WHEN Freedom came to Albion's shore, Thread of Roman entrails twin'd In the speary loom they strain, In gore of fallen slaves They drench the crimson woof, With ghastly pleasure scream. Their ash pale steeds with living snakes They urge athwart the murky air, And bear to Alfred's hand The banners red. Away, away, away, To where on rising blasts The smell of carnage mounts, The bellowing horn, the clashing steel, From flying foes arose the moan: The banners red, Shall on his victor brow Within what cave of mist While Britain groan'd beneath The floating flag unfurl. Earl Goodwin saw the purple beam, And swift his gleaming blade unsheath'd; And crown'd his front with plumy helm. Hela from the deep Let slip the dogs of war To gorge in corse-strown wilds, And howl dismay. Henceforth to fields of Aight The raven leads, MONTHLY MAG. No. 199. Or dips in briny waves No more athwart the land And long may Britain's sons unfurl For conquering Freedom wove! Edi. Wherefore should mán delight in praising war, And chronicle his cruelty in songs? Edw. Edi We'll bid them change the lay to softer themes. The feast-song should be tun'd to joy alone. Edw. And why not every song? The kind immortals Can never grudge to see their only children Edi. My lord, I shall obey. Edw. I thank thee-Now the gobletThy lips have hung a rosy garland on it. Edi. Peace! they prepare to sing again. My father, A Hast thou not heard some rude-voic'd clown Shall no gay honors stream ? Yes! the bard with daring arm No primrose strown upon the grave, Can bribe Siguna to resign The virgin, who unwedded dies. But she whom warriors choose, Edw. O chear, Editha, and allow thy bo som To vibrate sympathy. Yes, let us crop dew Of sparkling youth their fragrant buds are laden. (TOSTI returns, grasps the band of EDITHA, and leads her with studied calmness from the table into the vestibule ) T. Thy uncle is the deep dissembling villain, For which I took him. One of those I station'd Within yon forest, comes to bring me word That in the self same spot, by Harold's order, Some vassals of the king's had sought an ambush To seize thee for his evil purposes, Edi. O my father! 1 T. Editha, art thou honest? Dost thou fear, Behold the face of kindred or of parents, Or clasp, yet once, those whom my soul holds dear? them. More than the shaft of death, the loss of O! this untimely death is bitter to me. father. virtue ? Edi. I hope so, T. (Gives a dagger.) Here then-Thou art safe. How often, when the little Siegwin lay And a tear trickle down upon his hand, In twilight walks and misty cells to moan And who will call thee father when I'm gone? T. Wring not my heart, Editha, lest I spare thee. Edi. O spare me-by my mother's love have mercy; By the caresses which upon thy knee Look where my mother waits for thy return; And imprecates a curse upon her husband. (Gives the dagger, kneeling.) But let her not pronounce it-no, my father, Tell her Editha kneei'd to ask for death, And welcom'd, from her father's arm, the blessing. (TOSTI stabs ker.) Tell her that like a bleeding lamb I fell, And kiss'd the hand-Ab, 'twill be over shortly Tell her I thought of her, and bade her love thee This was not wine I swallowed-am I poi son'd? Whence is this nipping chill, this paler daylight? Why clings a bloody dew to every pillar? spectres That gleam amid the transitory gloom? T. I'll tell thee, why; 'Tis that all nature bows to hail my triumph, And sympathizes with my high revenge. Thy Siegwin, thy beloved, darling Siegwin, Has bled beneath my sword; and in that bowl Thou drank'st his reeking blood. H. (coming forward.) My boy! my son ! And has the hell-hound known to find my heart-strings, And gnawn them with the sharpest tooth' of spite? Why did I spare his life a single instant? T. Thou soughtest to deprive me of my child; And would'st have taken what is more than life; Her virtue, to bestow it on that man. [EDWARD aduances, 1 have prevented that.-Come here and view her. Edw. Editha, O, this blood should flow to save thee! T. I've taken life for life, and am reveng'd. I have bereft myself of all I lov'd, I loath the sight of day, of man, of you.- Lok, arm my hands with mischief! Would'st thou point Against Against > the brother's heart the brother's sword, the daughter's breast the father's But Thor unbound his storms, The hail its foliage tore, The lightning clave its heart in twain; Though in its mouldering trunk The death-owl screams aloud. To deck the hearse of death. "No! not to worlds below," Edw. My lust is guilty of this chain of H. Monarch, how wilt thou that this monster die ? Edry. Let him escape. My heart is rent Alfather, grant me to devote the rest That bends the knee of penitence to heaven. Minstrels sing. When on a land of crimes Black storm-clouds lour above, Earth yawns-huge cities sink- And on these halls Shall not Alfather frown, From world to world From cleaving skies the gods descend No living soul escapes. And heaps on the shuddering shore The giant sisters stalk on iron sole (Hela,) was goddess of death, and guarded the hell hounds. (The raven leads.) A raven decorated the Danish banner. (Bridge of gods.) It was on the rainbow that the ghosts of heroes walked to Valhalla, (Iduna,) the wife of Braga, took charge of the apples of immortality. (Tuisko,) the god of discord, presented armor to the heroes on their admission into Odin's hall. His arm was bitten off by the wolf Feuris. A one-handed idol of this god is shewn in the library of saint Genevieve at Paris by the name of Hercules Ogmius. They (Heimdal) kept the gates of heaven. gigantic virgins, whose office it was to exe(The equal sisters.) The Valkyrics were cute the orders of the superior deities. selected the slain in battle, punished the guilty, brought the chosen to Valhalla, and presented mead to the guests of Odin. (Dance of May.) The games of Hertha celebrated at this season are not yet obliterated. had these gloomy notions of the fate of those (The virgin that unwedded dies.) The Goths who died unmarried. See the For Skirnis in Sæmund's Edda (Lok) was the god of evil: the charlock, a sort of thistle common on barren ground, still retains his name. (Alfather) is the name attributed to the supreme god by the northern nations, after they had learned to separate him from their deified heroes. (O'er Gwyneth.) Pentaskeworth was destroyed by Caradoc, a prince of Gwyneth who rebelled against Edward. (Surtur) was chief of the deuses, or genii of fire. To the Editor of the Monthly Magazine. I SIR, TAKE the liberty to add a few words to Dr. Smith's letter in your last Magazine, as a somewhat fuller answer to your correspondent, p. 123 in the Ma. gazine for March. It is a wise maxim, not to speak before we think; and one equally wise, not to assert a fact for which there is not undoubted proof. Your correspondent seems little acquainted with the several volumes published by the illustrious Swede himself, or he would not have inzarded the assertion that he had discarded the word Linnæus and adopted a Linné, or Von Linné I happen to be possessed of several letters from him, in which the former name is constantly used. In the titles of more than twenty volumes published by himself, he constantly retains it. I hope therefore the more barbarous appellation will now be Jaid aside; and the Linnæan society discard their moderu, but fanciful orthography, in imitation of their illustrious founder; who, both before and after he received those honorary distinctions due to his excellent character, used the first appellation. Whilst I have the pen in hand, allow me just to remark, that it has long been matter of regret that such a number of uncouth and unclassical names are introduced into the nomenclature of botany. Taste must be disgusted with their annual, nay their monthly, increase. We already see the pages of botanists filled with Crowæa, Gemphena, Geodia (for Goodenough), Celebreshia, Elshelttzia, Blackstonea, Sowerbæa, Hebenstrelia, Fortkola, Woodfordia, Woehenderfia, Dillwyria, and Wiggii; and we soon expect Crabbæa, Wagstaffea, Humphreyia, Edwardsia, Pitchfordia, Hailstenea, Scrimshiria, Beckhensia, Robsonia, and a long list of others. I wish some more unexceptionable method could be devised to perpetuate the labours of ingenious men. How must the lovers of pure Latin be disgusted with such barbarisms! April 7, 1810. H. C. For the Monthly Magazine. On GENIUS; extracted from the JOURNAL of a REFLECTOR. I N commerce with the world, by which is meant perpetual intercourse with the fashionable, it is difficult to preserve enthusiasm or cherish genius; nor is there an instance of a mind which exclusively preferred this circle, and long retained either. "Powder, and pocket-glass, and shew," belong to a class little distinguished by reason, imagination, or magnanimity, It must be observed, we are speaking of philosophical, and of the higher order of poetic genius; for painting and music have eminently flourished in the soil Ridicule and wit of luxury and courts. inay be said to be in their proper ele ment, amidst objects which afford such ample materials; witness the reign of Charles II., which teemed with authors of this description; but the superior mind, the profound thought, seeks for ober scenery and other associates, Nature in its sublimity, is its congenial sphere: the rising and the setting sun, the impervious desert, and the majestic waves of a stormny sea, awaken its enthusiasm; it delights in the tremendous rock, the massy ruin; in thunders, whirlwinds, and volcanos; its powers unfold within the pale shrines of Gothic superstition, and its fancy revels amidst the dreariness of enchantment. Nor are Pope, Swift, and the other bright luminaries of the age of queen Anne, exceptions. On a close examination of their works it will be found, that they all possessed more of wit than genius; and, moving in a circle of artificial splendour, became incorporated with it, and cultivated talentsa s different from the sublime, as water-works from Niagara. Wits are born convivial: they love the busy hum of men, the festive board, the jovial glee; variety and folly are their element; multiplicity of objects forms their delight Genius has but one: to this it adheres with undistracted force; and no less keen than its sensations are strong. Wit has perception without feeling; and merriment and scoff being parts of its nature, nothing is unwelcome to its taste, or unattainable to its efforts, but the sublime. But what is genius? Of all the terms to which strong signification is annexed, opinion has been most varied concerning its definition. The ancients believed it inspiration: the moderns, every thing but this. Montesquieu considers it as an effect of climate; Helvetius, of a favourable education: and the French critics deny it to every author who writes equally well on all subjects. That climate has some effect on the imagination cannot be denied. Natives of Switzerland and St. Giles's, (even supposing it possible to preserve morals in the district of the latter,) would form very different modes of thinking, from the different objects presented to their senses: but objects, however influential on character, or favourable to genius, would not create it; and when we retrace the authors who have written sublimely, or philosophers who have thought profoundly, in situations the least analo gous to their subjects and circumstances, the most depressive to their fancy, we cannot admit climate to be an efficient cause of genius. Thomson the poet composed his Seasons in London; Wieland cultivated his rural muse in the air of Versailles, and amidst the marshes of Flanders; and |