THE SELECTOR AND LITERARY NOTICES OF NEW WORKS.
Reading edition
CORAL ISLANDS.
[In a recent Number of the MIRROR we quoted from Mr. Montgomery's Pelican Island a beautiful description of the formation of coral reefs or rocks; and we are now induced to resume our extracts from this soul stirring poem, with the following description of the process by which these reefs or rocks become beautiful and picturesque islands. Mr. Montgomery's poetical talent is altogether of the highest order, or, to use a familiar phrase, his Pelican Island is "a gem of the first water." How exquisite is the following picture of creation!]
Here was the infancy of life, the age Of gold in that green isle, itself new-born, And all upon it in the prime of being, Love, hope, and promise, 'twas in miniature A world unsoil'd by sin; a Paradise Where Death had not yet enter'd; Bliss had newly Alighted, and shut close his rainbow wings, To rest at ease, nor dread intruding ill. Plants of superior growth now sprang apace, With moon-like blossoms crown'd, or starry glories; Light flexible shrubs among the greenwood play'd Fantastic freaks,—they crept, they climb'd, they budded, And hung their flowers and berries in the sun; As the breeze taught, they danced, they sung, they twined Their sprays in bowers, or spread the ground with net-work. Through the slow lapse of undivided time, Silently rising from their buried germs, Trees lifted to the skies their stately heads, Tufted with verdure, like depending plumage, O'er stems unknotted, waving to the wind: Of these in graceful form, and simple beauty, The fruitful cocoa and the fragrant palm Excell'd the wilding daughters of the wood, That stretch'd unwieldy their enormous arms, Clad with luxuriant foliage, from the trunk, Like the old eagle, feather'd to the heel; While every fibre, from the lowest root To the last leaf upon the topmost twig, Was held by common sympathy, diffusing Through all the complex frame unconscious life. Such was the locust with its hydra boughs, A hundred heads on one stupendous trunk; And such the mangrove, which, at full-moon flood, Appear'd itself a wood upon the waters, But when the tide left bare its upright roots, A wood on piles suspended in the air; Such too the Indian fig, that built itself Into a sylvan temple, arch'd aloof With airy aisles and living colonnades, Where nations might have worshipp'd God in peace. From year to year their fruits ungather'd fell; Not lost, but quickening where they lay, they struck Root downward, and brake forth on every hand, Till the strong saplings, rank and file, stood up, A mighty army, which o'erran the isle, And changed the wilderness into a forest. All this appear'd accomplish'd in the space Between the morning and the evening star: So, in his third day's work, Jehovah spake, And Earth, an infant, naked as she came Out of the womb of chaos, straight put on Her beautiful attire, and deck'd her robe Of verdure with ten thousand glorious flowers, Exhaling incense; crown'd her mountain-heads With cedars, train'd her vines around their girdles, And pour'd spontaneous harvests at their feet. Nor were those woods without inhabitants Besides the ephemera of earth and air; —Where glid the sunbeams through the latticed boughs, And fell like dew-drops on the spangled ground, To light the diamond-beetle on his way; —Where cheerful openings let the sky look down Into the very heart of solitude, On little garden-pots of social flowers, That crowded from the shades to peep at daylight; —Or where unpermeable foliage made Midnight at noon, and chill, damp horror reign'd O'er dead, fall'n leaves and slimy funguses; —Reptiles were quicken'd into various birth. Loathsome, unsightly, swoln to obscene bulk, Lurk'd the dark toad beneath the infected turf; The slow-worm crawl'd, the light cameleon climb'd, And changed his colour as his pace he changed; The nimble lizard ran from bough to bough, Glancing through light, in shadow disappearing; The scorpion, many-eyed, with sting of fire, Bred there,—the legion-fiend of creeping things; Terribly beautiful, the serpent lay, Wreath'd like a coronet of gold and jewels, Fit for a tyrant's brow; anon he flew Straight as an arrow shot from his own rings, And struck his victim, shrieking ere it went Down his strain'd throat, that open sepulchre. Amphibious monsters haunted the lagoon; The hippopotamus, amidst the flood, Flexile and active as the smallest swimmer; But on the bank, ill balanced and infirm, He grazed the herbage, with huge, head declined, Or lean'd to rest against some ancient tree. The crocodile, the dragon of the waters, In iron panoply, fell as the plague, And merciless as famine, cranch'd his prey, While, from his jaws, with dreadful fangs all serried, The life-blood dyed the waves with deadly streams. The seal and the sea-lion, from the gulf Came forth, and couching with their little ones. Slept on the shelving rocks that girt the shores, Securing prompt retreat from sudden danger; The pregnant turtle, stealing out at eve, With anxious eye, and trembling heart, explored The loneliest coves, and in the loose warm sand Deposited her eggs, which the sun hatch'd: Hence the young brood, that never knew a parent, Unburrow'd and by instinct sought the sea; Nature herself, with her own gentle hand, Dropping them one by one into the flood, And laughing to behold their antic joy, When launch'd in their maternal element. The vision of that brooding world went on; Millions of beings yet more admirable Than all that went before them now appear'd; Flocking from every point of heaven, and filling Eye, ear, and mind, with objects, sounds, emotions Akin to livelier sympathy and love Than reptiles, fishes, insects, could inspire; —Birds, the free tenants of land, air, and ocean, Their forms all symmetry, their motions grace; In plumage delicate and beautiful, Thick without burthen, close as fishes' scales, Or loose as full-blown poppies to the breeze; With wings that might have had a soul within them, They bore their owners by such sweet enchantment; —Birds, small and great, of endless shapes and colours, Here flew and perch'd, there swam and dived at pleasure; Watchful and agile, uttering voices wild And harsh, yet in accordance with the waves Upon the beech, the winds in caverns moaning, Or winds and waves abroad upon the water. Some sought their food among the finny shoals, Swift darting from the clouds, emerging soon With slender captives glittering in their beaks; These in recesses of steep crags constructed Their eyries inaccessible, and train'd Their hardy broods to forage in all weathers; Others, more gorgeously apparell'd, dwelt Among the woods, on Nature's dainties feeding, Herbs, seeds, and roots; or, ever on the wing, Pursuing insects through the boundless air: In hollow trees or thickets these conceal'd Their exquisitely woven nests; where lay Their callow offspring, quiet as the down On their own breasts, till from her search the dam With laden bill return'd, and shared the meal Among the clamorous suppliants, all agape; Then, cowering o'er them with expanded wings, She felt how sweet it is to be a mother. Of these, a few, with melody untaught, Turn'd all the air to music within hearing, Themselves unseen; while bolder quiristers On loftier branches strain'd their clarion-pipes, And made the forest echo to their screams Discordant,—yet there was no discord there, But temper'd harmony: all tones combining, In the rich confluence often thousand tongues, To tell of joy and to inspire it. Who Could hear such concert, and not join in chorus? Not I;—sometimes entranced, I seem'd to float Upon a buoyant sea of sounds: again With curious ear I tried to disentangle The maze of voices, and with eye as nice To single out each minstrel, and pursue His little song through all its labyrinth, Till my soul enter'd into him, and felt Every vibration of his thrilling throat, Pulse of his heart, and flutter of his pinions. Often, as one among the multitude, I sang from very fulness of delight; Now like a winged fisher of the sea, Now a recluse among the woods,—enjoying The bliss of all at once, or each in turn.
RAPIDS OF NIAGARA.
The Rapids begin about half a mile above the cataract; and although the breadth of the river might at first make them appear of little importance, a nearer inspection will convince the stranger of their actual size, and the terrific danger of the passage. The inhabitants of the neighbourhood regard it as certain death to get once involved in them; and that, not merely because all escape from the cataract would be hopeless, but because the violent force of the water among the rocks in the channel, would instantly dash the bones of a man in pieces. Instances are on record of persons being carried down by the stream; indeed there was an instance of two men carried over in March last; but no one is known to have ever survived. Indeed, it is very rare that the bodies are found; as the depth of the gulf below the cataract, and the tumultuous agitation of the eddies, whirlpools, and counter currents, render it difficult for any thing once sunk to rise again; while the general course of the water is so rapid, that it is soon hurried far down the stream. The large logs which are brought down in great numbers during the spring, bear sufficient testimony to these remarks. Wild ducks, geese, &c. are frequently precipitated over the cataract, and generally re-appear either dead, or with their legs or wings broken. Some say that water-fowl avoid the place when able to escape, but that the ice on the shores of the river above often prevents them from obtaining food, and that they are carried down from mere inability to fly; while others assert that, they are sometimes seen voluntarily riding among the rapids, and, after descending half-way down the cataract, taking wing, and returning to repeat their dangerous amusement.—American Work.
BRIDAL, CANZONET.
Sir Knight, heed not the clarion's call, From hill, or from valley, or turretted hall; Cease, holy Friar, cease for awhile The anthem that swells through the fretted aisle; Forester bold, to the bugle's sound Listen no longer, though gaily wound, But haste to the bridal, haste away, Where love's rebeck is tuned to a sweeter lay. Sir Knight, Sir Knight, no longer twine The laurel-leaf o'er that bold brow of thine; Friar, to-day from thy temples tear The ivy garland that sages wear; To-day, bold Forester, cast aside Thy oak-leaf crown, the woodland's pride, And bind round your brows the myrtle gay, While the rebeck resounds love's sweetest lays. Sir Knight, urge not now the gallant steed O'er the plains that to honour and glory lead; Friar, forget thy order's vow, And pace not the gloomy cloisters now. Chase no longer with bow and with spear, Forester bold, the dappled deer, But tread me a measure as light and gay As ever kept lime to the rebeck's lay.
Neele's Romance of History.