man. Where had they fled, and wherefore to leave the earth so dull and the night so voiceless, which once had rung with many a silvery laugh. Where? Where had they departed? I longed to behold them, as the forsaken nightingale sighs for its mated love, and with the excess of ardent desire was about to stretch forth my hands and call on them to appear, as if my voice could wake them from their crystal cells, when a sound struck my ear, and I paused. It was a low stream of music. Distinct but distant, it was at first only just audible. Gradually approaching, however, it grew louder, and at length filled the air with its aerial waves. My very breath almost hushed as death, lest aught should escape me to break the stillness or destroy the harmony, whose melodious strains appeared like sounds from another sphere. I drew myself noiselessly beneath the shadow of a giant tree, which grew close to my resting-place, and waited the result. Suddenly the recesses of the forest were illumined as by the stroke of a magician's wand; and many a mossy bank and caverned grot became visible, which until that night had never been confest to a mortal's gaze. The music melted into a soft soul-subduing stream, like to the distant echo of the shepherd's reed down a Thessalian vale in olden times, and a being of matchless beauty advanced to the open space. A kind of halo seemed to surround her, and to mark her footsteps, as it were the reflection of her loveliness. I turned my eyes away from her dazzling countenance, for like the midday sun it blinded my glance with its brilliancy. And I knew that she was Venus, the goddess of beauty and love, who had not forsaken the world entirely, although but seldom seen and known ameng mankind. She passed by with stately step, and dissolved from my gaze; and the earth, though illuminated as by a myriad of glow-worms, looked dark in her absence. Then from out the forest came three forms, scarcely less beautiful, and they pursued their way in loving converse, twined together like lilies in a garland; and with entranced eye I gazed on the receding forms of the Graces. Presently the music, which had hitherto continued in a voluptuous yet lively strain, changed by degrees to a more mournful air, and a still more unbreathing silence pervaded all around, while a cluster of nine maidens, fair beyond the beauty of earth, appeared before me. Their countenances were marked by the tranquillity that belongs to deep thought, and somewhat sad withal, for the last of the poets had just fallen before the shaft of grim Azrael; and now none remained among the harsh spirits of mortality, who would seek the fountain where the Muses poured forth their inspiration. So their eyes were shaded by the downcast lash, they moved as with shackled feet, and all things seemed saddened by their sorrow, and partakers of their distress. Anon the music rose again in brisk and Bacchic measures; and the god of the ruby lip and merry glance stood beside me, his hair wreathed into a thousand curls, and recking with the odours of wine. Accompanied by the hoary Silenus, who had intoxicated his limbs into the joy of a second youth: and reclined his giant stature at my feet, and called for the juice of the enlivening grape. He clapped his hands, and amid mirth and laughter, and shrieks of boisterous glee, the satyr and frolicking faun came forward leaping in the moonlight. Seizing the pipes and classic reeds that were suspended from their necks, they played a merry chaunt like the carol of early birds, and Pan sang to their piping. And now from every side came troops of forms, who mingled with the rest-the Dryads and the Homodryads, the nymphs of ocean, and those who bore away Hylas from the arms of Hercules down the river's tide, and the inhabitants of air, the Sylph and the Gnome; and last and least came the tiny fairies, tripping lightly over the grass. Titania and Oberon mounted their thrones of pearl, and the magic circle having been drawn about the spot, their trains danced with the rest of the fairy group to the pipes of the satyrs. My eyes revelled in the glory of the sight, and I could scarcely take them off to look on Bacchus. Joy and merriment flashed from his lips as he watched their evolutions; and he held aloft the sparkling goblet, filled with the mantling blood of the vine, the only blood he ever shed, and quaffed long and deeply, until his features glistened with light, and the jovial laughter-loving god felt he was indeed divine. "And what think you of our revels?" said he, turning to me in a voice so mellow and rich, that it sounded like the note of a horn. "Wonderful and strange are they," I replied, "and beautiful beyond man's imagining; but are they in truth the spirits of the days of old, or merely the unreal shadows of a passing dream?"" "Real and existent as yourself," said the god; "but wherefore do you ask?" "I thought they had fled from the earth!" The brow of Bacchus waxed stern as he replied-" Had been hunted from it, you mean! Is it not so? Where now are their temples and their fanes? not only forsaken, but destroyed; and their votaries! who is there that loves the solitude of the fairies, or bends his footsteps to their haunts beneath the light of the summer moon?" My tongue clove to the roof of my mouth, and I could make no reply. "It was not thus of old," he continued in a melancholy voice; "there was once a time ere the wiles of the tongue and the art of the scholar superseded the might of the mailed hand, when their temples were the hearts of man, and they were worshipped there! But the lore of the student came, and the creed that had been hallowed by the tradition of centuries no longer met with veneration or belief. With the age of chivalry and romance passed away the tie that bound the fairy race to mankind. And what benefit has resulted from the change? Man was then hardy as iron, well proportioned, and stately as the fir beneath which we lie; and like him of old, his glorious strength sufficed to rend the oak. What is he now? His form is bent even from the cradle; he is old ere he reaches middle age, deformed in stature, and crooked in mind; his tongue only speaks to conceal his thoughts, and to mislead; while in the days of which I tell, the word flew from the heart to the lip without baseness and without guile. Man once had the bravery of the lion, where he now has the tortuous windings of the snake." "Were men indeed so noble ?" I ventured to exclaim, not sharing this reverence for the golden age,' as the god paused for a moment in his angry harangue. 66 They differed from the present race as the leopard from the fox; bah, they could have played at skittles with such fellows as you; they could have hurled you from their slings with as much ease as they discharged cloth-yard shafts from their bows against an enemy's battlement." As I pondered on these words, I made due allowance for the mortifications Bacchus must daily experience in contemplating the growing disrespect with which his ordinances are treated by us in the "foremost files of time;" and I was gazing in reverie on the gleaming forms before me mingled in the mazes of the dance, when a cock crew, and they immediately vanished. Turning to the god who had just ceased speaking at my side, I perceived that his form too was growing dim and shapeless; but I heard a voice say, as he disappeared, "When next the moon is at the full await me here, and we will again converse together concerning the past." W. B. BATEMAN. LITERATUR E. THE PRINCESS: A MEDLEY. By Alfred Tennyson. (Moxon.)-What a delight-what a joy-after the scores of tomes of verses" it has been our penalty to read, our duty to notice, but which we have generally dismissed with fewer lines than graced each title-page-not caring to break butterflies on a wheel-what a joy to come upon a true Poem! Nay, there was a sort of tremulous pleasure in cutting the leaves-for we had faith in Alfred Tennysonand knew that the author of "Locksley Hall," "The Talking Oak," "Dora," "Love and Duty," and such gems more than "five words long," "That on the stretch'd forefinger of all Time Sparkle for ever," readers will recollect an article which appeared in these pages a few months ago, partly translated from the "Revue des Deux Mondes," and entitled "A French Estimate of Alfred Tennyson;" we have often purposed to take up the theme, and tell, with all humility, where we agreed and where we differed from the writer; but it was not a task to be performed carelessly and hurriedly, and our good intentions have been perforce from time to time postponed. Now we have but to deal with "The Princess; a Medley." The story is of the simplest; a story set between a prologue and an epilogue, like some rich Titian's picture in a carved oak frame: and quaint burlesque and some sly humour make it a medley-because the poet has grave things to say, which he must entice the herd to listen to, by the promise of a pleasant jest. With prudes for proctors, dowagers for deans, And sweet girl-graduates in their golden hair, where it is death for man to enter. But love dares all things, and Ida was contracted in her childhood to the "Northern Prince," who tells the story, and how would not be false to his own genius and the day in which he writes. Besides, in certain circles rumour had been busy; a little was The Princess Ida, half a man-despiser by naknown about "The Princess" weeks before it ture, and half by education, determines, in the was published. Somebody's wife's-brother-in-bloom and pride of her youth and beauty, to law's-cousin knew somebody who was on inti- found a college for her sex, mate terms with the Bard, and had heard passages recited or read; and though good faith was perfectly kept, it did transpire that the poem was something new-strange-beautiful! And here it is. And what a delight and joy, after the chink of so much false metal, to hear the ring of the pure gold!-to listen to the swelling sounds of a harp that never jars, and see the forms and "things of beauty" through the clear crystal of a Poet's words! We can scarcely suppose any true lover of English poetry ignorant of Tennyson's former volumes; and yet it is not beyond the bounds of possibility With two dear friends companions, the three, that such may be the case. The course of his disguised as girls, though Ida exclaims, appreciation has been curious and slow: for a long time, even for years, he was the poet of the "What! are the ladies of your land so tall?”— Few; but from that glowing and diffusive centre, gain admittance to her palace-college; and here the circle has widened, and is widening with the descriptive powers of the poet shine out almost mathematical precision. Many of our resplendently. The order which prevails-and And one dark tress; and all around them both queen. yet the Babel-like murmur of tongues that is heard-the idea of numbers that is conveyed —defy all means save the poet's own to shadow forth; the little bits of mock heroic-the radiant beauty which is described-choice and various as the flowers of June-and the deep under-current of noble thought, whose unity controls all, furnish us with but one comparison; and this we borrow from one of Tennyson's earlier poems. Were his "Dream of Fair Women" a mirror, (and is it not?) and were it broken to countless pieces, yet so that each particle reflected its entireness truly, then by this multiplication of soul, and heart, and beauty, should we get some notion of the populousness of this poem. A feeling comes upon you that a mighty crowd is present; among which are many of the truest and noblest women speaking through the poet's lips-women worthy of comparison with the Princess, of whom her lover says And take them all-in-all, Were we ourselves but half as good, as kind, How the discovery takes place-how the Prince saves Ida from drowning-how lives are spared, but how war is proposed-how a tourney takes place, and how Ida's brother is forbid to slay her lover-because "his mother lives"— is it not all written in the book itself? And shall we not rather occupy our space with extracts from a poem that to shallow minds perhaps may show but shallow or many-sided meanings. And yet has it but One them who have eye, and ear, and heart to perceive it a meaning that comes upon "a wind of prophecy." One cannot even describe the Thing without quotation of its riches. The following half-earnest half-playful passage is from a lecture by the Lady Psyche purpose till warming with her theme, She fulmined out her scorn of laws Salique, And little-footed China; touched on Mahomet With much contempt, and came to chivalry, When some respect, however slight, was paid To woman, superstition all awry: However, then commenced the dawn: a beam Had slanted forward, falling in a land for Of promise; fruit would follow. Deep, indeed, Woman and man. Here might they learn whatever men were taught; And bowed her state to them, that they might grow In the arms of leisure, sacred from the blight At last Two plummets dropt for one, to sound the abyss Would that we had space for the Prince's defence of himself, or the description of the tumult; brief snatches must suffice: Oh, not to pry and peer on your reserve, * Let me say but this, That many a famous man and woman, town And landskip have I heard of, after seen The dwarfs of presage; though when known there grew Another kind of beauty in detail Made them worth knowing; but in you I found I cannot cease to follow you as they say eyes, And so she would have spoken, but there rose How can we help italicising such lines as the last? Or not find room for part of Ida's indignant harangue? I blame ye not so much for fear; Six thousand years of fear have made ye that From which I would redeem ye: but for those That stir this hubbub-you, and you-I know Your faces there in the crowd-to-morrow morn We meet to elect new tutors; then shall they That love their voices more than duty, learn With whom they deal, dismissed in shame to live No wiser than their mothers, household stuff, Live chattels, mincers of each other's fame, Full of weak poison, turnspits for the clown, The drunkard's football, laughing-stocks of Time, Whose brains are in their hands and in their heels, But fit to flaunt, to dress, to dance, to thrum, To tramp, to scream, to burnish, and to scour, For ever slaves at home and fools abroad. She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care: Our extracts have been long-and yet if we dared we would make them longer; of the beautiful lyrics which are interspersed-exquisitely beautiful beyond all common beauty-one or more we would fain have introduced. Our praise has been warm, and yet we feel that nothing worthy of the theme has been said! MIDSUMMER EVE. A Fairy Tale of Love. By Mrs. S. C. Hall. (Longman.)-We must redeem our promise of giving an extract from this charming book, and atone for our want of space last number. The artistic beauty of the volume defies our power to describe; and they who are familiar with Mrs. Hall's earnest and womanly writings (and who is not?) need not to be told of the beauty and fascination of the story, in which the natural and supernatural are so beautifully blended; and the latter is made the vehicle for the holiest teaching. We have chosen the description of the shipwreck, when Sydney and Eva are on their way to England, the unknown artist seeking to fling himself into the vortex of the metropolis. On a sudden a sunk rock, that projected under water, considerably below the limits of the visible point, struck the bow of the ship; instantly she swung round; her head cleared, but her stern coming on the rock, struck repeatedly, and the sea being very heavy, her rudder broke away, and all her works aloft were shivered. For a moment, helpless as she she forged off, but at the same instant ran upon another rock, the sea breaking over her. A halfsuffocated cry of despair arose from the deck; several was, And yet, vanquished by Love, at last she persons were washed overboard. The confusion of owns her error, but prayed him That wrong'd it. not to judge their cause from her "Blame not thyself too much," I said, "nor blame Too much the sons of men and barbarous laws; That seem to keep her up, but drag her down a death-struggle succeeded, but the captain never for an instant lost his presence of mind. Some cried, "the boats! the boats!" and seemed about to rush into them, as they tossed about, half full of water, knowing that the ship could not long hold together. captain knew there was still water on the other side: If there were any means of getting on the reef, the but the breakers lashed the ship furiously, and dashed in a fearful gully between it and the reef. It was impossible, the most daring thought, to attempt, short as it was, to cross it. No one, for an instant, supposed they who had been washed overboard could clamber the precipice. The fog was evidently clearing off, the light increasing, and the ship did not pitch as unceasingly, shaking rather as the surge dashed over her. At last they heard a hail from the reef, and, much to their astonishment, they saw the figure of one of their crew: he was saved! He made signs to them to throw him a rope lower down, and descended, with an ease which proved him unhurt, to a point where a rope might be secured. Every moment increased the danger of those who clung to the ship: if she got off the " spike," on which she was, as it were, impaled, she must instantly settle and sink. Every effort was made to fling a rope across, but in vain. One bold-hearted fellow offered to carry it through the surge: a plunge, and he struggled bravely; but a spar struck him, and he sunk. This made the bravest shudder. Sidney and Eva clung together, not venturing to look into the abyss. Keeldar, as if understanding the peril and the resource, eyed the distance with his deep blood-rock, he pressed the glove into her hand. Each as shot eye, and whined. "He is not a water-dog, unfortunately," said the captain. Eva bent down and kissed the creature's head. He looked up into her face, and licked her hand. "He will try if I tell him," she observed to the captain. "You will go, Keeldar!" The dog shook himself, advanced his forepaws to the edge of the vessel, and looked steadily forward. The sailor on the reef comprehended what was going forward, and let himself down, so that he stood hip-high in the water. Eva ungloved her hand, and attempted to fasten the glove to the rope (this was done for her): she showed it to the dog, told him he was to carry it there-pointing across. It was flung off, and the gallant brute sprang after it with such high courage, that at the shout raised by the sailors the white pigeon, which must have sheltered somewhere in the rigging through the storm, fluttered towards the reef. "Do not look, Eva: I will tell you what occurs,' said Sidney, as he turned her face to his bosom. "I do not see him yet, my love: all is one mass of foam; the rope floats idly-no, he has it! he has it! Good dog-no, it is loose again; no, he has it; I see his head!" "Let it go! let it go! he is uncoiling it; steady!" cried the captain. "Lady," he added, "call loudly to the dog; he will hear your voice." he arrived greeted the dog as their preserver; but he responded to no caress of a stranger hand. Sidney wished to remain to the last with the captain; but he would not permit him, and Eva watched with her husband his every movement with intense anxiety, as he stood alone upon the reeling deck, taking a last farewell of the timbers he had regarded with fidelity and affection. He had hardly swung himself off, when a heavy sea struck the ship, and so completely unseated her, that the ropes were cast from their holdings, and the gallant officer was immersed in the waves. The men pulled as if their lives were still in his keeping; even Eva put her frail strength to the rescue; all shouted to him as with one voice to hold on; and so great was their anxiety to preserve his life, that they hardly noticed the utter destruction of the vessel, which, before he was landed on the reef, had gone to pieces so completely, that nothing could be seen but the spars and bulk-heads, jostling each other in the trough of the sea, which had lifted her up, and then dashed her into fragments. One or two old sailors declared there must have been a "reason" for all this-in the summertime!-something not right going on; for they had heard sounds such as thunder never uttered, and seen shadows on the deck never reflected from mortal form. This they whispered to each other, looking out for the white pigeon, which seemed to have passed from the reef as mysteriously as from the ship. Keeldar might have been a popular dog, if he had had popular manners; but he never courted "the people" and when each had patted him on the head, and all admired his courage and sagacity, there seemed to arise a tacit understanding that he only desired the approbation of his mistress! Eva was at once herself: she advanced, nothing heeding her dripping garments, nor the deaths which gaped around her. Beneath her feet a thousand demons were tugging at the yet firm-set planks, reeving them one from the other, and yelling half in mockery, half in triumph. Some of the passengers lay on the shelving deck, so ill as to be indifferent whether life or death were at hand. Each wave shook the shattered bark, as it hissed and spattered over the timbers: but Eva stood like Hope, steady to the anchor, on the spot from which Keeldar had plunged. "Forward, good Keeldar; forward, brave dog, forward!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands. He turned his head once towards his mistress, but swam on. All knew their lives depended on his strength and sagacity: they grouped together, watch-blished authors, have hitherto been given us in ing with panting hearts and straining eyes the movements of his head as he struggled onwards. Again Eva encouraged him, and all felt the influence of her voice. Eagerly at last the sailor grasped the rope, and waved his arm in triumph; but the dog would not yield up his charge. "It is the glove he wants," exclaimed Eva, in agony. The captain put his trumpet to his mouth. "Give him the glove." There had been a fierce and determined wrestling between the man and the dog; but it ceased at once. The sailor clambered to the nearest ledge, the rope coiled round his arm; while Keeldar, unable to shake the water from his coat, shut his teeth firmly on the glove. Still the waves rolled on, though the gale abated. The sailor on the reef made fast his rope; but it had been injured in its progress, and was unequal to much weight. Doing as he was ordered, the little cabin-boy coiled one of great strength round his slim body, and grappled the other, foot by foot, across the abyss. Oh! if his mother had been there to see him! That secured, two strong men went over to provide for the safety of those who were to follow, and, valuable as time was, there was no confusion. Nothing could keep the trembling Keeldar tranquil during the minute that his mistress was wafted across; but when she was lifted to the THE PARLOUR LIBRARY. (Simms and M'Intyre.)—The eleventh volume of this excellent and wonderfully cheap publication presents, if we mistake not, an entirely new feature. Reissues of deservedly popular works, by esta "The Emi clear type, a portable form, and with tasteful 66 |