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of his men we they were sche enemy hadir guns for

then on fire in three different parts, laid her alongside a French eighty-four; and a second longer obstinate contest began. The firing on the part of the French ship having at length for some time slackened, and then altogether ceased, and yet no sign given of surrender, the first lieutenant came to Captain Ball and informed him that the hearts of his men were as good as ever, but that they were 80 completely exhausted, that they were scarcely capable of lifting an arm. He asked, therefore, whether, as the enemy had now ceased firing, the men might be permitted to lie down by their guns for a short time. After some reflection, Sir Alexander acceded to the proposal, taking of course the proper precautions to rouse them again at the moment he thought requisite. Accordingly, with the exception of himself, his officers, and the appointed watch, the ship's crew lay down, each in the place to which he was stationed; and slept for twenty minutes. They were then roused; and started up, as Sir · Alexander expressed it, more like men out of an ambush than from sleep, so co-instantaneously did they all obey the summons! They recommenced their fire, and in a few minutes the enemy surrendered ; and it was soon after discovered that during that interval, and almost immediately after the French ship had first ceased firing, the crew had sunk down by their guns, and there. slept, almost by the side, as it were, of their sleeping enemy.

Mr. Coleridge continues his interesting narrative through the remainder of Sir Alexander Ball's life. He dwells upon the noble ser. vices he performed in the two years' siege of Valetta, in the island of Malta, his amazing kindness to the Maltese; his wisdom as the governor of the island when it became a British possession; and the unexampled confidence which he enjoyed from the Maltese, who looked upon him as a father.]


GOETHE. The · Faustus' of Goethe has perhaps the widest European reputation of any poem of modern times. There are several translations of it in our own language. Without undervaluing other translations, that of Dr. Anster, of Trinity College, Dublin, (parts of which were originally published in Blackwood's Magazine,) appears to us to combine many of the highest requisites of a good poetical version, with faithfulness and facility. We cannot attempt an analysis of this re

markable drama, which, amidst all its merits, has many passages, and suggests many ideas, which are scarcely within the limits of the pleasurable in poetry; but we subjoin a scene or two, from its commencement, which beautifully depict the feelings of a mind satiated with all worldly knowledge, and aspiring to penetrate mysteries which are wisely put beyond the comprehension of man. The story of. Faustus,' the daring student who made a compact with the powers of darkness, was treated by other German poets before Goethe: and it is the subject of a very remarkable drama by Marlowe, the early contemporary of Shakspere. Goethe was born in 1749; died in 1832.]

Faustus. River and rivulet are freed from ice
In Spring's affectionate inspiring smile-
Green are the fields with promise--far away
To the rough hills old Winter hath withdrawn
Strengthless—but still at intervals will send
Light feeble frosts, with drops of diamond white,
Mocking a little while the coming bloom-
Still soils with showers of sharp and bitter sleet,
In anger impotent, the earth's green robe;
But the sun suffers not the lingering snow
Everywhere life-everywhere vegetation-
All nature animate with glowing hues-
Or, if one spot be touched not by the spirit
Of the sweet season, there, in colours rich
As trees or flowers, are sparkling human dresses !
Turn round, and from this height look back upon
The town; from its black dungeon gate forth pours,
In thousand parties, the gay multitude,
All happy, all indulging in the sunshine !
All celebrating the Lord's resurrection,
And in themselves exhibiting as 'twere
A resurrection too—so changed are they,
So raised above themselves. From chambers damp
Of poor mean houses—from consuming toil
Laborious—from the workyard and the shop,
From the imprisonment of walls and roofs,
And the oppression of confining streets,
And from the solemn twilight of dim churches

All are abroad—all happy in the sun.
Look, only look, with gaiety how active,
Thro' fields and gardens they disperse themselves !
How the wide water, far as we can see,
Is joyous with innumerable boats !
See, there, one almost sinking with its load
Parts from the shore; yonder the hill top paths
Are sparkling in the distance with gay dresses !
And hark! the sounds of joy from the far village !
Oh! happiness like this is real heaven!
The high, the low, in pleasure all uniting-
Here may I feel that I too am a man!

Wagner. Doctor, to be with you is creditable-
Instructive too: but never would I loiter
Here by myself I hate these coarse amusements :
Fiddlers, and clamorous throats, and kettle-drums,
Are to my mind things quite intolerable;
Men rave, as if possessed by evil spirits,
And call their madness joy and harmony !

(Peasants dancing and singing.)
The shepherd for the dance was drest
In ribands, wreath, and Sunday vest;
All were dancing full of glee,
Underneath the lindén tree!

'Tis merry and merry_heigh-ho, heigh-ho,

Blithe goes the fiddle-bow!
Soon he runs to join the rest;
Up to a pretty girl he prest;
With elbow raised and pointed toe,
Bent to her with his best bow-
Pressed her hand : with feigned surprise,
Up she raised her timid eyes !

“ 'Tis strange that you should use me so,
So, so-heigh-ho-

'Tis rude of you to use me so."
All into the set advance,
Right they dance, and left they dance-
Gowns and ribands how they fling,

Flying with the flying ring;
They grow red, and faint, and warm,
And rested, sinking, arm-in-arm.

Slow, slow, heigh-ho,

Tired in elbow, foot, and toe! “And do not make so free,” she said, “I fear that you may never wed Men are cruel"--and he prest The maiden to his beating breast. Hark! again, the sounds of glee Swelling from the linden tree.

'Tis merry, 'tis merry_heigh-ho, heigh-ho,

Blithe goes the fiddle-bow!
Old Peasant. This, doctor, is so kind of you,
A man of rank and learning too;
Who, but yourself, would condescend
Thus with the poor, the poor man's friend,
To join our sports ? In this brown cheer
Accept the pledge we tender here,
A draught of life may it become,
And years on years, oh! may you reach,
As cheerful as these beads of foam,
As countless, too, a year for each!

Faustus. Blest be the draught restorative!
I pledge you-happy may you live!

· [The people collect in a circle round him.

Faustus. A few steps farther, and we reach yon stone; Here sit we down, and rest after our walk; Here have I often sate in thoughtful mood Alone—and here in agonies of prayer, And fast, and vigil-rich in hope-in faith Unwavering—sought with tears and sighs, and hands Wringing in supplication, to extort From Him in heaven that He would stay that plague. These praises come upon my ear like scornOh, could you read the secrets of this heart, You then would see how little we deserved,

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