796.1 Bongs of the Negroes of Madagascar. them be kept in mind. Bold would be the man to force my love away, whilft, through the leaves of May, the vifits me Oh, Dynwen! once if thou wouldeft bid, beneath the woods of May, my Morvid, gay and sprightly, to pafs the long and lingering day, fair Dynwen, I fhould bless thee. Show me, from thy bright endowments, that thou art no coquette Dynwen, good and wife! By all thou didst endure in troubles, of penance, in this world, and all its wrongs; by all that faith and animating piety thou hadst whilst thou wert here alive; by thy fecluded ftate, moft pure; the chastity of thy reftrained flesh; if more is needful, by the foul of Brycan Yrth, of powerful arm, I pray, chafte jewel, through thy prevailing faith, effect my cure! Health to chief Ampanani-White man, I return thy falutation, and prepare to harbour thee. What feekeft thou?-I come to fee this land-Thy fteps and thy looks are free. But the fun is dying it is the hour for the evening meal. My flaves, lay a mat upon the ground, and cover it with foft leaves of the banyan tree. Set on the rice, the milk, and the ripe fruit. Come, Nelahi. The fairest of my daughters fhall wait upon the ftranger, while her fifters enliven our repaft by their dances, and their fongs. Lovely Nelahi, lead the ftranger to the neighbouring hut. Spread his mat upon the floor, and shower upon it loose leaves. *The Editor alfo acknowledges the receipt of a Vocabulary of the Madagascar language; on account of its leath, he is obliged, how ever, to defer inferting it till a more convenient Opportunity. MONTHLY MAG, No. VI. 449 Then let fall the floating garment from thy loins, and gaze upon the eyes of our gueft. If he look upon thee with longing, if his hand feek for thine, and draw thee gently toward him; then fit thee down upon his knees, nor return till day-light permit thee to read upon his face the grateful smile of remembered enjoyment. II. WHO dareth to call Ampanani to combat? He grafps his bone-pointed zagay, and strides across the plain. His fon fteps by his fide, as the young palm-tree on the hill. Ye ftorm-winds, fpare the young paim tree on the hill. The foes are many. Ampanani feeketh but one; and hath found him. Chief of our foes, great is thy praise. Thy zagay is red with the blood of our king it flows not in vain. Ampanáni never bled unrevenged. The mightier blow of his ftrength has ftretched thee on the ground. Fled is thy defpairing hoft; but death ftalks behind them to their home, and triumph hurls his torch upon their dwellings. Their town is a heap of ashes. The conqueror returns at leifure, driving before him the lowing herds, the fettered captives, and the wailing women. Simple children, ye fmile, and have a mafter! III. Ampanani.MY fon is fallen in fight. fon of your chief! Let us carry his corse Weep, my friends, for the to the inclosure where dwell the dead. High is the wall about it, and crowned with fkulls of the horned ox. Let no one look over into the dwelling of the dead. They are easy to anger, hard to foothe, and their vengeance is cruel. Weep for my fon! Men. No more fhall the blood of the foe fmoke red upon his arm. Women, No more fhall his lips kifs other lips. Men. The fruits ripen no longer for him. Women. His arm reclines no longer on the bofom of his beloved. Men. Now fhall he not fing of his joys in the shade of the tufted tree. Women. Now fhall he not fay to his beloved at night, we will be happy once more. long enough. Let forrow make room ་ IV. PUT not your truft in the whites, men of the fhore. In the time of our fathers, they came out of the fea. We fhowed them lands where they might rear their huts; where their wives might fow and might reap. We faid to them, be juft, be good, be our brothers. The whites promifed fairly. We let them make banks about their town, and circle it with their fiery weapons. When they had got a ftrong hold, they fent priefts among us to talk of a new god, and to bid us obey him and them. We faid, we will die rather than be flaves to the whites and to their god. We fought against their thunder and their lightning. We fell month after month by thousands; but we exterminated all the whites. Put no trust in them any more. Other, whites, and mightier, have come from the fea, and hung a gay flag upon the thore; but our gods were angry. The rains, and the thunder, and the hot winds went among them, and those who died not are fled. We yet live free Put not your truft in the whites, men of the fhore. V. thou spirit of might, roll not thy thunders VII. IT is fweet to lie down, during the heat, beneath a leafy tree, awaiting the coolness of the evening gale Draw nigh, ye women. While I lie beneath the leafy tree, let me hear the flow words of fong. Let me hear the fong of the maiden, when fhe braids the mat of rushes, or when fitting by the rice, the drives away the hungry birds. My foul is bathed in fong. Your dance is fweet to me as a kifs. Soft be the found of your voices: flow your geftures and your fteps: let them image the melting of pleasure. The gales of evening awake. The moon begins to gleam through the branches on the mountain-top. Go and Ampanani. LOVELY captive, what is prepare the repast. thy name? Vainab. I am called Vainah. Ampanani. Vainah, thou art beautiful as the firft beam of the morning. But why hangs the tear on thy long eye-lashes ? Vainab. King, I had a lover. Ampanani. Where is he? Vainab. Perhaps he perished in thy battle; perhaps he found fafety in flight. Ampanan. Be he fallen or fled, I will be thy lover. Vainab. O, king, take pity of the tears that wet thy feet! Ampanani. What wilt thou? Vainab. The unhappy one has kiffed my eye-lids; he has kiffed my lips; he has fept upon my bofom; he dwells in my heart: nothing can tear him from it. Ampanani. Take up the veil, and cover thy young charms. Vainab. Allow me to feek him among the flain, or among the fugitives. Ampanani. Go, lovely Vainah. Perih the wretch that would fnatch a kifs mingled with tears. VI. ZANHAR and Niang made the world. Zanhar, we pray not to thee: where, fore pray to a good God? It is Niang whom we have to appeafe. O, Niang VIII. fell me to the white men. Let me not leave for ever the dear land of my home. My mother, did I not fuck at thy bofom? Am I not the first fruit of thy love? What have I done, that I fhould deferve to be a flave? I have comforted thy age; for thee I have ftubbed the foil; for thee I have gathered the fruit; for thee I have dared to gripe at the river-fish. I have covered thee from the chill-dews of night; I have carried thee at noon to mufky fhades; I have driven the ftinging flies from the couch of thy fleep. O, my mother, what wilt thou do without me? Will the price of my hard doom buy thee another daughter? Thou wilt perifh for want, unwatched in the fick nefs of age: and I fhall grieve that I ain not by to help thee, Mother, mother, fell not thy only child, Do not drag me to the shore ; do not 1796.] On the Poetry of Spain and Portugal. joys while thou mayeft; for thefe are the laft of thy life. Terrible is the wrath of the king. Guards, bring hither Yaoona, and the youth who is feafting on her embraces. They are come naked, and in bonds. Fear has not wholly quenched the pleafure that fwam in their looks. Traitor! take up that zagay, and fell thy miftrefs to the earth. The youth fhudders; he draws back, he covers his eyes with his hand. The tender Yacona beheld him with looks sweeter than the honey of spring, wherein love thone through her tears. The furious king fnatches up the heavy zagay, and hurls it with might. Yaoona is ftruck-fhe totters-her lovely eyes close-the laft figh opens her ftiffening lips. The lover fhrieks with horror. It was his cry of death. Another zagay has pierced his fide. He falls upon the corfe of Yaoona. TERRIBLE Niang, why doft thou open my womb on an unlucky day? How fweet is the mother's fmile when the leans over her new-born child. How cruel the hour when she must caft him into the flood, and take away the life of her first-born. Innocent creature-the day which thou feeft is unhappy; it entails woe upon thy future life. If I fpare thee, uglinefs fhall wither thy cheek; burning fevers fhall fcorch thy veins; thou shalt grow up in fuffering. The juice of the orange fhall not be refreshing to thy lip; the hamattan fhall blaft the rice of thy planting; the fish fhall fhun thy nets; the kifs of thy miftrefs fhall be cold and uncheering; impotence hall pursue thee to her arms. Die, my fon, die once for all, to efcape a thoufand deaths. Niang-cruel neceffity Niang-terrible Niang ! ON THE POETRY OF SPAIN AND To the Editor of the Monthly Magazine. SIR, THAT the literature of Spain and Portugal is not attended to at prefent, when the ftores of German imagination are open to us, is not to be wondered at; but it is ftrange, that the fame neglect thould have prevailed in thofe earlier periods, when tranflations 451 were fo common, fo ufeful, and fo ho> nourable. The beft Italian poets were naturalized in England, during the reigns of Elizabeth and James; at that time, Spain was in the meridian of its glory, and it might have been imagined, that the fame of Lope de Vega would have reached this ifland. I believe, however, that, except Fanfhaw's verfion of the Lufiad, no poetical tranflation, from either the Spanish or Portuguese, appeared in England, till the editor of "The Reliques of Ancient Poetry," whofe taste and genius equal his erudition, excited fome curiofity in the public mind by the beautiful ballad, "Rio verde, Rio verde." Mr. Miekle's Lufiad, and Mr. Hayley's account of the Araucana, foon followed. The former of which has, perhaps, exceeded the original; and the latter occafioned regret in every reader, that the fketch has never been filled up. Here (I believe) our acquaintance with Spanith and Portuguese poetry has stopped. We have, indeed, often heard of Lope de Vega, and Mr. Hayley has mentioned the Ulyffes of Gabriel Pereira de Castro, and the Malaca Conquistada of Francifco de Sa de Menezes, as two poems which the Portuguese themselves efteem only inferior to the Lufiad of their great Camoens; we have heard their names indeed, but with their merit the English reader is utterly unacquainted. It is my intention, Mr. Editor, in your future Numbers, to give fome ac count of the best Spanish and Portuguese poets, to analyze the plans of their most efteemed works, and tranflate such specimens as, while they are brief enough to fuit your Magazine, may give fome idea of the genius, tafte, and manner of the authors. The profe writers of thefe countries (except the great Cervantes) are, for obvious reafons, less valuable than their poets. Learning has never flourished enough in either of the kingdoms, to form the taste of the inhabitants; and genius and imagination will not atone for the want of taste and erudition in a profe writer. It would be improper to pass them over in filence; but a brief notice will be fufficient. Spain and Portugal had reached the meridian of their glory, while the arts were yet in their infancy. Individual genius will be found then to have flourifhed moft when the community fhall have been moft flourishing; Athens was most glorious when Sophocles and Euripides fucceeded the aged Æfchylus ; 3 M : and and Ovid, Horace, and Virgil wrote at the time when Auguftus fent forth his decree, that all the world fhould be taxed. Uniform experience will atteft the truth of the obfervation; why this fympathy fhould exist, I know not; but poetical genius is certainly a barometer that rifes or falls according to the state of the political atmosphere. Befcan, and Garcilaffo de la Vega, and Diego de Mendoza fought and conquered for their country, under Charles the Fifth and their fpirits partook of the elevation they had affifted her to obtain; and they were followed in Portugal by Francisco de Sa de Miranda, Antonio Ferreira, and Pedro de Andrade Caminha. It may, perhaps, raise a smile, to affert that the poetry of Spain was purified and corrected, by introducing an Italian tafte into the country. At this period, however, fuch a revolution in literature was effected by fuch means. Marino foon corrupted the taste of Italy, and Spain foon followed the fascinating faults. Always fond of the extravagant, and mistaking hyperbolifm for grandeur, quaintnefs for wit, and the obfcure for the fublime, the Spaniards readily fell in with the fashion of the day; and the fatire of Cervantes proved powerlefs here. The decline of the empire quickly fucceeded, and Lope de Vega lived to witnefs the defeat of that Armada, which, with more extravagance and lefs genius than he ufually difplayed, he had commanded "to go forth and burn the world." Spain has never recovered herself fince the ruinous reign of Philip the Second. Not content with oppreffing the Spaniards by the inquifition, he made them the inftrument of oppreffion abroad; there indeed he failed; but though the liberty of Holland was established, the glory of Spain was deftroyed. We may be allowed to regret, that liberty and flavery should be fo ill-difpofed, that a people, the moft deferving of freedom, hould be degraded under the vileft defpotifm, while the moft worthless race in Europe are free: the Spanish character is capable of all improvement; but to degrade the Dutch, would be impoffible. Affiliated with Spain, by the gentle ties of Ruffian-like adoption, Portugal partook of its decline. She fhook off her chains indeed, but "the iron had entered her foul" and that nation which once excited the wonder, and deferved the admiration of the world, became contemptible to the rest of Europe, and ter rible only to its fubjects. He who entertains liberal fentiments, if he be obliged to fubmit his productions to the fcrutiny of the inquifition, will write with timidity; and it may fafely be afferted, that he who writes timidly, cannot write well. To look for the bold fublimity of genius where men are thus depreffed, were as rational as to chain a race-horse, and expect him to win the race. Thus has the tyranny of fuperftition co-operated with the decline of the country, to check the progrefs of literature in Spain and Portugal. Yet,`during what may be called their Auguftan age, fuch was accomplished. The applaufe of Cervantes fhould excite fome attention to the productions of the two Leonardos; he who admires the Lufiad of Camoens, may wish to form fome acquaintance with his epiftles and fonnets; and he who has read the Vifions of Quevedo, will readily believe, that much genius muft exist in the fix quarto volumes of the works of this excellent author. Spain has been wonderfully prolific in poets. In the Parnafo Espanol, is given a lift of fuch only as are mentioned by their more celebrated authors; and this amounts to the aftonishing number of 571, which the Editor fays, is not a third part of the poets with whom the public are acquainted. The numbers in Portugal are ftrangely difproportionate; for father Joaon Bautista de Caftro, in his Mappe de Portugal, enumerates only 62 epic and lyric writers, and 15 comic ones. But it is probable, that the greater part of the bards whofe names fwell the Spanish lift, are remembered no where else, when, in the Portuguese account, common fenfe may for once have checked the vanity so characteristic of the nation. Mr. Dillon's Letters on the Origin and Progrefs of Poetry in Spain, will give the reader a good general view of the fubject. It did not enter into this gentleman's plan to enlarge on the works of any particular author, or give specimens to the English readers: the few fpecimens that he has printed, are untranflated, and felected chiefly to how their different metres. His work has been the companion of my Spanish ftudies: I have derived pleafure and inftruction from it, and have only to regret, that by not extending his work, he has left a lefs able pen to attempt the fupplement. The fubject of Portuguese poetry has barely been touched upon by Mr. Dil lon; 1796.] The Enquirer. No. VI. lon; he has only deduced it from the Galician, and mentioned a very few of their authors; this field may therefore be looked upon as new. I can promise the reader fome information on these fubjects: of this he may be affured, that I fhall not affume the appearance of information when I poffefs it not; in treating of those authors who are familiar to me, my own opinion may properly be expreffed; with refpect to thofe of whom I know little, I fhall confequently fay little from myself: the man who can enjoy credit for acquifitions which he does not poffefs, muft be dreadfully diftempered with vanity. The Spaniards call their nine moft fa. Yourite authors the nine Spanish mufes: they are Garcilafo de la Vega, Don Efteban de Villegas, Quevedo, Count Bernardino de Rebolledo, Lupercio Leonardo de Argenfola, and his brother Bartolomé, Father Luis de Leon, Lope de Vega, and Dɔn Francifco de Borja y Aragon, Prince of Efquilache: many of equal merit are excluded from the lift, and, perhaps, fome of fuperior; with thefe, however, I shall begin my task. The poet is indeed a citizen of the world; in every country, and in every age, he meets with fome congenial fpirit; to him time is annihilated, and he converfes with Homer and with Offian: it is to fuch readers chiefly that I address myfelf; and if, when they are introduced to Borcan, Garcilafo de la Vega, Quevedo, and the two Leonardos, they do not add them to the number of their friends, I fhall at least have enlarged the circle of their acquaintance. Your's, &c. July 3, 1796. T. Y. THE ENQUIRER. No VI. QUESTION: Is Verfe effential to Poetry? LET ME, FOR ONCE, PRESUME T'IN. STUCT THE TIMES, TO KNOW THE POET FROM THE MAN OF RHIMES. Pope. IN this age of bold examination, in which high pretenfions of every kind are, without fcruple, brought to the touchftone of reafon, it may not be thought prefumptuous to enquire, whether that spirit of monopoly, which has proved fo injurious in ecclefiaftical and civil fociety, has not alfo found its way into the republic of letters. There is, perhaps, fome reafon to affert, that an arrogant affumption of this kind has been made in favour of poets. That 4.53 ambitious race, not fatisfied with holding the almoft undifputed poffeffion of the firft divifion in the ranks of literary merit, have, by the help of that magical wand which they know fo well how to ufe, conjured up a wall of feparation between themfelves and other writers. Fancying the inhabitants of this confecrated inclofure a privileged order, they have been accuftomed to look down, with a kind of fenatorial haughtiness, upon the profe-men, who inhabit the common of letters, as a vulgar, plebeian herd. Without fear of offending the god Terminus, I fhall, in this paper, take leave to examine, whether this wall of feparation ought to remain ?--whether the exclufive appropriation of the term poetry to verfe, has any folid foundation? It affords a tolerable prefumption in favour of the opinion that verfe is not effential to poetry, that, among the numerous definitions given of this art by critics, not one is to be found, which diftinctly marks the boundaries between poetry and profe, or fuggefts any reason for confining the productions of the mufes within the inclofure of measured lines. Ariftotle makes the effence of poetry to confift in imitation: at the beginning of his poetics, he defcribes mufic, dancing, and poetry, as imitative arts. After the Stagyrite, Horace requires his poet to make his language a copy of life: refpicere exemplar vitæ. Among modern critics, Voffius defines poetry to be the art of reprefenting actions in metre: Batteaux, in his Belles Lettres, calls poetry the imitation of elegant nature; and Trapp, in his Lectures on Poetry, gives, upon the fame principle, this lab ured definition: “ Poetry is the art of imitating or illuftrating, in metrical numbers, every being in nature, and every object of the imagination, for the delight and improvement of mankind." Without dwelling upon the obvious objection to this definition, that the term imitation is improperly used to exprefs the defeription of objects by arbitrary figns, which exhibit no copy of nature; if the definition be admitted, it muft evidently comprehend all verbal delineations of nature, whether in verfe or profe. A profe-comedy is at least as perfect an imitation of nature as a tragedy in verfe; and a well written novel is as accurate a copy of nature as an epic poem. Other critics have chofen to derive |