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THE BEREAVEMENT OF CONSTANCE (MOTHER OF PRINCE ARTHUR). 247 her child, and they told her the truth ; but selfish- THE BEREAVEMENT OF CONSTANCE. ness, one of the greatest faults of her character, was destroyed, and she refused to open, to new
(MOTHER OF PRINCE ARTHUR.) anguish, the wound which was almost healed.
Aunt Jessy's sketch of the fortunes of her early Talk not to me of patience! for my heart friends is almost done. She acknowledges it would O'erflows with grief, and has no farther room have been a more perfect love story, if Catherine For that same tenant, Patience ! Oh, not mine Danvers had been suffered to die of a broken The calmness to endure; my heart must rageheart. But the question, whether a certain amount Rage wildly, loudly-though the flower of life of grief will break a heart or not, chiefly depends Fall prostrate 'neath the violence o' the storm. on the constitution submitted to its influence, and What would ye have of me? the gentle sigb, Kate's happened to be a good one. Her marriage, The stified groan, the tear that silently at last, was true in itself and true to nature; for a Rolls down the faded cheek? Am I to bear woman who loves is never slow to forgive offences In such cold apathy such wrongs as mine? directed only against herself; and it was just that 'Tis folly, madness, thus to moralize. Arthur's devoted affection should at last rekindle a Ye are no mothers, or ye would forbear, love which, though blighted by indifference, had Nay more, would join me in my grief and woe; never been destroyed.
Would sometimes shed with me the burning It was from aunt Jessy's house that Kate was tear, married. The dear old lady vividly described the That not relieves, but seems to scorch the brain bride's beauty, and even her dress, on the wedding Almost to frenzy—then would raise the voice morning; and though some of the most youthful And rave with me; rave of my lov'd, my lost, of her auditors smiled at the idea of an interest- My gracious Arthur! Oh, my son ! my son! ing bride” of five-and-thirty, and the absurdity of Thy wretched mother lives to weep for thee! an ardent lover of forly, aunt Jessy declared her Why was thy youth so lovely? and thine heart belief that in their wedded life there was a more So form’d to twine the gentle cords of love complete realization of the romance of love than in So closely round thy mother's, that she seem'd that of any pair she had ever known. Aunt Jessy To love thee, less because thou wert her son has survived them; but she remembers that, in the Than that thou wert so worthy to be lov'd. confidence of friendship, Arthur Vane often con- Oh, I could weep in agony, my boy, fessed he once bitterly mistook the point of honour. Thinking on thee, and on my wretchedness.
What shall console me? what assuage my grief ? THE RUSTIC LOVER.
Woe, such as mine, lies far too deep for words
'Tis buried in thy bleeding breast, my sonNo lad in any country town
Oh! do I say it, in thy pierced heart. Was half so smart as Roger Brown,
My child ! my child! why did thy courage When on an evening, gaily dress'd
high, In everything he called his best,
Brave the fell pow'r of the usurper's wrath? He strolled the meadow crofts arnong, Why-when the wretched fate of cruel war Cheering the way with am'rous song. Yielded thee captive to his ruthless handAt length the village clock struck eight, Did’st thou not gently plead, and meet him there Ten minutes would decide his fate;
With earnest pray’rs, and soft entreating voice ? 'Twas now high time he thought of what Oh! can the lordly lion cowering stand Was right to say, and what was not :
Thus, when surrounded by the hunter's toils ? The lily in his crimson vest
No! he must face his foe, and turn to bay: Did something neat and fair suggest; Thus, thus, my boy, thou met'st the oppressor's The setting sun and azure skies
hate; Were much like Nancy's hair and eyes ; Thou royal sapling of a royal tree, He'd tell her so, 'twas very good,
The mighty spirit of thy regal house And easy to be understood;
Glow'd in thy veins, and fashiou'd thy reply. Such eloquence he did not doubt
And he, the arch-usurper, traitor foul Would beat his rivals out and out,
To his brave king and brother, gallant Richard, And Nancy would not list again
Imprison'd thee to keep thy free-born soul To one who spoke in lower strain.
Confin'd in dungeon walls to stop the spread But now her footsteps strike his ear,
Of valour, and of hardihood like thine.
Tyrant and villain! was it not enough
That both my eagle and my dove were chain'd, He offer'd, Nancy took his arm.
My two Plantagenets? Oh, no! he knew
The spirit of the race would not be cow'd
By dungeon gloom, or heavy galling chain,
But still would strive to soar; and thus, my Could easily read Roger's looks
son, And take the sense his eyes afford,
Whilst thy fair sister pin'd away her youth As well as if express'd by word ;
In foul captivity, thy death alone And thus it leaves me free to tell,
Could satiate his fury, and thy blood
Cement the tottering fabric of his throne ;
And his own hand, his fratricidal hand,
LITERATURE. Struck at his brother in his brother's child, Child of the dead, the dead one's purer self : And the deep water of the flowing Seine, Like the dark current of my bitter thoughts, AGUIDE TO THE BLACKWATI R. By J.R.O'FlanFlows hourly o'er thy grave. My child! my agan. (How.)—This is an elegant little volume, with child!
claims to our consideration far beyond those of an Shall I for this be patient? shall I cease
ordinary guide-book: it is exquisitely illustrated, and To send through Christendom my tale of wrongs? | the tastes of the historian, antiquary, and geologist, “I, Geoffrey's widow, Arthur's mother," I admirably catered for in its interesting pages. Be silent, calm, lethargic? Gracious Heaven! Unlike the usual run of such directors, satisfied Could a wide world believe it-could a heart, with pointing out the road, and repeating the cutDeep fill'd with all a mother's yearning love, and-dry details already upon record-our Guide Endure such grief in silence? Yet, alas, indulges in the most charming gossip, at once so What have I for my 'plaints, my bitter groans ? scholarly and gentlemanlike, that we feel we are in Can deep revenge, of fullest character,
no common hands, and perceive that there is noAssuage my anguish-call my child to life? thing of the professional about him but his acYield him unto my aching breast ?
curacy. Lovely is the scenery through which he Oh! vain, vain, vain-my brain turns wild with leads us, and dull indeed must be the heart of the woe;
tourist who does not partake of the author's enthuI know not what I say or do—my heart
siasnı, as he traces hand in hand with bim the Is overborne with agony, and seems
banks of the “broad-water : " rich in historical As some poor bird, that, struck with rapid death, associations, every shattered castle and ruined Losing the gallant wing that bore him up,
abbey, has its romance; and the whole valley of Falls dizzily to earth, 'wilder'd and stunn’d. the Avonmore leems not alone with local but inThus doth my grief, my deep, my cureless grief, ternational interest. Here Spenser wrote his Drag me to earih to weep, to wail-but now “ Fairy Queen,” and Raleigh (his friend and I feel within me an awak’ning pow'r,
patron) probably ruminated on the “History of To read the retribution that shall fall
ihe World," thereafter to be compiled within the Upon that crafty head, that guileful heart- precints of his prison-room. But let our Guide The darksome source of all my misery.
speak for himself, Here is his description of the Yes, Heav'n hath mercy not alone, its pow'r river :Wields the dread sword of awful justice too; Vengeance belongs to it, and farries now
“During its entire course, a distance of seventyFor wiser purposes than I may deem
five miles, ihe Blackwater runs through a country In my deep, human agony ; but yet,
rise with historic recollections, and diversified so Man, tyrant, murderer-ibe hour shall come agreeably as to offer an abundant field 10 the lover Big with thy fate, thy dark, resistless fate. of the picturesque. Whether he delights in the Where did'st thou bury him, assassin, where ? quiet landscape of wood and water-sunny slopes Not in the bosom of his mother earth,
crowned by tasteful mansions, or prefers the bolder But ’neath the stealthy flow of waters calm prospect of the rapid flood foaming round the base And smooth, and treach’rous as thine own false of the rock sustaining the solitary castle, the massmile.
sive walls of which seem to mock time in their And there shall be thy doom; the foaming wave- strength, and long destined to survive the names of Oli! meet avenger of thy subtle arts
those who reared them. At one place the banks Shall overwhelm thee, and thy guilty soul
are richly wooded ; at another ihe river glides Shall aid the vengeance of insulted Heav'n, through a plain of corn and meadow.land-now And add such terror to thy coward heart
beneath frowning mountains steep and barren, As to appal thee quile, in ihat dread hour. anon midst fertile, smiling valleys. Memorials of Then shall the foaming waters roar around
the piety or chivalry of by-gone years are frequent And speed thee on, from hurrying wave to wave,
along the river, and add to the valural beauty of Till, as in loaihing thing so foul, so vile,
the scene; while populous towns or quiet hamThey spurn thee from them as in majesty,
lets mark the abodes of men.” And Aing thy wretched carcase to the land : Yet not to 'scape their vengeance--vain that
The author's memory is replete with the wild hope;
legendary lore, that gives to every stream and There, worm-like, grov'lling on the sandy shore,
valley, every rude cairn and mysterious cromleck Arthur and Artbur's wrongs shall weigh thee down, embalmed in song or story, and transmitted orally
throughout Ireland, soine poetical reminiscence Bereaved Constance, captive Ellinor, Press on thy soul and close en viron thee;
from generation to generation. Speaking of the Till, through thy frame the shudderings quick and Glen of Glendyne, he says :-fast,
“In the valley of Glendyne, a rocky basin, not Betray thy mortal agony, and rend
so perfect now as it was some years ago, is kept
FLORENCE. sorcerers who could raise the shadows of futurity
on the surface of this fuid mirror ; and it required | hunting this way, and sure enough, by the same but little exertion of the credulous imagination to loken, I got a fall in the bogs beyant Wathergrassgive form and pressure to the varying shades which hill, that mottled my new coat into a rale piebald ; indistinctly appear on its dark walers. Similar for when I was dhrawn out, one arm was a dark legends are found attached to these natural rock brown, and so was one skirt; whilst the rest was a basins in all parts of Europe, confirming Warbur- bright scarlet-only the first day's wear-such a ton's assertion, that hydromancy is one of the most regular half-and-half you never saw, just like fair widely spread forms of divination. He thinks, grog; and laughing enough the boys had with me from the name of the place where the witch resided when I sat down to dine at Brooke Brazier’s. We who invoked Samuel,“ Endor," i. e. “ perpetual finished a magnum of port, and a six-bottle cooper fountain, that she iutended to consult the shadows of claret, to say nothing of half-a-dozen tumblers on one of these natural mirrors; and that this will of ould Tommy Walter; and I fell asleep when I explain her astonishment when a spirit appeared got into the jaunting car that was sent to drive me instead of a shade. An old man in Glendyne home, for they knew where I was lo dine; an' I had some faint recollection of a tradition which used to get comfortable there. But Brian described a fair lady going to discover in the rocky Hegarty (your huntsman to-day, as honest a boy basin the fate of her lover, who had enlisted in the as ever broke bread) I fancy got a little comfortIrish brigade: she beheld him falling in battle, able too; the night was dark, he said, for he and soon after died of a broken heart. On the day of turned his horse's head the wrong way; and, by her funeral intelligence arrived of her lover having Jove, when I awoke (near twelve o'clock), instead fallen in some skirmish, nearly at the time when of finding myself at my own demesne wall going she beheld the fatal vision."
into Ballyhooly, where should I be but passing
Glanmire, and just entering the streets of Cork. But however our author may linger in the cave What place is this Briar?' says I; "Why, then, of Gurtmore-rock, while he recounts the story of what other but Ballyhooly, sir,' says he, · Brian, “Donal na Rasca” (Daniel the outlaw) and the you omadhawn, do you call that Black wather?' fair but false Margaret Kelly, or pauses at Aunda- says I, pointing to the say. "What else,' says luaglı, 10 tell the gloomy legend of Mealane, it is he, if it isn't seeing double you are ? In the evident that this is merely to oblige his sentimental midst of this cross-fire a chaise drew up— Are readers ; the pathetic, in spite of some natural you going anywhere ?' said a voice, familiar to touches of it, in the story of the “ Old Follower," me, continues the Captain : * I am going home,' is not Mr. O'Flanagan's forte; but only listen to said I, innocently. · Home to Gurteen, and your him in“ Fion Macoul,"". The Seprehann's Bottle,” back to it? Well, Whackman, that's a good one,' “The Enchanted Horse of Cloghleagh Castle," said my friend, Ned Roche, laughing long and and better than all, “ Brian Hegarty, the Haunted loudly.' The end of this meeting is, that Ned Huntsman."
Roche insists on the Captain's accompanying him In these, the rich humour, the gay, mercurial to the house of a lady on the South Mall, wliere he spirits of his country assert themselves, and the is invited to a ball — Stay,' rejoins the other, " Guide to the Blackwater” becomes an equally there's a little obstacle to my going; I have no delightful companion by the banks of the Thames, clothes but what's on me,' an'l up and told him or any other place in which we meet him.
how I was out hunting in my new scarlet coat, We regret that want of space will not allow of and fell into the bog under Wathergrass-hill, and our transcribing any of these capitally told stories ; got my coat piebald. “Stop,' says he, till I have and 10 quote from them would convey about as a look at you.' Who, in the name of the saints, fair an idea of their excellence as the single brick is your purty travelling companion, Roche ?' I we have heard tell of, which some sapient archi- asked, as the door opened, and a great brawny girl, lect produced as a sample of a building. And with worsted stockings and big brogues, having a yet it is impossible to withhold the pleasure of basket of oranges slung over her shoulder, jumped making someone else laugh with us ; therefore, on the ground. She dropped me a nice curtsey, without breaking into these distinct narrations, crying, “ line Cheney oranges-Cheney oranges,' here is a sketch in the same character, and as till the cry might be heard at Blackpool. “Choke exquisitely droll, as it is natural in its delineation. you !' says I ; can't you silence that clatter of a Captain Whackmans are daily becoming more tongue of yours,' as again raised the echoes. scarce, but there are sufficient of them still left to I ihink I am not so bad, Whack, my boy,' said bear witness to the genuineness of the specimen :- my friend, in his natural tone, or I would not have
“ Some one spoke of the proposed fancy ball at known him. Why, bless my soul, Roche, what's Cork,” on which the Captain observes, " there is the fun of this ?' The ball is a fancy ball, and I great fun in a fancy ball.” “Why?" asked some
see you'll do famously,' said he, surveying me. 'I dandy of dragoons, peering at the vulgar monster go as an orange-girl, and you can give them a tallythrough an eye-glass. “Pray were you"-laying ho! Here goes !' said I : ‘yoicks! tally, tally great emphasis on the words were you—"ever at forward, my honeys ! hark forward !' and Roche, a fancy ball ?” “Oh, by this and that I was,
in bis turn, had to cry silence. faith!" Where, Whackman ? let's have it." “With a heart and a-half, boys; wait till I 'plenish the thimble: hand over the groceries.
no need to ask the house; the Oh, that's the real perfume," and he sipped his shouls of merriment that burst from the crowd glass with complacency. “You see we were out before the door, greeting each character, as well as
6. There was
the lights blazing from cellar to garret, denoted it. “ almost coeval with the language itself, and may Roche delayed for an instant, to write something be traced back to the period when the Latin on a card; he passed through the crowd with ac- tongue, corrupted by the vulgar pronunciation, clamations ; I was greeted with great applause; and intermixed with the idioms of the different and three cheers, boys, for Captain Whackman, nations that from time to time overran Italy, defrom Ballyhooly,' announced my name in the generated into what was called the lingua volgare ; drawing-room ere the servants could have seen which language, though at first rude and un. me."
polished, was, by successive exertions, reduced 10
a regular and determinate standard, and obtained This is exquisitely Irish--but still more so is the at length a superiority over the Latin, not only in cause of his being so universally recognized, for common use, but in written compositions of the which, however, we refer the reader to the Guide learned. The form of the sonnet confined 10 a itself; satisfied that without moving from his own certain versification, and a certain number of lines, fire-side, he will have much to repay him for the was unknown to the Roman poets, who, adopting perusal of this graceful and interesting volume. a legitimate measure, employed it as long as the But in the amusement we have derived from its subject required it; but was probably derived from pages, we have neglected the more important pur- the provincials, although instances of the regular pose of the work; a motive evident, as it is earnest, stanza now used in their compositions may be pervades it from the commencement to the end, and traced amongst the Italians, as early as the thirwe feel that a higher aim is involved in its details leenth century. From that time to the present, than merely pointing out the beauties of the Black the sonnet has retained its precise form, and has water. The desire to awaken an interest in the na- been the most favourite mode of composition in tural resources of his country, to point out how the Italian tongue.” In order to avoid details, they may be made available for the purposes of the author of this essay cannot avail himself of all commerce and improvement; in a word the pro- the valuable observations of Mr. Roscoe on this motion of inland navigation is bis object, and for subject, and will merely translate a note in which cibly and eloquently does he depict ihe blessings he cites a remark in Italian on the sonnet by that would accrue from the undertaking.
Lorenzo, who was himself a writer of sonnets :“No measure more calculated to benefit the “ The brevity of the sonnet admits not that one country and develope her vast natural resources
word should be in vain; and the true subject and can engage the attention of the patriot and philan- material of the sonnet ought to be some pointed thropist. The intercourse which it necessarily and noble sentiment, appropriately expressed, and causes would do more to dispel erroneous notions confined to a few verses, and avoiding obscurity and prejudices, and remove animosities, than cen
and harshness.” After pointing out the general turies of legislation. By establishing lines of failure of the English poets in the true construcintercourse and promoting industrious pursuits, tion of this mode of composition, the author feelings of discontent would be dissipaied, and continues—“Both Shakspere and Spenser, those crime, originating most commonly in poverty and transcendent luminaries, ihose mighiy masters of idleness, receive a wholesome check by removing the art of verse, were writers of sonnets ; but its main cause."
to neither of them is any considerable degree of Mines of iron, copper, and lead exist in the praise due for the composition of the sonnet ;" valley of the Blackwater, that were formerly and farther on he remarks, of the great, the true, worked; but “which are now discontinued for atid original poet Millon—" His sonnets, bowwant of fuel." “ Unhappy Ireland !" exclaims ever, are decidedly of an inferior character, and it our author, in a burst of sad and indignant feeling, may be supposed that the mighty genius of the “ how long are your resources to lie dormani? author of • Paradise Lost,' when confined within how long is the disgraceful apathy of your landed the number of fourteen lines so artfully arranged, proprietors to continue, driving your virtuous sons and so regularly divided as to form a sonnet on and daughters to seek as exiles, in distant regions, the Italian, the only true model, was like an eagle the means of subsistence so abundant in their
in a cage designed for a much smaller bird, or native land !” In conclusion, we heartly recom
that nature, who is a kind mother and hath nummend this little volume to the support it asks and
berless children to provide for, gives not all talents merits.
to any individual.” But whatever difficulties “Sonnets;" by the Rev. W. Pulling.-(): metaphor and metaphysics in the contracted shape
other poets have found in forming a compound of and H. Bohn.)—So much has already been said of a sonnet, without overstepping the prescribed in praise of this volume, that little remains to us model, Mr. Pulling has fully evidenced the pliabut the repetition of past eulogy. In their poetical bility of our language to all the purposes of sonnet symmetry
' the sonnets are faultless ; and exhibit a writing; and the collection before us charms, not complete triumph over the supposed difficulty of only by their artistical formation, but by the fine accommodating our language to the pure Italian feeling, the tender seriousness and universal synmodel. In the masterly and interesting essay pathy they evince. The language, euphonous, art, prefixed, and which is entirely devoted to the less, and distinct, is exquisitely suited to the nature of
origin, form, and character” of this species of the subjects, which, though greatly varied, preserve composition, the author observes :
throughout two distinct tones, and either exalt the “ The Italian sonnet is a species of composition,” heart by their majesty, or soften it by their touching says the author of the Life of Lorenzo de Medici, simpleness. It is almost impossible to select
where all are admirable, and indeed we have express it, for the intellectual aristocracy of the hardly an opportunity of quoting one that has not middle and working classes,” the intellectual of all already been adduced (in other publications) as a degrees and denominations must hail such a pubspecimen of the excellence of the entire ; but we lication, as another boon for which the British cannot close the book without extracting one of public owe a deep acknowledgment of gratitude. these pure and beautiful effusions.
The Messrs. Chambers have long been recognized
as public benefactors, and every day the debt of “ To Memory.
obligation is becoming more apparent. Rivals "Oh, what a wondrous power thou mem'ry hast, have entered the field with them, but they who And wondrous is thy mansion in the brain ;
were the first to have faith in the public-a belief
that it would in the long run prefer healthy mental Within what little space thou bindest fast Forms numberless, in thy mysterious chain :
food to every other—have not been disappointed. And at thy bidding thence can bring again,
They have never been tempted to swerve aside What from the body's eye hath long since past; them ; from their wide connexions and multiplied
from the high moral purpose which has controlled Yea, what can wound the soul with sharpest pain, resources, they have always been able to command
Or o'er the brow the beam of pleasure cast. Ah ! subtle mistress of a power so strange,
the peculiar talent appropriate and desirable for At slightest touch to ope the secret cells;
every particular purpose, and they surely have a And all thy shapes to act their parts arrange ;
higher reward for their nobly-directed energies The man is blessed who with virtue dwells,
than mere publishers' success, in the consciousness His rest thou canst not to disquiet change,
of the high destiny it has been theirs to fulfil, and The more with thee bis breast with rapture they are held by the right-thinking of all classes.
the guerdon of admiration and esteem in which swells."
We make a brief extract from the prospectus The present is the second edition of these son, which has recently appeared :nets, a proof that their excellence is understood and appreciated.
“ It is intended that the work shall be published
periodically. Every Saturday there will be issued “ LIFE, AND OTHER Poems;" by S. S. S.- a number, consisting of a sheet of large double (Smith, Fleet-street.)-This volume is evidently foolscap (32 pages), price one penny. In most the production of a feeling beart; the principal instances, each number will present one distinct poem,“ Life", has many passages replete with subject, forming a separate and independent pubreflection and sensibility; and the minor effusions, I lication. In other instances, a number will be though mostly of a sombre character, are generally divided into half-sheets, or into one half and two pleasing. We transcribe one of the sonnels, not as quarter-sheets, each of which portions will in like being the most favourable specimen, but because manner be complete in itself. There will more it is best adapted to our space.
rarely be subjects occupying two numbers. There
will thus be embraced in the series“The Lighthouse.
" Tracts of 32 pages at one penny. « What means that blaze of light amid the gloom, “ Tracts of 16 pages at one halfpenny.
Cheering my spirit though the tempest lower, “ Tracts of 8 pages at one furthirg. And the dark sea, with all its fury roar,
“ And when the subject unavoidably extends to Beaming a hope of brighter hours to come ?
two weekly numbers, they will form In its soft ray I see my peaceful home,
“ Tracts of 64 pages at twopence. A little cot upon yon quiet shore : Welcome, glad 'beacon! 'welcome, orb of light!
“ The work will likewise be issued in sewed Who doth not from afar thy glory hail
monthly parts, price fivepence ; two of these formAmid the storm ? the only star in sight,
ing a volume (256 pages), price one shilling, neatly A sweet beguiler that doth never fail,
done up in boards for the table or library. The But even asks the mariner to sail
annual cost of the work, therefore, will not exceed Regardless of the waves that him afright,
four shillings in numbers, five shillings in monthly Beneath the shelter it is thine to give,
parts, and six shillings in volumes-a degree of Bidding him, like thyself, the storm outlive.” cheapness, the quantity of matter considered, wbich
has no parallel. A GUIDE TO THE BALL ROOM, AND ILLUSTRATED “The type with which this series of publications Polka Lesson Book.-(Mitchell.)— If popularity will be printed is large, clear, and legible; and the and an extensive sale be the test of merit, then numbers will contain, for the greater part, one must this little book deserve all favour from those or more Wood Engravings, from drawings by whose “ dancing days" are coming or come. It is FRANKLIN and other eminent artists, designed a complete compendium of the ball room, and has either for embellishment or illustration of the reached a sale of forty thousand.
“ The matter of the tracts will be a mixture of Chambers's MISCELLANY or UseFUL AND the useful and entertaining; the latter, however, EnTERTAINING Tracts.--Although the first nume predominating. Conducted on the same princiber of the work which under the above title will ples which have been found so acceptable in be issued in the course of a few weeks, is ostensibly CHAMBERS's EDINBURGH JOURNAL, the subjects intended, as the editors powerfully and judiciously will consist of Tales, moral and humorous,