TO SPANIARDS.

Shame on ye Spaniards!-Shame, Oh! shame,
No longer vaunt of your Castilian name:
Shame on ye Spaniards!-Shame, Oh! shame,
To crouch to the gaul of Holy Ghost fame.
Shame on ye Spaniards!-Shame, Oh! shame,
Ruled by a priest-a Bourbon by name:
A maker of petticoats-a murderer vile,
A coward a cut-purse-a compound of guile.

Shame on ye Spaniards!-Shame, Oh! shame,
The butt of all nations-the world's make-game:
Shame on ye Spaniards!-Shame, Oh! shame,
Than asses more dull, than asses more tame.
To witness the monks and panders to power,
Such dastardly insults on Riego shower;
To look on the basket-to look on the man,
To look on the garb the Hero had on-

Oh! SPANIARD! Spaniard! Shame, Oh! shame,
Fall'n's thy spirit-fall'n's thy fame.

Why did ye tamely behold the parade

Of Riego the good-so cruelly made?

Why were your swords not flesh'd to the hilt

In that basest of Bourbons-that wretch who has spilt

The best-the purest of patriot blood,

Murder'd the man who knew nothing but good?

Why, why did your swords not bitterly weep

Tears of blood for the deadly sleep,

The murder'd Riego doth coldly keep?

Oh! Spaniards! Spaniards!-Shame, Oh! shame,

No longer the brave-no longer the same

High minded-just-generous-race,

Who ne'er brook'd affront-who ne'er brooked disgrace.

Beheld ye the monk whose leaden weight

Hung deadly round the fall'n great?

* 'Tis said that the last convulsive throes of poor Riego were subdued by a lusty monk running voluntarily from the crowd, and pulling the dying man by the legs: I dare say, that the pious will think, that the Reverend gentleman, was cruel only to be kind; from such kindness, all that is good defend us.

Beheld ye the hangman jump on his frame;
Heard ye the Frank* cry "Shame, Oh! Shame?"
Beheld ye his tongue all swoll'n-black;
Beheld ye his eyes,—did ye start back?
To see the reproach that was fixed there,
Mingled with anguish-with mute despair?

Or, saw ye his wife, as ye went to your homes,
With hair dishevell'd-as the maniac roams;
The salt tears trickling down her grief-worn cheek,
Her gentle heart rent-unable to speak-

Did your eyes meet hers as ye pass'd along,

Did

you see nothing there to say who acted wrong; Did no accusation flash from her eye,

Nothing that said, "should Riego die

For cowards-for slaves-for wretches like you,
The meanest of men that Spain ever knew?”
Had he children? then they must greet ye. well,
Their little tongues hereafter will tell

How nobly you've done in their father's cause,
How bravely ye fought in your country's cause.
How grand your defence of national laws,
Oh! Spaniards! Spaniards! Shame, Oh! shame,
Wrung be your hearts at Riego's name.

BRIAN BORHOIME.

* "And the executioner jumped on his shoulders holding by the rope by which he was suspended, frequently rising up, and then forcing himself down on his victim a French officer in my room called out, 'shame, shame,' and retired." See the details of the murder of Riego, given by Sir Paul Baggot at Madrid, in the Republican, vol. 9, page 25.

Erratum.-lo page 259 of this No. second line from the bottom, for Tailmin's read Toulmin's.

Printed and Published by R. CARLILE, 84, Fleet Street.-All Correspondences for "The Republican" to be left at the place of publication.

No. 10, VOL. 9.] LONDON, Friday, March 5, 1824. [PRICE 6d.

THE VISION OF JUDGMENT,

BY QUEVEDO REDIVIVUS.

SUGGESTED BY THE COMPOSITION SO ENTITLED BY THE AUTHOR OF" WAT TYLER."

"A Daniel come to judgment! yea, a Daniel!
I thank thee, Jew, for teaching me that word."

PREFACE.

Ir hath been wisely said, that "One fool makes many;" and it hath been poetically observed,

That fools rush in where angels fear to tread." POPE.

If Mr. Southey had not rushed in where he had no business, and where he never was before, and never will be again, the following poem would not have been written. It is not impossible that it may be as good as his own, seeing that it cannot, by any species of stupidity, natural or acquired, be worse. The gross flattery, the dull impudence, the renegado intolerance and impious cant of the poem by the author of Wat Tyler, are something so stupenduous as to form the sublime of himself-containing the quintessence of his own attributes.

So much for his poem-a word on his preface. In this pre face it has pleased the magnanimous Laureate to draw the picture of a supposed "Satanic School," the which he doth recommend to the notice of the legislature, thereby adding to his other laurels the ambition of those of an informer. If there exists any where, excepting in his imagination, such a school, is he not sufficiently armed against it by his own intense vanity? The truth is, that there are certain writers whom Mr. S. imagines, like Scrub, to have "talked of him; for they laughed consumedly."

I think I know enough of most of the writers to whom he is supposed to allude, to assert, that they, in their individual capacities, have done more good in the charities of life to their fellow

Printed and Published by R. Carlile, 84, Fleet Street.

creatures in any one year, than Mr. Southey has done harm to himself by his absurdities in his whole life; and this is saying a great deal. But I have a few questions to ask.

Istly. Is Mr. Southey the author of Wat Tyler?

2ndly. Was he not refused a remedy at law by the highest Judge of his beloved England, because it was a blasphemous and seditious publication?

66

3dly. Was he not entitled by William Smith, in full Parliament, a rancorous Renegado?"

4thly. Is he not Poet Laureate, with his own lines on Martin the Regicide staring him in the face?

And, 5thly. Putting the four preceding items together, with what conscience dare he call the attention of the laws to the publications of others be they what they may?

I say nothing of the cowardice of such a proceeding; its meanness speaks for itself, but I wish to touch upon the motive, which is neither more nor less, than that Mr. S. has been laughed at a little in some recent publications, as he was of yore in the " Antijacobin" by his present patrons. Hence all this "skimble scamble stuff" about" Satanic," and so forth. However, it is worthy of him-" Qualis ab incepto."

If there is any thing obnoxious to the political opinions of a portion of the public, in the following poem, they may thank Mr. Southey. He might have written hexameters, as he has written every thing else, for aught that the writer cared-had they been upon another subject. But to attempt to canonize a Monarch, who, whatever were his household virtues, was neither a successful nor a patriot king, inasmuch as several years of his reign passed in war with America and Ireland, to say nothing of the aggression upon France,-like all other exaggeration, necessarily begets opposition. In whatever manner he may be spoken of in this new "Vision," his public career will not be more favourably transmitted by history. Of his private virtues (although a little expensive to the nation) there can be no doubt.

With regard to the supernatural personages treated of, I can only say that I know as much about them, and (as an honest man) have a better right to talk of them than Robert Southey. I have also treated them more tolerantly. The way in which that poor insane creature, the Laureate, deals about his judgments in the next world, is like his own judgment in this. If it was not completely ludicrous, it would be something worse. I don't think that there is much more to say at present.

QUEVEDO REDIVIVUS.

P. S.-It is possible that some readers may object, in these objectionable times, to the freedom with which saints, angels, and spiritual persons, discourse in this "Vision." But for precedents upon such points I must refer him to Fielding's "Journey from this