EXTRACTS

FROM MISS SEWARD'S POETICAL NOVEL OF

LOUISA.*

LOUISA TO EMMA.

Soon then did cheerfulness the morn illume,
And peace descend with evening's grateful gloom;
They saw my breast in that clear spirit gay,
Which speeds the social hour so fast away.

Now expectation's fervour rose, to hail
The youthful master of this quiet vale,
My blooming brother-from Oxonia's towers,
Who sought, with tender haste, his native bowers..

*The Poem, from which these Extracts are taken, 'resulted from an idea of it being possible to unite the impassioned fondness of Pope's ELOISA, with the chaster tenderness of Prior's EMMA; avoiding the voluptuousness of the first, and the too conceding softness of the second. The LOUISA of the following pages has all that enthusiasm which springs from an heart warmly affectionate, joined to a glowing and picturesque imagination. Her sensibilities, heightened, and refined in the bosom of retirement, know no bounds, except those which the dignity of conscious worth, and a strong sense of religion, prescribe.'— Preface to Louisa.

"Twas noon, and ripen'd Summer's fervid ray From cloudless ether shed oppressive day.

As on this shady bank I sat reclined,

My voice, that floated on the waving wind,
Taught the soft echoes of the neighbouring plains
Milton's sweet lays, in Handel's matchless strains.
Presaging notes my lips unconscious try,
And murmur- Hide me from day's garish eye!'
Ah! blest, had Death beneath his sable shrine
Hid me from all the woes that since were mine!

Beneath my trembling fingers lightly rung The lute's sweet chords, responsive while I sung. Faint in the yellow broom the oxen lay,

And the mute birds sat languid on the spray;
And nought was heard, around the noon-tide bower,
Save, that the mountain-bee, from flower to flower,
Seem'd to prolong, with her assiduous wing,
The soft vibration of the tuneful string;
While the fierce skies flamed on the shrinking rills,
And sultry silence brooded o'er the hills!

As on my lip the lingering cadence play'd,
My brother gaily bounded down the glade,
And, while my looks the fire of gladness dart,
With ardour press'd me to his throbbing heart;

Then to a graceful stranger turn'd, whose feet,
With steps less swift, my coyer welcome meet.
O'er his fine form, and o'er his glowing face,
Youth's ripen'd bloom had shed its richest grace;
Tall as the pine, amidst inferior trees,

With all the bending osier's pliant ease.
O'er his fair brow, the fairer for their shade,
Locks of the warmest brown luxuriant play'd.
Blushing he bows!-and gentle awe supplies
Each flattering meaning to his downcast eyes;
Sweet, serious, tender, those blue eyes impart
A thousand dear sensations to the heart;
Mild as the evening star, whose shining ray
Soft in th' unruffled water seems to play;
And when he speaks-not music's thrilling pow'r,
No, not the vocal mistress of the bow'r,
When slow she warbles from the blossom'd
In liquid blandishment, her evening lay,
Such soft insinuating sweetness knows,
As from that voice in melting accent flows!

spray,

Yet why, fond Memory! why in tints so warm, Paint'st thou each beauty of that faultless form? His specious virtues surely might impart Excuse more just for this devoted heart. Oh! how each noble passion's seeming trace, Threw transient glories o'er his youthful face!

How rose, with sudden impulse, swift, and strong,
For ev'ry secret fraud, and open wrong
Th' oppressor acts, the helpless feel, or fear,
Disdain's quick throb, and Pity's melting tear!
So well its part each ductile feature play'd,
Of worth, such firm, though silent promise made,
That to have doubted its well painted truth,
Had been to want the primal grace of youth,
Credulity, that scorns, with gen'rous heat,
Alike to practise, or suspect deceit.

Cease, vain regrets; excursive Fancy, cease! Ye only wound afresh my bleeding peace, And keep from gentle Emma's anxious ear Th' event she longs, yet kindly dreads, to hear; But ah! not singular, nor strange the tale, My sister-sufferers mourn in every vale; For gold, and dazzling state, incessant prove, In man's hard heart, the murderers of love.

While many a sun in summer-glory rose, Eugenio's lip no softer accent knows Than friendship dictates-but disorder'd praise, Scarce half express'd; the musing ardent gaze; The varying cheek; the frequent smother'd sigh, Reveal the latent meaning of his eye;

Plain, and yet plainer ev'ry hour declare
The shining secrecies, that languish there.

These are the days that fly on rapture's wing, Empurpling ev'ry flower that decks the spring; For when delicious Hope, with whisper bland, Wakes the dear magic of her potent wand, More vivid colours paint the rising morn, And clearer crystal gems the silver thorn ; On more luxuriant shade the noon-beam plays, And richer gold the evening-sun arrays; Stars seem to glitter with enamour'd fire, And shadowy hills in statelier grace aspire; More subtle sweetness scents the passing gales, And softer beauty decks the moon-light vales; All nature smiles! nor e'en the jocund day, When festive roses strew the bridal way, Darts through the virgin's breast such keen delight, As when soft fears with gay belief unite ;

As Hope, sweet, warm, seducing Hope, inspires,
Which somewhat questions, what it most desires;
Reads latent meaning in a lover's eye,

Thrills at his glance, and trembles at his sigh;
As o'er the frame disorder'd transport pours,
'When only less than certainty is ours.