The air was balmy, and the breeze was still; A lovely evening clos'd a fervid day; And bright behind each distant western hill, The skies reflected the departing ray, When down her garden Stella bent her way; Gladly I flew to seek her converse there, And try her patience with an uncouth lay: I pluck'd two Roses, in my hand to bear, One, like her cheek's fresh bloom-one, as her bosom fair! 1 made the off'ring, and look'd round to gain Some other tribute to her virtues due ; When the lov❜d nymph exclaim'd in playful strain, "Tell me what gave this crimson Rose its hue? In the same soil their parent bushes grew; Entwin'd their branches in the sunbeam hung; Alike they shar'd the tempest, shower, and dew, Declare from whence their different co amaz'd, Pale terror seiz'd me, as mine eye survey'd The flood of bright effulgency, that blaz'd On all the features of the lovely maid; I felt a rich perfume the air pervade, More sweet than ever came from Syrian strand; I turn'd my sight towards a myrtle shade, And saw an angel 'midst the foliage stand, His shining wings half clos'd ;-to heav'n he rais'd his hand. A radiant crown of glory grac'd his head,The myrtle wav'd his form aërial through; The frail mimosa bent not with his tread, And still beneath the violet sipp'd the dew; Prostrate on earth my trembling frame I threw ; But Stella with a smile-to guilt unknown Advancing, knelt, and paid the homage due ; On her the angel deign'd to gaze alone, And thus address'd the maid, in music's sweetest tone. "Daughter of earth, behold thy guardian here! Till now attendant on thy steps, unseen ; • The sensitive plant. 46 Lines on visiting the Mansion of a deceased Friend. Ah! need I tell how Paradise was bless'd When from its bow'rs th' eternal throne was seen? When there Archangel came, a frequent guest, To gaze delighted o'er the enchanting was borne, Its leaves were spotless white, its stem without a thorn. "But when with fatal hand the Woman took The deathful fruit, and pain her guilt reveal'd, When sudden pangs the womb of Nature shook, And first in Heav'n the awful thunder peal'd, The sun was dark'ned, and the streams congeal'd, When trees and rocks were first by tempests riv'n, When all proclaim'd the doom of mortals seal'd, When sighing Angels from the world were driv'n, And woe began on earth, and grief was known in Heav'n : “Then, from the stem on which the fruit had grown, Hot tears of blood gush'd on the rose amain; Instant the whiteness of the flow'r was flown, And still it bears the monitory stain." Then ceas'd the gracious angel's dulcet strain; I saw him take the red rose in his hand, And breathe upon its folds, nor breathe in vain, For straight I mark'd its fragrant leaves expand, It grew a snow-white flow'r, magnificently grand. The vision fled; and darkness for awhile Seem'd to succeed the glorious blaze of light; Alluding to a Jewish tradition, which states, that, as soon as Eve tasted the fruit, she felt a severe licadache. [Jan. Yet soon I saw my Stella with a smile, Gaze on that rose, and grasp it with delight; But at her touch it grew less purely white, For o'er its leaves a blush like Stella's spread : I took the flow'r-its whiteness vanish'd quite, It felt my guiltier hand, and hung its head, It lessen'd on my eye, and grew a crimson red. THE AUTHOR OF THE LAY OF Dec. 1, 1819. LINES ON VISITING THE MANSION "Tis here my heart reclaims the spot, Comes o'er me, in that sylvan lay, The first in memory's kalends traced,— When in that porch I proudly sat, With May's uncostly garlands graced ? What bliss within those walls to rest, To bask upon the social hearth, And unreproved, a cherish'd guest,* To fill the roof with childish mirth! Departed friend, no joyous lays Were breath'd upon mine infant ear; From thee alone, some scatter'd rays Of pleasure warm'd my lonely sphere. Thou wert the star, whose gracious beams, Thy image even in my dreams, Sweet influence on this being shed; With hope's delicious whispers fed. Unknowing falsehood, but by name, To thee my simple faith was given, Thy praise, was then my crown of fame, Thy love, the Providence of heaven. What though from thee full long estrang'd, The sport of fortune's wayward blast, I deem'd thee still untouch'd, unchang'd, On thee my soul had anchor'd fast! And still to this dear shelt'ring shade, I turn'd with fortune's ills oppress'd; For here, methought, the flood was stay'd, And here my troubled soul might rest. Departed friend, thou wert a leaf, În life's fair book by none replac'd, The records of my joy or grief, With thee were lodg'd, with thee eras'd. Who now from silence shall redeem, The mutual thoughts that converse gave?— What voice recal the vanish'd dream Farewell thou guide of other days, E. B. DEFENCE OF SCOTTISH POETRY. [We had no intention to stir the indignation of our Scottish poet, by the remarks with which we prefaced his verses in our last number; but we cannot regret that we have done so, since we have roused him, like the great Sir Philip Sydney, to write a" defence of poesie.' What he has written is too interesting to be omitted, even if we were not called in justice to insert it; and we hope he will accept this notice as an amende honorable, and favour us with more of his communications, in prose or verse, as he likes best. Let him pursue in either, or in both, the fine theme of the superstitions, and the still finer one of the genuine piety of his country. He is quite right in saying, that Burns has missed a noble occasion for the exercise of his great powers and pathos. The blank has of late been partly supplied in prose, and in a tone of much true feeling, by the lad we darena name."] MR EDITOR, In your Magazines for October and December last, where some poetical trifies of mine were introduced to the public, my friend and you have made some remarks on me and them, at which I am rather hurt. The one of you would encourage me in the study of poetry, the other would have me fors wear it. I don't much like to stand still in this awkward passive posture, the object of public contemplation, and be almost shuffled out of countenance between ye; I hope I shall, therefore, be excused for stepping forward and speaking for myself; and I trust you will be so good as to insert this, or something like it, in a corner of your next Magazine. You seem to have affixed a great deal more importance to my poetical existence than is at all necessary. And out of the abundance of your kindness you have been under no small alarm, lest, from the encouragement you have given me, I should be induced to make poetry my vocation. Now, I would have you keep yourself perfectly easy on that score. Poetry never was, and I daresay never will be, my vocation; but it has been, and I hope will continue to be, one of my most delightful amusements. I must likewise tell you, that my opinions of Scottish poetry are very different from yours. It seems you would have us Scottish youths renounce for ever the profane and unprofitable art of poem-making, as it stands denominated, highly to his credit, no doubt, in the session-book of some respectable minister. The idea of profit might have some influence on such as ran the risk of losing a fortune, or of being excommunicated for paying their adoration to the Muses. But do you imagine that one who is indebted to the world for nothing else but his existence, who, at the expence of many a toilsome day and sleepless night, has independently fought his way through ten thousand difficulties to the dearest object of his wishes, his education, the harp that he found in the do you think that he would part with breckan glen," which had been the companion of his joys, and the soother of his sorrows, when unnoticed and friendless he followed his flocks through the parching drought of summer, and the whirling drifts of the winter? Would he part with the faithful companion of his early days for all the profits the world could hold out to him? By Heavens, the very thought would be sacrilege. It would be selling his birth-right for a mess of pottage. You seem to think, that the sphere of our Scottish poetry must now be very contracted. I beg leave to differ from you there also. Had you spent as many Sabbath-days among the Scottish peasantry as I have done, I dare say you would join with me in thinking, that there is yet an extensive field for the cultivation of a higher order of poetry than much that has ever yet appeared in our language. The popular superstitions, too, that are still current among the peasantry of Nithsdale and Ayrshire would, of themselves, furnish an abundant supply of awful materials for the fancy of a skilful poet. Who that has ever heard of the fairies of Pal-veach or Glenmuir,-the dead-lights carried by dead men, that have been seen among the haunted woods of Garpal or Craw-wick, the fiery coach that appeared at midnight at the grave of the murdered Cameron in Ayrs-moss,the spectre that vanished in blood near the Wellwood, in the parish of Muir kirk, and hundreds more of the same kind that might be enumerated;-who, I say, that has heard of these, and has been familiar with the characters and feelings of the people among whom they are cherished, will deny that such dreadful familiarity with the beings of another world has communicated to them an elevation and sublimity of mind highly poetical,-perhaps not unfavourable to the cultivation of religion, as more awful conceptions must thus be produced of that Being "who maketh his angels spirits, and his ministers a flame of fire?" But, even allowing that the fields of Scottish poetry are mostly cultivated, they are not impoverished; and it might, perhaps, be advisable, in imitation of our farmers, to try what kind of poetical harvest might be produced by a change of crop. It is very certain that the subjects of some of our most admired Scottish poems are far from being exhausted. They may be viewed in a great variety of lights, according to the humour of the poet's feelings. To mention one particular instance, how different a poem would Burns have produced, had he carried the spirit of the Cottar's Saturday Night into the morning of his sacramental Sabbath? The poem would certainly have appeared to as much advantage, and the respectability of the Scottish character and religion might, perhaps, have been more indebted to him. As it is, however, he has left abundant room for the display of future talent; and I think it is to be wished that some mighty genius equal to the task would step forward, and mingle at once the social and religious feelings of the Scottish peasantry, in the poetry of our native land. It is not easy to conceive any thing more solemn than the manner in which a sacrament is conducted in the upland parishes of Ayrshire and Dumfries-shire, or than the wild and commanding eloquence of some of our most distinguished preachers. I shall never forget the alarming address that one of them gave to his congregation at the commencement of the more immediate service of the day. It was in the sultry heat of summer, and the congregation were assembled around the tent in the church-yard. The first table was just filled, and at the head of it, beside the consecrated elements, stood the venerable servant of God. He had just finished reading the appropriated verses in the 116th Psalm, to be sung, after the example of our Saviour on the night of institution, when suddenly the breathless silence of the congregation was broken by a terrible clap of thunder. As soon as it was hushed, impressed with an awful sense of a present God, he addressed his audience to the following effect:-" My friends, how dreadful is this place! This is none other but the house of God, and the gate of Heaven. He before whom we must appear in judgment, from his pavilion of dark waters, and thick clouds of the skies, in a voice of thunder is now addressing us who are assembled round his table. And I have no doubt, that, if the thin veil by which we are separated from the invisible world were drawn aside, we might discover among those dark clouds where the thunder is rolling, the throne of Him from before whose face the earth and the heavens shall flee away. We might behold on the mountains around us the bright armies of Heaven drawn up in their shining ranks under the banners of the King of Righteousness. We might behold those who have joined with us at this table, whose graves are now rising green bencath our feet, but whose spirits are in glory; I say, we might behold them looking upon us with heavenly joy and satisfaction, while we join ourselves unto the Lord in an everlasting covenant never to be forgotten." After such an address, how awfully sublime was the devotion, when the assembled multitudes were singing, to the wild and simple melody that awakens all the sacramental associations of departed years, as the elements were about to be distributed, I'll of salvation take the cup, &c. This is only a rude imperfect sketch of some of the awful and sublime sensations that are familiar to the inhabitants of my native mountains on the yearly return of a communion Sabbath, and, while such subjects remain unsung, shall it ever be said, that the poetry of Scotland is susceptible of no farther improvement? Our bosoms have often trembled with delight at THE increasing taste of the age in which we live, from our growing intercourse with the more polished regions of the South, where Art his long fixed its abode, is matter of universal observation. Of a change so desirable, and whose consequences promise to be so important upon the future progress of the fine arts in this country, it is our pleasing duty to take occasional notice, and we know not on what occasion it can be more imperiously called for, than by the pub. fication of Mr Williams's Travels in Italy and Greece. This distinguished gentleman has been long known to the lovers of the fine arts by the delicacy of his taste in landscape painting; and those who were acquainted with the beauty of his imitations of Scotch scenery regretted that abilities so transcendent should not have had an opportunity of expanding amongst the classical remains of Italian scenery, or of being matured by the works of Italian genius. Such an opportunity at length presented itself, when the return of peace opened the Continent to English travellers; and he has availed himself of it with a spirit of enterprise worthy of the celebrity which his name had acquired. To those who have had the good fortune of seeing Mr Williams's matchless sketches of the ruins of Athens and Rome, it will be needless to observe, how interesting a subject of study his Travels must afford. To follow the eye which could delineate Travels in Italy, Greece, and the Ionian Islands, in a Series of Letters, descriptive of Manners, Scenery, and the Fine Arts. By H. W. Williams, Esq. With Engravings from Original Drawings. In Two Volumes. Edinburgh, Constable and Co. 1820. VOL. VI. Το with so much fidelity these charming scenes,-to be guided by the taste which could seize with so happy a selection the objects and the moments fit for imitation,-is, next to the actual visiting of these countries, the most delightfal occupation in which a man of taste can be engaged. those who have not had this good fortune, we can only say, that no artist has ever brought to this country so rich and varied a collection of views on the shores of the Mediterranean; and that these classical scenes, more interesting even from their historical associations than from their unequalled beauty, have inspired him with higher conceptions of art than even the delicacy and beauty of his pencil could have led us to anticipate. To all who are interested in the beauty of Ñature or the remains of Art, his observations on the countries he has visited must possess a peculiar and almost singular interest. With equal modesty and judgment he has, in a great degree, limited his observations to subjects which fell in with his previous habits of thought. Qualified, indeed, in the most amule way, for discussing all the subjects which can fall under the observation of a traveller, he seems to have felt, that his peculiar powers in the fine arts enabled him to give a degree of interest to his work on these subjects, which could not be created by entering on a wider and more varied field of discussion. Leaving, therefore, to the antiquarian and the political economist to examine, with the minuteness of scientific researches, the various subjects connected with their departments of knowledge, he has confined himself, for the most part, to the delineation of those impressions which arise from the attentive examination of the beauties, whether of Nature or of Art, which lay in the countries through which he travelled. By doing so, he has not only given a much greater unity to his travels than could possibly have been attained by any other arrangement, but he has made a work incomparably more useful and delightful than if he had embraced a more extended circle of inquiries. His book is not only so replete with yluable information as to the objects mest worthy of admiration in all the cities of Greece and Italy, but it abounds with those views of Nature G |