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in all he tossed Shakspeare, gored
Milton, and trampled Pope. The
same pert and petulant vanity pranks
itself in our faces when he writes
verses himself. In his Dithyrambic
to the Shade of Voltaire, we have this
couplet :

Auprès de Crebillon Eschyle ici placé
Le contemple, surpris de se voir surpassé;

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as well he might be and in the "epitre sur les effets de la nature champêtre," he calls St. Lambert "le vainqueur de Thomson:" pitch of impudence at which he had already arrived in his prose critiques. It may be worth while just to look at St. Lambert.

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The author of the "Saisons wishes to persuade us, and it must be owned has succeeded in persuading himself, that he has struck out a path entirely distinct from that trodden by Thomson. "Thomson, it seems, aimed at making Nature admired; it is St. Lambert's object to make her beloved." An antithesis, like a bon-mot, is always something with a Frenchman: but the blunder (for it is one) is of the same sort as that on which the French stumble in regard to Milton: as if he could only deal with the gloomy and the terrible. Tender feelings, and pictures of soft and delicate beauty, are with

in the province of both poets. However, after the formal announcement of a new theory of rural poetry, and after the bragging bravery of St. Lambert's critic, we should at least have looked for something original : and it will not be easy for a believer in prefaces and critical flourishes to trust his own eyes, when he finds

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mere Frenchified silhouette of Thomson's gorgeous but masterly picture; not merely the general plan but the intimate details being without ceremony adopted from the English poet. In short, we have the phenomena and labours of the progressive year regularly detailed and described, with the interchanged relief of episodical tales: the worthy poet has even given us a bathing scene, entitled, "Damon and Lise," which is a paltry version of Damon and Musidora, degraded by French grossness. If the reader of the annexed passage (not at all an unfavourable specimen in point of diction and versification), be reminded of "O quis me vallibus Hæmi," will he not be equally reminded of Thomson? Yet M. St. Lambert, who goes through the loves of the animals, and all the old Virgilian as well as Thomsonian common-places, really dreams that he is all the time no less original than charming.

Oh! que ne puis-je errer dans les sentiers profonds,
Ou j'ai vu des torrens rouler du haut des monts,
A travers les rochers et la sombre verdure?
Que ne suis-je égaré dans la vallée obscure,
Où des monts de Luna, qui portent son canal,
Tombe le Nil immense en voûte de cristal?
Je verrais réjaillir ses eaux precipitées,
Le soleil enflammer leurs masses argentées,
Et sous un ciel serein les humides vapeurs
De la brillante Iris etaler les couleurs.
Le bruit, l'aspect des eaux, leur écume élancée,
Refraicheroient de loin mes sens et ma pensée;
Et là couronné d'ombre, entouré de fraicheur,
Je braverais en paix les feux de l'equateur.

olus and Ceres, and the rest, whenever he has occasion to mention the sea, or the wind, or the harvest.

Let us come back to our own times.

But what materially injures the effect of the rural details of the poem, and what would alone suffice to determine Thomson's immeasurable superiority of taste and feeling, as the poet of simple nature, is the pedantry of St. Lambert's style. Thomson is a little too oriental; but he does not rummage out from the Pantheon the old dust-powdered gods and goddesses, Neptune and he shows an attention to the Ho

MILLEVOYE has made some clever versions from the Iliad. When he says of Achilles,

son enorme poitrine Rayonne sous l'acier

meric traits of barbarian * bulk of stature which Pope wants. Mille voye complimented Napoleon with a poem on Austerlitz, and dedicated to the Empress the metrical romance of "Charlemagne at Pavia." It is written in irregular rhyme, and

in ten-syllable verse, and is airy and elegant. The machinery is supplied by the machinations of an enamoured and vindictive fairy. The follow ing pretty invocation has equal merit in the numbers and the ima gery:

"Sylphes brillans, aimables infidèles,"
Illusions, compagnes d'amour,
Prenez vos luths et parfumez vos ailes;
Si tant de fois votre invisible essaim,
Glissant dans l'ombre aux heures du mystère,
Fit soupirer la vierge solitaire,

Et souleva l'albâtre de son sien;
Si par vos soins le miroir de la nue,
Qui se colore aux flammes du matin,
Lui présenta dans un riant lointain
Du jeune amant l'apparence inconnue :
A la lueur du magique flambeau
Accompagnez mon nocturne voyage;
"Je vous prepare un triomphe nouveau :
Elle se tut: dans la troupe volage
Un bruit flatteur doucement circula;
Comme le bruit du mobile feuillage,
Ou l'abeille aux montagnes d'Hybla."

VIGEE is an agreeable writer; but his subjects are too local and temporary to excite much interest among us. He takes the tone of Pope, from whom he borrows, and has written an epistle on the "Utility of Criticism," and two satires, "Les Visites" and " Ma Journée."

LE GOUVÉ is the French Rogers. He is the author of "Les Souvenirs," "La Sepulture," "La Melancolie," and "Le Mérite des Femmes." In the latter he defends the sex, like a

preux chevalier, against Milton and Pope, and ransacks all history in their favour:

Tout commande l'amour, même l'idolatrie, exclaims the gallant Frenchman. The style of Le Gouvé partakes of the common French defect: it is too didactic. The poems are rather essays in verse than poems. We meet, however, with pleasing passages; as in the allusion to the ce meteries of Switzerland.

Là, les siens, près du temple,

Vont déposer sa cendre en un bocage épais,
Y plantent des lilas, des roses, des œillets,
Arrosent chaque jour leurs tiges abreuvées;

Il semble qu'en ces fleurs, par leurs mains cultivées,
Ils raniment l'objet près d'elles inhumé,

Et respirent son ame en leur souffle embaumé.

LACENTO.

* Homer describes Achilles returning his sword by the circumstance of his pressing his heavy hand on the hilt: Pope had not the courage to retain this; but says tamely and taylor-like,

"In the sheath return'd the shining blade."

Dryden saw the beauty, and tried to seize it, by transferring the force of the epithet to the verb:

"And in the shining scabbard plunged the sword;"

but this suggests rather impetuosity of feeling than gigantic strength. Cowper has itOn his silver hilt the force

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Of his broad hand impressing, sent the blade

Home to its rest :

This is too much laboured; more suv.

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bower so bright

As I lay last night,

The moon through the fresh leaves streaming,
There were sounds i' the air,

But I could not tell where,

Nor if I were waking or dreaming.

'Twas the sound of a lute

To a voice half mute,

That sunk when I thought it was swelling;

And it came to my ears

As if drown'd in the tears

Of the being whose woes it was telling.

Some accents I heard

Were like those of the bird

Who the lee-long night is mourning;

And some were like those

That we hear, when the rose

Sighs for her Zephyr's returning.

The tones were so sweet,

I thought it most meet

They should not be tones of gladness;

There are notes so fine,

That were melody mine

They should only belong to sadness.

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BRADGATE IN THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.

THERE is scarcely any period in the annals of England more replete with trying or interesting events, than the latter part of the reign of the illfated Charles; when the hand of the child was lifted against the father !— brother against brother!-each ad

hering with frantic eagerness to the cause he had espoused, totally heedless of the confusion and misery such strife must entail upon their families.

During this era of public calamity, no part of England partook more

largely or entered more actively into the different feuds, than Leicestershire and the adjoining county of Nottingham. Scarcely a peasant remained inactive, to such a pitch was party spirit carried; and it is well known, that most of the principal families were subject to the greatest reverses of fortune, which they bore with heroic fortitude, so ardent were they in the cause they had undertaken.

Numerous are the incidents handed down to us, from these eventful times; but the following tale, descriptive of circumstances connected with the then noble mansion at Bradgate, and affording some account of it, in its pristine splendour, has interested us, since we confess a strong attachment to the place, even in its present dilapidated lonely state! and we are anxious to impress others with the same favourable feelings.*

It was near the hour of noon, on a fair summer's day, that a party of young maidens were observed taking their course along the valley which separates some of the highest eminences of Charnwode.

They were gaily dressed, in what might be considered their best holiday attire; and as the bright rays of the sun fell full upon them, they exhibited a pleasing and interesting spectacle. Most of these damsels bore a small basket upon their arm, containing some little trifle, such as kerchiefs, ribbons, or fruit, according to the means they severally possessed.

The truth is, these young maidens were pursuing a journey, in their imagination of no small import, being no other than a visit to a certain wise woman, called Deborah Priestly, a person well known in that neighbourhood, who had the reputation of possessing more craft than was usual in the art of foretelling events. The weather was hot and sultry, not a cloud was visible to disturb the deep azure of the heavens, or break the long unvaried line of blue vapour that spread itself over the sides and summits of the hills, making the very flowers to droop through weariness,

and the flocks to herd together in every shadowy nook, in search of shelter.

The woman, Priestly, had fixed her abode in a spot, lonely enough, but one well adapted to her vocation, being seated about half way up a considerable eminence, whose top, crowned with dark granite, hewn and shapen by nature into a thousand fantastic forms, hung in frowning grandeur over it. Close by the mud-built cottage of the dame, but rather above it, issued a small stream, which, springing from amongst the rocks, and falling with considerable velocity over them, served by its monotonous sound to impress the mind with a still more powerful feeling of solitariness! One ragged half decayed oak bent its withered trunk across it, serving the double purpose of sheltering the habitation with its few remaining branches, and of affording a passage over the stream when swollen by the rain that occasionally poured into it from the summit of the acclivity: and which, with the exception of a few evergreens cultivated by the miserable tenant of the cottage, was the only foliage worthy of commemoration on that side of the eminence.

By the side of this little brook, which from Dame Priestly's habitation descended in a winding course along the valley, paced the already mentioned maidens, in close and eager converse, each countenance exhibiting a faithful picture of what was at that instant passing in her heart. In outward appearance the group seemed composed chiefly of the lower order of females; but the Dame's habitation was the resort of rich as well as poor, male as well as female!-Persons of all rank, of all ages, were at times observed stealing along the road that led to her abode, seeking for advice in the trying difficulties of the times; and, to do her justice, the old woman had penetration and adroitness sufficient to make herself useful to such as had faith enough to seek her.

In this party, however, there were two, who differed greatly from

Bradgate is still a fine ruin ou the verge of Charnwode in Leicestershire; but as it has been already so amply and pathetically described by a very pleasing and popular writer, in the LONDON MAGAZINE, we shall not at present notice it farther.

the rest, and these lingered apart, as though they were either ashamed of their errand or their company. Whichever it might be, no two damsels ever afforded a stranger contrast than they did to each other, and they seemed as if they were themselves conscious of it; for, though a feeling of pride appeared to draw them from their companions towards each other, they neither looked or spoke, but kept as far apart as the narrowness of the rocky ascent would permit. One of these maidens, to judge by external appearance, seemed born to command; her form was erect, her step firm, she advanced haughtily, whilst marks of scorn and pride were legibly imprinted upon her brow; her dress was costly, and the basket which she bore upon her arm, in which her little offering was deposited, glittered with many a splendid gewgaw. The tread of the other was more elastic, she seemed something of the "fairy tribe" as she bounded over the mossy surface, so light and agile were her movements. The dress of this young girl, though far above that of her companions, saving the one who, like herself, had lingered behind, was so modest and indefinite as to render it difficult to determine in what sphere of life she moved, had not her extreme beauty, and the elegance with which she moved, bespoke her of high rank; yet so unassuming was she withal, that it should seem as if the very circumstance drew down upon her the envy of her companion, who every now and then greeted her with a glance of scorn as she passed silently along. Despite of this annoyance, the poor girl continued her way; and though a shade of anxiety seemed spread over her countenance, she met the regards of her associate with so sweet and irresistible a smile as might have disarmed a heart less alive to philanthropy as it was, she amused herself by gathering the wild flowerets that grew among the rocks; and having culled several, wiped them carefully, and picked away every bit of loose grass from athwart their stems, she formed them into a little bouquet, and placed them in her bosom.

Having paused for a moment under the excessive heat to which they

were exposed, the younger of these females stepped aside from the path they were pursuing, and, bending over the stream, took a draught of its refreshing coolness; but that action, natural as it was, drew down upon her the censure of her companion, on whose features sat a double portion of the scorn before so manifest, as she murmured:

"It is an evil course, lady, that turns aside either right or left, when Dame Priestly's dwelling is the goal sought for! Bitter will be the portion of her who dares it."

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"I know of no evil likely to befal those who intend none,' said the other simply; "I seek the abode of Deborah for good, not ill, and I doubt me much, if the old woman will concern herself whether I slake my thirst at this fair stream or not."

No farther altercation passed, but the scornful fair one drew the folds of her rich robe more closely about her, and darting another look of contempt, advanced onwards;-the younger one followed her example, but it was not till she had tarried an instant, to press again the clear beverage to her lips, and tie up her locks, which from the action had fallen wantonly upon her shoulders.

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