Imágenes de páginas

(Lon. Mag.)

SPANISH ROMANCES, There are sublime lessons of morality in some of the old Spanish poets-they seem to march along in all the pomp and pageantry of funereal state. They speak as with an oracular voice. Their discourse is of that death over which they triumph, and which they make the servant of their verse, and the minister of their wisdom. The grave is almost as often the record of man's pride as the witness of his humiliation. He has his revenge on mortality by raising pillars and piles-whether of sculpture or of song-more durable than the poor tenement that mortality has laid in ruins. Death sweeps away the woe-worn creature of years, who in return builds up his monument, which lasts for centuries-deaf to the storm, and reckless of vicissitude. There is a fine flow of solemn Truths in Jorge Maorique's Glosa on his departed friend. These are extracts.


Awake, awake, my sleeping soul, Rouse from thy dreams of hope and sear: And think, and see How soon life's busy moments roll, How soon the hour of death draws near! How silently! How swiftly hurrying joy glides by! And nought but sorrow's shade remains Of vanish'd bliss ! Yet sweeter is the memory of other moments' griefs and pains Than joys in this. Our lives are rivers flowing on To that interminable sea, The mighty grave: There go-as there have ever gone, All pomp, and pride, and royalty, Which nought can save. There roll the mountain's rapid streams, There rolls the little gentle rill, There mingle allLost in tbat ocean-tide which seems To swallow-though unsated still The great-the small. O could we but adorn the face, The corporal face, with skilful art, And beauty rare ! As we might clothe with glorious grace, And angel charms, our brighter part, And all that's fairO what industrious, busy will, What passion and what ardour we Should bring, to deck The sensual captive with our skill, While the bright soul of liberty Might go to wreck ! O mark of what delusive worth The fleeting things for which we sigh! Satisfied never ; For, in tbis vain deceitful earth, We lose them ev'n before we die, Yes! lose for ever; And time destroys them in its way, Vicissitude and accident, And busy change; All bear the seeds of self-decay, And o'er the heights most eminent, The tempests range. The dazzling dreams, the luscious sweets, Which round life's gloomy passage dwell, Are convent walls, Wbere pilgrim ost witb pilgrim meets, And hastens to death's gloomy cell, And then he falls. We reck not-but with breathless speed We hasten o'er the travell'd track As driven by fate Then stop-Death calls~" Take beed, take heed," And then we sain would burry back, But 'tis too late. We read of mighty monarchs driven From highest pomp to low distress In ancient days; Their sceptres and their glories riven, Their strength reduced to helplessness, And dimm'd their praise.

Death treats all mortal things the same; And pope and prelate, king and count, Alike he shocks. He beeds no rank, respects no name, Calls seer or shepherd on the mount, Or senseless flocks. The Trojans are in darkness laid, And all they thought and all they did, Their losses--gains The Roman history's veil'd in shade, That tower'd as towers a pyramid But nought remains. Why should we seek the vain display Of distant ages, treasured not In niemory's hold, When the events of yesterday Are vanish'd all-are all forgot As deeds of old? The battle to be fought,-though hard, Is far less dreadful than it seems, Come on! Come on! For thou wilt gain a rich reward In that bright memory which streams From victories won.There is a life which virtue lives In men's deep hearts enshrin'd, though this Is passing too; Yet the long-living fame, that gives An earthly heav'n to worth,-is bliss And glory true. This is the second life,-the best Was never gain'd in mortal strife, Nor mundane joy, Nor in the scenes of ease and rest, Nor 'midst the murderous sins of life, Which life destroy; But in devotion's sainted cell, Where monks and hermits pass their time In prayers and woes; And by bold warriors, who repel, Midst dangers, toils, and deeds sublime, The Moorish foes. Let's waste no words, for calm and still I wait--obey; no idle speech Submission needs; For that, which is my Maker's will, Shall be my will,—whate'er it teach, Where'er it leads. I'm ready now to die. I give My soul to heaven resignedlyTo death's great change : For to desire and long to live, When God decrees that we shall die, Were lly strange. Thou who didst bend thee from above, And take a mean and wortbless name, O sovereign grace! Thou who didst clothe thee in thy love With the low weeds of buman shame, To save our race: Thou who didst bear the stripes abhorr'd, And give thy sacred name to beer All mortal pain ! Not for my merit-heavenly Lord! But for thy mercies-hear me-beas! And pardon then!

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Yet if ever the staid and sober brow of religion was adorned with garlands of flowers -if ever she was led by cheerfulness into the daily walks of the world--if ever she was courted by the smiles of poetry and of natural joy-it was in Spain. True, she had a terrible aspect, and a scourge of vipers for those she hated; but on the simple, untutored, obedient spirits that followed in her gorgeous train, she breathed nothing but peace, and beauty, and blessedness. Their devotion had none of the high abstractions of philosophy, neither had it any of philosophy's doubts and fears. They believed and felt—they felt and believed. Their creed intermingled itself with their social affections—their devotion was fed by every-day objects-over which their romanceros threw the lustre of poetical imagery, and which their priests enlisted in the service of religion.


While to Bethlem we are going,
Tell me, Blas, to cheer the road,
Tell me why this lovely infant
Quitted his divine abode ?
* From that world to bring to this
Peace, which, of all earthly blisses,
Is the brightest, purest bliss."
Wherefore from his throne exalted,
Came be on his earth to dwell-
All his pomp an bumble manger,
All his court a narrow cell ?
“From that world to bring to this
Peace, which, of all eartbly blisses,
Is the brightest, purest bliss.”

Why did he, the Lord eternal,
Mortal pilgrim deigo to be,
He who fashion'd for his glory
Boundless immortality?
“ From that world to bring to this
Peace, which, of all earthly blisses,
Is the brightest, purest bliss."
Well, then! let us haste to Bethlem,
Thither let us haste and rest :
For of all heaven's gifts the sweetest
Sure is peace-the sweetest, best.

The pastoral romances too are generally the very portraiture of genuine sentimentundefaced by the decorations and delusions of artificial society. Their charms are pot extraneous. They are varied ; they are pure and passionate. They have nothing of the mysticism of civilization, nor of the adorning of deceit.


The maiden is disquieted,
Who shall break on her footsteps' tread?
She is wandering o'er the mountain there,
Her flocks around her be;
She is fair as the brightest flowers are fair,
But troubled like the sea.
The maiden is disquieted,
Who shall break on her footsteps' tread?


Nay! shepherd, nay! thou art unwary
Thy flocks are wandering far away:
Alas! I know it well—'tis Mary
Who leads my troubled thoughts astray.
Look, shepherd I look-how far they rove!
Why so forgetful-call them yet-
-0! he who is forgot by love
Will soon, too soon, all else forget-
Come leave those thoughts so dark and dreary,
And with your browzing focks be gay.
-Ah no! 'uis sain, 'tis vain,-for Mary
Leads all my troubled thoughts astray.
Tis love then, shepherd ! O depart,
And drive away the cheating boy.
-Alas! be's seated in my heart,
And rules it with tumultuous joy.
Nay! shepherd, wake thee, dare not tarry,
For thou art in a thorny way.

-Ah no! 'tis vain, 'tis vain,-for Mary
Leads all my troubled thoughts astray.
Throw off this yoke, young shepherd, be
Joyous and mirthsome as before.
-- what are mirth and joy to me,
They on my woes no balm can pour-
Thou didst refuse to dance, didst tarry
When laughing maidens were at play.--
I know I did - Alas ! 'tis Mary
That leads my troubled thoughts astray.
Then tell thy love-perchance 'tis hid,
And send a missive scribbled o'er.-
Alas ! my friend-I did, I did,
Which ere the maid had read, she tore.
Then hang the maid the foul fiend carry
A pestilence through all her flocksm
Ono, forbear! Nor threaten Mary
With sorrow's frowns, nor miscry's shocks.

The following is very illustrative of Spanish manners and Spanish feelings.


The good old Count in sadness stray'd
Backwards-forwards pensively;
He bent his head-he said his prayers
Upon his beads of ebony;
And sad and gloomy were his thoughts,
And all his words, of misery:
0! daughter fair-to woman grown,
Say who shall come to marry thee;
For I am poor-though thou art fair,
No dower of riches thine shall be.

Be silent, father mine! I pray,
For what avails a dower to me?-
A virtuous child is more than wealth;
0! fear not,-fear not poverty:
There are whose children ban their bliss,
Who call on death to set them free;
And they defame their lineage,
Which shall not be defamed by me;
For if no husband should be mine,
I'll seek a convent's purity.

But these romances must be brought to a close. They must mingle no longer with other gems and flowers, but be transplanted to a garden of their own. That's melancholy!--they quit the sweet society among which they have been proud to linger,-friends and companions- and they go to solitude, perhaps to oblivion. Be it not so!

It is hard to tear oneself away from delightful recollections and busy thoughts Yet in the progress of these desultory things, the heart has been often wounded when it has been dragged to that “ renowned, romantic land” where they had their origin. Gloom soon cast shadows around it, and those shadows grew darker and darker. Meanwbile They with whom every remembrance of sympathy and affection was associated, have been torn up, like loathsome weeds, from tbe soil they blessed—and we loved. of the dearest, and the purese, some have perished; and their memory, embalmed in burning and undying hate, to be poured out hereafter on the bare heads of tyrants, lives in the heart of heart ;--some wear cruel chains which may perhaps rust ere they fall--and some wander like the ghosts which can find no habitation on earth, nor an entrance to the grave-desolate-broken ;-and some most perfidiously-their figures pursue me, and ten times a day I hurl-Nay! stop thy indignation—they were

I had forgotten-that I ought to forget. Yet a romance or two !- they will still a spirit that is sadly troubled.


A thousand, thousand times I seek
My lovely maid;
But I am silent still, afraid
That if I speak
The maid might frown, and then my heart would


I've oft resolved to tell her all,
But dare not what a woe 'twould be
From doubtful favour's smiles, to fall
To the harsh frown certainty.
Her grace-her music cheers me now;
The dimpled roses on her cheek,
But fear restrains my tongue, for how,

How should I speak,
When, if she frown'd, my troubled heart would

No! rather I'll conceal my story
In my full heart's most sacred cell:
For though I feel a doubtful glory,
I'scape the certainty of bell.
I lose--'tis true—the bliss of heaven-
I own my courage is but weak;
That weakness may be well forgiven,
For sbould sbe speak
In words ungentle, O! my heart would break.

Vicente Espinel.


Throw not hopes and joys away;
Send, O! send the promised kiss-
Can so bright a gift be mine,
Bought without a pang of pain ?
'Tis perchance a ray divine,
Darker night to bring again.

Ines sent a kiss to me
While we danced upon the green ;
Let that kiss a blessing be,
And conceal no woes unseen.

How I dared I know not how,
While we danced I gently said,
Smiling, “Give me, lovely maid,
Give me one sweet kiss "--when, lo!
Gathering blushes robed her brow;
And with love and fear afraid,
Thus sbe spoke-I'll send the kiss
In a calmer day of bliss.

Then I cried-dear maid! what day
Can be half so sweet as this?

Could I dwell on such a thought,
I of very joy should die;
Nought of earth's enjoyments, nought
Could be like that ecstasy.
I will pay her interest meet,
When her lips shall breathe on me ;
And for every kiss so sweet,
Give her many more than three.

Gregorio Silvestro.

THAT'S A LIE,—THAT'S A LIE! Riches will serve for titles toon

Deserve both shame and suffering too
That's true that's true !

That's true that's true!
And they love most who oftenest sigh-
That's a lie,-that's a lie !

But wondrous favours to be done,

And glorious prizes to be won ; That crowns give virtue-power gives wit,

And downy pillows for our head, That follies well on proud opes sit ;

And thornless roses for our bed ; That poor men's slips deserve a halter,

In monarcbs' words to trust and try, While bonours crown the great defaulter ;

And risk your honour on the die-
That ’nointed kings no wrong can do,

That's a lie-that's a lie.
No right, such worms as I and you-
That's true—that's true!

That he who in the courts of law

Defends his person, or estate, To say a dull and sleepy warden

Should have a privilege to draw Can guard a many-portal'd garden ;

Upon the mighty river Plate ;* That woes which darken many a day,

And, spite of all that be can do, One moment's smile can charm away;

He will be pluck'd and laugb'd at too-
To say you think that Celia's eye

That's true--that's true !
Speaks aught but trick and treachery-
That's a lie-that's a lie!

To sow of pure and honest seeds,

And gather nought but waste and weeds ; They must be gagg'd who go to court,

And to pretend our care and toil And bless, besides, the gagger fort;

Had well prepared the ungrateful soil ; That rank-less must be scourged, and thank

And then on righteous beaven to cry, The scourgers when they're men of rank ;

As 'twere unjust—and ask it why? The humble, poor man's form and hue

That's a lie-that's a lie.

Gongora. * Rio de la Plata-Silver River.

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(Sel. Mag.) AMMONIA-SULPHUR-PHOSPHORUS, WITH THEIR RESPECTIVE COMPOUNDS. N CITROGEN and hydrogen also the alkalies to which we have just al

unite, and form a very extraordi- luded. Water absorbs it readily, tanary compound. It is called AMMONIA, king up four hundred and sixty times or the volatile ulkali. To explain this, its own bulk with ease. It was formerwe must first give some account of that ly called spirits of hartshorn, because class of bodies called alkalies. They it was obtained from the shavings of are such as unite readily with all acids, this last-mentioned substance. The neutralize or impair their activity, and easiest method of procuring ammonia form with them a compound termed a for the examination of the student, is salt. As acids change all vegetable by heating, in a small glass retort, two blues red, so alkalies change them parts of dry quicklime, and one of mugreen. A very easy example of this riate of ammonia. It must be collectkind may be given. Let the operator ed over mercury, as water absorbs it colour with violets, or any other blue rapidly. Ammonia combines with the flower, some common white paper, and acids, and forms salts mostly soluble in dip this, when coloured, into a solution water, and which give out the smell of of vinegar and water : it will immedi- ammonia when mixed with pure potash ately change to red. Let him then dip or lime. it into a solution of soda ; and the red will be converted into green.

One of the most important of these The

is muriate of ammonia, the same salt test generally employed by chemists for which was anciently called sal ammodetecting acids, is paper dipped in a

niac. It was obtained by burning camsolution of litmus : this is a blue vegetable extract, and forms so delicate a

els dung. test, that it will show the presence of

Sulphur, the next body in our list is one hundredth part of sulphuric acid.


brittle substance of a light yellow Ammonia is a gas of a very pungent colour, with very little taste, or, when smell, and possessing all the marks of cold, of smell. When heated, it exhales


very peculiar and suffocating fumes.- one another, but, moisture being preIt is a mineral, and is found crystalli- sent in small quantity, they form a zed. If a roll of sulphur be taken and white solid, which is instantly decomsuddenly grasped in a warm hand, it posed when put into water: the nitrous crackles, and frequently falls to pieces acid reverts to the state of nitric oxide, from its unequal expansion, as it is a having transferred one additional provery bad conductor of caloric. Sul- portion of oxygen to the sol, hurous phur in masses is got from Sicily ; in acid, and, with water, producing the rolls it is chemically obtained in Eng- sulphuric acid ; while the pillous oxland from sulphuret of copper. ide plays the same part as before. It unites with oxygen, forming two

Sulphuric acid is acrid and caustie, compounds, to the latter of which we and produces a very sour liquid. It have already not unfrequently alluded--- rapidly chars and even destroys wood, this is sulphuric acid. The first pro- metals, or animal fibres, &c. indeed, all

Its portion it unites in, forms sulphurous animal and vegetable substances. acid gas. This is formed whenever colour, when it is pure, is almost transsulphur is burned in common air. It parent, and of nearly the same subsistis obtained mure plentifully by burning ence as oil. The sulphuric acid of sulphur in a closed vessel filled with commerce, known by the name of oil oxygen : it should be collected over of vitriol, is seldom perfectly pure ;mercury, as water absorbs it very ra- lead, lime, and potash, are pot unfrepidly. Sulphurous acid gas destroys quently found in it. all colours, but when diluted with wa. The uses of sulphuric acid are variter it reddens vegetable blues. On the ous and numerous, as well in arts as in principle that this gas destroys colours, chemistry. It is an important article depends the common plan of removing commerce. The makers of many of the stain of Ink, by wetting the place the other acids, bleachers, brass-foundwith common water, and burning a ers, gilders, dyers, paper-makers, all match underneath it. The gas rises, employ it.

Some of its salts are very and is absorbed by the water, and the useful, but these we shall notice hereafter. colour is thus destroyed. This gas is Sulphur and hydrogen unite, and unrespirable, being exceedingly delete- form a singular gas, called by most rious even if largely diluted with atmos- chemists sulphuretted hydrogen. It is pheric air. It is chiefly used for whi- peculiarly fetid : is infiammable, and tening cotion goods and silks. It is deposits sulphur in burning. Water also sometimes employed to check the may be strongly impregnated with it, vinous fermentation.

and in this case it is a very delicate test We will now consider the next com

for metals, which it precipitates in difpound of oxygen and sulphur, viz. sul- ferent colours. Sulphuretted hydrogen phuric acid. It was formerly obtained is by some chemists considered as an by the distillation of green vitriol or acid,and is termed hydrosulphuric acid. sulphate of iron ; it is now procured Our next body is PHOSPHORUS. It by burning about eight parts of sulphur may be obtained by distilling concrete and one of nitre in leaden rooms con- phosphoric acid with charcoal at a red taining water, which absorbs the gas, heat; the tube of the retort in which and it is then concentrated by distilla- it is distilled should be immersed an tion. The principle of the formation inch or more in a basin of water. When of sulphuric acid by the combustion the retort becomes red hot, the phosof sulphur and nitre may be thus ex- phorus passes over and looks somewhat plained. The sulphur, by burning in like wax. In this state it is impure; contact with atmospheric air, forms but it may be purified by melting it unsulphurous acid. The nitre gives rise der hot water, and squeezing it through to the production of nitric oxide, which, chamois leather. with the oxygen of the air, gives rise to But, before we proceed, we must nitrous acid gas.

When these gases, caution the young experimentalist to (i. e. sulphurous and nitrous acids) are beware how he meddles with this danperfectly dry, they do not act upon gerous body; indeed, we would recom

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