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THE PHILTRE.

"Karolus magnus perdite amavit mulierculam quamdam, summa cum indignatione suorum," etc. Petrarc. Epistol. I. 5.

BARBARIC Gold, adorn'd with many a Redoubling passions in his bosom strive,

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He strives, he weeps, he prays, but still he loves;

Not holy vows, at sainted fanes address'd, Can chase the dear idea from his breast; Still at her feet the suppliant victor kneels,

Still her proud heart unceasing triumph feels;

His amorous plaints in mournful accents pour,

To her, his life, his love, his Ellenore.

'Tis noon of night; the armed host reclines,

And darkness hovers o'er the slumbering lines,

Save where a cresset-lamp, in yon alcove, Streams its dim ray, the watch-fire light of love.

On gilded couch, beneath that silken shade,

In death's pale ensigns clad, a form is laid; Chill on her front the clammy dews are shed,

And the dark angel floats around her head.

Beside that couch, partaker in her pain, An ermin'd hero weeps and prays in

vain.

'Tis o'er! the pageant fades before mine eyes,

'Tis Charles that kneels, 'tis Ellenore that dies.

Adoring, dead, the form he lov'd alive; And starry robes the senseless limbs enfold,

Wreath'd in fair garlands, shrin'd in massive gold;

And rich perfumes their orient odours Hling

O'er sparkling gems, and chaplets of the spring;

And choicest viands, placed with pious care,

To tempt the silent dead, are offer'd there.

Yes, lady, there is one before thy shrine Whose heart still beats in unison with thine,

Who, morn, and noon, and night, on bended knee,

In deep despair, still mourns and prays for thee!

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And is her death by pitying Heav'n de. Receiv'd the gem-like waters as they fell; sign'd

To root the fatal passion from his mind? Ah, no! beside the haggard corse he lies, Despair and frenzy blazing in his eyes, VOL. XV.

And many a trailing plant of brightest green

Stretch'd its young tendrils o'er the solemn scene.

3 F

Day-light departs! the evening sun bath set,

But here his roseate tints are lingering
yet,

As if he lov'd to gild the sacred cell,
And leave the guilty world in gloom to
dwell.

A palmer lies before the altar grey,
Where fall the last beams of departing
day.

'Tis done! 'tis granted! Heav'n hath heard his vow,

His old eye beams with holy triumph now,

For on his ear these mystic words had rung,

"'Tis magic's work, 'tis hid beneath the tongue."

Clad in that humble garb the Pontiff lay, Who rul'd adoring kings with sceptred sway,

"Whose nod alone to dust and shame hath hurl'd

Fair shines the orient rays on hall and tow'r,

O'er many a chequer'd lawn and green. wood bow'r ;

And thousand warblers, on the bloomy

spray,

Sing to their God their morning roundelay; To the light breeze the silvery poplars sigh,

And all is spring, and joy, and revelry.
Such is the morn whose rising beams are
shed

To hail the monarch rising from the dead.
Alas! his bosom is not free from care,
For tyrant, tyrant Love is lingering there!
His bleeding heart with envious flames

accurst

A second passion, stronger than the first-
Speak not the tale, and give it not a name,
The Pope, the holy Pope inspir'd that
flame!

Half spoke, half told, but rising shame
repress'd,

The proudest necks, the primate of the And tears and blushes strove to say the world!

Down, down the steep, and o'er the

woody waste,

His feeble limbs all tottering in his baste;

But Heav'n hath mercy on his sacred age,

And nerves him for the weary pilgrimage.

'Tis found! the pontiff's trembling fin-
gers hold

The fatal signet-ring of fairy gold,-
'Tis found! the monarch's passions now
revers'd,

Abhor the corse they almost worshipp'd
*erst;

Torn from the golden shrine, the hated form

Rots in the sun, and fosters in the storm!

rest.

Silent the Pontiff stood, nor deign'd to

speak,

Amazement mantling on his awful cheek; But one faint flush, and transient was the glow,

For tears of sympathy began to flow.
With trembling hand, and lifted eye, he
threw

The fated gem upon the liquid blue
Of that smooth lake. The magic circlet
sank,

The waters shudder'd as they reach'd the
bank.

It sank, but still its influence faded not, The monarch linger'd near the haunted spot,

And liv'd and died upon the fatal shore, Where she, his love, had liv'd and died of yore".

W. W.

The following is a recipe for making one of these love-rings, very gravely given in a book printed at Lyons in 1729:-"Ayez une bague d'or garnie d'un petit diamant qui n'ait point eté portée depuis qu'elle est sortie des mains de l'ouvrier, envelopez-la d'un petit morceau d'etoffe de soye, et la portez durant neuf jours et neuf nuits, entre chemise et chair, á l'opposition de votre cœur. Le neuvieme jour avant soleil levé vous graverez avec un poinçon neuf en dedans la bague le mot SCHEVA Puis tâcherez par quelque moien d'avoir trois cheveux de la personne dont vous voulez être aimé, et vous les accouplerez avec trois des votres, en disant O corps puisses-tu m'aimer et que ton dessein réüssisse aussi ardament que le mien, par la vertu efficace de SCHEVA. Il faudra nouer ces cheveux en lacs d'amour, en sorte que la bague soit à peu pres enlacée dans le milieu du lacs, et l'aiant envelopé dans l'etoffe de soye vous l'apporterez sur votre coeur autre six jours, et le septieme jour vous degagerez la bague au lacs d'amour, et ferez en sorte de la faire recevoir a la personne aimée, toute cette operation se doit faire avant le soleil levé et à jour."

ORIGINAL EDITION OF JOHNSON'S LIFE OF SAVAGE.

THE Life of the unfortunate Richard Savage, written by Doctor Johnson, is universally esteemed to be our great lexicographer's finest piece of biography; and some of the Doctor's more ardent admirers even venture to assert it the most perfect model we possess of biographical excellence.

However, it is not the present writer's intention to discuss or illustrate the merits of that interesting and instructive performance. Indeed it is far too well known and appreciated, to render any such disquisition, at this time of day, acceptable to the generality of readers.

The sole object of this paper, therefore, will be to exhibit the original, or first, edition of Johnson's Life of Savage to the notice of our readers. That edition is by no means generally known; and though, of course, not very antique, is still interesting to persons at all curious in literary history. It is, indeed, remarkable how soon first editions of works disappear, and become, in a manner, extinct, either from their being, in many cases, thrown aside on the publication of handsomer, and, it may be, amended editions, or from their becoming lost (particularly when small works) amidst the lumber of libraries, when the collected works of deceased authors supersede them on the shelves. Perhaps, however, one cause of the seeming disappearance of first editions of old and elderly works (if I may so express myself) is to be ascribed to the number of copies printed for them being generally limited.

At all events, (whatever may be said of many first editions,) that of Johnson's Life of Savage is very little known, and some of our readers may, perhaps, be gratified by a notice of it.

The "Life of Savage," which is now generally read as one amongst "The Lives of the most eminent English Poets," (the author's most popular work,) was written many years before the publication of that celebrated series of Biographies. The engagement with the booksellers for writing "The Lives of the Poets" was made in the year 1777, when

the "Life of Savage" had already been thirty-three years before the public. It was published in 1744, anonymously, as a separate work, the author having previously announced his intention of writing it in the "Gentleman's Magazine" for August 1743. The following is a copy of the title: "An Account of the Life of Mr Richard Savage, Son of the Earl Rivers. London: printed for J. Roberts, in Warwick-Lane. MDCCXLIV." In the space which is generally occupied by the author's name, there is a very indifferent and common-place engraving of flowers.

The book is printed in duodecimo, (pp. 180,) the type pretty good, but the paper seemingly coarse. Let us, however, proceed to the internals.

In the first place, it may be remarked, that the pages are, to a modern eye, excessively crowded with capitals, but not without system; for all substantives are printed with capital initial letters, according to the old custom. Some few words, here and there, are also spelt otherwise than we now spell them; for instance, gaoler, implicite, persued, &c. We will extract a paragraph, as an exemplification of the two preceding remarks.

(Page 158.) "To complete his Misery, he was persued by the Officers for small Debts which he had contracted; and was, therefore, obliged to withdraw from the small Number of Friends from whom he had still Reason to hope for Favours. His Custom was to lye in Bed the greatest Part of the Day, and to go out in the Dark with the utmost Privacy, and after having paid his Visit, return again before Morning to his Lodging, which was in the Garret of an obscure Inn."

The text of the original edition (with the exception of some poetical extracts, hereafter pointed out) seems to be precisely the same as that in those commonly read; but the notes are more full and frequent in the first, and in them are introduced many pieces of Savage's poetry, afterwards omitted.

In a note at page 27 are inserted the "affecting lines" published originally by Mr Hill in the Plain

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Dealer; which," says Doctor John- Savage's excellent friend, Mr Hill, son, "he asserts to have been writ- by the foregoing poetical statement, ten by Mr Savage upon the treat- encouraged (as is known) a subscripment received by him from his mo- tion to a Miscellany of Poems for his ther, but of which he was himself benefit. "To this Miscellany," says the author, as Mr Savage afterwards Johnson," he (Savage) wrote a predeclared." We transcribe the lines face, in which he gives an account of in question for the reader's perusal: his mother's cruelty in a very uncommon strain of humour, and with a gaiety of imagination which the produced." This " preface" is somesuccess of his subscription probably what long, but parts of it are very amusing; and we will not withhold from the reader, in this place, a morgeau which Johnson has so highly commended. It is as follows: "Crudelis mater magis, an puer improbus ille ?

Hopeless, abandon'd, aimless, and op. press'd,

Lost to delight, and every way distress'd; Cross his cold bed, in wild disorder thrown, Thus sighed Alexis, friendless and alone : "Why do I breathe ?-What joy can being give,

When she who gave me life forgets I

live

Feels not these wintry blasts, nor heeds my smart,

But shuts me from the shelter of her heart

Saw me expos'd to want, to shame, to scorn,

To ills, which make it misery to be born

Cast me, regardless, on the world's bleak wild,

And bade me be a wretch, while yet a child?

"Where can he hope for pity, peace, or rest,

Who moves no softness in a mother's
breast?

Custom, law, reason, all, my cause forsake,
And Nature sleeps, to keep my woes

awake!

Crime, which the cruel scarce believe can be,

The kind are guilty of, to ruin me.

"Improbus ille puer, crudelis tu quoque mater."-Virg.

"My readers, I am afraid, when they observe Richard Savage joined so close and so constantly to son of the late Earl Rivers, will impute to a ridiculous vanity what is the effect of an unhappy necessity, which my hard fortune has thrown me under. I am to be pardoned for adhering a little tenaciously to my father, because my mother will allow me to be nobody, and has almost reduced me, among heavier afflictions, to that uncommon kind of want which the Indians of America complained of at our first settling among them, when they came to beg names of the En

E'en she who bore me blasts me with her glish, because (said they) we are poor

hate,

And meant my fortune, makes herself my fute.

men of ourselves, and have none we can lay claim to.

"The good nature of those to whom I have not the honour to be

"Yet has this sweet neglecter of my known, would forgive me the ludi

woes

The softest, tend'rest breast, that Pity knows!

Her eyes shed mercy wheresoe'er they shine,

And her soul melts at every woe-but

mine.

crous turn of this beginning, if they knew but how little reason I have to be merry. It was my misfortune to be son of the above-mentioned Earl, by the late Countess of Macclesfield, (now widow of Colonel Henry Bret,) whose divorce, on occasion of the amour which I was a consequence of, has left something on record, which I take to be very remarkable; and And wash'd me from the memory of her in their temporal decisions, act with it is this: certain of our great Judges,

Sure, then, some secret fate, for guilt unwill'd,

Some sentence pre-ordain'd to be fulfill'd, Plung'd me, thus deep, in sorrow's searching flood,

blood.

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a spiritual regard to Heretical Divinity, and, in particular, to the Ten Commandments, two of which seem, in my case, to have influenced their opinions. Thou shalt not commit adultery pointed fullest on my mother; but as to the Lord's visiting the sins

of the futhers upon the children, it was considered as what could regard me only; and in that reason, I suppose, it had been inconsistent with the rules of sanctity to assign provision, out of my mother's returned estate, for support of an infant sinner. "Thus, while legally the son of one Earl, and naturally of another, I am nominally nobody's son at all; for the lady having given me too much father, thought it but an equivalent deduction to leave me no mother, by way of balance; so I am sported into the world, a kind of shuttlecock between Law and Nature. If Law had not beaten me back, by the stroke of an Act, on purpose, I had not been above wit, by the privilege of a man of quality; nay, I might have preserved into the bargain, the lives of Duke Hamilton and Lord Mohun, whose dispute arose from the estate of that Earl of Macclesfield, whom (but for the mentioned Act) I must have called father; and if Nature had not struck me off with a stronger blow than Law did, the other Earl, who was most emphatically my father, could never have been told I was dead, when he was about to enable me, by his will, to have lived to some purpose. An unaccountable severity of a mother, whom I was then not old enough to have deserved it from, and by which I am a single unhappy instance among that Nobleman's natural children, and thrown friendless on the world, without means of supporting myself, and without authority to apply to those whose duty I know it is to support me.

"Thus, however ill qualified I am to live by my wits, I have the best plea in the world for attempting it, since it is too apparent that I was born to it. Having wearied my judgment with fruitless endeavours to be happy, I gave the reins to my fancy, that I might learn, at least, to be easy."

The author proceeds-" But I cease to speak of myself, that I may say something of my Miscellany;" and accordingly he here enters into some particulars relative to that work, which it is needless to transcribe. We take up the three concluding paragraphs of the preface:

"To return to the lady, my mother. Had the celebrated Mr Locke

been acquainted with her example, it had certainly appeared in his Chapter against innate practical principles, because it would have completed his instances of enormities; some of which, though not exactly in the order that he mentions them, are as follow: Have there not been (says he) whole nations, and those of the most civilized people, amongst whom the exposing their children to perish by want, or wild beasts, has been a practice as little condemned or scrupled as the begetting them? Were I'inclinable to be serious, I could easily prove that I have not been more gently dealt with by Mrs Bret: but if this is any way foreign to my case, I shall find a nearer example in the whimsical one that ensues.

"It is familiar (says the aforecited author) among the Mengrelians, a people professing Christianity, to bury their children alive, without scruple. There are indeed sundry sects of Christians, and I have often wondered which could be my mamma's; but now I find she piously professes and practises Christianity after the manner of the Mengrelians. She industriously obscured me, when my fortune depended on my being known, and, in that sense, she may be said to have buried me alive; and sure, like a Mengrelian, she must have committed the action without scruple, for she is a woman of spirit, and can see the consequence without remorse. The Caribbees (continues my author) were wont to castrate their children, in order to fat and eat them. Here, indeed, I can draw no parallel; for, to speak justice of the lady, she never contributed ought to have me pampered, but always promoted my being starved: nor did she, even in my infancy, betray fondness enough to be suspected of a design to devour me; but, on the contrary, not enduring me ever to approach her, offered a bribe to have me shipped off, in an odd manner, to one of the plantations. When I was about fifteen, her affection began to awake, and, had I but known my interest, I had been handsomely provided for. In short, I was solicited to be bound apprentice to a very honest and respectable occupation-a shoemaker, an offer which I undutifully rejected. I was, in

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