what we hae dune for ourselves, but what we hae dune for others, that we think on maist pleasantly. And the thoughts that ye hae intervened to spare the puir thing's life will be sweeter in that hour, come when it may, than if a word of your mouth could hang the haill Porteous mob at the tail of ae tow.'

Tear followed tear down Jeanie's cheeks, as, her features glowing and quivering with emotion, she pleaded her sister's cause with a pathos which was at once simple and solemn.

This is eloquence,' said her majesty to the Duke of Argyle. Young woman,' she continued, addressing herself to Jeanie, I cannot grant a pardon to your sister-but you shall not want my warm intercession with his majesty. Take this housewife-case,' she continued, putting a small embroidered needle-case into Jeanie's hands; 'do not open it now, but at your leisure-you will find something in it which will remind you that you have had an interview with Queen Caroline.'

Jeanie, having her suspicions thus confirmed, dropped on her knees, and would have expanded herself in gratitude; but the duke, who was upon thorns lest she should say more or less than just enough, touched his chin once more.

Our business is, I think, ended for the present, my lord duke,' said the queen, and, I trust, to your satisfaction. Hereafter I hope to see your grace more frequently, both at Richmond and St James's.—Come, Lady Suffolk, we must wish his grace good-morning.'

They exchanged their parting reverences, and the duke, so soon as the ladies had turned their backs, assisted Jeanie to rise from the ground, and conducted her back through the avenue, which she trod with the feeling of one who walks in her sleep.

(From The Heart of Midlothian.) Cutty-stool, the stool of repentance; bittock, small bit; easements, helps.

Meg Dods on her Neighbours.

As if he had observed for the first time these new objects, he said to Mistress Dods in an indifferent tone, 'You have got some gay new neighbours yonder, mistress.'

'Neighbours,' said Meg, her wrath beginning to arise, as it always did upon any allusion to this sore subject'Ye may ca' them neighbours, if ye like-but the deil flee awa wi' the neighbourhood for Meg Dods !'

'I suppose,' said Tyrrel, as if he did not observe her displeasure, that yonder is the Fox Hotel they told me of ??

'The Fox!' said Meg; 'I am sure it is the fox that has carried off a' my geese.-I might shut up house, Maister Francie, if it was the thing I lived by-me that has seen a' our gentlefolks' bairns, and gien them snaps and sugar-biscuit maist of them wi' my ain hand! They wad hae seen my father's roof-tree fa' down and smoor me before they wad hae gien a boddle a-piece to have propped it up-but they could a' link out their fifty pounds ower head to bigg a hottle at the Well yonder. And muckle they hae made o't-the bankrupt body, Sandie Lawson, hasna paid them a bawbee of four terms' rent.'

'Surely, mistress, I think if the Well became so famous for its cures, the least the gentlemen could have done was to make you the priestess.'

'Me priestess! I am nae Quaker, I wot, Maister

Francie; and I never heard of alewife that turned preacher, except Luckie Buchan in the west. And if I were to preach, I think I have mair the spirit of a Scottishwoman than to preach in the very room they hae been dancing in ilka night in the week, Saturday itsell not excepted, and that till twal o'clock at night. Na, na, Maister Francie; I leave the like o' that to Mr Simon Chatterly, as they ca' the bit prelatical sprig of divinity from the town yonder, that plays at cards and dances six days in the week, and on the seventh reads the Common Prayer-book in the ball-room, with Tam Simson, the drunken barber, for his clerk.'

I think I have heard of Mr Chatterly,' said Tyrrel. 'Ye'll be thinking o' the sermon he has printed,' said the angry dame, where he compares their nasty puddle of a well yonder to the pool of Bethesda, like a foulmouthed, fleeching, feather-headed fule as he is! He should hae kend that the place got a' its fame in the times of Black Popery; and though they pat it in St Ronan's name, I'll never believe for one that the honest man had ony hand in it; for I hae been tell'd by ane that suld ken, that he was nae Roman, but only a Cuddie, or Culdee, or such like.-But will ye not take anither dish of tea, Maister Francie? and a wee bit of the diet-loaf, raised wi' my ain fresh butter, Maister Francie? and no wi' greasy kitchen-fee, like the seedcake down at the confectioner's yonder, that has as mony dead flees as carvey in it. Set him up for confectioner! Wi' a penniworth of rye-meal, and anither of tryacle, and twa or three carvey-seeds, I will make better confections than ever cam out of his oven.'

'I have no doubt of that, Mrs Dods,' said the guest; and I only wish to know how these new-comers were able to establish themselves against a house of such good reputation and old standing as yours?-It was the virtues of the mineral, I dare say; but how came the waters to recover a character all at once, mistress?'

'I dinna ken, sir-they used to be thought good for naething, but here and there for a puir body's bairn, that had gotten the cruells, and could not afford a penniworth of salts. But my Leddy Penelope Penfeather had fa'en ill, it's like, as nae other body had ever fell ill, and sae she was to be cured some gate naebody was ever cured, which was naething mair than was reasonable-and my leddy, ye ken, has wit at wull, and has a' the wise folk out from Edinburgh at her house at Windywa's yonder, which it is her leddyship's will and pleasure to call Aircastle-and they have a' their different turns, and some can clink verses, wi' their tale, as weel as Rob Burns or Allan Ramsay-and some rin up hill and down dale, knapping the chucky stanes to pieces wi' hammers, like sae mony road-makers run daft-they say it is to see how the warld was made!—and some that play on all manner of ten-stringed instruments-and a wheen sketching souls, that ye may see perched like craws on every craig in the country, e'en working at your ain trade, Maister Francie; forby men that had been in foreign parts, or said they had been there, whilk is a' ane, ye ken, and maybe twa or three draggle-tailed misses, that wear my Leddy Penelope's follies when she has dune wi' them, as her queans of maids wear her second-hand claithes. So, after her leddyship's happy recovery, as they ca'd it, down cam the hail tribe of wild geese, and settled by the Well, to dine thereout on the bare grund, like a

wheen tinklers; and they had sangs, and tunes, and healths, nae doubt in praise of the fountain, as they ca'd the Well, and of Leddy Penelope Penfeather; and, lastly, they behoved a' to take a solemn bumper of the spring, which, as I am tauld, made unco havoc amang them or they wan hame; and this they ca'd Picknick, and a plague to them! And sae the jig was begun after her leddyship's pipe, and mony a mad measure has been danced sin' syne; for down cam masons and murgeon-makers, and preachers and player-folk, and Episcopalians and Methodists, and fools and fiddlers, and Papists and pie-bakers, and doctors and drugsters; by the shop-folk, that sell trash and trumpery at three prices-and so up got the bonny new Well, and down fell the honest auld town of St Ronan's, where blythe decent folk had been heartsome eneugh for mony a day before ony o' them were born, or ony sic vapouring fancies kittled in their cracked brains.' (From St Ronan's Well.)

Smoor, smother; boddle, a small coin; Luckie Buchan, a tradesman's wife who founded an apocalyptical sect in Ayrshire in 1784; Beeching, whining; pat, put; kitchen-fee, dripping; the cruells, scrofula; knapping, knocking; chucky stanes, pebbles; a wheen, a ut of; forby, besides; hail, whole; murgeon-makers, makers of wry faces or grimaces; kittled, brought to birth (as by a cat).

Lockhart's Life of Scott, one of the great biographies in the language (1837-38; 2nd ed., 10 vols. 1839), has been supplemented by the publication of Scott's Journal (1890) and his Letters (2 vols. 1893) There are also condensed editions of the Life by Lockhart; part of the original Life, telling the story of Scott's last days and death, will be found below at page 252. Reference may also be made to the shorter Lives by George Gilfillan (1872), R. H. Hutton (1879), C. D. Yonge (1888), Professor Saintsbury (1897), and W. H. Hudson (1900); to Sir Francis Doyle's essay on Scott (1877); to Robert Chambers's Illustrations of the Author of Waverley (1822); and to Hogg's Domestic Manners and Private Life of Sir Walter Scott (1834) There is a German Life by Elze (1864), and more than one German translation of the novels; of several French translations most are not good. Editions of Scott's works are innumerable. should be added that Scott's debt was finally cleared off after his death out of the value of the copyrights in the publisher's hands.

It

The following is a list of the dates of the principal works: The Border Minstrelsy, recognised more and more as having contained the gerins of much of his best work in prose and verse (first two volumes, 1802); The Lay of the Last Minstrel (1805); Marmion (1508); The Lady of the Lake (1810); Rokeby (1812); The Bridal ef Triermain (1813); The Life of Swift, with an edition of his works (1814); Waverley (begun at Ashestiel, laid aside, discovered by accident, finished and published in 1814); Introduction to Border Antiquities (1814-17); Lord of the Isles, Guy Mannering, and The Antiquary (1815); The Black Dwarf and Old Mortality (1816); R Rey and The Heart of Midlothian (1818); The Bride of Lammermoor and The Legend of Montrose (1819); Ivanhoe, The Monastery, and The Abbot (1820); Kenilworth (1821); The Pirate, The Fortunes of Nigel, and Peveril of the Peak (1822); Quentin Durward(1823); St Ronan's Well and Redgauntlet (1824); The Betrothed and The Talisman (1825); Woodstock (1826); The Life of Napoleon Buonaparte (9 vols. 1827); The Two Drovers, The Highland Widow, and The Surgeon's Daughter (1827); Tales fa Grandfather (1828-30); The Fair Maid of Perth (1828); Anne of Geierstein (1829); Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft, The Doom of Devorgoil, and Auchindrane (1830); Count Robert Paris and Castle Dangerous (1832).

The extent of Scott's influence on literature, English and foreign, can hardly be calculated. Much of it was transient, and his imitators were often mechanical, especially in England and Germany. But in France the example of Scott was followed with more freedom, much as Scott himself had followed Goethe; the Three Musketeers and Notre-Dame de Paris, being works of genius, are nearer to Scott than the romances which copied him more closely.

The reader is referred to the sections in this volume or in Vol. II. en Lockhart, Taylor (of Norwich), Monk' Lewis, M'Crie, Jeffrey, Hogg, Leyden, Maria Edgeworth, Joanna Baillie, Wordsworth, and others of Scott's friends and contemporaries.

W. P. KER.

Robert Southey

He

was born at Bristol on 12th August 1774, the son of Robert Southey, an unlucky linen-draper; his mother, who likewise came of good old yeoman ancestry, was a bright, sweet-tempered woman, who could whistle like a blackbird.' Much of his lonely childhood was passed with his mother's half-sister, a rich, genteel old maid who hated noise and matrimony, and had a passion for cleanliness and the drama. With her he saw many plays; read Shakespeare, Beaumont and Fletcher, Hoole's Tasso and Ariosto, the Faerie Queene, Pope's Homer, and Sidney's Arcadia; and he himself scribbled thousands of verses. had meanwhile had four schoolmasters, and in 1788 was placed by an uncle, the Rev. Herbert Hill, at Westminster. There Picart's Religious Ceremonies led him to conceive a design of rendering every mythology the basis of a narrative poem;' there he formed lifelong friendships; and thence in 1792 he was expelled for writing an article against flogging in a school magazine. Next year he entered Balliol College with a view to taking orders. He went up to Oxford a Republican, his head full of Rousseau and 'Werther,' his religious principles shaken by Gibbon; and he left it in 1794 a Unitarian, having learnt a little swimming and a little boating, and ingrained his very heart with Epictetus. At Oxford in June 1794 he had a visit from Coleridge, who infected him with his dream of a 'Pantisocracy' on the banks of the Susquehanna. The Pantisocrats required wives; and wives were forthcoming in three Miss Frickers of Bristol. The eldest, Sara, fell to Coleridge; the second, Edith, to Southey; and Mary, the third, to Robert Lovell, who with Southey in 1794 published a booklet of poems, and died two years afterwards penniless. The Pantisocrats furthermore required money, and money was not forthcoming; so, having tried medicine, and been sickened by the dissecting-room, having been turned out of doors by his indignant aunt, having lectured with some success, and having on the 14th November 1795 secretly married his Edith, Southey started the same day on a six months' visit to Lisbon, where his uncle was chaplain to the British factory, and there laid the foundation of his profound knowledge of the literatures and history of the Peninsula. He returned to England to take up law, but reading Coke was to him 'threshing straw;' so after sundry migrations --Westbury near Bristol, Burton near Christchurch, Lisbon again for a twelvemonth (1800-1), and Ireland (a brief secretaryship to its Chancellor of the Exchequer), with intervals of London-in September 1803 he settled at Greta Hall, Keswick, in the Lake Country. The Coleridges were there already, and thither came Mrs Lovell: three households were to rest on Southey's shoulders.

His school friend Wynn allowed him £160 a year from 1796 till 1807, when a Government

pension of £200 was granted him (he was turning meanwhile a Tory), and on this he devoted himself to a life of strenuous, incessant authorship. Joan of Arc had already appeared in 1795, and Thalaba in 1801; there followed Madoc (1805), The Curse of Kehama (1810), Roderick (1814), History of Brazil (1810-19), Lives of Nelson (1813), Wesley (1820), and Bunyan (1830), A Vision of Judgment (1821), Book of the Church (1824), History of the Peninsular War (1823-32), Colloquies on Society (1829), Naval History (1833-40), and The Doctor (1834-47). In all, his works number nearly fifty, and fill more than a hundred volumes; and to them must be added his contributions to the

ROBERT SOUTHEY.

From the Drawing (1804) by Henry Edridge, A. R.A., in the National Portrait Gallery.

periodicals to the Quarterly alone ninety-three articles (1808-38). These paid him handsomely, so that he died worth £12,000; but the History of Brazil brought him in eight years only the price of one article, and Madoc in a twelvemonth only £3, 17s. Id. His life was a busy and happy one at forty-six he could say, 'I have lived in the sunshine, and am still looking forward with hope.' It flowed quietly on, the chief events in it his visit to Scott and Scotland (1805), his first meeting with Landor (1808), the visits from Shelley and Ticknor (1811, 1819), his appointment to the laureateship (1813), the death of his first boy Herbert (1806-16), the surreptitious publication of his revolutionary drama Wat Tyler (1817; written 1794), little tours in Belgium (1815), Switzerland (1817), Holland (1825, 1826), and France (1838), an honorary D.C.L. of Oxford (1820), his return as M.P. for Downton (unsolicited and declined, 1826), and Peel's offer of a baronetcy, with the welcome addition of £300 a year to his pension (1835). It

came at a time of sorrow, for his wife, who had 'for forty years been the life of his life,' had six months before been placed in an asylum, and she was brought back to Keswick only to die (1837). Southey never held up after that, though in 1839 he married the poetess Caroline Anne Bowles (1787-1854), for twenty years his friend and correspondent, and returned with her to Greta Hall, intending resolutely to set about two great works which he had long had in contemplationa History of Portugal and a History of the Monastic Orders. It was not to be; for Wordsworth in 1840 found him vacuous, listless in the noble library of 14,000 books he had collected, 'patting them with both hands affectionately like a child.' The end came on 21st March 1843; he lies buried in Crosthwaite churchyard. There have been better poets than he was; but no poet was ever a better man. As Sir Leslie Stephen has said, Southey was no prig or saint or Quaker, but a man of war from his youth up. In youth a Wat Tyler revolutionist, he became a violent but sincere patriot, jingo, and Tory, but a Tory who hated Pitt as a 'coxcombly, insolent, empty-headed, long-winded braggadocio,' and protested as much against neglect of duties as against encroachment on the constitution. In his denunciation of the manufacturing system and of capitalism he was something of a socialist; and he sympathised with such a revolutionary as Owen in his efforts to check the cancer of pauperism. He stuck vehemently and uncompromisingly to the odd collection of prejudices he took for principles, and was as far as possible from being 'servile' in any sense. His sublime selfconfidence, his taking himself so seriously, proves he had no very strong sense of humour-'hardly more than Milton or Wordsworth or Shelley or Miss Brontë.' But he was a perfectly straightforward and sincere enemy, and as 'a gentleman to the core, was incapable of the wayward egotism which Hazlitt cherished and even turned to account in his works.'

'In my youth,' says Southey, when my stock of knowledge consisted of such an acquaintance with Greek and Roman history as is acquired in the course of a scholastic education-when my heart was full of poetry and romance, and Lucan and Akenside were at my tongue's end-I fell into the political opinions which the French revolution was then scattering throughout Europe; and following those opinions with ardour wherever they led, I soon perceived that inequalities of rank were a light evil compared to the inequalities of property, and those more fearful distinctions which the want of moral and intellectual culture occasions between man and man. At that time, and with those opinions, or rather feelings (for their root was in the heart, and not in the understanding), I wrote Wat Tyler, as one who was impatient of all the oppressions that are done under the sun. The subject was injudiciously chosen, and it was treated as might be expected by a youth of twenty in such

times, who regarded only one side of the question.' The poem is indeed a miserable performance, harmless from its very inanity. Full of the same political sentiments and ardour, Southey composed his epic, Joan of Arc, displaying some boldness of imagination, but diffuse in style and in parts incoherent. In imitation of Dante, the young poet conducted his heroine in a dream to the abodes of departed spirits, and dealt very freely with the 'murderers of mankind,' from Nimrod the mighty hunter down to the victor of Agincourt. In the second edition of the poem, published in 1798, the Maid's vision with everything miraculous was omitted.

While in Portugal, Southey finished his second epic, Thalaba, the Destroyer, a pseudo-Arabian fiction not without beauty and magnificence. The verse is irregular and unrhymed, but not lacking in power and rhythmical harmony, though in so long a poem the peculiar charm vanishes and the metre, like the redundant descriptions, becomes wearisome. The metre accords well with the subject, and is, as Southey said, 'the Arabesque ornament of an Arabian tale.' Southey's greatest poem, The Curse of Kehama, has much in common with Thalaba, but is in rhyme. With characteristic egotism, he prefixed to Kehama a declaration that he would not change a syllable or measure for anybody. Kehama is a Hindu rajah, who like Faust obtains and trifles with supernatural power; and his sufficiently startling adventures give scope for Southey's too generous amplitude of description. 'The story is founded,' as Sir Walter Scott put it, 'upon the Hindu mythology, the most gigantic, cumbrous, and extravagant system of idolatry to which temples were ever erected. The scene is alternately laid in the terrestrial paradise-under the sea-in the heaven of heavens-and in hell itself. The principal actors are a man who approaches almost to omnipotence; another labouring under a strange and fearful malediction, which exempts him from the ordinary laws of nature; a good genius, a sorceress, and a ghost, with several Hindustan deities of different ranks. The only being that retains the usual attributes of humanity is a female, who is gifted with immortality at the close of the piece.' Some of the scenes in this strangely magnificent theatre of horrors are described with unquestionable power; Scott said that the account of the approach of the mortals to Padalon, the Indian Hades, quoted below, was equal in grandeur to any passage he had ever read. Kehama is almost oppressively Hindu, as Hinduism was understood by a laborious student who sought to omit nothing he had read that was characteristic in land or people. But the Orientalism of Southey, Moore, and most of their contemporaries was essentially artificial and factitious. Roderick, the Last of the Goths, is a dignified and pathetic poem, though liable also to the charge of redundancy.

Southey's laureate-poems, Carmen Triumphale (1814) and The Vision of Judgment (1821), pro

voked much ridicule at the time, and would have passed into utter oblivion if Byron had not published another Vision of Judgment—a profane but powerful satire that gave the laureate a merciless and witty castigation. According to Sir Leslie Stephen, Byron's Vision of Judgment is more reverent as well as more witty than Southey's, in which we have 'the quaintest of all illustrations of the transition of intense respectability into something very like blasphemy.' Some of his youthful ballads were extremely popular. His Lord William, Mary the Maid of the Inn, The Well of St Keyne, and The Old Woman of Berkeley were the delight of young readers a century ago, and are yet eminently readable. He loved to sport with subjects of diablerie; and one satirical piece of this kind, The Devil's Thoughts, the joint production of Southey and Coleridge, was long believed to be the work of Porson or of other more or less likely authors. The original notion of the piece (not without parallels in Dunbar, Ben Jonson, and others) was Southey's, but the greater part of the most piquant verses were Coleridge's; at least one of them has passed into a proverb: He saw a cottage with a double coach-house,

A cottage of gentility;

And the devil did grin, for his darling sin

Is pride that apes humility.

Scott read Madoc, and thrice re-read it with increasing admiration; Charles James Fox read it aloud with joy to an admiring circle; Dean Stanley was an ardent admirer of Southey's ; and Cardinal Manning contrasts Samson Agonistes with Thalaba, all to the advantage of the later poet. But there was nobody who believed more confidently in Southey's immortality than Southey himself, who quite agreed with a critic in holding that Madoc was the best English poem since Paradise Lost. On the other hand, Macaulay in 1830 expressed a doubt whether 'fifty years hence Mr Southey's poems will be read,' and the doubt has been amply justified; probably no poet so well known by name is so little known by his poetry. There are, of course, some short exceptions-the 'Holly Tree,' 'Battle of Blenheim,' 'Stanzas written in my Library,' the 'Old Woman' named above, and perhaps a dozen more, including those in which Southey appears as poetlaureate to the devil.' His ballads are better, in Sir Leslie Stephen's opinion, than the Ingoldsby Legends, because they are less vulgar and less elaborately funny, and they are read still. But the 'Simorg,' the 'Glendoveers,' 'Mohareb'-how many can localise these creations of Southey's Muse? His epics repel, not so much by prolixity or by their irregular, sometimes rhymeless metres, as by the unreality of their fact and fancy. They remind us of scene-paintings; and a scene-painting even by Roberts will fetch next to nothing in the auction-room. With Southey's prose it is otherwise. He wrote out of the fullness of knowledge, for something more than the mere sake of writing;

and his was that rarest gift of good pure English. Yet even here he wrote far too much, and was often unhappy in his choice of subjects. One book alone by him, the Life of Nelson, belongs to universal literature. It rose into instant and universal favour, and is still considered as one of our standard popular biographies. Unhappily its value is rather literary than historical. Professor Laughton thus comments on it: 'The celebrated life by Southey, interesting as it always will be as a work of art, has no original value, but is a condensation of Clarke and McArthur's ponderous work, dressed to catch the popular taste, and flavoured, with a very careless hand, from the worthless pages of Harrison, from Miss Williams's Manners and Opinions in the French Republic towards the Close of the Eighteenth Century, i. 123-223, and from Captain Foote's Vindication. There is no doubt that Southey's artistic skill gave weight and currency to the falsehoods of Miss Williams, as it did to the trash of Harrison and the wild fancies of Lady Hamilton.' But, spite of its jingoism and its unfair abuse of the French, it remains a classic, because no biographer was ever more in sympathy with his hero or wrote more simply and directly.

Thackeray summed up: Southey's politics are obsolete and his poetry dead; but his private letters are worth piles of epics, and are sure to last among us as long as kind hearts like to sympathise with goodness and purity and upright life. Sir Leslie Stephen enjoys the letters, but not for that reason, and in spite of the fact that in them Southey 'goes to the point at once like a good man of business, and cannot give the effect of leisurely and amused reflection.' Sir Leslie finds Southey and his letters interesting because he is the most complete type of the man fitted by nature for the peculiar function of living by his pen, which one must sorrowfully admit not to be the highest,' for 'the man who lives by his pen cannot expect to be on a pedestal beside the great philanthropists and prophets and statesmen.' But again, Southey was of another opinion; he never doubted that he could combine the professional author with the inspired prophet,' and so could divide his time and his literary production with the absolute punctuality of a city clerk.'

The Life of John Wesley, while leaving ample room for later biographers, was justly described as the first book to bring home to Englishmen in general a real sense of Wesley's importance in English religious and social history. Southey also contributed a series of Lives of British Admirals to Lardner's Cabinet Cyclopædia. Landor's tribute to Southey is quoted at page 142. The Doctor contains, as Southey said, something of Tristram Shandy, something of Rabelais, more of Montaigne, and a little of old Burton, yet its predominant characteristics are still his own. is a delightful book, a bedside book, though but a commonplace book in disguise, a collection of

It

curiosities of literature with charming interludes when Southey is not tempted into too deliberate facetiousness.' The gem of the Doctor is the story of The Three Bears;' and that immortal nursery-story is more likely to secure for Southey literary immortality than Madoc or Roderick. The Hall of Glory.

A huge and massy pile-
Massy it seemed, and yet with every blast
As to its ruin shook. There, porter fit,
Remorse for ever his sad vigils kept.

Pale, hollow-eyed, emaciate, sleepless wretch,
Inly he groaned, or, starting, wildly shrieked,
Aye as the fabric, tottering from its base,
Threatened its fall-and so, expectant still,
Lived in the dread of danger still delayed.

They entered there a large and lofty dome,
O'er whose black marble sides a dim drear light
Struggled with darkness from the unfrequent lamp.
Enthroned around, the Murderers of Mankind-
Monarchs, the great! the glorious! the august!
Each bearing on his brow a crown of fire-
Sat stern and silent. Nimrod, he was there,
First king, the mighty hunter; and that chief
Who did belie his mother's fame, that so
He might be called young Ammon. In this court
Cæsar was crowned-accursed liberticide;
And he who murdered Tully, that cold villain
Octavius-though the courtly minion's lyre
Hath hymned his praise, though Maro sung to him,
And when death levelled to original clay
The royal carcass, Flattery, fawning low,
Fell at his feet, and worshipped the new god.
Titus was here, the conqueror of the Jews,
He, the delight of humankind misnamed;
Cæsars and Soldans, emperors and kings,
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.
The hero conqueror of Agincourt,
Henry of England!'

Lo! I am here,

(From the Vision of the Maid of Orleans in Joan of Arc.

Night in the Desert.

How beautiful is night!

A dewy freshness fills the silent air;

No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain,
Breaks the serene of heaven :

In full-orbed glory, yonder moon divine
Rolls through the dark-blue depths.
Beneath her steady ray

The desert-circle spreads,

Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky.
How beautiful is night!

Who, at this untimely hour,
Wanders o'er the desert sands?

No station is in view,

Nor palm-grove islanded amid the waste.