the catastrophe-the shores of Greece. All the images and recollections arising from beautiful scenery, the august remains of ancient art, and the wisdom and patriotism of the most heroic age of the world, were at once enlisted as auxiliaries of the story. The ship sailing along such shores became an object of deeper interest and of poetical sympathy; and its final destruction occurred at a spot memorable on that illustrious coast. “In all Attica," says Byron, " if we except Athens itself and Marathon, there is no scene more interesting than Cape Colonna. To the antiquary and artist, sixteen columns are an inexhaustible source of observation and design; to the philosopher, the supposed scene of Plato's conversations will not be unwelcome; and the traveller will be struck with the beauty of the prospect over 'isles that crown the Ægcan deep;' but for an Englishman, Colonna has yet an additional interest, as the actual spot of Falconer's Shipwreck. Pallas and Plato are forgotten in the recollection of Falconer and Campbell:

Here in the dead of night, by Lonna's steep,

The seaman's cry was heard along the deep.""

This temple of Minerva may be seen at sea from a great distance; and the imagination instantly conjures up its appearance on that fatal day when the lightning flashed among the ruined columns, and the doomed vessel, driven like a fury by the storm, bounded through the waves towards the rocky shore. In the softer scenes of the poem this power of association and local painting has an inexpressible charm; and in the whole range of our descriptive poetry there is nothing finer than the pictures of the sunset and midnight on the shores of Candia, as seen from the sea. The solemn calm and delicious beauty and repose of this Eastern landscape prepare the reader, by contrast, for the nautical description that follows, which is brought out with great effect. The boatswain's whistle breaks the silence, and the order to weigh anchor is given. The sailors swarm aloft, fix the bars, and heave round the windlass :

"Up-torn reluctant from its oozy cave

The ponderous anchor rises o'er the wave.
High on the slippery masts the yards ascend,
And far abroad the canvas wings extend.
Along the glassy plain the vessel glides,
While azure radiance trembles on her sides;

The lunar rays in long reflection gleam,
With silver deluging the fluid stream.
Levant and Thracian gales alternate play,
Then in the Egyptian quarter die away.
A calm ensues: adjacent shores they dread,
The boats, with rowers mann'd, are sent ahead ;
With cordage fasten'd to the lofty prow

Aloof to sea the stately ship they tow;

The nervous crew their sweeping oars extend,

And pealing shouts the shore of Candia rend."

The ship is then minutely described. Falconer has been blamed for adding to it "frowning artillery," but every Levant trader carried guns, and the Britannia is represented as a first-class merchantman. The natives gather round the shore in the noon-day sun to see the vessel depart "majestically slow before the breeze," the imperial flag unfurled :

"Then tower'd the masts, the canvas swell'd on high,

And waving streamers floated in the sky.

Thus the rich vessel moves in trim array,

Like some fair virgin on her bridal day;

Thus, like a swan, she cleaves the watery plain,

The pride and wonder of the Ægean main."

It is impossible for word-painting to excel this in clear poetic beauty. Some of the smaller subsidiary sketches, as the waterspout, the dying dolphin, the troop of porpoises, etc., are also inimitable. The tragic portion of the poem is ushered in by a description remarkable for its vivid expression and melancholy grandeur:

His race perform'd, the sacred lamp of day
Now dipt in western clouds his parting ray :
His languid fires, half lost in ambient haze,
Refract along the dusk a crimson blaze;
Till deep immerged the sickening orb descends,
And cheerless night o'er heaven her reign extends.
Sad evening's hour, how different from the past!

No flaming pomp, no blushing glories cast,

No ray of friendly light is seen around;

The moon and stars in hopeless shade are drown'd."

The characters of the chief officers of the vessel are well delineated and contrasted. Albert, the commander, is brave, liberal, and humane, "the

father of his crew;" Rodmond, the next in command, is coarse, boisterous, and obstinate, yet dexterous and fearless as a seaman. One fine touch of humanity redeems his character: amidst the horrors of the wreck the helmsman is struck blind by the lightning

'Rodmond, who heard a piteous groan behind,

Touch'd with compassion, gazed upon the blind;
And, while around his sad companions crowd,
He guides the unhappy victim to the shroud:
'Hie thee aloft, my gallant friend!' he cries;
'Thy only succour on the mast relies.'"

The third in command is Arion, or Falconer himself, who is just mentioned when this modest and striking transition is made :

"But what avails it to record a name

That courts no rank among the sons of fame?"

Palemon, the friend of Arion, and his love story, somewhat interrupt the progress of the narrative, yet few readers would wish them away. His passion is one of unsophisticated nature and simple truth-a scene from Arcadian life—and it is in many parts touched with great delicacy and tenderness. Objection is more justly made to the historical episodes and classical allusions with which the poem abounds. These occur chiefly towards the close of the work, when the reader's anxiety and interest are strongly excited by the impending catastrophe. We see the ship "quivering o'er the topmost waves," or plunging headlong down the "horrid vale,” the furious breakers lashing the strand on which the crew are every moment in danger of being dashed; and we are stopped with an enumeration of the ancient Grecian states and their philosophers, with the Delphic oracle, Parnassus, and Helicon. There is much tawdry ornament, tumid expression, and forced comparison in these passages, but the poet no sooner touches the sea, than he regains his native strength. His verse rises and swells like the tempest, and in such lines as the following we hear the voice of a great poet mingling with the storm :

"Thus they direct the flying bark before

The impelling floods, that lash her to the shore :
High o'er the poop the audacious seas aspire,
Uproll'd in hills of fluctuating fire;

With labouring throes she rolls on either side,
And dips her gunnels in the yawning tide;
Her joints, unhinged, in palsied languors play,
As ice-flakes part beneath the noontide ray :
The gale howls doleful through the blocks and shrouds,
And big rain pours a deluge from the clouds;
From wintry magazines that sweep the sky,
Descending globes of hail impetuous fly ;
High on the masts, with pale and livid rays,
Amid the gloom portentous meteors blaze:
The ethereal dome, in mournful pomp array'd,
Now buried lies beneath impervious shade,
Now, flashing round intolerable light,
Redoubles all the horror of the night-

Such terror Sinai's trembling hill o'erspread,

When Heaven's loud trumpet sounded o'er its head:

It seem'd, the wrathful Angel of the wind
Had all the horrors of the skies combined,
And here, to one ill-fated ship opposed,

At once the dreadful magazine disclosed."

And this Angel of the Wind is personified in a few lines of great power:

'And lo! tremendous o'er the deep he springs,

The inflaming sulphur flashing from his wings!-
Hark! his strong voice the dismal silence breaks,
Mad Chaos from the chains of death awakes:
Loud, and more loud, the rolling peals enlarge,
And blue on deck the fiery tides discharge."

The resources of the seamen in this awful extremity, the throwing of the guns overboard, and the mournful consultation of the pilots, are depicted with a terrible reality. The incident of cutting down the mast scems like a great and sublime sacrifice, exciting intense sympathy:

"Fast by the fated pine bold Rodmond stands,
The impatient axe hung gleaming in his hands;
Brandish'd on high, it fell with dreadful sound,
The tall mast, groaning, felt the deadly wound;

Deep gash'd beneath, the tottering structure rings,
And crashing, thundering, o'er the quarter swings."

The ship at length breaks up; we watch it with the painful interest due to a living being. Lifted high by a tremendous wave she strikes in her descent

upon the marble crags, and, wounded, plunges and reels over the heaving surge; a second shock bilges the splitting vessel, and a third rends asunder the solid oak—

"Her crashing ribs divide,

She loosens, parts, and spreads in ruin o'er the tide."

The scene of agony and despair which ensues is portrayed with affecting minuteness and solemnity. No reckless or desperate seaman leaps overboard, anticipating death, as in the shipwreck described by Byron; there are no yells or demands for intoxicating drink; calm, manly sorrow and Christian resignation, mark the hour of horror and death. And when the tragedy has closed, the poet's art is seen in the picturesque addition of a troop of Grecian peasants, who, roused by the blustering tempest, repair to the summit of Cape Colonna, and gaze down with horror on the flood and ruin below. They descend to the beach to succour the few survivors—

"Three still alive, benumb'd and faint they find,

In mournful silence on a rock reclined:
The generous natives, moved with social pain,
The feeble strangers in their arms sustain ;

With pitying sighs their hapless lot deplore,

And lead them trembling from the fatal shore."

With these lines, so exquisite in their simplicity and pathos, the poem closes, like some magnificent and agitating piece of music, terminating in a few notes of plaintive melody.

Falconer composed his poem chiefly with a view to the gratification of his brother seamen, though they formed then, and form still, but a small proportion of his readers. He, therefore, made a liberal use of terms of art or technical expressions, the effect of which is to render some few passages obscure. They do not occur, however, in the more impassioned scenes, and their intrusion is amply compensated for by the air of truth and authenticity which they impart to the descriptions. We are taken on board the ship, as it were, instructed in its architecture, and witness every action of the Attention is roused by the interjection of such phrases as All hands unmoor! Reef topsails, reef! or Starboard again! and their purport is soon ascertained. And all this professional lore of the poet is said to serve a purpose of practical utility and value. The poem, according to Mr. Clarke,

crew.