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'He comes at length:

The thickening thunder of the wheels is heard :-
Upon their hinges roaring, open fly

The brazen gates:-sounds then the tramp of hoofs,-
And lo! the gorgeous pageant, like the sun,

Flares on their startled eyes. Four snow-white steeds,
In golden trappings, barbed all in gold,

Spring through the gate ;-the lofty chariot then,
Of ebony, with gold and gems thick strewn,
Even like the starry night. The spokes were gold,
With fellies of strong brass; the naves were brass,
With burnish'd gold o'erlaid, and diamond-rimm'd :
Steel were the axles, in bright silver case;
The pole was cased in silver: high aloft,
Like a rich throne the gorgeous seat was framed;
Of ivory part, part silver, and part gold :
On either side a golden statue stood:
Upon the right,-and on a throne of gold,-
Great Belus, of the Assyrian empire first,
And worshipp'd as a God; but, on the left,
In a resplendent car by lions drawn,

A Goddess.

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The following is in a different, and, to our judgment, a juster

taste.

'Twas midnight now: the melancholy moon,
With wasted face, unwillingly arose

To walk her weary course upon the plains
Gleam'd faintly the moist herbage: shadows drear
And long, from lofty and umbrageous trees,
Slept on the earth; pale light, and dreamy shade
Cover'd the silent city; her huge towers,
Like a Titanic watch, all standing mute;
And, in the centre,-like the spectre form
Of perish'd Saturn, or some elder god,

The dim vast mound. Within their tents the hosts,
Or on the earth, in heavy slumber lay;

Some of the battle dreaming,-some of love,-
Of home, and smiling wives and infants some.'
'But in the Median camp, the while, all eyes
In sleep were closed. With the pale moonlight now
Mingled the opening dawn. Their dull round trode,
With weary foot, the watchers of the night:
A heavy mist o'erhung the earth; the trees,

The tents, all dripping with distilled dews.
Unstirr'd by any breath of air, down hung
The banners heavily.'

The reader must now have a taste of the battle.

At the word,

The fiery steeds uptore the groaning ground;
Thunder'd the wheels; and, like the rush of waves,
Sounded the tread of that vast infantry.

Then spake the trumpets out, a thousand tongues
Of blaring brass; and timbrels, and the clash
Of cymbals; and all instruments clear-toned,
That stir the heart in battle: and the voice
Of every soldier was sent up to heaven

In shouts that rent the air. High in the midst,
The splendid ensign, azure, silver-starr'd,
With diamond-sprinkled sun of burning gold,
Ray'd with bright diamonds, to the fresh breeze
Roll'd out its glorious hues.'

The following has much of the Homeric manner.
Then Arbaces stoop'd,

And to his charioteer, deliberate, thus:
"Darius,-what I tell thee heed thou well,
And fear not right upon the tyrant's car
The horses urge, and wheel in wheel drive close:
Our chariot is the stronger,-we will break
His axle short, and hurl him to the earth
Headlong, so with one happy blow perchance
Decide the battle. Nearer-nearer still."
'Shouted then

Arbaces: but, perceiving that the cars

Apart were passing, snatch'd in haste the reins,—
And in a moment,-grinding horribly,-

Wheel inside wheel was driven. Like brittle wood,
Black from the fire, the axle of the Mede

Snapp'd short;-the car was dash'd upon the ground.
Unshaken pass'd the chariot of the king;
But darkness veil'd his eyes.

'Cast headlong down,

Upon his neck Darius fell, and died.

But, on his feet alighting all unhurt,
Arbaces stood, and in a moment saw

The shatter'd car, amid th' Assyrian ranks,
Whirl'd by the terrified steeds. His battle-axe,—
Thrown from the chariot,—and his bow and spears
Seized he, then, like a lion on his prey,

The king to overtake flew on. But after him,
With tempest-rush, th' Assyrian chariots came:

Lances and darts whizz'd round him: close behind,
Like the hot pantings of the desert-blast,
Within his ear, and on his cheek, he felt

The blowing of the steeds; with voice, and rein,
And sounding thong, the charioteers impell'd
The horses on that they might trample him:
But, turning as he ran, the nearest steed
Upon the forehead with his battle-axe,
As with a thunder-bolt, Arbaces smote,
And with loud squelch and jar unto the ground,
Stone dead, head foremost drove him

o'er him roll'd,
With hideous clash, his fellows; and the car

Flat to the earth was hurl'd.'

After innumerable feats of this kind, the hero climbs up to a small eminence which overlooks the plain.

'As, on some small rock

Amid the stormy deep, the mariner,

Looking all round, the raging waves doth see
Outstretch'd immense, and their tremendous roar,
Deep and far spreading, hears,-even such a sea,
A sea whose billows were contending hosts,

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Arbaces saw, and, louder than the voice
Of stormy ocean, heard the
He saw, and shouted; for, o'er all the plain,
Like waves before a strong wind driven along,
The Assyrians moved; yet unresisting not ;-
For, as against the wind the rapid tide

Strives still, though yielding still,'

So, while they fled,

Fought still th' Assyrians; turning oft again,

And onset still renewing, still to fail.

Like to the tossing foam amid the waves,

The plume-topt helmets rock'd; and restless light,

As from the waters heaving to the sun,

From the steel corslets flashed, and burning shields,
The glittering armour all, and cars of brass.'

The king at last is wounded, and borne insensible to the city, where his neglected queen watches over him, and, listening to the near and nearer approach of the roaring fight, conceives the daring project of clothing herself in his arms, and cheering his fainting troops by the sight of their returning monarch. As the tumult waxes louder he revives, and sees this heroic preparation. "With a sudden bound,

Sprang on the king, and strain'd her in his arms,
And on her cheek one burning kiss impress'd:
The bandage from his head then pluck'd away,—
The glittering helmet seized,-the golden shield,—
The spear, and issued forth. She after him

Went swiftly, crying still-" Nay-go not thus,-
Put on thy mail,-think what on thee depends."

Nought heeded he, for in his ear the noise
Of battle rang,-all other sound unheard :
Forth went he,-to his chariot, shouting, leap'd ;-
Shrill hiss'd the scourge ;-like bended bows let
Started the steeds;-the rushing wheels stream'd fire ;—
Earth thunder'd underneath.

'A thousand men,

go,

His chosen guard,-all eminent in arms,-
Of proud Assyria's noble youth the flower,-
On Arab steeds with gorgeous trappings deck'd,
His coming waited. Dazzling were their arms,
Silver, and gold, and steel, and gleaming brass,-
And helms, gem-boss'd, that in the blood-red sun,
Stream'd fiery splendour. When the king appear'd,
At once their restless horses they let go;

And, like a tempest, close behind his wheels,
Rode shouting to the battle.'

This we fear is somewhat bloated and noisy. But the effect of this reappearance of the monarch is given at least with great spirit and effect.

'Now hideous rout

O'er all the field was seen toward the gates
Terrific was the rush; nor longer strove
The Assyrian captains for that hopeless day;
But, sullenly resisting, with the throng,-
Like lions by a swoln stream borne away,-
In a stern silence struggling, backward went.'
'Jaded with toil,-with sweat and dust begrimed,-
Panting for breath,-for thirst agape, they came ;-
The glittering cars,-the gay caparisons,-

The shining arms,-the plumes of gorgeous hue,-
Blood-spatter'd,-foul'd with dust ;-with such a rout
Fled they; and, after them, the shouting foe,
Driving them on, and trampling. Towards the walls
All eyes were bent; for succour hoping, these,-
These for unbounded vengeance,—when, behold!
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 helm,-
All else unarm'd. The royal car was known,-
The ebon seat,-the steeds of snowy white,-
The wheels, gem-starr'd ;—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!"'

With a shout,

Louder than thunders, all that mighty host
Turn'd suddenly, and on th' astonish'd Medes
Drove like a hurricane. They,-amazed and stunn'd,—
Heard, saw, and waver'd ;-for, as one to four

Their numbers were,-their limbs with toil were worn,—
They had no walls of refuge. All amazed,

There stood they doubtfully ;-then look'd behind,—
Look'd,-turn'd, and fled.

'Redoubled clamours then

O'er all the field arose; and, from the walls,
The cries of myriads. Shrieks of joy went up,-
Songs of thanksgiving,-loud and frenzied prayers,--
Shoutings, and sobs, and wails, and laughter loud.
Women, and priests, infants, and grey-hair'd men,
Ran to and fro; or on their knees fell down,
With hands and eyes uplifted to the Gods,-
For their deliverance praising,-on their foes,
Destruction calling down.

The king, meantime,

Rush'd to the slaughter. On the flying rear,

Chariots and horsemen drove ;-spears, arrows, darts,
Hiss'd after them ;-like to a thunder-peal,

Heard faintly from afar, amid the din

Was heard the voice of Jerimoth ;-the roar

Of furious Zimri, like a tiger's howl

In the deep forest, when a tempest shakes
The moaning trees at night.'

There comes after all this the night battle, and the conflict of the elements, the deluge, the thunder and the lightning. But the specimens we have given we suppose will be thought sufficient. There is no lack of talent, it will be perceived, in Mr Atherstone. His poem is one of power as well as of promise; and stands, we think, already nearly on the level of Southey's Madoc or Don Roderick-with less variety perhaps, and still greater diffuseness, but with the same richness of diction and play of fancy, the same high tone of piety and principle, and the same smooth and flowing versification, which have not been able to redeem those very meritorious productions from the charge of tediousness, or the hazard of a speedy oblivion.

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