First is a stirring
little ballad, the Warrior, by the editor; then, a humorous epistle
from Robert Southey, Esq. to Allan Cunningham, in which the laureat
deals forth his ire on the "misresemblances and villanous visages"
which have been published as his portrait.[1] Next is a gem of
another water, Edderline's Dream, by Professor Wilson, the supposed
editor of "Blackwood's Magazine." This is throughout a very beautiful
composition, but we must content ourselves with the following
extract:--
EDDERLINE'S SLEEP.
Castle-Oban is lost in the darkness of night,
For the moon is swept from the starless heaven,
And the latest line of lowering light
That lingered on the stormy even,
A dim-seen line, half cloud, half wave,
Hath sunk into the weltering grave.
Castle-Oban is dark without and within,
And downwards to the fearful din,
Where Ocean with his thunder shocks
Stuns the green foundation rocks,
Through the green abyss that mocks his eye,
Oft hath the eerie watchman sent
A shuddering look, a shivering sigh,
From the edge of the howling battlement!
Therein is a lonesome room,
Undisturbed as some old tomb
That, built within a forest glen,
Far from feet of living men,
And sheltered by its black pine-trees
From sound of rivers, lochs, and seas,
Flings back its arched gateway tall,
At times to some great funeral!
Noiseless as a central cell
In the bosom of a mountain
Where the fairy people dwell,
By the cold and sunless fountain!
Breathless as a holy shrine,
When the voice of psalms is shed!
And there upon her stately bed,
While her raven locks recline
O'er an arm more pure than snow,
Motionless beneath her head,--
And through her large fair eyelids shine
Shadowy dreams that come and go,
By too deep bliss disquieted,--
There sleeps in love and beauty's glow,
The high-born Lady Edderline.
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