Britain. Nearly all of them act upon the principles which the writer in Blackwood's Magazine so boldly avows. The latter discourses with admiration and delight, of a generous enmitya noble hate—the virtue of prejudice; and he tells his countrymen emphatically, “Let us remember that no nation has ever been great, which, in comparison with itself, did not hold the rest of the world in contempt." The editor of the Museum has never entertained these sentiments and views. He knows that great nations have owed their fall, in part, to the contempt in which they blindly held the rest of the world. He would be content, however, as an American, if the hate and the enmity manifested against America by the British writers, deserved the epithets which the Edinburgh writer has connected with those words: But there is nothing generous in their enmity or noble in their hate. Two articles concerning Napoleon Bonaparte are inserted in the present number. In the history of the age, he forms the most prominent and important figure; and curiosity is not yet sated even with regard to the most trivial of his remarks and the loosest of his opinions. What is related by Mr. Vivian, in the extract from the London Literary Gazette, deserves, perhaps, entire credit. Napoleon would not seem to have understood the causes of our late war with Great Britain, nor to have had very accurate notions of our domestic condition. The editor has adopted the best analysis which he could find of Mr. O'Meara's work. Some distrust may be indulged in respect to the statements of this writer. He may have fallen into mistake, exaggeration, or fiction, in the opinions which he ascribes to the imperial exile; and Napoleon himself in relating the story of his career,--supposing O'Meara to be exact and faithful in repeating what he heard, -would naturally see or exhibit his own intentions and conduct in the best light, and those of his enemies and rivals in the worst. MUSEUM FROM THE LONDON MAGAZINE. POLYHYMNIA.-BY JAMES MONTGOMERY.* It can no longer be a complaint of this age that English songs, without their music, are senseless and inanimate things; for within a very short period of time the most celebrated of our poets have contributed to this delightful species of poetry; and a young lady at her piano may, with the turning over but few leaves, choose for her voice a song of Moore's, or Byron's, or W. Scott's, or Campbell's. To be sure, Moore's morality and Byron's piety are two for a pair ;—but in the light Scotch words of the two latter, there is all that is unexceptionable; and even in the two former, a want of meaning is certainly their last sin. It is with very sincere pleasure that we can now add the name of Montgomery to those of the illustrious lyrists we have just mentioned; and who that has read the Wanderer of Switzerland and the minor pieces of this poet, can for a moment doubt his power to be great in song? The present little work is composed of seven very beautiful songs written to foreign airs, and as we have the author's permission to publish them in the LONDON MAGAZINE, we shall take them at his word, and let them assert their own beauty ;-certainly, to our taste, they have that exquisite union of tenderness, melancholy and trutb, which makes a good song perfect. The first piece is entitled Reminiscence; it is exceedingly plaintive and unaffectedly pathetic. REMINISCENCE. Dear companions of my golden days? Flown, like morning clouds, a thousand ways. Yea in soul my friend and brother still? Can the void in my lorn bosom fill. Love and gladness I no longer see; Nature seems her sepulchre to me. Brings the welcome warning of release. All is well, my spirit parts in peace. The air is remarkable for sweetness and pathos. The accompaniment presents only chords repeated in regular succession, supporting, but not disturbing the voice, while the short symphonies are full of expressiveness. Polyhymnia, or Select Airs of Celebrated Foreign Composers, adapted to English Words, written expressly for this work, by James Montgomery." The music arranged by C. F. Hasse. Vol. I. No. 1.-Museum. A Youth, Manhood, and Age, the next piece, is of another character; and though one in which the author is eminently successful, perhaps it is not the most fitted for song. New and wonderful are heav'n and earth; Nature rings with melody and mirth, Unperceiv'd hath sober Manhood brought; Tinges Fancy's fairy dreams with thought; Creeps with length’ning shadow o'er the scene; And to-day the agony between: Bright and beautiful Eternity. The music is a fine motivo, exalted a little from its tone of deep feeling by an accompaniment of more motion and variety than the last. These things almost rise to the level of some of Haydn's Canzonets (the most exquisite things of the kind ever written), and may claim a place in the memory with his Despair and the Wanderer. The War Song (the words of which were given in our last No. page 456,) is remarkable for strength, simplicity, and expression ; mixing, however, no small portion of melody with its more animating qualities. The symphonies and accompaniments are characteristically plain. Meet Again, is the subject of all subjects for music. It is almost a song that sings of itself! . a MEET AGAIN. Joyful words, we meet again! Love's own language comfort darting Compass'd round with care and sorrow, Gloom to day and storm to-morrow, Joyful words, &c. O'er our lost endearments weeping, Lonely, silent vigils keeping, Joyful words, &c. Happy they whose spirits soaring, Vast eternity exploring, Joyful words, &c. There is an admirable spirit and beauty in the following. VIA CRUCIS, VIA LUCIS. And heav'n and earth are hid from sight; With dewy eyes shall shine in light. O'er frozen lakes, through naked trees; May floats in fragrance on the breeze. Roll the loud chariots of the wind; Proclaims tranquillity behind. And ghastly corses load the ground; The song, the dance, the feast go round. When droop thy temples o'er thy breast: Wafts on its wing the hour of rest. Thy years all spent in grief and gloom ; Dawn through the terrors of the tomb. The music is of an intense but darker character in its opening; the reverse of the movement of which Meet Again consists. The air lias a similar, but more marked division. Here also the composer, or the adapter, has shown his knowledge of effect in the accompaniment. The home truth of the Pilgrimage, which follows, is delightful. We could wish that English songs should be distinguished by, and valued for, this character. THE PILGRIMAGE OF LIFE. How blest the pilgrim who in trouble Can lean upon a bosom friend; When foes assail or griefs impend. At daybreak o'er the purple heath, And binds their beauties in a wreath. When with his friend abroad he roves, Or talks by moonlight through the groves; Spring wakes for him her woodland quire; 'Tis summer by his ev'ning fire. When all he lov'd forsakes his view, “I follow soon,” to his " adieu :" a a Nay then, though earthly ties are riven, The spirit's union will not end, In life and death a faithful friend, It is a bass sostenuto song, expressive and elegant. The passages are cast into the best parts of the voice. It reminds us of the Qui sdegno of Mozart, though the resemblance is in the style, not in the melody. There is a second part for two tenors, which adds a variety to its intrinsic beauty: The last piece, Aspirations of Youth, is the call of Genius to Glory, which can only be truly heard through the air of poetry. With infinite spirit and truth is combined a feeling which carries the invocation to the heart. We should think that this little piece beautifully sung would waken a slumbering mind to its fullest energies. ASPIRATIONS OF YOUTH. Up the mount of glory, In our country's story; In the mines of knowledge; Win from school and college; Through the path of duty. Excellence true beauty; Hearts and hands together, In the wildest weather: Draw our souls in union, To the saints' communion : There may all our labours end. The music consists of an animating strain like the War Song. The succeeding verses are in the nature of variations, which are introduced either upon the melody itself, or into the accompaniment, and each is concluded with a chorus-a repetition of the last bars of the air with a different accompaniment. Having thus given every word of this interesting publication, our readers may suppose that they need not seek the work elsewhere; but if they suppose that, admiring it, they can do without the music, they are mistaken. The words are so married to the music, that in reading they seem to pine for that voice which gives them feeling, force, a |