EIGHTEEN SONNETS. WITH NOTES. I. Eleven!-twelve! the agéd man is gone And wreathed around with leaves and blossoms fair, finds courage to exclaim so heroically, "but let that pass," after prospects so flattering as those unfolded at the commencement of this touching soliloquy, must ever command the admiration of the candid reader. The noble sentiment conveyed in the antepenultimate verse of the stanza is only equalled by the calm and dignified tone of resignation in the succeeding couplets. Thus does the great mind bear up against and repel the assaults of adversity and misfortune! III. I dreamt, and in my dream the coming time The shade of him who makes his orison. I saw the telegraph amid the clouds That rose before as from a mouldy fen. All things were bright and joyful—I awoke How the changes of a few years, yea even of a single year, affect that strange and anomalous creature, man! The author has in this slight performance endeavored to record his obligations to the by-gone year. Alas! it has flitted away like the dry leaf of autumn to bury itself in the silent tomb of the Past. Another volume The author here, it will be seen, indulges in of our life is closed: we have turned over a new prophecy, and like all prophets of the present leaf, (though not in the favorable acceptation of day, his predictions are sufficiently striking, if the phrase,) each day, and in spite of the cheer- not very certain of fulfilment. ful expressions made use of in the text, we rise from the perusal scarcely persuaded of any thing save the vanity of human wishes. The Future is before us, but we resolutely turn our eyes upon the Past, seeking for what, alas! we find notconsolation. As the ringing sounds of the midnight bell die away in the frosty air, our thoughts go forth with lightning speed, and finding noth-ved to a large and intelligent audience that the ing but a cheerless void, come back to tell us that all is vexation of spirit. The author, being in this pitiable state of mind, would call the reader's attention to the following. II. I knew a politician warmer far Than lovers' vows or steaks of eating-house, And "Ah!" I cried, "sure 'tis my lucky star That points where I so freely may carouse, And bid my weary soul with trouble torn, Like to these elbows and this beaver here, Twas when I had a vote the sun did shine: I did it and was done in Forty-four And now in Forty-eight I'm done once more! The Future, however, that bank which fools draw so largely upon without estimating their credit, and wise men invest their substance in, will present the best evidence of his claims on this head. The telegraph is universally considered a very remarkable affair. As for ourselves we candidly confess that since the evening, when it was pro learned professor had patented the lightning and a striking quotation from the book of Job on the same subject, since that time we have fully coincided in this opinion, and from not entirely comprehending the theory of this wonderful instrument, have watched in the simplicity of our hearts to see the news go by. By the means alluded to in the sixth line of the text, the learned professor will hereafter be enabled to stretch his line whither and in whatever manner he pleases without asking leave of any one to plant his poles. If the manner of carrying out this great improvement is not fully explained, we can only regret the fact. We have, further, too much respect for scientific books to reflect upon them in this particular. A balloon-ship would be a novelty, but many persons doubt the possibility of such a contrivance and assert that any attempt of the sort will fall to the ground or end in smoke. The cast of feeling here, as in the preceding, is These are possible, however, and the time for seen to be decidedly mournful. The man who them like Christmas-may be coming. In the meanwhile, we will indulge a hope that the world in its rage for morality and improvement will attend to the subject suggested in the lines which follow. The weight is already as great as we can bear, and like the poor criminal who underwent the peine forte et dure, it requires but little more to press us to death. IV. Upon a bank of sweetest wild flowers lying Youth-youth! what to your reckless mind, all confident of the coming years, is the proudest triumph of the grown up man! How pleasant it is to wander forth in the balmy month of June, when the birds are singing, the green leaves gently moving to the breath of the cooling wind, the river's haze wrapping the distant landscape in a gauzy mantle, from which gleam up the glittering spire of the village church, the snowy sail of a seabound barque, or the lofty peak of a mountain range. The author turning a deaf ear to the advisers who recommend an abandonment of his stylus for the time, in order that his soul, usurped by gloomy thoughts, may be restored, begs to introduce to the indulgent reader the following: V. Far on the sea the mountain billows roar Where dolphins sport and sea-birds flit along, Here the form of expression is evidently bor- "The Alps and Appenines The Pyrenean and the river Po," will join at once in the sentiment here expressed. The owner's soul "goes forth upon the sea" and leaps up" to hear the "howling of the billows," the "song of the seagulls" and the "revelry of the Go at noon. Then the flowers are as still as" ocean sprites," but after skimming the breakthough the hand of death were on their fibres, ers and listening in thought to their roaring, the distant wheat reposes like a field of gold in he returns to warm his lower limbs at the chimthe bright sunlight, the birds are at rest, the ney-corner, with the cheerful expression that wholeaves all motionless, and even the school-boy deep in the mysteries of ball and marbles, deserts the play-ground and wanders into the shady wood, where lying on the sod, his hand beneath take. his cheek, his bosom open to the air, he sleeps, and sleeping-dreams. Of whom? Alas! alas! the season of youth is brief, yea as fleeting as yon thistle down, which floats a moment motionless on air, and then is borne as on the wings of the storm-wind to the yawning waves of the treacherous sea. We were that school boy. Bread and butter was untasted, birch unheeded. Thus through all our youth we slept-and dreamt and at last have awakened. No Persian dame is at our side, neither the reality of that other. Only the shadow, alas! and that even, which we fondly dreamed would dwell in our hearts as the trace of an iron pen on a tomb of adamant, is melting away like the cool mists of summer, which make the morn so delightful, before the rays of the rising sun. VOL. XV-3 ever may declare these striking objects more attractive, he is constrained, from personal experience, to say that his friend labors under a mis VI. Down with the tyrants! 'tis the PEOPLE'S voice Who fled from Europe's soil for many a day Then shall ye reach the lofty gleaming goal In presenting this small poem to the public the author is sorry to say that every critic has a right to examine it with his most fault-finding specta cles. Milton and other ancient writers, who en- | a touching effect on the heart of the young lady. joyed much popularity in their time, have cele- The Italian word of endearment is here used brated in odes, sonnets and poems, the dawn, in order to give that flowing sound to the rhythm meridian and sunset of liberty. But these great which is found in the old poets, and also as inwriters lived long before the nineteenth century. finitely more ardent and expressive than the They had not examined the glorious sample of common English "dearest." independence unrolled before the world by America, brighter in the tints and more striking in the pattern, if the indulgent reader will allow of the expression, than any ever yet thrown down on the counter of the world. VIII. Dumas, when o'er thy gasconading page, I follow thee through never ending scenes "By mighty spell of great enchanter's wand Great, splendid, elegant, with many more, The allusion to St. Simeon, in the concluding verse, was suggested by a perusal of Mr. Tennyson's poem on the subject, in which the martyr to be, is represented as standing on the summit of a lofty column, anxiously expecting the moment, which he states to be at a "quarter before twelve," when the angels will come to bear away his soul. Mr. Tennyson being only the "poet of a set," as the "New Timon" declares, and that in a far distant country, the author humbly sugThe late trial of M. Dumas for breach of engests that his candor in acknowledging his obligagement to write for the "Presse" and other gation should be duly appreciated. If he ever dresses Lara in the costume of a "Nomad from the Parisian world, renders this subject of peculiar newspapers, which created so great a sensation in the land of Morn," he will endeavor to be equally interest. plain with the reader. VII. Oh, Mary! if a heart that beats for thee, The gesture here alluded to, of placing the right thumb upon the tip of the nose and gently moving the expanded hand in a circular direction, is thought to convey a playful species of satire, and if our memory deceives us not, was often accompanied with the jocular phrase "no you don't though!" At any rate it appears that in this instance the gesture was only half repulsive, for the fair lady smiled and tripped away so provokingly that we were persuaded to follow. Notwithstanding the reprehensive terms used in the text, M. Dumas is, in the author's opinion, fully exonerated from the charges of fraud brought against him. What in another man would be fresh of promise is in this great writer a simple defect of memory. What! shall he whom the Duke of Montpensier has written to by special courier to come and arrange the Spanish marriage, whose doors are besieged by turbaned Turks with missives from the Dey of Tunis to come and hunt the lion with him on the plains of Africa, whom even the great Southern statesman so earnestly entreats to leave Belle France and come to America,-is this great character to bend his lordly mind and eyes to mean accounts with sordid tradesmen ? We humbly think not. M. Dumas conducted six novels in as many papers at one and the same time, couriers were ready day and night to bear off the glowing sheets to the cavernous presses as they flowed like burning lava from the fiery breast of the great composer, the "Theatre historique," with its immense popularity, was to be supplied with food, and the indefatigable manufacturer, grown pale and thin above the midnight lamp, must go abroad upon the Boulevards or take a trip into the country to recruit his health. Instead of the Boulevard he went to Spain, in place of the fields of Picardy to the deserts of Africa. The author would recommend the form of address used in this performance as one highly artistic and calculated to move the heart. The allusion to his jealous care to shield her form M. Dumas agreed to write one hundred volfrom the blasts of adversity, though he candidly umes in a given time, he could only write some confesses his entire want of any buckler for the fifty or three score; is M. Dumas then to blame purpose, has often, to our knowledge, produced for the confidence he reposed in his mighty ge nius, or responsible for the money he has pocketed? The world must arrive at the irresistible conclusion that the writer is a great genius, and that he overtops his adversaries in matters of finance a thousand cubits. IX. Careering onward, queenly in her pride The maid upon her milk-white palfrey borne, Of every flower that blossoms on yon heath, And in her lily hand the bridal-rein But oh disastrous chance! oh villain girth! Why died not sheep before your wool had birth! The author regrets to state that the reader, from a perusal of this short effusion, can gain no knowledge of the circumstances as they actually happened. A just regard for historical accuracy entails, however, an explanation. The "milkwhite palfrey," who is subsequently designated as resembling the "eagled-eyed coursers" of the sun, was in reality a grey horse of unexceptionable gait and gentleness of temper, but somewhat deficient in that fiery vigor so happily expressed in the fourth verse. He is further not aware that the young lady was clad with airy grace, or that her fingers were filled with leaves and flowers as the great painter has represented his " "young Aurora." He is still further compelled to state that the aforesaid accident took place in his attempt to assist the young lady to the ground. The subject is one which, in itself, could not be supposed to interest, but a judicious embellishment has raised it from the mud of commonplace to the niche of poetic dignity. Thus does the imaginative mind invest even the occurrences of every day life with a poetical coloring! X. Fair Mexico! amid the blooming groves And weaves of orange flowers a golden band At early morn, when bending toward the ground They sparkie bright bespangled with the dew Like chalices with jewels set aroundMethinks upon thy lofty table lands, Or on the bright sands of thy gleaming shore, With one whose slightest wishes were command This weary heart might feel at last secure. But then the general's mouth so hugous great! I might's well live contented with my state. Rabelais, so happily cut out in profile by Mr. Pope, tells us of a certain giant who came near making a meal upon his hero and some pilgrim friars. Mother Goose also, that best of mothers, over whose memory we hang with mingled tears and laughter, relates a pleasing account of a young man called Thumb who met with nearly a similar fate. We recollect the tremor of affright we experienced on perusing these narrations, and so strong is the force of early impressions, like the brand on the juvenile thief, that our mind has never entirely recovered its equanimity on the subject. This accounts for the sudden reflection which follows the interesting picture drawn by the author's imagination of "I might 's well live contented with my state." XI. Strange! that the man exists whose sterile soul From the fair scenes that make a heaven below. The cannon, drawn by oxen, passed me by, Dull beasts, with heads bowed down beneath the yoke Their feet on bleeding hearts that gave no sigh, Behold your image, man of sordid clay! A lifeless mass bright with no quickening ray! The moralizing tone is here attempted, though the author is aware with only moderate success. The soliloquy is supposed to be uttered by a pale young gentleman, walking with folded arms by moonlight and reflecting on the rebuff his disinterested affection has received from the refusal of some elderly curmudgeon to bestow on him the hand of his young and wealthy ward. It does not appear whether there was a necessity for his presence at the remarkable battle, alluded to in the text, or not, as he might have seen in some newspapers an account of it. But the beautiful allusion to the guardian's neck as "beneath the yoke" of avarice, with his feet "on bleeding hearts," his own to wit and that of the young lady, we submit belong entirely to the aforesaid melancholic youth. How completely are our opinions and feelings colored and moulded by circumstances over which we have no control! Alas! that we resemble so much the bubbles on the shoreless sea of time, cast hither and thither by the surging waves, buffeted by the winds of misfortune and going out at last like a candle burnt to the socket, suddenly, totally, Into such a train of reflection is the contem- to come in contact with the material earth, her plative mind at all times liable to be led! XII. Methought Niagara above thy whirl I hovered on an angel's airy wings, Cutting the smoky mists that upward curl, And yielding me to dim imaginings. "A change came o'er my dream"-in a small boat I find myself so warm and softly lying, Oysters are not the most judicious fare for the evening meal. They frequently superinduce a disposition to violent starts in the sleep, caused by the strange and terrible nature of the individual's dreams. Our bed-fellow has frequently complained of ferocious assaults made upon him in the dead of night, which caused him, as he declared, great suffering. Strange to say we were, on the next morning, totally unconscious of the circumstance. blue eye dancing with the joy of health, peace, and freedom from that bitter guest experience! Pass on sweet one! Were I as thou my thoughts would not be now in trembling doubt upon the slippery verge of deep despair. Secure in faith and hope, my heart would rise like holy incense to the gates of heaven, and angels on their snowy wings of light would bear it weary, sad, to Paradise. Pass on dear one! Thy heart is white and pure. No misty sophistries thy thoughts enmesh, for thou art moulded in the form of truth, and all thy spirit is unclouded yet with the deep gloom of the fast coming years. Dear little maid! Would that like thine my heart were clear and every leaflet of its tables smooth from the deep traces of my many sins. Pass on in peace, security; for o'er thy head the guardian angels watch, lest any impious hand should sully what was made so purely fair! The author, cap in hand, solicits pardon of the reader for the above train of reflection which he can only defend upon the plea that his pen being new-nibbed ran away like a fiery horse. He would further say that something seemed necessary to restore him to the reader's good Another effect of these edibles is presented opinion after the cold-blooded nature of the above in the above. The mind, like the school-boy performance-which he has translated into verse having a holiday, flies away to the ends of the from the original prose overheard by the author. world, to great waterfalls, tremendous chasms, and-so-forth, amusing itself on the way with "turning and tumbling," as expressed in the text. We had intended to write a dissertation on this subject which, like Urn Burial and other matters which appear barren, is really full of interest and capable of a great display of learning and research, but in consideration of the fact that the reader is quite as well versed in the causes and results of the phenomenon, we refrain. XIII. As down the street she gaily trips along, Her small feet twinkling like revolving wheels, With joyous spirit caroling a song Like that which from sweet Philomela steals I feel within my breast a happiness Or any other villian should draw near XIV. Before great Balsamo I stand amazed, His wondrous tricks I view with dread delight Whose crimes provoked this deep, this bitter sting. This, as the reader probably guesses, has reference to the well-known "Memoirs of a Physician," by M. Dumas, in which he agitates the questions which are now agitating Europe and presents the world with an account of the sayings and doings of the great magician Cagliostro, otherwise Count Fenix, otherwise Acharat, otherwise Joseph Balsamo. The Count, according to his story, lived many ages, had seen the revoluHow sweet to see the little maiden of fifteen tions of Egypt, the Lower Empire and other summers tripping along, her satchel upon her countries, and was either a great benefactor or a arm, her wimple gathered over her sunny locks great scoundrel-which we are not able to say of waving gold, her delicate feet scarce seeming from the confused notions of the age on these |