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or tenth syllable, are those most gratifyin g to the ear. The following description of a serene Winter Night, by Shelley, is a specimen of

this measure.

"How beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh,
Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear,
Were discord to the speaking quietude,

That wraps this moveless scene.

Heaven's ebon vault,

Studded with stars unutterably bright,

Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls,
Seems like a canopy which Love had spread,

To curtain her sleeping world, yon gentle hills
Robed in a garment of untrodden snow;
Yon darksome walls, whence icicles depend,
So stainless that their white and glittering spears
Tinge not the moon's pure beam; yon castled steep,
Whose banner hangeth o'er the time-worn Tower
So idly, that rapt fancy deemeth it

A metaphor of PEACE,-all form a scene,
Where musing SOLITUDE might love to lift

Her soul above this sphere of earthliness;

Where SILENCE undisturbed might watch alone,
So cold, so bright, so still!"

There are a few blemishes in the above verses, but they are scarcely worth noticing. The eighth line has a syllable too many. The pauses on the third syllable in the eleventh and fourteenth lines are not pleasant and perhaps it is a defect that in eighteen lines there is not one final pause at the end of a line.

The euphony of Blank-verse is exactly the same as that of the heroic rhyme so much used by Pope and his imitators. If the reader will make the last syllable of every two lines of any piece of musical blank-verse rhyme together, and pay no attention to the full pauses, except when they fall at the close of the line, he will perceive what I mean. Perhaps, however, I had better save him the trouble of rhyming, and try to do it myself; I shall deform Shelley's verses in the attempt, but I must request that the sound, and not the sense, be attended to.

How beautiful this night," the balmiest sigh

Which vernal zephyrs" breathe in evening sky (ear),

Where discord" to the speaking quiet (ude) now

That wraps this moveless scene.'
"Heaven's ebon brow (vault),

Studded with stars" unutterably clear (bright),

Through which the moon's" unclouded beams appear (grandeur rolls),
Seems like a canopy" which Love had spread,

To curtain her sleeping world," when care had fled (yon gentle hills).

The HEROIC MEASURE is formed of couplets of corresponding rhymes, with lines of ten syllables. The full pause of sense and sound is generally at the end of a couplet. A slight pause of the voice (termed the cæsura,) must, however, be made about the fourth, fifth, or sixth syllable from the commencement of each line. I will subjoin a specimen from the Lamentation over " Palestine," by Heber, the late Bishop of Calcutta.

Where now thy pomp," which kings with envy viewed?
Where now thy might," which all those kings subdued?
No martial myriads" muster in thy gate;
No suppliant nations" in thy temples wait;
No prophet bards" thy glittering courts among,
Wake the full lyre" and swell the tide of song:
But lawless force" and meagre want are there,
And the quick-darting eye" of restless fear;
While cold Oblivion" mid thy ruins laid,

Folds his dark wing" beneath the ivy shade!

The OCTO-SYLLABIC verse, of the "fatal facility" of which Lord Byron has spoken, requires but few observations. There is scarcely any cæsural, and no full pause, except at the end of the line. If there be any cæsural pause besides the one at the end of the line, it is generally at the fourth syllable. The poet who has written most, and with the greatest success, in this measure, is Sir Walter Scott. I shall give an extract from the "Lay of the Last Minstrel," one of his most delightful productions.

"The way was long, the wind was cold,

The minstrel was infirm and old;

His withered cheek, and tresses gray,
Seemed to have known a better day.
The harp, his sole remaining joy,
Was carried by an orphan boy;
The last of all the Bards was he,

Who sung a Border chivalry."

The HEROIC and OCTO-SYLLABIC metres, when used with alternate rhymes, form the QUARTRAIN, or verse of four lines. The following are specimens.

"The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea,
The ploughman homewards plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me."

Gray's Elegy in a Country Church-yard.

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The SPENSEREAN STANZA, SO called from its having been introduced by Spenser, is of Italian origin. It has been rendered very popular of late, by the publication of Lord Byron's Childe Harold, which is written in that measure. It is extremely elaborate, and somewhat intricate;* but there are few species of verse that gratify the ear with such a volume of melodious sounds. The full majestic sweep of the concluding line, is in the highest degree grand and impressive. Is is termed an Alexandrine; that is, a line of twelve syllables, with the cæsura on the sixth syllable. In other respects, the rules for the position of the pauses in this stanza, are nearly the same

* A labyrinth of sweet sounds.---HAZLITT.

as those for blank-verse; the only difference is, that the full pauses should rather more frequently close the line. The following is a fine model.

"Once more upon the waters! yet once more!
And the waves bound beneath me as a steed,
That knows its rider. Welcome to their roar !
Swift be their guidance, wheresoever it lead !
Though the strained mast should quiver as a reed,
And the rent canvas fluttering strew the gale,

Still must I on; for I am as weed,

Flung from the rock, on Ocean's foam to sail;

Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail !"

Lord Byron.

The SONNET is also of Italian origin. I have already occupied so much space, that I must somewhat abruptly conclude with a specimen of this complicated and difficult composition. I have gone through the principal forms of verse, but there are a great number not yet noticed. The reader, however, who is well acquainted with those I have thus feebly treated of, will easily comprehend the nature of any others he may meet with the following poem is constructed on the principles of the legitimate Italian Sonnet; a form of versification which admits of the melody and variety of blank-verse, with the addition of frequently recurring rhymes.

PAPAL DOMINION.

A SONNET, BY W. WORDSWORTH.
"Unless to Peter's chair the viewless wind
Must come, and ask permission when to blow,
What further empire would it have? for now
A ghostly Domination, unconfined

As that by dreaming Bards to Love assigned,
Sits there in sober truth---to raise the low---
Perplex the wise---the strong to overthrow---
Through earth and heaven to bind and to unbind !
Resist---the thunder quails thee! crouch---rebuff
Shall be thy recompense! from land to land
The ancient thrones of Christendom are stuff,
For occupation of a magic wand,

And 'tis the Pope that wields it,---whether rough
Or smooth his front, our world is in his hand !"†

This is by no means a favorable specimen of Mr. Wordsworth's Sonnets, which are often most exquisite; but it is the only legitimate one I can at this moment offer. I ought, perhaps, to explain the nature of the OTTAVA RIMA and the TERZA RIMA, both borrowed from the Italian, but this article is so much longer than I intended it to be, that I must embrace another opportunity. D. L. R.

Petrarca, Caxi, Bembo, and other distinguished poets, often bestowed the labour of months upon one sonnet. It is said of Bembo, that he had a desk with forty divisions, through which his sonnets passed in succession, before they were published, and at each transition they received some correction.

The concluding assertion is rather startling. The fact is, however, that the sonnet is one of a series, entitled "Ecclesiastical Sketches," and has reference to times less happy and liberal than the present.

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ROSES AND THORNS."

A

FRAGMENT.

"To kneel to pleasure, is to bow to pain."

OLD POEM.

This preternatural apparition of the majestic old man, did not long affect me with horror. His countenance, though unmoving, was all benignity and compassion; and, moreover, it was the only object visible to me through the dense vapour that surrounded us. On a sudden his lips stirred, and I heard, as from the hollows of the deep, the encouraging words, "Fear nothing." Immediately I could perceive from the backward motion of that enveloping mist, that we were hurrying on with great velocity; and in a space of time too short to be determined, we found ourselves in front of two gates very near each other, but in every point wholly dissimilar. We approached, and I examined them with close attention. That on the right hand was of the older architecture, but was incomparably superior to the other, in the state of its repair, and in the design and execution of its embellishments. On a bas-relief, surmounting the square door in the centre, was a sculptured paradise of angelical forms, innumerable as they were inimitable; and through a small lattice, at a convenient height from the ground, there was presented to the eye one of the most exquisitely charming landscapes that the mind of even Claude could imagine. On directing my view, however, to the gate on the left, all appeared gloomy and forsaken. The original arch that formed the entrance was so dilapidated, that what remained of it might be rather called an obstruction than a structure. That portion of it which was erect, seemed threatening annihilation to all beneath; and the blackening fragments that indented the ground were matted over with every kind of noisome weed. Yet, as I mentioned before, this remnant of an edifice was clearly of a subsequent date to the other. It stood in its destruction like a child of sin, whose brow has been stained with crime before age has silvered it: and yet this was the portal alluded to in the following inscription which I read upon the neighbouring architecture: "They who enter through me, shall depart through my fellow." The awful writing over Dante's gate of Hell, was but little more disheartening; yet when my venerable conductor looked wistfully at me, as if to know my intention, I laid my hand on the brilliant pannels, and on their yielding to my first touch, advanced eagerly towards the scene that had so delighted me. My feet had scarcely planted themselves within these heavenly precincts, than all fatigue in advancing was at an end. Though my limbs moved as before, it was without exertion; so that I rather glided than

So entitled, because neither roses nor thorns are the subject. Lucus a non lucendo. PRINTER'S DEVIL.

walked; and yet the air was quite perceptible, for my eyes twinkled with the enchanting freshness that greeted them, and my senses were half dissolved in the seraphic sounds and ambrosial perfumes breathing about me. Such living green, such deep, deep blue, and such burning gold, I had never beheld even in dreams. The murmur of cascades, the trickling of rivulets, the sighing of spring branches, and the rustling of autumn leaves,-to say nothing of the more touching melody of the birds,-made up a concert of sounds that no single climate or season could elsewhere have provided. But after all the varied enchantments, far more than I can describe, which attended the progress of me and my guide throughout this unearthly domain, I still was fixed motionless in admiration and delight, when there fell upon my eye what I judged to be the fairy dwelling of the happy spirit to whom this paradise belonged. It was a palace of inconceivable magnificence! The very materials were an exhaustless mine of wealth; and the decorations, the mosaics, the sculpturings, with which the walls were enriched, were of a value that nothing but the magic of art can give to even the costliest of earth's productions. A glory burst from the whole face of the building that resembled nothing I ever had conceived: but it was not only the grandeur and the gorgeousness of the pile,-its divine symmetry and tastefulness were its chief attractions. I would have passed the fatal ferry to set but one foot in such a heaven as I deemed it to be. On gazing more and more steadfastly, as I approached gradually nearer, I perceived with some degree of amazement, that the left side of the palace was joined by a small low and dingy mass of ruins, that presented a most chilling contrast to the brilliancy and grandeur of what it thus clung to. Even the witching effect of the golden domes that swelled on the right hand like sunset mountains into the sky, could not prevent my glance from settling now and then timidly on the vile shed that so disgraced its neighbourhood. I soon discovered that this shed was, in fact, of stone; and my blood curdled, as I remarked the small barred windows, and smaller air-holes, with which the exterior was perforated; however, there were some openings, unglazed, and even ungrated, so yawningly large, as to bely the first appearance of its being a prison. I wanted no longer to enquire into these anomalies, but hurried, as if in fear, into the vestibule on the right, and my doubts were soon quieted, for I forgot them. The towering and variegated columns, the glowing cornices, the veined and mosaicwrought floor, and the gorgeous dome over all, struck me at once with a feeling of present beauty and magnificence, that no inanimate, no material, objects had ever before inspired me with. But enchanting as was the apartment I stood in, that to which it led made me soon lose all thought of the former. Nothing "which art can reach, or science can define," was wanting in this hall of bliss. My soul was intoxicated with the lights, the colours, the sounds, the perfumes, and the thousand other witcheries that encircled me. There stood a goblet at the upper end of the saloon, that glittered like a constellation of gems. It looked brilliant as the sun, cool as the shower, and

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