not be quite so indulgent. They will be universally disappointed in the unreasonable expectation, of finding Mr. Scott always equal to himself. A man is not absolutely obliged, they will say, to publish a new poem immediately after the death of two old friends, especially if it has been written in haste, and is intended to be sold for fifteen shillings. With these complainers, it will require all Mr. Scott's talents to regain his ground by another romance.

Mr. Scott, however, has one sure card, which may perhaps retrieve the fortune of the publication, and keep him still at the top of the fashion. He has most happily struck in with the court-politics and popular passions of the day. Instead of adopting the mild and pacific tone, by which modern poetry as well as philosophy is distinguished, instead of deploring the calamities of war, exciting a sympathy with the sufferings of mankind, and invoking a just indignation against the wanton contentions of governments, he has taken up the ancient function of a bard, to celebrate military prowess, and set off pride, ferocity, and revenge. It is observable that this is the general tendency of his poems. Almost their only moral effect is, to inspire a passion for strife and violence, inducing a contempt for the insipid comforts of peaceful and civilized society, and a secret but decided preference for the times of lawless and sanguinary adventure. Here, however, he is not only a martial poet, but a ministerial partizan. The present poem is in effect a political declamation, inflammatory and antigallican; dealing out invective against our enemies and compliment to ourselves, with a liberality not inferior to the Morning Post. The chief favourites of the public, at this moment, Lord Wellington, Sir Wm. Beresford, and General Graham, are in fact the heroes of the work. Don Roderick and his

vision are mere machinery; pageants in the triumphal procession which the poet has condescended to conduct. We are not much surprised to find Mr. Scott thus blending politics and poetry. He has always stationed himself on

that side of Parnassus which commands a view of the Treasury, and has not scrupled, among other political services, to deviate from poetical propriety for the sake of violating moral decorum. To exult over the unnecessary, unprovoked attack upon a neutral and friendly nation, the seizure of its few ships. the plunder of its arsenal, and the ruin of its city, was an honour reserved, among poets, for Mr. Scott: and the place to give utterance to this magnanimous feeling, was a poetical romance of the sixteenth century! We may add, too, that his credit will of course sufVOL. VII.

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fer nothing, by the appropriation of the profits, or a part of the profits, of this publication, to the laudable fund for relieving the Portugueze: though the poem is intended to appear at full length, we understand, in an excellent periodical work for which Mr. S. discovers a remarkable partiality, -the Edinburgh Annual Register.

he

The invasion and conquest of Spain by the Moors, is commonly attributed to the revenge of Count Julian, for the violence offered to his daughter Florinda by Don Roderick, the last of the Gothic kings, whose battles he was then fighting in Africa. The tradition on which the present poem is founded is, that after the perpetration of this crime, but before the revolution which ensued, Don Roderick had the temerity to break open and explore a tower, in which expected to find treasure, but the opening of which according to ancient prediction, would be ominous of the downfal of the monarchy; and saw there a graphical representation of those calamities by which his kingdom was shortly to be overwhelmed. The particulars of the tradition are amply stated by our author. He professes to extend this vision down to the present crisis, and to divide it into three periods, the first terminating with the settlement of the Moors in Spain, the second including the meridian era of the Spanish monarchy after their expulsion, and the third commencing with the perfidious encroachments of Bonaparte.

The Vision is prefaced by an Introduction, and terminated by a Conclusion, which are intended more particularly to connect this vision with the praises of the campaign in Portugal. The method of the introduction is, to invoke the mountains and torrents of Scotland for a strain to send over the sea to Lord Wellington; to which invocation, contrary to all experience, an answer is vouchsafed, and the minstrel is directed not to seek for it in Scotland, but in Spain. If his intention was to send Lord Wellington a poem in praise of his exploits, which appears to be the meaning of the words, thou givest our lyres a theme,'-the subject of it might surely have been sought for in Spain or Portugal, without any supernatural intimation. If nothing more was intended, than to send the gallant general a poetical romance on any other subject, as the reward of his achievements, we must say there appears very little propriety in performing for the first time, as the poet tells us, the solemn preliminary rite of invocation. If there be any other sense in this introduction, it must be, that the poet does not ask for a subject, but for genius to adorn it: and if the answer to this application, was a direction to go to Spain, the wisdom of declining this piece of advice,

is much more obvious than that of offering it. On the whole, this proem is not very prepossessing; the import of it is ambiguous, and the execution laboured and heavy. The first stanza runs thus; and the reader will perceive from the concluding line, that though Mr. Scott's verses have adopted Spenser's uniform, they are nevertheless a sort of irregular troops, and are not over-scrupulous about breaking their ranks.

Lives there a strain, whose sounds of mounting fire
May rise distinguish'd o'er the din of war,
Or died it with yon Master of the Lyre,
Who sung beleaguer'd Ilion's evil star?
Such WELLINGTON, might reach thee from afar,
Wafting its descant wide o'er Ocean's range;
Nor shouts, nor clashing arms, its mood could mar,
All as it swell'd 'twixt each loud trumpet-change,
That clangs to Britain victory, to Portugal revenge!'

The poem itself, however, begins rather auspiciously. It gives a midnight view of Toledo, where the tyrant is confessing himself to the archbishop in the cathedral. We have often observed, that whatever may be the cause of Mr. Scott's popularity, his chief real merit is the striking truth, the happy freedom, and the captivating beauty, of his descriptions. There is some little mistiness in the following picture, -the execution is hasty and unfinished, and the objects are not distinctly made out,-but, upon the whole, we think it is very masterly.

Rearing their crests amid the cloudless skies,
And darkly clustering in the pale moonlight,
Toledo's holy towers and spires arise,

As from a trembling lake of silver white ;
Their mingled shadows intercept the sight
Of the broad burial-ground outstretched below,
And nought disturbs the silence of the night;
All sleeps in sullen shade or silver glow,
All save the heavy swell of Teio's ceaseless flow.
All save the rushing swell of Teio's tide

Or, distant heard, a courser's neigh or tramp,
Their changing rounds as watchful horsemen ride,
To guard the limits of King Roderick's camp.
For, through the river's night-fog rolling damp,
Was many a proud pavilion dimly seen,

Which glimmer'd back, against the moon's fair lamp.
Tissues of silk and silver twisted sheen

And standards proudly pitch'd, and warders armed between' pp. 18. 14 The next scene is also very striking, though we doubt whether it is exclusively Mr. Scott's. It represents the monarch at the confessional, by the light of a lamp which

is almost spent by the length of the interview. There is a remarkable falling off in the last part of the stanza; which, however just, is but a prosaic explanation of the preceding picture.

• Full on the Prelate's face, and silver hair,

The stream of failing light was feebly roll'd;
But Roderick's visage, though his head was bare,
Was shadow'd by his hand and mantle's fold.
While of his hidden soul the sins he told,

Proud Alaric's descendant could not brook,
That mortal man his bearing should behold,

Or boast that he had seen, when conscience shook,
Fear tame a monarch's brow, remorse a warrior's look.'

Mr. Scott generally succeeds in the dramatic part of his poems. His dialogue, in this instance, is as spirited and striking as usual, though disfigured with antiquated words, and uncouth constructions. The king faulters out a recital of his crimes, accompanied with divers excuses; and on being reproached by his reverend confessor, and threatened with divine vengeance which there is little hope of averting by alms or penance, determines, in defiance of the archbishop's remonstrances, to enter the mysterious vault, and know the worst.

Long, large, and lofty, was that vaulted hall;

Roof, walls, and floor, were all of marble stone,

Of polished marble, black as funeral pall,

Carved o'er with signs and characters unknown.

A paly light, as of the dawning, shone

Through the sad bounds, but whence they could not spy
For window to the upper air was none;

Yet, by that light, Don Roderick could descry

Wonders that ne'er till then were seen by mortal eye.

Grim centinels, against the upper wall,

Of molten bronze, two statues held their place;
Massive their naked limbs, their stature tall,

Their frowning foreheads golden circles grace.
Moulded they seemed for kings of giant race,
That lived and sinned before the avenging flood;

This grasped a scythe, that rested on a mace;

This spread his wings for flight, that pondering stood,
Each stubborn seemed and stern, immutable of mood.'*

These two giants, though full as amiable in appearance as the twin brothers' of Guildhall, are much less peaceable; for while the king and the priest are reading their names, the last sands in Time's hour-glass are spent, and

This convenient word occurs here, as a rhyme, for the third time within the compass of seven stanzas.

Destiny forthwith batters down the wall with his mace.
Through this breach there appears a visionary representation
of Spain, and a succession of future events which are ac-
companied with corresponding noises. First is heard an
unrepeated female shriek,'-that of Florinda, we suppose,
though we scarcely know how it should occur
future events.

It seemed as if Don Roderick knew the call,
For the bold blood was blanching in his cheek.---
Then answered kettle-drum and atabal,
Gong-peal and cymbal-clank the ear appal,
The Tecbir war-cry, and the Lelies yell,
Ring wildly dissonant along the hall.

Needs not to Roderick their dread import tell—

among

"The Moor!" he cried, "the Moor!-ring out the Tocsin bell!"

Roderick is then made to witness and describe his own impending fate.

"By heaven, the Moors prevail! the Christians yield!·
Their coward leader gives for flight the sign!

The sceptred 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 thy own.".
Just then, a torrent crossed the flier's course;

The dangerous ford the Kingly Likeness tried ;
But the deep eddies whelmed both man and horse,
Swept like benighted peasant down the tide.' p. 27.
A short, but lively description is given, of the country
under the Moors.

• 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 flings,
And on the land as evening seemed to set,

The Imaum's chaunt was heard from mosque or minaret.'

This pageant' passing away, Roderick beholds the conflicts of the Spaniards with the Moors for the recovery of their independence; and not understanding the use of gunpowder himself, naturally concludes that the fiends have burst their yoke,' on which the poet himself observes, rather extravagantly, that