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moit dans un silence menaçant, il fixoit sur la terre The Kiosk is a Turkish summer-house: the palm son visage féroce, et ne donnoit point d'essor à sa is without the present walls of Athens, not far from profonde indignation.-De toutes parts cependant the temple of Theseus, between which and the tree les soldats et les peuples accouroient; ils vouloient the wall intervenes.-Cephisus' stream is indeed voir cet homme, jadis si puissant, et la joie univer- scanty, and Ilissus has no stream at all. selle éclatoit de toutes parts.

219, 220.

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"Eccelin étoit d'une petite taillie; mais tout l'as- That frown-where gentler ocean seems to smile. pect de sa personne, tous ses mouvemens, indiquoiPage 146, line 20. ent un soldat.-Son langage étoit amer, son deportement superbe et par son seul egard, il faisoit haps, little business here, and were annexed to an The opening lines as far as Section II. have, pertrembler les plus hardis." Sismondi, tome III. page unpublished (though printed) poem; but they were "Gizericus (Genseric, king of the Vandals, the written on the spot in the spring of 1811, and—I scarce know why-the reader must excuse their apconqueror of both Carthage and Rome) staturà mediocris, et equi casu claudicans, animo profundus, pearance here if he can. зermone rarus, luxuria contemptor, ira turbidus, habendi cupidus, ad solicitandas gentes providentissimus," &c., &c. Jornandes de Rebus Geticis, c. 33.

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24.

9.

He tore his beard, and foaming fed the fight.
Page 142, line 73.

16.

His only bends in seeming o'er his beads.
Page 146, line 104.
The Comboloio, or Mahometan rosary; the beads
are in number ninety-nine.

17.

And the cold flowers her colder hand contain'd. Page 150, line 75. the bodies of the dead, and in the hands of young In the Levant it is the custom to strew flowers on persons to place a nosegay.

18.

Link'd with one virtue, and a thousand crimes. Page 151, line 43. That the point of honor which is represented in one instance of Conrad's character has not been carried beyond the bounds of probability may per

A common and not very novel effect of Mussul-haps be in some degree confirmed by the following man anger. See Prince Eugene's Memoirs, page "The Seraskier received a wound in the thigh; he plucked up his beard by the roots, because he was obliged to quit the field."

10.

Brief time had Conrad now to greet Gulnare. Page 142, line 117. Gulnare, a female name; it means, literally, the flower of the pomegranate.

11.

anecdote of a brother Buccaneer in the year 1814. Our readers have all seen the account of the enterprise against the pirates of Barrataria; but few, we believe, were informed of the situation, history, or nature of that establishment. For the information of such as were unacquainted with it, we have procured from a friend the following interesting narrative of the main facts, of which he has personal knowledge, and which cannot fail to interest some of our readers.

Barrataria is a bay, or a narrow arm of the Gulf of Mexico: it runs through a rich but very flat country until it reaches within a mile of the Mississippi Till even the scaffold echoes with their jest! River fifteen miles below the city of New Orleans. Page 144, line 87. The bay has branches almost innumerable, in which In Sir Thomas More, for instance, on the scaffold, It communicates with three lakes which lie on the persons can lie concealed from the severest scrutiny. and Anne Boleyn, in the Tower, when grasping her neck, she remarked that it "was too slender to southwest side, and these, with the lake of the trouble the headsman much." During one part of same name, and which lies contiguous to the sea, the French Revolution, it became a fashion to leave where there is an island formed by the two arms of some "mot as a legacy; and the quantity of fa- this lake and the sea. The east and west points of cetious last words spoken during that period would this island were fortified, in the year 1811, by a band form a melancholy jest-book of a considerable size. of pirates under the command of one Monsieur La

12.

That closed their murder'd sage's latest day. Page 145, line 100. Socrates drank the hemlock a short time before sunset, (the hour of execution,) notwithstanding the entreaties of his disciples to wait till the sun went down. 13.

The queen of night asserts her silent reign. Page 145, line 112. The twilight in Greece is much shorter than in our own country: the days in winter are longer, but in summer of shorter duration.

14.

The gleaming turret of the gay Kiosk.
Page 146, line 10.

Fitte. A large majority of these outlaws are of that class of the population of the State of Louisiana who fled from the Island of St. Domingo during the troubles there, and took refuge in the Island of Cuba: and when the last war between France and Spain commenced, they were compelled to leave that island with the short notice of a few days. Without ceremony, they entered the United States, the most of them the State of Louisiana, with all the negroes they had possessed in Cuba. They were notified by the Governor of that State of the clause in the constitution which forbade the importation of slaves; but, at the same time, received the assurance of the Governor that he would obtain, if possible, the approbation of the General Government for their retaining this property.

The Island of Barrataria is situated about lat.

See "Curse of Minerva. '

29 deg. 15 min. lon. 92. 30. and is as remarkable for measure connected with the profess.on of the hero its health, as for the superior scale and shell-fish of the foregoing poem, I cannot resist the temptawith which its waters abound. The chief of this tion of extracting it. horde, like Charles de Moor, had mixed with his "There is something mysterious in the history many vices some virtues. In the year 1813, this and character of Dr. Blackbourne. The former is party had from its turpitude and boldness, claimed but imperfectly known; and report has even asthe attention of the Governor of Louisiana; and to serted he was a buccaneer; and that one of his break up the establishment, he thought proper to brethren in that profession having asked, on his arstrike at the head. He therefore offered a reward rival in England, what had become of his old chum, of five hundred dollars for the head of Monsieur La Blackbourne, was answered, he is archbishop of Fitte who was well known to the inhabitants of the York. We are informed, that Blackbourne was incity of New Orleans, from his immediate connexion, stalled sub-dean of Exeter, in 1694, which office he and his once having been a fencing-master in that resigned in 1702; but after his successor Lewis Barcity of great reputation, which art he learnt in net's death, in 1704, he regained it. In the followBonaparte's army, where he was captain. The re- ing year he became dean: and, in 1714, held with it ward which was offered by the Governor for the the archdeanery of Cornwall. He was consecrated head of La Fitte was answered by the offer of a re- bishop of Exeter, February 24, 1716; and translated ward from the latter of fifteen thousand for the head to York, November 28, 1724, as a reward, accordof the Governor. The Governor ordered out a com- ing to court scandal, for uniting George I. to the pany to march from the city to La Fitte's island, Duchess of Munster. This, however, appears to and to burn and destroy all the property, and to have been an unfounded calumny. As archbishop bring to the city of New Orleans all his banditti. he behaved with great prudence, and was equally This company, under the command of a man who respectable as the guardian of the revenues of the had been the intimate associate of this bold Cap- see. Rumor whispered he retained the vices of his tain, approached very near to the fortified island, youth, and that a passion for the fair sex formed an before he saw a man, or heard a sound, until he item in the list of his weaknesses; but so far from heard a whistle, not unlike a boatswain's call. being convicted by seventy witnesses, he does not Then it was he found himself surrounded by armed appear to have been directly criminated by one. In men who had emerged from the secret avenues short, I look upon these aspersions as the effects of which led into Bayou. Here it was that the mod- mere malice. How is it possible a buccaneer should ern Charles de Moor developed his few noble traits; have been so good a scholar as Blackbourne cerfor to this man, who had come to destroy his life tainly was? he who had so perfect a knowledge of and all that was dear to him, he not only spared his the classics, (particularly of the Greek tragedians,) life, but offered him that which would have made as to be able to read them with the same ease as he the honest soldier easy for the remainder of his could Shakspeare, must have taken great pains to days, which was indignantly refused. He then, acquire the learned languages; and have had both with the approbation of his captor, returned to the leisure and good masters. But he was undoubtedly city. This circumstance, and some concomitant educated at Christchurch College, Oxford. He is events, proved that this band of pirates was not to allowed to have been a pleasant man: this, howbe taken by land. Our naval force having always ever, was turned against him, by its being said, he been small in that quarter, exertions for the destruc- gained more hearts than souls.' tion of this illicit establishment could not be ex

pected from them until augmented; for an officer

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of the navy, with most of the gunboats on that "The only voice that could soothe the passions that station, had to retreat from an overwhelming of the savage, (Alphonso III.) was that of an amiaforce of La Fitte's. So soon as the augmentation ble and virtuous wife, the sole object of his love; of the navy authorized an attack, one was made; the voice of Donna Isabella, the daughter of the the overthrow of this banditti has been the result; Duke of Savoy, and the grand-daughter of Philip II. and now this almost invulnerable point and key to King of Spain.-Her dying words sunk deep into New Orleans is clear of an enemy, it is to be hoped his memory; his fierce spirit melted into tears; and the government will hold it by a strong military after the last embrace, Alphonso retired into his force. From an American Newspaper. chamber to bewail his irreparable loss, and to medi

In Noble's continuation of Granger's Biographi- tate on the vanity of human life.-Miscellaneous cal History, there is a singular passage in his ac- Works of Gibbon, New Edition. 8vo. vol. iii. page count of Archbishop Blac.sbourne, and as in some 473.

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THE Serfs are glad through Lara's wide domain,
And Slavery half forgets her feudal chain:
He, their unhoped, but unforgotten lord,
The long self-exiled chieftain is restored;
There be bright faces in the busy hall,
Bowls on the board, and banners on the wall;
Far checkering o'er the pictured window, plays
The unwonted faggots' hospitable blaze;
And gay retainers gather round the hearth,
With tongues all loudness, and with eyes all mirth.

II.

The chief of Lara is return'd again:

And why had Lara cross'd the bounding main?
Left by his sire, too young such loss to know,
Lord of himself;-that heritage of wo,
That fearful empire which the human breast
But holds to rob the heart within of rest!-
With none to check, and few to point in time
The thousand paths that slope the way to crime;
Then, when he most required commandment, then
Had Lara's daring boyhood govern'd men.
It skills not, boots not step by step to trace
His youth through all the mazes of its race;
Short was the course his restlessness had run,
But long enough to leave him half undone.

III.

And Lara left in youth his father-land;
But from the hour he waved his parting hand
Each trace wax'd fainter of his course, till all
Had nearly ceased his memory to recall.
His sire was dust, his vassals could declare,
'Twas all they knew, that Lara was not there;
Nor sent, nor came he, till conjecture grew
Cold in the many, anxious in the few.

His hall scarce echoes with his wonted name,
His portrait darkens in its fading frame,
Another chief consoled his destined bride,
The young forgot him, and the old had died;
"Yet doth he live!" exclaims the impatient heir,
And sighs for sables which he must not wear.

A hundred scutcheons deck with gloomy grace,
The Lara's last and longest dwelling-place:
But one is absent from the mouldering file,
That now were welcome in that Gothic pile.

IV.

He comes at last in sudden loneliness,
And whence they know not, why they need not guess,
They more might marvel, when the greeting's o'er,
No train is his beyond a single page,
Not that he came, but came not long before:

Of foreign aspect, and of tender age.
Years had roll'd on, and fast they speed away
To those that wander as to those that stay;
But lack of tidings from another clime
Had lent a flagging wing to weary Time.
They see, they recognize, yet almost deem
The present dubious, or the past a dream

He lives, nor yet is past his manhood's prime, Though sear'd by toil, and something touch'd by

time;

His faults, whate'er they were, if scarce forgot,
Might be untaught him by his varied lot;
Nor good nor ill of late were known, his name
Might yet uphold his patrimonial fame :
His soul in youth was haughty, but his sins
No more than pleasure from the stripling wins,
And such, if not yet harden'd in their course,
Might be redeem'd, nor ask a long remorse.

V.

And they indeed were changed-'tis quickly seen,
Whate'er he be, 'twas not what he had been:
That brow in furrow'd lines had fix'd at last,
And spake of passions, but of passion past:
The pride, but not the fire, of early days,
Coldness of mien, and carelessness of praise;
A high demeanor, and a glance that took
Their thoughts from others by a single look;
And that sarcastic levity of tongue,
The stinging of a heart the world hath stung,

That darts in seeming playfulness around,
And makes those feel that will not own the wound;
All these seem'd his, and something more beneath,
Chan glance could well reveal, or accent breathe.
Ambition, glory, love, the common aim,

That some can conquer, and that all would claim,
Within his breast appear'd no more to strive,
fet seem'd as lately they had been alive;
And some deep feeling it were vain to trace
At moments lighten'd o'er his livid face.

VI.

Not much he loved long question of the past,
Nor told of wondrous wilds, and deserts vast,
In those far lands where he had wander'd lone,
And-as himself would have it seem-unknown:
Yet these in vain his eye could scarcely scan,
Nor glean experience from his fellow man:
But what he had beheld he shunn'd to show,
As hardly worth a stranger's care to know;
If still more prying such inquiry grew,
His brow fell darker, and his words more few.

VII.

Not unrejoiced to see him once again,
Warm was his welcome to the haunts of men;
Born of high lineage, link'd in high command,
He mingled with the Magnates of his land,
Join'd the carousals of the great and gay,
And saw them smile or sigh their hours away;
But still he only saw, and did not share
The common pleasure or the general care;
He did not follow what they all pursued
With hope still baffled still to be renew'd:
Nor shadowy honor, nor substantial gain,
Nor beauty's preference, and the rival's pain:
Around him some mysterious circle thrown
Repell'd approach, and show'd him still alone;
Upon his eye sate something of reproof,
That kept at least frivolity aloof;
And things more timid that beheld him near,
In silence gazed, or whisper'd mutual fear;
And they the wiser, friendlier few confest
They deem'd him better than his air exprest.

VIII.

Twas strange-in youth all action and all life,
Burning for pleasure, not averse from strife;
Woman-the field-the ocean-all that gave
Promise of gladness, peril of a grave,
In turn he tried-he ransack'd all below,
And found his recompense in joy or wo,
No tame, trite medium; for his feelings sought
In that intenseness an escape from thought:
The tempest of his heart in scorn had gazed
On that the feebler elements hath raised;
The rapture of his heart hath look'd on high,
And ask'd if greater dwelt beyond the sky:
Chain'd to excess, the slave of each extreme,
How woke he from the wildness of that dream?
Alas! he told not-but he did awake

To curse the wither'd heart that would not break.

IX.

Books, for his volume heretofore was Man, With eye more curious he appear'd to scan, And oft, in sudden mood, for many a day From all communion he would. start away;

And then, his rarely call'd attendants said,
Through night's long hours would sound his hurried
tread

O'er the dark gallery, where his fathers frown'd
In rude but antique portraiture around:
They heard, but whisper'd-"that must not be
known-

The sound of words less carthly than his own.
Yes, they who chose might smile, but some had seen
They scarce knew what, but more than should have
been.

Why gazed he so upon the ghastly head

Which hands profane had gather'd from the dead. That still beside his open'd volume lay,

As if to startle all save him away?

Why slept he not when others were at rest
Why heard no music, and receive no guest?
All was not well, they deem'd-but where the wrong?
Some knew perchance-out 'twere a tale too long:
And such besides were too discreetly wise,
To more than hint their knowledge in sumise;
But if they would-they could "-around the board
Thus Lara's vassals prattled to their Lord.

X.

It was the night-and Lara's glassy stream
The stars are studding, each with imaged beam;
So calm, the waters scarcely seem to stray,
And yet they glide like happiness away;
Reflecting far and fairy-like from high
The immortal lights that live along the sky,
Its banks are fringed with many a goodly tree,
And flowers the fairest that may feast the bee;
Such in her chaplet infant Dian wove,
And Innocence would offer to her love :
These deck the shore; the waves their channel make
In windings bright and mazy like the snake.
All was so still, so soft in earth and air,
You scarce would start to meet a spirit there;
Secure that nought of evil could delight
To walk in such a scene, on such a night!
It was a moment only for the good:
So Lara deem'd, nor longer there he stood,
But turn'd in silence to his castle-gate;
Such scene his soul no more could contemplate:
Such scene reminded him of other days,
Of skies more cloudless, moons of purer blaze,
Of nights more soft and frequent, hearts that now-
No-no-the storm may beat upon his brow,
Unfelt-unsparing-but a night like this,
A night of beauty, mock'd such breast as his

XI.

He turn'd within his solitary hall,

And his high shadow shot along the wall;
There were the painted forms of other times,
'Twas all they left of virtues or of crimes,
Save vague tradition; and the gloomy vaults
That hid their dust, their foibles, and their faults.
And half a column of the pompous page,
That speeds the specious tale from age to age,
Where history's pen its praise or blame supplies,
And lies like truth, and still most truly lies.
He wandering mused, and as the moonbeam shone
Through the dim lattice o'er the floor of stone,
And the high fretted roof, and saints, that there
O'er Gothic windows knelt in pictured prayer,
Reflected in fantastic figures grew,

Like life, but not like mortal life, to view;

His bristling locks of sable, brow of gloom,
And the wide waving of his shaken plume,
Glanc'd like a spectre's attributes, and gave
His aspect all that terror gives the grave.

XII.

'Twas midnight-all was slumber; the lone light
Dimm'd in the lamp, as loth to break the night.
Hark! there be murmurs heard in Lara's hall-
A sound-a voice-a shriek-a fearful call!
A long, loud shriek-and silence-did they hear
That frantic echo burst the sleeping ear?
They heard and rose, and tremulously brave,
Rush where the sound invoked their aid to save;
They come with half-lit tapers in their hands,
And snatch'd in startled haste unbelted brands.

XIII.

Cold as the marble where his length was laid,
Pale as the beam that o'er his features play'd,
Was Lara stretch'd: his half-drawn sabre near,
Dropp'd as it should seem in more than nature's fear;
Yet he was firm, or had been firm till now,
And still defiance knit his gather'd brow;
Though mix'd with terror, senseless as he lay,
There lived upon his lip the wish to slay;

He to his marvelling vassals show'd it not,
Whose shuddering proved their fear was less forgot
In trembling pairs (alone they dared not) crawl
The astonish'd slaves, and shun the fated hall;
The waving banner, and the clapping door,
The rustling tapestry, and the echoing floor;
The long dim shadows of surrounding trees,
The flapping bat, the night song of the breeze;
Aught they behold or hear their thought appals,
As evening saddens o'er the dark gray walls.

XVI.

Vain thought! that hour of ne'er unravell'd gloom
Came not again, or Lara could assume
A seeming of forgetfulness, that made
His vassals more amazed nor less afraid-
Had memory vanish'd then with sense restored?
Since word, nor look, nor gesture of their lord
Betray'd a feeling that recall'd to these
That fever'd moment of his mind's disease.
Was it a dream? was his the voice that spoke
Those strange wild accents; his the cry that broke
Their slumber? his the oppress'd, o'erlabor'd heart
That ceased to beat, the look that made them start?
Could he who thus had suffer'd, so forget,
When such as saw that suffering shudder yet?

Some half-form'd threat in utterance there had died, Or did that silence prove his memory fix'd

Some imprecation of despairing pride;

His eye was almost seal'd, but not forsook,
Even in its trance the gladiator's look,

That oft awake his aspect could disclose,

And now was fixed in horrible repose.

Too deep for words, indellible, unmix'd
In that corroding secrecy which gnaws
The heart to show the effect, but not the cause?
Not so in him; his breast had buried both,
Nor common gazers could discern the growth

They raise him-bear him;-hush! he breathes, he Of thoughts that mortal lips must leave half told:

speaks,

The swarthy blush recolers in his cheeks,
His lip resumes its red, his eye, though dim,
Rolls wide and wild, each slowly quivering limb
Recalls its function, but his words are strung
In terms that seem not of his native tongue;
Distinct but strange, enough they understand
To deem them accents of another land,

And such they were, and meant to meet an ear
That hears him not-alas! that cannot hear!

XIV.

His page approach'd, and he alone appear'd
To know the import of the words they heard;
And, by the changes of his cheek and brow,
They were not such as Lara should avow,
Nor he interpret, yet with less surprise
Than those around their chieftain's state he eyes.
But Lara's prostrate form he bent beside,
And in that tongue that seem'd his own replied,
And Lara heeds those tones that gently seem
To soothe away the horrors of his dream;
If dream it were, that thus could overthrow
A breast that needed not ideal wo.

XV.

Whate'er his frenzy dream'd or eye beheld,
If yet remember'd ne'er to be reveal'd,
Rests at his heart: the custom'd morning came,
And breathed new vigor in his shaken frame;
And solace sought he none from priest nor leech,
And soon the same in movement and in speech
As heretofore he fill'd the passing hours,
Nor less he smiles, nor more his forehead lowers,
Than these were wont; and if the coming night
Appear'd less welcome now to Lara's sight,

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What had he been? what was he, thus unknown,
Who walk'd their world, his lineage only known?
A hater of his kind? yet some would say,
With them he could seem gay amidst the gay;
But own'd, that smile if oft observed and near,
Waned in its mirth, and wither'd to a sneer;
That smile might reach his lip, but pass'd not by
None e'er could trace its laughter to his eye:
Yet there was softness too in his regard,
At times, a heart as not by nature hard,
But once perceived, his spirit seemed to chide
Such weakness, as unworthy of its pride,
And steel'd itself, as scorning to redeem
One doubt from others' half withheld esteem,

In self-inflicted penance of a breast

Which tenderness might once have wrung from rest;
In vigilance of grief that would compel
The soul to hate for having loved too well.

XVIII.

There was in him a vital scorn of all:
As if the worst had fall'n which could befall,
He stood a stranger in this breathing world,
An erring spirit from another hurl'd;
A thing of dark imaginings, that shaped,
By choice the perils he by chance escaped;

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