THE PORTRAIT.-By Oehlenschlager. FREDERIC and Lewis had long been most intimate friends, and as they were almost inseparable, they became at the same time acquainted with Laura, who esteemed them both, but could only love one. Lewis was the happy man, and Frederic might perhaps have reasoned himself into resignation, had he not unfortunately met with one of those bravos, who fancy they show their own courage by making others act with spirit, as they are pleased to call it. Such a one had of late been courting an intimacy with the irritated young man, and under existing circumstances he found no great difficulty in making him believe, that insult had been added to perfidy, and that, according to the laws of honour, nothing but blood could wash off the stain; he worked in this manner on the passions of his victim, until he obtained at last a challenge. The fortunate lover saw these things of course in a very different light; and his present frame of mind, as well as the remembrance of former times, made him equally loth to draw his sword: but he too was soon surrounded by pretended friends, who made it their business to set him on, and he was urged to fight against his inclination. Frederic fell; the blood gushed violently out of a deep wound, and Lewis hastened to his assistance; but his quondam friend had only just strength enough to give him a look of the most heart-rending reproach, and, after a few convulsive motions, he was to all appearance a lifeless corpse: the bystanders put the victor on the horse which had been kept in readiness, and he disappeared in an instant. In the mean time, the wounded man recovered, and being made sensible of the terrible state in which his late antagonist must now find himself, he endeavoured to inform him, by all the means in his power, of his true condition. Three years had however already elapsed, since the catastrophe, when Frederic, travelling at a considerable distance from home, was struck one evening, with a gentleman's account to the landlord, of what had happened to him during the preceding night. He said, I put up at the lonely inn, which depends from the convent in the forest, and was shown into the 610 large room up stairs, whose walls are quite covered with pictures of every description, but particularly with portraits of saints and heroes. I amused myself for a considerable time with looking at them, and I came at last to one whose face was turned towards the wall; I placed it in the proper manner, and found it to be the portrait of a very handsome young man in modern attire. In order to judge a little better of the artist's skill, I walked a few yards backwards, and it then appeared to me as if I met with the most horrible glance which could possibly be expressed by a human eye; and the more I looked, the more I felt affected and terrified, so much so, that I at last actually resolved to hide it again from my view. On approaching, I found it however less frightful, and easily persuaded myself, that the effect proceeded only from my imagination. I began then. quietly to undress; when, just at the moment I intended to lie down, and to extinguish the candle, the portrait caught my sight once more, and seemed to threaten me with the most furious expression of revenge. My heart beat audibly, as if I had committed a crime. I could not account for my feelings, and 'yet I was unable to bear them; in short, to my shame be it spoken, my mind was so agitated, that I could not recover the proper use of my senses, until I had removed the picture out of the room, and had bolted the door behind it. When the waiter came in the morning to bring me my breakfast, he laughed heartily at my fright, but told me also, to my comfort, that I was not the first to whom something of the kind had happened, and that this was the very reason why I had found the wrong side of the picture exhibited. I questioned him as to the manner in which his master had come by it; but he seemed to attach much importance to the secret, as I could not get any thing out of him. Frederic, sitting in a dark corner of the room, had listened with great attention to this story, and, as he had likewise to pass through the forest, he made it a point to stop at the same inn. He arrived there towards evening; but what was his astonishment, when the man who opened the door became pale as death, on looking at his face, and dropping the candle,he ran 611 Poetry:-The Tempest Stilled. away in the utmost consternation: he endeavoured to follow in the dark, and arrived at last in the traveller's room, but found it deserted; he seized a lighted taper, and went up stairs without interruption. He pursued his way to the saloon in question, and there he found-what he had, during the last moments, in some measure expected-his own portrait; but represented in such a manner, that he shuddered with horror at the dreadful sight, and had hardly the courage to regard it a second time. He was at no loss as to the painter; because Lewis had from his infancy shown a great talent for the art, and it was but natural, that he should have found a melancholy solace in eternizing the cause of his misery. Frederic was absorbed in these contemplations, when he heard a noise upon the staircase, as if a great number of people were mounting, and on turning round he perceived the most singular procession that could be imagined. A fat monk led the van, with a pot of holy water in one hand, and a large censer in the other; the landlord followed with a rusty old sword, the waiter brandished a boot-jack, and the hostler held a pitchfork, whilst the landlady, bringing up the rear, had armed herself and servants with brooms and flails. 612 their mutual satisfaction, as Frederic had seized the very first moment of comparative tranquillity, to relate the present situation of affairs: he was already married to a younger sister of Laura, and she herself had remained faithful to her first lover, and had never ceased to pray for his return. Even father Boniface finished with blessing the happy change, because, proud as he was upon the master pieces with which his convent had been already enriched, he yet felt that still more might be expected for the future, and that this would be more particularly the case with the grand representation of the day of judgment, in which the damned were indeed drawn with terrible and inimi table effect, but where the blessed were still wanting: the artist had often attempted to sketch them, but he had never been able to satisfy himself with the outline, and it had been as often effaced as planned. Poetry. THE TEMPEST STILLED. THE waves tossed high, the winds roared lond, serene; The whole fell back as Frederic offered to face them, but the monk took hold of the railing, and exclaimed --Earthly weapons are here of no avail, master Peter, we must contend in a spiritual manner: and thereupon he began to throw the water about with considerable dexterity himself, whilst he directed his companion how to proceed with the censer. It lasted a good while before a negociation could❘ be set on foot; but as soon as the master of the house understood, that the stranger wanted a supper and had got wherewith to pay, his fear left him at once, and he set about his business. The priest however was not so quickly appeased; he declared, that the painter confessed to have murder-In wonder at their Master's might. ed the man whom the picture repre- So, in his bark, when tempests lowr, sented, and no sophistry should con- The mariner on life's uncertain sea vince him this was not his spirit. In Is rescued in the stormy hour, the mean time Lewis had been sent for, How can his bark be cast away? If Christ be in his company; and farther explanations became as How can the waves prevail, if it contain easy as the result was pleasing. Him whom the wind and sea obey, Whose voice can calm the raging main? Liverpool. The two friends had so much the less trouble in adjusting things to As erst, when thro' wild chaos thrilled J. M. G. Goliath stalked forward, nine feet and a span Was the height of his form, more of demon than man: With a high brazen helm, and a huge coat of mail, He stood like a pillar of brass in the vale, Which lay 'twixt the armies prepared for the fight, Proud Philistia's sons, and the armed Israelite. With his mighty spear grasp'd, and with loud lofty boasts, He presumptuously challenged the Israelite hosts To produce him a foeman with whom to contend; That by one single combat the battle might end: Forty days he came forward, with haughtiness fired; Forty days, unaccepted his challenge, retired. The armies were now set in battle array, And the spear and the falchion were seized for the fray; The buckler was fix'd, while the shrill trumpet blew, And the chariot steed pranc'd with the foe in his view, When a herald, advancing towards Philistia, cried, "The combat's accepted: Goliath's defied.” Each army stood silent: Goliath came down From the mount to the valley with ire in his frown; And there came forth to meet him-no fierce man of war, Whose prowess was written in many a scar, But a ruddy-fac'd youth, with no arms save a sling, And a staff, and some stones at the foeman to fling. The giant advanc'd, and he brandish'd his spear, And he scoff'd at the youth of so mean a com peer, And he boasted he'd give to the vulture and crow, him so; The vile carcase that thus dar'd to menace the air, And the giant's broad brow by his casque was left bare, 614 The stone, like a thunderbolt, struck the swift blow, And the monster reel'd forward, a fall'n, helpless foe; He was levell'd as Dagon in front of the ark, And his boastings were gone like the sheen of a spark. Up! Israel, and follow the flying foes' path, the Lord WHEN storms cload the deep, and loud Boreas is roaring, When the white waves resound 'gainst the surge-beaten shore, When mariners heaven's kind aid are imploring, Then 'tis uncertain--whether home's joys they'll taste more. When the wanderer benighted, 'midst desarts a ranger, Where perils unseen his lone footsteps await; When despair fills the breast of the lost wayworn stranger, Then 'tis uncertain how soon cold death is his fate. When the clarion of war, through the land has resounded, And the youth leaves his cot, Valour's laurels 615 Poetry:-Sonnet.-To a Young Lady.-A Poem. Now he wanders o'er the plains, Experience teaches him that bad and good, SONNET H. D. On the much lamented Death of WILLIAM COW- BY hands unseen, to shield his earthly bed, There shall the village maids and youths repair; bare The hoary moss, and flow'rs to deck the clay, That shields from mould'ring dews the Poet's breast, While pensive wand'ring thro' the moss-grown TO A YOUNG LADY. THERE'S Something awful in the word Adieu, Yet there's a hope, a chance above, Nottingham, July, 1820. А РОЕМ, E. BOURROUS. For the 25th Anniversary of the Literary Fund, THIS Board presents, to Contemplation's view, 616 To drive pale want and misery from the door, Purer the good you never can impart, Dear is the child that milks the mother's So dear is pity to the heart oppress'd! And, like that succour from the ETERNAL The blessing doubles, when the hand's un- Some have advanced opinions, that would dry Still was their mirth the wit of Hudibras! That modern Genius gains both wealth and We sometimes see, with pleasure, in our days; 'Gainst them no adverse Fortune can prevail, flower, heart. Such are the objects, whom we wish to save Praise to our PATRON*-Homage to our KING! And, like Augustus, who embellish'd Rome, Another Athens rising on his side! Arts cannot droop, nor Sciences despair, his care; Nor Genius pine neglected, and alone, HIBERNIA'S Bards who, oft in plaintive strain, Have charm'd the breast from every sense of pain, Will strike the Harp, and loudest Pocans sing, land; And nothing mark'd their presence, or their But burning villages, and ravag'd plains! hand 618 When boundless Commerce shall new treasures yield, And the Loom prosper with the abundant field! Extends the blessings of his Father's reign; Will hail their Sovereign to HIBERNIA's land! SON. His Majesty, who is Patron of the Society, has for many years given £200 to the Literary Fund, on the Anniversary. REFLECTIONS ON DEISM. AMONG the various objections which Deism has urged against Christianity, none has appeared to me more entirely destitute of foundation, than, that the idea of the Deity which it presents is unworthy of him. Our Sister Isle, that never saw before Ireart. The Bible declares the Almighty to just, and merciful, the source of hapbe omniscient, omnipresent, wise, piness, of truth, and of life; this then is a character not unworthy of the Governor of the universe. The doctrine of the omnipresence of God, of the truth of Christianity; for how alone, affords a strong presumption was it possible, for a finite mind to conceive the idea of a Being unconfined by space, whose essence penetrates the utmost boundary of creation, if indeed creation has a boundary; to whom the past and future are one eterhal present; who controls the motion of worlds; whose will is the sole cause of all existence; and whose being has neither commencement, nor termination? His beneficence has And dwelt with ardour, on the themes he lov'd, hearse, As once her triumphs-in his patriot verse! animated matter with life. Unceasingly active, it accompanies the exercise of his power, and produces happiness. Its operation is illimitable, and its perfection admits not of diminution or decay. In the endless connections and dependencies he has established, there is no disorder or confusion, all is unvarying regularity, for wisdom and omnipotence have linked the chain which binds the whole together. Such is a faint outline of the idea presented by the Scripthen, I would ask, the picture of an tures, of the Supreme Being. Is this imperfect, an inconsistent, or, as some have even dared to assert, of a caprinot; it comprehends every excellence cious and cruel Being? Assuredly which the human mind can conceive, exalted to infinity. With the intellectual faculties unimpaired, and the heart undepraved, man must believe 2 R |