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The historical discourse being of a local nature, we shall pass it over; and we shall merely remark on the letters, that they relate to Mr. R.'s researches in the Cambridge University-library for materials for his General History of Baptists.

MONTHLY

CATALOGUE,

For MAY, 1814.

POETRY and the DRAMA.

Art. 13. Buonaparte, a Poem. 8vo. 1s. 6d. Murray. 1814. He who for so considerable a period has been the astonishment and the scourge of Europe is fallen; and such a fall, from unexampled pride and greatness, who can contemplate in silence: who can contemplate it even with calm philosophic perspicacity, unmoved by popular feelings, or unswayed by popular sentiments? Bonaparte was a meteor of the very first order, bright and destructive in its passage, yet sinking on a sudden into darkness and insignificance! Universal history affords not one instance of a career of such splendor, or of a fall so degrading and unpitied. In future, poetry, overlooking the examples of Xerxes, Alexander, Hannibal, and Charles XII., will descant on the history of Napoleon Bonaparte as prominently illustrative of the evils of "vaulting ambition which o'erleaps itself," and will tell us, if not in the words, at least in the spirit of Johnson, that "He left a name at which the world grew pale,

To point a moral or adorn a tale.”

Many years must elapse before the history of this wonder and horror of our days can be dispassionately written; and before Europe, recovered from her disasters, will be in a condition dispassionately to read it. In the mean-time, however, verse-men and prose-men will endeavour to gratify themselves and the public by aiming a kick at the hunted-down lion; and, to make sure of the favour of the triumphant party, they will attempt to deprive the prostrate foe of every talent and of every virtue. Much as we reprobate the crimes of Bonaparte, and much as we rejoice at the deliverance of Europe from his iron grasp, we would not ungenerously exult over him. It may be urged, however, in palliation of the present style of invectives, that nothing less than the most unqualified condemnation of him can be tolerated, and that not to hate him with a perfect hatred is to be destitute of all loyalty and public virtue. With feelings of this kind, the poem before us is in perfect unison; the author of which, though all his verse is not highly finished, will please his readers by the warmth with which he congratulates Europe that

The gloom of years at once is pass'd away,'

by the animated eulogies which he bestows on the conquerors, and by the dark colours with which he sketches the portrait of Bonaparte.

• And

And thou, lost Chief! in spite of all thy guilt-
A world defac'd-and blood in torrents spilt
Fain would the Muse one generous drop bestow,
One tear of pity on a prostrate foe:

But Truth, stern guide! reproves the weak desire,
And gives to loftier aims th' impartial lyre.
Vainly she strives, with curious search, to find
One spot less curst, less hateful, in thy mind;
There all is evil—an unlovely waste-
By nature branded, and by pow'r debas'd,
Fruitful of wrong, and mischievously wise,
Grov❜ling in dust, yet grasping at the skies.'

The public will excuse the author for trying to squeeze out a tear for the object of his execration, and will not question his report when he wrote him down all evil; yet something very ungenerous, certainly very unchristian, appears in the insinuation that Napoleon ought to have filled up the measure of his crimes by suicide. We could not avoid making this remark in our last Number, and we cannot refrain from repeating it now.

Art. 14. The Exile of Elba a Poem on the Downfall of Bonaparte and his Dynasty; with The Deliverance; an Ode, pourtraying the principal Events of the Year 1814. By John Gwilliam, Author of "The Battles of the Danube and Barrosa," &c. &c., 8vo. 38. Jennings.

Yielding to the same impressions which animated the author of the preceding poem, Mr. Gwilliam holds up Bonaparte to universal detestation as the greatest monster of the world, — as monstrum nullá virtute redemptum à vitiis; and, in order to make him more sensibly feel the disgrace of his fall, he reminds the Exile' of what he might have been if he had exercised a little prudence:

Had prudence mark'd his reign-had justice thrown
Her hallow'd symbols round about his throne -
Had he on Freedom's side as bravely stood,
As when he fought for Tyranny in blood,
The world had wept at such a monarch's fall,
And sorrow mark'd the features of us all.'

The poet now follows Bonaparte to his exile, and contrasts his hour of glory with that of disgrace: but he has written with too much haste to attend to the polish of every

line:

• Where is the man whom millions late obey'd,

Whom

assisted, then betray'd,

He who confounded Europe at a breath,

And smote her children with continual death,

Whose footsteps shook the world-made sov'reigns own

And tremble at the power of his throne

Who put to flight all Prussia's marshall'd force,
Nor stopt till Russia trembled at his course,
Whose dauntless spirit—whose ambitious mind-
Not Europe, in one mighty league combin❜d,
Could awe, or from its deadly purpose win,
Till base desertion made the wretch give in?
REV. MAY, 1814.
H

-

Where

go

Where is he now? and whither does he
This wretched man - this universal foe?
No scenes of tumult now remain to charm
Or stimulate the prowess of his arm,

Stript of his plumage-by the world abjur'd-
By slaves deserted-by no phantoms lur'd -
Lo! where he bends his melancholy way,
Without one hope to charm his grief away!
Torn to his exile by the pow'r he spurn'd,
His joys all vanish'd-all his schemes o'erturn'd, -
Rack'd with the recollections of the past,
Haunted by those which never fail to last,
Without one good companion for his friend,
To sooth the horrors of his woful end,

Lo! where he goes to hide his face in shame,

The humbled victim of a worthless fame.'

In the little island of Elba, (how little, when compared with the vast circuit which his power once embraced!) Bonaparte is represented as on the very worst terms with his conscience, and in course as goaded by the stings of remorse; yet the poet kindly finds out one balm for his woes, and recommends him to soothe the anguish of his tortured mind by the fervour of a woman's love.'

Turning to the restored monarch, Louis XVIII., Mr. G. congratulates France on the joyous event, and cautions the King against a confidence in men (particularly Talleyrand) who once assisted Napoleon and then betrayed him. The hero of the North, the magnanimous Alexander, is extolled for the prominent part which he has acted in the recent drama of the downfall of Bonaparte .

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But for thy vigor France had still remain'd
To see the world in tyranny enchain'd;
But thou hast crush'd the monarch who betray'd
Her dauntless soul, and with her people play'd, -
Shewn to the world in what true greatness lies,
And taught mankind to reason and be wise.
To thee all Europe sends her ardent pray'rs,
In all thy toils and all thy dangers shares,-
Looks up to thee as her defence and shield,
Fought in thy cause, and with thee scorn'd to yield :
The world's four quarters all revere thy name-
All nations pay their homage to thy fame
Thy glory spreads as far as waves can roll,
From either tropic down to either pole, —
And men unborn shall bless the happy hour,
When Alexander check'd the tyrant's pow'r,
When he resolv'd to crush his upstart race,
And drive him into exile and disgrace !'

This praise the Emperor of Russia eminently deserves; and it would be indeed a proof of a generous concern for Europe, if, after having restored the balance of power by diminishing the overgrown empire of Bonaparte, he would content himself with "all the Russias," and not annex Poland to his own already colossal dominions.

The ode intitled The Deliverance,' Mr. G. informs us, was written for the most part in January last, but was with-holden.

ΙΟ

from

from the public in consequence of the expected appearance of the Poet-Laureat's Carmen Triumphale. Both professedly adverting to the wonderful events which must for ever signalize the opening of the present year, Mr. Southey and Mr. Gwilliam travel over the same ground, and are both animated on the occasion with a patriotic fervour which may now pass for poetic inspiration.

Praise to the God of empires and of men!

Hope shews her blooming countenance again, -
Again the days of happiness return,

The shouts of war subside,

And every eye with rapture seems to turn
To France's humbled pride!

---

What are her conquests now?- her works of fame
Are lost in her discomfiture and shame,

And he her savage and unhallow'd chief,

The cause of her disastrous fate,

Shrinks from her sight like a convicted thief,

And curses his ambition

The ode thus concludes:

all too late.'

But hark! the great the glorious cry
Already shakes the central sky!
Through all her realms reviving nature glows,
The night of slavery is past;

The tyrant's star is set at last,

And France is rescued from her foes!

Thy bonds are broken, Gaul! thy days of peace
Shall smile again, and with thy strength increase,
Four mighty nations o'er thy sufferings bend-
Four mighty monarchs all thy wrongs befriend,
O'er thy bright hills, and down thy silver streams,
The glorious lily beautifully gleams,

All nations leap with joy to hear thy fate -
And rush to succour thy dismantled state,
Aiming the restoration of thy throne,
And not the pomp and splendour of their own,
Proud to assert thy exil'd Bourbon's claim,

And drive th' usurper to his haunt of shame!'

Mr. Gwilliam is not always sufficiently attentive to his rhymes. Art. 15. The Regent and the King; or a Trip from Hartwell to Dover. A Poem. By Peter Pindar, Esq. 8vo. 2s. Johnston. Saucy as ever, and coarser still, Peter continues to run his rigs on royalty, and seems to be quite on the qui vive on having a brace of sovereigns to turn out before his satiric muse, for the amusement of "the swinish multitude." The poor, unwieldy, gouty Louis XVIII. is indeed very ludicrously and unfeelingly exhibited. Before he is brought forth in the pomp and circumstance of recovered dignity and power, we view him as a pensioner on our bounty at Hartwell: Years twenty-three this king had found

And munch'd his meals on English ground,
Content with safety and with peace,
Tho' dieted on bread and cheese.

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Forc'd by the first the world to roam,

And by the last laid up at home.'

Next he is assaulted by flatterers on his recall: but, between congratulations and the twinges of the gout, the monarch has a bad time of it: "Dear Monsieur Comte, I am so glad

Oh! dn dis gout, it drive me mad!
Sweet Monsieur Perigord, I beg,-
D-n me, take care, you hurt my leg!
"A crown! mon Dieu, who could believe it,
God give me manners to receive it!

A crown!-oh! curse you! mind my foot
I'll have you guillotin'd, you brute."""

;

Hartwell, which, while Louis was an exile, is said never to have seen the emblems or appendages of royalty *, is now visited by dragoons and state-coaches, and

His Christian Majesty's backside

On crimson now was rais'd to ride;
Tho' yesterday, that sacred part
Had scarce done honour to a cart.'

A greater honour still awaits the restored King of France:
At Stanmore, Britain's golden c-
Too kind, too affable by half,
Waited with pious condescension,
Το pay the monarch due attention.

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• Well might the giddy thoughtless throngs,
That flock'd around, God bless their tongues!
Break forth in undistinguish'd shout,
Stunning the welkin with wild rout.

The shoutings ran to Hyde Park gate,
Where double crowds, impatient, wait,
Anxious enough, no doubt, to see
The impulse of their extacy.

Gig, coach, landau, mule, donkey, filly,
Block'd all the road thro' Piccadilly;
Blest, but to gain a transient stare,
At France's hope, and Britain's heir.
"And France's hope, and Britain's heir,
Were, truth, a most congenial pair;
Two round, tunbellied, thriving rakes,
Like oxen fed on linseed cakes.'

*P. P., however, is too much at variance with facts, when he speaks of the exiled king as being left in a state of poverty. His Majesty himself, we are persuaded, would describe his treatment very differently. Peter is equally incorrect in representing that stategoaches and troops finally attended at Hartwell.

14

Thus

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