Page images
PDF
EPUB
[blocks in formation]

And the helmsman he looked to the flapping shroud,

And he looked to the bright blue sky:

And he mutter'd a curse as he drew his hand

Across his sleepless eye.

The sailors they listlessly roam'd the deck,
And lean'd o'er the good ship's side:

They curs'd the calm, and they long'd for the breeze,
As they look'd on the moveless tide.

And aye they long'd for the fresh sea breeze
To waft them on their way;

And aye they long'd for the fresh sea breeze
To bear them to their prey.

But the breeze was hush'd, and the breeze was still,
And the sea was without stir or motion;
And the sea-bird slept as she floated along
Above the glassy ocean.

Dreadfully, dreadfully laboured the ship
Against the o'erwhelming wave,
And her timbers groan'd as if in fear
Of their fearfully yawning grave.

And despair was in each pirate's brow,
Distraction was his eye,

He looked to heaven, and he thought on hell,
As the vessel was toss'd on high.

A single instant she hung on the verge
Of the dreadfully driven up wave,

And the yell of despair rang above the blast,
As they plunged to their foaming grave.

One stroke on that rock

And she floats again never,
But sinks 'neath the wave,
For aye and for ever.

LIFE.

C.

Between two worlds life hovers like a star, "Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge, How little do we know that which we are!

How less what we may be! the eternal surge Of time and tide rolls on, and bears afar

Our bubbles as the old burst, new emerge, Lash'd from the foam of ages; while the graves Of empires heave but like some passing waves. BYRON.

[blocks in formation]

And the grim old helmsman grinn'd with joy
As he look'd on the well-fill'd sail;

And the grim old carl he laugh'd outright
At the startled sea-bird's wail

The seamen they look'd o'er the good ship's bow,
And they look'd o'er the white sea foam;
And they shouted aloud at the sight ahead-
It was not the sight of home.

For no home had they, these men of blood,
But they shouted at sight of prey:

And they swore they would capture the ship ahead
Ere she reach'd the sheltering bay.

The pirate ship swept o'er the bellowing wave,
And the wind whistled hoarse in her sail;
She track'd the bark as the dark slot-hound
Tracks blood upon the gale.

And aye, and aye, they nearer came
To their trembling, flying prey,

And they seized and boarded the peaceful bark
Ere she reach'd the sheltering bay.

[merged small][ocr errors][merged small][ocr errors]

DEATH.

What is it to die?-To drink

Of a yet untasted river;

To leap from a yet untrodden brink,
Which we shall revisit never.

'Tis to take a journey afar,

In a cold and mirky night,

Thro' paths unknown, where moon nor star
Ere shed a smile of light.

'Tis to sleep in a clayey cell,
With corruption for our bride;
Deaf, dumb, insensible,
Waked by no morning's tide.

"Tis to mingle with ashes and dust,
Like the meanest thing we see,
And be blown about by the windy gust,
Or dissolve in the mighty sea.
What is it to die?—'Tis nought
But to close the book of care,
Inter in the grave all troubling thought,
And rest with oblivion there.

This is the worst; for if truth
Shine in the scripture page,

The spirit shall wear the wings of youth,
And live through an endless age.

It shall bathe in the living streams
Round the gardens of heaven that flow;
And revel in light, whose dazzling beams
Disperse all the mists of woe.

Like a star in a cloudless night,
Pure and sublime shall it be-
Fairer than noontide's presence bright→→
Fixed as eternity.

BOWRING.

AN ADDRESS TO EVENING. When eve is purpling cliff and cave, Thoughts of the heart, how soft ye flow! Not softer on the western wave

The golden lines of sunset glow.

Then all, by chance or fate removed,

Like spirits crowd upon the eye,
The few we liked-the one we loved-
And the whole heart is memory.

And life is like this fading hour,
Its beauty dying as we gaze;
Yet as the shadows round us lour,

Heaven pours above the brighter blaze. When morning sheds its gorgeous dye, Our hope, our heart, to earth is given; But dark and lonely is the eye

That turns not, at its eve, to heaven.
BOWRING.

AMERICA AND ENGLAND.
Though ages long have past,

Since our fathers left their home,
Their pilot in the blast,

O'er untravelled seas to roam,

Yet lives the blood of England in our veins;
And shall we net proclaim
That blood of honest fame
Which no tyranny can tame
By its chains?

While the language free and bold
Which the bard of Avon sung,

In which our Milton told

How the vault of Heaven rung,

When Satan, blasted, fell with all his host;
While these with reverence meet,
Ten thousand echoes greet,
And from rock to rock repeat,
Round our coast.

While the manners, while the arts,

That mould a nation's soul

Still cling around our hearts,

Between, let ocean roll,

Our joint communion breaking with the sun;
Yet still from either beach

The voice of blood shall reach,
More audible than speech,
We are one!
WASHINGTON ALLSTON.

THE DREAM.

Farewell! and yet how may I teach
My heart to say Farewell to thee?
My first young love, the light, the hope,
The breath, the soul of life to me!
I had last night a strange wild dream,
The very emblem of my love,—
I saw a stately eagle's wing

Become the refuge for a dove.
And for a while most tenderly
The eagle cherished his guest;
And never had the dove a home
Of happiness like that fond breast.

It was a sight for love to see

That hanghty and that gentle bird, Caressing and carest, so oft

The mingling murmurs from them heard. But troubled grew the eagle's crest,

And stern and careless his dark eye, And so regardless of the dove,

I marvelled that she did not fly:

Then sudden spread his mighty plumes,
And flung the helpless dove away;
There on the ground, with broken wing,
And soiled and bleeding breast, she lay.
Poor silly bird! if thou hadst flown
Before, this fate had not been thine.
I wakened, and I thought how soon
Such fall, such falsehood, might be mine.
L. E. L.

THE FIRST-BORN OF EGYPT.
When life is forgot, and night hath power,
And mortals feel no dread;

When silence and slumber rule the hour,

And dreams are round the head;

God shall smite the first-born of Egypt's race,
The destroyer shall enter each dwelling place-
Shall enter and choose his dead.

"To your homes," said the leader of Israel's host, "And slaughter a sacrifice;

Let the life-blood be sprinkled on each door-post,
Nor stir till the morn arise,

And the angel of vengeance shall pass you by,
He shall see the red stain, and shall not come nigh
Where the hope of your household lies."

The people hear, and they bow them low-
Each to his house hath flown;

The lamb is slain, and with blood they go

And sprinkle the lintel-stone;

And the doors they close when the sun hath set,
But few in oblivious sleep forget

The judgment to be done.

'Tis midnight-yet they hear no sound
Along the lone still street;

No blast of a pestilence sweeps the ground,
No tramp of unearthly feet

Nor rush as of harpy wing goes by,

But the calm moon floats in the cloudless sky,
Mid her wan light clear and sweet.

Once only, shot like an arrowy ray,
A pale blue flash was seen,

It pass'd so swift, the eye scarce could say
That such a thing had been;

Yet the beat of every heart was still,
And the flesh crawl'd fearfully and chill,
And back flow'd every vein.

The courage of Israel's bravest quail'd
At the view of that awful light,

Though knowing the blood of their offspring avail'd
To shield them from its might :

They felt 'twas the Spirit of Death had past,
That the brightness they saw his cold glance had cast
On Egypt's land that night :-

That his fearful eye had unwarn'd struck down
In the darkness of the grave,

The hope of that empire, the pride of its crown,
The first-born of lord and slave:-
The lovely, the tender, the ardent, the gay:
Where were they?-all wither'd in ashes away,
At the terrible death-glare it gave.

From the couches of slumber ten thousand cries
Burst forth mid the silence dread-
The youth by his living brother lies
Sightless, and dumb, and dead!

The infant lies cold at his mother's breast,
She had kiss'd him alive as she sank to rest,
She awakens-his life hath filed!

And shrieks from the palace chambers break-
Their inmates are steep'd in woe,

And Pharaoh hath found his proud arm too weak
To arrest the mighty blow:

Wail, king of the Pyramids! Egypt's throne
Cannot lighten thy heart of a single groan,
For thy kingdom's heir laid low.

Wail, king of the Pyramids ! Death hath cast
His shafts through thine empire wide,
But o'er Israel in bondage his rage hath passed,
No first-born of hers hath died-
Go, Satrap! command that the captive be free,
best their God in fierce anger should smite even thee,
On the crown of thy purple pride.

LINNEAN ANNALS.

fatigable travellers and naturalists, and largest contributors to the Linnæan Society.

Extract from the Communication of Dr. FELIX PAS-We find his extensive collection of human CALIS, President of the Linnæan Society, at the sitting, Wednesday 23d November, 1825. THE Linnæan Society is a Cosmopolitan institution; the task of the members is not

defined by limits of time or district, in this

or other continents; their numerous scientific connexions oftener require the labours of the closet than those of a public hall; they receive liberally from foreign associates, who never exhaust their abundant stock, and they distribute all that can be obtained, without impoverishing themselves. An accrued interest of honour and merit is

skulls to prove the degeneration of man kind of Makoia! Lalande was the accufrom the Asiatic race down to the brute

rate observer of no less than 13400 animated beings.

The Abbé Correa de Serra comes next, sador from his sovereign, the king of Portuwhom we have seen among us as an ambas

gal, and as an associate of our literary institutions. Cuvier has praised his great skill and judgment in those lines which he drew between all genera and species of organized beings; and Sir J. Ed. Smyth, president of the London Linnean Society, honoured his name by conveying it to a family of plants of the Octandria Monogynia, now called the Correas.

secured to them, with an incontestable right of dominion in nature, and with the intellectual possession of its treasures, whether these are hidden in the bosom of the earth, or incessantly reproduced by the providential laws governing the animated and vege-dent of the British Missionary Establishment The celebrated Th. Ed. Bowdich, presi

table creation.

To the valuable collection of the Parisian Annals, succeeding numbers have been added, which contain new accessions to

in Africa, adorns our necrologic catalogue. He was one of the most successful explorators of the nation of the Ashantees princi

Botany, and to its Physiology, to Horticul-pally; which he proved, by their existing ture, Enthomology, and Zoology.

The number of May last, commencing volume IV, presents us with a necrologic biography of eleven deceased Linnæan members, during the years 1823 and '24. Thus the works and scientific discoveries of our colleagues are laid up for posterity, and intermingled with the history of their attainments and virtues. Edward Jenner is at the head of this catalogue. Notwithstanding the doubts and incertitudes which

of late years have arisen against the efficacy of his admirable process, I am happy to remark, that another Linnæan member has vindicated it by defining to what quality of the variolic virus, and to what degree of that | disease the prophylactic power of the vaccine is applicable; that is, to the virus of the artificial small-pox only, and to the form of the epidemic small-pox, which it changes from a very mortal disease into a benign varioloid. Thus is the Jennerian process equally important and beneficial as it was thought to be at the period of its universal adoption.*

We have also in the Annals, the life of the celebrated Lalande, one of the most inde

Vide Med, and Phys. Jour. of N. York, No. 14.

manners and customs, to be most probably descendants from ancient Egyptians and Abyssinians. Bowdich terminated his short career last year, a victim of the infecting exhalations of that climate, while he was preparing a second inland expedition from the Cape-Coast Castle, at the age of 30 years. He left twenty different works, documents of useful knowledge, far more than a short life could seem sufficient to accomplish.

It is not necessary to notice other characters in the list. They all had acquitted themselves, and discharged a debt which men gifted with extraordinary talents owe to their fellow-creatures. Their memory has remained to us, and will hereafter, as an incentive of emulation to those who can

aspire to their worth, to their usefulness, and to their fame!

The foreign correspondence has, since last spring, put the Linnean Society in possession of many valuable books and encouraging testimonials of respect from learned institutions. Two respectable volumes are recommended to your attention: one is from the Linnean Society of the department of Calvados, at Caen in Normandy, through Mons. De Longchamp, their president, and Mons. Edward Louvet, one of our corres

ponding associates, who now resides in this | ly delineated, to the number of 76, and city, and edits the French Journal called which have varied in different years or seaLe Reveil: the other from the Royal Aca-sons, not only on the above mentioned plant, demy of Sciences at Nancy, transmitted but on the Linaria vulgaris, on the Phlecalso by a Linnæan member, the Chevalier thrantus fructicosus, and others. This acaLouis Valentin, M.D. who has long resided demic exercise teaches us with what cauand practised medicine in our States. In tion botanists must observe and ascertain both volumes, a considerable space is filled the true characters of plants, lest they with subjects of Natural History in every should erroneously admit new individuals department of it, well worthy the attention of the masters and adepts in that science. A correspondence is already opened with

or varieties, which are perhaps nothing but peloria or fortuitous monstrosities. Communications from several of the mem

Errata.

In the last No two mistakes occurred in the state

For the best small coloured paintings," read "the best three coloured paintings."

For obtained by young ladies only," read "young ladies are permitted to contend for all the premiums."

the lovers of Natural History in the inde-bers present will be given in the next No. pendent governments of South America, Mexico, Colombia, and Peru. From the first your president has already been pledgment of premiums: ed for future valuable specimens and observations. He has also the pleasure of introducing the writer of a letter, Dr. Juan Maria Cespedes, the Professor of Botany at Bogota, and keeper of the National Garden, New-York Literary Gazette. who with the juice of a wild but precious berry from the plant Cestrum Tinctoria, expresses his desire of fellowship in the follow-weeks ago, Mr. Cole, a young man from ing words: Philadelphia, came to this city, and placed "This happy era of the final accomplish- three landscapes in the bands of a picturement of our independence offers the best op-dealer for sale. They remained for some portunity for union and brotherhood with time unnoticed, until Col. Trumbull calling you and your fellow-citizens; under the happy effects of which, we can exchange those interesting natural productions that a kind Providence has spread over our soils."

(The president then exhibited the seeds of the above plant, with various known fruits, resins, &c. and a remarkable lump of pure wax obtained from the palm-tree, Ceroxylon Andicola, growing to the height of 160 feet! Professor Cespedes promises and announces a new botanical work, &c.)

Another American Genius.-Six or seven

He immediately

at the dealer's room on business, cast his eye upon one of them, and immediately inquired "Whence came this?" He was told in reply, that it was the work of an untaught and unknown young man. purchased the picture, and expressed the warmest admiration of the genius that executed it. The Col. mentioned his purchase to another artist, who upon the first glance at the picture was equally delighted, and forthwith purchased one of those that reA novel subject in Botany, and which mained. This he carried to Col. Trumbull's since Linnæus, had never been attended rooms, where two of our eminent artists to, is that of the peloria or deformities and were with the Col. These gentlemen also monstrosities of plants. In a dissertation awere instantly struck with admiration of the mong his Amanitates Academicæ, he had pictures, and one of them purchased the thus stated why the plant Antirrhinum vul-third. The four left their cards for Mr. garis presented so many varied, altered, and mutilated parts or forms of its flowers. The labours of Julius F. C. Ratzburg, of Prussia, have been carried still further. He has discovered that many more families of plants Thus we have one more name to add to were subject to such peloria or deformities. the illustrious list (for such it is) of AmeriHis Latin dissertation submitted to the Uni- can painters. The frank and cordial manversity of Berlin, is a well detailed exposi- ner in which Col. T. and his associates weltion of a great number of nævi materni which comed this stranger, confirms an opinion he has found in other plants, and accurate-that we have long held, that in their profes

Cole, who with the modesty generally attendant on genius in its first efforts, had not sought a personal acquaintance with any of our distinguished artists or amateurs.

sion there is a generous and manly emula-Troy, his brains got out of order, much to tion which "noble ends by noble means the regret of a flock of sheep. Now a fool obtains," and which is so free from envy and has no brains to become disordered-ergo, selfishness, that rivals in other professions Ajax was no fool! should blush for the insincerity, the coldness, and the ill-will which they indulge towards one another.

IDLE HOURS.

A chain of unequal links. ST. JEROME Supposes the Adonis of the Grecian mythology to be the same as the Tammuz or hidden one' mentioned in Ezekiel, viii. 4, for whom the prophet saw the women weeping in the temple.

*

*

*

*

The godlike, the lauded, the magnanimous Brutus, he who rose

"Refulgent from the stroke of Cæsar's fate," has never appeared to us in any other light than that of a base, ungrateful and sanguinary monster. Grant that his vaunted love of Rome induced him to consent to the death of his noble benefactor and confiding friend, what need was there for the beloved Brutus to strike the last blow, after Casca and Cassius and Cinna had already plunged their daggers into Cæsar's breast. If no How merciless Shakspeare is towards the man in all Rome could have been found old Greek heroes! He makes Ajax a foolish sufficiently audacious to strike the blow, bully, and Achilles a downright liar. The except Brutus, then it might have been an valour of the son of Thetis is no great matter act of high magnanimity in him to sacrifice even in the strain of old Homer, and in slay his private feeling to the public weal; at ing the pride of Troy, his only merit consist- least there would have been a better exed in wearying his antagonist, till he could cuse for his unexampled ingratitude. As take advantage of his fatigue to strike him things were, it was an act of unnecessary, down; for being vulnerable only in the heel, wanton, and outrageous cruelty; prompted there was no great chivalry in his courage, by vanity and ambition, with which patriparticularly as the xogudaλos Hector was otism had just as much concern as it had not the man to cut at the heel. But Shak- with Cataline's conspiracy. And this is the speare absolutely libels the godlike Achilles; man whom history has loudly proclaimed a he makes him guilty of subornation of per-demi-god, and for whom fame has culled jury. He goes round the field with his myr-the choicest flowers in her garden! This is midons, finds Hector unarmed, commands the patriot whom we are taught to admire them to dispatch him, and then (although he—this is the model we are advised to imihimself had not moved a finger) gives his tate! When will the world learn to see orders

On, myrmidons, and cry you all amain, Achilles hath the mighty Hector slain!"' Now if Shakspeare had not put this fib in the mouth of Achilles, he might have left us to explain his conduct with regard to Hector's death, without disparagement to his character; for, as he was invulnerable, fear could not prevent him from fighting Hector in person, and as his aim was revenge against the Trojan, he would conclude very correctly that it would more embitter the dying hour of the gallant Hector, to fall by the hands of vile slaves than by the sword of the renowned Achilles.

things and actions in their true light! As Doctor Johnson is dead, we may venture a dull pun on this subject, which is pardonable on account of its truth; if every man were a Brutus, all men would be brutes. For the love of mercy, let no one suppose that we lay claim to originality in a pun which, for aught we know, may be as old as a miser's in-door coat; we use it, as we use the old pen with which we are now scribbling, because our knife is too dull to make it better, so our wit is too dull to make a better pun, and we have not as yet bought a hone, whereon we might sharpen either knife or wit. We are thus particularly

Old Homer's Ajax, too, was a plain, bluff modest, because some of our exquisitely soldier, but he was no fool-he knew how to loving friends are on the watch to catch use his tongue to some purpose, as the scold- us tripping, that they may apply a little ing he gives to Idomeneus (Book 23,) satis-wholesome correction to our wayward and factorily proves. Besides, after the sack of wilful behaviour; but we give fair warning,

« PreviousContinue »