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On the 1st of March will be published, in One Volume, post 8vo,

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In post Octavo,

Abridged in Prose,

And Interspersed with

BY WILLIAM STEWART ROSE. *** It is curious that the Orlando Innamorato, though necessary to the understanding of the Story of the Orlando Furioso, which is a continuation of it, has never been translated into English; if we except a mere outline of the main action, which gives little notion of its innumerable episodes, and none of its poetry, or the spirit in which it is conceived. The present translation is an attempt to supply such a deficiency.



In 3 Vols. post 8vo,

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IV. Will be Published on the 1st of February, in 12mo. A COLLECTION FOR THE USE OF SCHOOLS,


Minister of St George's, Edinburgh. This Collection is distinguished by the variety of interesting and instructive matter which it contains-by its exclusion of every thing which can in the remotest degree injure the religious principles or moral taste of the reader and by its direct tendency to inculcate sacred truth and virtuous sentiments on the youthful mind, as well as by its suitable and useful exercises, taken from the best writers both in prose and verse, for facilitating the improvement of the scholar in the art of reading. A considerable number of original pieces, on subjects of importance, are interspersed throughout its pages ; and there is appended to it a Dictionary, explaining the most difficult

and uncommon words which occur in the course of the work.

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If a proof were desired of the variety both in prose. Coleridge is the only and energy of German literature, we individual who has made a powerful know not that a better could be found effort in their favour, and had not some than in the example afforded by our hopes remained that he might yet fiown pages; for, choosing out frag- nish the last acts of “ Wallenstein, ments for translation, (which, hasty we should possibly have been tempted and imperfect as they were, have al- to give an article (prepared, of course, ways been received by our poetical with more care than our preceding readers with approbation,) we have sketches) on the third and concluding uniformly, except in one instance (that part of that admirable “ Trilogie,” in of“Faust”) left the works of the great- order that in this country it might not er and more classical authors untouch- remain longer in utter oblivion. ed. We have, as it were, gleaned only On the present occasion, however, scattered flowers on the outskirts of the we shall still follow our old method, Thuringian forests, andour readers have having chosen for notice a minor prodrank but of their humbler streams; duction of a young nobleman, by name for, metaphor apart, Müllnerand Grill- Ernst von Houvald, who, as far as we parzer, eminent as they are, would re- remember, has not yet been introduject with disdain the injudicious com- ced to our readers. Several years ago, pliment which should place them on a when this author published his first footing of equality with the more dis- attempt—a frightful sketch, of which tinguished models, and establishedwor- the scene was laid in a charnel-house, thies, from whom they have drawn we predicted that he would rise to their inspiration. If, then,' by that me- eminence; and whether our conjecture thod which we have followed, an im- was right or not, he has since that time, pression has been made, how much both in prose and verse, continued to more might have been done by a care- improve : and there is a degree of inful selection! The works even of Schil- terest and suspense attached to the ler remain, except by name, as much story in this little piece, the “ Lightunknown to us as if they did not exist. Tower," on which account it is very freWe have, indeed, two translations of quently performed. It certainly follows Don Carlos, (by no means his best,) not, that because a young author is bold but these are, as far as we remember, and imprudent enough to fix on a bad Vol. XIII.


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subject, that he will be found wanting band,) becomes insane ; and she being in genius to adorn a good one; but the ignorant of his fate, yet haunted by besetting error of Houvald, no doubt, the bitterest repentance, at last leaves has been bis choice of frightful and re- America for Europe in search of him, pelling subjects in the first instance, in order to implore his forgiveness. and of plots rather overstrained and She is shipwrecked on the shore of the improbable afterwards. Of this last “ Light-Tower," and finally, by a faobjection, however, the validity is less; tal combination of circumstances, those for so long as an author keeps within who have been through life separated, the bounds of possibility, he is not are in death united-a favourite idea likely to insist on greater improbabili, of Houvald's, which he has already ties than the influences of " chance and three or four times poetized. There change” have at one time or another is a complex underplot, which it would actually brought forward in the world. be tedious to analyze. The preceding

The story of the “ Light-Tower,” is probably enough to render, as usual, then, is a kind of winter night's dream, our extracts intelligible. such as one might be visited by, in a Some of the most laboured writing lonely German Schloss, if he came forth in the “ Light-Tower,” (which is in at midnight on the altan, and listened Calderon's rhymed measure) occurs in to the roaring of the wind through the the first scene. This would not anleafless beeches and poplars, and with swer on our stage, where the opening the Trauerweiden waving their long speeches are invariably lost; but betresses around him. The chief inte- sides that, in the German theatre, no rest of the plot may be described as noise or disturbance is at any time alfollows: Through the arts of a sedu- lowed, the “Light-Tower” is generally cer, a wife has been separated from her preceded by a short Comedy or Opera. husband, who afterwards hears, that In a word, it is employed as an Afwhile under the care of her betrayer, ter-piece. The characters are she has perished at sea. He (the husCaspar Hort,

Watcher of the Light-Tower.

His daughter.

His elder brother.
Count Von Holm,

Adoptive son of the Count. The first Scene represents a round Chamber in the Light-house. Above, the wooden beams of the roof are partly seen, through which afterwards falls the gleam of the lamps when kindled. In the room is an harp, a speakingtrumpet, &c.—Caspar and Dorothea are discovered, the latter sitting at work, the former looking out of the window.

Caspar. How darkly are the skies with clouds o'ercast !
How foam the breakers on the rocky shore,
While the vexed ocean with upheaving waves,
Groans in her combat with the storm!

Think'st thou
The tempest yet will rage? Oftimes by night,
Are lull'd fierce winds of day.

Oftimes; but now
It is not so. Beneath the reign of night
The conflict will be fiercer. In the west
At evening lurid clouds obscured the sky,
Like furrows on an angry brow, portending
That wrath, long cherished, will break forth-and none,
It will be fearful.-Screaming through the air,
Already flock the timorous sea-birds home;
And on the shore, to-morrow's dawn perchance
Will many a trace of wreck and woe reveal.

Dor. Poor mariners, that on a realm so waste
And lawless build your homes !

Nay, say not so !-
Thereon, by statutes old, from age to age



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One self-same empress rules. When thus the storm
Draws on, and the loud sea receives her guest-
When lightnings on their fiery wings descend
No self-will, no caprice is here-- Around
The throne of Nature wait the Elements,
And but obey her mandate when they labour.
Yet in their zeal, their power and influences,
Man sees but wild contention, since to him
They bring oft times on his vain plans destruction.
But man remembers not that in himself,
In his own breast, dwells wilder anarchy:
Therein, desire's fierce flame, the hurricane
Of angry passions, and of selfishness
The ice-cold sea, contend, as with the earth,
With his own heart—which is of dust!

Are, then,
Poor mortals all of warfare thus the prey?
Father, when on thy bosom I recline,
Methinks I mark therein no tumults wild-
No!_still thy mind, so wise and calm, reveals
But the pure azure of a summer sky!

Casp. Dear child, we both are now by storms unmoved.
As when, with steps invisible, the dawn
In spring-tide o'er the flowery hills comes on,
The glassy seas are hush’d, and o'er their depths
White swans are borne, like morning dreams along ;
So now, my child, so calm and sun-illumed,
Smiles life before thee-while, on the horizon far,
Gleam the bright sails of hope. --My heart the while
Is like the sea, when iron winter rules :
Clear are its waters, too, and angry storms
May beat thereon in vain—The ice-cold wastes
Are frozen and waveless now.

No, no-Thy heart
Has never thus been chill'd. Thence on my life
Beams forth, even like the sun, with light and warmth,
Paternal love ; and hence, too, seems this world,
With all its interchange of hill and dale,
Lake, sea, and woodland, to my youthful sight
So beauteous and so hopeful.

Yet this light
Will perish soon—Then, in the world alone,
Wilt ihou be left, of aid all destitute !
Hast thou not seen, on this our rocky shore,
By morning's light, the melancholy wreck
Of many a stately ship? Did never then
The prayer within thy shuddering heart arise,
“Oh shield me ever, ye firm walls, whereon
The wild waves beat in vain !"

Truly our lives
Are better here protected. Yet the ships
Gain most times, too, their destined port securely.
Father, let me confess, when I behold
The gay flags waving on the distant sky,
Deep longing draws me hence; when mariners
Beneath the cannon's roar, so proudly take
Departure from our harbour, then methinks
How gladly would I dwell, too, in the ship
That sails to foreign lands !

Thou foolish child !
Come, look now on the sea :- In the grey light,
Even like a monster, how he toils and heaves,
From his dark bosom stretching foamy arms,

and now,

In furious rage, to grapple with the storm!
Mark now,
How, with his hissing jaws, he swallow'd up
The lightnings darted from yon lurid cloud !-
And would'st thou trust a foe so treacherous ?---
In place of watching here the lights, to guide
Poor wanderers through the night, with the dark waves
Thyself contend ? Thou foolish child !--The sea
Is of this changeful life an emblem true.-
Then blest are they, who, from the sheltering walls
That for her vot’ries here Devotion builds,
Look calmly on the terrors of the flood.

Dor. What mean'st thou, father?

Casp. Listen !-When I look
Into those clear unclouded eyes of thine,
Methinks they never should with tears be fill’d,
Even on this tearful earth ;—but while their light
Is yet unclouded, should Devotion come,
And o’er each misery of our fleeting life,
Draw the kind shelt'ring veil. Therefore, when I
No more can aid thee here, then hie thee straight
Into a convent.

To a convent!-No!
Father, 'twas not ʼmid flowery shelt'ring vales,
But on the cold shores of the sea, that thou
Rear’d'st up thy daughter. Early was I wont
On Nature's wildest moods to look untroubled.
Thus, on the storm and raging floods, when all
Besides were struck with terror, I could gaze
Calmly ;—the ocean wild had been my playmate !
Nay, was I not in childhood taught to guide
The helm, and, in a tottering bark alone,
To lose myself far ʼmid the weltering waves,
Till scarcely could thy signals bring me home? -
When, too, at morning's fresh and fragrant hour,
The birds with their first matins call’d me forth
To join in homage, have I not, beneath
The boundless dome of Heaven, rejoicing kneeld?
Beneath me, murmuring deep, the waves renew'd
Their solemn music ;—clouds came reverently,
Ranging themselves along the vasty choir,-

Till from the orient too, the high priest rose,
In festal garments, and on the horizon,
As from an altar, spread his dazzling arms,
Saluting thus the stilly world—“ Wake, wake!
Ye habitants unnuinber'd of this earth,
Awake to Love and Joy. In me, behold

Heaven's messenger of blessing and protection !"In this last passage, (which appears that his daughter should renounce the to us to evince much of real imagina- vanities of this life. By their dialogue tion,) there is at least an example af- here, we are already, in some meaforded of that association of thought sure, prepared for what is to follow. with the scenery and influences of na- He warns her particularly against fallture, on which the best eloquence of ing in love, by adverting to the unthe poet depends, but of wbich Ger- happy fate of Ulrick, her paternal unman writers avail themselves but sel- cle, who becomes afterwards, in a great dom, the Swedish and Danish poets measure, the hero of the piece. He, more frequently, but the French and as we have already mentioned, had Italian authors almost never. During been, by the stratagems.of a seducer, the rest of this scene, Caspar goes on deprived of his wife, and believes that to explain for what reasons he wishes she had been lost at sea, from which,

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