Chapter III (2)

"If I go into Fore Street I find every body admiring the wood pavement. If I go on Cornhill I find the same--and all the great bankers in Lombard Street say, 'What a delightful thing this wood paving is! Sir Peter Laurie must be mad to endeavour to deprive us of it.' I told them not to be alarmed, for they might depend on it the good sense of this court would not allow so great and useful an improvement in street paving to retrograde in the manner sought to be effected by this revolution. I shall content myself with moving the previous question"--(cheers.)

It is probable that Mr Jones, in moving the previous question, contented himself a mighty deal more than he did Sir Peter; and the triumph of the woodites was increased when Mr Pewtress seconded the amendment:--

"If there is any time of the year when the wood pavement is more dangerous than another, probably the most dangerous is when the weather is of the damp, muggy, and foggy character which has been prevailing; and when all pavements are remarkably slippery. The worthy knight has shown great tact in choosing his time for bringing this matter before the public. We have had three or four weeks weather of the most extraordinary description I ever remember; not frosty nor wet, but damp and slippery; so that the granite has been found so inconvenient to horses, that they have not been driven at the common and usual pace. And I am free to confess that, under the peculiar state of the atmosphere to which I have alluded, the wood pavement is more affected than the granite pavement. But in ordinary weather there is very little difference. I am satisfied that, if the danger and inconvenience were as great as the worthy knight has represented, we should have had applications against the pavement; but all the applications we have had on the subject have been in favour of the extension of wood pavement."

The speaker then takes up the ground, that as wood, as a material for paving, is only recently introduced, it is natural that vested interests should be alarmed, and that great misapprehension should exist as to its nature and merits. On this subject he introduces an admirable illustration:--"In the early part of my life I remember attending a lecture--when gas was first introduced--by Mr Winson. The lecture was delivered in Pall-Mall, and the lecturer proposed to demonstrate that the introduction of gas would be destructive of life and property. I attended that lecture, and I never came away from a public lecture more fully convinced of any thing than I did that he had proved his position. He produced a quantity of gas, and placed a receiver on the table. He had with him some live birds, as well as some live mice and rabbits; and, introducing some gas into the receiver, he put one of the animals in it. In a few minutes life was extinct, and in this way he deprived about half a dozen of these animals of their life. 'Now, gentlemen,' said the lecturer, 'I have proved to you that gas is destructive to life; I will now show you that it is destructive to property.' He had a little pasteboard house, and said, 'I will suppose that it is lighted up with gas, and from the carelessness of the servant the stopcock of the burner has been so turned off as to allow an escape of gas, and that it has escaped and filled the house.' Having let the gas into the card house, he introduced a light and blew it up. 'Now,' said he, 'I think I have shown you that it is not only destructive to life and property; but that, if it is introduced into the metropolis, it will be blown up by it.'"

We have now given a short analysis of the speeches of the proposers and seconders on each side in this great debate; and after hearing Mr Frodsham on the opposition, and the Common Sergeant--whose objection, however, to wood was confined to its unsuitableness at some seasons for horsemanship--granting that a strong feeling in its favour existed among the owners and inhabitants of houses where it has been laid down; and on the other side, Sir Chapman Marshall--a strenuous woodite--who challenged Sir Peter Laurie to find fault with the pavement at Whitehall, "which he had no hesitation in saying was the finest piece of paving of any description in London;" Mr King, who gave a home thrust to Sir Peter, which it was impossible to parry--"We have heard a great deal about humanity and post-boys; does the worthy gentleman know, that the Postmaster has only within the last few weeks sent a petition here, begging that you would, with all possible speed, put wood paving round the Post-office?" and various other gentlemen _pro_ and _con_--a division was taken, when Sir Peter was beaten by an immense majority.

Another meeting, of which no public notice was given, was held shortly after to further Sir Peter's object, by sundry stable-keepers and jobmasters, under the presidency of the same Mr Gray, whose horse had acquired the malicious habit of breaking its knees on the Poultry. As there was no opposition, there was no debate; and as no names of the parties attending were published, it fell dead-born, although advertised two or three times in the newspapers.

On Tuesday, the 4th of April, Sir Peter buckled on his armour once more, and led the embattled cherubim to war, on the modified question, "That wood-paving operations be suspended in the city for a year;" but after a repetition of the arguments on both sides, he was again defeated by the same overwhelming majority as before.

Such is the state of wood paving as a party question among the city authorities at the present date. The squabbles and struggles among the various projectors would form an amusing chapter in the history of street rows--for it is seen that it is a noble prize to strive for. If the experiment succeeds, all London will be paved with wood, and fortunes will be secured by the successful candidates for employment. Every day some fresh claimant starts up and professes to have remedied every defect hitherto discovered in the systems of his predecessors. Still confidence seems unshaken in the system which has hitherto shown the best results; and since the introduction of the very ingenious invention of Mr Whitworth of Manchester, of a cart, which by an adaptation of wheels and pullies, and brooms and buckets, performs the work of thirty-six street-sweepers, the perfection of the work in Regent Street has been seen to such advantage, and the objections of slipperiness so clearly proved to arise, not from the nature of wood, but from the want of cleansing, that even the most timid are beginning to believe that the opposition to the further introduction of it is injudicious. Among these even Sir Peter promises to enrol himself, if the public favour continues as strong towards it for another year as he perceives it to be at the present time.

And now, dismissing these efforts at resisting a change which we may safely take to be at some period or other inevitable, let us cast a cursory glance at some of the results of the general introduction of wood pavement.

In the first place, the facility of cleansing will be greatly increased. A smooth surface, between which and the subsoil is interposed a thick concrete--which grows as hard and impermeable as iron--will not generate mud and filth to one-fiftieth of the extent of either granite roads or Macadam. It is probable that if there were no importations of dirt from the wheels of carriages coming off the stone streets, little scavengering would be needed. Certainly not more than could be supplied by one of Whitworth's machines. And it is equally evident that if wood were kept unpolluted by the liquid mud--into which the surface of the other causeways is converted in the driest weather by water carts--the slipperiness would be effectually cured.

In the second place, the saving of expense in cleansing and repairing would be prodigious. Let us take as our text a document submitted to the Marylebone Vestry in 1840, and acted on by them in the case of Oxford Street; and remember that the expenses of cleansing were calculated at the cost of the manual labour--a cost, we believe, reduced two thirds by the invention of Mr Whitworth. The Report is dated 1837:--

"The cost of the last five years having been, £16,881 The present expense for 1837, about 2,000 The required outlay 4,000 And the cleansing for 1837 900 ------ Gives a total for six years of £23,781

"Or an annual expenditure averaging £3963; so that the future
expenses of Oxford Street, maintained as a Macadamized
carriage-way, would be about £4000, or 2s. 4d per yard per
annum.

"In contrast with this extract from the parochial documents,
the results of which must have been greatly increased within
the last three years, the Metropolitan Wood-Paving Company, who
have already laid down above 4000 yards in Oxford Street,
between Wells Street and Charles Street, are understood to be
willing to complete the entire street in the best manner for
12s. per square yard, or about £14,000--for which they propose
to take bonds bearing interest at the rate of four-and-a-half
per cent per annum, whereby the parish will obtain ample time
for ultimate payment; and further, to keep the whole in repair,
inclusive of the cost of cleansing and watering, for one year
gratuitously, and for twelve years following at £1900 per
annum, being less than one-half the present outlay for these
purposes."

Whether these were the terms finally agreed on we do not know; but we perceive by public tenders that the streets can be paved in the best possible manner for 13s. or 12s. 6d. a yard; and kept in repair for 6d. a yard additional. This is certainly much cheaper than Macadam, and we should think more economical than causeways. And, besides, it has the advantage--which one of the speakers suggested to Sir Peter Laurie--"that in case of an upset, it is far more satisfactory to contest the relative hardness of heads with a block of wood than a mass of granite."

We can only add in conclusion, that advertisements are published by the Commissioners of Sewers for contracts to pave with wood Cheapside, and Bishopsgate Street, and Whitechapel. Oh, Sir Peter!--how are the mighty fallen!

* * * * *

POEMS AND BALLADS OF SCHILLER.

NO. VIII.

FIRST PERIOD CONTINUED.

A FUNERAL FANTASIE.

1.

Pale, at its ghastly noon,
Pauses above the death-still wood--the moon;
The night-sprite, sighing, through the dim air stirs;
The clouds descend in rain;
Mourning, the wan stars wane,
Flickering like dying lamps in sepulchres!
Haggard as spectres--vision-like and dumb,
Dark with the pomp of Death, and moving slow,
Towards that sad lair the pale Procession come
Where the Grave closes on the Night below.

2.

With dim, deep sunken eye,
Crutch'd on his staff, who trembles tottering by?
As wrung from out the shatter'd heart, one groan
Breaks the deep hush alone!
Crush'd by the iron Fate, he seems to gather
All life's last strength to stagger to the bier,
And hearken----Do those cold lips murmur "Father?"
The sharp rain, drizzling through that place of fear,
Pierces the bones gnaw'd fleshless by despair,
And the heart's horror stirs the silver hair.

3.

Fresh bleed the fiery wounds
Through all that agonizing heart undone--
Still on the voiceless lips "my Father" sounds,
And still the childless Father murmurs "Son!"
Ice-cold--ice-cold, in that white shroud he lies--
Thy sweet and golden dreams all vanish'd there--
The sweet and golden name of "Father" dies
Into thy curse,--ice-cold--ice-cold--he lies
Dead, what thy life's delight and Eden were!

4.

Mild, as when, fresh from the arms of Aurora,
When the air like Elysium is smiling above,
Steep'd in rose-breathing odours, the darling of Flora
Wantons over the blooms on his winglets of love.--
So gay, o'er the meads, went his footsteps in bliss,
The silver wave mirror'd the smile of his face;
Delight, like a flame, kindled up at his kiss,
And the heart of the maid was the prey of his chase.

5.

Boldly he sprang to the strife of the world,
As a deer to the mountain-top carelessly springs;
As an eagle whose plumes to the sun are unfurl'd,
Swept his Hope round the Heaven on its limitless wings.
Proud as a war-horse that chafes at the rein,
That kingly exults in the storm of the brave;
That throws to the wind the wild stream of its mane,
Strode he forth by the prince and the slave!

6.

Life, like a spring-day, serene and divine,
In the star of the morning went by as a trance;
His murmurs he drown'd in the gold of the wine,
And his sorrows were borne on the wave of the dance.
Worlds lay conceal'd in the hopes of his youth,
When once he shall ripen to manhood and fame!
Fond Father exult!--In the germs of his youth
What harvests are destined for Manhood and Fame!

7.

Not to be was that Manhood!--The death-bell is knelling
The hinge of the death-vault creaks harsh on the ears--
How dismal, O Death, is the place of thy dwelling!
Not to be was that Manhood!--Flow on bitter tears!
Go, beloved, thy path to the sun,
Rise, world upon world, with the perfect to rest;
Go--quaff the delight which thy spirit has won,
And escape from our grief in the halls of the blest.

8.

Again (in that thought what a healing is found!)
To meet in the Eden to which thou art fled!--
Hark, the coffin sinks down with a dull, sullen sound,
And the ropes rattle over the sleep of the dead.
And we cling to each other!--O Grave, he is thine!
The eye tells the woe that is mute to the ears--
And we dare to resent what we grudge to resign,
Till the heart's sinful murmur is choked in its tears.

Pale at its ghastly noon,
Pauses above the death-still wood--the moon!
The night-sprite, sighing, through the dim air stirs;
The clouds descend in rain;
Mourning, the wan stars wane,
Flickering like dying lamps in sepulchres.
The dull clods swell into the sullen mound;
Earth, one look yet upon the prey we gave!
The Grave locks up the treasure it has found;
Higher and higher swells the sullen mound--
Never gives back the Grave!

* * * * *

A GROUP IN TARTARUS.

Hark, as hoarse murmurs of a gathering sea--
As brooks that howling through black gorges go,
Groans sullen, hollow, and eternally,
One wailing Woe!
Sharp Anguish shrinks the shadows there;
And blasphemous Despair
Yells its wild curse from jaws that never close;
And ghastly eyes for ever
Stare on the bridge of the relentless River,
Or watch the mournful wave as year on year it flows,
And ask each other, with parch'd lips that writhe
Into a whisper, "When the end shall be!"
The _end_?--Lo, broken in Time's hand the scythe,
And round and round revolves Eternity!

* * * * *

ELYSIUM.

Past the despairing wail--
And the bright banquets of the Elysian Vale
Melt every care away!
Delight, that breathes and moves for ever,
Glides through sweet fields like some sweet river!
Elysian life survey!
There, fresh with youth, o'er jocund meads,
His youngest west-winds blithely leads
The ever-blooming May.
Thorough gold-woven dreams goes the dance of the Hours,
In space without bounds swell the soul and its powers,
And Truth, with no veil, gives her face to the day,
And joy to-day and joy to-morrow,
But wafts the airy soul aloft;
The very name is lost to Sorrow,
And Pain is Rapture tuned more exquisitely soft.
Here the Pilgrim reposes the world-weary limb,
And forgets in the shadow, cool-breathing and dim,
The load he shall bear never more;
Here the Mower, his sickle at rest, by the streams,
Lull'd with harp-strings, reviews, in the calm of his dreams,
The fields, when the harvest is o'er.
Here, He, whose ears drank in the battle-roar,
Whose banners stream'd upon the startled wind
A thunder-storm,--before whose thunder tread
The mountains trembled,--in soft sleep reclined,
By the sweet brook that o'er its pebbly bed
In silver plays, and murmurs to the shore,
Hears the stern clangour of wild spears no more!
Here the true Spouse the lost-beloved regains,
And on the enamell'd couch of summer-plains
Mingles sweet kisses with the west-wind's breath.
Here, crown'd at last--Love never knows decay,
Living through ages its one BRIDAL DAY,
Safe from the stroke of Death!

* * * * *

COUNT EBERHARD, THE GRUMBLER, OF WURTEMBERG.

Ha, ha I take heed--ha, ha! take heed,[10]
Ye knaves both South and North!
For many a man both bold in deed
And wise in peace, the land to lead,
Old Swabia has brought forth.

Proud boasts your Edward and your Charles,
Your Ludwig, Frederick--are!
Yet Eberhard's worth, ye bragging carles!
Your Ludwig, Frederick, Edward, Charles--
A thunder-storm in war.

And Ulrick, too, his noble son,
Ha, ha! his might ye know;
Old Eberhard's boast, his noble son,
Not he the boy, ye rogues, to run,
How stout soe'er the foe!

The Reutling lads with envy saw
Our glories, day by day;
The Reutling lads shall give the law--
The Reutling lads the sword shall draw--
O Lord--how hot were they!

Out Ulrick went and beat them not--
To Eberhard back he came--
A lowering look young Ulrick got--
Poor lad, his eyes with tears were hot--
He hung his head for shame.

"Ho--ho"--thought he--"ye rogues beware,
Nor you nor I forget--
For by my father's beard I swear
Your blood shall wash the blot I bear,
And Ulrick pay you yet!"

Soon came the hour! with steeds and men
The battle-field was gay;
Steel closed in steel at Duffingen--
And joyous was our stripling then,
And joyous the hurra!

"The battle lost" our battle-cry;
The foe once more advances:
As some fierce whirlwind cleaves the sky,
We skirr, through blood and slaughter, by,
Amidst a night of lances!

On, lion-like, grim Ulrick sweeps--
Bright shines his hero-glaive--
Her chase before him Fury keeps,
Far-heard behind him, Anguish weeps,
And round him--is the Grave!

Woe--woe! it gleams--the sabre-blow--
Swift-sheering down it sped--
Around, brave hearts the buckler throw--
Alas! our boast in dust is low!
Count Eberhard's boy is dead!

Grief checks the rushing Victor-van--
Fierce eyes strange moisture know--
On rides old Eberhard, stern and wan,
"My son is like another man--
March, children, on the Foe!"

And fiery lances whirr'd around,
Revenge, at least, undying--
Above the blood-red clay we bound--
Hurrah! the burghers break their ground,
Through vale and woodland flying!

Back to the camp, behold us throng,
Flags stream, and bugles play--
Woman and child with choral song,
And men, with dance and wine, prolong
The warrior's holyday.

And our old Count--and what doth he?
Before him lies his son,
Within his lone tent, lonelily,
The old man sits with eyes that see
Through one dim tear--his son!

So heart and soul, a loyal band,
Count Eberhard's band, we are!
His front the tower that guards the land,
A thunderbolt his red right hand--
His eye a guiding star!

Then take ye heed--Aha! take heed,
Ye knaves both South and North!
For many a man, both bold in deed
And wise in peace, the land to lead,
Old Swabia has brought forth!

[10] Of the two opening lines we subjoin the original--to the
vivacity and spirit of which it is, perhaps, impossible to do
justice in translation:--

"Ihr--Ihr dort aussen in der Welt,
Die Nasen einges pannt!"

Eberhard, Count of Wurtemberg, reigned from 1344 to 1392.
Schiller was a Swabian, and this poem seems a patriotic
effusion to exalt one of the heroes of his country, of whose
fame (to judge by the lines we have just quoted) the rest of
the Germans might be less reverentially aware.

* * * * *

TO A MORALIST.

Are the sports of our youth so displeasing?
Is love but the folly you say?
Benumb'd with the Winter, and freezing,
You scold at the revels of May.

For you once a nymph had her charms,
And oh! when the waltz you were wreathing,
All Olympus embraced in your arms--
All its nectar in Julia's breathing.

If Jove at that moment had hurl'd
The earth in some other rotation,
Along with your Julia whirl'd,
You had felt not the shock of creation.

Learn this--that Philosophy beats
Sure time with the pulse--quick or slow
As the blood from the heyday retreats,--
But it cannot make gods of us--No!

It is well, icy Reason should thaw
In the warm blood of Mirth now and then,
The Gods for themselves have a law
Which they never intended for men.

The spirit is bound by the ties
Of its jailer, the Flesh--if I can
Not reach, as an angel, the skies,
Let me feel, on the earth, as a Man.

* * * * *

ROUSSEAU.[11]

Oh, Monument of Shame to this our time,
Dishonouring record to thy Mother Clime!
Hail, Grave of Rousseau! Here thy sorrows cease.
Freedom and Peace from earth and earthly strife!
Vainly, sad seeker, didst thou search through life
To find--(found now)--the Freedom and the Peace.
When will the old wounds scar? In the dark age
Perish'd the wise. Light came; how fares the sage?
There's no abatement of the bigot's rage.
Still as the wise man bled, he bleeds again.
Sophists prepared for Socrates the bowl--
And Christians drove the steel through Rousseau's soul--
Rousseau who strove to render Christians--men.

[11] Schiller lived to reverse, in the third period of his
intellectual career, many of the opinions expressed in the
first. The sentiment conveyed in these lines on Rousseau is
natural enough to the author of "The Robbers," but certainly
not to the poet of "Wallenstein" and the "Lay of the Bell." We
confess we doubt the maturity of any mind that can find either
a saint or a martyr in Jean Jacques.

* * * * *

FORTUNE AND WISDOM.

In a quarrel with her lover
To Wisdom Fortune flew;
"I'll all my hoards discover--
Be but my friend--to you.
Like a mother I presented
To one each fairest gift,
Who still is discontented,
And murmurs at my thrift.
Come, let's be friends. What say you?
Give up that weary plough,
My treasures shall repay you,
For both I have enow!"
"Nay, see thy Friend betake him
To death from grief for thee--
_He_ dies if thou forsake him--
Thy gifts are nought to _me_!"

* * * * *

THE INFANTICIDE.

1.

Hark where the bells toll, chiming, dull and steady,
The clock's slow hand hath reach'd the appointed time.
Well, be it so--prepare! my soul is ready,
Companions of the grave--the rest for crime!
Now take, O world! my last farewell--receiving
My parting kisses--in these tears they dwell!
Sweet are thy poisons while we taste believing,
Now we are quits--heart-poisoner, fare-thee-well!

2.

Farewell, ye suns that once to joy invited,
Changed for the mould beneath the funeral shade
Farewell, farewell, thou rosy Time delighted,
Luring to soft desire the careless maid.
Pale gossamers of gold, farewell, sweet-dreaming
Fancies--the children that an Eden bore!
Blossoms that died while dawn itself was gleaming,
Opening in happy sunlight never more.

3.

Swanlike the robe which Innocence bestowing,
Deck'd with the virgin favours, rosy fair,
In the gay time when many a young rose glowing,
Blush'd through the loose train of the amber hair.
Woe, woe! as white the robe that decks me now--
The shroud-like robe Hell's destined victim wears;
Still shall the fillet bind this burning brow--
_That_ sable braid the Doomsman's hand prepares!

4.

Weep, ye _who never fell_--for whom, unerring,
The soul's white lilies keep their virgin hue,
Ye who when thoughts so danger-sweet are stirring,
Take the stern strength that Nature gives the few
Woe, for too human was this fond heart's feeling--
Feeling!--my sin's avenger[12] doom'd to be;
Woe--for the false man's arm around me stealing,
Stole the lull'd Virtue, charm'd to sleep, from me.

5.

Ah, he perhaps shall, round another sighing,
(Forgot the serpents stinging at my breast,)
Gaily, when I in the dumb grave am lying,
Pour the warm wish, or speed the wanton jest,
Or play, perchance, with his new maiden's tresses,
Answer the kiss her lip enamour'd brings,
When the dread block the head he cradled presses,
And high the blood his kiss once fever'd springs.

6.

Thee, Francis, Francis,[13] league on league, shall follow
The death-dirge of the Lucy once so dear;
From yonder steeple, dismal, dull, and hollow,
Shall knell the warning horror on thy ear.
On thy fresh leman's lips when Love is dawning,
And the lisp'd music glides from that sweet well--
Lo, in that breast a red wound shall be yawning,
And, in the midst of rapture, warn of hell!

7.

Betrayer, what! thy soul relentless closing
To grief--the woman-shame no art can heal--
To that small life beneath my heart reposing!
Man, man, the wild beast for its young can feel!
Proud flew the sails--receding from the land,
I watch'd them waning from the wistful eye,
Round the gay maids on Seine's voluptuous strand,
Breathes the false incense of his fatal sigh.

8.

And there the Babe! there, on the mother's bosom,
Lull'd in its sweet and golden rest it lay,
Fresh in life's morning as a rosy blossom,
It smiled, poor harmless one, my tears away.
Deathlike yet lovely, every feature speaking
In such dear calm and beauty to my sadness,
And cradled still the mother's heart, in breaking,
The soft'ning love and the despairing madness.

9.

"Woman, where is my father?"--freezing through me,
Lisp'd the mute Innocence with thunder-sound;
"Woman, where is thy husband?"--called unto me,
In every look, word, whisper, busying round!
For thee, poor child, there is no father's kiss.
He fondleth _other_ children on his knee.
How thou wilt curse our momentary bliss,
When Bastard on thy name shall branded be!

10.

Thy mother--oh, a hell her heart concealeth,
Lone-sitting, lone in social Nature's All!
Thirsting for that glad fount thy love revealeth,
While still thy look the glad fount turns to gall.
In every infant cry my soul is heark'ning,
The haunting happiness for ever o'er,
And all the bitterness of death is dark'ning
The heavenly looks that smiled mine eyes before.

11.

Hell, if my sight those looks a moment misses--
Hell, when my sight upon those looks is turn'd--
The avenging furies madden in _thy_ kisses,
That slept in _his_ what time my lips they burn'd.
Out from their graves his oaths spoke back in thunder!
The perjury stalk'd like murder in the sun--
For ever--God!--sense, reason, soul, sunk under--
The deed was done!

12.

Francis, O Francis! league on league, shall chase thee
The shadows hurrying grimly on thy flight--
Still with their icy arms they shall embrace thee,
And mutter thunder in thy dream's delight!
Down from the soft stars, in their tranquil glory,
Shall look thy dead child with a ghastly stare;
That shape shall haunt thee in its cerements gory,
And scourge thee back from heaven--its home is there!

13.

Lifeless--how lifeless!--see, oh see, before me
It lies cold--stiff!--O God!--and with that blood
I feel, as swoops the dizzy darkness o'er me,
Mine own life mingled--ebbing in the flood--
Hark, at the door they knock--more loud within me--
More awful still--its sound the dread heart gave!
Gladly I welcome the cold arms that win me--
Fire, quench thy tortures in the icy grave!

14.

Francis--a God that pardons dwells in heaven--
Francis, the sinner--yes--she pardons thee--
So let my wrongs unto the earth be given:
Flame seize the wood!--it burns--it kindles--see!
There--there his letters cast--behold are ashes--
His vows--the conquering fire consumes them here:
His kisses--see--see all--all are only ashes--
All, all--the all that once on earth were dear!

15.

Trust not the roses which your youth enjoyeth,
Sisters, to man's faith, changeful as the moon!
Beauty to me brought guilt--its bloom destroyeth:
Lo, in the judgment court I curse the boon:
Tears in the headsman's gaze--what tears?--tis spoken!
Quick, bind mine eyes--all soon shall be forgot--
Doomsman--the lily hast thou never broken?
Pale doomsman--tremble not!

[12] "Und Empfindung soll mein Richtschwert seyn." A line of
great vigour in the original, but which, if literally
translated, would seem extravagant in English.

[13] Joseph, in the original.

[The poem we have just concluded was greatly admired at the time of its first publication, and it so far excels in art most of the earlier efforts by the author, that it attains one of the highest secrets in true pathos. It produces interest for the _criminal_ while creating terror for the _crime_. This, indeed, is a triumph in art never achieved but by the highest genius. The inferior writer, when venturing upon the grandest stage of passion, (which unquestionably exists in the delineation of great guilt as of heroic virtue,) falls into the error either of gilding the crime in order to produce sympathy for the criminal, or, in the spirit of a spurious morality, of involving both crime and criminal in a common odium. It is to discrimination between the doer and the deed, that we owe the sublimest revelations of the human heart: in this discrimination lies the key to the emotions produced by the Oedipus and Macbeth. In the brief poem before us a whole drama is comprehended. Marvellous is the completeness of the pictures it presents--its mastery over emotions the most opposite--its fidelity to nature in its exposition of the disordered and despairing mind in which tenderness becomes cruelty, and remorse for error tortures itself into scarce conscious crime.

But the art employed, though admirable of its kind, still falls short of the perfection which, in his later works, Schiller aspired to achieve, viz. the point at which _Pain_ ceases. The tears which Tragic Pathos, when purest and most elevated, calls forth, ought not to be tears of pain. In the ideal world, as Schiller has inculcated, even sorrow should have its charm--all that harrows, all that revolts, belongs but to that inferior school in which Schiller's fiery youth formed itself for nobler grades--the school "of Storm and Pressure"--(Stürm und Dräng--as the Germans have expressively described it.) If the reader will compare Schiller's poem of the 'Infanticide,' with the passages which represent a similar crime in the Medea, (and the author of 'Wallenstein' deserves comparison even with Euripides,) he will see the distinction between the art that seeks an _elevated_ emotion, and the art which is satisfied with creating an _intense_ one. In Euripides, the detail--the reality--all that can degrade terror into pain--are loftily dismissed. The Titan grandeur of the Sorceress removes us from too close an approach to the crime of the unnatural Mother--the emotion of pity changes into awe--just at the pitch before the coarse sympathy of actual pain can be effected. And it is the avoidance of reality--it is the all-purifying Presence of the Ideal, which make the vast distinction in our emotions between following, with shocked and displeasing pity, the crushed, broken-hearted, mortal criminal to the scaffold, and gazing--with an awe which has pleasure of its own--upon the Mighty Murderess--soaring out of the reach of Humanity, upon her Dragon Car!]

* * * * *

THE TRIUMPH OF LOVE.

A HYMN.

Blessed through love are the Gods above--
Through love like the Gods may man be;
Heavenlier through love is the heaven above,
Through love like a heaven earth can be!
Once, as the poet sung,
In Pyrrha's time, 'tis known,
From rocks Creation sprung,
And Men leapt up from stone;
Rock and stone, in night
The souls of men were seal'd,
Heaven's diviner light
Not as yet reveal'd;
As yet the Loves around them
Had never shone--nor bound them
With their rosy rings;
As yet their bosoms knew not
Soft song--and music grew not
Out of the silver strings.
No gladsome garlands cheerily
Were love-y-woven then;
And o'er Elysium drearily
The May-time flew for men;[14]
The morning rose ungreeted
From ocean's joyless breast;
Unhail'd the evening fleeted
To ocean's joyless breast--
Wild through the tangled shade,
By clouded moons they stray'd,
The iron race of Men!
Sources of mystic tears,
Yearnings for starry spheres,
No God awaken'd then!

Lo, mildly from the dark-blue water,
Comes forth the Heaven's divinest Daughter,
Borne by the Nymphs fair-floating o'er
To the intoxicated shore!
Like the light-scattering wings of morning
Soars universal May, adorning
As from the glory of that birth
Air and the ocean, heaven and earth!
Day's eye looks laughing, where the grim
Midnight lay coil'd in forests dim;
And gay narcissuses are sweet
Wherever glide those holy feet--
Now, pours the bird that haunts the eve
The earliest song of love,
Now in the heart--their fountain--heave
The waves that murmur love.
O blest Pygmalion--blest art thou--
It melts, it glows, thy marble now!
O Love, the God, thy world is won!
Embrace thy children, Mighty One.

Blessed through love are the Gods above--
Through love like the Gods may man be;
Heavenlier through love is the heaven above,
Through love like a heaven earth can be.

Where the nectar-bright streams,
Like the dawn's happy dreams,
Eternally one holiday,
The life of the Gods glides away.
Throned on his seat sublime,
Looks He whose years know not time;
At his nod, if his anger awaken,
At the wave of his hair all Olympus is shaken.
Yet He from the throne of his birth,
Bow'd down to the sons of the earth,
Through dim Arcadian glades to wander sighing,
Lull'd into dreams of bliss--
Lull'd by his Leda's kiss
Lo, at his feet the harmless thunders lying!

The Sun's majestic coursers go
Along the Light's transparent plain,
Curb'd by the Day-god's golden rein;
The nations perish at his bended bow;
Steeds that majestic go,
Death from the bended bow,
Gladly he leaves above--
For Melody and Love!
Low bend the dwellers of the sky,
When sweeps the stately Juno by;
Proud in her car, the Uncontroll'd
Curbs the bright birds that breast the air,
As flames the sovereign crown of gold
Amidst the ambrosial waves of hair--
Ev'n thou, fair Queen of Heaven's high throne,
Hast Love's subduing sweetness known;
From all her state, the Great One bends
To charm the Olympian's bright embraces,
The Heart-Enthraller only lends
The rapture-cestus of the Graces!

Blessed through love are the Gods above--
Through love like a God may man be;
Heavenlier through love is the heaven above,
Through love like a heaven earth can be!

Love can sun the Realms of Night--
Orcus owns the magic might--
Peaceful where She sits beside,
Smiles the swart King on his Bride;
Hell feels the smile in sudden light--
Love can sun the Realms of Night.
Heavenly o'er the startled Hell,
Holy, where the Accursed dwell,
O Thracian, went thy silver song!
Grim Minos, with unconscious tears,
Melts into mercy as he hears--
The serpents in Megara's hair,
Kiss, as they wreathe enamour'd there;
All harmless rests the madding thong;--
From the torn breast the Vulture mute
Flies, scared before the charmèd lute--
Lull'd into sighing from their roar
The dark waves woo the listening shore--
Listening the Thracian's silver song!--
Love was the Thracian's silver song!

Blessed through love are the Gods above--
Through love like a God may man be;
Heavenlier through love is the heaven above--
Through love like a heaven earth can be!

Through Nature blossom-strewing,
_One_ footstep we are viewing,
One flash from golden pinions!--
If from Heaven's starry sea,
If from the moonlit sky;
If from the Sun's dominions,
Look'd not Love's laughing eye;
Then Sun and Moon and Stars would be
Alike, without one smile for me!
But, oh, wherever Nature lives
Below, around, above--
Her happy eye the mirror gives
To thy glad beauty, Love!

Love sighs through brooklets silver-clear,
Love bids their murmur woo the vale;
Listen, O list! Love's soul ye hear
In his own earnest nightingale.
No sound from Nature ever stirs,
But Love's sweet voice is heard with hers!
Bold Wisdom, with her sunlit eye,
Retreats when love comes whispering by--
For Wisdom's weak to love!
To victor stern or monarch proud,
Imperial Wisdom never bow'd
The knee she bows to Love!
Who through the steep and starry sky,
Goes onward to the gods on high,
Before thee, hero-brave?
Who halves for thee the land of Heaven;
Who shows thy heart, Elysium, given
Through the flame-rended Grave?
Below, if we were blind to Love,
Say, should we soar o'er Death, above?
Would the weak soul, did Love forsake her,
E'er gain the wing to seek the Maker?
Love, only Love, can guide the creature
Up to the Father-fount of Nature;
What were the soul did Love forsake her?
Love guides the Mortal to the Maker!

Blessed through love are the Gods above--
Through love like a God may man be:
Heavenlier through love is the heaven above,
Through love like a heaven earth can be!

[14] "The World was sad, the garden was a wild,
And Man, the Hermit, sigh'd--till Woman smiled."
CAMPBELL.

* * * * *

FANTASIE TO LAURA.

What, Laura, say, the vortex that can draw
Body to body in its strong control;
Beloved Laura, what the charmèd law
That to the soul attracting plucks the soul?
It is the charm that rolls the stars on high,
For ever round the sun's majestic blaze--
When, gay as children round their parent, fly
Their circling dances in delighted maze.
Still, every star that glides its gladsome course,
Thirstily drinks the luminous golden rain;
Drinks the fresh vigour from the fiery source,
As limbs imbibe life's motion from the brain;
With sunny motes, the sunny motes united
Harmonious lustre both receive and give,
Love spheres with spheres still interchange delighted,
Only through love the starry systems live.
Take love from Nature's universe of wonder,
Each jarring each, rushes the mighty All.
See, back to Chaos shock'd, Creation thunder;
Weep, starry Newton--weep the giant fall!
Take from the spiritual scheme that Power away,
And the still'd body shrinks to Death's abode.
Never--love _not_--would blooms revive for May,
And, love extinct, all life were dead to God.
And what the charm that at my Laura's kiss,
Pours the diviner brightness to the cheek;
Makes the heart bound more swiftly to its bliss,
And bids the rushing blood the magnet seek--
Out from their bounds swell nerve, and pulse, and sense,
The veins in tumult would their shores o'erflow;
Body to body rapt--and charmèd thence,
Soul drawn to soul with intermingled glow.
Mighty alike to sway the flow and ebb
Of the inanimate Matter, or to move
The nerves that weave the Arachnèan web
Of Sentient Life--rules all-pervading Love!
Ev'n in the Moral World, embrace and meet
Emotions--Gladness clasps the extreme of Care;
And Sorrow, at the worst, upon the sweet
Breast of young Hope, is thaw'd from its despair.
Of sister-kin to melancholy Woe,
Voluptuous Pleasure comes, and with the birth
Of her gay children, (golden Wishes,) lo,
Night flies, and sunshine settles on the earth![15]
The same great Law of Sympathy is given
To Evil as to Good, and if we swell
The dark account that life incurs with Heaven,
'Tis that our Vices are thy Wooers, Hell!
In turn those Vices are embraced by Shame
And fell Remorse, the twin Eumenides.
Danger still clings in fond embrace to Fame,
Mounts on her wing, and flies where'er she flees.
Destruction marries its dark self to Pride,
Envy to Fortune: when Desire most charms,
'Tis that her brother Death is by her side,
For him she opens those voluptuous arms.
The very Future to the Past but flies
Upon the wings of Love--as I to thee;
O, long swift Saturn, with unceasing sighs,
Hath sought his distant bride, Eternity!
When--so I heard the oracle declare--
When Saturn once shall clasp that bride sublime,
Wide-blazing worlds shall light his nuptials there--
'Tis thus Eternity shall wed with Time.
In _those_ shall be _our_ nuptials! ours to share
_That_ bridenight, waken'd by no jealous sun;
Since Time, Creation, Nature, but declare
Love--in our love rejoice, Beloved One!

[15] Literally, "the eye beams its sun-splendour," or, "beams
like a sun." For the construction that the Translator has put
upon the original (which is extremely obscure) in the preceding
lines of the stanza, he is indebted to Mr Carlyle. The general
meaning of the Poet is, that Love rules all things in the
inanimate or animate creation; that, even in the moral world,
opposite emotions or principles meet and embrace each other.
The idea is pushed into an extravagance natural to the youth,
and redeemed by the passion, of the Author. But the connecting
links are so slender, nay, so frequently omitted, in the
original, that a certain degree of paraphrase in many of the
stanzas is absolutely necessary to supply them, and render the
general sense and spirit of the poem intelligible to the
English reader.

* * * * *

TO THE SPRING.

Welcome, gentle Stripling,
Nature's darling, thou--
With thy basket full of blossoms,
A happy welcome now!
Aha!--and thou returnest,
Heartily we greet thee--
The loving and the fair one,
Merrily we meet thee!
Think'st thou of my Maiden
In thy heart of glee?
I love her yet the Maiden--
And the Maiden yet loves me!
For the Maiden, many a blossom
I begg'd--and not in vain;
I came again, a-begging,
And thou--thou giv'st again:
Welcome, gentle stripling,
Nature's darling thou--
With thy basket full of blossoms,
A happy welcome, now!

* * * * *

NATURAL HISTORY OF SALMON AND SEA-TROUT.

[_On the Growth of Grilse and Salmon_. By Mr Andrew Young,
Invershin, Sutherlandshire. (Transactions of the Royal Society
of Edinburgh. Vol. XV. Part III.) Edinburgh, 1843.]

[_On the Growth and Migrations of the Sea-Trout of the Solway_.
By Mr John Shaw, Drumlanrig. (Ibid.) Edinburgh, 1843.]

The salmon is undoubtedly the finest and most magnificent of our fresh-water fishes, or rather of those _anadromous_ kinds which, in accordance with the succession of the seasons, seek alternately the briny sea and the "rivers of water." It is also the most important, both in a commercial and culinary point of view as well as the most highly prized by the angler as an object of exciting recreation. Notwithstanding these and other long-continued claims upon our consideration, a knowledge of its natural history and habits has developed itself so slowly, that little or nothing was precisely ascertained till very recently regarding either its early state or its eventual changes. The salmon-trout, in certain districts of almost equal value with the true salmon, was also but obscurely known to naturalists, most of whom, in truth, are too apt to satisfy themselves rather by the extension than the increase of knowledge. They hand down to posterity, in their barren technicalities, a great deal of what is neither new nor true, even in relation to subjects which lie within the sphere of ordinary observation,--to birds and beasts, which almost dwell among us, and give utterance, by articulate or intelligible sounds, to a vast variety of instinctive, and as it were explanatory emotions:--what marvel, then, that they should so often fail to inform us of what we desire to know regarding the silent, because voiceless, inhabitants of the world of waters?

But that which naturalists have been unable to accomplish, has, so far as concerns the two invaluable species just alluded to, been achieved by others with no pretension to the name; and we now propose to present our readers with a brief sketch of what we conceive to be the completed biography of salmon and sea-trout. In stating that our information has been almost entirely derived from the researches of practical men, we wish it to be understood, and shall afterwards endeavour to demonstrate, that these researches have, nevertheless, been conducted upon those inductive principles which are so often characteristic of natural acuteness of perception, when combined with candour of mind and honesty of purpose. We believe it to be the opinion of many, that statements by comparatively uneducated persons are less to be relied upon than those of men of science. It may, perhaps, be somewhat difficult to define in all cases what really constitutes a man of science. Many sensible people suppose, that if a person pursues an original truth, and obtains it--that is, if he ascertains a previously unknown or obscure fact of importance, and states his observations with intelligence--he is entitled to that character, whatever his station may be. For ourselves, we would even say that if his researches are truly valuable, he is himself all the more a man of science in proportion to the difficulties or disadvantages by which his position in life may be surrounded.

The development and early growth of salmon, from the ovum to the smolt, were first successfully investigated by Mr John Shaw of Drumlanrig, one of the Duke of Buccleuch's gamekeepers in the south of Scotland. Its subsequent progress from the smolt to the adult condition, through the transitionary state of grilse, has been more recently traced, with corresponding care, by Mr Andrew Young of Invershin, the manager of the Duke of Sutherland's fisheries in the north. Although the fact of the parr being the young of the salmon had been vaguely surmised by many, and it was generally admitted that the smaller fish were never found to occur except in streams or tributaries to which the grown salmon had, in some way, the power of access, yet all who have any acquaintance with the works of naturalists, will acknowledge that the parr was universally described as a distinct species. It is equally certain that all who have written upon the subject of smolts or salmon-fry, maintained that these grew rapidly in fresh water, and made their way to the sea in the course of a few weeks after they were hatched.

Now, Mr Shaw's discovery in relation to these matters is in a manner twofold; first--he ascertained by a lengthened series of rigorous and frequently-repeated experimental observations, that parr are the early state of salmon, being afterwards converted into smolts; secondly,--he proved that such conversion does not, under ordinary circumstances take place until the second spring ensuing that in which the hatching has occurred, by which time the young are _two years old_. The fact is, that during early spring there are three distinct broods of parr or young salmon in our rivers.

1st, We have those which, recently excluded from the ova, are still invisible to common eyes; or, at least, are inconspicuous or unobservable. Being weak, in consequence of their recent emergence from the egg, and of extremely small dimensions, they are unable to withstand the rapid flow of water, and so betake themselves to the gentler eddies, and frequently enter "into the small hollows produced in the shingle by the hoofs of horses which have passed the fords." In these and similar resting-places, our little natural philosophers, instinctively aware that the current of a stream is less below than above, and along the sides than in the centre, remain for several months during spring, and the earlier portion of the summer, till they gain such an increase of size and strength as enables them to spread themselves abroad over other portions of the river, especially those shallow places where the bottom is composed of fine gravel. But at this time their shy and shingle-seeking habits in a great measure screen them from the observance of the uninitiated.

2dly, We have likewise, during the spring season, parr which have just completed their first year. As these have gained little or no accession of size during the winter months, owing to the low temperature both of the air and water, and the consequent deficiency of insect food, their dimensions are scarcely greater than at the end of the preceding October: that is, they measure in length little more than three inches.--(N.B. The old belief was that they grew nine inches in about three weeks, and as suddenly sought the turmoil of the sea.) They increase, however in size as the summer advances, and are then the declared and admitted parr of anglers and other men.

3dly, Simultaneously with the two preceding broods, our rivers are inhabited during March and April by parr which have completed their second year. These measure six or seven inches in length, and in the months of April and May they assume the fine silvery aspect which characterizes their migratory condition,--in other words, they are converted into smolts, (the admitted fry of salmon,) and immediately make their way towards the sea.

Now, the fundamental error which pervaded the views of previous observers of the subject, consisted in the sudden sequence which they chose to establish between the hatching of the ova in early spring, and the speedy appearance of the acknowledged salmon-fry in their lustrous dress of blue and silver. Observing, in the first place, the hatching of the ova, and, erelong, the seaward migration of the smolts, they imagined these two facts to take place in the relation of immediate or connected succession; whereas they had no more to do with each other than an infant in the nursery has to do with his elder, though not very ancient, brother, who may be going to school. The rapidity with which the two-year-old parr are converted into smolts, and the timid habits of the new-hatched fry, which render them almost entirely invisible during the first few months of their existence,--these two circumstances combined, have no doubt induced the erroneous belief that the silvery smolts were the actual produce of the very season in which they are first observed in their migratory dress: that is, that they were only a few weeks old, instead of being upwards of two years. It is certainly singular, however, that no enquirer of the old school should have ever bethought himself of the mysterious fate of the two-year-old parr, (supposing them not to be young salmon,) none of which, of course, are visible after the smolts have taken their departure to the sea. If the two fish, it may be asked, are not identical, how does it happen that the one so constantly disappears along with the other? Yet no one alleges that he has ever seen parr _as such_, making a journey towards the sea "They cannot do so" says Mr Shaw, "because they have been previously converted into smolts."

Mr Shaw's investigations were carried on for a series of years, both on the fry as it existed naturally in the river, and on captive broods produced from ova deposited by adult salmon, and conveyed to ingeniously-constructed experimental ponds, in which the excluded young were afterwards nourished till they threw off the livery of the parr, and underwent their final conversion into smolts. When this latter change took place, the migratory instinct became so strong that many of them, after searching in vain to escape from their prison--the little streamlet of the pond being barred by fine wire gratings--threw themselves by a kind of parabolic somerset upon the bank and perished. But, previous to this, he had repeatedly observed and recorded the slowly progressive growth to which we have alluded. The value of the parr, then, and the propriety of a judicious application of our statutory regulations to the preservation of that small, and, as hitherto supposed, insignificant fish, will be obvious without further comment.[16]

[16] Mr Shaw's researches include some curious physiological
and other details, for an exposition of which our pages are not
appropriate. But we shall here give the titles of his former
papers. "An account of some Experiments and Observations on the
Parr, and on the Ova of the Salmon, proving the Parr to be the
Young of the Salmon."--_Edinburgh New Phil. Journ_. vol. xxi.
p. 99. "Experiments on the Development and Growth of the Fry of
the Salmon, from the Exclusion of the Ovum to the Age of Six
Months."--_Ibid_. vol. xxiv. p. 165. "Account of Experimental
Observations on the Development and Growth of Salmon Fry, from
the Exclusion of the Ova to the Age of Two
Years."--_Transactions of the Royal Society of Edinburgh_, vol.
xiv. part ii. (1840.) The reader will find an abstract of these
discoveries in the No. of this Magazine for April 1840.

Having now exhibited the progress of the salmon fry from the ovum to the smolt, our next step shall be to show the connexion of the latter with the grilse. As no experimental observations regarding the future dimensions of the _détenus_ of the ponds could be regarded as legitimate in relation to the usual increase of the species, (any more than we could judge of the growth of a young English guardsman in the prisons of Verdun,) after the period of their natural migration to the sea, and as Mr Shaw's distance from the salt water--twenty-five miles, we believe, windings included--debarred his carrying on his investigations much further with advantage, he wisely turned his attention to a different, though cognate subject, to which we shall afterwards refer. We are, however, fortunately enabled to proceed with our history of the adolescent salmon by means of another ingenious observer already named, Mr Andrew Young of Invershin.