mission shall consist of Commissioners named by Austria, Russia, Great Britain, and Prussia, who shall negociate with the French Government. The other Allied States shall be at liberty to name Commissioners in the same manner, in order to concert for their interests directly with the said Commission, which will be charged to deliver to them the effects, or the money which it shall receive for them. Regulations shall be drawn up without delay to fix their functions more exactly, to which shall be added a table of the "pro rata," which every party will have to claim in each payment, according to the bases fixed in the present Protocol.
Art. XIV. The 50 millions of francs fixed for the pay and other necessaries of the armies occupying a part of France, according to the Article of the Military Convention annexed to the
Treaty of the 20th Nov. are to be divided as follows:- Russia Austria England Prussia
7,142,857f.16c. 10,714,285 71 10,714,285 71 10,714,285 71 The other Allies 10,714,285 71 If France, as will be the case in the first years, shall pay only 30 millions, or any other sum than 50 millions, for the above object, the same proportion shall take place in the partition of the sums thus modified.
The money here mentioned shall be received and divided by the Commission to be appointed according to the 13th article of this Protocol, to receive the indemnity in money.
Art. XV. Four copies of this Protocol shall be made out, which shall be provided with the signatures of the undersigned Plenipotentiaries, and shall have the force and validity above-mentioned.
From Mr. Southey's Poem of Don Roderick the Last of the Goths.
WELVE weary days, with unremitted speed,
TShunning frequented tracts, the travellers
Pursued their way; the mountain path they chose, The forest or the lonely heath wide spread, Where cistus shrubs sole-seen exhaled at noon Their fine balsamic odour all around; Strew'd with their blossoms, frail as beautiful, The thirsty soil at eve; and when the sun Relumed the gladdened earth, opening anew Their stores exuberant, prodigal as frail, Whitened again the wilderness. They left The dark Sierra's skirts behind, and crost The wilds where Ana in her native hills Collects her sister springs, and hurries on Her course melodious amid loveliest glens, With forest and with fruitage overbower'd. These scenes profusely blest by Heaven they left, Where o'er the hazel and the quince the vine Wide mantling spreads: and clinging round the cork And ilex, hangs amid their dusky leaves Garlands of brightest hue, with reddening fruit Pendant, or clusters cool of glassy green. So holding on o'er mountain and o'er vale, Tagus they crost where midland on his way The King of Rivers rolls his stately stream; And rude Alverches' wide and stony bed; And Duro distant far; and many a stream And many a field obscure, in future war For bloody theatre of famous deeds
Fore doomed; and deserts where in years to come Shall populous towns arise, and crested towers And stately temples rear their heads on high.
Cautious with course circuitous they shunn'd The embattled city which in oldest time Thrice greatest Hermes built, so fables say, Now subjugate, but fated to behold
Ere long the heroic Prince (who passing now Unknown and silently the dangerous track, Turns thither his regardant eye) come down Victorious from the heights, and bear abroad Her banner'd Lion, symbol to the Moor Of rout and death through many an age of blood, Lo there the Asturian hills! far in the west, Huge Rabanal and Foncebadon huge, Pre-eminent, their giant bulk display, Darkening with earliest shade the distant vales Of Leon and with evening premature. Far in Cantabria eastward the long line Extends beyond the reach of eagle's eye, When buoyant in mid-heaven the bird of Jove Soars at his loftiest pitch. In the north, before The travellers the Erbasian mountains rise, Bounding the land beloved, their native land.
How calmly gliding through the dark blue sky The midnight moon ascends; her placid beams, Through thinly scattered leaves and boughs grotesque, Mottle with mazy shades the orchard slope; Here, o'er the chesnut's fretted foliage grey And massy, motionless they spread; here shine Upon the crags, deepening with blacker night Their chasms; and there the glittering argentry Ripples and glances on the confluent streams. A lovelier, purer light than that of day Rests on the hills; and oh how awfully Into that deep and tranquil firmament The summits of Auseva rise serene! The watchman on the battlements partakes The stillness of the solemn hour: he feels The silence of the earth, the endless sound Of flowing water soothes him, and the stars
Which in that brighest moon-light well-nigh quench'd, Scarce visible, as in the utmost depth
Of yonder sapphire infinite, are seen,
Draw on with elevating influence
Towards eternity the attemper'd mind.
Musing on worlds beyond the grave he stands,
And to the Virgin Mother silently
Breathes forth her hymn of praise.
Before the castle, round their mouldering fires, Lie on the heath out-stretch'd. Pelayo's hall Is full, and he upon his careful couch
Hears all around the deep and long-drawn breath Of sleep; for gentle night had brought to these Perfect and undisturbed repose, alike
Of corporal powers and inward faculty. Wakeful the while he lay.
Now calm and lovely in its summer course, Held by those huts its everlasting way Towards Pionia. They whose flocks and herds Drink of its waters call it Deva.
Pelayo southward up the ruder vale
Traced it, his guide unerring. Amid heaps Of mountain wreck, on either side thrown high, The wide-spread traces of its wintry might, The tortuous channel wound; o'er beds of sand Here silently it flows; here, from the rock Rebutted, curls and eddies; plunges here Precipitate; here, roaring among crags, It leaps and foams and whirls and hurries on. Grey alders here and bushy hazels hid
The mossy side: their wreathed and knotted feet Bared by the current, now against its force Repaying the support they found, upheld
The bank secure. Here, bending to the stream, The birch fantastic stretch'd its rugged trunk, Tall and erect, from whence as from their base Each like a tree its silver branches grew. The cherry here hung for the birds of heaven Its rosy fruit on high. The elder there Its purple berries o'er the water bent, Heavily hanging. Here amid the brook, Grey as the stone to which they clung, half root Half trunk, the young ash rises from the rock; And there its parent lifts a lofty head,
And spreads its graceful boughs; the passing wind With twinkling motion lifts the silent leaves, And shakes its rattling tufts.
Behind him left the farthest dwelling place Of man; no fields of waving corn were here, Nor wicker storehouse for the autumnal grain, Vineyard, nor bowery fig, nor fruitful grove: Only the rocky vale, the mountain stream,
Incumbent crags, and hills that over hills Arose on either hand, here hung with woods, Here rich with heath, that o'er some smooth ascent Its purple glory spread, or golden gorse; Bare here, and striated with many a hue, Scored by the wintry rain; by torrents here Riven, and by overhanging rocks abrupt. Pelayo, upward as he cast his eyes
Where crags loose-hanging o'er the narrow pass Impended, there beheld his country's strength Insuperable, and in his heart rejoiced.
From Mr. Scott's Lord of the Isles.
"WAKE, Maid of Lorn!" the Ministrels sung, Thy rugged halls, Artornish! rung, And the dark seas, thy towers that lave, Heaved on the beach a softer wave,
As mid the tuneful choir to keep
The Diapason of the deep.
Lull'd were the winds on Inninmore, And green Loch-Alline's woodland shore, As if wild woods had waves had pleasure In listing to the lovely measure. And ne'er to symphony more sweet Gave mountain echoes answer meet,
Since, met from mainland and from isle, Ross, Arran, Ilay, and Argyle, Each minstrel's tributary lay Paid homage to the festal day. Dull and dishonour'd were the bard, Worthless of guerdon and regard, Deaf to the hope of minstrel fame, Or lady's smiles, his noblest aim, Who on that morn's resistless call Were silent in Artornish hall.
"Wake, Maid of Lorn!" 'twas thus they sung, And yet more proud the descant rung, "Wake, Maid of Lorn! high right is ours, To charm dull sleep from Beauty's bowers; Earth, Ocean, Air, have nought so shy But owns the power of ministrelsy.
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