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effect to the whole. In the front of the house are two neat pedestals, supporting ornamental urns; and a small jet d'eau is constantly throwing forth a limpid stream, which, returning to its destined basin, breaks the silence that prevails all around. Contiguous to the road is a curious cascade, overhung with trees, the water falling nearly sixty feet from the supereminent rock, over the several graduated ledges or descents, into a small stone basin :

With woods o'erhung, and shagged with mossy rocks,
Whence on each hand the gushing waters play,
And down the rough cascade white-dashing fall,
Or gleam in lengthen'd vista thro' the trees.

In the centre of the stream opposite is a thatched fishing-hut, built of stones, so as to resemble a rustic grotto, with an approach by a small wooden bridge; affording a cool retreat for the angler. The stream, which winds itself through the estate, is pleasingly varied with several small falls, which not only add to the elegance of the scene, but contribute to delight the ear by their gentle murmurings.

The general character of this valley is gay and cheerful, notwithstanding its sequestered situation. The embellishments consist of two neat bridges crossing the stream, pedestals, urns, decorative pillars, statues, and other productions of the plastic mould, which appear here and there intermingled with shrubbery walks and banks, overgrown with hanging weeds:

• O bear me, then, to vast embow'ring shades,
To twilight groves and visionary vales,

To weeping grottoes and prophetic glooms."

'Such are the picturesque features which characterize these peaceful regions of retirement, which seem well fitted for the exercise of those studies, by which we come at the knowledge of an infinity almost of things throughout all nature.'

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Nothing beyond this picturesque description can be said to recommend Tillingbourne to the notice of our readers. The work from which we have extracted it resembles a collection of cabinet landscapes, the colouring and vigorous expression of which bespeak originality, and the freedom and ease of a master hand.

Delightful as is she scene, his description almost equals it in beanty, whilst his fidelity evinces much pains-taking and discrimination.

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"At the moment when the festival to celebrate the marriage of Polyxena and Achilles is beginning, Cassandra is seized with a presentiment of the misfortunes which will result from it,---she walks sad and melancholy in the grove of Apolio, and laments that knowledge of futurity which troubles all her enjoyments. We see in this Ode what a misfortune it would be to a human being could he possess the prescience of a divinity. Is not the sorrow of the prophetess experienced by all persons of strong passions and supreme minds? Schiller has given us a fine moral idea under a very poetical form, namely, that true genius, that of sentiment, even if it escape suffering from its commerce with the world, is frequently the vertim of its own feelings. Cassandra never marries, not that she is either insensible or rejected, but her penetrating soul in a moment passes the boundaries of life and death, and finds repose only in heaven.' -Madame de Stael's Germany.

LOUD was mirth in Ilium's walls,
Ere her lofty turrets fell,-
Songs of jubilee filled her halls,
Warbled from the golden shell.
Rests each warrior's weary sword
From the work of blood and slaughter;
While Pelides, conquering lord,
Sought the hand of Priam's daughter.
Crowned with many a laurel-bough,
Joyful, rolling crowd on crowd,-
To the hallowed shrine they go-
The altar of the Thymbrain God.
Loudly revelling swept they on

Through the streets with shouts of gladness,
One heavy heart was left alone,

That stood aloof in silent sadness,

Joyless in the midst of joy,-
See, her solitary way

To the grove Cassandra bends—
Sacred to the god of day.

To its deepest shades she passed,
Wrapt in distant vision,-there,
From her burning brow she cast

The wreath that bound her streaming hair.

"Yes! the stream of joys spread wide,

Every heart beats light and gay,

Troy's proud hopes are mounting high,-
My sister hails the bridal day.

I alone in silence weep,

Fancy's dream deceives not me;-
Ruin vast, with eagle sweep,

Rushing on these walls I see,'

'Lo! a torch all fiercely gleaming,-
Not the torch which Hymen brings ;-
Dark the clouds behind it streaming,-
Not of nuptial offerings!

While they deck with hearts elate
The festal pomp,-in boding sound :—
Hark! I hear the tread of fate
Come to crush it to the ground.
"Yes! they mock my silent grief,-
Laugh my bitter tears to scorn,-
There alone I find relief

To this heart with sorrow torn.
Spurned by fortune's minion trains,-
Spurned, insulted by the gay ;-
Hard the lot thou hast assigned,
O, unpitying god of day.

" Why hast thou thy prophet spirit
To a mortal maiden dealt?
What can I from this inherit,
But woes I never else had felt?
Why to me the fates disclosed,
When I cannot shun their force?
Still the hovering cloud must break,—
The day of dread rolls on its course.
Why, where terrors crowd the scene,
Back the veil of ages throw,
Where but ignorance is bliss,-
Only knowledge leads to woe,

Hence, that fearful scene of blood!

Veil it from my aching eyes;

Dread thought! that child of earth should dare

To read thine awful mysteries!

'Give me back those days of blindness,

While this heart yet blithely sung;

Joy's light carols left me only

Since I spoke with prophet's tongue.

Each present good fleets past untasted

The future fills and mads my brain—

Youth's brightest hours in anguish wasted,-
Take thy treach'rous gift again.
'Never yet, with bridal garlands,
Have I dared my locks to twine.
Since I vowed upon thine altar
Service at thy gloomy shrine.

Youth to me has brought but tears,
Grief has been my only lot;-
What the woes that Troy has borne,
And I have doubly felt them not?

'See those hearts with whom my pleasures
Once was shared-a festive crowd,-
Treading light youth's frolic measures,-
I only wrapt in sorrow's cloud.
Spring returns to gladden all,
But it shines in vain to me,-
What bliss knows she who dares to scan
The dark depths of futurity.
'Happy thou my sister, lulled
In the dream of fancy sweet;
Soon the mightiest chief of grace,
As thy spouse thou hopest to greet.
See, with pride her bosom heaves,-
See, her transports swelling high ;-
Spare ye heavens! in pity spare,
Envy not her dream of joy.

'E'en this heart, tho' withered now,
Loved, and had its love returned ;-
Long sued the youth, and in his eye
Love's bright expressive glances burned.
O how blest in humble guise,
With a heart like this to dwell;-
But a shade at midnight hour
Steps between us,-dark as hell.
'Whence ye paley phantoms, are ye;
Come ye from the queen of night?
Where I wander, where I turn me,
Shapes of terror cross my sight.
See, they crowd-a ghastly train!
To scowl away youth's lightsome glee ;-
Life in all its weary round,

Holds no longer joy for me.

'Ha! the murderer's flashing steel!
Again! his darkly-gleaming eye!
On right, on left, by terrors closed,
I cannot turn, I cannot fly;

Nor yet my straining eyes avert,
Fixed in shuddering trance I stand:

It comes! the fate which crowns my woes-
A captive in a stranger land."

'Hark! from out the temple's gate,
Ere the priestess checked her breath,
Bursts the wild distracted shriek-
"Thetis' son is stretched in death."
Eris shakes her vengeful snakes,-
All the guardian gods are fled,-
Heavy hung the thunder cloud
Over Ilium's fated head.

THE TEST OF AMBITION.
BY W. HOLLOWAY.

EFORE the hand of republican power had levelled all distinctions in France, and sunk the proudest families to the humiliated condition of the meanest peasant, in the gay neighbourhood of Versailles, the Marquis d'Embleville owned a sumptuous hotel, where he lived in epicurean luxury and princely splendour. His mind possessed all the imperious vanity of the ancient regime; and, placed by fortune at an awful distance, he looked down upon the canaille as unworthy to hold with him a rank in the same scale of being. His only son Lewis, in the prime of youth, had made the tour of Switzerland; he had visited every part of those wondrous regions, where nature reigns in all her grandeur, and displays to the enthusiastic mind that sublime and majestic scenery which attracts and gratifies the most unbounded curiosity. So remote from the haunts of courtly pleasure-so distant from the giddy circle of high life, he felt the impression of that tender passion, beneath whose controling power mortals of all degrees are indiscriminately doomed to bow. The object of his admiration was a lovely Swiss, fresh from the hand of nature, in all the bloom of youth and beauty, like the mother of mankind in the state of primeval innocence; honesty was the only wealth her friends possessed; her charms and virtues were her only portion. With this lovely maid Lewis had sought and cultivated an acquaintance. He weighed her mental graces against the frippery of Parisian belles, and with pleasure saw them greatly preponderate. She felt the congenial passion, but from disparity of circumstances suppressed the kindling hope. The shaft was fixed too deep in his bosom to be eradicated without lacerating his vitals! Although despairing of success, he returned to his father, and on his knees be

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