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one idle crotchet to be met with throughout.

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Moore, in his preface to the new edition, expresses a great disinclination to a divorce between the tune and words a modest confession, how much he thinks the latter dependent on the former. He is right, and this seeming defect is one of the great merits of the work: the musical as well as the poetical taste of the writer is evident in every line, nor is one allow ed to shine at the expense of the other. Moore has composed some beautiful songs, but seems shy of exerting this faculty, dreading, perhaps, that success in that pursuit would detract from his poetical fame. The union of the talents is rare, and some have affirmed that they even exclude one another. When Gretry visited Voltaire at Ferney, the philosopher paid him a compliment at the expense of his profession; Vous étes musicien,” said Voltaire, et vous avez de l'esprit ; cela est trop rare pour que je ne prenne pas à vous le plus vif interêt.' Nature certainly may be supposed not overinclined to be prodigal in bestowing on the same object the several gifts that are peculiarly hers, but as far as the assertion rests on experience, it is powerfully contradicted by the names of Moore and Rousseau.

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All trains of thought appear to me to be set to music, unless when the mind is actively employed upon its own ideas, in reasoning, comparing, inferring, &c.-thus interrupting the natural links. Perhaps it is this which renders close thought an enemy to health; nature having given us an internal harmony to counteract the fretting effects of mental exercise,-to blunt as it were the edge of thought, we feel the ill effects of dispensing with it, when we pursue what we think a

more systematic mode of pursuing knowledge. The exercise of the ima gination possesses this accompaniment in the highest degree, and the greatest transport we are capable of perhaps, is, in this consonance of the ear and eye, each framing for itself and enjoying the peculiar pleasures of its own sense. To inquire into the matter and origin of this mental harmony, would, for the present, bewilder me in metaphysics. But as to its degrees, which are here of important consideration, I am inclined to make a bold assertion, that naturally the lowest and most common trains of thought generate the prettiest tunes. The prettier the music, the more animal the pleasure-it sets merely the nerves in motion, and has more effect on the toes and fingers than on the imagination. Thus, by observing the thoughts which different kinds of music excite, we may discover the music that different degrees of thought demand. The music of the senses and that of the soul are hostile, and tend to exclude one another. The tune that a plough-boy thinks, as he paces along the furrow, and if he thinks at all, he thinks a tune,is, I'm certain, considered as music, more beautiful than that to which Milton composed his Paradise Lost. The latter, if set, would scarcely be understood, though, ac cording to the system, it should be found consonant to all the just rules of melody,

The foregoing paragraph is a sketch from a large system, which this is not the place to follow up. It would lead, however, to some useful speculations on the connexion between melody and thought, and consequently between melody and poetry. The principles of the latter connexion we are not only theoretically unacquainted with, but practically sin against every day. Think

As Power's new edition has not yet made its appearance, I subjoin the Preface, which I have through the medium of a friend.

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Though an edition of the poetry of the Irish Melodies, separate from the Music, has long been called for, yet having, for many reasons, a strong objection to this sort of divorce, I should with difficulty have consented to a disunion of the words from the airs. had it depended solely upon me to keep them quietly and indissolubly together. But, besides the various shapes in which these, as well as my other lyrical writings, have been published throughout America, they are included, of course, in the two editions of all · my works printed at Paris, and have lately appeared, in a volume full of typographical errors, in Dublin. I have, therefore, readily acceded to the wishes of the proprietor of the Irish Melodies for a revisal and complete edition of the Poetry of the Eight Numbers; though well aware that it is impossible for these verses to be detached from the beautiful airs to which they are associated, without losing even more than the animæ, dimidium' in the process."

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This edition, in a beautiful pocket volume, has been published since we received this article. Editor.

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of hymns adapted to love-songs-a He broke my pitcher, he spilt my water, sample of the amorous-religious-ri- He kiss'd my wife, and married my daughdiculous. In this light Moore is often beautifully in the wrong his elegant and misplaced sentiments suffer in comparison with the vulgar ideas the tunes naturally excite. "Eveleen's bower" in vain struggles against the gallant Captain, "whose legs were what his regiment called bandy, oh!" And it was matchless audacity in the poet to attempt overlaying with his "sparkling hand" such established favourites as "Thady, you gander," and "Peas upon a trencher."

But there is in this also an excep tion, and I may repeat a glorious exception, in the beautiful song of Come o'er the sea, maiden, with me," which fairly usurps the place of

"Cushla ma chree,

Did you but see,

How the villain he treated me?

I have heard two celebrated foreign musicians exclaiming " Pish," and turning up their noses for a whole evening at the Irish melodies, until this song was played. They hailed it in ecstasy, but swore, like Dirk Hatteraik, in Dutch, German, and English, that it was borrowed from the Italian.

Not to be interminable--whatever be the defects of Moore's genius, philosophy, or nationality, the Melodies will occupy place upon every piano that has a string in its body, and the silent perusers of the closet have at last obtained in this beautiful little edition a long desideratum.

LETTER FROM HAMBURGH.

PADDY.

SIR! Since I had the first time the pleasure to peruse the Numbers of your Magazine, communicated to me by my friend Dr L*******, who lived some years ago, at Edinburgh, I have always wished to have an occasion to express to you my esteem and my complete concurrence with the religious and political principles highly proclaimed, and defended with energy, in your excellent Journal.

My friend Mr Boell Von Faber of this town, Hanseatic Consul at Cadiz, and author of the inclosed book,* printed in the beginning of this year, under my care and inspection, gives me now the occasion to profess my feelings. Mr Boell, in every time and in every place, a valiant admirer and defender of all that is right and beautiful; and, therefore, likewise a constant reader of your Magazine, whereof he speaks, in his letters to me, in terms of the highest praise, has saved the greatest part of these beautiful poems, alike from the oblivion and torpidity of ancient, as from the haughtiness and revolutionary dulness of modern Spain. Though himself a member of the Royal Spanish Academy, the present state of that unhappy land, and the sentiments of the ringleaders and organs of the public voice, admiring only all that comes from France, have frustrated the author of a national interest and participation, as he should have depended upon, had he published elsewhere some of the delightful relics of the early German, Scandinavian, or English poetry. Notwithstanding, it is the design of Mr Boell, who has conducted the whole enterprize with the noblest disinterestedness, to continue in its execution, if the bookseller, Mr Perthes, is only defrayed of the expenses of his edition. Should this expectation be fulfilled, and the bookseller encouraged to pursue this enterprize, Mr Boell is willing to publish, in three other volumes, the most exquisite and beautiful flowers of Spanish poetry. The title of the second

Faber's Floresta de Rimas, Antiquas Castellanas. Hamburgh, Perthes, 1820. Octavo, a very beautiful volume.

VOL. XI..

I

volume, quite ready for publication, and containing the best of the great Spanish poets of the 16th and 17th century, will be, Floresta de Rimas Modernas Castellanas. That of third will be, Floresta de Poesias Dramáticas Antiquas Castellanas; and it will contain a number of old and excellent pieces, yet quite unknown, by Lope de Rueda, Torres Naharro, Gil Vicente, the Incunbula of the Spanish theatre. The fourth volume will have the title, Floresta de Poesias Epicas Castellanas; and it will contain the most beautiful selections and extracts from the numberless Spanish Epopees, a kind of poetry denegated to that nation, as the dramatic talent to the Italians, that not all kinds of poetry might be united in every one of them.

The British public being best prepared, by the valuable works of Mr Southey, Lord Holland, and Mr Rodd, to apprise the value and merit of the labour of Mr Boell, you will surely do a favour to all men of feeling, by giving them a little account of it in your Magazine, forwarding at the same time a literary enterprize so highly advantageous to the saving of the most holy and deepest sentiments of an age, that will be very soon forgotten in its own country. I deem it, therefore, very saperfluous to recommend you this matter longer, and am, with the most profound esteem, Sir, yours,

Hamburg, November 25, 1821.

EREMITA HAMBURGENSIS.

P. S. A highly interesting little publication of Mr Vonder Hagen, the editor of the Nibelungen-Lied, coming just into my hands, I hope it will be agreeable to you to insert a short account of it in your Magazine, which I pray you may be so kind to clear and purge of the faults of language, very natural for a foreigner who has never been in England.

Another very interesting new publication, is the Oestliche Rosen, (Eastern Roses) a collection of poems in the oriental style of Goethe's Divan, published two years ago, by Frederic Rücxert, the German poet, who will, as it seems to me, be in some years the foremost on the German Parnassus, if he will become less anxious, and exert himself to overcome the difficulty of language, and of the most artful and complicated versification. Knowing, by the many beautiful translations from the German, inserted in your Magazine, how happy you are in struggling with these difficulties, I transcribe you the poetical dedication of the poems of Rücxert to Goethe, written in the Metrum of the Proëmium of the Divan of Gothe, and being a very close imitation of it.

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Müsst ihr gehn von hier zum selben Freudig als dem Stern des Abend

Manne,

Der vom Westen

Auch den besten

Wein von jeher schenkt 'aus voller
Kanne.

Als der West war durchgekostet,
Hat er nun den Ost entmostet ;
Seht, dort schwelgt er auf der Otto-

manne.

landes; Nun erhöhten Morgenroethen

Herrlich ihn zum Herrn des Morgen-
landes.

Wo die Beiden glühn zusammen,
Muss der Himmel blühn in Flammen,
Ein Diwan voll lichten Rosenbrandes.

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Dieses Arms, wie lang 'erhat gefoch- Zorn und Gluth und Mild und süstes

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Kosen;
Alles Lieben

Jung geblieben,

Seiner Stirne stehen schön die Rosen.
Wenn nicht etwa ew'ges Leben
Ihm verliehn ist, sey gegeben (3
Langes ihm, von uns gewognen Loo-

sen.

Du den neuen Tugendbund errichtet,
Sey mit Brünsten

Unter Künsten

Aller Art, in der auch unterrichtet,

Wie Saadi in jenem Orden

Ueber hundert jahr alt worden,

Und Dschami hat nah 'daran gedichtet.

[A friend who accidentally came in has favoured us with the following strictly extemporaneous and free Translation, or rather Imitation of these verses. The reader is aware that their structure is in every respect orientul. C. N.J

1.

Darkly beautiful East,

Wilt thou pamper and feast,

In thy chambers, on banquets of roses and wine,
HIM, thy pale sister West,

From a boy hath caress'd?

Wilt thou stoop thee, her rival, around him to twine?
Yes I see it is done;

By her own setting sun,

On thy couch, like a God, I behold him recline.

2.

The calm breast of Eve

All in crimson would heave,

When his young eye was bright as her rivallese star:
Now the bosom of Morn

Hath esteem'd it no scorn

To outblush all the crimson e'er kindled her car:
Both are fair, both are bright;

When in love they unite

Sure the fate of their lover's too lovely by far!

3.

Nay, but smile not: behold,

Though his arm may be old,

Did ye e'er see more nerve in an arm that was younger ?
Or the strings of a lyre,

Swept with touches of fire,

Into magical cadences melting you longer?

Come, confess there is fire in

The Napththas of Iran!

No, young Goëthe 'neath Italy's sky, was not stronger!

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SIR TRISTREM, IN GREEK AND GERMAN."

The author of this little Tract, already famous by his edition and by his translation, in modern German, of the Nibelungen-Lied, the Ilias of the Teutonic tribes, has made, four years ago, by order of the King of Prussia, a literary journey through Germany, Switzerland, and Italy, for examining the different libraries of those countries, in search of ancient manuscripts. After having published an abstract of his cursory remarks, in four volumes, under the title of Briefe in die Heymath, (Homeward Letters,) he is now about to elaborate the valuable stock of knowledge collected by him and his fellow-travellers, among whom we distinguish Professor Frederic von Raumer, who is preparing a history of the German Emperors of the House of Hohenstauffen. The first part of Mr Von der Hagen's literary harvest is now presented to the literati of Europe, under the title "Poema Græcum de Rebus Gestis Regis Arturi, Tristani, Lanceloti, Galbani, Palamedis aliorumque Equitum Tabulae Rotundae, e Codice Vaticano, Editio prima.'

This fragment of a larger poem, unhappily lost, will interest the more

British readers, as belonging to the cyclus of poetical fictions, taking their origin from the first inhabitants of that island, and shewing how these popular and chivalric tales were spread over all Europe. The first living poet of the country has not disdained to edit and illustrate the exploits of Tristan, or Sir Tristrem, a knight of that famous table-round; and if it is permitted to a foreigner to judge on the merit of such a man, we believe that a great part of his poetical achievements, and of the deep impression his works are making on every feeling heart, may be ascribed to his deep and accurate knowledge of the popular and chivalric songs and romances of his forefathers.

The fragment whereof we shall give an account, contained in the Codex Vaticanus, No. 1822, page 200—205, is written on paper of cotton, in the thirteenth or fourteenth century, in political verses, (orínoi monbrina,) but quite as prose in one continual series of rows. With a slight transposition of the leaves of the Codex, the whole gives a little, but quite coherent episode, beginning, v. 1—13,

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* 1. Monumenta medii Aevi plerumque inedita, Gracca, Latina, Itala, Franco-Gallica, Palaeo-Germanica et Islandica. Specimen Primum, quo locum Professoris ordinarii in Ordine Philosophorum rite initurus, ad Orationem de Aeginetis habendam die xxx Julii Hora x invitat Fridericus Henricus von der Hagen, Professor Ordinarius designatus. Vratislaviaé, 1821, 8. 35 pages.

2. Tristan von Meister Gotfrit von Straosburg met der Fortsetsung des Meisters Ulrich von Turheim in Swey Abtheilungen herauzgegeben von E. von Groote nebst einem Steindrucke. Berlin, Reimer, 1821, 4.

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