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that although States rise and fall, temples are upreared, and topple to their bases, an earthquake may render useless a “century's toil,” Poetry can make a name reverberate through the world during its existence. Terpsichore, contains much wit, humour, and sound judgment. It is written in a strictly classical spirit. A Rhymed Lesson, commences in a humorous vein, and goes on to show that God brought us into the world, not that he might tyrannize over us, but that we might possess the world for our enjoyment, having evinced our gratitude to hiin by our obedience to his laws, thus giving us an opportunity of working out our welfare.
The poem is especially intended for the uneducated poor, whom it instructs in those essential moral principles, and social virtues, with which, from their utter ignorance, they are necessarily unacquainted; it points out the necessity of bolding our passions in check, inculcates christian toleration, and recommends dispassionate judgment : it winds up with a patriotic eulogium on America, well adapted to the poor and uneducated youth. The instruction is given in a vein, semi serious and semi comic, and is consequently most likely to be generally read.
llow beautifully Holmes can indite a ballad, may be judged from,
But what if the stormy cloud should come,
And ruflic the silver sea?
Ts smile on a thing like thee?
One ray froin bis far-off throne:
THE STAR AND THE WATER LILY. The sun stepped down from his golden
throne, And lay in the silent sea, And the Lily had folded her satin leaves,
For a sleepy thing was she;
Why crisp the waters blue?
Her white leaves are glistening through!
That would lie by the Rose's side;
And he would be fond and true;-
And lovked at the sky su blue. Remeinber, remember, thou silly onc,
How fast will thy suminer glide, And wilt thou wither a virgin pale,
Of flourish a blooming bride? "Oh the Rose is old, and thorny, and cold, And he lives on earth," said she; "But the Star is fair and he lives in the air,
And he shall my bridegroom be.”
There is not a leaf on the mountain top,
Nor a drop of evening dew,
Nor a pearl in the waters blue,
And warmed with his faithless bean,
That floats on the quiet stream?
But turned to the skies afur,
That shot from the rising Star;
And over the watel's wide:
And sank in the stormy tide.
The Last Leaf, is decidedly the oddest of his productions,
and the one perhaps which is most calculated to display his idiosyncrasies : we here insert it :THE LAST LEAF.
My grandmamma has said, I saw him once before,
Poor old lady, she is dead As he passed by the door,
That he had a Roman nose,
And his cheek was like a rose
In the snow.
But now his nose is thin,
And it rests upon his chin
Like a state,
And a crook is in his back,
And a melancholy crack
In his laugh.
I know it is a sin
For me to sit and grin
At him hcre;
But the old three-cornered hat,
And the breeches, and all that
Are so queer! The mossy marbles rest
And if I should live to be
The last leaf upon the trec
In the spring, --
Let them smile, as I do now,
At the old forsaken bough
Where I cling.
They braced my aunt against a board, My aunt! my dear unmarried aunt!
To make her straight and tall;
They laced her up, they starved her down, Long years have o'er her flown ; Yet still she strains the aching clasp
To make her light and small; That binds her virgin zone;
They pinched her feet, they singed her hair, I know it hurts her,-though she looks
They screwed it up with pins;
O never mortal suffered more
In penance for her sins.
So, when my precious aunt was done, My aunt ! my poor deluded aunt!
My grandsire brought her back; Her hair is almost grey ;
(By daylight, lest some rabid youth Why will she train that winter curl
Miglit follow on the track ;) In such a spring-like way?
"Ah!" said my grandsire, as he shook How can she lay her glasses down,
Some powder in his pan, And say she reads as well,
“What could this lovely creature do When through a double convex lens,
Against a desperate man!"
Alas! nor chariot, nor barouche,
Nor bandit cavalcade, Vowed she should make the finest girl Tore from the trembling father's arms, Within a hundred miles;
His all accomplished maid. He sent her to a stylish school;
For her how happy had it been! "Twas in her thirteenth June ;
And Heaven had spared to me And with her, as the rules required,
To see one sad, ungathered rose * Two towels and a spoon.'
On my ancestral tree. In the next quotation, we are furnished with a most extra
ordinary instance of appropriate imagery : we are astonished at the happy manner in which every line bears reference to the Tailor's calling, and by the wonderful facility with which all external objects, be they great or small, are compared to the humble technicalities which characterize his profession.
EVENING, BY A TAILOR. Day hath put on his jacket, and around His barning bosom buttoned it with stars. Here will I lay me on the velvet grass, That is like padding to earth's mcare ribs, And hold commanion with the things about Ah me! how lovely is the golden braid, That binds the skirt of night's descending
robe! The thin leaves, quivering on their silken
threads, Do make a music like to rustling satin, As the light breezes smooth their downy nap, Ha! what is this that rises to my touch, So like a cushion? can it be a cabbage ? It is, it is that deeply injured flower Which boys do fiout us with;- but yet I
love thee, Thou giant rose, wrapped in a green surtout, Doubtless in Eden thou didst blush as bright As these, thy puny brethren; and thy breath Sweetened the fragrance of her spiey air ; Bat now thon seemest like a bankrupt beau, Stripped of his gaudy hues and essences, And growing portly in his sober garments. Is that a swan that rides upon the water ? Ono, it is that other gentle bird, Which is the patron of our noble calling. I well remember, in my early years, When these young hands first closed upon
The following is in Holmes' best style :
I have a scar upon my thimble finger,
It is a joy to straighten out one's limbs,
THE STETHOSCOPE SONG.
With an ivory cap and a stopper too. It happened a spider within did crawl,
And spun him a web of ample size,
A couple of very imprudent flies.
The second was smaller, and thin and long,
Like an octave flute and a tavern gong, Now being from Paris but recently,
This fine young man would show his skill;
A hospital patient extremely ill.
Then out his Stethoscope he took,
And on it placed his curious ear;
Why here is a sound that's miglity quoer!
Amphorie buzzing, as I am alive!
Amphoric buzzing, said all the tive.
We'll plunge a trucur in his side,
They tapped the patient: so he died.
Begin to look extremely glum;
And what was the matter none did know:
With pliials and boxes all in a row ;
To thump her and tumble her rutlles so.
The ties began to buzz and whiz;
An aneurism there plainly is.
This fine young man then up stepped he,
And all the doctors made a pause; Said be, -The man must die, you see,
By the fifty-seventh of Louis's laws.
To explore his chest it may be well :
You know the Autopsy would not tell.
The bruit de rape and the bruit de scie He shook his head ;-there's grave discase,
And the bruit de diable all are combined ; I greatly fear you all must die; How happy Bouilland would be,
A slight post-mortem, if you please,
Surviving friends would gratify,
The six young damsels wept alond,
Which so prevailed on six young men, In squads of twenty; 80 she died.
That each his honest love arowed,
Whercat they all got well again.
Received this kind young Doctor's cares;
And so he was reduced at last
To practise in a country town. "skies, And loathed their puddings and buttered The Doctors being very sore, rolls,
A Stethoscope they did derise, And dieted, much to their friends' surprise, That had a rammer to clear the bore, On pickles, and pencils, and chalk, and With a knob at the end to kill the flies.
coals. So fast their little hearts did bound,
Now use your ears, all you that can, The frightened insects buzzed the more; But don't forget to mind your eyes So over all their chests he found
Or you may be cheated like this young man, The rale sifflant, and rale sonore.
By a couple of silly abnormal flies. We close this first paper on American Poets, and our second, and concluding, portion, shall be devoted to a review of the works of Dana, Willis, Lowell, Poe, Whittier, and Read. We have not in this, our present division of the subject, written critically of the poets specially noticed, or of tlie probable effects which their productions may have upon the literature of America ; we consider that such a disquisition belongs to the concluding section of our paper.
ART. II.-JOHN BANIM.
ANXIETY FOR FAME AS A DRAMATIC POET. COMPOSITION OF
HIS TRAGEDY "SYLLA.” HISTORY OF THE TRAGEDY. COMPARISON OF IT WITH THE SYLLA OF DEKKER AND JOUY. EXTRACTS FROM IT. LETTERS. PROPOSED VISIT TO THE SOUTH OF ENGLAND. RESTORED HEALTH. FRIENDSHIP OP JOHN STIRLING, VISIT TO CAMBRIDGE. RESTORED HEALTH OF MRS. BANIM. URGING MICHAEL BANIM TO CONTINUE JOINT AUTHORSHIP. LETTERS. BUOYANT SPIRITS AND NEW PROJECTS. REMOVAL TO EASTBOURNE. OPINION OF MICHAEL'S TALE,
THE CROPPY.” ACCOUNT OF ITS COMPOSITION. A DAUGHTER BORN TO JOHN BANIM. CORRESPONDENCE WITH GERALD GRIFFIN. REMOVAL TO SEVEN OAKS. ADMIRABLE LETTER TO MICHAEL UPON THE COMPOSITION OF A NOVEL AND THE SELECTION OF CHARACTERS. INCIDENTS SUGGESTED AND OLD STORIES RECALLED. THE BEAUTIES AND ART OF GREAT NOVELISTS DISPLAYED. LETTER FROM MICHAEL SHOWING RESULT OF THIS ADVICE IN THE PRODUCTION OF THE GHOST HUNTER. ILLNESS. LETTER TO MICHAEL. LITERARY OCCUPATIONS DESCRIBED. BEAUTIFUL ACCOUNT OF HIS HOME LIFE — HIS CONDITION, THE BODY RACKED BUT THE MIND GLOWING. DELIGHT AT RENEWED FRIENDSHIP OF GERALD GRIFFIN. THEIR LETTERS TO EACH OTHER. REMOVAL TO BLACKHEATH. ILLNESS AND PROSTRATION OF STRENGTH. KEMOVAL TO THE FRENCH COAST ADVISED BY PHYSICIANS, ANOTHER SERIES OF TALES BY THE O'HARA FAMILY” HURRIEDLY WRITTEN BY JOHN BANIM AND PUBLISHED UNDER THE TITLE OF
THE DENOUNCED.” REMOVAL TO FRANCE. It will have been remarked by the attentive student of Banim's mind, as exhibited in bis letters, that the old love of poetry and of dramatic composition, recurs frequently in evident forms. It was indeed never entirely lost, and hie seems to have cherished hopes of brilliant and steady success in that most difficult of all literary labors, the production of a really poetical, orginal drama.
He was ever, in his leisure hours, and these, truly, were few, engaged in poetic composition ; he had no pleasures, save