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Oh, come, let me caress thee,
Let my fond spirit bless thee,
Thou hast been my companion all my days:
Come, dry that tearful eye,
Dispel each rising sigh;

Look to thy God for peace, and give him praise.

But burst the galling chain
Which binds thy soul in pain,
And hie thee hence to thy mysterious cell;
There let thy head recline,

Oh, let sweet peace be thine!
Sleep on for ever, sleep, then all is well.

Specimens of Swedish and German Poetry. Translated by J. E. D. Bethune.

THE Swedish poems in this volume are by Esaias Tegner, Bishop of Wexiö, in the Swedish Province of Smäland.

His great poem is Frithiof, of which it appears there have been several translations into English (at least ten), all of which the present editor pronounces to be very bad. Among the poems in this volume, that called Nattvardsbarnen (the Children of the Lord's Supper) is said to have been instrumental in promoting Tegnèr to the Bishopric of Wexiö. This had been previously translated by Professor Longfellow, U. S. in the original metre of the dactylic hexameter, which, however, with good reason, the present translator does not "Althink suited to the English ear. though excellent reasons have been given why such verses ought to please the English people, the English people obstinately refuse to be pleased with them." The editor has, however, given some specimens of a translation made in this metre, which he afterwards suppressed, and recast it all into common blank verse: it is, to our mind, as well done as the thing could be; but then in this measure the dactylic spring or jump coming suddenly at the end of every line is most displeasing, and can only be softened down by running the sense into the following line, and this also, if continued, has its defects. The translator adds that in the smaller poems translated in this volume, "I have endeavoured to imitate the character of Tegnèr's metres, which are wonderfully varied, and beautiful, though I have not been able to preserve them exactly. They abound in double and even triple rhymes, extremely difficult to imitate in English, owing to our having thrown away the

inflected endings which formerly en-
riched our language."

The poems translated are about half of those in the original volume; the selection has been in a great degree arbitrary, but most of the best are among them. The poems themselves we think are of very different degrees of merit; some possess much spirit, picturesque imagery, and fine imagination; we of course speak of them as seen through the medium of the translation, for with the original language we are not acquainted. In the first page are some lines (the original not hitherto published) written in a presentation copy of the Saga, of which we give the two concluding

stanzas.

Mysterious yearnings are the Poet's own,
For Memory's daughter is the genuine muse;
His world is that Atlantis which sank down
With all its loftier aims and nobler views.
Its woods still whisper from the ocean
[throng,
springs,-
In moonlight there its wandering spirits
A shadowy race; and on their dripping wings
They raise themselves to listen to his song.
Take then a picture of the olden time,
As Sagas paint it in the rocky North;
But, as on crumbling stones the Runic rhyme,
How dimly, faintly, is it shadow'd forth!
Far better, where yon glorious orbs are burn-

ing,

Which nightly in the vaulted sky display, While round the North the starry Bears are turning,

A heavenly prototype of Frithiof's Lay.

The first poem (an ode) is called Poesy, of which we give the first two

stanzas.

Hast thou survey'd the realms of song,
With golden fruit, in leafy shade,
Where silver waters glide along,
And sparkle in the flowery glade?
The bright, glad landscape shifting gleams

In Morning's purple-colour'd light,
And Hope's green banner gaily streams
Upon the sunny mountain's height.
Why should the poet mourn? His fire
He got from God-a heavenly loan!
Why should the thankless one desire
A happier Eden than his own?
By golden Autumn and green Spring
Are not its dales in beauty drest?
And do its nightingales not sing,

For ever warbling in his breast?

The poem of Axel is both the longest and finest composition in the volume. It commences with the following spirited lines.

The good ut time, when Charles brid sway
Oz Swedez's throne, is dear to me:
For it, ke Innocence, was gay,
Ain Berwice as V.:

In winter cupes si fantly gleaming,
The reden das gut is fest,

And my shapes, „ke sp mts seeing, — Matt be, with yellow bestWander in tw ght to and fog.

1 gase with reverence where ve go
lavour baf vests, with por demoes blades,
Ye heroes from the world of shades

One of King Charlies`s warriors troe
1 m my days of the subood & new
His aspect is the thought recal
Of trop by crambling to its fan.
The ster on his ared bead

Was a. the veteran calved scen
And scars upon his fürekend skal
As much a BIT.BAntal stube.
His poverty be utte felt,

For he had kVA SAv a day;
And his cottage home be dwelt,
As Deo tested said be lar

Twe boarded treasures he depar`d,
Pro's abete a' the wo

His Big, his oud hattieblade,

On which King Clanes's name rema :`d.
Of the great King each daning teed
Which is a kindred books we read
·For far ahmad our earie scarif
Was in the vid man's men r feed.
As warrior's Timals

Weee'er a great ex;

Of Charles and of his omna des bond,
How proud be bore his head on Yich
How fast the giting Es ere
And vg`ri is as a sword-strike rang
Each wind which for his Mi 28 spring
So through the night be eten sat,
Dischers tur of the days DE DA
And door re'd his time wore hat
Whene'er the name of Charies was told, &c.

The king's body guard is thus described.

King Charles's confidence he shar`d—
One of his trasted body-guard.

That bonour few could kipe to ga 3:
Seven, „ke the stars of Charies's W2.2,
Their

under was, z .re at most,

Like Memory's daughters—from the bust
W.'à care sevected as the best,
And tryed by many a "govus test;

By swoud Bak ke Ibu Yearts were provid
They were a Christa i?
Bayr,
As terribi as Chix \ ]0 Tv• Q
Che 278,5%
Fer size wo jany coaca they sought.—
On the Sure Care) la Taules wrap))

sver the jais. Ji've sca.

The day i Sinzīs by auta winds, beongit,
As da Deus zi tuses app'ulm

The strength of each couni wrench 'n two
The his borse's she.

Per 2012 shod where dickering play
The fires wild diale in baliquet lais;
They warm u themselves with red-bot bails,
Glowing as when the star of day

Goes to his rest in blood-red light,
And leaves the wistry world to night.
They had a law that when the for
Stosid arees to enr against them be.
With book or they might backward go,
If stil they faced the enemy.

And one dark vow was on them laid,
The hardest which their spirit bound, —
Te part their faith to no fair mard,
T.. Clanes a rora, bride had crowned.
The' eves mit beam with Heaven's own blue,
The lips might smile of rose's Lue,

The trests were bearing for their sake,
Lake swans upon a summer lake,—
They must be bled, ne turn aside:
Each warrior's faiction was his bride.

But the authe's talent is not confized to these rough and manly portraitures alone; let us hear him in his socter descriptive song.

Dream ng rpon ber Western bed.

cgue night the drowsy evening lay,

Like Egypt's priests, with peiseless tread,
The sien: stars began their day.
Earth Cleaning a the starlight pale,
Stood as a happy bim de je found.
With pearls at mg ber dark hair crown'd,
g and bushing through her veil.
Eart pro sprite in hash'd repose.
Weared with play, was sink to rest;
The sunset, ike a gorgenos rose,
Glow7d, bushing red, on evening's breast
The Leaves, close chain'd by day,
Were now set loose to try their skill;
And, where the quivering monebeams play,
With bow and arrow roam`d at wil
(Pershadowing le tighs made entrance meet
The trump of voung Spring to greet.

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The echoes of the cakwood glade ;
As food, as pare, as deep, was heard
As the sweet scies by Frases made.
Aviating viser'd -This soft bour
Is made for Love's almighty power:
The heart of Nature seem'd to thrii,
So fun at ude, and yet so stia,

We must now close our extracts with

THE NEW YEAR'S LAMENT. 1847.
Imbated from Schalt-3

A wength the aid year's coarse is run, and now
The miderer af var diye des down to die;
The bout as come a hoody hair and brow
The new year ruses in the troubled sår.

Lock recad from North to South, from East

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With bloody breast, with trailing, broken wing,

The spirit of the time sinks down again,
And, like a lonely harp's wind-shaken string,
Unheard, the friends of liberty complain.

Victorious fleets the untrodden South explore,
The frozen waters of the North infest,
All foreign lands, each yet unharrass'd shore,
All, save the hidden Islands of the Blest.

Great is the world; swarms not the grass with life?

Myriads of creatures throng the yeasty main, And yet no room on earth for aught but strife, One happy being it cannot contain.

High-hearted friend! no longer seek to shape Comfort and hope from what on earth you find,

But rather from the stormy times escape
To the safe haven of your own pure mind.

To the heart's silent monitor alone
High thoughts and principles of right belong,
The "free" is only to the poet known,
The "beautiful" is only found in song.

Whether the translator has executed his work with fidelity we cannot say, but with elegance he certainly has, and correctness of taste and language.* These poems are followed by a translation of Schiller's "Maid of Orleans." There are many things in the design and construction of the plot we do not approve, nor did we ever think the subject a good one, beyond a spirited lyric, or short poem, which might be successfully formed on it; but its defects are apparent when unfolded in the drama. The poetical additions and the deviations from history are to us equally disagreeable.

Antichrist, a Poem. By Rev. H.
Newton, A.B.

WE presume the author of this poem is a young man, and he appears to us to have some poetical talent, a command of language, and that power that endows with reality the objects it creates; but his subject is very injudiciously chosen, being one not calculated generally to interest, not admitting a variety of action or display of feeling, and being also overloaded and encumbered, we think, with a display of description and an exuberance of language. There are also many verbal and metrical errors to correct. No one is licensed to write.

*We do not well know what is meant by the poppling sea, which is a new term

to us.

"One fiery horror 'lumes the deep,' for illumes; and again, "'lumined the Heavens," p. 2; and what is the measure of the following line, p. 3?

In mantle of red cloud, through nocturnal shade.

These may be venial faults, easily seen and easily corrected, if they are not intentionally and systematically introduced; but the sentiments and thoughts are of the first consequence, and in them is much to be altered before the author can claim the honours given to a true poetical taste, founded on propriety and adherence to nature: -er. gr. Belial, as in Milton, addresses his brother demons, and part of the description is as follows:

As the infernal might [signs,— Of Belial thus harangued, he marked strange Where countless hosts inclose th' arch-fiends

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sense

In Babel entertain'd; they deem'd unfit
In him, the master of Hell's eloquence,
Descent from loftiness to flashy wit;
They look for his sublime, his style and tone
Of thunder; or like th' angel of the storm
Rising in lightning from his cloudy throne,
To stride along the trembling mountain form.
Their thoughts divined by Belial-whose con-
ceit

Deems, like expedient statesman of our days,
His efforts of mediocrity complete,
With every period ending in self-praise.
Yet th' archfiend, eloquent from time to time,
Like angel fall'n with remnant of pure taste,
Can put forth fragments of the true sublime.
By the same fiend all powers of speech debas'd,
On earth, he mounts the pulpit step; stands

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flood

In glorious martial ardour, to delight
A devil's palate with their tasted blood.
But 'tis in cabinets his talents strike
With a peculiar force and in a day
Like ours, when all religions are alike,
His powers when pleading: "Take them all in
pay:"

O'errule young England's half-corrupted youth,
Old England's hoary infidels o'errule;
When the prime interests of Belial's truth
Are urged in a pure style of Belial's school.

There are much more pleasing portions of the volume in the "Oriental Scenes," and in those the author's powers of description are displayed to advantage. The great lesson, we

think, he has to learn, is that of rejection of all superfluous images, thoughts, and words, condensation of his matter, and greater care of his versification. How much is there to condense and remove in the following lines!

Around me mountains in chaotic forms

Swell like the waves, whose crested arches chase
Each other, when in foam all ocean storms

Heaved from th' abyss and furrowing all his
deep;

These waves half-shiver'd by the blasts that

The hoary crested ocean arches sweep; [o'er
If sudden at heaven's voice the mountains hoar

Of waters, with their yawning clefts between,
Arrested in their forms of tempest wild,
Are all congealed.

Had the author chosen, he might have presented the picture he wishes to place before his readers with infinitely more freshness and force, in half the same number of lines, and without the ungraceful repetitions.

Remains of the late Rev. Henry W. Storr, A.B. Curate of All Saints, Northampton, who perished on Snowdon, Sept. 15, 1846; with a Memoir of him by his Sister, &c.

THIS is a very affecting narrative, and will be read by all with the deepest interest. The subject of it, the Rev. Mr. Storr, was an amiable and accomplished young clergyman, of whose life a very pleasing memoir is here given by his sister. He had risen by his own exertions and good conduct to the respectable situation which he filled. He was an excellent scholar, a poet, and a diligent and zealous clergyman, respected by his parishioners, and living in the bosom of his family, by whom he was beloved. His sad and melancholy fate, we think, must be still in the memory of all. In Sept. 1846, he left his curacy for a tour in Wales. On the 13th of September, the last letter received from him was dated Bangor. On the 30th his family, in alarm at his silence, hastened to Carnarvon his letters were found undemanded at the post office, his carpet bag at the inn. Instant inquiries traced him to Snowdon, where all further trace was lost. Great rewards were offered for the discovery of the body; even a pack of hounds was taken three times over the mountain, and it was computed that on one day not less than

fifteen hundred persons joined in the search—in vain. before the body was discovered, and Nine months elapsed that by accident. teresting narrative of the discovery, The awfully inwith the mysterious circumstances attending it, may be found in the Appendix. The remains were deposited in Llanberis churchyard, June 8, 1847. to the talents of the author, thus Both the sermons and poems do credit cut off "primævo flore juventæ," before the auspicious promises of his youth could be fulfilled. To the pious and affectionate hand of his sister we owe the present monument to the memory of this excellent person, and we trust that her hours of affliction have been lightened by her voluntary task of duty and love.

Biographical and Critical Notices of the British Poets of the present century. By A. D. Toovey.

A WORK like this, more extensive in its specimens and at the same time more judicious in proportioning the amount of extract to the merit and fame of the poet, would be useful and praise on the execution of this. Some acceptable, but we cannot bestow much names are scarcely claim admittance, and others introduced that could omitted of far higher claims and merit. While Mr. Alaric Watts and Miss Eliza Cook, and Lord Robertson (!!), and Peter Still are honoured with a place in the temple of the Muses, we look in vain for Aubrey de Vere, for Miss Barret, for the author of Paracelsus, for Mr. Bailey the author of Festus, for Mr. Home the author of Orion and the tragedy of the Duke of for the sweet poet of Dorsetshire Mr. Tuscany, for Walter Savage Landor, brother, for Roscoe, for Bishop Mant, Barnes, for Horace Smith and his and others. On seeing such names not understand the principles on which omitted, we must confess that we do the selection (for such it is) is made. tice of giving sixteen pages of extract Nor do we admit the propriety or juslines are given to Alfred Tennyson, to Mr. Atherstone, while only sixteen and only one of his small minor poems inserted; twenty-three pages are devoted to Byron, two to Bowles, fifteen bell, and four and a to Joanna Baillie, and fo Camp

rabbe:

one page and a half to Coleridge and five to W. Howitt! Walter Scott has seventeen pages, Southey five, while Mr. Talfourd has six, and the same number are given to the Laureate. There are other names omitted which

we have not mentioned, which ought to have appeared to give completeness to the work, as Lord Strangford, Lord John Manners, Hall, S. Smythe, &c. so let us advise the author to make wider researches in the poetical fields, and execute the next edition of his work with more care, with more discrimination, and with less partiality. Delineation of Roman Catholicism, drawn from the authentic and acknowledged standards of the Church of Rome. By C. Elliott, D.D. A new edition, corrected, with additions. by J. S. Stamp. Imp. 8vo. pp. xvi.

822.

TO this large and compendious volume we may justly give the title of Thesaurus, which used to be prefixed to the larger dictionaries. It exemplifies, or more than exemplifies, Johnson's remark, that a man will have recourse to a whole library, in order to make a single book; for the library that contains all the materials for this work must be voluminous indeed. It was originally published in America, being dated from Cincinnati, in the State of Ohio; the author had the acquaintance of more than twenty years with the contro versy; and previous to publication, the whole subject was carefully reviewed. One of his reasons for composing the work was a desire to disabuse the public mind respecting the character of Romanism. "Romanists (he observes, p. v. vi.) misrepresent their own creed, their church, and her institutions: the most forbidding features of this professedly immutable system are kept out of sight by its Jesuitical teachers, while a Protestant sense is attached to most of their doctrines and peculiarities." Concerning the mode in which it is composed, he says:

"It is believed also by some, that ministers may find this work convenient, not only for the sake of reference, but also as a source from which to collect authentic documents and proofs, by which they may be aided in meeting the arguments of their

opponents.

The constant reference to writers of eminence, and the quotations from the standards of Romanism, it is thought, will be acceptable and useful at this time, to discover the Jesuitical shape into which Popery is now moulded. The found in their creeds, catechisms, councils, system of Romanists is here delineated as papal bulls, their acknowledged theologians, the records of history," &c. (p. vii.)

Although the author modestly acknowledges that his aids were limited,

this is not a defect that would strike the reader. The praise of compendiousness, however, belongs in a great measure to the English editor. He has fully adopted the views and method of his author; the text has undergone a revision, much additional matter is introduced; and, to avoid interfering with the original, such additions are distinguished by brackets, both in the text and in the notes. As it was not

always easy to ascertain the editions of the Fathers and other writers to which the author had referred, the editor restains the translations which were given, and adds the original passages in notes. A list of these authorities is given at the end of the volume, and it makes an array of reference, formidable indeed to the indolent reader, but encouraging to the industrious one. The editor acknowledges his obligations in several quarters, both public and personal, from which his work derives an additional value, as he has had the assistance of more than one eminent controversialist.

The

We must, we fear, content ourselves with describing this volume, for reviewing it, in the ordinary sense of the word, is out of the question. Authorship is lost in the enormous mass of citations and extracts, so that, instead of a book, we have literally a library before us, condensed by the art of printing into a portable shape. editor has enriched the work with a number of passages from the different essays in Bishop Gibson's "Preservative from Popery ;" and, though that work, which has hitherto been extremely scarce, is now in a course of reprinting, still every intelligent reader well knows the use of having the required passages classed under their proper heads in another form. We might mention, as a parallel case, Pool's Synopsis, and the Critici Sacri,

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