are in the same measure as the Allegro and Penseroso; the language of Milton too, as well as the measure, is occasionally caught. We shall present our readers with one or two specimens. Juno gives orders to celebrate the nuptials of Zephyrus and May: And guides her peacocks on the isles There is a great deal of simplicity and beauty in this picture. In the description of May's festal wreath there is an oversight which requires correction: May is represented as decking it "With a thousand fancies, The flower and the mythological history of it are here improperly confounded: the flower Narcissus would give elegance to a wreath, but how shall we entwine in it the self-loved boy? Juno fires the young lover with a description of his plighted fair one's beauty. "Ah! not so the virgin smil'd When her crown, with flowers emboss'd, And o'er her shiv'ring bosom bend: While thick fogs and vapour cold O'er deserts void of limpid fountains, Boreas, weary of the gloom of winter, had seized on the lovely May, "And borne her to his barren reign, The virgin, however, constant to her first love, sighed after the vales of Tempe! but the tyrant is inexorable: Terra at length repairs to the throne of Jupiter, in behalf of her numerous offspring. Jove hears the prayer: "Saturnius yields: at his command Hyperion leads the glittering band Offervid hours; around his car The radiant squadrons form for war; From heaven's wide portals issuing forth They seek the regions of the north. The king of tempests sees, afraid, Their splendor pierce his gloomy shade, While arrowy rays of light assail The rigours of his icy mail. Sharp is the conflict; cold and heat Alternate triumph and retreat; The raging storin resistless drives, Furious the piercing sun-beam strives; Vanquish'd at length, a torrent falls Profuse from the dissolving walls; The crystal fabric melts away, And liberates the captive May, Who, springing to the throne of Jove, Demands for ham her promis'd love. Heaven's monarch bends his brows diving, And gives the nod which seals her thine. And, lo! even now through flowery meads Hymen the plighted virgin leads; From impious rapine sav'd, her charms Implore the refuge of thy arms." 66 Mine, ever mine, that matchless bloom! • Hear, Nature, and record the doom, Th' auspicious doom!" the lover cries, And grasps in ecstasy the prize. The maid with looks of bashful beauty Pan, Vertumnus, and the Fauns, All to these blest lovers owing. From the "Sports of Echo" we could select many passages of no inferior merit, but we have already been liberal in quota tion. "The Spartan Matron," and "The British Mother," are companion-pieces, and breathe the spirit of patriotism. In the elegiac poem which closes the volume, Mrs. West has for too long a time lost sight of the object of her monody in denouncing the crimes of France, and abusing Bonaparte! This stuff is beneath her. The elegy however contains some beautiful and affecting passages: it is ne vertheless spun out to a tedious length. ART. XXXIV.—Madoc. By ROBERT SOUTHEY. 4to. pp. 557. THE heroic epopeia is justly considered as the most difficult achievement of poetic art, because it requires a combination of so many excellences. The descriptive poet's plasticity of style is requisite for the delineation of the scenery; the dramatist's ethic and pathetic expression for the imitation of the manners; the ode-writer's splendid decorations are often wanted to enliven; and the pruning and branching of the story into a compact, proportioned, ascensive, and complete fable, is an art nearly peculiar to this sort of composition. There is in the poetic character a natural antagonism to persevering effort, which has intercepted more plans of epic composition, than even a diffidence in the commensurate power. Most poets conceive vividly; they think in pictures; their ideas breathe, sound, shine; and rival, in every thing but duration, the impressions of sensation itself. During the illumination of their fancy, they apply to the task of composition with delight. But very vivid ideas are commonly transient; as if the act of animation wearied the instruments of thought. Like the hilarity after dinner, which exhales with the vapours of the wine; so the poetic orgasm, when excited, glows but for a time, and requires frequent intervals of less stimulant, less heating, less intemperate imagery. A recurrence to trains of thought repeatedly laid aside, seldom continues to interest long they can indeed be recalled at will, but the more familiar they become, the more feebly does their presence arouse attention. Hence the extreme difficulty of persevering through so vast an undertaking as an epopeia. Schiller observed that a drama ought to be completed in a summer. The very personages, which, while new, would excite, in the mind of their creator, the highest interest, are likely, by degrees, to come in and go out of his head without notice. When this state of indifference approaches, there is a necessary end of lively composition concerning their adventures. In the Æneid, the interest flags long before the work termi nates, evidently because the poet has too much of his task. Dryden projected an epic poem on the restoration of Peter king of Castile, by Edward the Black Prince; and Pope, on the colonization of Albion by Brutus and Corineus. Both poets felt that they had executed single passages and scenes, in a manner to answer the highest claims of the art: but they gave up these long undertakings, as likely to outlast the spirit, the rapture, the enthusiasm, of enditement, and consequently to want the power of attaching the reader perpetually. The rarity of that combination of intel lectual aptitudes, which can produce an heroic epopeia, will be the more apparent, if one considers how few such works have yet been executed. Spreading languages, as the Hebrew, have flourished and have faded, without wording one eminent narrative poem. Whole millenniums have rolled by, as from Claudian to Ariosto, without producing a distinguished epic poet. Vast nations, as the French, have land which he discovered pleased him; he left there part of his people, and went back to Wales for a fresh supply of adventurers, with whom he again set sail, and was heard of no more. There is strong evidence that he reached America, and that his posterity exists there to this day, on the southern branches of the Missouri, retaining their com→ plexion, their language, and, in some degree their arts. "About the same time, the Aztecas, an American tribe, in consequence of certain calamities, and of a particular omen, forsook Azlan, their own country, under the guidance of Yuhidthiton. They became a mighty people, and founded the Mexican empire, taking the name of Mexicans, in honour of Mexitli, their tutelary god. Their emigration is here connected with the adventures of Madoc, aud their superstition is represented the same which their descendants practised, when discovered by the Spaniards.” been celebrated for their literary culture, and yet have failed to grow, among their various specimens of excellence, a truly classical epopeia. It is therefore a fit ground for national exultation, when the literature of its language is at any time enriched with so rare and colossal an effort of workmanship; which, like the coffin of Alexander, is to encroach on the very celebrity of its hero, and to be illustrated by volumes of dissertations on shores where as yet its very dialect is unknown. To complete one of those cosmopolite classics, which pass the bounds of their native language, and are recognized thoughout the reading world, is of all sources of distinction the most enduring. The fame of the lawgiver and the statesman dwindles, when the institutions which they founded, or improved, are overthrown. The lasting monuments of the sculptor, or the architect, crumble into rubbish before the cannon of warfare, or the file of climate. But an Odyssey, or a Lusiad, will survive the nation which produced its hero, and the temples of the divinities which glitter as its machinery. Klopstock, in one of his odes, introduces Virgil sitting on the steps of the fane of Jupiter Feretrius, and thus addressing the Capitol: "thou wilt one day be a ruin,quent voyages in search of a new place of then dust, and then the companion of the storm-wind; but may Æneid"-Nor is Madoc less an heir of immortality. We shall not however affect to rank it with the Iliad, or the Jerusalem Delivered, which remain the triumphs of ancient and of modern art; but the best epic poem, which, since the Paradise Lost, has quitted the English press, must be entitled to comparison with the principal analogous inspirations of Calliope. Some account of its plan and contents should precede a critical appretiation. "The historical facts on which this poem is founded may be related in few words. On the death of Owen Gwyneth, king of North Wales, A. D. 1169, his children disputed for the succession. Yorwerth, the eldest, was set aside without a struggle, as being incapacitated by a blemish in his face. Hoel, though illegitimate, and born of an Irish mother, obtained possession of the throne for a while, till he was defeated and slain by David, the eldest son of the late king by a second wife. The conqueror, who then succeeded without opposition, slew Yorwerth, imprisoned Rodri, and hunted others of his brethren into exile. But Madoc, meantime, abandoned his barbarous country, and sailed away to the west in search of some better resting place. The The poem is divided into forty-five short segments, which usage would denominate cantoes, and which with our habits we might call sittings; for they consist of about as many lines as it is agreeable to read aloud at one sitting. The first eighteen sections correspond with the first six books of the Æneid, and introduce the hero narrating the circumstances which drove him from his home, and his subse settlement. The remaining twenty-seven sections narrate those conflicts with the North-American tribes, which terminate in securing to Madoc and his companions the sovereignty of an extensive district. The introduction or annunciation of the poem is in good taste, short, natural, appropriate, and attractive, but not faultless. "Come, listen to a tale of times of old! Come, for ye know me! I am he who sung The Maid of Arc: and I am he who framed Of Thalaba the wild and wonderous song. Come, listen to my lay, and ye shall hear How Madoc from the shores of Britain spread The adventurous sail, explored the ocean ways, And quelled barbarian power, and overthrew The unmeaning invocation of a muse is here properly omitted; but the word come recurs too often for a convocation wholly imaginary; and the epithet triumphantly, is not strictly descriptive of the event: we should have preferred instead of the two last lines, And planted in its fanes the cross of Christ, Book I. Madoc's vessel reaches Aberfraw, in the isle of Anglesey. His signals had been perceived: he is met at the haven's moth by Urien, his foster-father, and learns the dispersed state of his brethren and relations. He seeks his sister Geervyl: the meeting is described with feeling. II. David, the Welsh usurper, is celebrating a feast on his marriage with Emma, the princess of England, when the arrival of his brother is announced. Madoc and his companions join the party; during which the bards sing a hymn. This is too pious for the occasion, though according to the rules of bardism: it ought rather to have been a nuptial song, or a sea song, not a rhapsody of metaphysic theology, a psalin worthy of the saint of Wales. III. On the next day at table Madoc begins the relation of his adventures. Some preliminary circumstances which determined him to leave this country are mentioned. The story of Cynetha is deeply pathetic: there is no epic poem, there are few tragedies, in which a finer or higher feeling is wrought up, than bursts upon us at the words P.31.- Despise not thou the blind man's It might have given thy father's dying hour IV. The voyage is loosely told, as if Ireland was not in being, was not the last land in view; the impatience of the sailors, their mutiny in order to return, and at length the catastrophe of the enterprize, are well managed circumstances; but there is rather too little of a voyage which is so much the pivot of the poem. “Three dreadful nights and days we drove along; The fourth, the welcome rain came rattling down: The wind had fallen, and through the broken cloud Appeated the bright dilating blue of heaven, Emboldened now, I called the mariners: Vain were it, should we bend a homeward course, Driven by the storin so far: they saw our barks, For service of that long and perilous way, On the last evening, a long shadowy line Skirted the sea ;-how fast the night closed in! I stood upon the deck, and watched till dawa. But who can tell what feelings filled my heart, When, like a cloud, the distant land arose And cleft, with rapid oars, the shallow wave, Grey from the ocean,-when we left the ship, And stood triumphant on another world !” V. The manners of the Floridans, the wonders of the climate, are well told: the fugitive Lincoya, a savage who attaches himself with dog-like fidelity to Madoc, is rendered interesting. VI. The mouth of the Missouri having been passed, Madoc finds the native country of Lincoya: it has been conquered by the Aztecans, and is held in feudal subjection by their king Coanocotzin, who tolerates the former queen Erillyab in a sort of vice-regal capacity. She receives Madoc with a complacence too little tinctured with the natural emotions of the sex. The priests of Aztlan send for the yearly tribute of children to be sacrificed to Mexitli. The Welsh indignantly rescue the intended victims. VII. A revolt of the Hoa-men takes place. They join Madoc and his companions against the armies of Aztlan, and are victorious. The incidents of the wo are happily chosen and narrated; but the illness of Coanocotzin is too lucky. The finger of chance should never be employed in producing a catastrophe. There is not a real miracle in all Homer. Many things are narrated as if they arose from the interposition of the Gods; but the human effort is every where provided, which the imputed effect requires. VIII. Madoc takes a physician to Coanocotzin, who cures him. The freedom of the Hoa-men is confirmed. A solemnu talk is agreed to be held between the Indian priests and and those of the whites. A conversion of the Hoa-men ensues. Madoc leaves many of his companions with this friendly nation, and returns to his country in search of further colonists. IX. Madoc asks leave of the king of Wales to proclaim his plan of colonization, and to solicit his brothers to join the enterprize; but the tyrant, afraid lest, under pretence of collecting recruits for Madoc, they should levy war against his usurpation, objects. X. Madoc goes to Mathraval, to the court of Cyveilioc, a friendly prince. The description of his seizing the harp is wonderfully fine, p. 100, line 3-10. "Cyveilioc stood before them,-in his pride Stood up the poet-prince of Mathraval : His head, as if in reverence to receive XI. A gorsed, or meeting of bards, takes place. Caradoc announces the enterprize of Madoc in a very fine ode, and offers himself as a colonist. This ode, like many others which occur in this poem,. would have produced a better effect if drawn up in the irregular metre of Thalaba, or in some regular lyrical, stanza. The concluding portion of the ode requires transposition: the list of colonists occurs in anticlimax : the wretched one whom all change is gain" ought to be mentioned first, as of easiest acquisition; "to and he "whose bones amid a land of servitude could never rest in peace," ought to be mentioned last, as having the sublimest motive of emigration. Besides, the bard is an individual instance of this class, and should therefore be named contiguously. For what reason "he who bath felt the throb of pride to hear our old illustrious annals" should emigrate at all, we perceive not: the poet would answer, "he feels his country's shame." XII. Madoc's next visit is to Dinevawr, where the lord Rhys, a friend of his father, resides. On the road he meets his fugitive and outlawed brother Ririd. This interview, which terminates in Ririd's determining to join the colonists, is one of the fine situations in the poem. The unexpected discovery of a kinsman is as favourite a resource with this author as with the ancient tragedians. XIII. Still superior is the meeting with Llewellyn in the next book. Llewellyn is the rightful heir of the Welsh throne, is pursued by the emissaries of the tyrant, and lives a life of disguise, danger, and concealment, in expectation of the time for asserting his rights. Madoc is ignorant of his nephew's retreat, and had wished to find bim: he visits on the island Bardsey the sepulchres of his family. "And now the porter called prince Madoç out, land To speak with one, he said, who from the Had sought him, and required his private ear. Madoc in the moonlight met him: in his hand Like a broad shield, the coracle was hung. The stripling held an oar, and on his back, Uncle! he cried, and, with a gush of tears, Sprung to the glad embrace. O my brave boy! Llewelyn! my dear boy! with stifled voice, And interrupted utterance, Madoc cried, Llewelyn, come with me, and share my fate! "No! by my God! the high-hearted youth exclaimed, It never shall be said Llewelyn left Here in this lonely isle, and at this hour, Nay, quoth Madoc, tell me first, Where are thy haunts and coverts, and what hope Thou hast to bear thee up? Why goes thou not To Mathraval? there would Cyveilioc give What recompence? Exclaimed Llewelyn; what hath he to give But life for life? and what have I to claim But vengeance, and my father Yorwerth's throne? If with aught short of that my soul could rest, Would I not through the wide world follow thee, And show to thine old age the tenderness Dear Uncle? and fare with thee, well or ill, . My childhood found from thee?—What hopes I have |