Mr. Jeffrey said so, who must certainly know, For he was the Edinburgh Prophet. They all of them knew Mr. Jeffrey's Review, Which with Holy Writ ought to be reckon'd: It was, through thick and thin, to its party true; Its back was buff, and its sides were blue, Morbleu! Parbleu!

It served them for Law and for Gospel too.
6.

But the Russians stoutly they turned to
Upon the road to Moscow.

Nap had to fight his way all through; They could fight, though they could not parlezvous;

But the fields were green, and the sky was blue, Morbleu! Parbleu !

And so he got to Moscow.

7.

He found the place too warm for him,
For they set fire to Moscow.
To get there had cost him much ado,
And then no better course he knew,

While the fields were green, and the sky was blue,
Morbleu! Parbleu!

But to March back again from Moscow.

8.

The Russians they stuck close to him All on the road from Moscow. There was Tormazow and Jemalow, And all the others that end in ow; Milarodovitch and Jaladovitch,

And Karatechkowitch, And all the others that end in itch; Schamscheff, Souchosaneff, And Schepaleff, And all the others that end in eff; Wasiltschikoff, Kostomaroff, And Tchoglokoff, And all the others that end in off; Rajeffsky, and Novercffsky, And Rieffsky,

And all the others that end in effsky;

Oscharoffsky and Rostoffsky, And all the others that end in offsky;

And Platoff he play'd them off, And Shouvaloff he shovell'd them off, And Markoff he mark'd them off, And Krosnoff he cross'd them off, And Tuchkoff he touch'd them off, And Boroskoff he bored them off,

And Kutousoff he cut them off, And Parenzoff he pared them off, And Worronzoff he worried them off, And Doctoroff he doctor'd them off, And Rodionoff he flogg'd them off. And, last of all, an Admiral came, A terrible man with a terrible name,

A name which you all know by sight very well, But which no one can speak, and no one can spell.

They stuck close to Nap with all their might
They were on the left and on the right,
Behind and before, and by day and night;
He would rather parlez-vous than fight,
But he look'd white, and he look'd blue,
Morbleu! Parbleu!

When parlez-vous no more would do,
For they remember'd Moscow.

9.

And then came on the frost and snow,
All on the road from Moscow.

The wind and the weather he found in that hour
Cared nothing for him nor for all his power;
For him who, while Europe crouch'd under his
rod,

Put his trust in his fortune, and not in his God, Worse and worse every day the elements grew The fields were so white, and the sky so blue, Sacrebleu! Ventrebleu!

What a horrible journey from Moscow !

10.

What then thought the Emperor Nap

Upon the road from Moscow ?
Why, I ween he thought it small delight
To fight all day, and to freeze all night;
And he was besides in a very great fright,
For a whole skin he liked to be in;
And so, not knowing what else to do,
When the fields were so white, and the sky so blue
Morbleu! Parbleu !

He stole away,-I tell you true,-
Upon the road from Moscow.
'Tis myself, quoth he, I must mind most;
So the Devil may take the hindmost.

11.

Too cold upon the road was he;
Too hot had he been at Moscow;

But colder and hotter he may be,
For the grave is colder than Moscovy;
And a place there is to be kept in view,
Where the fire is red, and the brimstone blue,
Morbleu! Parbleu!
Which he must go to,
If the Pope say true,

If he does not in time look about him; Where his namesake almost He may have for his Host; He has reckon'd too long without him; If that Host get him in Purgatory, He won't leave him there alone with his glory But there he must stay for a very long day, For from thence there is no stealing away, As there was on the road from Moscow Keswick, 1813.

WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR was born at Ipsley Court, Warwickshire, January 30, 1775. He was educated at Rugby and at Oxford, but was restless and erratic at the university, from which he was rusticated for firing a gun in the quadrangle at prayer-time, and he never returned to take his degree. On the death of his father he succeeded to large landed estates. In 1808 he raised and equipped a regiment for the Spanish patriots under Blake, and received a colonel's commission, which he resigned on the restoration of King Ferdinand. In 1811 he married,

and removed to Florence, Italy, which was his home during nearly all the remainder of his life.

Landor's first publication that attracted at tention was "Count Julian," a tragedy, which was followed by "Gebir" and Idyllia Heroica, the last being in Latin. His poetry has never been popular, though some noted people have entertained a violent admiration for it. His best work is generally considered to be the "Imagi nary Conversations of Literary Men and Statesmen." He died at Florence, September 17, 1864.

IPHIGENEIA AND AGAMEMNON.

IPHIGENEIA, when she heard her doom
At Aulis, and when all beside the king
Had gone away, took his right hand, and said:
"O father! I am young and very happy.
I do not think the pious Calchas heard
Distinctly what the goddess spake; old age
Obscures the senses. If my nurse, who knew
My voice so well, sometimes misunderstood,
While I was resting on her knee both arms,
And hitting it to make her mind my words,
And looking in her face, and she in mine,
Might not he, also, hear one word amiss,
Spoken from so far off, even from Olympus?
The father placed his cheek upon her head,
And tears dropped down it; but the king of men
Replied not. Then the maiden spake once more:
"O father! sayest thou nothing? Hearest thou

not

"

Me, whom thou ever hast, until this hour,
Listened to fondly and awakened me
To hear my voice amid the voice of birds,
When it was inarticulate as theirs,
And the down deadened it within the nest ?"
He moved her gently from him, silent still;
And this, and this alone, brought tears from her,
Although she saw fate nearer. Then with sighs:
"I thought to have laid down my hair before
Benignant Artemis, and not dimmed
Her polished altar with my virgin blood

I thought to have selected the white flowers
To please the nymphs, and to have asked of each
By name, and with no sorrowful regret,
Whether, since both my parents willed the change,
I might at Hymen's feet bend my clipped brow
And (after these who mind us girls the most)
Adore our own Athene, that she would
Regard me mildly with her azure eyes—
But, father, to see you no more, and see
Your love, O father! go ere I am gone!"
Gently he moved her off, and drew her back,
Bending his lofty head far over hers;
And the dark depths of nature heaved and burst.
He turned away-not far, but silent still.
She now first shuddered; for in him, so nigh,
So long a silence seemed the approach of death,
And like it. Once again she raised her voice:
"O father! if the ships are now detained,
And all your vows move not the gods above,
When the knife strikes me there will be one

prayer

The less to them; and purer can there be
Any, or more fervent, than the daughter's prayer
For her dear father's safety and success?"
A groan that shook him shook not his resolve.
An aged man now entered, and without
One word stepped slowly on, and took the wrist
Of the pale maiden. She looked up, and saw
The fillet of the priest and calm, cold eyes.
Then turned she where her parent stood, and

cried:

"O father! grieve no more; the ships can sail."

GEBIR.

FIRST BOOK.

I SING the fates of Gebir. He had dwelt
Among those mountain-caverns which retain
His labours yet, vast halls and flowing wells,
Nor have forgotten their old master's name
Tho' severed from his people: here, incens'd
By meditating on primeval wrongs,
He blew his battle-horn, at which uprose
Whole nations; here, ten thousand of most might
He call'd aloud, and soon Charoba saw
His dark helm hover o'er the land of Nile.
What should the virgin do? should royal knees
Bend suppliant, or defenceless hands engage
Men of gigantic force, gigantic arms?
For 'twas reported that nor sword sufficed,
Nor shield immense nor coat of massive mail,
But that upon their tow'ring heads they bore
Each a huge stone, refulgent as the stars.
This told she Dalica, then cried aloud:
"If on your bosom laying down my head
I sobb'd away the sorrows of a child,
If I have always, and Heav'n knows I have,
Next to a mother's held a nurse's name,
Succour this one distress, recall those days,
Love me, tho' 'twere because you lov'd me then."
But whether confident in magic rites

Or toucht with sexual pride to stand implored,
Dalica smiled, then spake: "Away those fears,
Tho' stronger than the strongest of his kind,
He falls.. on me devolve that charge; he falls.
Rather than fly him, stoop thou to allure;
Nay, journey to his tents: a city stood
Upon that coast, they say, by Sidad built,
Whose father Gad built Gadir; on this ground
Perhaps he sees an ample room for war.
Persuade him to restore the walls himself
In honour of his ancestors, persuade..
But wherefor this advice? young, unespoused,
Charoba want persuasions! and a queen!"
"O Dalica!" the shuddering maid exclaimed,
"Could I encounter that fierce frightful man?
Could I speak? no, nor sigh!"

"And canst thou reign?"
Cried Dalica; "yield empire or comply."
Unfixt tho' seeming fixt, her eyes down-cast,
The wonted buz and bustle of the court
From far thro' sculptur'd galleries met her ear;
Then lifting up her head, the evening sun
Pour'd a fresh splendour on her burnisht throne..
The fair Charoba, the young queen, complied.

But Gebir when he heard of her approach Laid by his orbed shield, his vizor-helm, His buckler and his corset he laid by, And bade that none attend him; at his side Two faithful dogs that urge the silent course, Shaggy, deep-chested, croucht; the crocodile, Crying, oft made them raise their flaccid ears And push their heads within their master's hand. There was a brightening paleness in his face, Such as Diana rising o'er the rocks Shower'd on the lonely Latmian; on his brow Sorrow there was, yet nought was there severe. But when the royal damsel first he saw,

Faint, hanging on her handmaids, and her knees
Tottering, as from the motion of the car,
His eyes looked earnest on her, and those eyes
Shew'd, if they had not, that they might have
lov'd,

For there was pity in them at that hour.
With gentle speech, and more with gentle looks
He sooth'd her, but lest Pity go beyond
And crost Ambition lose her lofty aim,
Bending, he kist her garment, and retired.
He went, nor slumber'd in the sultry noon
When viands, couches, generous wines persuade,
And slumber most refreshes, nor at night,
When heavy dews are laden with disease,
And blindness waits not there for lingering age.
Ere morning dawn'd behind him, he arrived
At those rich meadows where young Tamar fed
The royal flocks entrusted to his care.
Now, said he to himself, will I repose
At least this burthen on a brother's breast.
His brother stood before him. He, amaz'd,
Rear'd suddenly his head, and thus began:
"Is it thou, brother! Tamar, is it thou!
Why, standing on the valley's utmost verge,
Lookest thou on that dull and dreary shore
Where many a league Nile blackens all the sand.
And why that sadness? when I passed our sheep
The dew drops were not shaken off the bar,
Therefor if one be wanting 'tis untold."

66

Yes, one is wanting, nor is that untold," Said Tamar; "and this dull and dreary shore Is neither dull nor dreary at all hours." Wheron the tear stole silent down his cheek, Silent, but not by Gebir unobserv'd: Wondering he gazed awhile, and pitying spake : "Let me approach thee; does the morning light Scatter this wan suffusion o'er thy brow, This faint blue luster under both thine eyes?" "O, brother, is this pity or reproach ?" Cried Tamar, "cruel if it be reproach, If pity, O how vain!"

"Whate'er it be

That grieves thee, I will pity: thou but speak, And I can tell thee, Tamar, pang for pang."

Gebir! then more than brothers are we now. Every thing, take my hand, will I confess. I neither feed the flock nor watch the fold; How can I, lost in love? But, Gebir, why That anger which has risen to your cheek? Can other men? could you? what, no reply! And stil more anger, and stil worse conceal'd! Are these your promises, your pity this?"

"Tamar, I well may pity what I feel.. Mark me aright.. I feel for thee.. procede.. Relate me all."

"Then will I all relate," Said the young shepherd, gladden'd from his heart. "'Twas evening, tho' not sunset, and spring-tide* Level with these green meadows, seem'd stil higher.

'Twas pleasant; and I loosen'd from my neck

Along the Mediterranean the tides are sensible of hardly any variation. The coasts of Egypt are so flat, and the water so nearly on a level with 'em, that Tamar may be supposed to fancy it arising from spring-tide. Those who have ever from a low and even country looked upon the sea, will have observed that it seemed higher than the ground where they stood

The pipe you gave me, and began to play.
O that I ne'er had learnt the tuneful art!
It always brings us enemies or love!
Well, I was playing, when above the waves
Some swimmer's head methought I saw ascend;
I, sitting still, survey'd it, with my pipe
Awkwardly held before my lips half-closed.
Gebir! it was a nymph! a nymph divine !
I cannot wait describing how she came,
How I was sitting, how she first assum'd
The sailor; of what happened there remains
Enough to say, and too much to forget.
The sweet deceiver stept upon this bank
Before I was aware; for with surprise
Moments fly rapid as with love itself.
Stooping to tune afresh the hoarsen'd reed,
I heard a rustling, and where that arose
My glance first lighted on her nimble feet.
Her feet resembled those long shells explored
By him who to befriend his steed's dim sight
Would blow the pungent powder in the eye.
Her eyes too! O immortal Gods! her eyes
Resembled.. what could they resemble? what
Ever resemble those! E'en her attire
Was not of wonted woof nor vulgar art:
Her mantle shew'd the yellow samphire-pod,
Her girdle the dove-colour'd wave serene.
Shepherd, said she, and will you wrestle now
And with the sailor's hardier race engage?
I was rejoiced to hear it, and contrived
How to keep up contention; could I fail
By pressing not too strongly, yet to press ?
Whether a shepherd, as indeed you seem,
Or whether of the hardier race you boast,
I am not daunted, no: I will engage.
But first said she what wager will you lay?
A sheep I answered add whate'er you will.
I cannot she replied make that return:
Our hided vessels in their pitchy round
Seldom, unless from rapine, hold a sheep.
But I have sinuous shells of pearly hue
Within, and they that lustre have imbibed
In the sun's palace-porch, where when unyoked
His chariot-wheel stands midway in the wave:
Shake one and it awakens, then apply
Its polisht lips to your attentive ear,
And it remembers its august abodes,
And murmurs as the ocean murmurs there.
And I have others given me by the nymphs,
Of sweeter sound than any pipe you have.
But we, by Neptune, for no pipe contend..
This time a sheep I win, a pipe the next.
Now came she forward eager to engage,
But first her dress, her bosom then survey'd,
And heav'd it, doubting if she could deceive.
Her bosom seem'd, inclos'd in haze like heav'n,
To baffle touch, and rose forth undefined:
Above her knees she drew the robe succinct,
Above her breast, and just below her arms.
This will preserve my breath when tightly bound,
If struggle and equal strength should so constrain.
Thus, pulling hard to fasten it, she spake,
And, rushing at me, closed: I thrill'd throughout
And seem'd to lessen and shrink up with cold.
Again with violent impulse gushed my blood,
And hearing nought external, thus absorb'd,
I heard it, rushing thro' each turbid vein,
Shake my unsteady swimming sight in air.

Yet with unyielding though uncertain arms
I clung around her neck; the vest beneath
Rustled against our slippery limbs entwined:
Often mine springing with eluded force
Started aside, and trembled til replaced:
And when I most succeeded, as I thought,
My bosom and my throat felt so comprest
That life was almost quivering on my lips,
Yet nothing was there painful! these are signs
Of secret arts and not of human might..
What arts I cannot tell. . I only know
My eyes grew dizzy, and my strength decay'd.
I was indeed o'ercome! with what regret,
And more, with what confusion, when I reached
The fold, and yielding up the sheep, she cried:
This pays a shepherd to a conquering maid.
She smil'd, and more of pleasure than disdain
Was in her dimpled chin and liberal lip.
And eyes that languisht, lengthening, just like
love.

She went away; I on the wicker gate
Leant, and could follow with my eyes alone.
The sheep she carried easy as a cloak;
But when I heard its bleating, as I did,
And saw, she hastening on, its hinder feet
Struggle, and from her snowy shoulder slip..
One shoulder its poor efforts had unveil'd..
Then all my passions mingling fell in tears;
Restless then ran I to the highest ground
To watch her she was gone.. gone down the
tide..

And the long moon beam on the hard wet sand Lay like a jasper column half-uprear'd."

'But, Tamar! tell me, will she not return?" "She will return, yet not before the moon Again is at the full; she promis'd this, Tho' when she promis'd I could not reply.

"By all the Gods I pity thee? go on..
Fear not my anger, look not on my shame,
For when a lover only hears of love
He finds his folly out, and is ashamed.
Away with watchful nights and lonely days,
Contempt of earth and aspect up to heaven,
With contemplation, with humility,

A tatter'd cloak that pride wears when deform'd
Away with all that hides me from myself,
Parts me from others, whispers I am wise..
From our own wisdom less is to be reapt
Than from the barest folly of our friend.
Tamar! thy pastures, large and rich, afford
Flowers to thy bees and herbage to thy sheep,
But, battened on too much, the poorest croft
Of thy poor neighbour yields what thine denies.'
They hastened to the camp, and Gebir there
Resolved his native country to forgo,
And ordered, from those ruins to the right
They forthwith raise a city: Tamar heard
With wonder, tho' in passing 'twas half-told.
His brother's love, and sigh'd upon his own.

SECOND BOOK.

THE Gadite men the royal charge obey. Now fragments weigh'd up from th' uneven streets Leave the ground black beneath; again the sun Shines into what were porches, and on steps