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'Twas then-like tiger close beset
At every pass with toil and net,
Countered where'er he turns his glare
By clashing arms and torches' flare,
Who meditates with furious bound,
To burst on hunter, horse, and hound,-
"Twas then that Bertram's soul arose,
Prompting to rush upon his foes:
But as that crouching tiger cowed
By brandish'd steel and shouting crowd
Retreats beneath his jungle's shroud,
Bertram suspends his purpose stern,
And couches in the break and fern.
Hiding his face, lest foemen spy
The sparkle of his swarthy eye.
Qual per le selve Nomadi o Massilê
Cacciata va la generosa belva

I saw him ere the bloody fight began
Riding from rank to rank, his beaver up;
His eye was wrathful to an enemy,
But for his countrymen it had a smile
Would win all hearts. Joan of Arc, b. 2.

SOUTHEY.

It has been Mr. Southey's general practice to indicate his classical imitations in his notes the few which follow are either fancies of ours or omissions of his.

-Within that house of death
The clash of arms was heard, as though
below

The shrouded warrior shook his mailed
limbs.
Joan of Arc.
Compositis plenæ gemuerunt ossibus urnæ ;
Tunc fragor armorum. Lucan. i. 563.

C. iii. 4. Sudden through every fibre a deep fear
Crept shivering, and to their expecting

Che ancor fuggendo mostra il cor gentile
E minacciosa e lenta si rinselva
Tal Rodomonte, in nessun atto vile
Da strano circondato e fiera selva
D'aste, e di spade, e di volanti dardi,
Si tira al fiume a passi lunghi e tardi.
E si trè volta e più l'ira il sospinse
Ch'essendone gia fuor vi tornò in mezzo,
Ma la ragione al fin la rabbia vinse
E dal ripa per miglior consiglio
Si getto al acque, e uscì di gran periglio.
Il Fur. c. 18.

Ceu sævum turba leonem, &c.
We need not transcribe the passage
in the Æneid.

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The thousand palaces were seen
Of that proud city, whose superb abodes
Seemed reared by giants for the immortal
Gods.

How silent and how beautiful they stand,
Like things of Nature! the eternal rocks
Themselves not firmer.

We will give the account of the gardens which had been ages ago overwhelmed by the ocean, as the strangest specimen of fanciful description we ever read ;—though we have nothing to compare with it except in one particular.

.. It was a garden still beyond all price,
Even yet it was a place of paradise;
For where the mighty ocean could not spare
There had he, with his own creation,
Sought to repair his work of devastation.
And here were coral bowers,

And grots of madrepores,
And banks of spunge as soft and fair to
eye

As e'er was mossy bed
Whereon the wood-nymphs lie
Their languid limbs in summer's sultry

hours.

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There was a sight of wonder and delight,
To see the fish, like birds in air,
Above Ladurlad flying.
Guizzano i pesci agli olmi in su la cima
Ove solean volar gli a ugelli in prima.
Il Fur. 40.
Baly's annual visit to earth is like
the
sæpe pater Divum," &c. of
Catullus, Nupt. Pel. et Thet.

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Sic fatur: quanquam plebeio tectus amictu The name of Glendoveers, Mr. Indocilis privata loqui. Lucan. v. 538.

* This is the very mournful ballad on the siege and conquest of Alhama," which Lord Byron translated with much spirit certainly, but from a very imperfect copy of the original, and with an obviously imperfect knowledge of the language, in proof of which I refer the Spanish reader to his translation of verses 13 and 17. The circumstance related in the last lines quoted above, so characteristic of the times and the country, and so affecting to the individual, is omitted in Lord Byron's copy; and so much more is omitted, that the whole drift of the poem must be misapprehended. The true history of it is this. The Moorish king receives the news of the loss of Alhama, and, convoking his people, imparts it to them. An old Moor speaks up, and upbraids him for his ill deeds, whereby he has deserved this misfortune; (Lord Byron's copy makes this the person afterwards beheaded, but in fact) the ballad here breaks off, as usual with such compositions, and passes to the arrest by the king's officer of the Alcayde of Alhama, who had been absent from his post when it was lost; and his energetic de

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fence is partly omitted by Lord Byron, and partly made unintelligible by being put into the mouth of the contumacious Moor. doom, and the reason of it, which we translate in Lord Byron's metre (freely, of course, The officer, in arresting him, announces his having to make a verse out of two lines).

In all the land no fairer town,
Or richer, saw the sun go down;
Than this the king gave thee to keep;
Than this whose loss the king doth weep.
Woe is me, Alhama!

pues perdiste la tenencia
de una ciudad tan preciada.

And then the speech which follows his arrest is intelligible and affecting, though Lord Byron is determined to make the worst of it, and omits the two first verses, which form the Alcayde's defence of himself: they run thus:

At my sister's spousals I

Was absent, I will not deny;

(On her spousals, and on all

Who bade me to them, Hell-fire fall!)
Woe is me, Alhama!

But I had license ere I went
For longer time than there I spent ;
Whereof me more the monarch gave
By six days than I cared to crave.

Woe is me, Alhama!

Yo me estaba en Antequera
en bodas de una hermana,
(mal fuego quemen las bodas
y quien a ellos mi llamara.)

ay de mi Alhama !

El rey mi dio la licencia
que yo no me la tomara:
pedila por quince dias,
diamela por tres semanas.

Lord Byron includes the captivity of the Moor's daughter :

I lost a damsel in that hour,

Of all the land the loveliest flower;
Doubloons a hundred I would pay,
And think her ransom cheap that day.
Woe is me, Alhama!

ay de mi Alhama!

But he omits the peculiar circumstance we mentioned before-the maiden's apostacy from her father's faith.

A hundred doblas down I told,

And they spurn'd the proffered gold,

I them besought for Fatima,

And they made answer-thus said they.
Woe is me, Alhama!

The damsel whom thou com'st to claim,
Doña Maria is her name;

Purged from Islam's foul offence

By holy water-get thee hence.

Woe is me, Alhama!

So much for Lord Byron's version from the Spanish ;

cien doblas le doi por ella,
no me las estima en nada
la respuesta que mi han dado
es que mi hija es Christiana.
ay de mi Alhama!

y por nombre la avian puesto
Doña Maria de Alhama;
el nombre que ella tenia
Mora Fatima se llama.

"Translating tongues he knows not e'en by letter,*
And sweating plays so middling bad were better."

ay de mi Alhama!

"O nescia mens hominum fati sortisque futuræ!" Thus it is that our day goes down, the chickens come home to roost, (καταραι, ως καὶ τα αλεκτρυονονεόττα, οικον αεί, οψε κεν Tarnav exadiσoμeval.) and we become the objects of our own satires!

* See his mistake of ñ for n.

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For while thine absence they deplore, "Tis for themselves they weep, Though they behold thy face no more, In peace thine ashes sleep.

IA.

Minor Poems. Woe unto us, not her; for she sleeps well. Childe Har. c. 4. Probably a hundred might be quoted to the same purpose; the earliest, simplest, and therefore most beautiful expression of the sentiment which we know, is in a funeral song by one of the Jewish Rabbis, and quoted in Mr. Lyndsay's notes to his very solemn and beautiful compositions, the Dramas of the Ancient World. It stands thus:

"Mourn for the mourners, and not for the dead; for he is at rest, and we in tears."

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There are, gloomy Ocean, a brotherless clan,
Who traverse thy banishing waves,
The poor disinherited outcasts of man,
Whom Avarice coins into slaves!
From the homes of their kindred, their
forefathers' graves,

Love, friendship, and conjugal bliss,
They are dragg'd on the hoary abyss;
The shark hears their shrieks, and ascend-
ing to day,

Demands of the spoiler his share of the prey. Ocean.

The direful shark.... From the partners of that cruel trade Which spoils unhappy Guinea of her sons, Demands his share of prey.

Thomson. Summer.

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Ocean.

By all means, it is to be procured that the trunk of Nebuchadnezzar's tree of monarchy be great enough to bear the branches and the boughs; that is, that the natural subjects of the crown or state bear a sufficient proportion to the stranger subjects that they govern....The Spartans were a nice people in point of naturalization; whereby, while they kept their compass, they stood firm; but when they did spread, and their boughs were become too great for their stem, they became a windfall upon the sudden.

Bacon. True Greatness of Kingdoms.

force of that last metaphor which the Observe the peculiar Baconian poet has not compassed.

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Deep in the gloom of Fate afar
I see my former bliss remove,
But still on memory beams one star,
Attracting still my looks of love:
But ah! too like the starry light,

Schiller An Emma.

It shines a lustre now in night!-Schiller. Verses to Emma.

CRABBE, GRAĦAME, MILLMAN. Is it not strange that man should health destroy

For joys which come when he is dead to joy?

Crabbe.

'Tis strange the miser should his cares employ

To gain those riches he can ne'er enjoy.

Pope.

How still the morning of the hallowed day!
Mute is the voice of rural labour, hushed
The plough-boy's whistle and the milk-
maid's song.
Grahame. Sabbath.
Luce sacra requiescit humus, requiescit
arator,

Et

grave suspenso vomere cessit opus ;

pable of originality as Metastasio. "In bona cur quisquam tertius ista venit?" Let us observe Bacon working out the metaphor.

Certainly virtue is like precious odours, most fragrant when they are incensed (he uses the word in an obsolete sense-igne coactum) or crushed.—Essays.

The compassionate mind is like that noble tree that is itself wounded when it gives the balm.-Ditto.

Mr. Bettenham said that virtuous men were like some herbs and spices that give not out their sweet smell till they be broken and crushed-Apothegms.

Solvite vincla jugis. Tibullus, 1. ii. 1. That easy trust, that prompt belief

How thy dove-like bosom trembleth,
And thy shrouded eye resembleth
Violets when the dews of eve

A moist and tremulous glitter leave
On the bashful sealed lid!

Fall of Jerusalem.
I saw thee weep,-the big bright tear

Came o'er that eye of blue,
And then methought it did appear
A violet dropping dew.

Hebrew Melodies.
When I beheld thy blue eyes shine
Through the bright drop that pity drew,
I saw beneath those tears of thine,
A blue-eyed violet bathed in dew.

Ebu Alrumi tr. by Carlyle.

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In what the warm heart wishes true, That faith in words, when kindly said, By which the whole fond sex is led,

Loves of the Angels.. Facili feminarum credulitate ad gaudia.

Tacitus.

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Still worse the illusions that betray
That tempt him on his desert way
His footsteps to their shining brink;

Through the bleak world, to bend and
drink,
Where nothing meets his lips, alas,
But he again must sighing pass
On to that far-off home of peace,
In which alone his thirst will cease.
Loves of the Angels.

But as to the unbelievers, their works
are like the vapour in a plain, which the
thirsty traveller thinketh to be water, until
when he cometh thereto he findeth it to be
nothing.
Al Koran, c. 24, by Sale.

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