132 Newft from Parnaxsus.- No. Ill, [Marcli 1, 



the best aud most judicious iuiitafors. In me is nuttter's last gradation lost, 



The mere copyist stumhles upon faults And tlie next step is spirit —Deity ! 



and passes by beauties — the lioney 1 can commnijtt the lightnino-, andnmdnst ! 



would rest undiscovered in the flower A monarch, and iisluve; a worm, a god ! 



if any but the bee attempted to extract Wlience came I here, and how ? so mar- 

 • i -^ vellously 



\/i T) • 1 1 *• „ „,„,!„ Constructed and conceived ? unknown ! this 



Mr. Bowring's selections are made ^j^^ 



from thirteen authors, all of them 

 (with the exception of Karamsin, 

 whose travtils and tales have been 

 translated into English) entirely we 

 believe unknown in this countiy ; the 

 first in the series isUerzhavin, an author 

 of great power and originality — the 

 latter merit scarcely impaired by an 

 occasional resendjlance to Young. His 

 Oda Bog, an Ode on (Jod, is replete 

 with sublimity and beauty. The sub- 

 ject is full of difficulty, an ordinary 

 genius would sink into insipidity, or 

 swell into fustian and bombast, but the 

 Russian bard knows how to lotich (he 

 true chords, and that with a master's 

 band. We will gratify our readers 

 with an instance or two. Tlie first is 

 from the ode on Ood. 

 Thy chains the unmeasured universe sur- 

 round ; 

 Upheld by Thee, by Thee inspired with 



breath ! 

 Thou the beginning with the end hast bound, 

 And beautifully mingled life aud death ! 

 As sparks mouut upwards from the fiery 



blaze. 

 So suns are born, so worlds spring forth 



from Thee ; 

 And, as the spangles in the sunny rays 

 Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry 

 Of heaven's bright army glitters in Thy 



praise.* 

 A million torches lighted by Thy band 

 Wander unwearied through the blue abyss : 

 They own Thy power, accomplish Thy 



command. 

 All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. 

 What shall we call them ? Piles of crj'stal 



light— 

 A glorious company of golden streams — 

 Lamps of celestial ether burning bright — 

 Suns lighting systems with their joyous 



ijeanis? 

 But Thou to these art as the noon to night. 

 « « « » • 



The chain of being is complete in me ; 



Lives surely through some higher energy ; 

 For from itself alone it could not be ! 



The lines by the same author on the 

 death of Meshdiersky are exquisitely 

 beautiful: what, for instance, can be 

 more finel\ imagined, or more simply 

 true than tiie following : 



Ah ! that funereal toll ! loud tongue of 



Time ! 

 What woes are centered in that frightful 



sound ! 

 It calls, it calls me with a voice sublime. 

 To the lone chambers of the burial ground. 

 My life's first footsteps are midst yawning 



graves ; 

 A pale, teeth-clatteriug spectre passes nigh, 

 A scythe of lightning that pale spectre 



waves. 

 Mows down man's days like grass, and 



hurries by. 

 Nought his untired rapacity can cloy : 

 Monarehs aud slaves are all the earth-worm's 



food. 

 And the wild-raging elements destroy 

 Even the recording tomb. Vicissitude 

 Devours the pride of glory ; as the sea 

 Insatiate drinks the waters, even so days 

 And years are lost in deep eternity; 

 Cities and empires Vandal death decays. 

 We tremble on the borders of the abyss. 

 And giddy totter headlong from on high ; 

 For death with life our common portion is. 

 And man is only born that he ma)' die. 

 Death knows no sympathy ; he tramples on 

 All tenderness— extinguishes the stars — 

 Tears from the firmament the glowing sun. 

 And blots out worlds in his gigantic wars. 

 But mortal man forgets mortalit)' ! 

 His dreams crowd ages into life's short day ; 

 While, like a midnight robber stealing by. 

 Death plunders time by hour and hour away. 

 When least we fear, then is the traitor nigh ; 

 Where most secure we seem, he lores to 



come : 

 Less swift than he, the bolts of thunder fly. 

 Less sure than be, the lightning strikes the 



dome. 

 He pules o'er all — and him must kings obey. 

 Whose will no counsel knows and no con- 

 trol ; 

 The ■proud and gilded great ones are his 



prey, 

 Who stand like pillars in a tyrant's hall. 



This is conceived in the true spirit 



• The force of this simile can hardly be 

 imagined by those who have never witnessed 

 the sun shining, with unclouded splendour, 

 in a cold of twenty or thirty degrees of 

 Reaumur. A thousand and f^n thousand 



sparkling stars of ice, brighter than the « , i ,i . , ,. ,, .-i ^ 



brightes? diamond, play on the surface of o^ VO'ihy, and the idea of the mighty 

 the frozen snow ; and the slightest breeze "' tlie world being but gilded pillars 

 sets myriads of icy atoms in motion, whose "i the hall of the tyrant, Death, is ori- 

 glaucing light, au-l beautiful rainbow-hues, ■ ginal and sublime ; it is as fine as the 

 dazzle and weary the eye. well known passage in Shakspeare's 



Richard 



