"Ah! my soul! ah! my soul is submitted;
Thy lips thy sweet lips-they are fitted
With a kiss to dissolve into joy and affection
The dreamings of hope and of gay recollection,
And sure never triumph was purer,

And sure never triumph was surer."

P. 60.

In the little poem which begins at the 63d page, the beauty of the thoughts is a good deal obscured by a perpetual burden, which reminds us of the song of a starling with his tongue split: and which we conclude Mr. B. has introduced in imitation of something similar in the original.

"The tender tears descended. The goddess came beneath, Hold! rather would I trample upon my rosy wreath. Hold! rather would I trample, would I trample.",

"And, fearing lest some footsteps might injure them, she stole And caught the living tear-drops within a rose's bowl. And caught the living tear-drops, living tear-drops. "Oh! what are all my roses, or what my chaplet fair? Bright pearls I now can fashion beyond the world's compare. Bright pearls I now can fashion, now can fashion,' "As soon as this was spoken, her tears as pearls appear, Which she with gold pierc'd lightly, and hung in either ear. Which she with gold pierc'd lightly, gold pierc'd lightly.

The chorus of women in the 61st page is a correct, though not a cold copy of those classical models which Hooft studied with so much diligence, and affords a very favourable specimen of the tragedy from whence it is taken.

Vondel appears fully worthy of the admiration which Mr. Bowring bestows on him, and the translation has evidently done justice to his merits. Our confined limits compel us to pass over the spirited and classical chorusses from Palamedes, the Batavian Brothers, and Gystrecht von Amstel, as well as the ode from the latter drama given in the 128th page, full of feeling and moral dignity; but we must quote at length the chorus of Angels in Lucifer, as possessing a lofty and solemn tone commensurate with its subject.

"Who sits above heaven's height sublime,
Yet fills the grave's profoundest place,
Beyond eternity, or time,

Ŏr the vast round of viewless space :

Who on himself alone depends

Immortal-glorious-but unseen

And in His mighty being blends

What rolls around or flows within. Of all we know not-all we knowPrime source and origin-a sea, Whose waters pour'd on earth below Wake blessing's brightest radiancy. His power-love-wisdom, first exalted And wakened from oblivion's birth Yon starry arch-yon palace, vaultedYon heaven of heavens-to smile on earth. From his resplendent majesty

We shade us 'neath our sheltering wings, While awe-inspired and tremblingly

We praise the glorious King of kings, With sight and sense confused and dim; O name-describe the Lord of lords, The seraph's praise shall hallow Him;Or is the theme too vast for words?

RESPONSE.

'Tis God! who pours the living glow
Of light, creation's fountain-head:
Forgive the praise-too mean and low-
Or from the living or the dead.
No tongue Thy peerless name hath spoken,
No space can hold that awful name;
The aspiring spirit's wing is broken;-
Thou wilt be, wert, and art the same!
Language is dumb-Imagination,

Knowledge, and Science, helpless fall; They are irreverent profanation,

And thou, O God! art all in all. How vain on such a thought to dwell!

Who knows Thee-Thee the All-unknown?

Can angels be thy oracle,

Who art-who art Thyself alone?
None-none can trace Thy course sublime,

For none can catch a ray from Thee,

The splendour and the source of time-
The Eternal of eternity.

Thy light of light out-pour'd conveys
Salvation in its flight elysian,
Brighter than e'en Thy mercy's rays;
But vainly would our feeble vision
Aspire to Thee. From day to day
Age steals on us-but meets Thee never :

Thy power is life's support and stay

We praise Thee-sing Thee, Lord! for ever.

Holy-holy-holy! Praise-
Praise be His in every land
Safety in His presence stays-
Sacred his His high command!

The picture of Christian Patience,

"Who sits with chattering teeth alone,
Half naked on a cold rough stone,"

is homely and undignified, and naturally reminds us of a squalid beggar-girl. As to the "monstrous flare-eyed band, bursting from the troubled sand," it passes our judgment to determine whether they are meant for seamen, devils, or walrusses. Nor is it easy to divine how the cold trite comfort, addressed to poor Vossius, in p. 138, and the beautiful little address to the infant's soul, in p. 152, should have proceeded from the same pen. We admire the latter greatly, in spite of a certain awkward je ne sçai quoi in the metre, reminding us of the Moravian hymn in the Bath guide,

"Chicken blessed and caressed," &c.

Next in merit to Vondel, if not equal to him, in our opinion, at least, is Decker, whose turn of thought bears somewhat of a resemblance to that of our own Cowper. Of him Mr. Bowring says,

"His poems are to this day justly esteemed by his countrymen for beauty of thought combined with elegance of expression, learning without pedantry, and harmonious versification free from feebleness and puerility. Feeling-intense and romantic feeling-is the peculiar characteristic of his writings, as it appears to have been of his heart; to whose virtues many of his contemporaries have paid tribute." P. 167.

His poetry on domestic subjects abounds with deep and genuine feeling, 'which the ignorance of the local circumstances that dictated it prevents our entering into as we could wish. The lines to a "Too early opening flower," will jusjustify his alledged resemblance to the pensive and moral Cowper.

"Not

yet, frail flower! thy charms unclose ;
Too soon thou ventur'st forth again;
For April has its winter-rain,

And tempest-clouds, and nipping snows.
Too quickly thou uprear'st thy head;

The northern wind may reach thee still,
And injure-nay, for ever kill
Thy charming white and lovely red.

His shatter'd hull and shiver'd sail
Borne at the mercy of the gale
Wherever winds and waters please;
And deems, as he is sinking fast,

The sands and brine and foam beneath,
That every wave contains a death,
That every plunge will be his last.
Thou'rt like the courtier, who, elate
When greeted first by favour's ray,
Begins to make a grand display:-
But, ah! it is a fickle state.

A court is like a garden-shade;

The courtiers and the flowers that rise
Too suddenly, 'neath changeful skies,

Oft sink into the dust and fade.
In short, we all are like thy flower,
And ever, both in weal and woe,
With strange perverseness, we bestow
Our thoughts on time's swift-fleeting hour.
And 'tis the same with those who pine.
And deem that grief will never flee,
And those who, bred in luxury,
Think the gay sun will always shine.
For every joy brings sorrow too,

And even grief may herald mirth;
And God has mingled life on earth

With bitterness and honey-dew.
Thus winter follows summer's bloom,

And verdant summer winter's blight;
Thus reign by turns the day and night;-
Change is the universal doom.

Then, floweret! when thy charms have fled,
All wither'd by a fate unkind,

Call wisdom's proverb to thy mind

Soon

green, soon gray-soon ripe, soon dead. Y

VOL. XXI. MARCH, 1824.

Jacob Cats somewhat resembles Hooft in his style. His anacreontic of Cupid lost and cried, is a pretty and improved paraphrase of the little Greek piece which suggested the idea; but we cannot see much in the portion of his poetry which this volume presents, to justify Mr. B.'s eulogium.

"Cats had all Vondel's devotion, kindled at a purer and simpler altar. His wisdom was vast, and all attuned to religious principle; his habits were those of sublime and aspiring contemplation; and his poetry is such as a prophet would give utterance to. He was the poet of the people. In his verses they found their duties recorded, and seeming to derive additional authority from the solemn and emphatic dress they wore. He is every where original, and often sublime." P. 74.

Two poems by Huygens are introduced, in two opposite styles. "The King," is a manly, nervous, and reflective. piece of moral philosophy. His rhapsody,

"Swiftly is the noontide fleeting,"

written, by his own confession, on a most broiling day, might as well have been suppressed; for the poor Dutchman's brains appear to have suffered a coup de soleil. Does Mr. Bowring remember the passage, which, to avoid offence, we will quote to him in Cervantes' own words?

"El sol entraba tan apriesa y contanto ardor, que fuera bastante a derretirle los sesos, si algunos tuvicra."

Take a sample of poor Huygens's vagaries.
"But by thee I'll not be driven,
Fiercely shining lamp on high-
Measurer of our days from heaven-
Year-disposer glorious eye;
Mist-absorber-spring-returner-
Day-prolonger-summer's mate;
Beast-annoyer-visage-burner-

Fair-one's spoiler-maiden's hate ;-
Cloud-disperser-darkness-breaker-
Moon-surpriser-starlight thief;

Torch-conductor-shadow-maker

Rogue-discoverer-eyes' relief;

Linen-bleacher-noiseless stroller

All-observer-gilding all;
Dust-disturber-planet-roller-

Traveller's friend, and day-break's call.

To this we might add,

Maggot-quickener, quagmire-thickener,
Friend to laundress in her need;