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• Never!'-then Hope is gone and time departed; This is death, Priscus. Oh! How like a child And Happiness that flies and then returns,

A Soldier sinks before him. Jove !-(dies.) Making its presence precious-all are gone.

Mar. He faints. - Is there no armour of the soul wherein

Priscus. He does indeed, for ever: his last breath I may array my thoughts and vanquish Death ? Is mingled with the winds. It may not be: my hour is come-is come : And I must tread upon that shadowy strand

The next scene, Amelia Wentworth, A shadow, a pale solitary thing,

we like less upon the whole than any For ages and for ages, and there be

thing the author has published.

It has, A Spirit, filled with human thoughts and pains, however, some brilliant passages. A Languishing for some remote Elysium.

death-bed reflection is the only one we Great Mars, look down upon me : Am I not Thy son adopted ? oh! my patron Mars,

shall transcribe. My father, and my god, I perish here

Amel. How slowly and how silently doth Time For want of succour. Fate and Death, at hand, Float on his starry journey. Still be goes, Wait smiling for the dust of Julian;

And goes, and goes, and doth not pass away. And the grave opens, with a sickly smile,

He rises with the golden morning, calmly, Its hollow home, inviting me to rest.

And with the moon at night Methinks, I see Away-this must not be. Imperial Romne

Him stretching wide abroad his mighty wings,
Leans on my sword.-Who goes ?

Floating for ever o'er the crowds of men,
The second scene commences with a

Like a buge vulture with its prey beneath.

Lo! I am here, and time seems passing on : very fine piece of poetical philosophy. To-morrow I shall be a breathless thing

Yet he will still be here; and the blue Hours Julian (on his couch, wounded ;) Príscus, Maximus.

Will laugh as gaily on the busy world, Mar. You 're easier now?

As tho' I were alive to welcome them. Julian. Much easier: many thanks. - And so you think, good Priscus, that the Soul

THE SPELL UNRAVELLED. Doth of necessity quit this feeble clay, When the poor breath departs-that 'tis not hung

“ By each one On muscle or nerve, or buried in the blood,

Of the dear streams through which I have travelled As some will teach. For my part I believe

The cup of enjoyment from none That there is good and evil, and for each

Can I take, till the spells, one by one, Due punishment and reward. Shall we not meet Which have withered ye all, be unravelled.” Our friends hereafter, think you, Maximus ?

1. Mar. I hope so, my dear Lord.

MY God! with what words can I dare,
Julian. What think you, Sir?

Without a presumptuous seeming,
Priscus. I must believe it. There is in the world
Nothing to fill up the wide heart of man;

To say that, from thee, who hear’st prayer,
He languishes for something past the grave;

Life's prospects with blessings are teeming?

2. He hopes—and Hope was never vainly given.

I talked of a “ spell” that had bound Max. Hope treads but shadowy ground, at best.

Each sense, and benumbed every feeling ; Priscus. It is

Though my joys in their forms might be found, Mar. A guess.

Which had all their fine essence been stcaling. Julian. And yet, Priscus is right, I think :

3. And Hope has in the soul obscure allies

I was widowed of love-tho' possessing Remorse, for evil acts; the dread of death;

One whom my sad heart fondly sighed, Anticipative joy, (tho that, indeed,

By the tenderest, dearest caressing, Is Hope, more certain ;) and, as Priscus says,

Toown as its mistress and bride. That inward languishment of mind, which dreains

4. Of some remote and high accomplishment,

I was childless yet children were given, And pictures to our fancies perfect sights,

Whose innocent charms might inspire Sounds and delights celestial ;-and, above all,

All that ever reminded of Heaven That feeling of a limitary power,

The heart of a fortunate sire : Which strikes and circumscribes the soul, and speaks

5. Dimly, but with a voice potential, of

And I said, of the manifold“ spells"
Wonders beyond the world, etherial,

Which withheld from my senses the taste,
Starry, and pure, and sweet, and never ending. Of the exquisite transport which dwells
I cannot think that the great Mind of man,

With gifts which my lot in life graced.
With its accumulated wisdoms too,

6. Must perish ; why, the words he utters live ; The demoniac “spells," "one by one," And is the Spirit which gives birth to things

That lay on the path which I travelled, Below its own creations ?

“ The cup of enjoyment from none

I take, till they all are unravelled.”
We merely quote the few last lines :

7. the death of Julian, who speaks And surely I may, without fear,

Call my Maker to witness my truth,
Farewell; I faint: My tongue is withered up. That, for many a tedious year,
It clings against my mouth. Some air-air. Ah! While receded the visions of youth,

8.
Never, never from hue, shape, or sound,
From word, never smile or caress,
This bosom an instante'er found
A respite from cleaving distress,

9.
Till the spell” which lay o'er my dear ones,
By a mighty invisible hand-
Till the heart's pangs, the only severe ones,
Were snapped as a sorcerer's wand.

Amongst the recent poetical publications, which are entitled to our notice, we most again mention Poems BY BARNARD BAR

TON, the author of several fugitive pieces, which have been much and deservedly admired. The beautiful stanzas to Madame Lavalette, the lines attributed to Lord Byron, and published as bis in America, with oumerous poems, which have appeared in our pe. riodical prints, are sufficient testimony of his very pleasing powers as a poet. With much sweetoess and harmony of versifica tion, there is united a strain of feeling and poetical expression in the volume before us wbich we tog seldom meet with. As a proof too, that Mr. B. is not destitute of the higher qualifications which distinguish a soperior poet, we extract the following spirited address.

10.

TO THE GALLIC EAGLE.

I, now, in a smile that has greeted
My eyes both in sorrow and glee-
In a smile that has never retreated,
Tho'it met with no welcome from me,

11.
Can experience the thrilling delight,
Which it gave me in days that are gone!
Though 'twas ever the same to my sight,
Yet it fell on a bosom of stone !

12.
My children-they now can impart
Not only the claims which, from duty,
They well may enforce on my heart ;
But in all its most exquisite beauty,

13.
Like soft music, the fond gush is given

To my soul, from the rapturous tie, Reproducing those blest days when Heaven 'Bout our path, bed, and table, doth lie!

14. My wife! and my children ! dear names,

Which awaken my heart's deepest love, An earnest such treasure proclaims of " the day-spring which comes from above !"

15. When the throbs that await on the pleasures

Which owe to yourselves their creation, Are heightened by spiritual treasures, They receive then their last consecration !

16. And I feel it—that these, the sure pledges

Of Heaven's love, are thus heightened and blest! Whatever the sceptic alleges, A pure joy, a pure source must attest !

17. As welt might one doubt the report

of the senses of sight, touch, and taste, As believe not the joys that resort To the soul where Gou's “ secret" is placed.

18. No! a seal there is set to that feeling

Which can be decyphered by none, Till a new sense, with mystic revealing,

Informs us that seal is our own!

Fame's favourite minion !

The theme of her story ;
How quailed is thy pinion,

How sullied its glory:
Where blood flowed like water,

Esulting it bore thee !
Destruction and slaughter

Behind and before thee.
Where glory was blushing

Thy Aight was the fleetest;
When death's sleep was hushing,

Thy slumber was sweetest.
When broads words were clashing

Thy cry was the loudest;
When deep they were gashing

Thy plume was the proudest.
But triumph is over ;

No longer victorious,
No more shalt thou hover,

Destructively glorious!
Far from the battle's shock

Fate bath fast bound thee; Chained to the rugged rock,

Waves warring round thee. Instead of the trumpet's sound,

Sea-bird's are shrieking;
Hoarse on thy ramparts' bound,

Billows are breaking.
The standards which led thee

Are trampled and torn now;
The flatteries which fed thee,

Are turned into scorn now. For ensigns unfurling,

Like sun beams in brightness, Are crested waves curling

Like snow wreaths in whiteness. No sycophants mock thee

With dreams of dominion ; But rude tempests rock thee

And ruffle thy pinion. Thy last flight is taken,

Hope leaves thee for ever ; And victory shall waken

Thy proud spirit perer.

The subjoined, which is copied from the Morning Chronicle, betrays the most public disregard to moral decency which we ever met with in England.

“ An unmarried Gentleman of 30, about to make a tour through the South of France and Italy, in his own carriage, would be happy to meet with # Lady of accomplished and superior manners to accompany him, and who may place every confidence in his bogour.---Address (post paid)" &c.

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THE BRONZE STATUE. of a reward, for which he conditions

privately, heedless of the bloodshed COUNT LIEUWEN, a favourite and ravage which our soldiery would

officer in the service of the deceased spread among the poor villagers in the King of Prussia, had under his special blindness of their fury."_" You are patronage and tuition a young engineer right,” replied the Count—" and it of high talent, whose advancement to would be well to gain this advantageous bis potice had been solely due to his post without disgrace to our characters merits. His battalion, led by the Aus- as Prussian soldiers, or outrage to the trian General Clairfait, then on bis unoffending natives. Through whose march through the Low Countries to- ineans did this honourable offer come? wards France, was ordered to surprise -For I suspect the communicant is a small village on the frontiers in the willing to share the reward ?”—The enemy's possession. In the middle of young engineer cast down bis eyes, and the night young Ewald entered his answered, after a short and graceful commander's tent, and informed bim hesitation, “ He is my enemy, my that a negociation had been begun by lord-forgive me if I do not name the chief magistrate of this district to him." admit the Prussian soldiers iuto an am Count Lieuwen's brow grew smooth. buscade, by which they might surround “Well, Lichtenstein," he said, with a the French stationed in the village of tone of familiarity he seldom used, exAltheim, and put them to the sword. cept when his heart was touched

Sir," he added, “I am acquaioted “well; there will be no surer way, I with a path through the thicket that see, to secure both our military credit, skirts the church-yard; and by leading and this poor village from plunder, than fifty chosen men through it, we may to give you the command of the affair

, enclose the farm and outhouses in Chuse your comrades, and conduct which these Frenchmen lodge, and them, But how is it that you know force them to surrender, without the the avenues of this obscure place so baseness of entering their host's gates well ?" in groupes disguised as travellers, and Ewald was silent a few moments massacreing them in their sleep. This only because he was conscious of feel vile provost has made the offer in hopes ings likely to make bis voice less firm.

3D ATHENEUM VOL. 7.

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When he had stifled them, he replied, govern longer. This high distinction “To you who know my bumble birth, was granted ; and the king, to suit the and have remedied it so kindly by your new governor's uitle to bis important ofpatronage, I need not be afraid io con- fice, added the rank of Baron to be fess this village was my birth-place, Cross of the Black Eagle already wora and that farm which the provost intends by Ewald de Lichtenstein. These unto deliver up to-night for the purpose expected honours did not alter the temof massacre and riot, is—or was—" per of the young kero :-still preserving He could not add his meaning, but the bland urbanity of Marshal Turenne, Count Lieuwen felt it. Brushing a whose elevation he had initated so tear hastily from his eyes, the old sol- successfully; he was proud to bear his dier bade bim take his detachment, and comrades hiot that be too was a miller's obtain possession of the place in the son, and always strove to remind (ben manner he deemed fittest. Ewald de- how much be resembled bis noble preparted instantly, and returned in the decessor in benevolence and grace

. morning to announce his complete suc- But when he bad offered his grateful cess without loss to the inhabitants, and obeisance, he solicited permission to without the escape of a siogle French- absent bimself one month before be asman. He brought besides a valuable sumed his new duties. Count Lieudespatch, which his advanced guard wen's friendship, and the peaceable had intercepted, and the Count, delight- state of the country, made the royal ased with the important result of the af- sent easy, and Ewald de Lichtenstein fair, and with the generous spirit it had left Berlin to dedicate this short interexhibited, offered his young lieutenant val to his private happiness. a thousand crowns, the sum for which But Ewald, with all the splendor of the treacherous provost had negociated, his professional success, had not altered gallantly saying, bis sovereign would the humility of that private bappiness. more willingly pay it as the rec- He had no hope so dear as to return to ompense of a hazardous and well-per- the little village of Altheim, which ten formed duty, than as the premium ofa years before he had preserved from detraitor.—“If,” said the lieutenant, modo struction; and to reclaim the farmer's estly, “your lordship thinks this poor daughter with whom the first affections village worth a thousand crowns to his of his boyhood bad been exchanged. majesty, I pray you to consider them During the various and busy vicissitades due to my senior officer Dorffen :- of a soldier's life, no correspondence Your personal kindness induced you had been possible, and he had time to to waive his right, and to give me the snatch only a short interview when he command of last night's affair: yet it is entered the village with a hostile de just that he should have the price of tachment. He took with him one ato what he deserved to win.”—“He shall tendant, a soldier of his own regiment, have it," answered Lieuwen, compress- but unacquainted with his birth-place

, ing bis lips sternly; " but I now know though sufficiently attached to his perwho would have bought wbat you have son to ensure the secresy he required; won honestly."

not from mean fear of exposing his bumThe first care of this brave veteran ble origin, but from a generous wish to on his return to Berlin, was to lay the avoid displaying his new and self-accircumstances of this fact before the quired greatness.

The journey was king. The consequence was Ewald's tedious to his fancy, though he travelled promotion ; and before the war ceased, rapidly; for the pleasantest dreams of he rose to rapk even higher than Count his youth were ready to be realized. Lieuwen ; and the last favour his old His servant bad orders to make no men. commander asked at court was, that his tion of his name or rank when he arri"adopted son, might be appointed his ved at his place of destination, and the successor in the fortress of Plauen, little village of Altheim came in sight which his age rendered him averse to in all the beauty of a summer evening,

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and a happy man's imagination. As sat with his face shaded near the fire. he entered it, however, he perceived Josephine took but one glance at bim, that several cottages were in ruins, and and another at the cradle where a balfthe farm where Josephine had lived was starved infant lay, before she began her half-unroofed, and its garden full of bumble labours to prepare a supper. grass. Ewald's heart misgave him, Ewald attempted to say something, and his servant went on before to in- but his voice, hoarse with emotion, apquire who occupied it. Schwartz peared unknown to her, and she turned brought his master intelligence that the away with a look of repressed pride and niece of the former occupier bad marri- shame. Yet as she could not but obed a farmer, whose speculations had serve the earnest gaze of the stranger, ended in innkeeping with but little stic- her cheek flushing with conscious reccess. There was no other ion; and ollection, recovered some part of its if there had been one, Ewald, notwith- former beauty, and Ewald had taken standing his heart-burnings, would the infant on his knee when Wolfenhave chosen this. He renewed his bach returned. His guest overcame cautiods to his servant, and entered the the horror which almost impelled him miserable house, wbere the master sat to throw from him the offspring of a surlily smoking his pipe in a kitchen ruffian so debased, intending to convey with broken windows, and a hearth als into its cradle some aid for the uphappy most cold. To his courteous request mother, which might suffice to comfort for accommodation, this man, whose her wants without betraying the giver. suitable name was Wolfenbach, hardly He hid a purse of gold within its wrapreturned an answer, except throwing per, and gave it back to Josephine ; him the rempant of a chair, and call while the father, murmuring at such ing loudly at the door for his wife. A pests, rebuked her slow cookery. But woman in wretched apparel, bend- Ewald could not eat; and tasting the ing under a load of sticks, crept from a flask to propitiate the brutal landlord, ruined outhouse, and came fearfully to- withdrew to the bed meant for him, wards him. Bring a faggot, drone, and was seen po more. and cook some fish," said her ruffian Late on the following morning, two busband—“where is the bread I bought men, as they passed' near the remains of this morning, and the pitcher of milk?" a spoiled bay-rack, perceived motion in

-“ There was but little milk,” she an- it, and heard a feeble noise. They swered, trembling, “and I gave it to took courage to remove some part, and, our child.”—“ Brute-ideot !” he 'mut- led on by traces of blood, examined till tered with a hideous oath, and pushed they found a body yet warm with life, her forwards by a blow which Ewald's but wounded in a ghastly mannor. heart felt. That moment would have They conveyed it to the village surgeon, discovered him if the inokeeper had not and collected help to surround the house left the house to attend his servant; and of Wolfenbach, whom they rememberEwald, as he looked again on Joseph. ed to bave seen on the road mounted ine's face, had courage enough to re- on a horse which had been observed strain a confession which would have the day before entering Altheim with aggravated her misery. Perhaps she the wounded man and another stranger. had been left desolatemperhaps her Skill and care restored this unfortunate husband had been made brutal by mis- stranger sufficiently to make his deposifortune--at all events he bad no right tion. He named bis master, and stated to blame a marriage which circumstan- that the gloomy looks and eager. quesces had not permitted him to prevent. tions of the innkeeper had alarmed him She might have had no alternative be- on the night of Ewald's arrival, espetween it and disgrace, or Wolfenbach cially when he was desired to sleep might have possessed and seemed to a ruined out-house. He had left it, deserve her choice better than himself. and applying bis ear to a crevice in the This last thought held him silent, as he house-door, heard Wolfenbach menac

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