Gebir surveyed the concourse from the tents,
The Egyptian men around him; 'twas observ'd
By those below how wistfully he lookt,
From what attention with what earnestness
Now to his city, now to theirs, he waved
His hand, and held it, while they spake, outspred.
They tarried with him and they shared the feast.
They stoopt with trembling hand from heavy jars
The wines of Gades gurgling in the bowl;

Nor bent they homeward til the moon appear'd

To hang midway betwixt the earth and skies.'-pp. 54-55. It would be unjust to deny that the whole of this description is fraught with the finest spirit of antiquity. The imagination, while we read it, luxuriates in the scene which passes, as if by enchantment, before us. The mystic sound of the conch over the sea, the purple mist, the group of attendant nymphs tuning their shells, and weaving chaplets, and guarding the wreathed door of the nuptial bower from the dolphins, are all in the true character of poetry. In a similar strain, the nymph, beguiling Tamar from apprehension of the dangers that are impending over his brother Gebir, details to him the pleasant occupations which she has in store for him.

"Thus we may sport at leisure when we go
Where, loved by Neptune and the Naid, loved
By pensive Dryad pale, and Oread

The spritely Nymph whom constant Zephyr woos,
Rhine rolls his beryl-coloured wave; than Rhine
What river from the mountains ever came
More stately! most the simple crown adorns
Of rushes and of willows interwined

With here and there a flower: his lofty brow
Shaded with vines and mistleto and oak
He rears, and mystic bards his fame resound.
Or gliding opposite, the Illyrian gulf

Will harbour us from ill." While thus she spake,
She toucht his eyelashes with libant lip,

And breath'd ambrosial odours, o'er his cheek
Celestial warmth suffusing: grief dispersed,

And strength and pleasure beam'd upon his brow.
Then pointed she before him: first arose
To his astonisht and delighted view

The sacred ile that shrines the queen of love.
It stood so near him, so acute each sense,
That not the symphony of lutes alone
Or coo serene or billing strife of doves,
But murmurs, whispers, nay the very sighs

Which he himself had utter'd once, he heard.
Next, but long after and far off, appear

The cloudlike cliffs and thousand towers of Crete,
And further to the right, the Cyclades :

VOL. II. (1831.) No. II.

Q

Phoebus had rais'd and fixt them, to surround
His native Delos and aerial fane.

He saw the land of Pelops, host of Gods,
Saw the steep ridge where Corinth after stood
Beckoning the serious with the smiling Arts
Into the sunbright bay; unborn the maid
That to assure the bent-up hand unskill'd
Lookt oft, but oftener fearing who might wake.
He heard the voice of rivers; he descried
Pindan Peneus and the slender Nymphs
That tread his banks but fear the thundering tide;
These, and Amphrysos and Apidanus

And poplar-crown'd Spercheus, and reclined
On restless rocks Enipeus, where the winds
Scatter'd above the weeds his hoary hair.
Then, with Pirene and with Panope,
Evenus, troubled from paternal tears,
And last was Achelous, king of iles.
Zacynthus here, above rose Ithaca,
Like a blue bubble floating in the bay.
Far onward to the left a glimm'ring light
Glanced out oblique, nor vanisht; he inquired
Whence that arose, his consort thus replied:-
"Behold the vast Eridanus! ere long
We may again behold him and rejoice.
Of noble rivers none with mightier force
Rolls his unwearied torrent to the main."
And now Sicanian Etna rose to view :
Darknesss with light more horrid she confounds,
Baffles the breath and dims the sight of day.
Tamar grew giddy with astonishment

And, looking up, held fast the bridal vest;

He heard the roar above him, heard the roar

Beneath, and felt it too, as he beheld,

Hurl, from Earth's base, rocks, mountains, to the skies. 'Meanwhile the Nymph had fixt her eyes beyond,

As seeing somewhat, not intent on aught.

He, more amazed than ever, then exclamed

"Is there another flaming ile? or this

Illusion, thus past over unobserved ?"

"Look yonder," cried the Nymph, without reply, "Look yonder!" Tamar lookt, and saw afar Where the waves whiten'd on the desert shore. When from amid grey ocean first he caught The hights of Calpe, sadden'd, he exclamed, "Rock of Iberia! fixt by Jove and hung With all his thunder-bearing clouds, I hail Thy ridges rough and cheerless! what tho' Spring Nor kiss thy brow, nor cool it with a flower, Yet will I hail thee, hail thy flinty couch

Where Valour and where Virtue have reposed."
The Nymph said, sweetly smiling "Fickle Man
Would not be happy could he not regret!
And I confess how, looking back, a thought
Has touch't and tun'd or rather thrill'd my heart,
Too soft for sorrow and too strong for joy:
Fond foolish maid, 'twas with mine own accord
It sooth'd me, shook me, melted, drown'd, in tears.
But weep not thou; what cause hast thou to weep?
Would'st thou thy country? would'st those caves abborr'd,
Dungeons and portals that exclude the day?

Gebir, tho' generous, just, humane, inhaled
Rank venom from these mansions. Rest O King,
In Egypt thou! nor, Tamar! pant for sway.
With horrid chorus, Pain, Diseases, Death,
Stamp on the slippery pavement of the proud,
And ring their sounding emptiness thro' earth.
Possess the ocean, me, thyself, and peace."

'And now the chariot of the Sun descends,
The waves rush hurried from his foaming steeds,
Smoke issues from their nostrils at the gate,
Which when they enter, with huge golden bar

Atlas and Calpe close across the sea.'-pp. 57-61.

If the story of the poem be in itself devoid of connexion and interest, we must admit that such passages as these, which are not equalled every day, go far towards redeeming its imperfections. We need only add that the arts of Dalica are successful. On the day appointed for the visit of Charoba to the camp of Gebir, he is invested by Dalica with the fatal robe, by the operation of which he soon expires. The moral of the tale shews the miserable end at which ambition arrives, while the humble life of the shepherd is crowned with happiness. The moral is common enough; but the fable out of which it is spun, is singularly wild.

The tragedy of Count Julian is a much less meritorious performance. It is a series of mere dialogues, without a particle of dramatic interest. The plot is taken from a passage in the Moorish history of Spain. The Count Julian, having been deprived of his daughter, by Roderigo the King of Spain, turns traitor and joins the Infidel invader, by whose side he carries on the unnatural war with success. In a long interview which takes place between Roderigo and the Count, the former offers to divorce his wife, Egilona, and to marry Covilla, the Count's daughter, whom he had already seduced, if he would quit the Moorish host and return to his allegiance. The pride of the father repels this and other similar overtures, and the tragedy ends, as it began, in his obstinate resistance to his sovereign. We suppose that the following extract from a dialogue, which takes place between the Count and his daughter, will sufficiently gratify the curiosity of the reader, as to the character of this composition.

'Not remember!

What have the wretched else for consolation !
What else have they who pining feed their woe ?
Can I, or should I, drive from memory
All that was dear and sacred, all the joys
Of innocence and peace? when no debate
Was in the convent, but what hymn, whose voice,
To whom among the blessed it arose,

Swelling so sweet; when rang the vesper-bell,
And every finger ceast from the guitar,

And every tongue was silent through our land;
When, from remotest earth, friends met again,
Hung on each other's neck, and but embraced,
So sacred, still, and peaceful was the hour.
Now, in what climate of the wasted world,
Not unmolested long by the profane,
Can I pour forth in secrecy to God

My prayers and my repentance? where besides
Is the last solace of the parting soul?

Friends, brethren, parents. . dear indeed, too dear
Are they, but somewhat still the heart requires,
That it may leave them lighter, and more blest.

'JULIAN.

'Wide are the regions of our far-famed land:
Thou shalt arrive at her remotest bounds,
See her best people, choose some holiest house;
Whether where Castro from surrounding vines
Hears the hoarse ocean roar among his caves,
And, thro' the fissure in the green churchyard,
The wind wail loud the calmest summer day;
Or where Santona leans against the hill,
Hidden from sea and land by groves and bowers.
'COVILLA.

'O! for one moment in those pleasant scenes
Thou placest me, and lighter air I breathe :
Why could I not have rested, and heard on!
My voice dissolves the vision quite away,

Outcast from virtue, and from nature too!'-pp. 108, 109.

The tragedy is followed by two dramatic sketches: the first upon the exhausted subject of Ines de Castro; the second is taken from the story of Ippolito di Este. In neither of these compositions, no more than in the tragedy, do we recognize the genius of Mr. Landor. The small poems which fill up the volume, he says, he publishes merely to please himself. It is well if they accomplish that object; but if they do, we can only say that Mr. Landor is much more easy to be pleased than we had thought him.

227

ART. VI.-Sketches in Spain and Morocco. By Sir Arthur de Capell Brooke, Bart., M.A., F.R.S., &c. In two volumes. 8vo. London : Colburn and Co. 1831.

THE author of these volumes is a well experienced traveller. The reader may possibly have a favourable recollection of his tour to the North Cape of Europe, and his Winter in Lapland, which have been before the public for some years. If not particularly distinguished for simplicity of style, those works, as well as that which now lies before us, must always hold a respectable rank in our literature. As far as Sir Arthur describes what he sees with his own eyes, his reports of the different countries which he has visited may be considered as literally correct. He is evidently a man without prejudices; seems to have been everywhere well treated; and, consequently, he generally dwells with more delight upon the agreeable features of the picture of mankind, than upon those of a repulsive character. But while we do justice to this amiable trait in his disposition, we must not pass over an egregious fault which he possesses, in common, we regret to say, with too many of our voyagers by sea and land. He seems to have fixed it as a principle in his mind, that a day or two after he sets his foot upon a foreign shore, and forms an acquaintance with one or two of its inhabitants, he is authorized, from such data as he can thus collect, to write a general essay upon the virtues and vices, the public and domestic habits, of the whole nation. Hence, for example, within a few hours after his arrival in Cadiz, the baronet, never having been in Spain before, enters into a regular disquisition upon the manners of the fair sex in that city, informs us of the mode in which they spend their days and nights; compares their beauty with that of the ladies of Northern Spain, and with those of Mauritania; assures us that the marriage vow is with them a mere trifle, to which they attach no sort of importance; that they are ever on the look out for intrigues; that their husbands are a degenerate race; and then he gives us the most minute information, as to the way in which the husbands and wives, not merely of Cadiz, but of the whole Peninsula, consult their mutual convenience, in lightening the pressure of the matrimonial yoke!

It is obvious that a report of this kind has been drawn up hastily, to say the least of it; that it is founded, not upon the personal knowledge of the author, for he could not have had time or opportunity to acquire it;-but upon the loose answers which were given to his questions, perhaps by the English consul, or some of his clerks, or other British residents at Cadiz; who, if they were acquainted with the character of the respectable classes in that place, could hardly be considered as authorities with respect to every other part of Spain. That vice prevails in that country to a great extent, we do not mean to deny ; but we, who sojourned perhaps a