1818.] Original and Select Poetry: In her bosom-though so strong.Gentle as our airy song. Oft we in our sportive duty Kiss the dimpling cheek of beauty, And on soft etherial winglets Wanton in her sunny ringletsBreathing, as we dance along, Liquid notes of rapt'rous song. When Care's ever-rising bubble Clouds the wanderer's soul with trouble, We-sweet Pleasure's viewless minionsFan his brow with balmy pinions, Chasing sorrow's shades along, With our spirit-soothing song. While the sweets of eve diffusing, Off we meet the poet musing, Mark his eye sublimely glancing, With erratic thought entrancing, Catching inspiration strong, From our soul-enchanting song. Oft we waft the pious whispers Of the saint's low-breathing vespers, Sighs of love, and tears of sorrow, For our sweetest strains we borrow, Bearing on our wings along, All the extacy of song. Headington, 1818. LINES J. L. W. To the memory of BURNS. BURNS! Could thy noble, vig'rous soul Have known reflection's calm control, How great had been thy fame! The generous warmth that fired thy breast Might then have made thee truly blest, And freed thy life from blame. Though reason seldom led aright That genius, which with radiant light Shone forth-by nature given- And though too often wont to stray Unruly Passion's slave Oh! may those follies-all forgotWhich e'en thy fame, sweet Bard, would blot, Be buried in thy grave! Should the unfeeling few condemn The strains that ne'er were breathed for them, Or envious critics sneer, The Muses, while they mourn thy doom, S. A. N. TO EMILY. 329 With an Album containing the Author's The gift I have reserved for thee, Unsullied by the blots of care; That sorrow's hand had written there!But oh! not long did thus remain Each snowy page without a stain! For Folly, with her sister Grief, Soon came and ruffled many a leaf; And tho' with fairy fingers oft Hope fond devices traced, Yet was her pencil all so soft They soon were quite effaced Some hours of bliss my bosom knew, As a few scattered pages shew, Where Love was wont in song to tell The feelings thou mayst guess so well;And who-as what he said was sweetest Inscribed his characters the neatest! At length there came a beauteous Maid Who found one leat-tho' ruffled-fair, And as the book had often strayed, "She wrote her name for ever there! A. A. W. 330 Original and Select Poetry. Thou art not absent;-sweetly smiling, [Nov. 1, Their living charms my heart still numbers; As if the Fiend had fired his torch to light Some wretches to their graves ;-the tempest winds Raving came next, and in deep hollow sounds Like those the spirits of the dead do use When they would speak their evil prophecies Muttered of death to come ;-then came the thunder Deepening and crashing as 'twould rend the world; Or, as the Deity passed aloft in anger And spoke to man-Despair!-The ship was tossed And now stood poised upon the curling billows, And now midst deep and wat'ry chasmsthat yawned As 'twere in hunger-sank;-behind there came Mountains of moving water,-with a rush And sound of gathering power, that did appal The heart to look on;-terrible cries were heard ; Sounds of despair some,-some like a mother's anguish Some of intemperate, dark, and dissolute joy Music and horrid mirth—but unallied Was strong, rude savage men were seen to dance In frantic exultation on the deck, Tho' all was hopeless.-Hark! the ship has struck And the forked light'ning seeks the arsenal"Tis fired-and mirth and madness are no more! 'Midst columned smoke, deep red, the fragments fly In fierce confusion-splinters and scorched limbs, And burning masts, and showers of gold,torn from The heart that hugged it e'en till death.-- Sicilian Etna in her angry moods, chained Them, daring and rebellious. The black skies Shocked at excess of light, returned the sound In frightful echoes-as if an alarm 1818.] THE SUICIDE. BY ARTHUR BROOKE, ESQ. He sleeps in peace at last, He rests to rise no more; The breath he scorned, restore, He'd curse the wayward fate that hurl'd Him back upon this worthless world! Affliction's early chill His best emotions froze, She in the grave was still, Who lightened half his woes; In friends to whom his heart was bared, And every inmost feeling shared, He met his deadliest foes. Fine Arts. What though he joined the ways of men- With fever'd hand he caught That prey'd upon his soul, Its scorpions would control, Still, still the fruitless cup was drain'd--While life was there that pang remain'd. The brightest shapes of love Reclin❜d upon his breast; To banish one he strove, In dalliance with the rest; 331 But 'twas in vain-with heart unmov'd, Through all the paths of bliss he rov'd A melancholy jest! There Pleasure smil'd, and Beauty shone, He loath'd the light of heaven; That stroke-his heart is riven! In sooth it was a deed of fear, Yet think on what he suffered here; And hope his faults forgiven; Tho' o'er his cold and lonely bed No sigh was breath'd, no tear was shed. SONNET. TO MISS ***** ON HER SINGING. 'Tis said, and I believe the tale, "Tis said, that e'en the darkest soul And who, that ever lent an ear To tones like those thy lips have given,Tho' lost to all that made lite dear, By Fate, from friends and kindred drivenBut would awhile forget his pain, In listening to so sweet a strain ! A. A. W. FINE THE following communication marks a reciprocity of feeling between England and France upon this subject, which cannot but prove highly flattering to the British School. Every communication, which has even a remote tendency to excite an honourable emulation between the French and British Artists, cannot fail to produce a mutual improvement. France may acquire much benefit by a due attention to the richness and barmony of effect, and the splendid colouring and noble simplicity of expression and action in the performances of our best English painters. Our Artists, without impairing these high qualities in their productions, may derive advantage from the anatomical science and depth of design in the principal performances of the French painters. The fine taste of Quatremere de Quincy is well known; and in translating an abstract of Mr. Carey's critical description, he has conferred a high honour on that publication. Its reception by the French Academicians has been highly flattering. ARTS. After it was read, the celebrated pupil of Vernet exclaimed,-" Cet Anglois peint avec la plume de feu! Il donne la vie a la mort! Je vois le grand, le ter rible, le sublime, le destructeur, avant de moi!" LETTER ADDRESSED BY WM. CAREY, ESQ. To the President and Members of the Royal Academy of Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture, in Paris. Gentlemen, I venture, with much diffidence, to submit to you, by the hands of Edward Blaquiere, esq. a British Naval Officer of a noble family, a copy of my critical description, and analytical Review of Death on the Pale Horse, a grand historical composition from the Revelations, painted by Benjamin West, President of the Royal Academy of Painting, Sculpture, and Architecture in London. I accompany it with my critical observations on the Procession of the Canterbury Pilgrims, a picture of rare excellence, painted by Thomas Stothardt, and recently made known to Europe, by an admirable engraving, in which the masterly 332 Correspondence with the French Academy. etching of the lamented Schiavonetti, and the delicate burine of the elder Heath, are united. The gentleman who does me the honour to present my little volumes to you, found leisure amidst the fatigues and dangers of his profession, to enrich the world by his literary labours, and to cherish upon the bosom of the ocean a love of the Fine Arts. A character so estimable for intellectual endowments and acquirements, for manliness and probity, cannot but confer importance on the humble gift which he bears. He can truly assure you, notwithstanding their favourable reception here, how sensible I am of the deficiencies in the two publications of which I entreat your acceptance. But I am not without a hope that your candour will overlook much, in consideration of my good intention, and should you deem them worthy of a place in the library of your Academy I may well be proud of the favour. Honoured, during forty years, by the countenance and patronage of his Sovereign; annually raised, for a long period, by the unbiassed voice of the Royal Academicians of London to the high office of their President; and distinguished in the highest degree by that public spirited body, the British Institution, and by successive testimonials of approbation and esteem from all the Academies and Schools of Painting in the old and new world; the venerable West, in his eightieth year, has produced in this last picture, a fresh motive for professional emulation, and an additional triumph of his pencil. While the British public and foreigners in England, crowd the exhibition-room to behold this sublime performance, Envy, always silent in the presence of dulness, and only wounded by superior genius, has in vain endeavoured to detract from its merits. Which of you, Gentlemen, has not roused the jealousy of your interiors by your most admired performances? Men of little minds, irregular aims, and inflated pretensions, the Simulars of Poussin, Rubens, and Raffaelle, know no other mode of obtaining celebrity, but by detracting from the fair claims of their most eminent contemporaries; and seeking to found their rise on the ruin of others. How unlike the candour and liberality of West! who, through life, has been signalized by his readiness to applaud the excellence of his brother Artists, and to contribute to their reputation, while setting an example of intense application, by ardently exerting his professional powers to advance his own. It will be a shining record in the character of this eminent Artist, that he is the founder of historical painting in England; and has dignitied his art, by employing his talent for more than half a century, as a moral instrument in the cause of truth, humanity, and religion. It is thus, Gentle [Nov. I, men, while you emulate the classic purity and severe elevation of Poussin, the affecting pathos of Le Sueur, the grand combinations of Bourdon, and the inexhaustible fire of Le Brun; like the father of the British School, you devote the Fine Arts to their great end, and teach them to assume their true station in society. It is thus that you render those charming sisters at once our perpetual delight and inspired preceptresses, an excitement to private virtue and national prosperity. The number of celebrated artists who flourish at present in the French school, forbid my mentioning any names, lest by particularizing some, I might be deemed guilty of an injustice to others. Receive, gentlemen, the good wishes and profound regards of a lover of peace, and a long declared opponent of anti-contemporarianism: one who finds an inexhaustible pleasure in the works of genius, and is not blinded to the merits of the living by his reverence for the illustrious dead. A stranger to the prejudices of dates and schools, I cannot help viewing art as a reflected image in a mirror, in which I behold nothing but trick and deformity, unless I am there struck by a just expression of the passions, the aflecting simplicity and eternal harmony of nature. The Graces, the offspring of truth and innocence, and the modest handmaids of beauty and virtue, fly the presence of constraint, impurity, and affectation. The inventions of the brain, which are fashioned by rule, and bear not the warm impression of living realities, are but painted rottenness, which taint the public taste, and give currency to imitative falsehood. But whither am I hurried by the strong enchantment of my subject? Forgetting that I am addressing myself to a select body of artists, who form the pride of a great kingdom, and are justly beloved and prized as one of the most brilliant sources of its glory, I have had the temerity to speak where I ought to be silent. Pardon, gentlemen, the involuntary error of one, over whom the cold ceremonials of the world have passed like clouds over the mountain top, which cast it into momentary shade without ever having the power to take away from its primeval eleva tion. May your advancement be equal to your enthusiastic devotion and generous ambition. May England and France, so long chronicled as rivals in military renown, henceforward be rivals only in those improvements and refinements which spread happiness from the palace to the cottage; humanize the heart, and embellish life without corrupting the morals and manners of the people. I have the honour to be, gentlemen, with sentiments of deep respect, your devoted servant, London: 37, Mary-le-bone Street, WM. CAREY. Piccadilly, July 4, 1918. Sir, Paris, Sept. 14, 1818. I have presented to the Royal Academy of Fine Arts the two works which you have had the goodness to transmit as a mark of your respect for that mstitution; and as the majority of its members are not familiarly acquainted with the English language, I have taken the liberty to impart to them the plan of your work by an abstract in French, which will render them acquainted with the nature of the various subjects, and the manner in which you have treated them. I do not flatter myself, sir, that I have been able to communicate in my abstract even a faint image of that talent for description and colouring with which your brilliant imagination knows how to clothe the objects which it depicts; he must be a painter who would describe like you the beauties of the art, and unfortunately it has scarcely been possible to furnish an equivalent to this species of merit in the abstract that has been made to the Academy. The Academy recollects having seen at a former exhibition the celebrated sketch of Mr. West's grand picture, the idea of which you have recalled to their remembrance. It has not been without the highest satisfaction that the Academy has also heard expressed the sentiments contained in your letter. It has recognized in them those professed by itself, and which, aiming to unite the artists of every country, would render them all citizens of the same republic. I am charged by the Academy to express to you its grautude, and the desire which it has to maintain an honourable intercourse with you, Sir, as well as all those of your illustrious nation, who are animated by a pure taste for the Fine Arts, and for all that 333 may tend to their glory and success. I beg you to accept the assurance of the high consideration with which I have the honour to be, Sir, your very humble and very obedient servant, QUATREMERE DE QUINCY. Wm. Carey, esq. WE are happy to acknowledge that the general candor which has distinguished our articles on the Fine Arts, has established a warm conviction of our impartiality in the minds of our readers; and with a sincere wish to advance the interests of the British School, we are resolved to persevere in the same line of unbiassed duty. These observations are occasioned by the insertion of an article in our Magazine of September, which took place during the short illness and unavoidable absence of our regular Editor. We allude to the critical remarks on the sculpture on the BassoRelievo of the New Custom House, executed by Mr. BUBB, and COAD. Modelling being as much the Mr. soul of sculpture, as design is of painting; the term modeller cannot convey to an amateur any reproach on Mr. Bubb's general abilities, although erroneously applied by our Correspondent in another view. Every important work of Art is productive of various opinions: and although there are some subordinate particulars in the figures on the New Custom House which do not give us equal pleasure, we have no hesitation in avowing that we cordially share in the public approbation, which the work has received. The engraving which accompanies these remarks, will enable our readers, remote from the capital, to judge correctly for themselves. ARCTIC EXPEDITION. and had a tolerably fair passage across the Atlantic; on the 22d were in longitude off Cape Farewell; 2 deg. south of it found our variation increasing as we went west; temperature of air and water nearly the same as at Shetland, thermometer at 42 or 43 deg. On the 26th, saw the first ice berg, 58. 38. long. 50. 54.; we now had snow and sleet, thermometer at freezing, a good deal of loose ice all round. June 2, in lat. 65. long. 56. were close in with the main west ice, which we supposed extended the whole way to the American coast; on the 4th made the Greenland coast, in lat. 65. 42. but did not stand close in; the land here appeared something like the north coast of Spain, and |