I see them now, those forms of light,
Beaming in beauty upon my sight;
I hear it yet, that soothing song,
Wafting its sweetness the air along.

She sung of Memory-and the hour
Gave emblem of her magic power;
For, oh! as bright as yon glowing sky,
And dearer by far to the soul's sad eye,

Are the visions of prized and parted joys,
As thou wak'st them, enchantress Memory.

She sung of Hope-that sister twin,
With brighter eye and gayer mien,

And the sun's last beam, as it faded away,

To kindle again the dawning day;

Oh! it seemed as if meant for type and pledge, Sweet Hope! of thy new and cheering ray.

She sung of Love-and nature all
Proclaimed the hour Love's festival,

That hour of hours which awakens the sigh,
And starts the tear in the maiden's eye,

As she thinks how with him who is far away,
She has looked in her love on that western sky.

She sung of Home-and the tearful eye
Turned to its better home on high,
And deemed that line of golden light,

Which poured its glories on the sight,

Was a beam from that world, whose cloudless day No sin can stain, no death can blight.

Such, as that glowing western sky
Beamed in its beauty upon mine eye,
Such as that melting music broke

On my charmed ear, the thoughts it woke,
Till it seemed, as we sat on that verdant hill,

That each discordant note was still,

And all attuned, around, above,

To Hope and Memory, Home and Love.

*

Oh! there are hours which well repay
The sleepless night, the painful day,
And moments in whose light appears
The gathered gleams of countless years,
And these were of them. Time may roll
Its darkling shadows o'er my soul:
One ray shall gleam, one charm remain;
That glowing west-thy soothing strain.

DIGAMMA.

ON SEEING A CHILD

KNEELING UPON HIS MOTHER'S GRAVE IN TEARS, WHILE HIS PLAY-FELLOWS

WERE SPORTING AMONG THE MONUMENTS OF THE DEAD.

"O soft are the breezes that play round the tomb,

And sweet with the violet's wafted perfume,

With lilies and jessamine fair."

Bowring's Russian Poets.

CHILD! dost thou mourn o'er the narrow bed

Of a mother, laid to rest?

Hark! 't is the voice of the dear one dead;

"Sweet are the tears by affection shed,

Green be the grave-turf drest.

"Come at the hour when the night-dews weep,
Come with the breaking light,

Come at the hour when the moonbeams sleep,
Come when the winds of autumn sweep

O'er the chords of the solemn night.

*The gentle reader will thank me for recalling to his mind a beautiful passage in our gifted Halleck's fairy creature of the elements," his charming "Fanny." Is there not an allusion also to something, je ne sçais quoi, of Moore's?

"Here is the field where the mighty lie,

In the pride of glory bowed;

And deep is the breath of the mourner's sigh,
And dimmed is the light of beauty's eye,
At thought of the chilly shroud.

"The lovely, too, with the crested worm
Here in silence rests her now;
Gone is the grace of her angel-form,
Gone-like the gleam of the lightning-storm,
The fire of her passioned brow."

Why, 'mid the tears of the green grave's flowers,
Is the voice of the trifler gay?

Ah! it is youth in his festive hours,

Like fawns in the shade of spring's gay bowers, On the turf of the dead at play!

Youth! from the tomb hear the spirit's moan, Like the zephyr-tones of even :— "Leave me, leave me, ye triflers, alone, "Till the mourner kneels at the sculptured stone, And reads of the bliss of Heaven."

Life, in its morn, hath a joy-lit eye,

And gay are its bright wreaths spread; When the infant of days and the hoary die, A tear 's at their hearse and a pitying sigh

But mirth o'er the buried dead!

New Haven, January, 1826,

C.

CRITICAL NOTICES.

The Young Rifleman's Comrade; a Narrative of his Military Adventures, Captivity, and Shipwreck. Philadelphia. Carey & Lea. 1827. 12mo. pp. 308. THOSE who found entertainment in the "Adventures of a Young Rifleman," and of a "French Sergeant," will be pleased with this volume. It purports to be the narrative of a private soldier, who served first in the armies of France under Bonaparte, and afterwards in those of England. In regard to the truth of the events related, it is probably much on a level with its predecessors, having, like them, a strong appearance of probability, and being, it is likely, in the main a statement of facts; though the fitting up is undoubtedly by a more skilful hand than that of the pretended narrator. This book is amusing, as much so, we should think, as the "Young Rifleman," though inferior to the "Adventures of a French Sergeant." The author began his military life among the French troops which entered Spain in 1807, ostensibly to protect the country from the English, but in fact to secure it for Bonaparte. He gives an interesting account of the disgust with which they were received by their protegés, and of the bloody strife which it soon kindled. In the course of the struggle our hero was taken prisoner, and transported, after much suffering from close confinement, to the island of Cabrera. He gives a brief description of the situation of the prisoners there, so well set forth in the "Adventures of a French Sergeant." After remaining here three years, the wish for freedom induces him to enter the English service, and he sails with a detachment for Sicily. As a specimen of his manner, we extract a part of his remarks on that country, which, however, so far as they relate to the inhabitants, are not to be received without considerable allowance.

66

Sicily, in truth, is one of the few countries which may be called rich, even to superfluity, in the various necessaries and luxuries of human life. Every fruit of the earth is produced in abundance: oranges, figs, carobs, Indian figs; all sorts of vegetables; wines of the most agreeable strength and flavor;-the whole are to be had without requiring the aid of much tillage of the ground, which, if it be but slightly cultivated, returns with tenfold interest the seeds entrusted to its bosom. To counterbalance this prodigality of nature, however, the inhabitants of the country are extremely indolent, using no exertion to make the most of its indigenous advantages. For

the last century no improvement whatever has been made in the manners or genius of the natives of Sicily; the same ploughing utensils, the same carts, the same vestments, all continue, and will still continue, at least so long as the government shall remain in its state of reprehensible supineness. I have several times inquired of young, active-looking boys, begging about the streets, for what reason they did not endeavour to get work? to which the universal reply was, 'We don't want it; we receive our dinner at the convent of San Dominico, and make provision for other wants as chance directs;' that is to say, they unite the praiseworthy occupations of begging and stealing. The dolce far niente ('the sweet trade of doing nothing') is, in fact, highly popular among all classes of the people; and the come sta which salutes your ears at every moment, should be taken literally, as to stand still seems the most delightful enjoyment of a Sicilian's existence. You may constantly see a number of persons sauntering about the livelong day, in order to offer articles for sale which scarcely amount to the value of two or three farthings, their principal object being to overreach you by every means in their power.' pp. 124-126.

From Sicily he went to Naples. The following ludicrous incident occurred during the voyage.

"On board our ship was an ape, the property of the captain; and by the curious tricks of this animal we were greatly amused. An old gentleman of Naples was likewise on board, in the character of a passenger; he wore a perruque, and the ape had for a long time cast wistful glances thereon; his intentions were obviously to abstract it, but they were foiled by the watchful diligence of the proprietor. One day, however, when we had just passed the Stromboli, and every one's attention was absorbed by the view of Etna, which lay before us, the mischievous monkey took advantage of our reveries to spring upon the Neapolitan, to seize the unfornate wig, and to bound, before any one could intercept him, up to the cross-stay of the middle-mast. The lamentations of the bereaved old gentleman, whose bald pate was thus left unprotected, excited, on the one hand, our universal commiseration; but, on the other, when we looked up at the ape, who had put on the perruque the wrong side foremost, we burst into involuntary shouts of laughter, which after a while infected the good-natured loser himself.

"It was quite impossible to catch the thief, who climbed successively to the very highest point of the mast, making so many grimaces that we were fairly compelled to hold our sides. In the evening he descended, bearing with extreme carefulness the stolen perruque under his arm, and hastening to his crib, which was situated under the step of the cabin, where we secured him, and rescued the wig, which we restored to its disconcerted owner." pp. 161, 162.