The ceremony is followed by a solemn vow of fidelity to Spain, and eternal war with the Infidel, administered by Roderick, and devoutly taken by the young Knight, and all his assembled followers. The Thirteenth Book contains a brief account of the defeat of a Moorish detachment by this faithful troop; and of the cowardice and rebuke of Count Eudon, who had tamely yielded to the invaders, and is dismissed with scorn to the castle which his brave countrymen had redeemed. They then proceed to guard or recover the castle of Pelayo. The Fourteenth Book describes their happy arrival at that fortress, at the fall of evening; where, though they do not find his wife and daughters, who had retired for safety, to a sacred cave in the mountains, they meet a joyful and triumphant band of his retainers, returning from a glorious repulse of the Moors, and headed by the inspiring heroine Adosinda; who speedily recognises in Roderick her mournful assistant and first proselyte at Auria, while he at the same moment discovers, among the ladies of her train, the calm and venerable aspect of his beloved mother, Rusilla. The Fifteenth Book contains the history of his appearance before that venerated parent. Unable to sleep, he had wandered forth before dawn "that morn With its cold dews might bathe his throbbing brow, While he is meditating under what pretext to introduce himself, the good Siverian comes to say, that his lady wishes to see the holy father who had spoken so charitably of her unhappy son.-The succeeding scene is finely conceived, and supported with great judgment and feeling. very "Count Julian's daughter with Rusilla sate; Rod'rick approach'd, and bending, on his breast The all-enduring King shudders at these words of kindness;-but repressing his emotion "O venerable Lady, he replied, happy and apostate father; and his advice as Florinda then asks his prayers for her unto the means of rejoining him. "While thus Florinda spake, the dog who lay He makes a short and pious answer to the Thy poor lost master,.. Theron, none but thou!"" p. 187. The Sixteenth Book contains the re-union of Pelayo's family in the cave of Covadonga. His morning journey to the place of this glad meeting, through the enchanting scenery of his native hills, and with the joyous company of self-approving thoughts, is well described. Arrived at last upon the lonely platform which masks the cave in which the springs burst out, and his children are concealed, he sounds his bugle note; and the rock gives up its inhabitants! There is something anima ting and impressive, but withal a little too classical and rapturous, in the full-length picture of this delightful scene. But when a third and broader blast And fixing in the half-grown mane his hands, But like a creature of some higher sphere The youngest and the loveliest! yea she seem'd To earth re-sent."-pp. 197, 198. "Many a slow century, since that day, hath fill'd who has at last recognised him; and even while she approves of his penitential abandonment of the world, tempts him with bewitching visions of recovered fame and glory, and of atonement made to Florinda, by placing her in the rank of his queen. He continues firm, however, in his lofty purpose, and the pious Princess soon acquiesces in those pious resolutions; and, engaging to keep his secret, gives him her blessing, and retires. The Twentieth Book conducts us to the Moorish camp and the presence of Count Julian. Orpas, a baser apostate, claims the promised hand of Florinda; and Julian ap The untold concourse, hath one breast been swoln peals to the Moorish Prince, whether the The Seventeenth Book brings back the story to Roderick; who, with feelings more reconciled, but purposes of penitence and mortification as deep as ever, and as resolved, muses by the side of the stream, on past and future fortunes. Upon a smooth grey stone sate Rod'rick there; The wind above him stirr'd the hazel boughs, And murm'ring at his feet the river ran. He sate with folded arms and head declin'd Upon his breast, feeding on bitter thoughts, Till Nature gave him in the exhausted sense Of woe, a respite something like repose! And then the quiet sound of gentle winds And waters with their lulling consonance Beguil'd him of himself. Of all within Oblivious there he sate; sentient alone Of outward nature, That sooth'd his ear, of the whisp'ring leaves the genial breath of heaven That fann'd his cheek,.. the stream's perpetual flow, That, with its shadows and its glancing lights, pp. 205, 206. law of Mahomet admits of a forced marriage. The Prince attests that it does not; and then Julian, who has just learned that his daughter was in the approaching host of Pelayo, obtains leave to despatch a messenger to invite her to his arms. The Twenty-first Book contains the meeting of Julian with his daughter and Roderick; under whose protection she comes at evening to the Moorish camp, and finds her father at his ablutions at the door of his tent, by the side of a clear mountain spring. On her approach, he clasps her in his arms with overflowing love. "Thou hast not then forsaken me, my child. Thou wilt not, O my child, abandon me!' My blessing be upon thy head!' he cried, more, Here or hereafter, never let us part!' "'—p. 258. He is at first offended with the attendance In this quiet mood, he is accosted by Sive- and priestly habit of Roderick, and breaks rian, who entertains him with a long account out into some infidel taunts upon creeds and of Pelayo's belief in the innocence, or com-churchmen; but is forced at length to honour parative innocence, of their beloved Roderick; the firmness, the humility, and candour of and of his own eager and anxious surmises this devoted Christian. He poses him, howthat he may still be alive. ever, in the course of their discussion, by rather an unlucky question. The Eighteenth Book, which is rather long and heavy, contains the account of Pelayo's coronation. The best part of it, perhaps, is the short sketch of his lady's affectionate exultation in his glory. When she saw the preparations that announced this great event -"her eyes p. 218. Roderick bears a solemn part in the lofty ceremonies of this important day; and, with a calm and resolute heart, beholds the allegiance of his subjects transferred to his heroic kinsman. The Nineteenth Book is occupied with an interview between Roderick and his mother, Is there forgiveness, Christian, in thy creed [thee, "Thou preachest that all sins may be effac'd: For Rod'rick's crime?.. For Rod'rick, and for Count Julian!' said the Goth; and as he spake Trembled through every fibre of his frame, The gate of Heaven is open!' Julian threw His wrathful hand aloft, and cried, Away! Earth could not hold us both; nor can one Heaven Contain my deadliest enemy and me!'"'-p. 269. This ethical dialogue is full of lofty sentiment and strong images; but is, on the whole rather tedious and heavy. One of the newest pictures is the following; and the sweetest scene, perhaps, that which closes the book immediately after: "Methinks if ye would know How visitations of calamity Affect the pious soul, 'tis shown ye there' And deem'd the deep opaque would blot her beams; The Twenty-second Book is fuller of business than of poetry. The vindictive Orpas persuades the Moorish leader, that Julian meditates a defection from his cause; and, by working on his suspicious spirit, obtains his consent to his assassination on the first convenient opportunity. At Auria in the massacre, this hour I summon thee before the throne of God, Of God! for Spain and Vengeance!' and forthwith And bound, and thund'ring force. Such was the fall From end to end of that long strait, the crash The Twenty-fourth Book is full of tragical matter, and is perhaps the most interesting of the whole piece. A Moor, on the instigation of Orpas and Abulcacem, pierces Julian with a mortal wound; who thereupon exhorts his captains, already disgusted with the jealous tyranny of the Infidel, to rejoin the standard and the faith of their country; and then rewhere Florinda has been praying for his conquests to be borne into a neighbouring church, version. "They rais'd him from the earth; Drew in through open lips and teeth firm-clos'd He, knitting as they lifted him his brow, His painful breath, and on his lance laid hand, The Twenty-third Book recounts the car-Lest its long shaft should shake the mortal wound. nage and overthrow of the Moors in the Strait Gently his men with slow and steady step of Covadonga. Deceived by false intelligence, Their suff'ring burthen bore; and in the Church, and drunk with deceitful hope, they advance Before the altar, laid him down, his head up the long and precipitous defile, along the Upon Florinda's knees."—pp. 307, 308. cliffs and ridges of which Pelayo had not only stationed his men in ambush, but had piled huge stones and trunks of trees, ready to be pushed over upon the ranks of the enemy in the lower pass. A soft summer mist hanging upon the side of the cliffs helps to conceal these preparations; and the whole line of the Infidel is irretrievably engaged in the gulf, when Count Julian with amazement saw the Priest Adosinda appears on a rock in the van, and, Kneel down before him. By the sacrament, with her proud defiance, gives the word, which Which we have here partaken!' Roderick cried, is the signal for the assault. The whole de-In this most awful moment. By that hope, .. scription is, as usual, a little overworked, but is unquestionably striking and impressive. "As the Moors Advanc'd, the Chieftain in the van was seen, A canopy of silver, light condens'd He then, on the solemn adjuration of Roderick, renounces the bloody faith to which he had so long adhered; and reverently receives at his hand the sacrament of reconcili ation and peace. There is great feeling and energy we think in what follows: "That dread office done, That holy faith which comforts thee in death, To shape and substance. In the midst there stood Back on his daughter's lap. O Death,' cried he, A female form, one hand upon the Cross, Passing his hand across his cold damp brow,.. Leyes "In this, and all things else,' Pelayo answer'd, looking wistfully Returning weakness then admonishes him, however, of the near approach of death; and The begs the friendly hand of Roderick to cut short his pangs, by drawing forth the weapon which clogs the wound in his side. He then regives him his hand in kindness-blesses and He then borrows the defensive armour of this kisses his heroic daughter, and expires. The faithful servant; and taking a touching and concluding lines are full of force and tender-affectionate leave of him, vaults again on the ness. "When from her father's body she arose, threw [ven !' Her arms and cried, My Roderick! mine in HeaGroaning, he claspt her close! and in that act And agony her happy spirit fled!"-p. 313. The Last Book describes the recognition and exploits of Roderick in the last of his battles. After the revolt of Julian's army, Orpas, by whose counsels it had been chiefly occasioned, is sent forward by the Moorish leader, to try to win them back; and advances in front of the line, demanding a parley, mounted on the beautiful Orelio, the famous war horse of Roderick, who, roused at that sight, obtains leave from Pelayo to give the renegade his answer; and after pouring out upon him some words of abuse and scorn, seizes the reins of his trusty steed; and "How now,' he cried, 'Orelio! old companion,.. my good horse!' Off with this recreant burthen!' . And with that He rais'd his hand, and rear'd, and back'd the steed, To that remember'd voice and arm of power Obedient. Down the helpless traitor fell, Violently thrown; and Roderick over him, Thrice led, with just and unrelenting hand, The trampling hoofs. Go, join Witiza now, Where he lies howling,' the avenger cried, And tell him Roderick sent thee!"-pp. 318, 319. He then vaults upon the noble horse; and fitting Count Julian's sword to his grasp, rushes in the van of the Christian army into the thick array of the Infidel,-where, unarmed as he is, and clothed in his penitential robes of waving black, he scatters death and terror around him, and cuts his way clean through the whole host of his opponents. He there descries the army of Pelayo advancing to cooperate; and as he rides up to them with his wonted royal air and gesture, and on his wellknown steed of royalty, both the King and Siverian are instantaneously struck with the apparition; and marvel that the weeds of penitence should so long have concealed their Sovereign. Roderick, unconscious of this recognition, briefly informs them of what has befallen, and requests the honourable rites of Christian sepulture for the unfortunate Julian and his daughter. back of Orelio; and placing himself without explanation in the van of the army, leads them on to the instant assault. The renegade leaders fall on all sides beneath his resistless blows. "And in the heat of fight, Set up his cry as he was wont in youth, Rejoicing and forgetful of all else, war-cry, [well! known so Pelayo eagerly took up the word, The carnage at length is over, and the field is won!-but where is he to whose name and example the victory is owing? "Upon the banks Of Sella was Orelio found; his legs These copious extracts must have settled our readers' opinion of this poem; and though they are certainly taken from the better parts of it, we have no wish to disturb the forcible impression which they must have been the means of producing. Its chief fault undoubtedly is the monotony of its tragic and solemn tone-the perpetual gloom with which all its scenes are overcast-and the tediousness with which some of them are developed. There are many dull passages, in short, and a considerable quantity of heavy reading-some silliness, and a good deal of affectation. But the beauties, upon the whole, preponderate; and these, we hope, speak for themselves in the passages we have already extracted. The versification is smooth and melodious, though too uniformly drawn out into long and linked sweetness. The diction is as usual more remarkable for copiousness than force;and though less defaced than formerly with phrases of affected simplicity and infantine pathos, is still too much speckled with strange words; which, whether they are old or new, are not English at the present day—and we hope never will become so. What use or or nament does Mr. Southey expect to derive for his poetry from such words as avid and aureate, and auriphrygiate? or leman and weedery, fré quentage and youthhead, and twenty more as pedantic and affected? What good is there either, we should like to know, in talking of "oaken galilees," or "incarnadined poitrals," or "all-able Providence," and such other points of learning?-If poetry is intended for general delight, ought not its language to be generally intelligible? (December, 1816.) Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, Canto the Third. By LORD BYRON. 8vo. pp. 79. London: 1816. The Prisoner of Chillon, and other Poems. By LORD BYRON. 8vo. pp. 60. London: 1816.* IF the finest poetry be that which leaves the deepest impression on the minds of its readers and this is not the worst test of its excellence-Lord Byron, we think, must be allowed to take precedence of all his distinguished contemporaries. He has not the variety of Scott-nor the delicacy of Campbellnor the absolute truth of Crabbe-nor the polished sparkling of Moore; but in force of diction, and inextinguishable energy of sentiment, he clearly surpasses them all. "Words that breathe, and thoughts that burn," are not merely the ornaments, but the common staple of his poetry; and he is not inspired or impressive only in some happy passages, but through the whole body and tissue of his composition. It was an unavoidable condition, perhaps, of this higher excellence, that his scene should be narrow, and his persons few. To compass such ends as he had in view, it was necessary to reject all ordinary agents, and all trivial combinations. He could not possibly be amusing, or ingenious, or playful; or hope to maintain the requisite pitch of interest by the recitation of sprightly adventures, or the opposition of common characters. To produce great effects, in short, he felt that it was necessary to deal only with the greater passions-with the exaltations of a daring fancy, and the errors of a lofty intellect-with the pride, the terrors, and the agonies of strong emotion-the fire and air alone of our human elements. In this respect, and in his general notion of the end and the means of poetry, we have sometimes thought that his views fell more in with those of the Lake poets, than of any other existing party in the poetical common. wealth: And, in some of his later productions especially, it is impossible not to be struck with his occasional approaches to the style and manner of this class of writers. Lord Byron, however, it should be observed, like all other persons of a quick sense of beauty, and sure enough of their own originality to be in no fear of paltry imputations, is a great mimic of styles and manners, and a great borrower of external character. He and Scott, accordingly, are full of imitations of all the writers from whom they have ever derived gratification; and the two most original writers of the age might appear, to superficial observers, to be the most deeply indebted to their predecessors. In this particular instance, we have no fault to find with Lord Byron: For undoubtedly the finer passages of Words worth and Southey have in them wherewithal to lend an impulse to the utmost ambition of rival genius; and their diction and manner of writing is frequently both striking and original. But we must say, that it would afford us still greater pleasure to find these tuneful gentle men returning the compliment which Lord I have already said so much of Lord Byron with Byron has here paid to their talents; and reference to his Dramatic productions, that I cannot forming themselves on the model rather of now afford to republish more than one other paper his imitations, than of their own originals on the subject of his poetry in general: And I se-In those imitations they will find that, though lect this, rather because it refers to a greater variety he is sometimes abundantly mystical, he of these compositions, than because it deals with such as are either absolutely the best, or the most characteristic of his genius. The truth is, however, that all his writings are characteristic; and lead, pretty much alike, to those views of the dark and the bright parts of his nature, which have led me, I fear (though almos irresistibly) into observations more personal to the character of the author, than should generally be permitted to a mere literary censor. never, or at least very rarely, indulges in ab solute nonsense-never takes his lofty flights upon mean or ridiculous occasions—and, above all, never dilutes his strong concep tions, and magnificent imaginations, with a flood of oppressive verbosity. On the con trary, he is, of all living writers, the most concise and condensed; and, we would fain |