isles

But this costs little to true Franks, who had rather
Combat than listen, were it to their father.
What is the simple standing of a shot,
To listening long, and interrupting not?
Though this was not the method of old Rome,
When Tully fulmined o'er each vocal dome;
Demosthenes has sanction'd the transaction,
In saying eloquence meant "Action, action!"

XII.

But where's the monarch? hath he dined? or yet
Groans beneath indigestion's heavy debt?
Have revolutionary patés risen,

And turn'd the royal entrails to a prison?
Have discontented movements stirr'd the troops ?
Or have no movements follow'd traitorous soups?
Have Carbonaro (1) cooks not carbonadoed
Each course enough? or doctors dire dissuaded
Repletion? Ah! in thy dejected looks

I read all France's treason in her cooks!
Good classic Louis! is it, canst thou say,
Desirable to be the "Désiré ?"

Why wouldst thou leave calm Hartwell's
abode, (2)

Apician table, and Horatian ode,

To rule a people who will not be ruled,

green

And love much rather to be scourged than school'd?
Ah! thine was not the temper or the taste
For thrones; the table sees thee better placed:
A mild Epicurean, form'd, at best,
To be a kind host and as good a guest,
To talk of letters, and to know by heart
One half the poet's, all the gourmand's art;
A scholar always, now and then a wit,
And gentle when digestion may permit:—
But not to govern lands enslaved or free;
The gout was martyrdom enough for thee.

XIII.

Shall noble Albion pass without a phrase From a bold Briton in her wonted praise ?

And happy Britain, wealth, and Freedom's smiles-
White cliffs, that held invasion far aloof-
Contented subjects, all alike tax-proof-
Proud Wellington, with eagle beak so curl'd,
That nose, the hook where he suspends the world! (3)
And Waterloo-—and trade—and——(hush! not yet
A syllable of imposts or of debt)-

And ne'er (enough) lamented Castlereagh,
Whose penknife slit a goose-quill t' other day-
And 'pilots who have weather'd every storm'—(4)
(But, no, not even for rhyme's sake, name Reform.)"
These are the themes thus sung so oft before,
Methinks we need not sing them any more ;
Found in so many volumes far and near,
There's no occasion you should find them here.
Yet something may remain perchance to chime
With reason, and, what's stranger still, with rhyme.
Even this thy genius, Canning! may permit,
Who, bred a statesman, still was born a wit,
And never, even in that dull House, couldst tame
To unleaven❜d prose thine own poetic flame;
Our last, our best, our only orator, (5)
Even I can praise thee—Tories do no more:
Nay, not so much;-they hate thee, man! because
Thy spirit less upholds them than it awes.
The hounds will gather to their huntsman's hollo,
And where he leads the duteous pack will follow
But not for love mistake their yelling cry;
Their yelp for game is not a eulogy;
Less faithful far than the four-footed pack,
A dubious scent would lure the bipeds back.
Thy saddle-girths are not yet quite secure,
Nor royal stallion's feet extremely sure; (6)
The unwieldly old white horse is apt at last
To stumble, kick, and now and then stick fast
With his great self and rider in the mud:
But what of that? the animal shows blood.

XIV.

Alas, the country! how shall tongue or pen
Bewail her now uncountry gentlemen?
The last to bid the cry of warfare cease,

Diary, 1821.

General, was made Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs,-not

(3) "I have never heard any one who fulfilled my idéal of an orator. Grattan would have been near it, but for his harlequin delivery. Pitt I never heard-Fox but once; and then he struck me as a debater, which to me seems as different from an orator

Fourth, or of the high Tories in the cabinet. He lived to verify some of the predictions of the poet-to abandon the foreign policy of his predecessor-to break up the Tory party by a coalition with the Whigs-and to prepare the way for Reform in Parliament.-E.

The first to make a malady of peace.

For what were all those country patriots born?
To hunt, and vole, and raise the price of corn!
But corn, like every mortal thing, must fall,
Kings, conquerors, and markets most of all.
And must ye fall with every ear of grain?
Why would you trouble Bonaparte's reign?
He was your great Triptolemus; his vices
Destroy'd but realms, and still maintain'd your
He amplified to every lord's content [prices;
The grand agrarian alchymy, hight rent.
Why did the tyrant stumble on the Tartars,
And lower wheat to such desponding quarters ?
Why did you chain him on yon isle so lone?
The man was worth much more upon his throne.
True, blood and treasure boundlessly were spilt;
But what of that? the Gaul may bear the guilt;
But bread was high, the farmer paid his way,
And acres told upon the appointed day.
But where is now the goodly audit ale?
The purse-proud tenant, never known to fail?
The farm which never yet was left on hand ?
The marsh reclaim'd to most improving land?
The impatient hope of the expiring lease?
The doubling rental? What an evil's peace!
In vain the prize excites the ploughman's skill,
In vain the Commons pass their patriot bill;
The landed interest—(you may understand
The phrase much better leaving out the land)—
The land self-interest groans from shore to shore,
For fear that plenty should attain the poor.
Up, up again, ye rents! exalt your notes,
Or else the ministry will lose their votes,
And patriotism, so delicately nice,

Her loaves will lower to the market price:
For ah! "the loaves and fishes," once so high,
Are gone their oven closed, their ocean dry,
And nought remains of all the millions spent,
Excepting to grow moderate and content.
They who are not so had their turn-and turn
About still flows from Fortune's equal urn;
Now let their virtue be its own reward,

And share the blessings which themselves prepared.
See these inglorious Cincinnati swarm,
Farmers of war, dictators of the farm;
Their ploughshare was the sword in hireling hands,
Their fields manured by gore of other lands;
Safe in their barns, these Sabine tillers sent
Their brethren out to battle-why? for rent!
Year after year they voted cent. per cent., [rent!
Blood, sweat, and tear-wrung millions-why ? for
They roar'd, they dined, they drank, they swore they
[meant

To die for England-why then live?-for rent!
The peace has made one general malcontent
Of these high-market patriots; war was rent!
Their love of country, millions all mis-spent,
How reconcile? by reconciling rent!

Such, landlords! was your appetite for war,
And, gorged with blood, you grumble at a scar!
What! would they spread their earthquake even
o'er cash?

And when land crumbles, bid firm paper crash?
So rent may rise, bid bank and nation fall,
And found on 'Change a Fundling Hospital?
Lo, Mother Church, while all religion writhes,
Like Niobe, weeps o'er her offspring, Tithes;
The prelates go to-where the saints have gone,
And proud pluralities subside to one;
Church, state, and faction wrestle in the dark,
Toss'd by the deluge in their common ark.
Shorn of her bishops, banks, and dividends,
Another Babel soars-but Britain ends.
And why? to pamper the self-seeking wants,
And prop the hill of these agrarian ants.
"Go to these ants, thou sluggard, and be wise;"
Admire their patience through each sacrifice,
Till taught to feel the lesson of their pride,
The price of taxes and of homicide;
Admire their justice, which would fain deny
The debt of nations:-pray who made it high?

XV.

Or turn to sail between those shifting rocks,
The new Symplegades-the crushing Stocks,
Where Midas might again his wish behold
In real paper or imagined gold.
That magic palace of Alcina shows
More wealth than Britain ever had to lose,
Were all her atoms of unleaven❜d ore,
And all her pebbles from Pactolus' shore.
There Fortune plays, while rumour holds the stake,
And the world trembles to bid brokers break.
How rich is Britain! not indeed in mines,
Or peace or plenty, corn or oil, or wines;
No land of Canaan, full of milk and honey,
Nor (save in paper shekels) ready money:
But let us not to own the truth refuse,
Was ever Christian land so rich in Jews?

Those parted with their teeth to good King John,
And now, ye kings! they kindly draw your own;
All states, all things, all sovereigns they control,
And waft a loan "from Indus to the pole."
The banker-broker-baron (1)-brethren, speed

(1) The head of the illustrious house of Montmorency has usually been designated "le premier baron chrétien;" his ancestor having, it is supposed, been the first noble convert to

To aid these bankrupt tyrants in their need.
Nor these alone; Columbia feels no less
Fresh speculations follow each success;
And philanthropic Israel deigns to drain
Her mild per-centage from exhausted Spain.
Not without Abraham's seed can Russia march;
'Tis gold, not steel, that rears the conqueror's arch.
Two Jews, a chosen people, can command

In every realm their scripture-promised land :
Two Jews keep down the Romans, and uphold
The accursed Hun, more brutal than of old :
Two Jews-but not Samaritans-direct
The world, with all the spirit of their sect.
What is the happiness of earth to them?
A congress forms their "New Jerusalem,"
Where baronies and orders both invite-
Oh, holy Abraham! dost thou see the sight?
Thy followers mingling with these royal swine,
Who spit not" on their Jewish gaberdine,"
But honour them as portion of the show-
(Where now, O pope! is thy forsaken toe?
Could it not favour Judah with some kicks?
Or has it ceased to “kick against the pricks ?”)
On Shylock's shore behold them stand afresh,
To cut from nations' hearts their "pound of flesh."

XVI.

Strange sight this Congress! destined to unite
All that's incongruous, all that's opposite.
I speak not of the Sovereigns-they 're alike,
A common coin as ever mint could strike:
But those who sway the puppets, pull the strings,
Have more of motley than their heavy kings.
Jews, authors, generals, charlatans, combine,
While Europe wonders at the vast design;
There Meternich, power's foremost parasite,
Cajoles; there Wellington forgets to fight;
There Chateaubriand forms new books of mar-
tyrs; (1)

And subtle Greeks (2) intrigue for stupid Tartars;
There Montmorency, the sworn foe to charters, (3)
Turns a diplomatist of great éclat,

To furnish articles for the Debats;
Of war so certain-yet not quite so sure
As his dismissal in the Moniteur.

Alas! how could his cabinet thus err?
Can peace be worth an ultra-minister?
He falls indeed, perhaps to rise again,
"Almost as quickly as he conquer'd Spain." (4)
XVII.

Enough of this—a sight more mournful woos
The averted eye of the reluctant Muse.
The imperial daughter, the imperial bride,
The imperial victim-sacrifice to pride;
The mother of the hero's hope, the boy,
The young Astyanax of modern Troy; (5)
The still pale shadow of the loftiest queen
That earth has yet to see, or e'er hath seen;
She flits amidst the phantoms of the hour,
The theme of pity, and the wreck of power.
Oh, cruel mockery! Could not Austria spare
A daughter? What did France's widow there?
Her fitter place was by St. Helen's wave,
Her only throne is in Napoleon's grave.
But, no, she still must hold a petty reign,
Flank'd by her formidable chamberlain;
The martial Argus, whose not hundred eyes
Must watch her through these paltry pageantries. (6)
What though she share no more, and shared in vain,
A sway surpassing that of Charlemagne,
Which swept from Moscow to the southern seas!
Yet still she rules the pastoral realm of cheese,
Where Parma views the traveller resort
To note the trappings of her mimic court.
But she appears! Verona sees her shorn
Of all her beams—while nations gaze and mourn-
Ere yet her husband's ashes have had time
To chill in their inhospitable clime,

(If e'er those awful ashes can grow cold;

But no, their embers soon will burst the mould;)
She comes!-the Andromache (but not Racine's,
Nor Homer's.)-Lo! on Pyrrhus' arm she leans!
Yes! the right arm, yet red from Waterloo,
Which cut her lord's half-shatter'd sceptre through,
Is offer'd and accepted! Could a slave
Do more? or less?—and he in his new grave!
Her eye, her cheek, betray no inward strife,
And the ex-empress grows as ex a wife!
So much for human ties in royal breasts!
Why spare men's feelings, when their own are jests?

of a Mainote chief whom he had imprisoned.-E. (3) The duke de Montmorenci-Laval.-E. (4) From Pope's verses on Lord Peterborough:

"And he whose lightning pierced the Iberian lines,
Now forms my quincunx, and now ranks my vines,
Or tames the genius of the stubborn plain,
Almost as quickly as he conquer'd Spain."-E.

XVIII.

But, tired of foreign follies, I turn home,
And sketch the group-the picture's yet to come.
My Muse 'gan weep, but, ere a tear was spilt,
She caught Sir William Curtis in a kilt!
While throng'd the chief of every Highland clan
To hail their brother, Vich lan Alderman!
Guildhall grows Gael, and echoes with Erse roar,

(1) George the Fourth is said to have been somewhat annoyed, on entering the levee-room at Holyrood (Aug. 1822) in full Stuart tartan, to see only one figure similarly attired (and of similar bulk) -that of Sir William Curtis. The city knight had every thing complete-even the knife stuck in the garter. He asked the

While all the Common Council cry "Claymore!"
To see proud Albyn's tartans as a belt
Gird the gross sirloin of a city Celt, (1)
She burst into a laughter so extreme,
That I awoke and lo! it was no dream!
Here, reader, will we pause:-if there's no harm in
This first-you'll have, perhaps, a second "Car-
men."

King, if he did not think him well dressed. "Yes!" replied his Majesty, "only you have no spoon in your hose." The devourer of turtle had a fine engraving executed of himself in his Celtic attire.-E.

ADVERTISEMENT.

THE foundation of the following story will be found partly in Lieutenant Bligh's Narrative of | the Mutiny and Seizure of the Bounty, in the South Seas, in 1789; and partly in Mariner's Account of the Tonga Islands. (2)

THE ISLAND.

CANTO I.

I.

THE morning watch was come; the vessel lay
Her course, and gently made her liquid way;
The cloven billow flash'd from off her prow
In furrows form'd by that majestic plough;
The waters with their world were all before;
Behind, the South Sea's many an islet shore.
The quiet night, now dappling, 'gan to wane
Dividing darkness from the dawning main;
The dolphins, not unconscious of the day,
Swam high, as eager of the coming ray;
The stars from broader beams began to creep,
And lift their shining eyelids from the deep;

The sail resumed its lately shadow'd white,
And the wind flutter'd with a freshening flight;
The purpling ocean owns the coming sun,
But ere he break-a deed is to be done.

II.

The gallant chief within his cabin slept,
Secure in those by whom the watch was kept:
His dreams were of Old England's welcome shore,
Of toils rewarded, and of dangers o'er;
His name was added to the glorious roll
Of those who search the storm-surrounded Pole.
The worst was over, and the rest seem'd sure, (3)
And why should not his slumber be secure?
Alas! his deck was trod by unwilling feet,
And wilder hands would hold the vessel's sheet;
Young hearts, which languish'd for some sunny isle,
Where summer years and summer women smile;
Men without country, who, too long estranged,
Had found no native home, or found it changed,
And, half uncivilised, preferr❜d the cave
Of some soft savage to the uncertain wave-
The gushing fruits that nature gave untill'd;
The wood without a path but where they will'd ;
The field o'er which promiscuous Plenty pour'd
Her horn; the equal land without a lord;
The wish-which ages have not yet subdued
In man-to have no master save his mood; (4)

luable instruction.-E.

(3) "A few hours before, my situation had been peculiarly flattering: I had a ship in the most perfect order, stored with every necessary, both for health and service; the object of the voyage was attained, and two thirds of it now completed. The remaining part had every prospect of success."— Bligh.

(4) The women of Otaheite are handsome, mild, and cheerful