Let not the disdainful smile of infidelity,' exclaims the author, tell us that we have exaggerated the domestic benefits of the Bible: visit, we reply, the modest dwellings of the inhabitants of Swisserland. You will there find the Christian doctrine in honor; the image of the Almighty presiding over the conduct of every family, and filling their souls with sweet tranquillity. You will there behold innocence of manners, polished industry, benevolence on every face, and content on every lip. You will observe peace and concord between neighbours, and a severe probity in all the social relations. Ask them, then, whence they derive these precious blessings, these enjoyments unknown to the great world; they will run to fetch the hereditary Bible, they will open it with pious gravity, and with tears in their eyes exclaim, "This is the book which has drawn down the blessing of God upon our roofs." At pp. 236. and 237. several curious passages are extracted from the fathers of the church, in which they recommend the domestic use of the Bible. Theodoret, bishop of Hippo, even encourages the translation of it, and observes: "All of earth which is beneath the sun has been filled with the divine discourses: not only they have been translated into the language of the Greeks, but into that of the Romans, of the Egyptians, of the Persians, of the Indians, of the Armenians, of the Scythians, of the Salmatians,-in a word, into all the languages which nations have hitherto adopted." How unfortunate for the philologer that only Origen should have collected a Polyglott; and that so many versions of the Scriptures into languages now no longer existing should have been suffered to perish! The illustrious orientalist, M. Silvestre de Sacy, thus panegyrized the Bible-Society in the Journal des Savans for September, 1816: Another advantage has resulted to Europe from the BibleSocieties. Many languages hitherto little known, or even wholly unknown, have been cultivated, studied, reduced to writing, and rendered accessible to the learned of the most distant countries. The text of a known work, which offers an easy medium of comparison between the most dissimilar idioms, has been printed in a vast variety of dialects; and if, as we have reason to believe, this impulse should extend, there will in a few years be no one spoken language in the Old or the New World, which the learned. European cannot study, analyze, and compare in his closet." The most curious part of the Appendix is the catalogue of the several books contained in the Jewish Scriptures, accompanied by relative exhortations to study some more, and some less. We cannot copy ten very closely printed pages: but, as we presume that this work will speedily find a transKk 4 lator, lator, and indeed that the British Bible-Society will make a point of patronizing such an enterprize, an opportunity will no doubt occur to the British public for weighing these singular appreciations. The whole volume does honor to the piety, the eloquence, the zeal, the morality, the erudition, and the judgment of the author; and, though much of its details are well known here, and it repeats what has been previously urged in this country, yet the attempt to suit all this to French readers gives a novelty of form to old arguments, and a welcome condensation to insignificant details : so that it may well serve as a substitute for many domestic publications, which are inconveniently more voluminous. Price 6s. ART. X. Nouvelles Méditations Poétiques, &c.; i. e. New Poetical Meditations. By ALPHONSO DE LAMARTINE. 8vo. Paris. 1823. Imported by Treuttel and Co. ART. XI. La Mort de Socrate, &c.; i. e. a Poem. By the same. 8vo. Paris. Treuttel and Co. Price 6s. WE The Death of Socrates, 1823. Imported by E are happily not among those who are fond of believing that every species of excellence, as well poetical as political or moral, must necessarily belong to the land which gave them birth. On the contrary, we are rather disposed to feel grateful to Heaven that we have no natural or acquired prejudices to overcome, which might prevent us from doing justice to our neighbours in order to raise ourselves at their expence, and to undervalue their productions that we might secure for our own a better market. Ours is the more pleasant and social creed of indulging a little international faith and good will; a belief in each other's virtues, genius, poetry, and taste, such as they may be found best adapted to the character of different people. In a recent article on the French drama, indeed, (see our last Appendix,) we found it necessary to dispute certain pretensions which modern French tragedians have chosen to advance: but we are far from denying that, in the several departments of poetic art, our neighbours boast of names which will vie in their particular walks with those of the poets of most other ages and countries; and of voices that have made themselves heard both sweet and loftily in the chorus of European song, although their melody be not invariably attuned most agreeably -as it was never meant to be for the delight of foreign ears. We should be unjust, therefore, to pronounce that their poetry, because it is different, must be inferior to that of other nations; for that it breathes a na national spirit and character, in its most classic and polished strains, none but the most prejudiced will be hardy enough to deny. What, for instance, can be more genuine or touching than some of the specimens of the earlier French poets; or what can be more characteristic, airy, and inspiring than some of the old French lyric, descriptive, and romantic effusions, especially in the epistolary, narrative, and burlesque form? Even if we trace their poetical literature through its various epochs, we may perceive that amid all its variations the French poets have continued to preserve an air of nationality; so much so, indeed, as to have given rise to the kind of prejudice and dislike which are very generally entertained against them by their neighbours. The same national reasons, on the other hand, may be assigned for the aversion and contempt expressed by some French critics towards the productions of other people: a circumstance which tends to convince us how little competent, without a due share of liberality, are the critics of one nation to pass judgment on the poets of another. If they agree on an interchange of poetical commodities, they ought to receive them, at least, duty free; and not to tax them like cotton against wines, English flannels against French cambrics, or hardware against gold, but to seek for grounds of mutual satisfaction in the bargain. What would be said of us, were we to attempt to impeach the originality of the Provençal and old French poets, and to maintain that their "Gaia Sciencia" never flourished; that they held no amorous courts and jousts for the decision of amatorial and poetic wrongs; and that such an era was never followed by any national or lyric songs, any national epics, any national comedy, or in short any productions comparable to those in the same line from the pens of the English and Germans? We should as soon think of denying that there had successively appeared such names as St. Gelais, Jodelle, Du Bartas, Hardi, Malherbes, Gresset, Meinard, Racan, Voiture, Molière, Corneille, Voltaire, and Racine. The excellence of French poetry, in its kind, in a peculiar and national point of view, might easily then be proved at least equal to that of most other nations, instead of suffering by a comparison. The dramatic strength and fire of Corneille, the classic beauty and perfection of the succeeding dramatists, the ease, grace, and satiric powers of Boileau, (the master and precursor of our bard of Twickenham,) together with the inimitable genius of La Fontaine and De Lille, may each and all boast of having ably contended with the poets of other countries in their respective career. To these great names, names, it would be almost needless to add those of the numerous authors of the "Poésies legères;" such as Bernard, Chaulieu, Gentil, Gresset, Boufflers, and Parny; whose light and graceful pieces must be allowed to excel some of the best of those among our writers of the reign of Queen Anne. In these observations, however, we by no means design to argue the inferiority of our own or any other national productions, equally invaluable to the different people to whom they belong;- we are even willing to admit that the French possess nothing which approaches our own ideas of the grandeur and beauty of our early dramatists, and the superior excellence of many of our other writers. Departing, however, from national prejudices and characteristics, a few of the modern French poets, finding the avenues to every other species of fame already filled up, have proceeded as a dernier ressort to invoke the powers of imitation; and, dazzled by the great reputation acquired by Lord Byron and Sir Walter Scott, they have begun to emulate the spirit in which those authors write, adopting the more free and spontaneous style both of their metre and their composition. It is thus that we have come to hear of the names of DE LAMARTINE and De la Vigne, and of the bold and spirited Beranger, whose effusions have conferred on him the honor of Bourbon persecution: names which, but for the reasons that we have mentioned, might have slept in the quiet of oblivion. We would not be supposed to assert that they are undeserving of the reputation which they have acquired: but, had it not been for their previous admiration of some of our great English "masters of the lyre," they would probably have failed to attract notice, at least on this side of the Channel. Though extremely opposite, indeed, to the old and received forms and genius of French poetic composition, and moulded as they are on the more modern English school, their productions, especially those of DE Lamartine, possess much individual merit, and deserve in some sense to be considered as genuine and original. We wish that time and space permitted us to enter somewhat more at length into the subject, and to give a view of the respective merits of Arnault, Beranger, De la Vigne, and the author before us, in the different paths which they have chalked out for themselves: but, as it is, we must confine our attention to the poetry of M. DE LAMARTINE; which is in itself of so various a character, as to be almost equally admired by all ranks and all parties, and not less by the sentimentalist and the lover than by people of fashion and by devotees. Not obtrusively marked by either political or party feeling, it is deeply embued with passion passionate and devotional sentiments, such as are well calculated to excite the sympathy of Parisian readers; and with bursts of true poetry, not less suited to the taste of every other people. Such is more particularly the character of the New Poetical Meditations' now on our table, which are fully equal to the best in the former series; even to Lu Foi, La Prière, and a few others that have been distinguished for their power and pathos. -- Among the most touching and animated pieces of which we can here afford to give some specimen, are those intitled Bonaparte, Les Étoiles, La Solitude, Ischia, Le Poëte Mourant, and Les Préludes; many of which, however, are of very unequal merit. Instead of insisting on their blemishes, we prefer a selection of such detached passages as seem most deserving of perusal; and we shall allow them to appear in their own native garb. Perhaps the opening of the Méditation Troisième may afford most gratification, as containing some noble reflections on the fate of Napoleon: Sur un écueil battu par la vague plaintive, Le nautonier de loin voit blanchir sur la rive Et sous le vert tissu de la ronce et du lierre Ici git-point de nom! - demandez à la terre! siècle au siècle annonce, Jamais d'aucun mortel le pied qu'un souffle efface, Et ce pied s'est arrété là ! • Il est là! sous trois pas un enfant le mesure! D'une vague contre un écueil ! Ne crains pas, cependant, ombre encor inquiète, - Ta |