who has fought, bled, and fallen in the service of his country, we certainly cannot be supposed to be actuated by any hostile emotion, or any other sentiment than the love of truth and justice. Neither are we ignorantly declaiming on impracticable things. We have sojourned in the country which General Moore traversed; we know the disposition, principles, indole, manners, and customs, of the people; we are also perfectly aware of the badness of the roads, the numerous and almost insuperable difficulties which an army must encounter at every step; the want of provisions and every kind of domestic accommodation; the peculiar disinclination of the people to communicate with strangers (especially heretics), their reluetance to sell them their goods even for money, and their eternal dread of dearth and famine; their absurd prejudices, obstinacy, and caprices; their indignation, occasioned by what they deem a national affront, at all foreigners who cannot speak fluently their diverse dialects; and their general distrust of strangers, with whose characters they are unacquainted; all contribute to render a campaign in Spain the most arduous and difficult enterprise which could be undertaken by an. English officer. Notwithstanding these and many more embarrassing circumstances, which we could enumerate, that Englishman who once convinces a Spaniard of his candour, honesty, and favourable opinion* of Spain, will ever after have a firm, faithful, and generous friend. There is perhaps no other country in Europe where prudence and address can do so much, and none where violence o. force can effect so little. It is peculiarly the country of enthusiasm, heroism, and intrepidity. The genius and the hero, who manifests zeal, conceives rapidly

*Little care was taken, we suspect, to display such opinions, or to persuade the Spaniards that we were heartily and disinterestedly their friends; on the contrary, whether from the pressure of harrassing and accumulated difficulties, or from a naturally petulant disposition, the language of detestation, abuse, and even curses, were liberally bestowed on them and their country. This conduct, accompanied with other acts which must pass unnamed, very naturally excited the indignation, and in some cases the vengeance, of the people. Yet our "blanket heroes" complain of their inhospitableness, and our "perfumed popinjays" of fatigue! A soldier would be ashamed to murmur at the temporary privation of roast beef and down beds. Those epicene bipeds of a Hyde Park review may disgrace, but certainly cannot serve, their country. Rev.

and executes effectually whatever tends to the honour of Spain, will be revered, obeyed, and may become invincible; but the cold calculator, the dry reasoner, the man of method and business, however great his knowledge, however respectable his endowments, and profound his skill, will be invariably despised, shunned, and ridiculed. El genio del hombre no está á mi gana, exclaims the Spaniard; and neither prudential reasons nor self-interest will ever induce him to have any further communication or correspondence with him. Between them there exists none of those natural sympathies of heart, nothing of that congeniality of mind, which insensibly draw and unite persons together: they are of opposite sentiments and feelings; the Spaniard retires more than ever attached to the fancied superiority of his own imagination, and the reasoner can perceive no cause for abandoning his consequences and his prudent anticipation.

From this view of the Spanish character, the reader will be at no loss to decide why General Moore, and some other British officers, should have imbibed such adverse impressions of the general disposition of the Spaniards, and supposed them lukewarm in the cause of their country. It manifests great weakness or want of candour to pronounce dogmatically on the character of any people or nation, merely from traversing one of its provinces, especially in a country where every one has not only its peculiar laws, manners, and customs, but also its own dialect. But it was particularly delusive and unjust to draw any general conclusions from the state of Gallicia-a province which has had so much intercourse with the miscreant Irish, who have artfully aroused all the religious prejudices of the vulgar, who have fabricated extravagant tales of English hostility to papists, and who have adopted every other wicked artifice calculated to excite in the Gallicians a permanent aversion from the character and principles of Englishmen. Surely he must be a very prejudiced observer, indeed, who could not discriminate a palpable difference between the conduct of the people in Estremadura and Gallicia. We have, however, too long detained our readers on this subject, and must now introduce the poem.

"What frequent tears the Patriot Muse has shed:
A nation's tribute to her mighty dead!!
What suns have set in Glory's radiant way,
To gild with cloudless beams a brighter day!

Succeeding WOLFES, in conquest's glowing hour,
Succeeding CHATHAMS, eloquent no more!
From the parch'd plains of Egypt's barren sand,
And there, where Tagus laves fair Lisbon's strand,
To that where Trafalgar's victorious wave
Saw dear-bought laurels deck a NELSON's grave;
In the full blaze of victory's bursting light,
What orbs have sunk and left the sudden night!
Yet shed their parting beams of brightness here,
To shine unsetting in a purer sphere!

Another falls and MOORE's unconquer'd name
Gives a new hero to a nation's fame.'

P. 3.

The poet then describes, with considerable strength and felicity of expression, the mental endowments and achievments of her hero in different quarters of the globe. To the glorious list could we have added, that instead of vacillating months at Salamanca *, he passed in the enemy's rear, joined his allies at Tudela, changed the fate of things there, and mingled his blood and his arms with the immortal heroes of Zaragoza; we should then indeed have "melted with the melody of her lays." Unhappily, experience seems to be lost on mankind; and after the lapse of a century, the drama of Peterborough and Galway has again been rehearsed before us. There are energy, beauty, and fidelity, in the following description:

"A Tyrant nods—and o'er a fated land
Fell USURPATION hurls her flaming brand,
Then flings it furious o'er the peaceful plain,
Blood on her brow, and terror in her train;
Her drooping children, peaceful now no more,
Mark the dire progress of its blasting pow'r;
See its red glare in dreadful ruin rise,
And turn to Britain turn their suppliant eyes.
That generous Britain, on whose sea-girt breast,
Peace, the fair exile, guards her halcyon nest,
Rears 'mid the victor wave her radiant form,
Strong in the whirlwind, fearless in the storm;
Nor asks in vain a nation's ardour pours
Her matchless heroes from her friendly shores.
"Nor DESOLATION marks the scene alone,
But captive monarchs, and a vacant throne.
Madrid's proud wails beheld the impious deed,

Arm'd her brave chiefs, nor fear'd the glorious meed;

*Perhaps, indeed, this might not be the fault of the commander, but of the contradictory orders which he received. In justice to the memory of the deceased, it was necessary that this point should be ascertained; the campaign was entirely left to his discretion !

Mark'd with exulting eyes her patriot band,
And hail'd the heroes of her native land;
Saw their bright colours blending hues combin'd,
And Britain's name with fair Iberia's join'd."

"What though rude War's licentious footsteps stray,
Through all thy blushing wilds, thy fragrant way;
What though she bid her rough unsparing hand
Seize the rich treasures of thy blooming land;
Yet raise the pensive eye-yet smiling see,
One dazzling wreath of deathless victory;

Whose sweets immortal deck a WELLESLEY's brow,
Unfading trophies from a fallen foe!"

From the liveliness and strength of the likenesses, we were preparing to remonstrate against the justice of the epithet mightier conqueror," till we recollected the adage, sæpe poetarum mendacia dulcia finxi. We must extract, however, the following apostrophe, which does equal honour to the departed hero, the head, and the heart of our author.

"Ye brave companions, who, in honour's day,
Still fearless trod with him her dangerous way;
Ye who still live, his high deserts to tell,
And ye, alas! like him, who nobly BELL,
Take from the mourning Muse her grateful tear,
Nor think it falls alone to deck his bier;
For ALL it trembling fills her pensive eye;
ALL claim alike a nation's sympathy;
Whilst nobly emulous, like you to prove,
Britannia's bulwark and her monarch's love,
The proud protectors of her righteous cause,
The unrivall'd champions of her equal laws,
Succeeding heroes by your names inspir'd,
With rival zeal, with rival ardour fir'd,
Like you triumphant shall her laurels share,

Her pride, her hope, her glory, and her care."

There is one feature in this noble "Tribute," which is now become so rare, that we shall be pardoned, if not thanked, by every independent mind, for holding it up to general admiration; we mean its perfect freedom from every designing or selfish idea, from every sentiment of interested adulation or groveling sycophancy, and even from the talentless vanity of "an avarice of praise." Throughout the whole we behold the soul of genius, humanity, taste, and genuine English independence and patriotism. The concluding lines have another excellence equally deserving of attention. They manifest an enlightened mind, conscious

of the beneficence of Providence, clearly conceiving just notions of the power and goodness of the Sovereign Arbiter, and deeply imbued with the true sublimity of Christianity, very different from the vulgar cant of modern evangelicals. Although we have already extracted liberally from this interesting poem, the concluding prayer is so apposite and so proper at present for every subject of the United Kingdom, that we feel it a duty to insert it.

"Amidst the mercies of a chastening hand,
May holier zeal preserve this favour'd land!
Protect her altars in the threaten'd storm,
Nerve the rais'd arm, to shield their sacred form:
That lifted arm, which strong in Virtue's cause,
Would guard her King, her Liberty, her Laws!
And fix that diadem, which sparkles now,
With gathering glory, on a BRUNSWICK's brow;
Preserve its lustre from a TYRANT's pow'r,
Yet grateful turn to HIM in conquest's hour,
That BETTER trust, whose hand sustains on high,
The great, th' eternal chain of destiny!
And as the cloud for ISRAEL's favour'd race
Still mark'd his presence, and his resting place,
Oh! let the kindred beam reposing here
Yet show his guardian, his directing care;
Yet point to Britain's sons the radiant way,
Whilst future MOORES, on many a distant day,
Like him shall triumph, and like him shall prove,
A nation's gratitude, a nation's love!

And rival heroes, bending o'er his urn

In awful pause, this patriot truth shall learn ;
Marking the track his conquering footsteps trod,

The path where Glory points, conducts to God." p. 11.

Would to God the campaign which gave occasion to this poem had been planned or executed with equal ability! But while our ministers think it best to have no plan, lest it should be violated, or embarrass their generals, and while the latter are more desirous of marching or negociating than conquering, it is not surprising that discomfiture, disaster, and ignominy, should pursue our arms. The march of the English troops in Spain was projected in ignorance, executed with ill-natured contempt, and terminated with the most fatal disgrace. No man of sense would have drawn the enemy to the great naval depot of the kingdom, where a fleet of nine sail of the line and immense naval stores must inevitably fall into his hands!