to declare for the King, at the commencement of the second civil war, as the invasion of England by the Scottish army is usually styled. According to this statement, the whole seventeen sail were brought over by Lindale, a boat-swain's mate of the admiral's ship, and three of his companions to whom he had communicated his design. In times like those of which we are speaking, such a change in the sentiments of a whole body of men at no time distinguished by deliberate action, or peculiar correctness in their reasoning, might, not improbably, have been effected even by such means as these. In the history of revolutionary wars, and popular commotions, all is not to be treated as romantic, that bears the appearance of romance.

[To be continue 1.]

ART. IX-The Lay of Marie: a Poem. By MATILDA BETHAM. London: Hunter. 1816. pp. 276.

THIS elegant poem is the production of a lady who is already known to the public as an artist, as well as a writer of considerable taste and ability; and that portion of fame which her minor poems have already secured, need fear no diminution from the publication we are now called upon to notice. The Lay of Marie occupies but half the volume to which it gives its name; the remainder of the pages being filled by an appendix, into which we would have our readers look attentively, before they enter upon the perusal of the poem. This will be found highly expedient towards a clear understanding of who Marie was, and when and why and where she sung. The story of the poem is not only decorated and veiled, but in some measure obscured by the graces of diction; and reminds us of the statue of love in the gardens of Chantilly, simple in its form, polished and durable in its materials, but nearly hidden from a casual glance, by luxuriant blossoms which cluster round and entwine it in all the lavish redundancy of beauty. We do not recollect to have been at once so pleased and so puzzled by a poem, since we read the wanderer of the ill-fated Savage, of whom his partial biographer relates, that he "always maintained the plan of his poem to be perfectly regular and obvious, and never failed to tax with gross stupidity or wilful perverseness those who either did not, or would not understand it." Such was, upon à charge of obscurity, the avowed displeasure of a man, whose numerous friendships partook of all the devotion and enthusiasm of poetry,

and whose magnanimity in pardoning offences it would be as difficult to credit on the testimony of any other co-temporary writer, as to doubt when recorded by Dr. Johnson.

This is an alarming precedent for our critical observations, but we trust that from one of the gentler sex we need not dread so formidable a resentment. Some doubts of the perspicuity of this interesting tale, may perhaps be allowed through chari y if not admitted with acknowledgment. Few of us are ever convinced but by the operations of our own judgments; the reasonings of others seldom work' in us the admission of arguments we have once rejected; and we rather strengthen the bulwarks of our opinions on the first intimation of an attack, than admit the opposing party to a parley. The notion of persuading an author into any admission of a defect in his own work, is too presumptuous even to enter the head of a reviewer; but we hold ourselves pledged to the public to give a fair and accurate survey of the literary country we inspect: Seldom indeed, are we so happy as to explore, as in the present instance, a Land of Promise, whence we return enriched with the fruits of Fancy.

The Lay of Marie, is dedicated in a few very pretty compli mentary lines to the accomplished Lady Bedingfield, and is introduced to the reader by a preface which since it is neither long nor tedious we shall here insert.

"As there is little, in all I have been able to collect respecting Marie, which has any thing to do with the Poem, I have chosen to place such information at the end of the book, in the form of an Appendix, rather than here; where the only things necessary to state are, that she was an AngloNorman minstrel of the thirteenth century; and as she lived at the time of our losing Normandy, I have connected her history with that event: that the young king who sces her in his progress through his foreign possessions is our Henry III.; and the Earl William who steps forward to speak in her favour is William Longsword, brother to Richard Cœur de Lion. Perhaps there is no record of minstrels being called upon to sing at a feast in celebration of a victory which involves their own greatest possible misfortune; but such an incident is not of improbable occurrence. It is likely also, that a woman, said to be more learned, accomplished, and pleasing, than was usually the case with those of her profession, might have a father, who, with the ardour, the disobedience, the remorse of his heroic master, had been, like him, a crusader and a captive; and in the after solitude of self-inflicted penitence, full of romantic and mournful recollections, fostered in the mind of his daughter, by nature embued with a portion of his own impassioned feelings, every tendency to that wild and poetical turn of thought which qualified her for a minstrel; and, after his death, induced her to become one.

"The union of European and Eastern beauty, in the person of Marie, I have attempted to describe as lovely as possible. The consciousness of noble birth, of injurious depression, and the result of that education

which absorbed the whole glowing mind of a highly gifted parent, a mind rich with adventures, with enthusiasm and tenderness, ought to be pourtrayed in her deportment; while the elegance and delicacy which inore particularly distinguish the gentlewoman, would naturally be im bibed from a constant early association with a model of what the chivalrous spirit of the age could form, with all its perfections and its faults; in a situation, too, calculated still more to refine such a character; especially with one who was the centre of his affections and regrets, and whon he was so soon to leave unprotected. That, possessing all these advantages, notwithstanding her low station, she should be beloved by, and, on the discovery of her birth, married to a young nobleman, whose high favour with his sovereign would lead him to hope such an offence against the then royal prerogative of directing choice would be deemed a venial one, is, I should think, an admissible supposition.

"That a woman would not be able to sing under such afflicting circum stances might be objected; but history shews us, scarcely any exertion of fortitude or despair is too great to be looked for, in that total deprivation of all worldly interest consequent to such misfortunes. Whether that train of melancholy ideas which her own fate suggests is sufficiently removed from narration to be natural, or not near it enough to be clear, the judgment of others must determine. No wish or determination to have it one way or another, in sentiment, style or story, influen ced its composition; though, occasionally, Imes previously written are interwoven; and, in one instance, a few that have been published.

"Her Twelve Lays are added in a second Appendix, as curious in themselves, and illustrative of the manners and morals of an age when they formed the amusement of the better orders."

The first Canto begins by telling us that

"The guests are met, the feast is near,
But Marie doth not yet appear!
And to her vacant seat on high

Is lifted many an anxious eye."

Where this feast is held, we are not specifically informed, but ultimately discover that it is at the court of the reigning Prince of Normandy, to celebrate a victory over the English. One of the attendant noblemen is characterized as the Baron de Brehan, whose mind appears to be clouded by the remembrance of a deep misfortune or a crime. There are several passages of good description, but the most happy are those which paint the beauty, the grace, the profound melancholy, and poetical enthusiasm in the midst of hopeless self-abandonment, of the heroine, who is called upon, according to the custom of those days to chant a lay for the amusement of the guests. After a prelude of contending feelings, appeals to the sympathy of her audience, and declarations of inability to wake the harp to gay and splendid narratives, she breaks into an eloquen display of her own overwhelming sorrows, and enters upon the history of her life.-When we have once got over the improbability of a delicate and heart-stricken woman taking an

assembled court and throng of barons bold' and ladies gay' for the confidants of her bosom-sorrows, we must admit that the very touching tale of her distresses, could not have been told with so much effect by any other person.

The father of Marie, was one of the many whom a blind superstition persuaded that they served and propitiated the Deity by destroying their fellow-creatures, and who accordingly carried the sword in aid of the cross into the recesses of Paganism. During his absence on the Crusade, (or Un-Holy War) his property is seized by a disloyal brother. While Marie tells of the wrongs of her sire, her lay kindles into indignation; and the effects of her solemn reprobation of treachery, and of her prophetic bodings of repentance, are not lost upon one among her auditors.

In the second Canto, the interest of the poem rises considerably. Marie relates the death of her father. She passes rapidly over sufferings which cannot bear the agony of circumstantial detail, and tells that having, in consequence of her fallen fortunes, and the consciousness of a decided vocation, entered upon the profession of a minstrel, she had attracted the notice and favour of the king of England, during his progress through his Gallic dominions, and been by his invitation induced to pass into his country, in the sober train' of 'good Earl William.' During her abode at the English court, she captivates the affections of a gallant knight ycleped Sir Eustace. Conscious of her noble birth, and legitimate claim to wealth (on what pretence alienated, we never clearly make out) Marie, in the devotion of her ardent and susceptible heart, naturally looks for that without which no permanent affection can subsistEquality. She shrunk from the tenderness in which Pity seemed to mingle, and which Pride forbade to avow.

The third Canto begins with a cruel shock which the feelings of Marie sustain, by the information that a lovely stranger whom she notices at court, is

"Sir Eustace' late appointed bride."

The description of this lady is so pleasing that we cannot forbear to transcribe it.

Large jewels glitter'd in her hair;
And, on her neck, as marble fair,

Lay precious pearls, in countless strings;
Her small, white hands, emboss'd with rings,
Aunounc'd high rank and amplest wealth,

But neither freedom, power, nor health.” P. 72.

The day so much dreaded by Marie, which is to end for ever all her dreams of hope and happiness, arrives, and is greeted with splendour and festivity by all but her, the languid and dejected bride, and the unwilling, but obedient bridegroom; but it ends with the catastrophe of the sudden indisposition of the bride, who dies of a broken heart from the fatal termination of a former attachment.-Eustace being now free, his kindred and the king are again anxious to unite him to high lineage and broad lands; and the lady destined to be his spouse, proves to be no other than Isabel de Brehan, daughter to the unjust uncle of our minstrel, and of course the possessor of that wealth which ought by just inheritance to have belonged to Marie.

This double usurpation on the part of so near a kinswoman, is too much, even for the patience of the gifted maid, who is represented as a pattern of fortitude and mild resignation; and she fails not, when arrived at this part of her narrative, to apostrophise her cousin, who is one of her auditors at the Norman Court, Eustace, however, insists with great justice, that having already proved his loyalty and submission, and narrowly escaped sacrificing himself for life to please his family; he has for the future a very good right to consider and conform to his own inclination. He makes his profession of love to Marie, and she declares her noble birth, which she was too proud to mention while she doubted of his attachment. They are privately married, the lay ceases, the minstrel is silent, and the Canto ends.

The fourth Canto opens with some very well-conceived reflections on the supposed state of the feelings of Marie. It is in these moralidades that Miss Betham principally excels. Her outline is sometimes defective, but her colouring is always chaste and appropriate, and the most favourable impression on the mind of the writer must be the result of an attentive perusal of her work. Marie resumes her strain with an invocation to her lyre, which she scarcely feels energy enough to strike, and can only wake to tones of sorrow. She tells of her flight from the British court to Normandy, at the request of her husband; and introduces to the reader a lovely infant, the child of their loves. With this interesting companion, she long pines in anxiety during the absence of Sir Eustace, and solaces her grief