STANZAS,

Written during a voyage in search of a
North-west Passage, and addressed to a
Northern Princess.
OH! pretty Polar lady!

Doth thy bearded bosom beat,
That breast so sweetly shady,
With an unaccustomed heat?
Dark, oily, Polar woman!

Lay aside thy freezing airs, And take to something human,

In the room of boors and bears.

I'm an officer! my jacket

Will tell thee what I am;
No master of a packet,
My pretty Polar dame !
But a sailor with old Jervis,
A man of royal blue;
Kings send me on their service,
And their service send to you.
Thy Husband, from his swooning
At thy flight will soon arise;
And go about harpooning

The sorrow from his eyes:
And he'll be no more a rubber
Of wet sockets; but he'll seek,
With a wiser kind of blubber,

To pacify his cheek.
Thine eyes are dark and roving,
My pretty Polar sun!
Oh, they're very full of loving,
And extremely full of fun.
The mate attracts thine ogling;
But, oh, my fair! thy fate
Don't now be after boggling;
But take me for thy mate.
The ruby tide is rushing

To that shadowy cheek; and, oh,
So heavenly is that blushing,

It shames the ruby snow.
All things thine eye doth snatch at
With a kind of amorous fear;
Ah, do not steal the hatchet;
My pretty Polar dear!

Give up ice-fields, where no hedges
Are full of bloom or birds,
Give up bear-skins, give up sledges,
Give up all thy barking herds:
Come to England, let me marry thee,
And trees shall be thy own;
And a neat post-chaise shall carry thee
From Chatham up to town.
We have now gutted this little vo-
lume as it were, cleaned it out. But,
notwithstanding our elegant extracts,
every man of Fancy will buy a copy.
There is a great deal of literature in
and about the Ring at present-and,
as the profits arising from this vo-
lume, and from those which are to
succeed it, are to go to a fund now
collecting by Messrs Jackson, Egan,
and others, for the support of a na-
tural child of Mr Corcoran's and its
poor forsaken mother, we will not
suffer ourselves for one moment to
doubt that all hands that ever wore

a glove will be stretched out in furtherance of a scheme so truly charitable. We cannot conclude this Article with a stronger appeal to the tender-hearted and the affluent in favour of little Peter, the orphan, than is contained in the last poemand also the most beautiful-written by his ill-starred father.

STANZAS.

And muttered, lost! lost! lost!"
Sir W. Scott, Bart.

'Tis vain to grieve for what is past,
The golden hours are gone;
My own mad hand the die hath cast,
And I am left alone :

"Tis vain to grieve-I now can leave
No other bliss-yet still I grieve!
The dreadful silence of this night
Seems breathing in my ear;
I scarce can bear the lonely light
That burns oppress'd and near)
I stare at it while half reclin'd,
And feel its thick light on my mind.
The sweetest fate have I laid waste
With a remorseless heart;

All that was beautiful and chaste,
For me seem'd set apart;
But I was fashion'd to defy
Such treasure, so set richly by.
How could I give up HER, whose eyes
Were fill'd with quiet tears,

For many a day-when thoughts would rise,
Thoughts darken'd with just fears,
Of all my vices!—Memory sees
Her eyes' divine remonstrances.

A wild and wretched choice was mine,
A life of low delight;

The midnight rounds of noise and wine,
That vex the wasted night;

The bitter jest, the wearied glee,
The strife of dark society.

To those who plung'd me in the throng
Of such disastrous joys,

Who led me by low craft along,
And stunned my mind with noise-
I only wish they now could look
Upon my Life's despoiled book.
When Midnight finds me torn apart
From vulgar revelry,

The cold, still Madness of the heart
Talks with me, till the sky is grey
Comes forth, and talks with me;
With the chill light of breaking day.
My love is lost-my studies marr'd,
My friends disgrac'd and chang'd;
My thoughts all scatter'd and impair'd,
My relatives estrang'd:
Yet can I not by day recall
My ruined Spirit from its thrall.

The best things may be abusedand so will every philosophic reader think of pugilism, as he returns to its place on the shelf, the Memoir of the Life and Writings of Peter Cor

coran.

Virginius.

SINCE our last this house has produced a tragedy founded on the wellknown story of Virginius and his daughter; and it has met with distinguished success. Without intending to say that this success has been unmerited, we are yet not among those who would persuade the world that this tragedy deserves to be considered as nothing less than the commencement of a new and splendid era in the dramatic art; or-what is perhaps still higher praise the revival of the old era of Elizabeth. As an acting piece Mr Knowles's play is an excellent one, -very skilfully embodying the story, and very admirably adapted to the talents of the performers who are engaged in it. But this is the extent of the praise that can be fairly awarded to it: And the author himself-for he is evidently a man of perfect good sense will be equally surprised and disgusted at the involuntary degradation which certain critics are heaping on his work, by crying it up as not only the best example of tragedy in the present times, but as worthy to be placed beside the best even of times past. Mr Knowles knows better than this, if his injudicious friends do not. His work is a delightful one to see,chiefly from the dramatic taste and skill with which the story is brought out, and from the entire reliance which is placed on the power of the subject matter. If, after this, we venture to say that there is no poetic power displayed, it is because we can add that there is none needed. The story itself is poetry; and what more can it be? If we assert, too, that the language and versification are neither highly polished nor dramatic, it is because we can add that they are what is perhaps, for once in a way, better-namely, the simple expressions which the feelings and passions of the human heart would suggest to all of us-not to a poet(for this is precisely the difference between poets and other people)-but to all of us under the like circumstances. In fact, the work before us is the true story of Virginius, told under a dramatic form, by a sensitive and cultivaVOL. VII.

ted mind, addressing itself to the hearts and perceptions of mere human beings; and depending for its effects on mere human sympathy.

We are delighted that a work of this kind should have met with the success which this tragedy has-and think that it augurs well for the future prospects of our national drama;-but we cannot consent to join in the cry which its success-not its merit-has called forth-and laud it to the skies for being what it is not, and what it need not be. We agree in the opinion that it deserves all its success; but not on account of its possessing either the vigour and simplicity of our early drama, or its poetical power. It exhibits nothing of either the one or the other. With two or three slight exceptions it contains no poetry at all-as it respects the author;-and the ease and simplicity of the language and versification are the ease and simplicity of a slipshod sloven who is too careless to take the trouble of dressing better, or too busied to have time to do so. This is the most favourable construction that can be put upon it. If Mr Knowles really intended the style to be an imitation, or a revival, of the simple and natural style of the age of Elizabeth, he has no notion whatever of the essential qualities of that style, and no perception of its peculiar beauties. We are convinced that he did not intend it to be any such thing. Let those who think that it is such, turn to the dramatic scenes of Mr Barry Cornwall. There they will find a highly poetical and exquisitely finished imitation of the style in question-but only an imitation. Let them compare this with the loose, unformed phraseology, and the no-versification of the tragedy before us; and if, when they have done so, they cannot distinguish mere boldness from studied simplicity-the effects of carelessness from the effects of care-it is their own fault.

It would be an ungracious and an unnecessary task to set about proving all that we have said as to the kind of simplicity which characterises the language and versification of this tragedy. To those who read it examples will 2 Q

I shall be glad to see you at my house."

p. 11. If this is not carelessness it is affectation-which is worse.-The follow ing is Virginius's lamentation over the body of the slain Dentatus.

"Where is Dentatus? Where is the gallant soldier?

Ah, comrade! comrade! warm! yet warm! so lately

Gone, when I would have given the world, only

To say farewell to thee, or even get
A parting look! O gallant, gallant soldier,
The God of war might sure have spared a
head

Grown grey in serving him! my brave old

Comrade!"

And so on. This is not only bare and bald, but totally feeble and commonplace. The following is the manner in which Icilius compliments his mistress Virginia:

"Every term of worth Writ down and doubled, then the whole summ'd up,

Would leave with thee a rich remainder still!
Pick from each rarer pattern of her sex,
Her rarest charm, till thou hast every charm
Of soul and body, that can blend in woman,
I would out-paragon the paragon
With thee!"

To which Virginia replies,
"And if thou would'st, I'd find thee for
Thy paragon a mate-if that can be
A mate which doth transcend the thing 'tis

ta'en

sible, because they are at variance with the very principles of versification itself; and because they invariably injure the sense as well as the sound. But enough of this hyper-criticism. It is not at all to our taste; and we should not have fallen into it but for the reasons we have assigned above.

Virginius is a very delightful work: We repeat that, as an acting drama, And the kind of blemishes we have pointed out, are of scarcely any importance, viewing it in that light onlyfor it is quite impossible to detect them during the performance. The story is admirably told; and all the collateral circumstances connected with it are arranged in the most skilful manner, so as to bring out and heighten the interest excited by the principle event. In the first act, there is a charming home scene at the house of Virginius, where Icilius and Virginia declare their mutual love, and are betrothed to each other by her father. This scene is full of beauty, because it is full of simplicity and nature. The reader must remember, that our censure applied almost exclusively to the language and versification. Indeed, the charm of the piece throughout, (and it is no slight or common charm) consists in the entire confidence which the author places in the power of his subject, and the sympathies of his audience.

The first act is merely introductory, and calculated to heighten the interest excited towards the person and character of Virginia. In the second act, Virginius leaves Rome to join the army; and Appius, the chief Decemvir, for the first time sees Virginia, and meditates plans for getting her into his power. The violent and unbridled passion of the tyrant are well depicted. In the third act, the plans of Appius are brought to maturity by means of his creature Claudius; and the victim of them is dragged before the tribunal, at which Appius himself is presiding. Considerable dramatic skill is shewn in the whole management of this scene-particularly that part of it in which Appius is compelled to forego the immediate completion of his designs by the violent interference of the people-roused by the appeals of Icilius and the other friends of Virginius. At the end of this act, Virginius is made acquainted with the danger of his beloved child, and quits

the camp to return to Rome. This last scene is written with great spirit, and produces a very powerful effect both in itself, and in heightening the interest of what follows. The fourth act is by far the best part of the drama. At the moment when his daughter and friends have given him up, and it is time to proceed to the tribunal, Virginius arrives; and a very spirited scene ensues between them. After which they repair to the forum, where Appius is impatiently awaiting them. In the preceding scene to this, however, there is one charming little touch of nature which we cannot pass over. In the midst of Virginius's rage at the recollection of his beautiful and beloved child having been dragged through the streets of Rome, as the daughter of a slave, he stops-gazes on her in a quiet ecstasy of parental pride and fondness and, inattentive to what Numitorius or even Virginia herself, is saying to him, exclaims

** I never saw you look so like your mother In all my life."

This is, indeed, in the very spirit of nature and the old dramatists; and the simplicity of the language is exactly accordant. But it is idle to compare such simplicity as this with "I shall be glad to see you at my house." p. 11. Or, "Ah! how d'ye do? I hope I see you well !"

which is quite as simple, and quite as good verse. The scene at the forum, after the arrival of Virginius and his friends, is as admirably managed, and produces as powerful an effect in the performance as any one scene on the modern stage. Virginia herself hangs upon the shoulder of her father, like a drooping flower, and utters not a word till towards quite the end. Vir ginius is of course the person to whom the principal attention is called; and nothing can be finer than the tremulous rage of the agonized father, which is perpetually on the point of bursting forth, yet is as often held back by the suggestions of his cooler and more prudent friends. At length he sees that all is lost-that troops have been brought into the forum-and that himself and his child are in the power of the Decemvir. From this moment he never loses hold of Virginia, till the fatal catastrophe of the scene,

which, we repeat, is admirably brought about, and excites as full and fixed an interest as if the story were entirely new to us, instead of being familiar to almost every spectator in the house. After the death of Virginia, her father rushes through the soldiers, and the act closes. Here, if the unities had been consulted, undoubtedly the play must have ended. That it cannot end here consistently with the demands of our feelings, is the fault, (if a fault it be) of the story itself. The fifth act exhibits the fall of the Decemviri, and the award of poetical justice in Appius meeting his death by the hand of Virginius, who strangles him in a fit of insanity. This kind of falsification of his story, if it is admissible at all, is so in a story of this kind, which is purely a tale of domestic life. This last act is written with considerable vigour, and it is not without poetic feeling. The following passage is an example. Virginius, during the wandering of his mind, has been seeking for his lost child, and asking for her everywhere:

66 Will she come or not? I'll call myself!-She will not dare-O

when

Did my Virginia dare!—Virginia! Is it a voice, or nothing answers me? I hear a sound so fine, there's nothing lives 'Twixt it and silence. Such a slender one I've heard when I have talk'd with her in fancy!

A phantom sound!"

The exclamation in italics gives a very sweet idea of Virginia's character; and the latter part of the passage is very delicate and poetical. The whole is quite in the style of Coleridge.

While we close our remarks on this tragedy by congratulating the author as well as the public on the eminent success it has met with, we cannot help attributing that success, in a great measure, to the admirable performance of Mr Macready in Virginius. He had evidently taken great pains in his study of the part; and played it perfectly con amore. It was a noble and complete piece of acting-without exception the most so of any which this gentleman has attempted. It was full of high passion-deep and delicate pathos-intense energy, both of conception and execution-and the whole rounded off by a finished taste and discrimination.-In the home scene with Virginia and Icilius in the first act he

was the unaffected and happy father, in the bosom of his family.-Nothing could be conceived with greater truth, or executed with greater force, than the scene at the end of the second act, where he learns the danger of his child. But his highest and most successful effort was reserved for the trial scene in the fourth act. Here nothing could possibly exceed the variety, the vividness, and the masterly truth of the picture throughout: and, accordingly, nothing could be more affecting and impressive.

Mr C. Kemble played the love scenes with Virginia delightfully; and the more energetic parts-where he beards Appius to his face, and appeals to the people against his decision,and particularly where he steps in to prevent Claudius from touching his betrothed bride-were given with more power than any thing we have seen from this accomplished actor. Mr Terry's Dentatus was also excellent. No one else could have played the blunt old soldier so feelingly, and at the same time so naturally.-And, lastly, we must

not forget Miss Foote in Virginia. As an actress she has never before appeared to so much advantage. She had evidently caught the spirit of the whole performance, and was, for once, unaffected. She seemed content to be Virginia instead of Miss Foote.

Old Mortality.

The afterpiece at this theatre called The Battle of Bothwell Brig professes to be founded on Old Mortality; but it appropriates little of that work but two or three of its battles, and some of its dullness. For, "not to speak it profanely," that wonderful writer, among the infinite variety of his qualities, includes a little of that one sometimes. Miss M. Tree sings some pretty Scotch music in this piece; but she does not make it very effective. She does not appear to us to have caught the true spirit of the old Scottish melodies. She sang those in question very well-and therefore spoiled them. She should have let them sing themselves.

IT is fortunate that we have left ourselves scarcely any room to speak of the Virginius at this house; because finding fault is very little to our taste, and here we can find nothing else. That part of it which was not mere common-place was either bombast or nonsense. Notwithstanding Mr Kean did what he could to buoy it up, it fell flat on the first night. It was tried for a night or two longer; but has since been withdrawn entirely.

Giovanni in London has been more successful; and it deserved to be so. It is called a "comic extravaganza;" but it is a good deal more extravagant than comic. In fact there is very little

of fun or point in either the dialogue or the incidents. The chief merit of the piece lies in the songs; and its chief attraction in the delightful music to which they are set the words being tolerably good parodies on the words which belong to the original music. These are sung with a charming carelessness by Mr Vertris, who plays the amorous Don.-The piece is written by Mr Moncrief; and has been performed at one of the minor theatres.-This is the best thing Mr Elliston can do,-to perform what he knows by experience the public likefor he seems to have no notion, before hand, of what is fit for them.

We cannot better close our notices of actors and acting for this season than by directing the attention of our readers our Scottish readers in particular, for he will probably now be among them to the performance of a person who combines in himself, in a most extraordinary and unrivalled degree,

the mental and physical qualities of almost all actors and acting. We allude, of course, to Mr Matthews. It is the fashion for those who pretend to admire the art of acting, at the same time to depreciate the art of imitation, -as if it did not require the very same powers, both intellectual and bo