The messenger pursued the stream, And swore that it was good.'-pp. 4, 5. General Arpad, who the greatest riches had,' was, it seems, not only an extraordinary fellow in himself, but also the cause of the most miraculous virtues in others. He dispatches a messenger, who, according to the above account, was charged to attack the banks of the Danube, in single combat; and the said messsenger being arrived at his destination, puts to flight not only the banks, but all the fields in their neighbourhood; the stream also, nay, the mighty flood itself fly before his valour in the fray, for we are told that he pursued them to a very considerable distance, and drank of Duna's water there, And swore that it was good.' After the battle was over, what became of the quondam lord of the country? 'Alone he ran, poor flying man! What could he do but leap, To save himself in Duna's stream, One of the advantages a poet possesses who translates from a musical language, such as the Magyar, is, that when he wants a rhyme in his own tongue, he may borrow it from his original. Of this license Doctor Bowring often makes free use, but in no instance, that we remember, more happily than towards the conclusion of the same ballad: "Of those who gain'd the Magyar land, A chief as bold as any, Was Buda, who when Arpad died, Was Magyar's Kapitany.'-p. 9. Francis Kazinczi has written a song of triumph for the frogs of Hungary, who, at least in that poet's time, held their own musical powers in no small estimation. They had a sovereign contempt for the nightingale, who, they said had a hearing of "melody's school," thus anticipating the sort of disdain with which some of our frog-poets speak of the "classical school," and its sad monotony. Upon this song Doctor Bowring seems to have laboured hard with his verse-pounder, a new instrument, for which he has lately taken out a patent. 'Brekeke, Brekeke, brekeke! Brekeke, koax-brekeke, too-oo! Koax, koax-too-oo, too-00; Brekeke, too-00! 'Tis the dawn of delight to the sons of the pond: Koax, koax-too-oo, too-oo! The thunderer made us the favorites of Heaven; 'Neath the green-vaulted wave how we thrive and have thriven! Koax, koax-too-oo, too-oo!'-p. 52. 'Here,' to borrow the Doctor's words, here are some of the adornings of the inward man-here is something of the costume of the mind'! All honour and praise to his wisdom be given. Brekeke, brekeke, Koax, koax!-too-oo, too-oo! But for the honour of Magyar land, we must say, that the book contains better things than these. The love sonnets of our former acquaintance, Alexander Kisfaludy, breathe a tenderness which sometimes penetrates even through the dulness of the translation. We shall cite two or three examples. Thee I envied, joyous bird! Singing love-songs in the dell Answering beauty's fancied call. I, its sorrows, its annoy Would I had th' alternative, For thy song my soul to give !'-p. 80. The feelings that arise from absence are beautifully poured out in the following sonnet : The reader, who is not acquainted with the original, may, nevertheless, easily understand how much the thought is injured by the translation, in the following lines: 'Now another century blended With past centuries rolls away; Sheltering us from lonely woe.'-p. 91. Charles Kisfaludy, the brother of Alexander, has had some success as a dramatist. His first production, "The Tartars," drew forth such enthusiastic applause, that, as we learn from Schedel," the poet could hardly save himself from the rush of young people, who, with loud shouts of joy, insisted on producing him on the stage." His lyrics have considerable merit. The poem called Ages of Life,' is not remarkable for novelty of reflection, but it will afford some idea of the direction and power of his genius. Mid smiling friends and sports, far, far from sorrow, In the bright sunshine of our childhood's morrow, We smile on smiling hours that pass, and borrow And with each image sweet communion have. Each blessed sunbeam in that glorious time And now the bud of lovely Hope is bursting, And, like sweet, shadowed dreams, which fancy nurs'd in To something far above its narrow cell, And seeks with brighter thoughts than earth's to dwell. s strong, and to pursue And tingrant dow's and lovely fantasies: So soul waxes. theble destiny and high emprise Will wrestle with all foes-all storms will meet, And destination, in the mighty strife It mounts on mightier wings than time's-and flies It clads itself in purple like the morn's, Pointing to hope's own pyramid sublime— First, youth's pure love develops the high source Of all existence flung- and angel-wings And so sweet chains surround us till we die, The visions of life's morning-twilight fly Grief cools the life-blood boiling in our breast- Trembles? He trembles as the granite trembles, And health and bliss are labour's better part; Flings radiance on the soul, and leads it on, So fades our little lamp-and so we fade. And midnight mantle darkness round our head- As ever infant slept. 'Tis more: to hope pp. 247-251. The Hungarian Popular Songs,' are not likely to be ever popular in England; and if we extract a few of them, it is rather for the purpose of shewing how little they were worth the trouble of translation. Here we have a dancing song. 'Aching, quaking, tottering, shaking, To my lightly-dancing maid |