A TASTE for Poetry, when it has

been improved to the extent to which it has arrived in England, very much resembles the gradual expansion of self-love in the generous heart. It is not contented to have all it's enjoyments spring and decay within itself; but spreads it's affections by degrees around, from friends to strangers, and from strangers to the whole world.

"Self-love but serves the virtuous mind to wake,

As the small pebble stirs the peaceful lake; The centre moved, a circle straight succeeds,

Another still, and still another spreads: Friend, parent, neighbour, first it will embrace,

It's country next, and next,-all human

race."

It is through the operation of such a feeling, that we are so delighted with the enquiry after the progress of Poesy in other nations; and the consequence ultimately is, that their works become almost as familiar and dear to us as our own. The Melodies of Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, were the first steps which we made around our own centre; but our next advance was to a much greater distance, since the beautiful translations and Paraphrases of Sir William Jones induced a taste for the sublime imagery and tender strains of the Oriental Poets, whose sway in this country never has, and probably never will be, shaken. The Classic Bards of the Greeks and Romans had long been our own; and England was not insensible to the towering beauties displayed in the Prophecies and Sacred Poems of the

Of the

Hebrews. But all this time we were but little acquainted with the lyrical productions of Europe, unless by an occasional translation in the volumes of some voyager, or by the faint reflection of their character in an English imitation. The present century, however, has abundantly supplied that defect; since an ample tribute from the poetical treasures of Spain, Russia, Sweden, Norway, and other countries, has been poured into the literary stores of Britain. European nations, few have ranked higher in poetical fecundity, talent, and invention, than that of Germany; while, at the same time, only a few poems and tales from some of it's most celebrated authors were known in England: and it is singular, that while the Messiah, Lenore, the Death of Abel, and Werter, were read and admired, no more interest should have been excited about the other works of the same writers, or the other poets of the same country.

The Volume now under consideration is intended to introduce some of the less-known pieces of all these eminent men, together with those of some others of equal fame in Germany, but with whose names Englishmen are almost wholly unacquainted. The plan and history of the Work will be best seen from the annexed copy of the Advertisement.

"The chief portion of the following Translations was published at Berlin, about twenty years ago, in a Musical Work, comprising some of the best German Melodies. The words to those Melodies were from the pen of an English gentleman of the name of Beresford, who

was long resident in Germany: they met with so favourable a reception, that the same Publisher was afterwards induced to print them without the music, in two vols. 12mo. accompanied by the original text in opposite columns. The great popu larity which these Translations obtained abroad, their scarcity, and the unques tionable merit they possess, are the motives which gave rise to the present reprint of them, without the German contest, an unnecessary appendage to a Publication designed for English readers. A few more Poems, translated from the same language, by Mr. Mellish, late British Consul at Hamburg, have likewise been added. To render this little Volume complete, the Publishers prevailed upon a gentleman, a German by birth, of great taste and knowledge of his native literature, to furnish Biographical Sketches of most of the eminent Writers from whose Works the Selection was made. These Sketches are partly original, partly derived from sources of difficult access, and from the information of persons of the highest authority on such subjects."

The Volume itself contains seventythree poetical pieces, and twenty biographical notices, which include the interesting names of Bürger, Claudius, Von Goethe, Hölty, Klopstock, Von Kotzebue, Von Schiller, Schubart, Stolberg, Voss, and Weisze. As these names have already a powerful interest with the public, we shall select our specimens chiefly from them, not doubting but that they will excite sufficient desire to search into the merits of those German Poets who are considerably less known. Our first extract shall be from the masterly Goethe, only remarking, that the subject is quite a German Romance, and that it is headed by a delicate wood-cut.

"THE FISHER,

In gurgling eddies roll'd the tide,
The wily angler sat;
It's verdant, willow'd bank beside,
And spread the treach'rous bait.
Reclined he sat in careless mood,
The floating quill he eyed ;-
When, rising from the op'ning flood,
A humid maid he spied.

She sweetly sang, she sweetly said,
As gazed the wond'ring swain;
Why thus with murd'rous arts invade
My placid, harmless reign?

Ah, didst thou know, how blest, how free,
The finny myriads stray,
Thou'dst long to dive the limpid sea,
And live as blest as they.

We'll drink, and we'll love, and we'll laugh away care,

were!"

Independent of the above, did our space allow, we should be happy to give copies of many other beautiful poems contained in this Volume; as, for instance, Bürger's verses beginning,

"How in the charms of countless loves," in which there is such a beautiful display of pious, tender, and delicate sentiment, that it almost shakes our faith in Schlegel's remark on this poet; namely, that "his feelings are more honest and candid, than tender and delicate:" but had he often written thus, such negative praise could never have been awarded to him. Of

a different character is the next poem, entitled "Love's Witchcraft;" but the sweet playfulness of it deserves equal commendation. The translation of Leonora is probably the worst in the Volume; at least it must sound unmusical to English ears, after the delightful version of Spencer. There is a vulgarity, not only in some of the expressions, but also in the construction of the verse itself, which renders it wholly unfit for comparison, either with the translation already mentioned, or the imitation of the tale by Sir Walter Scott. An extract from the poem will, however, give the best idea of it's

nature.

"From sickly dream, sad Leonor'

Upstarts at morning's ray: 'Art faithless, William?-or no more? How long wilt bide away?' He march'd in Fred rick's warlike train, And fought on Prague's ensanguin'd plain;

Yet no kind tidings tell,
If William speeds him well."

Although to fail in the translation of a poem so widely celebrated as Bürger's Leonora be a great defect, yet there are in this Volume sufficient of redeeming beauties to cover a fault much more considerable. The song by Burmann, on page 22, beginning, "Oh gentle be thy slumbers,” is exquisitely tender and pathetic; but the verses entitled "Death'sCradle Song,' by C. L. F. Sander, page 77, have a wild feeling about them that is perfectly in character with their subject, and that is absolutely beautiful. Under Schiller also, at page 87, is a grand rushing poem called a Canadian Death Song," that is fully worthy of his great name. Indeed the principal fault of the translator seems to be too great a negligence in the choice of words, as if he were totally indifferent to the dignity of poetry, and frequently used expressions which not only debased his verse, but were in fact bordering upon the vulgar. Now, though simplicity be a principal feature in poetry, yet it should be remembered that it must be an elegant simplicity, that admits of nothing which is "common nor unclean;" that avoids only pedantic and unnatural epithets, but still seleets words that are at once chaste, delicate, unsophisticated, and appropriate. Although the chief characteristic of this work be the poetry, yet we cannot pass over the Biographical Sketches of the various Authors without praise. Though short, they are in general full of facts; and where any criticism be added, it is the criticism of one who fully understands his subject, while the language is plain and perspicuous. We give one

extract.

"FRIEDRICH MATTHISON was born in 1761, at Holendadeleben, near Mag

Italy, a Poem. Part the First. I the mighty mass of countless il's that ttends the march of ambition, Usurpatin and war Las laid one of

deburg. He was educated at Klosterberge, and afterwards studied divinity at the University of Halle. We find him next a teacher in an institution at Dessau, but that situation he quitted to become private tutor to some young Livonians, with whom he remained some time at Heidelburg, and subsequently he accompanied them in their travels. In the year 1794, the title of Aulic Counsellor was conferred upon Matthison, by the Prince of Hesse Homberg; and, in 1801, he was made a Counsellor of Legation, by the Margrave of Baden. Since 1794, he has been retained by the Princess of Anhalt Dessau, in the capacity of leeturer and attendant on her travels with that illustrious personage he visited, in 1795-6, Rome and Naples, and, in 1799-1801, the Tyrol and Switzerland. His ordinary place of abode is Wörlitz, near Dessau.

"Matthison, by his extraordinary talent for lyric poetry, has attained such deserved celebrity, that he has long since been ranked among the most popular Poets of Germany. He is the German Gray. His strains possess a degree of grace and wildness, which is not often to be met with in the poetical compositions of his countrymen. His language is remarkably correct, and his fictions bear the impress of Truth and Nature. That elegance and polish which characterize his poems, are equally visible in his prose writings. His poetical works are published in one small volume, aud those in prose, consisting principally of his 6 Erinnerungen,' in 4 vols. 8vo. Matthison was the editor of the

Lyrische Anthologie,' a selection of pieces by the German Poets from the earliest period. This work would have had a claim to be styled classical, if Matthison had not taken the unwarrantpunging, essential passages in almost able liberty of altering, and even exevery poem."

To the above copious account of this very pleasing little Volume, we have to add only, that it is ornamented by twelve engravings, some of which were from the last designs of the late J. Thurston; and which are finely cut in wood by Messrs. Branston, Hughes, White, &c. In fine, it is a beautiful addition to our poctical library, and an excellent specimen of the Lyric Poetry of the Germans. R.

London, 1822, 12mo. pp. 164. the fairest portions of creation waste; and if she that was once the mistress of the world, unequalled in arts, and

unconquered in arms; she, that was the chief of empires and the cradle of the Muses; if she,—fair Italy,—is now as it were but the shadow, and the impalpable and colourless phantom of her vanished grandeur and colossal greatness: yet" Italy" is still the Poet's song, and the Traveller's wonder; and the remnants and recollections of her early magnificence form the theme and the feast for both the one and the other. What if the Foeman's hate, and the greater spoiler Time, have pressed heavy on her people and her liberties? What if her name of power, and her palaces, and her pillars, and her temples, and the wonders of Men's hands, are shattered, mutilated, decaying, and laid low? What though the wrecks" alone of "former pride" remain, and the once proud native dwindles into almost less than man, and "bloodless pomp and pasteboard triumphs" satisfy her people?-yet still

"Far to the right where Apennine ascends,

Bright as the Summer, Italy extends; It's uplands sloping deck the mountain's side,

Woods over woods in gay theatric pride; While oft some temple's mouldering tops between

We have been enticed into these observations from the perusal of the litle volume whose title heads our present article; and which is rather an elegant and not ineffective attempt to describe the scenery and some of the wonders of that still interesting country which gives the work it's title. It has been pretty generally, as well as positively, ascribed to the authorship of Mr. Southey, though, truth to tell, we are ourselves extremely sceptical as to the truth of this; for we can scarcely conceive the Poet Laureate to have the slightest reason, even if he could borrow the Lydian's ring of invisibility, for concealment, and we are positive he need not now be

ashamed of the labours of his pen. Genius, and a mens ardens et divinior," have placed him far above the common herd of ordinary beings, and he ** may laugh to scorn "the threats of foolish men" with as much equanimity and ease as he has given Lord. Byron, and the whole race of poets who compose the Satanic School, the recent castigation we shall all remember, and from the effects of which they will not easily recover. We think, too, that had the author of "The last of the Goths" wished to have convinced the doubting world, that he as well as the absentee and self exiled Lord of poetic and sceptical notoriety, could write upon Italy, and could bend the bow of Ulysses with his Lordship, that he would not have buckled on an unknown coat of mail, but would have, placed the laurelled crest of desert upon his casque, and with the red cross device upon his shield, would have stood manfully forward for “God and the right." Neither are we sure that the triteness and prettiness of the present poem quite comports with Mr. Southey's usual and more dignified style of writing,-at all events he is not altogether to the "manner born." The blank verse is smooth enough, and it has some noble thoughts and lines, but there are force, strength, and general nerve wanting; and we might as well compare Byron's "Cain" with glorious Milton's immortal epic, or our modern architecture with the · Temples of the Greek, as say that many parts of this unassuming poem are equal to most of Southey's acknowledged productions.

To have done, however, with our own thoughts and surmises, we turn at once to the publication by saying, that it consists of a series of pictures, or rather sketches, which are entitled, "The Lake of Geneva, the Great St. Bernard, the Descent, Jorasse, Margaret de Tours, the Alps, Como, Bergamo, Italy, Venice, Luigi, St. Mark's Place, the Brides of Venice, Foscari, Arqua, Ginevra, Florence, and Don Garzia. From such a choice of subjects as is here presented to us, and all of them possessing some claim upon our no. tice, and some lures for our good opinion, we are almost at fault as from what dish of the repast we shall feast our readers; we take therefore random the following characteristic description of the entry upon Venice.

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