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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, if it The constant, galling, festering chain that may be called so, keeps issuing in jets binds and jerks, from the same inexhaustible Captive my mute interpreter of thought; source, pausing but to become more
The seal of lead enstamped upon my lips,
The load of iron on my labouring chest, potent, and delivering, per hour, we fear to say how many imperial gallons
The mocking demon, that at every step
Haunts me,- and spurs me on-to burst into the reservoir.
in silence." Therefore, we cannot but smile at
Heaven preserve us! is the world so o 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 to his cage immur'd ?
sional and not unfrequent inconveA swist trout by the wily fisher check'd?
niences that a gifted spirit experiences A wild bird hopeless strain its broken from a lack of fluency of words? wing?"
“I scarce would wonder, if a godless man, We have ; but what is all such sights (I name not him whose hope is heaven. to the purpose ? An eagle chained
ward,) cannot fly an inch-a panther in a cage A man whom lying vanities hath scath'd can prowl none-a trout “ checked" And harden'd from all fear,-if such an one 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 converse, ping, never ending,” is in all his glory By the slow simmering of 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.
tion," " 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. to say,
ing-such as his sonnet to little Ellen, “ Hast ever felt, at the dark dead of night, and his sonnet to little Mary ; but we Some undefined and horrid incubus prefer the stanzas entitled “ Children," Press down the very soul,- and paralyse and quote them as an agreeable sample, The limbs in their imaginary fight premising that they would not have From shadowy terrors in unhallowed been the worse of some little tincture sleep?"
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 poetiy. 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 peo. his 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 empbasis 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, or 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 all,' wry faces,” but we never thought of and our fate here below is not deterexclaiming to ourselves,
mined by the stars.
“ Yours the natural curling tresses, “ All unkiss'd by innocent beauty, Prattling tongues, and shyness coy,
All unlov'd by guileless heart, Tottering steps, and kind caresses,
All uncheer'd by sweetest duty, Pure with health and warm with joy. Childless man, how poor thou art !"
We like the following lines still better and considered “ as 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 ofends, not nature's ear,
“ Some smiling bay of Cambria's happy shore,
A wooded dingle on a mountain side,
And looking down on valley fair and wide,
Than vast cathedrals in their Gothic pride,
“ There would I dwell, for I delight therein!
Far from the evil ways of evil men,
My own repented of, and clean again :
Choice books, and guiltless pleasures of the pen,
“ There, from the flowery mead, or shingled shore,
To cull the gems that bounteous nature gare,
Or seek the curious crystal in its cave;
Know more of Him who came the lost to save;
“No envious wish my fellows to excel,
No sordid money-getting cares be mine;
Nor meanly grand among the poor to shine :
With those cheap pleasures and light cares of thine,
And walking well with God in nature's eye,
Love at my board, and friendship dwelling nigh,
And, when I'm called in rapturous hope to die,
And challenge earth to show a happier man !". But the best set of stanzas in the "• And for a home, would I had none ! volume are those entitled Ellen Gray. The home I have, a wicked one,
The subject is distressing, and has They will not let me in,
“ I see your goodness on me frown; nius, or from a spirit made creative
Yet hear the veriest wretch on town, by profoundest sympathy and sorrow dest sympathy and sorrow
While yet in life she may for the last extremities of human
Tell the sad story of her grief,misery
Though heav'n alone can bring relief
To guilty Ellen Gray. “ A starless night, and bitter cold; « « My mother died when I was born : The low dun clouds all wildly roll'd
And I was fluog, a babe forlorn,
Upon the workhouse floor;
My father,- would I knew him not !
A squalid thief, a reckless sot,
- I dare not tell you more.
"" I could not hide my alter'd form: " • And little can the untempted dream, Then on my head the fearful storm While gliding smoothly on life's stream Of gibe and insult burst:
They keep the letter-laws,
They knew how hunger gnaws.
" " Ah, lightly heed the righteous few “ Her eye was fixed; she said no more, How little to themselves is due,
But propp'd against the cold street-door But all things given to them;
She leaned her fainting head ; Yet the unwise because untaught,
One moment she look'd up and smil'd, The wandering sheep, because unsought, Full of new hope, as Mercy's child, They heartlessly condemn:
-And the poor girl was dead." We do not think the idea very happy of “ Contrasted Sonnets"-such as, Nature-- Art; The Happy Home - The Wretched Home ; Theory-Practice; Ritches --Poverty ; Philanthropic- Misanthropic ; Country Town; and so on-and 'tis an ancient, nay, a stale idea, though Mr Tupper evidently thinks it fresh and new, and luxuriates in it as if it were all his own. Sometimes he chooses to shew that he is ambidexter-and how much may be said on both sides-leaving the reader's mind in a state of indifference to what may really be the truth of the matter-or disposed to believe that he knows more about it than the Sonnetteer. The best are Prose and Poetry-and they are very good-s0 is “ Ancient,” but Modern is very bad-and therefore we quote the three
And mortal ken with cloudy films obscure,
First Canto by Coleridge. But how “leaps the moat," an unusual feat. the Dragon Maid was so beautiful be. And who is he? Amador, " a found. fore her mother endowed her with the ling youth," who having been exposed borrowed mein of Geraldine, we do in infancy“ beneath the tottering not know; nor are we let into the Bowther-stone,” and picked up by Sir secret of the cause of her hatred of Leoline, in due course of time fell in Christabel in particular, more than of love with Christabel, and, on discoany other lovely Christian lady with very of their mutual affection, had a Christian lover, of whom there must been ordered by the wrathful Baron bave been many at that day among away to the Holy Land, not to return the Lakes. The Canto seems to " Till name and fame and fortune are his." us throughout to the last degree ab. surd. .
The progress of the loves of the “handIt pleased Coleridge to give to each
some (!) youth and the beauteous maid"
is described circumstantially-and we separate set of verses-and Mr Tup- are told that, when climbing the moun. per does the same_but oh! my eye, tains together, they did not what verses! He speaketh of hatred guess that the strange joy they feel --or jealousy-or some infernal pas. The rapture making their hearts reel, sion or another, which, among other Springs from aught else than-sweet evil works,
Grassmere, 66 Floodeth the bosom with bitterest gall,
Or hill and valley far and near, It drowneth the young virtues all,
Or Derwent's banks, and glassy tide, And the sweet milk of the heart's own Lowdore and hawthorn d Ambleside." fountain,
Such simplicity is rare, even now.a. Choked and crushed by a heavy mountain, days, in young people on whom "life's All curdled, and hardend, and blacken'd, noon is blazing bright and fair." But doth shrink
so it was, Mr Tupper assures us in Into the Sepia's stone-bound ink !!” &c. lines that will bear comparison with Think of these lines as Coleridge's,
any thing on
any thing of the kind in any language. “ The creature of the God-like fore
“ Thus they grew up in each other,
Till to ripened youth
They had grown up for each other ; Part Fourth beginneth thus
Yet, to say but sooth, 56 The eye of day hath opened grey,
She had not lov'd him, as other
Than a sister doth, And the gallant sun
And he to her was but a brother, Hath trick'd his beams by Rydal's streams,
With a brother's troth : And waveless Coniston;
But selfish craft, that slept so long, From Langdale Pikes his glory strikes,
And, if wrong were, had done the wrong, From heath and giant hill,
Now, just awake, with dull surprise From many a tairn, and stone-built cairn,
Read the strange truth, And many a mountain rill:
And from their own accusing eyes Helvellyn bares his forehead black,
Condemned them both, And Eagle-crag, and Saddleback,
That they, who only for each other And Skiddaw hails the dawning day,
Gladly drew their daily breath, And rolls his robe of clouds away.”
Now must curb, and check, and smother Mr Tupper knows nothing of the Through all life, love strong as death; localities and should have consulted , While the dear hope they just have learnt to Green's Guide before sitting down to prize, " continue" Christabel. Coniston has And fondly cherish, no connexion with Rydal's streams, The hope that in their hearts deep-rooted nor have they any connexion with Sir
lies, Leoline's Castle in Langdale—much
Must pine and perish : less has Helvellyn--and least of all For the slow prudence of the worldly wise have Saddleback and Skiddaw. No
In cruel coldness still denies doubt the "eye of day" saw them all,
The foundling youth to woo and win and many a place beside; but this
The heiress daughter of Leoline." slobbering sort of work is neither To part them was as hard as to bid poetry nor painting-mere words. " The broad oak stump, as it stands on the
A stranger knight with a noble re- farm, tinue arrives at the Castle gate, and Be rent asunder by strength of arm; ”