Southern telegraph., 1837-05-30


~ Of our years--thc sunny surface Of the
golden we'll You SEQ at once the young
nessof that love, if YOU can compare it with
the love OF Anthony aud Cleopatra, in an
other and no less wonderful tragedy Of the
great master. The love in either, passes
the level Of human emotions; it is the love
Of warmer hearts and stronger natures than
the World knows. But the one is the love
that demands luxury aud pomp, it dispenses
with glory, but not with magni6cence; 1t
lies
sin pavilion, cloth Of gold, tissue,
O'er picturing that Of Venus, where we see
The fancy outwork nature"
Take away the majesty from that love,
and tslnks into the gross passion ofa hnry
dotard and old-eoqucre Bat every thing
about the love of Juliet is Young, pure even
in its passion; it does not lose worlds, bat it
can dispense with the world itself; it asks
no purple canopies, no regal feasts; its
wine is rich enough without dssolving
pearls in its freshness; it is precisely that
which belongs TO the beautiful inexporience
ofthe passionate girl; it is the incarnation
of passion, solely because it is the inearna-
tion of youth. And in that barn belonging
to the convent of the Francisians, the very
convent of the good old frhr of the talo--no
roof aboye--'he damp mould beow-'ho
broken, oblong scpulchre itself, half flied
with green water, IS the tomb of this lelng,
made as familiar to us by genius, as if she
| had really moved and lived before us--as
Iif we had gHzed upon her in the revel, and
listened to her voice from the moonlight
balcony. Nothing can equal the sadness
and gloom of the spot. On the walls yet
remain two old and faded frescoes on the
religious suhjecs favored by Italian art /;
morning and ight the dews fall through the
rathiess hovel, and the melancholy stars
CLEAN on the tomb whence the very dust is
gone II is not even the grandeur of desc
laton-no splendid sepulchre, no cathedral
aisle, no high-archcd roof, iiDpresscs YOU
with awe. A heap of faggots, piled care
less at enc end Of the outhouse, prove the
little yencration in whrh the place is held
the spot is desccrated-he tomb with its
pillow Of stone, to The ewes of the brethren
Of the convent The character Of the place
is drear, unsanctitying, sIovenly discom-
fort! Beautiful daughter of the Capulots
none care for thee, thy love, or thy memo
ries, save the stranger from the Fairy Isle.
VII m a Northern minstrel has taught t.
weep for thoc Ii is this pecuiar dreari-
ness, this want of harmony Ielwcen the
spot and the associations, which makes the
scene 90 impressive. The eager, tender,
ardent Juliet--evcry thought IA passion--
the very Hche of Romance, never fatcd to
be old! and this damp, unrsgardcd hovel,
strewcd with The vile lumber, and profaned
to all uses. What contrast! What mo-
raj of human affections! Had it been a
green spot in some quiet valley, with the
holiness of nature to watch over it, the
tomb would have impressed us with sweet
not sorrowtul associations. We should have
felt the soft steps Of the appropriate spirit o
the place, and dreamed back the dreams %
poetry, as at Argues, or in the grotlo o
Egera. But there is no poetry here AL
is stern and real-the lovcliest vision o
Shakespeare surrounded by the hardes
scenes Of Crabbe. And afar in the cit,
: rise the gorgeous tombs of the Scarligers
the family of that Duke of Verona, who i
bat pageant, thing of foil and glitter, il
the machinery of that enchanting tale. Tel
thousand norins of gold had one of lhes
naughty princes consumed, ip order t
eclipse in his own, The tomb Of bis predecc.
sprS. Fretled and arched inall the elabt
atetracery Of the 18th century, those fet
dial tomls make yet the pride and boast
Verona; and TO Juliet, worth, to the place
f all the Dukes that ever slrutled their no,
upon the stage, this grey stone, and th
mouldering barn. Itis as it to avenge til
slight upon her beautiful memory, that "
yawn as we gaze upon the tembs of powe
and feel so deep a sympathy with this poc
monument cf love.
5 The old woman that showed the place
5 had something in her Of the picturesque
; aged, and wrinkIed. and hideous--wiih he
i hard hand constantly stretched ont for tn
D petty coin which was to pay for admission
: to the spot; she suited welIw all the rest
j She increased the paihos that belongs L
, the deserted sanctuary. How little coul
q she feel that nothing in Verona was sopve
cious to the "Zingaro" as the miserable ho
, vel!-And if il should not be Julie's to,nt
after alt! Out scepiicl The tradition
/ goes far back. The dull Veronese them
selves do not question il! Why shoald we
We all bear upon us the prototype Of tina
! scene. That which made the passion an
: the glory Of our youth, thc Juliet Of th
heart, when once il has died and left Us, lie
! notm its tomb within us, forgotten and IN
, regarded--sulrounded by the n6mber {
base cares, polluted bysrange and indifel
ent passers by (he wishes and desires .
more vulgar hie) unheeded, the sole monu
mont which sanetifies the rude and comino
place abode in which it moulders silentl
away.
THE MAID OF MARTINIQUE.