The Mirror of Literature, Amusement, and Instruction, No. 579 by Various


Main
- books.jibble.org



My Books
- IRC Hacks

Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare

External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd

books.jibble.org

Previous Page | Next Page

Page 1


port on the left bank of the river Scheldt, immediately opposite to the
city, and now in the possession of the Dutch. The river here is a broad
and noble stream, and at high water navigable for vessels of large
tonnage. A short distance below the town the banks are elevated, like
part of Millbank, near Vauxhall Bridge; and the situation has much the
same character. The river is here about twice the width of the Thames
at London Bridge, and it flows with great rapidity.

Lieut.-Colonel Batty observes, "there is perhaps no city in the north of
Europe which, on inspection, awakens greater interest" than Antwerp. It
abounds in fine old buildings, which bear testimony to its former wealth
and importance. The three most aspiring points in the View are--1. the
Church of St. Paul, richly dight with pictures by Teniers, De Crayer,


being cased with variegated marble, and ornamented with statues; 3. the

forming the most striking object from whichever side we view the city.
The interior is enriched with valuable paintings by Flemish masters; the
height of the spire is stated at 460 feet.[4]

The distance from the mouth of the Scheldt to Antwerp is usually
reckoned to be sixty-two miles, allowing for the bending of the river.
At Lillo, an important fortress, the appearance of the city of Antwerp
becomes an interesting object, and the more imposing the nearer the
traveller approaches along the last reach of the Scheldt.

Antwerp has been the birthplace of many learned men--as, Ortelius, an
eminent mathematician and antiquary of the sixteenth century, and the
friend of our Camden; Gorleus, a celebrated medallist, of the same
period; Andrew Schott, a learned Jesuit, and the friend of Scaliger;
Lewis Nonnius, a distinguished physician and erudite scholar, born early
in the seventeenth century. Few places have produced so many painters of
merit, as will be seen at page 380, by a well-timed communication from
our early correspondent P.T.W.

[1] Copied by permission of the proprietors and publishers, Messrs.
Moon, Boys, and Graves.

[2] The name of Antwerp, says an ingenious correspondent, at p. 287,
vol. xiv. of _The Mirror_, is derived from _Hand-werpen_, or
_Hand-thrown_: so called from a legend, which informs us that on
the site of the present city once stood the castle of a giant,
who was accustomed to amuse himself by cutting off and casting
into the river the right hands of the unfortunate wights that
fell into his power; but that being at last conquered himself,
his own immense hand was disposed off, with poetical justice, in
the same way. We quote this passage in a note, as it is only
worthy of place _beneath_ facts of sober history.

[3] See Antwerp described from a _Tour in South Holland_ in the
_Family Library_, at p. 109. vol. xviii of _The Mirror_.

[4] See Antwerp Cathedral, _Mirror_, vol. xiv, p. 286.


* * * * *


A MALTESE LEGEND.


Hark, in the bower of yonder tower,
What maiden so sweetly sings,
As the eagle flies through the sunny skies
He stayeth his golden wings;
And swiftly descends, and his proud neck bends,
And his eyes they stream with glare,
And gaze with delight, on her looks so bright,
As he motionless treads the air.
But his powerful wings, as she sweetly sings,
They droop to the briny wave,
And slowly he falls near the castle walls,
And sinks to his ocean grave.
Was it arrow unseen with glancing sheen,
The twang of the string unheard,
Sped from hunter's bow, that has laid him low,
And has pierced that kingly bird?
That has brought his flight, from the realms of light,
Where his hues in ether glow,
To float for awhile in the sun's last smile,
Then dim to the depths below?
No! the pow'rful spell, that had wrought too well,
Was sung by a maiden true,
And it breath'd and flow'd, to her love who row'd,
His path through the seas of blue.
As she saw his sail, by the gentle gale,
Slow borne to her lofty bower,
Her heart it beat, in her high retreat,
She sang by a spell-bound power:

Previous Page | Next Page


Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Mon 16th Dec 2019, 10:21