immortal lay,* and despairingly to arraign the avenging justice of heaven in suffering its retributive lightnings to sleep so long. An early grave spared his gentle spirit the afflicting pang. But while a single heart can beat with a prouder pulse, and glow with a holier fire, at the lofty contemplation of unsullied purity and unperverted genius-while the voice of Reason and of Truth can waken a responsive chord—while the great principles of our common nature sanction an universal homage at the shrine of moral and intellectual supremacy-so long shall the admiration of posterity linger over the poet's remains, and the voice of an enduring fame hallow the poet's tomb. STOICULUS. U. C. 1. THE FISHER-AND RESHBERGER. The poems of "The Fisher," and Reshberger,", of which translations are subjoined, are in widely different styles, neither of which is naturalized in this country. In the first, the author attempts to depict, partly by direct poetical description, partly by a kind of fanciful allegory, a mind subdued by vague and dreamy melancholy. The second imitates the rude energy and simplicity of the old Ballad. But while the poet affects the garb of his forefathers, and sings such a tale as they might have strung their harps to, he wears his disguise but lightly, delights in puzzling his readers to know whether he is in earnest or in jest, and, like one who tells a ghost-story to children, amuses himself with first exciting terrors, and then joining in a laugh at the credulity of those who were so easily deceived. THE FISHER. The waters sighed, the waters heaved; A fisher on the brink Sate gazing on his floating line, His heart was like to sink. And as he sate and sadly gazed, He saw the floods divide, And a maiden from the troubled wave She 66 sang to him, she spoke to him; Why dost thou thus delude, With human wit and human guile, To death my harmless brood? *cf. Tacit. Annal. xv. c. 70. Lucan. Phars. L. iii. 635. Ah! knew'st thou how the little fish Thyself wouldst quit the gloomy earth, "Do not the Sun, the lovely Moon, Dost thou not see the deep, deep heav'n, The waters sighed, the waters heaved; She spoke to him, she sang to him; And he was seen no more. W. v. GOETHE. RESHBERGER. Reshberger was a daring wight; The merchant's dread, the traveller's fright. To pass the weary night away. And when the midnight chimes were heard, To seize his prey the youth prepared. A merchant train, he understood, At early dawn would cross the wood. He had ridden but a little way, On which I sate; go fetch them here." The squire came back so pale of hue :"The devil may fetch your gloves for you! A ghost is sitting on the bier; My hair is still on end with fear. Your pair of gloves has he put on, And looks at them with a gaze of stone; Back to the church the youth did fly, Then spoke the ghost in an eager tone ;— "If you will not give them for my own, "A single year I'll lend them you, Reshberger proudly rode away; He scoured the wood till morning grey, Oh! then the youth's proud heart beat high- A mask was over every face- And one on foot, behind the throng, Saddled and bridled, and covered all с Reshberger rode to the serving-man ;-- "To my lord's most faithful servant here, He spoke, and followed the troop in black: The youth to his trusty 'squire came back"Woe's me! I must dismount" said he, "For things are going downhill with me. If my horse is not too wild, my shield At midnight, where Reshberger lies, Reshberger ran from his grave so low- This lay is meant for youths to read ; That they may take of their gloves good heed, At night, to journey quietly. L. UHLAND. ART. III.—MASSINGER-HIS LIFE AND RELIGIOUS TENETS. THE true dramatic literature of our country is comprehended within a very short interval, not extending, indeed, beyond the reigns of Elizabeth, James the First, and Charles the First. The breaking out of the great rebellion put a violent stop to its progress, at a period when, under the auspices of a munificent patron, it was displaying its brightest lustre ; and after the restoration of the monarchy, in 1660, arose the entirely different school of Dryden, Otway, &c.; the best productions of which are immeasurably inferior to the plays of the Shakspearian era. From that period to our own times the drama has never revived; and never was it in a greater state of degradation than in the present nineteenth century. The briefness of its reign, however, seems completely compensated by the number and brilliancy of the poets who adorned it: not to mention the mighty name which, in conjunction with that of Milton, has left the poetry of England unrivalled in the two greatest branches of poetry, alike in the drama and in the epopee; we have Jonson, Beaumont, Fletcher, Massinger; again, Middleton, Ford, Dekker, Cartwright, Rowley, Shirley, and many others of less name and inferior merit. Of the first class of these, all due honour (and perhaps more honour than is due) is paid to the classic Jonson; the loftiness of Beaumont, and the exquisite pathos |