BUYADIN AND HIS SONS. [TRANSLATED FROM THE SERVIAN.] THUS a maiden blames her eyes of beauty- Grand, they say, were all the heroes' garments: Meanwhile all the heroes came to Livno. Servian klephts or robbers. When they see afar the cursèd Livno, Whence upsoars a tower white and slender, To his sons the senior thus outspeaketh : "O, my sons, my gray and flashing falcons, See you there the cursed fort of Livno? See you there the tower white and slender? They will smite us there, and rack us sorely; Hand and foot they'll wrench away and shatter; From our brows they'll tear the bleeding eyeballs. Yet, my sons, O gray and noble falcons, Be ye not, like orphans, aspen-hearted; Be like heroes all of soul unshaken. Tell the names of none of our companions, None of all our friends and our concealers, That have kept us from the winds of winter, Yea, and hid our booty in the cellars. Tell not of the fair young tavern-maidens, Who bestowed upon us wine of redness, Wine renowned, which we drank in secret." When they came before the fort of Livno, Soon the Kadi drave them to a dungeon, Held them there three days all dark and dreary, Till he should take counsel with the Moslem How most cruelly to slay the Servians. When the third long day had drawn to evening, First he led the father out before him, Made them cleave his hands and feet asunder. "Tell me now, O Buyadin, O lover! Thereupon the gray old hero answered : "Have I told thee for my feet of swiftness- And the sons died firmly like the father. ALICE. I. THERE sat a lady in an ancient room, Beneath the branches cool, Far from the choral gladness of the minstrel lark. II. Bright were her eyes with visions. Yet more bright Across the open shaw, Down to the forest fountains troop the fallow deer. "I am the Spirit of Summer, maiden tender," Homage; for sprites to mortal maidens ever, For purest worship bow. Into this goblet look, and fathom Time's dark river." V. Therewith in that blue vase the magic water Would echo Love's wild rhyme, And fill with high delight the fragrant summer air. VI. What saw she there? The blushful face of him Shadows dim Crossed the fair lymph; and a weird form of eld, Of ice and hoarfrost wet, Pale with an unknown woe, the maiden there beheld. VII. "The Spirit of Winter!" cried the youthful shade, Sweet Alice, when the summer came again, Those dreamy eyes of thine Saw not the sunset shine, Nor watched the fallow deer wind slowly down the glen. MORTIMER COLLINS. MOUNTAIN MUSINGS. THE lordly merchant, in his hall, He quaffs the blood-red wine; And yet his lot I envy not, Nor would I change for mine! Up to the hills, and couched on heath, Oh, lowland marts, and marble domes, Was born or dwelt a slave. On mountain peak the prophet first On mountain peak the dove did rest, Then ye, whose hearts doth weary beat, Come, climb with me Slieve Callan's brow; And let your thoughts, like Titans, now Ascend from thence to heaven! The scholar hath a quiet look Within his cloistered cell: He poreth o'er some goodly book But though his life unruffled flows, Oh, better far the wave-toss'd lake, The trickling rill that cools your lips, Hath Cyprus wine such flavour sweet, Preach'd ever abbot, like those hills, Then in their Sabbath solitude, And when their lesson right is read, To wrestle with your fate! *** THE PLURALITY OF WORLDS AND SIR DAVID BREWSTER. WITHIN the last few months a remarkable controversy has arisen on a subject by no means new, but on which, until now, it was supposed that there was scarcely room for a second opinion. Amongst the distinguishing characteristics of this era, indeed, we may remark, not the least significant is the opening up of old questions, and the re-examination of the foundations of theories, on which the massive structure of a world's belief has been gradually built up. This is a necessary consequence of the forward march of scientific knowledge, and the removal, or absence, of those restrictions which so long forbid men to travel, under any plea, out of received opinions into what were assumed to be the dangerous debateable lands of original speculation. One by one we shall have all old beliefs, apart from those of revelation, rigidly overhauled; and while some of them, we are confident, will stand the test, there is as little doubt that others will have to be modified, restricted, or relinquished, as a fuller light shows them to be imperfect, exaggerated, or erroneous. Long before the day of the French philosopher Fontenelle-in fact, as soon as the telescope had revealed the planets as spherical bodies presenting discs, and the Copernican theory had assigned us our true place in the system of the universe-the poetical idea of a plurality of worlds became a scientific doctrine. That philosopher, by the charms of his eloquent style, advanced it from a scientific theory into a popular belief— first in France, and eventually in Europe; so that, up to last autumn, there were few persons at all accustomed to speculate on such matters who did not subscribe to the general conclusion, that all true analogies pointed in the same direction as the poetry of antiquity and the received interpretation of Holy Writ; that we, the intelligent inhabitants of the earth, were, in fact, but one small community out of countless others, equally favoured with ourselves, if not more highly gifted and more familiarly visited with the light of the Divine pre sence. * Up to last autumn, we say; for in the month of October last appeared a book, which has given to the question a new aspect, and by its intrinsic merit as well as by its subject, imperatively demanded that the whole question should be reconsidered on fresh grounds. This book bears a title almost identical with Fontenelle's-an infelicitous choice, since its scope is the very reverse of the French philosopher's, namely, to show that there exists no true scientific analogy to warrant the inference that the heavenly bodies are, any of them, the abodes of intelligent life. As soon as this remarkable anonymous work appeared it attracted general notice, and the reviewers set to work at once upon it, very generally according it the praise its execution seemed to deserve. We held back from design; for we felt certain that the scientific could not surrender a belief it had so long cherished without some one being found to do battle for it. The result has justified our forbearance. A champion has at last entered the lists - no stripling, but that veteran philosopher, the length and brilliancy of whose scientific career have not in this instance led him to claim exemption from a task, which, without disgrace, he might have left in younger and more unpractised hands. Sir David Brewster has undertaken to overthrow the arguments of the Essayist on the "Plurality of Worlds;" and in a volume entitled "More Worlds than One," has certainly done damage to many weak points in the argument of his oppo nent. Were we dealing with either of these "Of the Plurality of Worlds: An Essay." London: John W. Parker and Son, West Strand. 1853. "More Worlds than One. The Creed of the Philosopher and the Hope of the Christian." By Sir David Brewster, K.H., D.C.L., F.R.S., V.P.R.S., Edinburgh, and Associate of the Institute of France. London: John Murray, Albemarle-street. 1854. |