24

And spread their full and whitely-gleaming sails
To woo the kisses of the wanton gales.
Those verdant banks arrest her mournful view,
With haunted Peepuld eck'd, and dark Bamboo ;
And Betel with its bark of silvery sheen,
And long pagodas rising far between:
Whilst still beyond, down hills of azure shade,
Rush the swift waters of the bright cascade.

Such are to her not voiceless; for they tell
Of days long past, and joys remembered well:
What time that shady bank she wont to rove,
Lit by the fire-flies' thousand lamps of love!
With him, stretched on that pile, to wander there,
And twine the Champac's blossom in her hair,
As lonely reign'd the peerless vesper-star
And the deep gong ebb'd faintly from afar :
To list unto the thrush at ev'ning's hour,
And the bee's humming in its own blue flow'r ;
To gaze in silence, ere the sun had set,
On gilded dome and glitt'ring minaret;
Or on the snow-capp'd hills, whose glaring white
Slept mellow'd in a rosier flush of light:
That hour, as though by some kind spirit sent,
So mutely, richly,-deeply eloquent!
Or driv'n perchance by some ill-boding dream,
When lone she hasten'd to the sacred stream,
And with a trembling hand and beating heart,
Beheld her boat of many pray'rs depart!
All, all comes swiftly crowding on her mind,
As mem'ry casts a wistful gaze behind.
Now-where are they? and what is she?-No more
To view those scenes so doubly blest before :
No more to bend with all a mother's joy,
And press the soft lips of her sleeping boy:
To leave him to the world's cold charity,
With none to staunch the tear-drop in his eye;
That ere yon shining sun hath sped, to lave
And veil his splendours in the western wave,
Each sweetest, dearest, loveliest, holiest scene
Must be to her as it had never been!
This half unnerves her ;-but 'tis quickly past;
She checks a tear that stole, the first and last!
What! shall she still live on in widow'd state,
Her partner gone, her hearth all desolate?
Still shall she tread the scene, to play her part
In blank, unsolaced brokenness of heart;
And like the ivy, when its stay has gone,
Slowly to droop, and drooping die alone?
Shut out from Swerga's bowers, her spirit doom'd
To wander long in other forms entomb'd;-
Her consort too denied the joys of heav'n;
Her friends debarred the bliss her death had giv'n?
No, she is fix'd: her sun it hath not set!
The blood that fills her veins is gen'rous yet!
A last adieu to all ;-the parting word,
The kiss that clings, the blessing scarcely heard!
Th' embrace that seems as nought its links could
sever;

[ever.

The madd'ning thought that they must part for
For ever?-Nay,-hope whispers o'er the sea,
Some spot of happiness shall smile for thee;
Some blessed isle, where sons as bright shall shine
As those that warm this golden land of thine!
Yes! beauteous as those islets, imag'd clear
In that too lovely lake of fair Cashmere !
Where the blue lotus trembles in the gale,
That fans with spicy breath each emerald vale;
And o'er the flowery mound's sun-loving slope
Light bounds the silver-footed antelope!
There all shall glitter, verdant, fresh and bright,
As that famed fairy City of Delight, [bine,
Where hues enwreath'd of flow'rs and gems com.
As though to weave celestial beauty's shrine !
The sweet Syrinda shall beguile thine hours
In sandal-groves, and blushing orange-bow'rs;
Whilst maidens long-remember'd here, shall wake
The wild, sweet chorus by the moon-lit lake;
Or brush with tinkling feet the glades afar,
Like Peri forms in meads of Candahar.
Some young Aspara too shall touch the lute,
Whilst every sound in earth and air is mute;
And Chrishna, idol of the heart! shall come,
A beam of glory to that favor'd home!
There sleepless gales shall breathe of fragrancy,
And rills shall laugh as bright as pleasure's eye:
Fair as the vision'd vistas of delight
Untainted fancy calls to childhood's sight;

[July,

Pure-as the dreams that float on filmy wing
Around the couch of infant's slumbering!
Soft-as the dewy tear that gently flows
From woman's soul-fraught eye for others' woes !
There all shall meet when life's short act is o'er,
Partake of endless joy and part no more.

'Tis past as though impatient of delay,
From each embrace she tears herself away;
On the lov'd friends and priests assembled there
Bestows the pledges of her love and care:
And fondly deems, that, when in after days
They chaunt at ev'ning's hour their happy lays,
These tokens may recall her form again,

Her name may mingle with their artless strain !-
And now her limbs she duly bends, to lave
In holy Gunga's sanctifying wave;
Then fit for Swerga's happy realms, and free
From each terrestrial impurity,

[bride!

Clad in her snowy vestments, Death's young
She sips the waters of the sacred tide;
Aud, careful lest aught earthly should defile,
With step compos'd advances to the pile.
Thrice moves she round with gesture sad and slow;
Her look half sorrowful, half wild, as though
The fear of death and hate of life entwin'd
In deadly struggle, racked her tortur'd mind.
But nerv'd to strength, and goaded by despair,
Her spirit warms, and bids her boldly dare;
She mounts the pile, and, e'en in death allied,
Calmly reclines her partner's form beside!

A deep and death-like stillness; not a sound
Escapes the expectant multitude around,
Whilst with firm hand, and unaverted gaze,
The hoary Brahmin plies the torch's blaze:
Soon spreads above the swiftly-rushing fire,
And volum'd flame enwraps the lofty pyre.
Then bursts at once the madd'ning yell around,
The drum's swift beat, the cymbals clashing
sound;

And the thick flame fierce-shooting to the skies
Angrily mounts 'mid din of frantic cries.
With eager zeal the ready priests engage,
And fling fresh food to glut its hungry rage:
A moment-slowly roll upon the air
Vast pitchy clouds of smoke, and now with glare
Oftenfold brightness, bursting through the veil,
In their full might th' imprison'd flames prevail!
Till their wild ire, and wilder shouts subside,
And to the waters of the sacred tide,
With decent care, and cautious to profane,
They fling the few poor relics that remain.
The stream rolls on,-the rite is o'er at last,
All that was life like some faint dream has pass'd.

And such is woman's love! whose magic pow'r Can change the gloomiest to the brightest hour; Can smooth the deep lines care has learn'd to plough,

And chase the cloud of anguish from the brow.
It droops not, parts not with the parting breath,
But smiles a proud defiance unto death!"
Yes! if in woman's soul, despite of all,
Degrading creeds, and custom's blinding thrall,
Though bound by superstition's galling chains,
Feeling so noble, so divine remains!

Exalted by a purer faith, refined

By better thoughts, wifh fairer hopes entwin'd;
Oh! where the brighter star to cheer our gloom,
Make heav'n of earth, and triumph o'er the tomb!
Clime of the Sun! kind Nature's lavish hand
Hath show'red her choicest blessings o'er thy
land;

Hath cloth'd thee in her loveliest garb, and flung
Her richest gifts thy fertile meads among!
And oh! thy sons and daughters-must they bow,
And wear the brand of scorn upon their brow,
Form'd for each finer feeling, and endow'd
With souls that should not grovel with earth's
crowd?

No! still they tell of what they once have been,
Ere war and rapine blasted the fair scene.
Though scorn'd and trampled, long-insulted race!
Though pride would crush, and tyranny debase;
Though priestcraft blight, and prejudice beset,
The living soul of passion lingers yet!

Thine are the hearts whose gen'rous zeal disdains
The blood that stagnates in our northern veins !
And if that zeal were wrested to sustain
Deceit, 'tis ours to pity-not arraign!

26

to suggest to him and your other classical readers the enquiry to what purpose it is that we retain this same perfect middle, as a distinct tense at all? Is it anything in the world else than an old or irregular form of the perfect active? That this is the true state of the case is evinced by several considerations. In the first place, we may infer it from the rarity of this tense; for out of the immense multitude of Greek verbs it is but a mere handful in which it can be found. Again, we may infer it still more clearly from the fact, that where it is found, the perfect active is seldom in use. Lastly, we are confirmed in this view, by observing that that neuter or middle tense which is regarded as proper to this form, is not only often wanting in it, but is likewise of frequent occurrence in the perfect active. Thus on the one side, we have in λέλοιπα, I have left, ἔκτονα, I have killed, and others, the form of the perfect middle with an unquestionably active or transitive signification, without a shade of the neuter or reflective sense ascribed to it; while on the other hand, in such words as eaλwkévai, to be taken, kekμŋkévai, to be weary, éo Bηkéval, to be extinguished, Teþvкéval, to be, éorηkéval, to stand, and others, we see exquisite examples of the middle sense attached to the active form.

Surely then we may consider it as the general rule of the Greek verb that it has but one tense of this sort; or in other words, that there is in general no such tense as a perfect middle, the introduction of which into our grammars, as a regular part of the verb, serves only to create misconception and difficulty. If, in a few instances, such as πέπραγα, πέποιθα, ὄλωλα, α distinct tense of this kind, in addition to a perfect active, is retained in use, it seems both theoretically and practically better to regard such examples as exceptions to the general rule, which in point of fact they undeniably are, or as anomalies or redundancies in declension, than for their sakes to complicate and obscure by fictitious forms the general mechanism of the language.

The observations here made with respect to the perfect middle appear to me to apply with equal force to the double aorists and futures, by which the grammatical structure of this noble language has been rendered unintelligible and disgusting to the learner:

[July,

and which are so pertinaciously retained in our Greek grammars, although many of our best scholars have seen and confessed the little foundation there is for such a practice.

I have been pleased, however, to meet lately with an attempt to exhibit the structure of the language in a juster and simpler manner. In a little work entitled Barham's Introduction to Greek Grammar, lately published, the verb is declined with a simplicity and clearness such as I have not seen elsewhere, these redundancies of formation not being allowed to encumber it: and I doubt not, but by such a method not only may much needless labour, both to pupil and teacher, be avoided, but a sounder and juster knowledge of the real use and signification of the tenses be ultimately acquired.

A point such as this is surely of more real importance than many on which eminent scholars have lavished their pains and genius. What shall we say of the enchanted digamma, ever present yet never visible, about which so much ink-shed has taken place, and in defence of whose claims so many learned combatants have entered the lists in vain? No learning nor labour will ever recall that departed letter to Homer's page. And what shall we say to the long-entangled knot of Pindaric metres, which so much ingenuity and patience have yet but imperfectly unravelled? If we say, as we ought to say, that these are matters of real interest, and deserving the attention of professed scholars, we may surely say also, that compared with rightly determining the number and use of the tenses of the Greek verb, such pursuits sink into utter insignificancy.

If you should deem these remarks worthy a place in your entertaining and instructive pages, you will oblige Yours, &c. FILARET.

A new and complete Greek Gradus, or Poetical Lexicon of the Greek Language, with a Latin and English Translation; an English-Greek Vocabulary; and a Treatise on some of the principal rules for ascertaining the quantity of syllables, and on the most popular Greek metres. By Edward Maltby, D.D. F.RS. F.S.A. Preacher to the learned and honourable Society of Lincoln's Inn; 8vo. pp. 778.

FEW of our readers can need to be informed that Dr. Maltby, by universal