dued, and look to him to guide them to vengeance. These scenes last through two books; and at the beginning of the Fifth, Roderick sets out on his mission. Here, while he reposes himself in a rustic inn, he hears the assembled guests at once lamenting the condition of Spain, and imprecating curses on the head of its guilty King. He says a few words vehemently for himself; and is supported by a venerable old man, in whom he soon recognises an ancient servant of his mother's house -the guardian and playmate of his infant days. Secure from discovering himself, he musters courage to ask if his mother be still alive; and is soothed to milder sorrow by learning that she is. At dawn he resumes his course; and kneeling at a broken crucifix on the road, is insulted by a Moor, who politely accosts him with a kick, and the dignified address of "God's curse confound thee!" for which Roderick knocks him down, and stabs him with his own dagger. The worthy old man, whose name is Siverian, comes up just as this feat is performed, and is requested to assist in "hiding the carrion;" after which they proceed lovingly together. On their approach to Cordoba, the old man calls sadly to mind the scene which he had witnessed at his last visit to that place, some ten years before, when Roderick, in the pride of his youthful triumph, had brought the haughty foe of his father to the grave where his ashes were interred, and his gentle mother came to see that expiation made. The King listens to this commemoration of his past glories with deep, but suppressed emotion; and entering the chapel, falls prostrate on the grave of his father. A majestic figure starts forward at that action, in the dress of penitence and mourning; and the pilgrims recognise Pelayo, to whom they both come commissioned. This closes the Sixth Book. The Seventh contains their account of the state of affairs, and Pelayo's solemn acceptance of the dangerous service of leaving the meditated insurrection. The abdicated monarch then kneels down and hails him King of Spain! and Siverian, though with mournful remembrances, follows the high example. The Eighth Book continues this midnight conversation; and introduces the young Alphonso, Pelayo's fellow-prisoner, at the Moorish court, who is then associated to their counsels, and enters with eager delight into their plans of escape. These two books are rather dull; though not without force and dignity. The worst thing in them is a bit of rhetoric of Alphonso, who complains that his delight in watching the moon setting over his native hills, was all spoiled, on looking up and seeing the Moorish crescent on the towers! The Ninth Book introduces an important person-Florinda, the unhappy daughter of Count Julian. She sits muffled by Pelayo's way, as he returns from the chapel; and begs a boon of him in the name of Roderick, the chosen friend of his youth. He asks who it is that adjures him by that beloved but now unuttered name: "She bar'd her face, and, looking up, replied, She then tells him, that wretched as she is, the renegade Orpas seeks her hand; and begs his assistance to send her beyond his reach, to a Christian land. He promised that she shall share his own fate; and they part till evening. The Tenth Book sends all the heroic party of Asturia. Roderick and Siverian had gone upon their night pilgrimage to the mountains before. Pelayo, with Alphonso and Florinda, follow in the disguise of peasants. Their midnight march, in that superb climate, is well described : "The favouring moon arose, To guide them on their flight through upland paths Remote from frequentage, and dales retir'd, The fire-flies, swarming in the woodland shade, Forest and mountain glen. Before their feet Sprung up like sparks, and twinkled round their way; The timorous blackbird, starting at their step, 64 Bright rose the flame replenish'd; it illum'd The cork-tree's furrow'd rind, its rifts and swells And redder scars, . . and where its aged boughs O'erbower'd the travellers, cast upon the leaves A floating, grey, unrealising gleam."—pp. 117, 118. The rest soon sink in serene and untroubled sleep: But Roderick and Florinda, little dreaming of each other's presence, are kept awake by bitter recollections. At last she approaches him; and, awed by the sanctity of his air and raiment, kneels down before him, and asks if he knows who the wretch is who thus grovels before him. He answers that he does not : "Then said she,' Here thou seest One who is known too fatally for all,.. The daughter of Count Julian!'... Well it was For Rod'rick that no eye beheld him now! From head to foot a sharper pang than death Thrill'd him; his heart, as at a mortal stroke, Ceas'd from its functions; his breath fail'd."--p. 120. The darkness and her own emotions prevent her, however, from observing him, and she proceeds:— Father! at length she said, all tongues amid Why shouldst thou tell me this?' exclaim'd the Tell me? Or thinkest thou I know it not? "There! she cried, 66 Thus as she spake she falter'd at the close, thee! "I lov'd the King!.. O'ercame him, thou wilt do for Roderick For Rod'rick, for Count Julian, and myself, There is great power, we think, and great dramatic talent, in this part of the poem. The meeting of Roderick and Florinda was a touchstone for a poet who had ventured on such a subject; and Mr. Southey, we must say, has come out of the test, of standard weight and purity. The Eleventh Book brings them in safety to the castle of Count Pedro, the Father of the young Alphonso, formerly the feudal foe, but now the loyal soldier of Pelayo. They find him arming in his courts, with all his vassals, to march instantly against the Moors: And their joyful welcome, and the parental delight of father and mother at the return of their noble boy, are very beautifully described. The Twelfth Canto continues these preparations. The best part of it is the hasty and hopeful investiture of the young Alphonso, with the honours of knighthood. The mixture of domestic affection with military arShe then describes the unconscious growth dour, and the youthful innocence, ingenuous of their mutual passion-enlarges upon her modesty, and unclouded hopes of that bloomown imprudence in affording him opportuni-ing age, are feelingly combined in the followties of declaring it-and expresses her coning amiable picture, in which the classical viction, that the wretched catastrophe was reader will recognise many touches of true Homeric description:brought about, not by any premeditated guilt, but in a moment of delirium, which she had herself been instrumental in bringing on : Here then, O Father, at thy feet I own 'Dost thou recall that curse?' Roderick again stops her enthusiastic selfaccusation, and rejects her too generous vindication of the King; and turning to Siverian, adds "To that old man.' said he, Rejoicing in their task, No season this for old solemnities! The ceremony is followed by a solemn vow of fidelity to Spain, and eternal war with the Infidel, administered by Roderick, and devoutly taken by the young Knight, and all his assembled followers. The Thirteenth Book contains a brief account of the defeat of a Moorish detachment by this faithful troop; and of the cowardice and rebuke of Count Eudon, who had tamely yielded to the invaders, and is dismissed with scorn to the castle which his brave countrymen had redeemed. They then proceed to guard or recover the castle of Pelayo. The Fourteenth Book describes their happy arrival at that fortress, at the fall of evening; where, though they do not find his wife and daughters, who had retired for safety, to a sacred cave in the mountains, they meet a joyful and triumphant band of his retainers, returning from a glorious repulse of the Moors, and headed by the inspiring heroine Adosinda; who speedily recognises in Roderick her mournful assistant and first proselyte at Auria, while he at the same moment discovers, among the ladies of her train, the calm and venerable aspect of his beloved mother, Rusilla. The Fifteenth Book contains the history of his appearance before that venerated parent. Unable to sleep, he had wandered forth before dawn ." that morn With its cold dews might bathe his throbbing brow, While he is meditating under what pretext to introduce himself, the good Siverian comes to say, that his lady wishes to see the holy father who had spoken so charitably of her unhappy son.-The succeeding scene is very finely conceived, and supported with great judgment and feeling. "Count Julian's daughter with Rusilla sate; Rod' rick approach'd, and bending, on his breast In reverence to the priestly character, The all-enduring King shudders at these words of kindness;-but repressing his emotion "O venerable Lady, he replied, Florinda then asks his prayers for her unhappy and apostate father; and his advice as to the means of rejoining him. "While thus Florinda spake, the dog who lay He makes a short and pious answer to the Thy poor lost master,.. Theron, none but thou!'"' p. 187. The Sixteenth Book contains the re-union of Pelayo's family in the cave of Covadonga. His morning journey to the place of this glad his native hills, and with the joyous company meeting, through the enchanting scenery of of self-approving thoughts, is well described. Arrived at last upon the lonely platform which masks the cave in which the springs burst out, and his children are concealed, he sounds his bugle note; and the rock gives up its inhabitants! There is something animating and impressive, but withal a little too classical and rapturous, in the full-length picture of this delightful scene. But when a third and broader blast Rung in the echoing archway, ne'er did wand, With magic power endued, call up a sight So strange, as sure in that wild solitude It seem'd when from the bowels of the rock, The mother and her children hasten'd forth' She in the sober charms and dignity Of womanhood mature, nor verging yet Upon decay; in gesture like a queen, Such inborn and habitual majesty Ennobled all her steps: . . Favila such In form and stature, as the Sea Nymph's son, When that wise Centaur, from his cave, wellBeheld the boy divine his growing strength [pleas'd Against some shaggy lionet essay ! And fixing in the half-grown mane his hands, Roll with him in fierce dalliance intertwin'd! But like a creature of some higher sphere The youngest and the loveliest! yea she seem'd To earth re-sent."-pp. 197, 198. Many a slow century, since that day, hath fill'd With pilgrim feet that consecrated cave; who has at last recognised him; and even while she approves of his penitential abandonment of the world, tempts him with bewitching visions of recovered fame and glory, and of atonement made to Florinda, by placing her in the rank of his queen. He continues firm, however, in his lofty purpose, and the pious Princess soon acquiesces in those pious resolutions; and, engaging to keep his secret, gives him her blessing, and retires. The Twentieth Book conducts us to the Moorish camp and the presence of Count Julian. Orpas, a baser apostate, claims the promised hand of Florinda; and Julian ap The untold concourse, hath one breast been swoln peals to the Moorish Prince, whether the The Seventeenth Book brings back the story to Roderick; who, with feelings more reconciled, but purposes of penitence and mortification as deep as ever, and as resolved, muses by the side of the stream, on past and future fortunes. Upon a smooth grey stone sate Rod'rick there; flow, pp. 205, 206. law of Mahomet admits of a forced marriage. The Prince attests that it does not; and then Julian, who has just learned that his daughter was in the approaching host of Pelayo, obtains leave to despatch a messenger to invite her to his arms. The Twenty-first Book contains the meeting of Julian with his daughter and Roderick ; under whose protection she comes at evening to the Moorish camp, and finds her father at his ablutions at the door of his tent, by the side of a clear mountain spring. On her approach, he clasps her in his arms with overflowing love. "Thou hast not then forsaken me, my child. My blessing be upon thy head!' he cried, A father's blessing! though all faiths were false, more, Here or hereafter, never let us part!'"'-p. 258. He is at first offended with the attendance In this quiet mood, he is accosted by Sive- and priestly habit of Roderick, and breaks rian, who entertains him with a long account out into some infidel taunts upon creeds and of Pelayo's belief in the innocence, or com-churchmen; but is forced at length to honour parative innocence, of their beloved Roderick; the firmness, the humility, and candour of and of his own eager and anxious surmises this devoted Christian. He poses him, howthat he may still be alive. ever, in the course of their discussion, by rather an unlucky question. The Eighteenth Book, which is rather long and heavy, contains the account of Pelayo's coronation. The best part of it, perhaps, is the short sketch of his lady's affectionate exultation in his glory. When she saw the preparations that announced this great event "her eyes Brigh'en'd. The quicken'd action of the blood Roderick bears a solemn part in the lofty ceremonies of this important day; and, with a calm and resolute heart, beholds the allegiance of his subjects transferred to his heroic kinsman. The Nineteenth Book is occupied with an interview between Roderick and his mother, Is there forgiveness, Christian, in thy creed [thee, The gate of Heaven is open!' Julian threw This ethical dialogue is full of lofty sentiment and strong images; but is, on the whole rather tedious and heavy. One of the newest pictures is the following; and the sweetest scene, perhaps, that which closes the book immediately after :— "Methinks if ye would know And deem'd the deep opaque would blot her beams; The Twenty-second Book is fuller of business than of poetry. The vindictive Orpas persuades the Moorish leader, that Julian meditates a defection from his cause; and, by working on his suspicious spirit, obtains his consent to his assassination on the first convenient opportunity. The Twenty-third Book recounts the carnage and overthrow of the Moors in the Strait of Covadonga. Deceived by false intelligence, and drunk with deceitful hope, they advance up the long and precipitous defile, along the cliffs and ridges of which Pelayo had not only stationed his men in ambush, but had piled huge stones and trunks of trees, ready to be pushed over upon the ranks of the enemy in the lower pass. A soft summer mist hanging upon the side of the cliffs helps to conceal these preparations; and the whole line of the Infidel is irretrievably engaged in the gulf, when Adosinda appears on a rock in the van, and, with her proud defiance, gives the word, which is the signal for the assault. The whole description is, as usual, a little overworked, but is unquestionably striking and impressive. "As the Moors Advanc'd, the Chieftain in the van was seen, A canopy of silver, light condens'd At Auria in the massacre, this hour I summon thee before the throne of God, From voice to voice on either side it past Of God! for Spain and Vengeance!' and forthwith And bound, and thund'ring force. Such was the fall From end to end of that long strait, the crash The Twenty-fourth Book is full of tragical matter, and is perhaps the most interesting of the whole piece. A Moor, on the instigation of Orpas and Abulcacem, pierces Julian with a mortal wound; who thereupon exhorts his captains, already disgusted with the jealous tyranny of the Infidel, to rejoin the standard and the faith of their country; and then rewhere Florinda has been praying for his conquests to be borne into a neighbouring church, version. They rais'd him from the earth; He, knitting as they lifted him his brow, Drew in through open lips and teeth firm-clos'd His painful breath, and on his lance laid hand, Lest its long shaft should shake the mortal wound. Gently his men with slow and steady step Their suff'ring burthen bore; and in the Church, Before the altar, laid him down, his head Upon Florinda's knees."—pp. 307, 308. He then, on the solemn adjuration of Roderick, renounces the bloody faith to which he had so long adhered; and reverently receives at his hand the sacrament of reconciliation and peace. There is great feeling and energy we think in what follows: "That dread office done, To shape and substance. In the midst there stood Back on his daughter's lap. 'O Death,' cried he,. A female form, one hand upon the Cross, Passing his hand across his cold damp brow,.. [eyes |