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(Original
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
A DIRGE.
FOR WORDSWORTH.
BY W C. RICHARDS.
Oh, Nature, how art thou berelt—
The high-priest at thine altars dead,
His dust alone to thee is left—
His mighty soul is fled :
Gone from the frail embrace of Earth,
To the glad regions of its birth.
Weep, and thy heavy loss bewail.
Thy skies in sackcloth should be hung ;
And over mountain, plain and vale,
The pall of sorrow flung:
For thy great minister lies cold
And mute beneath the spring’s fresh mould.
His voice is hushed which evermore
Was wout thy loveliness to sing ;
And thou upon his grave must pour
The first sad tears of Spring,
Whose footstep by her ear was heard.
Ere it awakened flower or bird.
Thrice-honoured was thy poet-son.
And crowned by thee with length of days ;
Full eighty years his sands had run,
Each adding to his praise :
True to himself and true to thee,
His name must needs immortal be.
Pure was his life as pure his song ;
No cloud obscures his well-earned fame ; j
Bright mem’ries still our hearts will throng, i
At mention of his name :
And we, with Nature, will deplore,
That Wordsworth lives on earth no more! j
May, 1850.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
TOO LATE.
Farewell! Farewell! I cannot speak.
What both must feel, yet neither hear,
Thoughts are too strong and words too weak,
For thy regret, or my despair.
Our voice of anguish finds no tone
In language taught by human art;
Us speech is in the stifled moan,
Its action in the breaking heart.
To me hope’s sun no more shall rise,—
Yet deeper is the wo to me,
When I behold thy vacant eyes,
To see it set for aye for thee.
Thou should’st not suffer, —could I bear.
For thee and ine, alike, the blow ;
The guilt was mine alone, —the care,
Oh! why should’st thou, the guiltless, know !
I hat fatal dream !—which hail not curst,
Il cherish’d at an earlier day,
When, by a purer passion nurst,
I had not flung its flow’r away.
Too late the thought! The deadliest pain,
Fix’d deeply by the pow’r of fate.
Is that we love and love in vain,
And death is in the words—too late !
MAX.
(origranl €alts.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
THE MAROON.
A LEGEND OF THE C’ARRIBEES.
BY W. GILMORE SIMMS, ESQ.
Author of “ The Yema-ssee,** etc.
XVIII.
Night came on in the vaulted cham
ber of the lovely isle, occupied only by
the Indian damsel and the “ Maroon.”
W ithout, all was silent, except, now
and then, the bark of the marmozet as
he bounded among the cocoanut trees
above. Several hours had elapsed since
the sounds of the wild chauntof the wo
men had failed upon his ears, yet our
Spaniard maintained his place of hiding
with religious quietude. Meanwhile,
the girl fed the fires upon her altar.—
She sat upon a rude swelling of the
rocky floor, her hands folded in her lap,
and the ends of her shortened hair rest
ing upon her shoulders. Iler form was
rather between the “ Maroon” and the
lire. —the blaze of which, as she height
ened it by occasional supplies of fuel,
made marvellously distinct in his eyes
the exquisite outline of her delicate but
well marked profile. And thus she sat,
and such was her only office for sever
al hours more.
It must have been full midnight, when
our Spaniard, who had not slept an in
stant, discovered that sleep had seized
upon the senses of the Indian damsel.
Her form subsided into an attitude fa
vourable to rest. She sunk upon one
side, her head resting upon a sudden
elevation of the floor, which conducted
to the niche which seemed to have been
employed a couch on previous occa
sions. and where, for the last two nights,
Lopez himself had taken his rest. Her
breathing was soft and regular. It de- j
noted a calm and perfect sleep. lie
was encouraged and gradually with
drew from his place of concealment. —
His steps were cautiously taken. He
drew nigh to the sleeper —surveyed
her with a keen and pleasant interest;
—then, farther to be sure, he stole
torth into the ante-chamber of the vault,
and gliding cautiously, maintaining a
vigilant watch all the while, he emerg
ed trom the cavern, and stood upon the
beach. The waters of the sea had gone
down. The gray sands were quite un
covered for a long stretch, the spot be
ing wholly bare upon which the Indi
an bark had anchored during the after
noon. The moon was high in heaven,
and at her full. No cloud obscured or
sullied the blue serenity of the skies,
fbe scene was eminently and wholly
•spiritual. There was nothing human
visible in the surrounding aspects of
°cean, sky and land. Satisfied of this,
OUr Maroon returned, with rather hur
ried footsteps, to the cavern. He stole
a mm niiL, mmm T 6 mmm*. im Am m mmm t m m mm& aiwfanaL
back cautiously, however, so as not to
disturb the damsel. She still slept, her
position being totally* unchanged. But
the fire had grown faint upon her altars,
lie fed it with a handful of the fuel that
lay contiguous, lie knelt beside her,
and in the reviving blaze, he examined
closely the innocent features, which he
had thought so very sweet and beauti
ful in the before imperfect light. The
nearer survey did not lesson her loveli
ness in his sight. Her closed eves, and
her slightly parted lips, were studies
for the sculptor, they were so delicate
in their structure vet so admirably de
fined. The features might have been
thought Castilian. The forehead was
high but narrow, the nose good, and
the neck moderately large and smooth,
rising into the gentle swell of a bosom
which had not yet learned to heave with
other than happy childish emotions. —
One of her hands, the fingers of which
were long and taper, had stolen to her
breast, the partial drapery of which it
seemed to grasp. The other lay at her
side, the fingers closing upon a handful
of wood intended for the fire. Thusshe
slept.
The “ Maroon” stooped and pressed
his lips closely upon hers, She sighed
deeply, but moved not. Again he re
peated the kiss, and her eyes opened
upon him. They closed involuntarily.
Again they opened, and now with a
wild, appealing expression. He had
slightly retreated, as he found her about
to waken. He had regained his feet,
lie stood somewhat apart, the altar be
ing in some degree between them.
\\ e have spoken of the personal ap
pearance of Lopez de Levya, as being
pleasing to the eye of woman. At this
moment it looked manly as w*ell as
pleasing ; and, in the doubtful light of
the cavern, with his form erect, his fea
tures half shaded by the gloom, his
knife at his girdle, and a rich red scarf
about his waist, he might have served
for the model of one of those brigands,
acompound of Orson and Adonis, whom
we see so commonly in Italian pictures.
The impression was not unfavourable
upon the eyes of the Indian damsel. —
But her senses had evidently mingled
the aspect before her with the object in
her dream—the purpose of her watch
and ordeal, —the beneficent creature
vouchsafed by her savage gods, from
whose guidance her future destiny was
to be shaped and governed. The in
stincts of the Spaniard were sufficiently
acute to see the impression that he had
made, and to conjecture, in some mea
sure, its origin. Jle was well aware
that the first impression of the Euro
pean upon the Aborigines was that of
a superior being. The devout appeal
ing eyes of the damsel—her hands
crossed upon her breast—satisfied our
“ Maroon” that she held him to be so.
lie advanced a single step, he smiled
on her kindly, he raised one hand up
ward to heaven, while he placed the oth
er on his heart. She followed all his
movements with others like them.—
Her hand was lifted to heaven, and car
ried to her breast. She too smiled, —
the smile of innocent hope, that might
have brought with it warmer assur
ances. He spoke, sweetly and tender
ly, but the words were lost upon inca
pable but not unheeding senses. She
shook her head with a mournfulness of
look that told him, plain as words could
speak, how sorrowful she was that she
knew not what he said. But he smiled
encouragingly, and resorted once more
to signs to assure her of his affection.
These site understood.
The language of the heart is a very
universal one. Charity and sympathy
may speak and be understood, though
they have not a word in common with
the hearer, from the centre to the pole.
She answered his signs. She pointed
to the fires before her. She threw a
fresh supply of fuel upon the blaze,
then rising to her knees, knelt before
him, and crossed her hands upon her
bosom. He stooped, and took her in
his arms. She would have receded,
but he held her tenderly in his grasp,
and once more pressed his lips upon
hers. She sunk submissive in his em
brace. She spoke, but a single sen
tence, but one of its words smote his
ear like a familiar accent. lie had pick
ed up a few of the Caribbean phrases
from Spaniards who had been among
this people. The girl had designated
him as ‘’the good White Spirit.” The
word “ Spirit” had become a frequent
one in the intercourse of the Jesuit mis
sionaries with the heathen. God, and
love, and heaven, good, bad, the sky,
the sea, the boat, Castile, white and red
man, —these, and several other words
had, from the communion of the Span
iards with the tribes of the Caribbean
Sea, grown to be a tolerably common
property with the two races. Lopez
rapidly ran over in the ears of the girl
all of this description which lie found it
easy to remember on the instant. Some
of these she repeated after him with
ready acquiesence. Again she de
scribed him as the good white spirit—
her good white spirit —and he now un
derstood her.
He did not disabuse her. He feared
to forfeit her reverence, in seeking to
awake a humbler emotion ; and as the
master of her destiny, a celestial visi
tant, provided for her guidance, he pro
ceeded to enforce her affections. He
placed himself beside her —together
they supplied the altar with fuel and
incense, and when he kissed her lips,
she crossed her arms upon her breast,
and submitted with delighted rever
ence.
It was the benevolent -pirit whose
favour she implored, who then, in his
most gracious aspect presented himself
in compliance with her invocations. —
She had been taught to believe that he
was difficult of approach,—slow to be
won, —reluctant to appear ; —that it re
quired earnest and long continued de
votions, and a painful and protracted
vigil. How fortunate was she among
her sex, that, in her instance, he had de
parted from his wonted severity!—that,
instead of presenting himself, as he was
reported frequently to have done, —in
harsh and ungenial aspects —in the
shape of bird, or beast, or reptile,—he
had assumed his noblest attributes of
form, and put on features not only of
the highest, but of the tenderest char
acter. Verily, she was the favoured
among women ! The tones of the Span
iard’s voice were to her sounds of the
sweetest music from the Caribbean
heaven. His smile was that glance of
the morning or of the evening, when
the brightness is equally rare and be
nignant ; and, when his hand rested
upon her cheek or neck, she felt the !
thrill of an emotion through all her
veins, such as she had been taught to
believe was vouchsafed only to the fa
voured few, the select of the Caribbe
an Elysium. Their eyes took part in
ther constant intercourse, and never
had Lopez looked or spoken with so
successsful eloquence. Though she com
prehended but few of his words, yet
nothing was thrown away of all that
fell from his lips. As at the first, in
the primal hour of creation, the speech
which heaven bestowed upon its crea
tures was that of love, so love consti
tutes the basis of that ancient language
which it is still so easy for the heart to
comprehend. Assisted by this heart
manual, it was easy for Lopez to make
his Spanish and her Indian words sub
servient to their gradual use ; and ere
they sunk exhausted into the mutual
arms of sleep that night, they had com
menced a course of study quite as rap
id as the Robertsonian method, by which
a modern or ancient dialect is to be
mastered in six lessons.
The bridal hour of the two exiles thus
strangely brought together, promised
to be as happy in its progress, as the
destiny in which it had its origin was
solemn and peculiar. With the dawn,
the two awakened to neither repining
nor repentance. Life had suddenly
put on her loveliest aspects to both.—
The Spaniard was no longer lonesome j
in his solitude, and the damsel was hap
py in the faith that she was favoured
among women, by the very Deity to
whom her sex devotes the most dutiful
and earnest solicitations.
XIX.
The passion thus begun, and sanc
tioned, as it would seem, b}’ an espec
ial Providence, was neither slow to
ripen nor of modified character. The
very isolation of their abode, separated
from till the world beside, tended to
compel their affections eagerly, and in
to the same channel. But it was not
lon- before the Indian damsel learned
©
to comprehend the purely human cha
racter of her companion. Her very
love produced this discovery, since it
could only exist in its natural intensity
in the untutored mind, in the compar
ative loss of its veneration. The young
Spaniard no longer repined at his des
olate condition. The fate to which he
resigned himself had received its con
solutions, and in the first'few days of
his happiness, if he thought at all of his
late comrades, it was with something
of fear and misgiving, lest they should
come and tear him away from an
abode, in which he was equally free and
happy.
The morning after their first meet
ing, he stole from her side while she
yet slept, and from the ante-chamber
of the cavern awakened her with a soft
sweet strain from his guitar. It was
the first time he had touched the strings
since the instrument had been hung
about his neck in mockery. She start
ed from the mossy niche where she lay
and lighting anew the fire upon her al
tars, sank before it in the attitude ot
prayer. A delirious delight was visi
ble upon her countenance as the music
reached her ears, and when Lopez look
ed in upon her, she bore the expression
of one whose whole soul was lifted with
a sense of the divine favour. He made
the guitar the instrument for her edu
cation. She had the sweetest voice,
herself, and for his music, gave him
wild ballads of her own people, of
which he could appreciathe the music
only. But their words were rapidly
interchanged. The lessons were con
stant, and conveyed through numerous
CHARLESTON. SATURDAY, JUNE 1. 1850.
media of which the teacher in civilized
life, can have no notion. Life itself
depended on their progress, and when
this is the case, the tuition must be
marvellously rapid—love as well as
life, —their daily sports, their mutual
progress.—the exercise of their tastes
—their consultations upon sea, and sky,
and grove, the passage of the wild bird,
—the bound of the marmozet —the ga
thering of fruit, —the song, the dance,
the sigh, the smile, —all these provoked
their lessons and exercised their indus
try in acquisition. It was not long be
fore they declared themselves in sylla
bles that took the place of simple sounds,
—not long before the teacher could
listen with delight to the childish prat
tler at his side, whose accents would
have seemed uncouth in the ears of crit
ics only. Day by day, teaching and
taught, the horizon of their hopes and
affections sensibly expanded before
their minds, and the damsel did not
cease to be less innocent because she
had learned not only to understand her
own emotions, but to comprehend the
real nature of the companion from whom
she had learned the first great lesson
of the woman heart. She was not less
happy that, in losing a God, she had
found a lover and a Lord !
XX.
The world for a brief season seemed
wholly surrendered to them- They
lived for each other only ; and as they
saw no other forms, so they forgot for
a time, that they were to be disturbed
by other beings of a nature like their
own. Lopez had no hopes- —shall we
call them fears?—that the Dian de
Burgos would ever again appear to seek
him out in his place of exile. He knew
how serious and how terrible always
were the jokes of his late tyrant, and
never looked for his repentance. Nor
did the poor Amaya—such was the
name of the damsel—dream that her
Caribbean kindred would ever sunder
a union so marvellously wrought bv
heaven. Her barbarous rites were
neglected in the prompt realization of
her dreams. This was due in great
measure to the teachings of the “ Ma
roon.” Already had he begun to be
stow upon her some of his theology—
crude and selfish as it was. The Agnus
Dei which he put into her hands, was
quite as frequently an object of her en
treaty as it was of his. Their suppli
cations, at morning and at evening to
the Virgin, were twined together ; and
it must be confessed, that, of the two,
the poor pagan damsel was much more
earnest in her prayers than the habit
ual Christian.
He taught her other lessons. Al
ready had he began to conduct her fin
gers among the strings of his guitar,
and she, rejoicing at the merry tinkle
which she produced, soon promised to
acquire its language. The instrument
was constantly in her keeping, except
when she summoned him to perform
upon it. Then she sat beside him, on
the edge of the great ocean, and while
the waters rolled and tumbled toward
their feet, she listened to his chaunt—
his fierce ballads of Spanish chivalry—
comprehending but little of the story,
but feeling all the sweetness of the mu
sic, the more perhaps that the words
were mysterious and vague.
But their sports were not always of
this subdued order, though they were
scarcely less romantic—such, at least,
as she now taught and encouraged him
to practice. The sea was scarcely an
object of terror to the practised swim
mers of the Caribbean Isles. Amaya,
like all the damsels of her people, had
been accustomed to embrace its bil
lows from her infancy. She soon
taught the more apprehensive Lopez to
pursue her in the waves. At the fall
of the tide she led him off among the
rocks, whose heads at such periods were
distinctly visible. Here, resting on
their dark gray summits, he beheld her,
with a terror in which she did not share,
leap down into the boiling black abyss
es, and disappear wholly from his
sight. Before he had yet recovered
from his alarm, she reappeared, bring
ing up with her the peculiar oyster,
whose immedicable wounds give birth
to the beautiful pearl which is so much
valued, though not in the same degree,
by Indian and European. After this
discovery, our “ Maroon,” encouraged
the sport which had first alarmed his
fears. He too acquired courage from
cupidity, and, being no bad swimmer,
he learned to follow her into the grim
recesses of the rocks, when the seas
were at repose. lie reserved to him
self the opening of the valves, so that
he extricated the fruit from their em
brace, without subjecting it to injury.
Great was the wealth which he thus ac
quired, to say nothing of the ancient
treasures of the cavern.
But these treasures, which he had
not sought, were valueless where he
was. His possessions, so unsuited to
his present condition, first taught him
to repine. When he looked upon his
unprofitable stores, his thoughts imme
diately yearned for the native land, in
which they had made him famous.—
With this recollection, his heart sad
dened within him. He looked earnest
-1 y along the ocean waste for some sign
of his countrymen. He looked with a
momentary indifference upon the sweet, j
wild and artless creature, who gambol
ed before his eyes, or crouched in con
fidence beside him. Her keen glance
beheld these changes. No change in
his aspect ever escaped her vigilance.
At such moments, she would incline
herself timidly toward him —would
draw his attention by little artifices, —
would appeal to him in awkwark Cas
tilian, which insensibly glided into her ;
native ( aribbee tongue; —the broken]
accents finally acquiring emphasis as ;
they concluded in some sweet and for
eign ditty—sometimes, with a playful ;
fondness, she would assail his melan
choly, by sudden plunges into the bil
lows, striking out for the cluster of lit
tle rocks; hiding in whose hollows, she
would beguile him with a wild strain
of her people, or in appealing fancies
of her own, which might have found a
fitting translation in such a ballad as the
following:
THE LAY OF THE CAR IB DAMSEL. !
I
Come, seek the ocean’s depths with me,
For there are joys beneath the sea,
Joys, that when all is dark above,
Make all below a home of love !
II
In hollow bright and fountain clear,
Lo ! thousand pearl await us there ;
Arid amber drops that sea-birds weep
In sparry caves along the deep.
111
A chrystal chamber there 1 know,
Where never yet did sunshaft go ;
The soft moss from the rocks, I take,
Os this our nuptial couch to make.
IV
There, as thou yieldest on my breast,
My songs shali soothe thy happy rest, —
Such song3 as still our prophets hear,
When winds and stars are singing near.
V
These tell of climes whose deep delight,
Knows never change from day to night,
Where, if we love, the blooms and flowers,
And fruits, —shall evermore be ours.
‘ VI
Oh ! yield thee to the hope I bring,
Believe the truth I feel and sing,
Nor teach thy spirit thus to weep,
Thy Christian home beyond the deep.
VII
’Tis little, —ah ! too well I know,
The poor Amaya may bestow, —
But if a heart that’s truly thine,
Be worthy thee, O ! cherish mine !
VIII
My life is in thy look—for thee,
I bloom, as for the sun, the tree ;
My hopes,—when thou forget’st thy woes,
Unfold, as flow’rs when winter goes.
IX
And though, as our traditions say,
There bloom the worlds of endless day,
I would not care to seek the sky,
If there thy spirit did not fly.
It was impossible even for a heart so
selfish as that of our “ Maroon,” wholly
to resist a confidence so sweet and
touching. The wild grace of her ac
tion, the spiritual delicacy of her love, i
thedelightful companionship with which
she cheered his solitude —all succeeded,
in the absence of any absolute tempta
tions, to secure his continued devotion
to her charms.
But a change was destined to cast
its shadow over their otherwise happy
dreams. Three weeks of delight, with
little interval, and scarcely any respite,
laid passed since they first knew each
other. No doubt of the security, as (
well as transport, of her condition, as
sailed the heart of the Indian damsel;
and if the Spaniard ever thought of his
home, it was only as one of those vex
ing fancies, which, as he could scarcely |
hope to realize it, it was but childish to ]
encourage. He made the most of his
present happiness, and resigned himself
to the possession of Amaya, with the
more satisfaction, indeed, since, in a
choice among a thousand, she still would
most probably have been the object of
his preference. But he did not the less
regard the dowry which she brought
him. He subjected his treasure to dai
ly examination, and, when the weather
served, to daily increase. His neces
sities made him a miser. He did not
the less enjoy the treasure, which it
seemed he could never spend.
XXL
But anew prospect of freedom, in
this respect, was about to open upon
him. One morning, whilst our wealthy
“ Maroon” was still engaged in the
cleansing and assorting of his treasure,
close in his cavern, —he was surprised
by the sudden and unexpected entrance
of Amaya, with words of wonder on her
tongue, and looks of terror in her face.
He hastily put his pearls from sight
and hurried with her to the entrance of
the cavern. There, in the sea-monster
which alarmed her with a nameless fear,
he beheld an object of scarcely less ter
ror to himself. This was an European
vessel. It might —it must be a Span
iard—but it was still at too great a dis
tance to enable him to solve his doubts,
or to relieve or increase his apprehen
sions. It was evidently approaching
his islet; and for what visitor other than
Velasquez should he look ?
In a secure cover, on the top of his
cavern, our “ Maroon,” with the trem
bling Amaya beside him, watched the
course of the stranger. Tue Indian girl
beheld the anxiety of her companion,
to describe the feeling at his heart, em
bodied in his looks and actions, by its
gentlest name ; and her own terrors
increased accordingly. In the brief
space of time between the first appear
ance of the vessel, and his discovery of
her true character, Lopez de Levya rap
idly ran over in his mind the prospects
of his condition—the probable object of
the Dian de Burgos, and the effect of
this return upon his fortunes. What
had he to hope from Velasquez or the
implacable Juan, his rival? What mo
tive but that of mockery and a cruel
curiosity would have brought either of
them back to the spot where they had
marooned him ? And should they
search for him what was his hope of
concealment ! He could hide from the
Caribbeans, who had no suspicion of
an}* presence hut their own, —but from
the people of the Diande Burgos there
was no concealment. They would
search the island —they would discover
the cavern, and not one of its crevices
could be made safe against their pene
trating eyes or their probing lances.
A cold sweat covered the limbs of
the miserable creature as his rapid
thoughts coursed over the whole ground
of his condition. And yet, it will scarce
ly be believed that, thus doubtful of his
own fate, he could yet think of conceal
ing his newly gotten treasure. Ilehur
ried back into his cave, counselling
Amaya still to maintain her watch upon
the stranger. In secret he toiled to
place his pearls in security. The cre
vice which let in the light on one side
the vault, he busily crammed with the
soft moss and leaves taken from the
couch in which he had slept. The light
being excluded, he placed his baskets
of treasure along the ledge and conceal
ed them in like manner. Nothing but
the closest search, under the stimula
ting influence of a suspicion that some
thing was concealed, could have led to
the discovery of his possessions. There
was no way of hiding himself in the
same manner; and, full of the most
horrible apprehensions,he joined Amaya
upon the eminence.
It was now necessary to think of her.
Should Velasquez suspect the treasure
—should Juan obtain sight of her, or
any of the Spaiards—she would be torn
from his arms with unscrupulous vio
lence. To conceal her, it was neces
sary that the cave should be kept from
their knowledge. He conducted her
into its recesses. lie showed her where
he himself had been hidden, and easily
persuaded her to seek shelter in its
dusky recesses. She might hope to
escape unnoticed, even if the cave were
penetrated ; but her safety, should the
bark be the Dian de Burgos, lay only
in showing himself. Upon this policy,
trembling still to encounter the cruel
Velasquez, and insidious and hateful
Juan, the “Maroon” resolved. He
continued his watch in secrecy, though
passing from copse to copse ; he left the
neighborhood of his cavern, as theehew
it flies always from the spot where her
young are hidden.
The vessel approached that part of
the island where he had been landed.
This increased his fears that she was
that of his tyrant. If he came to mock,
it was the game of Lopez to implore
and seem repentant. If to pardon, it
was his policy rather to appear surly
and provoke his enemy to continued
hostility ; —for, though anxious to reach
Spain with his treasure, yet our “ Ma
roon” well knew that, with Juan or Ve
lasquez as a master, the very suspicion
of his great possessions would be fatal
to his life. Better, then, to delay the
day of his restoration than peril every
thing on a hope so doubtful. But, in
truth, Lopez de Levya was not in a con
dition of mind to resolve on any policy,
lie was now, as he had ever been be
fore, the creature of events !
XXII.
These, for once at least, proved fa
vourable to his fortunes. We have al
ready detailed the fearful circumstances
which had changed the dynasty on board
the Dian de Burgos. Linares and Ma
ria de Pacheco were now the masters,
but the former had no control over the
proud intelligent spirit by whom the
whole proceeding had been counselled.
He was a mere seaman—a bold, strong
man, who, conscious of his own deficien
cies, was not unwilling to supply them
from the stores of one who had so much
identified her fortunes with his own.—
She asked for little in return, and that
he was disposed to accord. He was
the captain of the ship, but she was the
guiding spirit. He did not seek her af
fections. On this point, indulgent, per
haps, on all Others, she had shown her
self equally resentful and inflexible. —
But, it will suffice for us that they un
derstood each other, and that Linares
lent himself to her project of rescuing
Lopez. The latter had but little es
teem among the seamen, but he had
been harmless, was really gentle in his
nature in proportion as he was timid,
and his cruel punishment had w r on their
pity and their sympathies. The sailor
THIRD-VOLUME,-NO. 5 WHOLE NO. 105.
of that day looked upon the “ Maroon”
as doomed to a much worse punish
ment than death!
Impatient, on the prow of the Dian
de Burgos, stood the proud but anxious
woman as the ship approached the
shore. Concealed among a cluster of
young palms, Lopez beheld her; and,
in the position which she held, her ea
ger attitude and outstretched hand, he
at once inferred some great change in
her fortunes and his own. His heart
was instantly strengthened. He (‘ante
forth from his hiding place, and the ship,
dropping her anchors, Maria de Pache
co was the first to descend into the
boat which now hurried to the shore.
W e need not attempt to depict her rap
tures or his own. In her case they were
those of a strong, impetuous nature —
her very fondness being linked with
an arrogance of will, which rather com
pelled and commanded, than solicited
affection in return. The submissive
spirit of the “ Maroon” did not dare to
withhold the expression of a joy, and
the declaration of an attachment be
yond any which he possibly could feel.
Perhaps, of the two persons, there was
much more in the gentle and depen
dent nature of Amaya, to persuade him
into love, than in that of the imperious
woman whom he had certainly learned
to fear. But she brought with her
something more than the poor Indian
girl could offer. Her coming promised
him a restoration to his country, and
the privilege of growing famous in the
use of his Caribbean treasures. The
very dowry of Amaya was hostile to
her claims. Os this dowry,—of Amaya
herself, —he religiously forbore to whis
per aught to the proud woman who
stood beside him, and who naturally
spoke and thought as if she were as
much the mistress of his heart as she
was of his fate. She soon told him all
her story, and he revealed such portions
of his, as might satisfy her inquiries
without provoking any doubts. He
described the beauties of his islet. He
showed her where he had often slept,
beneath the palms. He gathered for
her his fresh and luscious fruits, and in
the delight and wonder with which she
beheld this new paradise, and in the
happy consciousness of the attainment
of all for which she had striven, at such
fearful sacrifice of pride and feminine
feeling, she yielded herself up to the
sweet and innocent attractions which
gathered around her. It was with a
vague feeling of terror that he heard her
declare her purpose to explore his em
pire, and te see, for herself, the beauti
ful retreats and resources which had so
singularly fallen to his possession.
(Concluded in our next.)
t’jjf llroinner.
For the Southern Literary Gazette.
LIVING AUTHORS OF AMERICA.
BY J. A. TURNER.
SECOND PAPER
The Living Authors of America. First Series.
By Thomas Powel, author of the “ Living
Authors of England,” &c. New York:
Stringer &, Townsend. 1850.
Edgar A. Poe is placed by our au
thor in that high position as a man of
genius and intellect which he deserves.
He is “inclined to think, in a few years,
he (Mr. Poe) will chiefly be remem
bered for his tales, and that his poeti
cal works will dwindle into a snuill
compass, composed of half a dozen
poems.” Had our author said Mr.
Poe would be remembered for his
essays as well as his tales, 1 could agree
with him. While I have the greatest
reverence for the genius of the author
of the “ Raven,” I cannot believe that
he ranks high as a poet. His “Ration
ale of Verse” is one of the best and
most philosophical essays I ever read.
As 1 hope in some future paper to be
able to present my views of Mr. Poe
as a writer, I drop him for the present.
The sin of English hexameters is
very heavily laid at Mr. Longfellow’s
door. The old and just charges of im
itation, if not plagiarism, and of artifi
ciality, are brought against him. Mr.
Powel winds up his notice of Longfel
low by the following passage:
“ We conclude this attempt to exam
ine the works of a popular poet, by the
opinion that his great want is sell-reli
ance. He is too apt to consult poetical
precedents, instead of boldly elialking
out a path for himself. His very stu
dies have been against him. When a
poet trusts to another for his faults, he
will soon lose his individuality. W e
do not say this has actually happened
to Mr. Longfellow, but we see many
evidences of a tendency to indulge in
that fatal habit, which we think in this
case springs more from indolence than
want of power. Let him resolutely
think and write for himself, retaining
his force, elegance, and purity of dic
tion, but throwing from him his undue
elaboration and diffusiveness ot execu
tion : let him care less for what others
have written, and more ot what he
ought and can write, and boldly throw
ing away his artificial supports, soar,
unaided, into an element of his own:
let him scorn another’s balloon, and
boldly take to his own wings, and then
America will have reason to consider as
one of her best poets, Henry “NV ads
worth Longfellow.”
Mr. Powel finds fault with the char
acter Mr. Prescott has given ilernando
Cortes. He thinks this author the
greatest historian America has ever
produced, and thinks he is “fully equal
to sustain an honourable comparison
with his European brethren. After
alluding to the “besetting sins of the
principal writers of history,’ he thus
discourses of Prescott:
“Now the American writer has
brought to his task, patience, learning,
an earnest desire to elicit the truth, a
clear and picturesque style, a wish to
acquaint the reader with all the promi
nent circumstances of the case, and a
thorough knowledge of the importance
of throwing himself into the prevailing
opinions, feelings and customs of the
times described.
“These are strong points in his fa
vour, and we feel assured the verdict
of posterity will be, that, although he
is inferior to some of his fellow-labour
ers in that individual force which con
stitutes genius, he is far more qualified
to present to the public the aggregate
result of his various labours.”
Os William Cullen Bryant, Mr. Powel
says:
“ There is a calm, classical dignity
about Mr. Bryant’s muse, which, in the
eyes of many, is considered as an equi
valent for that lire and energy w hich is
so fascinating to the lovers of poetry.
The tone of his productions is elevated,
but not stirring. We assent to his re
flections: we do not feel with him.
There is nothing rapid and breathless
in his flights: they are equable and
sustained. There is an air of Grecian
elegance about his writings, which con
vinces us he never abandoned himself
to the impulses of the Pythoness. At
times, this amounts to a severity which
chills his readers, and impresses them
with the idea that he is moralizing in
verse, and not throwing off the rushing
thoughts that crowd his brain in the
first bold snatches of sound. There is
more of cultivation of the poet than of
the nature or instinct; indeed, occa
sionally, the determination to compose
is painfully apparent; it seems an effort
of his will, and not a revelation of his
hidden spirit.”
Os Fitz Greene Halleck, Mr. Powel
says:
“lie has fancy, versification, a keen
eye for the incongruous, and a taste for
the beautiful; but against these gifts
must be set off his want of earnest
ness.”
Now 1 must confess I see no want of
earnestness in Halleck. I see just the
contrary, and if I had to choose between
the laurels of all the American poets,
with my present impression, I should
take those of the immortal author of
Marco Bozzaris.
Richard Henry Dana is first spoken
of as a poet and then as a prose w riter.
“There is less reliance upon foreign
sources for his subjects; lus likewise
treats them in a manner of his own,
which compels the reader to respect him
for his intention, if he cannot applaud
him for the successful result of his ex
periment.
“There is a total absence of all taw
dry or adventitious embellishments in
this old poet’s verse, which stands out
in bold relief to the artificial elegances
and cuckoo-note tracks of many modem
and fashionable authors.
“Mr. Dana’s prose is remarkably
clear. It is a far stronger order of
writing than Irving’s or Willis’s; but
we miss in it the sly humour of the one
and the piquant liveliness of the other:
the whole is made in a firmer mould.
There is nothing very original either in
thought or expression, but in lieu we
have sound, earnest feeling, in good
strong English, flic chief fault is an
amplitude of execution, which borders
on the tedious. There is an absence of
those flashes of imagination which light
up a page and illuminate the whole
subject. In short, Mr. Dana is one of
the old school, and abominates the new’
fashions of composition.”
Os Mrs. Osgood, Mr. Powel says:
“The chief merits of our fair writer
are tenderness of feeling and grace of
suppression. As we observed before,
she too frequently sacrifices the strength
of the thought to the beauty of the
words; and even here she often fails,
from her diffusiveness and wish to say
all that can be said on the theme she
lias in hand. She has a lively fancy,
but little imagination; and her fancy is
sometimes displayed so artificially as
to induce the reader to put it down al
together to the score of mere prettiness
ot thought and conceit of expression.
Still there are a feminine power, pathos
and tenderness about the writings of
Mrs. Osgood which will always render
her one ol the most pleasing poets of
the New World.”
I give a few extracts from Mr. Pow -
ell notice of S. Margaret Fuller:
“At this present time, there are three
women who greatly resemble each
other in their intellectual nature: and
they belong to the three greatest na
tions in the world. France has her
Madame Dudevant, or better known
by the name of George Sand; England
her Elizabeth Barrett; and America
her Margaret Fuller. Singular to add,
they are all now within a short distance
of each other, two being in Italy and
the other in Paris. The personal meet
ing of these, the first women of the
age, must be of extraordinary interest,
and we should cheerfully barter away
a year of our own existence to listen to
their communings for one day.”
I shall begin to think Mr. Powel has
great length of ears if he is thus wil
ling to barter away his years. But to
proceed with the extracts:
“We have carefully read, and at first
with a prejudiced eye, all her writings,
and we see no ground for the objec
tions which have been made against her
doctrines.”
“Miss Fuller’s poetry partakes of