refuge of the weak. And whether the aspirants be weak or strong, their aspirations are not ignoble, and their hopes make them happy. If they succeed, the world is the better; if they fail, it is no worse. Whatever tendency to excess there may have been on Southey's part in the estimate of his own works will be found to prevail quite as much in his estimate of the works of his friends, or indeed of many other works, old and new, which he approved and admired. In a letter to me of Oct. 1829, he writes,-'A greater poet than Wordsworth there never has been nor ever will be.' And if he expected for himself a larger measure of attention from posterity than may now seem likely to be accorded him, it should be remembered, that though as long as his mind lasted he 'lived laborious days' for the sake of his family and of others whom, in the generosity of his heart, he helped to support, yet all the labours of all the days did not enable him to do more than make preparations for the three great works which it was the object and ambition of his life to accomplish. Of what he did accomplish, a portion will not soon be forgotten. There were greater poets in his generation, and there were men of a deeper and more far-reaching philosophic faculty; but take him for all in all, his ardent and genial piety, his moral strength, the magnitude and variety of his powers, the field which he covered in literature, and the beauty of his life,—it may be said of him, justly and with no straining of the truth, that of all his contemporaries be was the greatest MAN. HENRY TAYLOR. [The King is in disguise on his final mission to exterminate the Moors.] On foot they came, Chieftains and men alike; the Oaken Cross, To meet him fleet of foot, and having given Deceive me not, yon horse, whose reeking sides The apostate Orpas in his vauntery Wont to parade the streets of Cordoba. But thou shouldst know him best; regard him well: Either it is he, The old man replied, or one so like to him, In his own proper seat? Look how he leans And answer to the voice which praises him. Or are the secret wishes of my soul Indeed fulfill'd, and hath the grave given up Its dead? . . . So saying, on the old man he turn'd Eyes full of wide astonishment, which told The incipient thought that for incredible He spake no farther. But enough had past; Like one who sees a spectre, and exclaim'd, He meantime With easy pace moved on to meet their march. By means scarce less than miracle, thy throne Grace was vouchsafed; and by that holy power Not without mystery, as the event hath shown, Deal honourably with his remains, and let One grave with Christian rites receive them both. Is it not written that as falls the Tree So it shall lie? In this and all things else, Pelayo answered, looking wistfully Upon the Goth, thy pleasure shall be done. His head away in silence. But the old man Laid hold upon his bridle, and look'd up My good Siverian, go not thou this day To war! I charge thee keep thyself from harm! If thou wert gone?.. Thou seest I am unarm'd ; Clean through yon miscreant army have I cut Give me thy helmet and thy cuirass! . . nay, . O who could tell what deeds were wrought that day, Or who endure to hear the tale of rage, Hatred, and madness, and despair, and fear, The cries, the blasphemies, the shrieks, and groans, While over all predominant was heard, Reiterate from the conquerors o'er the field, The evening darken'd, but the avenging sword Rest, in indissoluble union joined. But still where through the press of war he went The spear-point pierced him not, the scymitar And bowed before its will. Upon the banks And flanks incarnadined, his poitral smeared Lay near; and Julian's sword, its hilt and chain Days, months, and years, and generations pass'd, And centuries held their course, before, far off Within a hermitage near Viseu's walls A humble tomb was found, which bore inscribed In ancient characters King Roderick's name. FROM 'THALABA.' lle found a Woman in the cave, The pine boughs were cheerfully blazing, |