I laugh at this,-yet, while I laugh, desire,
And feel the anguish of hell's penal fire!
Revenge on him, whose precepts harsh and strict,
Through her, pronounc'd the rigid interdict!
Then I will hence, to brood on vengeance stern,
And on his rebel head the tempest turn!"

As Pluto grim, with high and haughty stride,
Breathing revenge, he quits the vale of Ide.
So that tartarian god, as fables tell,
Rag'd for a partner on the throne of hell,
Threat'ning fierce war with Jove, that scarce the fates,
Clasping his knees, could soothe his wild debates,
And save the system of the world entire,
That else had fall'n before his sovereign ire,
And heaven and hell to mingled wrack had gone,
And once again void Chaos rul'd alone,-
Till he, by rape, from Enna's fields away,
Convey'd the fair to regions void of day.

X.

Strike ye the harp,-strike ye the harp, and sing!
Who chastely dared the fierce wrath of the king?
Who for a husband's sake, and honor's boon,
Despis'd a realm, a monarch, and a throne?
"Twas a fair wife in Ida's sacred plains,-
Muse! to her praise exalt the mystic strains!
By lofty Ide a flower of beauty blew,

A flower more beauteous Phœbus never knew,
Her blossoms rich before his beams expand,
Until she shines the glory of the land;
By time exalted, now she twines an oak,
Her beauties with the sacred branches yoke,-
Sustain❜d by them, she braves the winter storms,
And no rude hand the floweret fair deforms:
But now, a cloud with threatening aspect lours,
Blackens the air, the sun hath lost his powers,
Hoarse through the wood it howls; she closer binds
To her own oak, and Ida stays the winds!
In thunder loud the tempest overblows,
And still with her protecting tree she grows.
O, strike the high harp to Sabina's name!
And all ye fair, Oh, emulate her fame!

XI.

Sabina to Aristes doth repair,

Long hath he waited her with anxious fear;
Long hath he, with inquietude of heart,

Wish'd for that peace she only can impart :

His soul with boding heaviness oppress'd,
Nature seem'd sad, and, like his soul, distress'd;
Wondering at her delay, for ne'er on thought,
So mightily had painful absence wrought.

But, see! she now appeareth,-lo, delight
Beams in his countenance serenely bright.
Thus when the nightly veil is drawn on high,
Sad gloom invests the air and ravish'd sky,-
But when the moon ascends her glowing way,
The darkness smiles with many a gentle ray:
Forth from the gleaming wave, at heaven's gate,
She treads the east with majesty and state:
Such bright Sabina,-such her step and mien,-
Without, all beauty!-virtue all within!

Joy touch'd Aristes' soul, her hand of snow
Eager he press'd, and hath embrac'd it now.

Oh! then there was a conflict in her heart,
And tears were ready from her eyes to start;
Oh! 'twas a thrilling feeling, undefin'd,
More than the sense that peril leaves behind.

F

There is a sort of sympathy in souls, That links them, tho' divided by the poles ; Strengthen'd by Friendship and by Love, to attract, To inform, of every kindred thought and act; Participant of pruescience, to foretell,

By secret workings, coming good or ill;

Dejects and glooms, or brightens them and cheers, As woe or gladness visits them or their's.

XII.

Where is the mortal who doth strength possess,
To draw the centre from its fixedness?

And, when requited by a husband's love,

Such strength it tasks true woman's faith to move!

Love, built on choice, lives in the soul alway,

Inseparable e'en by death, that may

Destroy all other passions of the earth;
But love hath heavenly and immortal birth!

With holy fire it doth for ever burn,

From heaven it came, and must to heav'n return,

There with the spirit it wings, and there, once more,
Bliss to each kindred bosom shall restore,

There reunite the exquisite sweet ties
Of kindred-social-mutual sympathies,
And for the momentary parting blight,
Make over compensation of delight!

XIII.

Where is the antient liberty of Greece,

That throned her realms in wisdom and in peace?; Still may it live-but hastening to decay,

Like the last halo of expiring day.

What powers, presided at this tyrant's birth,

And gave him heart to injure honest worth?
Then Lust infused her bias o'er his soul,
And Tyranny despising all controul-
And Flattery, the siren and the fair,

Did by the song delude and Beauty's glare.
She teaches men to fawn, and smile, and smile,
Yet mean pernicious mischief all the while;
Their servile necks, like creeping weeds, to bend
To proud prosperity, and with it blend,
And with its strength their pliant weakness yoke,
E'en as the poisonous ivies clasp the oak,
So fair they seem to beautify the whole,
But sap its being, and extracts its soul,
Then greenly flourish on the barren stem,
Exulting o'er the ruin made by them.
Thou subtle asp in flowery boon concealed
To steal upon the life-thou art revealed!

XIV.

Now all is calm-and each in either's
eyes
Looked but to read like eloquent surprise-
And on their lips a pause of wonder closed,
By lingering feeling for a while imposed.
But many fears within Sabina's breast
Held conflict, not externally confessed:
Anticipating love bade sorrow flow,

She feared the Tyrant and presaged her woe-
For from Aristes should she ever part,
In life, or death, she knew her faithful heart
Would be the fountain of the bitterest grief,
Past e'en the power of Heaven to yield relief.

XV.

Hail, star of the descending eve, all hail!
Pure in thy beauty, bright, yet cold and pale.
-Fair from the West she lifts her head unshorn,
Her steps with feeble flight the hills adorn :-
What is there lovely for thine eye on earth?
And what behold'st thou-gem of heavenly birth?
Dost thou see lovers in the vale that chuse
This calm for love? so meet for lovers' muse.

The winds are laid, the heavens are blue and clear;
A distant torrent murmurs on the ear.

Afar, climb up the rocks the surging foam,
The roaring sounds in gentle whispers come-
With ceaseless hum, upon their feeble wing,
The flies of eve form many an airy ring;
But darkness deep, and still more deep, comes on-
The lovers homeward haste, and all is lone!
Farewell! I see thee smile thy parting glow,
Thou silent beam! the waves embrace thee now,
They crowd with joy around thy light, and lave
Thy lovely locks, within their coral cave.

END OF FOURTH CANTO.

DISCUSSION:

HAS LITERATURE BEEN MORE PROMOTED BY THE PATRONAGE OF THE GREAT, OR BY THE TASTE AND GENIUS OF THE PEOPLE?

THE following course of argument was pursued by those who attributed the promotion of literature chiefly to the taste and genius of the people.

Though it might be admitted, that literature was in some respects indebted to the great, yet its progress had been much retarded by their frequent and constant endeavours, more especially in former times, to engross it entirely to themselves. If they admired and cultivated literature, it was for their own pleasure and benefit; for the people, in general, their concern was small. They regarded intellectual improvement as a means of increasing their own dignity and power, and they were consequently jealous of its being shared by those beneath them. Under the influence of these feelings, they patronized literature so far as it was subservient to their own views'; but, beyond that, they checked and retarded its diffusion, lest the expansion of the public mind should operate as a contraction of their authority. At the same time, therefore, that on some occasions they protected literature, and promoted its cultivation, they did so to a very limited extent; and, whatever improvements they encouraged, they took especial care that the light of increased knowledge should not extend beyond the sphere in which they moved. The consequence of this illiberal course was, that the people were kept

in darkness for ages, and their taste and genius suffered to lie torpid under the benumbing influence of ignorance and superstition, till the art of printing was discovered, and shed abroad upon the benighted world the welcome rays of intelligence and truth.

Ever since that glorious epoch, the people had done more for literature than the great ever did or ever could do. No sooner were their fetters broken, and their eyes opened, than they explored those regions of knowledge which had been before prohibited, and at once saw and appreciated the value of those intellectual treasures, of which for so long a period they had unjustly been deprived. They displayed their taste by the keenness of their relish for the beautiful remains of antiquity; and their genius was at length still more strikingly exhibited by those original productions, which have rivalled even ancient excellence. What the great had done for literature in modern times, was trifling indeed. It was not often, or to any great extent, that they had been patrons : still less had they shone themselves as authors. Whether in the one character or the other, they had frequently done as much injury as benefit. When they had patronized genius, they had often either stifled or corrupted it. When they had published their own productions, they had often disgraced the pen which they assumed. Too frequently had the writings of the great been distinguished as impious or obscene, and it had sometimes been well for mankind when they were merely contemptible. Many were the instances in which their pa tronage had been bestowed upon the worthless, while genius and virtue had pined in unmerited obscurity. But let the intelligent mind call to recollection what popular talent had achieved, and a host of illustrious names would be present to the view. Whatever was profound in philosophy,-whatever was sublime or beautiful in poetry,-whatever was brilliant in eloquence,-whatever was instructive in history,—whatever promoted refinement in letters, was indebted more to the taste and genius, which had no rank but what they gave, than to any encouragement from crowns or titles.

The course pursued by the great had generally been the same both in ancient and modern times, in this country and in others. Thus, in Egypt, the priests formed the only class by which learning was possessed, while the people were sunk in the grossest ignorance. For a long period, it was the same in Greece. In those countries the priests might justly be considered as the great, for to them all bowed submissive, and yielded to their dictates implicit obedience. Yet, favourable as the opportunity was, arising from the possession of such unlimited power over the minds of men, to diffuse abroad the