Sivut kuvina

He gazed oil her, and she on him; 'twas strange How like they look'd! the expression •was the same; Serenely savage, with a little change In the large dark eye's mutual darted flame; For she too, was as one who could avenge, If cause should be—a lioness, though tame: Her father's blood before her father's face Boi I'd up, and proved her truly of his race. The enraged aire summons his band, by whom Juan is cut down and borne away; while Haidee, at the sight, bursts a blood-vessel, and is laid by her woman upon her lied of death. "Yet she betray'd at limes a gleam of sense; Nothing could make her meet her father's face, Though on all other things with looks intense She gazed, but none she ever could retrace; Food she refused, and raiment; no pretence Availed for either; neither change of place, Nor time, nor skill, nor remedy, could give

her Senses to sleep—the power seemed gone

for ever. Twelve days and nights she withered thus; at last, Without a groan, or sigh, or glance, to show A parting pang, the spirit from her pa*t: And they who watched her nearest could not know The very instant, till the change that cast Her sweet face into shadow, dull and slow, Glazed o'er her eyes—the beautiful, the

black— Oh! to possess such lustre—and then lack." We think that few will withhold their sympathy from this affecting catastrophe, or refuse to drop a tear over the fate of the lovely and unfortunate Haidee, and to bid her

"Sleep well By the sea-shore, whereon she loved to dwell." Over this charming creature the. poet has thrown a beauty and a fascination which was never, we think, surpassed. But it will be advanced that her amours are objectionable by some fastidious critic,

Whose face presageth snow, Who minces virtue, aud doth shakelhehead To hear of pleasure's name.

If the amours of Juan and Haidee are not pure and innocent, and detailed with sufficient delicacy and propriety, the tender passion may as well be struck

at once out of the list of the poef8 themes. We must shut our eyes and harden our hearts against the master passion of our existence: and becoming mere creatures of hypocrisy and form, charge even Milton himself with folly. The arrival of the pirate gives a strange turn to the fortunes of the Don. Ignorant of the fate of his Haidee, bleeding and bound, he is conveyed to Constantinople, and exposed for sale as a slave ; he there forms an acquaintance wilh a fellow captive, who seems of some note.

He had an English look, that is, was square
In make, of a complexion white and
Good teeth, with curling rather dark brown

hair, And it might be from thought, or toil, or

study, An open brow, a little mark'd with care:

One arm had on a bandage rather bloody; Aud there he stood with such sang froid

that greater Could scarce be shewn even by a mere

spectator. "My boy!" said he, "amidst this motley crew Of Georgians, Russians, Nubians, and what not, Ah ragamuffius, differing but in hue,

Wilh whom it is our luck to cast our lot, The only geutlemen seem I and you;

So let us be acquainted as we ought: If I could yield you any consolation, Twould give me pleasure—I'ray what is your nation?" These unfortunate gendemen attract the notice of " a black old neutral personage," whose property they presently become by purchase in market overt. By him they are led through secluded gardens into a'magnincent pahice, when the stranger is arrayed in the Asiatic style with all things requisite to form "a Turkish dandy," while Juan is desired to assume a splendid female dress; his reluctance is amusingly described— Baba eyed Juan, and said, " be so good As dress yourself"—and pointed out a suit In which a princess with great pleasure would Array her limbs; but Juan standing mute, As not being in a masquerading mood, Gave it a slight kick with his Christian foot; And when the old Negro told him to "get

ready," Replied, " old gentleman, I'm not a lady." "What you may be, 1 neither know nor care," Said Baba; " but pray do as 1 desire:

1 have no more time, nor many words 1 o spare." "At least" said Juan, "sure I may enquire The cause of this odd travestie ?"—" Forbear," Said Baba, "to be curious; 'twill transspire, No doubt, in proper place, and time and

season: I have no authority to tell the reason. "I offer you a handsome suit of cloathes; A woman's, true; but then there is a cause Why you should wear them."—" What, tho' my soul loathes The effeminate garb >"—thus, after a short pause Sigh'd Juan, muttering also some slight oaths, "What the devil shall I do with all this gauze?'' Thus he profanely term'd the finest lace Which e'er set off a marriage-morning face.

When fully equipped, he takes leave of his companion, and is conducted, through a suite of sumptuous apartments, into an imperial hall, where he finds a lady recliuiiig under a canopy, : to whom Baba introduces him and straightway retires. Her form had all the softness of her sex, Her features all the sweetness of the devil, When he put on the cherub to perplex Eve, and pav'd (God knows how) the r road to evil;

The sun himself was scarce more free from

specks . Than she from ought at which the eye could cavil; Yet, somehow, there was something somewhere wanting, As if she rather order'd than was granting.

Her very smile was haughty, though so sweet;

Her very nod was not an inclination; There was a self-will even in her small feet,

As though they were quite conscious of her station, They trod as upon necks; and to complete

Her state (it is the custom of her nation,) A poignard deck'd her girdle, as the sign She was a Sultan's bride, (thank Heaven, not mine.) •

The handsome Spaniard, it appears, had made a conquest of this princely beauty, and she is far from disguising her partiality, against which Juan nobly opposes the pride of captivity, and the sorrow of his late unhappy passion. This was an awkward test, as Juan found,

But he was steel'd by sorrow, wrath,
and pride:

With gentle force her white arms he unwound, And seated her all drooping by his sideThen rising haughtily, he glanc'd around, And looking coldly in her face, he cried, "The prison'd eagle will not pair, nor I

Serve a Sultana's sensual phantasy.

Thou ask'st if I can love? Be this the proof

How much I have lov'd—that I love not


In this vile garb, the distaff's web and woof

Were fitter for me: Love is for the free!

I am not dazzled by this splendid roof

Whate'er thy power, and great it seems to be, Heads bow, knees bend, eyes watch around

a throne, And hands obey— our hearts are still our own.'' The sultana's anguish, on meeting with this repulse, is overpowering. Her first thought was to cut off Juan's head; Her second, to cut only—his acquaintance; Her third, to ask him where he had been bred; Her fourth to rally him into repentance; Her fifih, to call her maids and go to bed; Her sixth, to stab herself; her seventh, to sentence The lash to Baba ;—but her grand resource Was to sit down again, and cry of course.

The interview is cut short by the unexpected arrival of the Sultan; and Don Juan, to avoid detection, is compelled to mingle with the female slaves. Here, however, he is so unfortunate as to draw upon himself the attention of the Grand Signior— His Highness cast around his great black eyes, And looking, as he always look'd, perceiv'd Juan amongst the damsels in disguise, At which he seem'd no whit surprised nor griev'd, But just remark'd, with air sedate and wise, While still a fluttering sigh Gulleyaz

heav'd, "I see you've bought another girl; 'tis pity That a mere Christian should be half so pretty." And with the danger of a discovery, in this delicate situation, impending over the hero, the fifth canto concludes— Thus far the Chronicle ; and now we pause, Though not for want of matter; but 'tis time According to the ancient epic laws,

To slacken sail, and anchor with our rhyme. Let this fifth canto meet with due applause, The sixth shall have a touch of the sublime;


Mean-while, as Homer sometimes sleeps,

perhaps You'll pardon lo tuy muse a few short naps. We have only to remark, in conclusion, that of the sarcastic wit and poetical talon's of this composition, there can be no question; and we must bear in mind that it is framed upon a model, which in all languages has been allowed considerable latitude of subject and expression. Whether the noble au thor has acted wisely in reviving this style of writing is another matter; but those who are acquainted with the labours of his predecessors in this vineyard, will be inclined to think that he has not exercised his privileges in a very outrageous manner.

To the Editor of the Monthly Magazine.


HAVING through near thirty years past felt admiration, and taken & strong interest in the success and extension of that important system nf improved communication which is effected by the turnpike roads, the railways, the canal and the river navigations of our islands, and having on several occasions laboured* to extend the knowledge of these, to shew.their vital importance to the nation, and explain the best principles on which each line has iteen and may be, constructed and managed, I cannot refrain, after reading your last number, from applauding the labours of Samuel Gallon, Esq. of Birminghan], in collecting, collating and arranging the levels, or heights of numerous pounds of the water, in near forty different canals and river navigations; as also for suggesting twelve queries, as to data, that are still wanting, towards a connected view of the heights of all the navigable waters of the kingdom, and of its rail-ways, with reference to the ocean which surrounds us.

Instead of making barometric observations only on four days in a year, as Mr. Galtonlias recommended in p. 26, I beg to call that gentleman's attention, and that of your scientific readers

* See the article Canal in Dr. Rees's Cyclopaedia, part 11, published in February, 1806, and various articles in parts 16 to 37, Aug. 1807 to Sep. 1811.—Farey's Agricultural and Mineral Report on Derbyshire, vol. 3, p. 206 to 457, published by the Board of Agriculture, in July, 1817. —The Agricultural and the Philosophical Magazines, this Magazine, &c.

Monthly Mag. No. 358.

throughout the country, to au nndetstanding which was conic to in November last, between several scientific persons, for the purpose of making simultaneous observations with their barometers, on the second Monday in each calendar month, exactly at the hours of 8, 9, 10, 11, and 12, in the forenoon (if tlie longitude were allowed for, and Greenwich time used in each instance, it would be better,) noting on each occasion, the height of the mercury (two thousandths of an inch,) the degree of Fahrenheit's thermometer attached, and of the same detached, the degree of some

food hydrometer, if such isat hand, the irection of the wind, and remarks concerning its force or velocity, the sort of clouds visible, &c.

In consequence of this understanding, many sets of these observations have been sent to Mr. Tilloch, and printed in his Philosophical Magazine; and a far greater number of sets of such observations are understood to have been made, and to remain in the possession of the observers, intending thereon to found calculations, by comparisons with the published observations, of the heights of their respective places of observation.

I sincerely hope that the number of these monthly observers of the barometer will increase; and particularly of those who reside, or may have the opportunity of making their observations near to someone of the levels of canals, which Mr. Galton has mentioned in pages 27 to 30; and that they will be at the pains to carefully ascertain by a spirit level whenever necessary, the • exact height of the surface of mercury in the basin of their barometer, above the waters surface in the canal; and I also hope and request, that a greater number than heretofore of these observations may be regularly transmitted for publication, particularly from gentlemen who may be either permanently or temporarily resident (were it only on one of the second Mondays) on the open coast of the ocean; being particular in all of such cases, to ascertain the height of their basin of Mercury, above high water mark, and above low-water mark, mentioning whether these are wellsettled average marks, or merely the tide's heights on the day of observation.

In cases where barometric observations are made near and referred to, any intermediate pound or level of any of the canals between those levels which B Mr. Mr. Galton has mentioned, I should feel particularly obliged if the observer, besides measuring the height of his barometer basin, would travel along the towing-path, and actually measure the rise or fall of water at each lock until he reaches one of the pounds mentioned; and if the same was also done in the contrary direction, so as to procure a check on the difference of levels in Mr. G.'s table, a further obligation would be conferred on me by the making of these particulars public: and the same, as to extending like observations by actual measurements of the locks, or to any others of the canals which branch from, or connect with those Mr. G. has particularized.

At a future time it is hoped that those who may prefer reducing and calculating their own observations, will not hesitate to send the heights which result, and ample local descriptions, either to you or to Mr. Tilloch, as contributions to the general stock of knowledge on this interesting subject.

John Farev, Sen. 37, Ihwland-street, August 10, 1821.


For the Monthly Magazine.

No. IV.


SEVERAL of the poets, in imitation of Firdansi and Nizami, have composed a khamsah; the height of their ambition seems to have been to equal or excel their predecessors. The names of these poets, and their respective degrees of excellence, may be classed as follows:—Amir,Khosru, Hatifi, Katibi, and Jami, whose poems, including those of Firdansi and Nizami, amount to more thau one hundred thousand couplets.

The following exhortation to vigilance and activity is from Sadi. who flourished hi A.D. 12S0. Although a literal prose translation cannot convey a correct idea of the original puetiy, yet, as it gives an interesting description of the figurative style of the east, it is piesumea that it will not be deemed uninteresting.

"O youth,to-day religion s path pursue; to-morrow age will check thy course: uow strong is thy frame and ardent is thy mind, then every moment to improve thyself employ. I did not know the value of my younger days; but now, too late, I learn to prize them, as fate has spoiled me of those precious hours. What efforts can an aged ass beneath his load exert? But thou an

agile courser, urge thy speed; a broken vase, though joined again with skill, its price regaineth not. When opportunity once has slipped from the neglectful hand, never can it be recalled. Thou Careless, threw away the purest water,* and now with sand must thou ablution make. When with the fleet in the course thou borest not away the ball, fatigued and trembling must thou now proceed; and now, scarce tottering must thy steed, decayed and fainting onwa: d move.

"In the desert, one night, by travel wearied, I sunk in slumber. The camel driver came, and clamorous and angry struck me with the reins, saying, 'Arise; if thou have not fixed thy heart on death, ■why not arise at the sound of the bells of the camels? Sweet would be repose to roe as well as to thee, but the desert extends before us ; if thou togeutle slumber yield, when the sound of departure is heard, how wilt thou the path regain!'

"Oh ! happy chose of auspicious fortune, who bind their loads before the signal for moving is given! But those who on their journey sleep, will never see again the track of the traveller. Though starting up in haste, what use is it to awake after the caravan has deparled? Who barley sons in spring, that he may wheat in autumn reap? But now, thou slumberer, awake! When death prolongs thy sleep, what will be then thy benefit? When greyness covers the locks of youth, and day is changed to night, then fill thy eyes with sleep. Now that the black is mingled with the white, no longer in my days I place my hopes. Alas! passed away is the sweetest part of life; and soon these few remaining hours will also pass away.' But now for thee it is the time to sow, if thou would'st wish to reap a harvest. The man at resurrection's hour who unprepared appears, shall sink into the regions of despair. If thou possess the eyes of wisdom, arrange thy journey to the grave, before those eyes are dimmed. Now that the water rises but to thy waist, exert thyself, nor wait until the torrent rushes o'er thy head. While still thy eyes remain, tears repeating shed; and while thy tongue retains its power, pardon for thy sins implore. Not always will the eyes with lustre shine, nor always will the tongue in accents move. To-day listen to the voice of wisdom,lest to-morrow thou shouldest be with drrf.d interrogated. Cherish, then, thy soui as mvaluablc, and pass not thy life in vanity; for time is precious, and transient are thy days."


"A friend that Jemshid loved, descended to the grave, inshrouded in the finest silk

* The Ablutions are always made by the Muhamerians before they prostrate themselves to prayer; when they can eet no water for this purpose, as is the case in (ik deserts, they substitute sund.


that worm had ever spun. A few days ufter, Jemshid sought the tomb to mourn aad weep his loss; and when ho saw the silk decayed, thus to himself he thought: Of finest texture was this shroud composed ; but soon has the worm of the grave destroyed it. Ah! true these words that grieved my soul, one day as to his harp the minstrel sung: 'Alas! short are our days! atid like the blooming rose or verdant spring they fade away; but when within the silent tomb we sleep,full many another spring shall glad the world, and many a rose shall bloom.'"

To appreciate correctly the merits of these mystic poems, it would be necessary to enter into an extended enquiry respecting the origin and opinions of the different kinds of mystics which hare prevailed in Persia, which would be foreign to our purpose; suffice it to say that the first who wrote a poem on mysticism, was Abu el Mujed ed din Makdud ben Adam, better known by the-name of El Hakim Sindi, wlio flourished in the 12th century.

To conclude our extracts from Persian literatme, the following, from an unknown author, appears not undeserving attention.

ON MARRIAGE. "O slave to woman! if to love thy heart be sjill inclined, take unto thyself a wife, and remain no longer single. But when thou marriest, choose one who is of virtuous parents and endowed with modesty; nor seek for health or beauty, for rare it is to find a single one, in whom combine, fortune, beauty, modesty. A chastened modesty is better, then, than riches; these are earthly, but that is heavenly. Beauty and wealth are transient; the slightest grief impairs the one, and accidents disperse the other: but modesty is permanent, and subject to no reverse. When thou art married, seek to please thy wife, but listen not to all she says. From man's right side a rib was taken to form the woman, and never was there seen a rib quite straight, and would'st thou straighten it? It breaks but bends not. Since then 'tis plain that crooked is woman's temper, forgive her faults and blame her not. Nor let them anger thee, nor coercion use, as all is vain to straighten what is curved. But trust not to thy wife thy secrets or thy wealth; acquaint her with them, and thou wilt know no peace. Who conceals not his secrets from his wife soon finds ;hem known to every one. Tell her thy fortune, and as it must either be that thou art rich or poor, it will happen, then, my friend, if rich, thy wife will blame continually thy avarice; if poor, she will complain ofhardness and accuse thy meanness. But difficult K is to choose a wife; and marriage

always is attended with cares and troubles. Asa proof of what has now been said, listen to this tale: —

"In Chin are many painters of skill and genius; and one of these painted the portraits of three men,all differing in theirexpression. One was represented as melancholy and afflicted, and his hand, through grief, fixed on his beard,and, like a diver, immersed in the sea of thought. The second had seized in his hand a stone, with which he was beating his breast; and his portrait resembled the mourners who weep over the dead The third appeared gay and happy, and seemed free from every worldly care; his countenance was blooming, and his lips full of smiles. Above each of th-se portraits was written a description of their meaning. Above the one who seemed melancholy andsunk in thought was written, 'This was an Arab, compelled by the hardship of his fate to demand a maid in marriage; and from the bitterness of thinking on the subject is he so afflicted.' Above the one who smote his breast was written, 'This was a man who married, captivated by the charms of his wife; but misery ensued; and now repenting agony so overpowers his soul, t'.iat he tears his hair and beats his breast.' Above the third, who seems rejoiced and happy, was written,'This is a man relieved from every care, as his wife is dead and has ceased to trouble him; and thus released from secret sorrow he now enjoys his liberty."*

These fragments of oriental literature will give the reader an idea of the Persian style of writing. Like their cognate brethren the Arabs, their writings abound in metaphor and allegory. The different authors who have embellished Persian literature, flourished between A.D. 923 and 1520; for no sooner was the whole of Persia united under the government of Shah Ismacl Sifi, than literature began to decay from neglect, since which a marked alteration has taken place in the style of Persian writers. To the chasteness of original genius has succeeded the sterility of imitation, and the. beauty of ancient authors ought not to be included in the general censure which is attributable only to their modern writers. It has been admitted that the poetry of Persia 13 deficient in variety, in verity, and in action; but are not these imperfections compensated by the richness of the thoughts and imagery—by the beauty of the sentiments and descriptions—by the grace and animation of the style—and by the sweetnes's of he versification? J.ti. JACKSON.



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