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CVI.
As for the rest, to come to the conclusion

Of this true dream, the telescope is gone
Which kept my optics free from all delusion,

And show'd me what I in my turn have shown;

All I saw farther, in the last confusion,
Was, that King George slipp'd into heaven for

one;
And when the tumult dwindled to a calm,
I left him practising the hundredth psalm.'

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Blaugh at the absurdity of the poet, might then be enjoyed by and the usual et cetera. My original motives I already exbe reader, without an apprehension ihat he was guilty of plained ; (in the letter which you thought proper to show ;) profanity in giving it. Milton has been blamed by the most they are the true ones, and I abide by them, as I tell you,

ulicious cnities, and his warmest admirers, for expressing and I told Lpich Hunt, when he questioned me on the sub. he counsels of Eternal Wisdom, and the decrees of Almighty ject of that enter. He was violently hurt, and never will Power, by words assigned 10 the Deity. It offends against forgive me at the bottom ; but I cannot help that. I never poetical propriety and poetical probability. It is impossible meant to make a parade of it; but if he chose to question o decerse ourselves into a momentary and poetical belief me, I could only answer the plain truth; and I confess, I did ma noris proceeded from the Holy Spirit, except on the not see any thing in the letter to hurt him, unless I said he warrant of inspiration itself. It is here only that Milton fails, was "a bore," which I don't remember. Had this Journal smilere Valton sometimes shocks. The language and con gone on well, and I could have aided to make it better for dues arribed by Milion to his inferior spirits, accord so well them, I should then have left them after a safe pilotage off a with our conceptions and belief respecting their nature and lee shore to make a prosperous voyage by theinselves. As it enstence, that in many places we orget that they are, in is, I can't, and would not could, leave them among the 279 respect, the creatures of imagination. The blasphemies breakers. As to any community of feeling, thought, or opinor Miton's derils offend not a pious ear, because ihey are jon, between Leigh Hunt and me, there is little or none. deriis who atter them. Nor are wedispleased with the poet's We meet rarely, hardly ever ; but I think him a good-prinpresumption in legning language for heavenly spirits, be. cipled and able man, and must do as I would be done by.!cause it is a language ihat lifts the soul to leaven ; and we

The Reviewer proceeds to comment on Mr. Hunt's general more than believe, we know and feel, that, whatever may

abuse of Lord Byron's manners, habits, and conversation: be the nature of the language of angels, the language of the poet truly interprets their sentiments. The words are hu

* The witness is, in our opinion, disqualified to give eviinan; but the truths they express, and the doctrines they

dence upon any such subjects: his book proves him to be it ich, are divine, Nothing of the same kind can be said of equally ignorant of what inanners are, and incompetent to any other fable, serious or ludicrous, pious or profane, that judge what manners ought to be : his elaborate portraiture has yet been written in any age or language.-- Blackwood,

of his own habits is from beginning to end a very caricature 1502)

of absurdity; and the man who wrote this book, studiously 1 The " Vision of Judgment" appeared, as has been al

cast, as the whole language of it is, in a free-and-easy, conreaiy said, in " The Liberal"-a Journal which, consisting

versational tone, has no inore right to decide about the condefy of pieces by the late Mr. Hazlitt and Mr. Leigh

versation of such a man as Lord Byron, than has a pert apHunt, was not saved from ruin by a few contributions, some

prentice to pronounce er cathedrå–from his one-shilling galof the highest merit, by Lord Byron. In his work, entitled

lery, to wit-on the dialogue of a polite comedy. We can + Lord Byron and his Contemporaries,” Mr. Hunt assaulted

easily believe, that Lord Byron never talked his best when the dead poet, with reference to this unhappy Journal ; and

this was his Companion. We can also believe, that Lord

Byron's serious conversation, even in its lowest tone, was his charges were thus taken to pieces at the time in the Quarterly Review:

often unintelligible to Mr. Leigh Hunt. We are morally cer. * Ir. Hunt describes himself as pressed by Lord Byron

tain, that in such company Lord Byron talked, very often inWito the undertaking of that hapless magazine: Lord Byron deed, for the mere purpose of amusing himself at the expense on the contrary, represents himself as urged to the service

of his ignorant, fantastic, lack-a-dalsical guest; that he conby the Messrs. Hunt themselves."e.g

sidered the Magnus Apollo of Paradise Row as a precious *. Genoa, Oct. 9th, 1822.-I am afraid the Journal is a bad

buit, and acted accordingly. We therefore consider Mr.

Hunt's evidence as absolutely inadmissible, on strong prebasoess, and won't do, but in it I am sacrificing myself for

liminary grounds. But what are we to say to it, when we find others. I can have no advantage in it. I believe the brothers Hunt: to be honest men: I am sure that they are poor ones;

it, as we do, totally and diametrically at variance both with

the substance and complexion of Lord Byron's epistolary Ley bare not a Nap. They pressed me to engage in this inork, sudia an evil hour I consented; still I shall not repent if I can

correspondence; and with the oral testimonies of men whose do them the least service. I have done all I can for Leigh talents, originally superior beyond all possibility of measure. Hunt since he came here, but it is almost useless : his wife

ment to Mr. Hunt's, have been matured and perfected by is ill; his six children not very tractable ; and in affairs of

study, both of books and men, such as Mr. Hunt never even this world he himself is a perfect child. The death of Shel.

dreamed of; who had the advantage of meeting Lord Byron , ley left thein touilly aground ; and I could not see them in

on terms of perfect equality to all intents and purposes; and such a state without using the common feelings of humanity,

who, qualified, as they probably were, above any of their and what ineans were in my power to set them afloat again.'

contemporaries, to appreciate Lord Byron, wheiher as a * Again-117. Hunt represents Lord Byron as dropping his

poet, or as a man of high rank and pre-eminent faine, ming. connection with. The Liberal,' partly because his friends

ling in the world in society such as he ought never to have at horde (lessrs. Moore, Hobhouse, Murray, &c.) told him

sunk below, all with one voice pronounce an opinion exactly It was a discreditable one, and partly because the business

and in every particular, as well as looking to things broadly did not turn out lucrative.

and to the general effect, the reverse of that which this un* It is a mistake to suppose, that he was not mainly in

worthy and ungrateful dependant has thought himself justifuenced by the expectation of profit. He expected very

fied in promulgating, on the plea of a penury which no Lord | large returns from The Liberal' Readers in these days

Byron survives to relieve? It is too bad, that he who has, i need not be told, that periodical works which have a large

in his own personal conduct, as well as in his writings, so sale are a mine of wealth: Lori Bvron had calculated that

much to answer for-who abused great opportunities and matter well.'- Lord Byron and his Contemporaries, p. 50.

great talents so lamentably--who sinned so deeply, both ** The failure of the large profits-the non-appearance

against the society to which he belonged and the literature of the golden Fisions he had looked for of the Euinburgh or

in which his name will ever hold a splendid place-it is really Quarierly returns-of the solid and splendid proofs of this

too bad, that Lord Byron, in addition to the grave condemnew country, which he should conquer in the regions of

nation of men able to appreciate both his merits and his deDoonely, to the dazzling of all inen's eyes and his own

merits, and well disposed to think more in sorrow than in

anger of the worst errors that existed along with so inuch this it was-this was the bitter disappointment which made binn determine to give way.' - Ibid. p. 51.

that was excellent and noble--it is by much too bad, that

this great man's glorious though melancholy memory * Now let us hear Lord Byron himself :

* Must also bear the vile attacks ** Genoa, ghre 18th, 1822.- They will, of course, attribute motives of all kinds; but I shall not abandon a man like

Of ragged curs and vulgar hacks' Hunt because he is unfortunate. Why, I could have no pe. whom he fed ;-that his bones must be scraped up from Cualary inotises, and, least of all, in connection with Hunt.'

their bed of repose to be at once grinned and howled over Genoa, 10° 23th, 1822.-Now do you see what you and

by creatures who, even in the least hyena-like of their your friends do by your injudicious rudeness? actually ce

moods, can touch nothing that mankind would wish to rement a sort of connection which you sirove to prevent, and

spect without polluting it." ubich, had the Hunts prospered, would not, in all probabilitv, bare continued. As it is, I will not quit them in their Mr. Moore's Verses on Mr. Hunt's work must not be adversity, though it should cost me character, fame, money, omitted here :

1

THE AGE OF BRONZE:

OR, CARMEN SECULARE ET ANNUS HAUD MIRABILIS.'

"Impar Congressus Achilli.”

I.

Though Alexander's urn a show be grown, Tue “good old times”—all times when old are On shores he wept to conquer, though unknown good

How vain, how worse than vain, at length appear Are gone; the present might be if they would ; The madman's wish, the Macedonian's tear! Great things have been, and are, and greater still He wept for worlds to conquer-half the earth Want little of mere mortals but their will:

Knows not his name, or but his death, and birth, A wider space, a greener field, is given

And desolation; while his native Greece
To those who play their “tricks before high heaven.” Hath all of desolation, save its peace.
I know not if the angels weep, but men

He “wept for worlds to conquer!" he who ne'er
Have wept enough-for what?—to weep again! Conceived the globe, he panted not to spare!
II.

With even the busy Northern Isle unknown, All is exploded—be it good or bad.

Which holds his uru, and never knew his throne. Reader'-remember when thou wert a lad,

III. Then Pitt was all ; or, if not all, so much,

But where is he, the modern, mightier far, His very rival almost deem'd him such.”

Who, born no king, made monarchs draw his car; We, we have seen the intellectual race

The new Sesostris, whose unharness'd kings, Of giants stand, like Titans, face to face

Freed from the bit, believe themselves with wings, Athos and Ida, with a dashing sea

And spurn the dust o'er which they crawl'd of late, Of eloquence between, which flow'd all free,

Chaju'd to the chariot of the chieftain's state! As the deep billows of the Ægean roar

Yes! where is he, the champion and the child Betwixt the Hellenic and the Phrygian shore. Of all that 's great or little, wise or wild? thrones? But where are they—the rivals! a few feet

Whose game was empires, and whose stakes were or sullen earth divide each winding-sheets

Whose table earth-whose dice were human bones! How peaceful and how powerful is the grave,

Behold the grand result in yon lone isle,
Which hushes all! a calm, unstormy wave,

And, as thy nature urges, weep or smile.
Which oversweeps the world. The theme is old Sigh to behold the eagle's lofty rage
Of “ dust to dust ;" but half its tale untold:

Reduced to nibble at his narrow cage ;
Time tempers not its terrors-still the worm

Smile to survey the queller of the nations Winds its cold folds, the tomb preserves its form, Now daily squabbling o'er disputed rations; Varied above, but still alike below;

Weep to perceive him mourning, as he dines, The urn may shine, the ashes will not glow,

O'er curtail'd dishes and o'er stinted wines; Though Cleopatra's mummy cross the sea

O'er petty quarrels upon petty things. O'er which from empire she lured Antony;

Is this the man who scourged or feasted kings? “ Next week will be published (as • Lives' are the rage) Mr. John Hunt. Its authenticity was much disputed at the

The whole Reminiscences, wondrous and strange, time.) Of a small puppy-dog that lived once in the cage

? [Mr. Fox used to say—“I never want a word, but Pitt Of the late noble lion at Exeter 'Change.

never wants the word.") “ Though the dog is a dog of the kind they call . sad,' 3 [The grave of Mr. Fox, in Westminster Abbey, is within

'Tis a puppy that much to good breeding pretenus : eighteen inches of that of Mr. Pitt,-
And few dogs have such opportunities had
Of knowing how lions behave-among friends.

“Where--taming thought to human pride !

The mighty chiefs sleep side by side. ** How that animal eats, how he moves, how he drinks,

Drop upon Fox's grave the tear, Is all noted down by this Boswell so small;

"Twill trickle to his rival's bier: And 'tis plain, from each sentence, the puppy-dog thinks

O'er Pitt's the mournful requiem sound, That the lion was no such great things after all.

And Fox's shall the notes rebound.

The solemn echo seems to cry " Though he roar'd pretty well-this the puppy allows

• Here let their discord with them die ; It was all, he says, borrow'd-all second-hand roar ; And he vastly prefers his own little bow-wows

Speak not for those a separate doom,

Whom fate made brothers in the tomb; To the loftest war-note the lion could pour.

But search the land of living men, “ 'Tis, indeed, as good fun as a Cynic could ask,

Where wilt thou find their like again !'" To see how this cockney-bred setter of rabbits

SIR WALTER SCOTT.) Takes gravely the lord of the forest to task,

+ [A sarcophagus, of Breccia, supposed to have containe! And judges of lions by puppy-dog habits.

the dust of Alexander, which came into the possession of “Nav. sed as he was (and this makes it a dark case) the English army, in consequence of the capitulation of With sops every day from the lion's own pan,

Alexandria, in February, 1802, was presented by George He lifts up his leg at the noble beast's carcass,

III. to the British Museum.) And-does all a dog, so diminutive, can.

*[Sesostris is said, by Diodorus, to have had his chanol “ However, the book 's a good book, being rich in

drawn by eight vanquished sovereigns:Examples and warnings to lions high-bred,

“ High on his car Sesostris struck my view, How they suffer small mongrelly curs in their kitchen,

Whom sceptred slaves in golden harness drew: Who'll feed on them living, and foul them when dead.”] His hands a bow and pointed jav'lin hold,

[This poem was written by Lord Byron at Genoa, in the His giant limbs are arm'd in scales of gold." --Popr.] early part of the year 1823 ; and published in London, by 6 (St. Helena.)

1

Behold the scales in which his fortune hangs,
A surgeon's' statement, and an earl's harangnes !
A bust delay'd,' a book refused, can shake
Tho sloep of him who kept the world awake.
Is this indeed the tumer of the great,
Now slave of all could tease or irritate
The paltry jailer and the prying spy,
The staring stranger with his note-book nigh ?5
Plunged in a dungeon, he had still been great;
How low, how little was this middle state,
Between a prison and a palace, where
How fow could feel for what he had to bear!
Vajn his complaint,-my lord presents his bill,
His food and wine were doled out duly still :
Vain was his sickness, never was a clime
So free from homicide-to doubt 's a crime;
And the stiff surgeon, who maintain’d his cause,
Hath lost his place, and gain’d the world's applause.
But smile--though all the pangs of brain and heart
Disduin, defy, the tardy aid of art;
Though, save the few fond friends and imaged face
Of that fair boy his sire shall ne'er embrace,
None stand by his low bed—though even the mind
Be wavering, which long awed and awes mankind;
Smile-for the fetter'd eaglo breaks his chain,
And higher worlds than this are his again."

That name shall hallow the ignoble shore,
A talisman to all save him who bore :
The fleets that sweep before the castern blast
Shall hear their sea-boys hail it from the mast;
When Victory's Gallic column shall but rise,
Like Pompey's pillar, in a desert's skics,
The rocky isle that holds or held his dust
Shall crown the Atlantic like the hero's bust,
And mighty nature o'er his obsequies
Do more than niggard envy still denies.
But what are these to him? Can Glory's lust
Touch the freed spirit or the fetter'd dust ?
Small care hath he of what his tomb consists;
Naught if he sleeps--nor more if he exists :
Alike the better-seeing shade will smile
On the rude cavern of the rocky isle,
As if his ashes found their latest home
In Rome's Pantheon or Gaul's mimic dome.
He wants not this; but France shall feel the want
Of this last consolation, though so scant ;
Her honor, fame, and faith demand his bones
To rear above a pyramid of thrones;
Or carried onward in the battle's van,
To form, like Guesclin'sø dust, her talisman.
But be it as it is—the time may come
His name shall beat the alarm, like Ziska's drum.'

IV. How, if that soaring spirit still retain A conscious twilight of his blazing roign, How must he smile, on looking down, to see The little that he was and sought to be! What though his name a wider empire found Than his ambition, though with scarce a bound; Though first in glory, deepest in reverse, He tasted empire's blessings and its curse ; Though kings, rejoicing in their lato escape From chains, would gladly be their tyrant's ape; How must he smile, and turn to yon lone grave, The proudest sea-mark that o'ertops the wave! What though his jailer, duteous to the last, Scarce deem'd the coffin's lead could keep him fast, Refusing one poor line along the lid, To date the birth and death of all it hid;

V. Oh heaven! of which he was in power a feature; Oh earth! of which he was noble creature ; 'Thou isle ! to be remember'd long and well, That saw'st the untledged eaglet chip his shell ! Ye Alps, which view'd him in his dawning flights Hover, the victor of a hundred fights! Thou Rome, who saw'st thy Cæsar's deeds outdone ! Alas! why pass'd be too the RubiconThe Rubicon of man's awaken'd rights, To herd with vulgar kings and parasites ? Egypt! from whose all dateless tombs arose Forgotten Pharaohs from their long repose, And shook within their pyramids to hear A new Cambyses thundering in their ear; While the dark shades of forty ages stood Like startled giants by Nile's famous flood ;10

1

[Mr. Barry O'Meara.]

? [Earl Bathurst.) s['The bust of his son.)

*[Sır Hudson Lowe.) (Captain Basil Hall's interesting account of his interview with the ex-emperor occurs in his Voyage to Loo-choo."]

6 [The circumstances under which Mr. O'Meara's dismissal from his Majesty's service took place will suffice to show how little "the stuff surgeon" merited the applause of Lord Byron. In a letter to the Admiralty Board by Mr. O'M., dated Oct. 28, 1818, there occurred the following paragraph :-“ In the third interview which Sir Hudson Lowe had with Napoleon Bonaparte, in May, 1816, he proposed to the latter to send me away, and to replace me by Mr. Baxter, who had been several years surgeon in the Corsican Rangers, Failing in this attempt, he adopted the resolution of manifesting great confidence in me, by load. ing ine with civilities, inviting me constantly to dine with him, conversing for hours together with me alone, both in his own house and grounds, and at Longwood, either in my own room, or under the trees and elsewhere. On some of these occasious be made to me observations upon the benefit which would result to Europe from the death of Napoleon Bonaparte ; of which event he spoke in a manner which, considering his situation and inine, was peculiariy distressing to me."— The Secretary to the Admiralty was instructed to answer in these terms:-“It is impossible to donbi the meaning which this passage was intended to convey; and my Lords can as little doubt that the insinuation is a caluinnious falsehood: but if it were true, and if so horrible a suggestion were made to you, directly or indirectly, it was your bounden duty not to have lost a moment in communicating it to the Admiral on the

spot, or to the Secretary of State, or to their Lordships. An overture so monstrous in itself, and so deeply involving, not merely the personal character of the governor, but the honor of the nation, and the important interest committed to his charge, should not have been reserved in your own breast for two years, to be produced at last, not as it would appear) froin a sense of public duty, but in furtherance of your own personal hostility against the governor. Either the charge is in the last degree false and calumnious, or you can have no possible excuse for having hitherto suppressed it. In either case, and without adverting to the general tenor of your conduct, as stated in your letter, my Lords consider you to be an improper person to continue in his Majesty's service; and they have directed your name to be erased from the list of naval surgeons accordingly." O'Meara died in 1836.]

7 [Bonaparte died the 5th of May, 1821.)

8[Guesclin, constable of France, died in the midst of his triumphs, before Chateauneuf de Randon, in 1380. The English garrison, which had conditioned to surrender at a certain time, marched out the day after his death; and the commander respectfully laid the keys of the fortress on the bier, so that it might appear to have surrendered to his ashes.]

(John Ziska-a distinguished leader of the Hussites. It is recorded of him, that, in dying, he ordered his skin to be made the covering of a drum. The Bohemians hold his memory in superstitious veneration.)

10 [At the battle of the pyramids, in July, 1798, Bonaparte said, "Soldiers ! from the summit of yonder pyramids forty ages behold you.")

68

The conqueror's yet umbroken heart! Again
The horn of Roland sounds, and not in vain.
Lutzen, where fell the Swede of victory,'
Beholds him conquer, but, alas! not die :
Dresden surveys three despots fly once more
Before their sovereign-sovereign as beforo;
But there exhausted Fortune quits the field,
And Leipsic's treason bids the unvanquish'd yield;
The Saxon jackal leaves the lion's side
To turn the bear's, and wolf's, and fox's guide;
And backward to the den of his despair
The forest monarch shrinks, but finds no lair!

Or from the pyramid's tall pinnacle
Beheld the desert peopled, as from hell,
With clashing hosts, who strew'd the barron sand
To re-manure the uncultivated land!
Spain! which, a moment mindless of the Cid,
Beheld his banner flouting thy Madrid !
Austria ; which suw thy twice-ta'en capital
Twice spared to be the traitress of his fall!
Ye race of Frederic !-Frederics but in name
And falsehood-heirs to all except his fame;
Who, crush'd at Jena, crouch'd at Berlin, fell
First, and but rose to follow ! Ye who dwell
Where Kosciusko dwelt, remembering yet
The unpaid amount of Catherine’s bloody debt!
Poland! o'er which the avenging angel pass’d,
But left thee as he found thee, still a waste,
Forgetting all thy still enduring claim,
Thy lotted people and extinguish'd name,
Thy sigh for freedom, thy long flowing tear,
That sound that crashes in the tyrant's ear-
Kosciusko! On-on-on-the thirst of war
Gasps for the gore of serfs and of their czar.
The half barbaric Moscow's minarets
Gleam in the sun, but 'tis a sun that sets !
Moscow! thou limit of his long career,
For which rude Charles had wept his frozen tear
To see in vain-he saw thee-how? with spire
And palace fuel to one common fire.
To this the soldier lent his kindling match,
To this the peasant gave his cottage thatch,
To this the merchant Aung his hoarded store,
The prince his hall—and Moscow was no more !
Sublimest of volcanoes ! Etna's flamo
Pales before thine, and quenchless Hecla 's tame;
Vesuvius shows his blaze, a usual sight
For gaping tourists, from his hackney'd height:
Thou stand'st alone unrivall’d, till the fire
To come, in which all empires shall expire !

Oh ye ! and each, and all! Oh France! who found Thy long fair fields, plough'd up as hostile ground, Disputed foot by foot, till treason, still His only victor, from Montmartre's hill Look'd down o'er trampled Paris! and thou Isle," Which see'st Etruria from thy ramparts smile, Thou momentary shelter of his pride, Till woo'd by danger, his yet weeping bride! Oh, France! retaken by a single march, Whose path was through one long triumphal arch! Oh, bloody and most bootless Waterloo ! Which proves how fools may have their fortune too, Won half by blunder, half by treachery : Oh, dull Saint Helen! with thy jailer nighHear! hear Prometheus from his rock appeal To earth, air, ocean, all that felt or feel His power and glory, all who yet shall hear A name eternal as the rolling year; He teaches them the lesson taught so long, So oft, so vainly-learn to do no wrong! A single step into the right had made This man the Washington of worlds betray'd : A single step into the wrong has given His name a doubt to all the winds of heaven; The reed of Fortune, and of thrones the rod, Of Fame the Moloch or the demigod ; His country's Cæsar, Europe's Hannibal, Without their decent dignity of fall. Yet Vanity herself had better taught A surer path even to the fame he sought, By pointing out on history's fruitless page Ten thousand conquerors for a single sage. While Franklin's quiet memory climbs to heaven, Calming the lightning which he thence hath riven, Or drawing from the no less kindled earth Freedom and peace to that which boasts his birth ;While Washington's a watchword, such as ne'er Shall sink while there's an echo left to air : While even the Spaniard's thirst of gold and war Forgets Pizarro to shout Bolivar ! Alas! why must the same Atlantic wave Which wasted freedom gird a tyrant's grave,

Thou other element! as strong and stern, To teach a lesson conquerors will not learn! Whose icy wing flapp'd o'er the faltering foe, Till fell a hero with each flake of snow; How did thy mumbing beak and silent fang Pierce, till hosts perish'd with a single pang ! In vain shall Seine look up along his banks For the guy thousands of his dashing ranks! In vain shall France recall beneath her vines Her youth-their blood flows faster than her wines; Or stagnant in their human ice remains In frozen mummies on the Polar plains. In vain will Italy's broad sun awaken Her offspring chilld; its beams are now forsaken. Of all the trophies gather'd from the war, What shall return?—the conqueror's broken car!

[blocks in formation]

[Gustavus Adolphus sell at the great battle of Lutzen, in November, 1632.]

" (The Isle of Elba.)

3 I refer the reader to the first address of Prometheus in Æschylus, when he is left alone by his attendants, and before the arrival of the Chorus of Sea-nyinphs. (Thus translated by Potter :

* Ethereal air, and ye swift-winged winds,

Ye rivers springing from fresh founts, ye waves,
That o'er th' interminable ocean wreath
Your crisped smiles, thou all-producing earth,
And thee, bright sun, I call, whose flaming orb
Views the wide world beneath, see what, a god,
I suffer from the gods ; with what fierce pains,
Behold, what tortures for revolving ages

“ Eripuit cælo fulmen, sceptrumque tyrannis.") $(" To be the first man, (no! the Dictator,) not the Sylla. but the Washington, or Aristides, the leader in talent 1 truth, is to be next to the Divinity."- Byron Diery.]

& (Simon Bolivar, the liberator of Columbia and Peru. died at San Pedro, December, 1830, of an illness brought on by excessive fatigue and exertion.)

The king of kings, and yet of slaves the slave,
Who bursts the chains of millions to renew
The very fetters which his arın broke through,
And crush'd the rights of Europe and his own,
To fit between a dungeon and a throno?

VI.
Bat twill not be the spark 's awakend-lo!
The swarthy Spaniard feels his former glow;
The same high spirit which beat back the Moor
Through eight long ages of alternate gore
Revives—and where? in that avenging clime
Where Spain was once synonymous with crime,
Where Cortes' and Pizarro's banner flew,
The infaut world redeems her name of " Ncw."

Tis the old aspiration breathed afresh,
To kindle souls within degraded flesh,
Sich as repulsed the Persian from the shoro
Where Greece was-No! she still is Greeco once

more.

One common cause makes myriads of one breast,
Slares of the east, or helots of the west;
01 Andes' and on Athos' peaks unfurl d,
The seli-same standard streams o'er either world :
The Athenian wears again Harmodius' sword;'
The Chili chief abjures his foreign Jord;
The Spartan knows himself once more a Greek,
Young Freedoin plumes the crest of each cacique ;
Debaling despois, hemmd on either shore,
Shnuk Fainly from the roused Atlantic's roar;
Through Calpe's strait the rolling tides advance,
Sweep slightly by the half-tamed land of France,
Dash o'er the old Spaniard's cradle, and would sain
Cote Ausonia to the mighty main:
Bat driven from thence awhile, yet not for aye,
Break o'er th' Egean, mindful of the day
Of Salamis !-there, there the waves arise,
Not to be lulld by tyrant victories.

Love, lost, abandon'd in their utmost need
| By Christians, unto whom they gave their creed,
The desolated lands, the ravaged isle,
The foster'd feud encouraged to beguile,
The aid evaded, and the cold delay,
Prolong'd but in the hope to make a prey ;-—
These, these shall tell the tale, and Greece can show
The false friend worse than the infuriate foe.
Bat this is well: Greeks only should free Greece,
Not the barbarian, with his mask of peace.
How should the autocrat of bondage be
The king of serfs, and set the nations free?
Better still serve the haughty Mussulman,
Than swell the Cossaque's prowling caravan ;
Better still toil for masters, than await,
The slave of slaves, before a Russian gate,-
Number'd by hordes, a human capital,
A live estate, existing but for thrall,
Lotted by thousands, as a meet reward
For the first courtier in the Czar's regard;
While their immediate owner never tastes

His sleep, sans dreaming of Siberia's wastes; | Better succumb even to their own despair,

And drive the camel than purvey the bear.

VII.
But not alone within the hoariest clime
Where Freedom dates her birth with that of Time,
And not alone where, plunged in night, a crowd
Of Incas darken to a dubious cloud,
The dawn revives: renown'd, romantic Spain
Holds back the invader from her soil again.
Not now the Roman tribe nor Punic horde
Demand her fields as lists to prove the sword;
Not now the Vandal or the Visigoth
Pollute the plains, alike abhorring both;
Nor old Pelayo on his mountain rears
The warlike fathers of a thousand years.
That seed is sown and reap'd, as oft the Moor
Sighs to remember on his dusky shore.
Long in the peasant's song or poet's page
Has dwelt the memory of Abencerrage ;
The Zegri, and the captive victors, flung
Back to the barbarous realm from whence they sprung.
But these are gone-their faith, their swords, their

sway,
Yet left more anti-christian foes than they :
The bigot monarch and the butcher priest,
The Inquisition, with her burning feast,
The faith's red “auto," fed with human fuel,
While sate the catholic Moloch, calmly cruel,
Enjoying, with inexorable eye,
That fiery festival of agony !
The stern or feeble sovereigu, one or both
By turns; the haughtiness whose pride was sloth :
The long degenerate noble ; the debased
Hidalgo, and the peasant less disgraced,
But more degraded ; the unpeopled realm;
The once proud navy which forgot the helm;
The once impervious phalanx disarray'd ;
The idle forge that form'd Toledo's blade ;
The foreign wealth that flow'd on ev'ry shore,
Save hers who earu'd it with the natives' gore ;
The very language which might vie with Rome's,
And once was known to nations like their homes,
Neglected or forgotten :-such was Spain;
But such she is not, nor shall be again.
These worst, these home invaders, felt and feel
The new Numantine soul of old Castile.
Up! up again ! undaunted Tauridor!
The bull of Phalaris rencws his roar;
Mount, chivalrous Hidalgo! not in vain
Revive the cry-" Iago! and close Spain !"3
Yes, close her with your armed bosoms round,
And form the barrier which Napoleon found,
The exterminating war, the desert plain,
The streets without a tenant, save the slain ;
The wild sierra, with its wilder troop
Of vulture-plumed guerrillas, on the stoop
For their incessant prey; the desperate wall
Of Saragossa, mightiest in her fall;
The man werved to a spirit, and the maid
Waving her more than Amazonian blade ;-
The knife of Aragon, Toledo's steel;
The famous lance of chivalrous Castile;
The unerring rifle of the Catalan ;
The Andalusian courser in the van;

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