Mr. Editor, THE THE PLAGUE FIEND. HE following Ballad was written to prove what some had denied, the facility of composing a "Tale of Wonder," nearly as fast as it could be written, when advantage was taken of the usual licence granted in those little poems. The small circle to whom it was read has encouraged the writer to send it to your valuable and entertaining work. THE PLAGUE FIEND. THERE raged a plague, In the town of Prague, And thousands fell every day : 'Twas a fiery death, To fall by its breath, And moulder like ashes away. The babe and its mother, The sister and brother, Were flung in one grave without prayer ; No psalm could be sung, No death bell be rung, No priest holy rites could prepare. For the corpses came fast As the leaves on the blast, J. J. And the priests were themselves swept away; The eye of the morning Saw blushes adorning Maids who saw not the close of the day. O'erlooking the town Seven knights of renown Groaned and wept in Sir Elmoric's tower: Says one, as I live, My right hand I would give This dark plague might no longer devour Says another, "I swear And make a new heritage mine." Says Lord Rodolph-"Mine eyes That dwell on the charms of my love; With heartfelt delight If the plague fiend I thus could remove." Lord Elmoric sighed For he thought on his bride, And the sorrows would live in her breast: My life I declare I would willingly spare If thus I could save all the rest.” Lo! the Plague Fiend appears! His mouth meets his ears, And he shews his long fangs with a grin : He's strip'd and he's dotted, He's freckled and spotted, His tongue is half out and half in. His eyeball so burning To take you at your word, For they'll never grow stronger : But all die without me, As much as they flout me, I'll impose no hard task, You may all by moonlight I vow to you here, I shall only appear That gives back the moon-beam: Which I must not pass:" • All ballad readers are aware that a supernatural being cannot cross a stream. One of Burns' best ballads is founded on this belief. Nor the Hermitage enter- The foul one was right In his fiendish spite, And keen was his knowledge of ill; For religion or laws, 'Tis delightful to die by our will. But to perish by lot Full well may the stoutest appal. Yet this noble seven, Appealing to Heaven, Accepted the offer he made; Their souls, they were sure, From his grasp were secure, 'Tis the silvery beam Of the moon on the stream Has made seven brave knights look so pale! It is not that there, The lots they prepare Might give cause to the stoutest to quail. As soon as each elf Was assured that himself Had been spared from so dreadful a doom; He turn'd eager eyes On Sir Elmorie's prize, Who flourish'd in life's early bloom. The moon beam was strong, And fully pourtray'd on the wall: He thought it was best To meet with a jest, A fate that no wailing could mend: So strongly pourtray'd, "There's another still coming, my friend." The fiend thought him serious, The Fiend snatched at the shade It was all he could carry away: Tho' the sun may shine warm Not a shadow it casts on the ground: Like a creature of light He beams on the sight, And his days are with gratitude crown'd. AT MR. DAWSON TURNER'S TOUR IN NORMANDY. Continued. T Bayeaux our travellers saw the famous tapestry known by the name of that town, [descriptive of the Norman Conquest.] Mr. Turner remarks on the incorrectness with which the French artists have copied this very curious piece of historical needle-work. "Till the revolution this tapestry was always kept in the cathedral, in a chapel dedicated to Thomas à Becket, and was only exposed to public view once a year, during the octave of the feast of St.John, on which occasion it was hung up in the nave of the church, which it completely surrounded. From the time thus selected for the display of it, the tapestry acquired the name of le toile de Saint John, and it is to the present time commonly so called in the city. During the most stormy part of the revolution, it was secreted; but it was brought to Paris when the fury of vandalism had subsided. And, when the First Consul was preparing for the invasion of England, this ancient trophy of the subjugation of the British nation was proudly exhibited to the gaze of the Parisians, who saw another Conqueror in Napoleon Buonaparté ; and many well-sounding effusions, in prose and verse, appeared, in which the laurels of Duke William were transferred, by anticipation, to the brows of the child and champion of jacobinism. After this display, Buonaparté returned the tapestry to the municipality, accompanied by a letter, in which he thanked them for the care they had taken of so precious a relic. From that period to the present, it has remained in the residence appropriated to the mayor, the former episcopal palace; and here we saw it. It is a piece of brownish linen cloth, about two hundred and twelve feet long, and eighteen inches wide, French measure. The figures are worked with worsted of different colours, but principally light red, blue, and yellow. The historical series is included between borders composed of animals, &c. The colours are faded, but not so much so as might have been expected. The figures exhibit a regular line of events, commencing with Edward the Confessor, seated upon his throne, in the act of despatching Harold to the court of the Norman Duke, and continued through Harold's journey, his capture by the Comte de Ponthieu, his interview with William, the death of Edward, the usurpation of the British throne by Harold, the Norman invasion, the battle of Hastings, and Harold's death. These various events are distributed into seventy-two compartments, each of them designated by an inscription in satin. Ducarel justly compares the style of the execution to that of a girl's sampler. The figures are covered with work, except on their faces, which are merely in outline. In point of drawing they are superior to the contemporary sculpture of St. George's and elsewhere; and the performance is not deficient in energy. The colours are distributed rather fancifully; thus the fore and off legs of the horse are varied. It is hardly necessary to observe that perspective is wholly disregarded, and that no attempt is made to express light and shadow. "Great attention, however, is paid to costume; and more individuality of character has been preserved than could have been expected, considering the rude style of the workmanship. The Saxons are represented with long mustachios: the Normans have their upper lip shaven, and retain little more hair upon their heads than a single lock in front.-Historians relate how the English spies reported the invading army to be wholly composed of ecclesiastics; and this tapestry affords a graphical illustration of the chroniclers' text. Not the least remarkable feature of the tapestry, in point of costume, lies in the armour, which, in some instances, is formed of interlaced rings; in others of square compartments; and in others of lozenges; those who contend for the antiquity of Duke William's equestrian statue at Caen, may find a confirmation of their opinions in the shape of the saddles assigned to the figures of the Bayeaux tapestry; and equally so in their cloaks and their pendant braided tresses. "The tapestry is coiled round a cylinder, which is turned by a winch and wheel; and it is rolled and unrolled with so little attention, that if it continues under such management as the present, it will be wholly ruined in the course of half a century. It is injured at the beginning; towards the end it becomes very ragged, and several of the figures have completely disappeared. The worsted is unravelling too in many of the intermediate portions. As yet, however, it is still in good preservation, considering its great age, though, as I have just observed, it will not long continue so. The bishop and chapter have lately applied to government, requesting that the tapestry may be restored to the church. I hope their application will be successful." At Bayeux there is the following legend: "Once upon a time, the wicked 'canons of the cathedral murdered their bishop; in consequence of which foul deed, they and their successors for ever, were enjoined, by way of penance, annually to send one of their number to Rome, there to chaunt the epistle at the midnight mass. In the course of revolving centuries, this vexatious duty fell to the turn of the canon of Cambremer, who, to the surprise of the community, testified neither anxiety nor haste on the occasion. Christmas-eve arrived, and the canon was still in his cell: Christmas-night came, and still he did not stir. At length, when the mass was actually begun, his brethren, more uneasy than himself, reproached him with 298 Jacobite Songs of Scotland, &c.-Donald Macgillavry. his delay; upon which he muttered his spell, called up a spirit, mounted him, reached Rome in the twinkling of an eye, performed his task, and, the service being ended, he stormed the archives of the Vatican, where he burned the compulsory act, and then returned by the same conveyance to Bayeux, which he reached before the mass was completed, and to the unspeakable joy of the chapter announced the happy tidings of their deliverance." Mr. Editor, [VOL. 8 pre This story belongs to too many pla ces to be worth repeating, were it not for the old Latin distich, which is served as having been extemporized by the demon as he was flying over the Tuscan sea, and by which he thought to get his rider to the bottom of it. The verses read both backwards and forwards. Signa te, signa, temere me tangis et angis; SCOTCH JACOBITE SONGS. Donald's gane up the hill hard and hungry; Donald's run o'er the hill but his tether, man, Donald has foughten wi' rief and roguery; • Donald Macgillavry is here put for the Highland Clans generally. Donald's the callan that brooks nae tangleness; Come like a cobler, Donald Macgillavry, Up wi' King James and Donald Macgillavry! THE PRINCE'S WELCOME. 1. Thou stem sprung from a noble line, And Monarch, in thy Right Divine, To shew the world what thou art, Thy people's trust and pride, Who ever, and still to thee true art, Heir of our ancient throne, Whom thy country now doth own, Can we forget the bright days gone by, And are such days ever past and gone? When like thy strong bulwark unshaken Lo! the day-star of Hope hath risen afar, Which shall drive the tyrant before thee. The foemen are gathering many and fast; Soon their blood shall darken the water: The rav'ning birds, greedy for their rick repast, Are screaming and swooping for slaughter. Joy to thee, Scotland, Joy! ere long Thy name as it wont shall betoken; Thou'lt again be the land of peace and song, When thy chains are shiver'd and broken. THE RIVER OF LIFE. 1. When young Hope's flattering dreams We are joyfully pursuing When Fancy's golden schemes Our path with flowers is strewing Who hastes not where such beauty gleams? (-Its distance deceiveth us ever!) Who longs not to plunge amidst its streams, And cross Life's shining river? 2. Yet when we reach the brinkWildly its waters are flowing When its sparkling streams we drink, How cold!-though in sunshine glowingThat we shrink back heartless and chill'd, (Nor would we venture ever If so we might-) with tremblings filled, To buffet Life's foaming river! 3. For Hope turns faint and dimSweet Fancy but deceives us ; And as we onwards swim, Joy with Life's current leaves us To struggle with the waves which beat, Their fierceness encreasing everLeft helpless, if Faith should not elate, While crossing Life's impetuous river. 4. Has Faith e'er failed in time of need To strengthen and up-buoy us, When we perceive Earth to recede ? Oh! it cheers us with prospects joyous! Scenes changeless and true-what they seem to be, When Life's tumultuous river Hath flowed into Eternity, Shall be unveil'd! and remain ours for ever! WE THE SCOTCH NOVELS. From the London Magazine. E think, with the late excellent and much lamented Mrs. Brunton*, that "single pages of these works are worth whole volumes of common inventions." Without taking upon us directly to affirm, that their author is the greatest writer of the present day, we may be permitted to say for our selves, that there is no living author whom we would so much wish to be. We give him this preference, because none of his contemporaries seem to us to have so universal and exquisite a relish for all the immense variety of natural objects that present themselves to the faculty and observation; or so quick and sound a feeling of their essential qualities and distinct characters:-but principally because his mind appears to possess, in a degree peculiar to itself, the admirable propriety of digesting all its food into healthy chyle. More than any other writer, except Shakspeare, and not less than Shakspeare himself, he renders the reading of his works encouraging to human nature, by putting us in good humor with whatever he offers to our attention: and this beautiful result, in consequence of the power and comprehension of his genius, and the truth and vigor of his moral constitution, he effects without ever shocking the principles of conscience, or violating any one rule of civil or sacred authority. We join the course of his lively and rapid narrative in the true spirit of the The mentioning of this lady's name affords an opportunity, which we cannot let slip, of noticing how much society has lost, both of example and ornament, by her premature death. The women of this country will never, we confidently believe, be inclined to listen to the jargon of the ". writers who are perpetually endeavouring by hints, or open recommendations, to render their minds familiar with things evil, to induce them to overleap the sacred inclosure of female reserve. and set at defiance those guards of honour, which, by the laws of society, are appointed to wait upon their purity. Let them contemplate the charms that attend such a character as Mrs. Brunton's, and they are safe from seduction. |