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compared to him as a juvenile prodigy. No | Yet, from your ear if thus concealed,

English poet ever equalled him at the same age."

FRIDOLIN; OR, THE MESSAGE TO THE FORGE.

A TRANSLATION FROM SCHILLER,
From Blackwood's Magazine.

A harmless lad was Fridolin,

A pious youth was he;

He served, and sought her grace to win,
Count Savern's fair ladye.
And gentle was the dame as fair-
And light the toils of service ther;
And yet the woman's wildest whim
From her had been but joy to him!

Soon as the early morning shone
Until the vesper bell,

For her sweet hest he lived alone,
Nor e'er could serve too well.
She bade him oft not labor so-
But then his eyes would overflow;
It seem'd a sin if strength could swerve
From that one thought-her will to serve!

And so, of all her house, the dame
Most favor'd him always,
And from her lips for ever came
His unexhausted praise-

On him, more like some gentle child
Than serving-youth, the lady smil'd-
And took a harmless pleasure in
The comely looks of Fridolin.

For this the huntsman Robert's heart
The favor'd henchman cursed;
And long, till ripen'd into art,

The hateful envy nursed.
His Lord was rash of thought and deed,
And thus the knave the deadly seed
(As from the chase they homeward rode,)
That poisons thought to fury, sow'd-

"Your lot, great Count, in truth is fair, (Thus spoke the craft suppress'd ;) The gnawing tooth of doubt can ne'er Consume your golden rest. He who a noble spouse can claim, Sees love begirt with holy shame; Her truth no villain arts ensnare

The smooth seducer comes not there."

"How now !-what say'st thou, bold Fellowe?" The frowning Count replied

"Thinks't thou I build on woman's vow,
Unstable as the tide?

Too well the flatterer's lip allureth-
On firmer ground my faith endureth ;
The Count Von Savern's wife unto

No smooth seducer comes to woo!"

"Right!"-quoth the other-" and your scorn
The fool can but supply,
Who, though a simple vassal born,
Esteems himself so high-
And, to the dame he serves aspiring,
Harbors for her the love desiring."

"How!" cried the Count, and trembled-" How! Of one who lives, then, speakest thou?"

"Surely; can that to all reveal'd Be all unknown to you?

Out burst the Count, with gasping breath,

Let me be silent too."

"Fool-fool!-thou speak'st the words of death!
What brain has dared so bold a sin ?"
"My Lord, I spoke of Fridolin!

"His face is comely to behold"-
He adds-then paused with art.

The Count grew hot-the Count grew cold—
The words had pierced his heart.
"My gracious master sure must see
That only in her eyes lives he;

Behind your board he stands unheeding,

Close by her chair-his passion feeding.

"And then the rhymes"-" The rhymes!" "The

same

Confess'd the frantic thought."
"Confess'd!"-“Ay, and a mutual flame
The foolish boy besought!

No doubt the Countess, soft and tender,
Forbore the lines to you to render;
And I repent the babbling word

That scaped my lips-What ails my lord?"

Straight to a wood, in scorn and shame,
Away Count Savern rode-
Where, in the soaring, furnace-flame,
The molten iron glow'd.

Here, late and carly, still the brand
Kindled the smiths, with crafty hand;
The sparks spring forth, the bellows heave,
As if their task-the rocks to cleave.

Their strength the Fire, the Water gave,
In interleagued endeavor;

The mill-wheel, whirl'd along the wave,
Rolls on for aye and ever-

Here, day and night, resounds the clamor,
While measured beats the heaving hammer;
And suppled in that ceaseless storm,
Iron to iron stamps a form.

Two smiths before Count Savern bend,
Forth-beckon'd from their task.
"The first whom I to you may send,

And who of you may ask-
'Have you my lord's cominand obey'd?'
-Thrust in the hell-fire yonder made;
Shrunk to the cinders of your ore,
Let him offend mine eyes no more!"

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It would be interesting to know if Schiller lived within hearing of a forge. In the poems written during this period of his life, he is peculiarly fond of introducing descriptions of the sound of the hammer. Possibly to some external impression, we owe the origin of this very characteristic and striking ballad.

"It shall be done"-and to the task
He hies without delay.
Had she no hest?-'twere well to ask,
To make less long the way.
So wending backward at the thought,
The youth the gracious lady sought:
"Bound to the forge the wood within,
Hast thou no hest for Fridolin?

"I fain," thus spake that lady fair, In winsome tone and low, "But for mine infant ailing there, To hear the mass would go. "Go thou, my child-and on the way, For me and mine thy heart shall pray; Repent each sinful thought of thineSo shall thy soul find grace for mine!"

"Forth on the welcome task he wends,
Her wish the task endears,
Till, where the quiet hamlet ends,
A sudden sound he hears.

To and fro the church-bell, swinging,
Cheerily, clearly forth is ringing;
Kuolling souls that would repent
To the Holy Sacrament.

He thought, "Seek God upon thy way, And he will come to thee!"

He gains the House of Prayer to pray, But all stood silently.

It was the Harvest's merry reign, The scythe was busy in the grain; One clerkly hand the rites require To serve the mass and aid the choir.

Eftsoons the good resolve he takes,

As sacristan to serve:

"No halt," quoth he, "the footstep makes
That doth but heavenward swerve!"
So, on the priest, with humble soul,
He hung the cingulum and stole,
And eke prepares each holy thing
To the high mass administ'ring.

Now, as the ministrant, before

The priest he took his stand; Now towards the altar moved, and bore The mass-book in his hand. Rightward, leftward kneeleth he, Watchful every sign to see; Tinkling, as the sanctus fell, Thrice at each holy name, the bell.

Now the meek priest, bending lowly,
Turns unto the solemn shrine,
And with lifted hand and holy,

Rears the cross divine.

While the clear bell, lightly swinging,
That boy-sacristan is ringing;-
Strike their breasts, and down inclining,
Kneel the crowd, the symbol signing.

Still in every point excelling,
With a quick and nimble art-
Every custom in that dwelling
Knew the boy by heart

To the close he tarried thus,
Till the Vobiscum Dominus;

To the crowd inclines the priest,

And the crowd have sign'd-and ceased!

Now back in its appointed place,
His footsteps but delay

To range each symbol-sign of grace-
Then forward on his way.

So, conscience-calm, he lightly goes;
Before his steps the furnace glows;
His lips, the while, (the count completing,)
Twelve paternosters slow-repeating.

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He gain'd the forge-the smiths survey'd,
As there they grimly stand:
"How fares it friends?-have ye obey'd,"
He cried, my lord's command?"
"Ho! ho!" they shout, and ghastly grin,
And point the furnace-throat within
"With zeal and heed, we did the deed-
The master's praise, the servants' meed."

On. with this answer, onward home,
With fleeter step he flies;

Afar, the Count beheld him come-
He scarce could trust his eyes.

"Whence com'st thou?" "From the furnace." "So! Not elsewhere? troth thy steps are slow; Thou hast loiterd'd long !" Yet only till

I might the trust consign'd fulfil.

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All stunned, Count Savern heard the speechA wondering man was he; "And when thou didst the furnace reach, What answer gave they thee?" "An answer hard the sei se to win; Thus spake the men with ghastly grin, 'With zeal and heed we did the deed-The master's praise, the servants' meed.'

"And Robert ?"-gasp'd the Count, as lost In awe he shuddering stood

"Thou must, be sure, his path have crossed? I sent him to the wood."

"In wood nor field where I have been,

One single trace of him was seen.'

All deathlike stood the Count: "Thy might, O God of heaven, hath judged the right!"

Then meekly, humbled from his pride,
He took the servant's hand;

He led him to his lady's side,

She nought mote understand. "This child-no angel is more pureLong may thy grace for him endure; Our strength how weak, our sense how dim— GOD AND HIS HOSTS ARE OVER HIM!"

MEMOIR AND REMAINS OF CHARLES WOLFE.

From the Dublin University Magazine.

Remains of the late Rev. Charles Wolfe, A.B., with a Brief Memoir of his Life. By the Rev. JOHN A. RUSSELL, M. A., Archdeacon of Clogher. Eighth edition. Small 8vo. London. 1842.

THE deserved popularity of Archdeacon Russell's Memoir of Wolfe is probably among the reasons why it has been so little

In Archdeacon Russell's memoir of his

noticed in the Reviews, and we ourselves both of whom, like Wolfe himself, had but have hitherto felt hesitation in bringing be- just entered into the profession of the fore the public attention a work which, church,-and some of the sermons preached without any help whatever from the peri- by him in the discharge of the ordinary odical critics, seems likely to take its place duties of his curacy, or in Dublin, on his in the permanent literature of the country. occasional visits there. The same feeling, however, which leads us now to devote a few pages of our jour-friend, we have but one thing to complain nal to a new edition of Cowper, or Milton, of-and that is, that through his volume it or Burns, and in which studies we have is difficult to make out the dates of either found our readers not unwilling to follow the few incidents which he has to record, or or accompany us, would afford sufficient of the composition of such poems and essays motive for calling attention to the works of of Wolfe's as are interwoven with his narWolfe; and, in addition to this, we have rative. Even when a collective edition of some reason to believe, that although the the works of any of our great writers exbook before us is in the eighth edition, there hibits the compositions of very different are yet large classes of readers to whom periods of life, it is always desirable that this notice is likely to be the means of first the dates should, if possible, be given; as making it properly known. indeed the great value of such collections is, to exhibit the growth and progress of the mind, from its first imperfect imitation of the language of others, to the period when language is an instrument which it wields

Charles Wolfe, the youngest son of Theobald Wolfe, Esquire, of Blackhall, in the county of Kildare, was born in Dublin, on the 14th of December, 1791. His father died early, and the family removed to Eng- at will. The school exercises of Milton, no land, where they resided some years. In 1805 he was placed at Winchester-school, of which Mr. Richards was then the master. In 1809 he entered Dublin College-in 1817 entered into holy orders-from that time till within a year of his death discharged the duties of a country curate, in a remote part of Ulster-and died of consumption on the 23d of February, 1822, in the 32d year of his age.

doubt, might be regarded as predictions of the Paradise and the Samson; but who is there that does not feel what injustice to his fame it would be not to communicate the order in which his poems were written. And in such a case as Wolfe's, where all his poems and essays, connected with general literature, were written in early boyhood, or the first dawn of manhood, the fitness of giving dates with precision, or at It is scarcely possible to imagine a life all events of determining with some apmore uneventful than Wolfe's, and the proach to correctness the sequence of the whole interest of the volume arises from poems is so obvious, that it ought to have the opportunity it gives of contemplating been felt by the biographer as an absolute the character of a singularly amiable and duty. Poems, written when Wolfe was in excellent man, and of studying works to the twenty-second or twenty-third year of which the author appears never to have at- his age, are referred by Mr. Russell to the tached the slightest value-which seem to first year of his college life, when he was have been almost accidentally preserved scarcely seventeen; and we but state what no one of which was written for the press we know to be the effect of this confusion -nay, no one of which can be almost de-of dates, when we mention that it has led scribed as other than accidentally arising to a false estimate of his powers, by misfrom the circumstances in which he was for leading readers into the injurious supposithe moment placed-and, thus to be fairly tion, that the earlier works of the writer regarded rather as indications of what such were those which exhibited the highest a mind was likely, if fairly tasked, to have marks of genius: the contrary being, when produced. Of what do these Remains con- the true dates are supplied to his respective sist? Copies of verses, Latin and English, works, more remarkably the fact than in written as school or college exercises; a almost any other writer we know. Of the few poems-not half-a-dozen-which are poems, (alas! too few,) each successive the records of a few days' ramble with poem exhibits a wonderful development of friends in the country, and manifestly writ-increasing powers, and the sermons-his ten with direct reference to the gratifica- last works are beyond comparison the tion of the party with whom the ramble was most original and striking of all. We are taken a few letters to college friends-we not, indeed, surprised, that Dr. Russell believe Archdeacon Russell, his biographer, seems to have regarded them as constitutand Dr. Dickinson, late Bishop of Meath;ing the proper and peculiar value of the

whole. His memoir is, in fact, but intro-
ductory to them, and we are told, in his
graceful preface to the early editions of the
Remains, that his hope was, that the mis-
cellaneous portions of the volume might,
perhaps, lead the public to the study of that
which he felt to be more instructive, and
the Poet thus serve to introduce the Divine.
An appendix to Mr. Russell's volume
gives some of Wolfe's juvenile poems. One
is called a "Prize Poem on the Death of
Abel" and was probably a Winchester ex-
ercise. There can be no object in our
reprinting it; but it is a composition of
considerable talent, and with occasional
gleams of Wolfe's own mind. The respec-
tive sacrifices of the brothers, and the ac-
ceptance of Abel's, are thus described:
"Each with his offering to the Almighty came.
Their altars raised, and fed the sacred flame.
Scarce could the pitying Abel bear to bind
A lamb, the picture of his master's mind;
Which to the pile with tender hand he drew,
And wept as he the bleeding victim slew;
Around with fond regard the zephyr played
Nor dared disturb the oblation Abel made."
We see something of Wolfe's own mind
in the few last lines of this extract. A pas-
sage follows, describing the brothers after
the fatal blow is given:

"The streaming blood distained his locks with gore,
Those beauteous tresses that were gold before.
His dying eyes a look of pity cast,
And beamed forgiveness ere they closed their
last."

"The raising of Lazarus" is another of the Winchester poems, which Mr. Russell has judiciously printed. Like every thing of Wolfe's, it shows his great power of picturing scenes to his own eye, and some skill in presenting them to others. And, like every thing else, too, of Wolfe's, suggests to us that, had he felt it right to pursue poetry as a study, his most successful walk would probably have been the drama. There is nothing in the poem on Lazarus equal to the passages we have given from the poem on Abel-but there is the same evidence of objects being seen with a poet's eye. And while the language is remarkable rather for propriety and delicacy, than for any peculiar power, there is a truth of sentiment and a tone of sincerity throughout, which characterises every thing of Wolfe's, first and last.

We have mentioned that in the year 1809 Wolfe entered Dublin College, and was early distinguished there as a classical scholar. As far as we can gather, he at first paid but little attention to the prescribed studies of the place-at least, his first distinctions in college were rather recognitions of how well the foundation of sound classical scholarship had been laid at Winchester, than any thing else. Wolfe was, we fear, at this period idle; or perhaps it ought rather to be said, that he was good-natured enough to allow every idle acquaintance to facility of disposition," as his biographer loiter with him as long as he pleased. "This happily calls it, "exposed him to many inlowed himself to be denied to any chance terruptions in his studies." He never alvisitor; a concourse of idlers was for ever about him, either in his rooms or in the courts and gardens of college, and this gave his more diligent friends fair excuse for saving themselves from the trouble of "performing any routine duty, which Wolfe's college standing qualified him to discharge (he, pretty certainly, would not be doing any thing better, and they would): so be

Among the commonplaces of a school boy's conception of the subject, we think we can distinguish the gleam of our author's peculiar genius, in a passage describing Cain:

"Abel! awake, arise!' he trembling cried;

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Abel, my brother!' but no voice replied.
In frightful silence o'er the corse he stood,
And, chained in terror, wondered at the blood.
'Awake!' yet oh no voice, no smile, no breath!

'O God support me! Oh, should this be death The poem closes with a soliloquy of Cain's-half repentance, half remorsestill surely, when the author's early age is remembered, it is not without great beauty:tween Wolfe's friends of the more idle or

"My brother! thou canst not see how deep I grieve;
Look down, thou injured angel, and forgive.
Far hence a wretched fugitive I roam,
The earth my bed, the wilderness my home:
Far hence I stray from those delightful seats
To solitary tracts and drear retreats.
Yet, oh! the very beasts will shun my sight,
Will fly my bloody footsteps with affright.
No brother they, no faithful friend have slain-
Detested only for that crime is Cain.
Had I but lulled each fury of my soul,
Had held each rebel passion in control,
To Nature and to God had faithful proved,
And loved a brother as a brother loved,
Then had I sunk into a grave of rest,

the more studious classes, the poor fellow was left but little time to himself.

There seems to have been some change for the worse in Wolfe's pecuniary circumstances, however, in the second or third year of his college life, which rendered it necessary for him to look round for some addition to his means of support. A college Scholarship was a seasonable aid; but in his day it was not of so much value as now-and even now, it is altogether inadequate to the support of a student, however

And Cain had breathed his last on Abel's breast." economical his habits may be. In Dublin

College, where every person permanently | late Mr. North, Dr. Miller, Mr. Wise, the connected with the establishment has for late Mr. Taylor, Mr. Sarjeant Greene, Mr. many years to discharge the duties of tutor, Finlay, Mr. Peter Burrowes, and other most the instant resource of any young man who highly distinguished men, were among has talents and time enough for it, is to un- those who from time to time discharged dertake the task of private tuition. When this honorable duty; and it may be well Wolfe's wish to take pupils was known, imagined that each successive speech, on some young men, we believe relations of the same topics, rendered the task of the his, immediately sought to avail themselves of his instructions. His habits of idleness, or of what in their effects on the mind is little different-of undirected and desultory exertion, were thus, at a very critical period of life, providentially converted into those of singular diligence. "He discharged the task of instruction with such singular devotedness and disinterested anxiety as materially to entrench on his own particular studies. He was, indeed so prodigal of his labor and of his time to each pupil, that he reserved little leisure for his own pursuits or relaxations."*

next representative of the society more difficult. Several of these speeches have been printed; in all are passages of great power and beauty; but the fragments of Wolfe's here published are perhaps more beautiful than any passages which could be selected from the others-while we are not sure that, as a whole, we should give it the preference. For this speech, and for a very beautiful composition called the "College Course," which is still better, we must refer to Mr. Wolfe's volume.

Wolfe's speech from the chair was delivered about three years after he had beWolfe, however, found time enough to come a member of the Historical Society. become a successful competitor at the col- About the same time he must have written lege examinations for the highest distinc- the poem of "Jugurtha," which, by some tions in science, which, till now, he had mistake, Mr. Russell has referred to the year neglected; and the Historical Society (a 1809, and a poem called "Patriotism," which voluntary association of college students, was read in the Society, and given a medal. for the cultivation of the talents necessary The compositions read in the society were for public life) seems to have broken the on subjects selected by the authors themspell which had kept sealed the fountains of selves, and not, like those written for colpoetry and oratory, since the days of his lege prizes, on themes dictated by others. exercises and declamations at Winchester." Jugurtha was," says Mr. Russell," written The society, which has since been dis. on a subject proposed by the heads of the solved, existed during the greater part of university." This fixes the date of the poem Wolfe's college life; and in the same year to 1814, when that subject was the theme in which he obtained a scholarship he be- proposed for what are called Vice-Chancame a member of it. It seems to have cellor's Prizes-the fees to which that offi. been an era in his life. We well remember cer is entitled, on the graduation of each the effect of his speeches there, and we re- person, being the fund for their payment.* gret that his biographer has not been en-Jugurtha is, perhaps, Wolfe's best poem. abled to give us some extracts from them; Its only fault is one, which, as Goldsmith but it is probable that such parts of them says in a similar case, it would be easy for as were written have not been preserved: a critic, of a different temper to insist on it is also not improbable that some of the as a beauty ;-but a fault, and a grievous passages which we remember as most effec-fault it is, however speciously it may be detive were never written. fended, we mean the tendency to amplification. A true thought is expressed, and Wolfe will not let us rest there, but repeats it in every variety of phrase protects it behind a sevenfold shield of words. The poem is, however, a noble effort.

The objects of the society were, the cultivation of such branches of study as least provision was made for by the ordinary range of college pursuits. Medals were given for oratory, for composition, and for proficiency in history; and each year of the society was opened and closed with a speech from the chair, in which the objects of the society were set forth by some one of the members of the society, specially selected for the task.

Lord Plunkett, Chief Justice Bushe, the

* Remains of Wolfe, p. 11.

Wolfe's poem was probably unsuccessful with the board: at least we know, that among the compositions to which prizes were awarded, the most successful on this subject was one by the Rev. Mr. Halpin, who soon after entered into the church, and was for nineteen years curate of the parish of Oldcastle, in the county of Meath. Mr. Halpin still lives, is author of some political essays, chiefly

on subjects connected with the Irish church, and of an exceedingly interesting paper on the Midsummer Night's Dream.

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