brightness ! The buildings glare like steel mol- | judged, save by the more or less of solemn or ten white—and what a furnace glow shimmers terrible effect they produce on the reader. The through the lurid vapour around them! We are half angelic beings which appear in Kehama, are in the domain of the fire that dieth not:

lovely and fanciful, but equally free with their Oh! what a gorgeous sight it was to see

hideous antagonists from any positive law. Their The diamond city blazing on its height,

sole function is that of producing an impression With more than mid-sun splendour, by the light

of beauty. As to the introduction of either class Of its own fiery river ! Its towers, and domes, and pinnacles, and spires,

as Dei ex machinâ, it is an expedient which Turrets, and battlements, that flash and quiver

adds nothings to the interest of the poem ; nor Through the red, restless atmosphere for ever! do we ever feel in such embarrassment concern. And hovering over head,

ing the living personages whom they appear The smoke and vapour of all Padalon,

either to combat or rescue, as to hail or dread Fit firmament for such a world, were spread, With surge and swell, and everlasting motion,

their approach. For in fables of the description Heaving and opening like tumultuous Ocean. contained in these poems, we know that ruin or We will now remark how powerfully our poet deliverance shall be effected in some manner alcan conceive the sublime of desolation ; the wea together supernatural; and it is matter of little

As riness and heart-sinking of a being doomed to

moment in what way they may take place. exist for ages, silent, and uncompanioned by

spectators of the development of legends, or of aught human; the victim of a lonely fate. He is

the fictions of a mythology, strange to all our spell-bound, (for this is the world of enchant- sympathies, and pursued, not with the trembling ment,) in the midst of a fair garden, invisible to

consciousness which recalls the season of earlier common men, and unapproachable save by the

belief or fear, but merely with a curiosity alive feet of the Deliverer, to whom he thus breathes

to discover what combinations of awe or beauty out the sigh of his long agony :

the unknown fable may admit of,—as spectators I looked around my prison place ;

of these remote visions, we say, we are in nowise The bodies of the dead were there,

in a condition to be moved by whatever of purely Where'er I looked, they lay.

supernatural they may contain. The magic of They mouldered, inouldered here......

the mysterious exists in belief alone ; and only Their very bones have crumbled into dust,

they who fear or have feared, can find in such So many years have past ! So many weary ages have gone by!

appearances anything more than an occupation And I still linger here !

for the faney. This condition we may observe, Still groaning with the burden of my sins,

en passant, is fatal to the interest of a fable, Have never dared to breathe

which the poet would fain transplant from the The prayer to be released !

gigantic mythologies of India or Araby to the Oh! who can tell the unspeakable misery Of solitude like this!

sympathies of European readers. And this for a No sound hath ever reached my ear,

double reason. The first, founded on the prinSave of the passing wind......

ciple which demands some familiarity, some kinThe fountain's everlasting flow ;

dred feeling with the tale of wonder we have al. The forest in the gale,

ready indicated,—the other, we think, lies in the The pattering of the shower

character of these Eastern mythologies, the perSounds dead and mournful all. No bird hath ever closed her wing

sonages of which are too vast, inhuman, and unUpon these solitary bowers.

approachable, to attach themselves to our naNo insect sweetly buzzed amidst these groves, tures. Each distinct race of people expresses its From all things that have life,

peculiar character in its superstitions, (a point Save only me, concealed. This tree alone, that o'er my head

that should not be lost sight of,) and the posiHangs down its hospitable boughs,

tive tendencies thus expressed are opposed to And bends its whispering leaves,

such a reception of an utterly strange race of As though to welcome me,

supernatural beings as is requisite to make them Seems to partake of life:

impressive agents in a 'poem. The creeds of I love it as my friend, my only friend ! I know not for what ages I have dragged

other hemispheres are instructive objects for the This miserable life,

contemplation of the philosopher, but they will How often I have seen

never cordially mingle with the poetry of ours. These ancient trees renewed,

There is in the Orlando, a witchery in itself as
What countless generations of mankind
Have risen and fallen asleep,

extravagant and improbable as any that Oriental And I remain the same!

fable might produce; but it is invested with My garment hath not waxed old,

beauty and significance by the inherited associaNor the sole of my shoe hath worn.

tions to which it addresses itself. At the time With all powers that rule over the elements, when Southey’s great poems first appeared, the all mysterious and invisible beings, whether evil drawback to which we have alluded was not imminded or beneficent, the imagination of Southey mediately felt, so dazzling was the effect of their loves especially to converse. A vast progeny of novelty in style, subject, and tone. But to this wizards, genii, Glendowers, hags, and giants, cause, we believe, must now be ascribed the insome divine, others demoniac, stalk across the difference which generally exists towards poems shifting scenes of his two chief poems. These containing more individual beauties than others are creations too nearly resembling the phan- in far greater repute. The interest languished, tasms which attend fever or nightmare, to be and the poetry was in consequence neglected.

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Let us, however, turn from this needful digres.

At that portentous sight,

The children of evil trembled, sion, to produce the portrait of an Indian witch,

And terror smote their souls. whom our poet has made to resemble not a little

Over the den the fire one of our own. It is, perhaps, for this reason, Its fearful splendour cas, that we like her so much. The passage, it may

The broad base rolling up in wavy streams, be remarked, is, perhaps, as fine a specimen of

Bright as the summer lightning, when it spreads

Its glory o'er the midnight heaven. right vigorous English, as any in our later litera

The Teraph's eyes were dimmed, ture. But this is an excellence not rare in

That like two twinkling stars

Shone in the darkness late;
Power made her haughty: by ambition fired,

The sorcerers on each other gazed,
Ere long to mightier mischiefs she aspired.

And every face all pale with fear,
The Calis, who o'er cities rule unseen,

And ghastly, in that light was seen,

Like a dead man's by a sepulchral lamp.
Each in her own domain a Demon-Queen ;
And there adored with blood and human life,

From this abominable rite, let us at once fly
They knew her,—and in their accursed employ to another age ; and take breath on the high-
She stirred up neighbouring states to mortal strife.

lands of Spain, in the day of the heroic Pelayo. Sani, the dreadful god, who rides abroad,

Look! the men-at-arms are mustering at the
Upon the King of the Ravens, to destroy
The offending sons of men, when his four hands

castle-gate. What an animating spectacle ! Were weary of their toil, wonld let her do

Fronting the gate, the standard-bearer holds
His work of vengeance upon guilty laods :

His precious charge. Behind, the men divide
And Lorrinite, at his commandment, knew

In ordered files : green boyhood presses there When the ripe earthquake should be loosed, and where And waning eld, pleading a youthful soul, To point its course. And in the baneful air,

Entreats admission. All is ardour here, The pregnant seeds of death he bade her strew,

Hope, and brave purposes, and minds resolved. All deadly plagues and pestilence to brew.

Nor where the weaker sex is left apart The locusts were her army, and their bands

Doth ought of fear find utterance ; though perchance Where'er she turned her skinny finger, flew;

Some paler cheeks might there be seen, some eyes The floods in ruin rolled at her commands;

Big with sad bodings, and some natural tears. And when, in time of drought, the husbandman

Count Pedro's war-horse, in the vacant space,
Beheld the gathered rain about to fall,

Strikes with impatient hoof the trodden turf,
Her breath would drive it to the desert sands;

And gazing round upon the martial show, While in the marshes' parched and gaping soil

Proud of his stately trappings, flings his head, The rice-roots by the scorching sun were dried ;

And snorts, and champs the bit ; and neighing shrill,
And in lean groups, assembled at the side

Wakes the near echo with his voice of joy.
Of the empty tank, the cattle dropped and died :

We must hurry on, omitting many passages we
And Famine, at her bidding, wasted wide
The wretched land, till in the public way,

had marked for extraction. The following, from Promiscuous where the dead and dying lay,

Joan of Arc, must be introduced, not only as in Dogs fed on human bones in the open light of day. itself a fine vision, (wherein, however, the author

One more passage, and we must close our com is not wholly original,) but also as an instance of munion with the powers of darkness. Here is a certain very positive opinions as to martial glory, ghastly fragment of a scene too long for entire too rigid indeed for youth, and deserted by the insertion. In order to be understood, it must Poet in a maturer age. The Virgin of Orleans first be known that the speakers are certain un. is led in a dream to the abodes of Doom, and clean wizards, assembled in the bowels of the approaches : earth, to spell out the fate of Thalaba, the survi.

A huge and massy pile,- , vor of a family, all others of which the wizards Massy it seemed, and yet in every blast

As to its ruin shook. There, porter fit, have just slain. By consulting the Teraph, a

Remorse for ever his sad vigils kept. hideously created oracle, and by watching the

Pale, hollow-eyed, emaciate, sleepless wretch, fires emblematic of the lives of the hated family, Inly he groaned, or, starting, wildly shrieked, the necromaunts seek the fate of their victim.

Aye as the fabric, tottering from its base,

Threatened its fall, and so, expectant still,
Khawla to the Teraph turned :-

Lived in the dread of danger still delayed.
“ Tell me where the Prophet's hand
Hides our destined enemy?"

They entered there a large and lofty dome,
The dead lips spake again,-

O'er whose black marble sides a dim drear light “ I view the seas, I view the land,

Struggled with darkness from the unfrequent lamp. I search the ocean and the earth;

Enthroned around, the Murderers of Mankind, Not on ocean is the boy,

Monarchs, the great! the glorious! the august! Not on earth his steps are seen !”

Each bearing on his brow a crown of fire,

Sat stern and silent. Nimrod, he was there, “ A mightier power than we,” Lobaba cried,

First king, the mighty hunter; and that chief
“ Protects our destined foe!
Look! louk ! one fire burns dim !

Who did belie his mother's fame, that so
It quivers ! it goes out!"

He might be called young Ammon. In this court

Cæsar was crowned--accursed liberticide ;
It quivered, it was quenched.

And he who murdered Tully, that cold villain
One flame alone was left,

Octavius,—though the courtly minion's lyre
A pale blue flame, that trembled on the earth,

Hath hymned his praise, though Maro sung to him,
A hovering light, upon whose shrinking edge,

And when death levelled to original clay
The darkness seemed to press.

The royal carcase, Flattery, fawning low,
Stronger it grew, and spread

Fell at his feet, and worshipped the new god.
Its lucid swell around,

Titus was here, the conqueror of the Jews,
Extending now where all the ten had stood,

He the delight of human-kind misnamed ;
With lustre more than all.

Cæsars and Soldans, Emperors and Kings,
VOL. 1.-10. X.

2 Z

Here were they all, all who for glory fought,
Here in the Court of Glory, reaping now
The meed they merited.

As gazing round,
The Virgin marked the miserable train,
A deep and hollow voice from one went forth :
“ Thou who art come to view our punishment,
Maiden of Orleans ! hither turn thine eyes ;
For I am he whose bloody victories
Thy power hath rendered vain. Lol I am here,
The hero conqueror of Azincour,

Henry of England !"
Alas for poor Harry !

The only comment we shall make on this extract will be a remark that the Poet, we should think, would feel a little surprised, should he remember it, on reading his own Vision of Judgment, to find, amidst the angelic choir, the Black Prince:

“ His regal sire, magnificent Edward;" To say nothing of Marlborough, Wolfe, and a nameless band, “ Followers of Nelson's path, and the glorious career of

the Wellesley.” Are there, then, two Courts of Glory ? for of Heaven we are informed“ Nelson also was there, in the kingdom of peace, tho’ his

calling, While upon earth he dwelt, was to war and the work of

destruction.” This arbitrary dealing out of penalty and beatitude is a dangerous, not to say a presumptuous employment.

Although, in general, Southey produces his effects by an accumulation of words and images, he does occasionally avail himself of the sublime, resulting from the apt employinent of an unex. pected and brief transition, as in the following passage, where the terrible conciseness of the conclusion inspires an awe more than pages of solemn description could create :With song, with music, and with dance,

The bridal pomp proceeds.
Following on the veiled bride
Fifty female slaves attend,
In costly robes, that gleam
With interwoven gold,

And sparkle far with gems.
An hundred slaves behind them bear
Vessels of silver and vessels of gold,
And many a gorgeous garment gay-
The presents that the Sultan gave.
On either hand the pages go,
With torches flaring through the gloop;
And trump and timbrel merriment

Accompanies their way;
And multitudes, with loud acclaim,

Shout blessings on the bride.
And now they reach the palace-pile,
The palace-home of Thalaba;
And now the marriage-feast is spread
And from the finished banquet now

The wedding-guests are gone.
Who comes from the bridal.chamber?

It is Azrael, the Angel of Death. As we have remarked upon the vagueness of our Poet's human figures, it is but just to give an instance of the success with which he can at times clothe the workings of a powerful emotion

in living act and speech. We must observe, that so long as the actor has only to be described, Southey is commonly clear and happy ; it is when he requires to be put in motion, to feel, and to speak, that we are struck with a want of fixed character in his lineaments, and of harmony and distinctness in his movements. No such fault can, however, be ascribed to this description of Roderick the Goth, when, after losing his kingdom, he first returns from his solitary concealment, to find the Moor commanding in cities that once were his :

The sound, the sight
Of turban, girdle, robe, and scymitar,
And tawny skins, awoke contending thoughts
Of anger, shame, and anguish in the Goth ;
The unaccustomed face of humankind
Confused him now, and through the streets he went
With haggard mien, and countenance like one
Crazed or bewildered. All who met him turned,
And wondered as he past. One stopp'd him short,
Pat alms into his hand, and then desired,
In broken Gothic speech, the moonstruck man
To bless him. With a look of vacancy
Roderick received the alms; his wandering eye
Fell on the money, and the fallen king,
Seeing his royal impress on the piece,
Broke out into a quick convulsive voice,
That seemed like laughter first, but ended soon
In hollow groan suppressed : the Mussulman
Shrunk at the ghastly sound, and magnified
The name of Allah as he hastened on.
A Christian woman, spinning at her door,
Beheld himand with sudden pity touched,
She laid her spindle by, and running in,
Took bread, and, following after, called him back,
And, placing in his passive hands the loaf,
She said, Christ Jesus for his Mother's sake
Have mercy on thee! With a look that seemed
Like idiocy, he heard her, and stood still,
Staring awhile; then bursting into tears,

Wept like a child. A word of explanation must be prefixed to an extract, which, in justice to the author, and for the delight of all ingenuous readers, we must give at some length. It is, to our mind, the most beautiful and original creation of the tender sort that can be found in all Southey's poems. It is touching and fanciful. Here the supernatural is mingled with human feeling, so as to awaken a quick response in the heart of the reader; and how appropriate is the calm simplicity of the language, the sweet and yet mournful cadence of the verse! Thalaba, after a journey beset with perils, whereby he has hoped to fulfil his mission as avenger of his slaughtered father, arrives, at length, at a mountain of ice, within the heart of which is a palace, and a garden kept in constant bloom by the girdle of magic fire that surrounds it. Here, on entering but let the poet tell his own exquisite tale:There lay a damsel sleeping on a couch. His step awoke her, and she gazed at him,

With pleased and wondering look;
Fearlessly, like a yearling child,

Too ignorant to fear.
With words of courtesy

The young intruder spoke.
At the sound of his voice, a joy

Kindled her bright black eyes ;

She rose and took his hand;
But at the touch the smile forsook her cheek.

“Oh! it is cold," she cried, “I thought I should have felt it warm like mine,

But thou art like the rest !”

Thalaba stood mute awhile,

And wondering at her words; “Cold, Lady :" then he said, “ I have travelled long

In this cold wilderness,

Till life is almost spent !" Laila.--Art thou a man, then ?

Thalaba.-I did not think Sorrow and toil could so have altered me, That I seem otherwise.

Laila.-And thou canst be warm
Sometimes ? life-warm as I am ?

Thalaba.-Surely, lady,
As others are, I am; to heat and cold,
Subject like all. You see a traveller
Bound upon hard adventure, who requests
Only to rest him here to-night : to-morrow
He will pursue his way.

Laila.-Oh! not to-morrow!
Not like a dream of joy, depart so soon!
And whither wouldst thou go ? for all around
Is everlasting winter, ice and snow,
Deserts unpassable of endless frost.

Thalaba.—He who has led me here will still sustain


Through cold and hunger.

“ Hunger!" Laila cried;

She clapp'd her lily hands,
And, whether from above or from below

It came, sight could not see,
So suddenly the floor was spread with food.

Laila.- Why dost thou watch, with hesitating eyes,
The banquet ? 'tis for thee! I bade it come.
Thalaba.-Whence came it?

Laila.-Matters it from whence it came ?
My father sent it: when I call he hears.
Nay,...thou hast fabled with me! and art like
The forms that wait upon my solitude ;
Human to eye alone :-thy hunger would not
Question so idly else.

Thalaba.-_I will not eat!
It came by magic !-fool, to think that aught
But fraud and danger could await me here !
Let loose my cloak!

Laila.- Begone, then, insolent!
Why dost thou stand and gaze upon my face ?
Aye! watch the features well that threaten thee
With fraud and danger! In the wilderness
They shall avenge me ;-in the hour of want,

Rise on thy view, and make thee feel

How innocent I am.
And this remembered cowardice and insult,
With a more painful shame will burn thy cheek,
Than now heats mine in anger!

Thalaba.-Mark me, lady!
Many and restless are mine enemies.
My daily paths have been beset with snares,
Till I have learned suspicion, bitter sufferings
Teaching the needful vice. If I have wronged you,
I pray you pardon me! In the name of God,
And of his Prophet, I partake your food.

Laila.-Lo, now! thou wert afraid of sorcery, And yet hast said a charm!

Thalaba. A charm!

Laila.-And wherefore ?
Is it not delicate food ? what mean thy words?
I have heard many spells and many names
That rule the Genii and the Elements;
But never these.

Thalaba.--How I never heard the names Of God and of the Prophet ?

Laila.-Never, ... nay, now
Again that troubled eye! Thou art a strange man,
And wondrous fearful, -but I must not twice
Be charged with fraud !-If thou suspeciest still,
Depart, and leave me!

Thalaba.-And you do not know

The God that made you?

Laila.-Made me, man! my father Made me: he made this dwelling, and the grove, And yonder fountain fire; and every morn He visits me, and takes the snow, and moulds Women and men like thee; and breathes into them Motion, and life, and sense,... but to the touch They are chilling cold ; and ever when night closes, They melt away again, and leave me here, Alone and sad. Oh! then, how I rejoice When it is day, and my dear father comes ! And cheers me with kind words and kinder looks ! My dear, dear father! were it not for him, I am so weary of this loneliness, That I should wish I also were of snow, That I might melt away, and cease to be. Thalaba.And have you always had your dwelling

here Amid this solitude of snow?

Laila.-I think so. I can remember, with unsteady feet, Tottering from room to room, and finding pleasure In flowers, and toys, and sweetmeats, things that long Have lost their power to please ; that when I see them, Raise only now a melancholy wish I were the little trifler once again That could be pleased so lightly.

Thalaba.-Then you know not Your father's art ?

Laila.-No! I besought him once To give me power like his, that where he went I might go with him ; but he shook his head, And said it was a power too dearly bought, And kissed me with the tenderness of tears.

Thalaba. And wherefore, hath he hidden you thus far From all the ways of human kind?

Laila.-'Twas fear,
Fatherly fear and love.

He read the stars,
And saw a danger in my destiny,
And therefore placed me here amidst the snow's,
And laid a spell that never human eye,
Jf foot of man, by chance should reach the depth
Of this wide waste, shall see one trace of grove,
Garden, or dwelling place, or yonder fire,
That thaws and mitigates the frozen sky.
And more than this; even if the enemy
Should come, I have a guardian here.

Thalaba.-A guardian ?
Laila.—'Twas well that when my sight unclosed upon

There was no dark suspicion in thy face,
Else I had called his succour! Wilt thou see him?
But if a woman can have terrified thee,
How wilt thou bear his unrelaxing brow
And lifted lightnings ?

Thalaba.-Lead me to him, Lady !
She took him by the hand,
And through the porch they past :

Suddenly Laila stopped ;
“ I do not think thou art the enemy,"
She said ; “ but he will know.
If thou hast meditated wrong,
Stranger, depart in time,......
I would not lead thee to thy death !" 1

The glance of Laila's eye
Turned anxiously toward the Arabian youth :
“ So let him pierce my heart !” cried Thalaba,
« If it hide thought to harm you!"

Laila.-'Tis a figure,
Almost I fear to look at !...yet come on.
'Twill ease me of a heaviness that seems
To sink my heart; and thou mayest dwell here then
In safety,...for thou shalt not go to-morrow,
Nor on the after, nor the after day,
Nor ever! it was only solitude,

That made my misery here!
And now, that I can see a human face,

And hear a human voice,...
Oh no! thou wilt not leave me!

Can anything be more delightful than the pic- fully delineated than in this simple passage. ture of this fair and loving creature, wearing her This quiet, unaffected character is the charm of heart away because there is no living thing with Southey's domestic eclogues. whom she can converse, save that gloomy father ; Without repeating what has been already eaid nothing to love-all cold! And how touching concerning the excellence of Southey's ballads, her innocent eagerness to keep the first compa we shall subjoin part of one, which deserves, as nion she has found in life! This is not only a a thoroughly genial work, to be given entire, picture beautiful in itself, but a symbol of a deep had we room for it. There is no modern writer and affecting truth.

who, in our opinion, surpasses the Laureate in a We must close our specimens of this poet with certain quaint and racy tone with which he treats two brief passages, illustrative of his manner in serio-comic subjects. homelier modes of composition. The first is from The second night, the taper's light one of his Rustic Eclogues; a style of writing he

Burnt dismally and blue,

And every one saw his neighbour's face was, we believe, the first to introduce in Eng

Like a dead man's to view. land, and in which he has hardly been surpassed. It is a dialogue between an aged peasant, and And yells and cries without arise,

That the stoutest heart might shock, the new inheritor of the property on which the old man had toiled from childhood. The latter

And a deafening roaring like a cataract pouring

Over a mountain rock. is somewhat of a laudator temporis acti, and expresses his displeasure at innovations, uncon

The monk and nun they told their beads scious whom he is addressing :

As fast as they could tell ;

And aye as louder grew the noise
Stranger. There were some yew-trees, too,

The faster went the bell.
Stood in the court.
Old Man.-Ay, master! fine old trees !

Louder and louder the choristers sung
My grandfather could just remember back

As they trembled more and more, When they were planted there. It was my task

And the fifty priests prayed to heaven for aid-
To keep them trimmed, and 'twas a pleasure to me!

They never had prayed so before.
All straight and smooth and like a great green wall.
My poor old lady many a time would come

The cock he crew-away they flow
And tell me where to shear; for she had played

The fiends from the herald of day ;In childhood under them, and 'twas her pride

And undisturbed the choristers sing, To keep them in their beauty. Plague, I say,

And the fifty priests they pray. On their new-fangled whimsies ! we shall have

The third night came, and the tapers' flame A modern shrubbery here, stuck full of firs

A hideous stench did make, And your pert poplar trees ;~I would as soon

And they burned as though they had been dipped Have ploughed my father's grave as cut thein down!

In the burning brimstone lake.
Ah! so the new Squire thinks,

And the loud commotion, like the rushing of ocean, And pretty work he makes of it! What 'tis

Grew momently more and more, To have a stranger come to an old house!

And strokes as of a battering ram
Stranger. It seems you know him not ?

Did shake the strong church door.
Old Man.--No sir, not I.
They tell me he's expected daily now;

The bellmen they for very fear
But in my lady's time he dever came

Could toll the bell no longer ; But once, for they were very distant kin.

And still as louder grew the strokes,
If he had played about here, when a child,

Their fear it grew the stronger.
In that fore.court, and eat the yew-berries,
And sat in the porch threading the jessamine flowers

The monk and nun forgot their beads,
That fell so thick, he had not had the heart

They fell on the ground dismayed,
To mar all thus.

There was not a single saint in heaven,
Stranger. Come, come,'all is not wrong:

Whom they did not call to aid.
Those old dark windows
Old Man.—They're demolished, too;

And the choristers' song that late was so strong, As if he could not see through casement glass!

Grew a quaver of consternation, The very red breasts, that so regular

For the church did rock as an earthquake shock Came to my lady for her morning crumbs,

Uplifted its foundation. Won't know the window now.

And a sound was heard like the trumpet's blast, Stranger.- Nay, they were high,

That shail one day wake the dead; And then so darkened up with jessamine,

The strong church door could bear no more,
Harbouring the vermin. That was a fine tree,

And the bolts and the bars they fled.
However. Did it not grow in, and line
The porch?

And the tapers' light was extinguished quite,
Old Man.--All over it! It did one good,

And the choristers faintly sung,
To pass within ten yards, when 'twaa in blossom.

And the priests, dismayed, panted and prayed, There was a sweetbriar, too, that grew beside.

Till fear froze every tonguc.
My lady loved at evening to sit there
And knit ; and her old dog lay at her feet,

And in he came with eyes of flame,
And slept in the sun ; 'twas an old favourite dog.

The Fiend, to fetch the dead, She did not love him less that he was old

And all the church with his presence glowed, And feeble.

Like a fiery furnace red. In this there is, perhaps, nothing particularly The reader must refer to the poem, for a fur. new or vivid ; but we should find it difficult to ther account of what passed on the occasion thos name a poem in which feelings, that no repeti- vigorously announced ; and we shall have rention can render uninteresting are more grace dered him a service by breaking off at this in

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