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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

Let me be silent too." Out burst the Count, with gasping breath, “Fool-fool !-hou 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"

I He adds—then paused with art.

The Count grew boi-the Count grew cold-
From Blackwood's Magazine.

The words had pierced his heart.

“My gracious master sure must see A harmless lad was Fridolin,

That only in her eyes lives he; A pious youth was he;

Behind your board he stands unheeding,
He served, and sought her grace to win,

Close by her chair--his passion feeding.
Count Savern's fair ladye.
And gentle was the dame as fair-

"And then the rhymes" The rhymes !" “ 'The And light the toils of service iher ;

same And yet the woman's wildest whim

Confess'd the frantic thought." From ber-had been but joy to him!

"Confess'd!"- "Ay, and a mutual flame

The foolish boy besought! Soon as the early morning shone

No doubt the Countess, soft and tender, Until the vesper bell,

Forbore the lines to you to render; For her sweet hest he lived alone,

And I repent the babbling word Nor e'er could serve too well.

That 'scaped my lips-What ails my lord ?" She bade bim oft not labor som But then his eyes would uverflow;

Straight to a wood, in scorn and shame, It seem'd a sin if strength could swerve

Away Count Savern rode From that one thoughi-her will to serve !

Where, in the soaring, furnace-flame,

The molten iron glow'd. And so, of all her house, the dame

Here, late and carly, still the brand Most favor'd him always,

Kindled the smiths, with crafty hand; And from her lips for ever came

The sparks spring forth, the bellows heave,
His unexhausted praise-

As if their task-The rocks to cleave.
On him, more like some gentle child
Than serving-youth, the lady smil'd-

Their strength the Fire, the Water gave,
And took a harmless pleasure in

In interleagued endeavor; The comely looks of Fridolin.

The mill-wheel, whirl'd along the wave,

Rolls on for aye and everFor this the huntsman Robert's heart

Here, day and night, resounds the clamor, The favor'd henchman cursed;

While measured beats the beaving hammer; * And long, till ripen'd into art,

And suppled in that ceaseless storm,
The hateful envy pursed.

Trop to iron stamps a form.
His Lord was rash of thought and deed,
And thus the knave the deadly seed

Two smiths before Count Savern bend, (As from the chase they homeward rode,)

Forth-beckon'd from their task That poisons thought to fury, sow'd

" The first whom I to you may send,

And who of you may ask" Yonr lot, great Count, in truth is fair,

Have you my lord's cominand obey'd ?' (Thus spoke the crall suppress'd ;)

-Thrust in the hell-fire yonder made; The gnawing looth of doubi can ne'er

Shrunk to the cinders of your ore,
Consume your golden rest.

Let him offend mine eyes no more !"
He who a noble spouse can claim,
Sees love begirt with holy shame;

Then gloated they-lhe griesly pair-
Her truth no villain arts ensnare-
The smooth seducer comes not there."

They felt the hangman's zest;
For senseless as the iron there,

The heart lay in the breast. “How now !- what say'st thou, bold Fellowe?"

And hied chey, with the bellows' breath, The frowning Count replied

To strengthen still the furnace-death; “Thinks't thou I build on woman's vow,

The murder-priests nor flag nor faller-
Unstable as the tide ?

Wait the victim-trim the allar !
Too well the flatterer's lip allureth-
On firmer ground my faith endureth ;

The huntsman seeks the page-God wol,
The Count Von Savero's wife unto

How smooth a face hath he ! No smooth seducer comes to woo!"

" Off, com rade, off! and tarry not;

Thy lord haih need of thee !" “Right!"-quoth the other—"and your scorn Thus spoke his lord to Fridolin, The fool can but supply,

“Haste to the forge the wood within, Who, though a simple vassal born,

And ask the serts who ply the tradeEsteems himself so high

* Have you my lord's command obey'd?'” And, to the dame he serves aspiring, Harbors for her the love desiring."

* It would be interesting to know if Schiller lived "How !" cried the Count, and trembled—" How!

within hearing of a forge. In the poems written during Of one who lives, then, speakest thou ?"

this period of his life, he is peculiarly fond of introducing

descriptions of the sound of the hammer. Possibly to "Sarely; can that to all reveal'd

some external impression, we owe the origin of this Be all unknown to you?

I very characteristic and striking ballad.

"" It shall be done"-and to the task

So, conscience-calm, he lightly goes; He hies without delay.

Before his steps the furnace glows; Had she no hest?-'were well to ask,

His lips, the while, the count completing.)
To make less long the way.

Twelve paternosters slow-repeating.
So wending backward at the hought,
The youth the gracious lady sought:

He gain'd the forge—the smiths survey'd, “Bound to the forge the wood within,

As there they grimly stand: Hast thou no hest for Fridolin ?

"How fares il friends ?-have ye obey'd,"

He cried, “my lord's command ?" "I fain," thus spake that lady fair,

"Ho! ho!" they shout, and ghastly grin, In winsome tone and low,

And point the furnace-ihroai within: " But for mine io fantailing there,

" With zeal and heed, we did ibe deed To hear the mass would go.

The master's praise, ihe servants' meed." " Go thou, my child-und on the way, For me and minethy heart shall pray;

On. with this answer, onward home, Repent each sinful thought of thine

With fleeter step he flies; So shall thy soul find grace for mine!"

Afar, the Count beheld him come

He scarce could trust his eyes. " Forth on the welcome task he wends,

"Whence com'st thou?" "From the furnace." "So! Her wish the lask endears,

Not elsewhere? troth thy steps are slow; Till, where the quiet bamlet ends,

Thou hast loiterd'd long !-" Yet only till
A sadden sound he hears.

I might the trust consign'd fulfil.
To and fro the church-bell, swinging,
Cheerily, clearly forth is ringing;

“My noble lord, 'tis true, to-day, Kaolling souls that would repent

It chanced, on qoitting thee, To the Holy Sacrament.

To ask my duties, on the way,

Of her who guideth me. He thought, “Seek God upon thy way,

She bade me, (and how sweet and dear And he will come to thee !"

It was !) the holy mass to hear; He gains the House of Prayer to pray,

Rosaries four I told, delaying,
But a!I stood silently

Grace for thee and thine heart-praying."
It was the Harvest's merry reign,
The scythe was busy in the grain;

All stunned, Count Savern heard the speech-
One clerkly hand the rites require

A wondering man was he; To serve the mass and aid the choir.

"And when thou didst the farnace reach,

What answer gave they thee?" Eftsoons the good resolve he takes,

"An answer hard the sei so lo win; As sacristan to serve:

Thus spake the men with ghastly grin, “No halt,' quoth he," the footstep makes

• With zeal and heed we did the deed-That doth but heaven ward swerve'!"

The master's praise, the servants' meed.'”
So, on the priest, with humble soul,
He hung the cingulum and stole,

" And Robert ?"-gasp'd the Count, as lost And eke prepares each holy thing

Inawe he shuddering stood To the high mass administ'ring.

“Thou must, be sure, his path have crossed ?

I sent him to the wood."

“In wood nor field where I have been, Now, as the ministrant, before

One single trace of him was seen.” The priest he took his stand;

All deathlike stood the Count: “ Thy might,
Now towards the altar moved, and bore

O God of heaven, hath judged the right!"
The mass-book in his hand.
Rightward, leftward kneeleth he,

Then meekly, humbled from his pride,
Watchful every sign to see ;

He took the servant's hand; Tinkling, as the sanctus fell,

He led him to his lady's side, Thrice at each holy name, the bell.

She nought mote understand.

" This child-no angel is more pureNow the meek priest, bending lowly,

Long may thy grace for him endure; Turns unto the solemn shrine,

Our strength how weak, our sense how dim-
And with lifted hand and holy,

Rear the cross divine.
While the clear bell, lightly swinging,
Thaib y-sacristan is ringing;-
Strike their breasts, and down inclining,
Kneel the crowd, the symbol signing.

MEMOIR AND REMAINS OF CHARLES Still in every point excelling,

With a quick and nimble art-

From the Dublin University Magazine.
Every custom in that dwelling
Knew the boy by heart

Remains of the late Rev. Charles Wolfe, A.B., To the close he larried thus,

with a Brief Memoir of his Life. By the Till the Vobiscum Dominus;

Rev. John A. Russell, M. A., Archdeacon To the crowd inclines the priest, And the crowd have sign'd-and ceased!

of Clogher. Eighth edition. Small 8vo.

London. 1842. Now back in its appointed place,

The deserved popularity of Archdeacon His footsteps but delay

Russell's Memoir of Wolfe is probably To range each symbol-sign of graceThen forward on his way.

among the reasons why it has been so little

noticed in the Reviews, and we ourselves both of whom, like Wolse 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 In Archdeacon Russell's memoir of his 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 Bords, 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 nar. Wolfe ; 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, Charles Wolfe, the youngest son of to exhibit the growth and progress of the Theobald Wolle, Esquire, of Blackball, in mind, from its first imperfect imitation of the county of Kildare, was born in Dublin, the language of others, to the period when on the 141h of December, 1791. His father language is an instrument which it wields died early, and the family removed to Eng. at will. The school exercises of Milton, no land, where they resided some years. In doubt, might be regarded as predictions of 1805 he was placed at Winchester-school, the Paradise and the Samson ; but who is of which Mr. Richards was then the master. there that does not feel what injustice to In 1809 he entered Dublin College-in 1817 his fame it would be not to communicate entered into holy orders from that time the order in which his poems were written. till within a year of his death discharged And in such a case as Wolfe's, where all the duties of a country curate, in a remote his poems and essays, connected with ge. part of Ulster-and died of consumption on neral literature, were written in early boy. the 23d of February, 1822, in the 32d year hood, or the first dawn of manhood, the of his age.

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 writincreasing powers, and the sermons-bis 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 ; ling the proper and peculiar value of the whole. His memoir is, in fact, but intro-l “The raising of Lazarus" is another of ductory to them, and we are told, in his the Winchester poems, which Mr. Russell graceful preface to the early editions of the has judiciously printed. Like every thing Remains, that his hope was, that the mis. of Wolfe's, it shows his great power of piccellaneous portions of the volume might, turing scenes to his own eye, and some skill perhaps, lead the public to the study of that in presenting them to others. And, like which he felt to be more instructive, and everything else, too, of Wolfe's, suggests the Poet thus serve to introduce the Divine. to us that, had he felt it right to pursue

An appendix to Mr. Russell's volume poetry as a study, his most successful walk gives some of Wolfe's juvenile poems. One would probably have been the drama. is called a “Prize Poem on the Death of There is nothing in the poem on Lazarus Abel"--and was probably a Winchester ex. equal to the passages we have given from ercise. There can be no object in our the poem on Abel--but there is the same reprinting it ; but it is a composition of evidence of objects being seen with a poet's considerable talent, and with occasional eye. And while the language is remarkagleams of Wolfe's own mind. The respec- ble rather for propriety and delicacy, than tive sacrifices of the brothers, and the ac- for any peculiar power, there is a truth of ceptance of Abel's, are thus described : sentiment and a tone of sincerity through“ Each with his offering to the Almighty came. out, which characterises every thing of

Their allars raised, and fed the sacred flame. Wolse's, first and last.
Scarce could the pitying Abel bear to bind

We have mentioned that in the year A lamb, the picture of his master's mind;

1809 Wolfe entered Dublin College, and Which to the pile with tender hand he drew, And wept as be the bleeding victim slew; was early distinguished there as a classical Around with fond regard ihe zephyr played scholar. As far as we can gather, he at first Nor dared disturb the oblation Abel made.” paid but little attention to the prescribed

We see something of Wolfe's own mind studies of the place at least, his first disin the few last lines of this extract. A pas. tinctions in college were rather recognitions sage follows, describing the brothers after of how well the foundation of sound classthe fatal blow is given :

ical scholarship had been laid at Winches“ The streaming blood distained his locks with gore, ter, than any thing else. Wolfe was, we

Those beauteous tresses that were gold before. fear, at this period idle; or perhaps it ought His dying eyes a look of pily cast,

rather to be said, that he was good-natured And beamed forgiveness ere they closed their

enough to allow every idle acquaintance to

loiter with him as long as he pleased. “This Among the commonplaces of a school. |

facility of disposition," as his biographer boy's conception of the subject, we think

happily calls it, “exposed him to many inwe can distinguish the gleam of our au

terruptions in his studies.” He never al. thor's peculiar genius, in a passage de

lowed himself to be denied to any chance scribing Cain :

visitor ; a concourse of idlers was for ever t" Abel! awake, arise!' he trembling cried;

about him, either in his rooms or in the • Abel, my brother!' but no voice replied. In frightful silence o'er the corse he stood,

courts and gardens of college, and this And, chained in terror, wondered at the blood. gave his more diligent friends fair excuse ' Awake!' yet oh no voice, no smile, no breath!

for saving themselves from the trouble of O God support me! Oh, should this be death !""

performing any routine duty, which Wolfe's The poem closes with a soliloquy of college standing qualified him to discharge Cain's half repentance, half remorse-|(he, pretty certainly, would not be doing still surely, when the author's early age is any thing better, and they would): so beremembered, 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: the more studious classes, the poor fellow

Look down, thou injured angel, and forgive. was left but little time to himself.
Far hence a wretched fugitive I roam,

There seems to have been some change
The earth my bed, the wilderness my home:
Far hence I stray from those delighiful seals

for the worse in Wolfe's pecuniary circum. To solitary tracts and drear retreats.

stances, however, in the second or third Yet, oh! the very beasts will shun my sight, year of his college life, which rendered it Will fly my bloody footsteps with affright.

necessary for him to look round for some No brother they, no faithful friend have slainDetested only for that crime is Cain.

addition to his means of support. A col. Had I but lulled each fury of my soul,

lege Scholarship was a seasonable aid ; but Had held each rebel passion in control,

in his day it was not of so much value as To Nature and to God had faithful proved, And loved a brother as a brother loved,

now—and even now, it is altogether inade. Then had I sunk into a grave of rest,

quate 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 next representative of the society more difof his instructions. His habits of idleness, ficult. Several of these speeches have been or of what in their effects on the mind is printed ; in all are passages of great power little different-of undirected and desultory and beauty; but the fragments of Wolfe's exertion, were thus, at a very critical period here published are perhaps more beautiful of life, providentially converted into those than any passages which could be selected of singular diligence. “He discharged the from the others—while we are not sure that, task of instruction with such singular de. as a whole, we should give it the preference. votedness and disinterested anxiety as ma- For this speech, and for a very beautiful terially to entrench on his own particular composition called the “ College Course,studies. He was, indeed so prodigal of his which is still better, we must refer to Mr. labor and of his time to each pupil, that he Wolfe's volume. reserved little leisure for his own pursuits Wolfe's speech from the chair was delior relaxations."

vered 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 amplifiThe objects of the society were, the cul- cation. A true thought is expressed, and tivation of such branches of study as least Wolfe will not let us rest there, but repeats provision was made for by the ordinary it in every variety of phrase-protects it range of college pursuits. Medals were behind a sevenfold shield of words. The given for oratory, for composition, and for poem is, however, a noble effort. proficiency in history; and each year of Wolfe's poem was probably unsuccessful with the society was opened and closed with a the board : at least we know, that among the comspeech from the chair, in which the objects

positions to which prizes were awarded, the most

successful on this subject was one by the Rev. Mr. of the society were set forth by some one

Halpin, who soon after entered into the church, of the members of the society, specially se- and was for nineteen years curate of the parish of lected for the task.

Oldcastle, in the county of Meath. Mr. Halpin Lord Plunkett, Chief Justice Bushe, the

still lives, is author of some political essays, chiefly on subjects connected with the Irish church, and of

an exceedingly interesting paper on the Midsum* Remains of Wolle, p. 11.

| mer Night's Dream.

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