Imágenes de páginas

Though desolate it still can yield to melody's sweet spell.

Oh, cast him on the stormy sea, when Death rides on the surge,

And sea-nymphs chant around his head a melancholy dirge,

While struggling with the giant waves, from their embrace to flee,

That lov'd one's voice is whispering of halls beneath the sea.

And as far down he swiftly sinks, and billows o'er him foam,

h thousand phantasies appear, and o'er his vision come;

Km one will keep its vigil there, though storm and tempest sweep,

Unmoved, though burst upon by all the billows of the deep.

Go place him in the battle's front, where death and carnage meet, And his country's flag unsullied is his warrior-winding

sheet; When from his heart is oozing fast the darkly purple

tide, And victory'3 shout a moment fills his dying eye with

pride— The wild and lingering look he casts, as heaven's own

arch of blue, Like the vision of a summer dream, fades slowly from

his view, Speaks—clearly speaks—of vision'd joys—of home

beheld once more— of the image of the one-loved form in sorrow bending




Early in the afternoon of an autumn day, in the first year of the hundred and fifth Olympiad, the keeper of the light-house which then marked the entrance of the harbor of Ephesus, announced the approach of a vessel, which, from its size and proportions, he decided to be from Corinth or Athens. Crowded, as the port of Diana's favorite city at that time was, with sails from every maritime town in the Mediterranean, where commerce was cultivated, the arrival of a vessel was an event of hourly occurrence, yet the news of the approach of this spread rapidly through the city. The magistrate left the bench, the merchant forsook his warehouse, and the mechanic dropped his tools. All hastened to the quay. It was expected that this vessel brought the news of the results of the Olympic games. With such rapidity the lusty rowers plyed their oars, that the most experienced eye could scarcely decide whether the approaching bark carried three or four banks. The helmsman was singing the prize verses of the games, in which all the oars-men joined at intervals as a chorus. Soon she neared sufficiently for the pilots, who stood upon an eminence, to decide that she was the Sphynx ol Corinth. She presently came within speaking distance, and the name of the victor in the poetic contest was demanded. "Leonidas of Mxgara," was the reply.

Other questions succeeded until the Sphynx was moored in the harbor, and then followed, amidst the embraces of friends and relatives, more minute inquiries and particular replies touching the events of the games, which then excited an interest in every land where the Greek tongue was spoken, of which the moderns can form but little conception. Preparations for the customary sacrifices to Diana of the Ephesians, Neptune, and the Winds, in grateful return for the prosperous voyage, were quickly made.


The crowds which shortly before covered the spacious quays had nearly all dispersed, when a young man for whom no one appeared to wait, and who had sought no one in the joyful multitude, stepped on shore, bearing all his baggage in a small scrip. His countenance wore an expression of the deepest melancholy, which could not have escaped notice, had not the sighs which broke from his breast, and the half dried tears which stained his cheeks, sufficiently testified that his bosom shared none of the general joy. Instead of seeking his home, he bent his steps along the quays, and shortly gained the suburbs, passing rapidly through which, he sought the open country. Here throwing himself upon the ground, he gave way to the most passionate expressions of sorrow. "Cursed folly" he exclaimed "that induced me to believe that glory was to be obtained by merit, and that the applauses of the crowd could be won by him who has no gold in his purse to purchase their praises. Cursed be the books of the Philosophers which teach"—"Erostratus," exclaimed a young man who, unobserved, had approached and gazed on him with astonishment, " what mischance has so disordered you, that instead of seeking your friend's house, I find you embracing our mother earth, and outshining our first tragedians? Is this a specimen of some successful drama which you have been composing, or"—" Metazulis," said Erostratus, "cease these ill-timed pleasantries. I have just returned from the Olympic games"—"I know it," interrupted Metazulis. "I was from home when the Sphynx arrived, and had I not learned from our neighbor Polisphercon that you and he had been fellow passengers, I should have assured myself that the charms of Corinth had proved stronger than your patriotism. Excuse my interruption, and pardon a friend's inquiring why these tears? why this anguish 7 Have you returned without that heart, which you once vowed to Diana should never leave your keeping, and without the blue-eyed maiden who has robbed you of it?" "No Metazulis, replied his friend, forcing a melancholy smile, "my heart is safe as though blue-eyed maidens had never been—but I went to Olympia, puffed up with the senseless expectation of gracing my brow with the wreath of poetry, which now encircles the head of a wealthy churl who feasted the judges. His name is celebrated through the cities of Greece; mine is unmentioncd, save as that of the deluded Ephesian who dared to put his doggrel in competition with the rich strains of the rich Leonidas. But I forever forswear"—" Forswear nothing" cried Metazulis. "Be not discouraged by a single failure. The next judges may be honest, and in four years the strengthened wings of your muse will achieve higher flights." "And Leonidas may become richer," said Erostratus. "How often, how often," said Mctazulis, " have I had to censure my friend's faint heart, discouraged at the slightest disappointment! Who ever swam a river at a single stroke? Make my house your home. Let poetry continue your study. My sister's lyre shall accompany your odes. We will strive to put off the partiality of friends, and play the critics upon your works. I warrant not a spot shall meet the eye in the next production you lay before the Olympic Judges." Putting his ami into that of Erostratus, who offered no resistance, he led him to the city. III.

Henceforth the streets of Ephesus rarely echoed to the footsteps of Erostratus. Immured in the house of the friendly Mctazulis, his whole soul was occupied with the ardent hope of gaining the prize for poetry at the next Olympic games. The encouragement of Metazulis and Lesbh, had fanned into a flame the spark of ambition not to be extinguished in his breast. Every day did his impatience increase, and nightly, upon retiring to his couch, would he reckon that a day less was between him and immortal glory. The poems and odes which fell from his pen, fell not faster than they were wedded to music by the enthusiastic Lesbia. Unhappy Lesbia! it was not in thy nature to behold such kindred genius and remain unmoved! A fire was in thy breast, bright and unquenchable, save by death! Poor Lesbia! Her admiration of the poet blinded her to the most glaring defects of the poetry, and the living Erostratus, whom she daily saw, seemed to her superior to all the poets who had sung since the days of Deucalion.

Four years rolled by in poetry, music, and, though neither seemed conscious of it, in—love. The hymn to Ceres, upon which Erostratus now builds his hopes, is completed, and pronounced perfect by Metazulis, and Lesbia. Lesbia gives her brother and his friend the parting embrace, and with her scarf, waves them again and again farewell from the terraced roof. She is not to see Erostratus again until his brows are shaded with the crown of victory. Prosperous winds wafted on their course Erostratus and his friend, who had left his home and his sister, to share with his adopted brother the first triumphs of success. A few days were spent in luxurious Corinth by the travellers, and postponing a more ample view until their return, they departed for Olympia, where they arrived after a journey, which to Erostratus seemed to occupy an age.


With the usual ceremonies the games were opened, and the first, second, and third days devoted to chariot races and the athletic exercises. The fourth day was assigned to the claimants of the palm for poesy. Erostratus was the first competitor who rose. His feelings at first overpowered him, but a look from Metazulis, a burst of applause from the countless multitude, and more than all, a thought of the moment when he should lay the meed of victory at the feet of Lesbia, encouraged him. His voice was at first low and indistinct, but as the plaudits increased, he became more animated, and towards the close, the delivery was worthy of the poem. The hymn being ended, the lengthened shouts dispelled all fear of failure from his mind, and he fancied he already felt the olive wreath upon his temples. A single competitor appeared to contest with him the prize, many having withdrawn upon the conclusion of his ode.

Cratinus of Plalasa arose, as soon as the applause began to subside. Four times had the crown been decreed to Cratinus, and he now aspired the fifth time to that honor. The hitherto unconquered Cratinus began, and scarcely had he recited twenty lines, when even Mela, znlis admitted in his heart the superiority of this poem to that of his friend. Cratinus wasloudly cheered, and in justice would have been more so, had not a large proportion of the audience been prepossessed in favor of Erostratus. Applause well merited followed con- clusion of the Judgment of Paris, (such was the theme of Cratinus) and then a breathless silence succeeded, whilst the judges compared their opinions. We cannot describe the anxiety of Erostratus in this interval. He trembled, a cold sweat bedewed his body, and leaning upon the breast of his friend, his life seemed to hang upon the decision. The presiding judge at length arose and delivered the award. The crown was decreed to Cratinus; and Erostratus fell senseless in Metarulis' arms. For a long time he remained insensible, and bk friend was beginning to fear that his hopes and his life had terminated together, when he began to revive; but having murmured " the crown, the crown," he fell into a second swoon. So great an effect had the destruction of his long cherished hopes produced upon him, that for some days there appeared scarcely a possibility of his recovery. During this time Mctazulis wrote to his sister the following letter.

"Weep with me Lesbia. Our friend has failed, Catinus, of Platfcu has obtained the prize, Erostratus i» dangerously ill. The physicians bid me hope—I bare none. Should he recover from the fever which now threatens lo terminate his life, what a life will be his! If, contrary to my expectations, he should survive this shock, may our love to him be redoubled! Let it be our care to smooth his path to the grave, which, broken hearted as he is, can be but short. Farewell."


The medical attendants were not disappointed. A month having elapsed, Erostratus left the couch of sickness; but another passed by before Metazulis thought his strength sufficient to warrant his proposing their return. Erostratus made no opposition. The love he felt for Lesbia, (with which the ravings of his delirium had acquainted Metazulis,) urged his return, although he felt that he scarcely dared appear before her. The ess of diverting his mind from the sad recollections which occupied it, was painful and difficult. Mctazulis proposed visiting the curiosities of nature, and the celebrated works of art, which lay contiguous to their route. To this Erostratus made no objection, but his eye,owe so delighted with all that was beautiful and sublime, now gazed upon them without pleasure. Metazolis left Corinth in the first vessel which departed, amious to see his sister, and to bear his friend from Greece, where every thing conspired to bringtfto his mind his failures. Far different were the feelings with which Erostratus had entered Corinth, and now bade it a final farewell. They reached Ephesus. Mctazulis found noneofhsdomestics awaiting his return ; but what was their ansicty, their horror, upon finding the house closed, and the door-posts marked with the insignia of death! They hastily opened the door. All is silence and desolationErostratus rushes to the sitting room, where he had parted from Lesbia. Metazulis following, arrives to see him fall senseless upon the couch, whereon reposed the dead body of his sister, at whose head sat the motionless domestics, murmuring the prayers for the



In a month after the ashes of Lesbia had been consigned to the tomb, those of Metazulis were laid beside them. The wealth of Metazulis was now the property of Erostratus, but could gold purchase peace for his anguished soul? Never was he seen to smile, and his solitary hours (and how few of his hours were not solitary?) were passed in grief and lamentation. The love of immortality remained inextinguishable in his breast, and he resolved upon an achievement which should give his name a place in the page of history; and in the moments of his phrenzy, he imagined that the name of Lesbia would appear in the record with his, and that this would be accepted by her shade as an atonement on his part, for the fate in which her love for him had smoked her. In the middle of a dark and tempestuous right, he applied a torch to that temple, the boast of Ephesus, the wonder of the world! The Greek historians of after days asserted that the goddess was in Maredon attending to the birth of Alexander. Her fane was destroyed and reduced to a mass of blackened ruin. Erostratus unhesitatingly avowed himself the incendiary, and the rack could force no reply from him but the fry " I did it for immortality." He was condemned to be burnt to death, and expired in the most dreadful torture, with a smile upon his countenance and the name of Lesbia upon his lips. The magistrates, lest his desire of an immortal memory should be gratified, denounced death upon all who should pronounce his name, that it might be blotted out forever.

About twenty years subsequently, a citizen of Ephesus, and his friend from Athens, were walking upon the shore of the sea, a few miles from the former city. There were a number of young Ephesians exercising themselves in athletic sports upon the sands, at whom they looked for a while, and then passed on. After a few steps they stopped to examine something over which the sea was breaking near the shore. A few human bones blackened and mouldering met their gaze. "Near this spot," said the Ephcsian, "we burnt Erostratus." "Who was he?" replied the Athenian, "I do not remember to have ever heard of him." The Ephesian made no reply but hurried his friend on board a small fishing boat, and put to sea. It was long before the Athenian could obtain an explanation of this singular conduct from his agitated friend. The Ephesian at length reminded him of the edict, and avowed that the forbidden name had escaped his lip, and been overheard by the youths who we.e near them. A vessel bound to Greece picked them up. The Ephesian settled in Attica, never daring to return to his native country. The greater portion of the incidents recorded above were communicated by him to his friend, and the tale, corroborated by others, became well known throughout Greece; but at Ephesus, no one for centuries dared to utter the forbidden name of Erostratus.


[We have rather accidentally met with these two poems, The Belles of Williamsburg, and the Sequel to the Belles of Williamsburg, both written and circulated in that place in 1777. These pieces are believed to have been either composed by two different gentlemen, or to have been the joint production of both. As we cannot, however, assign to each his due share, we do not think ourselves at liberty to mention their names— which (although the authors in question are now no more,) are still distinguished names in Virginia.]

Wilt thou, advenl'rous pen, describe
The gay, delightful, silken tribe,

That maddens all our city;
Nor dread, lest while you foolish claim
A near approach to beauty's flame,

Icarus' fate may hit ye.

With singed pinions tumbling down,
The scorn and laughter of the town,

Thou'lt rue thy daring flight;
While every miss with cool contempt,
Affronted by the bold attempt,

Will, tittering, view thy plight.

Ye girls, to you devoted ever,
The object still of our endeavor

Is somehow to amuse you;
And if instead of higher praise,
You only laugh at these rude lays,

We'll willingly excuse you.

Advance then each illustrious maid,
In order bright to our parade,

With beauty's ensigns gay;
And first, two nymphs who rural plains
Forsook, disdaining rustic swains,

And here exert their sway.

Myrtilla's beauties who can paint?
The well turned form, the glowing teint,

May deck a common creature;
But who can make th' expressive soul
With lively sense inform the whole,

And light up every feature.

At church Myrtilla lowly kneels,
No passion but devotion feels,

No smiles her looks environ;
But let her thoughts to pleasure fly,
The basilisk is in her eye

And on her tongue the Syren.

More vivid beauty—fresher bloom,
With teints from nature's richest loom

In Sylvia's features glow;
Would she Myrtilla's arts apply,
And catch the magic of her eye,

She'd rule the world below.

See Laura, sprightly nymph, advance,
Through all the mazes of the dance,
With light fantastic toe;

Vol. II.—60

See laughter sparkle in her eyes—
At her approach new joys arise,
New fires within us glow.

Such sweetness in her look is seen,
Such brilliant elegance of mien,

So jauntie and so airy;
Her image in our fancy reigns,
All night she gallops through our veins,

Like little Mab the fairy.

Aspasia next, with kindred soul,
Disdains the passions that control

Each gentle pleasing art;
Her sportive wit, her frolic lays,
And graceful form attract our praise,

And steal away the heart.

We see in gentle Delia's face,
Expressed by every melting grace,

The street complacent mind;
While hovering round her, soft desires,
And hope gay smiling fan their fires,

Each shepherd thinks her kind.

The god of love mistook the maid,
For his own Psyche, and 'tis said

He still remains her slave;
And when the boy directs her eyes
To pierce where every passion lies,

Not age itself can save.

With pensive look and head reclined,
Sweet emblems of the purest mind,

Lo! where Cordelia sits;
On Dion's image dwells the fair—
Dion the thunderbolt of war,

The prince of modern wits.

Not far removed from her side,
Statira sits in beauty's pride,

And rolls about her eyes;
Thrice happy for the unwary heart,
That affectation blunts the dart

That from her quiver flies.

Whence does that beam of beauty dawn?
What lustre overspreads the lawn?

What suns those rays dispense?
From Artemisia's brow they came,
From Artemisia's eyes the flame

That dazzles every sense.

At length, fatigued with beauty's blaze,
The feeble muse no more essays

Her picture to complete;
The promised charms of younger girls,
When nature the gay scene unfurls,

Some happier bard shall treat.


Ye bards that haunt the tufted shade,
Where murmurs thro' the hallowed glade,

The Heliconian spring—
Who bend before Apollo's shrine,
And dance and frolic with the nine,

Or touch the trembling string—

And ye who bask in beauty's blaze,
Enlivening as the orient rays

From fair Aurora's brow,
Or those which from her crescent shine,
When Cynthia with a look benign,

Regards the world below—

Say, why, amidst the vernal throng, Whose virgin charms inspired your song

With sweet poetic lore, With eager look th' enraptured swain, For Isidore's form in vain,

The picture should explore.

Shall sprightly Isidora yield,
To Laura the distinguished field,

Amidst the vernal throng?
Or shall Aspasia's frolic lays
From Leonella snatch the bays,

The tribute of the song?

Like hers I ween the blushing rose,
On Sylvia's polished cheek that glows,

And hers the velvet lip,
To which the cherry yields its hue,
Its plumpness and ambrosial dew

Which even Gods might sip.

What partial eye a charm can find,
In Delia's look, or Delia's mind,

Or Delia's melting grace,
Which cannot in Miranda's mien,
Or winning smile or brow serene,

A rival beauty trace?

Sweet as the balmy breath of spring, Or odors from the painted wing

Of Zephyr as he flies, Brunctta's charms might surely claim, Amidst the votaries of fame,

A title to the prize.

What giddy raptures fill the brain, When tripping o'er the verdant plain,

Florella joins the throng! Her look each throbbing pain beguiles, Beneath her footsteps Nature smiles,

And joins the poet's song.

Here even critic Spleen shall find,
Each beauty that adorns the mind,

Or decks the virgin's brow;
Here Envy with her venomed dart,
Shall find no vulnerable part,

To aim the deadly blow.

Could such perfection nought avail?
Or could the fair Belinda fail

To animate your lays?
For might not such a nymph inspire
With sportive notes the trembling lyre

Attuned to virgin praise?

The sister graces met the maid,
Beneath the myrtle's fragrant shade,

When love the season warms;
Deluded by her graceful mien,
They fancied her the Cyprian queen,

And decked her with their charms.

Say then why thus with heedless flight,
The panegyric muse should slight

A train so blythe and fair,
Or why so soon fatigued, she flies
No longer in her native skies,

Bui tumbles through the air.

NO. I.


The chambers in which the British Parliament are accustomed to assemble, have nothing of the theatrical aspect of the halls for political exhibition built in France for the representations of its" representative government.

Let us enter the chamber of the Commons. Here you see no amphitheatre for the ladies, no boxes for the Peers, nor for the corps diplomatique. A narrow gallery, only, is reserved for the reporters, and another, more spacious, is open to the public. Here are no costly marbles, no statues, no gilding. It is truly nothing but a chamber—a vast apartment, of greater length than width, without ornaments of any sort—indeed, perfectly naked.

Conceive that we are looking from the public gallery.

Directly before us, at the bottom, is a sort of sentrybox, surmounted by the royal arms. There, in an aiTn chair covered with green leather, sits the speaker, in his Mack robe and greyish mittens, solemnly dressed out in an immense wig, the wings of which fall to his waist.

At his feet is a narrow table, at which the principal clerk is seated, supporting on his two hands a large face, smiling impurturbably under a little perruque that han»s over his head in the form of a horse-shoe.

The benches on which the members sit, are ranged rectilinearly in different divisions, to the right and left, and in front of the speaker. Every one places himself in the position that is most agreeable to himself, and sits, or stands, at his pleasure. Every member wears his hat, except when addressing the speaker. Every one speaks from the place in which he finds himself at the moment. It is not to the house, however, but to the speaker that they must address themselves.

The simple and country-like habits of the house are ■ell suited to the character of representatives of the people. It proves that the Commons meet not to take part in a show, but to discharge the business of the country.

At three o'clock the speaker enters the chamber, preceded by the chief of the ushers, the mace on his shoulder, and followed by R sergcant-at-arms, with a sword at his side, and dressed in black after the French fashion. Arrived at his chair, the speaker first counts the members present. If there be forty, the session is opened, and the chaplain repeats his prayers, to •hich every member listens, standing and uncovered, with his face towards the back of his bench.

Generally the first hours are consumed in matters of minor importance. Local and private bills are discuss

♦ Translated from it number of the Eerue des Deux Monies.

ed. The benches begin to be filled between eight and nine in the evening. The house is rarely full before midnight. From this period till two in the morning, they discuss great questions, such as are likely to bring on an important vote.

Such are the English. They distrust, beyond all reason, the frivolity of their own minds. They consider it always dangerous to embark in grave affairs, if their dinner has not been stored away to serve as ballast. It is indispensable that they should meditate and mature their opinions and their eloquence, while engaged in drinking their wine and grog.

When simple Mr. Brougham (the period of his greatest glory) Lord Brougham never came to the House of Commons until he had emptied three bottles of Port. It was at the bottom of his glass that he found calmness, wisdom, and discretion. But since his elevation to the House of Lords, his lordship is forced to speak fasting. It is in consequence of this change that he is now always intoxicated. The sobriety of his stomach produces the intemperance of his tongue and of his brain.

The invariable prolongation of its sittings late into the night, is the cause that the House of Commons never assembles on Saturday. Encroachment on the Sabbath would otherwise be an inevitable legislative sacrilege; and we must admit, that it would be with but bad grace that the Parliament alone should violate the Puritanical laws which it so rigorously maintains, and which prescribe, during the twenty-four hours of that sacred day, the most absolute and universal idleness.

Two words of personal statistics at present.

The House of Commons contains four hundred and seventy-one members for England, twenty-nine for Wales, fifty-three for Scotland, and a hundred and five for Ireland—in all, six hundred and fifty-eight. On important occasions, very few fail to appear at their posts. Six hundred and twenty-two voted, at the commencement of this session, on the election of the present speaker. Mr. Abercromby, elected by the opposition, obtained a majority of but eight votes over Sir Charles Manners Sutton, the candidate of the then ministry.

You observe that the chamber is divided into two parts, almost equal in size. On one side, the ministry and the reformers; on the other, the conservatives, forming the present opposition.

Each of these grand divisions may perhaps be subdivided. Among the reformers or whigs, radical reformers, pure radicals, and repealers ;* among the conservatives, the old tories and the demi-conservalives. Such subdivisions, however, are useless. It is no easy thing to distinguish these different shades of opinion. Besides, they are every day becoming gradually less distinct, and will soon present but two parties.

In the first place, are there any whigs? Are the whigs a party? I answer, no. There are some great noblemen, some minister-lords, whose ancestors were whigs, but they themselves are not. To continue the leaders of a true political party, they have been forced to become radicals, and to make themselves interpreters and advocates of the popular wants. What has been

♦ The repeaters are Irish members advocating the repeal ofthe union between Ireland and England.

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