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hit; yet if it seems to have been elicited in one of those happy "moods of the mind" which visit us, some times, only once in our lives, it still could have proceeded from no other than a mind of great delicacy and refinement.

The poem begins with an intimation, that the author is far from the scenes of his early years, and probably not again likely to revisit them, but the sudden feeling of the breeze which, in the season of autumn, used formerly to call him to rural labours and enjoyments, seems to awaken at one start a long train of feelings and recollections, and to be the breath of inspiration which moves over him.

Dear S while now the southern breeze
Floats, freshening from the upland leas,
Whispering of autumn's mellow spoils,
And jovial sports and grateful toils;
Awakening in the softened breast
Regrets and wishes long supprest,—
O come with me once more to hail
The scented heath, the sheafy vale,
The hills and streams of Teviotdale.-p. 1.

He first carries his friend into the scenes of harvest:

Say, shall we wander where the swain,
Bent o'er his staff, surveys the plain,
With ruddy cheek, and locks of grey,
Like patriarch of the olden day?
Around him ply the reaper band,
With lightsome heart, and eager hand,
And mirth and music cheer the toil;
While sheaves that stud the russet soil,
And sickles gleaming in the sun,
Tell jocund autumn is begun.-p. 5, 6.

He goes on a little longer with such pleasing images, but soon recollects that, to the true lover of nature and poetry, wilder and more mountainous scenery is still more captivating. He accordingly carries us into the Border fastnesses.

Then let our pilgrim footsteps seek
Old Cheviot's pathless mossy peak-

* We trust that Mr Pringle, who has just retired from an employment not very congenial to a poet, (our readers must have perceived, from this notice of his poems, that he is no longer an Editor of this Journal,) will now be visited by many more of those happy moods, and that his elegant genius will be at no loss for better and more suitable occasions of display. ing itself.

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The passage which follows is finely expressed, and is in a truer moral tone, we think, than would probably have been taken even by a much greater poet, who is, of right, the Liege Lord of those Border regions:

Far inland, where the mountain crest
O'erlooks the waters of the west,
And 'midst the moorland wilderness,
Dark moss-cleughs form a drear recess,
Curtained with ceaseless mists, which feed
The sources of the Clyde and Tweed,-
There injured Scotland's patriot band,
For faith and freedom made their stand;
When traitor kings, who basely sold
Their country's fame for Gallic gold,
Too abject o'er the free to reign,
Warn'd by a father's fate in vain,
In bigot fury trampled down
The race to whom they owed their crown.
There, worthy of his masters, came
The despots' champion, Bloody Grahame,,
To stain for aye a warrior's sword,
And lead a fierce, though fawning horde,
The human bloodhounds of the earth
To hunt the peasant from his hearth!
Tyrants! could not misfortune teach
That man has rights beyond your reach?
Thought ye the torture and the stake,
Could that intrepid spirit break,
Which even in woman's breast withstood
The terrors of the fire and flood ?—p. 10,

11.

He afterwards adds, in a very noble spirit,

How lovely seems the simple vale
Where lives our sires' heroic tale!

Where the wild pass, and mountain flood,
Hallow'd by dying patriot's blood,-
The rocky cavern, once his tent,
And now his deathless monument,-
Rehearse to memory's kindling thought,
What Faith inspir'd and Valour wrought!-
p. 13.

But the poet soon brings us closer to his own home, and the musings of his childhood.

Cayla! like voice of years gone by,
I hear thy mountain melody !-

I see the mouldering turrets hoar
Dim-gleaming on thy woodland shore,
Where oft, afar from vulgar eye,
I lov'd at summer tide to lie,
Abandon'd to the witching sway
Of some old bard's heroic lay, &c.
-Or 'neath the oak's broad-bending shade,
With half-shut eye-lids musing laid,
I conjur'd back the past again-
The marshall'd bands, the battle plain,
The Border slogan's pealing shout,
The shock, the tumult, and the rout,
Victorious Scotland's bugle blast,
And charging knights that hurry past,→
Till down the dim-withdrawing vale
I seem'd to see their glancing mail,
And hear the fleet barb's furious tramp
Re-echoed from yon ancient camp.

But chief, when Summer Twilight mild
Drew her dim curtain o'er the wild,
I lov'd beside that ruin grey
To watch the dying gleam of day,
And though, perchance, with secret dread,
1 heard the bat flit round my head,

While winds that wav'd the long lank

grass

With sound unearthly seem'd to pass,
Yet with a pleasing horror fell
Upon my heart the thrilling spell;
For all that met the eye or ear
Was still so pure and peaceful here,
I deem'd no evil might intrude
Within its sacred solitude.—
Still vivid memory can recall
The figure of each shattered wall
The aged trees, all hoar with moss,
Low-bending o'er the circling fosse ;
The rushing of the mountain flood;
The cushats cooing in the wood;
The rooks that o'er the turrets sail;
The lonely curlew's distant wail;
The flocks that high on Hounam rest;
The glories of the glowing west.

pp. 15, 16, 17, 18, 19.

He next gives us a peep of his own cottage

A rural dwelling, thatch'd and warm,
Such as might suit the upland farm.
A honeysuckle clasp'd the sash,
Half shaded by the giant ash;
And there the wall-spread apple tree
Gave its white blossoms to the bee,
Beside the hop-bower's twisted shade,
Where age reclin'd and childhood play'd;
Below, the silvery willows shook
Their tresses o'er a rambling brook,
That gamboll'd 'mong its banks of broom,
Till lost in Lerdan's haunted gloom.
-Methinks I hear its gurgling dash
Beside yon sheltering clump of ash,
Which screens below the boiling pool,
With pebbled bottom clear and cool,
Where often from the shelving brim
We launch'd on sedgy sheaf to swim,

VOL. IV.

From Teviot's lovelier dales remote The traveller's glance would scarcely note That narrow valley,-or espy Aught there to win his wandering eye. But youthful memory pictures still Each bush and stone that speck'd the hill; The braes with tangled copsewood gréen ; The mossy cliffs that rose between ; The fern that fringed each fairy nook ; The mottled mead; the mazy brook, That, underneath its ozier shade, Still to the wild its music made.

There is certainly great beauty in these passages, not, perhaps, of a kind which we could point out as very original, but there is something delightful in it, as it expresses so distinctly the soul of the writer. We have taken our quotations very much at hazard, for the whole poem is in the same strain, scarcely more or less beautiful, except as the circumstances dwelt upon may be more or less affecting. We must quote another rather long passage; it relates to a recollection which of all others is ever most deeply felt by every affectionate and gentle heart; it relates to the poet's mother.

Ah, while amid the world's wild strife
We yet may trace that sweeter life,
Now fading like a lovely dream,—
Why cannot Fancy's power redeem
The glowing hopes, the thoughts sublime,
The feelings of our early prime !-
Can haughty Science ever pour
Such blissful visions from her bower,
As when that Mother's warblings wild
Had sooth'd to rest her sickly child,
And o'er my couch I dream'd there hung
Etherial forms, with seraph tongue,
Who told of purer, happier spheres,
Exempt from pain, unstain'd with tears!
And when I woke at midnight deep,
And thought how Heaven its watch doth
keep,

The moonbeam, through the lattice shed,
Fell on my soul with holy dread-
It scem'd as God's eternal EYE
Look'd down to bless us from on high!

And when that gentlest human friend
No more her anxious eye could bend
On one, by young affliction prest
More close to her maternal breast,
I deem'd she still beheld afar
My sorrows from some peaceful star,—
In slumber heard her faintly speak,
And felt her kiss upon my cheek.
And oft, when through the solemn wood
My steps the schoolboy path pursued,
I paused beneath its quiet shade
To view the spot where She was laid,
And pray like her's my life might be
From all ungentle passions free,-

S S

Like her's, in pain or sorrow's hour
My hope and stay that Holy Power,
To whom, even 'mid delirium wild,
Her prayer consign'd her weeping child!

O sainted Spirit! (if thy care
An earthly wanderer yet may share,)
Still in celestial dreams return

To bid Faith's failing embers burn-
While yet unquench'd the smoking brand
By worldly passion's wasting hand!
Oh still, although around my breast
The snaky coils of care are prest,—
Let fond Remembrance oft restore
Each long-lost friend endear'd of yore,
And picture o'er the scenes where first
My life and loveliest hopes were nurst;
The heaths which once my fathers trod,
Amidst the wild to worship God;
The tales which fired my boyish eye
With brightening visions bold and high;
The sacred Sabbath's mild repose;
The social evening's saintly close,
When ancient Zion's solemn song
Arose the lonely banks among;
The music of the mountain rills;
The moon-light sleeping on the hills;
The STARRY SCRIPTURES of the sky
By God's own finger graved on high
On Heaven's expanded scroll,—whose
speech

To every tribe doth knowledge teach-
When silent Night unlocks the seals,
And to forgetful man reveals
The wonders of eternal might
In living lines of glorious light!

p. 32-36.

Now, we do not yet venture to speak of this as very great poetry, but perhaps it is something better, and we do not envy the feelings of those who will not permit its warm and living interest to rest upon their hearts. It flows directly from that inspiration which our poet so beautifully intimates when he says,

Nor shall the enthusiast dreams decay Which charm'd the long and lonely day,

'Mid bleakest scenes the simple breast
May yet in NATURE'S smile be blest-
Not on Olympian cliffs alone
Hath she in glory fix'd her throne;
Nor less inspiring breathes her gale
By Teviot's banks than Tempe's vale ;—
In Eden's beauty ever new,

She charms the young enthusiast's view,
And prompts the poet's thoughts sublime,
Through every age-in every clime.

pp. 38, 39. There is not much to be remarked on the other little poems in this volume. They are in the same pleas ing and tender character,-though none of them so excellent as the first. We subjoin two sonnets. The first is to Lord Lynedoch on his return to Spain, March 1813.

Warrior-thou seek'st again the battle field,

Where Freedom hails afar thy soul of flame,

And fall'n Iberia kindles at thy name, As 'neath the shade of England's guardian shield

She girds her armour on, and strives to wield

Her long-forgotten lance: Yes! there thy fame

Shall in the hymn of kindred hosts be sung Round Spain's romantic shores, when she hath thrust

The spoiler from her homes, and proudly hrung

Her falchion on the wall-though not to

rust!

Red gleams that vengeful blade, as vien of yore

She smote the Crescent on the Moslem's

brow

Warrior! she hails in thee her CID once

more,

To lead her to a fiercer conflict now!

P. 105. This is very good,-the next, howWhen, wrapt in shepherd's chequer'd ever, is more in the author's own

cloak

The task was mine to tend the flock;
What time the harvest toil demands
Even age and boyhood's feeble hands,
And all, pour'd forth upon the plain,
Were busy with the ripen'd grain ;—
When, far remote, I lov'd to lie
And gaze upon the flecker'd sky,
Amid the mountain thyme's perfume,
Where boundless heaths of purple bloom:,
Heard but the zephyr's rustling wing
And wild-bee's ceaseless murmuring.

'Twas Nature, free, benignant, fair,
That first I watch'd and worshipp'd there-
There first her peerless charms I saw
With rapture half restrain'd by awe-
So sweetly stealing on the eye
In dignified simplicity.

strain.

To a revered Female Relative. Lady, when I behold thy thoughtful eye Dwelling benignantly upon thy child, Or hear thee, in maternal accents mild, Speak of departed friends so tenderly— It seems to me as years now long gone by Were come again, with early visions fraught,

And hopes sublime, and heavenly musings, caught

From those kind eyes that watched my
Infancy!

Friend of my Mother! often in my heart
Thy kindred image shall with Her's arise,
The throb of holier feeling to impart !
And aye that gentle Maid, whom sweetest
ties

3

Of human care around thy soul entwine, Shall with a brother's love be bound to mine.-p. 104.

ON THE MISSIONARIES OF CAUCASUS. [The following curious account of an European colony at the foot of Mount Caucasus, is taken from a German book, the Travels of Engelhart and Parrot, who visited that country in 1811. How far their general accuracy is to be depended on, we do not know. They seem to have fallen into one blunder in supposing our countrymen to be Quakers; but this mistake probably arose from the circumstance that the most persevering, and, at the same time, cautious, missionaries are very commonly of that sect. Our travellers were not aware that the same qualities belong to the national character of the Scotch.]

CONSTANTINOGORSK resembles at present a camera obscura, in which all sorts of people pass before us,—as Russians, Nogays, Abassines, mountaineer chiefs in armour, Scottish missionaries, and German farmers of the colony at Beschtau, all thrown together in the most fortuitous and varied confusion, -a very interesting spectacle! The Nogays, who inhabit the steppes round this city, are, for the most part, settled in hamlets or villages, under the particular inspection of princes, if their leaders may be so called, by whom they are often greatly oppressed. They are all chiefs, as well as subjects, a thievish pack, in close league with the Abassines, a people of the same religious persuasion with themselves; and the whole region, though lying within the Russian limits, and garrisoned by soldiers, is rendered by their practices so insecure, that there is no passing through it without protection. Horses and men are carried off by the Nogays during the night; and if once transported over the Podkumock, there is very little chance of their ever being recovered. Their connection with the Abassines has also this disadvantage, that they can slip backwards and forwards across the boundaries, without being subjected to the four days quarantine, which is imposed on every one who passes from the district of Caucasus into Russia-by which means this precaution is rendered quite nugatory, and the villages on the Russian side are not unfrequently visited by the plague and other pestilential diseases, which rage so abundantly among the inhabitants at the foot of the mountain.

In spite of the insecurity of the neighbourhood, however, some Scottish Quakers, eight or nine years ago, ventured to take up their residence, where the Nogay villages are most numerous, on the north side of the Beschtau, with a view to pursue their scheme of conversions; and their predatory neighbours had so much respect for these quiet peaceable people, that they lived among them in safety for a whole year, without any military protection, which, however, they at last obtained in the year 1810, when an additional number of families of German colonists transported themselves here from the government of Saratow. The missionaries carry on no farming operations, but have only small gardens, the produce of which, although valuable at the bathing season in Constantinogorsk, is yet insufficient to support them, so that, no less for the supply of their necessities than for the maintenance of their expensive project, they are obliged to draw considerable sums from England. We did not, during our visit, converse with the director of the colony himself; but our information rests upon the uniform accounts which we received from different sources worthy of credit. The missionaries purchase little children from the mountaineers and the Nogays, whom they educate with care, and instruct in reading and writing the Tartar language. For this purpose, and for enlightening the other Mahometan inhabitants, they print, with types brought from England, little exercises in reading, the Koran, and a Tartar translation of the Bible, which they distribute gratis. When their pupils are so far advanced that they can compare the doctrines of the Gospel with those of the Koran, it is then left to their choice whether or no they will leave the creed of their fathers, and adopt that of their instructors. It is not yet clear what will be the result, as the institution has not been established sufficiently long for the scholars to have reached that time of life in which a choice can be fairly made.

The missionaries will, it is to be hoped, find a more speedily successful issue to the universal benevolence of their pious efforts in the union which they have entered into with the German colonists, who came here not immediately from the mother country,

but are sprung from those Germans established in Russia under the Empress Catharine II. in the government, as we have said, of Saratow. The Scotch missionaries were of great service in regulating the plan of their establishment, and were, in cousequence, adopted into it. The colony has every prospect of being prosperous, to which the neighbourhood of Constantinogorsk greatly contributes. The resort of rich persons to the baths of this city affords an excellent market for their butter, milk, cheese, and other produce. They live in great harmony with the inhabitants of the neighbouring villages. Their interpreters are either the Nogays, who understand Russian, or the children of the colonists, of whom some now speak the Tartar language, The Germans and the Quakers carry on their mutual intercourse through the medium of the Russian tongue.

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ANECDOTE OF THE BASTILE.

[We have extracted from the same work which gave the hint for the preceding little poem, the following short narrative, published but a few years after the event which it records had taken place, a sufficient proof of its general truth, as the accurrence itself at the time must have been fresh in the memory of thousands. It exhibits a picture of human wretchedness hardly to be paralleled in history; but it is at least a great consolation to know that such misery can never again flow from the same source.]

the throne of France, his new and humane ministers performed an act of justice and clemency in revising the register of the Bastile, and setting at liberty many of the prisoners.

On the accession of Louis XVI. to

Among the rest, there was an old man, who had been shut up within the cold and damp walls of a narrow cell during forty-seven years. He had endured all the horrors of this dreadful captivity with the most courageous constancy. Cut off from all communication with the world, he was ignorant of the fate of his family and friends; and, for nearly half a century, had beheld no face, had heard no voice, but that of the jailor who brought him his daily food.

One morning he hears an unusual bustle; the low door of his dungeon is thrown wide open, and an unknown voice calls to him to come out. He can hardly trust his senses; he thinks it all a dream; he rises with hesitation, and advances with trembling steps, and is astonished at the

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