"Rise! germ of Powhattan," he cries, "it is meet My own bird of beauty! thy wing was too fleet, Now harmless the death-weapon drops on the ground, The soul of a princess, indeed, was enshrined EULOGIUM UPON FEMALE AUTHORS. In one of the Noctes in Blackwood's Magazine, the Ettrick Shepherd pronounces the following beautiful eulogium : "Oh, sirs! what a glorious galaxy of female genius and virtue have we to gaze on with adoration pure and unreproved in our own native hemisphere. There-that is the large and lustrous star of Joanna Baillie-and there the star of Hamilton-and Edgeworth-and Grant-and Austen-and Tighe -and Mitford-and Hemans! beautiful and beloved in all the relations of Christian life, these are the women, Mr. North, maids, wives, or widows, whom the religious spirit of the protestant land will venerate as long as the holy fires of a pure faith burn upon their altars. These are the ladies, Mr. Tickler, and thank God we have many like them, although less conspicuous, who, to guard from insult of look or whisper, or touch, what man, English, Scotch, or Irish, but would meet his death? and why? because the union of genius and purity is a soul-uplifting sight, and ratifies the great bond of nature, by which we are made heirs of the immortal sky." FLOWERS. BY MRS. SIGOURNEY. I'll tell the a story, sweet If thou'lt keep it safe in thy faithful breast, I had a lover, once, In my early, sunny hours, I remember its waking sigh, We roam'd in a verdant spot, But I was a giddy girl, So I toss'd it soon away, And gather'd the dandelion buds, And the wild grape's gadding spray. He mark'd their blended hues, With a sad and reproachful eye, For one was the symbol of thoughtless mirth, Yet he would not be baffled thus, And a brilliant and fresh bouquet, I could not refuse the gift, Though I knew the spell it wove, But I gave him back a snow white bud, L. 35. 1. с Then he proffer'd a myrtle wreath And took the liberty,-only think, And he prest in my yielding hand, Whose questioning lips of perfume breathed, Yet we were but children, still, And our love though it seemed so sweet, Though he brought the laurus leaf, Oft o'er his vaunted love, So I put a French marigold in his hat, But the rootless passion shrank Till the shivering ice-plant best might mark And he sail'd o'er the faithless sea, Hartford, Connecticut. EFFECTS OF TRANSLATION. Cato's soliliquy has been translated from the French into Dutch. The line "It must be so; Plato, thou reasonest well." on being restored to its native language reads literally"Just so, Mynheer Plato, you're quite right." |