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And cover'd in its folds the gates, the tombs ;
And all that but a moment since was clear,
And to my vision sensible, is wrapp'd
In that concealing mantle-Soft! it clears,
And-ha!-it is the lonely midnight hour!
The realm of Death hath sent her subjects forth
To people this our upper world, and walk
In visible shape among us!-the thick mist
That hid their rising, hath retired, and left
Their shadowy forms unveil'd-how solemnly
They pace among the tombs-how hollow is
Their silent greeting!-some have in their hands
Branches of yew, and others garlands bear
Of funeral cypress—but I mark

No face among them that to me doth bring
Remembrance of the living.-Music!-hark-
And some one hollowly doth strike upon
The ponderous iron gate!-It opens! And
A spectral stranger comes-the mirror'd form
Of a yet living man-They go to meet
And welcome to their sad and dreary land,
With shadowy courtesy and solemn smiles,
The silent visitant-they strew his path

With the death-garland-and-sure-they do sing
Their dirge-like welcome-let me catch the words
They utter!


The wanderer is come home-come home
Unto his native soil-

Finish'd his journies-he will roam

No more-no more will toil.

He cometh to a place of rest

He cometh to his mother's breast.

Walter. Why hath my heart died at the shadowy song,
And my brow dew'd itself with drops of fear!-
Mine eyes are fix'd with fascination's gaze

Upon the spectre of the living dead!

This way he comes towards a new made grave,
And all the shadows follow-Now I shall
Behold the death-struck face-he turns-it is-
O God! myself I see !—my form—it sinks
Into the new made grave-and all the rest
Have vanish'd!-I am the condemn'd-I am
The murder'd of the year-and I shall die
When life has open'd all her charms to make
Me cling with love unto her!-Cecily,
My parent roof-my native land-all-all
Now centre in yon little new-made grave-
For that I must resign ye. O warm hearth,
And gentle kiss of love, I lose ye both
For the chill bed and cold and icy lip

Of the stern bride which fate has destined me

Oh, I must die—and from all things I love

Be torn away for ever-Cecily

O parent roof, farewell!

[He faints

A Year after the preceding-Scene, the River's Bank-Evening.

Walter-Cecily enters to him.

Cecily. Well, Walter, I shall laugh at thee to-morrow. Evening is come, of the last fated day

Of thy tremendous year.

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If thou speak'st thus, I must of force believe,
Thou dost not wish thy spousals-that thy love
Hath, with thy sickness, died for Cecily.

Walter. Oh wrong me not-for if to-morrow's sun
Shall see me living man—thou, Cecily,
Shalt be mine own for ever- -Thou hast said,
I must have slept within the lonely porch,
And had a fearful dream-because you found
Me fainting in the church-yard, on a tomb,
And of the new-made grave of which I raved
There was no trace, and for that I have been
Since then a suffering maniac, though now
Restored to thee and reason-may thy thought
Be true, dear Cecily; but I have seen
Wild madmen lose their frenzy ere they die,
And speak in tones of wisdom, for that Death
Lent a large portion of his majesty
Unto his victim; and besides he chose
To claim him with the all of his possessions,
His senses fully perfect. Thou hast seen
The summer sun, upon the dying day,
Ere she did quite expire, shed a broad
And glorious light! Hast thou not, Cecily?
Then sink at once into his wat❜ry bed,
Nor grapple with the night-e'en so, my love,
Will it now be with me-I am the swan,
Singing mine own sad dirge-but do not weep
What is inevitable-my poor girl,

I would not dwell on this, would other thoughts
But come upon my mind.

Dear Walter, I'
Have tidings may dismiss thy painful thoughts-
Philip, my generous brother, is return'd

To greet his friend, and give his sister's hand
Unto her own heart's chosen-Pray thee now,
Look on him cheerfully-for see, he comes.

Enter Philip.

Philip. (to himself.) Can this be Walter !-this worn, wasted form

The gallant soldier, full of life and health,

From whom but one short year hath roll'd its course

Since last I parted-Friend, I come to deck

Thy bridal day with flowers, and thy brow

With young Hope's gayest garland.


Hope with me

Is young no longer. She is aged now,

And all the flowers, that form'd her bright-hued crown,

Are dead, good Philip, dead!-No matter-thou

Mayest pluck them from this pale and death-bound brow,
To plant them on my grave!-Sweet Cecily,

The marriage garlands are prepared, they say.
Alive or dead, oh, let me wear them, dear!-
Place one upon my breast, and one upon
My low and humble tomb. Now lead me to
Yon grassy bank, on which the moonlight plays
As softly, and as pale, as though it knew
A dying man would render up his spirit
Upon that tranquil spot.―

Dear Philip, mark

The change on his pale visage his wan cheek
Hath flush'd a healthy glow, and his sunk eye
Doth glisten with a bright and steady light,-
Oh, how I joy to mark it-thou art now
Well,-art thou not, dearest Walter ?
Yes, quite well,
Sorrow and pain have fled,-I am myself
And more-the very soul of death is in me-
I have been sad and suffering.-On the night
I heard the grave-song-its sad music struck
Witheringly on my heart,-and gradually
It hath been withering since,-now it is dead-
Another spirit animates my frame,

And will till I am silent. Now I go

Unto that moonlit spot-I would lay down
My burthen in her beam.-

Thou shalt repose
There, if thy fancy lead thee-lean on us,
We will support thee thither.-


I can go

Alone! and will-in this last hour, I need
No human aid-start not-I can-for Death
Hath dealt most royally by me--for when
He touch'd me with his sceptre, he did wrap
Me in his robes of majesty, and round
My brow he placed his diadem, and bade
Me share his shadowy dignity and power,-
And now I walk abroad in all his strength,
Reckless and terrible, and all I would,
I feel that I can do.-


Nay, if thou hast
Nor pain, nor sorrow, then, my Walter, speak
Less sadly to thy Cecily-but I fear

This effort hath enfeebled thee!

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Note Apologetical.


OUR situation is no sinecure. The public in general, we know, imagine, from the great buoyancy of our spirits, that our time must be a continual sunshine holiday; but in that, as in many other matters, this highly respectable body is much deceived. We really have as much labour on our hands as good Lord Sidmouth himself. The superintendence of the republic of letters is no ordinary charge, and the management of our literary subjects is a task which may indeed be " dulcis inexpertis;" but, in truth, as we feel, is a labour of great magnitude. Sometimes it has a depressing effect on our spirits; so that perhaps at the time when we make the whole world laugh, we ourselves may be as melancholy as a gib-cat, or B**** C*******-—the Euripides of Cockaigne. We feel a little appalled every now and then at looking over the immense number of books we are obliged to keep-no less than one hundred and sixteen -for the bare transaction of business. Indeed, one of our rooms has much more the appearance of a broker's office than of the greatest literary establishment in the empire.

One book, of course, is devoted to our Literary Correspondence, and from this we intended to have given ample extracts, but having only this solitary page left, we must defer it for the present, and in the mean time, beg to assure all our friends that they will hear from us very soon. We cannot, however, refrain from thanking Sir Scares Rue of Coventry for his vast bundle of small poetry. That the author is a man of genius and discrimination is evident from the following:


OMMANDER of the faithful troops, whose hands
Hold the sharp pen, which ink-drops deep distain,
Round whose bright throne, the intellectual bands
I n never-ending circles love to train ;

S weet smiler on thy subject tribes-unless
To punish rebels rude should be thy will,
(On them full oft, and justly, I confess,
Punishment falls tremendous from thy quill.)
How wondrous 'tis to see a single mind
E xtend o'er earth its undisputed sway!
Resistance no where thought on-men inclined

Nowhere its despot power to disobey!
Oh then! consider what on thee depends:
Rule gently, wisely, nothing like a Turk,
T rample down him who thy just rule offends;

H im who is good extol, and name him in thy work.*

We read over those fine verses without at first perceiving that they composed an acrostic on our name. Henceforward we shall have a better opinion of acrostics. Indeed, we are inclined to think them something on a par with Sonnets, the sense in the acrostic being steered by the beginning, and in the sonnet by the end of the lines. We are quite certain that Wordsworth would be a first-rate writer of acrostics, as he is so sublime a sonnetteer; and Odoherty or Coleridge, who do not succeed well in sonnets, would, on the same principle, be no great hands at acrosticizing. C. N.

* i. c. Immortalize him.



Cain, a Dramatic Poem, by Lord Byron, is in the press.

On the 1st of January, 1822, will be published, a New Poem by the author of the Widow of Nain, &c. entitled, Irad and Adah; a Tale of the Flood. To which will be added, Lyrical Poems, principally Sacred; including Translations of several of the Psalms of David.

The Miscellaneous Works of the late Robert Willan, M.D. F.R.S. and F.A.S. comprising an Inquiry into the Antiquity of the Small Pox, Measles, and Scarlet Fever; Reports on the Diseases in London, &c. &c. Edited by Ashby Smith, M.D. Licentiate of the Royal College of Physicians of London, &c. &c.

Will be published in November, with the Almanacks, Time's Telescope for 1822; or a Complete Guide to the Almanack; containing an explanation of Saints' Days and Holidays; with Illustrations of British History and Antiquities, Notices of Obsolete Rites and Customs, and Sketches of Comparative Chronology. This work will also comprise an account of the Astronomical Occurrences in every month, with Remarks on the Phenomena of the Celestial Bodies; and a Naturalist's Diary, which explains the various Appearances in the Animal and Vegetable Kingdoms. An Introduction will be prefixed on the Study of Conchology, with a coloured plate of shells; and throughout the whole Work a variety of entertaining Anecdotes will be enterspersed, enlivened by illustrative and decorative Extracts from our first living Poets. Mr Jolliffe has prepared for the Press, many additional Letters, written during his Tour in Palestine and the Holy Land, which will shortly appear in a new edition of his Letters, in 2 vols. 8vo.

The History of Tuscany, by Pignotti, interspersed with occasional Essays on the progress of Italian Literature, has been translated by Mr Browning, and will be printed in the course of the winter.

Mr Buchanan, his Majesty's Consul at New York, has made considerable Collections, during his successful Journies in Upper Canada, respecting the History of the North American Indians, which, with many other interesting materials and official documents, will be shortly presented to the public.

A Treatise on the Law, Principles, and Utility of the Insurance upon Lives. By Frederick Blayney.

Shortly will be Published, a Voyage to Africa; including a particular Narrative of an Embassy to one of the interior Kingdoms, in the year 1820. By William Hutton, late acting Consul for Ashantee, and an officer in the African Company's Service, in octavo, with maps and plates.

Mr Bolster, bookseller, Cork, is preparing for publication a new edition of the History of the County of Kerry, by Dr Smith; embellished with Views of the Lakes of Killarney, a new Map of the County, and other Engravings from designs of the first British Artists. To be handsomely printed in one volume octavo. An Essay on the Difference between Personal and Real Statutes, as connected with the Law of Nations. By J. Henry, Esq. Barrister.

A Key, with Notes, to the Parsing Exercises contained in Lindley Murray's Grammar. By J. Harvey.

Shortly will be Published by subscription, The Elements of Anglo-Saxon Grammar, with Copious Philological Notes from Horn Tooke, &c. Illustrating the Formation and Structure of the English, as well the Anglo-Saxon Language. A Precis on Anglo-Saxon will be added, as an easy Introduction to reading that Language. By J. Bosworth, vicar of Little Horwood, Bucks.

The History of Christ's Hospital, from its foundation to the present time. With Memoirs of Eminent Men educated there, by J. T. Wilson.

The Rev. H. F. Burder has in the Press, Mental Discipline, or Hints on the Cultivation of Intellectual Habits, addressed particularly to Students in Theology, and young Preachers.

A new edition of Arthur Young's Farmer's Calendar is Printing in 12mo, under the superintendance of John Middleton, Esq. author of the Survey of Middlesex, &c.

A new edition of the Complete Works of Demosthenes, with the various Readings, under the care of Professor Schaeffer, is in the Press, and will appear early in the next year, in 6 vols. 8vo.

Early in the ensuing season will be Published, a Course of Lectures on Drawing, Painting, and Engraving, considered as branches of elegant education, delivered at the Royal and Russel Institutions. By William Craig.

The interesting Cathedral of Wells is about to be elegantly and accurately Illustrated. By Mr Britton.

The Rev. Mark Wilks is preparing an English edition of the old Cevennol. By

Rabaut St Etienne.

A small volume is in the Press, containing eight Ballads on the Fictions of the Ancient Irish, and several Miscellaneous Poems. By Richard Ryan, author of a Biographical Dictionary of the Worthies of Ireland :-Also, by the same gentleman, a Catalogue of Works in various Languages, relative to the History, Antiquities, and Language of the Irish; with Remarks, Critical, and Biographical.

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