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And great revenges, by a shepherd's lay,
Piped dreamingly at eventide, when gleams
The softening light of sunset on the streams,
That dance to flitting star-light? Weaving flowers,
One scales no heights, o'erthrows no enemy's towers,
Plucks never the rose from Danger's rocky heights,
And wins no conquest save o'er base delights.
Who yields himself to the enslaving moods
Of the boy-passion, and with Fancy broods
O'er the supposed perfections of a life
Pass'd in delicious luxuries of repose,
Barters his birthright for a world of woes?
The best security for Peace is strife;

At least, the prompt and resolute will to brave,
Nay, seek the danger—or we fall, its slave!
He only merits Love who joys in war,
Love follows on the conquest-is its close,
Not its condition-must be kept afar
From any estimate of the absolute need;
To be enjoy'd in Peace, securely nigh,
The ememy conquer'd and the Duty freed!
Thy heart is in thy home; thy love is there;
She, whose bright visage, ever in thine eye,
Gleams with persuasion, making all thy care
Lie in the very comforter! What is here,
Of wisdom, home denied security?

But home thou hast not: Carthage has no home;
Love no security, or life; while Rome
Endures upon her hills, and sends abroad
Her ravening legions-conquers like a God,
To torture like a fiend! If she survives,
Thy country falls! A hundred thousand lives
Share in the deep perdition of her fall,
And all her cup of blessing turns to gall!
Thou art her life! In thee her hope revives;
And, if thou fail her! But look back and see
What sort of home and life hath Italy
Decreed to Carthage !"

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In the prophetic speech. The chief obey'd,
Look'd back, and trembled in his great surprise.
No Alps behind him rose; yet had he striven,
Toiling upward, till the heights grew into Heaven,
And the great marches backward, had become
Themselves, a terror, making manhood dumb,
As did the heights beyond. His eager eyes
Beheld the happy and sweet vale, that late
He left in bless'd security. What Fate
Had now usurp'd its Beauties? Dread the shape.
Coated with serpents, that made fiery rape

Of all its dear possessions! Cottage and grove,
Fair hamlets, orchards ruddy in the sun,
And Youth and Rapture dreaming in the shade,
Forgetting Danger in the joys of Love,
All by this terrible enemy overrun :—

Suddenly crushed and perishing;-suddenly made,
A blended ruin; while a deathly roar,

The crash of falling cities, mixed with shrieks

Of women, heard a moment and no more,

Drove the warm blood in whiteness from his cheeks!

XIV.

"Thou see'st!" resumed the Phantom of the Sire,
"That terrible shape is war! And such the doom
Of Italy or Carthage! Do thou choose
Whether such fortune fall upon thy home,
Where all that is most dear to thy desire
Harbours, or on the country of thy foes!
Such is the fate of Carthage or of Rome!
They are two rival destinies that strive,
In conflict, and one only may survive!
Look not again behind thee, but before;
There speed that terror! Let the ravaging form
Spread forth on every side, in fire and storm!
Be pitiless, that ye may better prove
Tender and merciful where most you love.
There rend the City-bid the temple flame,
Man yield to Hate, and woman sink in shame ;
While Rome succumbs to Carthage and to thee,
Even as thy will and courage shall decree!

But look not back, and dream no more! The hour
That finds thee thus unfaithful to thy fame,
Finds thee and Carthage lost, to pride and power,
Fate on her roof, disgrace upon thy name.

On, though Alps tower on Alps; though perils crowd
Thy legions, through the tempest and the cloud;
Though thousands perish in the pitiless strife,
Even in their fate shall Carthage gain new life!
Heed not the rocks that ever round thee rise,
These bring thee hourly nearer to thy prize;
They are thy steps to triumph-steeps that bring
The conqueror to new uses of his wing;

Thence, down upon the valleys shalt thou spring,
With tenfold power to crush; thence shalt thou grow
Resistless, in the struggle with thy foe;

And when thy soul is saddest, and thy form

Grows weariest, let one thought thy courage warm— Rome is beyond! That empire of thy Hate,

Thy foe and victim She, and Thou, her Fate!"

A. MORRIS.

PUBLISHER AND BOOKSELLER,
RICHMOND, VIRGINIA.

ROBINSON'S PRACTICE, VOL. II.

THE PRACTICE IN COURTS OF JUSTICE IN ENGLAND AND THE UNITED STATES, by CONWAY ROBINSON, of Richmond, Virginia. VOLUME 2d, treating of the subject matter of personal actions, in other words, of the RIGHT OF ACTION. The treatise in the first volume as to the place and time of a transaction or proceeding is followed in the SECOND, by one relating to the circumstances of the transaction, or the subject matter of the proceeding. This SECOND VOLUME, devoted entirely to personal actions, treats of the RIGHT OF ACTION:

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RECENTLY PUBLISHED.

ROBINSON'S PRACTICE-New Edition.

The Practice in Courts of Justice in England and the United States, by CONWAY ROBINSON, Esq. Volume 1, as to the place and time of a transaction or proceeding, treating chiefly of the Conflict of Laws, and the Statute of Limitations. Price $6. A. MORRIS, Publisher.

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PROSPECTUS

OF THE

SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER

For the Year 1856. July to December.

TWENTY-THIRD VOLUME.

In issuing the Prospectus of the Twenty-Third Volume of the SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER, commencing with the July No., the Proprietors rely solely on the encouraging letters and promises of the friends of the Messenger to aid them in extending its circulation, and they beg to assure the public that no exertions will be remitted on their part to maintain the high character of the work, and to challenge the patronage of all who value sterling literary merit. For Twenty-One Years, the Messenger has endeavored to reflect faithfully the Southern mind, while disdaining all narrow and sectional views, and has been alone among the monthly periodicals of America, in defence of the

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THE ITALIAN BRIDE. A REVIEW.*

We have been kindly favored with the perusal of the play, bearing the above title, and impressed with its intrinsic merit, have carefully reviewed it, with the express purpose of subjecting it, as a dramatic composition, to the analysis of impartial criticism. Should we be tempted, in the progress of our comments, to lavish upon the work very high encomium, we may reasonably be suspected of being governed by interested motives, and of forming our judgments through the flattering medium of kindly prepossessions. Now while there is need for us to encourage what we really think is possessed of sufficient merit to sustain itself, we deem it expedient to state in the premises, as a foil against the imputation of being swayed in our opinions by feelings of personal friendship towards the author, that we cannot even claim the pleasure of his acquaintance, and know him exclusively through the reports that have reached us of his literary tastes and talents. We are glad of an opportunity to announce this fact, because should we be questioned as to why we have undertaken to bring the play before us into public notice, coming to us, as it does, in a modest and unpretending way, we reply, that the object we have in view at present, is to rescue from the undeserved oblivion and neglect attendant upon the unobstrusive efforts of mind, emanations worthy of being snatched from so harsh and unjust a fate. Through the deference and respect we pay to intellect, we regard it an imperative duty to notice her revealed existence, and so to watch the various phases she assumes, as to be enabled to exhibit to the world, her immediate sphere of action, and the signal triumphs she may happily achieve. What higher and more commendable aspiration can we cherish, than to become, as it were, the historian of contemporary talent, and thus to record for the study and admiration of posterity, as well as for the gratification of those of our own

times, the mental labors of such as contribute valuable donations to the treasury of our current literature? In exalting true worth, we but elevate ourselves, and as long as we possess the power to rehearse the praises of unostentatious merit, we will exercise the privilege, not passing the limits of legitimate criticism.

We might fairly urge in behalf of the "Italian Bride," that it is the first effort of a gentleman, as yet in the early dawn of his manhood. Although it is the business of the critic, in making up his verdict, to weigh all the facts, connected directly and indirectly with the case at issue, and we doubt not they materially tend to influence his final judgment, we here disclaim our intention to consider the circumstances of inexperience and immaturity, as affecting the author's work. We transfer to our page a synopsis of the plot, from a notice which appeared in the columns of one of our daily journals.

Clodio Renaldi, a noble, but poor Venetian, who had obtained fame in the military service of the Republic, is betrothed to Venetia, daughter of Giovanni, a wealthy merchant. Lorenzo, a dissolute noble and gamester, in revenge for a slight put upon him by Clodio, murders Giovanni, near whose body he places a dagger, which Clodio had lent Giovanni, as a protection to his person. The dagger is recognised as Clodio's. He is arrested and condemned to death by the Venitian Senate. Venetia with the connivance of the Doge, whose life Clodio had saved, enters the prison with the means of his escape. He refuses from a high sense of honor. The day of execution arrives. While on the platform, he is rescued from ignominous execution by the confession of the murder by Lorenzo, who is killed by Hugo, the friend of Clodio, while offering an insult to Venetia.

The conception of this plot is in perfect harmony with reason and nature, and evinces, no less than in its execution, considerable histrionic ingenuity and tact,

Written for Miss Eliza Logan, and published for

* The Italian Bride. A play. In Five Acts. private distribution. Savannah. John M. Cooper & Co., 1856.

VOL. XXIII-10

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