IV. Peaceful sojourners in this blest retreat, V. And do ye never see the silver light, VI. And do your pining spirits strive in vain— VII. To bear them unto thee, when thou dost call, And we, O Lord, have nothing but our sighs! From La Poesie Sacrée, a dithyrambic ode, I shall only make a brief extract. The poem is inscribed to M. de Genoude, to whom the author gives the high praise of being the first who transfused into the French language the sublime poetry of the. Hebrews. "Until now," observes Lamartine, "we have only been acquainted with the sense of the books of Job, Isaiah, and David, thanks to M. Genoude their expression, their colour, their very spirit, now live and breathe in our language." I may perhaps avail myself of a future opportunity to say a few words upon the present state of French theological literature, which, like French literature generally, seems to be very little studied in this country. With respect to the ode itself, the language appears to be essentially adverse to the rapid changes in manner and rhythm which characterize the dithyrambic. Hugo has strained it to the utmost, and I think has found it wanting. The lines I have translated are, it will be perceived, imitated from the sublime lamentations of Job, but they resemble rather the plaintive melancholy of Simonides in their tone and imagery. I. Like a fleeting summer cloud, The spring-time of my days hath fled, Victor Where the voice of hope is o'er : This long-loved vale—this dewy lea, II. Man blooms a little April day, But when the stream of life is dry, III. My days are vanished like the snow, Where, in the shadow dark and deep, The little poem on Evening is very sweet and playful. The verses I have translated are marked by much felicity of fancy. I. And suddenly a balmy ray, A flash of starlight from the skies, II. Sweet shadow of yon globe of fire, III. Or com'st thou the future to unveil IV. Thy beauty through my bounding breast V. Perchance among these silent bowers VI. Ah, is it you, beloved shades? VII. And pour the oil of peace and love VIII. Return-but, ah! the vapours black The ray of starlight comes not back, In my remarks upon the Meditations Poetiques I have been intentionally very sparing of quotations from the original-my object being rather to occupy the space allotted to me with specimens addressed particularly to the English reader-but I cannot refrain from extracting a few stanzas from the poem entitled Le Crucifix, and bearing a remarkable similarity to the Canticles of Racine in the simplicity and earnestness of its diction, while it breathes a deeper solemnity, and a more ardent and enthusiastic spirit. As a specimen of religious poetry peculiarly catholic, it is especially deserving of notice. The poet conducts us into the chamber of death, and we behold him receiving the crucifix from the hands of the expiring Christian. Oui, tu me resteras, o funébre héritage! Sept fois depuis ce jour l'arbre que j'ai planté Alors qu'entre la vie et la mort incertaine, Pour eclaircir l'horreur de cet étroit passage, VOL. IV-July, 1833. D Tu sais, tu sais mourir? et tes larmes divines, De l'olivier sacré baignèrent les racines De ta croix, où ton œil sonda ce grand mystère, Au nom de cette mort, que ma faiblesse obtienne Ah! puisse, puisse alors sur ma funebre couche, Soutiens ses derniers pas, charme sa derniere heure De celui qui s'éloigne à celui qui demeure Jusqu'au jour où des morts perçant la voile sombre, I cannot conclude this paper more appropriately, than with a few verses from the poet's Adieux a la Poesie. I. There is a quiet thoughtful hour, II. There is an hour when the soul Of the cittern seems to rest, And the burning spirit dies That flashed out in the poet's eyes, And kindled in his breast. III. The pleasant bird that charms the wood, Alas! it sings not all the day; At noon-tide, in the twilight dells, Among the matted leaves it dwells, Hymning the morning's waking and decay. IV. Then fare thee well, beloved lute, I wake no more thy broken spell, In vain beneath my hand doth spring Here, then, my specimens of the Meditations Poetiques are ended :—it is "meet such lay should be the last." I may, perhaps, return to some of the other compositions of Lamartine, but I hope I have already interested the reader in his behalf, and that, although my humble commentaries may be " written upon water," yet that the affectionate sincerity, the unaffected piety, and the picturesque fancy of the poet will not be entirely forgotten. ANTIQUITIES, &c. To the Editor of the British Magazine. SIR,-Your correspondent Archæophilus* (vol. ii. pp.243,244) has given some interesting extracts from the " Churchwardens' Accounts" of his own parish, temp. Henry VII. and VIII., respecting an ancient article of church furniture, named a "Judas," with a conjecture as to its nature, and requesting information upon the matter. I had occasion to investigate this subject in "A Dissertation upon the Pageants, or Dramatic Mysteries, anciently performed in Coventry," published in 1825, but as it appears that your intelligent correspondent has not seen the work, and since, from its nature, many of your readers are likely to be in the same situation, I subjoin some extracts from it, to which I shall add a few observations connected with the subject, in the hope that my present communication may be found not only acceptable to "Archæophilus," but to your readers in general. The favourite night processions of our ancestors were uniformly, I believe, attended by cressets, but the ancient account books of the companies in Coventry contain numerous items of expenditure for Judas torches, used in conjunction with cressets upon these occasions, a few of which follow: Coppers' Company. 1485. "Payed for tember & the makyng of iiij Judassus for the torchis, xiiijd." "It' p'd ffor platus to ye Judassus off Iron, vijd." The concluding part (the Editor regrets that it is such) of Archæophilus will be given next month. |