The Sun.
London, England, 1848-09-26 00:00:00

TO M. DE LAMARTINE.
AFTER READING HIS POEM OF " JOCELYN."

PARAPHRASED FROM THE FRENCH OF M. JULES DE

RESSEGUIER.
BY W. C. M. K.
In the brightness of eve, in the silence of night,
0 Poet! my heart drank the joys of thy song;
And, when through the lattice the day dawned in light,
I read yet again as the hours rolled along—
That verse of devotion, those pure lays of love,
Those chaunts of emotion, hope, agony, life,
And I named thee, thou bard of the accents that move,
0 Genius! 0 Hero of song and of strife!
And, my heart thrilling up at the sound of thy numbers,
My sighs lon;•repressed, and my tears often shed,
Awoke the high passions which Earth only cumbers,
And lifted my soul to the realms of the dead.
Bright images passed o'er the disc of my mind,
Bright images such as the dreamer bewails,
And sorrows unknown, like the anguish men find
When the voice of the loved on the dying lip fails.
And fragments of melody torn from thy lyre,
Remember'd with rapture, repeated with joy,
Illumiu'd my soul, like the fragments of fire—
The gold clouds that sunset has strown o'er the sky.
The bt_ings thy genius had render'd immortal,
Jocelyn, Laurence, and Martha, nay more,
The dog whose intelligence levell'd the portal
Which instict and reason had sunder'd before.
Those beings created like beams by thy glory,
The charms of my household, the lures of home,
Who were born but to• day in the womb of thy story,
And yet have already like old friends become.
That drama composed half of love, half of weeping,
That death whose recital appals but to soothe;
The man, made a slave when in ignorance sleeping,
And only awaken'd to freedom by Truth ;
The combat of earth and the triumph of heaven,
Recounted and shrined in the pomp of thy lay,
Gave my life a new vigour, a fragrance, a leaven ;
It revived the crushed blooms of my youth's early day.
Behold the emotions thy song has engender'd,
Emotions whose sense is a rapture divine !
Behold the sweet thoughts which thy glory has render'd
Like gems gleaming up in a goblet of wine.
To Byron, the exile and bard, they compare
Thy Muse and thy metre, thou lyrist of France !
As the gladness of hope and the gloom of despair
Are mingled together in ancient romance.
Nor, wild though the contrast may seem, on reflection
The fact of resemblance steals out to the light,
And the sympathies felt betwixt joy and dejection
Are blent, like the moonbeams and shadows of night.
Thy poetry shines with perpetual lustre,
'Tis radiant like sunlight, a flame like a star,
And oft in the woof of thy rhythm a cluster
Of mysteries glow from the depths of the For.
The breath of thy Muse is the sweet breath of Nature,
The wind of the mornings, the breeze of the eves,
It scatters delight over corn-field and pasture,
It burgeons the bough, and it goldens the sheaves.
It resembles the clouds of rare perfumes uplifted,
And curled o'er the lips of the censers of gold,
The flowers and foliage wherewith Spring has gifted
The bars of the dungeon where crime groweth old ;
It is lucent like pearls on the sands of the ocean ;
Its sheen has the whiteness of swans on the lake ;
And it soars like the wings of the eagle in motion
Above the high rocks where the hurricanes break.
The dear thoughts that live in the core of our breast,
That live and are loved like the pulse of our life,
Thy verses have often in music express'd,
In music with passion and ecstasy rife.
Thy voice in its accents is varied like ages,
Like ages of pleasure, and ages of pain;
Sometimes it has utter'd the wisdom of sages,
And sometimes has sung in a symbolic strain.
Where'er inspiration has tended to lure,
Where'er thy ambition has taught thee to rove,
The shame of the base and the fame of the pure
Have symbolized life in the language of love.

The chords of humanity, strung upon sadness,
Require the soft touch of an influence divine
To give their vibrations the true tone of gladness,
And those tones rebound from an influence like thine.
We need a soft balm for the wounds which aro fated
To rankle and burn in the bosom of age,
A balm to refresh the poor soul when 'tis sated,
That balm, Lamartine, I derive from thy page.
Lamartine I that dear name, that name lovely and glorious,
That name which inspires my sad heart to rejoice,
That name which has often proved great an,l victorious
That name filled with sweetness of soul and of voice.
Boulogne-sur-mer, Sept. 22, 1848.

(THE ORIGINAL.)
Pendant le soir bruyant, pendant la nuit muette,
Mon conur a devot6 ton saint livre, o pt. Lite!
Et lorsqu'a ma fenetre a reparu le jour
Jo relisais ces chants de prie.-e et d'amour,
Ces chants de deuil, d'espoir, de vie, et d'agonie,
Et puis jo to nommais en disant: o genie!
Et demon cceur soudain lea battements presses,
Mes soupira retenus longtemps, mes pleurs verses,
L'interieur elan quivers Dieu nous eleve,
I)es images passant devant moi comma un !eve,
Dea troubles inconnus dans tons mes sans restes,
Quelques mots de tes vers au hasard r 6, et 63,
Et Marthe, et Jocelyn, et as mere, et Laurence,
Et ce chien dont l'inatinct d'une atne a l'apparence,
Etres creel par toi, dans ma famine adtnis,
Nos d'hier seulement, et d6ja view( atnis ;
Co drama, qui d'amour et de pleurs se compose,
La mort, dont la pt me, 6.)ouvante et repose.
L'homme esclave du corps, Petra inamateriel,
La combat sur la terre, et le triomphe au ciel,
Et partout tant d'eclat, quo des jeunes annees.
On croit voir reverdir toutes les flours fat 6.5:
Voila les sentiments qui me vient de toi,
Voila co qua ton livre a fait passer en moi.

A Byron, barde anglais, toi, pato de France,
On to compare, ainsi que la belle esperance
Au sombre desespoir; et c'est avec raison
Que l'universe a faite cette comparaison.
Ta pee3ie est tout, rayon, flamme, mystlre,
Ce qui pare, colore ou parfume la terre;
C'est le vente de l'aurore, et la brise des soirs,
Les nuages montant de I'or des enconsoirs,
La fleur entre los noirs barreaux de l'esclavage,
Les perles quo la mer roule sur son rivage,
Le cynge sur le lac, l'aigle au-dessus des moats,
Ce que nous dit tout bas le cceur, quand nous aimons.
Tantot la vbritft, tantZt la parabole,
Et toujours de la vie un C:clatant symbole.
II faut l'accord celeste a nos claviers humains,
Et les notes du ciel bondissent sous tes mains.
1.1 faut un baume au mal que le sort nous destine,
Et ce baume est pour moi dans tes yen, Lamartine!
Cher nom, beau nom, grand nom! qui resume k la fois
Tout ce qu'ont de plus doux les Ames et les vela.

MARRIAGE IN Hum LIFE.—We understand that
the union announced to take place between Miss Hudson,
the only daughter of George Hudson, Esq., M.P., and
Mr. George Dundas, M.P., will be celebrated with great
splendour at Christmas. The bride has not yet com-
pleted her eigteenth year, and the gentleman is in his
twenty-eighth. Rumour speaks strongly of the beauty,
amiability, and highly cultivated mind of Miss Hudson.
Mr. George Dundas, who has represented Linlithgow-
shire in Parliament since 1847, is a deputy lieutenant
for that. county, and has seen considerable service abroad
in the Rifle Brigade ; he is the eldest son of James
Dundas, Esq., his mother being the daughter of the
celebrated Admiral Viscount Duncan. The principal
seat of the family consists of the fine old baronial man-
sion known as Dundas Castle, in Linlithgowshire, aud,
with the surrounding domain, has been in the family
since the twelfth century.
Andrew Govan, M.D., who has been well known
for years as one of the " characters of Greentick," died
yesterday afternoon; and those who kne* him only by
his appearance on the streets will be surpriked to learn
that he has left behind him upwards of 2,0001. He was
a sober, civil, and intelligea man; but had a most tho-
rough contempt for personal adornment, and, in truth,
for cleanliness. He 4as not a professed beggar, but
many of our townsmen who had known him in what they
thought better citcumstances were in the regular habit
of giving him shillings in charity, which he always ac-
cepted with thanks. He bad no miserly disregard of the
comforts of life, but always enjoyed himself moderately
and deco:n-11y. He has left a large family. Some of his
acquairttances occasionally repeated to him stories of his
wealth, but Andrew's invariable reply was " Whaur wad
I get it?"—Greenock Advertiser.
ANECDOTE OF BISHOP BAaarNoToN.—A young
relative apprised the Bishop of his intention of taking
holy orders; not that he liked the Church
his near
and having much splendid preferment at his disposal) he
might naturally expect a benefice. "In truth," returned
the Prelate, in reply to this frank avowal, " the expecta-
tion is not unreasonable. We are closely connected, and
I have much in my gift. What would content you ?"
" From you, my Lord," rejoined the young Oxonian,
frankky, nothing under a living of six hundred a year."
"You shall have that provision for life, out of the
Church, not in it. That income shall be assigned you
from my private resources. God forbid that I should
be accessory to any man's taking holy orders from
sordid motive's ! The stipulated provision is yours ;
but, mark nie, on this condition, that you remain a
layman." .t"
DEPAUTTJRE OF PRINCE LOUIS NAPOLEON..--yes:
terday morning, Prince Louis Napoleon Bonaparte,
attended by his secretary and suite, left his residence,
No. 3A, King-street, St. James's-square. No authentic
information could be obtained relative to the Prince's
destination, but it is generally supposed that he has pro-
ceeded direct to Paris.