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This is one of those books which Of the injustice of the existing law of it is wholly impossible for any work copyright in these countries, and the profássing to give an account of our way in which it most affects works of the passing literature to omit noticing. It greatest merit, (while the right of the is, in every respect, one of the most author, terminating at the end of twentyinteresting books which we have ever eight years after publicationi

, necessahappened to read, and, from the va- rily tends to increase the price of the riety of its contents, one of the most book during the interval,) no one who difficult to review. There has been has given any consideration to the subabout the announcement of it some. ject can, we should think, entertain a thing which we do not perfectly under- doubt. The fashionable novels of the stand. Several of the reviews have, season, which in a few weeks are not before the publication of the book, worth the price of the paper on which given considerable extracts from it; they are printed, are in no way affected and, with all our wishes to give the by the law, nor would they, if the copyearliest accounts which we can of such right was to terminate at the end of books as we think sufficiently interest- one year, instead of twenty-eight. That ing to engage our own attention or a state of the law which bears with that of our readers, here are two of exclusive hardship on the authors of the most amusing volumes in the lan- books of permanent value should reguage, of which, owing to the mode of main unremedied is certainly unjust : publication, our readers will have al- but, of anything so chimerical as the ready read in the newspapers and re- hope of securing a copyright through views such considerable portions, that America or over the Continent, (though, we are led to give a much less detailed of course, publishers in America or account of the work than we could at France may give something for coall wish, as we are already anticipated pirs of the sheets as they are printed, by notices of the book in the Edinburgh, or such other assistance as may secure Quarterly, and Westminster Reviews; all to the particular house priority of pubof which reviewed the book before its lication) - we think there never can be publication. We have heard that the anything like a fair chance. delay in issuing the book after it had Of our modern poets Coleridge is, been not only printed but reviewed, in every respect, the most original. In has arisen from a wish to make his very earliest writings-in the lovearrangements that would secure the poems, &c. which are the first works of advantage of copyright in America. every poet, are the germs of the pecu

• Specimens of the Table-Talk of the late S. T. Coleridge, Esq. 2 vols. small 8vo. London, 1835.

Vol. VI.

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liar powers which bore such rich fruit Leaves a school-boy poem, which in his after life. We transcribe in was among the first verses he ever evidence of this from the Sibylline wrote.

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Of this poem Mr. Coleridge has of promise such as the early verses of said, “I scarcely know what title I Pope and Cowley gave ; but it is as the should prefix to it. By Imaginary effort of the “ marvellous boy” to image Time, I meant the state of a school- to bimself the world within—to shape boy's mind, when on his return to into phantoms—to wreathe with flowers school, he projects his being in his day and crown with haloes the floating and dreams, and lives in his holydays six perishable dreams which with millions months hence, and this I contrasted and millions pass away and are forgotwith real time." Think of a school- ten; which, while the very facts imperboy already engaged in giving lan- sonated have past, and are for ever guage such as this to such thoughts ! passing, more or less dimly before the Think of his embodying in such per- mind of every one that lives, can sonification his own consciousness with difficulty be brought into such already finding in the notions of time, distinct consciousness, as to be made but forms and moods of his own mind- intelligible to the understanding. already making outward and visible It is this power of giving a poetical pictures of the invisible workings of life—nay,

permanence,

and such his inward nature—think then of the immortality as man's language can simplicity and power and perfect confer on mere abstractions, that is to beauty of the language-less exquisite us the wonderful thing in those early no doubt, but scarcely less true than verses--the lively inagery delights us, that of his last verses, written after a but the notion of translating into life of study-not one word, which is any imagery thoughts, shapeless as not mother English—not one word of the dust of the desert, is to us the which is not such as Mr. Coleridge thing of wonder. We feel convinced might have written in the last year of that the longer the inage is dwelt upon his life. The versification, though not the more perfect will it appear. Is coinplex, or of any varied power, is there not more than metaphor in the rich and musical, and wins the ear on language which describes the poet as a through the whole stanza ; but think creator ? of the picture itself, seen in the morn It is said that as old age comes ing light of a young poet's imagina- on, the feelings and images which had tion

occupied the affections of our youth return, and we have known parents

urged themselves to domestic piety, This far outstript the other;

by this consideration, as the strongYet ever runs she with rererted face, And looks and listens for the boy behind;

est of all appeals to a parent's For he, alas ! is blind

heart we have beard it urged upon

them, that though the world may Had this been a picture from actual win your child, yet if life be prolonged phänomenal life, the lines would have for him, a time will come in the ordi. been pleasing-would have been a dawn nary progress of nature, in which the

A sister and a brother!

remembrances of his youth are sure which is described in this his first poem, to reappear vividly, in which the mind seems to have recurred, and to have seems to live again in the recollection of re-awakened a poetry which is in some its earliest boybood-and all that had sort the echo of these earliest feelings. intervened of bustle and anxiety, and the struggles, in which the good

“ I am dying, but without expectation seed seems to be trodden down and that very recently by-gone images, and

of a speedy release.

Is it not strange destroyed, being almost forgotten, the old man thinks alone of his youth-of mind, like breezes blown from the spice

scenes of early life, have stolen into my the friends of his youth;—and when islands of Youth and Hope— those two that time comes, and those recollec- realities of this phantom world! I do tivns return—with what effect,-it was not add Love,- for what is Love but urged with what effect will not the so Youth and Hope embracing, and so seen lemn and tender images of the dead as one ? I say realities; for reality is a come back upon the old man's heart thing of degrees, from the Iliad to a his father's voice in prayer—the voice dream ; και γάρ τ' όναρ εκ Δίος έστι. Yet that has been still for perhaps half a in a strict sense, reality is not predicable century-which could it be heard at all of aught below Heaven. Es enim again on earth, no other heart or ear in cælis, Pater noster, qui tu vere es !". could recognize. As you love your

Hooker wished to live to finish his Ecclechildren, such the resistless siastical Polity ;-so I own I wish life and language of the affectionate appeal, strength had been spared to me to comas you love your children, let them plete my Philosophy. For, as God see that

you
love your God; if they

hears me, the originating, continuing, fall, if they disappoint all

your

and sustaining wish and design in my hopes and all your wishes - despair heart was to exalt the glory of his name; not; and the preacher again dwelt upon

and, which is the same thing in other the existence of this second spring in

words, to promote the improvement of

mankind. But visum aliter Deo, and man's life, and the irresistible effects

his will be done." - Table Talk, Vol. 2, which early recollections of good would then bring with them. are reminded of this by the circum Of that later poetry we transcribe stance that the volumes before us some passages of great beauty—“ The show, how, in the very last years of

Garden of Boccaccio" has all the Mr. Coleridge's life, the state of mind, warmth of Dryden's happiest style :

66

was

We page 341.

O Wiss of blissful hours !
The boon of Heaven's decreeing,
While yet in Eden's bowers
Dwelt the first husband and his sinless mate!
The one sweet plant, which, piteous Heaven agreeing,
They bore with them thro' Eden's closing gate!
Of life's gay summer tide the sovran rose!
Late autumn's amaranth, that more fragrant blow's
When passion's flowers all fall or fade;
If this were ever his, in outward being,
Or but his own true love's projected shade,
Now tbat at length by certain proof he knows,
That whether real or a magic show,
Whate'er it was, it is no longer so;
Though heart be lonesome, hope laid low,
Yet, Lady! deem him not unblest :
The certainty that struck hope dead,
Hath left contentment in her stead :
And that is next the best!

Poetical Works, Aldine Edition, Vol. 2.

THE GARDEN OF BOCCACCIO.
Of late, in one of those most weary hours,
When life seems emptied of all genial powers,
A dreary mood, which he who ne'er has known
May bless his happy lot, I sate alone;

And, from the numbing spell to win relief,
Callid on the past for thought of glee or grief.
In vain! bereft alike of grief and glee,
I sate and cow'r'd o'er my own vacancy!
And as I watch'd the dull continuous ache,
Which, all else slumb’ring, seem'd alone to wake;
O Friend! long wont to notice yet conceal,
And soothe by silence what words cannot heal,
I but half saw that quiet hand of thine
Place on my desk this exquisite design,
Boccaccio's Garden and its faery,
The love, the joyance, and the gallantry!
An Idyll, with Boccaccio's spirit warm,
Framed in the silent poesy of form.
Like flocks adown a newly-bathed steep

Emerging from a mist; or like a stream
Of music soft that not dispels the sleep,

But casts in happier moulds the slumberer's dream, Gazed by an idle eye with silent might The picture stole upon my inward sight. A tremulous warmth crept gradual o'er my chest, As though an infant's finger touch'd my breast. And one by one (I know not whence) were brought All spirits of power that most had stirr'd my thought In selfless boyhood, on a new world tost Of wonder, and in its own fancies lost; Or charm’d my youth, that, kindled from above, Loved ere it loved, and sought a form for love; Or lent a lustre to the earnest scan Of manhood, musing what and whence is man! Wild strain of Scalds, that in the sea-worn caves Rehearsed their war-spell to the winds and waves; Or fateful hymn of those prophetic maids, That callid on Hertha in deep forest glades; Or minstrel lay, that cheer'd the baron's feast; Or rhyme of city pomp, of monk and priest, Judge, mayor, and many a guild in long array, To high-church pacing on the great saint's day, And many a verse which to myself I sang, That woke the tear yet stole away the pang, Of hopes which in lamenting I renew'd. And last, a matron now, of sober mien, Yet radient still and with no earthly sheen, Whom as a faery child my childhood wood Even in my dawn of thought-Philosophy; Though then unconscious of herself, pardie, She bore no other name than Poesy; And like a gift from heaven, in lifeful glee, That had but newly left a mother's knee, Prattled and play'd with bird and flower, and stone, As if with elfin playfellows well known, And life reveal'd to innocence alone. Thanks, gentle artist! now I can descry Thy fair creation with a mastering eye, And all awake! And now in fix'd gaze stand, Now wander through the Eden of thy hand; Praise the green arches, on the fountain clear See fragment shadows of the crossing deer; And with that serviceable nymph I stoop The crystal from its restless pool to scoop. I see no longer! I myself am there, Sit on the ground-sward, and the banquet share. 'Tis I, that sweep that lute's love-echoing strings,

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