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such a multiplicity of detail. It is the more worth while to notice these minuter traits, because they serve to throw out to greater advantage his parliamentary character, and to shew that it is was not assumed for the purposes of party ambition, but had for its basis, solid intellectual and moral qualities. He was as a man all that he appeared or professed to be as a senator; and with whatever error or pertinacity he was chargeable, there could exist no doubt that in his opinions he was as sincere as he was earnest, and as independent as he was sincere. If he was fallible, he was at least consistent; and those against whom his opposition was directed, knew that they were opposed not merely by an able, but by an honest man. Such a man, surely, might deserve a panegyric that would outlast the memory of his usefulness, but Mr. Whitehouse does not aim at superseding the historian's task. We shall make room for the following apostrophe.

Thou art gone,

Great Spirit! and thy works have followed thee.
Thy country owes thee much, a large arrear
Of services, beyond the power of gold
To purchase, or compensate. Thou hast been
The watchful guardian of her liberties,
The intrepid champion of her chartered rights,
And in the perilous time her fastest friend:
Alas, that thou should'st of her love so well
Have merited, and she so ill of thine!
Yet let not conscious worth and talent faint
In their exertions for the common weal,
Because of men's ingratitude, nor deem
Their efforts useless. In such exercise
Of virtuous hardihood, superior minds

Grow up and ripen. Hence our SIDNEYS rose,
Our RUSSELS and our HAMPDENS, names revered,
The friends of human kind: and WHITBREAD, thou,

The last, but not least honoured of the band

Of British patriots; o'er whose honoured grave
The holy form of freedom bends and weeps!
O far more envied lot, departed shade!
Is thine, though mingled with the silent dead,
Thy sad remains; more dignified thy dust
Than their's-the gilded pageants of a day,
The sons of pride and pleasure, who walk forth
Beneath the warm bright sun, and kindly showers,
Yet feel no love to God, nor care for man!
Better be with the dead, than thus to live
In cold, sepulchral apathy: For such
May never minstrel wake the dulcet lyre
In hall or bower, nor picture round them throw
Her rainbow glories in proud portraiture.

The man of worth, of merit, him alone
The muse forbids to die, and writes his name

In his good deeds, his wide beneficence,

And warm philanthropy. Round WHITBREAD's brow
Lo, she entwines her civic wreath, and brings
These simple offerings of the flowers of song,
To bloom awhile, then fade upon thy shrine,
Immortal Liberty!' p. 33.

Art. X. The Lay of the Laureate.
Southey, Esq; Poet Laureate,
Academy, &c. 12mo. pp. 78.


Member of the Royal Spanish
Price 4s. Longman and Co.

THIS is a poem worthy of the Poet Laureate of England. Mr. Southey has endeavoured to justify the choice by which he has been honoured, not by emulating the courtly lyrics of Mister Pye, but by making poetry the vehicle of sentiments which could in no other shape be offered, and by giving to occasion a voice both of emphasis and of melody.

The Poem is divided into three parts. In the Proem, Mr. Southey indulges in a strain of egotism, which an author may expect that his contemporary critics will resent, but which is sure to prove interesting to the next generation of readers, when the poet only, surviving in his works, is able to tell his own tale. There are no passages in our best poets, that engage our sympathy more than those references to their personal feelings or history, which at the time, perhaps, were charged upon their vanity; but they wrote for friends, rather than for critics; or for that futurity which is sure to participate in the feeling of friendship towards a poet that has deserved its esteem.

Mr. Southey alludes, in the following stanzas, to the obloquy which has been cast upon him, on account of his acceptance of the Laureateship.

'Yea in this now, while Malice frets her hour,

Is foretaste given me of that meed divine;

Here undisturbed in this sequestered bower,

The friendship of the good and wise is mine;

And that green wreath which decks the Bard when dead,
That laureate garland crowns my living head.

That wreath which in Eliza's golden days
My master dear, divinest Spenser wore,

That which rewarded Drayton's learned lays,

Which thoughtful Ben and gentle Daniel bore, . .

Grin Envy through thy ragged mask of scorn!

In honour it was given, in honour it is worn!" pp. 7, 8.

In the subsequent stanzas, the Poet urges the difficulty which the occasion presented to one so unaccustomed to touch

the sweet dulcimer and courtly lute.'

But the example of his master' Spenser, emboldens him to choose for the joyous occasion, a theme partaking of solemnity. He adopts for this purpose the form of an allegory.

The Author imagines that he is present, in a dream, at some great public festival, which is attended with general rejoicing. Such crowds I saw, and in such glad array,

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It seemed some general joy had filled the land;
Age had a sunshine on its cheek that day,

And children, tottering by the mother's hand,
Too young to ask why all this joy should be,
Partook it, and rejoiced for sympathy' p. 18.

And every one of all that numerous throng
On head or breast a marriage symbol bore;
The war-horse proudly as he paced along

Those joyous colours in his forelock wore,
And arched his stately neck as for delight,
To show his main thus pompously bedight.
From every church the merry bells rung round
With gladdening harmony heard far and wide;
In many a mingled peal of swelling sound,

The hurrying music came on every side;
And banners from the steeples waved on high,
And streamers fluttered in the sun and sky.
Anon the cannon's voice in thunder spake,

Westward it came, the East returned the sound;
Burst after burst the innocuous thunders brake,
And rolled from side to side with quick rebound.
O happy land, where that terrific voice
Speaks but to bid all habitants rejoice!
Thereat the crowd rushed forward one and all,
And I too in my dream was borne along.

Eftsoon, methought, I reached a festal hall,

Where guards in order ranged repelled the throng,

But I had entrance through that guarded door,

In honour to the laureate crown I wore.' pp. 19, 20.

The spacious hall, hung round with trophies, and representations, in the painter's universal art,' of the most celebrated victories, is filled with the opulence of Britain's court,'


Her Statesmen, and her Warriors, and her Fair.
Amid that Hall of Victory side by side,
Conspicuous o'er the splendid company,

There sat a royal Bridegroom and his Bride;
In her fair cheek, and in her bright blue eye,
Her flaxen locks aud her benignant mien,

The marks of Brunswick's Royal Line were seen,

Of princely lineage and of princely heart,

The Bridegroom seemed,. . a man approved in fight,

Who in the great deliverance bore his part,
And had pursued the recreant Tyrant's flight
When driven from injured Germany he fled,
Bearing the curse of God and Man upon his head.
Guerdant before his feet a Lion lay,

The Saxon Lion, terrible of yore,
Who in his withered limbs and lean decay,

The marks of long and cruel bondage bore,
But broken now beside him lay the chain,
Which galled and fretted late his neck and mane.
A Lion too was couched before the Bride;

That noble Beast had never felt the chain;
Strong were his sinewy limbs and smooth his hide,

And o'er his shoulders broad the affluent mane
Dishevelled hung; beneath his feet were laid
Torn flags of France whereon his bed he made.
Full different were those Lions twain in plight,

Yet were they of one brood; and side by side
Of old, the Gallic Tyger in his might

They many a time had met, and quelled his pride,
And made the treacherous spoiler from their ire
Cowering and crippled to his den retire.' pp. 25-27.


Suddenly the air is filled with unearthly music, and a hush of reverence and dismay spreads through the assembly, on beholding a heavenly company' appear, and direct their steps to the royal seat. In the congratulations and admonitions addressed to the Royal Bride by these allegorical personages, the Poet artfully conveys the language of his feelings with courtly propriety.

The first that approaches the throne, is a female form with awful port, the majestic leader of the train: the trident of the seas is in her right hand,

The sceptre which that Bride was born to wield ;' and the Red Cross shield is displayed in her left. She exhorts the Princess to

Love peace and cherish peace: but use it so
That war may find thee ready at all hours.'

She is followed by a comely sage with locks of venerable eld,' his earthly name EXPERIENCE, to whom it is given to know all the past, and to enjoy as the meed of patient wisdom, foresight of the future. He presents to the princely pair, the volume of the rights, and usages, and laws which have constituted the greatness of Britain, and charges them to preserve it with reverence and jealous care, as the talisman of England's strength. We must transcribe the ensuing stanzas for the sake of their great beauty.

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The next who stood before that royal pair
Came gliding like a vision o'er the ground;
A glory went before him thro' the air,

Ambrosial odours floated all around,
His purple wings a heavenly lustre shed,
A silvery halo hovered round his head.
The Angel of the English Church was this,
With whose divinest presence there appeared
A glorious train, inheritors of bliss,

Saints in the memory of the good revered,
Who having rendered back their vital breath
To Him from whom it came, were perfected by Death.
Edward the spotless Tudor, there I knew,

In whose pure breast, with pious nurture fed, All generous hopes and gentle virtues grew;

A heavenly diadem adorned his head,..

Most blessed Prince, whose saintly name might move
The understanding heart to tears of reverent love.
Less radiant than King Edward, Cranmer came,
But purged from persecution's sable spot;
For he had given his body to the flame,

And now in that right hand, which flinching not
He proffered to the fire's atoning doom,
Bore he the unfading palm of martyrdom.

There too came Latimer, in worth allied,

Who to the stake when brought by Romish rage,
As if with prison weeds he cast aside

The infirmity of flesh and weight of age,
Bow-bent till then with weakness, in his shroud
Stood up erect and firm before the admiring crowd.

With these, partakers in beatitude,

Bearing like them the palm, their emblem meet, The Noble Army came, who had subdued

All frailty, putting death beneath their feet: Their robes were like the mountain snow,

and bright

As tho' they had been dipt in the fountain-springs of light.
For these were they who valiantly endured
The fierce extremity of mortal pain,

By no weak tenderness to life allured,

The victims of that hateful Henry's reign,

And of the bloody Queen, beneath whose sway
Rome lit her fires, and Fiends kept holyday.

O pardon me, thrice holy Spirits dear,

That hastily I now must pass ye by!

No want of duteous reverence is there here;
None better knows nor deeplier feels than I
What to your sufferings and your faith we owe,
Ye valiant champions for the truth below! pp. 37-39.

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