Читать книгу: «The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction. Volume 17, No. 481, March 19, 1831», страница 2
FANNY
(For the Mirror.)
"I saw thy form in youthful prime,
Nor thought that pale decay
Would steal before the steps of time,
And waste thy bloom away."—MOORE.
Her place of rest is mantled o'er
With dews of early morning;
She heeds not now the winter's roar,
Nor flowery spring's adorning.
Alike to her, when summer's heat
Glows on her verdant bed,
Or when the snows of winter beat,
And a fleecy covering shed.
And rarely do they mention her,
Who most her fate should mourn;
And little did they weep for her,
Who never can return.
But back to memory let me bring
Her laughing eyes of blue:
She was, on earth, as fair a thing
As fancy ever drew.
She lov'd and was belovd again!'
And quickly flew the winged hours;
Love seem to wreath his fairy chain
Of blooming amaranthine flow'rs.
She deem'd not time could ever blight
That whisper'd tale she lov'd to hear;
Alas! there came a gloomy night,
That threw its shadows on her bier.
He told her time should never see
The hour he would forget her—
That future years should only be
Fresh links to bind him to her;
That distant lands his steps might trace,
And lovely forms he'd see,
But Fanny's dear, remembered face,
His polar-star should be.
"O! ever shall I be the same,
Whatever may betide me,—
Remembrance whispers Fanny's name,
And brings her form beside me.
"Believe, believe, when far away,
Distance but closer draws the chain;
When twilight veils the 'garish day,'
Remembrance turns to thee again."
He's gone!—but Fancy in her ear
Still murmurs on his last farewell,
While Hope dries in her eye the tear,
And bids her on each promise dwell.
And long she hop'd—from day to day,—
From early morn to dusky eve
Her thoughts were wand'ring far away,
Nor deem'd that he could e'er deceive.
Fond maid'—he thinks no more on thee—
He mocks at thy enduring faith;
While the foul tongue of calumny
Accelerates thy early death.
This world to her a desert grew,
The sunny heavens no more were fair;
Fast gathering tears obscured her view,
And only night's dark clouds were there.
Faded and chang'd the glorious dream,
The vision bright that floated round her;
And death was in the ghastly gleam
That gave her eyes unearthly splendour.
She lingered not, to feel that earth
Is rife with Disappointment's thorn—
That vows of faith are little worth,
And fleeting as the hues of morn.
Farewell! farewell! pale lilies drooping
On her low bed as emblems wave;—
And see!—the angel Pity stooping
To shed her tear on Fanny's grave!
Kirton Lindsey.
ANNE R
THE "HALCYON" BIRD
(To the Editor.)
The Halcyon is now only known by the name of the King Fisher (ispida, the alcedo ispida of Linnaeus), a very beautiful bird, frequenting waters, and feeding on fish. It builds in deep holes in the banks of rivers, and lays five, or, according to some, nine eggs. It much approaches to the Picus, or Woodpecker, in many points; but wants its great character, which is, the having two toes behind. The legs of this bird are very short, and are black before and red behind; its colours, particularly its green and blue, which are its general ones, are extremely bright and beautiful. It takes its prey after the manner of the Osprey, balancing itself at a certain distance over the water for a considerable space, and then darting below the surface, brings up the prey in its feet. While it remains suspended in the air, on a bright day, the plumage exhibits a most beautiful variety of very dazzling and brilliant colours.
This bird was called Halcyon by the ancients. Aristotle has described the bird and its nest; which, according to him, resembled those concretions that are formed by the sea water, and fashioned in the shape of a long necked gourd, hollow within, but so narrow at the entrance, that if it overset the water could not enter. This nest was called Halcyoneum, and had medical virtues ascribed to it: it was also a floating one; and therefore it was necessary for the poets who have described it to place it on a tranquil sea, and to supply the bird with charms to allay the fury of a turbulent element during its incubation, for it had at that season power over the seas and winds. During the days of this bird's incubation, in the depth of winter, the mariner might sail in full security; and therefore they were called "Halcyon Days."
Lambeth.
WALTER E.C
(From another Correspondent.)
In the agreeable communications of your correspondents, they seem in their quotations to have overlooked the following, from Dryden:—
"Secure as when the halcyon breeds, with these
He that was born to drown might cross the seas."
Astraea Redux.
And again, in his stanzas on the death of Oliver Cromwell—
"And wars have that respect for his repose
As winds for halcyons when they breed at sea."
Cowley likewise, in his preface to his Miscellanies, says, talking of his mind, "It must, like the halcyon, have fair weather to breed in."
The story of Ceyx and Alcyone is beautifully told in Ovid, Met. 11. fab. 10.
HOUSE OF COMMONS
(For the Mirror.)
In the vale of Evesham, was fought the most memorable battle recorded in the annals of English history, between Simon de Mountfort, the powerful Earl of Leicester, and Prince Edward, afterwards King Edward the First; in which the earl was completely defeated, and the refractory barons, with most of their adherents taken or slain. This important battle restored Henry the Third to his throne and liberty. When he had ascended the throne, he determined to still further curtail the enormous power of the barons; and by his writs summoned together, as his advisers, representatives from numerous cities and boroughs, as well as counties; the battle of Evesham therefore may be considered, says a modern writer, "as the origin of our present House of Commons."
The learned John Selden says, "All are involved in a parliament. There was a time when all men had their voice in choosing knights. About Henry the Sixth's time they found the inconvenience, so one parliament made a law, that only he that had forty shillings per annum should give his voice, they under should be excluded." "In a word (says Chamberlayne) a parliament's authority is most absolute; a parliament can do all that Senatus populusque Romanus could do, centuriatis Comitis seu Tributis; it represents the whole kingdom, so that the consent of the parliament is presumed to be the consent of every man in England."
P.T.W
THE LEGACY OF THE SWORD
(For the Mirror.)
It is thine—it shall win thee a wreath for thy brow
When thy spirit seems more energetic than now;—
It is thine in the war-cloud of gloom and of fire,
The pride of thy kindred—the sword of thy sire!
It is thine—let the bright rose around it entwine,—
Let it glance in the sunbeam which smiles on the shrine,
And sheathe it triumphant when cravens retire,
The pride of thy household—the sword of thy sire!
It is thine—but the warrior who bore it is laid
Where the rose throws its balm, and the cypress its shade,
And churls and marauders have ceased to retire
From the star of the battle—the sword of thy sire!
It is thine—thou shall wave it with banner and plume
When the trumpet is heard in the war-cloud of gloom:
It is thine to defend thee when rebels conspire,
The choice of thy childhood—the sword of thy sire!
Deal.
G.R.C. OR, REGINALD AUGUSTINE
SPIRIT OF THE PUBLIC JOURNALS
MAVROVITCH, THE POLE
"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy."
It seems that Valodimir Mavrovitch, the fratricide, was the second son of Count Baileskow, the representative of one of the oldest and most renowned families in Poland. In his youth, Valodimir was the most elegant boy almost ever seen, and scarcely less remarkable for talent than beauty; but he had a peculiar enthusiasm about him, in which, as his tutor, Father Theophilus, often said, lay his destiny. "In all other respects, he is only," said the father, "a nobler youth than common; but in this singular endowment he has something supernatural to man. He is without fear—he knows not what it is; and, with a dexterity inconceivable, accomplishes the most abstruse and difficult purposes. In his lessons, such is his aptitude, that he learns as if he had brought knowledge with him into the world; and in field-sports, the chase, and all exercises, he possesses an ardour and courage by which he outstrips every competitor. His generosity is equally unbounded; and whatever he undertakes is pursued with an indefatigable eagerness that knows not impediment; but amidst this unexampled energy in purpose there is cause for fear. It matters not to him, when once interested, whether his object be good or bad; and in this fatal inability to discriminate the value of his aims lies his danger."
(We are compelled considerably to abridge this story to suit our limits.—The mystical portion of it, or "the story of the Demon," as the narrator, a Pole, calls it, is thus told to an English tourist:)—
"When I was on the eve of my departure from the castle of Baileskow, my paternal inheritance, and the residence of my mother, to make a tour through Germany and Italy, the carriage being at the gate, and the servants with torches around—for it was then before the dawn of day—as I crossed the court from the hall-door to embark, an old man met me. He had the air of a priest, but not exactly the garb, and his eyes, I thought—or it might be an after fancy—were luminous.
"'Valodimir Mavrovitch,' said the stranger, 'Think!'—I would have answered, but the torch-light which shone through the gateway upon him shifted, and I was surprised that he too had disappeared, like one of the shadows of the servants on the castle wall.
"I was surprised at the brief and emphatic admonition of the Demon, for it was no less; but instead of obeying his injunction, after embarking in the carriage, I fell asleep.
"In the course of the journey, I met with neither accident nor adventure; but in the evening of the afternoon that I reached Munich, I strolled out from, the hotel at which I had put up, and entered, after a short walk, a coffee-house, in which several persons were smoking, with ices and liquors before them. One table only was vacant—it was near the door, and it had no light upon it. I entered and sat down at this table, and ordered a cigar; which being brought, with a candle, I began to smoke, and was thinking on the admonition of the mysterious stranger in the court of the castle. My back was towards the door, when presently feeling as it were a hand laid on my shoulder, I hastily turned round, and at my elbow beheld the stranger again. 'Beware!' said he, and withdrew.
"This incident affected me more than the former: it seemed to be couched with anxiety, as if some danger impended; but at the same moment two young officers came in, and seeing no vacant places, seated themselves opposite to me at the same table. They were about my own age, of a gallant air, and observing that I was a stranger, they addressed me in a generous, gentlemanly manner. I was much pleased with their conversation, and they professed themselves equally so with mine. Like other young men, we became, while I stayed at Munich, friends, and in their agree, able society both the 'Think!' and 'Beware!' were forgotten. On my departure for Vienna, they gave me letters to their friends in that metropolis, by whom I was received with marked distinction.
"I had not, however, been many days in Vienna, when one evening, returning from a party on foot, my servant having neglected to bring my carriage, a sudden stream of light from a window fell upon a figure which I perceived walking before me. He turned round at the same moment, and I beheld my warden.—'Stop!' said the apparition; I did do so; but in a moment the light vanished, and he was gone.
"This third warning took some effect: it was mystical, and I pondered in a vain endeavour to ascertain to what it could allude. My conjectures were fruitless: I could only recall that in the course of the evening I had been much excited by the beauty of a young countess, for whom, on account of her marriage, the ball had been given. The count, her husband, was a noble and elegant young man, and their mutual attachment had been a theme of admiration from their childhood in their respective families.—'Stop!' I repeated to myself, as I entered my lodgings, 'what can that have to do with aught that I have undertaken?' But in the course of a few days I became myself again, the admonisher was forgotten, and I could think only of the beautiful countess. I have just told my confessor that in less than a month her husband shot himself, and she fled from my arms to a nunnery.
"This affair obliged me to quit Vienna more abruptly than I intended; but instead of going to Venice, I went to Paris, taking Frankfort in my way. Being entirely unknown at Frankfort, I hastily visited alone every thing remarkable in the city, resolving to leave it in the morning; but the day was sultry, and in the evening, partly owing to fatigue, I felt myself tired and indisposed, and remained there next day. In the afternoon I found myself better; and as a public pleasure-garden was near the hotel where I stopped, I went to amuse myself for a few minutes there. Whether custom or any festival had that evening assembled an unusual concourse of people I never inquired, but the garden was crowded with a gay multitude, and music with great hilarity enlivened the entertainment. I walked about delighted with the scene.
