Then lead me near some winding stream,
Whose surface, ruffled by the breeze,
Reflects chaste Dian’s silver beam,
Faintly beheld thro’ shadowy trees:
Then as I view, with joy serene,
The beauties of this tranquil scene:
If contrast aid the pow’rs of rhyme,
To make the beautiful sublime--
Bid the hoarse thunder loudly roar,
And driving clouds invest the skies;
While swelling torrents round me pour,
From rugged rocks their fresh supplies;
Which bursting on the plains below,
The lightning’s transient flashes shew,
Unfolding to th’ astonish’d sight
A cataract of foaming light.--
Be scenes like these thy suppliant’s award!
And give thine other stores to some more happy bard.
* * * * *
_BEAUTY._
A SONG.
When fascinating beauty smiles,
Tho’ deem’d a transient flow’r,
Vain man, with all his boasted might,
Submissive owns its pow’r.
Beauty makes misers quit their gold,
And cruelty its rage,
And gives the ardent fires of youth
To antiquated age.
Th’ imposter Mahomet, who knew
The sweets and pow’r of love,
With ever-blooming beauties fill’d
His blissful courts above.
Aright this great observer judg’d
That beauty’s promis’d charms,
Would lure whole millions to his aid,
And bless his conqu’ring arms.
NEW-YORK: _+Printed by JOHN BULL, No. 115, Cherry-Street+, where every
Kind of Printing work is executed with the utmost Accuracy and
Dispatch.--+Subscriptions+ for this +Magazine+ (at 2s. per month) are
taken in at the Printing-Office, and by E. MITCHELL, Bookseller, No. 9,
Maiden-Lane._
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_UTILE DULCI._
THE NEW-YORK WEEKLY MAGAZINE;
or, Miscellaneous Repository.
+Vol. II.+] +Wednesday, December 14, 1796.+ [+No. 76.+
_From CAMILLA, or a Picture of Youth--just publishing by the EDITOR,
are extracted the following striking observations on the superiority
of mental accomplishments to personal attractions:--_
“Indeed, Sir--and pray believe me, I do not mean to repine I have not
the beauty of Indiana; I know and have always heard her loveliness is
beyond all comparison. I have no more, therefore, thought of envying it,
than of envying the brightness of the sun. I knew, too, I bore no
competition with my sisters; but I never dreamt of competition. I knew I
was not handsome, but I supposed many people besides not handsome, and
that I should pass with the rest; and I concluded the world to be full
of people who had been sufferers as well as myself, by disease or
accident. These have been occasionally my passing thoughts; but the
subject never seized my mind; I never reflected upon it at all, till
abuse, without provocation, all at once opened my eyes, and shewed me to
myself! Bear with me, then, my father, in this first dawn of terrible
conviction! Many have been unfortunate---but none unfortunate like me!
Many have met with evils---but who with an accumulation like mine!”
Mr. Tyrold, extremely affected, embraced her with the utmost tenderness:
“My dear, deserving, excellent child,” he cried, “what would I not
endure, what sacrifice not make, to soothe this cruel disturbance, till
time and your own understanding can exert their powers?” Then, while
straining her to his breast with the fondest parental commiseration; the
tears, with which his eyes were overflowing, bedewed her cheeks.
Eugenia felt them, and sinking to the ground, pressed his knees. “O my
father,” she cried, “a tear from your revered eyes afflicts me more than
all else! Let me not draw forth another, lest I should become not only
unhappy, but guilty. Dry them up, my dearest father; let me kiss them
away.”
“Tell me, then, my poor girl, you will struggle against this ineffectual
sorrow! Tell me you will assert that fortitude which only waits for your
exertion; and tell me you will forgive the misjudging compassion which
feared to impress you earlier with pain!”
“I will do all, every thing you desire! my injustice is subdued! my
complaints shall be hushed! you have conquered me, my beloved father!
Your indulgence, your lenity shall take place of every hardship, and
leave me nothing but filial affection!”
Seizing this grateful moment, he then required of her to relinquish her
melancholy scheme of seclusion from the world: “The shyness and the
fears which gave birth to it,” said he, “will but grow upon you if
listened to; and they are not worthy the courage I would instil into
your bosom---the courage, my Eugenia, of virtue---the courage to pass
by, as if unheard, the insolence of the hard-hearted, and ignorance of
the vulgar. Happiness is in your power, though beauty is not; and on
that to set too high a value would be pardonable only in a weak and
frivolous mind; since, whatever is the involuntary admiration with which
it meets, every estimable quality and accomplishment is attainable
without it: and though, which I cannot deny, its immediate influence is
universal, yet in every competition and in every decision of esteem, the
superior, the elegant, the better part of mankind give their suffrages
to merit alone. And you, in particular, will find yourself, through
life, rather the more than the less valued, by every mind capable of
justice and compassion, for misfortunes which no guilt has incurred.”
Observing her now to be softened, though not absolutely consoled, he
rang the bell, and begged the servant, who answered it, to request his
brother would order the coach immediately, as he was obliged to return
home; “And you, my love,” said he, “shall accompany me; it will be the
least exertion you can make in first breaking through your averseness to
quit the house.”
Eugenia would not resist; but her compliance was evidently repugnant to
her inclination; and in going to the glass to put on her hat, she turned
aside from it in shuddering, and hid her face with both her hands.
“My dearest child,” cried Mr. Tyrold, wrapping her again in his arms,
“this strong susceptibility will soon wear away; but you cannot be too
speedy nor too firm in resisting it. The omission of what never was in
our power cannot cause remorse, and the bewailing what never can become
in our power cannot afford comfort. Imagine but what would have been the
fate of Indiana, had your situations been reversed, and had she, who can
never acquire your capacity, and therefore never attain your knowledge,
lost that beauty which is her all; but which to you, even if retained,
could have been but a secondary gift. How short will be the reign of
that all! how useless in sickness! how unavailing in solitude! how
inadequate to long life! how forgotten, or repiningly remembered in old
age! You will live to feel pity for all you covet and admire; to grow
sensible to a lot more lastingly happy in your own acquirements and
powers; and to exclaim, with contrition and wonder, time was when I
would have changed with the poor mind-dependent Indiana!”
The carriage was now announced; Eugenia, with reluctant steps,
descended; Camilla was called to join them, and Sir Hugh saw them set
off with the utmost delight.
* * * * *
THE VICTIM OF MAGICAL DELUSION;
_OR, INTERESTING MEMOIRS OF MIGUEL, DUKE DE CA*I*A._
Unfolding Many Curious Unknown Historical Facts.
_Translated from the German of Tschink._
(Continued from page 179.)
The death-like paleness of the Duke’s countenance, his perturbated mien,
his steps now slow and now moving with vehemence, and the contortions of
his lips, bespoke the tempest raging in his soul, as exceeding the
violence of the hurricane that was lashing the ocean. The hapless man
now looked up to heaven, and now cast his anxious looks around, as if in
search of some person, and I heard him pronounce repeatedly the name of
Hiermanfor. This sight wounded my heart deeply, and pressed burning
tears from my eyes.
Meanwhile a dreadful accident happened on the sea. The anchors which the
fore-part of the ship was moored with were torn from the cables by the
violent agitation of the vessel, which, riding now only with the small
bower, was dashed against the adjacent rocks. A general piercing cry
filled the air when this lamentable incident happened. The Duke was
going to plunge into the sea, and I retained him with great difficulty
by his right arm. Seeing, however, that his despair rendered him callous
against our ardent prayers not to rush into the very jaws of death,
Pietro and myself tied a long rope round his body, taking hold of one
end. He now plunged into the boiling waves, which instantly devoured,
and soon after cast him up again. Thus he advanced daringly towards the
ship. He seemed several times to have a chance of forcing his way to the
vessel, the irregular motions of the sea leaving him on the dry rocks;
however the towering billows then returned with additional fury, and
buried him beneath an enormous mass of water, which flung the Duke half
dead upon the shore. But no sooner had he recovered his senses, than he
darted up, hastening with new courage towards the vessel, which,
however, began to separate, torn by the violence of the furious waves.
The ship’s crew, who now despaired of saving their lives, plunged in
crowds into the sea, grasping in the agony of despondency the floating
chests, casks, and whatsoever they could lay hold on.
I shall never forget that horrid scene of woe! Two ladies now made their
appearance on the stern of the vessel: one of them was the Countess and
the other Lady Delier. Amelia expanded her arms towards her lover, who
exerted all his strength to join the darling of his soul.--She seemed to
have known the Duke by his undaunted courage. The baroness wrung her
hands looking anxiously at the spectators, and pointing at Amelia, as if
she wanted to say: leave me to my fate, but save my friend! Amelia was
standing on the deck without betraying the smallest sign of fear, and
seemed to be resigned to her impending deplorable doom, beckoning to us,
as if she wanted to bid us an eternal adieu. All the spectators wept,
and rent the air with doleful cries and lamentations. The Duke summoned
the last remains of his strength, struggling with the frothing waves, in
order to save his mistress from the brink of fell destruction; but a
mountainous billow of an enormous bulk forced its way through the space
betwixt the island and the coast, darting at the ship. In the same
moment Amelia rushed into Lady Delier’s arms encircling her friend in
wild agony, and in that situation they were buried in the abyss along
with the vessel.
The stupefaction of horror which we were seized with, rendered us almost
incapable of dragging the Duke on shore. The spirit of the hapless man
seemed to have fled to better regions, along with that of his ill-fated
bride. He was stretched out on the ground, violently bleeding, and
seemingly a lifeless corpse.
I dropped down by his side, seized with terror and grief, imprinting
kisses on his ash-pale face, contorted by pains, I called his, mine, and
at last Amelia’s name in his ear; but seeing him without the least
motion at the sound of the latter, I really feared that he was dead.
Pietro beat his breast, tore his hair, and rent the air with doleful
lamentations. The bye-standers crowded upon us, and perceiving, after
many fruitless trials, some faint vestiges of life in the Duke, we
carried him to the next house and put him to bed. The contusions and
wounds he had received, by having been dashed against the rocks, were
examined by a surgeon, who declared they were not mortal. I uttered a
loud shout, throwing myself on my knees, and offering fervent thanks to
God. The Duke opened his eyes and closed them again. The surgeon desired
us to retire, and not to disturb his rest.
While Pietro went on horseback to the house of the Marquis, in order to
inform him of the accident that had happened to his son, I repaired to
the strand, in hopes that the bodies of Amelia and Lady Delier would be
driven on shore. However the wind having shifted suddenly, as is usual
in hurricanes, I was obliged to give up the hope of procuring an
honourable burial to those unhappy ladies.
The Duke was in a senseless stupor, when I returned. Alas! his spirit
seemed to tarry reluctantly in a world which separated him from his
adored Amelia. But why should I tear open again my half-cicatrised
wounds? I shall not enter into a description of his situation, I still
fancy I hear the shrieks of horror, and the wild shouts which he uttered
during a burning fever, when he fancied he saw his Amelia either in
dangerous or in happy situations. His imagination and his lips were
constantly occupied with her. When, at length, his fever abated, and his
recollection returned, he really fancied the history of Amelia’s hapless
fate to be the delusion of a feverish dream. Although I was very
cautious to dislodge this delusive opinion only gradually, yet the
discovery of his error affected him so violently, that I apprehended it
would deprive him, if not of his life, at least of his understanding.
Here I cannot omit mentioning a scene which happened at the beginning of
his amendment. The Marquis had ordered him to be carried to his house as
soon as he began to mend, and nursed him with paternal care. He came,
one day, when the Duke was sleeping, and I sitting by his bed-side, to
enquire how his son did; as he bent over the sleeper, and seemed to look
anxiously whether any signs of returning health appeared in his face, he
observed on the bosom of his son a blue ribbon. He pulled it carefully
out, and the picture of the Queen of Fr**ce was suspended to it. The
countenance of the Marquis resembled at first that of a person who is
dubious whether he is awake or dreaming; but soon after I saw his face
grow deadly pale, and his whole frame quiver violently. No sooner had he
recovered the power of utterance, then he begged me to retire. Two hours
after he left the apartment in violent agitation, without observing me.
On my entrance into the sick room I found the Duke bathed in tears. The
ribbon was still fastened round his neck, but the picture of the Queen
was taken from it.
I signified to him my astonishment. He squeezed my hand tenderly, and
said:--“You are my only friend, for whom I wish to have no secrets; and
yet I am so unhappy as to have this wish too denied me. Don’t press me
to tell you what has been transacted between me and my father; I have
been obliged to promise with a dreadful oath to take the secret along
with me in my grave--In my grave!” he added a little while after, “I am
impatient to occupy that habitation ever since Amelia and Antonio have
made it their abode.”
“Miguel” I exclaimed, straining him to my heart, “dispel these gloomy
thoughts. You shall learn that one has not lost every thing when in
possession of a friend like me.”
“I know you, and I thank you,” he replied, with emotion, “let us die
together; this world is not deserving to contain us. What business have
we in a world (he added with a ghastly look) in which vice only
triumphs, and good men find nothing but a grave?”
Reader, do not fancy this language to have originated merely from a
transient agitation of mind; alas! it originated from a heart
exasperated by the concurrence of the most melancholy misfortunes, and
this exasperation was rooted deeper than I had fancied at first. It
generated in his soul poisonous shoots which injured his religion. He
declared it to be impossible a good God could designedly make good men
so unhappy as he had been rendered. He ascribed the origin of his
misfortunes to a bad principle, which, having a share in the government
of the world, had appropriated his understanding merely to the execution
of its bad purposes. He maintained that it was contrary to the nature of
an infinitely good being to effect even the best purposes by bad means;
and if there were in this world as much disorder, imperfection, and
misfortune, as harmony, perfection and happiness, this would be an
undeniable proof that the world was governed, and had been created
jointly by a good and bad principle. In short, he subscribed entirely to
the system of the _Manichees_.
I perceived this new deviation of his mind with astonishment and grief,
and thought it my duty to lead him back in the path of truth as soon as
possible, because this error deprived him of the last consolation in his
sufferings. For which reason I endeavoured to convince him, that the
ideas of a bad and a good principle annul each other; that it is a
downright contradiction to believe in the existence of a bad God: that
consequently, the fundamental ideas of his system were absurd, and, of
course, the system itself unsupported. I proved to him that the evil in
this world is not inconsistent with the goodness and providence of God,
and that even the happiness of the wicked, and the sufferings of the
good, ought not to undermine our belief, but rather to strengthen our
hope of a life hereafter, in which every one will receive the just
reward of his actions. But how convincing soever my arguments would have
been to any unprejudiced person, yet they made very little impression on
the Duke, whom the disharmony and gloominess of his mind had too much
prepossessed for his comfortless system. Far from finding the least
contradiction in it, he was firmly persuaded that the belief in a bad
principle served to defend God against the complaints and reproaches of
the unfortunate, while he found a great consolation in venting his
resentment against the bad principle, whom he believed to be the author
of his sufferings. He was therefore firmly resolved to refute the
arguments which I had opposed to his system; and as soon as he was able
to leave his bed, began to arrange his ideas on that head, and to secure
them by a proper train of arguments against my objections. He had almost
finished his work when Alumbrado returned from his journey.
(_To be continued._)
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