their sleep, and breathe hot roarings out in fierce reply to the shouts of armies? All stuff! Then, Mr Atherstone shews off his knowledge of natural history, in telling us, that the said lion, on roaring, " laid his monstrous mouth close to the floor." We believe he does so; but did Mr Atherstone learn the fact from Cuvier, or from Wombwell? It is always dangerous to a poor poet to be too picturesque; and in this case, you are made, whether you will or no, to see an old, red, lean, mangy monster, called a lion, in his unhappy den, in a menagerie, bathing his beard in the saw-dust, and from his toothless jaws " breathing hot roarings out," to the terror of servantgirls and children, in fierce reply to a man, in a hairy cap, and full suit of velveteen, stirring him up with a long pole, and denominating him by the sacred name of the great assertor of Scottish independence.

The truth is, that Mr Atherstone here falls successively into a couple of clap-traps. We are sorry to say, that his betters have, by their example, led him into that scrape and our readers will remember false passages of the same kind innumerable in Byron, Scott, Wordsworth, Milman, and other good poets. But they do not speak absolute nonsense, like Mr Atherstone, about the eagle, and there always will be felt to be something impressive-though out of place in their allusions to harts and hinds, and so forth, listening at a distance to sounds with which such animals had nothing to do;— or, if they had, the poet ought not to have bothered us in that manner about the brute creation. If, on the above occasion, the eagle lost his life, and the lion his slumbers, what, pray, became of the Moudiewarps? For goodness sake, let us have no more such blarney-for it is within reach of the veriest idiot.

In Book Third, the conspirators are assembled, at midnight, in the tent of Arbaces-Abdolonimus, satrap of Arabia-Belesis-Almelon, chief of the new-come Babylonian host-Rabsaris, an exiled Assyrian, whose daughter, Azubah, Sardanapalus had torn from the arms of the Bridegroom whom he had killed on their wedding-day, and made her his favourite concubine, and" the Rest."

It ought to have been a good Book; for what better subject for a man, even of very moderate genius, but with the spirit of an Englishman, than a midnight conjuration of fierce nobles burning to throw off the yoke of an oppressor? But it is mortal dull as any Debating Society-almost as dull as a debate in our Parliament on a Corn Bill. The Arab, of whom is said

"Of impatient mood was he, Fiery and quick,his sinewy form to match, And roe-buck lightness,"

is the first speaker, but does not know what is the subject of debate. "Our time so short, why stand we silent here?

Or wait we for the dawn? Who summons us?

And what the business?-Be it told at once,

That, or to deeds we may bestir ourselves, If such there be to do,-or use the hours, As nature teaches, for refreshing sleep; Seldom, I ween, more lack'd."

What a sleepy fellow of a fierce Arab! What will become of him at the close of the fourth and last day of the Grand Review, if one day's march has so knocked him up?

simple question, and is on his legs Belesis then gets up to answer this for about sixty lines-quite a sermon. which he draws from the whole is The practical conclusion, however, good-to raise by to-morrow's light the standard of rebellion, and give the Assyrian power battle. speech is well received, but that fact is very lamely recorded

This

"He ceased; and murmurs of applause were heard!"

Belesis is followed by old Almelon, the Babylonian; and Mr Atherstone manifestly intends his speech for a masterpiece- a harangue half-way between the wearisome wisdom of old Nestor, and the courtier-craft of old Polonius, with a dash of dotage pe culiar to the superannuated driveller himself, who beats Sir Thomas Lethbridge hollow.

"He fix'd his look, and with slow utterance thus."

One specimen of aged Babylonian oratory will suffice.

"Thy years, Belesis, fewer are than mine, And thy experience less ;-for thee I knew A tottering infant, playmate to my own,

My second child;—in Bactria he fell, Fighting the tyrant's battles;-but the

rest,

Four valiant boys,—are here, for different

fate

Like thee to commune with the glittering Gods,

Yet, for these grey hairs, listen to my words, Which shall be few, for I no speaker am, As well ye know.”

He won't hear of a rising in the morning, but recommends delay, for a few days, when the coast will be more clear; and

"One half this living deluge ebb'd away, Never again to flow."

He, too, like Abdolonimus-and his years are his justification-is an advocate for immediate sleep. He concludes,

Staring all the while like a Saracen's head, he speaks after the fashion of School. He sees that there is a belly a philosopher of the Leg-of-Mutton and members, but he looks round in vain for a head. "Where, where is a head? We have no head!" is still the burden of his speech; and he enters at great length into arguments to prove, that without a head nobody is any body, and with a head, any body every body; and that without a head, the conspiracy might as well have no feet, and will fall to the ground. The "wearifu' woman," was the soul of brevity and originality to this speculative Assyrian ;yet such was the singular taste in the Tent, that, instead of being coughed head, met with loud applause. The down, Rabsaris' proposal to have a notion was so novel-yet when made, appeared so sensible-that nothing could exceed the chuckle. Reader! heard ye ever the like of the following, even at a county meeting about turnpikes?

"For look but at the simplest things that live,

And they shall teach you prudent govern

ment:

No word of your intents."

The Priest is then heard in reply -a tedious repetition of his first speech; and on sitting down, the house seems divided

"He ceased, and many voices in applause Were heard; in censure many, or cold doubt;

That certainty was none."

Rabsaris, the Exile, then rises"His long right arm, attentive to invite, Held forth, and thus began!"

How picturesque and novel the attitude! So used to stand Pitt, and eke Canning, How interesting to know that Rabsaris was not left-handed!

We naturally expected something strong and vehement from an orator declaiming against the murderer of his son-in-law, the ravisher of his daughter, and the banisher of himself -more especially as

"His tall, gaunt form, Hoarse, hollow voice, sunk cheek, and burning eye,

Drew all men's gaze."

But Rabsaris is not even a Ranter.

For strength and courage nobler than the rest;

And him they follow:-the industrious

bee

Him follow, and obey,— -so shall ye thrive: But, in disunion, perish."

One would have thought that this would have successfully seconded the motion of Abdolonimus and old Almelon, and set them all asleep; but, like an over-dose of opium, it had the opposite effect, and the tent became as brisk as a bag of fleas. Belesis, who had already spoken twice at great length, got again on his legs, contrary to all in all usage Parliaments, and, far from "rising to reprobate the idea," he takes up the same argument, and thus establishes, on an underminable basis, the absolute and instant necessity of a head. Hear, hear, hear, hear, hear!

But, bound together, shall have strength to pull

From its broad base this monstrous ty

ranny,

And rend the fetters that bind down the
world:-

In a wise union doth such power reside.
Nor ignorant we of this; nor madly proud,
Or jealous to the needful curb to yield:
For chains and darkness in a maniac's
cell

Fitter were he than for a leader's place,
Who his own headstrong will would not
submit ;

Or in the anarchy of many rules Could hope for conquest. One, sole chief must be."

The question is now put-" Tomorrow, or to-morrow week ?" and it is decided by the casting vote of Arbaces-" to-morrow." Belesis then reveals the will of Heaven, and the Mede is chosen chief, and champion of the cause of Liberty-all over the world.

The Fourth Book is almost as long as the preceding three, and it is, to our mind, the worst of the six. Morning sees the standard of rebellion amid" the Median camp high elevated," and the rebel army is all astir, and in high glee, when Nebaioth, an Assyrian leader, accompanied with a herald, appears among the chiefs, sent by Salamenes, brother of the Queen. He plays his part without a particle of spirit; and there is far too much speechification certainly, after the previous night's haranguing of the same orators. Abdolonimus, incensed by the cool firmness of Nebaioth, who offers him an unconditional submission, says,

"And, to astound thee more, Even to his teeth I do defiance send ; Call him a beast, a glutton, and a slave !” Abdolonimus is, we know, a rough customer, and he had lost all temper; but this is rather too coarse, and, besides, it is altogether inconsistent with the satirical tone of pretended obeisance to the tyrant, which immediately follows it. Arbaces gives Nebaioth safe-conduct out of the camp, under the protection of young Twins, whose beautiful appearance is tolerably well described and the conference is at an end. Meanwhile Salamenes apprises Sardanapalus in his palace of the insurrection; the monarch springs from his bed, valiantly dons his

The Sixth Book opens with a description of the Love-Bower of Nehushta, and Dara, the King's charioteer; and this passage is, we think, not only the least bad in the poem, but in itself not far from good. There is not in it, it is true, one original image, and it is manifestly made up almost wholly of materials existing not in nature, as nature revealed herself to Mr Atherstone's eye, but in the breathings of other poets. Still it is not without a certain richness and luxuriance, which nearly approach the beautiful; and from it we are disposed to think that Mr Atherstone, were he to give up Epic poetry, for which he has not one single qualification, and addict himself to the descriptive, might possibly produce something "in the soft line" not much amiss.

While Dara, who has had enough of charioteering for one day, is making love to Nehushta, and beguiling her of her tears by the narration of the past perils of her father, the bat tle continues to rage with great fury, but is going against the Assyrians. The heroic Queen Atossa resolves, if possible, to retrieve the fortune of the day, by appearing before the Assyrian army in the armour of Sardanapalus-rather a grotesque imitation of Patroclus in the armour of Achilles-and has begun to don it, when the king awakes, and, informed of her noble design, seizes her for a moment in his arms, impresses one burning kiss on her cheek, arms himself in a moment, and hurries to his chariot.

"Swift as an eagle shooting from a cloud, From out the gates a single chariot rush'd!

Erect the rider stood,—a golden shield

Upon his left arm grasping,—in his right A spear, and on his head a gleaming belm,

All else unarmed. The royal car was

known,

The ebon seat, the steeds of snowy white,

The wheels, gem-starred ;-but who was he that rode?

Shouting he flew, and raised his arms on high.

Swift as a tempest came the thundering

car;

And, close behind, on Arab steeds milk

white,

Assyria's royal guard. Burst out, at length,

A deafening shout-' The king! the king comes forth!

The king of kings unto the battle comes! Shout, all ye nations! shout! the king! the king!

The king of kings to victory comes again! The haughty rebels he shall overthrow! Our foes shall be trod down! Shout, every man ;

Shout out aloud! and lift th' avenging sword,

For now their hour is come!'" That is not poorly conceived; but it is poorly expressed. Oh! how much better, had the last feeble eight lines been but four or two, and the four or two strong! The rebel army recoils, with "inroad gored;" nightfall darkens the field; there is some hot skirmishing in the gloom, but the main battles separate, the Medes to their camp, and the Assyrians to the city;-and thus closes the Sixth and last Book as yet published of Nineveh.

Let us conclude with some criticism on this Epic Poem. We presume, and hope, that these six books are nearly one half of the work. Has, then, Mr Atherstone succeeded in bringing before our imagination the city of Nineveh? No. The royal palace, and some of her gardens, he has described tolerably well; but we never, for a moment, are made to see and to feel that we are in the heart of that famous old metropolis. That her walls were huge and high, and many-towered, and of prodigious circumference, we knew before, and he has added nothing to the vividness or grandeur of our conceptions. He addresses her often and often, and bestows on her many fine-sounding names. But she rises not before us at his command, either in poetical gloom or glory, and, for the most part, she is a blank. In the hands of a great, or a good, or a true poet, it could not have been so; and the failure is decisive in the negative of the question, is Mr Atherstone, or is he not, a man of genius?

Yet, observe how incessantly he labours to produce a phantasmagorial picture of her glories! and how faint and feeble is his oft-repeated touch! "Imperial Nineveh, the carthly queen, In all her golden pomp I see her now." "In golden light

Magnificent the mighty city stands,
Empress of nations."

"Of Nineveh, the mighty city of old,
The Queen of all the nations."

"On Nineveh's proud towers the sinking

sun