paid this tribute to me, in the hearing of many, that in vain would he have returned to his third triumph, had not my public services preserved the place in which he was to celebrate it. The examples of civil courage are therefore no less meritorious than those of military; and they require a greater share of zeal and labor than the latter. NORMAN ABBEY.* To Norman Abbey whirl'd the noble pair,- It stood embosom'd in a happy valley, Crown'd by high woodlands, where the Druid oak Stood like Caractacus in act to rally Pursued its course, now gleaming, and now hiding Its windings through the woods; now clear, now blue, According as the skies their shadows threw. A glorious remnant of the Gothic pile (While yet the church was Rome's) stood half apart In a grand arch, which once screen'd many an aisle. These last had disappear'd-a loss to art; The first yet frown'd superbly o'er the soil, And kindled feelings in the roughest heart, Which mourn'd the power of time's or tem pest's march, In gazing on that venerable arch. Within a niche, nigh to its pinnacle, Twelve saints had once stood sanctified in stone; But these had fallen, not when the friars fell, But in the war which struck Charles from his throne, His host, with broad arms 'gainst the thun- When each house was a fortalice—as tell der stroke, The annals of full many a line undone,— And from beneath his boughs were seen to The gallant cavaliers, who fought in vain sally The dappled foresters-as day awoke, The branching stag swept down with all his herd, To quaff a brook which murmur'd like a bird. Before the mansion lay a lucid lake, Broad as transparent, deep, and freshly fed By a river, which its soften'd way did take In currents through the calmer water spread Around the wildfowl nestled in the brake And sedges, brooding in their liquid bed: The woods sloped downwards to its brink, and stood With their green faces fix'd upon the flood. Its outlet dash'd into a deep cascade, This is a description of Byron's ancestral home, Newstead Abbey. The owl his anthem, where the silenced | Huge halls, long galleries, spacious chambers, quire Lie with their hallelujahs quench'd like fire. But in the noontide of the moon, and when The wind is winged from one point of heaven, There moans a strange unearthly sound, which then Is musical-a dying accent driven join'd By no quite lawful marriage of the arts, Might shock a connoisseur; but when combined, Form'd a whole which, irregular in parts, Yet left a grand impression on the mind, At least of those whose eyes are in their hearts; We gaze upon a giant for his stature, Through the huge arch, which soars and Nor judge at first if all be true to nature. Generals, some all in armor, of the old And iron time, ere lead had ta'en the lead; Others in wigs of Marlborough's martial fold, Huger than twelve of our degenerate breed; Lordlings, with staves of white or keys of gold: Nimrods, whose canvas scarce contain❜d the steed; The rest had been reform'd, replaced, or And here and there some stern high patriot And spoke more of the baron than the Who could not get the place for which he monk. VOL. IX. sued. 199 finished the work with a satire on the Sultan's meanness, the bitterness of which was such that the poet was obliged to fly for his life. The work, then, which had opened with verses in praise and adulation to Sultan Mahmud to the extent of flattery, ended in satire. Firdausí's "Invocation," on commencing his work, we give below, and following it his "Satire on Máhmúd" written after his refusal to reward the poet as he had agreed to do. But begin or end as it may, Shah Námeh will ever remain as one of the great masterpieces of human genius. Thee I invoke, the Lord of Life and Light! Saith not that book divine, from Heaven sup- "Mustafa is the true, the unerring guide, Then Othmán brave th' imperial priesthood graced; The story of the Sháh Námeh is briefly this: It appears that King Yezdjird had collected all the chronicles, histories, and traditions connected with Persia and her sovereigns, and had put them together, All, led by him, the Prophet's faith embraced. and these formed the book known by the name of The fourth was Alí; he, the spouse adored Syur-al-Múluk, or the Bastan-Námeh. In the tenth cenOf Fatima, then spread the saving word. tury a Persian history was ordered to be prepared by Alí, of whom Mahommed spoke elate, the Samanian King Mansûr, and Almori wrote it in prose, while Qakiki began the same in verse, but was assassinated by a slave after he had written only two thousand verses. Nothing further was done in the matter till the reign of Sultan Mahmud of Ghazire, who first entrusted the work to the poet Unsari, and finally to Firdausí to do the whole in verse. Firdausi worked at it for many years, and being discontented with the sum (silver for gold pieces) paid to him by Máhmúd on its completion, 1 Salvator Rosa. 2 If I err not, 66 your Dane" is one of Iago's catalogue of nations "exquisite in their drinking." "I am the city of knowledge-he my gate." Alí the blest. Whoever shall recline supplicant at his all-powerful shrine, Enjoys both this life and the next; in this, All earthly good, in that, eternal bliss! From records true my legends I rehearse, And string the pearls of wisdom in my verse, That in the glimmering days of life's decline, Its fruits, in wealth and honor, may be mine. My verse, a structure pointing to the skies; Whose solid strength destroying time defies. All praise the noble work, save only those "Richer by far, Firdausí, than a mine Praise, praise to Máhmúd, who of like renown, In battle or the banquet, fills the throne; SATIRE ON MÁHMÚD. (Written after his refusal to pay the poet, as he had agreed.) Know, tyrant as thou art, this earthly state It breathes and lives, and life is sweet to all. the sense To shrink from giving man like me offence? What could impel thee to an act so base? What, but to earn and prove thy own disgrace? Would be appalled by thee, whom I defy? And make the impious and the base my food; far As Nile's dark waters their rich treasures bear. From every trace of sense and feeling free, When thou art dead, what will become of thee? If thou shouldst tear me limb from limb, and cast My dust and ashes to the angry blast, Supports the Faithful in the realms above, And thou would'st hurl me underneath the tread Of the wild elephant, till I were dead! doom; They died, but blest in memory still they bloom. Thus kings too perish-none on earth remain, Since all things human seek the dust again. O, had thy father graced a kingly throne, Thy mother been for royal virtues known, A different fate the poet then had shared, Acquire more honied sweetness as they flow. The reckless king who grinds the poor like thee, Must ever be consigned to infamy! Now mark Firdausí's strain, his Book of Will ever soar upon triumphant wings. The toil of thirty years is now complete, FIRDAUSI. THE STORY OF SOHRÁB The following is the translation of the commencement of the story of Sohráb. It forms perhaps one of the most beautiful and interesting episodes in the Shah Námeh. Had the poet been able to depict the nicer varieties of emotion and passion, the more refined workings of the mind under the influence of disappointment, love, and despair, the poem would have been still more deserving of praise. But, as Dr. Johnson observes of Milton," he knew human nature only in the gross, and had never studied the shades of character, nor the combinations of concurring, or the perplexity of contending passions;" yet is there much to admire. O ye, who dwell in Youth's inviting bowers, And sad reflection fill the conscious soul. All nature fades-the garden's treasures fall, And now a tale of sorrow must be told, A tale of tears, derived from Múbid old, And thus remembered.— With the dawn of day, Rustem arose, and wandering took his way, Armed for the chase, where sloping to the sky, Túrán's lone wilds in sullen grandeur lie; There, to dispel his melancholy mood, He urged his matchless steed through glen and wood. Flushed with the noble game which met his view, He starts the wild-ass o'er the glistening dew; And, oft exulting, sees his quivering dart, Plunge through the glossy skin, and pierce the heart. Tired of the sport, at length, he sought the shade, Which near a stream embowering trees dis played. And with his arrow's point, a fire he raised, And thorns and grass before him quickly blazed. The severed parts upon a bough he cast, To catch the flames; and when the rich repast Was drest; with flesh and marrow, savory food, He quelled his hunger; and the sparkling flood |