which it was first written, except for the benefit of the stationer,
printer, and the newspapers. Nearly all the poetry of this description is
too _bizarre_, and wants the pathos and deep feeling which uniformly
characterize true poetry, and have a lasting impression on the reader:
whereas, all the "initial" celebrity, the honied sweetness, lasts but for
a few months, and then drops into oblivion.

The story of the Sorrows of Rosalie (there's music in the name) is not of
uncommon occurrence; would to heaven it were more rare. Rosalie, won by
her omnipotent lover, Arthur, leaves her aged father; is deceived by
promises of marriage, and at length deserted by her seducer. She seeks
her betrayer in London, (where the many-headed monster, vice, may best
conceal herself,) is repulsed, and after enduring all the bitterness of
cruelty, hunger, and remorse, she returns to her father's house; but
nothing of him and his remains but his memory and his tomb. She is then
driven to dishonesty to supply the cravings of her child--is tried and
acquitted. During her imprisonment, the child dies; distress brings on
her temporary insanity; but she at length flies to a secluded part of the
country, and there seeks a solace for her miseries in making peace with
her offended Maker.

We can only detach a few portions of the poem, just to show the intensity
with which even common scenes and occurrences are worked up. Here is a
picture of Rosalie's happy home:

Home of my childhood! quiet, peaceful home!
Where innocence sat smiling on my brow,
Why did I leave thee, willingly to roam,
Lured by a traitor's vainly-trusted vow?
Could they, the fond and happy, see me _now_,