a

DPSS PLES IL

Jocate,

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and the af
fantastic
rieve the
IV.

The

ers in ear

pine-forest

hway of our times. re truth be read and all!

y on Christianity must puerile production, it is ely and innocently feeble. adeed, where the laws of comse and the reasoning of everye were involved, Shelley never ed the imbecility of youth. He rds Jesus, the founder of Christaty, as a greater Socrates. He minates from the Gospels those ts of his teachings which he ades, and attributes them to Jesus ist. All the rest is the excence of apostolic ignorance and rstition. Miracles, of course, myths, and the Epistles the al and false application of the

labour of great and acknowledged difficulty and magnitude-one which many have attempted in which none have fully succeeded. Nor do we think that such success will ever be complete. Perhaps Dante might have translated Milton had he been

his contemporary perhaps Milton might have translated Dante; but in either case we doubt whether the plan of translation would have involved the imitation of the rhythm. Owing to the widely diverse genius of the two languages it seems impossible that an exact translation can be brought into absolutely identical form; and if this be done, it must necessarily be at the expense of some of the living force of the original. Such is the case in the instance now under notice. Mr. Thomas has succeeded wonderfully in keeping to the terza rima of Dante, without awkwardness of inflection, and without departure from the sense of his original; the translation is good-very good; and enriched with a valuable mass of notes, illustrative of the historical and classical allusions; but the fire and power of the original is much missing; this we believe to be inevitable, and we accord much praise for what has been done. Mr. Thomas will henceforth take high rank as a translator.

moral principles taught by Christ. Many who have taken 1 Mab as the exponent of y's religious views, will be ed with the more human sentiof this Essay; and we are glad 1 anything that will make us nore kindly of Shelley.

ed with a i it is the P hat a 15

ad yet

Mr. Bowring is an experienced translator; he has previously given to the English reader excellent versions of Schiller and Goethe, like the present, in the original metres. His task is an easier one, in many respects, than that just noticed, owing to the nature both of the language and of the poems; and the result is proportionately more acceptable in a literary aspect. Heine's poems are, of course, essentially German, in tone, thought, and in allusion; yet so far as manner and freedom are concerned, Mr. Bowring's translations might well pass for originals. There is a careless rich abandon about them, and an exhaustless vocabulary, that would make it almost difficult to keep in mind that the writer was not revelling in his own thoughts, but was tied

classed these two translather for notice, more for the the contrast they present by similarity. Both transh great ability, we may with consummate apprethe originals; both retainyrm, the metre, and the the originals ; we have, e nature of the two tasks, contrast as can well be the result. The Rev. tomas has confronted a

e bunges nd his

e, like th vakened

ly dece

Poor Sh ental wa

in

436

We may

mention, that in order to promote the completeness of the work, much supplementary information is furnished of the history of religion, manners and customs, and that intellitrade, commerce, agriculture, and gible genealogical tables are supplied at the commencement of the history

of each period.

SHELLEY MEMORIALS, FROM AUTHENTIC SOURCES. Edited by Lady Shelley. To which is appended an Essay on Christianity, by Percy Bysshe Shelley, now first printed. London: Smith, Elder, and Co., Cornhill.

THE Occasion of the publication of these Memorials is the recent "Life of Shelley," which was de licated to the lady who edits this volume, and was supposed to have her and her family's sanction. It now appears that the family are indignant at the misuse made of the materials they put at the disposal of the author of that life, and at the liberty he has taken with their name; and hence these Memorials are published by way of protest and refutation. We cannot enter into this quarrel; but we are glad that Lady Shelley has laid these Memorials, in the shape of original letters from and to Mr. and Mrs. Shelley, before the public. Such a life as that of Shelley reads the most solemn and profound lessons to this age, and they cannot be too frequently repeated. It shows the misery of life, if at the heart of its agitation there be not central peace-if the religious faith which must be

the groundwork of every great nature be not settled and state. We do not consider this volume to change the common estimate of Sriley's character save in one import_t respect, viz., it tells us that the Hak infidelity of his "Queen Mab" was the savage delirium of his very your 2 est days, when chafed and torme: 1 he scarce knew what he wrote, t was repudiated by himself as wil trash, and can in nowise be regard as the outflow of his proper na.. or to represent the settled convict of his maturity.

What an undertone of discordant sadness runs through this life of the passionate, loving Shelley. Ti... is no rest, no faith, no hope a it; and the affection he wins by hs pure fantastic earnestness but m.. us grieve the more for his ill-d misery. The thought of his lingers in our memory like the of a pine-forest, which see dened with an unearthly and it is thus we think of S: What a difference if his un wild, yet beautiful nature hat t brought into peace with God tha Jesus Christ - if the steady purp of Divine consecration had emri and bound to one centre his gene impulses and splendid tal- 's-1 the conviction of sin had hi him, and the love of holiness: exalted him, and the cross had tw-a the model and inspiration of his 'e. But he had no faith; and this is te source of his weakness and his Even his genius was unser d and dimmed by lack of farh. imagination was without conta the harp strings were strung. The firmness, and pu which religious faith alone ca. 1 duce were wanting to command a-1 chasten himself and his own w A. yet he hungered after this D.. faith, and his changing theories of universe, like the murage, were pl. tasies awakened by an appetite w: they only deceived and could satisfy. Poor Shelley! His life s a monumental warning raised aga

t

A

beside the highway of our times. May its sombre truth be read and pondered by all !

The Essay on Christianity must have been a puerile production, it is so exquisitely and innocently feeble. Though, indeed, where the laws of common sense and the reasoning of everyday life were involved, Shelley never escaped the imbecility of youth. He regards Jesus, the founder of Christianity, as a greater Socrates. He eliminates from the Gospels those parts of his teachings which he admires, and attributes them to Jesus Christ. All the rest is the excrescence of apostolic ignorance and superstition. Miracles, of course, are myths, and the Epistles the partial and false application of the great moral principles taught by Jesus Christ. Many who have taken Queen Mab as the exponent of Shelley's religious views, will be gratified with the more human sentiments of this Essay; and we are glad to read anything that will make us think more kindly of Shelley.

THE TRILOGY; OR, DANTE'S THREE VISIONS. INFERNO, OR THE VISION OF HELL. Translated into English, in the metre and triple rhyme of the original; with notes and illustrations. By the Rev. John Wesley Thomas. London: H. G. Bohn. 1859.

WE have classed these two translations together for notice, more for the sake of the contrast they present than for any similarity. Both translated with great ability, we may almost say with consummate appreciation of the originals; both retaining the form, the metre, and the rhyme of the originals; we have, owing to the nature of the two tasks, as great a contrast as can well be afforded in the result. The Rev. J. W. Thomas has confronted a

labour of great and acknowledged difficulty and magnitude-one which many have attempted in which none have fully succeeded. Nor do we think that such success will ever be complete. Perhaps Dante might have translated Milton had he been his contemporary - perhaps Milton might have translated Dante; but in either case we doubt whether the plan of translation would have involved the imitation of the rhythm. Owing to the widely diverse genius of the two languages it seems impossible that an exact translation can be brought into absolutely identical form; and if this be done, it must necessarily be at the expense of some of the living force of the original. Such is the case in the instance now under notice. Mr. Thomas has succeeded wonderfully in keeping to the terza rima of Dante, without awkwardness of inflection, and without departure from the sense of his original; the translation is good-very good; and enriched with a valuable mass of notes, illustrative of the historical and classical allusions; but the fire and power of the original is much missing; this we believe to be inevitable, and we accord much praise for what has been done. Mr. Thomas will henceforth take high rank as a translator.

Mr. Bowring is an experienced translator; he has previously given to the English reader excellent versions of Schiller and Goethe, like the present, in the original metres. His task is an easier one, in many respects, than that just noticed, owing to the nature both of the language and of the poems; and the result is proportionately more acceptable in a literary aspect. Heine's poems are, of course, essentially German, in tone, thought, and in allusion; yet so far as manner and freedom are concerned, Mr. Bowring's translations might well pass for originals. There is a careless rich abandon about them, and an exhaustless vocabulary, that would make it almost difficult to keep in mind that the writer was not revelling in his own thoughts, but was tied

in

down to the rendering of another's. The poems themselves will be found to be something new to the English reader; they are Heine, and no one else. A strange gleam of sadness, yet a kind of playful sadness, flits over the whole, which seem to be like the unbegun, unfinished opiuni dreams of a morbid temperament; mere cloud-shadowy sketches without aim or coherence. The style, and we regret to say, the sentiment are not inaptly described in "Atta Troll:" Summer-night's dream! All-fantastic, Aimless is my song. Yes, aimless As our love and as our living, As Creator and Creation. And this quotation leads us to remark that we do not think any advantage likely to accrue to any reader's tone of thought or morality from the perusal of these poems. They are charming verses but the sentiment is very generally objectionable. There is a constant suspicion arising in the mind that the writer had no faith and no hope; though the extremely fragmentary nature of even the longer pieces forbids too hasty a conclusion. Another grievous fault is the licentious sensuality of many of the poems. Mr. Bowring acknowledges that "there

are doubtless many of the poems written by Heine that we could wish had never been written, and that we would willingly refrain from translating." To do so, he thinks, would have given an incomplete if not an incorrect idea of what the poet was; and we would have thanked Mr. Bowring if he had allowed us to keep such an imperfect conception of his poet, rather than exhibited and diffused such impurity, though it unhappily belonged to Heine. An English poet would have been tabooed who had written such loathly verse; and we can scarcely think better of an English gentleman who makes his mind the channel for such filth to pass from a foreign literature to corrupt our own. Surely it is not Mr. Bowring's ambition to unveil the vices of foreign authors simply that we may have a complete idea of their unsavoury cha

racter. If so, though his skill is great, we must inform him his work is evil, and will be reprobated by every pure and honourable man.

THE ITALIAN WAR, 1848-9. By Henry Lushington.

THIS book is one of those tributes of pious affection which yearly issue from the press, by which generous friendship seeks to preserve some record of a life too early withered, or robbed of opportunity to fulfil the promise of its dawn. There have been such in every circle. We can all recal the image of some vivid, intense, and graceful spirit, perhaps the brightest of the band who surrounded us as we entered the field of toil and struggle which we name life-one whose keen and fine organisation secured for him an early and brilliant development, and promised to our young imaginations to open an easy way for him to the highest prizes of political, literary, or professional life. But he is gone, cut off in his prime, and all that he has left, it may be, is a few scraps of verse or essay, and a wide-spread impression among his associates that he might have done anything within the reach of any but the very highest men of the time. It will mostly happen that such idols of their circle are men of morbid vividness and intensity, through the action of some fell disease which fires while it feeds on the vital juices of brain and heart. They stand out in youth from their circle because their blood courses more brightly too brightly to last; they fail to fulfil the promise of their spring because they have not the stamina, the bottom, needed to hold on through long years in the strife and race of this world's life. John Stirling was a notable instance of this-almost typical. The centre and idol in early life of a band of men most of whom had larger capacity to serve their age and teach mankin-1. But he was all nerve; and while the joints and bands of their more