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readers, we shall now give Mr. Lamb's translation of it.

ON THE DEATH OF THE SPARROW.

Mourn all ye loves and graces; mourn,
Ye wits, ye gallants, and ye gay,
Death from my fair her bird has toru,
Her much-lov'd sparrow's snatch'd

away.

Her very eyes she priz'd not so,

For he was fond, and knew my fair,
Well as young girls their mothers know,
-Flew to her breast and nestled there.
When fluttering round from place to place,
He gaily chirp'd to her alone;
He now that gloomy path must trace,
Whence Fate permits return to none.
Accursed shades o'er hell that lower,

O be my curses on you heard;
Ye, that all pretty things devour,
Have torn from me my pretty bird.
evil deed! O Sparrow dead!

O what a wretch, if thou canst see
My fair one's eyes with weeping red,
And know how much she grieves for
thee!

Unbar the door, the gates unfold!
The bashful virgin comes-behold
How red the nuptial torches glare;
How bright they shake their splendid
hair!

Come, gentle bride-the warning day
Rebukes thy lingering cold delay.

We will not blame thy bashful fears,
Reluctant step, and gushing tears,
That chide the swift approach of night,
To give thy bridegroom all his right.
Yet come, sweet bride! the waning day
Rebukes thy lingering cold delay.

*

Then come, sweet bride! and bless thy spouse,

And sanction love by nuptial vows.
At length our friendly numbers hear:
The torches high their brilliance rear,
And richly shake their glowing pride,
Their golden hair-then come, sweet
bride!

This translation is certainly superior to the rest of the volumes, some parts of which bear all the marks of schoolexercises about them. The version of

ACME AND SEPTIMIUS.

This translation is sufficiently accurate, but there is very little poetical Acme and Septimius is tolerably good. ease or beauty about it. It has been imitated perhaps more frequently than any other of Catullus's poems. There are said to be thirty imitations of it in Greek, Latin, French, and Italian, to which Mr. Lamb refers in a note, in which he also mentions the English

translations of it.

The version of the famous Epithalamium on the Marriage of Manlius and Julia, is, we think, as favourable a specimen as any of Mr. Lamb's talents, and we shall therefore transcribe a few passages from it.

O thou, Urania's Heaven-born son,
Whose lov'd abode is Helicon;
Whose power bestows the virgin's charms,
To bless the youthful bridegroom's arms;
O Hymen! friend to youthful pairs ;
O Hymen! hear our fervent prayers!

Around thy brow the chaplet bind,
Of fragrant marjoram entwined!
And bring the veil with crimson dyed,
The refuge of the blushing bride.
Come joyous, while thy feet of snow
With yellow sandals brightly glow!
Arouse thee on this happy day;
Carol the hymeneal lay:
Raise in the strain thy silver voice;
And in the festal dance rejoice;
And brandish high the blissful sign,
The guiding torch of flaming pine.

Septimius said, and fondly prest,
The doating Acme to his breast-
"My Acme, if I prize not thee
With love as warm as love can be,
With passion spurning any fears

Of growing faint in length of years,
Alone may I defenceless stand
To meet, on Lybia's desert sand,
Or under India's torrid sky,
The tawny Lion's glaring eye!"

Love, before who utter'd still
On the left-hand omens ill,
As he ceas'd his faith to plight,
Laugh'd propitious on the right.

Then Acme gently bent her head,
Kiss'd with those lips of cherry red
The eyes of the delighted boy
That swam with glistening floods of joy;
And whisper'd as she closely prest-
"Septimius, soul of Acme's breast,
Let all our lives and feelings own
One lord, one sovereign, Love alone!
I yield to Love, and yield to thee,
For thou and Love art one to me.
Though fond thy fervent heart may beat,
My feelings glow with greater heat,
Aud madder flames my bosom melt,
Than all that thou hast ever felt.".

Love, before who uttered still
On the left hand omens ill,
As she ceas'd her faith to plight
Laugh'd propitious on the right,

Since favouring omens thus approved,
They mutual love, and are beloved;
Septimius prizes Acme more

Than Syria's realm and Britain's shore;
And from Septimius only flows

The bliss that faithful Acme knows.

Then search the world, and search in vain,

For fonder maid, or happier swain

Ask men below, and gods above,

Ask Venus kind, and potent Love,
If e'er they with propitious care
Heap'd equal bliss on any pair.

There is more poetry in the translation of the beautiful lines, entitled "the Rites at his Brother's Grave," than in any other of Mr. Lamb's attempts.

THE RITES AT HIS BROTHER'S GRAVE. Brother, I come o'er many seas and lands, To the sad rite which pious love ordains, To pay thee the last gift that death demands,

And oft, though vain, invoke thy mute remains;

Since death has ravish'd half myself in thee,

O, wretched brother-sadly torn from me!

And now ere fate our souls shall re-unite, To give me back all it hath snatch'd

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If we venerate the authority of the sacred writings, no one will dispute the first place belongs to Charity, "which covers a multitude of sins." The second to Justice, the severe administrator, but the companion of truth. These, from their peculiar sacredness of character, though her offspring, stand, perhaps, higher even than fortitude herself, the parent of all the virtues. Hope now is present to our view, who charms wherever she appears, animating every power of the mind, and engaging the fertile imagination, to embrace with becoming ardour, objects of honourable ambition; all that constitute beauty, excellence, or grandeur; thus gaily conducting us through the arcadian fields, harbingers of innocence and peace, to prospects of immortality. She enjoys a second place, too, in that exhilarating climax, which meets the soul in all its wanderings. 66 Faith, Hope, and Charity-these three, the greatest of all is Charity." Temperance may fairly claim the next place in the pantheon of manly virtues. While she gives effect to every attribute of the mind, without which our reason would be as a dead letter, and virtue but a name. We now turn to Faith, besmeared with blood, spilt in ignorance, acknowledging that reason and her have often been at variance, but

holding out fair promises of a happy issue, and peace and comfort to the aged. As to Prudence, she trains her homely mantle in the rear, and offers it as a covering, even to ordinary men. Paris, June 30, 1821.

Jos. ORIGINAL

E

IT

ORIGINAL POETRY.

ON THE

DEMISE OF BONAPARTE. seemeth like a dream-but it is true, The Giant of this earth's wide course is gone;

France, thou who best his eagle-greatness knew,

In bitterness of heart thou long shalt moan Thy base apostacy, to him thy Chief,

Who, in the hour when War's fell genius frowned,

Saw thee in listlessness,-yield no relief.

O thou vile land, while legions pressed him round.

At length thy foemen bore him from thy ground,

And close immured him in Oppression's cell, Where, by restrictive horrors firmly bound,

A victim to their power, Napoleon fell!! O lest this deed should wake e'en Virtue's rage,

Blot it, O History, blot it from thy page! ENORT.

TO MR. GRAY,

On his ODES-written by DAVID GARRICK. REPINE not, Gray, that our weak dazzled eyes

Thy daring heights and brightness shun; How few can track the eagle to the skies, Or like him, gaze upon the sun!

The gentle reader loves the gentle muse,

That little dares, and little means,
Who humbly sips her learning from Reviews,
Or flutters in the Magazines.

No longer now from Learning's sacred store
Our minds their health and vigour draw;
Homer and Pindar are rever'd so more,
No more the Stagyrite is law.

THE NARCISSUS.

SOON as thy yellow bell has blown,
And round thy green-pipe leaves are grown,
And gemm'd with rain drops pearly;
Thou leanest towards thy natal bed,
Like thought to youthful visions led,
Which pleasure scattered early.

The sun discerns thee with his ray,
The shade and moonlight o'er thee stray,
Like lovers fondly meeting;

The air and tempest in their change,
Like friend and foe caress and range,-
Destroying thee, or greeting.

A few brief days and thou wilt shrink
To die !-like tender frames that think

Beyond their years,-and leave us !
A few brief days!-another race
Will rise from earth and shed their grace,

As hopes to bless, or grieve, us.

Yet, as thy root to Nature true
Again will give thee life and hue,

T'increase thy Maker's beauty;
So Spirits,-if their course be wise,
From the grave's confines will arise
And praise him in their duty.
Islington, April 6th, 1821.

MELANCHOLY.

J. R. PRIOR.

AURORA's fingers spread their tinsell❜d gleams, The dawn relieves me from tumultuous dreams.

Ponder I must, if sinking into earth:
Lost to myself, the world, and nothing worth.
Contemplate pleasures, stimulating pain,
Though mournful, pleasing--can faithful
Jos.
mem'ry refrain?

LINES

BY MRS. SHERIDAN, formerly MISS LINLEY.

Though nurs'd by these, in vain thy muse ap- SLEEP, lovely Babe! sleep on, from danger

pears,

To breathe her ardours in our souls; In vain to sightless eyes and deaden'd ears The lightning gleams and thunder rolls! Yet droop not, Gray, nor quit thy Heav'n-born

art,

Again thy wond'rous powers reveal, Wake slumb'ring Virtue in the Briton's heart,

And rouse us to reflect, and feel!

free,

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To know the transports which those smiles impart ;

For couldst thou know them, thou must also share

The anxious feelings of thy Mother's care.

With ancient deeds our long chill'd bosoms Soon shall her watching eyes, that dread to fire,

Those deeds which mark'd Eliza's reign! Make Britons Greeks again-then strike the

lyre,

And Pindar shall not sing in vain.

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Once on a time a magpie led Ber little family from home,

What tender hand that rears the humblest

flow'r,

And shields its sweetness from the threat'ning To teach them how to earn their bread,

show'r,

But loves the infant blossom it protects,
And many a brighter tree with scorn rejects?
No wonder, then, that thou, sweet Child,
should'st prove

The fond attentions of maternal love,
Whose early charms, to features not confin'd,
Already speak the graces of the mind.

But when from scenes which purest souls admire,

Beauty, and taste, and innocence retire,
At once from every gay amusement part,
Yet bear to solitude a sprightly heart;
There only rich in innocence and truth,
Learn matron duties in the bloom of youth.
Virtue, like this, must real wonder raise,
And by avoiding, will create its praise:
Nor thou, my sister, slight an humble muse,
That loves, from worth like thine, her theme
to choose.

The parent rose, that bends with blushing pride,

O'er the soft bud that clusters to its side, More lovely seems, than where the stalk has grown,

A single sweet attractive, but alone;

For pleasing 'tis to view the ripened flow'r Expose its beauties to the sun-beam's

power,

As if content its silken leaves should feed
For the fresh opening bud to form a shade.
Thus, Mary, when with youth and beauty
blest.

You clasp your smiling infant to your breast,
Like the sweet rose a softer grace you gain,
Which past the bloom of youth shall still re-
main.

THE MAGPIE AND HER BROOD. A FABLE,

From the Tales of Bonaventure des Seriers, Valet de Chambre to the Queen of Na

varre.

How anxious is the pensive Parent's thought! How blest the fav'rite fondling's early lot! Joy strings her hours on Pleasure's golden twine,

And Fancy forms it to an endless line.

But ah! the charm must cease, or soon or late,

When chicks and misses rise to woman's state.

The little tyrant grows in turn a slave,
And feels the soft anxiety she gave.
This truth, my pretty friend, an ancient wit,
Who many a jocund tale and legend writ,
Couch'd in that age's unaffected guise,
When fables were the wisdom of the wise.
To careless notes I've tun'd his gothic style;
Content if you approve, and Suffolk smile.

When she in quest of a new mate should

roam.

She pointed to each worm and fly,
That crept on earth or winged the sky,

Or where the beetle buzz'd she call'd.
But all her documents were vain;
They would not budge, the urchin train
But caw'd, and cried, and squall'd.

They wanted to be back at nest,
Close muzzled to mamma's warm breast,
And thought that she, poor soul! must sweat,
Day after day, to find them meat;

But madge knew better things.
My loves, said she, behold the plains,
Where stores of food and plenty reigns!
I was not half so big as you,
When me my honour'd mother drew
Forth to the groves and springs.

She flew away-God rest her sprite!
Tho' I could neither read nor write,

I made a shift to live

So must you, too; come, hop away;
Get what you can; steal what you may:
The industrious always thrive.

Lord bless us cried the peevish chits,
Can babes like us live by their wits?
With perils compass'd round, can we
Preserve our lives or liberty?
How shall we 'scape the fowler's snare,
Or gardener's tube erect in air?
If we but pilfer plums or nuts,

The leaden ball will pierce our guts:
And then, mamma, your tender heart will
bleed

To see your little Pies lie dead.

My dears, said she, and buss'd their callow bills,

The wise, by foresight, intercept their ills;
And you of no dull lineage came.
To fire a gun it takes some time;
The man must load, the man must prime,
And after that take aim.

He lifts his piece, he winks his eye;
"Twill then be time enough to fly:
You, out of reach, may laugh and chatter;
To bilk a man is no great matter.
Aye! but But what? why, if the clown
Should reach a stone to knock us down?

Why if he does, ye brats,
Must not he stoop to reach the stone?
His posture warns you to be gone;
Birds are not killed like cats.

Still, good mamma, our case is hard;
The rogue, you know, may come prepar'd,
A huge stone in his fist!
Indeed! my youngsters, madge replies,
If you already are so wise,

Go, cater where you list.

H.W. MEMOIRS

MEMOIRS OF EMINENT PERSONS

RECENTLY DECEASED.

OUTLINE of the LIFE and CHARACTER of NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, Emperor of the French, King of Italy, &c. &c.

A length that prodigy of huma

nity has ceased to exist, which, during this generation, has absorbed the attention of mankind-at length that meteor has disappeared, which, while it enlightened the world, terrified many nations-at length those vital energies have ceased, whose powers were once extended over Europe, and drew forth the re-action of the civilized world at length that Conqueror is himself overcome, whose presence always ensured victory over the bravest hosts, and who never suffered defeat, though sometimes baffled by treachery, or overpowered by numbers-at length that ambition is laid asleep for ever, which sought to conquer prejudices; to anticipate centuries of time; to unite Philosophy with Ignorance, and reconcile rights with usurpation-at length Europe is relieved from the shame of continuing a sentence of Ostracism against a man whose character created an idolatry among millions, and enabled him to regulate kingdoms as his own household-at length, in fine, that great man is no more, whose genius and exalted character placed him as a champion between ancient establishments and the rights of man, and between the pretensions of legitimacy, which assert that people were made for the benefit of rulers, and the just claims of reason, which assert that rulers were made for the benefit of people. The tactics of established power, aided by the prejudices of the multitude, have thus for a season prevailed over the self-elected representative of those principles which have taken too deepa root in the understandings of men ever to be eradicated. The victory has not been gained over the principles, but over one who, with great admitted qualities, had nevertheless too many errors of humanity to be considered as the personification of the cause of truth. În being opposed by the worthless, his cause, however, became allied to the cause of virtue, and he had the glory of resisting the machinations of a common enemy, with such rare success, as to extort the admiration of all his con

temporaries. In this respect his cause was allied, therefore, to that of virtue and philosophy-but in this respect only-for his character was too much adulterated, and his personal ambition was too much at variance with the rights of his fellow men, to allow of his being considered by them as the champion of that great cause, the ultimate triumph of which must, in a remote age, be secured by the pen and the press, and not by the desolating arts of war.

This great man was born at Ajaccio, in Corsica, on the 15th of Aug. 1769, a period just long enough in advance of the French revolution, to cause both to arrive at maturity in the same year. He was therefore personally identified with that revolution-was brought up amid the conflict of opinions which produced it; and found himself qualified to seek his fortunes in its vicissitudes, by arriving at manhood in the very year in which the Bastille was taken.

He was the second son of eight children, named Joseph, Napoleon, Lucien, Lewis, Jerome, Élizabeth, Paulina, and Caroline. Charles Bonaparte, the father, was assessor to the tribunal of Ajaccio. The patronage afforded to him by the Count de Marbœuf, who governed the island of Corsica after its conquest by the French, led to the protection of the family of Bonaparte, on the death of the father. It was through his means that young Napoleon was sent to the military school of Brienne, and afterwards to that of Paris, in quality of a king's scholar. He there exhibited very early a desire to acquire a superior knowledge of mathematics, and a taste for military exercises; but naturally of a retired disposition, he seldom mixed with his comrades. He was invariably fond of imitating the manners and language of the ancients, particularly of the Spartans, whose phrases and pithy manners he adopted.

His propensity to mathematical studies was injurious to his progress in the more ornamental branches of literature; so that he is said never to have acquired a perfect knowledge of the grammar even of his own language, though his public compositions and bulletins are so much distinguished by their eloquence.

In the year 1785, he underwent an examination

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