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which never quit the memory. Campbell is secure, The dark-blue rocks in barren grandeur piled ; as one of his critics has said, in an immortality The cuckoo sighing to the pensive wild. of quotation. Some of his lines have become Far different these from all that charmed before, household words—.gi:

The grassy banks of Clutha's winding shore;

Her sloping vales, with waving forests lined, 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view.

Her smooth blue lakes, unruffled by the wind. But, mortal pleasure, what art thou in truth?

Hail, happy Clutha ! glad shall I survey

Thy gilded turrets from the distant way! The torrent's smoothness ere it dash below.

Thy sight shall cheer the weary traveller's toil, 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And joy shall hail me to my native soil. And coming events cast their shadows before..

Picture of Domestic Love. And many other short passages might be cited.

From the Pleasures of Hope. With all his classic predilections, Campbell was not-as he has himself remarked of Crabbe-a

Thy pencil traces on the lover's thought laudator temporis acti, but a decided lover of later

Some cottage-home, from towns and toil remote, times. Age never quenched his zeal for public

Where love and lore may claim alternate hours, freedom or for the unchained exercise of the

With peace embosomed in Idalian bowers !

Remote from busy life's bewildered way, human intellect; and, with equal consistency in

O'er all his heart shall Taste and Beauty sway! tastes as in opinions, he was to the last meditating

Free on the sunny slope, or winding shore, a work on Greek literature, by which, fifty years With hermit-steps to wander and adore ! before, as a scholar, he first achieved distinction. There shall he love, when genial morn appears,

Many can date their first love of poetry from Like pensive Beauty smiling in her tears, their perusal of Campbell. In youth, the Plea To watch the brightening roses of the sky, sures of Hope is generally preferred. In riper And muse on nature with a poet's eye! years, when the taste becomes matured, Gertrude

And when the sun's last splendour lights the deep, of Wyoming rises in estimation. Its beautiful The woods and waves, and murmuring winds asleep, home-scenes go more closely to the heart, and its

When fairy harps the Hesperian planet hail,

And the lone cuckoo sighs along the vale, delineation of character and passion evinces a

His path shall be where streamy mountains swell more luxuriant and perfect genius. The portrait of the savage chief Outalissi is finished with

Their shadowy grandeur o'er the narrow dell ;

Where mouldering piles and forests intervene, inimitable skill and effect :

Mingling with darker tints the living green; Far differently the mute Oneyda took

No circling hills his ravished eye to bound, His calumet of peace and cup of joy;

Heaven, earth, and ocean blazing all around ! As monumental bronze unchanged his look ;

The moon is up-the watch-tower dimly burnsA soul that pity touched, but never shook ;

And down the vale his sober step returns ; Trained from his tree-rocked cradle to his bier

But pauses oft, as winding rocks convey The fierce extreme of good and ill to brook

The still sweet fall of music far away; Impassive-fearing but the shame of fear

And oft he lingers from his home awhile,

To watch the dying notes--and start, and smile! A stoic of the woods-a man without a tear.

Let winter come ! let polar spirits sweep The loves of Gertrude and Waldegrave, the patri The darkening world, and tempest-troubled deep ! archal Albert, and the sketches of rich sequestered

Though boundless snows the withered heath deform,

And the dim sun scarce wanders through the storm, Pennsylvanian scenery, also shew the finished art

Yet shall the smile of social love repay, of the poet. The poem of O'Connor's Child is

With mental light, the melancholy day! another exquisitely finished and pathetic tale.

And, when its short and sullen noon is o'er, The rugged and ferocious features of ancient The ice-chained waters slumbering on the shore, feudal manners and family pride are there dis How bright the fagots in his little hall played in connection with female suffering, love, Blaze on the hearth, and warm the pictured wall! and beauty, and with the romantic and warlike How blest he names, in love's familiar tone, colouring suited to the country and the times. It The kind fair friend, by nature marked his own; is full of antique grace and passionate energy And, in the waveless mirror of his mind, the mingled light and gloom of the wild Celtic Views the fleet years of pleasure left behind, character.

Since when her empire o'er his heart began-
Since first he called her his before the holy man!

Trim the gay taper in his rustic dome,
Elegy Written in Mull (June 1795).

And light the wintry paradise of home;

And let the half-uncurtained window hail The tempest blackens on the dusky moor,

Some wayworn man benighted in the vale ! And billows lash the long-resounding shore;

Now, while the moaning night-wind rages high, In pensive mood, I roam the desert ground,

As sweep the shot-stars down the troubled sky, And vainly sigh for scenes no longer found.

While fiery hosts in heaven's wide circle play, O whither fled the pleasurable hours

And bathe in lurid light the Milky-way; That chased each care and fired the Muse's powers?— Safe from the storm, the meteor, and the shower, The classic haunts of youth, for ever gay,

Some pleasing page shall charm the solemn hour; Where mirth and friendship cheered the close of day;

With pathos shall command, with wit beguile, The well-known valleys where I wont to roam ;

A generous tear of anguish, or a smile !
The native sports, the nameless joys of home?
Far different scenes allure my wondering eye-

Death of Gertrude.
The white wave foaming to the distant sky;
The cloudy heavens, unblest by summer's smile, Past was the flight, and welcome seemed the tower,
The sounding storm that sweeps the rugged isle That like a giant standard-bearer frowned
The chill, bleak summit of eternal snow-

Defiance on the roving Indian power.
The wide, wild glen--the pathless plains below; Beneath, each bold and promontory mound

With embrasure embossed and armour crowned,

* And I could weep,' the Oneyda chief And arrowy frise, and wedged ravelin,

His descant wildly thus begun ; Wove like a diadem its tracery round

'But that I may not stain with grief The lofty summit of that mountain green;

The death-song of my father's son, Here stood secure the group, and eyed a distant scene, Or bow this head in woe!

For, by my wrongs, and by my wrath, A scene of death! where fires beneath the sun,

To-morrow Areouski's breath, And blended arms, and white pavilions glow;

That fires yon heaven with storms of death, And for the business of destruction done,

Shall light us to the foe: Its requiem the war-horn seemed to blow :

And we shall share, my Christian boy, There, sad spectatress of her country's woe!

The foeman's blood, the avenger's joy ! The lovely Gertrude, safe from present harm, Had laid her cheek, and clasped her hands of snow * But thee, my flower, whose breath was given On Waldegrave's shoulder, half within his arm

By milder genii o'er the deep, Inclosed, that felt her heart, and hushed its wild The spirits of the white man's heaven alarm !

Forbid not thee to weep :

Nor will the Christian host, But short that contemplation-sad and short

Nor will thy father's spirit grieve, The pause to bid each much-loved scene adieu !

To see thee, on the battle's eve, Beneath the very shadow of the fort,

Lamenting, take a mournful leave Where friendly swords were drawn, and banners flew;

Of her who loved thee most : Ah! who could deem that foot of Indian crew

She was the rainbow to thy sight!
Was near ?-yet there, with lust of murderous deeds,

Thy sun—thy heaven-of lost delight !
Gleamed like a basilisk, from woods in view,
The ambushed foeman's eye-his volley speeds,

"To-morrow let us do or die.
And Albert, Albert falls ! the dear old father bleeds ! But when the bolt of death is hurled,
And tranced in giddy horror, Gertrude swooned ;

Ah! whither then with thee to fly, Yet, while she clasps him lifeless to her zone,

Shall Outalissi roam the world ? Say, burst they, borrowed from her father's wound,

Seek we thy once-loved home? These drops ?" Oh, God! the life-blood is her own!

The hand is gone that cropt its flowers; And faltering, on her Waldegrave's bosom thrown

Unheard their clock repeats its hours ;

Cold is the hearth within their bowers :
Weep not, O love !' she cries, 'to see me bleed ;

And should we thither roam,
Thee, Gertrude's sad survivor, thee alone
Heaven's peace commiserate ; for scarce I heed

Its echoes and its empty tread
These wounds; yet thee to leave is death, is death

Would sound like voices from the dead! indeed !

Or shall we cross yon mountains blue, Clasp me a little longer on the brink

Whose streams my kindred nation quaffed, Of fate! while I can feel thy dear caress;

And by my side, in battle true,
And when this heart hath ceased to beat--oh! think, A thousand warriors drew the shaft?
And let it mitigate thy woe's excess,

Ah ! there,, in desolation cold,
That thou hast been to me all tenderness,

The desert serpent dwells alone, And friend to more than human friendship just.

Where grass o'ergrows each mouldering bone, Oh! by that retrospect of happiness,

And stones themselves to ruin grown, And by the hopes of an immortal trust,

Like me, are death-like old.
God shall assuage thy pangs—when I am laid in dust!' Then seek we not their camp; for there

The silence dwells of my despair !
Hushed were his Gertrude's lips ! but still their bland
And beautiful expression seemed to melt

But hark, the trump! to-morrow thou
With love that could not die! and still his hand

In glory's fires shalt dry thy tears : She presses to the heart no more that felt.

Even from the land of shadows now Ah, heart! where once each fond affection dwelt,

My father's awful ghost appears, And features yet that spoke a soul more fair.

Amidst the clouds that round us roll; Mute, gazing, agonising as he knelt

He bids my soul for battle thirstOf them that stood encircling his despair

He bids me dry the last--the firstHe heard some friendly words ; but knew not what

The only tears that ever burst they were.

From Outalissi's soul ;

Because I may not stain with grief
For now, to mourn their judge and child, arrives

The death-song of an Indian chief!'
A faithful band. With solemn rites between,
'Twas sung, how they were lovely in their lives,
And in their deaths had not divided been.

Ve Mariners of England.
Touched by the music and the melting scene,

Ye mariners of England ! Was scarce one tearless eye amidst the crowd

That guard our native seas; Stern warriors, resting on their swords, were seen

Whose flag has braved, a thousand years, To veil their eyes, as passed each much-loved shroud The battle and the breeze! While woman's softer soul in woe dissolved aloud.

Your glorious standard launch again

To match another foe ! Then mournfully the parting bugle bid

And sweep through the deep, Its farewell o'er the grave of worth and truth;

While the stormy winds do blow; Prone to the dust, afflicted Waldegrave hid

While the battle rages loud and long,
His face on earth ; him watched, in gloomy ruth,

And the stormy winds do blow.
His woodland guide : but words had none to soothe
The grief that knew not consolation's name ;

The spirits of your fathers
Casting his Indian mantle o'er the youth,

Shall start from every wave! He watched, beneath its folds, each burst that came

For the deck it was their field of fame, Convulsive, ague-like, across his shuddering frame !

And ocean was their grave;

Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell, *
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow ;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.
Britannia needs no bulwarks,
No towers along the steep ;
Her march is o'er the mountain-waves,
Her home is on the deep.
With thunders from her native oak,
She quells the floods below,
As they roar on the shore,
When the stormy winds do blow ;
When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.
The meteor flag of England
Shall yet terrific burn;
Till danger's troubled night depart,
And the star of peace rern.
Then, then, ye ocean-warriors !
Our song and feast shall flow
To the fame of

your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow;
When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow !

So peace instead of death let us bring ;
But yield, proud foe, thy fleet,
With the crews, at England's feet,
And make submission meet
To our king.'
Then Denmark blessed our chief,
That he gave her wounds repose ;
And the sounds of joy and grief
From her people wildly rose,
As death withdrew his shades from the day.
While the sun looked smiling bright
O'er a wide and woful sight,
Where the fires of funeral light
Died away.
Now joy, Old England, raise !
For the tidings of thy might,
By the festal cities' blaze,
Whilst the wine-cup shines in light ;
And yet amidst that joy and uproar,
Let us think of them that sleep,
Full many a fathom deep,
By thy wild and stormy steep,
Elsinore !
Brave hearts ! to Britain's pride
Once so faithful and so true,
On the deck of fame that died,
With the gallant good Riou ;*
Soft sigh the winds of heaven o'er their grave !
While the billow mournful rolls
And the mermaid's song condoles,
Singing glory to the souls
Of the brave ! +

Battle of the Baltic.
Or Nelson and the North,
Sing the glorious day's renown,
When to battle fierce came forth
All the might of Denmark's crown,
And her arms along the deep proudly shone ;
By each gun the lighted brand,
In a bold determined hand,
And the Prince of all the land
Led them on.
Like leviathans afloat,
Lay their bulwarks on the brine ;
While the sign of battle flew
On the lofty British line :
It was ten of April morn by the chime :
As they drifted on their path,
There was silence deep as death ;
And the boldest held his breath
For a time.
But the might of England flushed
To anticipate the scene ;
And her van the fleeter rushed
O'er the deadly space between.
'Hearts of oak!' our captains cried ; when each

gun
From its adamantine lips
Spread a death-shade round the ships,
Like the hurricane eclipse
of the sun.
Again! again ! again!
And the havoc did not slack,
Till a feeble cheer the Dane
To our cheering sent us back ;
Their shots along the deep slowly boom
Then ceased and all is wail,
As they strike the shattered sail;
Or, in conflagration pale,
Light the gloom.
Out spoke the victor then,
As he hailed them o'er the wave :

Ye are brothers ! ye are men !
And we conquer but to save ;

Hohenlinden. On Linden, when the sun was low, All bloodless lay the untrodden snow, And dark as winter was the flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly. But Linden saw another sight, When the drum beat at dead of night, Commanding fires of death to light The darkness of her scenery. By torch and trumpet fast arrayed, Each horseman drew his battle-blade, And furious every charger neighed, To join the dreadful revelry. Then shook the hills with thunder riven, Then rushed the steed to battle driven, And louder than the bolts of heaven Far flashed the red artillery. But redder yet that light shall glow On Linden's hills of stained snow, And bloodier yet the torrent flow Of Iser, rolling rapidly.

* Captain Riou, styled by Lord Nelson the gallant and the good.-CAMPBELL

+ The first draft of the above noble poem was sent to Scott in 1805, and consists of thirty stanzas-all published in Beattie's Life of Campbell. The piece was greatly improved by the condensation, but the following omitted verses on the English sailors are striking :

Not such a mind possessed

England's tar;
'Twas the love of noble game
Set his oaken heart on flame,
For to him 'twas all the same-

Sport and war.
All hands and eyes on watch

As they keep
By their motion light as wings,
By each step that haughty springs,
You might know them for the kings
Of the deep.

109

When first printed (Nelson being then living), this line stood, 'Where Blake, the boast of freedom, sell."

'Tis morn, but scarce yon level sun

The gladsome current of our youth,
Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun,

Ere passion yet disorders,
Where furious Frank and fiery Hun

Steals, lingering like a river smooth
Shout in their sulphurous canopy.

Along its grassy borders.
The combat deepens. On, ye brave,

But as the care-worn cheek grows wan,
Who rush to glory, or the grave !

And sorrow's shafts fly thicker,
Wave, Munich ! all thy banners wave,

Ye stars that measure life to man,
And charge with all thy chivalry.

Why seem your courses quicker ?
Few, few shall part where many meet !

When joys have lost their bloom and breath,
The snow shall be their winding sheet ;

And life itself is vapid,
And every turf beneath their feet

Why, as we reach the falls of death,
Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.*

Feel we its tide more rapid ?
From The Last Man.'

It may be strange-yet who would change

Time's course to slower speeding ;
All worldly shapes shall melt in gloom-

When one by one our friends have gone,
The sun himself must die,

And left our bosoms bleeding?
Before this mortal shall assume
Its immortality!

Heaven gives our years of fading strength
I saw a vision in my sleep,

Indemnifying fleetness;
That gave my spirit strength to sweep

And those of youth, a seeming length,
Adown the gulf of time!

Proportioned to their sweetness.
I saw the last of human mould
That shall creation's death behold,
As Adam saw her prime!

MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS.
The sun's eye had a sickly glare,

MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS, author of The
The earth with age was wan;

Monk, was born in London in the year 1775. His The skeletons of nations were

father was deputy-secretary in the War-office, Around that lonely man!

and owner of extensive West Indian possessions. Some had expired in fight-the brands

Matthew was educated at Westminster School, Still rusted in their bony hands

where he was more remarkable for his love of In plague and famine some :

theatrical exhibitions than for his love of learning. Earth's cities had no sound nor tread;

On leaving Westminster, he was entered of Christ And ships were drifting with the dead

Church College, Oxford, but remained only a To shores where all was dumb!

short period, being sent to Germany with the Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood

view of acquiring a knowledge of the language of With dauntless words and high,

that country. When a child, Lewis had pored That shook the sere leaves from the wood, over Glanville on Witches, and other books of As if a storm passed by;

diablerie ; and in Germany he found abundant Saying: 'We are twins in death, proud sun; food of the same description. Romance and the Thy face is cold, thy race is run,

drama were his favourite studies; and whilst resi'Tis mercy bids thee go.

dent abroad, he composed his story of The Monk, For thou, ten thousand thousand years,

a work more extravagant in its use of supernatural Hast seen the tide of human tears, That shall no longer flow....

machinery than any previous English tale of

modern times, and disfigured with licentious pass*This spirit shall return to Him

ages. The novel was published in 1795, and That gave its heavenly spark ;

attracted much attention. A prosecution, it is said, Yet think not, sun, it shall be dim,

was threatened on account of the peccant scenes When thou thyself art dark !

and descriptions; to avert which, Lewis pledged No! it shall live again, and shine

himself to recall the printed copies, and to recast In bliss unknown to beams of thine,

the work in another edition. The author conBy Him recalled to breath, Who captive led captivity,

tinued through life the same strain of marvellous Who robbed the grave of victory,

and terrific composition-now clothing it in verse, And took the sting from death!'

now infusing it into the scenes of a drama, and at other times expanding it into regular tales. His

Tales of Terror, 1799; Tales of Wonder (to which A Thought suggested by the New Year.

Sir Walter Scott contributed); Romantic Tales, The more we live, more brief appear

1808 ; The Bravo of Venice, 1804; and Feudal Our life's succeeding stages :

Tyrants, 1806, both translated from the German, A day to childhood seems a year,

with numerous dramas, all bespeak the same parAnd years like passing ages.

entage as The Monk, and none of them excels it.

His best poetry, as well as prose, is to be found Originally this last line stood :

in this novel ; for, like Mrs Radcliffe, Lewis introShall mark the soldier's cemetry.'

duced poetical compositions into his tales; and Other verbal alterations were made, for Campbell was fond of re- his ballads of Alonzo the Brave and Durandarte touching his pieces, and generally for the better. He had early tried the measure in which Hohenlinden is written. In his six were as attractive as any of the adventures of teenth year (1793), he composed some verses on the Queen of Ambrosio the monk. Flushed with the brilliant France (Marie Antoinette), which commence thus:

success of his romance, and fond of distinction "Behold! where Gallia's captive queen,

and high society, Lewis procured a seat in parliaWith steady eye and look serene, In life's last awful-awful scene,

ment, and was returned for the borough of Hindon, Slow leaves her sad captivity.'

but he never attempted to address the House.

The theatres offered a more attractive field for his properly—in fact, whether the lady has eloped or genius; and his play of The Castle Spectre, pro- not, it seems she does not choose to make her apduced in 1797, was applauded as enthusiastically pearance, either for your benefit or mine : and to and more universally than his romance. Con- say the truth, I don't at this moment know where nected with his dramatic fame, a very interesting to find her. I take the liberty to jest upon the anecdote is related in the Memoirs and Corres- subject, because I really do not think you will pondence of Lewis, published in 1839. It illus- have any cause to regret her non-appearance ; trates his native benevolence, which, amidst all having had an opportunity of witnessing your very the frivolities of fashionable life, and the excite- admirable performance of a far superior character, ment of misapplied talents, was a conspicuous in a style true to nature, and which reflects upon feature in his character :

you the highest credit. I allude to a most inter"Being one autumn on his way to participate in esting scene in which you lately sustained the the enjoyments of the season with the rest of the character of The Daughter !' Brides of all defashionable world at a celebrated watering-place, nominations but too often prove their empire he passed through a small country town, in which delusive; but the character you have chosen will chance occasioned his temporary sojourn : here improve upon every representation, both in the also were located a company of strolling players, estimation of the public and the satisfaction of whose performance he one evening witnessed your own excellent heart. For the infinite gratifiAmong them was a young actress, whose benefit cation I have received, I must long consider mywas on the tapis, and who, on hearing of the self in your debt. Trusting you will permit the arrival of a person so talked of as Monk Lewis, inclosed (fifty pounds) in some measure to diswaited upon him at the inn, to request the very charge the same, I remain, madam—with sentitrifling favour of an original piece from his pen. ments of respect and admiration-your sincere The lady pleaded in terms that urged the spirit of well-wisher-M. G. LEWIS.”' benevolence to advocate her cause in a heart Scott met Lewis in Edinburgh in 1798, and so never closed to such appeal. Lewis had by him humble were then his own aspirations, and so at that time an unpublished trifle, called The brilliant the reputation of the Monk,' that he Hindoo Bride, in which a widow was immolated declared, thirty years afterwards, he never felt on the funeral pile of her husband. The subject such elation as when Lewis asked him to dine with was one well suited to attract a country audience, him at his hotel ! Lewis schooled the great poet and he determined thus to appropriate the drama. on his incorrect rhyme, and proved himself

, as The delighted suppliant departed all joy and Scott says, 'a martinet in the accuracy of rhymes gratitude at being requested to call for the manu- and numbers. Sir Walter has recorded that script the next day. Lewis, however, soon dis- Lewis was fonder of great people than he ought to covered that he had been reckoning without his have been, either as a man of talent or as a man host, for, on searching the travelling-desk which of fashion. He had always,' he says, ' dukes and contained many of his papers, The Bride was no- duchesses in his mouth, and was pathetically fond where to be found, having, in fact, been left of any one that had a title : you would have sworn behind in town. Exceedingly annoyed by this he had been a parvenu of yesterday ; yet he had circumstance, which there was no time to remedy, lived all his life in good society." Yet Scott the dramatist took a pondering stroll through the regarded Lewis with no small affection. “He was,' rural environs of B— A sudden shower added he, one of the kindest and best creatures obliged him to take refuge within a huckster's that ever lived. His father and mother lived shop, where the usual curtained half-glass door in separately. Mr Lewis allowed his son a handsome the rear opened to an adjoining apartment ; from income, but reduced it by more than one-half this room he heard two voices in earnest conver- when he found that he paid his mother a moiety sation, and in one of them recognised that of his of it. Mat. restricted himself in all his expenses, theatrical petitioner of the morning, apparently and shared the diminished income with her as replying to the feebler tones of age and infirmity. before. He did much good by stealth, and was “There now, mother, always that old story-when a most generous creature. The sterling worth of I've just brought such good news too-after I've his character has been illustrated by the publihad the face to call on Mr Monk Lewis, and cation of his correspondence, which, slumbering found him so different to what I expected ; so twenty years after his death, first disclosed to the good-humoured, so affable, and willing to assist public the calm good sense, discretion, and right me. I did not say a word about you, mother ; for though in some respects it might have done good, * Of this weakness Byron records an amusing instance : "Lewis, I thought it would seem so like a begging affair; at Oatlands, was observed one morning to have his eyes red so I merely represented my late ill-success, and he people

said anything kind to him it affected him deeply, " and promised to give me an original drama, which he just now the Duchess (of York) has said something so kind to me, had with him, for my benefit. I hope he did not said Colonel Armstrong to him— never mind —don't cryshe think me too bold !"" "I hope not, Jane,” replied could not mean it." Lewis was of extremely diminutive stature. the feeble voice ; "only don't do these things I remember a picture of him,' says Scott, by Saunders, being again without consulting me; for you don't know Aung a dark folding mantle around the form, under which was the world, and it may be thought' The sun half hid a dagger, a dark lantern, or some such cut-throat apjust then gave a broad hint that the shower had purtenance. With all this, the features were preserved and ceased, and the sympathising author returned to of Buccleuch, who, hearing the general voice affirm that it was his inn, and having penned the following letter, very like-said aloud : " Like Mat. Lewis ! Why, that picture's ordered post-horses, and despatched a porter to elbow. This boyishness went through life with him. He was a the young actress with the epistle :

child, and a spoiled child--but a child of high imagination, and MADAM-I am truly sorry to acquaint you had the finest car for the rhythm of verse I ever met with—finer that my Hindoo Bride' has behaved most im- than Byron's..*

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