pons of the soldiers.)

Infidel!

Thou hast mine answer,

[Calling aloud to the knights as he falls back. Knights of France!

Herman! De Foix! Du Mornay! be ye strong!

Your hour will come !

Must the old war-cry cease?

[Half raising himself, and waving the Cross

triumphantly.

For the Cross-De Chatillon !

[He dies.

(The Curtain falls.)

"THE merits of the Siege of Valencia are more of a descriptive than of a strictly dramatic kind; and abounding as it does with fine passages of narrative beauty, and with striking scenes and situations, it is not only not adapted for representation, but, on the contrary, the characters are developed by painting much more than by incident. Withal, it wants unity and entireness, and in several places is not only rhetorical but diffuse.

"From the previous writings of the same author, and until the appearance of the Vespers of Palermo, it seemed to be the prevalent opinion of critics, that the genius of Mrs Hemans was not of a dramatic cast-that it expatiated too much in the development of sentiment, too much in the luxuriancy of description, to be ever brought under the trammels essentially necessary for the success of scenic dialogue.

"The merits of the Vespers are great, and have been acknowledged to be so, not only by the highest of contemporary literary authorities, but by the still more unequivocal testimony of theatrical applause. What has been, has been,' and we wish not to detract one iota from praise so fairly earned; but we must candidly confess, that before the perusal of De Chatillon (although that poem is probably not quite in the state in which it would have been submitted to the world by its writer), we were somewhat infected with the prevailing opinion, that the most successful path of Mrs Hemans did not lead her towards the drama. Our opinion on this subject is,

however, now much altered; and we hesitate not to say, after minutely considering the characters of Rainier-so skilfully acted on, now by fraternal love, and now by public duty and of Aymer and Moraima, placed in situations where inclination is opposed to principle-that, by the culti vation of this species of composition, had health and prolonged years been the fate of the author of De Chatillon, that tragedy, noble as it is, which must now be placed at the head of her dramatic efforts, would in all probability have been even surpassed in excellence by ulterior efforts.

"Mrs Hemans had at length struck the proper keys. It is quite evident that she had succeeded in imbibing new and more severe ideas of this class of compositions. She had passed from the narrative into what has been conventionally termed the dramatic poem-from the Historic Scenes, to Sebastian and the Siege of Valencia; but the Vespers of Palermo and De Chatillon can alone be said to be her legitimate dramas.

"The last, however, must be ranked first by many degrees of comparison. Without stripping her language of that richness and poetic beauty so characteristic of her genius, or condescending in a single passage to the mean baldness, so commonly mistaken by many modern writers for the stage as essentially necessary to the truth of dialogue, she has, in this attempt, preserved adherence to reality amid scenes allied with romance - brevity, and effect in situations strongly alluring to amplification; and in her delineation of some of the strongest, as well as the finest emotions of the heart, there is exhibited a knowledge of nature's workings, at once minute, faithful, and affecting."-MS. Critique by ▲.

MISCELLANEOUS PIECES.

I GO, SWEET FRIENDS!

I GO, sweet friends! yet think of me

When spring's young voice awakes the flowers;

For we have wander'd far and free

In those bright hours, the violet's hours.

I go; but when you pause to hear

From distant hills the Sabbath-bell On summer-winds float silvery clear, Think on me then-I loved it well!

Forget me not around your hearth,

When cheerly smiles the ruddy blaze;
For dear hath been its evening mirth
To me, sweet friends, in other days.

And oh when music's voice is heard
To melt in strains of parting woe,
When hearts to love and grief are stirr'd,
Think of me then! I go, I go!

ANGEL VISITS.

"No more of talk where God or angel guest,
With man, as with his friend, familiar used
To sit indulgent, and with him partake
Rural repast."

MILTON.

ARE ye for ever to your skies departed?

Oh! will ye visit this dim world no more?
Ye, whose bright wings a solemn splendour darted
Through Eden's fresh and flowering shades of yore?
Now are the fountains dried on that sweet spot,
And ye-our faded earth beholds you not!

Yet, by your shining eyes not all forsaken,
Man wander'd from his Paradise away;
Ye, from forgetfulness his heart to waken,
Came down, high guests! in many a later day,
And with the patriarchs, under vine or oak,
Midst noontide calm or hush of evening, spoke.

From you, the veil of midnight darkness rending, Came the rich mysteries to the sleeper's eye, That saw your hosts ascending and descending

On those bright steps between the earth and sky: Trembling he woke, and bowed o'er glory's trace, And worshipp'd awe-struck, in that fearful place.

By Chebar's brook ye pass'd, such radiance wearing
As mortal vision might but ill endure ;
Along the stream the living chariot bearing,
With its high crystal arch, intensely pure;

* Ezekiel, chap. x.