O joyful hour, when to our longing home The long-expected wheels at length drew nigh! My boy stood, shouting there his father's name, And there, a younger group, his sisters came: Hungered and thirsted for her native hills. Her twin like comrade,-rendered doubly dear The younger twain in wonder lost were they, It had been their delight to hear and tell; These lines will convey to the reader no other picture than that of a father's happiness amid his domestic joys, and the fair promise of the future. But they acquire a deeply pathetic interest from the circumstance, that since they were written, that only boy, the pupil and The father, teacher, playmate, was again Which with such ceaseless care had watched his infancy.' pp. 1–8. The whole of the poem is written in the same easy and flowing stanza, which well suits the familiar epistolary style of the narrative. Section the first is entitled Flanders. The second describes Brussels as it appeared illuminated for the reception of the Emperor Alexander. 'Her mile-long avenue with lamps was hung Innumerous, which diffused a light like day; While fiery barges, lying to and fro, Illumin'd, as they mov'd, the liquid glass below.' The Poet contrasts with the gaiety of that festive spectacle, the scene which, only three months before, the city presented, and the sights which still offered themselves in the recesses of the hospital. And now within her walls, insatiate Death, Such as might well to the beholder's eyes Of that great triumph, when the open wound Hour after hour was heard the incessant sound playmate, the pride and joy of his father, has been suddenly removed, darkening for ever the charms of that mountain scenery, and opening from the fairest scenes of nature a vista into eternity. In these lines Mr. Southey was unconsciously preparing a Son's best epitaph, the expression of a father's complacent affection; and in these the memory of that Son shall outlive the record of the monumental stone. Hearts little to the melting mood inclined Grew sick to see their sufferings; and the thought pp. 43-46. The third section contains a description of the field of battle, topographically minute, such as it appeared three months after the dreadful conflict. The spirit in which the survey was taken, is shewn in the following stanzas. Was it a soothing or a mournful thought Amid this scene of slaughter as we stood, The pears had ripened on the garden wall; Those leaves which on the autumnal earth were spread, Flowers were in seed whose buds to swell began Throughout the garden, fruits and herbs and flowers pp. 74-75. "The Scene of War," is the title of the concluding section of the narrative. It is principally occupied in narrating the sentiments which the Author universally met with among the Belgic peasantry, and in describing the traces of the battle which every where attended his journey. A tribute of grateful admiration, he informs us, was uniformly paid to the conduct of our soldiery; but from every lip he was accosted with the indignant exclamation, 'Wherefore we spared the author of this strife?' Mr. Southey adds in a note, that he Met with many persons who disliked the union with Holland, and who hated the Prussians, but none who spoke in favour or even in palliation of Buonaparte. The manner in which this ferocious beast, as they call him, has been treated, has given a great shock to the moral feelings of mankind. The almost general mode of accounting for it on the Continent, is by a supposition that England purposely let him loose from Elba in order to have a pretext for again attacking France, and crippling a country which she had left too strong, and which would soon have outstripped her in prosperity. I found it im. possible to dispossess even men of sound judgement and great ability of this belief, preposterous as it is; and when they read the account of the luxuries which have been sent to St. Helena for his accommodation, they will consider it as the fullest proof of their opinion.' 66 Part the second, is entitled the Vision. The Author supposes himself introduced by a grave and venerable personage to the top of a tower "whose frail foundations upon sand were placed," from which he may look down on the wanderings of the erring crowd below. With this sage, who proves to be a personification of the worldly wisdom of the sceptical philosophy, he enters into a conference, which is sustained with considerable spirit through the first two sections. The Poet does full justice to the sentiments of The Evil Prophet,' by giving them the utmost plausibility and force of expression; and our readers will instantly perceive from the following stanzas, that they are not the phantom opinions of an allegorical personage merely which he is combating. The old man, with hard eye unabashed and look serene,' replies to the poet's passionate objections to his lessons, by pointing to the field of slaughter beneath them, and proceeds: This but a page of the great book of war,- Till now thro' all its fatal changes past, Where now the hopes with which thine ardent youth Where now the reign of Liberty and Truth, And bid poor human kind repose at length in peace? The peace which thus at Waterloo ye won, Will France her ancient enmity forego? The roots remain untouched; and as of old If we look farther, what shall we behold But every where the swelling seeds of ill, Of strife to come; the powerful watching still Some specious business for the ambitious heart; pp. 125-132. The third section is entitled The Sacred Mountain.' A heavenly voice summons the poet, whom the old man's parting words had filled with consternation and doubt, to a green and sunny summit, tion 'So fair As well with long lost Eden might compare.? The Author has employed all his exquisite powers of descripupon the scenery of this celestial mountain: a heavenly virtue is in its atmosphere, to heal, and calm, and purify the 'breast.' He follows the Divine Monitress, till at length they |