What a beautiful contrast between the guardians and
defenders of the Roman people in their frocks and mitres, with these
brave men in their helmets and togas! Such was the triumph over a nation
overcome more by its prejudices than by force, and under such solemn
circumstances.
Ibid.
* * * * *
AN INDIAN TALE, AND OTHER POEMS.
This is a pleasant little volume by our indefatigable correspondent,
_Benjamin Gough_. The _tale_ is founded on an Indian story, by the
author of the _Kuzzilbash_, which appeared in the fifth number of the
_Metropolitan Magazine_; and to it are appended several minor pieces.
The main poem will be read with interest. There are in it touches of
fine feeling, which would not discredit hands of much higher
pretensions. Take this specimen:
There is a time when naught on earth
Can re-awake the chords of mirth,
When joy with all its cherub wiles
Is powerless in creating smiles;
The sun of happiness is set,
And naught remains but deep regret,
And inward pangs and throbs severe,
And disappointment's bitter tear!
The magic charm that swayed the sense
With strong resistless influence
Is broken, and its votary left,
Of the soul's talisman bereft!
In vain the tones of music steal
Upon the ear in soft appeal,
Or friendship with its soothing voice
Bids the hushed tongue again rejoice,
So overwhelming is the grief--
Death only brings a late relief!
And one of the minor pieces:
A RHAPSODY ON NATURE.
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