the Allied Powers, in 1814, in vindication of her own rights and those of her son, to the dutchy of Parma, Placentia, and Guestalla. They are brief and not uninteresting, though by no means deeply tragical. A characteristic sentence occurs in the early part of the narrative. - For some time we were obliged to have recourse to the nobility, who supplied us with chandeliers, plate, and other articles equally indispensible. This was the first time that the daughter of the king of Spain, accustomed to be served in gold and silver, saw herself obliged to eat off porcelain.' p. 309.

Art. VIII. Poetical Sketches: the Profession; the Broken Heart, &c.

with Stanzas for Music, and other Poems. By Alaric A. Watts.

f.cap 8vo. pp. 148. Price 6s. London. 1823. A

CURIOUS circumstance is connected with one of the poems

in this elegant little volume. On its first appearance, it was transcribed into several of our daily, weekly, and monthly journals, as the undoubted production of Lord Byron, although the Author had, it seems, inserted it in the Edinburgh Magazine with his name. The poem is as follows.

TO OCTAVIA.
• Full many a gloomy month hath past,

On flagging wing, regardless by:-
Unmarked by aught, save grief-sinc

I gazed upon thy bright blue eye,
And bade my Lyre pour forth for thee
Its strains of wildest minstrelsy!
For all my joys are withered now,-

The hopes, I most relied on, thwarted,
And sorrow hath o'erspread my brow

With many a shade since last we parted :
Yet, 'mid that murkiness of lot,
Young Peri, thou art unforgot!
• There are who love to trace the smile

That dimples upon childhood's cheek,
And hear from lips devoid of guile,

The dictates of the bosom break;
Ah! who of such could look on thee
Without a wish to rival me!

a
None ;-his must be a stubborn heart,

And strange to every softer feeling,
Who from thy glance could bear to part

Cold, and unmoved—without revealing
Some portion of the fond regret
Which dimmed my eye. when last we met!

• Sweet bud of Beauty Mid the thrill

The anguished thrill of hope delayed,
Peril—and pain and every ill

That can the breast of man invade,
No tender thought of thine and thee
Hath faded from my memory;
But I have dwelt on each dear form

Till woe, awhile, gave place to gladness,
And that remembrance seemed to charm,

Almost to peace, my bosom's sadness'; -
And now again I breathe a láy
To hail thee on thy natal day!
• O! might the fondest prayers prevail

For blessings on thy future years !
Or innocence, like thine, avail

To save thee from affliction's tears!
Each moment of thy life should bring
Some new delight upon its wing;
And the wild sparkle of thine eye-

Thy guilelessness of soul revealing-
Beam ever thus, as beauteously,

Undimmed-save by those gems of feeling -
Those soft, luxurious drops which flow,
In pity, for another's woe.
• But vain the thought !-It may not be !

Could prayers avert misfortune's blight;
Or hearts from sinful passion free

Here hope for unalloyed delight;
Then, those who guard thine opening bloom
Had never known one hour of gloom.
No--if the chastening stroke of Fate

On'guilty heads alone descended,
Sure they would ne'er have felt its weight,

In whose pure bosoms, sweetly blended,
Life's dearest social virtues move,
In one bright endless chuin of love!
• Then since upon this earth, joy's beams

Are fading—frail, and few in number,
And melt-like the light-woven dreams

That steal upon the mourner's slumber, Sweet one! I'll wish thee strength to bear The ills that Heaven may bid thee share ; And when thine infancy hath fled

And Time with woman's zone hath bound thee,
If, in the path thou ’rt doomed to tread,

The thorns of sorrow lurk; and wound thee,
Be thine that exquisite relief
Which blossoms 'mid the springs of grief!

And like the many-tinted Bow,

Which smiles' the showery clouds away,'.
May Hope-Grief's Iris here below

Attend, and soothe thee on thy way,
Till full of years--thy cares at rest
Thou seek'st the mansions of the blest !-
Young Sister of a mortal Nine,

Farewell !— Perchaoce a long farewell!
Though woes unnumbered yet be mine,

Woes, Hope may vainly strive to quell,
I'll half unteach my soul to pine,

So there be bliss for thee and THINÉ !! pp. 25—29. We think that there are poems of Lord Byron's, which the Author of these stanzas may justly be deemed, capable of having composed; but it does not strike us that these are quite such as his Lordship would have written. Mr. Watts more frequently reminds his readers of Moore or Barry Cornwall. There is howevers more of heart, though less of brilliancy in his lyrical poems, than in those of the former ; while he displays more purity of taste and of sentiment, if lessi originality than the latter. He is evidently a warm admirer of our living bards, and has perhaps formed his taste too mueh upon these imperfect models. We would recommend him to dip nearer the fountain-head. The stanzas on the death of a nephew, might have been written, and might have assumed the present form, although Leigh Hunt had never addressed his exquisite stanzas to his child; yet, the general resemblance is almost too strong to be accidental. The Writer, however, stands quite clear of

. plagiarism, and the poem is of so interesting a character, that we are sure we cannot say any thing in favour of Mr. Watts's volume, that shall more powerfully recommend' it to our readers, than the insertion of these stanzas. · TO THE MEMORY OF WILLIAM POWER WATTS.

(AGED THREE YEARS.)
• A cloud is on my heart and brow,

The tears are in my eyes,
And wishes fond; all idle now,

Are stified into sighs -
As musing on thine early doom,
Thou bud of beauty spatched to bloom,

So soon, 'neath milder skies !
I turn-thy painful struggle past-
From what thou art, to what thou wast !
• I think of all thy winning ways,'

Thy frank but boisterous glee ;
Thy arch sweet smiles,

thy coy delays,
Thy step, so light and free ;-

Thy sparkling glance, and hasty run,
Thy gladness, when the task was done,

And gained thy mother's knee ;-
Thy gay, good-humoured, childish ease,
And all thy thousand arts to please!
• Where are they now –And where, oh wherc,
The
eager

fond caress?
The blooming cheek, so fresh and fair,

The lips, all sought to press ? -
The open brow, and laughing eye, -
The heart, that leaped so joyously?

(Ah! had we loved them less !)
Yet there are thoughts can bring relief
And sweeten even this cup of grief.
• What hast thou 'scaped ?-A thorny scene,

A wilderness of woe ;
Where many a blast of anguish keen

Had taught thy tears to flow ?
Perchance some wild and withering grief,
Had sered thy summer's earliest leaf,

In these dark bowers below!
Or, sickening chills of hope deferred,
To strife thy gentlest thoughts had stirred !
• What hast thou 'scaped ?-Life's weltering sea,

Before the storm arose ;
Whilst yet its gliding waves 'were free

From aught that marred repose !
Safe from the thousand throes of pain,-
Ere sin or sorrow breathed a stain

Upon thine opening rose :
And who could calmly think of this,
Nor

envy thee thy doom of bliss ?
• 1 culled from home's beloved bowers,

To deck thy last long sleep;
The brightest-hued, most fragrant flowers

That summer's dews may steep :-
The rose-bud, emblem meet, was there,
The violet blue, and jasmine fair,

That, drooping, seemed to weep;
And, now, I add this lowlier spell;

-
SWEETS TO THE PASSING SWEET! FAREWELL!'

pp. 79-82.

We must make room for the following beautiful sonnet.

• THE FIRST BORN. • Never did music sink into

my

soul
So silver sweet, as when thy first weak wail
On my 'rapt ear in doubtful murmurs stole,
Thou child of love and promise ! -What a tale

Of hopes and fears, of gladness and of gloom,
Hung on that slender filament of sound I
Life's guileless pleasures, and its griefs profound
Seemed mingling in thy horoscope of doom.
Thy bark is launched, and lifted is thy sail
Upon the weltering billows of the world.
But oh! may winds far gentler than have hurled
My struggling vessel on, for thee prevail :
Or, if thy voyage must be rough, mayst thou

Suon scape the storm and be as blest as I am now!' p. 97. A limited edition of these poems was first printed for private circulation ; and it was the favourable notice which they attracted, that encouraged the Author to give them to the public. We are glad to perceive that a third edition is already announced, so that the public seem to have been, in this instance, before-band with us. But we could not pass over a volume of such modest pretensions, displaying at the same time so much genuine poetical feeling, sensibility, and refinement.

Art. IX. Time's Telescope for 1824; or a complete Guide to the Al.

manack: containing an Explanation of Saints' Days and Holidays; with Illustrations of British History and Antiquities, &c. Astronomical Occurrences in every Month, and the Naturalist's Diary. To which are prefixed Outlines of Historical and Physical Geography; and an introductory Poem on Flowers. By Ber

nard Barton. 12mo. pp. 330. Price 9s. London. 1824. WE have more than once noticed the former volumes of this

very agreeable miscellany, and we must do the ingenious Editor the justice to report, that his eleventh volume is by no means inferior in point of merit or variety to its predecessors. The work is, indeed, kept up with great spirit, and no pains have been spared to render it as useful as it is entertaining. Among the novelties in the present volume are, the Outlines of Geography contributed by Dr. Myers of Blackheath, to whom, it appears, that the public are also indebted for the astronomical portion of the work; the introductory poem by Bernard Barton; the

Methods of Treatment' recommended by the Royal Humane Society-these have been attached, at the Society's expense, to the principal Annual pocket-books, and ought to be in every one's possession; a portrait of Captain Parry, and two woodcut representations of Esquimaux costume ; and the usual poetical gleanings from contemporary and anonymous writers. It indicates a striking improvement in public taste, that many of the most elegant of these poetical pieces, are gathered from