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viduality (marking that he had come to Tasso,” and “Belisario,” none of which years of musical discretion), broke out in stand beyond a chance of being revived by his twenty-first Opera, “L’Esule di Roma,” the dramatic singers of the new school. which was given at Naples in the year 1828, With them also may be mentioned “ Gemwith Mlle. Tosi, MM. Winter and La- ma di Vergy,” “Roberto Devereux,” and blache, in the principal parts. Some of our (of a later date)“ Maria de Rohan,”-the amateurs may recollect it as the work with last never to be forgotten in England, bewhich Mr. Monck Mason opened his disas- cause of the magnificent tragic acting of trous, but enterprising one season of opera Ronconi. Better musie than in any of the management, that of 1832. Such will re- above will be found in “ Lucrezia Borgia,” call the terzetto, in which a certain novelty and a more taking story. One rich conof structure is evident. The next work in certed piece and a notable finale for the order which has made “any stand” (as the tenor in the “ Lucia di Lammermoor,' have phrase runs in the green-room) was the won for this Opera the most universal popu“Regina di Golconda," an Opera contain- larity gained by any of its master's works. ing no music to compare with Berton's According to our own fancy, Donizetti has sprightly melodies to the original “ Aline,” never written anything of a higher order, but to which such cantatrici of Italy as have as regards originality and picturesqueness, a touch of the Dugazon in them still recur, than the night scene in Venice, which makes from time to time. And that the maestro up the second act of “ Marino Faliero,” was looked to as promising is evident by his including the Barcarolle and the grand aria being commissioned to write for Pasta :- which no singer bas dared to touch since for whom his thirty-second Opera, the Rubini laid it down. We there find, for " Anna Bolena," was produced at Milan, the first time, an entire emancipation from in 1831.

those forms and humors originated by RosThe work is performed still, when any sini (or, to be exact, perfected by him from prima donna appears who is strong enough indications given by Paër), by the imitation to contend for Pasta's succession. Though of which all the modern Italians (save Belit is not clear of the usual amount of plati- lini) have commenced their career as dratude warranted, nay, courted, by Italian matic composers. audiences; though it be full of the rhythms " Marino Faliero" was written expressly of Rossini, it has still touches which assert for that incomparable company, including the individuality of its composer; and Mademoiselle Grisi, Signori Rubini, Tam these, it may be noted, occur in the critical burini, Lablache, and Ivanhoff, which was places. The duet, in the second act, be- assembled in 1835 in Paris. For the same twixt the Queen and her rival, may be men- year, and the same artists, Bellini's “I tioned in proof; as also the final bravura Puritani” was composed: and since it is a

Coppia iniqua,”')—which, though merely certain theatrical law, that two great stage written as an air of display, is still full of successes cannot come together; and since deep tragical dramatic passion; the last the latter work made the furore, the forfrenzy of a breaking heart!

mer was, by mathematical necessity, sure From this time forward the place of to be comparatively disregarded. But after Donizetti was assured as next in favor to poor Bellini's untimely death, which folthat of the more sympathetic Bellini, and lowed hard upon his triumph, it became superior to that held by the less impulsive evident to the impresarii, that there was no and more scholastic Mercadante. Thirty- Italian composer who could please (most three Operas followed the “ Anna Bolena,” especially on our side of the Alps) so cerand they gradually became better in staple, tainly as Donizetti. Accordingly he was more original, and more popular. To pame called to Vienna, and there wrote the them one by one would be tedious. It will“ Linda di Chamouny," which became so suffice to touch lightly upon those which popular that its composer was rewarded by still live in the Opera Houses of Europe. being nominated to a lucrative court ap

There is “L'Elisir,”—from the first to pointment. The management of the Grand the last note a spontaneous utterance of Opera of Paris, too, disappointed of a new pretty music, weakest where Rossini would work by Meyerbeer, and in distress for have been strongest, in the part in the char- music more vocal and pleasing than the latan, Dr. Dulcamara, whose grand aria, clever head combinations of M. Halevy,even a Lablache

not rescue from insipi- invited the universal maeslro to write for dity. There are “ Parisina,” “Torquato that magnificent theatre. Unlike most of his predecessors, Donizetti seems neither to ber compositions, &c., unnumbered and unhave hesitated, nor to have taken any ex- cared for,) could not be thrown off without traordinary amount of pains or prepara a heavy score being run up against him; tion on the occasion. He came as request- and to this the strain and drain of a life of ed, but after bis appearance in Paris in Parisian gallantry and dissipation added a 1840, we find bis name within a curiously momentous item. short space of time to “ Les Martyrs,” and It is four or five years since his health Dom Sebastian,"—two grand five-act began to give way in the most painful form Operas, both of which failed-(though still of illness, loss of memory and intellect. given in Germany and Italy); and to “La Life was spent, and there was no calling it Favorite,” a four-act Opera, (written for back. Retreat and rest were tried, at first Madame Stoltz, MM. Duprez and Baroil- by his own will and pleasure, but, ere long, bet) which may be regarded as his best se- by the necessary supervision of the maestro's rious work; to " La Fille du Regiment,” relatives. It was too late—the composer for L'Opera Comique, in which Mademoi- sunk into imbecile and hopeless melancholy. selle Borghese made her début. The last For a time he was retained in a maison de opera and the lady were found wanting by santé at Paris, without the slightest remisthat most fastidious company of judges, a sion of any painful symptom; thence he Parisian audience. Everywhere else, how- was transferred, in the course of last year, ever, the gaiety of the music (containing to his native town, in the hope that a more the most fresh and gaillard of Donizetti's genial climate and the presence of familiar sprightly inspirations) has placed it in the objects might work the charm of revival. first rank of favor among comic Operas. But this expedient also failed; life was We surely need not remind the Londoner spent, and, as has been said, expired not how it has furnished her most delightful many weeks since. It is idle, perhaps, to and characteristic personation to the nuost say that, under a wiser ordinance of his famous vocalist of our day—Mademoiselle life and energies, the composer might have Jenny Lind.

pursued his career of invention, popularity, It might have been fancied that the calls and enjoyment for another score of years. on the maestro's invention from every cor- A good deal of foolish criticism and ner of Europe, would appear to have dis- wholesale contempt have been thrown on tanced the powers of the most fa presto the Operas of Donizetti by those who, by writer. But Donizetti seems to have been way of vindicating their knowledge, think almost fabulously industrious, and ready to it incumbent on them to mistrust all poputhe moment. Apocrypbal tales are told of larity, and to frown upon everything that his having scored an Opera in thirty hours, does not “smell of the lamp." -of his having at an earlier period, com- Generally, indeed, imperfect reasoning posed a “Rosamunda” in a single night, and foolish assumption have been more under the pressure of banditti, by whom he liberally based and vented on nothing than was captured. But these are, probably, the subject of “ fertility.” Cavillers have mere tales. We believe it is more certain too pedantically assumed that, by restricthat “ Don Pasquale," one of the blithest tion, concentration, and similar trammelas well as one of the last of his works, was ling processes, creative genius could be commenced and completed for the Italians forced into becoming something far more in Paris within three weeks. This, in it- precious than it may have originally been. self, would be amazing enough : but Doni- Facility" — doomed by the epithet zetti spared himself in no respect He fat al-has been too largely confounded seems never to have retired from the world with “ feebleness." Now, in Music at to work. On the contrary, being a cheer- least, this is a huge and untenable falful, fascinating man,-he not only chose to lacy. Dangerous though it seem write music as fast as other men can talk forú encouragement to idleness, to preabout it, but to fill up every leisure second sumption, ti invention by chance, to a with all the wasting pleasures of a vireur spirit of money-making cupidity, the perTo these, it is understood, he addicted petuation of falsehood is yet more dangerhimself with as much impetuosity as to the sous :—and there are few falsehoods more supply of the theatres of Europe. complete than the reproach conveyed in the

There is, however, a limit to fertility and above assertions. With very few exceprevelry, even so long and joyously main tions, all the great musical composers have tained as bis : Donizetti's sixty-five Operas been fertile when once taught,--and capable (to say nothing of masses, misereres, cham- of writing with as much rapidity as ease.

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Bach, Handel (whose “ Israel” was com- and the situations to be portrayed, as to justipleted in three weeks), Haydn (more of fy musical annalists in giving the Master a whose compositions are lost than live), Mo- high place in the records of his time; and zart,-all men remarkable as discoverers in sincerely regretting his loss. Would and renowned as classics-held the dens of that any signs could be discerned of a sucready writers. Rossini's “11 'Barbiere,” | cessor! But, for the present, the solitary again, which has now kept the stage for originality which Italian musicians manifest two-and-thirty years, was the work of lies in excess and exaggeration. thirteen days: the insouciant composer being spurred to his utmost by a disparaging letter from Paisiello, who had already set A SCOTTISH SPORTSMAN.-The Inverness JourBeaumarchais' comedy. It was the empty nal copies from the Cape Frontier Times of FebruConnoisseur, who thought to gain reputa- ary 23an account of the sporting exploits of a Mr.

northern baronet [whose tion by declaring that “ the picture would name, put forward for distinction by the Scotch have been better painted if the painter bad paper, we suppress in mercy to the hero, because we taken more trouble.” Nor will it ever be gather a different moral from his deeds); which ex. forgotten that the "Bride of Lammer- petuation in Africa of that skill which the Scottish

ploits are, with evtdent pride, described as the permoor,” the masterpiece of Walter Scott gentleman acquires from his pursuits at home. In (whose defence of fertility, apropos of Dry- a journey of eleven months, during which he is den, might have been quoted as germane to represented to have penetrated many hundred miles the matter), was thrown off when the No- beyond the highest point previously reached by any

white man, this chivalrous and intrepid' Scoi shot velist was hardly conscious of what he forty-three elephants and sixty hippopotami, “the finest wrote, owing to racking bodily pain. Those, troops to which they belonged having been singled

“ The rhinoceros, buffalo, We believe, on whom the gift of fertility has out for slaughter." been bestowed, run some danger of becom- buck, hartebeest

, sasaby, black and blue wildbeest,

cameleopard, elaud, gemsbok, roan, antelope, watering “nothing if not fertile." Their minds koodoo, pallah, zebra, rietbok, kilpspringer, &c., are impulsive rather than thoughtful—their were tound by him in such abundance that he rarely fancies strengthened by the very process expended his ammunition upon them, except when in and passion of pouring them forth. In the grace his collection of sporting trophies—which is decase of Donizetti, at least, it is obvious that scribed as being now so extensive as almost ti rehis invention was, year by year, becoming quire a small ship to send them home." It appears fresher with incessant use and practice that this gentleman has “ had losses,” too, in the There are no melodies in any of his early and that the victims of his thirst for sporting fame works so delicious as those of the quartett did not suffer themselves to be massacred for his and serenade in “Don Pasquale;” no glory without some attempt at resistance and retaliwriting so highly toned, characte, istic, and manity should be added in fairness a large amount dramatic as the entire fourth act of “ La of incidental slaughter which is not formally insisted Favorite." His instrumentation too, al- on by his panegyrist as among the proofs of "the

“He has lost all his horses ways correct, became richer and more fanci- excellence of his sport." ful in each successive effort.

(15), all his oxen (30), and all his dogs (20), and his

It has else- best'wagon-driver. His horses were killed either by where been remarked (and the remark is lions or horse sickness, and the fly called txetse. All significant to all who are used to consider his oxen were killed by this insect

. His dogs were the subject), that, considering Donizetti killed, some by the lions, some by the panther

, crowas called to write for particular singers, an driver was carried off on a dark and cloudy evening unusual nuuber of the Operas tbus fashion- by a monster lion,—which Mr. Cumming shot next ed to order have become stock pieces: day.” This is a very imposing bulletin—well dethereby preved to be essentially superior to serving the notice of the Society for the Suppression

of Cruelly to Animals. We suppose, from the trithe generality of works of their class. In umphant tone of the record, that this gentleman's short, it may be said that, though there be place in Scottish society will be a high one :-but po startling beauties in the Operas of Doni- we confess we have some difficulty in fancying the zetti, -none of those electrical melodies hero " at good men's feasts,” enjoying the gentle which, like " Di tanti,” or “ Largo al fac- faces of children. we should be unwilling to see

ministry of women, or looking into the smiling totum," or Assisa al pie d'un salice,” his rifle by our bearth. It has been said that exring through the world, -neither such in- tremes meet; and it is true that many of the expres. tensity of sentiment as reconciles us to the sions of a very high civilization resemble greatly

what we should consider characteristics of the sa. very limited alphabet in which Bellini vage. The American Indian who counted fame by wrote,—they contain so much of what is scalps, and the man of Borneo who still counts it by agreeable, so many happy combinations and the heads which he takes, seem to us to be morally excellent opportunities for vocal display, is the shipload of carcases which his rifle has made.

the near neighbor of him wbose title to reputation such frequent harmony between the sounds - Atheneum.

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A sick’ning weight is on my heart ; I feel

They are come, they are come; yet what brings The enrrent of my life is ebbing fast.

them bere, Hark! from the minster comes the midnight peal— With smoke around, and with walls so near? When next it sounds my sorrows shall have Yet there they cling to the golden wand, pass'd!

As there were no sunnier garden beyond. The chillness of the grave already clings

The garden is filled with their drowsy hum! About my limbs—and uncouth shapes of fear

Oh, where is a hive, for the bees are come ? Thrung up around me—and. on ebon wings, Death’s dull-eyed king himself is hov'ring near. Whence have they wander'd ? I cannot tell,

But I dream'd me a dream of some lonely dell, Was it for this I curb'd the lightsome play

Where violets thick 'mid the green grass sprung, Of youth's high passions—its unburden'd mind? Like a purple cloak by a monarch flung. Was it tor this I flung its joys away?

Our garden "now fills with their drowsy And when the throes of wild ambition pined,

hum! Why did I learning's volumed stores unclasp,

Oh, where is a hive, for the bees are come ? Why with rack'd brow pursue the chase for truth, To see it ever fly my toilsome grasp

Had they grown weary of roses in bloom, Myself grown old amidst the wreck of youth?

Or the long falling wreaths of the yellow-hair’d

bruoin ? A creeping stillness fills my lonely room,

Of the seringa's palé, orange-toucbed flowers, No voice, no hand its palm in mine to place ! of the gardens afar, that they wander to ours? Vainly I strive amid the deep'ning gloom

How pleasant it is with their drowsy hum! To catch the light of one familiar face. Visions there are that hover by my side,

Oh, where is a hive, for the bees are come ? Strewing my restless pillow with annoy : My father weeping for his hope, his pride

Our garden is somewbat pale and lone,
My mother wailing for her dark-bair'd boy.

And the walls are high, with ivy o'ergrown;
And the dust of the city lies dark on the rose,

And the lily is almost afraid to unclose.
My sister-my sweet sister's clear, glad voice,

Yet welcome the sound of their drowsy As last I heard it fill the sunny air,

hum! Is sounding near; and she, my bosom's choice,

Oh, where is a hive, for the bees are come ? The haliow'd idol of my soul, is there; And yet mayhap, 1his very hour, her heart

The vapors of London float over our head, Bounds to the music of its own delight,

Yet ath wart them the shower and the sunshine are Framing new joys, in which I bear a partJoys all, alas, too fair and overbright!

And cheerful the light of the morning falls

O'er the almond-tree and the ivied walls. Oh, might I dream away into my rest,

Sweet sounds around it the drowsy hum! Might lay my fever'd temples, all thrown bare,

Oh, where is a bive, for the bees are come 1 To sleep upon her gently heaving breast,

And shade them with her folds of clust'ring hairTo feel her arms about my neck-her kiss

We have shrubs that have flourished the summer Warming my clay-cold cheek—to catch her

through breath

The jessa mine hanging like pearls on dew, Whisp'ring kind words, meet for a time like this,

The fuschia that droops, like the curls of a brideMight scare the horror of this drowsy death!

Bells of coral, with Syrian purple inside ;

They'll grow more fair with that drowsy

hum ! But I am here alone—all, all alone; None n-ar that loves me, none that I can prize;

Oh, where is a hive, for the bees are come ! Strange voices o'er my tuneless sleep shall moan, And strangers' loveless hands shall close mine The sun-flower's golden round shall yield eyes.

Its shining store for their harvest field; How drear and dark it grows! My faithful lamp, We'll plant wild thyme with the April rain,

Burn yet a litle while-'twill soon be o'er. And feed them till then on the sugar-cane. What means this shudd'ring dread—these dews so

Welcome, welcome, their druwsy hum! damp

Oh, where is a hive, for the bees are come ? T'his chill all here about my heart ?—No more!

L. E. L.


From the Athen au m.)

From the Metropolitan.




The Airs we breathe are made of human sighs, - Oh! doth it not soothe the worn mind to depart
The Streams we drink do spring from human tears; From traffic's rude clamor, from Mammon's vast
We gaze but on the Light of our own eyes,-

mart, -
And the Soul's voice is all the Spirit hears. To pass from the city, its tumult and din,

And lipger this spot of soft quiet within ? Nought in the world of joyaunce or of griei, The spirit grows weary and sad, to abide Of sin or triumph or vicissitude,

In the stirring excitement of life's rapid tide, But from the Mind o'erflows, for its relief, And feels those enjoyments the purest and best, Its house, its habit, like itself endued.

Connected with scenes of retirement and rest. The glorious Universe--of suns and moons, Yes, here to our view are the dwellings displayed, Of starry systems radiant and obscure

Provided by kiadly and liberal aid,
O Day and Night! what are ye bat ibe runes The troubles to lighien, the cares to assuage,
Writ on the slaythmic mind's entablature ? That cast a dim gloom over the season of age;

Their inmates, removed from the world's busy strife, Were it not so, I were indeed alone,

Here, pass in calm leisure the evening of life; Unclad, unroofed a solitary thing;

And feel, that as hope's early vision declines, I make the sympathy that heeds my moan, The hope of the future more cloudlessly shines. And Nature Travails with my suffering.

And here d'ells the pastor, whose wisdom imparts Henee, deeply thank I that Poetic Soul

The gospel of truth and of grace to their bearts; Which will not leave me wholly desolate, - A privilege holy and precious is theirs, But writes for me the Heavens like a scroll Possessing his counsels, his presence, his prayers ; Where I may read the story of my fate:

He leads them that knowledge of God to atiain,

To which man's highest knowledge is worthless And now, though in the wilderness I stray,

and vain, Finds me companions in the sands I tread, - And wins them to dwell on a kingdom above, And though far wandered from my friends away, With the fervor of faith, and the kindness of love. Renews, or substitutes, the Lost, the Dead. Yet still I yearn for what is less a dream,I would embrace anoiher Soul than mine; I would that Truth should be, not only seem, Substantial Truth-or human or divine !



from the Metropolitan. ,


When the lark bad trilled his blithest lay

To hail the springtime of the year,
In a green valley far away

Å beauteous maiden did appear.


That lonely vale saw not her birth,

None knew from whence she wandered thereSo bright, she did not seem of earth

So fleet, her footsteps died in air.

Her presence shed a happy hue

or sunshine over every heart, But something in her beauty drew

From her familiar looks a part.

The bridal veil is on thy hair,

The wreath is on thy brow,
Thy vows are breathed-why, dearest, wear

Á look of sadness now?
Say, dost thou tremble to remove

From friends long tried and known ?
Oh! doubi me not—my fervent love

Shall far surpass their own; My tender care shall never sleep,

Still shall I prove thy friend and guide:
One lot is ours hen wherefore weep,

My loved, my gentle bride ?
Love shall direct my faithful breast,

Thy wishes to prevent;
Or, if a wish be half expressed,

To crown it with content:
The friendships of thy early youth

May lessen and decline,
But Time, which weakens others' truth,

Shall only strengthen mine.
Thy future way is strewed with flowers,

Then let those timid tears be dried,
And smiles succeed the April showers-

My loved, my gentle bride!

She brought wild flowers of radiance bright,

Fresh with dews, by breezes fanned ;
Fruits that had ripened in the light

Of some more genial, sunny land.

These treasures of an unknown shore

She gave—the fruiis, the flowers, to someTo youth, to age-each of them bore

His faëry blessing back to home.

Thus every guest was welcomed by

This maiden, with a peerless gem;
But when a loving pair drew nigh

Her choicest gifts were showered on them

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