Earth's fruits be ashes in his mouth-the leaves
On which he lays his head to sleep be strew'd
With scorpions! May his dreams be of his victim!
His waking a continual dread of death!
May the clear rivers turn to blood, as he
Stoops down to stain them with his raging lip!
May every element shun or change to him!
May he live in the pangs which others die with!
And death itself wax something worse than death
To him who first acquainted him with man!
Hence, fratricide! henceforth that word is Cain,
Through all the coming myriads of mankind,
Who shall abhor thee, though thou wert their sire!
May the grass wither from thy feet! the woods
Deny thee shelter! earth a home! the dust

A grave! the sun his light! and heaven her God!

[Exit EVE. Adam. Cain! get thee forth; we dwell no more together. Depart and leave the dead to me

-I am

Henceforth alone-we never must meet more.

Adah. Oh, part not with him thus, my father: do not

Add thy deep curse to Eve's upon his head!

Adam. I curse him not; his spirit be his curse.

Come, Zillah!

Zillah. I must watch my husband's corse.
Adam. We will return again, when he is gone
Who hath provided for us this dread office.
Come, Zillah!

Zillah. Yet one kiss on yon pale clay,

And those lips once so warm-my heart! my heart! [Exeunt ADAM and ZILLAH, weeping. Adah. Cain! thou hast heard, we must go for th.

ready,

So shall our children be. I will bear Enoch,
And you his sister. Ere the sun declines,
Let us depart, nor walk the wilderness

Under the cloud of night. Nay, speak to me.
To me thine own.

Cain.

Adah.

Leave me!

Why, all have left thee.

I am

Cain. And wherefore lingerest thou? Dost thou not fear To dwell with one who hath done this?

Adah.

Nothing except to leave thee, much as I

I fear

Shrink from the deed which leaves thee brotherless.
I must not speak of this-it is between thee
And the great God.

A Voice from within exclaims, Cain! Cain!
A dah.

The Voice within. Cain! Cain !
Adah.

Hear'st thou that voice?

It soundeth like an angel's tone.

Enter the ANGEL of the Lord.

Angel. Where is thy brother Abel?

Cain.

Am I then

My brother's keeper!
Angel.
Cain what hast thou done?
The voice of thy slain brother's blood cries out
Even from the ground, unto the Lord!-Now art thou
Cursed from the earth, which open'd late her mouth
To drink thy brother's blood from thy rash hand.
Henceforth, when thou shalt till the ground, it shall not
Yield thee her strength: a fugitive shalt thou
Be from this day, and vagabond on earth!

Adah. This punishment is more than he can bear.
Behold, thou drivest him from the face of earth,

And from the face of God shall he be hid.

A fugitive and vagabond on earth,

"Twill come pass, that whoso findeth him Shall slay him.

Cain. Would they could! but who are they

Shall slay me? Where are these on the lone earth
As yet unpeopled?

Angel.

Thou hast slain thy brother,

And who shall warrant thee against thy son?
Adah. Angel of Light! be merciful, nor say
That this poor aching breast now nourishes
A murderer in my boy, and of his father.

Angel. Then he would but be what his father is.
Did not the milk of Eve give nutriment

To him thou now see'st so besmear'd with blood?
The fratricide might well engender parricides.-
But it shall not be so-the Lord thy God,
And mine, commandeth me to set His seal
On Cain, so that he may go forth in safety.
Who slayeth Cain, a sevenfold vengeance shall
Be taken on his head. Come hither!

Cain.

Wouldst thou with me?

Angel.

What

To mark upon thy brow

Exemption from such deeds as thou hast done.
Cain. No, let me die !

Angel.

Cain.

It must not be.

[The ANGEL sets the mark on CAIN's brow.

It burns

My brow, but nought to that which is within it.

Is there more? let me meet it as I may.

Angel. Stern hast thou been and stubborn from the womb,

As the ground thou must henceforth till; but he

Thou slew'st was gentle as the flocks he tended.
Cain. After the fall too soon was I begotten;

Ere yet my mother's mind subsided from

The serpent, and my sire still mourn'd for Eden.
That which I am, I am; I did not seek
For life, nor did I make myself; but could I
With my own death redeem him from the dust-
And why not so? let him return to day,
And I lie ghastly! so shall be restored

By God the life to Him he loved; and taken
From me a being I ne'er loved to bear.

Angel. Who shall heal murder? what is done is done;
Go forth! fulfil thy days! and be thy deeds
Unlike the last!

Adah.

[The ANGEL disappears. He's gone, let us go forth; I hear our little Enoch cry within our bower. Cain. Ah! little knows he what he weeps for! And I who have shed blood cannot shed tears! But the four rivers would not cleanse my soul. Think'st thou my boy will bear to look on me? Adah. If I thought that he would not, I wouldCain (interrupting her).

No, No more of threats: we have had too many of them: Go to our children; I will follow thee!

Adah. I will not leave thee lonely with the dead; Let us depart together.

Cain.

Oh! thou dead

And everlasting witness! whose unsinking

Blood darkens earth and heaven! what thou now art
I know not! but if thou scest what I am,

I think thou wilt forgive him, whom his God

Can ne'er forgive, nor his own soul.-Farewell!

I must not, dare not touch what I have made thee.
I, who sprung from the same womb with thee, drain'd
The same breast, clasp'd thee often to my own,
In fondness brotherly and boyish, I

Can never meet thee more, nor even dare

To do that for thee, which thou shouldst have done
For me compose thy limbs into their grave—

The first grave yet dug for mortality,

But who hath dug that grave? Oh, earth! Oh, earth!
For all the fruits thou hast render'd to me, I

Give thee back this.-Now for the wilderness.

[ADAH stoops down and kisses the body of ABEI
Adah. A dreary, and an early doom, my brother,
Has been thy lot! Of all who mourn for thee,
I alone must not weep. My office is

Henceforth to dry up tears, and not to shed them:
But yet, of all who mourn, none mourn like me,
Not only for thyself, but him who slew thee.
Now, Cain! I will divide thy burden with thee.

Cain. Eastward from Eden will we take our way:

'Tis the most desolate, and suits my steps.

Adah. Lead! thou shalt be my guide, and may our God

Be thine! Now let us carry forth our children.

Cain. And he who lieth there was childless. I

Have dried the fountain of a gentle race,

Which might have graced his recent marriage couch,
And might have temper'd this stern blood of mine,
Uniting with our children Abel's offspring!

O Abel !

Adah, Peace be with him!
Cain.

But with me!

[Exeunt.

THE VISION OF JUDGMENT,

BY QUEVEDO REDIVIVUS.

SUGGESTED BY THE COMPOSITION SO ENTITLED BY THE AUTHOR OF "WAT TYLER."

"A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel !

I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word."

PREFACE.

IT hath been wisely said, that "one fool makes many," and it hath been poetically observed,

"That fools rush in where angels fear to tread."-Pope.

If Mr. Southey had not rushed in where he had no business, and where he never was before, and never will be again, the following poem would not have been written. It is not impossible that it may be as good as his own, seeing that it cannot, by any species of stupidity, natural or acquired, be worse. The gross flattery, the dull impudence, the renegado intolerance and impious cant, of the poem by the author of "Wat Tyler," are something so stupendous as to form the sublime of himself-containing the quintessence of his own attributes.

So much for his poem-a word on his preface. In this preface it has pleased the magnanimons Laureate to draw the picture of a supposed "Satanic School," the which he doth recommend to the notice of the legislature; thereby adding to his other laurels the ambition of those of an informer. If there exists anywhere, excepting in his imagination, such a School, is he not sufficiently armed against it by his own intense vanity? The truth is, that there are certain writers whom Mr. S. imagines, like Scrub, to have "talked of him; for they laughed consumedly."

I think I know enough of most of the writers to whom he is supposed to allude, to assert, that they, in their individual capacities, have done more good, in the charities of life, to their fellow-creatures in any one year, than Mr. Southey has done harm to himself by his absurdities in his whole life; and this is saying a great deal. But I have a few questions to ask.

1stly. Is Mr. Southey the author of "Wat Tyler"?

2ndly. Was he not refused a remedy at law by the highest judge of his beloved England, because it was a blasphemous and seditious publi cation?

3rdly. Was he not entitled by William Smith, in full Parliament, “a rancorous renegado "?

4thly. Is he not Poet Laureate, with his own lines un Martin the regicide staring him in the face?

And, 5thly. Putting the four preceding items together, with what conscience dare he call the attention of the laws to the publications of others, be they what they may?

I say nothing of the cowardice of such a proceeding; its meanness speaks for itself; but I wish to touch upon the motive, which is neither more nor less than that Mr. S. has been laughed at a little in some recent publications, as he was of yore in the "Anti-Jacobin" by his present patrons. Hence all this "skimble-scamble stuff" about "Satanic," and so forth. However, it is worthy of him-" qualis ab incepto."

If there is anything obnoxious to the political opinions of a portion of the public in the following poem, they may thank Mr. Southey. He might have written hexameters, as he has written everything else, for aught that the writer cared-had they been upon another subject. But to attempt to canonize a monarch, who, whatever were his household virtues, was neither a successful nor a patriot king,-inasmuch as several years of his reign passed in war with America and Ireland, to say nothing of the aggression upon France,-like all other exaggeration, necessarily begets opposition. In whatever manner he may be spoken of in this new "Vision," his public career will not be more favourably transmitted by history. Of his private virtues (although a little expensive to the nation) there can be no doubt.

With regard to the supernatural personages treated of, I can only say that I know as much about them, and (as an honest man) have a better right to talk of them, than Robert Southey. I have also treated them more tolerantly. The way in which that poor insane creature, the Laureate, deals about his judgments in the next world, is like his own judgment in this. If it was not completely ludicrous, it would be some thing worse. I don't think that there is much more to say at present. QUEVEDO REDIVIVUS.

P.S.-It is possible that some readers may object, in these objectionable times, to the freedom with which saints, angels, and spiritual persons discourse in this "Vision." But, for precedents upon such points, I must refer them to Fielding's "Journey from this World to the next," and of the Visions of myself, the said Quevedo, in Spanish or translated. The reader is also requested to observe, that no doctrinal tenets are insisted upon or discussed; that the person of the Deity is carefully withheld from sight, which is more than can be said for the Laureate, who hath thought proper to make Him talk, not "like a school divine," but like the unscholarlike Mr. Southey. The whole action passes on the outside of heaven; and Chaucer's "Wife of Bath," Pulci's "Morgante Maggiore," Swift's "Tale of a Tub," and the other works above referred to, are cases in point of the freedom with which saints, &c., may be permitted to converse in works not intended to be serious.

Q. R.

Mr. Southey, being, as he says, a good Christian and vindictive, threatens, I understand, a reply to this our answer. It is to be hoped that his visionary faculties will in the mean time have acquired a little more judgment, properly so called: otherwise he will get himself into new dilemmas. These apostate Jacobins furnish rich rejoinders. Let him take a specimen. Mr. Southey laudeth grievously "one Mr. Landor," who cultivates much private renown in the shape of Latin verses; and not long ago, the Poet Laureate dedicated to him, it appeareth, one of his fugitive lyrics upon the strength of a poem called Gebir. Who could suppose, that in this same Gebir the aforesaid Savage Landor (for such is his grim cognomen) putteth into the infernal regions no less a person than the hero of his friend Mr. Southey's heaven,-yea, even George the Third! See also how personal Savage becometh, when he hath a mind. The following is his portrait of our late gracious sovereign:(Prince Gubir having descended into the infernal regions, the shades of his royal ancesters are, at his request, called up to his view; and he exclaims to his ghostly guide)"Aroar, what wretch that nearest us? what wretch Is that with eyebrows white and slanting brow? Listen him yonder, who, bound down supine, Shrinks yelling from that sword there, engine-hung, He too amongst my ancestors? I hate