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The powers of nature now began to droop,
As grisly Death came, arm'd with all his fears
In long succession; but as his pale eye
Beheld the glorious throng that near him stood,
Well nigh confounded, he with terror quak'd,
And dropp'd to earth his dart of stingless
point.

When thus the Invisible :-" Come hither,
Death,

Dismiss this spirit from its earthly house;
With quick despatch emancipate his soul,
And raise to light ineffable this saint."
Grim Death assum'd a kind of sickly smile,
And touch'd him gently with his mortal dart.
The happy spirit rose triumphantly
O'er the last enemy, and all the ills
That wait on mortals in this vale of tears.
The attending armies of the blessed choirs
Who laud the praises of Jehovah's love
In songs of glory to their golden lyres,
Receiv'd the enraptur'd spirit with a shout,
Which soon was heard by the angelic throng,
As up the shining way they flew, to join
Their lov'd companions in the realms of bliss,
With the addition of this saint of God.
Him having introduc'd to the Most High,
They strung their harps, and sweetly thus they
sung:-

"Hail, glorious Deity, whose mighty strength

Reigns in the heaven of heavens illustrious, Whose wisdom form'd the assembled multitudes

Who throng the plains of immortality!
Honour and blessing to our God be given,
Who, from the battlements of yon fair wall,
Thrust down his foes, to dwell in endless night.
Ride on, victorious conqueror, crush the force
Of Satan's legions, hurl the rebel crew
Into the bottom of yon burning gulf.
We sing the triumphs of Jehovah's Son,
Whom thou ordain'dst to save a ruin'd world,
Bound in the fetters Lucifer hath made.
Thou blessed Spirit, co-essential God,
Thee we adore in strains of heavenly sound.
Thou who diffusest thyself throughout the
whole

Of thy creation, Triune Majesty,

Whose glorious empire ne'er shall have an end,
To thee we bow, and own thee Lord and King.
Haste, all ye stars that deck yon shining vault,
Thou sun, and moon, and all ye planets bright,
Come, join the general chorus, and ascribe
Power and dominion to the Invisible.
Prolong your anthems as ye onward roll,
And teach creation to resound His praise."
(To be continued.)

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way,

When heart was rent from heart, and soul from soul,

And reason stepp'd beyond thy mild control,
Still thy soft harp elegiac measures breath'd,
And round their tomb the cypress garland
wreath'd,

Distraction fled, hope whisper'd sweet relief,
And reason smiling own'd" the joy of grief.'
Nor less belov'd because thy look is pale,
And sad as pity's sigh at sorrow's tale.
Tho' o'er thy cheek no rosy lustre glows,
The lily there may sleep in soft repose.
Nor yet alone, methinks; yon crystal gem,
Trembling beneath thine eye's dark diadem,
Shines like some stream reflecting from afar,
The pale and silv'ry glance of evening's star.
And sweet thy harp, although its tones be
wild,

Wild as the fabled song of ocean's child.
Then strike again yon rapture-thrilling string,
Sweet as the aerial wood-notes of the spring;
To heal this heart to faithless friendship true,
Or bid its throbbing wounds rebleed anew.

Yes! there was one, (yet mention not her

name,

"Twas but a vision o'er my spirit came ;) Her heart is constant, friendship whisper'd this,

But fate awoke me from my dream of bliss. Twin-sisters like, how often have we stray'd, Where smiling spring her verdant tints display'd;

Or summer deck'd her violet, heav'nly blue! And blush'd with pride her new-born rose to view.

Still mem'ry lingers o'er that dream of light, When life was new, and hope's young morning bright;

When festive childhood deck'd her rosy bow'r, Nor deem'd that grief might crush each tender flow'r.

As the fond widow'd bosom still repairs
To yon lone spot oft wet with mem'ry's tears,
Leans o'er the urn she clasps with madd'ning
kiss,

And drinks intoxicating draughts of bliss.
While every tear and half-told sigh suppress'd
Still draw her nearer to the goal of rest;
So mem'ry still retreads yon verdant plain,
And smiles and weeps, and dreams it o'er again.

And where art thou, belov'd of other years, As soft, as transient, as Aurora's tears?

Oh! where art thou, sweet plant of other times,

By fate transplanted into happier climes.
Yes, 'twas an hour of deep, of dark distress,
When death eclips'd thine eye's dark loveli-

ness.

Scarce trembling reason held her feeble sway, And fear'd e'en grief might quench her taper's ray.

That night has fled, and smiling hope's return Wreathes blooming garlands round thy early

urn;

"What, tho'," she says, "the flow'rs are wet with tears,

More sweetly fair each budding tint appears; Soon shall each blossom burst in endless day, And blest fruition dash those dews away.

"Then come, while rankling sorrows swell the sail,

And life's frail bark still sweeps before the gale :

Oh come! while yet this beating breast can know

Pulsation's echo to its notes of wo;

Lend me thy harp, teach me to sweep its strings,

Till ravish'd ev'ning clap her dewy wings;
Till her soft lustre shine thro' starry skies,
And all, save morning, sparkle from her eyes.

"But, ah! too much for me were such delight,

Still absent genius clogs my wish'd-for flight;
Still doom'd to strike a reed of rushes bound,
Whose grating murmurs creep along the
ground.

Yet rather would I tune my humble lay,
Tho' all unseen, unheard, it pass away,
Than wear the gay appendages of pride,
Or taste of mirth's inebriating tide.

"Since then in vain I court thy coy advance, To guide me thro' life's long and mazy dance; Say, wilt thou come, and view my narrow bed, When the long grass waves lightly o'er my head,

And tune thy silv'ry harp to tell a tale,
As soft and sad as lover's dying wail,
Then swell its chords to so sublime a sound,
That e'en the dead will slumber more profound.

"These are the dreams which haunt life's op'ning day,

And sink neath time's rude toach unseen away;

Yet still I'll catch those sweets which fancy flings,

In freshest fragrance from her golden wings,
And tho' they wither ere my hands can clasp
One tender flow'ret in their eager grasp,
I'll bathe them in fresh drops from sorrow's

cup,

And in the vase of mem❜ry lock them up." CHRISTINA.

ODE TO WINTER. WINTER, now thy frowns I trace, Spreading wide o'er nature's face; Wav'ring flakes obscure the skies, Darkling tempests scowling rise; And far and wide no sights I see, But those of cheerless misery. 74.-VOL. VII.

I can mark thy tyrant reign
In the desolated plain;
In the icy-fetter'd rills,

On the white-capt barren hills;
In the lone forsaken lea
I thy with'ring footsteps see.
Cattle now no longer range
O'er the wide deserted grange,
Warmly hous'd, and daily fed
In stubble-yards, or matted shed;
But the sheep, with fleecy clothes,
Brave thy sleet and scorn thy snows.
Straight thy glacial track I find,
Where the wintry-costum'd hind
Silent wends his cheerless way,
Follow'd by old faithful Tray;
No other sounds his cold ears greet,
But crumpling snow beneath his feet;
Or straggling lark that upward springs,
And twitt'ring plies unwilling wings;
Or, perchance, some sportsman's call
May down a neighb'ring valley fall.
Through the woods, disrob'd of green,
Still thy blighting course is seen;
Lonely glades, and silent bowers,
Leafless sprays, and wither'd flowers;
Dells that late with music rung,
Now with crystal icedrops hung;
And truant redbreasts far aloof,
Piping on some straw-thatch'd roof.
Anon I chase thee to the side
Of glassy pool, where skaters glide;
Or where the pale sun's wat'ry ray
Weeps sadly on the white pathway;
Or to some wild hawthorn's top,
Where the fieldfare fills his crop;
Or where the wild duck dips her wing,
In some half-frozen purling spring.
Thus, thas, in ev'ry passing scene
Thy hoary wrinkled form is seen;
But tho' thy withering breath destroys,
Yet, Winter, yet thou hast thy joys:
For, ah! when evening draws her veil,
Gladly do I thy presence hail;
The noise of youthful revelry,
The song of ancient chivalry,
The artless kiss, the winter's tale,
The gen'rous glass of spicy ale,
The blazing yule, the merry jest,
The carol sweet, the Christmas feast,
The lamp of night with lucid ray,
The starry-studded milky-way,

Bring thoughts that sweetly o'er my senses creep,

Till lall'd by passing winds, I sink to sleep.
Newark, Dec. 13, 1824.
G. W. B.

THE STORM.

DREAD darkness reigns, and not a star
Appears to cheer the gloom of night;
The hostile winds are waging war,
And wrathful ocean joins the fight.

The storm-wing'd clouds low scowling fly,
And dart their candent flames around;
Concussive thunders rend the sky,

And pelting hailstones beat the ground. O how the fierce tornado roars, And vents the fury of his might! His havoc unrelenting pours, And nature trembles with affright.

M

How, on the effervescent deep,

The tempest-shatter'd bark doth reel!
Her deck the mighty surges sweep,
And dash against the rocks her keel.
Hark! how the sea-drench'd sailors cry,
By dreaded death involv'd around!
To gain the shore with hope they try,
But in th' attempt, alas, are drown'd!
Can dissipation's vot'ries now

Their impious orgies dare enjoy?
Sits not pale terror on their brow?

Don't inward fears their mirth destroy? Like adamant must be that heart,

Which now insensible remains ; Which feels not keen compunction's smart When in the storm Jehovah reigns! But there's a storm* more big with dread, Its horrors fancy cannot paint; 'Twill burst upon the sinner's head, Unless he of his crimes repent. But there is found a hiding-place,t A covert from the tempest's ire; The Saviour, full of truth and grace, Did on the cross for man expire! Though storms do often fatal prove, Yet are they vital blessings found; Jehovah's wisdom, pow'r, and love, The whirlwind's voice proclaims around! Dartmouth, Nov. 24, 1824. I. M. M.

*Psalm xi. 6.

+ Isaiah xxxii. 2.

REVIEW. The Cambrian Plutarch; comprising Memoirs of some of the most eminent Welshmen, from the earliest times to the present. By John H. Parry, Esq. 8vo. pp. 396. London. Simpkin & Marshall. 1824. We cannot for a moment doubt, that Wales, during the long and varied march of its history, has produced many celebrated characters, distinguished alike for their unsubdued attachment to independence, and their invariable hostility to all foreign invaders. Of these patriotic individuals, the names have descended to us on the stream of time, associated with honours, which have acquired an additional veneration from the shadows of mystical obscurity in which they are enveloped. The mists of fable have invested these ancient heroes with a mantle of hoary grandeur, on which we gaze with silent wonder; and while, in imagination, their shadows flit before us, we involuntarily associate them in our minds, with the spectres of Fingal and Hector.

Nor has the genius of Wales been so devoted to the sword, as to neglect the cultivation of letters. The Druids

are too celebrated ever to be forgotten. Their philosophy and theology were preserved long after the race became extinct, and their rites were abolished. "In the remains we have of Taliesin's poetry we have a good deal of Druidism, and in particular the doctrine of the metempsychosis. But it should be remembered, that some passages which have been applied to that doctrine, do more properly refer to his initiation into the mysteries of Keridwen, the British Ceres." In the writings of the Bards, and of the Historical Triads, the ancient literature of Wales has been preserved; and to their compositions modern authors refer with the same degree of confidence that appeals are made to the productions of Ossian or Homer. But in reference to the biography of ancient heroes, and the writings of the Welsh Triads, we may inquire with the bard of Selma,-" Whence is the stream of years? Whither do they roll along? Where have they hid in mist their many-coloured sides? I look into the times of old, but they seem dim to Ossian's eyes, like reflected moonbeams on a distant lake."

It cannot be denied that the characters of the ancient Welsh heroes are deeply buried in fable, and that the productions of their earlier bards are so blended with the mystical rites of Druidism, that it is extremely difficult to separate truth from fiction, and to preserve realities from being contaminated by the allegorical allusions with which they are incorporated. This is a task, however, which Mr. Parry has undertaken in the volume before us; but conscious of the dangerous ground on which he was about to tread, he introduces the life of the renowned Arthur with the following preliminary observations :—

"To rescue truth from the embraces of fiction, and to erect on the ruins of fable the fair

edifice of genuine history, must be, at all times, a work of no little hazard. And the task aoquires a peculiar difficulty, when it concerns those legendary productions, in which our infancy has been wont to delight, and which are possessions. The visions of childhood are not accordingly associated with our earliest preeasily dissipated; for, whatever may be the influence of a maturer experience, it is not without reluctance that the mind emancipates itself from the spell of its former illusions. Where the genius of romance has spread ger near the visionary scene-we hold enraparound her gorgeous creation, we love to linfured converse with all its fantastic popula

tion, and when, at length, the charm is dissolved, we are loath to acknowledge those beings as merely human, whom we have been accustomed to regard as little less than divine. "There can be no case more strongly illustrative of the justice of these observations than the history of the renowned Arthur; enveloped, as it has been, in the splendid disguises of chivalry, and in the extravagant decorations of romantic or mythological lore. To strip our hero of these delusive ornaments, and to present him to the world in his real character-not as the triumphant invader of distant countries-not as the conqueror of giants and kingdoms-not as the possessor of every human excellence, and even of supernatural powers, but merely as a warrior distinguished indeed by his valour and his successes, but not otherwise exalted above his contemporaries-is an undertaking of no common risk. Those, who have from their cradle been taught to admire

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In fable or romance of Uther's son.

Begirt with British and Armoric knights,' will hardly descend to contemplate that same individual, as one exposed to the ordinary vicissitudes of fortune, and pretending to no other reputation than what belongs to the warlike champion of an uncivilized age. Yet at last we may say, with an ingenious writer, that, when all fictions' in the life of Arthur ' are removed, and when those incidents only are retained, which the sober criticism of history sanctions with its approbation, a fame, ample enough to interest the judicious, and to perpetuate his honourable memory, will still continue to bloom." "-p. 1 and 2.

Stripped of the gaudy attire with which the legends of superstition and romance had decorated these heroes, they appear before us reduced to the standard of common heroes. Valour, patriotism, a love of independence, and an unconquerable determination to withstand the invaders of their country, form the more remarkable features in their characters. Invested with these native ornaments, the author has presented them to the public, without the enchantments of Merlin or the intrigues of Pendragon.

St. David, indeed, whose birth is placed about the middle of the fifth century, is particularly distinguished for his attachment to Christianity, for his orthodoxy, zeal, and ability to defend its doctrines against the attacks of assailants. His austerities and retired habits procured for him such a raised to a bishopric, and from time character for sanctity, that he was immemorial he has been designated the tutelary saint of Wales. Nor has this exalted dignity been founded exclusively on popular opinion and vulgar prejudices. During two centuries after his death, pilgrimages to his shrine in Wales were held, by infalli ble authority, to be of equal efficacy with one to Rome, and no doubt can be entertained that it was found so

This volume contains biographical by all the devotees. In an ancient Ms. sketches of twenty-two distinguished dated 1022, his pedigree is deduced individuals. Several of these, how- from the Virgin Mary, of whom he is ever, are of recent and comparatively said to have been the eighteenth lineal modern date, and it is because they descendant. In England the honours have been rendered famous by their paid to his memory were not less exvarious learning, and attention to the travagant than those which he receivliterature and language of their an- ed in Wales. In the old church o cestors, that a station has been as-Sarum, prior to the Reformation, the signed to them in the present work. To obviate the charge of having introduced no greater number of names, Mr. Parry, in his preface, has the following observations :

"The reader must not conclude, that the following pages embrace all that is worthy of record in the biographical annals of Wales. The few names to which they are confined form a selection out of a considerable number, most of them equally worthy of the pen of the biographer. But the author's plan was originally of a limited nature, and the chronological arrangement he had adopted made it unexpectedly necessary, in the progress of the work, to curtail it still more. The consequence has been, that many lives of interest have been excluded, which, however, if the present humble attempt should be favourably received, may serve to form a supplementary volume."-Preface, p. viii.

following collect was annually read on the first of March:-" O God, who by thy angel didst foretell thy blessed confessor, St. David, thirty years before he was born, grant unto us, we beseech thee, that, celebrating his memory, we may, by his intercession, attain to joys everlasting."

By the friends of Welsh literature, genius, and learning, Mr. Parry's volume will be perused with interest. They will, however, think that a more copious detail of ancient Welsh authors and their works might have been given, and will expect the author to redeem his demi-pledge of following the present work with a supplementary volume. On the whole, the contents of the Cambrian Plutarch are

less interesting than we had been led it treats, the laborious researches of to anticipate from the title which the its author, or the success which has work assumes. In the biographical crowned his exertions. In each desketches, many historical incidents partment it abounds with excellencies, and events are recorded, which will, which have an imperious claim on our most undoubtedly, be perused with admiration, and their number and avidity, but in many parts the narra- brilliancy are more than sufficient to tive is interrupted with doubts, and atone for diminutive errors, and occaencumbered with notes, which some- sional deficiencies, from which no pubtimes have only a distant affinity to lication of such a peculiar character the subjects which are presumed to can ever expect to be exempt. have given them birth, while the substance of others might without difficulty have been incorporated in the text.

The work, however, is not without its merits, of which no small portion consists in the ingenious diligence of the author, while separating the real from the fictitious history of his heroes and bards. In this he seems to have been successful, and it is not improbable, that in being thus fortunate, he may have given to his memoirs something like a meagre aspect, which would not have been observed if the history of the individuals had been previously unknown.

We rejoice that this work has been undertaken, and we shall be glad to hear of its success. The Welsh language is besieged in its native mountains by the Saxonage of England, and we wish it a better fate than that which befell Llywelyn. Every effort to preserve it from that sepulchre in which the Cornish is entombed deserves encouragement, and nothing can tend more to raise up protectors and defenders, than a display of the exploits and labours of the illustrious dead. In these patriotic ranks the name of John H. Parry stands inscribed, and we flatter ourselves that his remuneration will equal his meritorious endeavours to call from the recesses of torpor the spirits of the departed, to animate their surviving

sons.

REVIEW. Typographia, or the Printer's Instructor, including an account of the origin of Printing, with biographical notices of the Printers of England from Caxton to the close of the sixteenth century, &c. Se Johnson, Printer. Two vols. 32mo. pp. 632, 663. London. Longman, & Co. 1824,

THIS is a work of very peculiar merit, whether we regard the subject of which

The invention of Printing is intimately connected with the intellectual character of man, and with the literature of the world. No conquest, no defeat, no change of empire, no partition of kingdoms, has ever introduced a revolution so extensive and so permanent. Its dominion stretches over the civilized part of our species, and promises to humanize the rest. Its vigour increases with the progression of ages; even time can hardly be said to set boundaries to its power; for so far as the productions of the Press affect the moral condition of mankind, the art of Printing extends its influence to eternity.

For the invention of an engine so powerful and so important, it is not a matter of surprise that there should be many competitors; nor need we be astonished, as the discovery was at first concealed in secrecy, that, after a lapse of nearly four centuries, to adjust the merits of the different claimants should be attended with insuperable difficulties. This is a point, however, which the author of the work before us investigates with much patience, ability, and research. We do not pretend to say that he has settled the claims of the original competitors beyond the reach of controversy, for this, the numerous obstacles that exist, will in all probability render for ever impossible; but his chronological details are highly interesting, and his arguments are cogent and convincing. Of the ancient manner of Printing in the East, and the claims of the siders the pretensions of various cities Chinese, he takes distinct notice, conand persons in Europe, traces the progress of the art among the continental nations, and follows its introduction into England by the justly celebrated William Caxton.

In prosecuting these inquiries, the author seems to have been guided by impartiality. To the claims of the rival candidates he has given all their

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