"Where frown those rocks o'er ocean's bed, He boasts, however, no more than he is able to perform. By means of a bark he conveys his earthly lover almost as quickly to Caledonia as his aërial one had brought him from it. The lovers being thus safely landed, we hear of nothing now but "embraces," "congratulations,” “ Oscar's calm abode,” “ Glencarron's green retreat," with a vast variety of sweet et ceteras, and therefore fully expect that the trials and troubles of these faithful lovers are now at an end. But, alas! the lovers might as well think of cheating old Time, and living for ever, as escaping from the clutches of Miss Porter's hobgoblins. No sooner have Oscar and Roscrana retouched terra firma, and banished their sea-sickness by inhaling the breath of the balmy hea ther, than, horrid to relate, "While round him now her arms are spread, She sees his crimson colour fade; "A strange loud laugh of horrid joy, But only hears the rush of wings. "Pale, tearless, with cold clasped hands, Then freed from earth her spirit flies!" Thus ends "The Maid of Erin"a tale which, in point of absurdity, extravagance, and incongruity, will yield to nothing that ever was printed or written, and which, though it may amuse and amaze the nursery, will disgust ever reader of taste whose patience permits him to peruse it. The next Ballad Romance" is entitled the "Prince of the Lake," for no other reason we can discover, than that the hero's steed was "Formed of the foaming surf Which swells on Killarney's lake, When the furious blast its waters casts, This tale is enveloped in sublime obscurity; and it was not, therefore, without straining our faculties to more than an ordi nary pitch, that we were able to make out the following particulars. Some lord, being slain in some battle, no sooner feels his spirit freed from his body, than he commands some fellowphantom to mount the above-mentioned steed, and bring to him his wife. At first we thought it would have been more proper for this personage to have gone the errand himself; but, upon recollecting he was a lord, we saw the propriety of his sending an ambassador. This aërial messenger and his journey are thus described: "The man was clad in a mantle of red, And his bonnet was large and dark; "But the lady bright on the battlements' height, From her locks so bright, and her garments white, "Ho! Lady Anne, thou must come down, Thy husband sends by me: Near the cross of stone, on the heath alone, He lies and waits for thee." The Lady Anne, after many earnest inquiries concerning the fate of her husband, having mounted behind the ghostly messenger on his steed of foaming surf" "They ride o'er hill, they ride o'er vale, The lady having alighted, the phantom points to the dead body of her husband, and tells her that his own lies interred beneath a neighbouring shade; after which the poem, and a most mysterious rhapsody, are concluded with these words "He spoke, and clasp'd his arms to grasp She breath'd a moan, and her spirit alone, Now wanders with his through the air." The structure of this agency is certainly exemplary for its daring altitude; but we must beg to notice a slight incongruity in it, which we do not remember to have observed in any other supernatural legend. Nothing, we believe, is more common in the gambols of ghosts and fairies, than for a being formed of air to prance on the wind, or ride upon clouds; but, until the Prince of the Lake was introduced to our acquaintance, we never met with so positive an instance of these etherial personages being able so far to volatilize a living piece of mortality as to take it along with them in their unearthly frolics: and we most reverently protest, that, without the magical assistance of Miss Anna Maria Porter, we never could have devised so marvellous a plan as that of saddling and bridling a Killarney surge-giving the reins and spurs to a goblin shadow-making flesh and bones mount behind, and clasp and cling to this intangible jockey-and then despatching the said surge, ghost, and lady fair, upon a round gallop for the holy rood. But we must apologize to our readers for obtruding such nonsense upon their attention, and assure them that nothing but respect for the name of Miss Porter, and the influence it may have with some readers, could have induced us to analyze poems every way so unworthy of the author. Indeed it is not easy to conceive what she proposes to herself by penning such marvellous trash. Few, if we except children, can derive any thing like pleasure from half-versified accounts of ghosts and hobgoblins. Even those whose romantic imaginations can be pleased, or rather surprised, on the first perusal of such writings, will, if we mistake not, feel something like loathing at the second. Simplicity is the soul of poetry, and nothing can be permanently pleasing which is not natural. It is almost superfluous to add, that we have derived little pleasure and no instruction from the perusal of Miss Porter's poetry, and would have slumbered long before we reached that welcome resting place Finis, had not conscience held over our heads the rod of public duty. Had this been the production of one who never wrote any thing else, we would have spoken differently, had we spoken at all; and if we have been severe, it is because we regret to see an author of established reputation lowering and impairing it by publishing such trifles. The public is jealous of its favourites, and will not allow those to rest at mediocrity who can rise to excellence. When authors have once begun to scale the steeps of fame, they should never stop to look behind them; retrograde motions are doubly dangerous upon eminences. ORIGINAL. SIR, THE GENUINE BOOK. To the Editor of the Analectic Magazine. I HAVE been very much interested by the perusal of a work which has lately made its appearance in this country, and has already passed through two editions, in consequence, no doubt, of the serious and important information which it contains. From the peculiar excellence of this volume, it is denominated" The Genuine Book," by way of distinguishing it from all other books that has ever been written. It contains a very interesting fragment of private history about a certain royal family, which I shall not name, as I wish to be at least as delicate as my neighbours on this subject. The purport of the story appears to be as follows: There was once upon a time a young princess, daughter of a sovereign prince, who lived very happily and reputably at her father's court, enjoying all those distinctions and honours which are usually bestowed on young princesses. When arrived at a proper age, she was married, according to the manner that royal marriages are conducted, by proxy, to a neighbouring prince, the heir apparent of a mighty kingdom. On arriving in the country of her husband, she was received by him with great courtesy and politeness; insomuch that the newspapers teemed with eulogiums on his deportment; for whenever a prince says or does a civil thing, such as ordinary men say and do a dozen times a day, the newspapers always take care to make honourable mention of it; from which many have been led to suppose that it is an extraordinary thing for a prince to be civil or witty. Notwithstanding, however, the extreme politeness of the prince to his spouse, it was not long before he grew heartily tired of her. He therefore wrote her one of the civilest notes in the world, lamenting that his inclinations were not under his control, and that she did not please his fancy; and proposing, therefore, that they should separate, and live on comfortable, friendly, speaking terms. With this" comfortable arrangement" the princess, who was a very obliging, goodnatured woman, was fain to comply, more especially as she could not help herself; and they accordingly lived for several years in the pleasantest manner imaginable. The prince consoled himself by a series of little attentions to certain dowagers and fat ladies about the court; (for he was remarkably fond of ladies a little fat and old;) and the princess was left to console herself with the comforts of religion; so bountifully recommended to unfortunate wives, when we take all other comforts away. In the midst of this halcyon security, while he, good easy man, was hugging himself, no doubt, at the comfortable arrangement he had made, and supposing that his wife was mortifying the flesh, and keeping a perpetual jour maigre, it was whispered in his ear, that she was now and then a little bounteous of those charms which he had treated with such neglect. This at once aroused the generous indignation of the prince: all the proud ideas which a husband has of property in his wife, rushed at once to his mind. He felt that glow of territorial jealousy which some lordly landholder feels, who, after suffering a rich and fertile bottom to lie neglected, unploughed and unsown, is all at once kindled into deadly ire and a poignant sense of injury, by some lawless intruder settling on the skirts of his possession. However careless a man may be of his own conduct, he is always choice of the conduct of his wife; for it would appear that a married man wears his honour by proxy; committing the brittle ware entirely to the safe keeping of his spouse. He may range and gambol about without jeopardizing it in the least; but one false step from her, and the frail commodity is cracked for ever. VOL. II. 2D ed. 28 |