Page images




P. 247, 1. 5.

How light, where stands a tree of beauty plays.

"Take a single tree only, and consider it in this point of view. It is composed of millions of boughs, sprays and leaves intermixed with and crossing each other in as many directions, while through the various openings the eye still discovers new and infinite combinations; yet in this labyrinth of intricacy there is no unpleasant confusion: the general effect is as simple as the detail is complicate."-UVEDALE PRICE on the Picturesque, vol. i. p. 262.

P. 248, 1. 20.

Now, Uvedale, pour thy storm of satire down.

"It is to be regretted," says the amiable and highly gifted Sir Henry Stewart in his Planter's Guide (Note 13, page 411) "that Sir Uvedale Price in his valuable Essays on the Picturesque (probably the most powerful example of controversial writing and acute criticism in the language) should have somewhat lessened their effect by personal sarcasm and the bitterness of controversy. As to Brown, he has not, according to the vulgar phrase, left him the likeness of a dog;' and his conceit, his ignorance, his arrogance, his vanity, of all which Brown had his full share, are blazoned forth in the most glaring colours."



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

Now all was quiet and serene,
Hope's morning star on earth was seen,
Its light our bosoms cheer'd:

Then, then, the hurricane arose,
The dreadful tempest of our woes,
And nought but gloom appear'd.

The festal song is o'er

The voice of mirth no more
Is heard throughout the land:

With quivering lips and pale,



and old bewail

The Almighty's dread command

Grim death! oh what a blow thou gavest us here!
The thought is ev'n too bitter for a tear;
It spreads a gloom that never will depart,
A settled thunder-cloud around the heart.


And she is nothingness, who late
With joy, and hope, and love elate,
A fairy vision seem'd!

She realized those pleasures known
To few, to none who wear a crown,
Nor ev'n of sorrow dream'd.

But who can paint that dreadful grief
That asks not, wishes not relief?

The fierce, unutterable anguish,

That shuddering pity must conceal :

gnaws within her widow'd consort's breast, (Ah! happy once, with smiling pleasures blest!) And will not through exhaustion languishOh! who would this reveal?

Was it for this that Hymen join'd their hands,
Amid a people's shouts, in rosy bands,

That when with loyal hopes all hearts were gay
His lovely bride should thus be torn away?
We hoped to hear the merry bells:

Alas! they're changed to funeral knells;

Heard ye the solemn sound?

Again it tolls-the bell profound.

« PreviousContinue »