Where some romantic fountain played,
Or lake spread out its waters blue,
Or valley flowered, or old cascade

Dashed down its waters into dew;
Erewhile she loved to rove, and made
Her soul familiar with the face
Sublime of universal Pan;
Nor mountain soar'd, nor river ran,

But in her pure eye wore the trace
Of Godhead, conversant with man.
In thunder, night, the wind's wild swells,
She heard mysterious oracles,
And strained her spirit to the key
Of their unearthly minstrelsy.
Thus, from her infancy, she was
A pupil in the school of dreams,
A gazer in the magic glass,

Wherein the curtained future seems
A spectacle, and a survey,
Half coloured with the hues of day.
"And she was beautiful: her face
Was flushed with an angelic grace;
The amorous sun had wooed it too,
And touched it with a richer hue;
But those who gazed might well declare
They could not wish that face more fair.
Her locks of hyacinthine brown,
O'er the white brow hung loosely down,
Contrasting in the shades they throw,
With the blue, loving eyes below.
And in those eyes there shone a ray,
That like a sweet, consuming fire,
Thrilled every soul with chaste desire,
Yet kept all evil things away.
They who but slightly viewed, had said

Pride was her intimate, for tall
She was-and in her lightest tread

Moved like a princess, but of all
That seeming loftiness, the key
Was an inborn nobility;
The spirit's fire, the crowning charm
Of a mind exquisitely warm ;
In whose unsullied leaf was wrought
All that was delicate in thought,
And beautiful in deed, with these,
She sought all living things to please,
But most to act a daughter's part
Was the Aurora of her heart."

Julia becomes the votaress and afterwards the priestess of Diana; the description of the statue of the goddess is in the very Canova spirit of poetry. The stone no mortal's hand might touch; The horns which cast a lunar glow O'er forehead, chaste as driven snow; The lips which breathed of bashfulness, And that full, uninsculptured eye, By Genius' most divine excess,

Fixed in the Vision of Virginity: And though at times her pulse began With new imaginings to stir,

As if a flood of music ran

Warm through the enthusiast worshipper,
She there remained before the shrine,
To offer to the Power Divine,

That vow which placed her foot within

The ambrosial pale that shuts out sin,
And gave Diana so to win,

In her, the loveliest votarist
That e'er her marble image kissed.

The murder of Galba, by which Cecina is raised into power, is the signal for the enslaving Helvetia, and the destruction of the happiness of Julia and her father,

The chief convenes the citizens, and the resolution of taking up arms is instantly formed. The Romans, led. by Cecina, advance towards Aventicum, where the inhabitants prepare to receive them.

Julius goes to take leave of his daughter; his mind loaded with the presage of a disastrous issue to the ensuing fight. The description of the warrior-father's falling, is extremely fine. He finds his daughter performing her matin sacrifices in the temple of Diana, hymning the virgin deity.

Where, in her robes pontifical,
Loose locks-a purple flower in all,
And silver censer in her hands,
Serene the priestess-daughter stands,
Now thrice to east, to west she turns,
Then hids her handmaids bring the urns.
Ten virgins, the lit shrine around,
Move, without shadow, without sound,
Some sprinkle coldest dews abroad;
One brings the sacrificial sword,
And in Aventia's guardian name
Strews salt and incense on the flame,
Pity and awe all hearts pervade,
As, kneeling low, the holy maid,
Her white arms on her heaving breast,
The pure Divinity addressed,

Reflex of the God of glory,

Whose shield is safety, and whose lyre is life,

Sounding heroes' deeds in story,

Lo, thy sanctuary within,

A father arming for the strife!
Let thine accents blandishing,
Lady, rule thy Lycian string;
Let round him, in battle's hour,
Egis blaze, and arrows pour!
So may fires eternal shine
Round thy consecrated shrine;
Duly every night and morn,
Dulcet honey dew thy horn:
Sacred Sister of the brave!

In heaven or hell, by rove or wave,
Virgin Goddess! hear and save."

Portentous prodigies disturb the rites. Julia endeavours to dissuade her father from the battle, by all the touching arguments which ber filial love can suggest; it is in vain, and the patriot quits her broken-hearted.

The issue of the struggle is the defeat of the Helvetians; Julia is taken pri

Was seen to chase Cecina's frown
And soothe each harsher impulse down;
Mute, fascinated as he eyed
Affection's triumph over pride,

He sate, and passed his hand across
His brow, in pity or remorse,
And strove to spare her added pain,
The knowledge that the prayer was vain.
"Arise," he said, “young child of woe!
66 A saviour rise-a daughter go.
"Lictors! your axes turn away
"From the freed prisoner;"-they obey,
He waves his arm the signal known,
They guard Alpinus from the throne,
Julia upraised her silent eye

And looked the joy she could not speak The purple glow which modesty

Lighted in her transparent cheek, Passed by unfelt, so deep her mood Of extacy and gratitude,

She turned to see, as in a glass,

Her father's face reflect the gladness

Of her so happy heart-alas,

It was the very soul of sadness! Too well he knew that single crime Which tyrants never can forgive, And scorning in despair sublime

The trustless word that bade him live,
He paused, and looked as he withdrew,
The passion of a last adien.

Resumed his firm. his princely stride,
And then, like one all fire and pride
Who seeks, not shans, the approaching

doom

Which makes his death a martyrdom,
He reached the court; he bared his head

The features of each frowning knight
He calmly scanned; "and if," he said,
"My country's weal requires it-smite!'?
They smote; and ere the eager shout
Was o'er, which hailed his passing out,
Alpinus was a brilliant name,
The sealed Impérator of fame;
A spirit, o'er whose earthly urn
It is almost a sin to mourn;
A sire, in whose celestial mind
Pain can no answering feeling find,
But whose paternal eye yet keeps
Its watches o'er a child that weeps."
Julia sinks beneath the consuming
weight of her sorrows.

There is a pang which cannot find
An answering language in the mind;
There is a woe which only awe
With hallowed hand might dare to draw,
But feeling all her powers would fail,
Lets fall the Grecian Painter's veil.
O earth! that thou shouldst ever nurse
Thy children to a doom like this!'
To fear no more, but feel thy curse,

Poor bankrupts in deserted bliss!
Who cannot yield-though weak and vain
All that reflection wrings from pain,
One tear, though but of wretchedness,
To make despair's convulsion less."
(Then)-

"The leaf is yellowing on the tree; Glad o'er the blossom hums the bee;

The sun declining from his height
Sends down to earth a heaven of light,
Not sad, though soft-not gay, though
glowing;

The deep, clear lake has stilled its flowing;
The boat, within its waters glassed,
Feels not a breath of air blow past;
Not one small bird we hear to tune
Its bill beneath the mellow noon;
But blue-eyed girls of fairy shapes
With simple hymns to fill the vallies,
As from the vines they pluck the grapes,
And press them, purpling Autumn's chalice,
And earth below, and sky above,
Are full of quiet, full of love.
"Twas in the twilight of that eve,

Julia the last time walked abroad;
The hue-the hour-the water's heave-
And splendid sky her spirit awed.
Then brought the sweet south wind to
soothe,

Warm from the blooms she nursed in youth,
A fading breath, a fragance sere,
In funeral of the withered year.
It came, it played with odorous wings,
Upon her lyre's thrice holy strings,
Which oft, when day had ceased to roll,
She touched to soothe her father's soul.
That odour of decay, that tone
Across her languid senses blown,
Whispering divinely of the praise,
The endearments of departed days,
Unlocked, as with a golden key,
The long-sealed springs of memory.
The air was bliss. the music balm,
Her quick heart fluttered at the charm,
And she was soothed; her gentle mind
All things renewed, recalled, combined,
She loved and lived o'er all again,

If not with pleasure, not with pain;
For pain she felt had lost its sting,
Death had no bitterness to bring;
Refined from passions earthly shade,
O, what was life but bliss delayed!
She looked to heaven; the darkening blue
Melted into her heart like dew;

That heart was happy, and though night
Was gathering quickly o'er it, bright,
She felt her passing hour was come,
And pined for her Elysian home."

"The lamp at midnight hung untrimmed,
The air was hushed, the chamber dimmed;
Just then the moon on Julia's face
Shed a mild ray of gloom and grace.
She felt it-half unclosed her eye,

And smiled; it was a blissful thing,

That her beloved Deity,

Should watch her spirit taking wing. "I come," she whispered, "where are you, "My friends? O, draw the darkening veil!

"I go-Elysium swims in view,

"Farewell! a dear, a last farewell!" And she is gone: a gentle sigh,

A quivering of the hand she pressed,

Faint as the kiss of infancy,

Her fluttering spitit fixed in rest,

"Farewell!" O, pure, unsullied truth,
The sage in years, the bloom of youth,
Pain, pity, candour, filial duty,
Undying love, angelic beauty,
And tenderness in toil untired,
In that pathetic word expired!"

Never did we perform the tranchant duties of a critic with more regret-for never was a poem which deserved a fuller exposition of its beauties, and the great difficulty has been which to prefer. In Mr. Wiffen we hail a poet, whose powers of pathetic description are of the first order, and whose taste is as eminently conspicuous in the simplicity of the subject he has chosen, as in the consummate skill with which he has handled it.

Of the Captive of Stamboul and the other poems contained in the volume, our limits will only allow us to say that they are not unworthy of that which precedes them.

An Account of Timbuctoo and Housa, by El Hage Abdsalam Shabeeney, with notes, critical and explanatory; to which is added, Letters descriptive of Travels through West and South Burbary, and across the Atlas Mountains, also Fragments, Notes and Anecdotes, &c. by James Grey Jackson, 8vo. PP. 547.

THE person who communicates intelligence respecting Timbuctoo and Housa in this work is a Muselman, and a native of West Barbary. He was personally known to Mr. Lucas, the British Consul. He tells us that at the age of fourteen he accompanied his father to Timbuctoo, where he resided ten years, he resided also at Housa two years. In the twenty-seventh year of his age he returned to his native place, Tetuan. "After residing a short period there, he embarked for Hamburgh, was captured by a Russian ship, and carried prisoner to Ostend, where he was relieved by the kind offices of Sir John Peters, the British Consul at that port, sent to Dover, and provided with a passage to Gibraltar by the British government. The questions in this curious and interesting narrative were proposed by Mr. Beaufoy, of African celebrity, and Mr. Lucas, the Consul, was the interpreter. beeny, or his family, are now established at Tetuan, where he has a wife and a large family.

Sha

Our limits will not admit of many extracts from this work; but as our manufactures are on the decline, and

the nation is anxiously looking out for new markets, and as we know that the mind of the* country and of the government, are now strongly directed to a quarter of the world, in which, at no distant period, we anticipate a great outlet for British manufactures and industry, which, if the nation loses it, the fault must be her's alone. We cannot refrain from quoting the following passage respecting the trade to Africa: "Timbuctoo is the great Emporium for all the country of the blacks, and even for Marocco and Alexandria ; the principal articles of merchandize are, tobacco, plattilias. beads of all kinds, cowries, small Dutch looking glasses, called in Holland Vell Spiegels, &c. In the Desert they buy rock salt of the Arabs, who bring it to them in camel loads, ready packed, which sells to great advantage at Timbuctoo, and in the several markets of Sudan. Shabeeny's caravan consisted of five hun dred loaded camels, of which about two hundred carried rock salt."

"The returns are made in gold dust, slaves, ivory, gum sudan, and other things of lesser consideration; the gold dust is brought to Timbuctoo from Housa, in small leather bags; cowries and gold dust are the medium of trafic. The (Shercess) Muhamedan princes, and other merchants, generally sell their goods to some of the principal native merchants, taking their gold dust with them into other countries. The merchauts residing at Timbuctoo have agents, or correspondents, in other countries, and are themselves agents in return. Timbuctoo is visited by merchants from all the negro countries, some of its inhabitants are extremely rich, a principal source of their wealth is lending gold dust and slaves, at high interest, to foreign merchants, which is repaid by goods from Morocco or Marocco, as Mr. Jackson calls it, and other countries to which the gold dust and slaves are conveyed. Shabeeny says that gold is found about sixteen miles from Housa. We can hardly credit the description which this muselman gives of the mode of collecting it. He says they go in the night with camels whose legs and feet are covered to protect them from snakes, they take a bag

of sand, and mark with it the places that glitter with gold; in the morning they collect the earth where marked, and carry it to the refiners, who, for a small sum, separates the gold.

Iron mines are in the desert, the iron is brought in small pieces by the Arabs, who melt and purify it; they cannot cast iron. They use charcoal fire, and form guns and swords with a hammer and anvil. The points of their arrows are barbed with iron, no man can draw the bow by his arm alone, but they have a kind of lever, the bow part is of steel, brought from Barbary, and manufactured at Timbuctoo.

This passage reminds us of the message sent by the King of Ethiopia to Cambysis, when the latter invaded Abyssinnia. The king sent to Cambysis an archer with a bow, accompanied by this recommendation: "when your soldiers can draw this bow then only you may presume to attack us." Several of the strongest men in the army of Cambysis tried in vain. We can safely say that Mr. Jackson has laid us under an obligation by his notes of this part of the work.

We now proceed to Mr. Jackson's part of this interesting work, in which the charm of variety is undoubtedly great, but we cannot say as much of the arrangement of the matter, which, however, is intrinsically good; and he must be a sour critic indeed who can resist being highly gratified with the perusal of this work. Mr. Jackson introduces his readers to the anecdotes with the following words:

"In recording the following anec dotes, fragments, and notes, the naked truth is stated, without the embellishment of language or the labour of rhetoric, which the wiser part of mankind have always approved of, as the most instructive way of writing." Speaking of the library at Fas, Mr. Jackson says: "When the present Emperor came to the throne, there was a very extensive and valuable library of arabic manuscripts at Fas, consisting of many thousand volumes. It is more than probable, (Mr. Jackson says) that the whole and complete works of Livy and Taci tus, with many other similar authors, are to be found translated, during the æra of Arabianlearning, into the Arabic language, in the hands of private individuals in West and in South Bar bary."