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With no semblance of expression

On her cold and pallid lips, And those eyes that beamed so brightly

Quenched in lustreless eclipse.

Such as this the daily lessons

That to man La Morgue would teach, Yet they pass as liule pondered

As ibe eloquence of speech : Loud the din of wordly pleasure,

While around us flashing flies Lise, with its delusive phantoms

And its empty pageantries !

SCRAPS FROM A PORT-FOLIO.

NO. V.

ALLITERATION.

Eternal beauties grace the shining scene. Fields ever fresh and groves forever green.

In love success is most easily obtained by indirect and unperceived approaches. The Rambler.

Some one has made the following singular remark :-"If I were engaged to the prettiest woman in the world, I would break off the match if she kept an album."

Sir William Draper claimed to be descended from Pepin, the French king, and traced the pedigree thus : Pepin, Pipkin, Napkin, Diaper, Draper.

Thou honeysuckle of the hathorne hedge,
Vouchsafe in Cupid's cup my heart to pledge,
My heart's dear bloud, sweet Cis, is thy carouse,
With all the ale in Gammer Gubbins' house.
I say no more--affuirs call me away,
My father's horse for provender doth stay,
Be thou the Lady Cresset-light to me,
Sir Trolly Lolly will I be to thee;
Written in hasle-farewell my cowslip sweet,
Pray lets a-Sunday at the ale-house meet.

Burton's Anat. of Melancholy.

Transcendentalism is the spiritual cognoscence of psycological irrefragability, connected with concutjent ademption of incoluminent spirituality and etherialized contention of subsultory concretion.

But there is a massive prison

Built apon the river-side,
From whose vaults have vainly risen

Lamentations to the tide :
And within its dusky portals,

Passed this yet heroic Queen, To jetrace her footsteps never

Till she seeks the guillotine !

Seine! in all thy tortuous courses,

From the purple vine-clad steep, Down by Rouen's grim cathedral,

To the billows of the deep, Never has thy face reflected

Aught so terrible to see, As the sullen architecture

of the Conciergerie !

Dark La Morgue hath had its tenants,

When in panoply arrayed,
Death unfurled his horrid pennants

O'er each bloody barricade :
There 10-day a corse is carried,

Slowly through the moving crowd, By the world all unregarded,

Wrapped in neither sheet nor shroud!

As the light reveals the features

To some idler of the throng, Soft he says a pater-noster,

Moves with rapid step along, While above the wasted body

Bends a weeping child to trace But the perish ing resemblance

To an aged father's face.

When A pollo's steeds are driven

Frantic through the eastern sky, Here affection's tears are given,

O'er a form too fair to die, Fondly still the mourner lingers,

When the sun at even calm Falls aslant upon the turrets

Of majestic Notre Dame !

'Tis perhaps some youthful maiden

From thy sunny banks, Garonne ! With a thousand graces laden,

Who no thought of care has known, And her life's brief, gentle morning

Ever from its earliest ray Home's sequestered paths adorning

Kindled into perfect day.

Oft when rung the solemn vesper

Out upon the drowsy air,
She had walked in meek devotion

To repeat her simple prayer;
And with tearful sadness kneeling,

In the chapel hushed and dim,
Upward had her glance ascended

To the radiant seraphim !

Now she lies in stony silence,

Stretched upon the brazen bier;
Or her kindred, none to offer

E'en the tribute of a tear,

Who has robbed the ocean cave,

To tinge thy lips with coral hue? Who from India's distant wave

To thee those pearly treasures drew ? Who from yonder orient sky Stole the morning of thine eye ?- Shaw.

The Italian writers possess, in the highest de-an alderman of the town of Cambridge, England, gree, the art of inflating an idea, or frothing up a a few years ago :-—"Whereas a multiplicity of sentiment; one is tempted to ask them a similar damages are frequently occurred by damages of question to that put by the negress to the French outrageous accidents by fire, we whose names are woman, in the days of hoop petticoats,"Pray ma- underwritien, have thought proper that the neces. dam, is all that yourself?”—Madame De Staël. sity of an engine ought by us for the better pre

venting of which, by the accidents of Almighty

God, may onto os happen, to make a rate to gather In your commerce with the great.-you should benevolence for better propagating soch good inendeavor, if the person be of great abilities, to

struments." make him satisfied with you ; when he is possessed of none, to make him satisfied with himself.

Warburton.

TO THE SPLEEN.

The son of Bacchus pleads thy power,
Her streaming eyes assail my very soul

As to the glass he still repairs,
And shake my best resolves.-Lee.

Pretends but to remove thy cares,
Snatch from thy shade one gay and smiling hour,

And drown thy kingdom in a purple shower.
But this swift business

Anne, Countess of Winckelses.
I must uneasy makė, lest too light winning
Make the prize light. The Tempest.

Their courtship was carried on in poetry. Alas!
I came exposed to all your charms,

many an enamored pair have courted in poetry, and 'Gainst which ibe first half hour

after marriage lived in prose.John Fosler. I had no will to take up armsAnd in the next-no power.- Katherine Philips.

And engage the untainted honor of English

knighthood to unfurl the streaming red-cross, or to "Why don't you wear your ring, my dear ?" said rear the horrid standard of those fatal guly drag. a gentleman to his daughter.

ons. Milton. “ Because, papa, it hurts me when anybody squeezes my hand." “ What business have you to have your hand

PRE-EXISTENCE. squeezed ?" "Certainly not—but still you know, papa, one come with unexpected suddenness on the mind

,

That strange impression which will occasionally would like to keep it in squeezable order."

that the scene now passing, and in which we share,

is one, which in the very place and in the very An Irish gentleman, resident in Canada, when words, with the same persons and with the same he saw his sons drinking champaigne, would ex- feelings, we had accurately rehearsed, we know claim, " Ah, my boys, there goes an acre of land, not where, before.- Baron Smith. trees and all.”—Sir Francis Bond Head's Emigrant.

Voulez-vous qu'on dise du bien de rous ! p'en

dites point. - Pascal. Through fields of death, to whirl the rapid ear, And blaze amid the thunder of the war.-Lee.

May we consider each night as the tomb of the departed day, and seriously leaning over it, read

the inscription written by conscience of its charNor great Achilles, whose tempestuous sword

acter and exit.—John Foster. Laid Troy in ashes.-Lee.

MIXED METAPHORS.

And summ'd the actyonns of the daie How frequently do we see zealous people, be- Eche night before I slept.-Chatterton. come exasperated in a discussion, in defending their own interesis, when at the moment they conscientiously believe themselves contending only for the

The finery of Nature's robes makes but a small interests of truth, and long retain the same con part of her wardrobe ; she hath her ordinary wear, viction.-Pascal.

and even when she pulteth on her mantle of the richest green, she trims it sparingly, and that for

the most part with a loose lacery of unobtrasire The following advertisement was drawn up by jasmine and vine-weed. And the Nature, that bids

1.

all the garniture of earth thus grown variously in richness, in moderation, and in a sweet and hum- LAMARTINE'S THOUGHTS ON POETRY. ble disorder, putteth it into man's mind, for he is doomed to dress himself so as to follow her law,

INTRODUCTION BY THE TRANSLATOR. and thus it is, that in any given number of persons, you shall see some few endowed with this natural

I was so much pleased with this essay by Lagist and grace of slovenry.- Blackwood.

martine that before I had read it half through in the original, I commenced the grateful task of ren

dering it into English. Its title, being simply “Des Verses written by Sir Walter Raleigh, on the destinées de la poesie par M. A. de Lamarline, de night before his execution :

l'académie Française," I presumed that it was some Even such is time that takes on trust,

paper read before the French Academy, or some Our youth, our joys, our all we have,

prize dissertation, offered to that learned instituAnd pays us but with age, and dust,

lion. But in proceeding with my lecture and transWho in the dark and silent grave,

larion, I soon discovered that it was a preliminary When we have wandered all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days !-

essay to a collection of poems, offered to the readBut from this earth, this grave, this dust

er as expressive and explanatory of its author's The Lord shall raise me up I trust.

views and sentiments. I am not aware that it has C. C.

I been before transferred from the French. It cer. tainly possesses, apart from its own merit, an extraordinary interest at this moment. The name of Lamartine has of late been “great in mouths of wisest censure.” He has blazed " the comet of a season." At this moment his light is somewhat ob

scured; he has passed behind other shining spheres; THE CHOICE.

erratic meteors flash athwart the troubled sky, and their lorid and flickering glare dims his spperior and steadier lustre. Yet I doubt if the time of his

obscuration will be long: he is not invisible to the Cull your roses ye who will,

telescopic eye of wisdom, and he will soon glow The violets be mine,

again before the “wondering, upturned gaze" of That grow beside the sparkling rill,

mortals, not as portentous of events more dire than Where meeting branches twine.

have already occurred, but a presage of calm and happy seasons to his beloved country. If ever

there was a sincere, honest man, such a one is LaWith amaranths your brows enwreathe,

martine. In the law of a just freedom“ doth he All ye who seek renown,

exercise bimself day and night." His delight is But flowers that gentler odours breathe, in order and moderation. He abhors anarchy and Shall form my careless crown.

rebellion. He would build up the French Republic, not like the structure of a day, to be tossed over by every storm of popular fury, but a high

temple of classic strength and beauty, standing, Forget-me-nots, sweet friendship’s flower,

like the Parthenon at Athens, unharmed for ages For sapphires shall be set,

and glorious even it its distant, but inevitable ruin. The pearl sprays be of virgin's bower,

There is something singularly gentle and womanWith diamond dew-drops wet.

like-using the expression in its nobler sense-in the character of Lamartine. He has that rare

modesty which ever distinguishes true greatness And violets blue, and violets while,

and real virtue. He never speaks of himself, whethAnd violets rarely dim,

er as a poet or a politician, except in a subdued Sweeter than gems, and far more light,

tone. And yet there is no mistrust of his abilities; Shall fashion all the rim.

he has an unwavering confidence in the right and in his power to perform it. It would be inapposite for me in this place, even had I the least capability

of doing so, to enter upon an examination of his What matter though they quickly fade,

conduct during the late momentous events in Paris, And lose each tender hue,

in which he has acted so prominent a part. But I To seek them in the woodland shade,

may be permitted to remark that in all that he has Will give thee joy anew,

lately spoken or written as a public man, there are C. C. L. 'discernible a beautiful consonance and harmony

III.

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P. B.

BY ALPHONSE DE LAMARTINE.

with his private essays, with his views of life, with wrote many a column of prose and verse at his rehis hopes for the future, with his love for humanity, quest, and my name may be recollected by some of with his trust in God.

Those readers, who still continue to support a peri. Before the sudden brilliancy of his late career,-odical which has done not a little to elevate the a brilliancy softened, as it were, by the medium literature of the country. through which it passed, made purer by his unsul- Dosoris, Long Island, Sept. 4, 1848. lied character, resembling rather the lustre of the pearl than that of the diamond, Lamartine was

THE DESTINIES OF POETRY. chiefly known to readers in this country by his “ Voyage en L'Orient,” (Pilgrimage to the Holy Land,) and his late history of the Girondists. But

Translated from the French by Park Benjamin. few translations of his poetry have appeared, and those were not of so high an order as to excite any There is nothing within the sphere of man's very lofty estimate of his genius. They were knowledge of which man knows so little as of himmostly descriptive and seemed to be extracted from self. The phenomena of bis thoughts, the laws of the body of long poems, and not possessed of a his civilization, the phases of his progress, or desufficiently independent interest. It would be no cadence, are the mysteries which he has least inunworthy task for some good French scholar, well vestigated. He better knows the paths of those acquainted with the English language and its rules celestial orbs, that roll millions of miles away from of versification, to attempt a complete rendering of the door of his feeble senses, than those terrestrial a few of Lamartine's long poems. Whether, ac- roads, along which human destiny conducts him cording to the elegant phraseology and unselfish unknown ; he is conscious that he tends towards sense of the retail trade, “it would pay," is worse something, but he knows not whither bis spirit than doubtful ; but there are surely lovers enough journeys, he cannot tell at what precise poini he of the pure and beautiful in literature in our repub- has arrived. Tossed upon the immensity of ocean lic to encourage such an effort,—at least so far as far from shore, the pilot can take his altitude and charitably to bestow upon the translator the remu- determine by his compass that line of the globe neration of a scrivener's clerk. But he must be which he crosses or follows; but it is not so with not only disinterested, but appreciative and indus- the human soul; there is no object, out of itself, trious who would undertake such a task. As for by which it can measure its journey, and everytime myself, I should shrink back appalled by the mag- it says—"I am here, I go there, I advance, I renitude and difficulty of the labor, even were I less cede, I stop,"—it finds that it is self-deceived, that painfully conscious of my lack of learning and it has belied its own history--a history which can ability, and could I afford to lavish time unproduc- not be written until its subject has passed away, tively. Even the task, which I have here inef- which marks its traces only after they have been ficiently performed, has been onerous—although printed upon the earth, but which cannot by anticilightened by my love of the author and his subject. pation designate its road. God alone knows the Let him who deems it a facile performance to goal and the way; man knows nothing-false protransfer ornale diction and flowery phrases from phet, he foretells entirely at hazard, and, when foone language into another, allempt to soar with cure events happen contrary to all bis foresight, he Lamartine in one of his splendid fights. Simply is no longer here to witness the contradiction of to construe Lamartine's French, as interliners con- his fate; he reposes in night and silence; he sleeps strue Homer and Virgil, by writing the English his sleep and other generations write upon his dust meaning under the Greek or Latin word, might be other dreams as vain and fleeting as his own. Rerapid work even for a school-boy ; but to give not ligion, politics, philosophy, systems--man has proonly the sense, but the style of such a writer, so nounced upon them all, has been deceived about as to impress the reader with a proper opinion of them all; he has believed all fixed and all have his genius and inanner, is an undertaking which been modified, all immortal and all have perished, original anthors, of far higher pretensions than the all true and all have proved false ! present translator, miglit be proud to accomplish. But let me speak of poetry. I can only hope that I may have partially suc- I remember that al my entrance upon the stage ceeded.

of life, there was but one voice as to the irremediOf one thing I am sure. No one, even with my able downfall, the actual and already frozen death inadequate rendering, can fail to discern many lofty of this mysterious faculty of the human spirit. It and glorious thoughts, sacred aspirations, bright was the epoch of the empire; it was the hour of and hopeful prophecies, in this essay. I take plea- the incarnation of the materialist philosophy of the sure in offering it to the readers of the Southern eighteenth century in government and manners. Literary Messenger, and through it renewing my All the geometricians, who alone had the poblic ear, correspondence with that excellent magazine. In and who crushed us young men under the insaformer years, during the life of good Mr. White, I'lent tyranny of their triumph,-believed that they

had dried op forever in us, what had really faded all that could ferment in her a spirit of resistance, and perished in themselves, namely--all the moral, or concentrated indignation, in herself alone, an divine, melodious portion of the mind. Nothing active conspiracy, as capable of exciting lofty incan picture to them who were not subjected to it, tellects against that tyranny of reigning mediocrity, the vain-glorious sterility of that epoch. It was as of placing the poniard in the hands of conspirathe Satanic smile of an infernal genius, when de- tors, or of striking the blow herself, 10 restore to grading a whole generation, uprooting all national her own soul that liberty which she desired to give enthusiasm, destroying a virtue in the world. Those, to all the world! Being chosen and set apart, men had the same sentiment of triumphant impo- whose like nature has not bestowed upon os—relence in their hearts and on their lips, when they uniting in her own character Corinna and Miratold us—" love, philosophy, religion, enthusiasm, beau! A sublime tribune, with the tender and erliberty, poetry--all are naught! Calculation and pansive heart of a woman—an adorable and comforce, arithmetic and the sword, they are every- passionate woman with the genius of the Gracchi thing. We believe nothing but what they prove; and the hand of the last of the Catos! Failing to we perceive noihing to which they do not apply. excite a generous enthusiasm in her own country, Poetry died with the Spiritualism which created it!" from which she was expelled, as we put out a spark And they spoke truly; for poetry was truly dead in an edifice of straw, she took refuge in the mind in their own souls, dead 10 thcir intelligences, dead of England and Gerinany—who alone were at that in them and aronnd thein. By à sure and prophet- period living a moral life of poetry and philosoic instinct of their destiny, they trembled lest it phy—and thence cast forth into the world those should spring and flourish again with liberty in the sublime and thrilling pages which the clubs of the world; they cast to the wind its smallest ruots, lest police crushed, the custom-house of the intellect it should germinale nnder their feet, in their schools, tore in pieces on the frontiers, the sworn minions in their lyceums, in their gymnasia, in their mili- of tyranny ridiculed at command.—but fragments tary and polytechnic academies. All were organi- of which, escaped from their destroying hands, zed against such a resurrection of the moral and came to console us for our intellectual abasement poetic sentiment; it was a universal league of math- and to wast to our ears and hearts the distant breathematical studies against reflection and poetry. ings of morals, of poetry, of liberty, which we Figures alone were permitted, honored, protected, could not inhale under the pneumatic blasts of slapaid. As arithmetic does not reason, as it is a won- very and mediocrity. derful, passive instrument of tyranny, wliich never M. de Chateaubriand, a genius more melancholy asks for what it is employed, which never inquires and sweet,--a harmonious and enchanted reminiswhether it is made to subserve the oppression of cence of a past, the cinders of which we tread upon mankind, or their deliverance, the slavery of the and whose soul is found in him,-a Homeric imaginamind, or its emancipation, the chief soldier of that tion thrown into the midst of our social convulsions, epoch wished for no other missionary, no other aid, resembling those beautiful columns of Palmyra, and this and served him well. There was not an which remain erect and brilliant, unbroken and unidea in Europe, which was not trodden under its soiled, above the black and ragged tents of the heel, nor a mouth which was not gagged by its Arabs, to make us understand, wonder at and weep leaden hand. Since then, I abhor the science of over the monument which is no more! A man, nunibers--that negation of all thought. Against who sought for a spark of the sacred fire among that exclusive and jealous power of mathematics, the fragments of the sanctuary, in the still smoking I retain the same sentiment, the same horror, which ruins of Christian temples, and who, seducing their a galley-slave feels for the hard iron and frozen demolishers by pity and indifferent observers by fetters

upon his limbs, and of which he thinks that his genius, found again some doctrine in the heart he can still perceive the cold and deathly chill, and restored faith to the imagination. The words whenever he hears the clanking of a chain. Math- of liberty and of political virtue sound less freematics were the chains of human thought. I quently and less loftily in his altogether poetic pabreathe : those chains are broken.

ges; he was not the Dance of an enslaved FlorTwo great geniuses, whom tyranny watched with ence, he was the Tasso of a lost country, of a unquiet eye, protested aloud against this death. family of proscribed Kings, singing of its affecWarrant of the soul, of the intellect, of poetry-- tions betrayed, iis altars overthrown, its towers deMadame de Staēl and M. de Chateaubriand. Ma-molished, its goods and its Kings driven awaydame de Staël, a masculine genius in the form of singing of them in the ears of the proscribers, on a woman,--a mind distracted by the superabun- the borders even of the rivers of the country. dance of its strength, restless, passionate, auda- Still, his grand and noble soul imparted to the songs cious, capable of generous and sudden resolves, of the poet something of the accent of the citizen. not able to breathe in that atmosphere of cowar- He thrilled all the generous fibres of the breast; dice and servitude, demanding space and free air he ennobled the mind; he resuscitated the soul; around her, attracting as if by magnetic instinct' it was sufficient to disturb the slumbers of the jail

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