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“ They come! they come! I see the groaning lands

White with the turbans of each Arab horde,
Swart Zaarah joins her misbelieving bands,

Alla and Mahomet their battle-word,
The choice they yield the Koran or the sword,

See how the Christians rush to arms amain!
In yonder shout the voice of conflict roared ;

The shadowy hosts are closing on the plain-
Now, God and Saint lago strike, for the good cause of Spain!"

“ By heaven, the Moors prevail! the Christians yield !-

Their coward leader gives for flight the sign !
The sceptered craven mounts to quit the field-

Is not yon steed Orelia ?-Yes, 'tis mine!
But never was she turned from battle-line:

Lo! where the recreant spurs o'er stock and stone!
Curses pursue the slave and wrath divine!

Rivers ingulph him!”—“ Hush,” in shuddering tone,
The Prelate said; “rash Prince, yon visioned form's thine own.”
The manner in which the pageant disappears is very beautiful.

• That scythe-arm'd Giant turn’d his fatal glass,

And twilight on the landscape closed her wings;
Far to Asturian hills the war-sounds pass,

And in their stead rebeck or timbrel rings;
And to the sound the bell-deck'd dancer springs,

Bazars resound as when their marts are met,
In tourney light the Moor his jerrid fings,

And on the land as evening seemed to set, The Imaum's chaunt was heard from mosque or minaret.' The next scene represents the period when Spain was honoured by all the earth for her courage, and feared for her cruelty and superstition ; and it is introduced by flashes of flame and the newly invented thunders of artillery. The allegorical personages which are then described, are sketched in the true spirit of Spenser ; but we are not sure that we altogether approve of the association of such imaginary beings with the real events that pass over the stage; and these, as well as the form of Ambition which precedes the path of Buonaparte have somewhat the air of the immortals of the Luxemburg gallery, whose naked limbs and tridents, thunderbolts and caducei, are so singularly contrasted with the ruffs and whiskers, the queens, archbishops, and cardinals of France and Navarre. The spoils of America (enough is hardly made of such a subject) and the cruelties of the huquisition conclude the second act. The third, a peaceful state of indolence and obscurity,


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where, though the court was degenerate, the peasant was merry and contented, is introduced with exquisite lightness and gaiety.

* Preluding light, were strains of music heard,

As once again revolved that measured sand;
Such sounds as when, for sylvan dance prepared,

Gay Xeres summons forth her vintage band';
When for the light Bolero ready stand

The Mozo blithe, with gay Muchacha met,
He conscious of his broidered cap and band,

She of her netted locks and light corsette,
Each tiptoe perched to spring, and shake the castanet.'
The unprovoked and unexpected aggression of Buonaparte is
thus described :-

! As that sea-cloud, in size like human hand

When first from Carmel by the Tish bite seen,
Came slowly over-shadowing Israel's land,

Awhile, perchance, bedecked with colours sheen,
While yet the sunbeams on its skirts had been,

Limning with purple and with gold its shroud,
Till darker folds obscured the blue serene,

And blotted heaven with one broad sable cloud--
Then sheeted rain burst down, and whirlwinds howled aloud ;---

. Even so upon that peaceful scene was poured,

Like gathering clouds, full many a foreign band,
And Ile their Leader, wore in sheath his sword,

And offered peaceful front and open hand;
Veiling the perjured treachery he planned,

By friendship's zeal and honour's specious guise,
Until he won the passess of the land;

Then burst were honour's oath, and friendship's ties !
Ile clutch'd his vulture-grasp, and called fair Spain his prize,

• An Iron Crown his anxious forehead bore;

And well such diadem his heart became,
Who ne'er his purpose for remorse gave o'er,

Or check'd his course for piety or shame;
Who, trained a soldier, deemed a soldier's fame

Might flourish in the wreath of battles won,
Though neither truth nor honour deck'd his name;

Who, placed by fortune on a Monarch's throne, Recked not of Monarch's faith, or Mercy's kingly tone.' We are not altogether pleased with the lines which follow the description of Buonaparte's birth and country,—in historical truth, we believe, his family was not plebeian,--and setting aside the old

saying of 'genus et proavos,' the poet is here evidently becoming
a chorus to his own scene, and explaining a fact which could by
no means be inferred from the pageant that passes before the
eyes of the king and prelate. The archbishop's observation on
bis appearance is free, however, from every objection of this
• That prelate mark'd his march--On banners blazed

With battles won in many a distant land,
On eagle-standards and on arms he gazed;

“And hopest thou, then,” he said, “ thy power, shall stand ? O thou hast builded on the shifting sand,

And thou hast temper'd it with slaughter's flood;
And know, fell scourge in the Almighty's hand !

Gore-moistened trees shall perish in the bud, And, by a bloody death, shall die the man of blood! The miseries and crimes of the Guerrilla warfare are painted with horrible energy; and the landing of the British succours, and the portrait of the nations who compose them, are already, we believe, and deservedly in the memories or the newspapers of half the readers of the English tongue. What is so well known it is unnecessary to instance, and our limits warn us that it is time to proceed to the conclusion. Of this the first three stanzas are spirited, but somewhat forced ; · lullaby,' st. 1, is a word unfortunately at present too common in English poetry; but which we own we did not expect to meet with in its present situation. The picture of Lisbon's matrons summing the myriads of France and listening to the distant thunders of the drum is happily imagined ; and the British soldier's sympathy with the victims of his enemy's lust and cruelty, is marked by the strongest features of truth and character.

« The rudest centinel in Britain born,

With horror paused to view the havoc done,
Gave his poor crust to feed some wretch forlorn,

Wiped his stern eye, then fiercer grasp'd his gun.' The praises which follow of Wellington, Cadogan, and Beresford—(though to judge from the words of Mr. Scott himself, the second of these brave officers should seem to owe the minstrel's praise to an accidental meeting in the Hebrides,) are eloquent and powerful; and the merits of the last are finely discriminated in the praise accorded to him as the restorer of the military spirit of Portugal. The following stanzas, however, including the graceful and characteristic conclusion of the poem, excel the noisier and more general panegyrics of the commanders in Portugal, as much as the sweet and thrilling tones of the harp surpass an ordinary flourish of drums and trumpets,

· XVI.

Nor be his praise o'erpast, who strove to hide

Beneath the warrior's vest affection's wound,
Whose wish, Heaven for his country's weal denied ;

Danger and fate he sought, but glory found.
From clime to clime, where'er war's trumpets sound,

The wanderer went; yet, Caledonia ! still
Thine was his thought in march and tented ground;

He dreamed mid Alpine cliffs of Athole's hill,
And heard in Ebro's roar his Lyndoch's lovely rill.

• O hero of a race renowned of old,

Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle-swell,
Since first distinguished in the onset bold,

Wild sounding when the Roman rampart fell!
By Wallace' side it rung the Southron's knell,

Alderne, Kilsythe, and Tibber owned its fame,
Tummell's rude pass can of its terrors tell,

But ne'er from prouder field arose the name,
Than when wild Ronda learned the conquering shout of GRÆME!

• But all too long, through seas unknown and dark,

(With Spenser's parable I close my tale)
By shoal and rock hath steered my venturous bark;

And land-ward now I drive before the gale,
And now the blue and distant shore I hail,

And nearer now I see the port expand,
And now I gladly furl my weary sail,

And, as the prow light touches on the strand, I strike my red-cross flag, and bind my skiff to land.' The lines are for the most part exceedingly harmonious, and on the whole the rhythm of Spenser is far better preserved than by Mr. Campbell. There are, however, some careless rhymes which the latter would hardly have adopted; and there is in three, if not four instances, * an extension of the Alexandrine, which only occurs twice, we believe, in all the works of Dryden, and which Spenser has scarcely ever recourse to in the whole of his long poem. - Was wrote,' in the fifteenth stanza, will hardly be allowed as grammar. But trifes such as these are scarcely worth the instancing, except that even the slightest faults of eminent men cannot be safely passed over; and on the whole, it may be said, that Mr. Scott has presented his country with a poem worthy of his former name, and the glorious theme it celebrates,-a theme exalted above all the

• One of these is indeed altogether anomalous.

• Now, God and St. Jago strike for the good cause of Spain.'


petty interests of temporary politics, whose consequence will only cease to be felt when the importance of every earthly object shall expire.

It is right, though we believe it is hardly necessary, to mention, that Mr. Scott has devoted the profits of his poem to the relief of the suffering inhabitants of Portugal.

ART. XIV. Notices sur l'Interieur de la France, écrites in 1806,

par M. Faber. Tom. 1. St. Petersburgh, 1807. Re-imprimé

à Londres. Chez Vogel & Schultz, Poland-street, 1810. Sketches of the Internal State of France. By M. Faber. Trans

lated from the French. 8vo. pp. 300. London, Murray, Hatch

dard; Edinburgh, Blackwood. 1811. N O man that ever lived has paid to the power of the press a more

unequivocal homage than Buonaparte. He first courted it as an ally-he has since pursued it as an enemy; he now holds it as a captive. He treats it as Louis XIV did the Masque de Fer," with some outward show of respect, but with all the real jealousy of fear; and the vigilance at once active and mysterious with which it is watched, proves that the fortunes of the occupier of the throne of France might be endangered, if not overthrown, by its enlargement.

No instance, indeed, of his unexampled success,—not his battles, his consulate, his throne, nor his marriage,--appears to us so wonderful as his having been able to enslave the press to the extent that he has done; to destroy all the channels of intercourse and intelligence among men; to spread over his empire a cloud which no eye can pierce, and which covers those whom it involves from the world, and the world from them. We know nothing, or next to nothing, of the internal state of France; and in France, they know of what passes in the rest of Europe just as much as it pleases Buonaparte to tell them. It would be not winteresting to trace the steps, rapid and yet almost imperceptible, by which he has proceeded from a slight interference with the press, to the late decrees which have laid it prostrate at his feet; but that belongs not to us : we must content ourselves with seizing those occasions which may present themselves of counteracting his designs against literature and the free communication of public opinion, and of dispelling, whenever we find an opportunity and as far as we are able, that mist which he has spread around him. We cannot, indeed, expect that any external efforts will succeed in casting into France herself one ray of light; but we are still enabled to give to this country some glimpse of what is passing there; and whenever and to whatever extent we can lift the mysterious veil, we feel that we are performing a duty


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