Mr. Southey laudeth grievously "one Mr. Landor," who cultivates much private renown in the shape of Latin verses; and not long ago, the Poet Laureate dedicated to him, it appeareth, one of his fugitive lyrics, upon the strength of a poem called Gebir. Who could suppose, that in this same Gebir the aforesaid Savage Landor (1) (for such is his grim cognomen) putteth into the infernal regions no less a person than the hero of his friend Mr. Southey's heaven,—yea, even George the Third! See also how personal Savage becometh, when he hath a mind. The following is his portrait of our late gracious sovereign:

(Prince Gebir having descended into the infernal regions, the shades of his royal ancestors are, at his request, called up to his view; and he exclaims to his ghostly guide) "Aroar, what wretch that nearest us? what wretch Is that with eyebrows white and slanting brow? Listen him yonder, who, bound down supine, Shrinks yelling from that sword there, engine-hung. He too amongst my ancestors! I hate The despot, but the dastard I despise. Was he our countryman?"

"Alas, O king! Iberia bore him, but the breed accurst Inclement winds blew blighting from north-east." "He was a warrior then, nor fear'd the gods?" "Gebir, he fear'd the demons, not the gods, Though them indeed his daily face adored; And was no warrior, yet the thousand lives Squander'd, as stones to exercise a sling, And the tame cruelty and cold capriceOh madness of mankind! address'd, adored!" Gebir, p. 28.

I omit noticing some edifying Ithyphallics of Savagius, wishing to keep the proper veil over them, if his grave but somewhat indiscreet worshipper will suffer it; but certainly these teachers of "great moral lessons" are apt to be found in strange company.

THE VISION OF JUDGMENT.

I.

SAINT PETER sat by the celestial gate:

His keys were rusty, and the lock was dull, So little trouble had been given of late;

Not that the place by any means was full, But since the Gallic era 66 eighty-eight"

The devils had ta'en a longer, stronger pull, And "a pull altogether," as they say At sea-which drew most souls another way. JI.

The angels all were singing out of tune,

And hoarse with having little else to do, Excepting to wind up the sun and moon,

Or curb a runaway young star or two, Or wild colt of a comet, which too soon

Broke out of bounds o'er the ethereal blue,

Splitting some planet with its playful tail,
As boats are sometimes by a wanton whale.
III.

The guardian seraphs had retired on high,
Finding their charges past all care below;
Terrestrial business fill'd nought in the sky
Save the recording angel's black bureau;
Who found, indeed, the facts to multiply
With such rapidity of vice and woe,
That he had stripp'd off both his wings in quills,
And yet was in arrear of human ills.

IV.

His business so augmented of late years,

That he was forced, against his will, no doubt (Just like those cherubs, earthly ministers), For some resource to turn himself about And claim the help of his celestial peers,

To aid him ere he should be quite worn out By the increased demand for his remarks; Six angels and twelve saints were named his clerks,

4.

This was a handsome board-at least for heaven;
And yet they had even then enough to do,
So many conquerors' cars were daily driven,
So many kingdoms fitted up anew;
Each day too slew its thousands six or seven,

Till at the crowning carnage, Waterloo,
They threw their pens down in divine disgust-
The page was so besmear'd with blood and dust.

VI.

This by the way; 'tis not mine to record

What angels shrink from: even the very devil On this occasion his own work abhorr'd, So furfeited with the infernal revel: Though he himself had sharpen'd every sword,

It almost quench'd his innate thirst of evil. (Here Satan's sole good work deserves insertion"Tis, that he has both generals in reversion.)

VII.

Let's skip a few short years of hollow peace, Which peopled earth no better, hell as wont, And heaven none- -they form the tyrant's lease, With nothing but new names subscribed upon't; 'T will one day finish: meantime they increase,

"With seven heads and ten horns," and all in front, Like Saint John's foretold beasts; but ours are bora Less formidable in the head than horn.

VIII.

In the first year of freedom's second dawn (2)
Died George the Third; (3) although no tyrant, one
Who shielded tyrants, till each sense withdrawn
Left him nor mental nor external sun:

"Pensive, though not in thought, I stood at the window, beholding
Mountain, and lake, and vale; the valley disrobed of its verdure:
Thus as I stood, the bell, which awhile from its warning had rested,
Sent forth its note again, TOLL! TOLL! through the silence of evening.
'Tis a deep dull sound, that is heavy and inournful at all times,
For it tells of mortality always. But heavier this day
Fell on the conscious ear its deeper and mournfuller import,
Yea, in the heart it sunk; for this was the day when the herald,
Breaking his wand, should proclaim that George our King was de

By circumscribing, with some slight restriction, The eternity of hell's hot jurisdiction.

XIV.

I know this is unpopular; I know

'Tis blasphemous; I know one may be damn'd For hoping no one else may e'er be so;

I know my catechism; I know we are cramm'd With the best doctrines till we quite o'erflow;

I know that all save England's church have shamm'd, And that the other twice two hundred churches And synagogues have made a damn'd bad purchase. XV.

God help us all! God help me too! I am,

God knows, as helpless as the devil can wish, And not a whit more difficult to damn

Than is to bring to land a late-hook'd fish,
Or to the butcher to purvey the lamb;

Not that I'm fit for such a noble dish
Of almost every body born to die.
As one day will be that immortal fry

XVI.

Saint Peter sat by the celestial gate,

And nodded o'er his keys; when, lo! there came A wondrous noise he had not heard of late

A rushing sound of wind, and stream, and flame; In short, a roar of things extremely great,

Which would have made aught save a saint exclaim; But he, with first a start and then a wink, Said, "There's another star gone out, I think!" XVII.

But ere he could return to his repose,

A cherub flapp'd his right wing o'er his eyesAt which Saint Peter yawn'd, and rubb'd his nose: "Saint porter," said the angel, "prithee rise!" Waving a goodly wing, which glow'd, as glows

An earthly peacock's tail, with heavenly dyes: To which the saint replied, "Well, what's the matter? "Is Lucifer come back with all this clatter?"

Is more than at an anchorite's supper shown.
I grant him all the kindest can accord;
And this was well for him, but not for those
Millions who found him what Oppression chose.

XLVII.

"The New World shook him off; the Old yet groans
Beneath what he and his prepared, if not
Completed: he leaves heirs on many thrones
To all his vices, without what begot
Compassion for him-his tame virtues; drones

Who sleep, or despots who have now forgot
A lesson which shall be re-taught them, wake
Upon the thrones of earth; but let them quake!

XLVIII.

"Five millions of the primitive, who hold The faith which makes ye great on earth, implored A part of that vast all they held of old,

Freedom to worship-not alone your Lord, Michael, but you, and you, Saint Peter! Cold Must be your souls, if you have not abhorr'd The foe to catholic participation

In all the license of a Christian nation.

XLIX.

"True! he allow'd them to pray God; but as
A consequence of prayer, refused the law
Which would have placed them upon the same base
With those who did not hold the saints in awe."
But here Saint Peter started from his place,

And cried, "You may the prisoner withdraw: Ere heaven shall ope her portals to this Guelph, While I am guard, may I be damn'd myself!

L.

"Sooner will I with Cerberus exchange

My office (and his is no sinecure) Than see this royal Bedlam bigot range

The azure fields of heaven, of that be sure!" "Saint!" replied Satan, "you do well to avenge The wrongs he made your satellites endure;(1) And if to this exchange you should be given, I'll try to coax our Cerberus up to heaven."

LI.

Here Michael interposed: "Good saint! and devil! Pray, not so fast; you both outrun discretion. Saint Peter! you were wont to be more civil: Satan! excuse this warmth of his expression, And condescension to the vulgar's level:

Even saints sometimes forget themselves in session. Have you got more to say?"—“No.”—“If you please, I'll trouble you to call your witnesses."

LII.

Then Satan turn'd and waved his swarthy hand, Which stirr'd with its electric qualities Clouds farther off than we can understand, Although we find him sometimes in our skies; Infernal thunder shook both sea and land

In all the planets, and hell's batteries Let off the artillery, which Milton mentions As one of Satan's most sublime inventions. (2)

There with the Spirits accurst, in congenial darkness enveloped Were the Souls of the Wicked, who, wilful in guilt and error, Chose the service of sin, and now were abiding its wages. Change of place to them brought no reprieval from anguish; They in their evil thoughts and desires of impotent malice, Envy, and hate, and blasphemous rage, and remorse unavailing.

Radiant with glory, like a banner streaming
Victorious from some world-o'erthrowing fight;
My poor comparisons must needs be teeming
With earthly likenesses, for here the night
Of clay obscures our best conceptions, saving
| Johanna Southcote, (1) or Bob Southey raving.
XXIX.

Twas the archangel Michael: all men know
The make of angels and archangels, since
There's scarce a scribbler has not one to show,
From the fiends' leader to the angels' prince.
There also are some altar-pieces, though

I really can't say that they much evince
One's inner notions of immortal spirits;
But let the connoisseurs explain their merits.
XXX.

Michael flew forth in glory and in good;

A goodly work of him from whom all glory And good arise; the portal past-he stood;

Before him the young cherubs and saints hoaryI say young, begging to be understood

By looks, not years; and should be very sorry
To state they were not older than St. Peter,
Bat merely that they seem'd a little sweeter).

XXXI.

The cherubs and the saints bow'd down before
That arch-angelic hierarch, the first

Of essences angelical, who wore

The aspect of a god; but this ne'er nursed Pride in his heavenly bosom, in whose core

No thought, save for his Maker's service, durst Intrade, however glorified and high;

He knew him but the viceroy of the sky.

XXXII.

He and the sombre silent Spirit met-
They knew each other both for good and ill;
Such was their power, that neither could forget
His former friend and future foe; but still
There was a high, immortal, proud regret
In either's eye, as if 't were less their will
Than destiny to make the eternal years

Michael began: "What wouldst thou with this man,
Now dead, and brought before the Lord? What ill
Hath he wrought since his mortal race began,
That thou canst claim him? Speak! and do thy will,
If it be just: if in this earthly span

He hath been greatly failing to fulfil
His duties as a king and mortal, say,

XXXIII.

XXXIX.

"Michael!" replied the Prince of Air, "even here Before the gate of him thou servest, must

I claim my subject: and will make appear
That as he was my worshipper in dust,
So shall he be in spirit, although dear

To thee and thine, because nor wine nor lust
Were of his weaknesses; yet on the throne
He reign'd o'er millions to serve me alone.

XL.

"Look to our earth, or rather mine; it was, Once, more thy master's: but I triumph not

(2) "No saint in the course of his religious warfare was more sensible of the unhappy failure of pious resolves than Dr. Johnson: he said one day, talking to an acquaintance, on this subject, Sir, hell is paved with good intentions."" --CROKER'S Boswell, vol. iii. p. 235.-L. E.

LXIV.

Satan replied, "To me the matter is
Indifferent, in a personal point of view:

I can have fifty better souls than this

With far less trouble than we have gone through Already; and I merely argued his

Late majesty of Britain's case with you Upon a point of form: you may dispose

Of him; I 've kings enough below, God knows!"

LXV.

Thus spoke the Demon (1) (late call'd "multifaced"
By multo-scribbling Southey).
"Then we'll call
One or two persons of the myriads placed

Around our congress, and dispense with all
The rest," quoth Michael: "Who may be so graced
As to speak first? there's choice enough-who shall
It be?" Then Satan answer'd, "There are many;
But you may choose Jack Wilkes as well as any."

LXVI.

A merry, cock-eyed, (2) curious-looking sprite
Upon the instant started from the throng,
Dress'd in a fashion now forgotten quite;
For all the fashions of the flesh stick long
By people in the next world; where unite

All the costumes since Adam's, right or wrong,
From Eve's fig-leaf down to the petticoat,
Almost as scanty, of days less remote.

LXVII.

The spirit look'd around upon the crowds

Assembled, and exclaim'd, "My friends of all The spheres, we shall catch cold amongst these clouds; So let's to business: why this general call? If those are freeholders I see in shrouds, And 'tis for an election that they bawl, Behold a candidate with unturn'd coat! Saint Peter, may I count upon your vote?"

(1) In Southey:

"But when he stood in the Presence, Then was the Fiend dismay'd, though with impudence clothed as a garment;

And the lying tongues were mute, and the lips which had scatter'd
Accusation and slander, were still. No time for evasion
This, in the Presence he stood: no place for flight; for dissembling
No possibility there. From the souls on the edge of the darkness.
Two he produced, prime movers and agents of mischief, and bade
{labour'd.

them

Show themselves faithful now to the cause for which they had
Wretched and guilty souls, where now their audacity? Where now
Are the insolent tongues, so ready of old at rejoinder?
Where the lofty pretences of public virtue and freedom?
Where the gibe, and the jeer, and the threat, the envenom'd invective,
Calumny, falsehood, fraud, and the whole ammunition of malice?
Wretched and guilty souls, they stood in the face of their Sovereign,
Conscious and self-condemn'd; confronted with him they had injured,
At the Judgment-seat they stood."-L. E.

* In reference to this part of Mr. Southey's poem, the Eclectic Reviewer, we believe the late Rev. Robert Hall, said:" Mr. Southey's Vision of Judgment is unquestionably a profane poem. The assertion will stagger those only who do not consider what is the import of the word. Profaneness is the irreverent use of sacred names and things. A burlesque of things sacred, whether intentional or not, is profaneness. To apply the language of Scripture in a ludicrous connection is to profane it. The mummery of prayer on the stage, though in a serious play, is a gross profanation of sacred things. And all acts which come under the taking of God's name in vain are acts of profaneness. According to this definition of the word, the Laureate's Vision of Judgment is a poem grossly and unpardonably profane. Mr. Southey's intention was, we are well persuaded, very far from being irreligious; and, indeed, the profaneness of the poem partly arises from the ludicrous effect produced by the bad taste and imbecility of the performance, for which his intentions are clearly not answerable. Whatever liberties a poet may claim to take, in representations partly allegorical, with the invisible realities of the world to come, the ignis fatuus of political zeal has, in this instance carried Mr. Southey far beyond any assignable bounds of poetical license. It would have been enough to celebrate the apotheosis of

LXVIII.

"Sir," replied Michael, "you mistake; these things Are of a former life, and what we do

Above is more august; to judge of kings

Is the tribunal met: so now you know." "Then I presume those gentlemen with wings,"

Said Wilkes, "are cherubs; and that soul below Looks much like George the Third, but to my mind A good deal older-Bless me! is he blind?" LXIX.

"He is what you behold him, and his doom
Depends upon his deeds," the Angel said.
"If you have aught to arraign in him, the tomb
Gives license to the humblest beggar's head
To lift itself against the loftiest.”—“Some,”

Said Wilkes, "don't wait to see them laid in lead,
For such a liberty-and I, for one,
Have told them what I thought beneath the sun."
LXX.

"Above the sun repeat, then, what thou hast

To urge against him," said the Archangel. "Why," Replied the spirit, "since old scores are past, Must I turn evidence? In faith, not I. Besides, I beat him hollow at the last,

With all his Lords and Commons: in the sky I don't like ripping up old stories, since His conduct was but natural in a prince.

LXXI.

"Foolish, no doubt, and wicked, to oppress
A poor unlucky devil without a shilling;
But then I blame the man himself much less
Than Bute and Grafton, and shall be unwilling
To see him punish'd here for their excess,

Since they were both damn'd long ago, and still
Their place below: for me, I have forgiven,
And vote his 'habeas-corpus' into heaven."

(2) In Southey:

"Beholding the foremost, Him by the cast of his eye oblique, I knew as the firebrand Whom the unthinking populace held for their idol and hero, Lord of Misrule of his day. But how was that countenance alter Where emotion of fear or of shame had never been witness'd; That invincible forehead abash'd; and those eyes, wherein malice Once had been wont to shine with wit and hilarity temper'd Into how deep a gloom their mournful expression had settled Little availed it now that not from a purpose malignant, Not with evil intent, he had chosen the service of evil, But of his own desires the slave, with profligate impulse, Solely by selfishness moved, and reckless of aught that might folien Could he plead in only excuse a confession of baseness? Could he hide the extent of his guilt; or hope to atone for Faction excited at home, when all old feuds were abated, Insurrection abroad, and the train of woes that had follow'd! Discontent and disloyalty, like the teeth of the dragon, He had sown on the winds; they had ripen'd beyond the Atlan

the monarch; but, when he proceeds to travestie the final ja ment, and to convert the awful tribunal of Heaven into a drawing room levee, where he, the Poet Laureate, takes upon himself to play the part of a lord in waiting, presenting one Georgian worthy another to kiss hands on promotion,-what should be grave indeed, turned to farce."-L. E.

"Our new world has generally the credit of having first light the torch which was to illuminate, and soon set in a blaze. the ha part of Europe; yet, I think the first flint was struck, and the fin spark elicited, by the patriot John Wilkes, a few years before time of profound peace, the restless spirit of men, deprived of othe objects of public curiosity, seized with avidity on those quest which were then agitated with so much violence in England, ing the rights of the people and of the government, and the nat of power. The end of the political drama was in favour of w was called, and in some respects was, the liberty of the people. couraged by the success of this great comedian, the curtain wa sooner dropped on the scene of Europe, than new actors bast to raise it again in America, and to give the world a new play finitely more interesting and more brilliant than the first Simond.-L. E.