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While in the west, with hideous yawn disclosed,
His onward path Charybdis' gulf opposed.
The double danger as by turns he view'd,
His wheeling bark her arduous track pursued.
Thus while to right and left destruction lies,
Between the extremes the daring vessel flies.
With boundless involution, bursting o'er
The marble cliffs, loud dashing surges roar;
Hoarse through each winding creek the tempest

raves,

And hollow rocks repeat the groan of waves;
Destruction round th' insatiate coast prepares,
To crush the trembling ship, unnumber'd snares.
But haply now she 'scapes the fatal strand,
Though scarce ten fathoms distant from the land;
Swift as the weapon issuing from the bow,
She cleaves the burning waters with her prow;
And forward leaping, with tumultuous haste,
As on the tempest's wing the isle she past.
With longing eyes and agony of mind,
The sailors view this refuge left behind;
Happy to bribe, with India's richest ore,
A safe accession to that barren shore !

When in the dark Peruvian mine confined,
Last to the cheerful commerce of mankind,
The groaning captive wastes his life away,
For ever exiled from the realms of day;
No equal pangs his bosom agonize,
When far above the sacred light he eyes,
While, all forlorn, the victim pines in vain,
For scenes he never shall possess again.

But now Athenian mountains they descry,
And o'er the surge Colonna frowns on high:
Beside the cape's projecting verge are placed
A range of columns, long by time defaced;
First planted by devotion to sustain,
In elder times, Tritonia's sacred fane.

Foams the wild beach below, with maddening

rage,

Where waves and rocks a dreadful combat wage.
The sickly heaven, fermenting with its freight,
Sull vomits o'er the main the feverish weight:
And now, while wing'd with ruin from on high,
Through the rent cloud the ragged lightnings fly,
A dash, quick glancing on the nerves of light,
Struck the pale helmsman with eternal night:
Rodmond, who heard the piteous groan behind,
Touch'd with compassion gazed upon the blind :
And, while around his sad companions crowd,
He guides the unhappy victim to the shroud.
"Hie thee aloft, my gallant friend!" he cries;
Thy only succour on the mast relies!"—
The helm bereft of half its vital force,
Now scarce subdued the wild unbridled course:
Quick to th' abandon'd wheel Arion came,
The ship's tempestuous sallies to reclaim.
Amazed he saw her, o'er the sounding foam
Upborne, to right and left distracted roam.
So gazed young Phaeton, with pale dismay,
When, mounted in the flaming car of day,
With rash and impious hand the stripling tried
The immortal coursers of the sun to guide.-
The vessel, while the dread event draws nigh,
Seems more impatient o'er the waves to fly;

Fate
spurs her on:-thus issuing from afar,
Advances to the sun some blazing star;
And, as it feels th' attraction's kindling force,
Springs onward with accelerated course.

With mournful look the seamen eyed the strand,
Where Death's inexorable jaws expand:
Swift from their minds elapsed all dangers past,
As, dumb with terror they beheld the last.
Now, on the trembling shrouds, before, behind,
In mute suspense they mount into the wind.-
The genius of the deep, on rapid wing,
The black eventful moment seem'd to bring;
| The fatal sisters on the surge before,
Yoked their infernal horses to the prore.-

The steersmen now received their last command,
To wheel the vessel sidelong to the strand.
Twelve sailors, on the foremast who depend,
High on the platform of the top ascend;
Fatal retreat! for while the plunging prow
Immerges headlong in the wave below,
Down-prest by watery weight the bowsprit bends
And from above the stem deep-crushing rends.
Beneath her beak the floating ruins lie;
The foremast totters, unsustain'd on high:
And now the ship, fore-lifted by the sea,
Hurls the tall fabric backward o'er the lee;
While, in the general wreck, the faithful stay
Drags the main topmast from its post away.
Flung from the mast, the seamen strive in vain
Through hostile floods their vessels to regain;
The waves they buffet, till bereft of strength,
O'erpower'd they yield to cruel fate at length.
The hostile waters close around their head,
They sink, for ever, number'd with the dead!

Those who remain, their fearful doom await,
Nor longer mourn their lost companions' fate;
The heart, that bleeds with sorrows all its own,
Forgets the pangs of friendship to bemoan.-
Albert and Rodmond, and Palemon here,
With young Arion, on the mast appear;
E'en they, amid th' unspeakable distress,
In every look distracting thoughts confess;
In every vein the refluent blood congeals;
And every bosom fatal terror feels.
Enclosed with all the demons of the main,
They view'd th' adjacent shore, but view'd 11
vain.

Such torments in the drear abodes of hell,
Where sad despair laments with rueful yell,
Such torments agonize the damned breast,
While Fancy views the mansions of the blest.
For Heaven's sweet help, their suppliant cries
implore;

But Heaven relentless deigns to help no more.
And now, lash'd on by destiny severe,
With horror fraught, the dreadful scene drew near
The ship hangs hovering on the verge of death,
Hell yawns, rocks rise, and breakers roar beneath
In vain, alas! the sacred shades of yore
Would arm the mind with philosophic lore;
In vain they'd teach us, at the latest breath,
To smile serene amid the pangs of death.
E'en Zeno's self, and Epictetus old,
This fell abyss had shudder'd to behold.
Had Socrates, for godlike virtue famed,
And wisest of the sons of men proclaim'd,
Beheld this scene of frenzy and distress.
His soul had trembled to its last recess !
O yet confirm my heart, ye Powers above,
This last tremendous shock of Fate to prove;
The tottering frame of Reason yet sustain !
Nor let this total ruin whirl my brain!

In vain the cords and axes were prepared, For now th' audacious seas insult the yard; High o'er the ship they throw a horrid shade, And o'er her burst in terrible cascade. Uplifted on the surge, to heaven she flies, Her shatter'd top half-buried in the skies, Then headlong plunging thunders on the ground, Earth groans! air trembles ! and the deeps resound: Her giant bulk the dread concussion feels, And quivering with the wound, in torment reels: So reels, convulsed with agonizing throes, The bleeding bull beneath the murderer's blows. Again she plunges hark! a second shock Tears her strong bottom on the marble rock: Down on the vale of Death, with dismal cries, The fated victims shuddering roll their eyes, In wild despair; while yet another stroke, With deep convulsion, rends the solid oak; Till like the mine, in whose infernal cell The lurking demons of destruction dwell, At length asunder torn, her frame divides: And crashing spreads in ruin o'er the tides. O were it mine with tuneful Maro's art To wake to sympathy the feeling heart, Like him the smooth and mournful verse to dress In all the pomp of exquisite distress! Then too severely taught by cruel Fate, To share in all the perils I relate, Then might I, with unrivall'd strains, deplore Th' impervious horrors of a leeward shore.

As o'er the surge, the stooping mainmast hung,
Still on the rigging thirty seamen clung;
Some, struggling, on a broken crag were cast,
And there by oozy tangles grappled fast:
Awile they bore th' o'erwhelming billow's rage,
Unequal combat with their fate to wage;
Till all benumb'd and feeble they forego
Their slippery hold, and sink to shades below.
Some, from the main-yardarm impetuous thrown,
On marble ridges die without a groan.
Three, with Palemon, on their skill depend,
And from the wreck on oars and rafts descend.
Now on the mountain-wave on high they ride,
Then downward plunge beneath th' involving tide;
Till one, who seems in agony to strive,

The whirling breakers heave on shore alive:
The rest a speedier end of anguish knew,
And prest the stony beach a lifeless crew.

Next, O unhappy chief! th' eternal doom
Of Heaven decreed thee to the briny tomb!
What scenes of misery torment thy view!
What painful struggles of thy dying crew!
Thy perish'd hopes all buried in the flood,
O'erspread with corses! red with human blood!
So, pierced with anguish, hoary Priam gazed,
When Troy's imperial domes in ruin blazed;
While he, severest sorrow doom'd to feel,
Expired beneath the victor's murdering steel.
Thus with his helpless partners to the last,
Sad refuge! Albert hugs the floating mast;
His soul could yet sustain this mortal blow,
But droops, alas! beneath superior wo!
For now soft nature's sympathetic chain
Tugs at his yearning heart with powerful strain;
His faithful wife for ever doom'd to mourn
For him, alas! who never shall return;
To black Adversity's approach exposed,
With want and hardships unforeseen enclosed:

His lovely daughter left without a friend,
Her innocence to succour and defend;
By youth and indigence set forth a prey
To lawless guilt, that flatters to betray.-
While these reflections rack his feeling mind,
Rodmond, who hung beside, his grasp resign'd;
And, as the tumbling waters o'er him roll'd,
His outstretch'd arms the master's legs enfold-
Sad Albert feels the dissolution near,
And strives in vain his fetter'd limbs to clear;
For Death bids every clenching joint adhere.
All faint, to heaven he throws his dying eyes.
And "O protect my wife and child!" he cries
The gushing stream rolls back th' unfinish'd
sound!

He gasps! he dies! and tumbles to the ground!
Five only left of all the perish'd throng,

Yet ride the pine which shoreward drives along;
With these Arion still his hold secures,

And all th' assaults of hostile waves endures.
O'er the dire prospect as for life he strives,

He looks if poor Palemon yet survives.

66

Ah, wherefore, trusting to unequal art,
Didst thou incautious! from the wreck depart?
Alas! these rocks all human skill defy,
Who strikes them once beyond relief must die;
And, now, sore wounded, thou perhaps art tost
On these, or in some oozy cavern lost!"
Thus thought Arion, anxious gazing round,
In vain, his eyes no more Palemon found.
The demons of destruction hover nigh,
And thick their mortal shafts commission d fly :
And now a breaking surge, with forceful sway,
Two next Arion furious tears away;

Hurl'd on the crags, behold, they gasp! they bleed!

And groaning, cling upon th' illusive weed ;-
Another billow burst in boundless roar !
Arion sinks! and Memory views no more!

Ah, total night and horror here preside!
My stunn'd ear tingles to the whizzing tide!
It is the funeral knell; and gliding near,
Methinks the phantoms of the dead appear!
But lo! emerging from the watery grave,
Again they float incumbent on the wave!
Again the dismal prospect opens round,
The wreck, the shores, the dying, and the drown'd.
And see! enfeebled by repeated shocks,
Those two who scramble on th' adjacent rocks,
Their faithless hold no longer can retain,
They sink o'erwhelm'd, and never rise again!

Two, with Arion, yet the mast upbore,
That now above the ridges reach'd the shore :
Still trembling to descend, they downward gaze
With horror pale, and torpid with amaze :
The floods recoil! the ground appears below!
And life's faint embers now rekindling glow;
A while they wait th' exhausted waves' retreat,
Then climb slow up the beach with hands and
feet.

O Heaven! deliver'd by whose sovereign hand,
Still on the brink of hell they shuddering stand,
Receive the languid incense they bestow,
That damp with death appears not yet to glow.
To Thee each soul the warm oblation pays,
With trembling ardour of unequal praise.
In every heart dismay with wonder strives,
And hope the sicken'd spark of life revives;

Her magic powers their exiled health restore,
Till horror and despair are felt no more.
A troop of Grecians who inhabit nigh,
And oft these perils of the deep descry,
Roused by the blustering tempest of the night,
Anxious had climb'd Colonna's neighbouring
height;

When gazing downward on th' adjacent flood,
Full to their view the scene of ruin stood,
The surf with mangled bodies strew'd around,
And those yet breathing on the sea-wash'd ground!
Though lost to science and the nobler arts,
Yet Nature's lore inform'd their feeling hearts;
Straight down the vale with hastening steps they
hied.

Th' unhappy sufferers to assist and guide.

Meanwhile those three escaped beneath explore
The first adventurous youth who reach'd the shore;
Panting, with eyes averted from the day,
Prone, helpless on the tangled beach he lay-
It is Palemon ;-0 what tumults roll
With hope and terror in Arion's soul!
If yet unhurt he lives again to view

His friend, and this sole remnant of our crew!
With us to travel through this foreign zone,
And share the future good or ill-unknown!
Anon thus: but ah! sad doom of Fate!
That bleeding Memory sorrows to relate
While yet afloat, on some resisting rock

His ribs were dash'd, and fractured with the shock:
Heart-piercing sight! those cheeks, so late array'd
In beauty's bloom are pale, with mortal shade!
Distilling blood his lovely breast o'erspread,
And clogg'd the golden tresses of his head.
Not yet the lungs by this pernicious stroke
Were wounded, or the vocal organs broke.
Down from his neck, with blazing gems array'd,
Thy image, lovely Anna, hung portray'd;
Th' unconscious figu e smiling all serene,
Suspended in a golden chain was seen.
Hadst thou, soft maiden; in this hour of wo,
Beheld him writhing from the deadly blow,
What force of art, what language could express
Thine agony? thine exquisite distress?

But thou, alas! art doom'd to weep in vain
For him thine eyes shall never see & gain!
With dumb amazement pale, Arion gazed,
And cautiously the wounded youth upraised.
Palemon then, with cruel pangs oppress'd,
In faltering accents thus his friend address'd:
"O rescued from destruction late so nigh,
Beneath whose fatal influence doom'd I lie;
Are we then exiled to this last retreat
Of life, unhappy! thus decreed to meet?
Ah! how unlike what yester-morn enjoy'd
Enchanting hopes, for ever now destroy'd!
For, wounded far beyond all healing power,
Palemon dies, and this his final hour:

By those fell breakers, where in vain I strove,
At once cut off from fortune, life, and love!
Far other scenes must soon present my sight,
That lie deep buried yet in tenfold night.
Ah! wretched father of a wretched son,
Whom thy paternal prudence has undone !
How will remembrance of this blinded care
Bend down thy head with anguish and despair!
Such dire effects from avarice arise,

That deaf to Nature's voice and vainly wise,

With force severe endeavours to control
The noblest passions that inspire the soul.
But, O thou sacred Power! whose law connects
Th' eternal chain of causes and effects,
Let not thy chastening ministers of rage
Afflict with sharp remorse his feeble age!
And you, Arion! who with these the last
Of all our crew survive the shipwreck past-
Ah! cease to mourn! those friendly tears restrain;
Nor give my dying moments keener pain!
Since Heaven may soon thy wandering steps re-
store,

When parted, hence, to England's distant shore
Shouldst thou th' unwilling messenger of Fate
To him the tragic story first relate,
O! friendship's generous ardour then suppress,
Nor hint the fatal cause of my distress;
Nor let each horrid incident sustain
The lengthen'd tale to aggravate his pain.
Ah! then remember well my last request,
For her who reigns for ever in my breast;
Yet let him prove a father and a friend,
The helpless maid to succour and defend.
Say, I this suit implored with parting breath,
So Heaven befriend him at his hour of death!
But O, to lovely Anna shouldst thou tell
What dire untimely end thy friend befell,
Draw o'er the dismal scene soft Pity's veil;
And lightly touch the lamentable tale:
Say that my love, inviolably true,
No change, no diminution ever knew;
Lo! her bright image pendant on my neck,
Is all Palemon rescued from the wreck:
Take it, and say, when panting in the wave,
I struggled life and this alone to save!

"My soul, that fluttering hastens to be free, Would yet a train of thoughts impart to thee; But strives in vain ;-the chilling ice of Death Congeals my blood, and choaks the stream of breath:

Resign'd, she quits her comfortless abode,
To course that long, unknown, eternal road.-
O sacred source of ever-living light!
Conduct the weary wanderer in her flight!
Direct her onward to that peaceful shore,

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Where peril, pain, and death are felt no more! When thou some tale of hapless love shalt hear,

That steals from Pity's eye the melting tear,
Of two chaste hearts by mutual passion join'd
To absence, sorrow, and despair consign'd,
O! then to swell the tides of social wo
That heal th' afflicted bosom they o'erflow,
While Memory dictates, this sad shipwreck tell,
And what distress thy wretched friend befell!
Then while in streams of soft compassion drown'd
The swains lament and maidens weep around;
While lisping children, touch'd with infant fear,
With wonder gaze, and drop th' unconscious tear;
O! then this moral bid their souls retain,
All thoughts of happiness on earth are vain.”*
The last faint accents trembled on his tongue,
That now inactive to the palate clung;

-sed scilicet ultima semper Expectanda dies homini; "dicique beatus Ante obitum nemo supremaque funera debet." Ovid. Met.

"O ill-starr'd votary, of unspotted truth!
Untimely perish'd in the bloom of youth,
Should e'er thy friend arrive on Albion's land,
He will obey, though painful, thy demand:
His tongue the dreadful story shall display,
And all the horrors of this dismal day!
Disastrous day! what ruin has thou bred!
What anguish to the living and the dead!
How hast thou left the widow all forlorn,
And ever doom'd the orphan child to mourn;

Now had the Greci To aid the helpless f While passing they b With shatter'd rafts a Three still alive, ben In mournful silence o The generous natives The feeble strangers With pitying sighs th And lead them tremb

ANNE LETITIA BARBAULD.

THIS gifted authoress, the daughter of Dr. John Aikin, was born at Kilworth Harcourt, in Leicestershire, on the 20th of June, 1743. Her education was entirely domestic, but the quickness of apprehension, and desire for learning which she manifested, induced her father to lend her his assistance towards enabling her to obtain a knowledge of Latin and Greek. On the removal of Dr. Aikin to superintend the dissenting academy at Warring-criticism. In the same year, appeared her edition ton, in Lancashire, she accompanied him thither, in her fifteenth year, when she is said to have possessed great beauty of person and vivacity of intellect. The associates she met with at Warrington were in every way congenial to her mind, and among others, were Drs. Priestley and Enfield, with whom she formed an intimate acquaintance. In 1773, she was induced to publish a volume of her poems, which, in the course of the same year, went through four editions. They were followed by miscellaneous pieces in prose, by J. (her brother) and A. L. Aikin, which considerably added to her reputation.

and Propriety of Public or Social Worship; and Sins of Government, Sins of the Nation, or a Discourse for the Fast, which last appeared in 1793. In 1802, she removed, with Mr. Barbauld, to Stoke Newington; and in 1804, published selections from the Spectator, Tatler, Guardian, and Freeholder, with a preliminary essay, which is regarded as her most successful effort in literary

In 1774, she married the Rev. Rochemont Barbauld, with whom she removed to Palgrave, near Dis, in Suffolk, where her husband had charge of a dissenting congregation, and was about to open a boarding-school. Mrs. Barbauld assisted him in the task of instruction; and some of her pupils, who have since risen to literary eminence, among whom were the present Mr. Denman and Sir William Gell, have acknowledged the value of her lessons in English composition, and declamation. In 1775, appeared a small volume from her pen, entitled Devotional Pieces, compiled from the Psalms of David, &c.; a collection which met with little success and some animadversion. In 1778, she published her Lessons for Children from Two to Three Years Old; and, in 1781, Hymns in Prose, for Children; both of which may be said to have formed an era in the art of instruction, and the former has been translated into French, by M. Pasquier.

In 1785, Mrs. Barbauld and her husband gave up their school and visited the continent, whence they returned to England in June, 1786, and in the following year took up their residence at Hampstead. Our authoress now began to use her pen on the popular side of politics, and published, successively, An Address to the Opposers of the Repeal of the Corporation and Test Acts; A Poetical Epistle to Mr. Wilberforce on the Rejection of the Bill for Abolishing the Slave Trade; Remarks on Gilbert Wakefield's Inquiry into the Expediency

of The Correspondence of Richardson, in six volumes, duodecimo; but the most valuable part of this work is the very elegant and interesting life of that novelist, and the able review of his works, from the pen of our authoress. In 1808, she became a widow; and in 1810, appeared her edition of The British Novelists, with an introductory essay, and biographical and critical notices prefixed to the works of each author. In the following year she published a collection of prose and verse, under the title of The Female Spectator; and in the same year, appeared that original offspring of her genius, Eighteen Hundred and Eleven, a poem. This was the last separate publication of Mrs. Barbauld, who died on the 9th of March, 1825, in the eighty-second year of her age. An edition of her works appeared in the same year, in two octavo volumes, with a memoir, by Lucy Aikin.

Mrs. Barbauld is one of the most eminent female writers which England has produced; and both in prose and poetry she is hardly surpassed by any of her sex, in the present age. With respect to the style, we shall, perhaps, best describe it, by calling it that of a female Johnson; and her Essay on Romances is a professed imitation of the manner of that great critic. He is himself said to have allowed it to be the best that was ever attempted; "because it reflected the colour of his thoughts, no less than the turn of his expressions." She is, however, not without a style of her own, which is graceful, easy, and natural; alike calculated to engage the most common, and the most elevated understanding. Her poems are addressed more to the feelings than to the imagination,-more to the reason than the senses; but the language never becomes prosaic, and has sublimity and pathos, totally free from bombast and affectation. The spirit of piety and benevolence that breathes through her works pervaded her life, and she is an amiable example to her sex that it is possible to combine, without danger to its morals or religious principles, a manly understanding with a feminine and susceptible heart.

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