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Sweetly he sung as he worked at the oar,
And this was his merry song
How with LOVE Time passes along ?”
As he often had been before ;
Father TIME to take up the oar.
With the paddles resumed the lay ;
How with TIME Love passes away!" 1 close this paper by an ode on the subject of “time," by a certain Mr. Thomas. Its author, a contemporary of the philosophic gang alluded to throughout, was frequently the object of their sarcasm, because he kept aloof from their coteries. He is author of a panegyric on Marcus Aurelius, once the talk of all Paris, now forgotten. These are the concluding stanzas of an
Ode au Tems.
Ode to Time. Si je devais un jour pour de viles If my mind's independence one day richesses
I'm to sell, Vendre ma liberté, descendre à If with Vice in her pestilent haunts des bassesses
I'm to dwellSi mon cœur par mes sens devait Then in mercy, I pray thee, O être amolli
TIME! O Tems, je te dirais, hâte ma der- Ere that day of disgrace and dishonière heure,
nour comes on, Hâte-toi que je meure : Let my life be cut short!~ better, J'aime mieux n'être pas que de
better be gone vivre avili.
Than live here on the wages of
Mais si de la vertu les géné. But if yet I'm to kindle a flame in the reuses flammes
soul Doivent de mes écrits passer en Of the noble and free-if
voice can quelques âmes
console, Si je dois d'un ami consoler les In the day of despondency, some malheurs
If I'm destined to plead in the poor S'il est des malheureux dont l'ob
man's defencescure indigence
If my writings can force from the nu. Languisse sans défense,
tional sense Et dont ma faible main doit es An enactment of joy for his home :*
suyer les pleurs :* Prout alludes to O'Connell's conduct on the Poor Law for Ireland.
O Teins ! suspends ton vol! re- Time! retard thy departure ! and specte ma jeunesse !
linger awhileQue ma mère long-tems, témoin Let my “songs" still awake of my de ma tendresse,
mother the smileReçoive mes tributs de respect et Of my sister the joy, as she sings. d'amour !
But, O GLORY and VIRTUE! your Et vous, GLOIRE! VERTU! dé.
care I engage; esses immortelles,
When I'm old—when my head shall Que vos brillantes ailes
be silvered with age, Sur mes cheveux blanchis se re- Come and shelter my brow with posent un jour !
THE SONGS OF FRANCE.
ON WINE, WAR, WOMEN, WOODEN SHOES, PHILOSOPHY,
FROGS, AND FREE TRADE.
From the Prout Papers.
CHAPTER IV.-FROGS AND FREE TRADE.
“Cantano gli Francesi-pagaranno!”
CARDINAL MAZARIN. “They sing? tax 'em !"
Clamore magno regem petiêrunt à Jove,
PHÆDRI, Fab. 2.
(Signed) 0. YORKE. The more we develop these MSS., and the deeper we plunge into the cavity of Prout's wondrous coffer, the fonder
we become of the old presbyter, and the more impressed with the variety and versatility of his powers. His was a tuneful soul! In his earthly envelop there dwelt a hidden host of melodious numbers; he was a walking store-house of harmony. The followers of Huss, when they had lost in
their commander Zisca, had the wit to strip hin of his hide ; out of which (when duly tanned) they made unto themselves a drum, to stimulate by its magic sound their reminiscences of so much martial glory: our plan would have been to convert the epidermis of the defunct father into that engine of harmony which, among Celtic nations, is known by the name of the “ bagpipe;" and thus secure to the lovers of song and melody an invaluable relic, an instrument of music which no Cremona fiddle could rival in execution. But we should not produce it on vulgar occasions : the ministerial accession of the Duke (1835), should alone be solemnised by a blast from this musico-cutaneous phenomenon; aware of the many accidents which might otherwise
in the narrative of an Irish wed. ding, has been recorded by the poet,
Then the piper, a dacent gossoon,
Until an arch wag
Cut a hole in his bag,
The music blew up to the moon !" Lord Byron, who had the good taste to make a claretcup out of a human skull, would no doubt highly applaud our idea of preserving a skinful of Prout’s immortal essence in the form of such an Æolian bagpipe.
In our last chapter we have given his opinions on the merit of the leading French philosophers-a gang of theorists now happily swept off the face of the earth, or most miserably supplanted in France by St. Simonians and Doctrinaires, and in this cu mtry by the duller and more plodding generation of “ Utilitarians." To Denis Diderot has succeeded Dionysius Lardner, both toiling interminable at their cyclopædias, and, like wounded snakes, though trampled on by all who tread the paths of science, still rampant onwards in the dust and slime of elaborate authorship. Truly, since the days of the great St. Denis, who walked deliberately,
with imperturbable composure, bearing his head in his astonished
from Montmartre to the fifth milestone on the northern road out of Paris ; nay, since the still earlier epoch of the Sicilian schoolmaster, who opened a “university” at Corinth, omitting Dionysius of Halicarnassus, and Dennis the critic who figures in the “ Dunciad,” never has the name been borne with greater éclat than by its great modern proprietor. His theories, and those of Dr. Bowring, are glanced at in the following paper, which concludes the Proutean series of the “ Songs of France.”
Far be it from us to imagine that either of these learned doctors will turn from their crude speculations and listen to the voice of the charmer, charm he ever so wisely ; we know the self-opinionated tribe too well to fancy such a consunmation as the result of old Prout's strictures : but, since the late downfal of Whiggery, we can afford to laugh at what must now only appear in the harmless shape of a solemn quiz. We would no more quarrel with them for hugging their cherished doctrines, than we would find fault with the Hussites above mentioned; who, when the Jesuit Peter Canisius came to Prague to argue them into conciliation, inscribed on their banner the following epigrammatic
“Tu procul esto ‘Canis,' pro nobis excubat 'ANSER !"" The term “ Huss" being, from the peculiarity of its guttural sound, among Teutonic nations indicative of what we call a goose.
OLIVER YORKE. Jan. 1st, 1835.
Watergrasshill, Jan. 1, 1832. It is with nations as with individuals: the greater is man's intercourse with his fellow-man in the interchange of social companionship, the more enlightened he becomes; and, in the keen encounter of wit, loses whatever awkwardness or indolence of mind may have been his original portion. If the aggregate wisdom of any country could be for a mo
ment supposed hermetically sealed from the interfusion of foreign notions, rely on it there would be found a most lamentable poverty of intellect in the land, a sad torpor in the public feelings, and a woful stagnation in the delicate “fluid” called thought. Peru, Mexico, and China—the two first at the period of Montezuma and the Incas, the last in our own day—have the degree of mental culture which may be expected from a collective body of men, either studiously or accidentally sequestered from the rest of the species; I suspect, the original stock of information derived from the first settlers constituted the entire intellectual wealth in these two secluded sections of the globe. On inquiry, it will perhaps be found, that Egypt (which has on all sides been admitted to have been our great-grandmother in art, science, and literature) was evidently but the dowager widow of antediluvian Knowledge ; and that the numerous progeny which has since peopled the universe, all the offspring of intermarriage and frequent alliance, bears undoubted marks and features of a common origin. The literature of Greece and Rome reflects back the image of Hebrew and Eastern composition; the Scandinavian poets are not without traces of affinity to their Arabic brethren; the inspiration of Irish melody is akin to that of Persian song; and the very diversity of detail only strengthens the likeness on the whole :
“Facies non omnibus una,
St. Chrysostom, talking of the link which connects the Mosaic writings with the books of the New Testament, and the common agreement that is found between the thuughts of the prophet of Mount Carmel and those of the sublime solitary of the island of Patmos, introduces a beautiful metaphor; as, indeed, he generally does, when he wishes to leave any striking idea impressed on his auditory.
“ Christianity," quoth he, “struck its roots in the book's of the Old Testament; it blossomed in the Gospels of the New :" Ερριζωθη μεν εν τοις βιβλιους των προφητων, εβλαστησε δε εν τοις ivayyerncois TOIV ATT06T07.01.-Homil. de Nov, et Vet. Test.