Presentiment [pp. 768]

SOUTHERN LITERARY MESSENGER.
tures of Robert Bruce. This work can only be classed
among the chronicles; however, we can recognize in it
all the characters of actual poetry. The events are there
described with an energy of style very superior to that of
the chronicles; it abounds in beautiful episodes, and in
remarkable passages, with all the poetry of sentiment.
WVe would, in conclusion, say that although Barber had
adopted a form of composition which had already fallen
into disuse in England, his style did not vary much
from that which Chaucer had adopted. His Apostrophe to Liberty, which terminated a narrative of the
miserable slavery to which King Edward of England
had reduced Scotland, has always been admired for
force of thought and energy of style. Several other
passages are not less worthy of admiration.
Towards the year 1401, Andrew Wyntown, prior of
the monastery of St. Cerf, at Lochleven, wrote a chronicle of universal history; but more particularly descriptive of Scotland, which exhibited very little of poetic
inspiration. This work is considered the latest of the
rhyming chronicles. A little time before Wyntown,
some Scotch poets occupied themselves with compositions in the manner of the minstrels; but long before
that time they were out of fashion in the south of
England. Among these productions, we may mention
the " Gest of /rthzir," by Hucheon; this poem is lost.
We quote yet Sir Gawain, by the Clerk of Tranant; this
poem has been printed, but the composition appears to
have been very defective. The last poem of this kind
has for its title "The Adventures of Sir William Wallace;" it had been composed in the year 1460 by a
wandering minstrel named Blind harry. The history
of the heroes are there recounted, in part, after the
manner of fabulous adventures. This poem contains
some passages of great poetical effect; and sentiments
of patriotism and heroism are throughout predominant. It differs principally from other poems of the
minstrels, in its having the appearance of true recital.
The metre of the epic kind, was composed in a succession of rhyming couplets, in lines of six syllables. It
has been translated into modern verse by M. Hamilton
of Gilbertfield, and under this form, it has become the
favorite book of all Scotland.
BEAUTIFUL INCIDENT.
In the Narrative of Messrs. Reed and Matheson's
"Visit to the American Churches," in 1834, is mentioned a delicate and touching tribute to one just dead.
The travellers attended a " com mencement," (that is,
the close of a session) at the College in Amherst, Massachusetts; on which occasion, it is customary for all
the graduating students to deliver addresses.
"One of the graduates, whose name was down to
participate in the exercises, had sickened, and died.
All the students wore crape on his account, and you
wondered what notice would be taken of it. None
was taken till, in the course of the service, they came
to his name. Then there was a pause. The people
had their attention awakened by this: they looked at
the bill;* and they felt its solemnity. Still, no lips
* A handbill, stating the n ames of the speakers, order of e x
ercises, &c., had been distributed among the audience.
were opened to pronounce a eulogy; but presently
some plaintive notes broke from the instrumental music
in the choir, and a requiem of Mozart's was played
with solemn and touching slowness. Not a person but
felt the delicacy of this recognition: not a person but
was affected by it."
PRESENTIMENT.
Is it a prophet's dream-the thought
That o'er me loves to fling
A thousand shapes of evil, wrought
By Time's unfolding wing?That in each wasted taper's doom,
Or fading flower, I see
Some star of hope go out in gloom,
That shone to solace me?
The sun-sired bow that spans the sky,
No heaven-sprung promise gives;
But in each tint's receding dye,
A mystic symbol lives.
No budding joy entwines my heart,
But lurking at its root,
Some fang lies ready to impart
A poison to the fruit.
When night foretells her coming gloom
By evening's milder shade,
A whisper greets me of the tomb Oh! would I there were laid!
Yet why?-this life hath not a care
But shadows forth a text,
That doth some heavenly teaching bear
To fit us for the next.
'Tis not that I must bear the stroke,
That my own heart must bleed;
For Hle whose darker mercies brokle,
Will bind the bruised reed.
But'tis that they whose gentle love
Divides my heart with God,
Must share with me the pangs I prove,
And feel themselves the rod.
Oh! may they share the mercy too
That mollifies the dart,
And feel, with me, its heavenly dew
Distill'd upon the heart;
Cast down, upheld, disturbed, yet calnm,
This vale of tears we'll tread,
Forever trusting in the balm
By Gilead's Healer shed.
No joy of life but veils a thorn,
No sting, but bears a sweet;
From those we loved if never torn,
We ne'er in lHeaven could meet;
Then meekly let us wander here,
Still seeking, as we go,
The smile that plays behind the tear,
Till tears shall cease to flow.
Ca?idenz, S. C.
N. N. N.
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