ancient reliques, or modern antiques, are wondrous silly. We inust insert the portrait of the Naiad.

It rises from the bank of the brook,
And it comes along with an angel look;
Its vest is like snow, and its hand is as fair,
Its brow seems a mingling of sunbeam and air,
And its eyes so meek, which the glad tear laves,
Are like stars beheld soft'ned in summer waves;
The lily hath left a light on its feet,

And the smile on its lip is passingly sweet;
It moves serene, but it treads not the earth;—
Is it a lady of mortal birth?

Down o'er her shoulders her yellow hair flows,
And her neck through its tresses divinely glows;
Calm in her hand a mirror she brings,

And she sleeks her loose locks, and gazes, and sings.' p. 12. Her song is not particularly replete with meaning: but who does not know that in songs, the air and the voice are every thing? Little indeed are our modern sirens indebted for their power to charm, to the quality of the words which they breathe and trill so melodiously. Lord Hubert listens, and gazes upon the lovely lady, till his constancy begins to give way. His 'pretty page' intreats him not to trust the phantom, for the page, it seems, is much wiser than his master, and knows flesh and blood from a water-sprite, and says this pretty page,

Trust not the eyes of that lovely spirit,
Death doth their wooing light inherit;-
Trust not those locks of the burning gold,

They will twine round the heart 'till it's ruin'd and cold.'

The warning is in vain. Lord Hubert resolves, whatever betide him, to woo the fairy of the flood:' he alights from his steed to meet the Naiad.

• The page is fled the steed is gone,
Lord Hubert lingers there alone;
Alone-save that light form that sleeks
Her tresses down her gleaming cheeks.
She woos him with her voice and look ;-
Beside her crawls th' enamour'd brook,
Touch'd with her eye's delicious ray,
And muttering a quiet delight on its way.

She put forth her hand, and the moonbeam fell
On a hue like its own,-and it slept there well;
She fix'd her fair eyes on Lord Hubert's face,
And look d him to stillness in that pale place.
He paus'd-he fear'd-till her voice sigh'd along,
In the beautiful, soul-fed breath of song:-
Then he started, and clasp'd her lily white hand,
Oh! as sweet as the violet leaf, and as bland.

'The scene-the music-that touch of her-
Gave his high soul a passionate stir;
He kiss'd her lips,-and that ardent kiss
Was sweeter than aught on earth, I wis;
It was long and silent, as though the soul chose
To linger for ever on that living rose:-

Yes! her lip was yielding, and glowing, and fresh,
And seem'd all of flowers, and not of flesh;—
And the breath that pass'd o'er it made him start,

Like the sudden full scent of the rose's heart.' pp. 17—19.

This is highly poetical, and the subsequent passages, though too much expanded, and not wholly unobjectionable in other respects, are not inferior in merit. The Naiad glides onward to the water's edge.

At the brink of the brook she paus d awhile, And turn'd to her earthly love with a smile; "Fear not to follow-thou'rt charm'd from death, "The water will love thee, and lend thee breath."' Lord Hubert's heart misgives him too late; he starts, but at the Naiad's call, follows her, and vanishes from the placid ' earth.'

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The waters prattled sweetly, wildly,

Still the moonlight kissed them mildly ;

All sounds were mute, save the screech of the owl,
And the otter's plunge, and the watch-dog's howl;
But from that cold moon's setting, never

Was seen Lord Hubert-he vanish'd for ever:
And ne'er from the breaking of that young day

Was seen the light form that had pass'd away.' pp. 22-23.

Our poet then proceeds to describe the suspense and dismay of Angeline; and this is made to occupy about one hundred and thirty lines, the greater part of which might as well have been dispensed with, as they spoil the unity of the tale. The following stanza sufficiently explains the sequel.

• What is this that coldly clings

To my lip, and to my waist?
Whence is that wild voice that sings?
A spirit's breath around me rings,

By marble I'm embraced!'

A single verse of this kind suffices, in our ancient ballads, to convey, in the most simple and affecting way, what our modern poets would beat out into a hundred lines of sentimental description.

We are always disposed to estimate a work of fancy or of taste, rather by its positive qualities, than by its freedom from faults; and viewed inthis light, we think the "Naiad" does great credit to its author, and affords the indication of talents capable

of great improvement. We cannot however too strongly protest against the unbounded license which it is becoming the fashion to take, with regard to rhythm, good sense, and good English. Were many of the compositions in which this license is unsparingly adopted, likely to obtain a very extensive or very permanent circulation, we should seriously contemplate them as likely to injure the language. The exotic and obsolete terms with which Scott, and Byron, and their imitators, threaten to inundate the language, the novel meanings which Wordsworth and Wilson have attempted to affix to good old phrases, the colloquial barbarisms which we have lately seen introduced, from system, into the otherwise beautifully told story of Ri'mini,' the revived quaintness of phraseology in which other poets have been betrayed by awkward endeavours to be simple, and those convenient sacrifices of grammar to rhyme, which few scruple to make when pushed for an ending, shew the necessity of some stand being made for the purity of the English tongue. Otherwise, foreigners will soon find it insurmountably difficult to attain any competent knowledge of so uncertain and arbitrary a dialect, and our future lexicographers and grammarians will have no easy task in deciding upon the legitimacy of terms and phrases, unless they reject at once all the poets of the nineteenth century from their list of authorities.

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We meet with the following phrases in "The Naiad." Then ¿ come thee,' ,'' and cone thee;' shook' for shaken :''Now speak me outright;' to list the answer that he pray'd;' passingly sweet;' to glance up to' a person; Now fair fall thy lip; they rode them on;' dare not to kiss;' &c. We have moreover many offences against the ear; for as rule and regularity are alike set at defiance in the metrical tales of the day, we can only try the line by its effect on the ear, and it behoves the poet to mind at least his consonants and his cadences.

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But we will not dismiss our Author thus ungraciously. We were very much pleased with his other poems, and we will afford him the opportunity of fully re-instating himself in the good opinion of our readers, by the following Extracts from the Fairies."

I, by meditation led,

On the turf my limbs had spread,
And was gazing on the skies,

With thought-enamour'd soul and eyes.

Fancy wander'd wildly free,

Herself amusing sportively,

Peopling all the paly air

With forms fantastically fair;
Or in fine imaginings,

VOL. VI. N.S.

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Calling forth diviner things

From the filmy clouds,-deep sky-
And stars that beam'd so watchfully.
There I lay-by Fancy wrought
Into most luxurious thought;
When upon my list'ning ear

A soft note stole,-delicious-clear;-
'Twas such as breathes in distant vale,
From a full-hearted nightingale ;
That bird so skill'd a soul to move,
Made up of music and of love:-
It came with gentle, gentle swell,
And richly rose--and finely fell.-
I look'd upon the placid lake,

From which the music seem'd to wake,-
And lo! from out each lily's cup
A fairy started, merrily up,
And with a little rushy wand,
Push'd its flowery boat to land.
Round the lily's snowy whiteness
Broke a playful, sparkling brightness;
As if the stars were hurrying there,
Dancing round the watery car,
To gaze on forms so lightly fair.
Deep within the pebbly pool
Stood the palace, bright and cool;-
Transparent were the walls. By night,
The moon sent down its purest light,-
Which, though at first so soft from heaven,
More mellow through the wave was given ;—
And even the sun's warm ray at noon,
Went there as gently as the moon.

-

Oh! 'twas a bewitching sight,

*

To watch these revellers of the night
Wand'ring o'er the silent mead,
To gather flowers to form a bed
For their pretty queen to lie in ;-
The air grew fresher with their flying,-
The dew each form's reflection gave,-
And in its sweet sleep laugh'd the wave.
The couch was made the young queen shed
Her beauty-brightness o'er the bed ;-
Alas! the breezes from the west
Came to sing her heart to rest ;—
They set a floating cloud before

The placid Moon, and all was o'er ;-
The Fairies faded into air,

And left me lying lonely there.'-pp. 57-63.

Art. XII. Substance of a Speech delivered in the Court of Common Council, on a Motion to address his Royal Highness the Prince Regent to accede to the late Treaty concluded between the Emperors of Russia and Austria, and the King of Prussia. To which are added other Papers on the Subject of Peace. By Mr. Favell. 8vo. pp. 54. Price 2s. Conder. 1816.

THE part of the community who are on principle lovers of

peace, may now perhaps be permitted to entertain, though not without some misgivings, a hope for a few years' suspension of that work of devastation and horror, which has, during five and twenty years, appeared to constitute the chief business or amusement of the civilized world. Had a contract been actually entered into with Death, on the part of the rulers of this world, to consign to that power supernumerary myriads of victims, as if in impatience of the tediousness of nature and time, the task of destruction could not have been discharged with more persevering and costly zeal. On what ground, then, are any of us hoping for a space of respite from war? Assuredly, not on that of any religious professions and holy leagues of ambitious military monarchs. Neither, alas! can it be on the ground of any material improvement in the reason, humanity, or religion, of the nations; nor even in any dig nified regret or resentment at having been made the victims of delusion and the tools of ambition. No, it is merely on the 2 R2