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قراءة كتاب The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction Volume 12, No. 344 (Supplementary Issue)

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The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction
Volume 12, No. 344 (Supplementary Issue)

The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction Volume 12, No. 344 (Supplementary Issue)

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دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
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powerful composition, and the Cameronian Preacher, a prose tale, of equal effect. In addition to the pieces already mentioned, by the editor, is one of extraordinary excellence—the Magic Bridle: his Lines to a Boy plucking Blackberries, are a very pleasing picture of innocence:—

There stay in joy,

Pluck, pluck, and eat thou happy boy;

Sad fate abides thee. Thou mayst grow

A man: for God may deem it so,

I wish thee no such harm, sweet child:

Go, whilst thou'rt innocent and mild:

Go, ere earth's passions, fierce and proud,

Rend thee as lightning rend the cloud:

Go, go, life's day is in the dawn:

Go, wait not, wish not to be man.

One of his pieces we quote entire:—

THE SEA KING'S DEATH-SONG.

"I'll launch my gallant bark no more,

Nor smile to see how gay

Its pennon dances, as we bound

Along the watery way;

The wave I walk on's mine—the god

I worship is the breeze;

My rudder is my magic rod

Of rule, on isles and seas:

Blow, blow, ye winds, for lordly France,

Or shores of swarthy Spain:

Blow where ye list, of earth I'm lord,

When monarch of the main.

"When last upon the surge I rode,

A strong wind on me shot,

And tossed me as I toss my plume,

In battle fierce and hot.

Three days and nights no sun I saw,

Nor gentle star nor moon;

Three feet of foam dash'd o'er my decks,

I sang to see it—soon

The wind fell mute, forth shone the sun,

Broad dimpling smiled the brine;

I leap'd on Ireland's shore, and made

Half of her riches mine.

"The wild hawk wets her yellow foot

In blood of serf and king:

Deep bites the brand, sharp smites the axe,

And helm and cuirass ring;

The foam flies from the charger's flanks,

Like wreaths of winter's snow;

Spears shiver, and the bright shafts start

In thousands from the bow—

Strike up, strike up, my minstrels all

Use tongue and tuneful chord—

Be mute!—My music is the clang

Of cleaving axe and sword.

"Cursed be the Norseman who puts trust

In mortar and in stone;

Who rears a wall, or builds a tower,

Or makes on earth his throne;

My monarch throne's the willing wave,

That bears me on the beach;

My sepulchre's the deep sea surge,

Where lead shall never reach;

My death-song is the howling wind,

That bends my quivering mast,—

Bid England's maidens join the song,

I there made orphans last.

"Mourn, all ye hawks of heaven, for me

Oft, oft, by frith and flood,

I called ye forth to feast on kings;

Who now shall give ye food?

Mourn, too, thou deep-devouring sea,

For of earth's proudest lords

We served thee oft a sumptuous feast

With our sharp shining swords;

Mourn, midnight, mourn, no more thou'lt hear

Armed thousands shout my name.

Nor see me rushing, red wet shod,

Through cities doomed to flame.

"My race is run, my flight is flown;

And, like the eagle free,

That soars into the cloud and dies,

I leave my life on sea.

To man I yield not spear nor sword

Ne'er harmed me in their ire,

Vain on me Europe shower'd her shafts,

And Asia pour'd her fire.

Nor wound nor scar my body bears,

My lip made never moan,

And Odin bold, who gave me life,

Now comes and takes his own.

"Light! light there! let me get one look,—

Yon is the golden sky,

With all its glorious lights, and there

My subject sea flows by;

Around me all my comrades stand,

Who oft have trod with me

On prince's necks, a joy that's flown,

And never more may be.

Now put my helmet on my head,

My bright sword in my hand,

That I may die as I have lived.

In arms and high command."

In the prose department the most striking is the description of Abbotsford, quoted in our 339th number. There is an affecting Tale of the Times of the Martyrs, by the Rev. Edward Irving, which will repay the reader's curiosity. The Honeycomb and Bitter Gourd is a pleasing little story; and Paddy Kelleger and his Pig, is a fine bit of humour, in Mr. Croker's best style. The brief Memoir of the late Sir George Beaumont is a just tribute to the memory of that liberal patron of the Fine Arts, and is an opportune introduction into such a work as the present. The letter of Lord Byron, too, from Genoa in 1823, will be interesting to the noble poet's admirers.

Among the illustrations we can only notice the Lute, by C. Rolls, after Bonnington; Morning, by E. Goodall, from Linton's "joyful" picture; Sir W. Scott in his Study (qy. the forehead); a little "Monkeyana," by Landseer; Chillon, by Wallis, from a drawing by Clarkson Stanfield—a sublime picture; Fonthill, an exquisite scene from one of Turner's drawings; Beatrice, from a picture by Howard; the Lake View of Newstead, after Danby; the Snuff-Box, from Stephanoff; and last, though not least, Gainsborough's charming Young Cottagers, transferred to steel, by J.H. Robinson—perhaps the most attractive print in the whole series.

With this hasty notice we conclude, in the language of our announcement of the present work, "wishing the publisher many Anniversaries"


Friendship's Offering.

Edited by Thomas Pringle, Esq.

The present volume will support, if not increase, the literary reputation which this elegant work has enjoyed during previous years. The editor, Mr. Pringle, is a poet of no mean celebrity, and, as we are prepared to show, his contribution, independent of his editorial judgment, will do much toward the Friendship's Offering maintaining its ground among the Annuals for 1829.

There are twelve engravings and a presentation plate. Among the most beautiful of these are Cupid and Psyche, painted by J. Wood, and engraved by Finden; Campbell Castle, by E. Goodall, after G. Arnald; the Parting, from Haydon's picture now exhibiting with his Mock Election, "Chairing;" Hours of Innocence, from Landseer; La Frescura, by Le Petit, from a painting by Bone; and the Cove of Muscat, a spirited engraving by Jeavons, from the painting of Witherington. All these are of first-rate excellence; but another remains to be mentioned—Glen-Lynden, painted and engraved by Martin, a fit accompaniment for Mr. Pringle's very polished poem.

The first prose story is the Election, by Miss Mitford, with the hero a downright John Bull who reads Cobbett. The next which most attracts our attention is Contradiction, by the author of an Essay on Housekeepers—but the present is not so Shandean as the last-mentioned paper; it has, however, many good points, and want of room alone prevents our transferring it. Then comes the Covenanters, a Scottish traditionary tale of fixing interest; the Publican's Dream, by Mr. Banim, told also in the Winter's Wreath, and Gem:

Thrice the brindled cat hath

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