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In the style of painting of the school which l, which can be noticed. The air of tbe ligure we are now illustrating, there is an extreme || too, is pleasing; its apparent movements are simplicity of design, and in which interest can li graceful, but a kind of grace wbicb is neither generally only be excited by the high finishing that of the city, of the court, of the stage, por of the piece. It was indeed customary with even of the rustic viilager; it is, in fact, that most of the Flemish painters to compose a grace which Raphael knew so well how to give picture with only a single figure; they painted to a young female slave. their servant maids as they would any other As a counterpart to this is that which we piece of bousehold furniture, and gave to them have chosen for the second subjeci of our prethe same high finishing, the same minuteness sent criticism, and which is simply of detail, and the same precision of execution.

A SERVANT-MAID, Having once chosen their subject, they thought of nothing further than, by a well contra led

WHO HANGS UP A FOWL IN THE WINDOW. assortment of colours, to give the greatest As the Parisian critic observes, a servant-inaid effect to each mass of tint, so that an analysis | banging op a fowl, can present nothing for of these overgrown miniatures presents no- malter of analysis but a scrvant-maid hanging thing but the beauty of high finishing, and the up a fowl. The historian or critic then stops defects which naturally occur where ex.:ctness shori in his description, as soon as he has said usurps the place of genius, and where every i that the imitation has all the merit of being thing else is sacrificed to the prin.ipal sub an exact representation of the subject. With ject. Whatever they thought could give a regard to : bis servant.maid, in particular, she value to their works, even though the truth ofl is fair and fresh culoured; her hair is not only nature was sacriticed, wits always adopted, so light, but so is she throughout, and her conie that the burmony or contrast of trifies were plexion is clear, her skin five and blooming, always considered as the first part of the and her hands and arms of a 60owy whiteness, science. Thus in the picture before us, but they have, notwithstanding, quite the air THE DUTCH COOK-MAID;

of the under-ground story. The Fleinish

painters, in chusing their models from the Every thing is sacrificed to the effect of the kitchen, had at least this advantage, that the countevance; it is to produce this effect that species of nature which they took in hand was the back ground has been made ivo dark, and completely at Ikeir own disposal, and would that a window wbich ought to admit the day- lend itself as complacently to their patient light, is not permitted to do so, because that labours as the articles of their household furlight would bave interfered with that which oiture, or even as the dead fowl which they fills upon the bead of the figure. It is to imitated. But in this picture one sees, as in sbew that with more force, that the artist has the former, the customary habit of sacrificing tbrown back, as much as in bis power, the every thing to the brilliancy of the head; the luglit which falis upon the forehead and cheeks. back ground of the cupboard is much too But then this is a false effect it is of uv cou | dark, for though the natural shade of any sequence; it aids the general effect, and that place wben shut up is dark, it is not a mass of is sufficient. This light, however, possesses a unchequered blackness. Upon the linen the remarkable beauty; it is soft and glassy; it i local light is reflected by the solid body itself, bas neither the radiance of the sunbeam, nor and by the flat surface which ihrows it back eren the broad glare of day. In this picture again, and this effect contradicts always the 100, the touch is more firn and sprightly than intention of the painter; whilst back grounds in many others, it almost equals that of Van light, vapourous, or diminisbing in perspecOstade or Teniers. The right band, which is live, are always easier of inilation, because fore-shortened, is bowever too meagre; but that the local light contrasts less with their but is the only imperfection in the figurell general effect.



Let the wings of morning bear

To that Parent sougs of praise ; Let them speed with ardent pray'r

For bis blessing through thy days. Precious is each fleeting hour;

Haste, and greet the moment given; Virtue's joys are in thy pow'r;

Rise, and take her path to beaven.

LINES Supposed to have been written and left behind upon

the talle hy a despairing lover, previous to his

committing suicide. Adieu! sweet maid, the youth that loves tou

well, Seals his own exit from this world-farewell : Oh world of treacb'rous love! that first by turus,

[bura-; Warms the cold heart, then pierces where it Thy smiles no more l'll court, with zealdev.lut, And love no more where hope engenders doubt: Thy promis d joys, which long l’ve sought in

vain, My far fetched hopes reject with firm disdain ; No more, sweet maid! no more my plaintive

fear's, With sound unwelcome, shall offend y ur ears. Oh earth! oh earth! biar uitoess to my cries; ! Repeat the ecbo through the vaulted skies. Oh Deatb! thou swertfic'il refiige of despair, Cume, bless thy clain with unremeinber'd care, Ye intervening hours amend your speed, 'Till midnight ease you of the trembling deed. Eternal pity, from the reaims abuve, Descend propiijous on the wings of love; And, ere this dagger rends my op’ning breast, Il Oh! seal my closing eyes in endless rest. Oh Death! oli Death! be present at my call! | 'Tis done-'go-farewell the bope of all.

AH, let not Pleasure's witching eye

Beguile thy wandering youth:-
A thousand wiles around ber fly;
And thousands more io arnbush lie,

To draw thy heart from trulb.
Loure flowing robes her limbs adorn;

And smiles her features wear;
But, as the rose conceals the thorn,
Full blooming to the blushing morn,

She hides each danger wear.
And though her path be strew'd with flowers,

That mock the rain bow dves;
And mirth reside in all her bowers,
While music Boat in dulcet powers,

Along the trembling skies.
Yet, ah! the smile of Pleasure's Queen;

Her bowers where mirth would reign;
Her dulcet song, her Aowery scene,
With all her charms that intervene,

Are fleeting, false, and vain.

ON EARLY RISING. SEE what crimsou glory shines

Through the curtain on thy bed : Kindly all those radiant lines,

From the pillow lift thy head. Fling thy long-clos'd casement wide:

Hark! what soft, melodious lays! On inine ear the accents glide,

“ Raliovals, arise and praise.” 0, what scents com on the cale,

Stores of fragrance no v unfold; 'Tis those blussoms till the vale,

Finely ting'd with pink and gold. Health sits waiting on the hill;

Fly, and drink ih morning air: Please shall thy bosom fill,

While thou seek'st the goddess there. Sce what num'rous beauties shine,

Wheresne'er the eye can rove; Presents from a band divine,

To the children of his lure.

Au! why prefers the soul to dwell

On each brown image of decay,
The mournful tints, th' autulimual vell,

To all the vernal bloom of May?
On waning Luna's paler light,

Why rather seeks the eye to gaze,
Thın on th' v'erwhelming splendour bright

Of dazling Sol's meridian rays?
What magic boasts th’half utter'd tale,

Whisper'd in Love's soft twilight hour, When Auent vows can nonght avail

In gay saloon, or noon-tide bower? Why leaves the blushing bride the ease,

The novel power of wedded state, Unless to quellin scenes like these,

The joyous tumuit of her fate?


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THE SPANISH SOLDIER'S WIDOW'S ; They tell me of siglits I'm furbid to enjoy ; ADDRESS TO HER SON.

I hear of soft pleasures I never can taste; HERE's the sword with which thy sire

An exile--no kiudred, no neighbour have I, Drove his foes before him;

And the world to me but a dark dreary Here's the steed thro' blood and fire,

waste; Which oft in triumph bore him. || Yet a crust from a cottage can still make me Sheath'd too long bus been the blade,


(honest Tray. Fresh gore sovu shall stain it;

When I share the sweet morsel with poor Long uncheck'd the steed has stray'd,

On the dull road of Life, we observe Na. Thy hand now shall reiv it.

ture's law,

(still free; To the trump thy father's ear

From the censure of mortals we wander Ne'er again shall listen;

| pat his rough back, and he gives me his Nor, as he draws the foe more near,


(narch to me, His eye with ardour glisten.

Which is more than the hand of a mo. Yet with a glory, as be did,

For lie fawns at my call, nor would lead me Should'st thou fall to-morrow,

astray, From my cheek the smile of pride,

And my comfort of life is my poor honest Shall chace the tear of sorrow.

Fond guide of my steps, soon I find we must part,

[has shard; CUPID.

For age numbs the hand that our pittance As Cupid once, his brows to grace,

But, oh! when life ceases to warm this sad. A vi'let chaplet wove;


[regard ! He chanced a bunied bee displace,

Who thy wants and thy wailing will ever Which stung the God of Love.

'Tis this pains my bosom so oft thro' the day,

To leave thee, uld comrade, my poor faithful The chaplet quickly cast away,

With pain and rage assail'd;
Jo tears lie to his mother gay,

Haste, haste on thy course, ere quite wearied, The sad mishap bewailed.

my friend,

(its guest; “ O help me Venus ! mother see!

And lead to some hut that may own me “May I pot well complain,

For I feel it is night now the chill dews de" When such a paltry insect-bee,


(tind rest. “ Can cause such bitter pain ?"

But soothe my sad spirits with bopes to To wbom the laughing dame replied

Tho'wretched, yet thousands, ere lift's latest “Young Urchin as thou art, " They who thy little shafis have tried,

May envy the Beggar, and his fond dog Tray! “ Can feel no greater smart.




TUNE.-“ Contented I am.

|| ADDRESSED TO A LADY, WITH A COPY OF Over fern-clad high mountains, and thro'li

COW PER'S POEMS. the long vales,

To thee, dear maid! let Cowper's pleasing On paths wild aud dreary, dejected I roam,

lays, Expos'd to the sun, or the sharp wintry gales,

Sacred to virtue, paint domestic days, Unknowing my course, and imploring a

Wbere love, and social bliss endear the scene, home,


And each kind heart, unclouded and serene, With no guide to protect me, or point out the

Adores that Being, from whose bounties flow, But my friend and companion, my poor faith.

All that can cheer and bless this world below. ful Tray.

To tbec, dear maid! the Bard will wide unWhat boots it to say, for my country 1 bled,


. (meuld. The pitiless world seldom lisiens iny

|| Truth's stainless page, and tast in Fancy's pray'r;

[bread, Rich, chastened seuse, imagivation strong, 'Tis the fate of the bravest to wander for

Pervade each line, and clothe the moral song. Wbile the worthless too often every lux. The pathway drear of Vice he bids thee shun; ury share:

The meed of Virtue shews, when Life's gay But my dog, ever faithful, no want can dis may,

spoor Tray. || Is set in gloomy night, and all aghast And 'twere well for mankind could they cupy || The erring Spirits mourn, too late, the past.


Or, as he lists, the streams, the woods, the This, when revers'd is often found wasie

[taste: In pits and caverns under ground; All Nature's charms pourtrays with classic | From this, if you exclude one letter, Whetlier in Winter's fleecy robe tbey sbine, You have a most euvenom'd creature : Or boast the hou and hues of Spring's decline, Whieb, if you change, a place will shew, When gemal Summer decks the earth with In Germany where numbers go. Howers

[bine bowers, And breathes ber balmy sweets from woodA bouwdless theme, worthy alone the lyre,

TO A ROSE, That bad the Seasons bloom with true poetic SEEN IN BLOSSOM VERY LATE IN THE. fire,

SEASON. Breathes there the man, whose rude and cal Tell me, thou solitary flow'r, lous mind,

That blossom'st in this wint'ry hour,
Ne'er felt the joys and sorrows of his kind; l Why thus alone dost thou uprear
Whose eyes wiib kindred moisture ne'er over. Thy dauntless head,

When the sweet smiles that erst adoru'd the At sight of human blissof hum n woe;

year If such there be, let Cowper's heaving inuse

To happier climes are fied? In other bosoms pour celestial deus.

Too rude, too keen, No sweets to hin the feeling Bard conveys,

For thee, I ween, Self his whole thoughts, and selfish all bis - Is Winter's harsb up feeling pow'r; ways.

Too bleak the bitter blast that biow's Not such thy soul, my Mary! doomid to feel, !| Around thy bed of snows, 'Too oft, the anguiso which thon can’st not!| Thou lovely fragile flow'r! heal:

(balm Hark! how the bellowing whirlwinds rise, Still thou niay'st shed the blest, the pityingi With hoarse discordant yell! Of consolation ; aud bestow the calm

The storm, that sweeps along the skies, Of mild Religion to the grief-worn breast,

Derp tulls the funeral kwell!
That longs, yet fears, to meet eternal rest. And can I sce thee droop aud pine
Such be thy care ;-then prize the Poet's Witbout one pitying tear?
strain :

Or view thy beauteous head decline,
So shalt thou find, when life begins to wane, Nor stretch my hand to rear?
Thuse gratefui pleasures, that sublime repose, Haste, let me snatch thy op'ning charms
Which those alone enjoy who feel for other's From ruthles Winter's palsy'd arms,

And frost-encumber'd reign ;

and place thee in some safe retreat,

Round which the clattring bail inay beat, ANAGRAM.

And tempests howl in vain ! OFT thro' the thick’ning ranks of war, There may'st thou flourishibere display The warrior hurls me from afar;

Thy brightest tints, and pour thy sweets But if I'm of my head bereft,

ground; A most delicious fruit is left;

While on the dreary ice-cold ground, Take one joint more, you'll find ine then l] The l'ustling leaves are blown from off each As mucla with asses us with inen.

shiv'ring spray! Restore my parts all but my first,

And may the eye tlal beam'd with moistend Transpose them, after they're revers'd,

glance You'll view a capital offence,

On this fair How'ret's pain Which will be shuno'd by men of sense. Ne'er view with scornful look askauce, Shake up again, the parts will shew

Or insolent disdain, Ibat farmers oft in Autumn do.

The wretch, whose bleeding bosom torn Take off the head, give t'other sbake,

By Disappointment's rankling thorn, A curious animal you'll make.

Weeps the sad hour when cheating Hope beOne shake won't do, so try a second,

beguil'd! A well-known sort of pulse I'm reckond; But, gentle Pily! heav'n-born maid! Dly whole restore, and then transpose, Conse, and with S raph smiles array'd, A piece of money then it shews.

Teach me to healthy woes long past, Sboffle again, one part refuse,

Aud screen from Mis'ry's shodd'ring blast 'Tis then a lool the bakers use;

Pale Sorrow's belpless child.

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