Too much for such short hours as life-affords,

And I would fain from out the golden

hoards

Of joy, pluck some fair ornament, at last, To gild my life with-but my life hath past.

Her head sank on her bosom: gently he Kissed off the big bright tears of misery. Alas! that ever such glittering drops should flow

(Bright as though born of Happiness) from woe!

-He soothed her for a time, and she grew calm,

For lovers' language is the surest balm To hearts that sorrow much; that night they parted

With kisses and with tears, but both light. hearted,

And many a vow was made, and promise spoke,

And well believed by both, and never broke:

They parted, but from that time often

In process of time the happy pair were united; but one morning when Colonna was out upon his wanderings, who should appear before him but Julia's first husband Orsini, who had actually been so ill-bred as to vomit out the salt water which he had swallowed, instead of politely permitting it to choak him? Without any explanation as to the reason of the expedition, Marcian instantly set sail, with his Julia, from Italy, and of course, according to the invariable practice of poets, from the Odyssey and the Æneid, down to Don Juan, they are encountered by a storm. Although it is a kind of writing quite out of his usual way, we must admit that Barry Corn wall's storm is but little, if any thing, inferior to those of his great predecessors. We are sorry that we have not room for it at present, but we shall insert it in our next Number. It contains, among other fine passages, the sublime, though somewhat laboured, apostrophe to the Ocean, which we quoted in our last, and it thus concludes:

And now whither are gone the lovers now?

Colonna, wearest thou anguish on thy brow, And is the valour of the moment gone? Fair Julia, thou art smiling now alone:

Rolls boiling o'er the wreck triumphantly, And shrieks are heard and cries, and then short groans,

Which the waves stifle quick, and doubtful tones

Like the faint moanings of the wind pass by,

And horrid gurgling sounds rise up and die, And noises like the choaking of man's breath

-But why prolong the tale-it is of death.

The heroes of this poem have all, like Sir John Falstaff, 66 a kind of alacrity in sinking;" however, drowning is a death which they abhor as much as he did. Marcian and Julia start up again as well as Orsini-but it would have been much better for them if they had remained quietly in the caverns of the ocean. They are very needlessly thrown ashore, and rescued by some fishermen, and Marcian leads a romantic kind of life for a time, supporting his beloved by means of that humble craft. He again, however, finds that Orsini is in his neighbourhood, and he carries Julia into the wild retreats of the Appenines, near the monastery of Laverna, where he had passed his insane youth, and where his star was now destined to set still more heavily in clouds. She discovers the existence of her husband, and secretly resolves to part from Marcian:-he reads her purpose in her changed deportment,-he forms his own dark purpose, and the story ends in the following powerfully painted, but too horrible catastrophe:

No talk was pleasant now; no image fair; No freshness and no fragrance filled the air; No music in the winds nor in the sound The wild birds uttered from the forests round:

The sun had lost its light, and drearily The morning stole upon his altered eye; And night with all her starry eyes grew dim,

For she was changed,-and nought was true to him.

From pain—at length, from pain, (for could he bear

The sorrow burning wild without a tear ?) He rushed beside her: Towards him gloomily

She looked, and then he gasped-" We

list to meWe-we must part-must part: is it not

so ?"

She hung her head and murmured, "Woe, oh! woe,

That it must be so-nay, Colonna-nay
Hearken unto me: little can I say,
But sin-(is it not sin ?) doth wear my
heart

Away to death. Alas! and must we part, We who have loved so long and trulyyes;

Were we not born, (we were,) for wretchedness.

Oh! Marcian, Marcian, I must go: my road

Leads to a distant home, a calm abode, There I may pine my few sad years away, And die, and make my peace ere I decay-" She spoke no more, for now she saw his soul

Rising in tumult, and his eyeballs roll
Wildly and fiery red, and thro' his cheek
Deep crimson shot: he sighed but did not
speak.

Keeping a horrid silence there he sate,
A maniac, full of love, and death, and fate.
Again the star that once his eye shone o'er
Flash'd forth again more fiercely than be-
fore:

And thro' his veins the current fever flew Like lightning, withering all it trembled through;

He clenched his hands and rushed away,

away,

And looked and laughed upon the opening day,

And mocked the morn with shouts, and

wandered wild

We have quoted some of the finest passages in this poem, although there are many splendid invocations and descriptions, to which we have not been of the Dramatic Scenes, or the Miscelable to allude, nor can we now speak laneous Pieces which are subjoined to

it. It is Mr Cornwall's greatest, but we do not think his most pleasing or successful effort. He has tasked himself high, but seems to be treading too closely on the steps of Lord Byron. We like his own native walks much bet ter. Nobody but that Lord can make ruffians and madmen at all agreeable, and we have really no wish to see any one else succeed in the same attempt, though the whole poetic world are striving hard at it, we think, with very little to do for their pains. Mr Shelley has beat his Lordship all to nothing in point of atrocity,-but we look upon Mr Shelley's performances as solely and simply detestable and hateful; he is un enfant perdu,' on whom it is not worth while to waste a word; but we regret to see the pure and classical muse of Mr Cornwall giving any countenance whatever to this reigning folly. Perhaps, like all other poets of the age,

(except Campbell, who has the opposite fault,) he is getting into the way of writing too much and too hurriedly; and the consequence must be, that he can scarce avoid falling into the prevailing fashion, of whatever kind that may be. He struck out a path for himself in his Dramatic Scenes. Why should he not try to redeem our modern poetry from the stigma which has so long been affixed to it-its dramatic incapacity? Why should he not attempt a whole play? Only let him not be in a hurry. We do not absolutely insist upon the nonum prematur in annum,"-but he is one of those poets, we imagine, who cannot finish too highly, and whose delicate and refined genius must only shine the brighter from every fresh application of the file.

66

ANECDOTES OF THE LATE KING AND

QUEEN.

THE following anecdotes are from the letters of Mrs Delany, widow of Dr Patrick Delany, just published. We have not seen the book itself, but we gladly avail ourselves of the selection made from it in that very useful and well conducted Miscellany, the Literary Gazette. There can be no finer tribute to the virtues of our departed Sovereigns, and these, alas! are times

in which

We cannot but remember such things were That were most precious to us!

Mrs Delany lived first with the Duchess of Portland, and on her death was invited by their Majesties to reside near them in Windsor, where she had constant opportunities of observing their interior economy and private conduct. The preface justly remarks

"At a moment like this, when the recent loss of our beloved monarch has excited interest towards every circumstance illustrative of his private life and character, it is thought that these letters, unaffectedly displaying the domestic happiness that reigned at Windsor Castle, and recording many traits which do honour to the head and the heart of the Sovereign, and of his Consort, would not prove uninteresting to the public. Who, indeed, would not rejoice that truc happiness,' characterized by a great author as arising from the enjoyment of one's self, and from the friendship and conversation of a few select com

panions,' should have so eminently existed, where least likely to be found; on the centre of a Court, on the very throne of the greatest and most powerful empire of Europe?

"Many of the anecdotes will, perhaps, be thought by some readers too trivial and unimportant for public notice; did they concern private individuals, the objection would be readily admitted; but the most. trifling circumstance acquires dignity and interest, when it refers to departed worth and greatness; and the mind dwells with more satisfaction upon the recollection of George the Third, as the exemplary character in every social relation of life, than it does upon the splendour of his regal state."

Before copying the account of an evening at Windsor, we insert the Queen's letter of invitation to the author of these letters, who thus states the circumstance to her friend.

"On Saturday, the 3d of this month, one of the Queen's messengers came and brought me the following letter from her majesty, written with her own hand :666 My dear Mrs Delany will be glad to hear that I am charged by the King to summon her to her new abode at Windsor

for Tuesday next, where she will find all the most essential parts of the house ready, excepting some little trifles, which it will be better for Mrs Delany to direct herself in person, or by her little deputy, Miss Port. I need not, I hope, add, that I shall be extremely glad and happy to see so amiable an inhabitant in this our sweet retreat; and wish, very sincerely, that my dear Mrs Delany may enjoy every blessing amongst us that her merits deserve. That we may long enjoy her amiable company, Amen! These are the true sentiments of, 666 My dear Mrs Delany's "Very affectionate Queen, "CHARLOTTE. "Queen's Lodge, Windsor, Sept 3, 1785.

"P. S. I must also beg that Mrs Delany will choose her own time of coming, as will best suit her own convenience.'

"I received the Queen's letter at dinner, and was obliged to answer it instantly, with my own hand, without seeing a letter I wrote. I thank God I had strength enough to obey the gracious summons on the day appointed. I arrived here about eight o'clock in the evening, and found his Majesty in the house ready to receive me. I threw myself at his feet, indeed unable to utter a word; he raised and saluted me, and said he meant not to stay longer than to desire I would order every thing that could make the house comfortable and agreeable to me, and then retired.

66

Truly I found nothing wanting, as it

next morning at eight o'clock; and, after chapel was over, she separated herself from me, and had a long conference with the King and Queen, as they stopped to speak to her on our coming out of chapel. When we returned to breakfast, I taxed her with her having robbed ine of an opportunity of hearing what their Majesties said to her, by standing at such a distance. She told me it was secret; but she had now their permission to tell me what it was, and then informed me of the whole affair.

"I was commanded in the evening to attend them at the Lodge, where I spent the evening; the happiness of being with them not a little increased by seeing the fulness of joy that appeared in every coun

tenance.

"One little anecdote of the Queen struck me, as a stronger instance of her real tender feeling towards our dear old friend, than all her bounties or honours. As soon as the Duchess of Portland died, Mrs Delany got into a chaise to go to her own house; the Duke followed her, begging to know what she would accept of that belonged to his mother. Mrs Delany recollected a bird that the Duchess always fed and kept in her own room, desired to have it, and felt towards it as you must suppose. In a few days she got a bad fever, and the bird died; but for some hours she was too ill even to recollect her bird. The Queen had one of the same sort, which she valued extremely, (a weaver bird.) She took it with her own hands, and, while Mrs Delany slept, had the cage brought, and put her own bird into it, charging every one not to let it go so near Mrs Delany as that she could perceive the change, till she was enough recovered to bear the loss of her first favourite. This requires no comment, as it speaks strongly for itself."

At a royal visit to Bulstrode, Mrs Delany tells us

"I kept my distance till she called me to ask some questions about the mosaic paper work, and, as I stood before her Majesty, the King set a chair behind me. I turned with some confusion and hesitation on receiving so great an honour, when the Queen said, Mrs Delany, sit down, sit down; it is not every lady that has a chair brought her by a king-so I obeyed. Amongst many gracious things, the Queen asked me why I was not with the Duchess when she came, for I might be sure she would ask for me?' I was flattered, though I knew to whom I was obliged for the distinction, (and doubly flattered by that.) I acknowledged it in as few words as possible, and said I was particularly happy at that time to pay my duty to her Majesty, as it gave me an opportunity of seeing so many of the Royal Family, which age and obscurity had deprived me of. Oh but,' says her Majesty, you have not seen all my children yet; upon which the King

6

came up and asked what we were talking about?' which was repeated; and the King replied to the Queen, You may put Mrs Delany into the way of doing that, by naming a day for her to drink tea at Windsor Castle.' The Duchess of Portland was consulted, and the next day fixed upon, as the Duchess had appointed the end of the week for going to Weymouth.

men.

"We went at the hour appointed, seven o'clock, and were received in the lower private apartment at the Castle: went through a large room with great bay windows, where were all the Princesses and youngest Princes, with their attendant ladies and gentleWe passed on to the bedchamber, where the Queen stood in the middle of the room, with Lady Weymouth and Lady Charlotte Finch. (The King and the eldest Princes had walked out.) When the Queen took her seat, and the ladies their places, she ordered a chair to be set for me opposite to where she sat, and asked me if I felt any wind from the door or window ? It was indeed a sultry day.

"At eight the King, &c. came into the room, with so much cheerfulness and good humour, that it was impossible to feel any painful restriction. It was the hour of the King and Queen and eleven of the Princes and Princesses' walking on the terrace. They apologised for going, but said the crowd expected them; but they left Lady Weymouth and the Bishop of Lichfield to entertain us in their absence: we sat in the bay-window, well pleased with our companions, and the brilliant show on the terrace, on which we looked; the band of music playing all the time under the window.-When they returned we were summoned into the next room to tea, and the Royals began a ball, and danced two country dances, to the music of French horns, bassoons, and hautboys, which were the same that played on the terrace. The King came up to the Prince of Wales, and said he was sure, when he considered how great an effort it must be to play that kind of music so long a time together, that he would not continue their dancing there, but that the Queen and the rest of the company were going to the Queen's house, and they should renew their dancing there, and have proper music.

"I can say no more :-I cannot describe the gay, the polished appearance of the Queen's house, furnished with English ma

nufacture."

of these beautiful scenes, and shall onWe need not multiply the account ly add, in the words of the Journalists

from whom this selection is taken, that we have been exceedingly affected by reading them, particularly under the existing circumstances of the royal house and country.