Fifteen long dreadful hours he hung,
never in life give up your hope" And often by strong brecres swung
at so very particular a juncture 100 His fainting body twists,
general an injunction. “ Be coole Scarce can he cling one moment more,
man, hold on fast" is a leelle too much, His half-dead hands are ice, and sore addressed to poor Pierre, whose - half His burning bursting wrists.
dead hands were ice," and who had
been hanging on by them for fifteen “ His head grows dizzy,--he must drop,
hours. He halt resolves--but stop, 0 stop, * And so from out that terrible place, Hold on to the last spasm ;
With death's pale paint upon his face, Never in life give up your hope, - They drew him up at last"Behold, behold a friendly rope
is either very good or very bad-and Is dropping own the chasm!
we refer it to Wordsworth. The cop. • They call thee, Pierre, --see, see them cluding stanzas are tame in the exhere,
treme; Thy gathered neighbours far and near, “For many harrowing terrors ran Be cool, man, hold on fast :
Through his poor heart that day!" And so from out that terrible place,
We can easily believe it; but never With death's pale paint upon his face
after euch a rescue was there so feebie They drew him up at last.
an expression from poet's heart of re · And he came home an altered man,
ligious gratitude in the soul of a sú. For many harrowing terrors ran
ner saved. Through his poor heart that day;
The « African Desert" and "The He thought how all through life, though Suttees” look like Oxford Unprized young,
Poems. The Caravan, after suffering Upon a thread, a hair, he hung, the decrit of the mirage, a-dust are Over a gulf midway:
aware of a well.
“ Hope smiles again, as with instinctive haste
And snuff the grateful breeze, that sweeping by
There is no thirst here—our palate could much mend it; but some of the grows not dry as we read. What most agreeable men we know labour passion is there in saying that the cam- under it
, and we suspect owe to it no els rushed along the waste,
inconsiderable part of their power in
conversation. People listen to their “Swift as the steed that feels the slack. impeded prosing more courteously,
ened rein," And flies impetuous o'er the sounding of those whose sweet course is not
and more attentively, than to the prate plain ?"
hindered;" and thus encouraged, they Not a bit.” And still worse is grow more and more loquacious in their “ Eager as burstingfrom an Alpine source
vivacity, till they fairly take the lead The winter torrent in its headlong course;" in argument or anecdote, and are the for there should have been no allusion delight and instruction of the evening, to water any where else but there: as it may hap, in literature, philoso the groan and the cry was for water to phy, or politics. Then, a scandalous drink ; and had Mr Tupper felt for the story, stuttered or stammered, is irrecaravan, men and beasts, no other indeed, as the head of a pin, must be
sistible-every point tells
and blunt water would he have seen in his ima- that repartee that extricates not itself gination—it would have been impos- with a jerk from the tongue-tied, sharp sible for him to have thought of likening the cavalcade to Alpine sources
as the point of a needle. and winter torrentshe would have his sympathy with the “ stammerer,"
We beg to assure Mr Tupper, that huddled it all headlong, prone, or on would extort from the lips of the its hands, hoofs, and knees, into the most swave of that fortunate class, water of salvation. ." The green oase, who, it must be allowed, are occasionan emerald couched in gold!!! Water! ally rather irritable, characteristic ex. Water! Water! and there it is!
pressions of contempt; and that so far • That bow of hope upon a stormy sky !!” from thinking their peculiarity any They are on its banks—and
impediment, except merely in speech, "In silent rapture gaze upon the scene !!", they pride themselves, as well they
may, from experience, on the advantage And then he absolutely paints it! it gives them in a colloquy, over the not in water colours—but in chalks. glib. If to carry its point at last be Graceful arms of palms-tangled hair the end of eloquence, they are not only of acacia—scarlet tassels of kossoms in the most eloquent, but the only elofestoons—and the jewels of promise of quent of men. "No stammerer was ever the flowering colocynth !!!
beaten in argument—his opponents Stammering or stuttering, certainly always are glad to give in-and often, is an unpleasant defect-or weakness after they have given in, and suppose in the power of articulation or speech, their submission has been accepted, and we don't believe that Dr Browster they find the contrary of all that from a
dig on the side, that drives the breath “ Then thou canst picture-aye, in sober out of their body, and keeps them truth, speechless for the rest of the night, In real, unexaggerated truth, while the stream of conversation, it it The constant, galling, festering chain
that binds may be called so, keeps issuing in jets and jerks, from the same inexhaustible Captive my mute interpreter of thought; source, pausing but to become more The load of iron on my labour ng chest,
The seal of lead cnstamped upon my lips, potent, and delivering, per hour, we fear to say how many imperial gallons Haunts me,--and spurs me on
The mocking demon, that at every step
to bard into the reservoir.
in sileace.” Therefore, we cannot but smile at Heaven preserve us! is the world s “the Stammerer's Complaint”-as ill off for woes—are they so scantput into his lips by Mr. Tupper. He that a Poet who indites blank verse to is made to ask us
Imagination, can dream of none wor“Hast ever seen an eagle chained to earth? thier his lamentations than the occa. A restless panther in his cage immured?sional and not unfrequent inconve. A swift trout by the wily fisher checked ? niencies that a gifted spirit experiences A wild bird hopeless strain its broken from a lack of fluency of words? wing ?”
"I scarce would woulder, ifa godless man We have ; but what is all such sights (I name not him whose hope is heaven to the purpose ? An eagle chained A man whom lying vanities hath scathed cannot fly an inch-a panther in a cage And hardened from all fear, if such an can prowl none-a trout “checked” basketted, we presume—is as good as By this tyrannical Argus goaded on, gutted—a bird winged is already dish. Were to be wearied of his very life, ed—but a stammerer, “still begin. And daily, hourly foiled in social convers, ning, never ending," is in all his glory By the slow simmeringof disappointment, when he meets a consonant whom he Become a sour'd and apathetic being, will not relinquish till he has conquer- Were to feel rapture at the approach of ed him, and dragged him in captivity
death, at the wheels of his chariot,
And long for his dark hope, annihila" While the swift axles kindle as they What if he were dumb ? roll.”
Mr Tupper is a father-and some Mr Tupper's stammerer then is made of his domestic verses are very pleas** Hast ever felt, at the dark dead of night, and his sonnet to lütle Mary: but we
ing—such as his sonnet to little Ellen, Sorne undefined and horrid incubus Press down the very soul, -and paralyse and quote them as an agreeable sample,
prefer the stanzas entitled “ Children," The limbs in their imaginary flight From shaddowy terrors in unhallowed premising that they would not bare
been the worse of some little tincture
of Imaginative feeling—for, expressive We have ; but what is all that to the as they are of mere natural emotion, purpose, unless it be to dissuade us they cannot well be said to be poetry, from supping on pork-chop? Such op- We object, too, to the sentiment of pression on the stomach, and through the close, for thousands of childless it on all the vital powers, is the men are rich in the enjoyment of life's effect of indigestion, and is horrible; best affections; and some of the hapbut the Stammerer undergoes no such piest couples and the best we have rending of soul from body, in striving ever known, are among those from to give vent to his peculiar utterance whom God has withheld the gift of - not he indeed—'tis all confined to offspring. Let all good Christian peohis organs of speech-his agonies are ple be thankful for the mercies graapparent not real--and he is conscious ciously vouchsafed to them; but be. but of an enlivening emphasis that, ware of judging the lot of others by while all around him are drowsy, keeps their own, and of seeking to confine him wide awake, and banishes Sleep either worth, happiness, virtue, to his native land of Nod. We our- within one sphere of domestic life, selves have what is called an impedi- however blessed they may feel it to be ; ment in our speech-and do “make " For the blue sky bends over ail," wry faces,” but we never thought of and our fate here below is not deterexclaiming to ourselves,
mined by the stars.
“ Harmless, happy little treasures, • The dull slaves of gain, or passion,
Full of truth, and trust, and mirth, Cannot love you as they should, Richest wcalth, and purest treasures, The poor worldly fools of lashion In this mean and guilty carth.
Would not love you if they could : «s How I love you, pretty creatures,
" Write them childless, those cold-hearted Lamb-like flock of little things,
Who can scorn Thy generous boon, Where the love that lights your features And whose souls with fear have smarted
From the heart in beauty springs. Lest—Thy blessings come too soon, “On these laughing rosy faces
“ While he hath a child to love him There are no deep lines of sin,
No man can be poor indeed, None of passion's dreary traces
While he trusts a Friend above him, That betray the wounds within ;
None can sorrow, fear, or need.
“ But yours is the sunny dimple
Radiant with untutored smiles,
Innocent of selfish wiles ;
" But for thec, whose hearth is lonely
And unwarmed by children's mirth,
U “Yours the natural curling tresses,
Prattling tongues, and shyness coy,
“ All unkiss'd by innocent beauty,
All unlov'd by guileless heart,
Childless man, how poor thou art !"
We like the following lines still better—and considered was one of the moods of his own mind,” they may be read with unmingled pleasure.
Oasis of my hopes, to fancy dear,
And good old customs crown the circling year;
And trade's vile din offends not nature's ear,
A wooded dingle on a mountain side,
And looking down on valley fair and wide,
Than vast cathedrals in their Gothic pride,
Far from the evil ways of evil men,
My own repented of, and clean again :
Choice books, and guiltless pleasures of the pen,
To cull the gems that bounteous nature gave,
Or seek the curious crystal in its cave;
Know more of Him who came the lost to save;